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Note: If it isn't obvious, the title is from 'Bad Medicine' by Bon Jovi, though the fic was written to 'First Love' by Joe Hisaishi. It was also inspired by this adorable fanart.
Your Love is Like Bad Medicine
Gintoki hates Valentine's Day.
He hates the sappy cards slapped on every store window, he hates the saccharine commercials on TV with all those disgusting lovey-dovey couples, and he especially hates the vile, heart-shaped chocolates tucked in heart-shaped fuchsia boxes. What kind of halfwit looked at the divine creation that was chocolate and decided, yep, that needs to be in the shape of a heart, something that will hurt your mouth, but not after giving you mental diabetes.
Well. Gintoki is a fine one, talking about diabetes, but the point is, Valentine's Day is ridiculous and over-commercialised and should be banned. Permanently.
Who even needs heart-shaped chocolates to declare one's undying love? Love should be obvious, oi. It should manifest itself in little day-to-day activities, like how you so generously refrain from telling your partner that their hair looks like a hornet's nest, or how you don't poison their strawberry milk, or...or a million other incredibly romantic gestures Gintoki is capable of making.
He says, "Ugh," as a handsome couple, right out of a glossy magazine, saunter out of a grocery store and shamelessly snog as if they are in the privacy of their own home.
Gintoki is so glad he has no one to reduce him to a pile of glop like that. The only people who are remotely capable of turning him into a sucker are Shinpachi and Kagura; Gintoki isn't a sap but they're like his kids (not that he'll admit it), so they don't count.
***
The chocolates are the price of three strawberry parfaits (there go the rest of his sugar kicks for the month), and Gintoki wants to stab himself in the foot because they aren't even for him. He can't believe he went and emptied his wallet for this crap. This stupid Valentine's tradition is ruining him, forcing him to squeeze into society's narrow expectations of a virile young male like himself.
After some deliberately aimless wandering Gintoki finds himself in the park, clutching the heart-shaped box to his chest in an effort to conceal it. He relaxes somewhat when he realises that the park is mostly empty; it's two in the afternoon on a weekday and productive members of society, unlike him and the idiot he's searching for, are working or studying.
At length he finds the bomb-wielding object of his interest hovering by the lake. It's not the kind of lake you find in rom-coms or old dramas, with aged, drooping willows and drifting flower petals and birds singing sweetly. There are fat frogs croaking all around, lazing on lily pads and nestling amid the grass, and hundreds of tiny insects that latch themselves onto his clothes and don't get off even when he brushes at them with his hand. They make a huge racket, creek-breek and breek-creek, and Gintoki already wants smash his own skull in.
He glares accusingly at Zura, who is feeding the ducks bits of bread and has his back turned to him. His soot-black hair stirs in the breeze, slips over his shoulder like a shadow; dappled sunlight paints a pattern on his insect-spotted haori.
Gintoki snorts. Obviously he doesn't want to like Zura. It's embarrassing. Zura is embarrassing. He cosplays and dresses in women's clothing and wears makeup for fun and lives with a giant alien duck and has a pea for a brain. Gintoki thinks that all they'll have to do is interact, and Gintoki will thankfully be reminded of why he avoids Zura like a terminal disease, and he'll not have to suffer the indignity of making out in a public space and buying food that's not for himself.
He isn't sure how to go about it, so he slips behind a tree and lurks, throwing furtive glances at Zura, who is still deaf to the world and grinning like a fool, his cheeks tinged a faint pink and the corners of his eyes creased. Gintoki's bones feel like they're turning to jelly and he curses under his breath. Who does Zura think he is? He has no business making those frumpy, old-fashioned clothes look good.
As quietly as he can, Gintoki opens the box and takes out a heart-shaped chocolate (he did not buy those because he wanted to. The shop was out of regular chocolates and the next store was a full two minutes, forty-three seconds away). He holds the chocolate in his sweat-damp hand like a stone, bounces it once, and then flings it at Zura's head.
Zura makes a little, "Oh," sound, brings his hand to the back of his skull, and starts looking round, baffled. Gintoki waits till he's turned back to the ducks again, and after a few seconds hurls two chocolates in quick succession. This time he doesn't try to see Zura's reaction, ducking behind the tree and making himself as small as possible. He doesn't want Zura's attention or anything; he just wants to annoy him, because the dumb wig deserves to be annoyed, and Gintoki likes seeing him suffer, and...and...
He slides to the ground, miserable, his knees to his chest and the box of chocolates wedged in between, digging into his thighs.
It won't work. Zura is too much of a moron to realise something's being thrown at him; he probably thinks plums are falling on his head even though he's standing under an oak. Well, good riddance. Gintoki doesn't want Zura's cheesy affection, anyway. He doesn't like being mothered and taken care of and constantly being told how much he's loved. He's self-confident, and independent, and secure. He's a man.
He rests his chin on the chocolate box and lets his eyes slip closed.
"I thought that might be you."
Gintoki yelps and scrambles up, dropping the box and spilling a few chocolates onto the grass. Zura is looking at him with an expression of exasperated fondness, his arms folded across his chest. "If you wanted to spend time with me, all you had to do was ask," he says in that infuriatingly serene, patient tone of his.
"Asshole! Who said I wanted to spend time with you?"
They stroll together through the park, not speaking much, occasionally popping chocolates into their mouths. "These are so good," says Zura, licking melted chocolate off his fingers, his eyes sparkling. He would never be so unrefined, so open around anyone else; Gintoki feels oddly flattered, even though they've known each other so long he shouldn't care.
Eventually they exit the park and reach the riverside. Zura sits on the grassy slope and Gintoki plumps down cross-legged beside him. He wipes his upper lip with his sleeve. The afternoon sunlight beats down on his face and sweat crawls down his back and gathers in his armpits. Gintoki thinks he should mind, but he doesn't – he's content just vegging out by Zura. They never needed words to fill up the space between them, and still don't.
At length Zura reaches into the folds of his kimono and brings out a rough slab of chocolate, wrapped in a broad pink ribbon. Upon closer inspection Gintoki notices an age-speckled photograph tucked beneath the ribbon; in it he and Zura stand amid a field of wildflowers. They are indignant, glowering at the camera; Gintoki's hands are balled into fists and Zura appears to be complaining. Gintoki remembers, though he hasn't thought of it in years, that Shouyou had been messing with them that day, pretending to be ready with the camera and making them pose for excruciatingly long, awkward seconds before taking the photo.
Zura hands the package over to Gintoki.
"What's this?" Gintoki says, though he knows.
"For you."
"God, you're so sentimental."
"I know," Zura says quietly, keeping his gaze on the river. He sidles closer to Gintoki and rests his head in the crook of his neck. His hair is sun-warmed and satiny against Gintoki's skin, and he releases a content sigh before closing his eyes.
Gintoki looks at him, at the dark sweep of his lashes, the gentle line of his mouth, and brushes his thumb against Zura's chin. After a long moment he brings up his arm, cautious and somewhat unsure, and places it around Zura's shoulders, drawing him closer.
Maybe he's a bit of a sap. It doesn't matter.
He presses his lips to Zura's temple.