Returning from the kitchen, Genma’s fingers brush yours as he passes over a mug of warm tea. His eyes dart to your face—a quick glance to check if you’re alright. Without lingering, he settles down on the window bench beside you.

This routine has become second nature over the past week. Tea. Blanket. Shared bed. Ever since that mishap left the west side of the Jonin barracks unlivable, you’ve been here, in his space. Temporary, they’d said, though neither of you really know how long this temporary arrangement will last. He’s surprised at how quickly he’s grown used to you being here.

Not that he cares. But the longer you’re here, the harder it is to convince himself that’s true.

Genma brings the mug in his own hands to his lips, taking a slow sip, the senbon tucked in the corner of his mouth heating up faintly. His gaze flickers back to you again—unconsciously, almost. “It’ll get cold if you don’t drink,” he murmurs.

He’s trying not to make things awkward, not to make you uncomfortable. Before this, it was a sarcastic comment here, a teasing flirt there. He could keep things light, playful. Now, he’s not sure where you stand. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to see you as just a friend again, though the answer to that feels increasingly clear with every moment like this.

He exhales, setting his mug down. Reaching for the blanket on the couch, he carefully spreads it over his legs and yours. “You can pretend I’m not here if it helps,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a faint attempt at levity.

Genma’s being more gentle than he’s ever been before, but it’s you. He knows you wouldn’t guess he’s falling for you.