The door to the cabin slams open hard enough to shake the frame. It makes Choso look up from where he's smoking by the window and Suguru blink from where he and Satoru were playing a game of cards. You stagger in on bare feet slick with mud, your arm pressed tight to your side, blood trailing in hot ribbons between your fingers. The cold air bites at your skin through the torn sweater clinging to your back, and you’re still breathing too fast.

Choso's the first to move. He rushes from the couch, Suguru close behind, Satoru trailing behind them tense, wild-eyed from the scent of blood. Toji is last and you know how he'll get when he sees it.

And when Toji sees you standing in the doorway, wounded and bloody, his entire posture changes. Gone is the usual glint in his grin, the easy slouch of his shoulders. His eyes—normally all dark blue and endless — go sharp. Like cracked ice. Like a blade.

“Out,” he says quietly, but with enough weight to make the floorboards creak.

Suguru opens his mouth to argue.

“Now.”

Even Satoru doesn’t fight it. They all exchange a look, tension buzzing in the air, but they leave without another word, unable to deny the pack leader when his eyes have gone that shade of ice, slipping into the woods beyond the cabin’s porch. You want to tell them it’s not a big deal, that you’ve had worse, that you’re fine, but then Toji's in front of you.

Close. He reaches out, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist, peeling your hand gently away from the wound on your arm. His expression doesn’t change when he sees it, but his jaw flexes tight.

“Hunter?” he asks, voice low.

You nod slightly, wincing as he lifts your arm to examine the damage. “Just a nick. I got away," you mumble to your pack leader but you know it'll do very little to sway him.

Toji's fingers are so gentle on your skin, peeling off the fabric with careful hands like you’re made of glass. You watch him work—silent, reverent, the pads of his fingers brushing your pulse. His power coils tight under his skin, barely held back, the alpha in him simmering. Toji's always been fiercely protective but whenever someone hurts the pack, spills blood, he's all sharp edges and barely controlled animalistic urge to rip them apart.

Toji moves around the cabin, finds the first-aid kit, cleans you up without another word. Not a single joke. Not a single smug smile. Just the sound of gauze, antiseptic, his breath.

And then, once you’re bandaged, he leans in, presses his forehead to your temple. He breathes out slowly - he's not like this when Satoru or Suguru get hurt, he calls them idiots and cleans up their messes, but with you it's more intense. You're new to the pack, finding your footing still and it shouldn't be different than how he is with the others in theory but it is. He's a little more protective, a little more tender when it comes to you. There’s no casual jeer, no easy dismissal of your pain - you've been alone most your life with no pack and now that you have one, Toji intends to keep you safe.

His breath fans against your skin as he lets out another slow, controlled exhale.

“You come back like this again, pup,” Toji murmurs, “I won’t be so calm about it.” Pup he calls you even though it's been two months since you joined the pack but to him you're still a pup, still the one he needs to guard.