◣ injured ◥ :

    Unfortunately, despite his line of work & the consistent risk of injury, Chuuya wasn’t particularly skilled in the art of fixing one’s self should an encounter with the enemy turn South on his end. Generally speaking, he had nobody to tend to the wounds should he receive them, so the only outcome he allowed was one which benefited him.

    Evidently, things hadn’t gone the way they were supposed to this time around, and it was only out of sheer luck that this kid was about to save his skin. Well, he’d have most likely been more comfortable had it been Kouyou tending to his wounds, but better this than nothing.

    So he watches anxiously as the girl by his side slices open the bullet, and before he has any time to process just why gunpowder was being sprinkled into his wound– FUCK.

    He honestly isn’t certain if he yelled that out loud or only in his head, but the combustion of flame against his open wound has him writhing; tears welling up in his eyes and fists clenching tightly into fists. Really, surely bleeding out would hurt less than this– at least, he thinks that as the flames are blown out and the pain dulls to a consistent, sharp ache in his side.

    Chuuya’s eyes are teary, brows knitted together into a scowl, and his limbs are trembling. He curses under his breath continuously - ( as some sort of coping mechanism ) - but eventually gathers his composure at least enough to uncurl his fingers and let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh. “ …You could’ve warned me, ” he practically whines.

◣ ✿ ◥ Kyouka watched the wound and waited until she was sure it wasn’t bleeding before grabbing a clean piece of cloth, dipping it in the bowl of water, and reaching out to begin cleaning the area around the wound with gentle care. Someone with more medical expertise  should take a look at it later to make sure he healed properly, but for now, at least he was alive.

At the comment, she turned her attention to his face rather than the clean-up. “Oh.” Based on her expression, it’d be a logical assumption to say that the thought of warning him hadn’t occurred to her. But really, would it have made any difference overall? With warning–or at least, in her mind–he would’ve tensed up and only caused the wound to start bleeding more before she could seal it up. “I’m sorry.”

She would add a well-mannered ‘it won’t happen again’ if not for the fact that neither of them wanted to be in a position for it to happen again. Once was enough to satisfy her childish curiosity and to assure her that she could indeed cauterise a wound with gunpowder. Important things to know.

Refocusing once more, she went back to cleaning up his wound (someone would have a fun time doing laundry later, but such was life in the mafia). It took a few minutes, and she only skirted around the edges of the wound itself; however, she figured that any germs would have been killed during combustion, so she began bandaging him up anyway.

“Do you feel any better?” she asked the man who  nearly bled out not ten minutes ago.