Chapter Text
Gen panted feverishly against the scratchy material of the nest-like bed he was lying in. Pain pulsed all over his body, still sore from his injuries, and pushed to the limit from running back to the Empire of Might.
“How is he?” He could vaguely hear Tsukasa ask the person watching over him. He couldn’t quite remember their name, fever-addled. He cursed himself for losing his touch, even whilst hurt like this.
After a quiet exchange between the two, hushed enough that Gen couldn’t make out what they were saying, Tsukasa made his way to Gen’s bedside.
“How are you?” He asked, somewhat softly. Tsukasa never quite held himself gently, at least not in front of others, but Gen could sense hints of it within him.
“Fine,” he croaked hoarsely, too tired to play around with his typical Pig Latin.
“Good,” Tsukasa hummed, not quite believing him. Gen must look awful if the complete lack of amusement was anything to go by.
Gen couldn’t bring himself to care. His head ached, pounding in time to the accelerated thumping of his heartbeat. A damp feeling fell over his forehead, and his eyes snapped open in startled surprise.
Tsukasa had laid a water-saturated scrap of cloth over his forehead. He smoothed Gen’s hair back like it was second nature, and though he was the recipient of the gesture, Gen couldn’t help but feel like the motion wasn’t for him.
“It’s a shame we don’t have anyone well-versed in medicine to care for you,” Tsukasa clucked his tongue. There was someone. He’s dead. Or, at least that’s what Gen had led Tsukasa to believe.
Gen tried to reply, but he couldn’t quite get the words out. It fizzled out into an unnatural rattle from his throat. Tsukasa shushed him.
“Don’t force yourself to speak,” he scolded. Once again, Gen felt like it wasn’t directed at him, despite being the only one in the room.
Shifting slightly, Gen couldn’t help the pained gasp that tore from him.
“Does it hurt?” Tsukasa asked him, voice lowered into something almost soft. Gen gave his best attempt at a nod. He wished he had a little more time, so his injuries could have healed a little bit more before he had to run back to Tsukasa. Everything ached.
Tsukasa frowned. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.” Gen’s eyes widened at the apology. It was, frankly, unnecessary. It wasn’t like Tsukasa was the one who had attacked him in the middle of the night. Perhaps he felt guilty that he had sent one of his weakest subordinates and metaphorically thrown him to the wolves.
Tsukasa stewed in whatever he was feeling for a while, and Gen made no further attempts to move or talk. After a while, Tsukasa inhaled a sharp breath.
“You’re bleeding,” he muttered, more to himself than Gen. Gen frowned. Senku had been the one to patch him up originally, leaving him wrapped in bandages coated in a salve that had helped soothe the worst of Gen’s pain, even just a little. He internally mourned needing them changed. Any sterile cloth would work, but the pain already gnawing at him would flare.
Tsukasa helped Gen up into a sitting position. “Shh, I know,” he comforted Gen following the involuntary cry of pain that tore itself from his throat. Gen panted, slumping into Tsukasa’s side. Surprisingly, Tsukasa allowed this. The damp scrap of fabric on Gen’s forehead slipped onto his lap.
Tsukasa changed out Gen’s dirtied bandages for him, and then replaced the fallen fabric from his forehead, wetting it again so it was fresh for him. Gen’s brows furrowed in confusion. He never would have expected this treatment from Tsukasa.
“You should get some rest,” Tsukasa told him. Gen wanted nothing more than to follow through on that advice, to sleep and not wake up until the aches all over his body ceased their attack, but that was precisely his predicament. Everything hurt far too much for him to be able to fall asleep. A reedy breath escaped him.
Tsukasa seemed to understand his predicament. He didn’t say anything in response, but he stayed in his position at Gen’s bedside. It was still surprising, but Gen was starting to be soothed by Tsukasa’s presence. It felt like a gentle protection, one Gen wouldn’t have thought he had access to before now.
Breathing was hard. His ribs ached. Inhaling too much, which was really just taking in a reasonable amount of air, caused a sharp pain to spark in his ribs. Tsukasa frowned at the sight. Gently, he manhandled Gen to the edge of the bed until he was slightly propped up by the lip of it. “Is that better?” He asked. Gen let out an affirmative noise.
Tsukasa was silent for a while. He stared at Gen, searching for something. “You’re alright?” He asked again. He definitely hadn’t believed Gen the first time. Gen was self-aware enough to be able to admit to himself that he certainly wasn’t alright, but despite the internal admission, he wasn’t prepared to tell the truth to Tsukasa. Gen was a prey animal. He was weak. Being a mentalist gave him a protective shell. Telling the truth to Tsukasa would be like exposing his soft underbelly to a lion. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“I’m fine,” he whispered. He couldn’t force his voice any louder than that. Tsukasa looked almost disappointed to hear his reply.
“Okay, Gen,” he sighed. Gen couldn’t help feeling as though he had made the wrong choice. He winced, worried that he had damaged his semi-positive standing with Tsukasa. Tsukasa interpreted the expression as one of pain. “I know that it’s hard, but you really should try to rest,” he insisted.
A wave of exhaustion crashed over Gen, and he obediently shut his eyes. Sleep wasn’t as far gone as it had seemed mere minutes before. Tsukasa bade him goodnight and left.
When Gen made a full recovery, he pretended that he didn’t remember Tsukasa tending to him. Anything to keep their relationship positive.