Haruto gently carried Yuki into his bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, reassuring light on her pale face. He carefully laid her down on the pristine white sheets of his bed, the sight of her small, bruised form a stark contrast to the usual order of his sanctuary.
With a practiced hand, he retrieved his first-aid kit, a well-stocked box that had seen its fair share of minor injuries from his own occasional skirmishes.
He began the meticulous process of cleaning her wounds, his movements tender and deliberate, wiping away the dried blood, applying antiseptic, and finally, carefully bandaging the cuts and scrapes that marred her delicate skin.
Satsuki watched from the doorway, a silent, unmoving observer. Her gaze, initially filled with concern for Yuki, slowly shifted, a subtle darkening in her usually serene eyes.
