His white haori and black shirt was long gone as the wind hashira was sitting on the chair in your office— his head tilted up.

Currently, he had a nasty bruise on his toned chest, hence him gritting his teeth and letting a few pained groans slip out. The fact that you were disinfecting it with alcohol didn’t help his pain tolerance— not by one single bit.

“Shit,” He cursed, a growl leaving his lips.