Genma's used to sitting next to hospital beds. It's always been his lot, he knew that as soon as he started studying for field medicine he'd always be the one sitting by the bed and not in it. It's not his first time being by this particular bedside, either. Gai has always been reckless, although less now than when they were young.
He talks to him, sometimes, even though Genma isn't sure how much he believes the nurses when they say he can hear him through the coma. Little nothings, just to while away the time spent at a guard post he's assigned himself to. Hanging out with Gai isn't something Genma has ever considered to be a quiet task, before.
"... Lee's finally got to put the poisons course I've been working him with to the test." Genma rambles softly, fidgeting with bedsheets he's tucked and retucked a dozen times now. "He ran into someone with a nasty knowledge of paralytics on his last mission. We're trying to get him resistant enough that he can qualify for the next jonin exams despite not having any skill in ninjutsu."
The soft beeping of the heart monitor is really the only reply. Genma huffs, glancing up at Gai's lax face. "He's doing well, once we convinced him that this was something he really needs to take his time with. Immunity can't be rushed. I'm proud of him, and I try and make sure he knows you will be as well once you can see how far he's come."
He's fussing. Genma knows he's fussing, now. He fixes Gai's bangs for him, long where they've grown out to while Gai's been asleep. "I know you hate it when your hair gets in your face, so don't tell the nurses." He whispers conspiratorially, bringing out the pair of scissors he's snuck into the ward. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. You're not the kind to throw a fit about it anyways if I fuck up, though." The scissors are loud, in the silence of the recovery ward. It's a little bit of work to get Gai's bangs to rest evenly, framing his face.
"Mm. The mullet never was your best look," Genma teases, carefully picking up the shed hair and discretely dumping it into the trash. "It brings back memories though. Guess if you want to fix it properly that means you've got to wake up eventually."
Something, anything, to fill the stillness beyond the rhythm of the heart monitor.
"We're all waiting for you." The whisper comes out a little more choked than Genma would've liked. "Okay? So you have to wake up soon."
@counterpart-multimuse | @whotookmysenbon
One of the few good things about being brought back to life, against his will, only to find out life isn’t exactly life anymore, not as he knew it anyway, is that the community has really rallied around him. How has he not realised the number of people that have joined his family over the years, that it wasn’t just his team and his rival? Maybe he’d been preoccupied with being a jonin-sensei, or too busy trying to work two lifetimes of success in one.
The visitors keep coming. Naruto, Sakura, Sai. Choza-sensei, Ebisu, Yamato, Kurenai — with Mirai! Anko pops around and lends him a couple books to keep him occupied. Tsunade is around a fair bit, which Gai knows is generous of her considering how stretched her time must be. So many visitors trickling in and out all week — Gai is touched, truly.
But they don’t understand — they can’t. That some days, it hurts just to breathe, and that when Naruto visits, he has to hold himself back from asking, “Why?”
Gai doesn’t tell them about the way the fire still crackles in his veins. Doesn’t tell them about the memory of burning to ashes playing over and over again in his mind, in his dreams. And how good it felt to die a hero, to go out like a raging fire, rivers of chakra bursting freely through his body at the peak of human capability.
Often, the day winds down to him and Genma. He doesn’t actually need protecting, he’s pretty sure, but it’s … comforting. The smile on his face eases, and he looks away, pretenses laid aside.
Genma has known him longer than almost anyone has, save Kakashi. He’s seen enough of Gai by now to know what’s on his mind without him having to say a word. He lets the fussing happen, a rhythmic push and pull of presence — he knows it’s Genma’s way of expressing his affections.
His steady friend. The thought brings a warmth to his chest, a different warmth from the well-wishes of well-meaning visitors. Genma’s been there all along, and it looks like he’s not going anywhere.
He doesn’t want to talk — he’s done enough talking all day, and words wouldn’t do justice anyway, even if he had them. Maito Gai, bested and shushed by the gift of new life. Instead, he wriggles his fingers, a sign he’s sure Genma will catch. Hold his hand, dear friend, just for a little while.
