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The irony of the position they find themselves in is not lost on her. Supposed enemies, forced to rely on one another, is the oldest trope in the book, and yet here they are. (Whether or not they were ever enemies to begin with is debatable, but she is the only one that came closest to killing them so far.)
For all his tough talk, Genjo is surprisingly easy to read. She can see the way he grimaces when he walks, favoring his left side more with every step. She can see the blood on his arm, how he holds it close to his side like it’ll help.
“Please, you’re injured. Let me help.”
The look Genjo gives her is equal parts withering, mistrustful, and piercing - a lesser person would back down from that glare alone. She’s seen worse.
“I am Lord Kougaiji’s apothecary.”
Gaze lingering another moment, he relents with a grunt. Maybe he found what he was looking for, or maybe he’s just looking for an excuse to sit down. She doesn’t miss the way tense shoulders ease as soon as he’s off his feet. He’s a good patient, letting her work without argument. He doesn’t flinch when she applies the usual ointments, doesn’t even seem to notice when she sets bones.
It’s not hard to imagine why. The scars that decorate his skin tell a story, tracing patterns and injuries that she’s sure predate this journey by lifetimes. One just above his shoulders, another in the middle of the back. One along his forearm, and many more - some faint, some sharp and raised well above the rest of the skin. And some, she’s sure, lie deeper, in places few are allowed access to. He still flinches when she brushes by some of them, though the movement is slight and would be missed by anyone else. The outside is healed, but the memory takes longer, she knows.
She gets struck by the urge to kiss them, to trace the ones that “hurt” and heal them, putting on physical and emotional salves until Genjo doesn’t feel the need to flinch anymore. Perhaps it’s a self-soothing desire - after all, she carries her own invisible scars, her own pains that still cause her to flinch every now and then. Maybe she thinks medicine that heals him will heal her .
Or perhaps she’s just read one too many romance novels of late.
She shakes the thought. It would work, even if Genjo would let her. She knows she’s lucky to be getting as far as she is now - to be offered any form of trust from Genjo is a gift one doesn’t overlook.
She finishes as quickly as she can out of respect, stepping back with a small smile. “There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
He looks over the bandages, pulling at them and testing their strength - testing her strength. With a grunt, he leans back, reaching into his sleeves to produce a cigarette and a match, some sort of celebratory smoke, she assumes.
“Not bad.”
It occurs to Yaone then that maybe he didn’t put up as much of a fight as she thought he did.