The buzzing in her ears died down. Katsuko slowly lowered her arm, blinking. Mitarou stared down at her; his expression was carefully still. After a moment, she tucked her kunai into her thigh holster and stepped back three paces.

“You back with us, Ueno?” Mitarou asked.

She reached out and tugged her katana free from the tree trunk and Mitarou’s shirt, sheathing it at her waist. “Yeah,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry about that. It— seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

Fighting Isamu took enough of her focus that she’d only been able to catch glimpses of Raidou’s and Mitarou’s battle. What she’d seen— the rock spears, red blossoming on Raidou’s scalp— had been alarming. The next time she’d looked, Mitarou stood alone and the only sign of Raidou had been a splash of blood on the ground.

Her reaction had probably been more vicious than necessary.

“Don’t mind me,” Isamu called, from where she’d pinned him down with shuriken. “I’ll just take a nap. Maybe cloud-watch.”

“If you can’t get yourself out of some minor shuriken, you don’t deserve a mask,” Raidou told him absently. He crossed over to her, one hand clapped over the slice on his scalp, and gave her a searching look. “All good?”

“You’re asking her if she’s okay?” Mitarou demanded, incredulous. “She gave me a heart attack and ruined my shirt.”

“It’s a lucky thing you can sew, then, isn’t it?” Katsuko rolled her shoulders again, settling back into her skin, and nodded at Raidou. She couldn’t dredge up a grin just yet. “We’re good.”

Raidou dropped a hand carefully on the back of her neck, warm and steadying, and looked at Mitarou. Very gravely, he said, “Are you okay, or do you need a cuddle?”

Mitarou opened his mouth, but Isamu beat him to it. “I think I need a cuddle. Do you know how close some of these shuriken are to my dick?”

“Yes,” Katsuko said. “My aim is very, very good.”

“And that’s why we wear cups,” Raidou said. He released Katsuko and went to peel Mitarou off the tree, leaving a bloody handprint on Mitarou’s bare shoulder. “Go help Isamu with his dick issues.”

“Nobody can help him with those,” Mitarou complained, but started off towards Isamu anyways. Mitarou had never been one to hold grudges; he gave Katsuko a friendly punch on the shoulder as he passed, grinning.

She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and smiled back. “Learn to dodge, fatass.”

“Bite me,” Mitarou retorted, and sauntered away.