Chapter Text
The phone rang in the middle of the night, and if Gintoki wasn’t still half-asleep he wouldn’t have answered it. As it was, in his stupor, all he really knew was that the sound needed to stop. He jerked up, scrabbling for the phone, sliding his fingers blindly across the screen, managing to pick up before it stopped ringing.
“What?” he slurred into the phone.
“Gintoki.” The voice on the other line was curt. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Let me come over.”
He sighed, the sound sliding from the phone down to his pillow. “No. Sleeping,” he said, tasting cotton on his tongue, the name of the voice’s owner slipping from memory.
“Gintoki,” the voice said again, the consonants like striking rocks, and now Gintoki knew who it was.
“Fuck off, Takasugi,” he said, groaning. He hung up, and closed his eyes again.
The next thing he was aware of was waking up to a tapping at the half window of his basement rental. It was one of the few sounds he thought would ever rouse him from deep sleep, after a childhood studded with the sound of little pebbles flung at his window. It wasn’t that long ago that he made peace with the fact that he’d never hear this sound again, but here it was.
Gintoki pushed the sleep from his mind and squinted at the silhouette at the window. Then he scowled.
“The fuck are you doing here?” he hissed as he yanked the window open. “What’s wrong with you?”
Takasugi’s face was only half-visible from this angle, and with the glow of the streetlight behind him nothing at all was discernible.
“Let me in,” Takasugi said, leaning down.
Gintoki frowned, hearing the intoxication in his voice clearer now that he was right in front of him. He could smell him, too.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” he sighed, and shut the window. He stalked across his tiny apartment resenting the fact that, sober or not, there was nothing he could do about it if Takasugi decided he wanted to drop by.
Gintoki poked his head out into the quiet street and looked around. Takasugi was dropping back down onto the sidewalk after climbing over the side gate that separated Gintoki’s windows from the street, hardly even stumbling. The wire fence clinked with the movement, echoing down the road. His plastic slides scraped across the concrete, and his shorts, a leftover from highschool gym class, flapped in the slight breeze. He looked lopsided, top-heavy, with his lanky legs emerging from beneath an oversized hoodie. Gintoki thought for a moment that he’d been transported back in time to just a few years ago before everything turned to shit.
“Hurry up,” Gintoki said impatiently, holding open the gate, then shut it quietly as soon as Takasugi crossed the threshold. “If the old lady hears, she’ll tear me a new one.”
Takasugi didn’t respond, but a grin split his face, and a stifled giggle split that. Gintoki frowned.
“What?”
“I think you have room for another hole,” Takasugi said.
“What the hell?” Gintoki sighed. The sudden stench of cannabis hit him as he led him down the stairs. “How did you even get my address? Did you drive?”
“I’m not walking however fucking long it takes to walk here,” Takasugi replied, like it was obvious.
He hated to admit it, but Gintoki couldn’t exactly argue with the logic: if he were Takasugi and determined to bother himself, he wouldn’t have walked, either. Even if he personally would prefer Takasugi to not have done it, Takasugi had decent motor skills when he was high and the tendency to do whatever he wanted no matter what anyone else thought about it.
“Hope you didn’t run anyone over,” he muttered, pushing open his door.
“Like you’d care if I did,” Takasugi said. Gintoki shut the door, immediately plunging them into the stifling warmth of the room. The sound of their breaths sank deep into the carpet as Gintoki slid the deadbolt into place.
“Has Zura seen your apartment yet?”
“No.”
“So you haven’t had a proper housewarming?” Takasugi asked, a strange lilt to his voice.
Gintoki couldn’t tell if he was trying to make a joke in that off-putting way that he jokes. In the dark, Takasugi looked like he was smiling. That would be new. “What does that mean?”
“You know. Haven’t fucked anyone in it yet?”
Gintoki sighed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, rule number one of Gintoki’s apartment: no saying insane shit. Stop saying insane shit.”
“I’m just wondering. Just figured it’d be Zura.”
“There’s no way that’s something normal people do when they get a new place; what’s wrong with you? Anyway, he doesn’t have time to answer fucking booty calls; he’s in school. Same place you should be, now that I think about it.”
“I didn’t want to be there.”
“Clearly.”
Takasugi was looking at Gintoki, suddenly very still. In the near total darkness, Gintoki felt like he was dealing with something like an animal, the way the adrenaline crept into his body. But when Gintoki went to turn on the light to dispel it, Takasugi pinned his hand to the wall before Gintoki realized he’d moved.
In the dim light, he thought he saw Takasugi’s eyes flick from his hand to his face. “No,” he said softly, his voice sticky with something warm. “I want it dark.”
Unease crawled up Gintoki’s spine. “Takasugi...”
“I wanted to be here instead,” he said, pressing his torso against Gintoki’s.
“Okay,” Gintoki said dully, looking down his nose at him. He fought to keep his tone neutral and still leave enough room for disdain. The places where their bodies met felt unnervingly real for something that seemed so much like a dream. After a moment, Takasugi reached his hand up to hover by Gintoki’s cheek.
“I don’t have a room at my house anymore,” he said, leaning closer, looking up at him with a kind of hunger. His lips parted as his eye wandered. Gintoki could see the shine on the tip of his tongue behind his lips and smell the heat of his breath.
“I know that,” Gintoki said. I helped you move your shit out, he didn’t say, because Takasugi obviously knew that. He remained where he was, not willing to accept what was happening before his eyes, but unable to back away.
“So don’t kick me out,” Takasugi said, his voice giving way to a rasp and then to nothing. He dragged a fingertip along Gintoki’s jaw, like he was painting its shape, his breath on Gintoki’s neck raising goosebumps on his skin. He felt Takasugi’s knee move between his legs. Arousal mixed with unwillingness and the heavy stink of intoxication churned in his stomach to create nausea. Time was up.
“Don’t be so pathetic,” Gintoki scoffed, angling his head away. “You don’t want this.”
“Yes I do,” Takasugi said.
Gintoki stepped around him with a sigh. “No you don’t.”
“The fuck do you know?” Takasugi snapped. There was a strain in his voice that Gintoki wasn’t used to, some quivering note — but the spell was broken. He turned around to find that Takasugi had slumped against the wall, one hand rubbing the spot under his eye patch. “Just tonight,” he muttered.
“I hate you,” Gintoki said, meaning to say something different but unable to find the words, falling back into old patterns. It was odd to know that he still had them, after two years of hardly seeing each other.
He leant down to pull Takasugi up by his armpits and dragged him the few feet from the door to the couch. Takasugi laid there on the scratchy fabric, limp like a doll, and glared in his direction. Gintoki sat on the edge of the coffee table across from him and put his face in his hands. “I cannot believe you’re doing this to me. How long has it fucking been since we even spoke?”
“I’m so sorry,” Takasugi drawled sarcastically as he turned his face into the cushion, waving his hand in the air. “What was I thinking, bothering Lord Sakata? I’ll think twice before being vulnerable next time.”
“Shut up, you didn’t even mean it,” Gintoki said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “You only picked me because you knew I’d rather die than talk to you about it ever again. If it ever happened, that is.”
“Ugh,” Takasugi said into the cushion, then was silent for a moment. “This thing smells like shit.”
“It’s going to smell worse now, thanks to you.” Gintoki stretched his arms overhead, then rested his elbows on his thighs. Takasugi turned his head in order to look at him.
Silence settled on them like dust. The last time Gintoki had seen Takasugi was when he’d shown up to pick up Katsura and his luggage and ferry them away to college. He hadn’t even gotten out of the car before driving away. The fact that he’d show up here instead of Katsura was strange, to say the least.
Gintoki laid down on his back across the coffee table, tired now of avoiding looking at Takasugi. All he could think of when he looked at the other boy was how he’d felt pressed up against his body, and Gintoki wanted to forget that as soon as possible.
“So,” Takasugi said, “about Zura...”
Gintoki shook his head even though Takasugi probably couldn’t see it at his angle. “Nope. Not talking about that with you.”
“Why the fuck not?” Takasugi laid on his side on the couch, unmoving. “He’s my friend, too.”
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before,” Gintoki said, coming back up. “Doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause we” — he waved a finger back and forth in the space between them — “are not friends.”
Takasugi scoffed, then lapsed back into silence. Gintoki leaned his head on his hand, his leg propped up on a couch cushion. Takasugi’s almost-fetal position reminded him of past evenings, when he’d stay up after Takasugi’s 2 AM break-ins, watching and thinking while he slept. Gintoki had known what he was running from then. He wondered what he was running from now.
Enough time passed that Gintoki thought Takasugi had fallen asleep, but then, “I got Zura to smoke the other day. Last week, or something.”
“Oh yeah? Was it funny?”
“Not really; he’s a weepy fucking stoner. Guess I should’ve guessed that,” Takasugi said, muffled by his sleeve. Then he chuckled; a single breath of amusement. “But. Gintoki. Guess what he fucking said.”
Gintoki clicked his tongue. “No. I don’t wanna know,” he said, even though he knew it wouldn’t stop him. He didn’t like the way Takasugi laughed when he said it. Predictably, Takasugi plowed on.
“He said he felt bad. About the whole university thing... y’know. And you.” His face seemed carefully neutral. Gintoki wanted to strangle him. “That’s how I got your address out of him, by the way. Just told him I’d talk to you.”
Gintoki groaned, threading his hand roughly through his hair as he leaned over his knees. “Goddamn it, Takasugi, I said I didn’t want to know.”
“He said you don’t call, and you barely answer his messages.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“He thinks it’s his fault,” Takasugi said, and this time, there was nothing neutral about it.
Gintoki couldn’t really say anything to that. He pulled at his hair silently, grinding his teeth together. He knew it, goddamn it, he fucking knew there was some stupid, annoying reason Takasugi was here tonight.
“I wish I knew why the hell he bothered with you,” Takasugi said at length, propping his head up on his hand. “It’s clearly not because you’re a decent person or anything. I wondered if it was because the sex was good.”
Gintoki couldn’t help the bark of laughter as he came back up to look at him. “If that was why you just came onto me...”
“That’s what you think?” Takasugi said, without further elaboration. “Don’t worry your dumbass head about it, just do what you always do about shit you don’t want to deal with and forget it ever happened.”
“Fuck you.”
“And you.” He scratched idly at the sofa cushion, then glanced up at Gintoki. “Give me a blanket or something.”
“Piece of shit.”
“Can you be normal for once?”
“Yeah, I’m the one being weird.” Gintoki rolled his eyes. “Does anyone even know you’re here?”
“Who cares,” Takasugi yawned. “I’m leaving in the morning, so fucking relax.”
“Whatever,” Gintoki scoffed as he went into the bedroom. He stood there for a moment by the door just to be pissed off by himself. As the low roar dissipated, he thought about an old blanket he hadn’t thought about for a while; not since moving to this apartment. He remembered digging it out of his old closet and staring at it for a long time before stuffing it into one of his moving boxes.
He thought about a teenager, that blanket hanging off the sharp corners of his shoulders like he was a coat rack as he dug through Shouyou’s cupboards at midnight. The overriding emotion of these memories was anger, but he couldn’t remember at what, exactly. At the situation, maybe. But not really at that teenager.
Gintoki opened his closet, pulled out an old, slightly mangled cardboard box, and pulled out the blanket that had been hastily stuffed into the corner. Reflexively, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it. It didn’t smell like anything in particular. Just kind of neglected.
He walked back outside where Takasugi was now curled up facing the other direction, with his back towards him. Gintoki balled up the blanket in his hands and threw it at him. Takasugi flinched and growled, about to say something when he laid eyes on the blanket bunched up on top of him. He eventually flung his gaze back at Gintoki, apparently waiting for him to say something.
“Did you want a pillow, too, your majesty?” he said flatly.
Takasugi scoffed, flung the blanket out and pulled it over himself. “Dick.”
Gintoki felt the corners of his mouth pull. He took a breath. “Look, uh... you can take whatever you want from the fridge if you need it. You know, ‘cause if you pass out behind the wheel...” He trailed off, running out of words.
There was a pause. “Uh-huh.”
“Just don’t clean me out or anything.”
“I don’t like the shit you eat anyway.”
Gintoki shook his head, annoyed. “That’s what I get for trying to be nice,” he said, stepping back into his room.
“Try harder,” came Takasugi’s muffled voice, just before Gintoki shut the door.
Gintoki stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom in the morning, groggily splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth in the silence of the apartment. A couple vague thoughts prodded his brain, but it wasn’t until he was heating up leftover pizza that he saw the bunched up blanket on the couch, still shaped around the absence of a body, that he remembered.
As the microwave hummed, Gintoki took a look back inside the refrigerator. Nothing about its contents seemed to have been disturbed. He wrestled with the frustration of not having been listened to and the insistence that he didn’t really give a shit, that if Takasugi blacked out from hunger on the road it was his own fault because Gintoki did warn him.
His phone began to vibrate on the counter, its blue light searing Gintoki’s still-bleary eyes. His finger hovered over the screen, the name on the screen collapsing a part of his chest. After a moment of indecision, he picked it up.
“Yeah?” he said, instead of what he should have said.
“Gintoki?” said Katsura on the other end.
“Yeah,” he said again. He hoped it at least sounded softer that time. He turned and leaned against the counter, hunching over like he didn’t want anyone to overhear.
“Good morning,” Katsura said stiffly. “You’re up early.”
“I got work later,” Gintoki said.
“Oh,” Katsura said. “I didn’t know, sorry.”
Gintoki never told him. The microwave beeped angrily. He shrugged, even though Katsura wouldn’t have seen it. “ ‘s not like you’re making me late.” He opened the microwave and retrieved the pizza. He thought about how those weren’t the kind of words you say to someone you haven’t really spoken to in almost two years. “What’d you call for?”
There was a pause on the other end before Katsura cleared his throat. “It’s just... I haven’t seen Takasugi in a couple of days. No one has, actually.”
“Wha’?” Gintoki said, taking a bite.
“He won’t answer my calls, either,” Katsura said. “You probably haven’t, but I was wondering if you’ve heard from him.”
His stomach turned over as the food in his mouth turned into cardboard. He cleared his throat, and swallowed past the growing lump. “Uh... yeah, actually. I saw him last night.”
“You did?” To say that Katsura sounded surprised was an understatement. Gintoki could hear the unasked question hanging off his tongue.
“He showed up at my place last night. I don’t even know why he was here,” Gintoki said, skipping over the part he was trying to forget ever happened. “He was just, like, I didn’t want to be at school. So I figured, you know. That’s normal for him, right?”
Katsura didn’t answer the question. “Is he there now?”
“No. He left at...” He sighed. “I dunno. He left before I woke up.” He pushed a hand through his hair nervously. “He said he’d leave in the morning; I figured that meant he was going back, so I didn’t ask.”
“Why—” Katsura said, then stopped. During the silence, Gintoki filled in the blank with a number of things, none of which he liked. There was confusion, anxiety, and... anger? He tapped his fingers on the counter, annoyed they weren’t in rhythm.
This was a bad time to talk. That annoyed him, too.
He left the pizza on the counter to sit on the coffee table and stared at the sky through the little window near the ceiling. There was rustling over the phone. “So... he’s driving now?”
“I guess.”
Gintoki stayed on the line, even though neither of them were talking. The phone was warm and cold on his ear and cheek. In his other ear, if he strained, he could hear the birds waking up. He imagined Takasugi driving on some highway by himself, not here to hear these birds.
“Takasugi’s been acting strangely lately,” Katsura said, sounding like he was no longer talking to Gintoki. He sounded far away. “I guess I’m worried.”
“Oh,” Gintoki said.
Things were so easy when the three of them only existed in memory, frozen in time and space. He could reminisce, like a visitor to a museum, like finding a box of childhood memorabilia under the bed while cleaning. A world he could step out of when he wished. Not the chaos of reality where people went off-script and familiarity lashed like a whip.
“He didn’t say anything to you?”
An angry spark lit up between Gintoki’s eyes. The three of them used to know everything about each other, to the point of annoyance. He hated constantly having them under his skin, hated them hanging off him like ticks. And yet, when Takasugi had given him the gift of distance, of silence, he was angry about it. “If he won’t even tell you, why would he tell me?” he snapped.
In the silence that ensued, Gintoki’s ears began to buzz.
There was a breath on the other end. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
The faucet in the bathroom dripped. The birds began to calm down. Gintoki felt sorry, like a phantom limb.
“Nah,” he said honestly. “Nah, it’s... My mornings are boring as hell.”
“Mm-hm.”
“This is, uh... different, at least.”
“Mm,” Katsura hummed. “I, um...”
Gintoki waited, but nothing else came. He stood up and went back to the counter. He picked up the cooled down pizza and took another bite, trying to think of something to say. None of the words he could think of seemed worth saying; none seemed particularly right. There were three that were simply too much to fit his mouth around.
“I’m going to try to call him again,” Katsura announced.
“ ‘kay,” Gintoki said.
“Let me know if he calls you.”
“Sure,” Gintoki said, but he doubted it would happen.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
The phone hung up silently in his ear as he chewed, quietly enough that he wasn’t sure exactly when the connection ended. He found himself absently wanting a dial tone to hang onto, something in which to hear Katsura’s echo. But maybe not having it was for the better.
He leaned over the counter as he ate, peeling the phone from his face. The screen was smudged from being pressed against his cheek. He stared out at his living room, at the shaft of thin morning light spilling over the blanket Takasugi left. Leftovers, remains. The devastating clarity of the morning light. The pizza sat like a rock in his stomach.
He noticed, at that point, an open box of granola bars sitting on the counter against the wall. He remembered getting it a few days ago; it was the kind that promised it was good for you but you’d know by the amount of chocolate it was studded with that it wasn’t really. Not that Gintoki bought it for that reason. He picked it up and found it was mostly empty.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance and slid a grand total of two granola bars out onto the counter.
“I thought he didn’t like my shit,” he grumbled. He folded up the empty box in his hands and tossed it into the garbage.