"Running hard is what Kakashi does," Ryouma said bleakly. He glanced back at the shrouded form in the bed, and then away. "He saved me a month ago. He wouldn't do less for Ginta."

It looked, though, like he'd done more. Last time had ended with Kakashi exhausted and chakra-drained, but not comatose. Last time, he hadn't needed any painted seals to hold his chakra and his life in. Last time, he hadn't been chasing after a man who'd stolen a kiss and earned a strangling...

We already fought that out. Ryouma shook the thought away. He and Kakashi were none of Ginta's business; Kakashi and Ginta were none of his. And they were both his friends, dammit, no matter what had happened out there in hell.

"I won't even yell," he promised, low-voiced.

Chihiro nodded, slowly, and turned to leave. Ryouma didn't let himself throw another glance backward. He followed close on her heels, out the door and across the hall. Another woman, thin and pretty in the height of society fashion, was standing by the bed. Ryouma ignored her.

Ginta looked...like hell, really. He hadn't sustained Kakashi's massive bruising, but Kakashi hadn't had a steel cage surrounding his leg, with long metal pins piercing flesh to hold the bones together. And though he wore nothing beneath the thin draping of a sheet, he couldn't exactly be called naked when half his exposed skin was covered in bandages and seals. Like Kakashi, he was breathing with the slim aid of a nasal cannula, hissing cold oxygen into his nostrils. His thin arms were studded with IV lines: antibiotics, fluids, nutrients, blood. Even his face was bandaged, and the lines of pain and tension around his mouth hadn't relaxed in sleep.

"Hey, you runty little bastard," Ryouma said softly. "When you give advice, you're supposed to listen to it, too. How come you got your trash kicked this time, instead of me?"

Ginta didn't answer, either.