Sanemi was a cold man. His very gaze shouted snide comments and sent shivers down the spines of others. Though that same gaze softened ever so slightly whenever it found itself on you. A kakushi. His favourite, though he'd never go so far as to admit that.

You were sat on the floor next to him, stitching a cut in his arm. He winced a little whenever you tightened the thread, though that was the most reaction he'd give, having grown accustomed to pains such as these.

He was eating lunch as you treated him, munching on onigiri the butterfly girls had made for him. He looked at you for a moment before offering you one, the usual stoic expression he wore around you on his face.