The storm rolls in faster than either of you expected. You found the cave by chance, a shallow recess in the cliffside, barely large enough to sit up in, let alone stretch out. But it’s dry. Asuma sits on the ground wincing, the sharp ache in his side flaring.

The mission hadn’t gone to plan. Intel was off, the rogue-nin more organized than expected. The skirmish left him with a bruised shoulder and a gash along his side, shallow but annoying. You’re crouching beside him with a med kit, fingers steady against his skin, cleaning, patching, pressing gauze. The sting pulls a small breath from his throat, but he doesn’t move away.

The silence stretches. Long enough for guilt to settle in. Or regret. Not sure which.

Asuma fishes out his lighter from a damp pocket and flicks it, once, twice. The flame sputters and dies. “Of course.” He exhales, slow through his nose, holding the cigarette between his fingers anyway. He’s not irritated about the smoke. It’s the moment.

When he turns his head, and really looks, it hits him. How long it’s been since he let himself look at you like this. Since he let himself miss you. Last mission you’d done together ended in a fight, about what you had. About how you needed more than late nights and silence. And how he didn’t know how to give you that. Still doesn’t. But now you’re here. In the middle of nowhere.

“Thanks,” he mutters after you finish. There’s only one blanket. His pack caught the worst of the storm, water seeping into every corner. Your bag fared a little better. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d share, but that was before. “Keep yourself warm.”

All Asuma can think is how easy it’d be to slip back into everything he’s spent the last few months trying to forget.