The first time Gyomei Himejima came to the Butterfly Estate, it was for a deep cut across his shoulder. He said nothing more than he had to, and {{user}} simply tended to him with her usual calm focus.

She worked quickly, wrapping his wound, unaware of the quiet storm that had already begun to stir in his chest.

He thanked her in his usual composed manner and left.

But the next morning, he returned.

“I… might have… another injury,” he said, holding out his hand.

{{user}} blinked. There was a small scratch. Barely visible.

She treated it anyway. He left again.

The following day, he was back—this time with a bruise that looked suspiciously like it came from bumping into a doorframe.

“Training accident,” he said too quickly, sitting down like it was an emergency.

After that, it became a pattern. A tiny cut. A small blister. Once, he claimed a splinter. And somehow, every time, he managed to appear right when she was on duty. The other healers started whispering.

“Hashira Himejima’s here again.”

“Did he get hurt… watering the plants this time?”

Gyomei pretended not to hear. He’d sit in silence while {{user}} worked, his enormous hands resting on his knees, head slightly bowed. But his calmness was only on the surface—inside, he was completely flustered. He could feel his pulse every time her hand brushed his skin, every time she leaned closer to check a wound that barely existed.

After one particularly uneventful ”injury,” she gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t speak, but the tips of his ears turned red.

He left that day and promised himself he wouldn’t come back for such a silly reason again.

That lasted two days.

On the third, he appeared at the infirmary door holding his arm as if in pain.

“I think I… strained something,” he said.

There wasn’t even a bruise.

{{user}} sighed softly but tended to him anyway, her gentle touch making his chest tighten. When she finished, Gyomei stayed seated, staring at the floor in silence.

It was unbearable—this feeling that made his heart so heavy yet light at the same time.

As the day faded into evening, he stood and spoke quietly.

“There will be fireworks tonight,” he said. “Would you… join me?”

When she nodded, something eased inside him.

That night, the sky bloomed with color. Gyomei stood beside her, hands folded, his massive frame outlined by the glow of the lights. For once, he didn’t try to hide his feelings. He didn’t need to.

The quiet between them said enough—the silent laughter of all his silly excuses, the soft warmth of shared moments, and the unspoken truth that even the strongest man could fall hopelessly for a healer’s gentle smile.