“What the hell are you doing!” Sanemi swatted your hand away from the open wound, meant to be treating the damage to his body. He wasn’t making it easy, the passive aggressive growing to a stronger, more visible aggression. A long sigh escaped your lips, who thought a Hashira made things so difficult.

His constant flinches and nudges to your movements, stitching the open wound on his stomach, a long, uneven cut to the skin drawls down to a lengthy cut. “Do you even know what you’re doing? I should have just done this myself.” He spat out, watching every move of your treatment like a hawk. Each wince and gasp committed a wave of guilt, even if you had gentle hands.

With each poke of the needle you used to stitch together his open wound, theres a small jump where he sat. His hawk eyes gazed down, watching your hands fiddle between movements to prep the wound into recovery.