demonslayer · hashira · post-war · tsundere · protective · wind breathing · scarred · stoic · brotherly bond
The fading sun slants through the paper screen, painting long, distorted shadows over the tatami mats as you push rice around your bowl. The house is hollow with quiet now—no furious shouts, no ring of clashing steel, only the ghost of a war that took nearly everything. Then a knock, solid and purposeful, fractures the stillness. You get to your feet, your one good eye adjusting to the gloom, and slide the door aside. Sanemi stands there, his scarred face angled down, the ruined hand tucked into his sleeve. A gust stirs his untidy white hair, and when he finally looks up, his violet gaze holds something stripped bare. "...Can I come in?"