There was an uncountable amount of times in the first few months after Hayate's murder, that Genma had been woken up in the ungodly hours of the night and early morning, to what honest to God felt like rain drops or something hitting his skin. Well, mainly just on his cheeks. But every single time he woke up, there was no moisture, there was no rain. For fucks sake he was inside every damn time. On his bed, sleeping rather painfully in dreams that he wished he wouldn't have. Dreams that left him numb inside and out, and made his chest seize, throat tighten and eyes prickle painfully when he sat up.
What made them worse was that they weren't nightmares. They weren't tragic dreams; nothing bad. They were all memories. Things he spent every waking moment trying to force himself to forget or at least bury into the depths of his brain so they would no longer torment him.
Raidou was a saint when it came down to it. He hadn't bitched or moaned about being woken up at those ungodly hours of the night and mornings, just because Genma needed someone around or so help him God he was going to snap. He was slowly breaking, and it was obvious to his friends. Even though the senbon user refused to openly admit that he wanted help, needed it even, he passed off all of his odd hour calls and summons as pure boredom. He always told Raidou he wanted to hang out, while Kotetsu and Izumo were told he couldn't sleep, needed to be worn out or drunk.
They didn't like watching the downhill progress that the other jounin was showing. Though his missions were flawless, done quickly, and turned in on time, and during the day he was the same Genma that everyone in the village knew. He was always hanging out and laughing and joking like he always did. It was like the nighttime activities didn't exist and never happened. It was even getting to a point where Tsunade was getting worried after a few conversations with Shizune mentioning things.
Genma never mentioned to them, the phantom rain feeling he was being woken up by at night. And time moved on.
The rain feeling evolved into what felt like hands, or lips. And now when he woke up, he heard whispers. The voice was soft, muffled, and God, so familiar. But it was never clear, and sounded really far away and yet right against his ear. The memory dreams kept coming, some of them, his favorites, repeating a few nights in a row.
Genma stopped asking his friends to come keep him up until the sun rose well over the tops of the buildings. He stopped acting like anything was wrong, because as badly as it hurt to keep remembering, those phantom feelings and voice was oddly soothing to the ache that was constant in his chest; the pain that had settled in his heart ever since he had seen Hayate's body on the rooftop. He adjusted to the constant burn in his throat and eyes from that urge that just wouldn't fade, and was only relieved for a temporary amount of time when Kotetsu told him some random story of the day that was just – dear God – fucking hilarious, so much so that he laughed until he cried. Though part way through the crying ceased to be from humor, but he kept laughing.
The laughing stopped one day, when Kotetsu accidently made an off-hand comment about how Genma sounded like Hayate when he laughed so hard he cried, and then kept laughing until he choked and coughed like he was hacking up one of his lungs. The other had apologized so thoroughly that Genma couldn't even bring himself to be mad at him, though he didn't laugh at any of Kotetsu's stories for a week or so.
More time passed, and Genma's downhill condition seemed to go back uphill, and his friends were relieved when he started getting more sleep, and did a lot less drinking and all-nighters that lasted for days at a time. He had been sent on a mission, a solo one that would be easy for his abilities and talent, but for once had come back not in the best condition. When he walked back through the village gates, Izumo had spotted him first, since Kotetsu was paging through assignments and looking for something to hand over to the young gennin team standing at the booth. Izumo had shot out from his seat, and helped Genma home.
For the first time, confined to the bed, with Izumo double checking one last time if he needed anything before leaving, Genma let himself mourn.
Izumo returned to his post. When Kotetsu asked, he just shook his head, and told him that Genma really needed a vacation.
Time passed, yet again. And slowly Genma seemed to accept it, Hayate's death. But he never mentioned to anyone that it was because the kid's ghost was visiting him every night.