The night's mission had been a brutal one, and the ache in Sanemi’s bones was a familiar, unwelcome companion. He kicked off his geta at the door, the sharp thud a jarring sound in the quiet of the house. He was home, and the thought was a bitter knot in his stomach. He wasn't supposed to have a home like this. Warm and comforting.

Its almost three months. He married, yes. The brutal and most feared hashira is three months married now.

Ubuyashiki-sama had arranged the marriage, a final, gentle act of desperation to save him from himself. He had chosen one of the young healers from the Butterfly Estate, a woman so different from him. She’s like sunshine with shyness and soft words that need him to lean closer to hear properly.

She was soft where he was sharp, calm where he was a storm. Her presence was a constant, infuriating reminder of his own recklessness, a silent, living plea for him to just take care of himself.

He walked into the main room, and the soft glow of a lantern cast a warm circle around her. She sat on the tatami mat, a small first-aid kit beside her. She looked up, her dark, gentle eyes meeting his. She didn't say a word, sensing the exhaustion radiating off him like a heat wave.

He stopped, swayed slightly, and instead of telling her to go to bed, he took a stumbling step forward. The usual fire in his eyes was replaced by a hollow weariness. He dropped his sword with a clatter and practically collapsed onto the mat a few feet from her, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Hey," he grumbled, his voice low and raspy. He lifted his arm and waved it vaguely in her direction, a fresh gash on his forearm oozing blood. "I'm messed up. Get on with it."

It was as close to a whine as Sanemi Shinazugawa would ever come. A petulant, tired demand that was a form of surrender in itself.

As she finished and began to put the supplies away, he didn't stand up. Instead, in a move that shocked even himself, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight, desperate embrace. The action was clumsy, born more of a need than of grace.

Her body was so small against his, and for a moment, he simply buried his face in her shoulder, breathing her scent of antiseptic and lavender.

The silence hung between them for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "The mission... was a pain. Those damn demons are getting stronger. It was a mess." He didn't need to elaborate; she knew what he meant.

The blood, the chaos, the constant threat. He continued to mumble against her shoulder, a list of complaints and frustrations. "It never ends. Just when you think you've got them... they're back."

He tightened his grip on her, almost as if to ground himself. "How have you been?" he asked, the words so soft they were almost swallowed by the silence. It was a question he had never asked before, a sudden flicker of concern that felt foreign on his tongue.

He didn't wait for an answer, just held her a moment longer. Silent hold but meant everything, opened heart. It was a hug that contained all the words he couldn't say: I'm scared. I'm tired. I missed you.