“More like you’re at my six,” Asuma replied, but with a smile. As far as he was concerned, there were few people who were better to have at your back than Genma. Those poisons he played with were amazing and wonderful things, off and on the field. Asuma would know.

But that was in large part why taking the offer was difficult — good friends were hard to find and harder to keep. Who knew what the capital and the other, no doubt more-skilled Guardians would be like? Was it worth it?

Asuma slouched down low in his chair and blew more smoke at the ceiling. “Admit it. You’re really just keeping me around for my monkey. Will you write me love-letters while I’m gone?”

“I’ll write Kayan letters, and she can read them to you.” Genma reached up to tickle the little loris’ exposed stomach; her large eyes half-closed in pleasure, her little fingers never pausing as they combed through the ninja’s hair. Genma, on the other hand, stared longingly at Asuma’s cigarette, before breaking down to light up one of his own. “Although you’re a terrible influence on me. I’ll probably do better on sprints if you leave and I can kick your filthy habit.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just run slow because you enjoy the view.” Asuma rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his chin, careful not to poke himself in the face with the lit cigarette. That wouldn’t look good on a medical file, even if he could plead drunkenness (he couldn’t). “I suppose,” he decided finally, “I should take it. It is once in a lifetime. And not permanent. I’ll get to come home eventually.”

“Yeah. You should.” Even though he agreed, Genma did look downcast at the prospect. ‘Coming back eventually’ probably would be at least a year from now, after all. “We sometimes get missions out to the capital. Maybe you could sneak away for a tryst. Or maybe the other Guardians will be hot and we can have an orgy.”

“I’ll always have time for trysts and orgies. Just for you.” Asuma reached over to pat his friend’s hand, then raised his beer bottle for a toast. “Here’s to this post being boring as hell and me not coming home in a box. Or starting any wars. That would be awkward.”

Genma just gave him a dry look before raising his own bottle to clink against Asuma’s. “I’ll avoid boxes and inciting rebellions here, too. It can be our pact.”

“Whoever starts a war pays for dinner when we hook up again,” Asuma suggested. Genma laughed and agreed.

This was the best they could do — with their lifestyle, there were few guarantees of a future. There was certainly no way to make serious plans about it; there was only the present, and enjoying any peace it brought while they had it. So they drank their beers, smoked their cigarettes, and threw peas at each other when the conversation warranted. Asuma would take what he could get, even knowing that tomorrow he’d most likely be leaving.

Better to laugh or else you’d cry, right?