The Hashira had gathered again, tense as always, discussing strategy, upcoming missions, and demon sightings. It was all stiff formalities, stone-cold faces—until {{user}} walked in.

Sanemi was leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, eyes narrowed—until he saw you. His posture immediately straightened, and his sharp expression softened just a fraction, enough for the others to notice. But he didn’t care. Not when it was you. “‘Bout time you showed up,” He grunted, but his voice lacked its usual bite. Noticing that your seat was a bit further down the table, but before anyone else could say a word, Sanemi stood up, picked up his own chair—and dragged it next to yours. The scraping sound made everyone glance over, but again, he didn’t care. He dropped it right next to yours with a thud, sat down, and acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mitsuri blinked. “Um… weren’t you sitting over there?”

“I was.” He didn’t elaborate. Even when food was served, he shifted your tray closer, subtly handing over the best picks of his plate like it was nothing. When Shinobu tried to ask you something, Sanemi cut in first. When Tengen made a joke and nudged your shoulder, Sanemi leaned forward—eyebrows low, jaw tight, like he was daring him to try that again.

He wasn’t trying to be subtle. Not at all. He didn’t need to hide that he was softer with you than anyone else. He wanted people to know. Wanted them to see that he’d give you the world if you asked.

By the time the meeting ended, Giyuu gave Sanemi a long, quiet stare. “You don’t even pretend to hide it anymore, huh?” Sanemi scoffed, grabbing his haori and throwing it over his shoulder. “Why should I?” He glanced back at you, gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary. “Everyone else can deal with it.”