| [Mar. 28th, 2015|03:09 am] |
Asuma clung to each moment of normality like they were uncertain shelters in a storm. Only a year had passed, but so much felt different that he honestly wasn’t sure where he fit anymore. A space was left behind when he went to Hikouto, and now that he was back he found he didn’t fit anymore—he’d grown, or maybe the space had shrunk, or maybe both. Konoha was both brighter and darker than he remembered, like the contrast on a movie that was turned up too high, and people he’d considered friends now felt like distant acquaintances. Or maybe he was the one that was distant now.
Genma had been his closest friend a year ago, closer than any other person in Asuma’s life. And Genma didn’t really seem all that different, like everyone else did. Which only left Asuma as the remaining variable of change. Maybe he really had changed that much in the last year.
Chiriku would have been glad to hear that.
It was distressing to continue to feel unmoored even around Genma. But he kept that to himself, tucked down in the pit of his chest. It’s only been three weeks, Asuma reminded himself. No one could adjust back to normal life in only three weeks.
So he did his best to conversate like a normal person, trying to stick to topics that Genma would naturally wax on about, or that he could talk about without being an awkward mess. They managed to kill off another three bottles of beer (mostly Asuma) and the remainder of the gyouza (mostly Genma) by the time Genma needed to take his night pills, and mutually decided Genma should probably get that shower before those pills knocked him unconscious.
He helped Genma strip in Aoba’s bedroom, knowing there wouldn’t be enough room in that tiny bathroom to do so while trying not to slip on the tiles. The bulky bandaging went next, revealing a bruised, unhappy wound on Genma’s right thigh. Sutures and extensive chakra healing kept the gash itself closed, and there were no signs of it having re-opened during their walk from the hospital, but Asuma could tell that was going to leave a wicked scar.
He didn’t ask about the scar on Genma’s stomach, or the other scars he thought were new. He didn’t want to find out if he’d forgotten anything.
Given that standing for a whole shower wasn’t really a possibility with that wound, Genma opted to park himself on the side of the bathtub, utilize the detachable shower head, and mop up any spilled water later. Asuma peeled off his shirt and the soft brace to help; in hindsight that wasn’t the smartest of decisions, because then Genma could see the full extent of the burns previously hidden by that shirt. Which, of course, he had to ask about, because medics were incurably curious about that sort of thing.
“Third degree?” he asked, tweaking the temperature of the water and holding the shower head loosely in his other hand. “Did they do grafts, or just jutsu?”
Asuma looked down at his arm, closing his hand into a fist. The scars were still red, the skin shiny from repeated healing sessions. It looked bad now, but in a few years time they’d be much less noticeable. “Mostly second,” he replied. “And mostly jutsu. More worried about function and nerve damage than making it look good.”
“How’s it feeling?” As expected, water ended up all over the bathroom floor as Genma sluiced the remaining grime from his mission off. “You had a couple of fractures too, right?”
Asuma dropped a spare towel on the floor to soak up the extra water and sat on the lid of the toilet. “Nightstick fracture,” he confirmed, choosing to ignore the first question in favor of the second. He offered the bottle of body wash he’d found in Genma’s pack of toiletries. “Also jutsu-healed. Just keeping a brace on it for a little longer to remind me not to do anything stupid.”
Genma reached past the soap, touching Asuma lightly on the arm. “If you need anything… massage, burn cream.” He took the soap then, exchanging it with the shower head, and more quietly added, “A friend to listen…” |
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