The sun was shining brightly through the opened window and left glowing spots of light on the walls. A bird was parched on the windowsill, chirping a cheerful song, its feathers dancing in the gentle morning breeze. A hint of lavender and rosemary was in the air.

Chizuru's hands skidded softly over strained muscles, coaxing them to relax and regenerate.

"How does it feel?" she inquired worriedly. Her voice was quiet and unobtrusive; unwilling to disturb the almost meditative tranquil. "Do you feel any pain? "

A kind smile illuminated Sanan's face. "On the contrary. It is decidedly pleasant. "

He was kneeling in front of her, bare-chested, on two overly squashy and very fluffy pillows. Sanan still did not know where those came from. As far as he knew, they did not have squashy and fluffy pillows. They were samurais, after all. Tough warriors. And warriors just did not do fluffy and squashy!

Yukimura-kun, however, seemed to be completely ignorant of that fundamental fact, for she had turned up with not only one, but three pillows.

One, in his opinion, would have been more than sufficient. But apparently not for Yukimura-kun. She had insisted, surprisingly stern, that he was to be comfortable during this procedure. It had taken him almost a quarter of an hour - and repeated use of his very excessive persuasion skill- to negotiate it down to two. But he had managed. He was a very gifted orator and tactician, after all.

Oh, well, he would ponder about the mysterious origin of those cushions later. Right now, he had a more pressing issue to solve. Namely, convincing Yukimura-kun that he was completely fine and healing quite nicely. A daunting task since she was quite prone to worry about the simplest of things.

A similarity she shared with Hijikata-kun. And a similarity that especially Okita-kun thought to be equally annoying and amusing. In fact, he insisted adamantly that Yukimura-kun was the lovechild of Hijikata-kun and Saito-kun. Sanan still remembered Okita-kun's absurd justification very well.

'Chizuru-chan is just as good at nagging people as Hijikata-san. And have you seen how seriously she swings her broom, of all things? She looks exactly like Hajime-kun when he's practicing. Only a child of his would be able to look so severe, while sweeping.'

Despite the impossibility of Okita-kuns outlandish theory, the rest of the captains seemed to have taken an immediate liking to it, going as far as grinning and whispering whenever those three were seen together.

Right now, however, Yukimura-kun seemed to be pacified. She returned his smile with a bright one of her own. Relief shone in her brown, expressive eyes.

"That's good to hear. We are almost ready, anyway. "

She turned and fetched a plain, wooden bowl, filled to the brink with a white, cream-like substance, that was sitting on the floor next to the door. A good distance away, so she would not accidentally knock it over.

"I'm going to apply the paste now," she informed him calmly, as she scooped a handful and warmed it slightly between her palms.

Several quick and practiced motions later, Sanan's shoulder was covered in white cream and bandaged up quite nicely.

"It's done now. How do you feel?"

Sanan clenched and relaxed his fist, then tried to move his shoulder experimentally.

"It feels somewhat lighter. "

He rose out of his kneeling position. "Thank you, Yukimura-kun. I apologize for this inconvenience."

"It's no trouble ", Chizuru answered immediately. "I'm always happy to help -"

She turned to look at Sanan and stopped, startled; completely mesmerized by the picture in front of her eyes.

Sanan was in front of the window, casually leaning against the windowsill. Illuminated by rays of blazing sun, his naked torso glowed brightly, almost blindingly.

Curious about the young woman's sudden silence, Sanan raised a questioning eyebrow, leaning slightly in her direction. "Is there a problem? "he inquired kindly, a faint tinge of something in his tone. Was it knowing?

A light pink shaded Chizuru's cheeks. "You...you can redress yourself now. " She tried to keep her voice as calm and level as possible and cursed inwardly as her unwanted stuttering belayed her efforts of maintaining a professional facade.

Brown eyes flickering in amusement, Sanan pushed himself off the windowsill in a single smooth motion. His steps were light and soundless as he approached Chizuru, stalking quietly, like a tiger closing in on its prey.

"My, my...Am I making you uncomfortable? "

A slight shiver went down her spine as Sanan placed both of his hands on the table, leaning very closely towards her face. She held her breath involuntarily, completely drawn in by his soft yet overwhelming allure.

He was confidence.

He was strength.

But most of all, he was danger. However, unlike the other captains, Sanan's danger was different. It was not open; it was not dominating. It was hidden. Hidden and sharp, like a poisoned knife. Always ready, always presenting an underlying threat, promising a fate far worse than death.

Chizuru, though, was not afraid - not anymore. Sanan's presence made her feel safe - and right now, quite flustered, too.

She opened her mouth to say something - anything, but whatever it was she wanted to tell him, she did not get to do it.

Because the breezing wind carried a voice through the open window. An unpleasantly familiar voice. An unpleasantly familiar complaining voice.

Itou.

And he was talking about Sanan-san.

Behind his back.

Again.

And just like that, whatever moment they had, passed. Both now more focused on Itou's faint words than each other.

"...I really don't understand why they keep him around. I mean, what good is a colonel, if he can't even wield a sword, much less hold it? "

Sanan's eyes narrowed slightly, the hint of danger around him becoming more prominent, darkening his serene coffee brown orbs into a deep, all-consuming vortex of umber.

"And yet they insist on keeping a useless invalid. "

The atmosphere became deadly. Chizuru threw a worried look at the man in front of her. He stood as tight as a bowstring; eyes colder than ice; his face fixed in a dark, twisted version of his usual calm and kind smile.

Outside, a cloud moved past the sun, changing the light incidence for a split of a second. It was just a fleeting moment; a blink of an eye, but Chizuru could have sworn that she saw Sanan's shadow sprouting dark, demonic wings.

Chizuru felt a sudden surge of anger. What right did that man have to question Sanan-san's place? He hadn't even been here for half a year, and he was already behaving like he owned the place!

"Sanan-san", she whispered softly, but urgently, and placed a gentle hand on his uninjured arm. "Don't listen to his words. You are not an invalid. The one who has no place here is him! Just - Just try not to let it bother you. "

Sanan turned his head in Chizuru's direction and his eyes softened a fraction, warming up slightly. But his posture remained as tense and rigid as before.

"...It's probably because of Hijikata-san. He so enjoys playing favorites. And he has a tendency to keep useless people around. Like that page of his. Yukimura, was it? I have never seen him train once. Getting a special room, eating with the captains. Must be pretty nice to be kept like that just because you are sleeping around. Well, it's not like this midget would be good for anything else. "

Chizuru stopped. Her emotions raged through her like a whirlwind.

Shock.

Anger.

Indignation.

Fury.

The demon in her raised his head - and roared. Golden fire met umber ice, dancing, merging, and igniting an unstoppable inferno.

"Forget what I said, "Chizuru whispered quietly, barely containing her anger. "Sanan-san, I have an idea. Will you hear me out? "

A quizzically raised eyebrow was the only prompt she needed.