“Shiny presents, coffee, movie-dates—you sure know the way to my heart.” Ryouma swallowed his last bite of sandwich and wiped his fingers on his thigh. His coffee was cooling; he left it alone, and studied Asuma’s face instead.

Ryouma’d never been much of one for professional paranoia. Outside the village you could generally assume that everyone you saw—or didn’t see—was planning to plant a knife in your back, but inside Konoha’s walls it was safe to lay the armor down. No point in life or loyalty, otherwise, if you couldn’t trust the citizens of the village you fought for, the comrades who watched your back on missions and bought you coffee at home.

But no one’d ever been this friendly before. The knife was on the table, sheathed in its box. Where were the strings?

The grin looked real, just broad enough to be disarming without losing that teasing edge. One of Asuma’s eyeteeth was chipped. His dark eyes crinkled under those heavy brows; he’d have laugh-lines someday, if he lived that long.

Hokage’s son. Of course he will.

But the Fourth Hokage hadn’t.

And Asuma didn’t act like a blueblood, anyway. He made plans and swept other people up into them with the blithe, unconscious arrogance of a man born to command, but his voice darkened with passion when he spoke of change. Real change, not some meaningless gesture. He wasn’t just throwing scraps to the dogs in the street. He wanted to save them.

Or said he did, and Ryouma didn’t care, suddenly, whether it was the truth, or why. Asuma’s changes could’ve saved Kakashi, could’ve saved Ryouma, and maybe they still could. Some questions didn’t need to be asked. He would let Kakashi answer, in his own time, why he’d left ANBU and what he’d done to Ginta; he could let Asuma prove himself, friend or leader or both.

“I’ve got a date with Reiko for lunch,” he said. He’d have to head back to Kakashi’s first, of course: he’d promised to bring back cake, and he had a knife to show off. “An’ I’m spending tomorrow at the hospital, with the physical therapists an’ a nutritionist. After that, though, I’m your man.” He grinned crookedly. “You know where to find me.”

“I do.” Asuma beamed. He had a dimple, hidden in one cheek. “Makes a nice change, huh?”

After six months of absence, search parties and death certificates and friends tearing themselves and each other apart...

“Yeah,” Ryouma said. “It does.”