The genkan is a little more cluttered; sandals cracked with sunshine and silt inches from his house slippers. Relief; Raidou's pack dangles gracelessly from its hook, steps eager and quick. He moves past the empty living room to put the kettle into sorts; tea is better when following a bath, Genma no doubt exhausted.
The bath is too hot. But then, he made it that hot, didn’t he? Raw skin aches under the heavy barrage of water and soap, steam billowing in the chill provided by an opened window. The world is dynamic, crackling with life and will and the returning strength of his limbs. It’s always something of a bother, coming home from a mission two months late and with your significant other being assured you are dead. It’s happened one too many times, of late—— he’s slipping. No longer the graceful entity of old, but then, he never was that graceful, anyway. It mattered not how he got the job done; he just did. And rarely did any question it, at the end of the day. They gave him the jobs that meant long months spent away with little to no contact— he’d gotten used to it, really. They all had. He would leave, they would claim he was dead because of some shitty protocol, and he’d pop back up again, the process repeating itself. He’d gone a full year away from home, before. This was nothing.
And even if it was nothing, his bones still ached, rattling about as he coughed, hollow but wet. The steam is the closest thing to cigarette smoke he can rightfully give himself, at this point. He hadn’t really stopped at the store to get any. It’d been straight back home the minute he’d reported in. No unseemly injuries, this time, save the unshakable sensation that something is different, that something has changed. It doesn’t help that the gift is waiting, patient, upon the counter for Raidou. So maybe he hadn’t forgotten—- so what? He could be a good fiancé, when he wanted to be. And he wanted to be, after yet another collection of months spent apart.
The sound of movement in the kitchen brings his eyelids to creep open, gaze sweeping toward the opened doorway in hopes of catching a glimpse of life. “——-Nn. Namiashi!” The teasing that slithers its way into his tone is weak, but still present, a smile appearing on his face as he attempts to hide his own anticipation. There’s that dreadful urge again: the one to splash his way out of the bath and embrace the other nin with all his might, ignoring the shouts of ‘Stop dripping water everywhere!’ It’s a fantasy, an indulgent one, but he’s too exhausted to rightfully move from his resting place within the pool of water. He could probably settle for a kiss or two, instead.
