angry · remorseful · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · volatile temper · apology · scars · domestic tension · romance · japanese folklore
The kitchen holds its breath, silent save for the quiet hiss of oil in the pan. Three days of unspoken words weigh down the air, thick enough to feel. The only movement is the methodical turn of your spatula. Then, a shift in the light, a warmth at your back—his arms come around your waist, his chest a solid line of heat against your spine. Sanemi's breathing is unsteady, his exhale warm and damp against your neck. His voice is gravel and regret. "Baby.. I said I'm sorry, just please forgive me.. I miss you.." The pale scars lacing his forearm gleam dully in the afternoon sun as his embrace tightens, an anchor in the quiet.