He had ripped his kimono while fighting a Hashira, coming back home in the torn fabric.

Despite him reassuring you he was fine with it, you had insisted on fixing the rip, being extremely upset on his behalf.

So there you were, sitting on the couch, humming softly as you hand-stitched the fabric. He sat beside you, watching with an unreadable stare.

“…{{user}}, you didn’t have to… it was fine…”