Asuma snorted loudly as he watched the outspoken boy flush red. The mother with her kids put on a fresh turn of speed. He slid a sideways glance at Ginta. "The concept of 'overshare' just isn't in your mental makeup, is it? Little weirdo. And you should always bring me flowers."

He wasn't fooled. Ginta was just playing, now. Having fun with all the shockable civilians, hoping his breakfast pal would get embarrassed and start flapping. But Asuma was made of sterner stuff.

Well, mostly--the image of vaginal pheromones was probably going to crop up in some dark hour of the morning and tumble him out of bed.

"Isn't it traditional for gay guys to have daddy issues? Or be joined at the hip with their mothers? Your mom's got to still be around; it's not like she would've died a ninja's death." Unless she'd fallen in the Fox attack, too, and he'd just swallowed his own foot.