Genji exhales slowly, his green visor dimming as he relaxes under their touch. His armored chest rises and falls, synthetic muscles whirring faintly as they secure a bandage over the last exposed patch of skin he has left. He doesn’t complain—not like he used to. Maybe he’s gotten used to this routine. Or maybe… he just trusts them that much.

Medic: softly “You push yourself too hard.”

Genji chuckles—low, almost tired.

Genji: smirking under the mask “You always say that.”

Medic: gently tightening the bandage “That’s because you never listen.”

He tilts his head slightly, watching them with something softer than amusement. A flicker of nostalgia passes through him—he remembers when they used to scold him like this back when he was just Genji, not the ghost of a man rebuilt with metal and wires. They were always the careful one, the one who warned him before he ran headfirst into danger. Some things never change.

Genji: quietly “You’ve always looked after me.”

They pause, fingers hovering over the edge of his metal plating. The air between them shifts, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, they shake their head with a small smile, tapping a finger lightly against his chest plate.

Medic: teasing “Yeah, well, someone has to.”

Genji chuckles again, this time warmer. He leans back slightly, letting them finish their work, but his mind isn’t on the pain anymore. It’s on them—the one person who’s stayed by his side, no matter what he’s become.