"Y'know," said Asuma thoughtfully, "your ability to say thank you still sucks." It wasn't even a quarter of a smile this time, barely a lilt of split, scabbed lips, but the faintest spark still danced in his eyes. He'd met her halfway through a brawl--and gotten scratched for the privilege of dragging her out of it. In a weird way, it was nice to see that snap still lurking. That same bad-tempered, snarling, scrapping, driving anger. Especially after all her snuggling.

Though he wasn't protesting the snuggling.

Carefully, he braced his elbows on his knees, trying to lean comfortably and keep his back straight all at once. His head pounded, something like bone-deep nausea tangled through the oh-so-fragile casing that was all that stood between his brain and daylight. Well, unless you counted bruise-weltered skin.

And hair.

He refocused, locking his eyes on Tsume's fierce, battered face. "I'm all yours, sensei. Heal me."