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Unravel (1x1 w/ Jikkah)

Megohime started to get more and more into the mood, capturing his lips in a kiss again as she helped him shrug off his suit coat and shirt.
 
Megohime had completely forgotten about the scar on her arm where it had been severed, it would vanish soon, but nonetheless, when Masamune’s hand passed over it, he could feel the faint divot left in her skin where the scar was.
 
Megohime felt her stomach twist into knots immediately, pulling her arm away from Masamune. “Just a turf scuffle, nothing serious.”
 
Shame made her clench her teeth, the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “It’s nothing serious, it isn’t something you need to worry about.”
 
Megohime looked away her shame clear on her face now as she held her hand over the scar to hide it. “Just some assholes is all.”
 
Megohime was embarrassed. “I don’t need you to pick up after me! I can take care of myself!” She felt tears burning her eyes. Gods she was pathetic, having to be saved by a human.
 
A few tears slipped down her face, and Megohime got up off Masamune’s lap, grabbing her shirt to put it back on.
 
“I know I can’t take care of this myself, that’s been made painfully clear time and time over.” She yanked her shirt back on, fighting more tears.
 
Megohime rubbed her tears away in frustration. “I didn’t want you to see me like that- like this..! I’m fucking pathetic..!” She couldn’t stop crying now, both ashamed and relieved that Masamune knew what was happening.
 
He moved and pulled her close, holding her against him, "You're an idiot..." He muttered, "You aren't pathetic, though I wish you would have told me sooner, or at least kicked their asses for me.."
 
Megohime had tried, at first she had done everything she had to defend and fight back against her assailants, but she was outnumbered and overwhelmed. She shook her head and buried her face in his shirt, ashamed of such weakness.
 
She ground her teeth and just nodded. Pathetic, allowing a human to clean up after her problems, and a Dove at that.
 
Yukimura woke, somewhere dark, head pounding with each beat of his heart. He couldn’t remember the last few hours, couldn’t remember what he was doing, what had happened, or where he was now. His last memory was him teaching at the academy, and then details got fuzzy. He shifted, but found himself restrained against what felt like a metal slab, slanted at an angle.
He knew he had to think rationally, to keep calm and assess the situation; he could feel that he had cloth over his eyes, and that both of his ankles were kept in place by what felt like metal cuffs. Trying to move his arms, he found that his prosthetic was gone, and his other arm was restrained with a handcuff around one wrist, pulled over his head.

Nana had finally been released from the hospital, but she was now bound to a wheelchair, the amputation of her leg still too new to be fitted with a prosthetic. Still, she was glad she was home, even if she still didn’t see Motochika very often.
 
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