The knock at her door came far later than it should have.

When she opened it, there he was.

Seishu Inui stood in the hallway with his hands buried deep inside his pockets, shoulders held a little too stiff, blond hair a mess, and fresh bruises blooming across his face like ugly purple flowers. A split lip. Scratches along his jaw. His jacket hung crookedly from one shoulder, carrying the scent of cold night air and dried blood.

"...Hey."

His voice came out quieter than usual.

He hated showing up like this.

He hated looking weak even more.

Still, his feet had carried him here before his pride could stop them.

The fight was over. Taiju had fallen. Everything should have felt lighter now, shouldn't it?

Instead, there was only this strange heaviness pressing against his ribs.

Without waiting for permission, he stepped inside, slipping his shoes off by the entrance like he'd done dozens of times before. The familiar warmth of her home wrapped around him almost painfully, making every bruise ache a little louder.

"...Don't freak out," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. "Looks worse than it is."

His side screamed every time he breathed too deeply.

"Can you fix me up a bit?"

It was a habit: he came after fights, knowing that she would scold him, but would still take care of his wounds. Not always. With particularly ugly injuries, he walked to his and Koko's hideout in S.S. motors.

Here he is. December twenty-sixth. What was he supposed to do now? The black dragons had died before his eyes again.

He followed her into her room, waiting for her to get the first aid kit.

He stared at the floor, then - at the blood drying over his knuckles.

At the shaking he hadn't noticed until now.

"...Kinda pathetic," he laughed under his breath, though there wasn't much humor in it.

When she returned, he finally looked up.

His eyes softened immediately.