╔══ஓ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔♱᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ஓ══╗
♱) ̊⋆+ᛝ⨍ꫀׁׅܻ ꩇׁׅ݊ɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ꫀׁׅܻ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅᛝ+⋆ ̊)♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅƙׁׅ֑꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

. ۫ ‎ꫂ᭪݁ ℘ꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻqׁׅυׁׅꫀׁׅܻᥣׁׅ֪: 𓊆XXX𓊇

⊹+ ̊‧(‿+୨ ꯱ׁׅ֒ꪱׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅᥣׁׅ֪ɑׁׅ֮ꭈׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

𓍯𓂃 ̊⋆ ꒰ঌᨵׁׅtׁׅhׁׅ֮ꫀׁׅܻꭈׁׅ ℘ᨵׁׅ᥎꫶ׁׅ: 𓊆XXX𓊇

♱)⋆ᛝꭈׁׅɑׁׅ֮ꪀׁׅժׁׅ݊ᨵׁׅ ꩇׁׅ݊ᐣᛝ⋆)♱

Shinazugawa Sanemi ♱

♱)⋆ᛝ ᝯׁꭈׁׅꫀׁׅܻժׁׅ݊ꪱׁׅtׁׅ꯱ׁׅ֒ ᛝ⋆)♱

✦ by @PrettyLittleVampire

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

♱) ̊⋆+♱𓊆ꪱׁׅꪀׁׅꪱׁׅtׁׅꪱׁׅɑׁׅ֮ᥣׁׅ֪ ꩇׁׅ݊ꫀׁׅܻ꯱ׁׅ֒꯱ׁׅ֒ɑׁׅ֮ᧁׁꫀׁׅܻ 𓊇♱+⋆ ̊)♱

ᛝ))♱))♱))♱))♱))ᛝ

The impact jolted through you like lightning. Your basket fell, herbs scattering across the dirt. Strong hands caught your arms, steadying you before you could topple.

“Oi watch where you’re....” His voice faltered.

Because he was staring at you, Not with annoyance, Not with the usual sharp edged impatience he drenched the world in.

But with something startled, Something raw, Something that flickered like a blade catching sunlight.

You blinked up at him at the wild white hair tousled by the wind, at the scars sketching harsh stories across his skin, at eyes colored like pale amethyst bruised by exhaustion and grief.

He looked dangerous.

He looked beautiful.

“I...I’m so sorry,” you stammered, dropping to gather your herbs.

He crouched before you, faster than your breath could catch.

“I got it,” he muttered, sweeping the scattered sprigs into your basket with surprising care.

Surprising softness.

You tried to thank him, but the words snagged in your throat. His presence was overwhelming a storm contained inside the shape of a man.

“Here.” He stood and offered the basket back. His sleeve slipped, revealing a fresh scar slashed across his forearm.

Your worry sparked instinctively.

“You’re injured.”

He stiffened. “It’s nothing.”

But you reached out without thinking, your fingertips brushing his skin. Warm. Calloused, Real.

His breath hitched.

It was the smallest touch yet for him, who lived his entire life braced against the world’s cruelty, it felt like a door opening.

Like gentleness he had long forgotten.

“Are you from around here?” you asked, trying to steady your voice.

He paused, hesitating as if the answer was complicated. “I’m... passing through.”

“Will you be staying long?”

The question left your lips before you had the right to ask it. He looked at you really looked and something softened behind the wary distance in his eyes.

“Not sure,” he said. Then, after a heartbeat; “Maybe.”

A gust of wind danced between you. The fabric of his haori fluttered, the kanji for "Destroy” slicing through the night like a warning.

Still, you found yourself smiling, And to your shock, He looked away, ears turning slightly red.

Sanemi had intended to leave at dawn.

He told himself he was wasting time. That he had work to do. That he had no business thinking about a villager who didn’t know a damn thing about the world he walked in.

But when morning came, he found his feet carrying him back toward the village market. Toward you.

You stood at your family’s stall, selling herbs and remedies with that same warm smile that had punched a hole clean through his chest the night before.

He froze at the edge of the crowd. “What the hell am I doing...?” he muttered under his breath.

Watching, Waiting, Wanting.

And when you finally looked up and saw him, your face lit like sunrise.

“Sanemi!”

You remembered his name.

He wasn’t sure why but that mattered.

You waved him over, bright and effortless. “Come here! I saved something for you.”

He approached reluctantly, scowl firmly in place to hide the way his heart hammered.

You picked up a small cloth bundle. “For your arm. A salve (ointment used to healing the skin) to help the skin my mother makes it.”

He blinked. “...You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But I wanted to.”

Those words unravelled something inside him quietly, dangerously.

Sanemi stayed longer than he intended, A day became two, Two became five.

He brought vegetables from the outskirts for your cooking, He walked you home at night even when you insisted the village was safe, He helped you fix the broken hinge on your door, grumbling the entire time.

But you caught him smiling when he thought you weren’t looking.

Every morning, he showed up earlier. Every night, he lingered later standing by your gate, hands shoved in his pockets, as though torn between staying and saving face.

You didn’t know he was a Hashira. You didn’t know what chased him in the dark, All you knew was the man before you.

Rough, impulsive, prickly as thorns yet offering you wildflowers he pretended he just “found on the ground.”

Hard, scarred, flinty yet listening to your stories as if no one had ever spoken to him with kindness before.

A whirlwind wearing human skin yet gentle with your hands when he helped you pack herbs.

You were falling in love.

And he.... he was falling harder than he had words for.

It happened after sunset, when you were locking up the shop. Sanemi arrived breathless, more restless than usual. Something haunted smoldered in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be outside alone.”

You laughed lightly. “Sanemi, I live here. I’ve been doing this my whole...”

He stepped closer, too close, shadows rippling across his jawline.

“I mean it,” he growled.

You blinked, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “Did something happen?”

His throat worked. He wasn’t used to explaining himself. Certainly not feelings.

“There are... things,” he muttered. “Out there. You don’t know about them.”

“But you do,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to yours.

“And you protect people from them.”

For the first time, he looked shaken.

“How did you ”

“I see the wounds you come back with,” you said softly. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Sanemi stared at you, every defense peeling back, leaving him bare in the moonlight.

“I don’t want anything happening to you,” he said, voice roughened with honesty. “Not you. Anyone but you.”

Your heart fluttered painfully. “Why me?”

His jaw clenched. He took a step closer, then another, until your backs nearly brushed the wall. The wind swept around you, gentle for the first time as if mirroring his restraint.

“Because,” he breathed, “the day you bumped into me... I stopped feeling like a damn ghost.”

our lips parted, “Sanemi”

He leaned down, forehead touching yours, breath trembling like a confession too heavy to hold.

“I don’t know what this is,” he whispered, “but I want it. I want you. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You cupped his scarred cheek with both hands. “I’m not afraid.”

His lashes lowered. “...Can I kiss you?” The question fell from his lips like a prayer.

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