My Wife Wouldn’t Like That
You’d told him not to go alone.
Sanemi never listened. The Wind Hashira never listened. And now you were standing in the Butterfly Estate courtyard with his blood tacky on your hands, watching them carry him past in a mess of ruined uniform and shredded skin.
The demon had been a tough one — fast, smart, and with claws that cut deeper than steel. He’d killed it, of course. Sanemi Shinazugawa didn’t lose. But the fight had cost him: a deep, jagged slash straight across his ribs, the kind of wound that would keep him grounded for weeks if you could somehow tie him to a futon.
You trailed the medics right up to the sliding doors before they stopped you.
“Miss, you’ll need to wait outside.”
You clenched your fists. “Is he—?”
“He’s alive,” the medic said quickly. “But he’s lost a lot of blood. We’ll have to put him under to close this properly. He’s… not exactly cooperative when it comes to holding still.”
That was putting it mildly. You’d once seen Sanemi nearly break a medic’s wrist for trying to disinfect a cut without warning him first. So you waited. And paced. And waited some more. By the time the shoji doors slid open again, the moon was high over the Estate’s garden walls.
“He’s awake,” a nurse told you, lips twitching like she was holding back a laugh. “Still groggy.”
Sanemi lay half-reclined against clean futons, chest bare except for the fresh white bandages wrapping his ribs. His hair was an unholy mess, and his storm-grey eyes were barely open — glazed, unfocused, but still scanning the room like he was on watch.
You dropped to your knees beside him. “Hey. How do you feel?”
It took a long moment for him to actually focus on you. And then—
“Oi.” His voice was slow, slurred. “Don’t… touch me.”
“My wife… wouldn’t like that.”
You stared. “…Your what?”
“My wife,” he repeated with absolute certainty. “She’s… real pretty. Mean as hell. Would beat the shit outta me if she saw some woman hangin’ all over me.”
It was so absurd you almost laughed. “Sanemi. I’m your girlfriend.”
He squinted, suspicion creasing his brow. “…Nah. My wife’s prettier.”
From somewhere behind you, a nurse coughed into her sleeve — and you’d swear it was to hide a laugh. You opened your mouth, then shut it again. “…Uh-huh. And what’s your wife’s name?”
“Y/N,” he muttered instantly.
You froze. “That’s my name.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes already starting to droop again. “That’s her. My wife.”
You stared at him, not sure whether to be touched or offended. “You just said I’m not her.”
Sanemi’s gaze drifted lazily back to your face. His eyes stayed there this time. For a long, quiet moment, his expression softened — like something in his foggy brain had finally clicked into place.
It wasn’t his usual sharp, cocky grin. It was small, almost sheepish, and so warm it made your chest ache.
“...Told you she’s pretty,” he murmured.
You didn’t even have time to reply before he kept going — his voice dropping to a lazy rumble.
“Best damn cook, too… makes this stew that’s… better than anythin’ Shinobu’s kitchen’s got.”
You blinked. “Are you… making a list?”
“Mhm… laughs too loud,” he continued, eyelids fluttering. “Gets this crinkle right here—” He weakly tapped the corner of his own eye. “—when she smiles. Drives me nuts.”
Your face went hot. “…Sanemi.”
“She’s stubborn. Always tryna boss me around.” He gave the faintest smirk. “Love her for it.”
Your throat tightened, but before you could say anything, his head lolled to the side and he was snoring softly. Behind you, the nurse had her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with barely contained laughter. You pointed a finger at her. “You tell no one.”
She only grinned. “No promises.”
By the next afternoon, Sanemi was sitting up, grumbling about “not needin’ this much damn fuss” while trying (and failing) to peel his own bandages off.
“Don’t you dare,” you warned from the doorway.
He looked over, narrowing his eyes at your smirk. “…What?”
“Nothing,” you said sweetly, crossing the room. “Just wondering if your wife’s prettier than me.”
He went still. “…The hell did you just say?”
“You heard me.” You perched at the edge of his futon. “Last night, you told me not to touch you because your wife wouldn’t like it. Then you said I wasn’t her, because she’s prettier. Then you told me her name was Y/N. And then you…” You leaned in, grin widening. “…started listing all the reasons you love her.”
A flush crept up the side of his neck. “I said what?”
“Exactly that. In front of a nurse.”
“I was drugged outta my skull,” he muttered.
“Mm-hm. And apparently married.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”
“Not in a million years. I’m telling the other Hashira. Maybe I’ll have Shinobu embroider it on your haori.”
Sanemi shot you a look like he was already plotting your murder — but there was no real heat behind it.
You reached out to straighten the blanket over his lap. “Don’t worry. Your wife will keep you safe.”
For a second, his eyes softened. “…Guess I wasn’t that wrong,” he muttered.
You tilted your head. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You’re mean enough. And you are prettier.”
Your smile widened. “I’ll take that as an official proposal.”
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Just a little thing we came up with during final’s week (summer).
