Genma didn’t think Asuma was. Not really. Any shinobi who’d lost his entire team on a mission was automatically considered a suicide risk by Konoha’s medical office, and with good reason. Asuma had lost more than a team, he’d lost eleven sworn brothers in the bloody coup attempt in Hikouto. Worse, he’d lost a good half of them to treachery. He’d probably lost some by his own hand.

But Asuma was also ANBU. And a Hokage’s son. He’d survived the Third War and the Kyuubi’s assault on Konoha. Was the shattering of the Daimyou’s Guardian Twelve any worse?

In their aborted rookie year together, in the wake of missions gone sideways, Genma’d seen Asuma go out and get obliterated in drink, seen him train until he collapsed from low blood sugar and fatigue, seen him throw a punch at a wall that left a hole to the studs (and taught them both something about plaster repairs afterwards.)

He’d never seen Asuma even a little tempted to give up on life.

The right sleeve of Asuma’s uniform top was pushed up to accommodate the soft splint on his forearm and wrist. In the gap between the splint and his bunched up sleeve, Genma could see fresh, red burn scars writhing over Asuma’s skin.

Maybe Hikouto had been worse.

“I had to ask,” Genma said. “If you were, and I didn’t try to stop you… If I missed it—” He cut himself off with a quick headshake. “No offense meant. I know you’re made of diamond at the core.”

Asuma’s scowl melted into a sort of apologetic half-smile. “I don't know about diamond. I don't think my liver can pass the Moh's test yet.”

“Keep drinking all that beer without any food, and you can probably cirrhose it to at least quartz hardness,” Genma said. If Asuma was able to joke in the face of veiled questions about suicide, Genma probably could let go of some of his worry. “Or did you eat already before you came to spring me?”

Asuma gave his nearly empty bottle a startled look, like he had no clue how the contents had vanished. “Um, no, actually,” he said. Before Genma could pursue the question of fledgling alcoholism in the wake of unspeakable trauma any further, Asuma noticed Genma’s picked-at ramen, and lifted his head to give Genma an accusing look. “Not that you should be talking.” He mimed taking a bite with his own chopsticks. “You probably shouldn't be drinking at all.”

Genma sighed and stared down at the noodles and pork half submerged in opaque broth. He’d been hungry at the bottom of the hill. What had changed?

“I probably shouldn’t,” he agreed, punctuating it with a sip of the forbidden beer. “And if I’m going to go against medical advice and drink anyway, I should probably try to actually enjoy it.” He held the bottle out for a clink against Asuma’s. After a moment, Asuma obliged.

“Enough about depressing bullshit,” Genma declared, when Asuma had lapsed into remote silence again. “Tell me about living in Hikouto. Konoha has to seem like such a backwater after living in the capitol.”

“Not really.” Asuma drained his beer, shook his head, and put the empty on the coffee table with the bags from the convenience store. “More people, but a lot quieter. In the chakra sense, anyway. Not as many ninja there as you'd think.”

“Huh,” Genma said. “I guess that makes sense. I know a lot of the government types have samurai on staff for security, since technically all shinobi are the Daimyou’s. Unless they’re unaffiliated.” He set the ramen aside for a moment in favor of rustling through the bags for the box of gyouza. “What about the embassies? Wind has an embassy, right? Suna shinobi there?”

“The embassies have a handful of shinobi, yeah, but they usually stay with their delegates.” Asuma twisted and resettled on the couch with one foot tucked under the opposite knee, angling in to face Genma. He looked less tense now, talking about easy facts untouched by tragedy. As he walked a bottlecap across the knuckles of his uninjured left hand, he ticked off countries with the right. “Wind, Grass, Rain, Earth, and Water are the big ones, though a few of the smaller countries have quarters in the city. Some retired shinobi live in the city, some passing through on missions. Outside that, though, not all that many came to the palace proper.”