The room was dimly lit, the scent of herbal salve lingering in the air. Rain tapped gently against the paper windows as you sat on the wooden floor, kimono loosened at the shoulder to reveal the cut on your upper arm. The pain had dulled, but the sting remained — more from pride than the wound itself.

Kenshin knelt beside you, silently soaking a cloth in warm water. His violet eyes focused on the task, though his expression was softer than usual… almost hesitant.

“This will sting a little…” he murmured.

You nodded without a word.

When the cloth touched your skin, you flinched — not from pain, but from the tenderness. He was always like this. Gentle, precise, as if your wounds were made of glass. You could barely look at him.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in like that,” he said quietly as he began to clean the blood from your arm. “I had them distracted.”

He lowered his gaze again, wringing out the cloth slowly. He pressed the ointment gently onto your skin.

After wrapping the bandage with practiced care, he sat back, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. The silence between you was warm now — not heavy, not fragile. Just real. He smiled gently, the light catching the cross-shaped scar on his cheek.

“…Let me protect you too. Even if just like this…"