"Arms up," Mara instructed. "Let's scrub the rest of your body. Hurry up."

 

"I can handle the rest." I wriggled away from her, trying to create some distance between us. There are certain things I'd rather keep private than have her discover. "Just take care of yourself—"

 

"Are you insinuating something, Gray?" she said flatly.

 

"No, but you're covered in blood—" I shook my head, knowing she was sincerely intending to assist me.

 

"I know. I know," she exhaled, pinching her jacket as though she was touching something repulsive. "I'm sorry to let you down, Gray, but there isn't any running water here. You'll have to stick with stinky ol' me. Deal with it for now."

 

"I had no intention of implying that."

 

"Then why are you being so shy? Here I am, graciously offering to handle everything, and you refuse? Come on, I'll wipe you fresh with the towel." Her analytical gaze moved onto the soiled patch on my forearm. "We'll remove this filthy bandage and replace it with a new one. I'll take care of myself after I'm done with you, okay?"

 

She grasped the bottom of my stained shirt and slowly tried to pull it up, only to be stopped by me.

 

"That's enough, Mara. It's only a scrape. You don't have to go that far. I can manage just fine on my own."

 

Mara ignored my lame attempt to shake her off and proceeded to raise my top, not knowing why I was against her going any farther, or possibly presuming I was just ashamed to let her pamper me like some feeble elderly man.

 

"You startled me. Don't growl like that at me," she gulped her words, her eyes widening as she laid her focus onto the violet-blue bruises on my contoured torso. Even more striking was the long scar that went down my body.

 

"This..." Mara murmured in a tone that seemed to be an order, and albeit hesitantly, I complied. "Just raise your hands."

 

After discarding my shirt, she tipped the bottle, pressing its lip against the texture of the towel and soaking it in the warmish liquid once more.

 

"Someone has been working hard to impress me."

 

"Charmed by someone younger than you already?" I tried to joke.

 

"Who did this to you?"

 

My brows arched as I heard that question, rendering my prior desire to put things aside in a lighthearted manner wholly and utterly futile.

 

My throat tightened, allowing me only to grumble: "You don't have to worry about them."

 

In Cernasea, we had the law to protect us as well as keep us in line. There were no documented regulations in the Underworld, only taboos. If you defy them, you will suffer the consequences. Death was just one of the many things that had a high chance of occurring within the world hidden beneath.

 

"I don't, huh...? Fine." Mara put the towel on my chest. "This is even worse than the bruise. It definitely hurt a lot..."

 

Compared to other injuries that healed adequately, this one retains a reddish tinge, a deep cut from my chest, down my abdomen, and to my oblique, reaching close to my hip. A scar that nearly killed me, the price for my survival landing me in a financial crisis. Although such scars could be eradicated through a proper medical procedure, I was unable to do so due to my circumstances. I eventually concluded that it will always be with me, and there was nothing to be done about it other than accept it.

 

"It did," I choked out, recalling how long I'd been in the hospital. The vile medicine and those vexing stitches daring to come off as soon as I breathed. It was a living nightmare. A prisoner inside my barely functional body. I dreaded each second. "But it doesn't hurt anymore."

 

"Really?" Mara kidded, leaving the towel to me "I'll be back in a bit. You said you can clean yourself, correct? I'll take care of the 'scrape' on your forearm, so don't touch it. Understood?"

 

"Uh-huh."

 

It must have upset her to see me in this state, but there was nothing I could do about it. The only thing I had the remaining fuel to focus on was the tickling sensation as I wiped myself.

 

"Place your elbow on the sofa's arm," she instructed, bringing the backpack into the living room with one hand and the first-aid kit in the other. Mara then went over to the sink, lifting her sleeves and thoroughly washing her hands with the contents of an amber jar—a disinfectant. "Just to be sure, we'll disinfect it again. The bleeding seemed to have stopped already..."

 

I nearly rolled my eyes.

 

"But it will probably leave a scar."

 

"Obviously. You should be thankful that goblin's claws weren't very long, because a scar would've been the least of your concerns," she scoffed, putting the disinfectant next to me. "Anyway, you will be alright. I promise. This only happened because you're using a kitchen knife, you know? Ever considered utilizing a more effective weapon?"

 

"Yeah—" She gave me a pitying glance before ripping the bandage off my arm. I flinched, but it wasn't too bad. "Maybe using a kitchen knife wasn't such a great idea..."

 

"Maybe?" Mara repeated as my forearm was benevolently set ablaze. I didn't know what product she used to disinfect it, but it's plausible that it accomplished the job. Combined with the clarinadryl, there won't be any mutations to consider later down the line.

 

Still, the process was unpleasant.

 

"The truth of the matter is that you only got injured because I was careless," she whispered as she wrapped a clean bandage around my arm. "Thank you, Gray. For saving my ass..."

 

I curled my fingers into a delicate fist, noting how much weaker I was compared to usual. I still had my arm at the end of the day. I will recover. I should be grateful just for that.

 

"You would've done the same for me, though."

 

"Of course, I would have," she squeezed out, tapping my forearm lightly. I fought back a groan that almost escaped my throat. Mara merely smirked when she saw my reaction. "But I'm the older one. It was supposed to be the other way around."

 

"You're not that much older," I carefully weighed my response.

 

We were only a couple of years apart, at most. In my opinion, they were insignificant. I was compelled to act as an adult before I was legally allowed to, after all.

 

She chuckled as she examined me from head to toe. "Are you interested in older ladies, Gray?"

 

"Ha-ha," I feigned a chuckle, tired of being mocked by her. It was about time I gave her a taste of her own medicine. "Not really, but I'm willing to make an exception for you, Mara. Interested?"

 

"Such a generous offer," she hissed, rushing into the restroom. "I'm going to freshen up!"

 

Ignoring the muffle that came from the closed door, I relaxed my neck on the sofa, my eyes wandering to the gorgeous scenery outside as a laugh burst past my lips, savoring the troubled expression I had imprinted on Mara's frothy mug.

 

"Got you..."

 

You got what you 'freaking' deserved, Mara.

 

"Gray!" came a yell, just behind the nape of my neck.

 

When did she sneak there? I must've dozed off for a second.

 

"Mm?" I tried to turn around, only for my head to be firmly held in place. "What's wrong?"

 

"If you look, I'll gauge your eyes out! Close them."

 

That chilling threat forced me to cooperate.

 

"I'll check if there are any decent clothes in the wardrobe."

 

It'd be better to keep our clean city clothes for when we leave this district, I pondered. For the time being, we'll have to make do with what we have lying around. But I'm not wearing any pink gowns she might have hidden around.

 

"Let me make an educated guess. You were too sluggish to change back into your filthy clothes after wiping yourself, so you're now threatening me not to look because you're not wearing any—"

 

"Zip it. And are you a mind reader?" she questioned, a crack following as she opened the wardrobe. "There should be something for you to wear as well. We have to get rid of those bloody pants of yours..."

 

"No, I can't read others' minds. You're just not that difficult to figure out, Mara."

 

"At the very least, I'm refined enough not to say everything out."

 

Something smacked my face, darkening the orange world beneath my eyes.

 

Did she throw some trousers at me?