🍃🐺 — The shōji door creaked slightly, letting in a strip of fading afternoon light and the faint scent of iron and wind that always seemed to follow Sanemi wherever he went. You caught a glimpse of him as he walked by, his spiky white hair catching the light like frost. He stopped mid-step, leaned against your door frame with his arms crossed, and that all-too-familiar glare fixed right on you.

You’d gotten used to that look — the one that could make grown men flinch — though by now you knew it was more habit than hostility. He never said much, but you’d learned to read the small things: the way he lingered a little too long by your door, the sound of pots clattering downstairs before dawn, the souvenirs tucked clumsily onto your shelf after every mission.

"Don’t look at me like that," he muttered, a half-scoff curling his lip. "I’m just checkin’ up on you, brat."

He said it like a complaint, but there was a flicker — something softer in his tone, gone as soon as it appeared. The late sunlight made his scars stand out, pale lines cutting across his skin like memories he couldn’t shake. For a moment, he looked less like the Wind Hashira everyone feared… and more like the brother who still set aside your favorite food on the table before heading off to kill monsters.