Inwardly, Asuma was relieved to hear Genma make that suggestion. Watching his struggle to move through the hospital itself, which was designed for disabilities, had been difficult enough, but once they were out on the street it had taken an exercise in extreme patience to not suggest any breaks. It was better, he’d learned, to frame a suggestion in such a way that it seemed like the other person’s idea, but he didn’t think that would work this time.

“Sounds like a good plan.” He waited a moment as Genma got himself settled on a street-side bench, pulling out his wallet to check the cash he had on hand as a reason for pausing. “What about calling up a rickshaw for the last leg of the trip?”

The other ninja squinted in a way that implied he was going to refuse purely on grounds of pride, before dropping his shoulders in surrender. “If we did that, we could buy more beer without needing a clone to carry it, I guess.”

“Always practical.” He patted Genma’s shoulder briefly. “I’ll be back in a coupla minutes.”

The inside of the convenience store was a mirror of almost every other convenience store that ever existed—a mishmash of last-minute items one might need in the event of an illness or a party, actual items of practical use, and food with questionable contents and even more questionable expiration dates. Asuma bypassed all of that in favor of the actual ramen shop tucked in the very back, where at least he could be assured that the food had in fact been cooked recently.

Ordering the food took longer than calling up a rickshaw from the poorly-maintenanced public phone. And cooking the food took longer than the rickshaw needed to arrive; by the time Asuma stepped back out with his bags of goods, Genma was already being helped into the passenger seat by one considerate genin, the other two waiting at the reins.

The trip up to Aoba’s front step (so to speak) only took five minutes, but without the help of three extra bodies it probably would have taken much, much longer. And much more pain and sweating on Genma’s part, too, Asuma was sure. That alone was worth a generous tip.

“So I have no idea what the place is like,” Asuma warned once they reached the apartment door, unlocking it and holding it open for Genma to precede him. “He said something about washing the bedsheets, so…”

Genma paused just inside the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder in a kind of double-take. “He said that? Like—he’s cool if I—if we use his bed?” And then under his breath, more to himself: “He must be worried about me.”

“Well, you did kinda end up in the hospital for a coupla days.” Asuma waited until Genma had hobbled further into the apartment before he stepped in himself and closed the door. It was tidier than he had expected—the living room sported the kind of modern, clean lines seen more often in apartments that were barely lived in. And a plant by the front door? If Aoba hadn’t given him the key personally, Asuma would have never pegged this as a bachelor’s place. “I just assumed he meant you’d take the bed.”

Genma crutched himself over to the couch, slowly taking in the apartment, before he carefully lowered himself to sit. “I usually sleep on the couch. Which is supposed to be temporary.” He sighed, looking off to the side—Asuma followed his gaze to a cluster of smoke-stained boxes stacked neatly in one corner of the room. “I really need to find a place of my own. I’ve just had non-stop missions since my old place burned down, and Aoba’s been really nice about it. Plus, yeah, second hospitalization in a month. If I were my medic, I’d be doing a mental health check on me.”

He hastily glanced back over, just in time to see the bowl of take-out ramen Asuma was handing over. He accepted it, and added, “Don’t worry. They were both unavoidable mission injuries, I’m not glory-hounding or self-destructive.”

Asuma left the remainder of the take-out in its bag on the coffee table, opting instead for a bottle of beer. “Nah, I don’t think that. That’s not how I’d see you glory-hounding, anyway.” He sat next to Genma, careful not to jostle anything. “You’re more the type to burn yourself out trying to heal others, I think.”