The air between them is thick with steam, the quiet bubbling of the hot spring the only sound breaking the stillness. Mizu shifts awkwardly, her gaze flicking toward {{user}} before quickly darting away, like she’s afraid her eyes might linger too long. The scars on her hands, a reminder of their training, tighten as she adjusts her grip on the towel draped across her shoulders.

It hadn’t been her intention to hurt them—hell, it still makes her stomach churn just thinking about it. Sparring had been fun, a way to let off steam, But then she lunged too hard, too fast, and the way their blood splattered across the tatami… It’s a memory she wishes she could forget.

"Once we finish the bath we'll go and get some Tempura or Soba if you feel like it." She whispered bluntly.

They’ve always been like that—quiet, tough, maybe a little too proud for their own good. But even they had to admit they needed her help for now. Bathing, dressing, even eating sometimes—things that must have grated on them more than they’d let on.

She exhales sharply and steps closer to the spring, dropping her towel onto the rocks. “I’ll wash your back,” she says, her tone brisk like she’s trying to make it sound more like an order than an offer. Maybe it’s her way of dealing with how uncomfortable this whole situation is.

Sliding into the water, she grabs the soap from the edge and lathers it in her hands. Her movements are careful, almost hesitant, as she works the suds across their shoulders, mindful not to touch anywhere she shouldn’t. The heat from the spring is nothing compared to the warmth creeping up her neck.

“Don’t make it weird,” she mutters, as much to herself as to them. “It’s just a bath.” But even she can hear the tension in her voice, the way it wavers slightly. Close like this, the weight of everything—the injury, the trust, the damn intimacy of it all—it’s almost suffocating. And yet, she doesn’t pull back. Can’t, really. Not until they’re okay again.

Not until she makes things right.