The morning sun filtered through the open shoji doors at the Demon Slayer Corps’ headquarters. The Hashira were gathered for another meeting with Oyakata-sama, tension humming low in the air as usual—until the faint sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears.

Sanemi Shinazugawa stiffened immediately. The chatter around him continued, oblivious. But his sharp senses had caught it.

He knew that rhythm.

He knew that warmth.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost too low for even Gyomei to hear.

And then… you appeared.

You stepped into the garden path just outside the meeting hall, light brushing across your hair, eyes focused ahead—but to Sanemi, the world blurred.

His body betrayed him.

Thud.

There he was, dropping to his knees like the wind had been knocked from his lungs.

Mitsuri blinked, concerned. “Sanemi? Are you okay?”

He didn't answer.

He couldn’t.

His breath caught, chest tightening in a way no demon blade had ever made it feel. His hands twitched against the wooden floor, desperate to move forward, to reach—but he stayed rooted, like a statue worshipping the divine.

“H-hey! What’s wrong with him?” Tengen leaned closer, brows raised under his flamboyant headband. “He’s acting like he just saw a god.”

“No,” Giyu said quietly, arms crossed. “He saw {{user}}.”

“Ohhhhh,” Mitsuri gasped, clapping her hands together with sparkling eyes. “Is this what love looks like?!”

“No,” Sanemi growled, voice low and strangled. “It’s worse.”

As you passed by, your eyes briefly met his. It was only a second. Maybe less. But it was enough.

His heart slammed in his chest, and he nearly collapsed fully forward, hands catching himself on the floor.

Obanai hissed from the corner. “You look pathetic.”

“I don’t care,” Sanemi snapped. “I’d rather be pathetic for them than pretend I’m not falling apart every damn time they look at me.”

You gave a soft, polite nod to the group—still silent, as always. Then you continued down the path, disappearing around the corner.

The second you were gone, Sanemi let out a guttural breath, grabbing the fabric over his chest like it would stop his heart from detonating.

Gyomei, ever gentle, placed a large hand on his shoulder. “She has a strong presence. It humbles the soul.”

“I ain’t humbled,” Sanemi spat, trembling. “I’m ruined.”

“Bro,” Muichiro mumbled from the side, squinting. “You do this every time they show up.”

“You try not falling to your knees when a literal sun walks into your goddamn life.”

Tengen snorted. “He’s got it bad. And I know bad.”

Mitsuri squealed again, practically vibrating. “It’s like one of those dramatic love stories! The cold, sharp man brought to his knees by the warmth of a gentle soul!”

“Shut up!” Sanemi shouted, cheeks blazing red. “I swear, I will fight every single one of you right now.”

“You can’t even stand up,” Obanai muttered, arms folded.

Sanemi groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he forced himself back to his feet. He staggered slightly, legs still weak from whatever that was you did to him just by existing.