Ryouma blinked. "Sure," he said. He finished rolling the blood-stained jeans into the smallest bundle he could manage, shoved them into the bottom of his pack, and straightened carefully. "You feeling the need for a babysitter again? 'Cause I think we've pretty well proved we're responsible adults."

Kakashi didn't crack a smile. He looked...tired, which was to be expected. Strained, which wasn't. He'd recovered his mask, along with the rest of his ninja blacks; he should have looked sleek and smooth and mysterious again, a silhouette back-lit by the sunset glowing through the curtains. But the sleeveless ANBU turtleneck couldn't conceal the war between tension and exhaustion in the strong line of his shoulders, and his damp silver hair didn't quite shadow his eyes enough to hide the dark smudges underneath.

His knuckles were white on the flowered duvet.

Ryouma sat down on the other side of the bed. "On the other hand, I got groped by a drunk man last night, and I still remember it. I could have a panic attack any minute now. You should summon Shiba."