Barnaby is excessively worried.
He's certain, of course, that Kotestu will be fine. The man is a fighter if nothing else (and isn't endurance his best quality?) – but it doesn't make Barnaby like the sight of him in a hospital bed any more than he currently does.
What else can he do, though, than wait for him to get better?
He drops himself by the edge of it, sets aside the bag he's brought with him, and for a moment, just watches. Kotetsu is sleeping, breathing easier than he has in awhile, head tipped slightly to the side and limbs as comfortable as a sprawl as one can attain upon a hospital bed. Barnaby wants to take him home now and make sure he gets proper rest on their expensive memory foam mattress.
For all the things a hospital can fix, Barnaby knows he'll be massaging out those knots in Kotetsu's back for a week or so to come.
He sighs, and eventually, brings himself to lean forward, simply dropping his forehead against Kotetsu's chest, then eventually, tipping his head to the side to press it cheek to it. Barnaby can hear the loud, healthy thud of his heart, and it calms him – somewhat.
It doesn't mean he still can't worry.
It's a little sickening, how much he worries about this man even when he doesn't have to. When has he ever worried about anything in life other than his own goals? For once, Barnaby realizes, so very acutely, that without having Kotetsu to worry about… he would have nothing, all over again.
And so he buries his face into Kotetsu's neck next, exhaling a shaky breath, stroking a hand back through his mussed hair and smiling at little at how scruffy the man looks after a hospital stay – his stupid beard has even lost its customary shape, somewhat.
Whenever he wakes up, Barnaby will just have to help him fix that – and tolerate another critique on his fried rice making techniques, without a doubt.