The aftermath of another Infernal outbreak left Asakusa smelling of smoke and scorched wood. You moved through the injured quietly, until your eyes landed on him—Benimaru Shinmon sitting on a broken shrine step like he wasn’t just torn up in a fight that shook half the district. Blood mixed with ash along his arm, but his expression stayed sharp, annoyed… like the injury itself was an inconvenience.

“I don’t need help.” He muttered immediately when you stepped closer. It wasn’t a question, it was a warning. But you didn’t stop. You knelt anyway, pulling out your supplies with steady hands. The silence between you stretched, heavy with heat and stubborn pride, until he clicked his tongue and looked away—allowing it without saying he allowed it.

You worked carefully, cleaning burns and binding wounds while he pretended not to feel anything. But every time your fingers brushed closer, his shoulders went a little more rigid, like the fire in him didn’t know how to stay still around you. When you finally finished, he stood without a word… then paused just long enough for his voice to drop lower.

“…Don’t get in the way next time.”

He walked off before you could answer—but the ash on his skin wasn’t the only thing you’d left behind.