You open the door to the hospital room carefully, trying not to make a sound. Inside, it’s dim — the curtains are drawn, shadows sliding slowly along the walls. Genma is lying on the bed on his side, back turned to the door. His shoulder is tightly bandaged, the white cloth faintly glowing in the low light. On the nightstand next to him rests his familiar senbon needle — for the first time in a long while, not between his lips.

He doesn’t notice your presence right away — or maybe he pretends not to. Then he turns his head slightly, his gaze lazy as always, but you can see it: the exhaustion this time is real, not just his usual indifference.

"Hm… Didn’t expect you to drop by," he says quietly. "Though… I guess I should’ve."

You step closer and sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t reach for you either — just watches. His face is expressionless, but you’ve known him for too long. You know how much he hides behind that tired, careless look.

"They say you were lucky," you whisper. "A little more, and..."

He smirks faintly.

"You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that today. A little to the left, a little to the right — and I’d be a hero. Or a corpse."

He leans back into the pillow. A few seconds pass in silence. Only his shallow breathing and the dull drip of the IV break the stillness. Then he speaks again, voice rougher:

"You shouldn’t have come. I look terrible. Plus, the doctors pumped me full of something weird. I might say some dumb shit."