Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Is this the brat?" The man snorted softly. As if afraid to startle him.

But the boy didn't shift from his spot. Choosing to observe him cautiously.

The first memory ____ has is a distant feeling of being taken away from the place he was living in.

It wasn't a good place but it was all he had known.

He never missed it.

A young woman, petite and smelling faintly of tobacco had held him tightly. 

Was she crying?

The man had crouched down to meet his eyes evenly and bowed.

"Thanks for looking after my wife for all these years."

He still remembered those words.

Making no sense and yet giving such warmth to his frozen over body.

They were kind and he never saw them again.

.

There was a teacher at his temple school who he could've sworn— should be wearing glasses.

And why the hell was he taller than him?

Those thoughts were forgotten as naturally as they had come.

Sensei —he couldn't remember his name— was kind to the point of being taken advantage of. 

It was almost pitiful how he was always dragged into things by his students. 

He wasn't a pushover, he could tell by the look of his eyes.

But he would just smile gently and happily go along with whatever they did. 

Those were happy days.

A normal childhood with dear friends and a beloved teacher.

There was no reason for it to be anything more than that.

And yet, sensei would often look at him like he was looking at somebody else.

Someone he missed and couldn't meet anymore. It was unsettling.

Sensei had sobbed uncontrollably at his graduation. 

And he had laughed as he was teased for being the teachers' pet.

While trying to ignore the empty void gnawing at his chest.

.

"Oh, Danna, come on in!"

The old man waved from his limo. 

Slight but well built with light-coloured hair.

Although he said old, said man was probably only in his late fifties. 

A cheeky smirk lost somewhere in the lines of his face. 

The type of person who was always plotting something, he thought.

The stranger somehow really made an impression on him.

But Danna?

He didn't own any shops. He was a student.

He's clearly mistaken him for someone.

Though he doubted it, somehow.

He picked up his pace, taking turns to lose him while ignoring this bizarre feeling of Deja Vu.

As if he was trying to get away from something. To ignore something complicated.

The car overtook him briefly and he was shoved in by two well-suited men. 

Sitting him next to the extremely smug-looking elder.

"Don't run away like that, Danna!" The man snorted in good humour. Smiling almost sadistically.

"People might think that you're being... abducted or something."

Wasn't he!?

They wouldn't be wrong.

He chuckled unconsciously. That smile was way too youthful for his age.

Making him relax in a way he shouldn't be able to, normally.

Although nobody would exactly call him 'normal'.

"What do you want?" He asked, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

As if meeting an old friend after a long time.

"Nothing," He grinned, "Just wanted to update you on things."

He shifted uncomfortably. 

The hell!?

Wasn't this guy a bit too young to be senile?

Why does he have to humour him?

"Erm.." He trailed off. 

"I think you're mistaking me for somebody else, ossan."

The man smirked deliberately. As if he knew exactly what he was thinking.

It was off putting to say the least.

"Oh, I know exactly who you are, Danna" 

He trailed off. As if he was sure that he would listen.

"Kondou-san sends his regards. He's sorry for not being able to see you this time."

He nodded pretending to know who this 'Kondou-san' is or used to be looking at the almost mournful tilt to his grin.

How does he even know the difference?

He looks back at him smiling mischievously.

"Get this– Kondou-san actually managed date Shimura's sister this time." 

He chuckled. Eyes turning fond.

"She said that it was getting pathetic. Although she dumped him on the first date."

He nodded silently. No need to argue with crazy.

Especially ones who look like mafia.

He ignored the way he felt almost nostalgic. Like he used to know those people a long long time ago.

"You know—sister, she found a decent guy here- not as good as her, of course." He went on braggingly,

"But decent— he made her happy."

This smile was genuine. A smile of a life well-lived.

A grin made it's way to his lips too.

"That Hijikata-san was born way too late. Although they said they're done already." He sighed annoyed.

"He talks about you a lot."

He talked about a lot of people. For a short while, that felt like a lifetime.

It probably was a lifetime- his.

But his parting words were the most peculiar.

"You know the drill"

The man had suddenly stopped, finishing all that he had to say. 

Looking straight at him.

"You really have the worst luck, Danna. Although you won't remember any of this anyway—"

His eyes, serious.

"Know that we haven't given up on you. Not a single one of us."

He didn't know what kind of face he made at this declaration. 

It was probably something not... like his poker face at all.

The car dropped him near his home. The rest of the way spent in silence.

Somehow his thoughts had gotten way too jumbled together to talk.

Something slid down his face steadily. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

Why was he crying?

Chapter Text

He stepped into the bar with his sword still hung on his hips.

And the few customers at once jumped to a spirited discussion about the chances of another war.

Completely going off rail from what they were discussing before.

It wasn't that the place particularly faced many wars.

Samurai having swords was natural.

But it was that kind of place. A sleepy, peaceful village where nothing ever happened.

So any kind of excitement was welcome.

This area was... practically untouched by the violence of the era by how out of the way it was.

That was the kind of place his friend had chosen to live in this time.

He went to the counter and ordered their cheapest sake. Gintoki grinned noticing him.

"Ah, Katsura-san, what brings you here?" 

Coming over to greet him cheerfully. His blue cotton kimono perfectly at place with the wooden furniture.

This place might've resembled Otose's snack bar in its simplicity— if it wasn't at least a hundred years away from the Amanto's arrival.

Katsura winced hearing Gintoki actually use his name properly.

It felt like an insult... no matter how many times he heard it. 

It always managed to annoy him so much that he'd always grumble about it— in his journal.

Each time more embellished than the last— to make it sound not like the complaint it was.

It was a system Gengai came up with. Kind of like a time capsule.

They was no telling when or where they'd be reborn. And they only remembered their time in Edo.

So records were the only thing... they were able to retain about their incarnations.

But everything had its price, he sighed.

Tama became a time machine— a time traveller to protect their records and make sure they got them when their memories returned.

He couldn't even imagine her burden. 

One more thing Gintoki wouldn't have allowed to happen, for sure. He chuckled.

If he was here.

They used it to... convey important things to their future counterparts. 

Like records of what they were able to find out about Gintoki’s memories, their incarnations or just tidbits about their previous lives.

Their regrets, for one.

He nodded slightly in greetings, smiling.

"I had an errand to run, ____-san. Has business been well?"

Of course, he and Gintoki would never bother with such small talk before. 

That idiot would take a look at his face and flinch as if he had seen something very unpleasant. 

Before crudely asking him why he was interrupting his afternoon nap. 

Or why he hadn't just used the front door to enter like a normal person.

But this wasn't Gintoki. Or at least, this wasn't his best friend.

"Hmmm... As usual." The man answered grinning sheepishly. Slightly rubbing his neck.

So that habit was still here, huh? 

This person seemed sincere if a bit lazy. 

He wasn't easy to read— but he didn't have nearly as much to hide as Gintoki did. So he smiled easily.

The eyes were still there though. Too sharp for his own good while still appearing careless.

He wondered if this was what Gintoki would've been like if he had a normal childhood.

A childhood without them... but also without the corpses and bad dreams.

He would have been lonely if it didn't make him so happy.

"Is your family doing well?" Gintoki asked, pouring his drink in a sake cup.

Leaving the bottle near his reach.

"Oh, yes." He smiled. This time genuine.

He asked in turn, "Is your sister well?"

This was another difference between the two. 

Gintoki had a little sister. 

It seemed that in most of his lives... he somehow ended up an orphan, drifting all over the place.

And somewhere down the line picking up a sword to survive. And if he was lucky— to protect.

He kept on fighting till his untimely death. 

It might've... been his fate. But exceptions surely existed. 

At least here, Gintoki didn't have to abandon anything anymore.

He was grateful.

"Yeah, I get tired by just looking at her— and where the hell did she get all that spunk from...?" 

Gintoki sighed in fatigue, "Such an uncute brat."

But the fondness was clear in his tone.

"But at least she's healthy, right?" He chuckled.

Katsura's eyes widened a bit at his smile. 

As he recalled a glasses-wearing youth and an amanto girl who kept watch over him— discreetly. 

Not daring to come close.

"Ah... yes. As long as they're healthy." He hastily replied.

Why was he acting like this?

Gintoki was happy. He even had a family. 

What else could he ask for?

He tried to shove these bitter feelings deep inside his chest.

Gintoki seemed to take his silence as him being drunk. As he smirked teasing,

"You're unexpectedly a lightweight, huh, Katsura-san?" 

He blinked, surprised. What made him draw that conclusion?

But there was something heart-achingly familiar with his manner that he just couldn't resist.

"I could drink you under the table any day, _____-san." He prompted.

"Like last time?" 

The man's grin was so much like Gintoki that he almost forgot that he wasn't.

Wait... last time?

Gintoki laughed out loud. Tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"I can't believe you forgot!" The man completely dropped the polite tone he had used up until then.

As well as his weariness from dealing with a samurai.

He sounded exactly like Gintoki. He stared at him slack-jawed.

"What did I do!?"

Gintoki wiped his stray tears trying and failing to stifle his laughter.

"Oh, nothing much." He grinned, 

"You seemed to have mistaken me for a... Gintoki-san and wouldn't let go."

His brows twitched in suspicion.

"Is that it?"

Gintoki cackled, stopping himself with an 'excuse me'. 

"You were crying and yelling for an Elizabeth... was it?" He joked.

He had probably thought that he was spouting nonsense.

Still, his ears flushed red in shame.

He must've thought that he was pathetic.

And how could he allow himself to get so drunk when he had decided not to trouble Gintoki any further?

Besides, when had he started thinking of this man as his friend? 

How could he have... mistaken him for Gintoki?

Wasn't he just a stranger?

He seemed to have read his mind. 

"Don't worry about it—I'm used to worse." He grinned.

"Although I have to admit, it was very... funny"

He chuckled again now with some of the other customers.

Had he become the butt of the villagers jokes without realising it!? 

Just what did he do!?

He sighed. Brushing his fingers through his hair to hide his embarrassment.

They spent the night joking around like that. Leaving only just before the closing time.

Gintoki had even offered to close early and show him around. 

But he had softly refused, telling him to not keep his sister waiting.

It was nice. 

Almost as if Gintoki had returned but not really.

But it was a good time. 

They had gotten a lot more open after laughing about his drunken mishap. 

Even drinking together after most of the customers had left.

That man... Even if he wasn't Gintoki— there really wasn't anyone more identical then him.

He sighed.

What a pity.

They probably could've become good friends if he didn't need to worry about... his memories coming back.

He tried to ignore how lonely that sounded.

.

He didn't know why he enjoyed drinking with a stranger as much as he did.

It was strange. An odd feeling of... nostalgia bothered him the entire time.

This person— Katsura-san.
He knows him.

He was never the unrealistic type but... it felt as if he knows him. 

Or at least, had known him a long, long time ago.

His habits, how he spoke and even his weird almost sappy sense of humour— was all very familiar to him. 

He could almost recall it, deeply. Like they were best of friends.

But it was all so blurry. 

Like physical remnants of a long-dead memory... that shattered upon the slightest touch.

What was even weirder was that similarly, Katsura-san had seemed to know him.

Probably even more than he did.

But how could he just— forget someone like that?

Where would he even meet him?

It just wasn't... possible.

Perhaps, it was because of this familiarity that he had asked such an odd question. 

"Katsura-san—" 

That person had eyed him like he knew exactly what he was about to ask— and was bracing himself for it.

Almost... hoping that he didn't, while not outright telling him not to.

But he did.

"Is this Gintoki-san someone you can't meet anymore?"

Katsura-san’s had just smiled sadly.

.

Chapter Text

___ didn't know why he was born like this.

Just that his name, once so softly spoken by his mother— didn't feel right.

Nothing felt right.

He was probably a precocious brat, lively but always reluctant.

As if constantly doubting the very facts that made him himself. 

His family probably... worried about him.

Was this really where he was supposed to be?

Were these people— really the ones always by his side?

If not, who was supposed to be beside him?

Who was he?

It was strange. 

From the moment he was born, 

it was as if there were already several... others crawling under his skin. 

Wearing it like he had no right to. 

Voices that always trailed on and on, like a faint memory from long ago.

He was the guest— the intruder in his own body.

____, 

That was his name, wasn't it?

His parents, his family— they loved him and he loved them.

That was all.

What else did he need? What else could he have to remember?

But that strange, empty feeling never really left him. Always haunting his every interaction.

Really.

Didn't something like this happen before? 

.

He didn't mean to ignore it.

These feelings.

He just— shoved it away somewhere deep, like all unpleasant things. 

He did not need such things— he was normal.

After all, his mom would always notice his frown and tease him for trying to be so serious. 

"My ____–chan is growing up, after all!"

Her laughter chiming like a bell.

And his father would just snort and tell him to study instead, shuffling his curls.

His smirk just a bit mocking–

It was after... they were gone that he started to hear the voices.

He didn't need to hold back anymore. 

After all, at that time anything would've been okay.

As long as it distracted him from the present. As long as it didn't... all hurt so much.

His uncle tried to reach out but he... just wanted to drown himself in his thoughts. 

Uncle couldn't save him from himself.

It was stupid but he was a child.

And it was only a game. Only listening to the voices he had always tuned out.

The newest thing to keep him busy. Pretending that he wasn't alone.

Then one day he realised that his name, the name that his mother loved so much didn't feel special anymore.

Somewhere down the line, he had lost sight of himself in his delusions.

His name— it was only one among the hundreds that kept him awake, calling him.

Forgotten drabbles of long ago tearing his self apart.

Whispers overflowing with warmth and an abundance of love. 

But empty. No faces to connect them to. 

But even then— he could feel, a little.

He was loved. And he loved in return. Very, very much.

His chest tightening with unshed tears.

Like unsaid words from long, long ago— trying to reach out.

These 'memories' of his.

It was silly. 

Was he going mad?

He spent days and nights desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn't.

But he wasn't, was he?

Somehow he just couldn't dismiss this as him going crazy. As some disease.

If something he could feel so deeply was fake, then what was real anyway?

If he could demean this, then wasn't his memories, his life— meaningless too?

All these days he spent with his parents. Smiling happily.

Are his feelings so cheap?

His own grief suddenly seemed so trivial to him.

It wasn't any less. He missed his family but— weren't they all the same?

At least, he still remembered his mother's face.

Those people he couldn't even remember—

They used to be so important to him, once.

But now he can't even recall their faces, not even call out their names.

So why does it even matter?

He tries his hardest to reach out—

to grasp anything that he can get his two hands on.

Flooding with memories but not being able to seize any of it. 

All of them turning to foam by his touch.

He will just... forget again, won't he? 

Next time, he'll even forget that he's missing something.

And he'll just live one of those empty lives, oblivious to everything.

Even them—

Even his sufferings will eventually mean nothing.

So why should he care?

He should just live on. 

Does it even matter if he's the only one who remembers?

And yet—

And yet, there's one thing that he can say for certain. 

Someone is waiting for him.

Exactly where that confidence comes from, he doesn't know.

Perhaps long-forgotten memories of a town or a temple school, bonds honed in blood.

Or glimpses of past ghosts that have haunted him across lifetimes.

But he doesn't remember all that.

All that he knows is even if all he does will only be wiped clean, even if regaining all his memories is just inching closer to death.

There's somewhere that he needs to go.

They are waiting for him.

.

He couldn't... do much anymore. 

He was becoming weaker.

He couldn't help himself... and nobody could save him.

Even he could tell, through the strained smiles, his uncle tried to put up.

That he was a burden for the family.

He didn't have parents. 

At least, not anymore.

And yet, a thousand faces would come to mind. Fading away just before he could grasp it.

( Didn't he? A tall, white-haired mother, a dark-haired father–)

( A short, kindly mother, a severe father—)

( That person who always smiled so brightly, a sword held out—)

( Didn't she also run a snack bar? )

He would try to shut them off only to recall another detail that led to even more memories.

He also didn't have siblings.

( He did— he was sure.)

( If no one else— those two. )

He clutched his head in pain. Trying to reign in his thoughts.

( What happened to them? )

These days, even the simplest questions would stir him into a spiral.

His uncle and aunt had kept him for a while,

'confused' they'd mumble, 

'Poor child.'

But he kept trying to run away.

( Someone was waiting. )

He couldn't help it. He had to go see them.

Find them— before his miserable life ended. 

In this life where he couldn't even mourn his parents properly, this is the least he could do.

His uncle brought him back again and again until one day... they just couldn't find him.

A selfish part of whispered,

Did they finally give up on him?

Before sighing, sadly.

If so, then he was glad. They deserved better.

They shouldn't have to put up with him so much.

Now, if only people could forget as easily as him.

.

Chapter Text

It was... a strange journey.

Going from place to place to look for people he couldn't recall.

Who he wasn't sure even existed.

Maybe he was just crazy— 'troubled' as his aunt had put it. 

Eyes creased with just a bit of disappointment.

She was always so gentle with him. 

Way more than he deserved with what he ended up doing. 

Even with all the shit she had to put up with regularly— she never chastised him. 

She just... looked on with a kind of sad sympathy. 

Pity maybe.

He couldn't tell.

They must think he's starving somewhere— if not already dead.

The thought made him grin almost mockingly.

Even though he said he wouldn't pity himself, he wouldn't be surprised at that kind of outcome.

Leaving his home to chase after his delusions and dying on the roadside suited him just fine.

And even if they did exist, if—

how was he supposed to recognise them?

Would they know? 

Do they remember?

He couldn't find it in him to hope for so much.

( That day—he could remember it clearly.

At least this he wouldn't let go of.)

He was a privileged bocchan who had run away from home to chase his nonsense on a journey to nowhere.

All without a penny to call his own.

His money had dwindled somewhere down the line. 

As well as his ways to earn it.

His stamina was too poor to make a living out of... after a whole life of confinement.

That is only if those voices stopped to let him think.

He knew he wasn't crazy.

He had always known, deep down.

That they really were waiting for him or at least the fondness in those voices couldn't be a lie.

His memories couldn't be a lie.

He couldn't... bear it if it was.

Although, wasn't that exactly what all crazy people thought?

That they were in the right? 

He giggled shortly.

Making people eye him a bit warily. Hustling away.

He watched them walk away— till they were a dot on the sunset.

He laughed until his voice choked up. Trying to blink away the wetness on his lashes.

That day, he was sitting on the road without a penny to his name, suddenly second-guessing everything he thought he knew.

Making stupid jokes on how crazy he was, trying hard not to cry.

Alone, lost.

It was pathetic.

That was when he appeared.

That person. 

.

"Your correspondence, young master."

The maid bowed low on the tatami, sliding in a few letters. 

As well as placing several thick scrolls and paperwork on the table. Her frame swaying by its weight.

His quarters were like his place in the barracks. 

If only in the way that it didn't... feel like a room.  

He sighed.

It was his place of work— where he slept. 

Sometimes simply nodding on and off on the piling paperwork.

But still neat with a kind of taste. It reeked of old money and history.

It wasn't something he could change even if he wanted to. 

Somewhat... unlike his old home. 

Although he was never one to fuss like that.

His work was different too.

More dealing with complaints from their samurai or land deeds than solving cases.

He did some of those too just— not often. 

He rarely left home.

"Leave them." He grumbled. 

What a headache. 

His workload was too much... for someone who wouldn't even inherit the family estate.

Weren't his brothers just taking advantage of his competence? 

He sighed. Obviously.

Because he never said no. Not really.

There wasn't anyone in that house... who could force him into something.

His brothers were just plain idiots.

Muscle heads who only knew to drink and pick fights— not unlike his men in another life. 

Loud, rude— all without a smidgen of subtlety. 

The type who thought waving a sword around was enough to change the world.

He chuckled. 

Well, he didn't hate them. 

Growing up without poverty was already something he owed this— his family for. 

He reminded himself.

And while they didn't always get along, they were brothers. 

Even if just brothers in arms then what Tamegoro had been for him.

For better or worse, they grew up together.

They weren't bad people. He wouldn't have put up with them if they were.

He was grateful for the times when they dragged him to that cheap oden place. 

Getting completely hammered and trying not to laugh at their not so funny jokes.

Even their unwelcome almost comical attempts to hook him up with women— were probably born out of concern.

For their little brother who never quite fit in.

He thought back to his family.

A kind mother. Gentle and always thinking about her sons.

She worried about him. Probably because of how reliable he was.

Even as a child... he had always stood out. 

He didn't get her.

She didn't... bother with them much nowadays. 

Too worried about the growing lines under her eyes to see things clearly. 

She was always like that— their mother.

His father was... absent. 

He didn't see much of him growing up. 

He remembered the creases under his eyes, tightening with pride as he praised his sword forms.

How he was surprised at how he excelled in academics. He had smiled then.

He was a dull man.

A daimyo so busy trying to milk favours out of his betters— that he didn't have time for his people or his family.

That was a good thing, probably.

If he didn't have time for either, he couldn't mess anything up.

Mother missed him though.

It wasn't either good or bad— just life. 

Empty, without a purpose but life all the same.

He shouldn't have anything to complain about.

He eyed his piling work blankly before sighing, a bit... tired of it all.

He wasn't sure why he hasn't run away yet. 

He knew he had a place with Kondou-san no matter what he was up to.

He hadn't seen Sougo in years.

He wasn't heir. He could leave anytime.

So just... why hadn't he?

His brows furrowed sensing an upcoming migraine.

At least for now, he might as well keep the family afloat.

"Young master,"

He looked up from his work, annoyed.

Hadn't she left?

She hesitated before asking.

"There's a letter for a 'Hijikata Toshirou-sama'. Shall I redirect it?"

His lips felt dry. As he reached out for the letter.

An average brown envelope, laced with an average hand.

Nothing remarkable, and yet his hand shook as he reached out to take it.

Reminding him of a time where life... wasn't just life.

A time where things hadn't lost its pallor yet. 

Shimura Shinpachi, it read.

Chapter Text

They had made a promise, a long, long time ago.

Even before they had died for the first time. It was... important.

They weren't able to keep it.

He remembered that day like it was yesterday but he couldn't... remember the lifetimes that came after.

How they had failed those kids. 

How the distance between them grew bit by bit till it felt unreachable.

Of those lifetimes—

He just had... journals after journals, penning his regrets and frustrations on not being able to save that person.

How even after lifetimes they weren't any closer to helping him.

That suicidal idiot who always lived with a deep sense of loss. 

Even though he remembered nothing.

Who always manages to get himself into the most impossible shit. Dangerous shit.

Somehow always alone. Leaving them behind to pull the slack.

Never replacing the empty spot beside him. As if waiting.

Huh, his laugh came out too bitter.

It seemed as though they were the only ones crazy enough to keep up with him. 

—it was possible.

Or maybe he just... never let people get close anymore.

Why was that?

Didn't he forget?

.

He didn't need to check to know that it had been a long time since megane wrote to him.

Somewhere along the line, those kids had decided to cut them off.

Remembering would kill Gintoki, they said. So it was better if they stayed away.

The Yorozuya would look after their leader, Kagura had announced boldly.

Such a thing... of course they didn't listen.

Those kids only wanted to save them the pain, going off by their selves like he would've done.

Trying to give them a cowardly way out of an eternity of obligation.

He had yelled until his face was blue. Angry at them and angry at himself.

But they started distancing themselves no matter what they did.

It was a meaningless effort. 

There was no way they would abandon Gintoki like that. Abandon them like that. 

But those two still... never contacted them unless they had to. Going out of their way to avoid them.

They were never rude. Just painfully distant.

The empty spot between them a perfect reminder of what's lost. What to fight for.

He didn't know what sort of nonsense they had passed down to themselves— but it stuck. 

Eventually, like all things.

They never meant to drift apart.

But even with clean slates every time, some things just... weren't so easy to shake off.

Perhaps it was bitterness or perhaps... it was a crippling sense of guilt.

He couldn't explain it well.

Just seeking out Kondou-san wasn't his first thought anymore. 

That day when he regained his memories— 

When he fell to his knees in a cold sweat, clutching his head in his arms— overwhelmed.

His sword lying forgotten somewhere.

It wasn't Kondou-san he thought of.

At least not this time. He thought of him.

Memories of laughing and fighting— besides that person.

Accompanied by a feeling of deep shame, disgrace.

Chapter Text

He didn't know this person, Hijikata thought.

A glance and he could tell— this man was not Sakata Gintoki.

From the pale complexion of his arms that had never clutched a sword to his wine-red eyes that had never seen war—

It wasn't fair to expect him to be.

He wasn't 'Hijikata Toshirou' either.

So why did he feel so achingly familiar?

If this was how it felt, no wonder his entries had all... sounded so pissed. 

His precise reports reduced to rants. 

It was mildly... disturbing.

How the hell did glasses and china put up with this?

What should he even say?

To this person who looked like he was about to cry.

Gintoki never cried.

"Are you lost?" He snapped shortly, coming out way harsher than intended.

Not-Gintoki flinched back. Eying the sword on his hip with a wary glance.

Shit. 

Now it sounded like he was out to rob him.

"I'm travelling." He spoke confidently. 

He rolled his eyes.

Not a 'no' then. 

Yeah, sure. Running is a kind of travelling, after all.

And you can’t really be a runaway if you don’t know where you’re going.

"What did you say!?" 

The man barked back. Surging up to meet him evenly.

Did he say that out loud? He scoffed.

Old habits die hard, it seemed. 

"I meant what I said, bocchan." He snarled back. 

"Running away without anything to defend yourself with— are you an idiot?"

Great. Now he definitely sounds like a robber.

"Who said I ran away?" The idiot said defensively. 

Reaching into his sleeves for what— a knife?

Could he be any more predictable? He pushed closer.

"You're definitely a runaway." He deadpanned.

He'd bet his career that this ragged youth— 

dirty but not dirty enough to hide his nicer looking kimono loitering around in the middle of the day was a runaway.

This man was an insult to Gintoki's name, he couldn't help but feel.

The teen backed up towards the wall.

He unsheathed his katana and flipped it to the blunt side. 

He'll drag him home crying and screaming if it was like this.

Shinpachi only told him to keep an eye out but it really was... too dangerous like this.

He couldn't let him be.

What if he remembered something? 

The man brought out his hand and flung something green towards him.

He deflected with his sword but it was too light for him to evade in time. 

It covered his face, blocking his sight.

What the fuck!?

It felt dry. And hollow.

A balloon? Why would he—

*Croak*

It slid off his face with a soft thump and leapt away.

What the hell!?

Did he seriously... fling a frog at him!?

Why did he have frogs in his sleeve anyway!?

Hijikata... felt swindled.

A kind of lie that lit his lips up in a grin.

It couldn’t be...

—his lunch, could it?

...leaping away right there...?

He couldn't be that... desperate, right?

There was plenty of things to catch— if you knew how.

He scoffed.

Who the hell knew— with him. 

And he was supposed to be the normal one.

He shouldn't have... been surprised. 

It was him, after all.

He smirked, trailing after him.

.

He had gotten careless.

He thought as he fled aimlessly, breathing heavily.

Trying to find a party he could blend into.

What was the worst that could happen?, he had thought while coming to the village.

Cringing at his carelessness.

It was a remote place— after all.

If he was okay in cities then villages were safe, probably.

He looked at the setting sun and knew that it was useless.

Unless this place suddenly decided to have a festival or something, 

He couldn't possibly throw off that— thing that was chasing after him.

He shuddered as he recalled his severe gaze.

He wasn't just any thug. He was sure of that. 

Unless he got away, he was as good as dead.

But it was either all women or farmers, at this time of the day.

Nobody just walked around for no reason— not alone.

Who even did that? He scoffed.

There wasn’t anything to see here.

Chatting while they were off to work the fields was just how they did things.

So even if he could somehow fake being a farmer, they would be too nosey act as any kind of cover for him. 

That was the problem with small places like this. 

Everyone knew each other— so there was no place to hide.

No place to just conveniently duck under. He wanted to kick himself.

Not that... blending in worked with how he looked like. 

But at least, it was something.

Acting like he was with someone usually helped. 

He seemed to do it well enough. No one had found him out at a glance, at least.

...That's probably why he hadn't gotten robbed blind yet.

He’s... gotten lucky.

That samurai-san must make a living out of robbing runaways— if he could tell just like that.

He scoffed.

Sure, there were problems on the road. 

Living outdoors was took a while to get used to.
 
But usually, people actually bought his lunatic act. They let him be.

Coming to such a deserted place to hunt was... a bad idea. 

What did he know about hunting anyway? 

He sighed.

All this for what? A frog?

He knew he couldn't keep this up. 

Even as a child, his body had always been determined to catch its death. 

It was almost funny.

He was always the first one to catch whatever the hell was going around. And get bedridden by it.

His mother fretted and his father was at a loss at such a delicate son.

His parents' death and his... illness had only made it worse. 

Not that his attitude had... helped at that. He never tried to get better.

At that time... he had been thinking too much.

He knew that now.

And yet, facing a sword for the first time, he didn't feel fear or nervous.

Just oddly excited. Something under his skin just itching for a challenge.

As if he was born and raised on the battlefield and not... a merchants' sickly son.

It was strange.

He felt a longing... for the familiar clash of swords. 

Pitting lives and pride against each other to see who came out on top.

Like he missed the sound of that man's sword.

Meeting a dear rival after a long time, friends in everything but name.

He looked down at his body. 

Soft hands and... almost flimsy frame. Something like shame pooling in his stomach.

He wondered if he had neglected himself.

He sighed.

...the hell was he even on about? Seriously.

Spouting poetry at a time like this?

That man—was he really trying to rob him?

His clothes looked more like those of a son from a lower-ranking samurai household than any street thug.

A neatness to his bearing.

A wandering samurai?

He carried himself like one.

And something told him that he just wasn't the type to steal.

Too honest, a straight-laced person if he ever saw one— he felt with an odd amount of confidence.

And if he had been seriously trying to harm him, would an invalid like him be able to escape so easily?

It felt more like... he was trying to scare him off.

But why?

Who— 

Did his uncle hire samurai to bring him back?

He chuckled softly. He thought he had burned that bridge already.

He'd be dead either way. Would his uncle—

He breathed heavily, leaning on a tree to catch his breath.

Of course, he would— if it's him.

It would be better to ask how he had found him so fast.

His head throbbed weakly as he slid down the cool surface of the tree.

He wasn't far enough— wasn't fast enough. He knew with certainty.

That samurai must be close if not here already. 

But his body just wouldn't move.

He wasn't strong anymore. The thought occurred to him with sudden impact.

He chuckled almost bitterly.

What was... he on about? 

When was he ever... not like this?

Memories from a long time ago gnawed at his temples as he crawled in on himself.

He used to be strong, didn't he? 

Once.

Strong enough to protect himself, strong enough to defeat his enemies, even enough to change the world.

But that was never the point of strength, was it?

Someone told him once. 

What was he supposed to protect again?

If he could remember that— something consistent.

Maybe he could forgive himself. 
He could live—at least know that he wasn't crazy.

He could drive away his doubts.

Tell them how much he appreciated it. He was the only one who could.

Who knew how many lifetimes it would take for a 'him' who remembers to be born again.

That way maybe— maybe he'll finally be able to feel something again.

Maybe then his parent's faces, 

his memories will clear up to be more than a... concoction of years past.

But such a thing—

The man casually jumped down from the tree he was resting under. 

Landing right in front of him. Almost pinning him in place, smiling ear to ear.

"Oi, you prick."

Almost enough to hide the murderous glint in his eyes.

"Where the hell do you go off lounging around— after tossing a freaking frog at my face!?"

The man looked beyond pissed. His face promising pain.

"Huhh!?"

Was he waiting for him here!?

He schooled his face to the most... merchant like expression he knew. 

Open and flattering. He had been trained, once.

"Oi, oi, please calm down, osamurai-san!" He smiled.

"Calm down!?" He hurled, inching closer, unsheathing his sword.

"What do you mean 'calm down', you little shit!"

Almost towering over him.

"I am calm!"

The hell's wrong with him? 

Was this still about the frog anymore...?

A tick appeared on his forehead.

Why should he apologise for defending himself from getting robbed!?

Wasn't it his fault for being so freaking rude!?

How was he supposed to politely tell him to fuck off without getting killed!?

How was he supposed to say that he had thought he was a robber!?

Wasn't it his fault for being born with a face like that!?

...was he actually not sent by his uncle?

Should he kneel? Beg?

...wouldn't getting beheaded kneeling be plain shitty?

No, he wouldn't do that. 

His blood froze in terror. 

...should he fight? 

That was more honourable... right?

Hell, he was no samurai! 

He didn't give two shits about honour.

He was his father's useless son. 

The hell he was dying like this! He wouldn't allow himself to.

Not until he was standing with them.

"Maa, osamurai-san, I said I'm sorry!" He smiled. Honest and apologetic.

Looking very much like a pampered young master... who didn't know the ways of the world.

Fully intending on buttering him up. Tease him a bit, if he could.

He knew he had a nice face. 

Handsome even. If not for those unfortunate curls.

Internally cringing at how much he sounded like his useless cousin. 

He suddenly felt a sort of pride.

Should he have taken up the family business, after all!? 

No offence to his uncle, but he'd seen how he worked.

How vital being able to placate the samurai was— he hadn’t quite understood then.

Huh... wasn’t he pretty talented?

The man seemed to flinch back in... horror?

The hell!?

"You...!" Pointing at him accusingly.

As if he was the one plotting to murder him.

"The hell are you plotting!?" The samurai's face flushed red. 

From what... anger? That didn't sound right?

He looked at him surprised. As the man quickly averted his eyes.

He gasped dramatically. Inching away fast.

Was his... virtue at risk all along!?!

That scheming bastard! 

He should know that his spare changes weren't worth all this the effort. 

The man seemed to blush harder at his reaction. 

"You..." He stuttered. 

"It... It's not what you're thinking at all!" He desperately denied. 

Flushing uncharacteristically all the while. 

He rose to his feet. Planning on making a run for it, while he still had the chance. 

But somehow, he couldn't tear his eyes away from him.

Somehow, he found this scene to be very endearing. 

And a bit... familiar. He felt— oddly nostalgic.

He chuckled.

"Still so boring, huh, Hiji—"

He blacked out.

Chapter Text

There was one thing Hijikata had learned early on. 

It was the truth.

Perhaps, the only truth that didn't shift with the times.

Life just wasn't fair. 

Hell, it was plain shitty sometimes.

In a fair world, Tamegoro would've never been blinded.

In a fair world, Tamegoro’s little brother wouldn't have had to become a demon to be free.

Good people like Mitsuba would've been happy.

His and Sougo's relationship wouldn't have felt like seawater.

Bitter and dry. No matter how much you drink, you only get parched.

So you're better off not trying. At least, that's what it used to feel like.

After that—

Who knows how many years have passed? How many lifetimes?

He used to keep record so diligently, almost obsessively. 

Like the model student... Gintoki said he was.

But how long ago was it... that he quit counting?

Why hadn't it occurred to him to pick it up again?

He stopped counting but not writing.

Pages and pages of careful accounts still came to him easily. 

Words of grief, regret even easier.

Like a habit.

Volumes of Gengai's eternal invention still lying about somewhere close. 

He and Gintoki... were more similar than he liked to admit. 

If he had to say how they differed the most— it would probably be their upbringing.

They led different lives so they came up to different conclusions. 

On what was important. And what was the best way to protect it.

But they were still similar in the strangest ways. So they understood each other deeply.

It was... a bond he valued more than he would ever admit.

But the way Gintoki seemed to outdo him was the... sheer amount of burden he seemed to carry. 

Was willing to carry.

Burdens of the past and the present. 

His eyes always hiding some sort of pain, even when he was smiling.

He really... had the worst luck, he'd think sometimes.

When he had too much to drink.

Mind wondering to dangerous places.

Hell, at least he got to keep Kondou-san and Sougo. 

The Shinsengumi saved him.

How much did he have to suffer before setting up the Yorozuya?

How much after? 

They were with him then, at least.

But that person still shined so brightly. 

Always giving his all... to protect those he considered his.

He couldn't help admiring him. 

He wouldn't admit it on his death bed. The bastard had enough of an ego as it was.

But Hijikata truly... wished for his happiness. 

They all did. 

From Kagura and Shinpachi who were constantly keeping an eye on him to Katsura— his friend.

To Tama who was still... drifting God knows where— a living time machine. 

Everyone.

So why?

Well...

If wishing was enough they wouldn't be here in the first place.

The first time Gintoki had died in his arms— frantic in his need to know just which Hijikata he was talking to. 

Uncertain about anything and everything— as if his memories spanned centuries.

—they knew that things went much, much deeper than they knew.

They were all always... together those days after all. 

Those first lives.

They'd thought they had simply reincarnated with memories of their past life.

Gintoki... just didn't have them.

He was normal. 

But who cared about something like that?

If he lacked the memories for their life together— their time in Edo.

They'll just make new ones. 

They were... 

Idiots, who didn't understand a goddamn thing.

They were the ones who forgot. 

Like frogs in a well— they never thought beyond their life in Edo.

The possibility never occurred to them.

But somehow, that person remembered— not only Edo but all their lives.

Subconsciously sealing them away to retain his sanity.

Who knew how long that period lasted? Their times of knowing nothing.

It was only when Gintoki remembered that they realized what kind of rotten loop they were stuck in.

That lifetime couldn't last long enough. 

He couldn't imagine how they were able to push themselves up from their grief to move—

They came up with the journals and Tama went on an endless journey.

These memories, being as good as immortal, their endless days of happiness—

it may have sounded like a good deal. 

They could just let themselves forget, if they wanted.

Live like they didn't know anything.

Like they lived all this time. 

If they avoided Gintoki— wouldn't the risk of his memories returning be null?

They didn't even need to completely avoid him. They lived with him all this time.

This is the first time it happened, right?

What were the chances of him being... born with them again?

One in a million?

Something like that didn’t even occur to them.

A blessing that could make Gintoki look like that—

Just because they were together, wasn't a blessing at all.

It was a curse.

Gintoki needed them, they thought simple mindedly.

And they were going to break it.

.

But who needed who and what did they accomplish after all this time?

Wasn’t it just them being selfish?

Edo still felt like yesterday. 

Pages stained with ink the only reminder of the hundreds of years in between.

Hijikata thought, gently catching Gintoki in his arms.

Did they achieve anything?

This Gintoki, even with all his predecessors' stubborn gaze and almost towering frame—

still managed to look so fragile.

Delicate, even. 

Was he born with his memories? 

He didn't recognise him.

He probably... failed to suppress them properly. Barely retaining his sanity.

So his body took the burden.

( "Still so boring, huh, Hiji—" )

Hijikata grimaced, biting his trembling lips.

If he was already like this, 

How much time did he have left?

Why was he even out like this? 

That guy, when he found him— 

why did he look so lost?

If Gintoki was so unhappy that he had to run away like this— wouldn't Shinpachi tell him?

But if he really was... regaining his memories that would be a different case altogether.

If that was the reason, what would he even say? 

He thought back to Kagura and Shinpachi's tight-lipped smiles, seeing him off.

Almost like they were about to cry.

He thought it was because they were worried. 

He'd known about Gintoki's health from Kondou-san. 

So he'd just waved back, reassuringly.

Those kids—they were conflicted too. 

But they knew that most of all, Gintoki wouldn't want them to see him like this.

That was probably what would hurt that idiot the most. The loss of face.

No matter how much it hurt to suffer alone.

It was hypocritical, selfish and probably hurt more than they'd admit.

But that was Gintoki's pride as their guardian. 

One of his few selfish wishes.

They wouldn't rob that of him. 

Was it like that? He wondered.

Or perhaps, those kids simply wanted someone to tell them what was right for once.

Rely on someone.

If they had their way, Gintoki wouldn't leave his home's compounds like this.

But would that make him happy?

Was that what he would want?

They must've worried about it for so long.

He sighed. 

Those kids had to grow up way too fast.

He looked back at Gintoki's unconscious frame.

When he was sleeping it was almost like he was their Gintoki. 

The one from his memories.

No subtle difference in manner to give him away.

"Idiot," he sighed. His fingers itching for a cigarette. 

Of that familiar brand that wasn't created yet.

"What am I supposed to do with you?"

He complained to no one in particular. 

The one that only ever replied to him by insults, long gone.

He might've been crying but as always, there was no one else to see.

"Fine. I'll see to it then." He said, 

"Your future."

Chapter Text

He pushed himself up slowly. Rubbing his forehead to curb the dull throbbing.

Where... 

How...?

He patted for his money pouch as a comfort. A habit he picked up living on the streets.

Good. Still there.

He almost didn't want to open his eyes for the blinding light he was sure he would see.

He couldn't tell with all the pulsing. 

But he had to check.

If he was safe, that he hadn't collapsed on the streets again.

But if he still made that much sense, then it probably wasn't a concussion. 

Just another...

Ah, so it was still night.

But the voices gave no indication of stopping. 

Did they ever stop?

Always... 

Going on and on and on– about god knows what.

Sometimes laughing warmly. A shrill happy sound that caught on his ears.

Making him flinch.

This fond almost easy intimacy was the most... 

Annoying? Infuriating?

Did he think of it as a bother?

He didn't know.

He thought he did but he was still out here, wasn't he?

He just... didn't like it.

Feeling like a stranger in a body that was supposed to be his.

He stumbled trying to get up. Before crouching to violently throw up on the roadside.

“—fuck...”

He couldn't see clearly, his eyes fogged with... tears?

They were yelling his name.

Time was running out but they were waiting.

He didn't know what to do.

He just... couldn't make them wait any longer.

This wasn't good, he thought in panic.

His memories hadn't, not so much— not since he left.

So why now?

He almost laughed out loud in his bewildered state.

...Where even was he? 

A dark blue haori slid down from his shoulders.

Ah.

That osamurai-san.

That dignified looking bushi who apparently had nothing better to do than follow fools around.

He chuckled through his tears.

Shouldn't he be running now? 

This really... wasn’t good.

He turned, hearing footsteps. 

Silent and balanced, very proper.

"You're awake." The man huffed, seemingly relieved.

"Osamurai-san," he forced himself to sit up.

Although his attitude probably wasn't as sincere. 

He didn't care.

If the man wanted to kill him right after helping him, then he could go on ahead.

If it was right now, maybe it'd be finished before he could even think about his memories.

Before he could find room for regret.  

Or would they flash before his eyes as he lay dying?

Well— he had always been slow.

He didn’t think he’d get so lucky all of a sudden.

"Sorry for all the trouble." He nodded his head slightly.

Somehow, the man didn't look puzzled by his change of attitude at all. 

...seeming almost used to it.

He just stared at him, almost flustered.

He tried to smile lightly. 

But then he remembered that his face was still damp with tears from his little breakdown.

How... embarrassing.

He probably looked really ugly.

Too miserable to rob or kill, hopefully.

Was that why he was suddenly so nice to him?

He smiled slightly.

Wiping his tears unhurriedly, as if challenging him.

So what if he cried?

What dignity did he have left anyway?

The man met him about to feast on a frog.

He still didn't say anything. As if deep in thought.

Then he asked,

"You..." So softly that he would've missed it.

Had they not been facing each other.

"Why are you smiling?"

It was barely even a question. Not meant to be heard.

Did he expect him to answer? 

Probably not.

But he'd still think back to this day again and again.

Even as his memories corroded. When he'd almost cease to be himself.

Mixing, intangibly. Irreversibly.

A meeting he couldn't claim as his, but a meeting nonetheless.

Whatever it was, it was something, wasn't it?

That idiot.

The one whose life started all this.

Did he ever know... he was so loved?

He'd smile then. Faintly, sadly.

Probably.

That day, he hadn't known anything.

And yet he'd still retorted, easily. Grinning.

"Because I don't want to cry anymore."
.

Chapter Text

"So," he began to break the awkward silence. 

That was another thing that was different with this Gintoki. 

Unlike the one that just didn't shut up, this one had too much sense to insult random samurai.

Rather, just sitting there with a tight-lipped smile. Pleasant but not nervous.

A well brought up young master with little backbone.

His eyebrows twitched in irritation. 

Great.

"I didn't get your name?"

Gintoki looked up slightly in surprise, cocking his head for effect. 

"Shouldn't osamurai-san give his name first? This one couldn't possibly—"

The little shit replied with anything but meekness. 

He had... never changed.

He chuckled. He didn't even need to think.

He knew he was Hijikata. 

No more no less.

Like there was no him without the ghost of 'Hijikata Toushirou'. 

He felt a sense of defeat.

Was that all his life amounted to?

But just how was his current life, as washed-out as it was ever supposed to compare to those days?

When was the last time he had felt something this strongly, had wanted something—

in the years he lived like this?

He didn't feel anything. 

He didn't have the chance to want for things before they were brought to him. 

But he asked for nothing. So he received nothing.

He lived an empty existence.

In those days when even when it wasn't sunny, there was always an umbrella to duck under.

Someone to share spicy crackers with.

He glanced at Gintoki.

Wasn't it this guy that made his bound life as the Bakufu's dog into something special?

So, with Gintoki wasn't he always bound to be 'Hijikata'? 

Or perhaps, it was for Gintoki's sake that he'd become 'Hijikata' in this life.

Really, was he ever the daimyo's third son?

To an extent, He'd think. 

With how easy it was to let go of that life. To let go of those people— just barely.

He was barely who he lived as.

So he would never be enough to be who he wanted to be.

He wasn't Hijikata. Not really.

Hijikata wouldn't abandon family. He wouldn't abandon duty.

So he'll say it as a wish. He couldn't lie.

Not to Gintoki.

Not this man, who didn't have a choice anymore.

He wondered, did he look foolish to him?

He just... didn't care anymore.

"It's Hijikata." He replied, "Hijikata Toushirou."

Gintoki beamed looking amused. His eyes appearing almost glassy.

He didn't comment on the pause. On how long it took for him to just say his name.

For better or worse, he seemed to understand.

"So, Hijikata-san, is it?" He said, testing it out. 

Before mumbling resolutely, 

"Hijikata-san."

Like he had decided on something. It felt important somehow.

Gintoki smiled in that polite way of his. The one new to him but not really.

It felt like secrets. 

He sighed, tasting the words on his lips.

Now, who was he?

Hijikata waited for him to continue. Before beginning to temper with the campfire.

He should've grabbed something.

Gintoki... should be hungry after running around all day. 

He scoffed, thinking back.

As far as first impressions go, he really.... butchered it, huh?

Gintoki seemed to catch his train of thought as he chuckled softly.

"I don't know anymore, Hijikata-san." He added eventually.

He started to ask about what— before it dawned on him.

His name. 

It must be like that, huh?

He hummed slowly. Waiting for him to continue.

"I don't know why—" He sighed. Looking slightly bewildered.

"Why am I telling you... something like this?"

He gestured to him roughly. Losing his composure.

It was honestly a relief to see that he could still get Gintoki riled up like this. 

To think he still...

He stifled this thought before he looked too deeply into it.

"But I thought you might understand...?" 

Gintoki finished. 

Looking hopeful before dismissing whatever hope he was holding on all on his own.

He looked as if he wanted to curl up into a corner and cry.

"Sorry, I'm crazy. Please forget it"

He said, shaking his head. Grabbing it tightly, appearing small again

"My name— my name isn't important."

Hijikata just stared at him. 

What did he look like in Gintoki's eyes?

Did he look like he was... what, judging him?

Was it really him that Gintoki was seeing?

Gintoki— he only understood it all too well. 

But how was he supposed to make him understand?

To see that he was here?

He stood up rigidly. Before surging up to take him into his arms. Holding him tightly.

When it came to words... 

They always made clowns... out of themselves.

Not being able to be honest, trying not to be seen as weak.

Maybe something like this was what they needed all along.

It wasn't something as deliberate as a hug. 

It was just letting him know that someone was there with him.

Even if it was unneeded.

"It's okay," Hijikata mumbled softly.

Gintoki tensed as his eyes widened in shock.

Like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Was it this...  the understanding he was seeking? 

This man—

Was this... a joke?

But Hijikata went on in a pleasant, soothing voice. 

"I understand." 

Gintoki's hands gripped at his kimono before breaking into a fit of sobs.

"See?" He stroked his curls slowly.

"Who needs a name?" He sighed, eyes blurring.

Ah, good.

Now nobody will see them cry.

"Isn't living enough?"

Not even themselves.

.

Chapter Text

People always seemed to mistake him as someone inherently strong.

A pillar of stability, a power symbol of the shogunate, a samurai in an age where bushido was obsolete.

He was many things.

But his... legacy was always his strength.

But that was only because of the lengths he went to not appear weak.

He bound himself in rules so that he wouldn't fall apart. 

So that he wouldn't lose control.

Kondou-san had said he was too hard on himself. 

Mitsuba used to say that he held himself to impossible standards. 

But they were kind people. And they'd only ever seen what he wanted them to see.

Only what he let them see. 

He was scared of being alone.

But that was fine, wasn't it?

.

"Good morning, Hijikata-san." 

—Was what Gintoki had greeted him with.

Eerily mirroring how Shinpachi used to be.

If it was before, they would've picked a fight to escape the mortification. 

Or simply act like it never happened.

As if— they hadn't spilled their guts to each other after a few too many.

Things they had no reason to tell.

Like not being sappy drunks wasn't another thing they had in common.

But it wasn't before. And this wasn't Edo.

And he wasn't an idiot.

Even without those diaries rubbing it in— 

he had a good guess on what Hijikata had felt for Gintoki.

What he still felt now.

But did it even matter?

He sighed. 

Who knew?

Gintoki just smiled patiently. As if waiting for his reply.

His hands itched with a familiar urge.

But...

how the hell was he supposed to hit a smiling man in the face?

A civilian even. Vulnerable, sick.

One who scared shitless of him just hours ago.

As much as he looked like him, this Gintoki was- wasn't him.

Probably.

"Good morning." He said instead.

.

There was no agreement. 

Gintoki fully expected to see him gone the next day.

It was just that when the following day arrived, and the next and the day after that—

Hijikata would still be there. 

Sitting somewhere close. With food.

Real food.

Grilled fish or birds, sometimes with an assortment of berries. 

He even made stew. The meat, fresh and tender but not gamey. Cooked with just the right amount of miso.

God, what was he supposed to say to that?

It smelled heavenly for a recipe probably meant to be cooked in a helmet.

So he just said, "Good morning."

And ate. 

He wasn't about to waste good food. Not now, not ever.

Delicious.

Chapter Text

Hijikata wouldn't have minded if they just stayed like this.

He would’ve just kept— tagging along. He could picture it fine. 

Going on with this blasted journey until Gintoki just... wasn't able to anymore.

When their travels will start to dwindle until they'd have to rent a place.

It wouldn't be long now. He sighed.

He hated how clearly he could see himself beside Gintoki's sickbed.

As if it was a matter of fact.

Just how deluded—

Just how ...pathetic was he?

He only had to stay with him. 

Kagura and Shinpachi hadn't asked for anything more.

But he didn't want it to be like this.

Just happening to be together at the right time— making all this feel like nothing.

As if Hijikata's journals weren't a testament to how much he wanted to see him.

Like the memories of those days,

memories that all of his selves must've shared— didn't feel brightly coloured somehow.

Just like how the last few weeks had felt. 

He was... happy.

Regardless of the circumstance.

He didn't want to lie to himself anymore.

Not this time.

Come next life, they'll be strangers again. 

He won't try to find him again.

As was expected.

He won't be selfish.

But here, for now—

he wanted to be honest.

.

Gintoki didn't seem surprised when he asked to tag along.

He seemed to have been waiting for it.

He had been too obvious with the cooking, it seemed— and everything else.

He chuckled.

Gintoki didn't look too impressed. 

Barely arching his eyebrow as if to ask, what the hell with a blank face.

They were the same, he had thought then. 

Gintoki and this guy—

In a lot of ways.

They wore the same face for one.

As if Gintoki had acquired common sense— striving to blend in with the era.

It was kind of funny in a way— but he was always like that. 

Down to earth yet glowing.

A normal person not special by his strength or the sharpness of his sword but by how—

kind he was.

Even if their sins were similar, Gintoki was always a man beyond his reach.

And yet, he had hoped.

He didn't know what his face was like—

when he had practically begged to stay by his side.

But Gintoki had just sighed, sadly.

Before asking, 

"Hijikata-kun, are you a masochist?" 

His eyebrows twitched at the familiar nickname. 

When... was the last time he heard it? 

He gritted his teeth to a smile. Which on him was probably a grimace.

He had heard worse.

"Why would you say that?"

The man flailed at him dramatically.

"Why do you look so damn—" He sighed, pleased he had wanted to say. 

But he figured he didn’t want to know whatever the hell he had going on.

That osamurai-san.

Hijikata had never pried on his part— so why should he?

"Never mind."

He shook his head. As if he had lost all hope in him.

Gintoki watched him as if searching for something.

As that guy stared back, unflinching.

He sighed deeply.

"Hijikata-kun, I don't think you understand."

What didn't he understand?

Hijikata wanted to say.

"I do." He snapped.

Nobody could say he didn't understand. Not about this.

"You–" Gintoki started angrily before forcing himself to calm down.

"Hijikata-kun," He began indulgingly.

"Where do you think I'm going?" 

He scoffed.

"Nowhere." He said, "But you're looking for something."

Gintoki looked a bit surprised.

"Yes, exactly." He snorted amused. Almost doubling over in mania.

Gintoki's fingers were shaking in exertion, raised to stifle his laughter.

Feeble, he couldn't help but worry dimly. 

Nothing like that once-swordsman.

"I guess I might be lost, huh." 

His words sounded broken somehow.

But it wasn't a question.

Hijikata stayed silent.

It hurt to look at him sometimes.

"So you do get it." Gintoki finished, giving him an odd look.

"I'm dying, Hijikata-kun." 

He stayed neutral. 

Schooling his expression into something like Gintoki's. 

He knew what was coming. He had known—but it still stung.

To hear him say it.

"So?" He said. Wincing at his tone.

Gintoki just looked at him. Puzzled.

Before beginning almost despairing. Smiling incredulously.

"So!?" He pleaded, 

"I'm crazy!" Pointing towards himself.

"But I'm dying so I'm out here..."

He didn't seem to know what to say.

"Chasing my delusions." He finished, 

"Why would you... want to be a part of that?"

Gintoki looked like he was about cry and break down laughing.

But he still stood tall.

"Something so worthless..."

So he would do the same.

"You're looking for something, aren't you?"

Hijikata asked without hesitation.

"Something so important that you're here even knowing that you'll die..." 

He thought about his next words carefully.

"Or maybe because you'll die. Doesn't matter."

Gintoki had the will to leave home knowing he'd die on the streets somewhere.

Alone, sick and even losing his sanity.

What right did he have to stop him?

"So you tell me—" Hijikata looked straight into his eyes. Glaring down at him.

"What's so crazy about that?"

Gintoki looked at him dumbfounded.

Like he was seeing him for the first time.

He met his eyes.

Like a deer caught in the spotlight. He looked away swiftly.

"Why..." He finally asked after several minutes.

"Why do you even care so much— Hijikata-kun." 

Scoffing, appearing somewhat overwhelmed.

"You don't know me. And I sure as hell don't know someone like you." 

Gintoki chuckled at that.

"Really, who are you?"

He rolled his eyes at the question. 

Gintoki had... never really lost his flair, huh?

Exactly what did he mean by 'someone like you'? 

He sighed, shrugging.

"Does it even matter?"

He gave him an odd look.

"I guess not." 

Gintoki sighed in frustration.

As if he had given up on reasoning with him.

"Just promise me one thing." He finally said.

"What." Hijikata asked dryly.

He felt like it was going to be something colossally stupid.

"Leave me if I— if this becomes too much of a hassle.” He asked,

“Leave if I tell you to."

Gintoki's eyes held no room for augment.

"These are two things, you know—" He started.

"Take it or leave it." Gintoki glared at him.

"You may be an idiot but I won't have your blood on me."

Hijikata sighed.

Somewhere in there— was the legendary shiroyasha.

The beloved Yorozuya boss— and a thousand others.

But the one in front of him was the spoiled brat of a merchant’s son who loved miso in his stew.

Who called for strangers in his sleep.

Someone tormented by his past lives.

All of them were— the person he loves.

"Okay. Fine."

He chuckled.

Won't this only end in tragedy?

Well.

He'll deal with it as it comes.

.

Chapter Text

"Oh, Gintoki,"

The long-haired samurai turned to look at him, smiling. 

His voice was soothing but not soft. With hints of steel.

He always... used to love it. 

When that person called his name.

It made him feel important. 

Warm.

Is that— what it was?

His name?

Was he... Gintoki?

"You're awake."

The light shaded his face, yet he was still too bright to look at somehow.

He— Shouyou, he thought.

Loomed over him. He used to be so small.

Wasn't he still small?

It didn't matter. 

He's strong.

He didn't always— carry a sword with him but he was a samurai.

Because Shouyou said so. 

Because Shouyou-sensei was a samurai.

The sun rises in the east and Shouyou is a samurai.

So, he too— was a warrior.

Why... would he forget that?

A tatami away, Zura was making those disgustingly good rice balls. 

Those carefully made triangles almost too neat to eat.

He was too late to attend the morning practice, though.

Takasugi would be furious.

He was already so late.

"Yes, sensei," Gintoki muttered softly. Tone heavy from sleep.

Gazing up at him with slightly wide eyes. 

"I'm awake."

Shouyou's eyes felt sad, somehow. 

Like he wanted to ask him something but was holding back.

"I see." He said simply. 

Turning back to his work.

"Go and wash your face."

He turned to leave before flinching back— in skin deep revulsion.

This wasn't right. 

This was—

He had to do something.

He was supposed to do something.

What was he supposed to say?

"You know, Gintoki."

His knees almost folded in sheer relief when Shouyou called him back.

He didn't realise he was so uneasy.

"Nothing will change like this."

It felt like a gentle admonishment. 

Like when he gripped his bokutou too tightly out of habit. 

Sensei would just softly remind him. Never chiding him for something he couldn't help.

"Then what should I do?" 

He flinched at the desperation in his voice.

Gintoki could make out his face now.

"Tell me, sensei." He snapped helplessly.

He was making them suffer so much. 

The sudden clarity of his thoughts startled him. 

They poured into him like someone else's memories. 

But they were too familiar.

It fit too well— like the pair of gloves Otose had made for him once. Sliding into his hands effortlessly.

This sense of grief. 

It was his.

He never wanted to tie them down— to himself.

Much less when he couldn't even offer his own name. 

Forget protecting them, he hadn't done that in a long, long time.

"What the hell... should I be doing!?"

His fingers dug deeply into his palms, drawing blood.

He knew it more than anybody. 

But he just... couldn't.

He would've readily cast it all away, if it was for their sake. 

He never meant to drag them down.

He just... didn't know where to begin.

Was he supposed to just... forget?

How was he supposed to decide what was important and what wasn't?

His lives.

The times he shared with them.

Kagura, Shinpachi never too far, Sougo's rare visits, the drinks he shared with Zura— Hijikata.

Everyone. 

They all lived earnestly. With all their strength.

Even himself.

How could he even decide something like that?

Even this— with tears falling so easily in this child's body.

What was he seeking here, of all places?

Did he believe that Shouyou could... save him?

When he couldn't even save himself?

Really...

He was hopeless. 

Sensei bent down and took his hands in his much larger ones. 

Loosening his fingers one by one.

Shouyou was always like this. So effortlessly kind. 

Almost pitying in the way... how gentle he was sometimes.

But he understood, without fail.

"Silly child," Shouyou chuckled softly, sighing.

A fond smile in his eyes.

"You can't hold on to everything."

.

Chapter Text

"You little shit," Hijikata snapped, without any heat behind his words.

"Just get up already!" 

He pulled at the futon under him. Gintoki sat up in the cold tatami, shivering.

Before blindly clutching after the cloth.

He got a grip on the hems of his kimono and reached for the bedding.

Almost yanking Hijikata off his feet before he managed to balance himself.

"Five more minutes, kaa-chan—" 

Seriously, that idiot...

He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation.

Watching him with a critical eye.

Always so prim and proper— putting on airs to smile nicely.

A mild man with steel in his eyes.

A morning person, of all things— with an all too sunny smile.

That's the impression he had of him.

The Gintoki he had gotten to know all these months.

Yet some days, he’d wake up a little different.

A different person.

It was... to be expected, huh?

The merchant's son didn’t have parents.

He had said so himself— let alone a mother.

Yet he’d call for a family.

He'd wake up and talk about things... Hijikata had no clue about.

Leaving him to only guess where he'd come from.

What kind of life he'd been living till then.

He sighed warily, putting up a smile.

A grown man, fully up and awake. 

Hanging from him by the blanket and parts of his kimono. 

Almost exposing Hijikata's shoulders.

Now— who was this?

He thought, trying to place him.

"Let me sleep", He drawled sleepily.

He shoved him off his shoulder as Gintoki fell flat on his face.

"Get up." He sighed annoyed, dusting off his robe.

"We need to clear out the room by noon."

Gintoki looked up at his words, drowsiness melting away to a— confused look in his eyes.

As if he couldn't place himself— all of a sudden.

At least, he didn't think he was in danger.

"Clear... the room?" He started, slowly.

"What about the shop?"

Hijikata scoffed, recognising him.

The bartender, huh?

"Your sister... is minding the shop." He said, casually.

Trying to remember her name, in case he needed it.

He had more than enough practice at this, at least.

The records Hijikata had left along with his experience—

He could do at least this much.

“...huh.”

Gintoki made a sound of acknowledgement.

Still kind of out of it.

"We're out for supplies," 

He chuckled, good-naturedly.

"Plum wine, remember?"

Trying to reassure him— it seemed to work.

Gintoki smiled at him a bit sheepishly.

"Get ready."

He should snap out of it soon enough.

He thought, turning to leave.

"Did I drink?"

Gintoki mumbled after him, weaving a hand through his locks.

As if thinking how unusual that was— for him.

"My head hurts..." 

It always caught him a bit— off guard.

At how ordinary Gintoki's responses were sometimes.

Waking up in a place he didn't recall, yet—

He wouldn't reach out for a sword, just look around cautiously.

A bit naively.

In these situations, it was good— in a way.

It just meant he hadn’t had to fight for survival in all his lives.

That a knife at his throat wasn’t the first thing he would think of— waking up.

Hijikata didn’t remember when he last slept that peacefully.

Swords still felt most comfortable to him.

"I'm sorry..." He asked, "Who are you again?"

Hijikata chuckled bleakly, trying not to sound too bitter.

"Hijikata." 

Gintoki visibly relaxed at that, for some reason.

His memories were still— settling back.

So he probably remembered something.

A feeling, maybe.

From this body.

Or maybe Hijikata had visited this shop of his at some point. 

He snorted at the absurdity of the idea.

"I'll bring tea." He said, walking out of the room.

By the time he came back— Gintoki was smiling like that again.

The faded one he couldn’t get used to but liked all the same.

None of that well practised formal speech— suited to a bar keep.

The sunlight shone on his soft white hair.

Making him appear strong, masking his black circles just enough.

He looked tired though, as if he hadn't just woken up from a twelve-hour sleep.

His fingers shook only slightly as he reached for the tea.

He wondered what Gintoki would think of this guy— or if it even mattered.

"Good morning, Hijikata-san."

Hijikata smiled back in greeting.

He was probably... the only person he’d treat so gently.

Surprinsing even himself— with how easily it came to him.

How he could fuss over him like it was nothing.

He would think sometimes, was it the regret?

Was it his past feelings—

That made him like this?

But he was like this with Mitsuba, right?

No— that was different.

With Gintoki— it was always different.

Difficult—

Even this one, gentle as he was.

Driven near insane with all the timelines clustering his mind—

Who would be out of it for hours at a time.

He couldn’t compare them without feeling absurd, somehow.

Loving Mitsuba wasn’t so bitter.

Really.

Who was he trying to fool?

He wondered.

At some point—

this person he didn’t even know the name of had become important to him.

Even if he wasn’t that man, he’d still take care of him.

Even if he wasn’t Gintoki.

The greetings and the smiles.

A sign of daily life for a person who was slowly losing himself.

Who won't be himself ever again, at any rate.

The fate of the man he had helped on the roadside— went on a journey with.

It hurt to even think about.

That this guy might dissipate— without even knowing what Hijikata knows.

That the things he was looking for— his memories, his friends—

were so close—

.

But that 'half-full' way of looking at things was just too sad.

He always had a feeling that he knew more than he let on.

That he had doubted that Hijikata was keeping things from him.

But he simply never asked.

He chose not to.

.

One day, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t smile like this anymore.

Another person will take his place— and never leave.

No wonder even... those two got tired.

Gintoki was— just getting everything back.

—He tried to think of it like that.

If only to lose it all over again.

He shook his head slightly.

They'll have to head out again soon.

He would insist on it, soon enough.

Maybe one day, he'll get to keep the things he has.

Gintoki and him both.

Chapter Text

"You bastard—" 

Hijikata's knees nearly gave out in sheer relief. 

Glaring at Gintoki's hunched over figure stumbling into the inn, swaying a bit.

The daylight had been gone for hours.

In a place like this—really.

He had thought he came into the wrong room, at first.

When he hadn’t found him there.

It wasn't anything like Yoshiwara. But it was close enough.

Gintoki was hardly a child that needed looking after.

But for a sick man who would blank out regularly—

It was easy to get killed, his had thought.

He should've known better, leaving him on his own.

But even his funds were running low. He had to work.

This wasn’t the first time, in any case.

He had taken his time, coming back, believing in that guy's odd resourcefulness.

And that man who he had left curled up and shivering from fever— wasn't there.

"Where the fuck....” He stepped closer, to Gintoki's surprise.

“ —were you?”

He smiled in a placating way— laying a hand on his back as if asking him to not make a scene.

"Hijikata-kun—" 

He tilted just a bit to the left, and Hijikata's blood seemed to freeze over.

He frantically looked him over for signs of blood or injuries.

Mind going a mile a minute— in how many ways he had failed them.

Bringing someone in this state in a brothel town of all places.

He flinched slightly at the heat nearly radiating from his skin.

Why the heck was he out like this?

He went over his flushed face that he had assumed was from the fever, the slight tangy smell—

This guy...

Had he been... drinking?

His eyes widened in open surprise.

But he never drank.

Hijikata had been surprised— 

when he kept turning down his offers to drink—

when they did just about did everything else together.

He would always refuse with such a sheepish expression.

That merchant's boy was a total lightweight— that's what he had assumed.

Seeing this was the guy who once bragged he could drink his body weight in liquor—

It was ironic yet kind of hilarious— at the same time.

He took him upstairs, steadying him by the elbow. 

Making a note to tip the owner extra, for all the trouble they ended up causing.

He would've—

He didn't know what he would've done if Gintoki hadn't turned up when he did.

What he would’ve said to Kagura and Shinpachi.

Gintoki stayed quiet the whole way, looking up at him once in a while.

With an odd look in his face.

That faint call of 'Hijikata-kun' lingering in the air. 

He never called him like that anymore.

He was way too soft spoken for that.

Unless he wanted to spite him in some novel passive-aggressive way—

Who was this?

He thought, listing off the possibilities one by one.

He had a feeling that he already knew.

'If he got all of his memories back', he had written once, in that diary. 

'Would he still be... a single person?'

He wanted to laugh at the ‘him’ that was idiotic enough to write that.

After all this time...

Did that even matter ?

There was no going back, any how.

There was no erasing things— not for them.

He remembered those lines clearly,

'Would he be Sakata Gintoki?'

Really.

He smiled slightly.

He hadn’t understood a thing back then. 

Maybe he didn't understand, even now. 

But to him— it felt like that guy had never changed.

And that was enough.

.

“You know, Hijikata-kun,” 

Gintoki whined in that familiar tone—

settling into the futon with a soft huff, a faded smile on his lips.

“You don’t look much like him.” 

He said, deflecting his eyes in what appeared to be amusement.

As if he was just casually pointing it out.

Ah.

Hijikata thought.

He had forgotten this part of him.

That at times, this to the point nature of his could be— almost cruel.

Like the two-sided nature of the justice he had protected, once. 

Hijikata had never... disliked it.

He scoffed, throwing a blank look his way.

He dipped the rag into the cold water, squeezing it tightly.

"I figured,”

These days, he could barely remember what the ‘original’ had looked like.

The specific shade of his hair, the eyes Gintoki had drunkenly said he liked once—

Remembering such things had hardly mattered then.

When Tama was still rotting in space, when Gintoki wasn’t there—

He just didn’t care.

So he really wouldn’t know if he had changed somewhere down the line.

“You haven’t changed, yorozuya.”

Yet, he could recall without fail that Gintoki's hair had always looked this way.

So silver that it was almost white— it never made sense to him, really.

How that fierce red could still feel soft. 

How someone's smile could remain the same—

All this time.

“Wait, I lied.” Gintoki quipped way too cheerfully.

Sliding the towel down on one side to take a closer look, 

“That face is...” He chuckled rudely, poking a finger at him.

His voice wavered, ever so slightly.

“as ugly as ever. Even those bangs—”

Hijikata's brow soared to his hairline—exasperated and so fond at the same time.

He just didn’t know how to deal with this person.

No wonder.

He would react like this, huh?

It was Gintoki.

“You were so...” He trailed off, like he didn’t know what to say.

Soft?

Insufferable?

Unlike you?

He wanted to know what he was about to say— but didn’t ask.

“It was almost like I didn’t know you.”

Hijikata’s eyes darkened, 

“It was a...” He tried to describe him, the man he didn’t even know the name of.

Yet, who he would protect over any other.

“—different you.”

He could hardly treat him like Gintoki. 

Gintoki’s face lit up oddly, as if he had come up with a dirty joke.

Lips tight in a secret smile.

“...I see.”

He started, nonchalantly picking his nose, settling comfortably under his sheets.

A wet cloth haphazardly shading his eyes to ward off the fever.

"You're a lot worse than that gorilla." He said, as if deciding on something.

Flicking the finger towards him— as if catapulting an invisible booger.

"How's he doing, anyway?"

—A meeting after god knows how long and he starts it like this.

He holds back a snort.

His chest clenching with some sort of emotion.

"Kondou-san is fine." 

He replied, surprised at how easily it came to him.

“Sougo's with him as well as Shimura's sister.”

He could never get used to calling her O-Tae, no matter what.

It just felt unnatural.

But they were good friends, hard not to be, after all this time.

They had... things in common.

He sat down beside him and removed the cloth. 

Soaking it, then placing it properly. 

He glanced at him as if he wanted to say something but decided against it.

Ah, to hell with it.

“Ask me about them.” He declared instead, 

The eyes that glanced at him in shock—
 
were still a withered red like the last time he had looked. 

‘That man’ had looked away when their eyes  met— a muted grimace in his lips.

A flush in his cheeks.

He could never tell... what he was thinking.

To the end, he sighed.

But Gintoki met his gaze head-on.

“Kagura and,” Gintoki said, as if trying to get back some sort of familiarity.

“Shinpachi, huh?” He sighed, a strained look in his eyes.

“What is there to ask?” He asked, 

“—I already know.” The smile might've looked like he was reminiscing.

But the past he yearned for was the future—and the present at the same time.

He was just recalling better days, it would be better to say.

“Those idiots were...” He regretted, a painful grimace.

“always by my side.”

Hijikata shook his head, he couldn’t argue with that.

All this time, over and over again—

There wasn’t a time they hadn’t kept an eye on him.

As if to ensure their normal life, for Gintoki's sake—

“They’re so strong and yet—” 

Hijikata said, untold regrets seeping out.

“I couldn’t keep my promise— we failed them, yorozuya.”

‘Just like we failed you.’— went unsaid.

Gintoki nodded, and sighed.

Not trying to deny him.

He knew that nothing he could say would convince Hijikata otherwise.

He was just that dutiful.

And those brats were just that stubborn.

“...I figured.” 

He really wasn’t surprised.

At them failing to stop those kids or their bullheadedness— he didn’t know.

“...I saw Shouyou— in a dream. He told me to let things be,”

He whispered, sounding lost.

As though he had no idea on where to start.

Sensei's lessons always seemed to have that effect on him—

A bitter smile sat on his lips. 

“That I couldn’t have everything— I’ll try.”

He bit his lip, something that was the very nature of his soul—

To not forget— 

he’ll defy it.

“If not this life—” He hesitated, “The next.”

“I will break this loop... Tell them that.” 

What he wanted more than anything else, was to force them into his arms.

They suffered so much for his sake—

but this will have to do.

For now.

“I'll work it out,” He said, 

“So they need to live long, fulfilling lives to outdo Gin-san—”

He said, a soft laugh embracing misery.

“I want them to be... happy. Thanks to them,”

The lives he led—

how would they be without everyone?

He couldn’t imagine it.

That time that baba had showed up with her husband, 

the times Shinpachi had helped him with homework, 

the meetings with Zura and— Hijikata.

Each and every one of them.

Even when he had known nothing...

Even when he had been lost, reduced to starve on the streets, awaiting a certain end—

There had always been someone to pick him back up.

“I’ve never known loneliness.”

Maybe that’s why he could stop himself from begging.

From saying something truly unforgivable.

A soft, habitual, 

‘Please forget me already.’ It said,

Weighting on the back of his mind.

Because of them, he had known lives where he had never loathed himself.

Where he hadn’t grown up thinking he was lesser than anyone else.

That’s why—

The least he could give them— was everything.

Hijikata didn’t know what to say. 

When they weren’t looking, even that obstinate fool had gone and changed.

“I will.” He replied.

He had missed it— this feeling.

The Gintoki who could make him feel hope— 

where there was none to be seen.

In this never-ending turn of history—

He wondered what would change.

He thought of what would need to change for anything to work out.

Yet, he could still believe in it.

.

Chapter Text

“You shouldn’t...”

Hijikata trailed off, just short of scolding him.

Even if he struggled to keep pace, he couldn’t treat Gintoki the same way he had treated that guy.

Fussing and ordering as he liked, and expecting him to listen.

Forcing overprotective rules on him as if he was still a general of some sort.

He sighed, a disgruntled look in his face.

Seeing Gintoki now— he realised that guy had indulged him. 

Hell, more than a friend ever would.

His inane demands earning him a soft smile or an amused turn of his eyes— at most.

He was... such a soft person.

They had started early because Gintoki hadn’t wanted to wait any longer.

Complaining and being generally insufferable until Hijikata gave in.

This guy...

That one had more sense, yet it didn’t feel different at all.

The feeling was the same.

The merchant's son had been awfully... good at getting him to do things, at times.

And being plainly devious at others.

The clumsy smile— not one to be underestimated. 

He sighed in irritation, passing his spare hakama to his companion.

As Gintoki's eyes widened before he could put a lid on it.

A nonchalant look of control— so familiar to him.

Yet, not at all.

Clearly out of breath yet convinced that he was hiding it well, the quake in his weak legs.

—how should he deal with such a person?

Act like Hijikata couldn’t read him like the back of his hands?

Was that even possible? 

How long would that last?

It really was different, huh?

His quota for bullshit was nearing its peak—

a vein flaring up whenever Gintoki thought he could hide his discomfort.

Whenever he would look at him with a startled look in his eyes—

he would remember how he used to be, even not long ago.

How clumsy Hijikata Toushirou had been once... with his feelings.

To show them—

afraid to acknowledge he had them in the first place.

Well, he thought, just a bit frustrated.

Gintoki did tease him incessantly over it, even then.

Having all the right ideas yet none of the usual... head-strong courage.

They were both so afraid.

But of what?

He snorted, remembering absurd times.

“Yorozuya, you...”

He started, not sure how to phrase it.

His shortcomings... 

and if someone as reckless as Gintoki would ever listen— to the likes of him.

Gintoki snorted softly, a playful look playing in his eyes.

A resigned look, almost.

Before fading into his grin.

“I know that I’ll die, Hijikata-kun.” 

Hijikata didn’t quite manage to hide his grimace— but didn’t try either.

It wasn’t ever a secret.

If it was, it was a lousy one that anyone could see.

The sight of a dying person— just wasn’t rare in this era.

He wondered what they looked like— to them.

Gintoki in his way— could feel it in his bones. 

It wasn’t something he had to get used to—

he had always had this body, in a way.

...It was Hijikata’s presence that hurt.

The unsteady hands not suited to swords, even with the know-how.

The body that got cold so easily.

It hurt to be protected.

The way Hijikata could look so soft— tend to him without thought.

Throw his affections in the open.

Sanity slipping through like loose sand flowed through his fingers,

this body that wasn’t built to last,

—all that couldn’t compare to when Hijikata wouldn’t know how to act around him.

Turning around to make a joke, but freezing just a bit.

When he realized who it was.

...It was a fair price to pay.

To the man who lost his very ‘self’—
 
At least he had somebody beside him.

Gintoki wasn’t good at understanding that type.

But he could understand how Hijikata could.

The kind that innately held back so much— yet a good person. 

At the end of the day.

I know that I’ll die, he had said, almost cruelly.

“That’s why he had set out in the first place.”

Hijikata stopped in his tracks, a tricky look in his face.

As he glanced at him sharply.

Was it pity? 

Concern?

Love? 

Gintoki noted rather blankly.

Would that lout even realize?

No.

They had all... changed— in all this time.

Hijikata knew all of that already.

He had known from the start.

He just hadn’t known what to do with it.

“I figured as much.” Hijikata sighed,

It was one thing to infer that it all must've happened a certain way—

That the merchant's son had left home after he fell ill.

It was another— to openly discuss it.

To imply that knowing his condition— he had probably set out to die.

They had never talked about it much—

he had been unstable enough as is.

Hijikata had never pushed it— he knew he would’ve told him if he had asked.

So he didn’t.

... He talked about his family only once.

When Hijikata had drunkenly mentioned his brothers.

His parent’s death, that uncle of his—

And those voices.

They had shaped his entire being.

Hijikata had figured that that was just the kind of person he was.

Pushing his feelings down—

till nothing remained of him except another person 

He would’ve died like that— if Hijikata hadn’t made it in time.

Someone so important—

He had planned on his death.

He didn’t want to acknowledge that.

“I know what you’re thinking, Hijikata-kun.”

He said, guessing his all too obvious thoughts.

“He didn’t want to die— he just wasn’t that type.” 

He sighed, remembering the days when Hijikata hadn’t found him.

Their struggles to survive when all worked against him.

“He really was looking for something, even if he didn’t know what.”

He explained, not quite understanding himself.

People mourned differently.

“He took a step forward— even if it led to his death.”

Hijikata snorted, eyes darkening in stubborn grief.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” He sighed,

Gintoki laughed, a free thing.

Wondering off off-handedly, the mental strain of it all.

At how many ages of memories were bottled up within this thin body—

How many versions of himself, so different—

He couldn’t tell.

He couldn’t tell if he was ‘himself’, sometimes.

He didn’t even know what that meant—

Most of the time.

Now, he thought briefly.

The next time— when will it be?

When he has his memories again.

Even if he promised—

How long will... this life last? 

Does it matter?

It does— 

though It’s too late to change anything, this time around.

He will change this.

Will those two... visit? 

He hoped, even if it wasn’t possible.

“Hijikata-kun,” He sang in an annoyingly preachy tone.

“Compared to you who spent years obsessed with me—”

“That’s not true.” He protested, realizing darkly that it’s true.

“Gin-san has life experience!”

Hijikata threw him a dirty look, “Probably not life expectancy though.”

“Hey!” He chuckled, indignant.

Recalling how he always seemed to die young.

Was dying—

It wasn’t too off actually.

“Like I said,” he grumbled, looking at him rather slyly.

“We're the same— so I know exactly what he was thinking.”

Hijikata sighed, a long-suffering sigh.

As if he couldn’t believe they were still arguing over this.

What the point even was—

So he hadn’t planned on dying— so what?

“Prove it then.” He suggested, somewhat curious.

Knowing in his mind that they were all the same person—

But taking his time to get used to it.

He wanted to know where they overlapped.

“Fine,” Gintoki grinned, anticipating a quick victory.

He bent forward, hair covering the laughter in his eyes.

A soft push, the clatter of him falling,

And a handful of— Gintoki in his arms.

“Yorozuya,”

As Hijikata flushed, eyes unbelievably wide.

"What the hell are you—!?" He said, 

As Gintoki laughed freely.

That faded, barely there smile— 

yet liberated.

“My name is—”