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Hijikata is one adaptive man. He's the vice commander of Shinsenngumi, afterall. He needs to be vigilant and stay on top of everything, ready for anything. He does a good job of it most of the time. His katana is always on hand, senses are always sharp, and the threat of seppuku is always on the tip of his tongue.
Doesn't mean he's adapted to everything, though. Some things are hard getting used to, like having things that stay. His life isn't exactly… smooth. There's not much that stays with him. Even the Shinsenngumi, his Shinsenngumi, wasn't with him at some point. He's used to change, even from the things that eventually came back to him (because inherently, it's his. always been and always will be.)
But since he got used to the weight of a ring on his finger and hearing people call “Hijikata-san!” to a perm head instead of just him, There's some new constants in his life that he needs to get used to.
Like, a kiss before work.
The Shinsenngumi has morning assembly at seven past thirty, so since he moved out of the barracks and stayed at the Yorozuya, (“Be serious, Oogushi-kun. You wanna let poor Sofa- kun and the gorilla hear you doing Gin-san into next tuesday?”) He needs to be out of the door at 7 past ten the latest, that means he needs to finish breakfast at seven, and wake up at six. A lot earlier than if he just stayed at the headquarters.
It's not that bad, he decides. Because on the good days, Hijikata would have a breakfast spread ready at fifteen before seven— warm rice and steamed fish, on one Monday morning, then miso soup on one windy wednesday— and a kiss goodbye before his husband waves at him from the balcony. “Make Gin-san alot of money from the bakufu, okay!”
Even on the bad days, where the breakfast plates are flying to him instead of laying on the table and the food is stale bread instead of his preferred rice, his collar would still be pulled by rough hands and his lips will meet into another, before his butt is kicked out of the door, slammed into his cheeks.
Sometimes the kiss is long enough Hijikata needs to take a few laps around the block and smoke five cigarettes just to clear off the steam, and sometimes it's fast enough he only notices the lingering feeling on his cheek after he arrives at the headquarters. But the kiss is a constant, and He has never imagined that life would be this good because even with plates flying to his head he is taken care of.
Noon comes, and he gets lunch at the cafeteria most of the time. He doesn't hold it to Gintoki for not preparing him lunch, it’s really not his job, but sometimes, when Gintoki feels like waking up at six in the morning, he comes knocking into the barracks holding a bento wrapped in mayo-patterned furoshiki. Those are the best days, because all of his subordinates look at him with jealousy as he scarfed down warm homemade food, instead of the food that the very angry cafeteria lady that-definitely-doesn't-like-them makes. It's never fancy— nothing ever was in the Yorozuya, but the rice is not too dry and not too sticky, eggs are rolled into tamagoyaki to make it easier to eat, and an extra bottle of mayo is there inside his furoshiki. Never elaborate and never over the top with his care, but always well thought out and always for him.
(Gintoki doesn’t add mayo directly onto his bento, still, but every couple has a thing where they don't agree on forever, right?)
It's not everyday that Gintoki does that though, making breakfast is enough interruption for his beauty sleep. So it's more of a… reward, than a routine he needs to get used to.
What he does need getting used to is coming home (Oh, god. Maybe home can be a place after all, when the right person is always there.) to the Yorozuya and opening the door to the soft sounds of the stove and the pitter-pattering of heavy footsteps around the kitchen.
There's curry bubbling tonight and he hears the rice cooker beeps as he takes off his shoes. His husband is frying up some tonkatsu in that ridiculous pink apron that isn't so ridiculous to him anymore because of how often he sees it now. He sets the table after a too long back hug that results in chopsticks smacking his arm, and Gintoki brings over the food to the kotatsu. They move in practiced strides, and Hijikata needs to protect his heart from bursting everytime.
Those are the good, mundane days. Though on special occasions, ones that Hijikata looks forward to and would probably never get used to, Gintoki’s kids (His, too, at some point. Everyone knows, and the kids feel it— the love, the care— but nobody says anything. Not even Gintoki comments on it. Hijikata thinks he’s too scared it won't stay.) would come from space or whatever the other has going on, and they eat together like a proper family. Kagura tells them about her recent adventures and complains how Gintoki doesn't prepare her usual closet-bed anymore like he didn't offer to lay out a futon for her in the living room. (“Why not here with you, Gin-chan? Mayora?” Gintoki scoffs, “You want to room with two old men?” Kagura whines, like she is 14 years old and not almost 17. “You're basically like mami and papi! It won't be weird!” Shinpachi slaps the back of her head.)
He adores this— whatever he and Gintoki have made for themselves. They molded their lives with their bare hands, from ashen remains and blood and sweat and tears years in the making. It was made by hardships after hardships, and He fears that it is fragile. That after too many phone calls with frail excuses,
(“Sorry, Eat dinner without me, yeah? You don’t need to wait up. I'm sorry.”
“Sorry, I-I… can't go home yet. I know you cooked that for me but— fuck I'll make it up to you, I promise, it's just there's this case with—“)
Gintoki would be fed up and just… stop. Instead of being mad pettily with his bickering and loose fists, he would stop cooking and feeding him, stop caring for him.
But it doesn't come.
He comes home in the wee hours of the night, the moon high and almost tipping over the edge. He toes off his shoes and steps into his home, trying to be silent with his steps. The light is still on, but the bedroom door is closed and theres faint snoring. Gintoki really did not wait up for him, perhaps it's too late, even for him. But as he walks from the foyer, into the main area for the bathroom, he spots a bowl of rice neatly set up, karaage and a salad, with a post-it message slapped onto the chopsticks obnoxiously.
“There's also soup on the stove. Heat it the FUCK up yourself.”
He can't help but snort and laugh at that, body going limp as he puts his head into his hands and continues on laughing breathily. The guys asleep, probably insanely pissed at him, but still, he set up his dinner and kept the lights on as if he’s showing that yes, I was waiting for you. Yes, this is for you.
Gintoki feels like a constant in his life, his love feels like it's begging to get used to, like it's trying so hard to fit into his routine, like it's screaming that it is here to stay. Hijikata's scared shitless at that thought.
But Gintoki promised forever with all its big, heavy load, and Hijikata trusts him. Because really, there's nobody better suited for forever than the guy that's been through three lives in 30 years, that's still here despite everything.