It was her eyes, and the way the light played on them every time they fought. Like she couldn't handle the thought of losing them, like she didn't understand needing a reason to survive. You just did, in her mind.
It was the way she ignored the one word responses their uptight companion gave her and continued on as though it wasn't unusual at all or ran into his cold embrace without a second thought towards if he knew what to do with the upset girl in his arms or not.
It was the way she argued with him until his fists clenched and he threatened to end her life and how she'd roll her eyes and call him stupid; practically dare him. Or how she'd put her futon right next to his on one of those frustrating, drunken nights when he had the urge to rip the clothes off any girl even one he'd never given a second glance to before... like she trusted him.
That innocence. He didn't understand it really. He knew she hadn't gone through as many things as they had but still, she'd been through her share of deaths and painful situations. Something… should have put out that passion for the good in life a long time ago. Sometimes he wondered if across the fire he could see it in her eyes, distantly, the mask slipping off her face before being righted again.
But it wasn't just that. It was in the way she walked around saying things he didn't think she really understood, "Why do you guys have to go to the brothel all the time?"or the way she'd pout whenever she didn't get her way. Even the simple things like the way she walked, the way her hands moved, screamed it.
Her purity. It left him feeling a little dirty sometimes. When he came back blooded and she fixed him up, washed away his sins. Or the lingering of perfume on his clothes he could tell she noticed but ignored. He left the touching to pretty boy and chose to stay at a distance. If death and pain hadn't corrupted her, his hands sure would.
He'd never felt like there was anything he couldn't take; in fact most of the time he went after things he couldn't have just to prove he could. But she was the one thing he didn't want to win, to beat, whether he could was an entirely different matter completely.
And then there were the moments he didn't understand. Like how she could clean him up and not be changed at all by the sight, or how she could look through all the killing those hands had done all his life and still cringe at the thought of someone ending him. Because it was strange to know that his life was the only one that mattered. Well… his and fish-faces.
How she'd punch him without a thought to what he could do in return, or how she'd beg him to carry her instead of Jin, he assumed it was probably not because it was easier but because he was more fun to annoy. How she always took the insults he passed her harder than he intended and got over them so quietly he felt twice as bad as when she bitched about it.
"Don't." He growled and pushed her hands away from his bleeding shoulder.
She glared. "Mugen, you're being a baby."
"I don't care, stop!" He ground out and clenched his jaw shut.
For a moment, just a moment, he thought that was the end of it as she got up and attended Jin instead. But the moment he was fixed and content she was back again.
"Mugen." She demanded and he relented with a sigh.
Her hands were gentle as she pulled the cloth away from the gash and he watched her face contort into pain. She continued on anyway.
When he was clean and patched she hit him in the other arm, grumbling about how much of a baby he was, and went to sleep.
Maybe… just maybe… Fuu was one girl just too clean (or stubborn might be a better term) for him to dirty.
Now don't get him wrong though, he may not want to stain her, but he sure as hell wasn't coming clean either. They were better the way they were.
