“ ... ‘m sorry, for comin’ here instead of dealin’ with this myself . “ but the choice presented itself, and to the exception of the man’s lone wolf identity — seeking company was a human’s making. as human as the blood that soaks through blackened fabric ; a dark viscous red that stains the shop’s floors. “ i — “ no, there’s no need to burden her with the reason. better to bite his tongue, silver as it is. “ assumed ya’ had such knowledge on how ta’ patch a wound up . “ even if sorcerers often gave a tricky sort of injury. “ might need ... a few stitches, ‘s all . “
when she first opens her door, emi thinks she’s seen a ghost.
his name almost spills from her lips before she can stop it, anticipation ( she won’t call it hope ) catching her breath in the back of her throat ⸻ but then she realizes it isn’t his voice that breaks through the silence, and it isn’t his eyes that look down at her in the dark. this man is a little too tall, and his voice too rough, and his eyes aren’t the vibrant green she’d always admired in toji’s.
‘ hiro, ’ she breathes out, trying to mask her foolish disappointment. ‘ what are you . . . oh my god ⸻ ’ a passing car lights up his silhouette and her confusion turns to alarm. something wet splatters against her boot. and then again. and again. and again.
he’s lucky this isn’t the first time emi’s seen so much blood.
‘ well, don’t just ⸻ stand there, get inside, before someone sees ⸻ ’ she stammers, tugging him inside and hurriedly closing the door behind him. she pushes him behind the counter into the little bathroom where the floor is tile instead of wood, and she leaves him sitting on the toilet seat with a command of stay here while she rummages under her counter for her first - aid kit.
when emi returns, peeling his shirt from his skin and sinking to her knees, she’s struck with a sense of deja vu: the late hour, the box of medical supplies at her side, the blood on her hands and hiro’s ragged breathing ⸻ it’s all too familiar, too similar to the days when she was twenty - something years old and not quite as smart as she should’ve been. it seems like she never learned, either; something dangerous had found its way to her door once before, and emi had welcomed it ⸻ welcomed him ⸻ with too - gentle arms then, too. maybe it’s his memory that leads her to do the same now.
‘ . . . stay still, alright ? ’ she murmurs, hesitantly wiping at the half - dried layers of blood on his stomach with the sleeve of her flannel. there’s no need for her to ask why or how he was injured ⸻ the gash marring his flesh is one she recognizes, if only because toji had walked around with them sometimes, too. it wasn’t a knife or gun that did this. emi thumbs through her selection of suture needles and another wave of that too - familiar sensation washes over her.
‘ . . . you were right to come here. ’ it’s more nervous than anything else, an attempt to fill a silence that threatens to swallow her. ‘ even if it’s been years since ⸻ since i’ve had to do this. ’
her hands remember, though. they move with a practice that contradicts her words, but it’s the way they shake that gives her away. the following silence does nothing to ease her worries, either; but it does allow her to focus, in between the moments he grunts and she pauses to look up at him. when she finally ties the last stitch in place, emi sighs in relief, leaning back on her calves.
the work isn’t over yet, though. she can’t leave him here, and she can’t stay here overnight with him either, so emi sets to throwing all her supplies back in the box and stands. she’ll worry about the blood in the morning. gently, she guides hiro to his feet with her ⸻ ‘ up you go, big guy. ’ ⸻ and with one of his broad arms wrapped around the back of her neck, she somehow manages to get him in the passenger seat her old pickup, all without forgetting to lock up shop, either.
the drive to her apartment is silent, too. emi can’t tell if it’s because he’s tired, or if he has nothing to say. at least now the radio plays low to fill it.
‘ sorry ⸻ ’ hiro finally chokes out. ‘ ⸻ about the shop. ’
‘ don’t worry about it, ’ she whispers, and her grip on the wheel tightens. ‘ just get some rest. ’
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" 's this place fine, ieiri-san ? " heavy-lifting is not a difficult task ; it was his specialization, the sort of thing that people turned to him for, and he's an easy sort when it comes to certain people. favor turned easily for a woman like shoko - and the corpse bag he'd been holding is placed with ease beside the other three he's been holding. " i appreciate the fact tha' ya'd turn to me for help ... but ya' know, 'm not really a corpse sort of guy . "
@useomi / hiro & shoko.
"yes, 'there' is fine, thank you," shoko answers, not looking up from her clipboard at first, too busy mulling over minute details to make sure everything is properly filled out, but she sneaks a peek when she thinks hiro isn't looking.
a rather fine specimen, if she's honest. well-built and kindly handsome. the kind she likes to date for several weeks before inevitably breaking up because shoko always wants to run when things start to settle. she sighs at the thought, lit cigarette resting delicately between her long fingers. "i didn't ask you because i think you're a 'corpse sort of guy'," she snorts, amused, "i asked because i like looking at you."
without missing a beat, she smiles, but the expression doesn't touch the corner of her eyes. "good work today, heeeeeero-san."
