Standard disclaimers apply here.

Notes: I've been meaning to reread DGM for many, many months. I finally settled down to do so last Monday and ended up powering through all 24 translated volumes and 5 loose chapters in the span of a week. It was intense and I loved every minute of it. For a long time, I thought I was done with these two bbs. While I was rereading the manga, I realized that I was wrong. So, here's this piece of fluff. (I'm uploading this from my phone because my lappy is being dumb, so if the formatting is a mess, that's why. Also, the reviews might be a little screwy because I deleted a few things recently.)

upon return

"You don't have to do this," he says, more gruffly than intended. She hums, making another loop around with the gauze, and says nothing. The morning sun lights her from behind, shining through the wisps of her hair and turning her ribbons translucent.

He sighs, resigning himself to his fate: being cared for unnecessarily by Lenalee.

His arm throbs as she traces a fingertip over the ridges there, settling the gauze in place shortly after. He doesn't wince because he's mostly used to the feeling now (a pain that hasn't receded despite his agreeing to return to this hateful place and work with them).

She finishes with his left arm, tucking the gauze around his wrist. She shifts, moving to roll up his other sleeve, blotting out the sunlight that had been creeping around her head to shine in his eyes.

Her face is free of bandages, cuts, scratches, bruises. Tiedoll requested in his return meeting that she and Marie not be sanctioned and detained. For the time being, they are free: as free as one can be while still being bound to this place. As it is, they aren't allowed to leave yet (despite the desperate need for more exorcists on the battlefield).

She is as lovely as ever, skin unmarred and clear.

His fingertips glide over her jawline into her hair. She looks up at him, one hand pausing over the cross-shaped scar on his right forearm while the other cups his elbow. There's worry at the edge of her eyes, too evident to be erased by the smile that curves over her lips.

He can see her fatigue in the crooked bows atop her head. His hair tie is just as (if not more) crooked than hers.

Her hair is silk gliding over his fingers. He strokes his thumb over her cheekbone. She tilts her face into the caress, arching an eyebrow at him and opening her mouth to speak.

He stops her by leaning over and kissing her.

The skin under his thumb warms at the contact, and he finds it pink when he pulls back. Her eyes flutter open after a moment. She smiles wider and hums again.

She is not sufficiently distracted to discontinue the wrapping of his right arm. He sighs again, leaning back a little bit and reaching up to straighten one of her ribbons.