“So,” Genma said at length. “When do you have to give them an answer?”

The face Asuma made would have curdled milk. “The sooner the better,” he said, lighting another cigarette. “Preferably tomorrow.”

“Shit.”

Asoma nodded, completely in agreement with that sentiment.

“What’s taichou say? Did he say anything?” Their captain might be a hardass, but he was smart. And definitely someone whose opinion they could trust. “Did he look like he was on board with this, or was Sagara-sama doing an end-run around him?”

“All of the above?” Asuma said. “He told me, ‘Go get trained, and when you come back maybe you’ll be worth your mask.’”

“So in other words you have no idea because he was as inscrutable and dry as always,” Genma translated. “Did he tell you that in front of Sagara-sama and the Yondaime, or after the meeting when you were alone?”

“After the whole spiel, when we were alone,” Asuma said. “You know, his kind of sweet talk. ‘You're an ass, but you can be useful every now and then. Rarely.’”

“Huh,” Genma said. “That kind of sounds like he’s telling you you should take it.” He frowned at his beer, studying the decorative label as if it were going to offer some kind of answer for his friend. An inky river under a pale, full moon looked a little like a path, if he squinted. “If it were me... I guess I’d take it. It’s not the kind of opportunity you get twice. Is it for a limited hitch, or is it indefinite? If it’s limited, I’d definitely take it.”

“Limited, yeah, a couple years at a shot. Unless I really love it, I guess. Or they hate me and kick me to the curb,” Asuma smirked around his cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “Which would only be more proof that taichou and I are meant to be together forever.”

“True love will wait,” Genma said sagely. “Or follow. Maybe he’ll quit ANBU and move to the capital to be near you. Except I’m pretty sure his family is arranging a marriage for him, so yours would be an illicit affair.”

“Best kind,” Asuma said.

“You’d know,” Genma agreed.

Kayan gave up on grooming her own fur and eased carefully across the table, reaching for Genma’s dangling hair.

“Don’t tangle it,” he told her.

Taking that as permission, she climbed up onto his shoulder and carefully separated strands of his hair with her tiny nails.

“Just because I’m telling you to take it,” Genma said, “don’t think that means I want you to go. On a personal level, this sucks. I like having you at my six in a fight. And, you know, here.” He shrugged, gesturing at the room around them. Truth was, he’d lucked out in this particular rookie comrade. Or maybe the higher ups had designed it that way. Whatever the reason, Asuma had turned out to be more than just a good teammate: he was a good friend. That was a precious commodity.