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Gintoki came to him whenever Kagura and Shinpachi were watching his diet. Having once had access to good healthcare and a wife who doted on him once in a while, Hasegawa knew the pains of having a sentry at his mouth, dictating what was good and able to be eaten. The thing was, Gintoki snuck away to him but he didn’t break the rules. “Ah, my sweet tooth is crying,” he whined, but he took out a packet of strawberry gum. Hasegawa noted the sugar-free label.
“I couldn’t eat salt for a while,” Hasegawa offered. Gintoki chewed away without looking at him. “They said I was going to kill myself at the company dinners and clog my arteries. Now I can’t afford a good salty broth on a regular basis.”
“Not interested,” Gintoki said. He chewed with his mouth open. Hasegawa wanted to say something, because the sound grated against his ears, but he had no place berating a standing member of society who (occasionally) drew a paycheck. “The doctor said I’m three parfaits away from diabetes. And I was brushing my teeth so well, I thought it wouldn’t be too obvious. Shinpachi said if I got diabetes, all the equipment and blood sugar testing and medication would be too expensive and time consuming and I couldn’t risk kneeling over in a battle because I was feeling unwell.”
“He’s got a point,” Hasegawa said. The smell of sweet, artificial strawberry from Gintoki’s mouth was tickling his nose. The gum was stained a cheap bright red and it colored Gintoki’s lips and tongue. It was distracting. Hasegawa shook out an old cigarette from a pack he kept at his breast; jobs were sparse lately so he had to ration his tobacco. The fleeting feeling he got when he inhaled distracted him from thinking about Gintoki and sweet strawberry and red.
“If you swallow gum, it stays in your system for eight years,” Gintoki said, and he put three more sticks of gum into his mouth.
[=]
Occasionally, feeling around for dropped change under vending machines and in gutters drew a modest amount he could exchange for goods at the convenience store. His first purchase was a fresh pack of cigarettes. As the cashier peered at his old, raggedy identification card - honestly, he looked his age, his stubble was growing out, so what was the point, although it was somewhat flattering to know the cashier bothered - he spotted a pack of the strawberry gum Gintoki chewed before doctor follow-ups during his extended sweets fast. When the cashier handed back the identification, bent slightly and chipped on the corners, Hasegawa handed him a pack of gum.
When he left the store, Hasegawa pocketed the cigarettes and opened the pack of gum. The sickly sweet smell of chemical strawberries wafted up from the cardboard. Desperate times called for desperate measures, Hasegawa thought sadly. The gum itself felt chalky and had an unnatural rubbery texture. He thought that this was a flavor that Gintoki knew well, held in his mouth and took in. Hasegawa put the stick of gum in his mouth.
The strawberry flavor came on strong and faded eventually into a strange, tinged taste after a few chews, an unusual aftertaste settling into his tongue. Hasegawa walked two blocks before spitting it out in some bushes.
[=]
“Gin-san’s got a clean bill of health and a very recent paycheck,” Gintoki announced, grinning ear to ear. He was holding a half-eaten carton of oden. “I’m a very happy man.”
“Happy people should die,” Hasegawa said from his cardboard palace behind the park bench.
“Nah, I’m going to ignore a no-good old man’s advice this time. But because I’m so generous, I’ll give you my scraps.” Hasegawa took the oden, because beggars couldn’t be choosers; Gintoki had only nibbled at the oden, because it was more than half full and still full of brown broth. It was salty in a satisfying way. Gintoki sat on the bench as Hasegawa ate behind him, humming absentmindedly.
After he was finished eating, Hasegawa joined Gintoki on the bench. “Here,” he said, pulling out the almost untouched pack of strawberry gum. Gintoki checked; there were two sticks missing. “They gave them out as freebies at the convenience store, but it’s not really my flavor. It’s too sweet. Have it.”
“This wasn’t a present exchange,” Gintoki said, but he slipped the gum into a pocket. He was still grinning ear to ear. “Why did you take two? Shouldn’t one have been enough to tell you you wouldn’t like it?”
The second stick of gum was chewed until all flavor was lost and it became a dull lump in his mouth. He chewed it on a cold night looking up at the stars and thinking back about how warm the lights of the bars he used to frequent were, and how a good beer could make him forget he had a load of paperwork on his desk for the next morning, and how the feel of an arm belonging to a cheeky young brat who cost him a job around his shoulders made him feel a little guilty. “I thought I would change my mind.”
Gintoki kissed him. It was fast, and it didn’t taste sweet; it was salty and a little fishy. Hasegawa thought he was still pretty hungry, because it made him want something more. “Thanks for the gum, old loser,” Gintoki laughed.