Sea.

A sudden realization of transformation hit her like a bolt from the blue. Her gaze shifted, revealing glimpses of his sides that her usual peripheral vision had only hinted at. The rich scents of the forest life surged into her nostrils, drawing deep breaths as if even the slightest movement demanded the kind of air usually reserved for strenuous activity. The soft rustle of the wind through the branches and the endless chorus of birdsong filled her ears, which instinctively turned toward the source of the sounds. Her hunched posture now felt like the only way she could exist, the notion of standing upright fading into a distant memory. She glanced down at herself, noting a chalky barrel chest clad in once-vibrant crimson fabric now faded to a sickly yellow, while blue robes lay discarded in the mud near her strangely hoofed feet.

A flicker of movement caught her attention, pulling her focus back with a jolt of alarm. With careful observation, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a thick, furry tail swishing past her ample backside; her body retained its robust form despite the astonishing changes unfolding. A gentle breeze brushed against her underbelly, accentuating her newfound, vulnerable nudity. The stark reality of her situation became painfully clear, yet acceptance eluded her, her mind spinning in search of a mundane explanation like a mill wheel endlessly turning. In a fit of desperation, she tossed her head and snorted, trying to shake off this surreal nightmare or drunken vision; its relentless grip extinguished any comforting thoughts. She turned to examine herself again, mouth agape in disbelief—she was no longer a woman but a creature of the wild. The legends of this forest were indeed true, and by some enchantment or curse, she now moved not as a figure of strength, but as a fine mare fit for nobility!

Her nose twitched, scenting the forest in a way she never had. The scents grew richer, more complex, as she processed the bouquet of the woods. The aroma of damp earth melded with the crispness of leaves, the sweetness of berries, and the faint tang of something musky. The wind whispered secrets that only the creatures of the forest could understand, and her newfound senses were eager pupils.

Her eyes, now wide and unblinking, darted to the side. She watched as a squirrel darted from branch to branch, the rustling leaves sounding like a crescendo of whispers to her heightened hearing. Her heart, now beating strong in her chest, pounded a rhythm that matched the bounding of her hooves on the forest floor. The creature paused for a moment, as if sensing the shift in the air, and then continued its dance.

Her breaths grew heavier, her chest heaving with each inhalation of the forest's bouquet. The musky scent grew stronger, and she realized it was coming from her. She was the source of that strange, wild aroma that seemed so natural yet so foreign. Her hands, no longer human, but rather cloven hooves, felt awkward and heavy. She stumbled, trying to adjust to her new form, her legs wobbling like a newborn foal's. The sensation of vulnerability washed over her like a cold river, and she felt a sudden urge to run, to hide, to find shelter from the prying eyes of the woods. As she moved, quickly. Running for days, on end, as she ran right into the lands of a noble, and caught the gaze of a blonde boy.

@seakiumi (the past, young sea)

Then, from the distant tree line, a flash of movement caught his eye. A mare, wild and unfamiliar, burst from the shadows of the forest, her pale coat streaked with mud, her breath coming in heavy gasps. Her hooves pounded against the soft earth, kicking up dust as she skidded to a stop just beyond the fence.

Sea froze.

Something was strange about her. Not just that she had appeared out of nowhere, not just that she looked exhausted—but the way she looked at him.

Her dark, liquid eyes locked onto his, wide and filled with something deeper than fear. Confusion? Recognition? Desperation? He didn’t know. But the way his heart clenched told him it was important.

Slowly, cautiously, he took a step forward, his small boots crunching against the dirt. "Hey, girl," he whispered, his voice barely louder than the breeze. "It’s okay."

The mare flinched, her ears twitching as if she understood. Sea had spent his entire life around horses—he knew their language, the way they moved, the way they thought. But this was different. Her gaze wasn’t skittish like a wild horse’s should be. It was searching. Almost pleading.

She took a step forward, then another, until she was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his outstretched fingers. Her nostrils flared, drinking in his scent, and for a moment, they simply stood there—boy and beast, staring at one another as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

Sea’s chest felt tight, though he didn’t know why.

Who are you? The thought came unbidden, rising like a whisper in the back of his mind.

Then, after a pause, another message followed—

Did you miss me? Or just my hands?

He knew the answer. Knew exactly why she was calling him, what she wanted from him. And yet, he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the slow, wicked satisfaction that curled inside him when she reached out first. When she needed him.

Another message—

Tell me what you’re wearing.

Not because he needed to know. But because he wanted to hear her say it, to imagine the way she looked right now—lounging with a glass of wine, draped in something silky, her skin warm from the heat of her apartment. He could already picture it, could already feel the way his hands would move over her once he arrived.

He slipped on his coat, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message—

Reading his messages, a small smirk appears on Mukuro's lips。

【txt »» sea】 I missed all of you~ 【txt »» sea】 how about I show you~

Mukuro loosens her robe a bit, hiding just enough to not make the image she sent not super explicit but enough that hinted at the black lingerie she was wearing。

【txt »» sea】 I always am~ 

Mukuro's body was already wet and wanting for him, the chances that they wouldn't make it far from the entryway were high。

He glanced at the screen.

And there it was—just enough, just a tease, black lace peeking from beneath the silk, a glimpse of bare skin that made his blood thrum with something dark and heated.

His grip tightened around the phone. He exhaled slowly, jaw tensing as he let the image sink in, as the thought of her—waiting, already wanting—coiled low in his stomach.

【txt »» Mukuro】

If you wanted me to drive faster, you could’ve just said so.

Another beat. Then—

【txt »» Mukuro】

Open the door, beautiful. Unless you want me to fuck you against it.

Sea wiped the sweat from his forehead, finishing his last set of deadlifts at the gym. The weights clanged as he dropped them, muscles burning in a way that was both satisfying and familiar. He straightened up, running a hand through his damp blonde hair, his eyes scanning the room absentmindedly. Most people were wrapped up in their routines, but then he noticed someone new.

A woman with silver hair and powerful muscles moved through a rigorous set of box jumps and squats like a machine, her intensity something else entirely. She was wearing a simple sports bra and shorts, but the strength in her movements—pure, unfiltered power—caught him off guard. Her toned arms flexed with each motion, legs coiled with the grace and force of a predator.

Sea found himself momentarily stunned, not just by her appearance but by the sheer dedication behind every rep. He’d seen a lot of strong people, but this woman was on a different level. He stepped closer, curiosity piqued, until she finished her set and wiped her brow with a towel, catching his gaze as she stood up straight. There was a wild energy in her eyes, confident and untamed.

By the time they finished, a light sheen of sweat coated his skin. He rolled his shoulders, testing the newfound range in his arms, and let out a slow breath. "Damn," he admitted, shaking out his wrists. "I won’t lie, that was tougher than I expected... but I definitely feel the difference."

“So, this is Poopy,” Sea said in a deadpan tone, as if introducing a serious medical case. “It’s a highly rare creature, mostly found in the wild when someone forgets to flush—”

The child burst into laughter, doubling over slightly, their previous worries momentarily forgotten. “No! You have to give it little stink lines!”

Sea nodded solemnly. “Ah, of course. What was I thinking?” He added a few dramatic wavy lines above Poopy’s head, then pointed at the child’s drawing. “Yours needs more—what was it?—‘splat’? That’s critical for realism.”

The child gasped, immediately getting to work, completely absorbed in the artistic masterpiece they were creating.

Sea leaned back slightly, stretching his fingers. It was strange—he didn’t usually go out of his way like this. He saw worried kids all the time, and most of the time, he simply acknowledged their distress and moved on. Yet, here he was, sketching “Poopy” like it was his life’s work, just to pull a few laughs out of this one.

Maybe it was because of how scared the kid had been earlier. Or maybe it was because of how familiar that kind of silent tension felt.

He was about to say something else when—

“MOM!”

Before Sea could react, the child suddenly bolted from the chair, paper fluttering to the ground. The sharp scrape of sneakers against the hospital floor jolted him into motion, and he shot up instantly.

“Hey—! No running—!”

But it was too late.

The child had already thrown themself straight into a woman’s arms.

Sea stopped in his tracks.

The first thing he registered was the sheer relief in the kid’s voice as they buried their face against her. The second was the woman herself— striking features, and an undeniable presence, even in the chaos of a hospital hallway.

She was beautiful. But beyond that, something about the way she held herself, the way her eyes instantly scanned over her child, checking for any sign of distress, made it obvious—

Mukuro crouched down as her son rushed towards her, a relieved smile on her face as her son seemed to be well。 Her hand ran through his hair in a soothing motion。

「I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, I'm sure you were quite worried。」 Mukuro says as she hugs her son before standing up to address the doctor who Jun had sat next to, giving him a proper bow。

「Thank you for looking after him, I really appreciate it。」 Mukuro said after straightening up from her bow, a smile still on her face albeit a more worried one, this time because her daughter was the one who had been hurt and she couldn't see what condition she was in at the time。

「Do you happen to be the doctor who is assigned to my daughter?」 Regretably, Mukuro didn't listen clearly to what the phone call was or who the doctor was, all she heard was that her daughter had been injured。 Mukuro knew that he could very well be just a passing-by doctor who saw a kid in distress and wanted to help out, but she figured she would ask just in case。

But her—

She was something else entirely.

At first glance, she was almost too striking to be real. Tall, with a build that was both toned and full in a way that made her presence hard to ignore. The deep pink of her impossibly long hair caught the harsh hospital lights, cascading down her back in waves. Her skin, a warm olive that spoke of easy tans and sun-kissed days, contrasted sharply with the sterile white of the hospital walls. And then there were her eyes—rich, shandy-colored, sharp yet expressive, focused entirely on the child clinging to her.

If he had seen her outside of this setting, he might have mistaken her for someone out of a dream—some femme fatale stepping out of the neon glow of a cityscape, carrying danger and allure in equal measure. But right now, she was just a mother, her expression flickering between relief and restrained worry.

Sea forced himself to snap back to reality before he let himself stare for too long.

“I’m not your daughter’s assigned doctor,” he admitted, his voice even. “But I can take you to the waiting area. She’s in good hands.”

Mukuro nodded, though her fingers curled slightly—subtle tension. Worry held back by sheer will.

This time, it’s her.

And something about that—about the way she chooses this, chooses him—sends a slow, heated rush through his veins.

His hands move instinctively, one settling at the small of her back, the other coming up to cup her face, thumb grazing her cheek with quiet reverence. She’s so warm against him, so soft, and for a moment, the world outside this kiss doesn’t exist.

It’s just them.

Her lips against his. The faint scent of her perfume. The way her fingers curl against his shoulders, grounding him in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

Sea deepens the kiss just slightly, savoring the moment, tasting the possibility of something more. Something real.

And yet—he pulls back.

Not because he doesn’t want this. God, he wants this. But because Nunnally deserves more than a kiss stolen in the heat of the moment, more than a beginning wrapped in uncertainty.

He presses his forehead to hers, catching his breath. His voice is low, rougher than usual when he finally speaks.

“I want this,” he murmurs, his thumb still tracing slow circles against her cheek. “But I want it to mean something to you, too.”

Nunnally hasn’t expected all that. Though she has welcomed it more eagerly that she has thought she would. Surely, she has hoped that perhaps, just perhaps, something more intimate could develop between her and Sea, but she hasn’t imagined it would happen so quickly. And she hasn’t anticipated she would wish to indulge in it so eagerly. Though she knows she shouldn't...but why?

His lips against hers. His hand on her back. As he is deepening his kiss. Her tongue exploring the side of his lips. Even the way he withdraws from their kiss makes her shiver in some odd excitement. Nunnally wouldn’t mind they could kiss until they are left breathless, but she still understands they need to be careful. After all, one false step could impair their (bright) future.

Or has she read too many romances?

But she can feel Sea also wants it. He does want to make this moment last. His thumb tracing her cheek. Almost a kiss on her lips again. And then he searches for her eyes. He has pretty eyes; she thinks.

( He wants this ); but what is that “this” that he wants?

( He wants it to mean something for her ); but what that is exactly what he wants?

And what can she promise him?

Nunnally finds no fitting words. Still ignoring her purse on the floor, she simply presses herself onto him, and let her arms snake aground him again.

“I do want that, Sea.” – she finally whispers into his chest; to be happy; to be close to you – “Maybe…maybe you can show me inside of…” – she pauses and then adds: --

Without letting go of her hand, he leads her through the apartment, past the neatly stacked boxes—her boxes. The sight of them still tugs at something in him, a reminder of how much of this was decided for them. And yet, here she is, standing beside him, saying our home like she chooses this. Like she chooses him.

The kitchen is sleek, modern, and—like the rest of the penthouse—minimalistic. Clean lines, high-end appliances, and a fridge stocked with fresh, healthy foods. But none of that matters right now.

What matters is her.

He slows as they reach the counter, his grip shifting from her hand to her waist. With an easy movement, he pulls her closer, trapping her lightly between himself and the marble surface. His arms wrap around her, one hand splaying across the small of her back, the other drifting up to brush her hair aside.

“You want a tour?” he murmurs against her skin, his lips barely grazing the curve of her neck. “I guess I should make it memorable.”

His mouth finds a spot just below her ear, pressing a slow, lingering kiss there before trailing lower, along the line of her jaw. He feels her shiver beneath his touch, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through him.

Sea had never been particularly good at saying no to things that felt good. That was the only explanation he had for why he was here again—shirt halfway undone, hands shaking just slightly as he pulled at the knot of his tie. His breathing was uneven, his heart pounding harder than it should have been. He wasn’t new to this. He knew how the night would go, how it would end. And yet, every time, it felt different. Like maybe this time, something might change. He pushed the thought away, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t love—he knew that. He wasn’t naive. But that didn’t stop the way his chest tightened when he thought about leaving, about the quiet ache that settled in his bones when he woke up alone. Maybe he should stop. Maybe he should want more than this. But when Mukuro's name appeared on his phone, just a message with nothing more than that—he was already reaching for his coat.

Sea was the type of fun Mukuro loved indulging in, he was always so prompt and attentive to her。 Someone she could rely on to being on time when she wanted him, and once she had gotten a taste of that, there was no way Mukuro could go back to being entertained by anyone else。

It was almost like a bit of addiction, Mukuro found herself craving him often, especially after a very stressful day。 Much like now, the moment she got home and she could feel some of the stress melt away, there was still an aching in her that wanted to be filled and so she was quick to text Sea to come over。

Mukuro didn't have to see Sea's response if there was one, she knew he was on his way when he saw the message。 So she sat her phone down on her kitchen counter on her way to her bedroom to get dressed into something a bit more appropriate for what was going to happen soon。

Undressing out of her blouse, form-fitting high waisted slacks, and the shoubu shitagi she wore for today, changing into a new set of black lacy lingerie and pairing it with a deep blue silk robe on top。 Once redressed, Mukuro sauntered back into her kitchen area and brought out two wine glasses and poured herself a glass before glancing back at her phone to check if Sea had replied if he was on his way or if he was here。

Then, after a pause, another message followed—

Did you miss me? Or just my hands?

He knew the answer. Knew exactly why she was calling him, what she wanted from him. And yet, he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the slow, wicked satisfaction that curled inside him when she reached out first. When she needed him.

Another message—

Tell me what you’re wearing.

Not because he needed to know. But because he wanted to hear her say it, to imagine the way she looked right now—lounging with a glass of wine, draped in something silky, her skin warm from the heat of her apartment. He could already picture it, could already feel the way his hands would move over her once he arrived.

He slipped on his coat, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message—

The hospital corridors were quiet, save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant murmur of voices behind closed doors. Sea walked at his usual unhurried pace, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, heading toward the lounge for a short break. That was when he noticed the child. A small figure sat alone in the hallway, curled up on one of the stiff plastic chairs. Light-colored hair fell messily over a worried face, hazel eyes locked onto the emergency ward doors. One foot tapped against the floor in restless, uneven beats. Hands clutched the hem of a hoodie, fingers twisting the fabric tight. Sea slowed his steps. No parent in sight. No other adult nearby. He could have walked past. It wasn’t his business. Instead, he stopped a few feet away. “You lost?” No response. The child's gaze stayed glued to the doors. Sea sighed. Alright. He crouched down, resting an elbow on his knee. “You waiting for someone?” That got a reaction. A small flinch, like the child had forgotten anyone else was there. When finally turning to look at him, a tense expression remained. “…My twin. Got hurt.” Sea’s eyes flicked toward the emergency doors. “Fracture?” A small nod. He had seen plenty of anxious family members before, but something about this kid struck him. Too still, too wound up—like sheer willpower was the only thing holding everything together. “You here alone?” he asked. “My mom’s at work,” the child muttered. “She’s coming, but—” A sharp tug on the hoodie sleeves. “It’s taking too long.” Sea leaned back slightly, considering. “Well, I’m here now. I’ll wait with you.” The child blinked at him, suspicious. “Why?” Sea shrugged. “Why not?” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a lollipop, holding it out. “Hospital policy. If you’re on edge, you get one of these.” The child hesitated, but after a moment, took it. The wrapper crinkled in small, fidgeting hands. Sea settled onto the chair next to them, resting one ankle over his knee. “You know, if your twin has a fracture, they’re getting a cast.” The child glanced up. “…Yeah?” “Yeah. And a cast needs signatures. And drawings.” Sea tapped his fingers against the armrest. “You practiced your signature yet?” A slight frown. “I don’t need to practice my name.” “Oh? What about cool designs? Something fun?” He gestured vaguely. “Hearts, skulls, dinosaurs, whatever you like.” The child’s fidgeting slowed. Sea pushed himself to his feet. “Wait here.” A few minutes later, he returned with a stack of paper and a handful of pens. He dropped them onto the seat between them. “Alright. Let’s get started.” The child hesitated, but then—slowly—grabbed a pen. And just like that, the worry in those hazel eyes lessened—just a little.

The moment Mukuro had gotten word that one of her children were hurt, she stopped what she was doing and would head straight to the hospital and even though she was absolutely speeding through the streets, Mukuro still had moments where she was stuck behind someone who was way too cautious on the street and every minute she spent in her car away from her kids, felt like an hour。

Mukuro couldn't honestly guess how much time passed between getting the news and arriving at the hospital, but she'd waste no time parking and rushing inside。 She informed the front desk who she was and rushed through any paperwork or information that was needed before getting told where she needed to go。

She would lose count at how many times Mukuro was told that she wasn't to run, but she didn't care, her heels clicking loudly on the flooring as she rushed to where her children were。 Turning the corner, Mukuro's footsteps would slow down considerably when she saw her son and a doctor sitting with a stack of paper between them, a soft smile would ease on her lips, happy to see that a doctor was taking time out of his day to help out her child。

「Jun?」 Mukuro called out as she began to approach, her footsteps a lot more calm that moments ago。

“So, this is Poopy,” Sea said in a deadpan tone, as if introducing a serious medical case. “It’s a highly rare creature, mostly found in the wild when someone forgets to flush—”

The child burst into laughter, doubling over slightly, their previous worries momentarily forgotten. “No! You have to give it little stink lines!”

Sea nodded solemnly. “Ah, of course. What was I thinking?” He added a few dramatic wavy lines above Poopy’s head, then pointed at the child’s drawing. “Yours needs more—what was it?—‘splat’? That’s critical for realism.”

The child gasped, immediately getting to work, completely absorbed in the artistic masterpiece they were creating.

Sea leaned back slightly, stretching his fingers. It was strange—he didn’t usually go out of his way like this. He saw worried kids all the time, and most of the time, he simply acknowledged their distress and moved on. Yet, here he was, sketching “Poopy” like it was his life’s work, just to pull a few laughs out of this one.

Maybe it was because of how scared the kid had been earlier. Or maybe it was because of how familiar that kind of silent tension felt.

He was about to say something else when—

“MOM!”

Before Sea could react, the child suddenly bolted from the chair, paper fluttering to the ground. The sharp scrape of sneakers against the hospital floor jolted him into motion, and he shot up instantly.

“Hey—! No running—!”

But it was too late.

The child had already thrown themself straight into a woman’s arms.

Sea stopped in his tracks.

The first thing he registered was the sheer relief in the kid’s voice as they buried their face against her. The second was the woman herself— striking features, and an undeniable presence, even in the chaos of a hospital hallway.

She was beautiful. But beyond that, something about the way she held herself, the way her eyes instantly scanned over her child, checking for any sign of distress, made it obvious—

The rain had been relentless for hours. Sheets of water blurred the winding road as Sea tightened his coat around himself, the hood doing little to keep him dry. The village had warned him about sudden storms in the mountains, but he hadn’t expected it to be this fierce. The narrow dirt path leading back to his rental house had turned into a slick mess of mud, and every step was a careful negotiation between balance and gravity. Then, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A small shape lay curled at the base of a weathered shrine, half-hidden in the shadows. At first, he thought it was just another trick of the rain—fallen leaves or a stray bundle of cloth. But as he stepped closer, his breath hitched. A fox. Its thin body shivered violently, fur matted with mud and streaked with something darker—blood. One of its hind legs was twisted unnaturally, and its breaths came quick and shallow. The sight tugged at something in him, something instinctive and unwilling to turn away. Sea crouched beside it, reaching out slowly. “You’re in bad shape,” he murmured, his voice nearly drowned by the rain. The fox flinched but didn’t have the strength to move. It would be easy to walk away. Nature was cruel, and the wild had its own way of dealing with the weak. But Sea had spent years tending to wounds, piecing fragile bodies back together. Leaving it here felt wrong. With practiced care, he scooped the small creature into his arms. It barely weighed anything. A damp warmth seeped through his sleeves as the fox shivered against his chest. “Just hold on a little longer,” he said, adjusting his grip as he started toward home. The storm raged around them, but the fox, barely conscious, didn’t see the quiet determination in his face—the way he carried her as if she were something precious.

The weather was perfect for her escape, with the harsh winds and rain, any tracks would be washed away。 So the moment she was able during a ceremony, Mukuro bolted。 Someone tried to stop her by throwing themselves on her, and while Mukuro was quick, she wasn't quick enough and one of her hindlegs was crushed, but even with three legs, Mukuro was still speedy and sprinted as hard as she could out of there。

She didn't know how long she had been running but her injured leg along with other injuries she had been given during the 'ceremony' she had been subjected to, but she was tired and when she came across an old Inari shrine the kitsune figured she was safe enough to lay down for a moment。

The moment she laid down, Mukuro didn't realize just how tired she was and even when she heard someone approaching, the kitsune didn't have any energy to get up instead she hoped that they'd were a stranger and would either take pity on her and take her somewhere safer or leave her be。

When the stranger crouched next to her, Mukuro flinched but had no energy to scoot away。Another finch would be given when she was scooped up, a little whine leaving her throat as she was lifted and the pain in her leg sent through her body again。 

The pain and the energy she had spent escaping was finally getting to her and when the stranger began to head to wherever he was going, Mukuro passed out。

His rental house wasn’t far now—a modest, old wooden structure nestled at the edge of the woods, away from prying eyes and the constant hum of city life. It was exactly what he had needed when he decided to take this trip. A place to clear his head, to step away from the suffocating expectations of his family, the hospital, the endless cycle of responsibility. He had spent years healing others, patching up wounds that were more than just physical, enduring the weight of people’s suffering pressed into his hands.

And yet, here he was. Not even a week into his self-imposed escape, and he had already found something to mend.

At least this one wasn’t human. Just an innocent creature, broken and bleeding, without expectations or ulterior motives. The thought brought a wry smirk to his lips as he reached the wooden porch. His boots squelched against the wet earth as he carefully shifted the fox to one arm, pushing the sliding door open with the other.

Warmth greeted him inside, the lingering heat from the fire he had stoked earlier still clinging to the air. The room smelled of cedar and rain-soaked wood. He moved swiftly, setting the fox down on a thick, dry towel near the hearth.

She was small, even for a fox, her silver-touched fur dulled by dirt and blood. Her hind leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, swelling already setting in. Old wounds crisscrossed her delicate body, some fresh, others scarred over. This wasn’t just an accident. Someone—or something—had done this to her.

Sea exhaled, rubbing a hand over his damp hair. “Well, I guess I couldn’t just leave you out there,” he muttered, more to himself than to the unconscious animal.

He wasn’t a vet, but anatomy was anatomy. A fox’s body couldn’t be that different from the humans he’d treated countless times before. Setting a broken limb, cleaning wounds—it was all the same in the end.

Grabbing his medical kit from his travel bag, he crouched beside her and got to work.

His hands moved with practiced ease, despite the unusual patient. He cleaned the blood from her fur with warm water and a soft cloth, careful not to agitate her wounds further. The deep scratches along her ribs told a story he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he treated them anyway, murmuring absent reassurances as he worked. When he gently probed her injured leg, she let out the faintest whimper, even in unconsciousness.

Sea frowned. “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”

The storm raged on outside, wind rattling the windows. Inside, it was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the soft, steady breaths of the fox.

This wasn’t what he had planned when he came here. He had wanted solitude. A break from obligations, from fixing things, from fixing people. But as he wrapped the fox’s leg in careful bandages, ensuring it would set properly, he realized that some habits were impossible to escape.

For now, at least, he had a new patient. And unlike the world he had left behind, this one wouldn’t ask for anything more than warmth and care.

And yet, she’s so beautiful like this. Not just in the way her pale hair catches the dim light or how her lips part slightly as she hesitates, but in the way she lets him see her thoughts. He watches the flicker of uncertainty, the quiet hope, the fragile courage it takes to say words like home.

She speaks—he sees her lips move, forming something soft, something hesitant. But he doesn’t hear it.

He’s lost.

Lost in her eyes, in the weight of this moment, in the way she stands there, reaching for something they might build together.

His breath catches.

And then, before he even thinks, he kisses her.

She hasn’t expected it. Or perhaps Nunnally has, but doesn’t have the courage to admit it even to herself?

But no matter what her thoughts were (who cares now?), the kiss catches her off guard. But it is not unwelcomed. Quite on the contrary. Nunnally returns the kiss. First hesitantly, her response is almost shy, but then she lets the kiss deepen, as if it was her reply to the question that Sea has never asked.

Nunnally knows it’s just a kiss. It may have no meaning at all. She’s neither that innocent nor naïve to build her future on something as intangible as a kiss. But she enjoys it nevertheless. Because it might have a meaning in the end. Because it might be the start…

Because it's their first kiss.

But suddenly, she doesn’t want to think about anything; she's just melting into the kiss. Her handbag dropped on the floor (with a thump) as Nunnally’s hands wrap around Sea’s shoulders. Another gesture to make him feel welcomed.

“Sea…” – she finally whispers as the part to grasp some air.

This time, it’s her.

And something about that—about the way she chooses this, chooses him—sends a slow, heated rush through his veins.

His hands move instinctively, one settling at the small of her back, the other coming up to cup her face, thumb grazing her cheek with quiet reverence. She’s so warm against him, so soft, and for a moment, the world outside this kiss doesn’t exist.

It’s just them.

Her lips against his. The faint scent of her perfume. The way her fingers curl against his shoulders, grounding him in a way he didn’t realize he needed.

Sea deepens the kiss just slightly, savoring the moment, tasting the possibility of something more. Something real.

And yet—he pulls back.

Not because he doesn’t want this. God, he wants this. But because Nunnally deserves more than a kiss stolen in the heat of the moment, more than a beginning wrapped in uncertainty.

He presses his forehead to hers, catching his breath. His voice is low, rougher than usual when he finally speaks.

“I want this,” he murmurs, his thumb still tracing slow circles against her cheek. “But I want it to mean something to you, too.”