◣ better ◥ :

    The gentle contact of cloth to his wound would have been comforting had the burning sensation quelled, but - ( naturally ) - the stinging & aching would pertain for some time yet. Chuuya does, at least, appreciate that she’s being careful about cleaning it off. Of course, he’s glad that the wound is being cleaned off at all, but he’d much rather be bloody and void of pain than clean and suffering.

    His brows draw together slightly, but his eyes don’t seem to be - ( quite so ) - teary any longer. Wincing whenever the cloth reconnects with the charred flesh, Chuuya finds that he’s at least regained the best of his composure. He can communicate readily again. If he knew how.

    “ It’s all fine. In the end, I’m still alive- Right? ” His mood was shitty, but there wasn’t much use in taking it out on the one person who had actually been about to assist - & ultimately, save - him. So he turns to Kyouka, lifting his arms slightly so as to make it easier for her to bandage the wounds. His gaze fixates on the ceiling aimlessly, and when she’s finished, he allows his arms to slump down.

    “ Much better! ” 

    & For the most part, he’s being honest. It’s a huge relief in itself to know he’s no longer on death’s doorstep, and anything feels better than having gunpowder combust on an open wound. So, comparatively, he’s great. “ But, uh- Are you feeling okay? Not nauseous, or… dizzy, or anything? ”

◣ ✿ ◥ The girl did her best to work as quickly as possible while still being mindful to not hurt him further since she figured he’d want to get the ordeal over with as soon as possible. The fact that she had more than basic knowledge on bandaging helped speed up the process, as did Chuuya’s attempt to make things easier, at which she mumbled a small, “Thank you very much.”

And a good thing he didn’t die because Kyouka had no clue what to do with a body. The futon would probably have to be replaced if he bled out on it, and even if it didn’t, it would take so much effort to clean up. Sure, there was blood on it now, but the towels had soaked up most of his blood (albeit they’d also been set on the sheets right after).

His next question almost surprised her. Almost. From what little she’d seen of the man so far, he appeared to hold a nurturing side that most mafia members lacked–shocking, considering his short temper, but whatever. Either way, it made sense that he’d ask something like that, since surely something like cauterising the wound of a man who bursts through the door all of a sudden and who’s about the bleed out would traumatise a kid.

However, since, “Considering I watched my beloved parents get butchered by my own ability, helping you isn’t that traumatic,” wouldn’t be a tasteful answer, she pretended to not understand the question altogether. She looked down at herself before patting down her arms, torso, and legs, then turned back to Chuuya. “I’m fine. I’m not the one who got hurt.”

She picked up the towels, set them in the bowl of now-pink water, and pushed the other supplies into a neat pile on the futon, only to pause for a moment, then pick up the gun and remaining bullets to hand them to the man.