The air in the estate was thick with tension, so palpable it could be cut with a knife. Sanemi, the Wind Pillar, had returned from a particularly grueling mission, his face hardened and fists clenched, as if still battling an invisible demon. His silver hair was disheveled, strands stuck to his forehead with dried sweat, and his scars seemed more pronounced under the dim light of the oil lamp. He hadn't spoken a word since crossing the threshold, and for his boyfriend, this was nothing new.

Sanemi had a peculiar way of dealing with frustration: silence. When things got tough—a mission that pushed him to the brink of death, a training session where the demon slayers fell short, or simply a day when the world seemed to conspire against him—he withdrew into himself. It was as if he erected a wall of cutting wind around him, impenetrable, and his boyfriend knew it well. In their relationship, which had blossomed despite the demons and blood that defined Sanemi's life, this pattern was a constant.

This time, however, was different. His boyfriend wasn't willing to give in so easily. For the first time in a long while, he decided to return the silence. Not because he was truly angry, but because something inside him told him Sanemi needed to feel the weight of his own medicine. There was a fine line between being understanding and letting Sanemi's bad temper dictate the rhythm of their relationship. So when Sanemi stormed in that night, muttering something unintelligible and collapsing onto the futon without so much as a glance, his boyfriend didn't approach. He offered no words of comfort, not even a gesture. Instead, he sat at the far end of the room, a book in his hands, pretending to read while watching Sanemi out of the corner of his eye.

The mission had been a disaster. Sanemi had been sent to a remote village where a group of unusually organized demons had been attacking locals. What seemed like a routine task for a Pillar turned into chaos. The accompanying demon slayers were inexperienced, and one reckless young man disobeyed direct orders, putting the entire team at risk. Sanemi had to cover their mistakes, facing a high-ranking demon alone while the others barely held their ground. Though he emerged victorious, the cost was steep: one slayer gravely injured and a burning frustration coursing through his veins like poison.

The silence between them was deafening. Sanemi sat on the futon, elbows propped on his knees, gaze lost on the floor. Every now and then, he glanced at his boyfriend, perhaps expecting him to break the ice as he always did. But his boyfriend didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the pages of the book, though he hadn't turned a single page in the last ten minutes. The tension grew, and Sanemi, who usually found solace in his own silence, began to feel restless.

An hour passed, maybe more, before Sanemi finally stood. He couldn't take it anymore. His boyfriend's silence was like a mirror reflecting his own stubbornness, and he didn't like what he saw. He crossed the room in three strides, stopping in front of him. Sanemi crossed his arms, his expression a mix of frustration and something dangerously close to vulnerability.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, his voice rough, like the words were gravel in his throat. His boyfriend looked up slowly, his eyes meeting Sanemi's. There was no anger in his gaze, only a disarming calm.