#requited

Personality:

❖ Let’s start with the basics, yeah? 

❖ Sanemi spent nearly a decade enlisted in the military. Fresh out of high school, he entered as a dumb recruit—young and impressionable and quickly shaped from the moment he stepped foot into basic training. That means years of strict discipline and routine that never breaks, coupled along with constant pressure. Yeah, one could only assume that spending so long a time in an environment like that would turn someone into a hardass.

❖ Well, kind of…

❖ Sanemi definitely fucked around quite a bit back when he was just another nobody sailor—yeah, Navy. Even if it took him the better part of six years to claw his way up to Lieutenant Commander, he spent plenty of his early career acting more like a reckless teenager. The Navy gave you room to fuck off—well, at least as much as you were willing to risk the consequences for it. And you can bet Sanemi pushed that limit whenever he could.

❖ Back then, he had no problem settling things with his fists if someone pissed him off enough. A few hours confined in the cell to settle things with his commanding officer after decking a fellow sailor was hardly a punishment in his eyes. Neither were extra duties—they never bothered him much anyways. If anything, seeing his commanding officers absolutely livid made it worth it. Served them right.

❖ Even after becoming an officer himself, Sanemi still pushed the rules too. Climbing the ranks hadn’t dulled that rebellious streak in him. That freedom that came with his position showed itself in smaller ways now: giving the fresh recruits hell just to see them squirm, mouthing off to his shithead friends in front of superiors, taking questionable (dick-shaped) flight paths just to make sure he got all his flight hours in. What were they going to do to him? Fire him?

❖ But despite that all, Sanemi still grew into an incredibly structured individual. That means he’s up by six every morning, fully dressed and ready for the day by six-thirty sharp. Meals are planned and punctual, never skipped, and he makes damn sure he gets a full eight hours of sleep every night (he only got an interrupted 6 when on active duty and you can be sure he wants all fucking 8). That means lights out no later than ten.

❖ Even after being medically discharged, Sanemi still clings to that routine. It’s comforting in a way, since it’s one of the few things in his life he can still fully manage and control. Though, admittedly, his strict punctuality feels a little out of place in a household where chaos reigns supreme. His mother had spent years exhausted from raising seven children on her own (with Sanemi’s help, of course), and even now, with only two left to leave the nest, the house was rarely ever calm. So for everyone else’s sake, Sanemi learned to let things slide every now and then. A little.

❖ Rules? In his house—one he bought with his own money, just to ensure his mother and siblings finally had a proper place to call home instead of another dingy apartment—you can bet they’re strict. Sanemi didn’t work that hard and sacrifice that much just for everything to fall apart under his roof.

❖ Sanemi is the textbook stern, overly responsible older brother which we’ve come to love. That means no screwing around, no slacking off, and definitely no nonsense from his younger siblings (even if he was a complete asshole in his own teenage years and well into early adulthood… maybe he still is). But protective? Painfully so.

❖ He might be a bit of a deadbeat brother now without a job, but there’s no way in hell he’d sit back and let his siblings throw their lives out the window. Besides, he likes helping his ma out however he can. The house is quieter now without four other kids tearing through it at all hours and that silence makes him feel even more responsible for the people still left.

❖ Speaking of being medically discharged… Yeah, about that—

❖ Officially, it was framed as medical leave under strict orders from the department. Temporary. In his mind, it implied he’d eventually recover well enough to return to active duty. Yeah—no…

❖ He’s far too prideful to even consider disability leave or retirement, because he’s fine. What’s a little scratch (open flesh wound) anyways? Never mind the fact that the ‘scratch’ in question required a few months of recovery. Six months, maybe a little rehab, and surely they’d clear him to return to active duty like nothing had ever happened. Jokes on him though, because permanent limited duty was the closest thing to a return he was ever going to get.

❖ Passing physical evals was almost absurd on paper. Who the hell was supposed to clear standards with a partially paralyzed arm and two missing fingers? That IED and shrapnel had done their work well enough, leaving his arm permanently unreliable in ways no amount of resolve could heal. 

❖ Still, Sanemi refused to be written off by it. He worked through every requirement stubbornly and definitely recklessly, adapting where he had to and compensating where he couldn’t. If one arm wouldn’t cooperate, then fuck it—he made the other do the job. One-handed push ups weren't that hard anyways.

❖ He absolutely corners the officer conducting his eval and ‘encourages’ them to clear him as fit for duty.  Who needs a second arm, really?

❖ Now, his psych eval? That’s a different story.

❖ There’s no intimidating or bribing your way through that one. And there is certainly no sense in that doctor’s head sitting across from him. The whole process is almost insulting—what the hell even is ‘depression’ anyways? He’d rather kill himself than be encouraged into pursuing a civilian job.

❖ But alas, a failed psych eval means a failure. And apparently he’s supposed to take medication (he’s on the strongest dose of SNRIs oof) for a condition he definitely doesn’t have. And just like that, he’s been reassigned to a dull, soul-crushing administrative desk job. Personnel specialists were a fucking scam of a title. It’s just an insult to injury. A Lieutenant Commander, a Lieutenant, now reduced to paperwork. He was nothing but a glorified fucking receptionist. What the hell was he even doing anymore?

❖ So now, Sanemi will admit he’s tired more than anything else. Restless maybe, if he were being honest with himself (he’s usually not). All those years of hard work and effort ripped out right beneath his fingers simply because of an accident on the flight deck. Pure. Fucking. Bad. Luck. Man.

❖ Stubborn as hell about it too—because he’s not a liability and he doesn’t have a handicap. If anything, his injury makes him more adamant to prove he’s still useful. Getting a parking ticket for being in a handicap spot? Sanemi would rather pay the fine than prove he’s got the fucking tag to be there.

Appearance:

❖ The most important point: remember that Sanemi spent ten years as a trained sailor. TEN. YEARS. That kind of time doesn’t just fade away. You can bet he’s honed his body to the highest standards he was ever held to. He is godly.

❖ Sanemi is tall—certainly just as tall as, if not slightly taller than, his younger brother Genya (sure baby…)—and easily strong enough to lift you with one hand if he really wanted to. It’s obvious even beneath the heaviest of jackets that his build is pure muscle. He takes pride in maintaining that even after being discharged for nearly two months. Sanemi doesn’t bat an eye when it comes to doing favors for his ma or siblings either, cause he can handle it. He’s a big boy.

❖ His right arm though? Yikes.

❖ Stretching from the entirety of his right hand up along his forearm and into his bicep, lay a myriad of twisted and jagged scars cut deep into his flesh. He’s missing his index and middle fingers, and also had undergone extensive nerve grafting surgery to try and restore his mobility—courtesy of that stupid IED shrapnel. It’s still numb in places—patches along his forearm that twitch and flare with dull aches—but that it’s not that which bothers him the most. Rather, it’s the grinding aches in his joints, the searing sensation that feels like his veins are on fire. Even on good days he finds he cannot force his arm to work the way he wants it to.

❖ There’s also the strange phantom quality of pain that flickers through his missing fingers. Sanemi is still adjusting to the absence, still catching himself reaching for things on instinct before he realizes there’s nothing there to grasp with. It leads to more than a few clumsy drops and missed catches and it’s a heavy wound to his pride.

❖ Despite the most of his injuries being sustained to his arm, Sanemi still has a scattering of gashes across his face and chest. They’re marks earned from basic training, rough encounters on the ship, occasional run-ins with sailors that scream trouble. He pays them little mind though; they don’t ache or interfere with his daily routine. If people look at those, so be it. But his arm? Leave that shit alone.

❖ Keeping up with his strict schedule and routine, Sanemi also likes to maintain his hygiene with a near compulsive sort of discipline. His hair never grows beyond three inches and he refuses to let even a hint of stubble linger. If that means he’s gotta shave every single day, he will. He likes to pretend he’s still professional, despite all the shit he starts. To him, that starts with looking the part.

❖ That also means tattoos must be concealed too. He does a good job keeping them concealed, because he favors long sleeves and jackets, building his wardrobe around covering skin. Eventually, gloves become a part of the usual fit. Sanemi rarely exposes his skin, if at all, only ever shedding layers in the privacy of his own home. He’ll go around in tanktops, or topless even, happily when no one’s looking. Someone please beg this man to show off those pecs.

❖ He has a black nautical star inked above his right pectoral, and dark, curling wave patterns run along the sleeve of his right arm. Only he, his mother, and his siblings know the full extent of them. You too once certain events commence… Ahem… anyways—it’s a carefully maintained facade considering how much of his skin is marked by ink. Most are old too, having gotten them alongside close companions and even closer friends from that time abroad.

❖ Since Sanemi is such a precise neat freak, he also takes his own hygiene very well. He’s taken a lot for granted when he was first recruited; being deployed on a ship for nine months at a time? YEUCK. That was the closest he’d ever been to hell. So now the small comforts matter to him. The fact that scented products exist, and that soap comes in VARIETIES and not just some boring old utility brand—yeah, he’s taking advantage of that.

❖ He usually smells faintly of clean leather and cedarwood, and avoids anything that even vaguely evokes the scent of an aircraft carrier. Smoke and ash sit poorly with him, and he has a particular dislike for the smell of oil. Again, to the level of selectiveness that borders on obsessive (he’s probably OCD after all). Sanemi is particular enough to invest in higher-end colognes simply to ensure he’s got some peace of mind.

❖ And yet, for some god-damned reason he finds himself drawn to a particular scent of cigarette smoke, with a hint of sickly-sweet artificial cherry.

❖ He’d smoked before as a teenager, yes, but that silly little addiction was nipped quickly in the bud once he enlisted. He’s not interested in falling back into something so pointless now. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

it’s around the time you scrolled on tiktok for way too long, you knocked on his door like a stray cat begging for food, “dan heng?”

dan heng was already up, waiting for you, or studying the archives and updating the contents. “come in, name. you know that my door is always open for you.”

the door slid open as you trudged in with your blankets dragging on the floor. he adjusted his glasses as he asked, “what kind of video were you watching this time?”

flopping onto his bed, dragging your blankets with you. “some guy owning haunted dolls and he was speaking to them.” you said with a shiver. dan heng hid a laugh,

“fun?” he noticed from the corner of his eye, your face changed before replying,

“terrifying! i dont understand how stelle was able to handle them.”

dan heng rolled his eyes, rolling back his chair towards the bed, “im pretty sure they’re different creatures. one being a mythical being and the other possibly faked.”

you rolled yourself into a ball, “still scary either way!”

“okay, sure.” dan heng rolled back to his desk, placing his red glasses down. “show me the video. now i want to see how scary this being is.”

“but i dont wanna see it again!” despite your words, you opened the app again, favorited in the collection called “show dan heng.” though he wouldnt able ever see the name of the collection, he does feel special that you exclusively show him.

he walked to his bed, tucking you in with your and his own blankets just before sitting on the edge. the video was someone adopting a shipped order of dolls from one of his fans, saying that the fan didnt want the dolls anymore.

“the dolls seem not haunted but spirits are tethered to the doll.”

“so?”

“it was not their choice staying there. does that make you feel better?”

“not really, now i feel bad for them. also a little still scared of the dolls they live in.”

“that’s fair. now do you want to watch your favorite sitcom to get over it or sleep right now?”

“…hmmm.” you hummed, deciding a choice even though the both of you went through this routine before. “i choose-”

“let’s sleep. we can watch your favorite show tomorrow.”

“promise? you said that yesterday and we didnt get to watch it today.”

“yes, i promise.” dan heng said with a quiet snort. you nodded just before you drifted off to sleep.

bonus:

dan heng sneaked onto your phone just to watch the videos himself, laughing a little out of giddiness from seeing that he had a collection just for him.

clicking through the videos, he watched about ten of them, mumbling and taking notes.

“huh, seems kind of scary. i need someone to make a debunking channel.”