"Not a problem. Really." Genma backed into the room, forcing an ease he didn't quite feel. He held the door open for his guest. "Yeah, come on in, I'll make tea."

When Natsumi slipped off her shoes and stepped past him, Genma couldn't help noticing the view from behind was just as pleasant as the one from the front had been. A tiny grin crossed his face as he eased his door closed, thinking about Kaito watching that view on his mission; in ANBU gear, she was probably pretty smokin'.

But she was Ibiki's friend. There was a lot of talk about what sorts of games the interrogators liked to play in their spare time. He took a breath. He didn't want to know.

"There's zanbuton, you can sit at the table," he said, gesturing to a small stack of floor-cushions. "Or I can make the bed up really quick and you can sit there. I don't usually sleep in the day, but I just got back from a mission where I got tagged kinda hard with a poisoned blade." Which his side was reminding him of with every passing moment he was on his feet. Maybe there was something in that antidote that made him extra tired?

He didn't wait for her to make a choice before going to work straightening out the rumpled nest of blankets he'd been so reluctant to leave. They were still warm, he thought with a flicker of regret as he smoothed them out. He glanced at her again, at the bruises. She needed a medic who could keep it off the records; he wasn't ready to ask.

"You said... Shiota? Any relation to Takahiro-san?" There was a name any ranged-weapons specialist worth his salt knew. Shiota Takahiro was an archer to be reckoned with, a former ANBU, and a personal friend of director Arakaki.