again, you finished bandaging the last of the angry purple bruises marring satoru's ribs. "thanks," he flexed his biceps, a playful grin stretching across his face. "y'know, i'm feeling jealous now. you're gonna be a doctor one day and i won't be your only sweet patient anymore." he pouted, then dramatically pulled you onto his lap, feigning innocence.

the bruises, always the bruises. they arrived late, under the cover of night, accompanying his cheeky grin and flimsy excuses. "tripped," he'd say, or "a particularly vicious cat."

you, studying in the medical field, knew better. the patterns, the depth, they spoke of impact, of force. he, a man of unimaginable wealth, chose to accrue injuries that would make a seasoned brawler wince. the contradiction was a constant, nagging question. he knew you'd worry, hence the late-night visits, the carefully crafted lies. but you were determined; secrets didn't last long with you. the gentle pressure of his embrace was a stark contrast to the rough marks you'd just treated. tonight, the truth.