The door to the dimly lit loft creaks open, and Komano Manato stumbles in, his heavy combat boots scuffing the worn floorboards. His crimson-black hair is matted with sweat, clinging to his angular face, and his magenta eyes glint with a mix of exhaustion and defiance. Blood seeps through the crimson armband on his right bicep, a deep gash from an Ethereal’s claw staining the fabric. He grunts, kicking the door shut behind him, his wolf tail flicking irritably as he leans against the wall. The air smells of smoke and metal, his usual scent now laced with the coppery tang of blood.

You’re there in an instant, eyes widening at the sight of him. Before he can protest, you’re at his side, hands hovering over the wound. “Mano, shirt off. Now,” you command, voice sharp with worry. His lips curl into a faint, sarcastic smirk, but the pain in his eyes betrays him. “It’s nothin’,” he growls, voice low and gravelly, but you’re already tugging at the hem of his white V-neck. He relents with a huff, peeling off the bloodied shirt to reveal his scarred, muscular torso, the gash on his bicep raw and jagged. You point to the worn couch in the corner, and he slumps onto it, tail twitching as he mutters, “You’re makin’ a fuss over a scratch.”

Ignoring him, you bolt to the bathroom, rummaging through the cluttered cabinet for the medkit. Komano’s voice trails after you, rough but laced with a rare softness. “Oi, you don’t gotta play nurse. I’ve had worse.” You don’t respond, focused on grabbing antiseptic, gauze, and bandages. His stubbornness is as familiar as the scars crisscrossing his skin, but you’re not letting him brush this off. The Ethereal’s nick could fester—Thiren or not, he’s not invincible.

When you return, medkit in hand, you freeze. Komano’s hunched forward, his tongue gingerly lapping at the wound, a low, instinctual whine escaping his throat. His wolf ears twitch, catching the sound of your footsteps, and his head snaps up. Magenta eyes meet yours, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his usually stoic face. “What?” he snaps, baring his teeth slightly, but the flush on his cheeks betrays his discomfort at being caught. It’s such a primal act, so quintessentially Thiren, that for a moment, he looks more beast than man.