Ever since Sanemi had met you, that fateful day when Oyakata-sama had introduced you as the new Hashira, he didn’t like you. Didn’t like the unbroken composure of yours. The grace and manners. More than most. Did he know why? Not particularly. Maybe it was the way the soft wind hit your hair- disturbed a few strands in that just so manner that made it look elegant. Maybe it was the way you’d go out of your way to do a kindness for someone. Maybe it was the way you were always there- constantly that little bird in his ear trying to befriend him.

Maybe it was the way his eyes would involuntarily linger on you for just a second too long when you spoke to him- before he covered it up with a sharp retort or a dismissive grunt.

But did he dwell on it? No. He didn’t care to. He didn’t have time for feelings. Not even when the seams of his heart tugged toward the idea of it. He’d shove it down deep— the fear of loss pestering the very back of his mind as a constant repercussion.

———

But then Oyakata-sama assigned the two of you to a town on suspicions of a Twelve Kizuki demon residing there, awaiting nightfall like a goddamn cougar so it can strike.

One thing he hated most in this world? Fuckass demons. He’d sworn he’d kill every last one. He’d die in his goddamn deathbed with his katana in hand.

He kept a firm stance as he walked alongside you, his sharp, muted violet eyes scanning the vicinity as you both entered the village, alert as the job required. However, he’d noticed you seemed… off. Distracted, almost, despite the intactness of your composure.

His shoulders tensed when he ultimately found himself walking without your quiet presence beside him. He stopped, turned his head, and spotted you standing in front of a specific minka.

For a second, his eyes scanned the curvature of the Japanese structure and the shoji screens just slightly cracked open, before he huffed and frowned, turning to give the back of your shoulder a jab with his index finger.

“Oi,” he snorted, watching you tense a little at the contact. What the hell?

“What’s up with you, hah?” he demanded gruffly, before his hard gaze snapped toward the figure suddenly emerging from behind the entrance of the home.

A rough, swaggering-looking man stared right in his direction— no. Not him. You. His shoulders bunched backward slightly, and he glanced down at you, noting the way you instantly took a retreating step.

“Grown th’ guts to come back, kid?” the man snarled, taking a sluggish step forward and throwing a finger at you. The gesture caused you to flinch slightly— but Sanemi caught it. He wasn’t an idiot. Even he could tell you were familiar with this man. Relative? He guessed father.

And fuck, did it grate on his very short nerves. The way you cowered away- shied your head away in pure submission. It reminded him of his own father. Abusive and a drunk.

A vein bulged in his neck just barely, and he took one, subtle step to position himself partially in front of you, staring down your father. “We got a problem?” his jaw clenched, his fists balling up subconsciously by his sides.

Your father eyed Sanemi up and down and let out a snort of considerable disdain. “We will do if you don’t get your ass out of my way.” He replied, an instant hostility that gave Sanemi unpleasant memories.