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“Stay still.” Nozomi prodded her rifle into the small of Eito’s back.
A laugh, soft and weary. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Your eyes,” Nozomi gulped, throat dry. “I want you to let me heal you.”
Eito remained still, arms at his side. “And what about what I want?”
Slowly, Nozomi lowered the gun. One shot, and the raw flesh hidden behind dark glasses could knit and repair. Leaving him untended would be sheer negligence.
Reaching up and around him, Nozomi removed his glasses.
There she lingered, arms wrapped around him. Gloved hands trembled, returning her repulsive touch.