Chishibuki。　꣑ꦌ　ıı　Okegom⠀⠀𓈒 ֺ ꮼ

The clinic door clicks shut, the lock turning soft and final. The air smells of antiseptic and faint jasmine, quiet and still except for the steady, rhythmic beep of equipment. Chishibuki moves with slow, graceful purpose between the cabinets, her gloved hands arranging bandages and ointment with practiced, careful ease. She already knows why you are here, the fresh, shallow cut running along your forearm, wrapped poorly in a makeshift dressing, throbbing where you hold it close to your body. She had been expecting you, and the moment she sees you wince as you shift in the chair, her expression softens into something gentle, knowing, and warm.

"Come here. Let me see it properly. That wrapping will not do at all, it is too tight, and it is already starting to irritate the skin around the wound. You should have come straight to me the moment it happened. I would have taken such good care of you."

She steps closer, pulling a rolling stool over so she sits right in front of you, knee brushing yours, and reaches for your arm slow and careful, like she is handling something precious. Her gloved fingers are light, steady, and she unwinds the bandage with such patience, pausing every time you inhale sharply, murmuring soft reassurances until you relax again. When the cut is finally exposed, she tilts her head, white hair falling over one shoulder, and looks up at you with eyes dark and calm and so incredibly kind.

"It is not deep enough to need stitches, which is good. But it is in a sensitive place. There are so many nerves here. It will sting when I clean it. I will be very gentle, I promise. Just… look at me. Keep looking at me, and it will not hurt half as much."

She dabs a piece of gauze with antiseptic, and before she touches the wound, her free hand rests light on the side of your neck, her thumb brushing slow, soft circles right beneath your jaw. Her touch is warm through the thin fabric of her glove, and it makes your face heat up before she even begins. When she presses the gauze gently to the cut, you flinch, and she does not pull away, she just holds your gaze, her voice low and soothing, and her thumb never stops moving against your skin.

"There. That is it. Breathe for me. You are doing so well. So sensitive here, aren't you? Every time I touch it, your pulse jumps. I can feel it. It is quite lovely, how honestly your body reacts to me. I know it stings. I know. But I am going to make it better. I am going to make it all better, and then you will not hurt anymore."

She cleans the wound thoroughly but never harshly, her attention entirely focused on you, not the injury. She leans in a little closer, her shoulder brushing yours, and she speaks so quietly it is almost a whisper. "You are blushing. Is it because of the antiseptic? Or is it because I am touching you like this? It is adorable, either way. I could stay like this all day. Just… taking care of you. Watching you react. Knowing every little thing I do affects you."

She applies a thin layer of ointment with light, careful strokes, her fingers brushing your skin far more often than strictly necessary, and then wraps it in fresh, soft bandages, neat and secure and gentle. When she finishes, she does not pull away immediately. She rests both hands lightly on your shoulders, looking down at you with that soft, sweet smile, and her gaze lingers on your flushed cheeks and parted lips for a beat longer than a nurse strictly needs.

"All done. It will heal nicely now. And if it starts to bother you, or if you just want someone to look at it again… you know where to find me. I will always make time for you. Always." She finishes securing the bandage, smoothing the edge down with one last light, careful stroke, but her hands do not pull away. They rest gently on your forearm, warm and steady through the fabric, and she looks up at you with that soft, knowing smile, like she was already expecting you to stay.

"You are lingering," she says, voice warm and amused, leaning back in her chair but making no move to stand or show you the door. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, gentle and curious all at once. "Most people leave as soon as the pain stops. They hurry off and forget all about it. But not you. You stayed. I think you were going to stay regardless of how your arm felt, weren't you?"

She slides her stool a little closer, knee brushing yours, and rests her elbows on her knees, leaning in toward you, attentive and fully focused on you now. The medical equipment fades into the background, right now, you are the only thing in the room that matters. "You want to know more. Don't you. About how it works. About the things I see and do in here. About the body. All the parts people usually do not talk about. All the things most people are too afraid or too embarrassed to ask."

She tilts her head, white hair falling forward, and her gaze drifts slow from your face down to your newly bandaged arm, then back up to meet your eyes, calm and pleased and very interested. "I noticed it before, you know. The way you look at the charts. The way you ask questions. The way you listen so closely when I explain how everything connects. It is so rare to meet someone who truly wants to understand, rather than just be fixed. Most people only care that it stops hurting. But you… you want to know why it hurts. You want to know what happens beneath the skin. You want to know exactly how alive everything is."

She picks up a smooth, dull-tipped probe from the tray beside her, turning it slow between gloved fingers, then holds it out toward you, but does not let go, just lets your fingers brush hers as you look at it. "We have time. No one else is coming in today. I locked the door. I was hoping you would ask."