Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time he coughed a white petal was during the fall-out of the Shinsengumi, when everything they'd ever worked for, everything they'd ever treasured and protected, was falling apart right in front of his very eyes and he could only watch with disgusting helplessness. 

More specifically, it happened when he decided to give it one last try, a last try to save their Commander, save their Shinsengumi, and maybe even their Edo. It happened just a bit after he gained enough confidence to push the barrack's gate open again because he was told, "you can still protect both." 

That first time he coughed up a petal wouldn't have been worth noticing if it wasn't for the fact that it was in the middle of winter, with no blooming trees to inhale or swallow their petals by mistake. 

That being said, he remembers coughing just a few times here and there, shoving the whole matter to the back of his mind to focus more on the upcoming battles. 
And after the Shinsengumi left Edo, save for the first two days - in which he experienced frequent episodes of coughing - it went away, and he forgot all about it.

He coughed up a couple of petals during their fight with Utsuro, in the middle of life-or-death battles, surrounded by corpses of comrades and enemies alike. He didn't even have time to register the reoccurrence of these coughing fits when his men's lives were taken one by one, when Utsuro attacked Kondou-san and Sougo and cut Yamazaki's neck open and tore at his chest with his sword, of course he'd cough! The petals? When the whole thing was over and they were all slowly picking themselves up, when he had to sit down and rationalize it, he blamed it on Hedoro, he was near that flower monster at some point after all. Go figure.

The nagging feeling that something was not right barely had time to spark before it was burned out by the discovery of the Yorozuya's disbandment and Sakata Gintoki's disappearance. 

He experienced two violent but short lasting coughing fits when he met Gintoki after two years separation and when he chased him back to Edo. 

Another life-or-death battle took place and the matter was yet again forgotten. 

He's sitting in the park the Shinsengumi once shared with the Yorozuya, surrounded by just about every face he recognizes in Edo (and many he doesn't even remember seeing before, like that stupid-looking perm head with the loudest, most obnoxious laugh he's ever heard, dumbest sunglasses, and who's getting along too well with Kondou-san to the point it's unsettling) when he suddenly finds the spot next to him occupied by Gintoki. It's just like years ago, when they first shared drinks here, under sakura trees in bloom as well, only this time: they're shoulder to shoulder instead of back to back. 

"I hope you've brought back more sake to add to the stash you gave me," Gintoki says, giving him a playful smirk. "You've traveled enough to have an impressive collection." 

Hijikata scoffs. "As if I had that kinda time!" He squints at Gintoki. "Plus, I'm sure you haven't even managed to touch any of that sake I gave you, with everything that's been going on these last years." 

"Finished about half of it in the first week," Gintoki replied. 

"What!? That's some strong stuff I got there, that's why I told you to drink it bit by bit, you idiot!" Hijikata gave him a disbelieving look. "What were you thinking? Trying to kill yourself!?" 

Gintoki pointedly looked away with a blank face, which slowly morphed into a resigned smile as he murmured, "you did say you were coming back once I've finished it all." 

Hijikata blinked, trying to take in the meaning of what Gintoki just said.

The moment he did, his body tensed and a violent coughing fit overtook him. It lasted about 20 seconds, which was enough to draw attention from anyone nearby. 

"Hey, you okay?" Gintoki asked, voice hesitant and almost concerned. 

As soon as he caught his breath, he nodded and unclenched the fist he coughed into, revealing a lump of petals.

"That's a lot to inhale, even for a nicotine freak," Gintoki commented in a teasing tone. 

And out of all the times he had coughed up these white petals, this was by far the most easily explained one, seeing as he was surrounded by blooming trees in spring. Yet for a reason Hijikata isn't sure of, he tried to get off topic with one of their playful bickering sessions, while the alarming feeling that something was definitely not right started getting more and more certain. 

Chapter Text

The Shinsengumi resumed their role as the defenders of Edo under the reign of Princess Soyo. Due to the fact that the police force had recruited many people since the last time they’d left the barracks, and had never officially been reformed until now, their old headquarters became no longer capable of containing all members of the Shinsengumi. So, until readjustments are made, Hijikata and some other members each had to rent their own place.

This all suits him just fine, since the coughs have been getting stronger and more persistent, and he’s not ready to have anyone know about it yet. He knows he should probably see a doctor about it, but then what? They’ll tell him to stop smoking or some shit, give him some medicine and that’s it. He’s not even sure if coughing up flowers warrants a visit to the doctor. But if not then who could help him? A botanist?

Hijikata sighs and rubs his temples. It’s been a week since the cough came back with full force and he’s been wondering about what he should do all the time, yet nothing seems right.

Glancing at the clock, he decides it’s time to head out. Maybe if he could just busy himself with the newly founded government and the reformed police force, he’ll be able to forget about these ridiculous coughs and they’ll go away like they had before.

As if to spite him for thinking that way, another coughing fit attacks, leaving behind a lump of petals and – he squints – are those leaves?

Steadying his breath, he walks out of his apartment and tries to will away the dread spreading through his guts.

“Tooouuushiiiiiii!”

He barely has time to register his name being called before he’s pulled into his commander’s affectionate hug.

“Kondou-san.” He turns to face Kondou after he’s released his grip, and is met with a bright smile.

“It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Kondou exclaims. “It doesn’t feel right not living under the same roof anymore, when we’ve all shared one for years.”

“We saw each other just yesterday morning,” Hijikata replies with a chuckle. Though he guesses Kondou is right, he does miss sharing a roof with the noisy men of the Shinsengumi.

“Still!” Kondou pauses for a moment, and stares at him, a worried frown forming on his face. “Hey Toushi, you doin’ alright?”

Hijikata raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t…look so good,” the brunet replies hesitantly. “You seem…I don’t know, worn out? Have you been pushing yourself too hard again?”

The concerned inquiry startles Hijikata. He hasn’t realized he’s started to look bad. A quick thought of how it’s actually for the best he’s not living under the same roof with anyone right now crosses his mind before he discards it in favor of digging up an excuse to answer his commander with.

“Well, it’s – uh – yeah. I was – I had this, this thing I’ve been looking into recently,” he stutters out. Fuck, that was pathetic. Do better. Gathering his wits, he continues more calmly: “It’s just a case I was working on when I was stationed in the countryside a couple of months back. Nothing major, but I got curious,” he shrugs for the record, and offers a sheepish look that says you got me. “You know how I am.”

The act, fortunately, works and he sees Kondou relaxing a little bit, even with the disapproving frown on his face. “I do, but please take care of yourself, Toushi.”

“I will, Kondou-san. Sorry for worrying you.” He smiles at his commander and with that, they move on to another topic.   

Hijikata spends the rest of the day praying he doesn’t cough in front of Kondou, and if he does, then it would pass quickly. In the end, he ends up coughing a couple of time in others’ presence, and the effort of trying to swallow the more violent coughs pays well that he only gets asked if he’s okay twice while shrugging it off.

It’s pathetic that he has to keep looking for empty corners and bathroom stalls to have his respiratory tract assaulted by innocent-looking white petals and God knows what other parts of a plant he’s coughing.

It’s even more pathetic that he has to sit for a minute or two to steady himself and stop his body from shaking.

He doesn’t know if this is a legitimate illness or not, but it’s starting to ruin his everyday life and he’s had enough. He’s visiting the hospital first thing tomorrow. For now, he just wants to go home and sleep, his body is worn out and his head feels like it’s splitting in two.

Art by Inami <3

Chapter Text

“Hanahaki disease?”

The doctor sitting in front of Hijikata nods with a sympathetic look on his face. “You have probably heard about it before too, Hijikata-san. It caused an epidemic about three years ago, when an Amanto shipment imported into the country had mistakenly contained seeds of the koibana plant.” Apparently reading the question on his face – and guessing Hijikata, in fact, did not hear about this before – he further elaborates: “The koibana is an Amanto plant; its seeds are as small as the earth plants’ pollen grains. That gives the seed the same ability to flow freely in the air, and people could inhale it without even realizing it. It’s completely harmless under normal circumstances, and the susceptibility related to it is very much like any normal allergy. That is, it depends on the person’s body – immune system, to be specific – and whether they’re going through – ah – certain conditions to elicit a response.”

Hijikata frowns. “What conditions?”

The man clad in a white coat clears his throat before speaking. “The seed starts growing and flowering when its carrier is experiencing unrequited love.”

Blink. His brain is filled to the brim with question marks and what the fuck did I just hear? that Hijikata can barely force out an, “excuse me?”   

“The susceptibility – that is, your immune system’s reaction to the seed – is not enough to experience the harmful effects. This seed has settled inside your respiratory tract, but there’s no way to know how long it’s been there for. Unless provided with suitable conditions to allow its growth, the koibana seed could be latent for a whole lifetime without causing any harm to the carrier. As it is an Amanto plant, I’m afraid to say our studies have not discovered its growth mechanism yet. But,” the doctor swallows, “clinical observations have shown that it feeds on the emotions of a person harboring a one-sided love. As absurd as this diagnosis sounds, Hijikata-san, you are unrequitedly in love with someone, and your feelings are causing the koibana to grow. You have an actual plant growing inside your body right now.”

Hijikata has been feeling numb since halfway through this – fucking ridiculous – explanation. He has no idea what to think right now and he’s not really in complete control of himself since he’s probably staring and gaping at the doctor.

He doesn’t even have time to let it all sink in before the other man continues throwing What The Fuck Bombs at him.

“The longer time you leave this matter, the more the plant will develop and the worse your condition will be. Soon enough, it will puncture your lung and spread to the rest of your body, damaging more organs as it grows. There is an urgent necessity for an immediate action to be taken to cure you of this disease, Hijikata-san.”

“…cure?” Hijikata manages to ask.

The doctor nods. “It can be cured by two ways. The first one is, simply, if your love becomes requited. If the person you’re in love with loves you back, the plant shrinks until it’s down to its previous size of a seed, only, it will be completely inactivated after this. The second way, in case your feelings remain unreciprocated, is a surgery. We will have to take out the plant from inside your lungs and wherever else it has spread. The sooner the operation is done, the higher chances of success and lesser side effects you’ll have.”

Hijikata is growing more and more confused by every word the other man utters. His thoughts are all over the place, he’s got hundreds of arguments and questions whirling in his head, yet nothing is getting pushed out of his throat.

The doctor offers him a few moments to compose himself and take it all in, which Hijikata would have been thankful for had he been able to make sense of this situation and didn’t feel like an unfortunate victim of a baseball bat bashed into his head a couple of times.

Apparently, the man’s mercy is only limited to a few seconds of silence. “Ah, and one last thing concerning the surgery, should you decide to go with it: once the plant is removed from your body, the romantic feelings you’ve had for the person you’re in love with will disappear.”

As if he wasn’t told enough information to produce the headache of the century, this one is just the cherry on top.  

He excuses himself before the doctor – Yamanaka? Yamada? Maybe Yamamori? Does it even matter? – could say more to add to his growing panic.

Finding a bench under a tree shade, Hijikata decides to just sit there and stare at nothing, while replaying the whole conversation again in his head.

After years of witnessing and experiencing the weird shit Amanto stuff could cause, this weird-ass disease doesn’t seem that implausible. It shouldn’t really, when he had been converted into an actual screw driver at one point, but it is. It’s weird and random as fuck and pathetic and he has no idea where to start naming all the reasons why this is completely fucked up.

Letting out a sigh – which turns into a small coughing fit, the bitch – he buries his face in his hands while resting his elbows on his knees and just tries to sort his thoughts out.

So he’s actually sick. An illness caused by some weird-ass seed of some weird-ass Amanto plant with a stupid-ass name.

And said seed is now growing into a fucking plant inside his fucking lungs because he –

This is the part he just doesn’t understand.  

What unrequited love was that Yama-something guy talking about?

Hijikata swallows. This is a train of thought he doesn’t want to start.

But if he doesn’t face it, he could actually die by choking on some fucking flower.

He refuses to die like that. Sougo would literally laugh at his grave every day. The Demon Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi killed by some plant growing inside his body because he apparently decided to look for romance where he shouldn’t.

It's a fucking joke! 

But what romance is this? Since when had he developed one-sided feelings for someone?

Hijikata’s hands slide from his face to grip his hair.

He – he only fell in love once in his whole life.

He wouldn’t say he’s in love, but he also doesn’t think he’ll ever get over her.

But this just doesn’t make any sense.

Because –

Because as far as Hijikata knows, his feelings for Mitsuba were not one-sided.

He’s pretty damn sure his love for her wasn’t unrequited.

So why?

…maybe it’s unreciprocated because she’s –

No, he stops himself. That changes nothing. He’s always been aware that Mitsuba felt something for him. Everyone knows it.

And if this seed has been in his body for years, then why is it only now that it’s started to grow?

Letting out a frustrated huff, Hijikata leans back on the bench, tilts his head back and covers his eyes with his forearm.

So, what now?

He’s not getting anywhere. The whole idea of him being in love with someone is so foreign that Hijikata honestly doesn’t know how to dissect it.

Could it be someone else?

He lets out a snort that turns into a violent cough. The fit feels like it lasted forever before he could breathe again.

His hands are trembling and his head feels dizzy, and God his chest. It feels like – well, like there’s a fucking plant growing inside and pressing on his lungs and it fucking hurts.

He needs to figure this out soon. He needs to get to the root – bad choice of words – of all this before it actually kills him.

He doesn’t fear death, but he’ll be damned if something this stupid is why he dies. He would rather ask Sougo to personally assassinate him than die a pathetic death like this.

He’ll get through this. He has to.

He just needs to know what’s killing him.

Chapter Text

So he doesn’t know what’s killing him per se, but he knows how he’ll die.

Because he’s alone in his apartment with a fucking monster.

A monster that, with his shitty luck, recognizes him very well and is giving him a menacing smile that tells Hijikata he shouldn’t worry about his illness after all.

Because he’s alone in a room with a fucking Dakini who apparently goes berserk if you breathe near the flower atop his head.

Well, at least this death won’t have Sougo laughing at his grave, that brat did try to run away with his life from these damned Dakini that one traumatic visit to the public bathhouse.

As if reading his thoughts, the monster’s grin becomes even wider, as if promising that death won’t come so nicely.

Hijikata very much does not flinch. He does not.

“So, Hijikata-san,” Hedoro starts, and Hijikata does not jump in his seat, “would you like to start telling me what’s bothering you,” being in the same room as you, for starters!  “Or would you like me to tell you about your condition?” as in how you’re going to kill me!? Hedoro sends him another death-promising grin.

Hijikata tries to swallow his so-not-there fear (it’s just survival instinct kicking in!) he stutters out a, “Y-you can s-start first,” then, just in case it helps his cause, “please.”

 Hedoro clears his throat. “Well, Yamamori-sensei informed me that he filled you in on the basics of this disease, so I will try my best to help you figure out what you want to do from now on.”

So Yamamori-sensei is the name of the man who sent him to his death. Okay.

“Hijikata-san, if you don’t mind me asking, are you in love with anyone right now?” Hedoro tentatively – as much as a goddamn Dakini monster is capable of mustering – asks.

But that’s good; it distracts Hijikata from his panic (fucking survival instinct!) as the one topic he’s been bothered with for the last two days is tackled.

“I’m not,” Hijikata frowns. “At least, it’s not something I actively think about or pursue.”

“Oh! So that means there is someone you’re in love with?”

Hijikata scowls. He doesn’t see how any of this is supposed to be of any help. He knows that’s got nothing to do with it. He doesn’t see why he has to talk about feelings and love with a fucking Dakini.

It seems his hesitation answers Hedoro, as he starts prodding more. “Is there any reason that stops you from being with her?”

Hijikata grits his teeth. Why is this happening to him? He doesn’t even know where to begin answering this question. Because he was never good enough for her? Because he knew he’ll just ruin her? Because she deserved so much more than a man who spends his life on the battlefield, making more enemies day by day? Because –

“She’s dead.”

His voice sounded so hollow to his own ears that it catches him off guard for a second, but he recovers well before Hedoro is capable of forming an apology.

“I – I am very sorry,” the Dakini lowers his head. “I did not mean to sound so insensitive.”

Speaking seems too much a hassle so he settles for a pathetic shrug.

“Has she passed recently?”

Hijikata shakes his head. “Been around three years.”

Hedoro frowns, confusion written all over his face. “Three years?” Hijikata nods. “That’s – well. Do you remember if these coughs happened before she passed away?”

“It didn’t,” Hijikata answers. “I’m pretty sure I remember the first time it happened, it was months after.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, he asks, “What’s that got to do with anything? That’s not why I’m having this disease.”

“Hanahaki disease is, as Yamamori-sensei must have previously explained, based on one having unreciprocated, unrequited, one-sided feelings for another. I understand your reluctance to share your personal feelings and private thoughts but it is vital in your condition.”

The deeper they go into this topic, the more irritated he feels. “Look,” he growls, all previous feelings of panic and fear of the monster sitting in front of him forgotten, “she has nothing to do with this. She died long before I had this cough and I’m pretty sure my – it was not one-sided. Neither unrequited. Neither unreciprocated.”

Hedoro looks at him in confusion. “It was not?”

Hijikata just glares.

Hedoro stops talking after that, seems to be lost in thought for awhile, which suits Hijikata just fine, he needs to calm down. He takes a deep breath and revels as he exhales it smoothly. He’s called up his doctor a couple of hours after storming out his office two days ago asking for cough suppressants. The doctor warned him that the medication won’t be as helpful as they should be with his condition, but just being able to inhale without his lungs feeling like they’ll collapse is a great feat right now.

It was that same phone call that resulted in this shitty situation right now, though. His doctor recommended him a specialist in Amanto plants, an Amanto botanist so to say, to discuss his condition with further, as he’d have more experience in the development of his disease. He promised that talking to this botanist will help Hijikata figure out where to go from this point.

That asshole did not mention the botanist was also a member of one of the three strongest clans in the universe. It also explained why he was persistent that “It’s a private talk, so I wouldn’t want to intrude! Please let me know if you need any medical guidance, though!”

Hijikata was so busy cursing the coward little shit of a doctor in his head that he didn’t register Hedoro calling him at first. “Uh, yes, sorry, what?”

“I was wondering if you’ve experienced any more,” Hedoro scratched the back of his neck, and Hijikata knew this was going to get even more awkward, “recent romance? In the last three years?”

“No, uh, not really.” I can’t believe a Dakini is discussing my love life, Hijikata did all he could to stop himself from groaning.

“Hijikata-san, it is very important to confirm this,” Hedoro’s tone had a warning edge to it that alerted Hijikata. “Are you sure your feelings were not one-sided?”

Hedoro was staring at him in a very unsettling way, and not because the sight of his face scared Hijikata shitless. He forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on the Dakini as he answered him. “Yes,” Hijikata nodded, “I’m positive.”

Hedoro nodded. “Then allow me to tell you this, Hijikata-san,” squaring his shoulders, the Dakini stated: “You are in love with someone else.”

Hijikata stared.

“I know it seems unconvincing, having someone else decide that for you. But you seem to have fallen in love with someone in the past three years, and have not realized it yet.”

“No,” Hijikata blinked a couple of times. “I haven’t – there’s no way I wouldn’t know it. And – “

“Hijikata-san,” Hedoro interrupts, “I understand. I understand how confused you must be right now, but that is the only explanation. It happens, someone not realizing – “

“I am not!” Hijikata shouts, jumping to his feet and moving to stand in Hedoro’s face in a second. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me what I feel! Who the fuck do you think you are!?”

“Hijikata-san, please calm – “

“No! You barely talked to me for ten minutes and now you talk like you have me all figured out!”

Throwing all thoughts of preservation, of not getting on the Dakini’s bad side, out the window, he keeps yelling.

“How dare you play it off like it’s nothing?! What do you know about me? – ”

“Hijikata-san, please calm – “

“ – About her? I’ve never stopped loving her for over ten fucking years! – “

“Hijikata-san!”

“ – You don’t get to play it down just so things could make sense to you! You have no right!”

“Hijikata-san!” Hedoro raises his voice and just like that, Hijikata stops talking.

And starts coughing, very, very violently.

It’s the worst he’s had so far, he can’t even move his hands to reach out for the inhaler in his pocket that he was told to use when he needs immediate relief. He can’t hear anything over the loud ringing in his ears and the sound of his cough, he can’t think anything outside this is it because it’s really happening oh god he can’t breathe, he can’t he can’t he can’t –

He opens his eyes with a bit of a struggle, and all he sees is white. Everything in his head is pleasantly blank for a few seconds before the memories come rushing and he realizes he’s in a hospital and he’s miraculously not dead yet.

He registers the oxygen mask on his face, the heaviness of his limbs and the ringing in his ears. He tries to move his head to see if anyone else is in the room with him and is relieved when he finds no one.

It feels like it’s taking him forever to push himself into a sitting position and take the mask off his face. His head is spinning and the annoying ringing is not going away. He feels so goddamn exhausted but he needs to leave the hospital room right now, before anyone comes in.

And because whatever force of nature has been a bitch to him lately, the door opens at that exact moment.

One look at who it is and Hijikata feels everything in his body has been replaced with dread.

The “Toushi,” that comes out of Kondou Isao’s mouth matches the panicked, sickly worried expression he’s wearing very well.

Chapter Text

Hijikata doesn’t remember the last time he’d felt this uncomfortable being in the presence of his Commander – if he ever felt this level of discomfort. Kondou Isao is looking at him with such devastation; it physically hurts to maintain eye contact with him.  

Feeling the silence getting heavier with every breath, Hijikata forces himself to break it. “Kondou-san, I…” he rasps, voice scratchy and his trachea burns with every word. “It’s just – “

“Before you say it’s just you overworking yourself,” Kondou interrupts, frowning, “or anything along the lines that I know you’re gonna feed me, I should tell you, Yamamori-sensei has already shared your condition with me,” he finishes, voice laced with so much sadness, fear, disappointment – all kinds of emotions Hijikata would rather die than have his Commander direct at him.

Except he is dying, so he lets it slide in favor of dealing with the more pressing dilemma: that piece of shit doctor has disclosed his condition to someone without his approval, this is a clear broach at his patient confidentiality rights! He clenches his teeth, wills his anger to subside for now and deal with the man looking at him like he owes him an explanation.

Hijikata truly believes he doesn’t.

“I pulled a rank on him to disclose your information, you know,” Kondou states. With a shrug he says, “You weren’t going to tell me anything, and abusing my position was the only thing I could do to know why I got a call saying you were in the goddamn ER!” he shouts.

Hijikata flinches. He could count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Kondou Isao this upset. Even less when directed at him. He doesn’t know what to do.

“How long were you planning on hiding this, huh, Toushi?” Kondou’s voice is heavy and cracks every two words. “Were you ever gonna say anything?” then he shakes his head, answering his own question. “Of course not, you probably would have let yourself suffocate to death before you uttered a single word about it.” The bitterness in his words does wonders to worsen Hijikata’s already deteriorating mood.

Hijikata tries to inhale as deeply as he can, tries to calm himself, because apparently he’s at that level of illness where agitation gets him into the fucking ER.

“Kondou-san, please calm down,” he manages out. “You just said we’re in the ER, you – “ he pauses to cough out a particularly annoying petal tickling the back of his throat, which adds flame to his already burning trachea. He winces and tries to school his features and swallow down the sudden flare of pain before continuing.

“Here.” Hijikata finds a cup of water right in front of him, and his Commander’s voice is suddenly so soft, nothing more than a gentle whisper. He nods his gratitude and takes a much needed sip.

After deeming himself capable of speaking again, Hijikata chances a look at his Commander, who’s looking right back at him with so much worry and concern and hurt and –

Hijikata looks away, frowning.

Kondou sighs, and sits on the chair next to the bed. “You’re not in the ER anymore; they moved you to a separate room, since your condition stabilized.” When Hijikata fails to respond with anything but an understanding nod, Kondou tries again: “What are you planning to do about this, Toushi?”

Hijikata sighs. “I don’t know yet. I can’t even wrap my head around the fact that I have such a disease, to begin with.” He shrugs. “I’m probably gonna end up having the surgery, but first I need to know,” he swallows, “I need to know what’s causing this. Because no one is giving me a sound explanation and I won’t risk – I won’t have the surgery until I know what I’m losing.”

He won’t risk having his feelings for Mitsuba removed just so he could live another day. He doesn’t know how much Kondou has learned about his condition, or if he knows the whole reason Hijikata is here is because of that fucked up conversation he had with Hedoro, but seeing how Kondou looks like he expected this answer, he figures his Commander has been informed about the heated discussion he shared with the Dakini.

Kondou looks like he’s gathering his courage to speak, and Hijikata just wishes he drops this conversation altogether.

“Toushi you know – you know it can’t be her,” his Commander starts, slowly and hesitantly, like he’s worried Hijikata will be sent to the ER again with every word he says. “Yamamori-sensei said the main cause of this disease is having unrequited love for someone,” he looks helpless as how to finish this train of thought in the gentlest way, but he ends up just gesturing with his hands, opening and closing his mouth a few times before just shrugging and concluding with, “You, me, Sougo, everyone knows that this wasn’t the case with you and Mitsuba-dono,” Kondou gives him a withering look. “She loved you. Even when we last saw her, even when she was engaged to someone else and on her deathbed, she loved you, and you know that.”

Hijikata twists the sheets with his clenched fists and looks anywhere but at Kondou. He can’t do this right now, he doesn’t want to do this right now.

“Look, Kondou-san, I – “

“You need to stop denying this.” In a moment, Kondou is off the chair and is sitting on the edge of the bed, and willing Hijikata to look at him. “This denial, Toushi, this denial is what’s gonna kill you,” he says desperately.

Hijikata feels a sudden wave of anger taking over him and he does nothing to quell it this time. “You just let two practical strangers tell you that I must be in love with someone else and that’s killing me and according to their medical and botanical experience, based on shit, they decided that I can’t be in love with the one woman I ever felt this way about, because it doesn’t make sense to them!” he growls, spitting out the words with all the disgust he feels about the situation he’s in. “How very fucking convenient!”

Kondou shakes his head, the look of desperation not leaving his face. “You need to think this over without denying the possibility. Please, Toushi.” He grips Hijikata’s shoulder. “I know you, Toushi. I’ve known you before you met Mitsuba-dono, I’ve seen you love her, I’ve seen you give up on a life with her,” his eyes start watering, “I’ve seen how you never showed an interest in a woman after her, I’ve seen you mourn her, and I know, I know you would never let yourself love anyone else. I know you would hate yourself because you would think you don’t deserve to love anyone else because you hurt her and I know you’re gonna guilt yourself to your death if this goes on, so please, please, Toushi, stop this denial. Please.”

By the end of his speech, Kondou was sobbing and clutching Hijikata’s shoulder like a lifeline. And Hijikata was too numbed out by the words to do anything, to feel anything.

Hijikata doesn’t know how long they sat there, Kondou’s breathy sobs and his sniffling the only sounds filling the silence. It felt like forever before the Commander of the Shinsengumi got a hold of himself and calmed down.

“Toushi, I just need you to know this,” Kondou started, his voice trembling and heavy with tears, “You are one of the most important people in my life. You’re my Vice Commander and my best friend and my brother. You’re the sword I fight with, and the wall I lean on, and you’re the person I trust the most with my life, my men, my Shinsengumi, everything,” he shook Hijikata’s shoulder, “And you’re one of the smartest and wisest men that I’ve ever met, one of the most honorable samurai I’ve ever known and the thought of you dying, the thought of losing you frightens me. Being told by a doctor that you’ve been suffering through a possibly terminal disease, that you’re well on your way to death, is scaring me and killing me and I can’t bear the thought of watching you live in denial to your grave. I can’t. So please, if you’re not willing to live for yourself, then do it for me. Do it for the Shinsengumi. Please.”

To say Hijikata’s caught off-guard by his Commander’s speech would be an understatement. He’s positive he’s never seen his Commander break down like this ever before, even during Itou’s ordeal. It pains him to see the man he holds higher than anyone else in his life plead with such desperation because of him. It pains him to see he’s causing the fearless Kondou Isao all this fraught. It pains him to see the goofy Commander of his with the largest, brightest smile break into sobs and tears because of him.

There’s a lump in Hijikata’s throat that he has to swallow before he can utter out a single, whispered, “Okay.”

Kondou looks at him with equal amounts of desperation and hopefulness, “Okay?”

Hijikata nods numbly, “I’ll work this out, I – I won’t…” he raises one hand and holds his Commander’s wrist with it, squeezing in reassurance. “I won’t die over this. I promise.” Then, he tries to lift the corners of his lips in a small, but not fake, smile. “I live for you and the Shinsengumi, after all. I won’t die for anything or anyone else.”

He almost starts doubting his words because they send his Commander into another bout of tears, before the hands clutching his shoulder slip to grip his back in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, Toushi.”

Hijikata huffs a chuckle and pats his Commander’s back, “No, Kondou-san,” he responds, his voice warm with affection, “thank you.”

For reminding me that I need to live regardless of what’s killing me now.

Chapter Text

Hijikata stares at the sign of the establishment he’s contemplating entering, and thinks about how desperate he really is to resort to this place.

The words Kamakko club stare at him with all their pink and heart-filled glory.

Hijikata sighs. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and lately he’s been nothing but desperate.

Desperate for a drink, to get so drunk and forget about all the shit he’s been dealing with lately, without having strangers forcing their logic on him or comrades giving him these worry-filled looks.

Kondou had assured him back at the hospital that no one knows about his condition but him, that Sougo specifically hasn’t sniffed this out yet, and that he’s telling all their men that their Vice Commander has a tricky case he has to focus on so they won’t be seeing him around much until it’s solved.

And Hijikata knows that he can count on his Commander to keep this between them, to keep his men in check while Hijikata isn’t around, but he doesn’t trust anyone, including himself, to keep anything from Sougo when he wants to know something. Hijikata is not going to kid himself; he knows it’s a matter of time before he’s forced to have a much-dreaded conversation with Sougo.

So for now, he’s avoiding him. He’s putting in a lot of effort not to run into anyone he could possibly know. So drinking at a normal bar, or any of the stalls he frequents, is out of question.

And while he knows walking into Kabuki-chou is basically stepping into a minefield, he trusts that no one would think of finding him in an okama club. Why would they? Hijikata himself would have laughed manically while murdering whoever told him that weeks later, he’ll be going into an okama club for a drink.

As it is now, Hijikata forces his feet to move forward, quickly before he actually runs into all the hoodlums he knows in Kabuki-chou.

It’s not like the drag queens of Kamakko club and him are complete strangers, really. They fought together during critical times. They’re just the right amount of strangers, though, to stay at an acceptable distance while tending to his requests.

He walks into the dimly lit hall of the club, a couple of drag queens are on the stage performing some type of dance. Hijikata scans the room for an empty table, seeing that there are a good number of patrons seated already, when one drag queen approaches him.

“Good evening, sir! May I he – Hijikata-san?” the man squeaks.

It takes a few seconds before Hijikata recognizes the man. Or at least, recognizes his chin. “Ah – yes, hello, um Ago – “

“Azumi,” the man says sharply before forcing a hesitant smile on his face, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

He doesn’t really blame him; he almost can’t believe it himself.

Greeting him with a nod, Hijikata states his request. “I would like a table as far away as possible from everyone else, please.”

Azumi raises his eyebrows. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out for a few moments before he gathers himself and nods, starts walking and asks Hijikata to follow him.

As requested, his table is at the furthest corner of the room. “I would have provided you with one of our special guest rooms, but they’re all occupied at the moment, and this is the most private table I can offer you right now,” Ago – Azumi explains apologetically.

Hijikata shakes his head. “This will do, thank you.”

Ago – Azumi nods. “I’ll send someone to you in a jiffy!” he says and walks away before Hijikata can voice his complaint.

He doesn’t want a drag queen keeping him company; he just wants to drink in peace!

Hijikata sighs again, this one turning into a slight cough. Breathing has been getting harder and harder every day. Every breath is more difficult than the one before it, and he knows he needs to schedule for the surgery soon.

And he will. He really will. The conversation he had with his Commander three days ago at the hospital already decided that for him. He’s just –

He’s just trying to buy more time to overcome his denial and accept the possibility of having fallen for someone in the last three years, someone that isn’t Mitsuba. He wants to know who he’s giving up on.

He’s so deep in this depressive train of thoughts that he doesn’t notice the drag queen approaching his table until he’s right in front of him, staring him down. “Well, well, well,” the familiar voice drawls out mockingly, “this is a surprise.”

Hijikata feels his eyebrows climb up to his hairline while his jaw drops. No, he screams internally, no no no nononononono this cannot be fucking happening!

“You – what – why – “ Hijikata stammers out. His mouth is doing this stupid imitation of a fish where it opens and closes uselessly. A cough or two force their way out.

Gintoki smirks. “I should be asking you that, esteemed Demon Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi.” The smug, mocking tone grates on Hijikata’s nerves.

Hijikata scowls. “I don’t need to explain anything to you, bastard!” he spits out.

The Yorozuya shrugs nonchalantly, moving to plop down right next to Hijikata. “Hello, my name is Paako and I’ll be your company for the night,” Gintoki says in a falsely pleasant tone. “What would you like to start this lovely night with, asshole-sir?”

“Asshole-sir? Paako? What the fuck, Yorozuya!?” Hijikata takes in the pink kimono, the makeup and the weird hairdo. “Since when do you work here!?”

Dropping the act, the perm haired man scowls at him. “Order something first, I need a strong drink to deal with this nightmare I’m in right now.”

“You!? You need a strong drink!? Think about what I must be feeling then! Coming to an okama club of all places and still running into you! I don’t think I’ve committed enough sins to deserve this kind of shitty luck!” Hijikata all but shouts, but it proves to be a wrong move, a sudden pain in his right lung jolts him and he has to do everything humanly possible not to clutch at his chest and scream.

He manages to dig his nails into his thighs and school his features into a slight wince while a groan escapes him.

The silver haired man buys his act as one of dramatic theatrics accompanied by his rant. He snarls back at Hijikata. “My thoughts exactly! Why should be I be serving a nicotine-breath jerk like you? I’d rather get on stage and wiggle my ass around than tend to whatever twisted kinks you’ve hidden, bastard!”

(Nicotine-breath, even intended to be an insult, is far from being accurate right now since Hijikata can’t remember the last time he’s had a smoke.)

Hijikata tries his best to lift a hand, shaking violently with all the pain he’s feeling, into his inner pocket to reach for his inhaler. He’s suffocating, but his chest is killing him, the pain is blinding and he prays his inhaler will do something about it before he passes out and gets sent into the ER again.

“You better not be ignoring me, you bastard!” he hears Gintoki say. Fuck he can’t have the natural perm around for this, Kondou-san alone is bad enough, he refuses to deal with more people –

“Get us,” he grunts, “the strongest sake,” fuck this hurts so fucking much he can’t he can’t he can’t, “this place has,” his voice cracks but he’s so beyond caring, it’s a miracle he manages to get the words out in the first place.  

The Yorozuya seems far too in his bitchy mood to notice Hijikata’s dilemma and snaps at him with a, “Fuck yeah I will, bastard! And don’t order me around!”

As soon as Gintoki has his back to Hijikata, the black haired man has his inhaler out and is taking one puff after another.

It helps with the feeling of suffocation a bit, but it does very little to alleviate Hijikata’s agony.

He doesn’t understand this. Nothing could have warranted this abrupt deterioration in his condition. He’s not even actually, truly agitated. Not really. The Yorozuya and him bicker like this all the time, so what gives?

He needs to do something about this pain, he needs to go to the fucking hospital or something. But he has no idea how to even move from his spot right now, this pain won’t let him get very far.

The sound of a bottle hitting the table surface snaps him out of his thoughts. “This should get us tipsy in a couple minutes,” Gintoki grumbles.

Hijikata quickly hides his inhaler back in his pocket and his fingers resume their vicious digging into his thigh, while the perm haired man pours their drink. He shoves a filled porcelain cup Hijikata’s way and takes his, swallowing a mouthful of his drink and grimacing at the taste afterwards.

That’s it, that’s all he can do right now, fill his system with alcohol to numb this excruciating pain. He wills his hand not to drop the cup as he struggles to bring it to his lips, pathetically shaking all the way. As soon as his lips touch the porcelain surface, he swallows the whole thing in one go, the burn of alcohol feels like nothing compared to the feeling of his lung getting ripped open.

He slams his cup onto the table and tries to breathe.

“Damn, what’s got you so winded up?” Gintoki asks jokingly. Hijikata doesn’t trust his voice right now so he reaches out for the bottle to refill his drink. He grips the bottle; the action of pouring into his cup proves to be too much in this agonizing pain.

 Gintoki is staring at him, he knows he’s staring at him, he can see the thoughtful frown forming on his face. “Hey, you okay?” he hesitantly asks.

Hijikata’s unsteady breath, coupled with his obviously clenched jaw, the angry scowl he has on to cover the pained wince, and his slightly trembling figure answer Gintoki better than any word could.

“Mayora…?” the silver haired man’s hand is touching his shoulder gently, just enough to get Hijikata to look at him.

And then the weirdest thing happens: one look at Gintoki’s openly troubled frown, a worried crease between his eyebrows which are pinched together in genuine concern, and something in Hijikata’s chest shifts, like whatever pressure that’s been ripping along his lungs disappears and his breath comes out easier.

The pain, suddenly, is a dull, small burn instead of an all-consuming, explosive fire. Hijikata doesn’t think the sake could have worked that fast, but if it did, then he’s buying a hundred bottles of this blessed drink.

He manages to find his voice to utter a raspy, “I’m fine.”

Gintoki, instead of relenting his hold on Hijikata’s shoulder, grips it more tightly. “You don’t sound very convincing, frankly.” He draws closer, running his gaze all over Hijikata’s face and his frown deepens. “And you look like shit, even more so than you usually do, shithead.”

Hijikata honestly has no idea what’s going on, but he feels like his lungs are functioning better by the second, and his breathing is becoming steadier. He regains full control of his voice in the next, more truthful, “I said I’m fine, Yorozuya.” He meets the perm head’s eyes for good measure.

Gintoki still looks unconvinced, but at least he releases his grip on Hijikata’s shoulder and draws back a bit. He’s still sitting considerably close, and it doesn’t look like he’ll be putting any more distance between the two of them. Hijikata strangely doesn’t mind or care enough to move himself.

“So what’s up with you?” Gintoki asks, his tone a lot more casual than it was a moment ago, his way of dropping whatever just happened. Hijikata’s grateful for that. “Why is the Demon Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi coming to an okama club for a drink?” he raises an eyebrow.

Hijikata shrugs. “Didn’t wanna run into anyone I know tonight. Wanted to get drunk in peace.” Casting Gintoki a playful smirk, he teases with, “But then you happened, as usual.”

Gintoki snorts. “As if I actually needed you of all people to see me dressed up like an okama and using my customer-service attitude.”

“What customer-service attitude? Your attitude is as shitty as ever,” Hijikata grumbles.

“Shitty tax-thieves with mayonnaise breath don’t get to be graced with my superior customer-service attitude, asshole,” Gintoki snaps back. He pauses to down more of his drink, before continuing. “But no, like, why here of all places? This place sure as hell doesn’t offer your type, now, does it?”

Hijikata scowls. “What would you know about my type, asshole?”

Gintoki raises his eyebrows in challenge. “Don’t I?”

“Ha? What does that me – “

And then he remembers. Gintoki met Mitsuba, he visited her hospital room as Yamazaki told him, talked to her and got to know her, and he was at the rooftop when Hijikata had allowed the grief to take over him.

His chest constricts painfully, but Hijikata’s willing to bet it has less to do with the disease and more to do with Mitsuba’s memory.

Whatever look he has on his face, it allows Gintoki to read his thoughts because he quickly amends, with forced casualness, “I meant Tomoe-chan, you know.”

That snaps Hijikata out of it. “Ha?”

Gintoki smirks teasingly, mockery dripping from his words. “You know? The anime girl, Tomoe-chan? Whose figurines you have hidden in your closet where you think no one would look but Okita-kun has at least ten photos of, that he’s storing for future blackmail?” His face takes on a full shit-eating grin. “Tomoe-chan.”

Hijikata feels his face burning by the time he manages to shout his defense. “That’s Tosshi’s figurines, not mine, you sadistic pieces of shit!”

The silver haired sadist only wiggles his eyebrows while keeping his shit-eating grin present. “Oh, really? Really, now?”

Hijikata punches the bastard’s shoulder. “Fuck you! Yes, really, and fuck – I don’t owe you any explanations! Fuck off!” he screams.

The Yorozuya’s shoulders shake in barely suppressed laughter, which still bleeds into his, “Okay, okay, geez.”

“What’s the deal with Paako, anyway?” Hijikata asks, amusement evident in his tone.

‘Paako’ sighs dramatically. “I’m broke, Saigou thinks I make a decent drag queen and the pay is worth it,” he shrugs. “I’ve been doing it on and off for years, ya know. Not just me, there’s also Pachie here somewhere,” Gintoki gestures in the room’s general direction, “and the customers' favorite: Zurako, who’s been on hiatus for awhile.”

Hijikata cringes. “I can imagine who Zurako is, but Pachie...don’t tell me you dragged your kid into this.”

“Hey, it’s good money!”

“You’re supposed to teach the boy how to be a respectable samurai, not a drag queen!”

“It’s part of the journey to make him a full-fledged samurai! What would you know about that anyway, shitty tax-thief!?”

“Fuck off, like you actually pay any taxes!”

“You’re still a tax-thief either way!”

“I’m the Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi, you asshole, Edo wouldn’t be Edo without us!”

“Keep telling yourself that, tax-thief!”

Hijikata swallows a mouthful of his drink – which cup is this? Third? Fifth? – and flips Gintoki off.

He hears Gintoki slam his cup before he says, “So.”

Hijikata grunts in response. He’s pleasantly tipsy, probably more than tipsy but he’ll be damned if he stops now.

“Where have you been lately?” Gintoki mutters.

Hijikata glances at him. “What do you mean?”

The Yorozuya shrugs. “I see your gorilla around, and Okita-kun, even Robozaki. But you? It’s like you’ve fucked off the face of the planet for the last couple of weeks.”

Normal, sober Hijikata would have panicked over how to come up with a lie to answer Gintoki with. The Hijikata of right now, though, whose chest feels lighter than it has in such a long time, who’s more-than-tipsy, respond with a playful, “Oh? Missed me much, Yorozuya?”

“Ha? Who’d miss your ugly mug, bastard!?” Gintoki snaps loudly.

“You, apparently.” Hijikata smirks teasingly.

“In your stupid, twisted dreams, mayo-breath,” Gintoki grumbles.

Hijikata chuckles and reaches out for the bottle, finding it empty. “Oi, Yorozuya. Make yourself useful and go get us another bottle of this.”

“Fuck you, I don’t take orders from you,” comes Gintoki’s automatic response.

Hijikata swats the natural perm. “Asshole, I’m paying for this shitty service of yours, go get us a fucking bottle right now before I get Saigou to fire your ass.”

“Make me, bitch!” Gintoki challenges, bringing his face right in front of Hijikata’s and glaring – more like squinting stupidly – at him.

Hijikata must be pretty drunk, because some weird sense of thrill runs through his blood at the silver haired man’s proximity, while something weirdly pleasant flutters in his stomach.

He brings his face closer, their noses almost touching, their breaths mixing and their eyes staring into each other’s. “I’m pretty sure I have the money to ask Saigou that you, ah what was it? Oh yeah, wiggle your ass around for me.” He smirks at Gintoki’s blown-away expression. Feeling braver, he lifts a hand and pats Gintoki’s cheek with it, “So would you rather dance for me, or get us another drink, Paako-chan?”

Hijikata’s drunken haze lets the fact that he rested his palm on Gintoki’s cheek rather than remove it go unnoticed. He’s too focused on the Yorozuya’s stupefied expression, his slightly reddening cheeks (drunk? Embarrassed?) and his dilating pupils. He feels his smirk widening and his eyebrows rising in challenging mockery.

Gintoki draws in a sharp breath and jolts back and away from Hijikata. He rubs his face with his hands, letting them rest there, before a weak glare peeks out between his fingers. “I think you’ve had enough sake for the night, asshole,” he mutters.

Hijikata frowns. “No I haven’t.”

Removing his hands from his face, Gintoki raises an eyebrow at him. “You wanna get even drunker than this?”

Hijikata nods. “Yes I do, so go get the goddamned bottle.”

“This isn’t like you. What’s got you so upset that you would wanna get so wasted and forget instead of facing it like you always do?” Gintoki asks curiously.

For the life of him, Hijikata doesn’t understand how the words slip out so easily. “Strangers deciding how I feel,” he blurts out. “Telling me that I can’t love her anymore, that I must be feeling it for someone else and I – I don’t want to feel this way about someone else,” Hijikata feels a lump growing thick in his throat, that he struggles to push the words out, “I can’t forgive myself if I ever forget her and move on. I don’t want to.”

Gintoki looks so caught off guard for a second, before he schools his expression into a thoughtful blank. He stares at him for a moment and Hijikata feels like he’s about to unravel him, and he’s too drunk to have his walls up, too drunk to do anything but sit there and have the Yorozuya figure him out.

But then the silver haired man looks away, as if not allowing himself to see something he knows Hijikata isn’t fully sober enough to let him see willingly. He looks around the room for a moment, lost in thought.

With a huff and a resigned smile, he turns his gaze back on Hijikata. “You think you can make it home alone?” He chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this helplessly drunk before.”

“I’m not drunk,” comes Hijikata’s thoughtless reply.

“Sure you’re not,” Gintoki agrees with a teasing tone and an amused smile. “Stay here, I’ll get changed and take you home.”

“Wha – I don’t need you to – “ but Gintoki was already gone before he could finish his sentence.

Feeling offended at the implication that he can’t take care of himself, Hijikata stubbornly gets up, dumping enough money on the table to cover for the sake and the Yorozuya’s shitty company, and he stumbles out of the club.

Walking does prove to be a challenge, his feet uncoordinated and his head feeling so light and there’s a pleasant buzz that’s increasingly blocking any coherent thought from forming in his head. He thinks he caught a, “Thank you and come again, Hijikata-san!” from Agomi before he’s on the street.

Struggling to navigate the road back to his apartment, he stands in the middle of the road for a second, before he moves in his apartment’s general direction. A couple more steps and he accidentally steps on a small pebble that throws his barely balanced weight off and he stumbles and his head hits a wall to his side, and the fall is only eased by his hand catching on the wall in time to soften the blow. “Fuck,” he mutters.

He hears the sound of a familiar, genuine laughter that messes up his gut somehow, before turning to find Gintoki (now looking like the useless bum Hijikata knows) reaching out for him, the remnants of laughter on his face. One of his hands grabs Hijikata’s left wrist, lifting it to rest on Gintoki’s left shoulder and keeping his hold firm, while his right arm snakes around Hijikata’s waist to hold him against him.

“Let’s get you home, dumbass,” Gintoki says in a weirdly affectionate tone. But Hijikata’s drunk so it can’t actually be affectionate. Whatever.

“Fuck off, I can get myself home,” Hijikata slurs.

“Alright, alright, then just play along with me. I heard you got yourself an apartment and I’m offended I haven’t been invited over yet,” Gintoki complains playfully. “Just tell me where to go.”

“…your monster of a neighbor is the only one who came over to my apartment,” Hijikata states distractedly.

“Ha?”

Hijikata only shrugs in response to Gintoki’s evident confusion.

The walk is filled with comfortable silence from then on, only interrupted by Hijikata slurring out the directions for his apartment.

Finally seeing his apartment building in sight, he points it out to Gintoki.

“Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki says, tone serious and gentle, and there’s something about it that sobers Hijikata up a little. Maybe how he called his name without any insult, without drawing out the –kun in a teasing tone. They stop walking and he glances at Gintoki.

“I don’t really understand what’s wrong. Or what’s upsetting you. I don’t even know if your explanation meant what I understood. But I still think you should hear this out, no matter how much it might rub you the wrong way,” Gintoki pauses, swallows, and tightens his grip on Hijikata. “Loving one person doesn’t necessarily mean you stop loving another. Holding one person dear doesn’t mean the others aren’t important anymore. And moving on – moving on doesn’t mean you’re gonna forget, doesn’t mean that person isn’t important anymore, it’s just,” he lets out a long breath and shrugs, “it just means you let go of the grief you have every time you remember them, so that you can keep the fond memories close to you. You’ll always love them, and you’ll always keep their memory with you, but that shouldn’t be an excuse for you to stop yourself from letting more people into your life, from loving other people and valuing them. That’s just – that’s not living.”

Gintoki glances back at him and their eyes are locked on each other. He gives him the most genuine, heartbreaking smile. “Believe me, I would know,” he whispers.

Art by machinecuisine

Looking back ahead and resuming their walk, he concludes with, “What I’m trying to say here is…it’s up to you if you don’t wanna feel the way you felt about her towards anyone else. But if you did, if you couldn’t control your feelings and it happened with someone else, it doesn’t make you the bad guy.”

Squeezing his left wrist lightly, he casts Hijikata a gentle, reassuring smile. “It doesn’t make you wrong. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

Hijikata feels his body going on autopilot. His legs keep moving, but he doesn’t register anything anymore. He is hit with so many emotions all at once yet it feels like he’s so numb at the same time, it’s all so contradicting and there’s an overload of information and emotions and thoughts all jumbled in his head and he can’t sort them out.

The only thing Hijikata registers as they walk the last remaining steps to his apartment is how he hasn’t felt this urge to cry in years. His throat is burning and his eyes are stinging and he feels so messed up and he’s desperately trying to hold himself together and not break down right where he is.

He stops in front of his doorstep and detaches himself from Gintoki. He fishes his keys out and unlocks his door with a trembling hand.

“I – “ Gintoki blurts out, before shutting up. Hijikata doesn’t think he can look him in the face right now. He doesn’t want Gintoki looking at his face right now, because he’s not sure what kind of an expression he has on but it’s probably an incredibly raw and vulnerable one.

But also, because the thought of slamming the door shut in the Yorozuya’s face after what he just said to him is absolutely unacceptable to him, he says with a pathetically cracked voice: “Thank you.”

He feels Gintoki shifting beside him. Shrugging, maybe.  

“You – you know where I live now,” he mumbles, “so come over and bring good sake with you, sometime.”

It takes a moment before he hears Gintoki responding with a, “Yeah,” and he swears he hears the smile in his voice.

It brings a smile on Hijikata’s lips too, even among all the emotions wreaking havoc at his heart and mind right now. “Good night, Gintoki,” he whispers.

“Good night, Hijikata-kun,” is the last thing he hears before he walks into his apartment and shuts the door.

He doesn’t cry.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Hijikata spends hours nursing his vengeful hangover. He barely registers how little his lungs have bitched since he woke up.

That is, until his hangover decides to have mercy and he starts wondering why his lungs don’t feel like they’re being torn apart. The feeling has been nearly constant for awhile now and its absence – especially after he thought he was actually going to die yesterday at the okama club – has Hijikata confused.

It’s not that he’s cured, he’s still coughing up white petals here and there, but it feels like…like his lungs are suddenly larger, like they have more space, like he can breathe even with something growing in there. It feels like back when the whole thing had just started. Maybe a bit worse, but nothing like how awful he’s been recently.

It also reminds Hijikata of how he was nearly suffocated last night before things suddenly got better, how agonizing the pain was at one second and then dulled out the next.

He doesn’t think this is just a coincidence, and he’s never heard Yamamori-sensei or Hedoro speak of any possible improvements in his condition, so there’s gotta be something else happening.

He can’t believe he’s considering this, but he’s already reaching out for his phone and calling Death Incarnation with his own hand.

Five excruciating minutes later, Hijikata’s off the phone with Hedoro and has an appointment to meet him the next day.

As for this day, Hijikata’s already got something planned.

He remembers the Yorozuya’s speech from the night before, remembers how close he was to breaking down, remembers how good it felt to be told that he’s not the bad guy, even when he himself doesn’t believe that.

He remembers the resolve that was built up before he passed out.

Hijikata’s lived his entire life in a straightforward manner. He doesn’t like beating around the bush, he likes to face everything head on.

And if he’s going to face his feelings for a new love, he’s going to tie up the loose ends he feels he’s left behind with his first and only love.

So Hijikata heads out to the train station and catches the first one headed towards Bushuu.

It’s time to visit Mitsuba.

He hasn’t dared visit her grave ever before, in all the three years she’s been gone. He nearly didn’t attend her funeral. If it wasn’t for Kondou telling him Sougo needed them there, he wouldn’t have gone at all.

Maybe it’s easier to deny the facts when you overlook the evidence, or maybe he’s a pathetic coward, but for whatever reason, Hijikata’s looking at Mitsuba’s tombstone for the very first time, and he’s regretting ever thinking this could be a good idea.

He knows she’s gone – God does he know – but looking at her name, carved into stone, it feels like losing her all over again.

It hurts so fucking much. His chest hurts, and he hates that he can tell it’s got nothing to do with the disease and everything to do with trying to hold himself together.

He closes his stinging eyes, inhales a deep breath and lets it out, coughs one petal out and sits down, crossing his legs and facing his first love’s grave.

His mind goes blank. He’s hit with the same nervousness he always felt in her presence, and he wonders how she can still break his composure and turn him into this awkward, tongue-tied boy whose heart raced whenever he saw her smile, even when she’s not here anymore.

He stares at the characters of her name for so long, before he speaks.

“I…I’m sorry I…haven’t visited earlier,” he starts, voice shaking with nerves and sadness. He pauses, tries to swallow the lump in his throat that feels like a physical block to the words he’s trying to speak.

“It’s always…busy, with the Shinsengumi…and the last three years have been…really eventful.”

He takes a shaky breath and clasps his shaking hands together.

“The shogun we were supposed to protect was assassinated…Kondou-san almost got executed…we rebelled against the government, ran into a damn God, he was an actual immortal! He almost had Sougo, you know? But your brother’s too stubborn to die before he takes my life.” He feels a small smile forming, relieved that the words are gradually becoming easier to say.

“We left Edo, roamed around to gather more men and build up a strong army, returned to Edo to fight that undying psycho villain that wanted to destroy the whole planet. Thought we got him, but then the Yorozuya left – ah that’s Sakata Gintoki, you know? Dead-fish eyes, stupid face, untamable perm? He – he knew this immortal guy. He was…his teacher or mentor or something,” Hijikata trails off, mind racing back to when he learned that Gintoki had left the Yorozuya, Edo, everyone behind. He remembers the confusion and the panic and the helplessness he felt, how angry and upset he was with Gintoki for leaving his kids behind, for leaving them all behind, for not counting on them.

He remembers his frustration, how unfair he thought it was for Gintoki not letting them – him – in when he’d seen Hijikata at his most vulnerable. His resolve to stick his nose forcibly into Gintoki’s business that time just like every time the Yorozuya stuck their noses into the Shinsengumi’s affairs, every time Gintoki stuck his nose into Hijikata’s business.

“I…left Edo, to look for him. I didn’t…” Hijikata sighs, admitting it aloud for the first time. “I didn’t want him to fight alone. Edo isn’t Edo without him and his two kids running around and causing trouble wherever they go. Even China left. Ah, she’s – she’s Sougo’s…something,” he chuckles, “I wish you could’ve seen them. She’s the only person who can match Sougo in everything, his sadistic attitude – yes, your brother is a gigantic sadistic brat, you spoiled him rotten – ah but then again he was rotten to begin with…don’t curse me, I know he’s your precious little brother but he’s made my life a living action movie!” Hijikata pauses, shakes his head and tries to get back on track. “Anyway, Sougo and China girl – her name is Kagura, by the way – are…well, they make an interesting sight to behold. I’ve never seen Sougo get along with any girl better…or worse than he does with her.” Hijikata hears how light his tone is, feels the easy smile broadening on his face, and realizes how much he’s got to tell Mitsuba. It hits him that this is exactly like before, back when she was alive, back when the Shinsengumi wasn’t a thing yet and they were all simple country bumpkins training in a doujo in Bushuu and dreaming of being honorable samurai and respectable swordsmen.

Back when he and Mitsuba would sit alone on the engawa, watching the sunset and he’d feel all fluttery and nervous and clamming up and how the more he speaks to her, the calmer, more serene he’d feel, until by the time it was night, he’d feel at peace. Back when his little sunset conversations with Mitsuba would be the highlight of his day, when he’d go home at night he’d feel giddy and relaxed and in love.

Hijikata forces himself to change his train of thoughts.

“So…so, for two years, I was looking for the Yorozuya – Gintoki – and then, well, the immortal guy comes back again, there’s a cult worshipping him that’s trying to destroy the planet, but we won. Everything’s alright now.”

Hijikata feels the smile slipping off his face. “Everything except…I, uh, I’m…I’m dying.”

This statement sets him off; this is where he loses all control of himself. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself. He isn’t mourning his own death.

He feels sorry because this is where he feels guilty. This is where he is sorry.

His stinging eyes release stray tears before he’s able to stop them, his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his hands, and his lips tremble, his mouth is forced shut as to not let any sob out.

Hijikata squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath from his nose, holds it and wills himself to calm down, then exhales from his mouth, earning a couple of coughs in the process.

“I loved you,” he whispers. “I...still do. I’m…sorry I never told you.”

Hijikata pauses, sniffles, wipes his face and continues, “I don’t know if I regret it. I don’t know if I would do it any differently if I had another chance. I…” he opens his eyes, looks at her name with blurry vision and sighs. “I wanted you to have the world.”

He stops talking, allows his breathing to go back to normal, blinks until his eyes are mostly dry and his vision is clear.

He doesn’t know how long it is by the time he speaks again, but his voice cracks at the beginning. “I wanted you to have the world, and I felt that the only thing I could do to give you that was to let you go.”

He looks up from the grave, noticing for the first time that it’s sunset already. How fitting, he thinks.

He looks back at her name again. “I couldn’t have given you that, with who I am. I live and die by my sword, I live and die for the Shinsengumi, for the Shogun and for Edo and – and you deserved someone who valued the life he had with you.”

Hijikata’s face contorts into a bitter frown at the memory of her son-of-a-bitch of a fiancé.

“I don’t know if I took that away from you…but I just wanted you to be happy.”

Hijikata lowers his head, his eyes fixed on his clasped hands.

“I know that I’ll love you for as long as I live. I know that I could never forget you and how I felt about you.”

He feels his throat constricting again, his eyes tearing up but he doesn’t stop.

“I really thought you’ll be the only person I ever fall in love with…I thought I could at least be faithful to you. I really thought I was,” Hijikata can hear how thick and wet his voice is, how much it keeps breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t even do that much. I didn’t even know,” he lets out a bitter chuckle, “I wouldn’t have even known I fell for someone else if it wasn’t for this disease.”

Hijikata’s shoulders slump and he leans forward until his forehead rests on his clasped hands. He closes his eyes. “I don’t even know who it is,” he scoffs, “how pathetic is that? How could one not know they’re in love with someone?”

He sighs.

Hijikata doesn’t even have any woman he interacts with on regular bases. The only women he sees often enough are China girl and the Shimura woman, and he sure as fuck doesn’t feel anything but dread at the sight of either of them. He can’t remember any other woman that he’d met within the last three years that Hijikata could have felt remotely attracted to.

He hasn’t put in any extra effort to stay faithful to Mitsuba; he hardly had interest in any woman he’s met after her. Physical attraction, maybe, looking at a woman and acknowledging her beauty, yes, but nothing beyond that, there was never any emotional attachment.

No woman has managed to light any spark within him, any kind of thrill or warmth or desire to be near her, to be with her, no drastic change in his emotions with simple looks from her, no wanting to get to know her better, to see more of her, to spend time with her.

He has not looked at any woman and thought, I’m so glad I met you.

Hijikata sighs for the thousandth time. “I don’t know if I’ll ever find out, but either way, I’m not going to let this kill me. I promised Kondou-san to live, so I will.”

He straightens his shoulders, and raises his head and opens his eyes to look at Mitsuba’s name determinedly. “I’m going to do the surgery.”

He unclasps his hands and moves to stand up.

He doesn’t know how it’s physically possible, but he feels lighter. His shoulders and his chest feel like a weight has been lifted off them.

It’s just like always; talking to Mitsuba always ends with him feeling at peace. That thought sends a jolt of warmth to his chest and a gentle smile to form on his lips.

He knows it’s selfish to ask this of her, but he knows she loved and cared about him. He knows she always wanted the best for him, too. So he asks her.

“Watch over me, Mitsuba.”

Chapter Text

"Improvement?" 

"Yes," Hijikata confirms, "you've told me that deterioration is the only way to go with this disease unless my feelings are reciprocated. And you're not wrong, I was getting worse. It's just," he frowns, thinking back to the okama club incident. "Is it possible to feel like you're dying one second and, I don't know, drastically better the next?" 

Hedoro hums, staring intently at Hijikata in a way that would have unnerved him, if unnerving isn't an understatement to describe the whole situation. "Do you feel like you're getting better day by day?" 

"No," Hijikata denies, "it's more like. I felt like I hit rock bottom. But then, I was pulled up?"

"How often have you felt that?" The Amanto asks.

"This one time two days ago was the most...memorable one, I'd say." The dark haired man shrugs, unsure of other similar instances. "I felt a lot better, but I'm...steadily getting worse again." 

"Did anything specific happen that you feel could have warranted the deterioration or the improvement?" 

Hijikata shakes his head. "I don't really know what you mean by specific, but it was completely out of blue."

"You weren't thinking about or discussing your current situation?" the Dakini inquires.

"I was just out for a drink. I ran into a friend, we barely talked before the pain flared up. And then - oh!" Hijikata's eyes widen in realization. "Alcohol. After I drank sake, the pain dulled. Could it...?" he trails off. 

Hedoro, seeming unconvinced with Hijikata's deduction, shakes his head. "I doubt so, Hijikata-san." He pauses for a moment, considering his next words, before: "What about the friend you ran into?" 

Hijikata raises an eyebrow. "What about him?" 

Hedoro scratches his cheek. "Maybe he had something to do with it?" 

Hijikata snorted. "Unlikely."

"Listen, Hijikata-san. I don't know what could have caused your improvement. But I want you to think about the disease this way," the botanist leans forward, willing Hijikata to maintain eye contact with him, "the koibana is somewhat a parasite. It lives inside your body while killing you. It feeds on you. Except that, unlike other parasites, it doesn't feed on anything organic, anything physical. It feeds on your emotions." 

The Vice Commander nods in understanding. "I got that much." 

"Therefore: if you're deteriorating, it means your emotions are nurturing the plant. So – “

"So if I'm improving, then that means somehow I stopped having these unrequited feelings, or..." Hijikata blinks once, twice. Hedoro nods in encouragement, as if prompting him to finish that thought. "Or I stopped feeling they were unrequited. Which is basically the only way to cure this disease," he concludes absently, mind already racing to pick at this information and analyze it. 

"Right," Hedoro confirms. "If your condition is still worsening though, I'd say whatever happened made you only consider that your feelings weren't unrequited for a moment." 

Hijikata's brain is already overdriven, trying to put the pieces together. 

Deterioration means he thinks he's not loved back.

Improvement means he thinks his feelings aren't one-sided after all.

It frustrates him that his subconscious is already way ahead of him and yet still keeping him in the dark. It's already debating whether or not he could stand a chance, already feeling pleased one moment and depressed the next. And it's like he's just a physical manifestation of what his subconscious decides. This pisses him off.

He clicks his tongue.

Okay, okay.

So.

Hijikata takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly with one small cough escaping.

He tries to remember every detail about the night at the club. He went there, he saw Agomi who showed him to his table, then came Yorozuya and...shit hit the fan.

He huffs in frustration. He doesn't remember anything about his conversation with the natural perm that could have set off his coughs. 

So he tries to think about his improvement. He downed a couple of cups of sake...but even he doesn't really think it could have had that fast of an effect. What else. What else happened. 

Hijikata groans, the rest of the night is somewhat blurry and he can only remember bits and pieces until the Yorozuya's speech when they were near his apartment. He had sobered up along the way home.

What did he and Gintoki talk about that could have fed more unrequited feelings to the damn plant? 

Did he or the natural perm mention anyone...? 

Someone that isn't Tomoe-chan for fuck's sake. Or Mitsuba. 

Someone.

Memories of the evening rush at him all at once and he's trying so hard to pick something out, but –

But.

His breath hitches. He freezes.

He stares at Hedoro sitting in front of him without really seeing him.

Everything quiets down.

Everything except one absurd thought.

Yorozuya. 

As if his subconscious is trying to tell him he's going in the right direction, he bursts into a coughing fit, his chest feels like it's shrinking and amidst the pain and suffocation, while inhaling one puff after another and trying to gain some control over his respiratory system, he feels the panic and denial fighting to rein in his brain.

Fuck no, he almost pleads, this better be a fucking mistake. 

He belatedly realizes he freaked the Dakini out, and motions to him that he's fine. 

He breathes again. 

Oh shit, he thinks. Holy fucking shit. 

After he’d calmed down, Hijikata assured Hedoro that he was alright, told him he had an errand to run and promptly ended their meeting with the Amanto asking him to take care of himself and think things over before he left his apartment.

So now, Hijikata has his elbows propped on his tiny table in his tiny living room, head resting on his hands with his fingers clutching at the black locks of his hair.

He’s still panicking internally, he knows that. How could he not? He doesn’t know where this thought, this ridiculous possibility of the Yorozuya being the reason behind his illness, came from but he can’t ignore it. He can’t just laugh it off and move on and he hates that.

Sakata Gintoki isn’t even a woman to begin with! He’s never been within the field of Hijikata’s search for his mysterious unrequited love! And it’s Sakata Gintoki! That alone should be enough reason to laugh this whole matter off! Because he is Hijikata Toushirou and he most fucking definitely does not have that kind of relationship with that  dead fish-eyed, slack-faced, perm-headed piece of shit!

Realizing that his inner tantrum is causing his fingers to clutch more tightly at his hair, he wills himself to calm down, and releases the abused locks. Terminal illness is one thing but copying Harada’s bald look is a whole other level of hitting rock bottom.

Hijikata sighs. Really though, if he’s going to have to think about his…feelings for Gintoki (he wrinkles his nose at how stupid that sounds) then he needs to put aside their bickering and his pride and how fucking annoying that shithead is what the fuck – and actually dive into their multilayered bond.

So he knows for a fact that he trusts Gintoki with his life, with Edo’s safety, and most importantly, with his Shinsengumi. That is the deepest level of trust Hijikata can grant anyone and the silver-haired asshole has it.

He knows he cares about the bastard. He cares about him enough to want to look after his people. He cares about him enough to not want him to face all the crap life has been throwing at him by himself; he cares enough to want to involve himself in all these headache-inducing shenanigans the Yorozuya trio seem to attract. He cares about him enough to leave everything behind and chase after him for two years, for fuck’s sake.

He admits they might have some unsettling similarities. He acknowledges they’re more alike than they’d both be willing to admit. He knows there are times when they’re capable of speaking without words, of having the same thoughts and speaking the same words, of fighting back-to-back like they’ve spent their entire lives doing it. He recognizes their ability of being on the same page effortlessly when it matters.

He enjoys spending time with him, as much as it pains him to admit it. Something about their banters brings out a boyish side to Hijikata he'd buried way too early on in his life. He has fun with Gintoki. Whenever they drink or eat their Special meals together, it ends with Hijikata feeling pleasant, like he had a good time.

He finds it easy to speak to the silver-haired man. Sometimes, he finds that he lets things about himself slip out that he normally would be defensive of and hate sharing with anyone. Hijikata generally hates talking about himself, and he knows the Yorozuya boss does too, but it feels like words just fall out their mouths sometimes.

He laughs easily with the bastard. He finds himself teasing back, throwing back witty responses and making jokes of his own, sometimes mocking, other times just for the sake of getting a laugh out of natural perm. And he admits that it feels good, it’s always felt good to see Gintoki, the legendary Shiroyasha, throwing his head back and laughing heartily at something he said.

He’d be willing to put Sakata Gintoki into the category of Important People in his life. He’s willing to fight for him and thinks if push comes to shove, he would risk his life for the bastard.

It’s a disturbing thing to admit for someone who swore his life for his Commander and his Shinsengumi, but Hijikata’s past denying it.

So yes, he knows the Yorozuya asshole matters to him. He knows he gets along well with him and that he likes him. He likes him because no one would feel all that for someone and still think he hates him. So he likes him.

It’s just that he thought he liked him as a person. Like. Like he likes Kondou! Or Sougo, beneath all his sadistic tendencies and attempts on Hijikata’s life! Or Yamazaki! Or Matsudaira! Or the lady who sells him cigarettes! Or!

Or China girl and Glasses! Or hell, even Katsura! (He stopped hating the long-haired samurai the moment he learned he took a bullet for his Commander.)

He never thought he feels the same way about Gintoki that he does about Mitsuba.

And the thing is…he doesn’t.

The thought of thinking about Gintoki the way he thinks about Mitsuba weirds him out. He can’t imagine himself looking at Gintoki and thinking about how beautiful he looks in the sunset, or about how he’d hang the stars in the sky just to get a smile out of him. He doesn’t fluster and blush when Gintoki looks his way. It doesn’t break his heart thinking about how Gintoki deserves so much better than him, because he never thought about himself and Gintoki in this context and never thought about Gintoki’s romances.

This confuses him, because the things he knows about love are all from being in love with Mitsuba.

Could falling in love with different people bring out such different emotions?

Hijikata drums his fingers on the table, thinking about how to act next.

He could try meeting up with Gintoki and testing his theory out.

But what if it’s him and he gets a worse attack than last time?

And what if isn’t him and he just keeps getting worse anyway?

He sighs. This is exhausting.

Hijikata decides he could eat some mayonnaise- stuffed onigiri. As soon as he gets up to prepare it, there’s a knock on his door. He raises an eyebrow, not expecting anyone to visit him.

As soon as he opens the door, he knows even his worst-case-scenario wouldn’t have prepared him for this.

“So you haven’t kicked the bucket yet, Hijikata-san?” Sougo drawls. "How disappointing." 

Chapter Text

Hijikata eyes the bane of his existence as he makes himself comfortable in the living room after dropping a stack of papers on the table.

“Can’t believe you never invited me over, Hijikata-san, how rude of you.”

Hijikata grits his teeth, because Sougo is gifted like that, one fucking sentence is all it takes to make the dark-haired man want to tear his hair out. “And yet, you’re here anyway,” he sneers.

The sandy-haired man looks at him with faux innocence and dread immediately travels down Hijikata’s spine. “I came to drop off these reports for you, aren’t I the best, you ungrateful bastard, die Hijikata,” he says in one breath.

Careful what you ask for, you might just get it, the older man can’t help but think. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with the flimsy excuse. “Since when do you run errands for me, or God forbid, do something that is outside the spectrum of being a thorn in my side and a pain in my ass?”

“You wound me, Hijikata-san, I just wanted to do something nice for you,” the little shit says with a flat tone and a bored expression on his face. “Your days are countable, after all.”

He says it so casually, so monotonously like he isn’t dropping a bomb that Hijikata almost misses it. But he doesn’t, and his breath catches in his throat. He stares at Sougo, and if he had any hope that this is just the sadist’s usual “I’m gonna kill you so your days are numbered,” spiel, it dissipates immediately at the way the younger man is looking back at him.

Gauging his reaction, calculating, expectant, accusing.

He knows.

Hijikata tenses, his mouth feels so dry like he hasn’t drank a drop of water in months. The blood is roaring in his ears and he looks away to spare himself any more dangerous responses from his body to this absolute nightmare taking place right now.

He feels a particularly sharp twinge in his chest and winces at the pain, trying to maintain a steady breath and not overwork himself.

It takes a few moments before he has control of his body again, before he calms himself down and he’s almost surprised that Sougo gave him this chance to regain his composure. Maybe the little bastard pities him, after all.

Yeah, fat chance.

He takes one last calming breath, steels himself and allows his gaze to connect with Okita Sougo’s once more.

“How?”

Sougo stares at him for a beat longer before shrugging. “You can’t keep secrets from me.”

Hijikata chuckles, resigned. Yes, he knew there was no way Sougo wouldn’t sniff this one out, he just hoped he’d be able to wrap it up before word gets to him. “No, guess not.”

With a sigh, he moves to sit down opposite Sougo. He feels the fight leaving his body, the rush of adrenaline and panic ebbing away and relaxing his muscles. He’s not relaxed, by any means. This is probably the worst thing that could happen to him right now, maybe only second to Yorozuya himself finding out. Maybe even the natural perm finding out wouldn’t be this bad.

The Yorozuya isn’t Mitsuba’s little brother after all; Sougo is. Okita Sougo is the younger brother of the woman Hijikata’s been in love with for so long, the brother who hates his guts for hurting his sister and ruining her chances of happiness even at her deathbed, the brother who still mourns his sister and probably thinks Hijikata’s one redeeming quality is his useless faithfulness to his dead sister.

If Sougo knows the whole thing, then he knows that Hijikata has no redeeming qualities anymore.

No matter what Kondou or Gintoki say, Hijikata’s always going to be harsh on himself for loving someone after Mitsuba.

Sougo’s the only person who’s a harsher critic than Hijikata himself, and he knows. This makes Hijikata nauseous with shame, like he let Sougo down. Like Sougo was expecting him to love no one but his sister for all the crap he’s put her through and he couldn’t even do that. Like he’s disappointed Sougo.

So no, he’s not relaxed by any means, he’s just spiraling down quickly into a dark self-loathing pit and preparing himself for the words he hears in his head when he’s self-deprecating spoken out loud.

“I’ve known something was fishy all along,” Sougo states, “your coughs weren't subtle and you’ve been looking more like shit than ever.” Hijikata finds the wall behind Sougo more pleasant to look at, and refuses to meet Sougo’s accusatory gaze. “Kondou-san has been looking like something’s eating at him for weeks now, and he’s extra depressed whenever anyone mentions you, so it wasn't hard to connect the dots.”

Letting some of his annoyance seep into his tone, he continues, “Everyone in the Shinsengumi thinks something wrong is going on with you. Kondou-san keeps saying that you’re working on a special case and can’t be distracted with anything, he's been actually strict with us to leave you alone, and really, if that isn’t a red flag, I don’t know what is.”

Hijikata sighs. He hasn’t tricked anyone or kept the suspicions off of him at all, then. The only reason he hasn’t been bothered so far was because of the goodness of Kondou’s heart and their men obeying him.

He hears Sougo inhale. “I was there in Bushuu,” he breathes out.

Hijikata can’t help the gasp that escapes him, his widened eyes automatically seeking out Sougo’s, who, for the first time in this damned, damned evening, avoids looking back at him.

“You – “ he croaks out, “whe – how – you – you – “

“I didn’t know where you were going, alright?” he snarls out, his bored expression finally cracking, a frown on his face and his jaw is clenched. “I just saw you that day when you were heading to the train station and I followed you.”

“You followed me!?” Hijikata parrots, his tone angry and incredulous. “Good fucking job Sougo, you’ve officially joined Kondou-san and Yamazaki’s stalker bandwagon!” he claps sarcastically.

“I said I didn’t know where – “ Sougo starts to yell back, but Hijikata’s seething and won’t take his bullshit right now.

“You can’t recognize your own sister’s grave!? You couldn’t guess where I was headed!? You didn’t read her name on the fucking gravestone!?” he shouts.

“Like fuck I’d walk away from my sister’s grave just because you finally had the decency to visit her for the first time since she died!” Sougo bites back, just as loudly.

“You had no right – no fucking right listening to anything I say to her!” he shoves his pointed finger at Sougo’s chest – and distantly notices that they’re both on their feet and have closed the distance between them so that they’re only inches apart and baring their teeth at each other.

“You had no fucking right replacing her!” Sougo screams, the loudest and rawest and the most broken Hijikata’s ever heard him, as he shoves Hijikata back.

The air gets knocked out of Hijikata as if he was slapped. He stares at Sougo, feeling his eyes widen and his jaw slack. Sougo’s glaring back at him, eyes suspiciously bright, teeth bared at him, breathing heavily with clenched fists shaking at his side.

The sight of Sougo like this will probably torment him for as long as he lives.

He feels his throat clogging, his heart breaking and his chest aching courtesy of the emotions bleeding inside him and the goddamned plant pushing at and trying to pierce the walls of his lungs. 

If he wasn’t all cried-out from his visit to Mitsuba’s grave, he’d probably have some tears to spare right now. But he doesn’t.

And he isn’t replacing Mitsuba, God he can’t even if he tried. No one can replace Mitsuba, no one can and Sougo must know that, he has to know that.

Hijikata drops his gaze to the floor as he steps back and sits down again. A nasty coughing fit that lasts for maybe a minute but feels like an eternity leaves him exhausted and gasping for air and so, so fucking weak. The sight of the white petals dotted with blood just adds insult to the injury. 

His head throbs as he tries to look at Sougo again, and when he meets his eyes, all the words that were forming in Hijikata’s head abruptly vanish.

Grief, conflict, resignation, regret. The emotions are so miniscule, but Hijikata can see them in the slight furrow of Sougo's eyebrows, the narrowing of his now-dull eyes, the downturned corners of his mouth and the set of his jaw. They’re in the almost-unnoticeable slump of his shoulders, in his unclenched hands, in his deep breaths and uncoiled posture.

This is Okita Sougo beneath all the layers, the one Hijikata knows is there but has rarely ever seen exposed. This Sougo might look like the twenty year old adult that can handle the Shinsengumi just fine even if Hijikata’s not there, but the one in front of him is the child that grew up with no family but a doting older sister who died and whom he hasn’t stopped mourning for the nearly three years she’s been gone, this is the boy that was too spoiled to get along with others until Kondou Isao came along and gave him a place to belong to, this is the kid  who Hijikata’s existence caused a great deal of jealousy and insecurity, the brat that claims he hates Hijikata with every fiber of his being but wouldn’t think twice before he takes a hit or dies for him, wouldn’t think twice before he follows Hijikata into hell.

This is Okita Sougo who, Hijikata won’t admit to his dying breath, is one of the most important people in his life and dearest to his heart, whom he’s secretly protective of even when this brat can kick his ass.

He locks his gaze with Sougo’s, swallows the lump in his throat, ignores the burn in his windpipe and says, “I would never replace her. There’s no way anyone could ever replace her,” he rasps out, voice scratchy and cracked.  

Sougo looks at him for a long moment, unraveling him with his stare and Hijikata lets him. He can pry him open, strip down all his defenses and lay him bare and raw and exposed for the younger man to see and he won’t mind it. Because this is Sougo, this is the one person in the world who understands the pain of grieving over Mitsuba with the intensity Hijikata does. This is the sole person who’ll mourn Mitsuba more than Hijikata does.

He’s the person whose understanding Hijikata needs more than anything or anyone else right now.

“I know,” Sougo murmurs.

“Do you?” Hijikata asks, voice weak but tone urgent.

Sougo holds his gaze and says, “I do.” I was there, I heard you, goes unspoken. He sighs and looks away, muttering, “Doesn’t mean I won’t give you shit about it.”

Hijikata huffs a laugh, more relieved than mirthful, and smirks back at Sougo. “Wouldn’t expect less from you, little shit.”

And just like that, the atmosphere suddenly lightens, the tension fades away and Hijikata actually relaxes this time.

“How did you even manage to follow me without me noticing you, anyway? You ain’t that discreet,” he wonders.

Sougo raises an eyebrow as he takes his seat again. “I am discreet when I wanna be.”

“But I’m particularly good at sensing you, what with you trying to assassinate me for the past decade and all,” Hijikata snipes back.

Sougo hums. “Guess your survival instinct took a hit, too. You should really drop dead, Hijikata-san.”

“Fuck off, asshole.”

“How rude, is that how you treat your houseguests, Hijikata-san? This is just barbaric.”

“I’ll show you barbaric, you little shit.”

“Speaking of barbaric, do you seriously not realize who it is?” Sougo drawls, dropping the second bomb.

Damn brat won’t let him catch a break.

Also, “Why do you sound like you know?” Hijikata demands.

He can’t have fucking known when Hijikata just found out hours ago!

Sougo gives him a look that says Wow you’re fucking stupid, kill yourself right now and shakes his head in disdain.

“Hey, brat, answer me!” Hijikata barks.

“You literally wouldn’t shut up about him, you damn homo,” Sougo states, tone monotonous and flat again.

Hijikata splutters, stuttering out several variations of “what” before deciding to shut his mouth until his brain is capable of forming a full, useful word and successfully relaying said word to his mouth. His stupid face heats up at Sougo’s half-disgusted, half-mocking expression.

“At least this means that Aneue is still the only woman you've ever loved,” Sougo says. His tone is neither teasing nor scathing, he’s actually, honestly saying this. It surprises Hijikata how easily he shared this thought with him. He doesn't know how to respond to that so he addresses the previous statement. 

“What do you mean I wouldn’t shut up about him?” Hijikata grumbles. “I don’t talk about him that much!”

“When you visited Aneue, you were just,” Sougo scrunches his nose, “Danna-this and Danna-that. You’re so whipped it’s gross, die Hijikata-san.”

“I am not whipped!” Hijikata exclaims, feeling the heat from his face travel to the tips of his ears and the back of his neck. “Fuck you, I didn’t even know until like two hours ago! That’s how not whipped I am!”

Sougo stares at him, unimpressed. “Right. Good for you.”

Hijikata clicks his tongue. Fuck this brat, what does he know, anyway?

He hesitates before deciding that this conversation already hit rock bottom enough times, anything at this point won't make it worse and asks: "Would you have figured it out if you didn't hear me talk about him?" 

Sougo says nothing for a moment, frowning, whether in thought or in disgust, Hijikata doesn't care. Eventually, with an annoyed sigh and a frown, he answers, "Probably. It wouldn't have been as easy to tell as it was when you were already talking about being in love with someone and not knowing who, then spending half the time talking about Danna." He shrugs. "But it's not that hard to figure out. It...almost makes sense in a gross way," he cringes. 

"How the fuck does it make any sense? It's the fucking Yorozuya!" Hijikata hisses. "That guy's only second to you in annoying the shit out of me!" 

Sougo smirks. "That's 'cause you're a masochist, Homokata-san." 

Hijikata flips him off. 

"You do get along with him, though," the younger man mutters absently. "You're the same brand of weird, you two keep getting dragged into the stupidest shit together, and," he waves his hands in a you know motion, "he's been there for some of our - your - shittiest times." He looks at Hijikata and lifts both eyebrows, challenging, and says: "You chased him for two years." 

Hijikata lowers his gaze to the floor and frowns in thought. He knows all this, he's always known all this, but that doesn't make it any easier to actually believe he's been in love with this bastard for so long. He can't believe he could go on for years loving someone and not realizing what it was. He never noticed the way he'd spot the Yorozuya right away in any crowd, always chalked it up to being cautious of a troublemaker's presence, nothing more. He knows it's a huge deal that he went after the bastard for two years, leaving Kondou-san and the Shinsengumi and Edo behind, but he's just been so convinced that it just had to be done and he was the best man for the job, he never stopped to wonder why he thought that. He's always known there was a rush of adrenaline, of something sparking to life when he butted heads with Gintoki, but he always reasoned that it was due to his fighting instincts kicking in, annoyance making his blood boil, he never thought of romanticizing it. Except that apparently, at some point, slowly, subtly and surely, it was changing.

He knows the Yorozuya is capable of giving him this thrill that leaves him breathless and excited, electrified and unbound, he vividly remembers the rush of adrenaline, the way his body felt ignited with delight and recklessness at the Yorozuya's admission of being the Shiroyasha, of how fucking empowering and liberating it felt to let loose and go all out with a thorny bastard like him by his side. He never forgot that, never disregarded it or ignored it. That night was imprinted in Hijikata's memory and yet, he never really thought that moment could someday lead to him falling in love with that jerk. If he remembers correctly, he hadn't started coughing petals until a while after that, so it's not like that's when he fell in love with Sakata Gintoki. 

But maybe that moment was the bridge his feelings needed to transition into something more romantic, maybe that wasn't the leap that he couldn't make and ended up falling but it was a slip into the doom. Maybe that was just another dig deeper into the layers of Hijikata's heart. All he realizes, right now, is that these feelings festered and bloomed and grew for months and years and he had been unknowingly watering this plant of affection until it started suffocating him. And the more he thinks about this, the more he sees why Sougo said it makes sense. 

Hijikata sighs and massages his temple. Today has been draining in every sense, mentally, emotionally and physically and he can't wait for it to just end. A particularly nasty throb shoots through his head as he realizes that the only person who knows about Hijikata's love interest is the biggest, most sadistic asshole on the fucking planet and likely, the universe. Pretty much the one person who shouldn't know. 

“Listen here, you little shit,” Hijikata starts, a scowl already in place, “not a fucking word about this, to anyone,” he warns. “I’m serious, Sougo, keep this out of your sadistic plays.”

Sougo gives him a shit-eating grin and Hijikata just fucking hates his life. “What do I get in exchange for keeping my mouth shut?”

“Your fucking life,” the dark-haired man growls back.

Sougo makes a gesture as if he’s considering it before he drops it and drawls, “Nah, not enough. Try harder Hijikata-san, you can do it Hijikata-san.”

Hijikata grits his teeth, the little shit is back to being the cause of all his headaches, the bane of his existence, the thorn in his side and the pain in his ass. What a fucking talent.

“What do you want,” he spits out.

“The Vice-Commander position,” Sougo replies immediately.

“Fuck no,” Hijikata shoots him down just as fast.

“Then I guess Danna's about to find out he’s got the Demon Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi pining after him to his death,” Sougo taunts.

“Sougo,” Hijikata growls in warning.

Said man hums with a smug smirk on his face. The Vice-Commander's scowl deepens; this little shit never fails to turn his life into a nightmare. But Hijikata’s known him for over a decade, if he wants to turn Hijikata’s life into a nightmare, well, two can play this fucking game.

“I’ll tell China about that time you cried and begged for help after you forgot to fasten your seatbelt when we got on that rollercoaster,” the older man starts, pleased with how quickly the smirk has fallen off the sandy-haired man’s face. “And the many, many embarrassing incidents of yours that I’ve witnessed before that, along with your embarrassing photos, like the one where you got a wedgie from a loincloth and were trying to fix it and Kondou-san got it on camera.”

Sougo narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare,” he challenges.

“I’m a dying man, I have absolutely nothing to lose, try me,” Hijikata threatens.

They maintain the glaring contest for 10, 20, 30 seconds before Sougo spits out a, “Fine. I get the biggest room after renovations are done, you dress up like Tosshi for a whole day and make a joke of yourself, and you remove the 12^th and 25^th regulations from our Kyokuchuu Hatto, we want to read things other than fucking Magazine and would rather not rot our brains with mayonnaise.”

Hijikata seethes, the audacity of this asshole, asking him to remove such vital regulations that shape up their Shinsengumi! “I – “

“This is literally the best you’ll get, Hijikata-san.”

The mayonnaise lover glares at the sadistic brat, who’s unrelenting no matter how much Hijikata shoots him daggers with his eyes.

“Fucking fine,” Hijikata forces out.

Sougo nods, satisfied. His expression falters a bit after that, and Hijikata knows he’s gearing himself up to say something that’s bothering him.

True to his expectations, Sougo’s face turns into a sour, disgusted grimace as he mumbles out, “The fuck is wrong with you, talking to Aneue about China being my…something,” he says through gritted teeth. “The fuck does that even mean? Do you wanna die?”

Hijikata blinks once. Twice. Before he knows it, he’s laughing so hard that he literally chokes on a couple of white petals, and yet his laughter doesn’t die down. One look at Sougo’s murderous expression sends him into another laughing fit, he thinks at some point he might actually die if he keeps laughing. Then Sougo will really have killed him.

He barely sees Sougo giving him the middle finger, and when he thinks the Vice-Commander didn’t notice his rude gesture, snarls out a very scathing, “Fuck you, die Hijikata, you bastard,” and strides out of his apartment.

Two coughing and three laughing fits later, Hijikata wipes a tear off his face and gets ready for bed. He can’t remember the last time he’s laughed this hard.

Chapter Text

So now that he figured out the damn Yorozuya is the one-sided love that’s killing him, everything should be easier to navigate.

Except nothing is.

Hijikata’s plan to undergo the surgery remains unchanged. He knows he’ll have to resort to that because the only other option would be Yorozuya loving him back, which  is just about the funniest joke Hijikata’s ever heard. Hell, he was going with the surgery regardless of who the object of his affection was. The only reason he dragged it out this long is to be completely sure that Mitsuba is not the one he’s gonna give up on his feelings for – because he’s not sure he would rather live with that, literally – and now that he’s confirmed it isn’t Mitsuba, he’s good to go.

So he should be calling Yamamori-sensei already to schedule the surgery as soon as possible, since whatever magic seeing Gintoki in the club a couple of days ago had done to him is definitely wearing off. And Hijikata really, really doesn’t want to hit rock bottom again like he did that night.

And yet, against his better judgment, Hijikata’s hands just refuse to grab his phone and dial his doctor’s number.

And Hijikata had already used up all his Denial Tank on denying he loved anyone but Mitsuba, so at this point he just doesn’t have it in him to deny why he can’t bring himself to do the surgery just yet.

He’ll do it, he knows he will, he has to, and no matter how much he values Yorozuya, he won’t die for him, not in this sense, not like this, when there’s no gain for anyone. He won’t choose him over the Shinsengumi, he can’t choose to keep loving him until it kills him, he can’t break his promise to Kondou-san for anyone, not even for this man he… has fallen in love with at some point.

So he knows the endgame is he’ll be rid of these feelings, but he’s just… not ready to give them up yet.

It’s foolish and stupid, and horribly selfish, but he wants to bask in it, just a little. Even if it’s an unrequited love, even if these feelings are doomed to die unrecognized, even if his affection will see no fruition, he wants to live it a little, experience what it’s like to love Sakata Gintoki. He wants to learn more about the part of himself that he never realized, never paid attention to, the part that’s been crazy enough to fall for someone as shameless as that sadistic piece of crap. He can’t help his curiosity, can’t help wondering how it’ll be like to be around the Yorozuya knowing who he is to Hijikata now.

He wonders if he’ll ever feel the same breathlessness he felt with Mitsuba. He wonders if now, he’ll start thinking of all kinds of romantic scenarios when he lays his eyes on the perm-head. He wonders if he’ll get all flustered, tongue-tied and flushing at something as simple as meeting his gaze.

He wants to know more about himself, about his feelings, about the sides of Sakata Gintoki that he’d found endearing enough to cause all this fondness to swell in his chest to this point where it’s killing him.

So he refrains from contacting Yamamori-sensei just yet. What he does, instead, is go out to restock his mayonnaise supply.

All he wanted was to buy a couple more bottles of mayonnaise, just a small trip to the market, for a small purchase, and then back home. Easy, simple, straightforward.

He should have known better, really. He should have known things won’t be so peaceful the moment he spotted the Shimura girl. When he saw her, he should have expected to see Kondou-san stalking her and consequently, tarnishing the Shinsengumi’s name more with every scream of, “Otae-san!” leaving his mouth. When he saw Kondou-san, he should have known that things normally don’t fucking stop there, because wherever there’s one stalker, there’s always another nearby, so really, he should have known Sarutobi Ayame would be there, lewdly screaming, “Gin-san!” as if she’s in a porno and not in fucking public. And well, he really should have known he’ll see Sakata Gintoki there too, along with his two employees – who shouldn’t even be called that, since Hijikata can swear those two only got paid once, when Hijikata’s soul was stuck in Yorozuya’s body – and his giant dog. And the cherry on top, Sougo was there, too.

Hijikata really doesn’t know what happened, he barely laid his eyes on Shimura Tae, and the next thing he knew, stalkers were falling from above and crawling from under, humans were flung around, stalls were broken, people were screaming, there was a lot of fighting and swearing, and the civilians were backing away and deciding they still had enough food at home, after all.

Hijikata stands in the middle of the mess, staring blankly as the dust from all the destroyed stalls and shop-fronts settles down and contemplates walking away and acting like he wasn’t there, didn’t see anything. He already has two bottles of mayo left, he can try to not use them both today. It will be testing, but he can do it! It’s better than touching this mess with a ten foot pole. He weighs the pros and cons, but really, leaving is all pros and staying is all cons, so the decision is easy. He turns to leave and doesn’t make it to five steps before this god-awful monotonous drawl that he hears in his nightmares calls out his name.

Fuck Sougo. He takes another step but –

“Oh, it’s Toushi!” Oh great, China noticed him.

“Touuuushi!!!!” And his Commander too, and probably everyone under the sun from how loud his exclamation was.

“What a predictable attitude of the police, seeing a mess caused by their own and turning a blind eye. Is this what we’re paying taxes for?” And that – Hijikata grits his teeth, feeling a scowl twisting his face already, his brow twitching and a vein throbbing dangerously near his temple – that is the sound of his beloved pain in the ass.

He whips around, his eyes narrowing as he spots the fucker. “Every mess that I ever laid my eyes on is somehow your fucking fault, shithead!” he yells before he can stop himself.

The Yorozuya fucker yells something back, getting in his face in no time, he hears Sarutobi and China shout in agreement, Sougo snaps at China, Glasses screams something, Kondou-san is kicked into the air, and chaos ensues, again.

He shuts his front door, locking it before taking off his outdoor sandals and walking into his apartment. He sighs wearily as he puts the bag of mayo bottles on the kitchen counter. He’s never going out in broad daylight again, where any of these crazy fuckers could be roaming the streets.

His time was wasted on his usual bitch-fight with the Yorozuya, breaking China and Sougo’s brawl, picking Kondou-san up and making sure he doesn’t embarrass the Shinsengumi further for the day (though Hijikata sometimes really wonders what’s the fucking point when he’ll do it again anyway), sneaking away as soon as he could, buying mayo and running for his life, desperate to get out of there to avoid any future mess that could potentially take place with those dumbasses still breathing the same air.

It’s pathetic, how tired he feels at something as dumb as the usual everyday chaos that he’s dealt with a thousand times before without breaking a sweat. He feels exhaustion settling deep in his bones, dizzy with how breathless he is, still panting at pushing his body beyond whatever laughable limits it has now. His chest hurts a little, full in a suffocating way, sharp sparks of pain happening at random.

He tiredly falls onto one of the two chairs in his little kitchen, resting his head on the kitchen table.  

What is he doing.

What is he doing to himself, prolonging his suffering like this? What’s the fucking point? He met the Yorozuya today. Nothing was different, they bickered and butted heads and threw insults at each other like it’s any other day. Nothing changed, and he realizes how stupid he’d been, thinking it’ll change anything now that he knows what he knows.

These feelings might have been growing for years, he might’ve been unknowingly nurturing them, might’ve been falling for Sakata Gintoki slowly, with every breath he’s taken in these years he’s known him – he may love this man, but it’s not gonna change anything. His relationship with Gintoki isn’t based on his feelings solely, it’s always been about finding a common ground, about the push and pull between the two of them, between the teasing and the bickering and the occasional heart-to-heart, about this… this trust and comfort that they’ve grown to feel around each other all these years. Just because his brain finally caught up with what his heart has been feeling for years, doesn’t mean the world will tilt on its axis. This revelation is monumental for him, yes, but it’s not life-altering. Just because he found out the nature of his love for Gintoki isn’t the same as he thought it was doesn’t mean he would’ve denied loving him any other way. He’s been loving him all this time, has been romantically in love with him for months and years, and this is the relationship they’ve had.

What was he expecting? That he’d look at the perm-head and see glitter and roses surrounding him? Hijikata shakes his head; he’s so foolish, holding onto some misplaced sense of romance when his life is on the line.

How utterly stupid.

He takes out his phone and dials Yamamori-sensei’s number before he can second-guess himself out of it again.

It rings for three, four, five times before he hears a tinny, “Hello?”

Hijikata clears his throat. “Yamamori-sensei, it’s Hijikata Toushirou.”

“Ah, Hijikata-san.” He hears someone speaking in the background and then a door closing. “What can I do for you? Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, um, I’m okay, considering,” he shrugs unconsciously. “I’m calling about – uh, the surgery? To schedule it?”

A beat and then, “Are you sure, Hijikata-san?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “I don’t wish to die, and this is the only way I have to make it out alive. I’m not – I’m getting worse and I just… want this to be over.”

“I understand,” Yamamori-sensei responds. “I just want to make sure you understand that there will be a lot of compromise with this surgery. Emotional as well as physical.”

“I und – physical?” Hijikata repeats in confusion.

“Well, yes. The severity of side effects due to the surgery will likely increase the longer we wait, so will the riskiness of the operation.” He hears the doctor clear his throat before continuing, “That is not to say I don’t recommend the surgery, Hijikata-san. But there will be consequences. The growth of the plant could have already injured other internal organs, ruptured a few blood vessels, your lungs may never recover their full function, and there may be irreversible changes to the baseline of your health.”

Hijikata stares blankly at the kitchen wall without really seeing anything. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting something along these lines, he was warned that his situation was urgent, that he needs to act as fast as possible, but – “How – how badly are we talking here, sensei?” he croaks out.

“Well,” there’s a pause, “it’s really hard to say, Hijikata-san. I was hoping I could run a few tests before we do the surgery to assess the riskiness of the surgery better, so we can know what to anticipate of your condition post-op.”

“Oh. Yeah, yes of course. When – when can I do these tests?”

He hears a thoughtful hum, papers being shuffled, and after a few moments of silence, the doctor finally answers him. “I would really like for you to undergo the surgery as soon as possible, within a week is what I’m aiming for here. That being said, will you be able to come for a few tests tomorrow?” Hijikata opens his mouth to confirm before Yamamori continues, “I do believe we’ll need maybe another day to finish all the tests, but I will make sure your case file is marked urgent and therefore will move faster.”

“Thank you, Yamamori-sensei. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Very well. So I would like you to be prepared to have the surgery within this week, maybe five days at most if everything went well.” A beat and then, “During this time, I really hope you take very good care of yourself, Hijikata-san. If you are aware of any triggers that could worsen your condition, I strongly encourage you to avoid them as much as you can, regardless of what – or who – it may be.”

For a reason Hijikata can’t understand, he feels something stinging and burning in his chest. There’s a lump in his throat that he has to force the words through. “I’ll be ready,” he tries to swallow, “whenever the surgery is, I’ll – I am ready.”

He hears a sound of approval before the doctor speaks in a gentler tone than Hijikata’s ever heard him, “You’re almost there, Hijikata-san. Just hang on a little longer, you’ve almost made it.”

He’s caught completely off-guard by the soft encouragement to the point where his brain scrambles to relay words to his mouth. “I – um. Thank you, Yamamori-sensei.” He feels at utter loss of what else to say, and the man on the line takes it as his cue to wrap up this phone call.

“So, could you be at the hospital tomorrow around 11 in the morning? You may have to wait for a while, but we can squeeze you in between the scheduled appointments.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” And as if this is the only thing his brain is capable of today, he says, “Thank you again, sensei.”

“It’s no problem, Hijikata-san. Please take care, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Good night.” He ends the call and promptly drops his head onto the table again, letting out a long sigh – that ends in a coughing fit.

He stares at the white petals scattered on his palm and around the table. Just a few more days of this, and he’ll be free. Free of coughing fits, free of the constant suffocation and breathlessness, free of the sharp stabbing pain radiating from his chest and spreading agony to the rest of his body. Free of white petals and fucking green leaves and all other suspicious foliage.

Why the fuck are they white anyway? Do they always look like this, or is it just him? Is it because he’s in love with the Shiroyasha? Is it some kind of cosmic joke?

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. An annoying and persistent one that doesn’t stop despite Hijikata’s “Coming!”

He races to the door to put an end to the irritating noise, forgetting the petals in his haste.

He aggressively swings the door open, his face already set in a scowl. “What?” he snaps before he even registers who’s at the door.

“Is this how you welcome all your houseguests?” drawls Gintoki in a judgemental tone. “How barbaric.”

Hijikata groans. “I don’t remembering doing something horrible enough to have to see your stupid mug twice a day.” He squints at the Yorozuya. “The fuck do you want? Why are you here?”

The fucker shakes his head in mock disappointment, and sighs loudly. “I should really expect this sort of rotten attitude from a tax thief after all. Edo will really fall someday, with hoodlums like you roaming around.”  

The effect is instant; he feels his face contorting into a deep scowl, an eyebrow twitches, his jaw clenches, and so do his fists with the need to punch something – preferably the shithead’s face – and a vein starts throbbing near his temple. This is what Hijikata dubs as The Yorozuya Effect. It is – as the name suggests – his body’s reflexive, spontaneous response to having Sakata Gintoki nearby. Its severity depends on the level of bullshit the perm-head spouts. Normally, this level of bitchiness would result in a mild reaction, but because he’s already had to take shit from this asshole earlier today, he’s hypersensitive to his crap at this point.

“What,” he growls, “do you wa – ”

A bottle of – sake? – is shoved rudely in his face, cutting him off. He backs off a little and eyes the bottle, confirming that, yes, it is in fact a bottle of sake.

His gaze lands on dead-fish eyes and he raises an eyebrow in question.

The shithead shrugs. “You were the one who told me to come over to drink sometime. Or are you the kind of loser who can’t hold his drink and ends up saying all kinds of bullshit he won’t remember?”

“Shut up, I remember,” he snaps before his brain registers it. He blinks twice when he does. Oh. Oh, right, he did.

He looks back to the bottle, which doesn’t look – well, cheap. It doesn’t look like something the Yorozuya could afford, and if he was able to get his hands on it… it doesn’t look like something he would want to share.

Apparently, the perm-head could read his thoughts because he clears his throat, and with a frown, grumbles, “I have standards, y’know. For proper housewarming gifts and all.”

Hijikata blinks, his facial muscles relaxing into a smooth blank.

Yorozuya is standing there awkwardly, a frown on his face that looks more of embarrassment than actual annoyance, glaring at the wall beside Hijikata’s door as to not meet his eyes and the hand that’s not gripping the bottle’s neck is scratching at his nape.

Yamamori-sensei literally just told him to avoid triggers like five minutes ago and his personified trigger is here to make sure he dies tonight.

What the fuck, his heart is doing strange shit and he – God he might really die if Yorozuya stays here. He got him an expensive bottle of sake as a housewarming gift and he’s acting fucking shy about it. Fuck him.

This is really unfair, Hijikata thinks in resignation.

“Are we just gonna stand here all night or are you gonna let me in, bastard?” Gintoki snaps. “Where are your fucking manners?”

I should really tell him to leave. He has to leave or I will actually die. Nodding internally, he opens his mouth to send Yorozuya away, to tell him, “just because you said that, I won’t let you in. Fuck off.”

What comes out instead is, “Quit your fucking yapping and get in already, you’re disturbing the neighbors.”

What.

Why the fuck did I do that!? He despairs as his stupid body, which apparently decided to not listen to his brain anymore, moves away from the door to make room for the Yorozuya to come in.  What the fuck, you weak bitch, send him away before you die!

His body just takes the sake bottle from Gintoki and walks back into the kitchen. Hijikata really cannot believe what’s happening.

Is my soul getting sucked away by some demonic sword again? Is this what’s happening? Is it?

He feels as if he’s distantly watching an impending shitstorm take place from outside his body. Like it’s not him who’s just invited the cause of his terminal illness in for a drink. All his sound judgement feels like it just floated out of his body and is dreadfully waiting for the inevitable doom. 

He hears Yorozuya humming thoughtfully and glances at him to find him looking around the apartment, taking in his surroundings. “You actually live here?” he asks as his roaming eyes finally settle on Hijikata. 

Hijikata frowns. “What does that mean, bastard?” He knows the apartment is the size of a shoebox, that was one of the reasons he picked it out, after all. It’s just a temporary place for him to sleep in until the barracks’ renovations are finished. He knows the place isn’t much but he’ll be damned if the Yorozuya, who doesn’t even pay his fucking rent, judges him for it. 

The shithead rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, dumbass,” he says, tone dripping exasperation, “I mean do you actually live here? The place looks completely empty.” 

Hijikata blinks in surprise. Oh. He...never thought of that before. He looks around for anything to negate Gintoki’s statement with, and ends up with nothing. 

“Well,” he trails off, “I guess...I never really got around to bringing anything but what's absolutely necessary since it’s just,” he shrugs, “a temporary arrangement. This is all I need, anyway.” 

The necessary being all the basic furniture that came with the apartment. A small kitchen table with two chairs, a couple of cabinets that are mostly bare if not for a few plates and cups, a stove that he barely uses, and a small space which can be generously referred to the living room and the bedroom. He has his futon rolled into one corner, a small closet, his small working table that he took with him from the barracks and...well, that’s about it. There’s a tiny bathroom that literally cannot fit two people, but whatever. 

The most about this place that could say Hijikata actually lives here is probably the stack of papers on top of his working table with his ink and pen and the bag of mayonnaise that sits on his kitchen counter. 

Yorozuya seems to be thinking along the same lines because he chuckles and teases, “But of course, there’s mayo here so not all hope is lost. Bet your fridge has nothing but mayo in it, doesn’t it?” 

Hijikata scowls at the bastard and proceeds to open his fridge and put the newly bought bottles inside with the two he’s had before. He makes a show of opening the fridge door wide enough to show the Yorozuya that he does, in fact, have other stuff in his fridge. 

“Congrats, you have two eggs and like, three veggies in there,” the fucker taunts with an unimpressed stare. Hijikata unceremoniously closes his fridge and gives the fucker a much-deserved middle finger. 

He nods towards the kitchen table. “Sit down, shithead.” 

Said shithead just clicks his tongue, whines about Hijikata’s lack of hospitality and takes a seat. It’s as Hijikata is taking two cups out that Gintoki asks him, “What’s with you and white petals, anyway?” 

How his grip on the cups doesn’t loosen enough for them to slip out and shatter, Hijikata will never know, because for a moment, everything in him seems to come to a full stop. 

His breath, his voice, everything seems to be lodged in his throat, not moving. His muscles are completely frozen and Hijikata knows, he fucking knows that he needs to recover from this bomb right now before Gintoki gets suspicious and realizes the weight of the reaction he just pulled from Hijikata. 

The only saving grace is that Hijikata has his back to Gintoki; he doesn’t want to think about what kind of face he’s making right now. 

He forces his arms to move, to put the cups down on the countertop before using all his might to lift a hand up to close the cabinet. 

“Oi, Mayora, I’m talking to you,” Gintoki says a little louder. 

Hijikata pulls himself as much as he can in the second he has to turn to face Gintoki. He summons all the nonchalance he can muster, while forcing out both his voice and the breath caught in his throat. “Hmm?” 

The Yorozuya scowls. “What the fuck? Listen to me when I talk, you asshole!” he snaps. 

“It’s instinct at this point to tune you out to spare myself the bullshit you say,” Hijikata retorts, and immediately feels so much relief for the years worth of experience he has of bickering with Gintoki that it just comes naturally to him at this point. 

Gintoki gives a dramatic gasp. "I am not going to sit down and take this abuse. I'm your fucking guest, have some damn manners!" 

Hijikata rolls his eyes, and moves to put the cups on the kitchen table and take a seat across from the fucker. It's as he sits down that his eyes catch on the white petals he coughed out earlier, and it finally clicks where Gintoki's uncalled-for bomb came from. 

He must have frozen for a beat too long while eyeing the petals because Gintoki latches back onto his previous question. "So what's with the petals?" He asks again, before snorting. "The Demon Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi leaves little, white flower petals behind him wherever he goes, how horrifying. Ha!" 

Hijikata is torn between absolute terror at how dangerous this conversation has the potential to be, and the usual annoyance that flares up whenever he's at the receiving end of Sakata Gintoki's teasing. He ignores the dread settling heavily in his gut (a sensation he's pretty much become an expert at dealing with since this whole ordeal of his illness began) and the racing of his heart and tries to focus on the latter emotion Yorozuya's teasing brings out. "I don't fucking leave flowers behind me," he snaps. "I don't know where these came from, probably got stuck on the grocery bag or something." 

It's a flimsy lie even to his own ears, but his brain can't come up with anything else. 

Gintoki hums thoughtfully, eyeing him in that way that makes Hijikata feel like he's peering into his very soul, and he knows that Gintoki doesn't buy it. It makes him nervous enough that Hijikata avoids looking back at Gintoki and busies himself with pouring sake for the two of them. He pushes the other's cup towards him and grabs his own, intent on drinking this nightmare away. 

"The same petals were at Kamakko club, ya know. And earlier today. It's hilarious, honestly, a shitty bastard like you has flower petals falling off him wherever he goes," he chuckles briefly before his face smoothes into a careful blank. "It was pretty hilarious, but your reaction really sucks the fun out." 

Hijikata glares down at his cup. He really shouldn't have invited him in. This is quickly derailing to the worst possible scenario. He knew the Yorozuya would catch on, he fucking knew he wouldn't be able to hide it. 

"And you really look like shit," the bastard murmurs, not unkindly. Which makes it worse, because his tone means he's serious, he's not throwing jabs at Hijikata, he's stating a fact, he's asking a question without asking it. 

Hijikata clenches his jaw. What does he say to this? He can't even risk looking at Gintoki right now because he feels it might actually kill him. He can deflect how bad he looks right now with a good number of excuses, but he has no idea how to explain the petals. He had no idea he had petals falling off him this often, much less that anyone would notice it. 

Hijikata sighs. "Talk about manners. D'you talk shit at everyone who's nice enough to let you into their home?" he grumbles, a desperate attempt to pull this conversation back into light banter. 

"Just the stupid bastards who actually look like shit," Yorozuya answers in a deceptively lazy tone. Hijikata can feel his stare on him, can feel the weight and the intent behind it and it's taking everything in him not to squirm under it. He's hiding something and both of them know it. 

"Hm, I'll remember that the next time I step into your house, you always look shitty," Hijikata counters before taking another sip from his drink. 

One moment passes in silence, then another, and another. Then: "You really don't look good, Hijikata-kun." 

The hand that isn't holding Hijikata's drink clenches at his thigh beneath the table. "Fuck you," he responds in a light tone. 

He hears Gintoki sigh. "Not gonna say anything, huh? Even though you and I both know you're not fooling anyone." 

"Can't say I know what you're talking about." 

"Cut the bullshit. You can't even look at my face right now, it literally can't get any more obvious than this even if you tried," Gintoki snaps, the heat in his voice betraying his frustration with Hijikata's blatant evasion of this conversation. 

"Maybe I don't wanna look at your ugly mug because, well, you look like shit yourself." He truly has no idea how he's able to sound this calm, or how he's able to pull off these comebacks. Internally, he's a step or two away from a panic attack. How he's able to muster all this nonchalance is beyond him. 

"You know what? Fine!" Gintoki nearly yells. "You wanna ignore the elephant in the room? Go ahead, see how that works out for you." 

A bitter laugh is pulled out of him before he knows it. "You're such a hypocrite. You're the last person in the world who gets to lecture me about talking about anything," Hijikata finally lifts his gaze to meet Gintoki's, the remnant bitterness over the bastard's disappearance for two years is suddenly triggered and Hijikata does nothing to rein it back in. He revels in it, in anything to get himself out of the Yorozuya discussing the flowers that he's unknowingly growing inside Hijikata. "You left. You fucked off the face of the planet for two years and decided to take on the world's literal doom all by yourself, not letting anyone in," he rattles on, tone scathing and cold and challenging Yorozuya to say anything back, "I have no fucking obligation to share anything with you, houseguest or not, fancy sake or not. If all you're here for is to satisfy whatever curiosity you have, then I guess there's no point in you being here anymore. Whatever I have going on is none of your business, just like yours was never my business as you clearly made it." 

It hits him, as he's finishing off his outburst, that maybe this is where the bitterness bubbled up from. It's a lie, that it's none of Gintoki's business. It is. It's his business and it's the kind of business he wouldn't wanna deal with if he knew. It's the kind of business he would be troubled by, because as much of a significance Hijikata has in Gintoki's life (and he's not stupid, he knows they have a strong bond), these feelings, this disease...they're nothing Gintoki can help with. If he were to ever find out, it wouldn't do either of them any good. He would just feel guilty, would just beat himself up for not being able to cure Hijikata, he would just blame himself for not loving Hijikata back. Gintoki would wallow in self-deprecation for not being able to force himself to feel something that could save someone's life. And that's just how fucked up this situation is. 

Because he's sitting here, wanting to know what's wrong with Hijikata because he undoubtedly would want to find a way to fix it. And Hijikata has seen so many dilemmas and disasters over the years that Gintoki stuck his nose into and managed to fix...and this is why this talk is hurting him. Because he knows Gintoki can't fix this. Gintoki can't make himself fall in love with Hijikata and it would just kill him too, to see how much that little fact is quite literally killing Hijikata. 

His bitter outburst stems from this. From the grief that Hijikata refuses to let himself feel. From living a heartbreak. He knows, he fully understands that in reality, Gintoki isn't to blame. And he doesn't blame him. He doesn't think any of this is Gintoki's fault, at all. It's no one's fault, really. He knows that, and he wants to be better than taking it out on Gintoki because...because he does love him, after all. 

But something about Gintoki, out of all people, needling him to talk about the disease that's ruining Hijikata's life is so ironic in a way that just leaves Hijikata angry in a way he doesn't understand. 

His chest feels tight. His windpipe feels like it's gonna snap shut. He can't fucking breathe and he feels, he swears he feels the plant growing out of lungs, he feels it puncturing his lung walls, he feels it coiling around his organs and the pain is so blinding his mouth falls open in a silent scream. He distantly feels panic at how this might be how he dies. He distantly thinks of how he needs to do something, to give himself a little longer. He's almost there, he can't die here. 

He can't make Yorozuya watch him die.

Hijikata grits his teeth, lifting a trembling hand to the inner pocket of his yukata, to pull out his inhaler. It takes two failed tries to bring the mouthpiece to his lips before he succeeds and then, it takes everything in him to push down the canister and force a deep breath in. He wonders if the medication will even reach his lungs, with how constricted his windpipe feels. 

He takes another inhale, and another, before he can actually say there's some air flowing into his lungs. 

The pain, though, has no mercy. It's so fierce that Hijikata feels he's been pulled out of his body, like he's isolated from the world, everything is muted except for the ringing in his ears and the white, hot pain washing over him. 

He's only pulled back into reality when he feels hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him, followed by a loud, panicked, "Hijikata!" 

It finally dawns on him that his eyes were snapped shut, because as he opens them, he's met with Gintoki's horrified face. 

"Hey! Hey, you hear me? What the fuck is going on? Hey! Answer me, you bastard!" Gintoki yells, his voice cracking and trembling at every word. "Hijikata!" 

Fuck. This is such a mess. 

"I'm fine," he wheezes. 

"Like fuck you are!" Gintoki screams. "What the fuck was that!? Are you having a heart attack!? Fuck, do I call the ambulance!?" 

Hijikata groans, the volume of Gintoki's voice is going to split his head in two. "Shut up," he hisses. 

"Don't fucking ― " he pauses, then, with a lower volume, "I need you to tell me what to do, you were literally just talking one second and then clutching at your fucking heart the next. Then － then you breathed this thing and then you just started screaming in pain and I don't fucking know what to do," he rambles on, his voice breaking, and the hands on Hijikata's shoulders are gripping with enough force to bruise, violently shaking. 

It's stupid. Hijikata is so fucking stupid, but the sight of Gintoki looking so desperately scared for him looses the plant's grip on his organs. The pain subsides little by little, enough that Hijikata can actually function and breathe better. 

"It's okay. I'm okay," he rasps out. "Calm down, it's over." 

"What's over? What the fuck just happened?" Yorozuya's grip is still relentless, remnants of terror still clear on his face. 

Hijikata is too exhausted to deflect or lie right now. He just can't bring himself to put an act right now to reassure Gintoki. His body feels heavy and Hijikata slumps forward, resting his head on Gintoki's shoulder. "Just shut up," he mumbles tiredly. 

"Fuck, just. Just tell me, do I need to call an ambulance? Do I need to take you to the hospital?" Gintoki whispers, his shaking hands finally releasing his shoulders, one hand gently cradling the back of Hijikata's neck while his other arm wraps around his back, pulling Hijikata closer to him. 

The warm affection that blooms in Hijikata's chest for this man is enough to chase away the pain. 

God, I really love you. 

He smiles into Gintoki's shoulder, relishing in being held so tenderly by the object of his affection and shakes his head. "I'm okay," he whispers back. 

Gintoki is still slightly shaking, but he doesn't protest any further. Hijikata can feel him trying to calm himself and wind down. 

He's almost fallen asleep when Gintoki speaks up again. "I won't push you to tell me what's going on. I...still have a lot to say, but I'll drop it for now." He hears Gintoki's deep, shaky inhale, feels it as his chest rises, then slowly falls. "I'll drop it, but just. Just tell me you're doing something about this." 

I am, Hijikata thinks. I'm giving up on you. 

His eyes sting, and his chest gives a painful twinge at the reminder. 

"I am," he murmurs. "I'll be okay. I made sure of it." 

Gintoki pauses for a moment, then Hijikata feels him nod. "Okay, then." 

"Sorry, Yorozuya. I think we'll have to drink your fancy sake some other time." Hijikata moves to push himself off Gintoki. "You should go home for the night."

He makes the mistake of looking at Gintoki and his breath hitches. 

They're really fucking close. They're fucking close and Gintoki is looking at him with unguarded concern, his arm still wrapped around Hijikata and the hand cradling the back of his neck is now delicately touching his jaw. "I don't think you should be left alone in this condition...whatever that is." 

Stop tricking me into thinking you feel something for me. 

This is what he wanted to revel in, why he kept postponing the surgery. He wanted to spend time loving this man, but Hijikata realizes how dangerous that is. Because looking at Gintoki now, he almost thinks he wouldn't mind living his life feeling the way he feels if he can steal a moment or two like this with him. 

Almost. 

Hijikata swallows the lump in his throat as he shakes Gintoki's hands off of him, lightly pushing him away to get up. 

It's only then that he registers the fact that they're both on the floor. He must have fallen out of the chair at some point through the wave of pain. He avoids meeting Gintoki's gaze as he grips the kitchen table and uses it as leverage to get back on his feet. 

It takes a monumental effort to stand up, and he has to keep his grip on the table lest his knees give out again. He doesn't need Yorozuya to see him being any more pathetic than what he's already seen.

His back is facing Gintoki, but he feels him stand up, feels his heavy stare on the back of his head. 

"You can take the bottle with you. I don't feel like drinking much." It's the loudest Hijikata can say get out without actually saying it. 

A moment passes in silence before Gintoki says in a low voice, "No. Keep it. I'll come for a drink again." 

He can feel Gintoki's hesitation at leaving him, but he really needs him out of here. He physically just hit rock bottom again and mentally almost there. His heart is breaking and he can't handle Gintoki's unintentional, platonically affectionate gestures right now. "Later, Yorozuya." 

He hears him sigh, before moving away from Hijikata, towards the door. "I'll come again, Hijikata-kun." Then he's walking away. 

Ah, the next time I see him, I probably won't be in love with him anymore. 

He hears some shuffling, the Yorozuya putting his boots on, probably. 

I wonder if I'll like him enough to want to have a drink with him after this. 

Will he still mean as much to me?

Will I still be willing to kill and die for him? 

Will I even remember I felt this way, this deeply, for him?

Will I remember how nice it felt to be held by him, to be near him, to have his attention solely on me? 

Will it hurt to see him fall for someone else, someday? Or will I care enough to be happy for him? 

Am I going to lose him? 

The first cough feels like it ruptured something, and the ones that follow are all filled with the metallic taste of blood. 

The last thing he sees is blood dripping on the kitchen table, bloody white petals and then he's falling. He doesn't even feel himself hit the floor, he doesn't feel anything beyond the pain that comes back with vengeance, the taste of blood, and flowers clogging his bronchi. 

He tries to cough harder, to force the flower out, to fucking breathe but it's useless. He spits one flower out but there's an entire plant blocking his airways. 

Oh. I'm gonna die, after all, he distantly realizes, feeling his consciousness slipping away. 

He feels hands on him, gripping his shoulder, his face, shaking him, holding him, pressing at his chest, carding through his hair, lightly slapping at his cheek. 

I don't want him to watch me die. God, don't do this to him, don't make me do this to him. 

He fights to open his eyes one last time, his eyelids only ever felt this heavy when he's had really close calls with death and this...this feels like this is it. 

The last thing he sees is Sakata Gintoki looking so horrified, so desperate, face twisted, worry lines never been so prominent, his mouth open and downturned, lips trembling and wide, crimson eyes shining with unshed tears. 

The last thing he thinks about is how sorry he is for being the reason Gintoki is making this face. 

And then nothing.

Chapter Text

Kondou is halfway through his second cup of tea at the Shimura dojo when he gets the call. 

He can't recall most of what happened in between picking up the phone and reaching Oedo Hospital's emergency department. One would think he could handle it better, seeing as it's the second time he gets this particular call in a matter of weeks, but no. Kondou's just as shaken, if not more, than the first time that he picked up the phone and someone told him, with clinical calmness, that he's Hijikata Toushirou's listed emergency contact and the man had just been admitted into the emergency department after collapsing. 

Kondou doesn't think it'll ever get easier to receive the news of Toushi - his Vice-Commander, his most trusted man, his best friend, his brother-in-arms, his Toushi - being on the verge of death. 

He distantly registered Sakata Gintoki's presence when he arrived, in between demands to see Toushi and demands to know exactly what the fuck's going on. His brain is still computing the information he was told -

"Collapsed at home - "

"Ambulance - " 

"Multi-organ failure - "

"Immediate surgical intervention - "

 - and it's taking everything in him to wrap his head around how this is seriously happening. Toushi is dying.  

 The bigger part of Kondou refuses to believe in this outcome. Toushi had promised him, that he won't let his sickness take him away from the Shinsengumi, from Kondou, and he keeps his word. It's a solid fact, to Kondou, that just as the sky is blue and the sun shines everyday, Toushi will keep his promise. The trust that he has in Toushi, bone-deep and cultivated through years of camaraderie, denies any possibility that someone will walk out of the operation room to tell Kondou that Toushi's gone. 

There's a small, traitorous part in Kondou, one that he's ignoring with all his might, that is already despairing at the loss of the most important man in his life. The part that, despite years of battles and near-death combats, still holds that bit of fear no human can completely shake off, no matter what they've seen in their lives. Kondou's doing his damn hardest not to listen to the whispers of grief over his soon-to-be loss, because it will break him. And he cannot break right now, not when Toushi is still fighting for his life in there. Not when he promised Kondou he'll make it. 

He's drowning in all kinds of thoughts and emotions, so deeply gone in his head, he can't even tell how long he's been sitting there, staring without seeing at the door behind which Toushi and the hospital staff are fighting to keep Toushi's word. It's only when his vision is blocked by a figure clad in the Shinsengumi's uniform, that he comes back to his senses, to see Sougo standing in front of him, face twisted in anger and panic. Ah, his mouth is moving so he must be saying something, but Kondou feels like he's been submerged underwater and has to really focus to register what Sougo's saying. 

" - be so fucking stupid!? This is too pathetic of a way to go, even for a bastard like Hijikata!" Oh, Sougo's screaming, his voice is cracking and wavering. He's scared. 

Sougo is scared he's losing another important person in his life in the hospital, that history is repeating itself, depraving him of Toushi like it did his sister. Sougo, who's just a kid, is trying to hide his fear by lashing out. 

Kondou can't say he hears everything Sougo says, so he doesn't know where he cut him off when he calls, "Sougo," but he immediately clamps his mouth shut and just looks at Kondou, eyes wide and face openly horrified and vulnerable. 

He doesn't know what to tell Sougo, how to calm him down when Kondou's own thoughts and emotions are jumbled and wreaking havoc in his head. He doesn't think, he just opens his mouth and voice his thoughts: "He promised me, Sougo," he whispers. "He promised that he won't let this take him away from us." 

Sougo's face contorts more, his mouth opens, and Kondou doesn't think he can handle whatever rebuttal Sougo's about to spout, so he says, with more firmness than he actually has in him, "Toushi keeps his word." He stares at Sougo for a long second. "I trust Toushi to keep his word." 

That small part of Kondou is screaming at how hypocritical he sounds, when he's barely keeping himself together. 

Thankfully, however, that part lives inside Kondou's head, so Sougo doesn't hear it. Sougo hears firm belief in Toushi, that Toushi will make it out of this alive, and he hears it from Kondou, who knows exactly what value Hijikata Toushirou holds in their lives. Miraculously, his shoulders sag and Kondou can see all the anger and aggression leaving his body. He sighs and slumps in a seat next to Kondou, with a small frown. 

They sit in silence, Kondou can't tell for how long, before another voice speaks up. "So you guys knew he's not doing well?" 

Kondou and Sougo's heads turn to their right, looking at the source of the voice. Ah, right, Yorozuya was still here. 

Kondou's still trying to make sense of Yorozuya's question, so Sougo is faster to snap, "Let's not, danna." 

Before Kondou can say anything to break the tension that's suddenly forming, Yorozuya growls, "No, let's, Okita-kun." He shoots up from his seat and towers over Kondou and Sougo, staring them down with a heated glare and face twisted in anger. "Let's talk about how you let him get here. You knew he was fucking sick and you just - just - what? Left him to deal with it!?" he turns his anger on Kondou, voice growing louder, "What do you mean 'he promised'?! How the fuck do you treat sickness with words and promises!? That's the most pathetic thing I've ever heard!" 

In a flash, Sougo was out of his seat and clutching at Yorozuya's collar, his body shaking with anger as he growls back, "Whose fucking fault do you think it is that we're here in the first place, huh?!" 

Yorozuya mirrors Sougo, moving his hands to fist at Sougo's collar. "Don't put this on me just because I was there to see him collapse! He was already looking bad for days now!" He shook Sougo aggressively. "Where were you!? What would've happened if I wasn't with him!? He would've just rotted away in his apartment until one of you grew a head and decided to check on him!" 

"Don't talk all high and mighty when you're the cause of his sickness in the first place!" Sougo screams, shoving Yorozuya until his back slams against the wall. Sougo points an accusing, trembling finger at Yorozuya. "It's all on you, danna. If he dies, it's on you. You're the one who's been swinging him around until he fell sick for you," Sougo says in a low, deadly tone, his voice shaking. "My sister would've never done this to him." 

Oh, Kondou thinks. So this is who Toushi's fallen in love with. 

He's thought about it more times than he can count, who could be so special to receive Toushi's romantic affection to this extent, especially after Mitsuba-dono's death and Toushi's years of devotion to her and solely her. He can't say he's ever suspected Sakata Gintoki, but now that Sougo mentions it... Kondou feels like everything's clicked into place. Of course it's Sakata Gintoki. He shares a bond with Toushi that Kondou never saw Toushi form with anyone before. He brings out sides of Toushi that Kondou never sees with anyone else. 

Kondou takes in how Gintoki is reacting to Sougo's accusation, a confused frown twisting his face with remnants of his anger, his chest rising and falling as he braces himself against the wall, Sougo's word hitting him like a physical blow. His mouth opens and closes in a wordless question, unable to find words. 

And while Kondou distantly recognizes the source of Sougo's hostility towards Gintoki, he can't help but feel sorry for the man. He didn't do this on purpose, and he knows, he's absolutely sure, with every cell in his body, that Toushi would never want Gintoki to be faulted for this. 

With this thought in mind, Kondou rises from his seat, moving to stand between the two men. He turns to Sougo first. "Sougo, that's enough. I know you're worried about Toushi, but you can't lash out like this," he states firmly, looking Sougo in the eyes and willing him to back down. Sougo's deep scowl softens slightly into a resigned frown. He turns his gaze to the floor, and Kondou knows he's come back to his senses. 

Kondou sighs. "Go get some fresh air, clear your head." It sounds like a suggestion but his tone is enough to make Sougo understand this is a command. Sougo nods and stalks away. 

"What," Yorozuya's voice demands shakily, "the fuck is he talking about?" 

Kondou allows himself two seconds to get his shit together, because this conversation is a minefield and Kondou is very sure that Toushi will not appreciate Gintoki finding out. He's sure Toushi thought something like he'd take these feelings to his grave, or something as drastic. And with Sougo's outburst, the difficulty of explaining the situation to Gintoki without detonating a metaphorical bomb somewhere just increased tenfold. Yorozuya's already prepared to find a way to put the blame on himself now that Sougo's hinted at it, if added to the knowledge of the nature of Toushi's disease...well, he's sure Yorozuya's sharp enough to put two and two together. 

He has to start by dispelling any notion of blame Sougo planted in Gintoki. "Sorry, Yorozuya, he's - we're all stressed right now and he's, you know how it was with Mitsuba-dono, you were there," Kondou starts, trying his best to give all the truths but the one that could screw everything up, "it's his way of coping with...Toushi's situation. He gets aggressive to hide how worried he is." 

The look Yorozuya gives him tells him just how unconvinced he is. "He said I made him sick," he reiterates slowly, a grimace twisting his face, as if it's physically painful to repeat Sougo's accusation. "That I've been - what - swinging him around until he fell sick? What the fuck does that even mean?" 

Kondou's not a good liar, not like Sougo. He doesn't have the same quick wit that Toushi has, either. He doesn't know what to say without breaking Yorozuya's bond with Toushi, or the man himself. He doesn't know how to respond without letting all Toushi's efforts at keeping his feelings hidden go to waste. 

He remembers the rundown about Toushi's condition that he got last time he was in the emergency department, about how a surgery to take the plant out could remove Toushi's feelings for the person he's fallen for, and how this is probably what the nurse meant by 'immediate surgical intervention'. Kondou doesn't know to what extent Toushi's feelings for the Yorozuya will be affected. Will it affect his memory? Could this break the bond the two had built over the years anyway, regardless of how this conversation goes? Will Toushi wake up neutral and apathetic to the Yorozuya while the man is nearing a panic attack at the notion that he had a hand in Toushi falling sick? Will Yorozuya suffer the aftermath of this fallout by himself, regardless of what knowledge he gains about Toushi's situation? 

Kondou doesn't know. He doesn't know and the longer he remains silent, the higher Gintoki's hackles rise. The more frustration bleeds into every word he says. "Answer me," he demands through gritted teeth. 

Kondou's not a good liar, and he doesn't have a quick wit. What Kondou does have, however, is a pretty fucking good luck, because a doctor approaches them right at that moment. "Kondou-san," the man nods his head in greeting and Kondou's brain finally connects the face to memory - this is the doctor that explained Toushi's situation to him last time he was here. 

"Yamamori-sensei," Kondou responds, sounding desperate and not caring in the least. "How's he? Please - "

"Hijikata-san's surgery had successfully ended a few moments ago," he reports, and Kondou can practically see the relief radiating from the man. "His condition was critical, but we've successfully managed to extract the plant without further damage to his internal organs." 

Kondou's mind is completely blank, save for the word 'successfully' echoing over and over. He tries to force words out, but his mind is coming up empty and he can't find his voice. He can barely see the doctor as it is, his eyes feel hot and his vision has gone blurry. Yamamori-sensei smiles gently at him, and utters the words that Kondou almost lost hope he would hear, the words that - as of this moment - are the most precious to grace his ears: "He's made it." 

He feels a sob breaking out of his chest, followed by another and he suddenly can't bring himself to stand anymore. He doesn't know how he ends up back in a chair, people patting him on the back and offering him tissues, and he doesn't care. Toushi's alive and nothing else matters right now. 

Sougo came back at some point in his breakdown, started teasing him about crying in public while his eyes were suspiciously shiny, smile open and true, his hand gripping Kondou's shoulder in an attempt to channel out the overwhelming relief, Kondou knows, is coursing in his veins. 

They were told that Toushi's in the ICU, but they'll be able to see him in the morning, or afternoon, if his recuperation proceeds smoothly. It's only then that Kondou notices that it's past 2 in the morning. 

"You should get some sleep, Kondou-san," Sougo suggests. "The bastard's not going anywhere. Get some rest and come see his stupid mug in the morning." 

Kondou chuckles at Sougo's weak attempts to sound like he isn't as happy as Kondou is about Toushi's recovery. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good." He takes a good look at Sougo, how much these last few hours have drained him and says, "You take the night off, too. I know I called you in the middle of your shift, but the guys can handle patrol without you for the night." 

Sougo snooping around and learning about Toushi's condition might've been Toushi's worst nightmare at one point, but Kondou can't help but selfishly find it a blessing that he had someone he could share his fears with about Toushi's illness. He and Sougo haven't discussed it a lot, but Sougo had let Kondou know that he's aware of Toushi's condition, and Kondou had warned him off pushing Toushi or stressing him out. Sougo had been tense and frustrated and while Kondou's always understood, he remained firm that Toushi will handle this the way he wanted to. There hasn't been a day when Kondou wasn't being ripped apart with worry, when all he wanted was to approach Toushi and needle him to hash it all out, to do something to help Toushi, but Toushi gave a word and he determinedly stated he'll deal with this on his own, and Kondou trusts him. 

They didn't leave Toushi all alone, like Yorozuya stated, but Kondou guiltily believes it was a near thing. He called Toushi nonstop in the beginning before Toushi just plainly told him that he didn't need to call him every five minutes. He had to restrain himself to checking in as often as he would like, and as little as Toushi was okay with. Toushi's been avoiding meeting him or anyone else in the Shinsengumi in the last few days, and that worried Kondou sick because he knows it's because Toushi's been doing worse and he didn't want anyone to see him like that. Spotting him in the market earlier today was the first time he'd seen Toushi in a while and before he could have a moment alone to check on him and express his worry over how sickly he'd looked, Toushi had already slipped away from the chaos, and Kondou knew better than to press him, no matter what he feels. 

Kondou blinks, suddenly remembering the disastrous confrontation with the Yorozuya that got miraculously interrupted. He looks around, but the Yorozuya is nowhere to be found. He totally forgot about the man following the news of Toushi's recovery and his breakdown. "Have you seen Yorozuya?" he asks Sougo, looking around the hospital hall for any sign of silver perm. 

"Danna? He disappeared somewhere in the middle of your breakdown," Sougo says in an innocent tone, but Kondou hears the tease anyway. Little shit. "I haven't seen him since." 

Kondou sighs. "We need to figure out how we'll explain this to him. The things you said, and Toushi's collapse." 

He feels more than sees Sougo shrug, the two of them walking side by side towards the exit. "Let the bastard deal with it. It's his mess now that he's gonna live it." 

He swats at Sougo's head lightly in reprimand. "His mess is our mess!" 

Sougo scoffs. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I start wiping that bastard's ass for him," he mutters darkly. 

Despite the emotional drainage Kondou feels settling in his bones, Sougo's response still draws a laugh out of him. "That's the Shinsengumi, Sougo!" he exclaims, a smile stretching his face. "We live to wipe each other's asses!" 

He personally feels like he just something incredibly wise, but Sougo just looks at him with a grimace. "Kondou-san, that's gross." 

Kondou's barely managed to sleep a wink, despite how exhausted the night had left him, yet he couldn't feel more awake and energized the next morning, making his way to the hospital to, hopefully, see Toushi. 

He checks in with the front desk and they confirm that's permitted to go in and see him, albeit Toushi not having regained consciousness yet. 

The moment he steps into Toushi's hospital room and lays his eyes on him, he's hit with a myriad of emotions, so powerful he has to sit down before his knees buckle with the force of it. Toushi's still on a ventilator and a heart monitor, an IV drip attached to his left arm and bandages poking through his gown. But he's here, his heart is beating steadily, his chest is rising and falling, and Kondou can reach other and smooth his hair away from his eyes. His Toushi is alive and will continue being by Kondou's side. He kept his promise and that's all that matters. 

It's sometime in the afternoon that Toushi starts stirring and takes a few moments to open his eyes. Kondou immediately hovers over him, asking him how he feels and trying to locate the button the nurses told him to press if he needs any help. A nurse comes in and tells him she'll call for Yamamori-sensei right away as soon as she notices Toushi's awake.

Kondou sees cognition settle in Toushi's gaze and knows that he's gathering his bearings already. "Toushi," he calls for him, unable to mask the affection bleeding into his words and not caring to. He nearly lost his most important friend and he'll damn well drown him with affection. "Thank you." When he's met with a blink, Kondou feels his smile growing and his eyes softening. "For keeping your word, for sticking by my side. Thank you." 

Toushi stares at him for a long moment, before a small, soft smile graces his features, as much as he could possibly smile, with a tube inside his mouth. His eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and Kondou guesses narrowly escaping a terminal illness like that will do that to you. 

Yamamori-sensei informs them that they managed to extract the plant out, and that it was a risky surgery as the growth had caused some branches to wrap around vital organs, causing injury and bleeding. Toushi's lungs should be able to regain their full capacity with proper rehab, but it's expected to take a while to make full recovery, as the plant had ruptured multiple sites within and through the walls of the lungs. 

"Smoking is completely out of question," was met with a fierce scowl that still managed to strike fear through Kondou and, judging by the way the poor nurses flinched, everyone else around the room, despite the ventilator covering most of Toushi's face. Yamamori-sensei was the only one who remained unaffected, raising an unimpressed brow that dared Toushi to fight him on this. Kondou swears he heard Toushi click his tongue in disapproval, but otherwise he remained docile. At least no one said anything about mayo. 

Besides the rundown of how the surgery went and Toushi's current condition, Yamamori-sensei did not bring up Hanahaki or the emotional aftermath regarding Toushi's feelings. They wrapped up by doing thorough checkup on Toushi's vital signs, removing his ventilator and injecting a few medications through the IV line, and soon enough they were out the room, leaving Toushi and Kondou alone. 

"So," Kondou starts, smiling at Toushi, "how are you feeling?" It doesn't matter that they've already asked Toushi this question as soon as the ventilator was removed and Toushi was able to talk again. 

Toushi frowns. The face he's making worries Kondou. It's not pain, it doesn't seem like he was lying when he assured Yamamori-sensei that he feels fine, it's more like...

Like he lost. A look of empty resignation. It feels like a weight settled on Kondou's chest, so he presses again, "Toushi?"

It takes a few moments before Toushi finally responds. His voice sounds just as empty as he looks when he says, "I feel nothing, Kondou-san." 

Kondou blinks twice, trying to make sense of what that means, when Toushi turns to look at him, and repeats hollowly, "I feel nothing." 

Chapter Text

He’s in a small room, one he’s been in only once before. 

The room is dimly lit, and he can see a sole figure standing with his back to him, gripping a wooden table like his life depends on it. 

White petals are scattered on the table and the floor, and the sight of them makes him sick. 

He registers another figure close by, turning and walking away. 

“No,” he says, dread filling him. “Don’t leave…don’t leave him alone,” he pleads. 

The figure keeps walking away, and the dread turns into a vicious panic clawing at his chest as he screams, “Turn back! Don’t leave him, don’t walk away! You can’t leave him now or he’ll die! He’ll fucking die! Turn the fuck back!” 

Nothing changes. He turns to look back at the fragile silhouette of the figure by the table and finds him lying on the floor, white flowers and foliage around him, all red, all bloodied, one hand clutching at throat and the other one gripping at his chest in desperation to breathe. 

“No, no, no!” he shouts. “Don’t die, don’t fucking die!” 

He turns back to the figure by the door and screams, “Do something! For once in your fucking life, do something useful and try not to lose every good thing you have, you piece of shit!” he screams. The figure remains unmoving by the door. “What are you waiting for!? God fucking dammit!” 

“See, danna?” he hears a voice drawl behind him, “it’s all your fault.” 

He whirls around, heartbeat roaring in his ears, as his eyes land on Okita Sougo. 

“Wha - no,” he denies shakily, “no, I didn’t - “ 

“But you did,” Okita says icily, hatred carved into his face and venom dripping from his tone. “It's all on you, danna. If he dies, it's on you. You're the one who's been swinging him around until he fell sick for you.” 

“No,” he whispers brokenly, the words messing him up just like they did the first time he heard them. 

“If he dies, it’s on you,” Okita repeats. 

“Stop it!” he grits out, covering his ears. His chest aches and he’s hit with a horrible wave of nausea. 

“It’s all on you.” 

“No! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” he growls. 

“If he dies - “ 

“NO!” 

He sits up with a sharp gasp. His heart is racing, and he’s covered in cold sweat. He’s breathing rapidly and shallowly as he panickedly takes in his surroundings. It takes him a few moments to realize he’s in his bedroom, and he takes a few gulps of air to try to calm his breathing. 

It’s still dark outside, he notes distantly, probably around dawn. 

His nightmares are consistent, if anything, waking him up in the same pathetic state at the same fucking time every day for a week now. 

He sighs, running a slightly shaking hand through his hair as he gathers his bearings and wills his heart rate to steady the fuck down. 

It’s just a nightmare, he tells himself. He’s not dead, he’s alive. A vision of Hijikata Toushirou’s bloody hand reaching out and weakly gripping his yukata as he fights to keep his gaze on Gintoki, as life slowly fades out of his eyes and his hand falls limply onto his chest flashes in his mind.

He screws his eyes shut on instinct, willing the memory away. 

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. 

He’s alive. 

He opens his eyes again and decides against sleep. He needs fresh air. 

He slowly makes his way up and away from his futon and changes into his yukata, and stumbles out of his place and into the night. 

Kabuki-chou is fairly quieter now than it is during the early hours of the nightlife, fewer patrons stumbling drunkenly out of bars and casinos. The weather is pretty chilly, but the cool breeze helps Gintoki breathe a little easier. 

He takes a deep sigh and wanders aimlessly through the streets, no destination in mind, just a desperate need to get away from the stifling, dark bedroom of his where his mind tortures him every night. 

The first night, he had drunk himself stupid in hopes of forgetting all the events that transpired earlier. The sight of Hijikata losing his last breath, the blood on Hijikata’s face and hands and on those goddamned white petals, Hijikata’s blood on Gintoki’s hands and yukata where Hijikata weakly tried to hold on to him, his hands trembling violently as he tries to use Hijikata’s phone to dial the ambulance, the ugly, horrifying, continuous beeping of the heart monitor as the paramedics raced to shock Hijikata’s still heart back into life, the hospital staff holding him back as they wheel Hijikata, with a barely beating heart, away from him, the hopelessness and despair of the hours that followed, the hateful accusations Okita Sougo threw at him, Kondou Isao’s tears as they were told Hijikata lived through the surgery, and the stark confusion amidst a cocktail of relief, panic, hopelessness and fury.  

Everything he had desperately tried to wash away from his mind with alcohol came back with a vengeance mere hours later to plague his sleep. He had woken up with his heart in his throat, in a dirty alley behind a bar he apparently decided to destroy his liver in. It was one of the worst panic attacks he’d had in years and the subsequent nausea didn’t go away no matter how many times he vomited and dry heaved. 

He’d come back that day to find his kids, along with Otae and the old hag waiting for him. They’d somehow known about Hijikata collapsing and him being there, and were waiting to ask him about Hijikata’s state. Thinking back on it now, the sight of him covered in Hijikata’s dried blood, his own vomit and the dirty alley’s grime probably wasn’t a great sign. The way he could barely tell them Hijikata’s fine and crack a lame joke about it being damn time his nicotine addiction came back to bite him in the ass that fell flat… 

He was too damn tired and scared and fucking raw to play it off. All he could do was state that Hijikata is gonna be fine and proceed to avoid everyone he knows for the foreseeable future. 

The thing is, Gintoki thinks, his kids, his friends, they’re not easily avoidable anymore. They’ve learned not to take Gintoki’s bullshit and push him to deal with his feelings head on. The fact that he’s successfully been avoiding them for a week now, is a testament to how desperately he wants to be alone, that he’s somehow managed to get it across to them, some way, somehow. The fact that they’re letting him avoid them, well, he’d probably be more grateful if he could spare a moment where he’s not haunted by Hijikata Toushirou’s temporary death and Okita Sougo’s direct blame on him. 

He knows this can’t keep happening. He can’t keep avoiding everyone in his life, find new spots everyday to hide away in, drink himself stupid, vomit, fall asleep, and get assaulted by the same fucking nightmare, rinse and repeat. He knows it’s alarming that he doesn’t remember when he last put something in his mouth that wasn’t alcohol, that he can’t remember the last time he spoke to anyone other than to order a drink, that he could count the number of hours he’s slept this past week on his hands and still have a few fingers left. 

He knows it doesn’t make sense to mourn for someone who did not even die, not permanently at least. To hold so much grief over a man who’s living and breathing as much as Gintoki himself is, to desperately try to banish the thought of said man with as much effort as can muster in his pathetically fragile state. 

To punish himself for an accusation, a blame that he does not deserve, does not understand, but fears and hurts from all the same. 

Gintoki skids to a halt at this train of thought. No, he’s not going there. 

With a sigh he looks around, taking in the quiet street his feet have dragged him to. He blinks in surprise as recognition settles in. He lets out a bitter snort as he looks at the building he had been at last week, the place where all his nightmares take place.  Even awake, his body still unconsciously tries to find a way to torment him, it seems. 

He tries to bring himself to walk away, but he can’t. He continues to stare, thoughts he refused to entertain forcing their way through his mind. 

Is he okay? Is he still in the hospital or did they discharge him? Is he back in his apartment or did he go to the barracks where his men can watch over him? Is he breathing alright? Is he banned from smoking? Is he cranky and desperate for a cigarette or did he double his mayo intake to compensate for the lack of nicotine? 

Is he still angry with me? Still bitter? Does he also blame me for what happened? 

What kind of illness did he have that he had to be so secretive about? How did he let himself get to that point?

Gintoki takes a step in the direction of the place where all his fears lie. 

Will he let me in if I knock on his door now? 

He halts. 

No . 

He can’t see him. Not yet. Not just yet. 

He’s still frightened of what he might find if he looks at him. 

He’s still cowering away from seeing, hearing, or even thinking about Hijikata Toushirou. 

He’s alive, he desperately reminds himself.

It doesn’t matter. 

Try again later. 

Chapter Text

His sorry state of existence continues its miserable downfall for exactly eleven days before the old hag decides to shit on his wishes to be left alone. 

It is his twelfth night getting shocked awake by the same fucked up nightmare starring Hijikata Toushirou’s corpse and Okita Sougo’s cold accusations when Otose decides that she’s had enough of Gintoki’s wallowing. He’s leaving his place when she intercepts him at the end of the stairs, standing outside her bar and smoking like she isn’t about to tear him a new one. 

Gintoki decides to try his luck and walk away without a word, but - “Out to drown in vomit and misery again?” 

He doesn’t meet her eyes, opting to cast his gaze to the side. “Can’t say it doesn’t make sense that this would be your definition of fun, old hag.” 

She blows smoke in his direction in lieu of a response. A fresh wave of nausea hits him at the smell. She sighs heavily, and he knows he won’t be able to play it off and wiggle out of this conversation. 

“Don’t you think enough is enough?” she asks. He feels her gaze pinning him in place, analyzing him. He stubbornly refuses to respond. He wants to be left alone and he feels wronged that she’s approaching him right now. He distantly knows it’s irrational to feel this way, that Otose is just worried about him, but he doesn’t need this right now. He needs to be alone, to go through another failed trial of purging that cursed night out of his fucking head. 

“Gintoki,” she starts, “your kids are worrying themselves sick trying to give you space. Everyone can see you self-destructing.” He can practically hear the frown in her voice. “He was ill and you were unlucky to see him collapse, but that’s no excuse to be punishing yourself for days after.” 

He grits his teeth and says nothing. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. 

“You’re mourning a living person, Gintoki. That’s just wronging both of you,” she states sharply. “He’s living and breathing and fully conscious, from what I hear. I know it must’ve shocked you to see him nearly die, but you need to get it through your head that he didn’t . Do you understand, Gintoki?” 

He feels her hand gripping his chin to force him to meet her eyes, a firm frown on her face. “Do you understand?” she demands. 

There’s a whirlwind of emotions going through him right now and none of them is good. Anger and indignation, frustration and sadness and so much bitterness because she doesn’t fucking understand. No one does! 

“Do you ?” he growls lowly, yanking her hand away from his face. “Do you understand ? His heart fucking stopped . He was dead. And the last I’ve seen of him before he passed out, we were arguing and he was upset with me, not the usual bitching we dish out at each other, he was truly upset with me,” he can feel his voice shaking in anger, barely keeping himself from yelling the words out. “And then I get blamed for it. Like - like I made him sick, like I caused his fucking illness. What the fuck? Don’t talk to me like you understand because you don’t. Hell, I don’t, and it’s killing me everyday.” 

He can hear himself breathing, loud and fast like he just ran a marathon. Otose’s face is a careful blank, but he can see the concern in her eyes. It just makes him angrier. He doesn’t want her concern, he just wants to be left alone. He takes a step back and turns to walk away. 

“And you’re just gonna keep going in circles, not understanding why you’re punishing yourself!?” he hears her exclaim, anger seeping through her tone. “This isn’t fair to you, and it isn’t fair to anyone who gives a shit about you, you dumbass!” And then she goes for the kill, “And you know what? It isn’t fair to your policeman, either, mourning him like his life now is meaningless to you.” 

Grief hits him like tons of bricks with that statement. Because he knows. He knows Hijikata doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Gintoki making him his worst fucking nightmare. He doesn’t deserve Gintoki hurting in his name. He doesn’t deserve that Gintoki cares more about how he nearly died than how he ended up living. 

But he can’t do anything about it because he’s a coward. 

The only response he can come up with is, “He ain’t my anything, old hag.” And it sounds pathetically weak. 

“Isn’t he, though?” comes the quick retort. “Try to fool someone else, boy, I wasn’t born yesterday and you’re not as mysterious or as subtle as you like to think.” 

He sharply turns back to look at Otose, desperately trying to disguise his panic as indignation. “The fuck is that supposed to mean!?” he snarls. 

“It means exactly what it sounds like,” she answers, staring right at him in defiance. 

“Watch it, you damn hag,” he warns, glaring at her and hoping that she won’t see his trembling fingers. He clenches his hands into tight fists to get them to stop shaking but it’s useless. 

She raises an eyebrow. “You know, it’s about time you learned to stop internalizing your emotions and trying to rot them inside you.” She sighs. “It’s not obvious, if that’s what you’re worried about. It takes many years of dealing with your stupid ass and a fair amount of common sense to put it together, and luckily for you, not enough people around you have the two.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. He had sworn to take these feelings to grave, had refused to let them anywhere near the surface, had done his fucking hardest to the push them into the darkest corner of his mind. 

He really thought he’s been doing a perfect job at this. Everyone seemed oblivious to it, most important of all, the goddamned object of his affections. 

If Otose knows…who’s to say that no one else caught on? 

Before he can spiral any further, the damned old hag slaps him out of it, literally. He feels a sharp sting on the left side of his head and yells out, “What the hell!” 

“Calm down, I said it’s not obvious. Stop panicking like a wimp and snap out of it!” she yells back. 

She sighs and lights up another cigarette. After blowing the smoke out, she fixes him with a no-nonsense look. “The only reason I’m bringing this up is because you need to snap out of it. I know the feeling of having lost your loved one, and you need to understand that you did not . I know how much it must’ve shaken you, but he’s alive,” she stresses the last two words as if that’ll get them through his head any better, “and you have to move past that night. You wanna confront it or shove it deep down along with all your secret affections, I don’t care, but you have family and friends who are worried about you, and that includes him.” 

Gintoki only realizes he’s been looking away from her penetrating gaze when she reaches out again and forces him to look back at her. “So snap out of it. Now.” With that, Otose lets go of him and blows one last breath of smoke in his face, for good measure, before stepping back into the bar. 

Gintoki stands, pinned to the spot where Otose left him, her words weighing on him. 

The fact that someone knows about his feelings is horrifying, but also a small part of him feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He’s internalized these emotions for so long, that a part of him is relieved that somebody addressed them. 

But that means nothing, Gintoki reminds himself. He can’t afford to let anyone else find out. He and Hijikata are in a rough spot as is without adding these feelings into the mix, that’s more complications than what their bond can handle, he fears. 

He sighs. Otose is right, though, all things considered, he needs to put an end to this. 

Confronting anyone, especially Hijikata, about what happened is the very last thing he wants to do, moreso now that he’s found out he hasn’t been keeping a tight lid on his feelings like he thought he was. It’s just too risky, and he’s too raw to keep his emotions in check. 

So avoidance it is, then. He’ll just avoid the whole fucking thing until it’s buried so far down within him, no one can pry it out even if they dig his heart out. 

The avoidance tactic works well, until it doesn’t. 

He manages to get his life back on track, manages to get everybody off his back with all their worried glances and concerned frowns. It’s not easy, especially not at first, with everyone’s reprimands and lectures, and worse, their reassurances about Hijikata like it’s suddenly not a sore topic anymore. He stumbles through some awkward and painful conversations in the beginning, like Kagura asking if they can go visit Toushi, or Shinpachi mentioning Kondou asking about him, or Zura outright questioning him about what happened that night, as if it’s a fair topic to broach now that he’s not actively destroying himself trying to forget it. 

He grits his teeth and takes it all, puts on a nonchalant attitude like he’s moved past it - fake it ‘til you make it, and all that. 

He steers all Shinsengumi-related topics away from him, and physically steers clear of them, never risking a chance to run into Kondou, or Jimmy or - God forbid - Okita. He has, unintentionally, heard enough to understand that there’s no risk of him running into Hijikata, since apparently, dying and coming back to life requires a lengthy recovery period, that even the Demon Vice-Commander is unable to bypass. 

So admittedly, when his tactic comes to bite him in the ass in the form of his monstrous green neighbor, he does not see it coming. 

The Yorozuya had just finished a job with an old lady who hired them to purge the ghost of her dead husband, which turned out to be a case of her next door neighbor trying to scare her into selling the house so he can extend his restaurant. Gintoki, of course, was completely calm the whole time even though his kids were scared of the idea of a ghost. What a joke! As if ghosts actually existed! They were totally no help and he had to do everything himself! And no, do not listen to anything those dumb employees of his are saying! They’re just embarrassed! 

Bottomline is, because he was so tired of carrying the weight of the entire Yorozuya on his shoulders (and not because he’s been looking over his shoulders left and right to make sure no ghosts were haunting him like Shinpachi and Kagura said, because that’s just stupid!) he didn’t notice where he was going and knocked face-first into a huge green wall. 

He hears a panicked squeak coming from Shinpachi before he realizes who he ran into, and once he does, Gintoki has to physically slap a hand over his mouth to prevent the same undignifying noise to come from him. 

Hedoro towering over him with that menacing sneer that promises painful death doesn’t help, nor does the grim, “Sakata-san.” 

He gulps and removes his hand to try and salvage the situation before he dies. “Uh.” 

“Just the person I wanted to see!” the Dakini growls threateningly and Gintoki takes a few steps back, a quick glance around telling him his useless kids have abandoned him and he’s going to die alone on a sunny day in the middle of Kabukichou. 

“O-Oh! Ah, is that so?” he very much does not stutter. 

“Well, yes! As a mutual friend, I wanted to inquire about how Hijikata-san is doing? I have not been able to visit him since he was discharged from the hospital.” 

That…was not what Gintoki was expecting. He’s caught completely off-guard that he forgets who he’s talking to. “You,” he says slowly, “visited…Hijikata in the hospital?” 

“Well, yes, I was worried to hear he was hospitalized again and how much worse it was the second time.” What? Second time? Hedoro visited Hijikata in the hospital twice ?! Hijikata had been hospitalized a time before that horrific night?! 

He has so many questions he doesn’t even know where to start. 

“He seemed quite tired when I went, as soon as I walked in, the poor man passed out,” Hedoro muses. 

Anyone would pass out if you walk into their hospital room, oi! A shinigami would be less of a threat! 

But that doesn’t make any sense. 

“Ah, so you, uh, knew about his illness?” Gintoki decides to probe. 

“I did, yes. I tried to help him come to terms with his diagnosis, given that the nature of his condition did require a bit of a botanist’s intake.” 

Hedoro apparently doesn’t know how tight-lipped Hijikata was about his condition, and assumes that as a mutual friend , Gintoki had been aware all this time as well. 

He probably shouldn’t do this. If Hijikata didn’t want him to know, he doesn’t have the right to hear it from others. He shouldn’t probe into this any further. He knows he shouldn’t. 

But he also doesn’t understand the blame and the accusations that were thrown at him, why Hijikata had covered up an illness that was slowly killing him only to collapse in front of Gintoki, how Hedoro out of all people on Earth, knew about what was going on and Gintoki didn’t. 

So maybe I deserve some answers after all,  he thinks bitterly. 

Figuring out that the best way to keep this conversation going is to act like he was in on whatever secret Hijikata had, Gintoki decides to put on the best performance he can. “Ah, I see I see. That makes sense! Hijikata-kun didn’t go around telling everyone about his condition though, so you can understand my surprise!” 

Hedoro nods agreeably and Gintoki gives himself a pat on the back. “That is quite true. Given how Hanahaki is already an illness borne out of heartbreak, I’m glad Hijikata-san decided to at least keep his friends close to him. Loneliness could have been lethal in his state.” 

Hanahaki? Gintoki has heard this word before. He tries to dig through his memories for any clue to what that was. He needed something to respond with. 

Coming up blank, the only thing he could respond with was a very bitter, truthful, “Well, it clearly wasn’t enough if he ended up collapsing the way he did.” 

Shit, was that too much? That probably was too much! 

Hedoro frowns at him, and if Gintoki wasn’t busy reliving that fucking nightmare of Hijikata covered in blood, he would have shit himself. “You should not blame yourself, Sakata-san.” Yeah, try telling that to Okita-kun, maybe. “No one is to blame. Not you, not Hijikata-san, not even the person who broke his heart. Unrequited love is out of anyone’s control. It is just purely bad luck that Hijikata-san’s feeling manifested in the deadly form that it did. It is unfortunate, but it is now behind us, we should focus on supporting him. The after-effects of the surgery are quite a delicate matter, too, and shouldn’t be taken lightly.” 

Gintoki feels like he’s falling deeper and deeper into a pit of utter confusion with every word Hedoro says. He’s totally lost and has no idea how to follow the flow of this conversation anymore. The way his brain is scrambling to analyze and pick apart Hedoro’s words are sending him into a mental turmoil he can’t force himself out of. 

Somebody broke Hijikata’s heart? What unrequited love is Hedoro talking about? Could he…he couldn’t have figured out Gintoki’s feelings, could he? Surely, he’s not talking about Gintoki? But that doesn’t make sense. They’re talking about Hijikata’s illness, what does unrequited love have to do with all this? Is he consoling Gintoki? How did he know? Does he know? 

And what after-effects is he talking about? Is Hijikata’s life still in danger? Was everyone lying to him when they assured him that Hijikata’s slowly but surely recovering? 

What the fuck is going on?! 

He blinks back into focus to see Hedoro carrying a pot of yellow flowers and walking towards him. When he’s close enough, he presents the pot to Gintoki, who stares at the pot, as if expecting it to explain what’s going on, before moving his stare to Hedoro. “Eh?” 

“Please, take this. I intended to gift these daffodils to Hijikata-san to wish him a speedy recovery, but as he is no longer in the hospital, I wanted to ask you to deliver them for me along with my best wishes.”  

He blinks, taken aback by the gentle sentiment. But he…he can’t see Hijikata. Not yet. Not so soon. “Ah, but - I mean, you already went through the trouble of - uh, planting the flowers and potting them. I mean, it’s only right if you deliver your gift yourself!” 

Hedoro shakes his head and unceremoniously pushes the pot into Gintoki’s chest, causing him to stumble back while catching the flower pot before it falls. “I must insist,” Hedoro growls and Gintoki receives a good old reminder of who the fuck he’s talking to. 

Voice coming a pitch or two higher than he would have liked it to, Gintoki responds with, “Okay, if you’re sure!” 

Hedoro steps back, satisfied, and nods. “I am. Please pass my deepest regards to Hijikata-san.” 

As Hedoro starts walking back to his house, one of the many things Hedoro said comes to the forefront of Gintoki’s mind, and before he knows it, he’s telling Hedoro to wait. 

The Dakini turns back to look at him in question, and Gintoki doesn’t have time to think about how much he’s supposed to know when he asks, “What you said earlier…about the after-effects of the surgery,” he pauses, unsure how to word his question without sounding pathetically worried. “Just,” he sighs, giving up all pretenses. “Is he…still in danger?” 

Hedoro scratches his chin in thought before answering. “Not physically, at the very least. The surgery should have taken the entire plant out, so his body doesn’t have to deal with a parasite piercing through his organs anymore. I can’t say I have any knowledge of how extensive the damage to Hijikata-san’s body was, but if he was already discharged from the hospital, then I believe his body is recovering perfectly well. It is the mental state that I’m concerned about.”

“The mental state?” Gintoki repeats. 

“The surgery had, quite literally, removed feelings that Hijikata-san had been nurturing and experiencing intensely. His heart was full of love for someone and it was suddenly, all at once, taken out of him. That could cause quite an emotional…shock. A sudden emptiness like that can be a very hard thing to deal with. It’s his emotional and mental state that requires delicate treatment right now, I believe.” 

He nods towards Gintoki. “This is why our support, in any form, is important.” 

Gintoki numbly nods back. That satisfies Hedoro, who bids him a good afternoon, and walks into his house. 

Gintoki just stands there, in the middle of a Kabukichou street, on a sunny day, trying to take in all the information he just heard. 

His brain is slowly starting to put pieces together, but without a good knowledge of what Hanahaki is, he still doesn’t have the full picture. 

He blinks back into focus eventually, moving to carry the damn flower pot home until he can figure out what to do with it.

Gintoki heaves out a deep, weary sigh. So much for avoidance.