“Stop complaining already, kid”, he asks beginning to lose patience. “The wound is closed, it shouldn't even hurt.”

“I know”, Kitaro replies uneasily. “It's just that you make it rough!”

“Aham”, Yamada scoffs and finishes removing the last piece of thread binding Kitaro's skin and thus finishing the healing of the wound. “Mhh…”

Kitaro had been injured by a yokai, Yamada had no details of that fight but he was sure that the area between his shoulder blades had been torn with something sharp, perhaps a fang or claw.

Although the skin on that small, young body healed in a matter of hours, there must have been a poison or something that prevented it from healing. That's why Kitaro ended up going to see Yamada and cashing in on the favor after the New Guinea incident. Of course, Yamada was never going to object to anything that involved watching his healing processes or putting his fingers on him.

The doctor disinfected the wound and made a perfect suture. If the stitches didn't undo themselves, he would have to return in a week to have them removed. To the surprise of both of them, a scar remained, similar to a rhombus no more than three centimeters long, pink, barely a relief.

Yamada brushes it with his forefinger before instructing Kitaro to put on his shirt. The fabric is warm and barely rough when he slides his finger. Kitaro's body shudders and Yamada feels a shiver.

“What are you doing?” he protests nervously. “Are you done or not?” There is no pain in his tone of voice, rather....

Yamada touches the scar seconds again, presses for a few, as if it were a burning button, and Kitaro lets out a moan. He needs to be sure he's not imagining what he thinks.

“A-ah, stop that!” Kitaro stands up and pulls on his blue shirt and his chanchanko. He avoids looking the man in the eye, but he can't hide the blush on his cheeks from him. It is just as Yamada supposes.

It is not pain. It is pleasure.