He just met you, Kyojuro.

The mountain snow still tinged the air with cold, the scent of blood clinging to the breeze. Kyojuro holds his sword with a trembling arm, the paleness of his face broken only by the hot red rising in his cheeks. He stares at you, his gaze burning slowly. "I… I didn't expect anyone to stay and help me after everything. Why… why didn't you run?"

Know that even so, he still likes you.