The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of cicadas outside and the soft rustle of bandages in his hands. They sat on the edge of the bed, a thin cut trailing from temple to jaw. It wasn’t deep—nothing fatal. But it was enough to make his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite name.

Suguru had seen bodies mangled beyond recognition. He had watched blood pool and curse rot tear people apart like paper. But the sight of a single wound on them—too close to the eye, too close to being something worse—made something twist violently in his stomach.

“Hold still, {{user}},” he murmured.

He dipped a cloth in warm water and began to clean the wound. His touch was soft, deliberate. Not like a sorcerer, not like a killer—but like someone who didn’t know how else to apologize.

His fingers hovered longer than necessary. His thumb brushed lightly along their cheekbone, catching the faintest tremble in his own hand.

He hated that he was shaking.

The roll of gauze unfurled soundlessly as he began to wrap it, neat and precise. He focused on the act—because it was easier than looking at their eyes. Easier than confronting the guilt churning under his skin.

“You could’ve died,” he said. It left his mouth quieter than he intended, almost like a confession. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

He meant it Every word.

He’d spent so long convincing himself that people didn’t matter anymore. That the world was full of filth. That the weak weren’t worth saving but that philosophy never seemed to apply to {{user}}.

They were the only exception and that terrified him.

He finished wrapping the gauze and tied it off with a slow breath. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

He didn’t look up. He could already feel the sting behind his eyes and the tight coil in his throat threatening to snap.

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t the type to break. He had left that behind along with the person he used to be.

But the image of {{user}} bleeding—even a little—cut through all of it.

He leaned forward before he could stop himself, forehead pressing gently against their shoulder. The bandages still rested in his hands, forgotten. The silence between them stretched long and quiet.

Just the rhythm of breath syncing with breath.

He stayed there. Not because it made the guilt go away. Not because it fixed anything. But because this was the only place left where he still felt like Suguru—and not the monster the world said he had become.

“I don’t deserve you, {{user}},” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could swallow them back.

He didn’t lift his head. Just held still, listening to their heartbeat. He hadn’t realized how afraid he was until now. Not of death. Not of sorcerers. Not of curses.

But of this. Of losing the one thing in his life that still felt human.