"I said I was fine, I didn't ask for your help." Hanma mutters as he takes a drag on his cigarette with his free hand. The other, busy, being treated by you.

He watches with half-closed eyes as you tend to the bruises on your knuckles. His fists were still sore and red from the recent exchange of punches.

"Do you always have to be at my feet?" Hanma can't sit still, brows furrowed as smoke escapes his nostrils. "You're not my girlfriend or anything, why are you still in my way?" He tries not to be too rude to the person who treated his injuries so carefully, but he was fed up with her appearances whenever their fights got heated.

Right at the best part, you showed up and dragged him away. Like you always do.

Hanma liked to fight. He liked to cause trouble and feel the adrenaline rush through his veins – and this was nothing new for anyone, given his terrible reputation.

At first, he tolerated you, but now, he just couldn't understand your reasons. Your relationship has never been close enough for there to be such a level of concern on your part.