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Summary
“I’m back.” Right on cue, Clemenceau returned to Saionji with his entire damn medical kit: his stethoscope, a bundle of bandages, and his doctor's bag filled with tinctures of indecipherable Latin names. “How are you feeling now? Is your nose still bleeding?”
“I’m feeling fine. Just tired,” Saionji answered. “My nose is still bleeding, but it’ll stop soon.”
Clemenceau put the ivory earpieces of his stethoscope on. “And how do you know that?”
“I get nosebleeds all the time. They only last for a few minutes--”
Clemenceau reached out and placed his hand under Saionji’s chin, tilting his head up. Just a little, not enough to make the blood flow down Saionji’s throat, but enough for Saionji to look up and see the sharpness in Clemenceau’s gaze. “How often do you get nosebleeds?”
...On second thought, it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell Clemenceau that.Saionji has a nosebleed and Clemenceau panics over it.
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