He watches him in silence, counts the marks on his skin and thinks "there should be only one"; he thinks "there shouldn't be that many, there can't be that many, he wouldn't risk his life for just anyone" but even as he's thinking it, he knows it's not true. Kotetsu would do it – is doing it, every day, and has the bruises and the scrapes to prove it. He lives for everyone but himself and he would forfeit his own life in a second if it helped save another's.
It's just the way he is.
It's just the way he is, and Barnaby hates him for it; he hates him for it as much as he loves him for everything else. But he doesn't say anything. He keeps it all to himself and scowls at the burn mark on Kotetsu's shoulder even if his heart flutters in his chest every time he catches a glimpse of it (it's proof that Kotetsu cares – cares about him). He scowls without meaning it and every time Kotetsu catches him staring, he pats him on the back and smiles at him.
"This is nothing," he says.
(You're wrong, this is everything.)
"I know you would've done the same," he says.
(In a heartbeat.)
/
"You keep saying it doesn't matter, but it does," Barnaby says one day, eyes downcast and gaze fixed stubbornly on a tiny crack in the floorboard.
Kotetsu sits down next to him, rubs his sore shoulder (the wound hasn't healed yet). "I never said it doesn't matter." He sounds strangely pensive, wistful almost. "You're just making too big a deal out of it, that's all."
"Oh." A hint of venom in Barnaby's voice. He still doesn't look up, not really; he frowns instead and the set in his jaw tells Kotetsu more than he wants to know – that he said the wrong thing again and that whatever fragile balance they managed to find is threatening to collapse.
He can't look at him anymore, not like that. So he just stares straight ahead and hopes for all he is worth that he can still mend this.
"It just— doesn't mean much to me, you know? This." And he taps the bandage on his shoulder.
The words shock Barnaby into motion. He jumps and looks up at Kotetsu, anger and hurt evident on his features.
"It doesn't mean—" His voice cracks, threatens to break. "What does, then? What matters to you?"
Kotetsu looks at him and smiles. "This." His hand, warm, on Barnaby's shoulder. "You. Alive. That's what matters."