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THE ROOM WAS QUITE empty. A single forget-me-not, connected on a thin stalk, rested on a transparent jar, filled only at the bottom by water. Katsura inhaled deeply on his futon, his head pulsing with recent images that wouldn't leave his memory. His heart, clenching around thorns, almost ripped in two as he heard a knock at the door.
"Who is that?" He asked, unable to move. A tight bandage wrapped his chest and he could almost feel the blood about to escape. His fringe fell on his eyes when he turned his head around and he could only see the feet that stood mortifyingly at the door. Katsura sighed and closed his eyes. "Why are you here?"
"If I say I was worried, would you accept it as an excuse?" Said Gintoki as his boots lingered away of his feet. Katsura tried to turn around, but his injured arm twitched and a pulse of pain made him groan. "Are you okay?"
It was a so-hard question. Katsura wouldn’t answer, he didn’t know. One year ago, Takasugi disappeared. Not that he was present, but as their past stopped chasing him, he left. Gintoki, as Katsura never saw before, was affected directly by it. He trapped himself in home for almost a week. Kagura kept saying he caught a cold, but Katsura knew thing didn’t work like that. Sakamoto didn’t realise until he was told, but he showed no surprise in Takasugi’s departure.
“I guess he finally surpassed the ghosts that haunted him.”
“But he was the one who decided to...” Katsura started, but the words got caught in his throat, in a dry sound that made him silent. Sakamoto nodded.
“Yes.”
Gintoki stood at the door, waiting for Katsura to tell him to come in. He didn’t.
“Won’t you answer me?”
“Why were you away?” Katsura asked and his eyes turned slowly to Gintoki’s silver curls. He sighed.
“Zura, listen.”
“Go home,” Katsura said, but Gintoki didn’t move. “Please.”
As his eyes slammed shut, Gintoki entered. His blood pressure must’ve fallen, he thought. Katsura laid motionless, his lips pale as paraffin when Gintoki gently held him. His weight against his arms, the light pound of his heart and his breath caused him an urge to cry.
“I’m glad you’re still here, Zura.”
As days passed, Gintoki kept visiting Katsura. Every day. Katsura complained, on the first days, about him having a lot more things to do, yet, he was worried about a terrorist. Gintoki, silent, took care of him until he was fully recovered. The dark tone Katsura’s skin had when his wounds were all closed made Gintoki fear losing him like he had lost someone else.
“You still haven’t answered me,” Katsura said. Gintoki had made him eggs with rice and he paused when Katsura talked, for the first time in a while. The thin walls of his house made everything clear when Gintoki didn’t answer. “I’m not Takasugi.”
“I know who you are.”
“I know what happened, as well. But, of all people, why me?”
“Why are you complaining?” Gintoki appeared at the door and his shaky hands were enough. Katsura lowered his head.
“I’m not...” he said, voice low, and Gintoki sat beside him. His head suddenly rested on Katsura’s shoulder and he closed his eyes. “I’m glad you’re still here, too.”