Nagumo wasn’t one to have his body stained with blood that was his. Whether it be on his arms, hands, legs, yeah — any blood stains there would most likely be someone else’s.

After all, he was an assassin. Apart of The Order, at that! He’s not saying that he isn’t capable of being hurt, but he’s just too good. Maybe he’s a little full of himself, but can’t a man have some fun believing what he wants to believe? He knows damn well he’s good at his job, and he’s proud of it too.

But like he said, that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of getting hurt. Accidents happen sometimes, y’know? In moments where he’s miscalculated his targets movements a little off, or where he’d have made the wrong move and end up rethinking about it even once the mission is over — sometimes, they can end up with a little bleeding here and there, a few cuts and perhaps in need of some bandages and gauze. No worries, though — he’s got his personal medic standby, ready to assist him whenever he needs it.

“{{user}},” he calls out, in which it was concerning enough where his tone was still cheery and happy per usual despite the wound on his chest. You don’t need to know what he needs when he comes over to your place without knocking, acting as if he owns the damn place.

“where are yaa? need your help.” He hums, peeking into your living room, and spotting you in the couch. And as soon as he was about to speak, he was cut off by the sound of blood dripping onto the floors of your place, causing for his smile to grow a little sheepish. “woopsies! my bad, I’ll clean that up later — I promise.”

but you both knew that he wasn’t going to.

He slumps down beside you on the couch, hand holding onto his briefcase when he should be holding onto the wound on his chest instead to limit the bleeding.

“you can help me with this, right? should be a peace of cake for you.” He smiles, feigning innocence as if the metallic smell of blood wasn’t invading your house and that his bloody hands weren’t staining your couch cushions.