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Toshiro frowned and angrily kicked the cigarette dispensing machine in an attempt to dislodge the pack of cigarettes that had jammed itself in the rotating dispensary springs. It wobbled as if it were going to dislodge, but then fell still in a clear effort to try his nerves. After several kicks gradually increasing in severity, all he had earned for himself was an aching foot. He cursed the defective machine under his breath as he shoved his hands in his pockets and began stalking down the street. He supposed it was as good a reason as any to follow up on the notion that he was going to try to quit smoking- the notion that he had been perpetuating for quite a while but just couldn’t seem to actually accomplish.
“Well… At least it’s quiet,” he sighed to himself as he walked alone through the night. The stores were still open catering to customers, but the atmosphere was light; he didn’t have to go chasing down shoplifters or beating up alleyway muggers. Ever since the conclusion to the Utsuro incident a year ago, the crime rate had dramatically decreased. Of course, it wasn’t zero, and so Toshiro and the rest of the Shinsengumi still had their hands full on a daily basis. Still, he didn’t have to go around chasing Joui patriots or fending off doomsday, so his stress levels had adjusted accordingly. Sometimes, probably for nostalgia’s sake, he still got that urge to smoke, though. The world just seemed to take him too seriously on his noble commitment and somehow managed to bungle his efforts to acquire a cigarette. If that was the most of his problems, though, Toshiro supposed that he should be grateful.
His craving for a smoke morphed into a craving for a drink, so he stopped into a quaint little joint and ordered himself a hot black tea. At this time of night, most patrons were partaking in alcoholic beverages, but Toshiro didn’t care to trade his chain-smoking habit for an alcohol-chugging one. Eyes lidded as he watched a couple of drunks raucously playing poker in the corner, he didn’t take much notice of the man who slid into the barstool beside him until he heard him order a black tea as well. Wait a second… I know that voice, he thought with a slight scowl and whirled around on the seat to be greeted with the smirking visage of one Shinsuke Takasugi.
Toshiro wondered for a moment if his drink was alcoholic after all because he was pretty certain that the man sitting beside him had been dead for about a year.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Shinsuke purred in amusement. “My specialty happens to be crawling my way out of Hell.” There was an air of light-heartedness about him, undermined by the subtle pang of guardedness, as he casually swirled the dark liquid around in the clay cup and eyed Toshiro out of the corner of his one good eye. The police officer deliberated for a moment on his course of action; even if a majority of the crimes of Gintoki and his compatriots had been pardoned, Shinsuke Takasugi had a pretty impressive rap sheet of crimes against the state. He had no reason to return to Edo aside from causing trouble. Yet… He didn’t seem to be up to much good and it wasn’t very like him to turn up at public venues, let alone plop right down beside one of the leading members of the Shinsengumi. Honestly, Toshiro wasn’t much in the mood to scrap with him, either. It was pretty good tea he was holding in his hand at the moment and he’d hate for it to spill and be wasted. He pursed his lips as he eyed Shinsuke critically.
“So what the hell are you here for?”
“Such hostility. You haven’t changed much,” he snorted with obvious distaste. The smirk fell from his lips to be replaced with a stony, blank, thin-lipped stare. “What became of Gintoki?”
“Spent the year living in a hole, didja?” Toshiro sighed and leaned his cheek in his fist with a return of his narrow-eyed expression. “That rent-dodging, apathetic asshole is still running his Yorozuya with the brats. Most often when I actually do have to answer calls about disturbances in town, it's him and his cronies.” Try as he may, he could not keep the faint hint of affection from staining his voice. Gintoki was an absolute bastard and a stain on society in many respects, but there was just something so likable about him that even the tough, gritty Toshiro couldn’t help but look upon him in mild fondness. Perhaps it was simply the rose-colored glasses of the former samurai saving the world a few times over that tainted his impression of him. “Why do you ask?”
“Believe it or not, even I referred to people as ‘friends’ once,” he remarked smoothly with a sordid look down into his half-drunk glass of hot tea. “On some level, I wish for him to be doing well.”
“Look at that. Shinsuke Takasugi, turning over a new leaf. I must be drunk,” he countered with a suspicious glance into what appeared to be tea but could very well be tea-like sake that remained sloshing around in his cup. He bristled a little when the patriot released what sounded like some bastardization of a chuckle, but was darker and more edged with iron, fitting his edgy personality and look.
“A new leaf? Maybe,” he said quietly with a faraway look. What was it about this bastard that made Toshiro unable to get a read on him? “I was dead, and yet I live. I’m just a specter wandering around looking for a reason, I suppose,” he said after a few seconds of silence.
“Didn’t you have followers?”
“They’re either dead or gone,” he responded levelly. Toshiro wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his expression softened slightly as he continued, “There’s one who still follows me around, but… She has nothing going for her otherwise, so I suppose it is a matter of necessity rather than choice.” He exhaled slightly and leaned back, rolling his shoulders lazily as he closed his eye. “Regardless, it is apparent that my endeavors and wishes in my ‘past life,’ as it were, are no longer sufficient to sustain my existence.”
“Pity.” There was not an iota of pity in his voice, nor in his body. Yet, he wasn’t triumphant about it, either. Toshiro didn’t pity him, but he understood being lost. Two years after the first clash with Utsuro, after he had been dismissed from the Shinsengumi, he had been trapped in that very limbo. He had occupied himself by forming a local police gang with other discredited members, but… It wasn’t fulfilling. It was just meaningless fluff that tried to fill the void but ultimately fell short. “So… You think Gintoki has the answers you’re looking for?” he continued slowly, eyeing him out of the corners of his eyes. The smirk returned to the patriot’s mouth, albeit faintly.
“I wouldn’t go that far… I suppose it’s more that I’m wondering how he did it. Moved on so easily, after the hell that we all went through,” he murmured thoughtfully. It did seem that way on the surface, the white-haired man had himself all put together and was totally unbothered. It seemed that way, but Toshiro didn’t doubt that the man had his nightmares, just like every war-scarred veteran, that the scent of iron and the screams of pain hovered just beyond his waking reality ready to pounce in moments of weakness. Toshiro knew exactly what Gintoki would tell him, too.
“There is no moving on,” he said and drained the last dregs of his tea, “there’s just living, or dying. That’s all.” Shinsuke’s eyebrow quirked as Toshiro stood up and dropped a few coins on the counter for the shopkeeper.
“Interesting. You sound just like him.”
“Don’t insult me.” Toshiro frowned at him as he laughed dryly, then began fishing around in the folds of his kimono. His eyebrows raised as he produced a pack of cigarettes and held it out to him. It was the brand he had been wrestling with earlier. He wondered if the pack had fallen down after a time thanks to gravity, or if Shinsuke had sliced apart the machine to claim Toshiro’s forgone purchase. He didn’t fancy returning to the vending machine to find out. The patriot shook the carton emphatically in offering. Toshiro’s teeth nibbled at the edge of his bottom lip as he considered it. “No thanks.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I’ve moved on,” he remarked with a small smirk before dipping his head in farewell, not glancing back to see what Shinsuke actually did with the cigarettes. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants as he whistled a light tune, head tilting back to behold the brilliant full moon shining amongst the glittering stars above, in a space so vast it was beyond comprehension. So small were they, in the expanse of the universe, yet everything in their lives seemed too big and important.
Crawled your way outta Hell, huh? He thought wryly. Hope you make the best of purgatory...