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Ganta stares at Senji’s arm, not sure what to say. It happened two days ago, but his fellow Deadman and sort-of boyfriend hasn’t talked about it once. Does he even want to admit it happened?
But it did. Ganta watched his fight against Owl and saw him collapse on the ground and lose the fight. And then he saw the Too Bad for the Loser show and…
“Stop staring,” Senji says.
“But…”
“I told you, this shit happens all the time in here.” Senji holds up his left arm. “I lost a hand, so fucking what?”
Ganta wants to argue, but he doesn’t want to agitate Senji. He already looks shit enough without having an argument.
Right now, Senji slumps back on the bench in the training room, his face flushed and his whole demeanour groggy. You’d think he was sick, except he doesn’t have a cough or anything like that. But something is definitely wrong.
Ganta stands up and sits beside Senji, leaning his shoulder against Senji’s upper arm. Senji flinches at the contact.
“Huh, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“Stop fussing.”
But then the pieces fit together (the pain and grogginess and fever) and Ganta pulls up Senj’s sleeve and…
His arm burns under his fingers, his skin red and puffy with pronounced veins.
“Get off!” Senji hisses.
“No, I think you’ve got an infection. Let me take your dressings off.”
Senji doesn’t resist, and Ganta eases the dressings off his stump. Sure enough, his skin is red and shiny and droplets of pus leak between his stitches.
“Shit,” he whispers. “Senji…?”
“Fine, you win,” Senji says. “I might need a trip to the doctor.”
Ganta stares at the infection, and nods. “You do. Come on, I’ll take you.”
Senji rolls his eye, but smirks. “Thanks.”