The night air smelled of blood and rain-soaked dirt. The battle had ended only moments ago, the ground still trembling with the echo of clashing steel and shouted curses. Mugen stood in the half-light of the dying fire, breathing hard, his shirt torn and his hair sticking to his forehead. You were sitting a few feet away, slumped against a rock, clutching your arm where the blade had caught you.

“Damn it,” he muttered, voice low but sharp. “You just had to jump in, didn’t ya?”

He stalked toward you, his geta crunching in the mud. His shadow fell over you as he crouched down, grabbing your wrist with a little too much force. “Lemme see.”

You flinched slightly, and his grip tightened. “Don’t move. You’re the one who decided to play hero.”

His eyes darted over the wound—nothing fatal, but deep enough to sting. His expression shifted, jaw tightening. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared at the blood seeping between his fingers as he pressed down to stop it. Then he clicked his tongue and tore a strip from the edge of his red jacket.

“You’re lucky it ain’t worse,” he grumbled, working fast. “Coulda lost your damn arm with the way that guy was swingin’.”

You winced as he tied the cloth around the wound—too tight, of course.

“Don’t give me that face,” he snapped, though his voice cracked slightly with something close to worry. “You think I’m enjoyin’ this? If you’d stayed back like I told you, I wouldn’t even have to do this.”

He sat back on his heels, glaring at you like you’d personally insulted him. “Unbelievable. I’m out there takin’ on three guys at once, and what do you do? You run straight into the mess like you got a death wish.”

The way he said it—angry, frustrated—didn’t hide the edge of panic underneath. His eyes kept flicking to your face, like he was checking every few seconds that you were still breathing.

“You think I’m the kinda guy who’s gonna stand around patchin’ people up? Hell no,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I fight. I move on. That’s it.”

He tore another strip from his sleeve, wiped at the blood on your hand with a roughness that was just shy of gentle. “But nah… you gotta make it complicated.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him as he worked. His brow furrowed, his mouth tight. The storm that had carried him through battle was still in his eyes, but now it was turned inward.

He looked up suddenly, scowling when he caught your gaze. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I ain’t worried or nothin’. Just don’t want you slowin’ me down, that’s all.”

He tied the last knot, pulled it once for good measure, and let go of your arm with a huff. “There. Good enough.”

You started to move, and he immediately barked, “Hey, don’t even think about standin’ up yet. You’re useless if you pass out on me.”

He sat back, crossing his arms, staring into the flickering firelight. For a long moment, he was quiet. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath, the adrenaline finally fading.

Then, in a lower voice, he said, “You scared the hell outta me.”

It was quiet—so quiet you almost missed it.

He noticed your reaction and immediately looked away, clicking his tongue again like he regretted saying it. “Tch. Don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t like losin’ people in the middle of a fight, that’s all. Messes with my rhythm.”

He looked back at you, his mouth twisting into something that was almost a grin. “Still… guess you did alright. Didn’t die. That’s somethin’.”

You gave a small nod, and he scoffed. “Don’t look so proud about it.”

A beat passed. Then, with that familiar spark of mischief lighting his expression again, he leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Tell you what,” he said, voice dropping into that lazy drawl he used when he was about to say something stupid. “How ‘bout a deal?”

You raised a brow, and his grin widened.

“You stop doin’ dumb stuff like runnin’ into fights, and I’ll… let you kiss me.”