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rainsometimesI finished the GinTakaZura fic, finally!
Big thanks to plipdragon particularly for great concrit, general feedback, and encouragement! I am also very grateful to everyone else who has encouraged me to keep going and have responded positively to seeing the chapter or parts of the chapter early. ♥♥♥ As always, constructive criticism and all kinds of feedback are very welcome.
This chapter ended up so long that I don't think I can crosspost it to Livejournal (?). And the fic as a whole has actually now become my second longest fic ever! I did not foresee that.
The chapter title and the cut text are references to the lyrics in the song "Bokutachi no kisetsu" by DOES, featured in the first animated Gintama movie.
Fic title: There's No Together, There's No Apart, There's Only Impossible Longing
Chapter: 5/5 (plus prologue)
Chapter Title: Like Unfinished Works, We Sway And Sway, And Still We Keep On Playing
Word Count: 11669
Fandom: Gintama
Fic status: complete!
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura/Takasugi: Gintoki/Katsura, Katsura/Takasugi, Takasugi/Gintoki
Rating: PG for this chapter I think; PG-13 for the fic as a whole
Summary: A story about Gintoki, Katsura and Takasugi told through various scenes and fragments.
Spoilers/setting: This chapter is set several years after the end of canon
Author's notes and disclaimer in the prologue post
Continued from Chapter 4
When it came unleashed, when what he’d called out for careened towards him, when it seemed to reach him, to touch him -- then at first all the sounds of the world utterly vanished, and the shapes and colours fell away too; there was only silence and blankness, like a page unwritten. Except he thought he could hear the sound of a pen from far away, scritching and scritching, for a few long, long seconds. He couldn’t move a millimetre. He could hardly even think of moving. The power was moving through him, over him, pulsating heavily.
Then he was surrounded by fiercely running water, pressing in on him, throwing him around, sending huge strong waves against him -- doing everything except drowning him, because he could still breathe, strangely, as if the power that pulsated in him now (in a gleaming and blinking way, different from the feel of the continuous stream, but converging on it) had temporarily endowed him with gills. But the violence of the stream, of eddies and counterstreams and waves still took his breath away from him, he felt as if he’d been punched many times over till he finally, finally reached a shore, lying there naked.
He ought to shiver with cold, but that sensation itself drained away; there was no freezing cold to focus on, to take refuge in. There was only him, the unseen other him, and then -- still intangible at first and just out of reach, then all of a sudden crowding in, filling everything up, sight and sound and smell and touch, a cacophonic chaos here to name, to change, to possess, to engulf, to grab, to hold, to give, to devour, to deplete, to enrich, to rage, to be everywhere, finally -- they came, the memories.
Katsura dreamt that he could see a high grassy plain through which several people, seen at a distance as fuzzy shadows, were hurrying back and forth, but without any clear view of where they should be going. He saw all of this from afar, from above, as if it were part of a map or a model, but at the same time he was also down there as one of the shadows (this kind of double-being wasn’t uncommon for him in dreams). The air was mild and flowery, not yet too hot or humid, as in late spring. The wind bore a fresh scent of cedar and salt.
At this point he started to become aware of the sound of running water. Even though it was salt he had smelled, it was the sound of a rushing stream he could hear, not the heavy beat of ocean waves meeting the coastline. He stopped being divided in two and was just one person in the grass, turning around as he tried to locate the source of the sound. Those other flittering, uncertain shadow-figures on the plain were all gone now, and he stood alone.
Slowly, he started to move towards what seemed the direction of the sound, even though all he could see was the grass around him, stretching out and waving in the breeze, fading into mist in the distance. The more he walked, the more real and solid the plain felt: the straws of grass pressed against his legs and kimono, and he had to take care not to stumble on the uneven ground. He knew he was himself as always, but he felt so simple and unquestioning, so oddly whole, more like a peacefully browsing animal than his normal muddled human self. He rather liked that thought.
It seemed he was carrying a picnic basket, with rice cakes and a tea thermos and a blanket. The sun was nice, and it was tempting to just sit down in the grass and think of nothing, letting the wind pass him by. But the scent drove him onward, the stream he couldn’t see pulled at him, and he thought to himself, No, we can have a picnic together once I get there… He didn’t actually know who “we” included, but it made sense to think like that, the way things do in dreams.
Sometimes he had to adjust his direction a little, to match when the sound of running water changed as well. Still looking down at the ground, he started to notice signs of nearby trees. There were pinecones and needles in the grass, but also old fallen leaves from maples, willows, birches…. Raising his head, far away inside the mist he thought he could see a few high tree-like shadows.
There was a sense of, of roundness in the air, as if he was very close to some kind of completion, of fulfillingness. He knew he shouldn’t dawdle, the stream might grow quiet again, but he strode forward with a sense of faith and utter trust. Almost as if Sensei was there. Maybe Sensei was the breeze, guiding him onwards?
He didn’t have the picnic basket anymore, his hands were empty, but they were reaching out as if trying to grab the vibrant air. As he came closer to the shadows of the trees in the mist, he thought: I have seen something like this before… a group of trees looking just like this... But was there a river back then?
Just as he thought he would be able to put his finger on something which was truly vital and necessary, a harsh sound interrupted everything.
The grassy plain fell away, and he was sitting in his bedroom in darkness, his telephone ringing all too noisily a metre away.
He didn’t get many telephone calls in the middle of the night these days, but old habits die hard. He quickly sat up on his haunches, grabbed his clothes, wallet and keys with one hand while his other hand picked up the telephone. “Yes?” he said, backing towards the half-opened window behind him as he spoke. It was still dark outside. He thought there was a smell of lilacs in the air, for a moment, but that couldn’t be right: it was far too early in spring for lilacs.
“Oi, Zura.”
Gintoki’s voice was hoarse and sounded very tired.
“Not Zura, Katsura. What is it?”
“I’ve… I kinda…” A pause. Then, “It’s happening, Zura. But he’s not here.”
Katsura swallowed, the hand holding the phone feeling sweaty all of a sudden. “You sound really tired, Gintoki,” he pointed out. “Are you drunk? You know, I don’t believe I’ve read the manuscript for this scene, I can’t keep up with you.”
“I’m at the space terminal. Matako told me. Nobume, too. And my phone stopped working. There’s payphones here. I had to go look -- Zura, he might be coming back. The boy. He’s started looking. Nobume, he talked to her, he… and now he’s run away.”
“...The space terminal? You think he might have gone there?”
“I thought, maybe. Nobume told him about the dragon holes. And now he’s run away… But I’ve looked and looked and if he were here I’d know by now, yes it’s a huge place but -- I would sense him -- I’ve been all over…”
“I understand,” said Katsura in a low tone. Gintoki sounded absolutely dead on his feet. “Go home and get some sleep, Gintoki. I’ll take over. I’ll call you when I find something.”
“Shinpachi -- Kagura-- I was goin’ to call ‘em too but these stupid payphones are so complicated--” His speech started to slur, but by this point Katsura could hear the nuance that it was from exhaustion and not, probably, from drink.
“I’ll call Leader and Shinpachi-kun and explain in a few hours,” promised Katsura. “When it’s no longer nighttime. Gintoki, you need to go home… or wait, do you have money for a taxicab?” He doubted that this extremely fatigued Gintoki was in a state to get himself home by public transit. Maybe Kagura could go get him with Sadaharu? But she was always so crotchety and muddle-headed when roused at night. Maybe Katsura ought to call a cab himself and go get Gintoki… Really, he supposed Gintoki would be fine sleeping in a seat somewhere at the terminal if he had to, but Katsura didn’t like having him be there longer than he needed to. Perhaps he would have very dark dreams.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll manage,” mumbled Gintoki, “I’m not that out of it, wighead.” Then he hung up on him.
Katsura sighed, rubbing his forehead, letting go of that mild worry: Gintoki would be fine, at least physically. He thought for a second about calling Elizabeth and sharing this news, but no, it was the same as with Shinpachi and Kagura: too early to call people and wake them up. Elizabeth had his own flat these days, although it was only a stone’s throw away and he came over to Katsura’s place all the time. Katsura wrote a note on the kitchen table for him, just in case he wouldn’t be able to reach him on the mobile phone later. Then he made himself a cup of tea and tried to focus. Just now, while Gintoki had been talking, Katsura had had a flash in his mind of the dream he’d awoken from. What had been in it, again? Grass, an invisible river?
And those high trees, peering through the mist…
He froze. He put his cup down without drinking. Yes. Wasn’t that… it was, wasn’t it?
When Gintoki had left Edo for those two years searching for dragon holes, Katsura, staying behind to play the politics game, had also obtained a map of dragon holes himself.
Bit by bit, he had memorized it, looking up descriptions of each and every site. Later, during the years that followed, he had gone to visit many of those dragon holes on excursions away from the city -- usually when he was already travelling for a different reason, but not always.
And he recalled it now, a shrine not terribly far from here, perhaps two hours away by train… A shrine in a grove, with high trees and sacred cords tying them together, on elevated ground within a larger forest. A beautiful and peaceful place. The trees had been pine and maple, with willows and birches nearby… And the mental picture matched those shades in the mist of his dream.
“All right,” he said out loud to himself. “I will go there first.”
Three hours later he’s sitting on a solar-powered train rushing through the outskirts of Edo. He’s brought a completely sensible and practical backpack which is not in any way going overboard, although it is perhaps rather fully packed. He’s also brought a likewise completely practical suitcase. And a picnic basket to round things off, because why not?
He’s called Shinpachi and Kagura and has texted Elizabeth, but he hasn’t told any of them exactly where he’s going, preferring to stay vague just in case he’s wrong after all. It’s obviously much too early to call Gintoki, whom Shinpachi has confirmed made it home all right and is sleeping soundly by now. Gintoki did call the youngsters right after he talked to Katsura after all. Sometimes, against all odds, the man can learn; Katsura will give him that much.
The calendar says spring, but it felt chilly as he walked to the train station in the early morning, and it looks even colder outside the train windows in the countryside. Nothing like the mild, clement weather in Katsura’s dream. He thinks back on the dream again, trying to summon the deep faith and serenity that filled him then. But his head is too full of thoughts spinning every which way, and he feels at the same time giddy with heady optimism and jumpy with busy, bouncy anxiety. His fingers are drumming on the small foldable table before him, his legs won’t be entirely still, and he doesn’t have the patience to read a book, or catch up on news, or even look at soothing pet pictures on his phone.
He tries to smooth it all down, tries to take calming breaths. Everything will be okay, he tells himself. This will be good for Gintoki. It will make him happy. It’s easier to think of a happy outcome in those terms.
Surely it will be fine. And then it will heal a big gaping wound in Gintoki, and his eyes will come alive much more often, and he will dare to be happy more thoroughly.
He looks out through the window again, as the train goes past a small industrial area, then suburbs and more suburbs, then farms and wood that have only barely started to turn green. It will be awhile still until the cherry trees are in bloom.
He thinks, I will step back. I will do this, I will bring him back, yes. I have a picnic basket and everything. And then I will step back, and he will be fine. They will both be fine.
It’s on that note, finally, that his motions calm down, his breathing turns slower, and he’s able to reach a sense of peacefulness once more. His head is turned again to the window, but other landscapes fill his mind’s eye for most of the remaining journey.
He reaches the right town, disembarks from the train and eventually makes it to the right country road, a little disoriented since his map is out of date and the town has seen new building projects in the intervening years. It’s now mid-morning, and the weather doesn’t seem to be able to make up its mind. One moment it’s mostly sunny (if still cold) with just a couple of clouds in the sky, next it’s mostly cloudy with just a few blue streaks in the sky and the air feeling raw and humid. It makes Katsura think of all the hidden energy in the ground waiting to get strong enough to leap up and spring into green leaf and blossom.
There aren’t many pedestrians or vehicles coming down this road in either direction. And once he turns left on a more narrow road still, soon making its way into the woods, it’s even more deserted. The gray-brown landscape with a few green and yellow spots reminds him of long, lonely journeys after the end of the war. But the early spring flowers are cheering.
His hands and feet are tingling, knowing that in a few more bends of the meandering forest road, the sacred grove will come into view.
(Meanwhile, over in Edo, Gintoki is still asleep but no longer in a deep dreamless state. He finds himself walking through narrow alleys, up on dark crowded steps, the darkness closing in on him as he keeps walking, hunting for the hint of a distant light, a spark to catch even if it might burn him… After a while, he starts to become aware of the sound of running water: it doesn’t seem to fit the crowded urban darkness around him, sounding like a brook in springtime, rushing down a hillside after the rain. Perhaps the brook is hiding behind the great brick wall to Gintoki’s right. Perhaps he can even hear them, faintly, the voices of children splashing around in the water; and smell the faint ghost of their scent, and of the trees.
He knows, on some level, that he’s dreaming. But he has an image of himself lying asleep in the shade under a tree, close to such a rushing brook, instead of his familiar bedroom in Kabuki-chô. The part of him that knows he’s asleep still believes he is somewhere far away from the city.)
Katsura pauses to drink some water from his picnic basket. A large cumulus cloud covers the sun, and a cold wind makes him shiver. He digs into his backpack for the big red scarf that Kagura gave him as a birthday present last June, wraps it around his neck and goes on.
The road bends, and he’s met by the sight of three trees lying fallen right across it. They’re not the only ones, either -- as he looks around, he can see a number of trees that have toppled over on both sides of the road and further into the forest. It must have happened very recently, or the road would have been cleared by now.
But it’s easy enough to step over the tree trunks, and as the grove and its shrine finally come into view a few minutes later, he sees to his relief that the trees in the shrine itself are still standing. Other trees lie fallen around it, but the shrine trees stand tall and strong, and the sacred cord still holds and hasn’t been torn.
But… Is his dream coming alive? There’s no grand river, of course, but as he leaves the road proper for the path that goes right to the shrine, he finds a small brook running at his side. The shrine is standing on slightly elevated ground, so the water runs downhill from it. Kastura can’t remember any brook being here when he came here before, a few years ago.
And the littering is new, too. There’s a shoe lying on his path, and another shoe on top of a bush ten metres away. Further up, there’s a pair of torn black jeans and a torn-up black sweater. Right by the shrine’s boundary, a white t-shirt is hanging from a branch, also ripped up. A prickle is running down Katsura’s spine, and he sweats as he claps his hands and enters the shrine.
It’s a dragon hole, a source of Altana… But now there is also a source of water in the midst of the shrine, where the tiny brook comes from. This also wasn’t here before. This is new. And right next to the spring is a young man, lying on the mossy ground, breathing slowly with eyes closed, swept in nothing but a gray blanket.
There is nobody else here right now. Katsura kneels at his side, opens his backpack, drags out a thicker blanket, extra clothes, a spare bottle of water… but first he puts the man’s head into his lap, very carefully.
He bends down and blows hot air into the other man’s ear.
“Wake up, you.” That’s all he whispers, his tongue too thick and heavy to form more words than that.
The man frowns, scrunches his eyelids tight. Katsura pokes his cheek; he finally opens his eyes, taking a long, deep breath.
He blinks, and blinks again. Looks up at him. Then he manages to grin.
“Hey…” he says in a hoarse, weak voice, “I didn’t sign up to be greeted by this kind of middle-aged face. Get a new wig, Zura.”
Katsura gasps, sputters. “Why, you…!” He scowls. “Is that any way to talk to your sempai? Just because I have a few crows’ feet now! And there’s nothing wrong with my hair!”
He uncorks the spare water bottle and holds it out. “Here, drink some water, you fool! What the hell did you do to your clothes, anyway? Good thing I brought a spare kimono and more!” He points to the pile of clothing next to them: besides the ochre kimono there’s also a white underkimono, a haori, a pair of socks and two sandals. Katsura has come prepared.
Takasugi takes the bottle and drinks the water without answering. Katsura does his best to wrap the blanket he brought around him without moving him too much. Then he roots inside his picnic basket and as soon as Takasugi has lowered the water bottle he hands him a homemade rice ball. “Eat,” he says shortly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” mutters Takasugi. But he's already started chewing on the rice ball. For a moment Katsura is reminded how similar he and Gintoki can be. He valiantly resists the impulse to wipe stray rice grains off Takasugi’s face. Instead he scrutinizes it. The man looks healthy, has both eyes intact, no rings underneath either of them, a good hue to his face; his facial features, however, aren’t exactly like how Katsura remembers them from back in the day. Just like how it was with child Shinsaku, his current features are close to those he had in his former life, but not identical.
“Kind of like when a cartoonist starts to draw a new manga and reuses character designs,” he mumbles to himself. “Or even the difference between the start and end of a manga with the same character.” Takasugi glances up at him and gives him a dry look, but only reaches for the water bottle.
After he’s had some more water, he mutters, “Don’t wanna lie like this. Help me sit up.” Katsura lets out a put-upon sigh, but does pull him up and then adjusts his seating so Takasugi can lean against his back for a few minutes.
They sit like that, back to back, for a while. The sun glitters on the spring’s surface.
Takasugi is taking long, slow breaths.
He moves, sits up straighter, and reaches for the picnic basket wordlessly. Katsura hands him a fishcake this time around, then the thermos with green tea. As he pours out tea for him, he says, “You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?”
“Well, you’ve long had a good information network,” observes Takasugi, munching on the fishcake. “You can be hard to shake.”
This is so typical of Takasugi, not wanting to look uncool by expressing surprise. Katsura has to smile. “Be like that, then,” he says. “Anyway, it was just a dream.” He pauses, then adds, “I see you’ve been causing havoc on the landscape; how typical. What on earth happened to your clothes?”
Takasugi closes his eyes again. “I don’t really know,” he mumbles, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “S’ all pretty hazy.” He looks cold, so Katsura adjusts the blanket he brought, wrapping it tighter around him.
Everything was still and sunlit. There was the sound of trees rustling in the wind, traffic noise in the distance, the burbling from a brook close by, and the sound of Zura’s long, patient breathing.
Crows were cawing.
Chirps from small birds, calls from song birds. And… wasn’t that the call of the lesser cuckoo, the hototogisu so fabled in poetry ? But it was too early in spring for that…
Well, here he was. Too early for him to be here too, in this state. He shouldn’t be alive at all. Or he should be nothing but a blithely ignorant young child, as small as his calendar years said he should be. This second time around.
He couldn’t hear that bird call again. Maybe it had only been a passing aural hallucination.
Maybe Zura was only a passing hallucination as well, just affecting more of the senses. The thought made him chuckle.
But no. He sat up straighter again, adjusting his seating. He wouldn’t fall for that line of thinking. He hadn’t come back all this way back to the world -- or, put another way, he hadn’t left home and gone here to get his older self back -- just to start thinking life was all about common sense. There shouldn’t have been any hototogisu singing, but there was. That was all.
He finished the second fishcake and a tiny octopus-shaped sausage, wiping his greasy fingers on Zura’s blanket. It was only now he noticed the small spring’s presence in the shrine. When had that happened? He had been too swept-up in the metaphysics last night, not really aware of how the whole event affected his physical surroundings.
“There should be a sword here somewhere, and the sheath for it,” he said. “Also my leather satchel.”
“Oh, so you expect me to go looking for them? You need to learn to take better care of your things… a sword? What do you mean, a sword?” Zura had already started wandering around the shrine area. “You’re far too small for a sword. I mean, young. I mean… you know what I mean!”
“Don’t knock it, I used that sword to get some punks off my back on the way here.” He poured more tea from the thermos, wishing it had held booze instead. “It’s a gift from the director of the police department, if you can believe it.”
“...Hmph. she’s so capricious. Really, what a thing to do… huh. There’s a book here.”
Takasugi turns his head to see Zura hold a small blue book in one hand. The leather satchel was at his feet. “Oi, give that back here, you. That’s my diary.” It must have fallen out of the satchel at some point during the night’s event.
Zura, who had stopped respecting Takasugi’s personal boundaries at some distant point back in his first childhood, was browsing through the book perfunctorily, as if needing to check the veracity of Takasugi’s statement. “I see, I see. So it is a diary,” he mumbled. “Yes, very much a teenage boy’s diary,” he pronounced, as if it had been in doubt. Takasugi wanted to hit him, but he needed to conserve his strength right now.
He looked around and realized the sheath of his sword was right in front of him, hiding in plain sight in the heather just outside the shrine’s boundary. With a sigh, he managed to get to his feet and trudged over there, then had to sit down again.
“Pathetic;” he announced self-critically. “I’m moving like an old man. That’s you, not me.”
“Stop that! I’m still several years from 40, you know!!” Zura exclaimed indignantly.
“You’re ancient. Always have been. You were an old man at eight.” Takasugi started to dress himself from the pile of borrowed clothes. The kimono was plain cotton and too simple for his taste (both old and new tastes), but at least it wasn’t one of Zura’s regular blue ones. Idly, he wondered if he could mix his newer rock-inspired look with traditional clothing in the future; he supposed he had some money to save up.
“I see your sword now,” Zura announced, sounding serious again. “It’s in the spring.”
Huh. “Well, get it out.”
“You’re so demanding,” huffed Zura, but crouched down and bent forward to fish out the sword. “I really shouldn’t. We do still have a sword ban, you know, even if it’s less strict now.”
“Yes, I do know. And I also see you’re still carrying your sword, so stop being a hypocrite already, Zuramp.”
Zura threw the satchel at him; Takasugi ducked out of the way. “A sword in a spring…” Zura went on, more thoughtfully, “...it’s like something from a fantasy anime, isn’t it? Scaring off hoodlums, is that really all you’ve been using it for?”
“Give it to me!” said Takasugi impatiently. “And the book too. I used the sword to draw out Altana from the ground last night, as a point of focus. Don’t ask me to do it again, it was just on impulse.” He had also used the blade to draw circles and symbols on the ground, right in the centre where the spring was now. But he was dubious that that had been of any use at all.
“Why would I ask that of you?” Zura walked back and handed over the sword and the diary. Takasugi sheathed the sword. “You keep saying, ‘I did this and that’,” Zura added quietly. “It’s still you? Are you Shinsaku, or Shinsuke? Or both?”
Takasugi checked to see that his wallet was still in the satchel. Good. But he put the diary inside his kimono instead, this time. “It’s both.” He got to his feet, then leaned one hand against the nearest tree for support against the dizziness. “It had to be both. Shin-chan isn’t erased, he’s me as well. I have two childhoods in my head now.” He drew his hands together, entwined his fingers, drew them out again. “Like that.”
Zura gave a small sigh. “I don’t quite understand, but I’m relieved all the same,” he confessed. “All right, time to go. You should put your socks on, too.” He packed everything up again into his various packs: blanket and thermos and leftovers and the tabi socks that Takasugi had ignored (Zura grumbled at that). They couldn’t find the thin gray blanket anywhere, as if it had evaporated. Takasugi wasn’t too astonished at that, since he didn’t recall having brought it to this place to begin with.
A part of him didn’t want to leave the shrine. There was a sense of order and balance right here, on this shrine among the trees as the sun broke shone down from the opening in the clouds. Outside waited disorder, chaos, unrest, uncertainty.
Then again, if he had been at peace -- the new him or the old him -- he wouldn’t have come here, he wouldn’t be in this state now.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Zura, beckoning him forward with a worried look in his eyes. Takasugi allowed him to put a supporting arm on his shoulder as they passed out through the shrine gate. just for now. Zura had to retoggle his bags to get one arm free, but it wasn’t like it was Takasugi’s fault he’d brought that much stuff.
“You totally want to call Gintoki, don’t you?” he said, climbing over a fallen tree.
“Yes, I do,” Zura admitted, “But not yet. Once we’ve reached the main road.”
“Tch, what’s the difference?” He didn’t really have the energy to argue the point, though. Better save it for the long journey back.
It was around noon when Gintoki woke up. He hadn’t felt as exhausted as he’d been the night before in a long time -- running all over the space terminal, in both public and restricted areas, trying so hard to sense, to listen inwards, to feel a presence, to just know where he should be going, but all the while the familiar sense of defeat had only been growing -- yet when he managed to make it home (Otose took one long look at him and then agreed to pay off the taxi driver, saying under her breath they would discuss this matter later) he’d still pretty much expected his sleep would be uneasy in spite of the exhaustion, full of nightmares.
But instead, he woke up feeling weirdly refreshed. He vaguely remembered the dream he’d had, something about splashing around in the countryside and having something to look for. True, he hadn’t been able to find his quarry in the dream, either, but that hadn’t bothered him so much when he drifted out of sleep. A new calmness had settled inside him, very different from the lethargic feeling he’d had when he sat at his desk for so long the day before. He hummed a theme from an old anime as he got up, went to the bathroom, got dressed, drew a comb through his hair a good number of times and then went to the kitchen.
There was rice left in the rice cooker -- was it Kagura’s or Shinpachi’s doing? Neither of them was here right now, but looking around, he figured they must both have been in earlier. Sadaharu was back, gently snoring in a corner, and his moped keys lay on the kitchen table. Next to the keys was a note in Shinpachi’s neat handwriting.
The note said, ‘We’ve heard the news and we’re out looking, too. Please call Katsura-san when you’re up. I parked the moped at the usual place. By the way, you really should get a more reliable mobile phone.’
“Sheesh, with what money, four-eyes? Stop nagging me!” commented Gintoki out loud, but he did go to check that his crappy, beat-up, second-hand mobile was indeed plugged in and fully charged by now. Then he finished breakfast and his latest JUMP magazine, put on his boots and went outside (being careful not to rouse Otose’s attention); he got on his moped and set off for Edo’s central railway station, guided by pretty much nothing but instinct. Or perhaps just a whim, who knew.
The space terminal was just one of Edo’s dragon holes, the other four remained to be investigated… But he was already convinced he needed to look beyond the city. He didn’t have any idea which destination he should choose, or even which direction he should look in, but he told himself that once he was at the train station, seeing the big screens of arrivals and departures, he might just know. And once he knew, he’d find some way to scrounge up the money for a train ticket.
Of course, the central train station was itself very close to the space terminal, but he found he was just fine returning there again already. This was different. It was a new day!
And he couldn’t just stay home and wait and do nothing. Not when it came to this.
His mobile phone rang just as he stood outside the station being busy locking up his moped.
“What’s up?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, though his calm was already shakier. He’d recognized Zura’s number on the display screen right away.
“Gintoki, do you think you can be in Edo Station in about two hours?”
He took a moment to boggle, then rallied, “Shouldn’t be that much of a problem given that I’m there right now already.” Where the hell did you go, Zura? And what happened there?? he wanted to shout, but… it was better to wait it out, he knew that.
“You are?” Zura sounded baffled. “But how did you-- Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I will be coming in on the 3:23 train on platform 2E. I’m-- I’m bringing someone. Can you meet us?”
“Zura…”
“Look--” Zura started to sound defensive “--I simply have to get away for a meeting I can’t get out of by four o’clock. Also I need to return a late library book today. I blew the month’s budget on these damn train tickets, so please just trust me and come meet us in time.”
“You -- I-- that’s just an exaggeration, stop that, I know you have reserves these days, you haven’t blown anything!” Gintoki fumed, taking refuge in irrelevant small stuff. “You’re just sulking because you think you’ve got a thrifty reputation to uphold! Forget that, nobody is thinking you’re some kind of thrift genius, everybody knows you’re primarily and utterly a lunatic!” Also, do you believe that your phone is under surveillance, or would you just be cryptic regardless?
“It’s not lunatic, it’s Katsura. A part-time teacher doesn't make much money! Just come to the platform in time, Gintoki. I have things to do and you need to be there.”
He hung up.
Gintoki sighed, finished locking his moped, and entered the big, crowded railway station. He told himself it wouldn’t be too bad to just sit and take it easy for two hours. He could watch the crowd, especially the girls in mini-kimonos, and maybe be able to bum a cup of coffee from some naive tourists.
But…
If it had been just the boy that Zura had found, with no ancient memories unlocked in him, then Gintoki was pretty much 100% certain that Zura would have made that fact clearer. If he had run into some totally different person who was somehow relevant right now, he’d have hinted at that, too. But just saying ‘I’m bringing someone’ and nothing else --
He felt lightheaded; he knew he should find a place to sit down sooner rather than later. His fingers were reaching into empty space, all on their own. As if trying to grab hold of something invisible. He unclenched them and breathed out, slowly.
And instead of sitting down at some cosy spot somewhere in the main hall to watch the crowd from, he found himself walking onwards and continuing directly to platform 2E to wait for the train right there. Even if it took hours.
This was where he needed to be.
The train arrived on time with a stream of people pouring out of it, some of them diverted into eddies by other people coming to meet them, while others poured on towards the main hall and eventual exit.
Gintoki waited in the middle of it all. At first he stood still, impassively, but eventually he started to walk back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of one familiar face, maybe two familiar faces. His heart was beating faster now. There were just way too many people here.
“It would just be so like that bastard to come back sneaking up on me,” he mumbled to himself, shooting a quick look behind him. “Repeating his fucking manga introduction and everything...”
“But you make it so easy,” a voice said in his ear.
Gintoki froze. He turned his head, slowly.
“Middle-aged guy,” the young man in front of him adds. There is a sloppily hidden sword at his side, and in one hand he’s carrying an incongruous picnic basket.
Gintoki stood very still. It was one thing to believe yourself prepared, to come up with some witty words in advance, to figure out what should be the right way to conduct yourself… No, no, no, he couldn’t hold onto it, to hell with all the expectations of coolness, and he didn’t care if this guy would have preferred to cross swords with him as a greeting instead. He stopped second-guessing himself and surged forward, grabbing Takasugi -- yes it’s him, yes it’s him, yes it’s him -- by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth and back and forth and left and right. Touching, smelling, seeing.
He ruffled his hair and pulled at one of his ears -- that earned him a hair-pulling in retaliation, which he ignored -- he looked in stunned wonder at the intact left eye, noted the small differences in facial traits (and height, hm) that proved it really was Shin-chan’s body after all, just grown even older now -- and leaned in close not even caring what onlookers might think. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
He grabbed him tighter instead, and Takasugi hissed and glared but didn’t actually try to squirm out of his grip.
“...Where the hell did Zura go?” Gintoki finally managed to say, his voice hoarse and his tongue thick.
“Claimed he had an appointment to keep and ran away.” Takasugi’s voice was dry, he was rolling his eyes. “Stuck me with this damn basket.”
Gintoki frowned. “Could have stuck around for a few minutes at least,” he muttered. “If that’s a real appo in the first place.” One moment’s hesitation, but then he acted, not wishing to lose the momentum and give too much of it to this guy instead; who knows what he’d do? “Come on.” He stepped back and let go of Takasugi’s shoulders, instead seizing his sleeve and pulling him towards the nearest flight of stairs leading away from the platform. “There’s got to be a bar somewhere near here.”
“You’re planning on letting a minor pay? What a sleaze.” Takasugi allowed himself to be pulled along for a few steps, then elbowed him and grabbed his sleeve back. But he kept up with him side by side.
“Minor? Maybe according to your faked birth certificate, but you look old enough to vote or rent a porno video to me,” replied Gintoki. “And yeah, I don’t have any money on me so you’re paying.”
The bar they found was just two streets away from the railway station and was rather small and dark, but at least it wasn’t some overpriced tourist trap. Takasugi looked pretty exhausted once he flopped down in a corner, even though he’d presumably done nothing these past couple of hours but sit his ass in a train car. The waiter brought them a bottle of sake and two cups, plus a bowl of dried squid snacks.
“Zura didn’t tell me a single fucking thing except to come meet your train,” said Gintoki, pouring out sake for the other. “Where did he find you? It was by a dragon hole, right?”
Takasugi wiped his hands on the towel by the table and took a dried squid. “Yes. I don’t know if you’ve been there, it’s in a grove in a forest in the [X] prefecture not that far from the sea.” He poured sake into Gintoki’s cup.
“Oh. Yeah, I know that one.” Gintoki took a drink, musing. “Pretty place. That was the last place I went to before I found Shōyō by the sea shrine.”
“I wondered what would have happened if I’d gone to that shrine instead.”
“You’d have been pretty damn cold, for one thing.”
“Hnh.”
“Tatsuma… Tatsuma wrote something. Before. After Matako had found you.” Gintoki holds out his cup for a refill, then finishes it in one go. “He thought it might have been Shōyō that brought your soul back in the first place. If it was you. We never really knew for sure, you know.”
Takasugi was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Then he took another drink and said, calmly, “It’s possible he was right. I think I was supposed to be all cleansed. A new person entirely. But like an inky black cloud, the darkness from my past couldn't go away completely, and since I couldn't be dragged to Hell after all, or be stuck as a ghost on this plane, it leaked into what was supposed to be my new life.”
“Whaddya mean it leaked into? How?”
“I could sense it, I guess?” Takasugi made an impatient gesture and ate some more dried squid. “The new me could tell the old me was still out there in a way and I decided I wanted it back. So, here I am. With all these rubbish memories." He waved dismissively into the air -- and towards Gintoki.
Gintoki groaned, hiding his face in his hand. "Man," he muttered, tongue feeling thick, "you're sounding exactly like I figured you'd sound if you ever managed to come back. Fucking edgelord. I need more booze.” He filled his cup himself this time. “Let’s get a new bottle, this one’s almost empty.”
“You pay for it this time. You probably have some money hidden in your pocket, you damn con man.” Takasugi grabbed the bottle back from Gintoki and poured out the last of the sake into his own cup. “The boy didn’t go away, you know,” he added, rocking the cup slightly, letting the liquid swish around before he drank again. “I’m still him.”
“So you’re really a literal infant, huh?” Gintoki waved at the waiter and ordered a new bottle. They could fight about who would pay what once the bill came.
“I’m in the prime of my life, unlike certain middle-aged guys who are probably going to lose half their hair soon.”
Gintoki glared at him, not wanting to reveal a certain fear he felt related to this guy’s rapid aging -- what if it couldn’t be slowed down? But at least he was back for now, at least there was that much -- “You’re going to regret saying that, damn brat,” he said. “You don’t have your old muscle memory back, do you? Let alone your actual old muscles and endurance. I bet I could beat you with my hands tied against my back with just a twig in my mouth, the way you are now.”
“Hooo?” Takasugi leaned away, grinning nastily. “Those are brave words indeed. I might need a few days getting my body in order, but I’ll be sure to take you up on the offer.” He snatched the bottle out of Gintoki's hand to fill his own cup first, ignoring Gintoki's grousing. “The new me will have fun beating up on the damn skeezy guy who kept lurking in the shadows as he grew up, too. Too scared to have an actual conversation, were you?”
“Hey! I-- I wasn’t there all that often! And I had my reasons not to intrude! I figured out the new you was meant to be happy and fine, and whole and at peace, but nooo, he just had to go the edgelord route and throw away all that?” Gintoki subsided as the waiter returned, asking if they wanted something more to eat, and ordered some fried chicken karaage for them both, although Takasugi interrupted and insisted on getting sashimi instead.
“Seriously,” Gintoki resumed as the waiter left again, “you realize that the new you has got pretty much exactly the personality profile of some daft teenager in an anime who wants to do dark magic for the fun of it and gets it into the head to summon some dumbass demon? Learn some preservation instincts, already!!”
“Ha, you said ‘demon’,” said Takasugi, leaning his head in his palm and smirking at him. “You were the one who always made fun of the word Kiheitai in the first place.”
“It was a metaphor, a metaphor!”
“Don’t bother me over some stupid metaphor! Come back and complain once you’ve been reincarnated, idiot!”
Their food arrived and they sat and munched in silence for a while. Gintoki realized that Takasugi had just been better at getting a rise out of him than the other way around, which seemed against the natural order of things. Well, maybe he could see it as a ‘welcome back’ gift, seeing as Gin didn’t have the money to pay for the bar bill.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked. “For a job, I mean.”
“Haven’t really given it much thought yet,” said Takasugi. “First step is getting good identity papers so I’ll get an official age that matches my look. After that, I’ll see. Maybe I’ll get into smuggling.”
“Just become a host or something. If Okita could do it… I hate to admit it, but you always scored high on the popularity polls. Women like that kind of bad-boy air. Like Vegeta.”
“Doesn’t really matter these days now that the manga is over, does it?” Takasugi finished his sashimi and put his chopsticks away. “I’m not like certain dumbass main characters who can’t stand not to be in the centre of things anymore.”
Gintoki stared. “You… You’ve finally… You can see through the fourth wall!”
Takasugi wiped his face. “It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, this meta awareness,” he said. “Now that I know what you two meant by all that ridiculous nonsense you’d be spouting… Well, honestly I can finally appreciate you’re even bigger morons than I thought you were.”
“I’m so proud of you.” Gintoki clapped him on the back and ruffled his hair energetically, choking a little. “I knew you could do it! One day, I knew even you would be able to-- !!”
“Fucking-- stop that-- !! Takasugi squirmed and bit Gintoki on the wrist.
“Ow! Stop overreacting!” Gintoki whacked him over the head.
“You stop being a jerk!” Takasugi pulled his hair.
“A jerk? I was being happy for you, eighth-grade bastard--”
“Like hell you were!”
“Hey, don’t take it out on me that you’re lousy at fighting now--”
“I’ll show you lousy at fighting, shithead--”
The waiter turned up and coughed reprovingly. They turned down their volume, muttering half-hearted apologies to him and promising to behave, since the sake was pretty good here and they didn’t feel like being thrown out yet.
“Anyway,” said Gintoki, “I’m sure Zura would be happy to put you up, so don’t you even think about squatting over at my place. My landlady can’t stand retired boss villains.” That was code for, ‘if you have nowhere else to go you’re welcome to stay with me for the moment’.
“Wouldn’t dream of setting my feet inside a pigsty like your home is bound to be,” said Takasugi, drinking deeply. That was most probably code for, ‘yeah, I might just take you up on that, depending’.
“Of course,” Gintoki went on pensively, “with Zura there’s always the risk that Elizabeth can pop up at any moment. He’s supposedly moved out, but you wouldn’t know it just from being there, he’s around all the time… Waving his signs and staring at you. Saying nothing. Being creepy and protective and creepy.”
“Gintoki, are you saying you’re letting yourself get cuckolded by a furry-cosplaying Amanto?” said Takasugi nastily. “How pathetic.”
A full-body shudder ripped through Gintoki. “Don’t even think such things! Zura would rip out your tongue for that, he always claims they’ve got a super-pure relationship, and for my own peace of mind I prefer to believe him. And he’s the one with the NTR kink, not me! Also, we’re not married,” he added belatedly.
“Pervy geezers.” Takasugi filled up Gintoki’s cup to the brim and held out his own. Gintoki didn’t know why they were back to being mannerly, but he followed suit anyway.
He didn’t bother pushing back on the insult. “We’ve got our moments,” he said, shrugging. “Man, I could really go for some ice cream. More bars should serve ice cream, y’know?”
“You’re such an embarrassment.”
“Next you’re going to say, ‘I can’t take you anywhere’”. Gintoki mimicked Takasugi’s voice but put even more of a bored drawl into it. Under the table, he pushed the side of his knee against Takasugi’s thigh, experimentally, half expecting to get pinched for his trouble. Possibly even stabbed.
He got a push in return the same way first, thigh to knee; then a sandalled foot sneaked under one of his booted feet to shove his leg up to the underside of the table.
“Charmless,” commented Gintoki. He leaned his elbow on the table, chin in palm, and gave Takasugi his best dead fish expression.
“Brainless,” countered Takasugi, taking another drink from his cup. When he put it down on the table again, he swiftly reached out and grabbed Gintoki’s other hand, very ungently, letting his nails dig into the hand enough to sting. Then he let go.
Gintoki’s mouth had gone dry. He didn’t move his hand away. He considered pressing his leg against the other’s under the table again, but a thought slowed him down. A part in his chest that felt colder than usual, even as another part was decidedly on the hot side.
“I wonder what Zura was thinking,” he said, drumming his fingers against the table in a slow rhythm. “Why he had to pull that manoeuvre at the train station.”
Takasugi gave him a weighing look, with slightly less of his usual familiar aren’t-you-an-idiot expression. He wasn’t smirking now. “Isn’t that obvious?” He kept his voice low, quiet. “You know how he is.”
Gintoki felt a sudden flash of… not quite anger. Irritation? You haven’t been around for years, you kept yourself apart from us so much before you died, how can you be so sure you still know what we’re like? He breathed out, slowly: it ebbed away from him as quickly as it had come.
He groaned instead, kneading his forehead. “Shouldn’t be this damn difficult,” he mumbled. Now Takasugi was the one pressing his thigh against Gintoki’s knee, not quite as violent this time. A flush was on Gintoki’s cheeks as he coughed and drew himself up to call for the bill.
Takasugi did pay for the bill without much argument, and they left to get Gin’s moped. The weather was bright and sunny outside, still at least one hour till sunset.
“You’re the pervy one,” he said, clearing his throat. “What was that, playing footsies? Poor old Gin-san can’t keep up with these teenage hormones.”
“I know, I know. I could do so much better.” This time, Takasugi’s grin looked more like a real smile than a smirk. That had always been rare. The sunlight made his teeth glint.
Gintoki couldn’t help but smiling, too. “Yeah. But you won’t,” he said simply.
The excuses he’d given weren’t completely fake. He really did have a library book to return, but it could have been renewed by telephone. He also really had an appointment with the Prime Minister herself -- but it was at five o’clock, not four, and it wasn’t actually all that urgent. Soyo had sent him a proposal she wanted his opinions about, but it could have waited until the next day.
Mostly he just wanted to give the other two some time alone. It was the right thing to do. They needed that.
True, he did start doubting himself almost immediately after leaving the train platform, remembering that damned sword. This was Gintoki and Takasugi, after all. And Takasugi might not be as strong as he used to be, without the muscle memory of training hard and fighting hundreds of life-and-death battles, but he did have a real sword tied to his belt while Gintoki would be carrying his wooden sword at best. What if he decided to launch an attack on Gintoki, just like that? Just to see which one was stronger?
And Gintoki in turn might also believe Takasugi to be stronger than he was, now, not sensing the difference in strength or realize how exhausted the man was right now until it was too late… Katsura swore under his breath, and sneaked back to spy on them, just a little. Thankfully they seemed to behave themselves, at least initially, and after he’d tailed them to a nearby izakaya he gave a sigh of relief and slipped away for real.
First he went home to his quiet flat to get rid of his big backpack and suitcase, and also to pick up those government documents and to freshen up. Next off to the library. Then to a nondescript office building in central Tokyo where he used a code to identify himself on the intercom, before being let in and going up a rickety elevator and down several winding corridors before reaching a small room where Soyo and her closest assistant were already waiting for him.
He apologized for being late and they started to go over the new draft proposal: it was a plan that could potentially mean employment both for many ex-Jōi ronin and a number of ex-Bakufu forces, now that things were finally being more peaceful and the Bakufu itself was a thing of the past. It was built on the development and reassessment of a number of earlier projects. Katsura had seen a lot of merits in this new proposal but also had a number of points he thought could use improvement, so the three of them buckled down and started to go through the hefty file together.
Before they were through half of it, he became aware that Soyo and her assistant were glancing at each other, then back at him, and that his hands were trembling. He realized he was mixing up different passages, pointing things up that one of the others had already said, repeating himself.
“Are you all right, Katsura-san?” asked Soyo with concern.
He blinked. “I’m fine, Soyo-dono. I’m sorry, just a little distracted, just a little…” He abruptly started to laugh, and then there were suddenly tears in his eyes and he was laughing through them.
Bewildered and confused, he wiped his eyes and drew deep breaths but the avalanche of small, almost soundless, but insistent chuckles kept coming through. “I’m just happy, I suppose,” he said, realizing it was true as he said it. His hands were trembling, and his knees were shaking, too. He shook his head, swallowed, his chest too full of stinging unreasonable joy. “I’m just… so happy.” There was wonder in his voice. He smoothed his kimono, tried to take a calming sip of tea but swallowed the wrong way and started to cough.
He looked up, ready to apologize again, but the words died on his tongue as he saw Soyo giving him a warm gaze. “It’s all right, Katsura-san. This is fine for now. We can continue this later.”
“But… You’re always so busy… I’ll be fine!” he protested. This was ridiculous; what kind of affliction was “being too stupidly happy” supposed to be? He had to laugh just because of that, then felt embarrassed, cheeks hot.
Soyo leaned over and patted his hand, and her assistant also gave an understanding smile. “I have a gap this Friday, we can fit it in then, if it will be fine with you. Take your time, Katsura-san. You’ve earned it.”
“But… but, but…” he still tried to argue but had to subside, finally, and just nod and take his leave, still feeling a little embarrassed and a little troubled (he liked being of use to people; if he couldn’t be useful, what good was he?); but primarily he just felt weird and lightheaded and stunned. Happy.
A few blocks away there was a small city park, and he walked by its greeny paths still clutching the briefcase with the draft proposal inside, half afraid he’d get so distracted he’d forget it behind him somewhere.
This joy that reverberated in him was strong, it was powerful, but he still thought it could be fragile; he wanted to protect it, he wanted to keep guard over it, and the thought that he could do so was a gladness, too, sinking into his heart. There was carefulness in it, and a certain loneliness, but nothing that wasn’t worth the price, he thought.
Katsura made it home, still feeling like his feet weren't quite touching the ground, left his briefcase, went shopping for groceries. He found himself buying twice as much as he needed, forgetting Elizabeth had moved out – a mistake he hadn't made for months now. No matter, the food would keep in the refrigerator, he told himself; and then went three streets too far on the way home before he realized his mistake.
He cooked and ate dinner, but he wasn't tired, not at all; he started to pace the flat then decided to go take an evening walk and get some use for the energy that kept bubbling up inside him. It was dark out by then, a clear night in spring with cold, crisp air and a few stars bright enough to be seen in the electrified city. There were less and less of badly-lit streets and neighbourhoods, these days; he'd had a hand in making that happen, but he did miss being able to see more of the stars.
The moon must have been behind a big bank of clouds. It came out as he approached a small wooden bridge over a canal. As he set foot on the bridge, he saw a figure on the other side of the canal walking briskly in his direction. The figure reached the bridge when Katsura was at the apex of it, and the moon shone on him, reflecting on his naturally wavy white hair.
Katsura stopped. “Gintoki?”
Gintoki kept walking, stopping when he was right in front of Katsura, barring his way. He looked displeased. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a low voice.
Katsura crossed his arms defensively. “I’m taking an evening walk. Why? What about you?”
“Out looking. For you.”
Startled, Katsura gave him a puzzled look. “You could just call me if you wanted something…”
“You’ve turned off your phone or something.”
“I have? Oh. My mistake.” He must have forgotten to switch his mobile back on after the meeting ended prematurely.
“But that’s just as well. I want to talk eye to eye. You’d just have found another way to evade me if I’d called first.”
Katsura stood silent for a moment. “Did… did things not go well?” he asked haltingly. “Did you two fight?” Had he miscalculated?
“No, no, it went fine!” Gintoki waved energetically. “For being me and him, it went really fine! Of course we fought some, and we kissed some, too, and stuff.”
Katsura gave him a weighing look. There was a faint blush on Gintoki’s cheeks now. He didn’t appear to be lying. And there really was more life in his eyes than usually, much as Katsura had hoped. “Good…” he said. “I wanted that.” His cheeks got a little warm, too.
“Yeah! But you? You just made up some lame excuse so you could run away.”
Katsura twined a strand of hair around his finger. “It wasn’t made up,” he mumbled. “Anyway… you deserved some time alone.”
Gintoki took a step forward. They stood close now: if they’d worn traditional hats their hat rims would have touched each other. “Maybe,” he said, his voice sinking. “But it felt like you were making yourself vanish. Do you want to be on the outside like that?”
Katsura stared at the gravel by his feet. “I just want you to be happy,” he mumbled, voice thick. “Both of you.”
“Yeah, and that gives you a noble, warm feeling, right? Fuck that.” Gintoki was all up in his face now, glaring. “I'll smash that lame careful happiness. Drag you inside so you can take the risks of being selfish and fucking up, just like we do.”
Katsura took a step back, fear and shame and joy mingling in one raging inner bowl of soup. "Gintoki, you shouldn't say that, I-"
He wanted to look away, but Gintoki was making it impossible. Swallowing tightly, staring at him and wondering if he looked as much like a deer crossed in headlights as he felt, he managed, “Yes, I know it’s taking the easy way out, stepping away like that, but... I'll just jinx it. I want you to be fine, not..." If I'm on the outside, I can stand guard over you, was what he wanted to say, but the reasoning felt so thin and unconvincing now. Gintoki wouldn't buy it. He always thought he was the one most suited to be the guard, anyway.
Gintoki waited several long seconds, then reached out gently and held his wrist, his grip very light. “Do you even hear yourself, Zura?” he said, sounding calmer now, but with a hoarseness in his voice. “Out of the three of us... you think you're going to be the jinx?”
A voice broke in, “Heh. But wouldn't it be ironic if that was the case?”
Katsura and Gintoki both started as Takasugi stepped forward into the moonlight right behind Gintoki. How long had he been standing there in the dark?
“You shut up,” they said in chorus.
Katsura added, “You have no say in this,” sniffing haughtily.
Takasugi drew a hand through his head languidly. “See, Gintoki?” he said. “If Zura wants to be on ‘stand-by’ as you called it so damn much, who are we to stop him? He might well be happier that way. That’s a kink of yours, isn’t it, Zura?”
Katsura flushed. “What do you mean… No, it’s not!” He suddenly struggled with the urge to whap Takasugi over the head. “It’s not that I like to do it, it’s just that…"
Gintoki stepped closer again, so near his breath felt warm on Kasura’s cheek. From gripping Katsura’s wrist he moved to cupping Katsura’s hand between his hands. “Listen, Zura, you’re a pain in the neck whenever you grouse about being on stand-by as if people should just magically know when you want company. But that’s still loads better than when you just go silent and fade away. I hate that. You should stop doing that.”
“Oi!” With a glare, Takasugi stepped closer, too, grabbing Katsura’s free hand and yanking his upper body away from Gintoki. “Why are you two standing so close right out in public?” he growled. “Stop that. You’re not allowed.”
Gintoki burst out laughing. “See, Zura? Isn’t he cute when he’s jealous? Suuure, you totally don’t care what Zura does, you’re completely convincing us, you edgelord.”
“Is that tobacco I smell on you?” said Katsura with a frown, looking suspiciously at Takasugi, heat remaining in his face. There was a confused but growing warmth in his chest, too. “Have you already taken up that bad habit again? Gintoki!” He cleared his throat, now acutely aware of their nearness, their scents, their lips and how close they were to his. Jealous or not, Takasugi hadn’t been wrong that this was no way to behave in public, even at night.
“What?” asked Gintoki, now gently rubbing Katsura’s one hand, thumb stroking his palm and the other fingers working the other side, almost but not quite tickling him.
“You were supposed to keep an eye on him!”
Meanwhile, Takasugi, watching this display with narrowing eyes, raised Katsura’s other hand and first kissed his knuckles, then nibbled on them. Katsura flushed even darker, very off-balance now, but finally wrenched both his hands free. Trying to decide his next move, he jumped high as he heard meaningful coughs from behind him, and they had to move to make way for three chatting old grannies to cross the narrow bridge carrying grocery bags. Katsura had to remind himself it wasn’t actually so late that grocery stores wouldn’t be open, not in these days with the increased safety in the neighbourhood.
“This is silly. You’re both being silly.” Katsura drew his warm scarf around himself and started to walk home. “Inconsiderate and irresponsible and destructive…!”
He huffed as he walked, but the other two walked alongside him, on each side.
“Zura, you know we can’t be responsible for this brat our whole lives,” said Gintoki, picking his nose and patting Katsura on the back. “You’ve got to let the little bird fly out of the nest eventually.”
“Zura, you know you can just ditch this guy and put him on standby,” said Takasugi, immediately putting his own arm around Katsura’s waist, maybe more possessively than supportingly. “He’s not the main character anymore, the manga’s over. It will even be good for him. Teach him discipline.”
They entered the sidestreet where Katsura lived, not letting go of him till they all reached his building’s front door. He sighed, contriving to look put-upon. “Like anything could teach either of you discipline,” he muttered. He dug into his sleeves for his house-keys.
His chest felt hot, burning, too much of everything there, fear and joy and desire and grief and a relief that flooded like a river. And too much need, too much yearning, surely they didn’t need him anywhere near the same way…
“I meant what I said, Zura,” Gintoki’s voice said, clear in the night. Katsura, whose hands had been fumbled with the keys, paused. “I’ll smash it. And he’s going to help.”
“Gintoki’s talking rubbish, I’m not here to help him with any of his stupid shonen hero stuff,” said Takasugi. “But stop imagining you’re not mine.”
Gintoki rolled his eyes at this, and the two of them glared at each other as if trying to start something, which at least would have been familiar territory. But then they abruptly stopped and just turned to look at Katsura instead, who still said nothing. He opened the outer door, led them inside the building, up the creaky wooden stairs, then unlocked the door to his flat and let them in. His skin felt full of tiny little pinpricks. He had run out of words and there was no script in his head for this.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, voice heavy. He closed the door behind them, supporting himself on Takasugi as he bent down to take his shoes off. “It’s just that-- can we really be like this, can we be--” he didn’t quite dare to say happy -- “What if we really would be jinxing it-- demanding too much--” He reached out to the backs of their heads, pulling them close, touching their foreheads with his own, breathing them in.
“Oh, stop it already!” Takasugi shoved at Katsura, then grabbed him for real, pushing him towards the wall and finally, finally kissing him deeply. Katsura held him tightly and kissed him back, trying to drink him in, his scent, the whole heady mix of strength and impatience, charisma and hunger. Perhaps finally soothed just enough not to burn himself out. “Seriously, you need to rebel more,” he added at the end of the kiss.
“Hnf,” said Gintoki, pushing himself closer. His hands were making a room for themselves inside Katsura’s kimono, now stroking his bare chest. “Don’t listen to that edgelord,” he mumbled, a humming undertone in his voice that he would only get when he felt really happy, Katsura knew. That incredibly comforting presence brimming with strength and compassion, so deserving of all that was good in this world. “Just take it easy and ride the moment. Just relax and stay with me. Idiot."
Katsura shivered, then laughed helplessly. “Well-- well, then,” he said hoarsely, breath catching. He wanted to say, If you won’t let me stand guard over you, then you’d better shape up so I don’t need to worry. But it became too complicated, all of a sudden, his mind overwhelmed and his mouth and tongue finding better and more fun things to do, so he supposed he just had to show them how to apply themselves, and then even that thought flew out of his brain in favour of more immediate actions and sensations. He let himself be coaxed into the strongest stream in the rushing river of this now, this here, where he allowed himself, finally, to let go and be swept along, clutching at the other two, guiding them and being guided; together, and together, and together.
--end.
: The forest shrine where Katsura finds Takasugi is inspired by the one seen in manga chapter 679, page 10, panel 8.
Big thanks to plipdragon particularly for great concrit, general feedback, and encouragement! I am also very grateful to everyone else who has encouraged me to keep going and have responded positively to seeing the chapter or parts of the chapter early. ♥♥♥ As always, constructive criticism and all kinds of feedback are very welcome.
This chapter ended up so long that I don't think I can crosspost it to Livejournal (?). And the fic as a whole has actually now become my second longest fic ever! I did not foresee that.
The chapter title and the cut text are references to the lyrics in the song "Bokutachi no kisetsu" by DOES, featured in the first animated Gintama movie.
Fic title: There's No Together, There's No Apart, There's Only Impossible Longing
Chapter: 5/5 (plus prologue)
Chapter Title: Like Unfinished Works, We Sway And Sway, And Still We Keep On Playing
Word Count: 11669
Fandom: Gintama
Fic status: complete!
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura/Takasugi: Gintoki/Katsura, Katsura/Takasugi, Takasugi/Gintoki
Rating: PG for this chapter I think; PG-13 for the fic as a whole
Summary: A story about Gintoki, Katsura and Takasugi told through various scenes and fragments.
Spoilers/setting: This chapter is set several years after the end of canon
Author's notes and disclaimer in the prologue post
Continued from Chapter 4
When it came unleashed, when what he’d called out for careened towards him, when it seemed to reach him, to touch him -- then at first all the sounds of the world utterly vanished, and the shapes and colours fell away too; there was only silence and blankness, like a page unwritten. Except he thought he could hear the sound of a pen from far away, scritching and scritching, for a few long, long seconds. He couldn’t move a millimetre. He could hardly even think of moving. The power was moving through him, over him, pulsating heavily.
Then he was surrounded by fiercely running water, pressing in on him, throwing him around, sending huge strong waves against him -- doing everything except drowning him, because he could still breathe, strangely, as if the power that pulsated in him now (in a gleaming and blinking way, different from the feel of the continuous stream, but converging on it) had temporarily endowed him with gills. But the violence of the stream, of eddies and counterstreams and waves still took his breath away from him, he felt as if he’d been punched many times over till he finally, finally reached a shore, lying there naked.
He ought to shiver with cold, but that sensation itself drained away; there was no freezing cold to focus on, to take refuge in. There was only him, the unseen other him, and then -- still intangible at first and just out of reach, then all of a sudden crowding in, filling everything up, sight and sound and smell and touch, a cacophonic chaos here to name, to change, to possess, to engulf, to grab, to hold, to give, to devour, to deplete, to enrich, to rage, to be everywhere, finally -- they came, the memories.
Katsura dreamt that he could see a high grassy plain through which several people, seen at a distance as fuzzy shadows, were hurrying back and forth, but without any clear view of where they should be going. He saw all of this from afar, from above, as if it were part of a map or a model, but at the same time he was also down there as one of the shadows (this kind of double-being wasn’t uncommon for him in dreams). The air was mild and flowery, not yet too hot or humid, as in late spring. The wind bore a fresh scent of cedar and salt.
At this point he started to become aware of the sound of running water. Even though it was salt he had smelled, it was the sound of a rushing stream he could hear, not the heavy beat of ocean waves meeting the coastline. He stopped being divided in two and was just one person in the grass, turning around as he tried to locate the source of the sound. Those other flittering, uncertain shadow-figures on the plain were all gone now, and he stood alone.
Slowly, he started to move towards what seemed the direction of the sound, even though all he could see was the grass around him, stretching out and waving in the breeze, fading into mist in the distance. The more he walked, the more real and solid the plain felt: the straws of grass pressed against his legs and kimono, and he had to take care not to stumble on the uneven ground. He knew he was himself as always, but he felt so simple and unquestioning, so oddly whole, more like a peacefully browsing animal than his normal muddled human self. He rather liked that thought.
It seemed he was carrying a picnic basket, with rice cakes and a tea thermos and a blanket. The sun was nice, and it was tempting to just sit down in the grass and think of nothing, letting the wind pass him by. But the scent drove him onward, the stream he couldn’t see pulled at him, and he thought to himself, No, we can have a picnic together once I get there… He didn’t actually know who “we” included, but it made sense to think like that, the way things do in dreams.
Sometimes he had to adjust his direction a little, to match when the sound of running water changed as well. Still looking down at the ground, he started to notice signs of nearby trees. There were pinecones and needles in the grass, but also old fallen leaves from maples, willows, birches…. Raising his head, far away inside the mist he thought he could see a few high tree-like shadows.
There was a sense of, of roundness in the air, as if he was very close to some kind of completion, of fulfillingness. He knew he shouldn’t dawdle, the stream might grow quiet again, but he strode forward with a sense of faith and utter trust. Almost as if Sensei was there. Maybe Sensei was the breeze, guiding him onwards?
He didn’t have the picnic basket anymore, his hands were empty, but they were reaching out as if trying to grab the vibrant air. As he came closer to the shadows of the trees in the mist, he thought: I have seen something like this before… a group of trees looking just like this... But was there a river back then?
Just as he thought he would be able to put his finger on something which was truly vital and necessary, a harsh sound interrupted everything.
The grassy plain fell away, and he was sitting in his bedroom in darkness, his telephone ringing all too noisily a metre away.
He didn’t get many telephone calls in the middle of the night these days, but old habits die hard. He quickly sat up on his haunches, grabbed his clothes, wallet and keys with one hand while his other hand picked up the telephone. “Yes?” he said, backing towards the half-opened window behind him as he spoke. It was still dark outside. He thought there was a smell of lilacs in the air, for a moment, but that couldn’t be right: it was far too early in spring for lilacs.
“Oi, Zura.”
Gintoki’s voice was hoarse and sounded very tired.
“Not Zura, Katsura. What is it?”
“I’ve… I kinda…” A pause. Then, “It’s happening, Zura. But he’s not here.”
Katsura swallowed, the hand holding the phone feeling sweaty all of a sudden. “You sound really tired, Gintoki,” he pointed out. “Are you drunk? You know, I don’t believe I’ve read the manuscript for this scene, I can’t keep up with you.”
“I’m at the space terminal. Matako told me. Nobume, too. And my phone stopped working. There’s payphones here. I had to go look -- Zura, he might be coming back. The boy. He’s started looking. Nobume, he talked to her, he… and now he’s run away.”
“...The space terminal? You think he might have gone there?”
“I thought, maybe. Nobume told him about the dragon holes. And now he’s run away… But I’ve looked and looked and if he were here I’d know by now, yes it’s a huge place but -- I would sense him -- I’ve been all over…”
“I understand,” said Katsura in a low tone. Gintoki sounded absolutely dead on his feet. “Go home and get some sleep, Gintoki. I’ll take over. I’ll call you when I find something.”
“Shinpachi -- Kagura-- I was goin’ to call ‘em too but these stupid payphones are so complicated--” His speech started to slur, but by this point Katsura could hear the nuance that it was from exhaustion and not, probably, from drink.
“I’ll call Leader and Shinpachi-kun and explain in a few hours,” promised Katsura. “When it’s no longer nighttime. Gintoki, you need to go home… or wait, do you have money for a taxicab?” He doubted that this extremely fatigued Gintoki was in a state to get himself home by public transit. Maybe Kagura could go get him with Sadaharu? But she was always so crotchety and muddle-headed when roused at night. Maybe Katsura ought to call a cab himself and go get Gintoki… Really, he supposed Gintoki would be fine sleeping in a seat somewhere at the terminal if he had to, but Katsura didn’t like having him be there longer than he needed to. Perhaps he would have very dark dreams.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll manage,” mumbled Gintoki, “I’m not that out of it, wighead.” Then he hung up on him.
Katsura sighed, rubbing his forehead, letting go of that mild worry: Gintoki would be fine, at least physically. He thought for a second about calling Elizabeth and sharing this news, but no, it was the same as with Shinpachi and Kagura: too early to call people and wake them up. Elizabeth had his own flat these days, although it was only a stone’s throw away and he came over to Katsura’s place all the time. Katsura wrote a note on the kitchen table for him, just in case he wouldn’t be able to reach him on the mobile phone later. Then he made himself a cup of tea and tried to focus. Just now, while Gintoki had been talking, Katsura had had a flash in his mind of the dream he’d awoken from. What had been in it, again? Grass, an invisible river?
And those high trees, peering through the mist…
He froze. He put his cup down without drinking. Yes. Wasn’t that… it was, wasn’t it?
When Gintoki had left Edo for those two years searching for dragon holes, Katsura, staying behind to play the politics game, had also obtained a map of dragon holes himself.
Bit by bit, he had memorized it, looking up descriptions of each and every site. Later, during the years that followed, he had gone to visit many of those dragon holes on excursions away from the city -- usually when he was already travelling for a different reason, but not always.
And he recalled it now, a shrine not terribly far from here, perhaps two hours away by train… A shrine in a grove, with high trees and sacred cords tying them together, on elevated ground within a larger forest. A beautiful and peaceful place. The trees had been pine and maple, with willows and birches nearby… And the mental picture matched those shades in the mist of his dream.
“All right,” he said out loud to himself. “I will go there first.”
Three hours later he’s sitting on a solar-powered train rushing through the outskirts of Edo. He’s brought a completely sensible and practical backpack which is not in any way going overboard, although it is perhaps rather fully packed. He’s also brought a likewise completely practical suitcase. And a picnic basket to round things off, because why not?
He’s called Shinpachi and Kagura and has texted Elizabeth, but he hasn’t told any of them exactly where he’s going, preferring to stay vague just in case he’s wrong after all. It’s obviously much too early to call Gintoki, whom Shinpachi has confirmed made it home all right and is sleeping soundly by now. Gintoki did call the youngsters right after he talked to Katsura after all. Sometimes, against all odds, the man can learn; Katsura will give him that much.
The calendar says spring, but it felt chilly as he walked to the train station in the early morning, and it looks even colder outside the train windows in the countryside. Nothing like the mild, clement weather in Katsura’s dream. He thinks back on the dream again, trying to summon the deep faith and serenity that filled him then. But his head is too full of thoughts spinning every which way, and he feels at the same time giddy with heady optimism and jumpy with busy, bouncy anxiety. His fingers are drumming on the small foldable table before him, his legs won’t be entirely still, and he doesn’t have the patience to read a book, or catch up on news, or even look at soothing pet pictures on his phone.
He tries to smooth it all down, tries to take calming breaths. Everything will be okay, he tells himself. This will be good for Gintoki. It will make him happy. It’s easier to think of a happy outcome in those terms.
Surely it will be fine. And then it will heal a big gaping wound in Gintoki, and his eyes will come alive much more often, and he will dare to be happy more thoroughly.
He looks out through the window again, as the train goes past a small industrial area, then suburbs and more suburbs, then farms and wood that have only barely started to turn green. It will be awhile still until the cherry trees are in bloom.
He thinks, I will step back. I will do this, I will bring him back, yes. I have a picnic basket and everything. And then I will step back, and he will be fine. They will both be fine.
It’s on that note, finally, that his motions calm down, his breathing turns slower, and he’s able to reach a sense of peacefulness once more. His head is turned again to the window, but other landscapes fill his mind’s eye for most of the remaining journey.
He reaches the right town, disembarks from the train and eventually makes it to the right country road, a little disoriented since his map is out of date and the town has seen new building projects in the intervening years. It’s now mid-morning, and the weather doesn’t seem to be able to make up its mind. One moment it’s mostly sunny (if still cold) with just a couple of clouds in the sky, next it’s mostly cloudy with just a few blue streaks in the sky and the air feeling raw and humid. It makes Katsura think of all the hidden energy in the ground waiting to get strong enough to leap up and spring into green leaf and blossom.
There aren’t many pedestrians or vehicles coming down this road in either direction. And once he turns left on a more narrow road still, soon making its way into the woods, it’s even more deserted. The gray-brown landscape with a few green and yellow spots reminds him of long, lonely journeys after the end of the war. But the early spring flowers are cheering.
His hands and feet are tingling, knowing that in a few more bends of the meandering forest road, the sacred grove will come into view.
(Meanwhile, over in Edo, Gintoki is still asleep but no longer in a deep dreamless state. He finds himself walking through narrow alleys, up on dark crowded steps, the darkness closing in on him as he keeps walking, hunting for the hint of a distant light, a spark to catch even if it might burn him… After a while, he starts to become aware of the sound of running water: it doesn’t seem to fit the crowded urban darkness around him, sounding like a brook in springtime, rushing down a hillside after the rain. Perhaps the brook is hiding behind the great brick wall to Gintoki’s right. Perhaps he can even hear them, faintly, the voices of children splashing around in the water; and smell the faint ghost of their scent, and of the trees.
He knows, on some level, that he’s dreaming. But he has an image of himself lying asleep in the shade under a tree, close to such a rushing brook, instead of his familiar bedroom in Kabuki-chô. The part of him that knows he’s asleep still believes he is somewhere far away from the city.)
Katsura pauses to drink some water from his picnic basket. A large cumulus cloud covers the sun, and a cold wind makes him shiver. He digs into his backpack for the big red scarf that Kagura gave him as a birthday present last June, wraps it around his neck and goes on.
The road bends, and he’s met by the sight of three trees lying fallen right across it. They’re not the only ones, either -- as he looks around, he can see a number of trees that have toppled over on both sides of the road and further into the forest. It must have happened very recently, or the road would have been cleared by now.
But it’s easy enough to step over the tree trunks, and as the grove and its shrine finally come into view a few minutes later, he sees to his relief that the trees in the shrine itself are still standing. Other trees lie fallen around it, but the shrine trees stand tall and strong, and the sacred cord still holds and hasn’t been torn.
But… Is his dream coming alive? There’s no grand river, of course, but as he leaves the road proper for the path that goes right to the shrine, he finds a small brook running at his side. The shrine is standing on slightly elevated ground, so the water runs downhill from it. Kastura can’t remember any brook being here when he came here before, a few years ago.
And the littering is new, too. There’s a shoe lying on his path, and another shoe on top of a bush ten metres away. Further up, there’s a pair of torn black jeans and a torn-up black sweater. Right by the shrine’s boundary, a white t-shirt is hanging from a branch, also ripped up. A prickle is running down Katsura’s spine, and he sweats as he claps his hands and enters the shrine.
It’s a dragon hole, a source of Altana… But now there is also a source of water in the midst of the shrine, where the tiny brook comes from. This also wasn’t here before. This is new. And right next to the spring is a young man, lying on the mossy ground, breathing slowly with eyes closed, swept in nothing but a gray blanket.
There is nobody else here right now. Katsura kneels at his side, opens his backpack, drags out a thicker blanket, extra clothes, a spare bottle of water… but first he puts the man’s head into his lap, very carefully.
He bends down and blows hot air into the other man’s ear.
“Wake up, you.” That’s all he whispers, his tongue too thick and heavy to form more words than that.
The man frowns, scrunches his eyelids tight. Katsura pokes his cheek; he finally opens his eyes, taking a long, deep breath.
He blinks, and blinks again. Looks up at him. Then he manages to grin.
“Hey…” he says in a hoarse, weak voice, “I didn’t sign up to be greeted by this kind of middle-aged face. Get a new wig, Zura.”
Katsura gasps, sputters. “Why, you…!” He scowls. “Is that any way to talk to your sempai? Just because I have a few crows’ feet now! And there’s nothing wrong with my hair!”
He uncorks the spare water bottle and holds it out. “Here, drink some water, you fool! What the hell did you do to your clothes, anyway? Good thing I brought a spare kimono and more!” He points to the pile of clothing next to them: besides the ochre kimono there’s also a white underkimono, a haori, a pair of socks and two sandals. Katsura has come prepared.
Takasugi takes the bottle and drinks the water without answering. Katsura does his best to wrap the blanket he brought around him without moving him too much. Then he roots inside his picnic basket and as soon as Takasugi has lowered the water bottle he hands him a homemade rice ball. “Eat,” he says shortly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” mutters Takasugi. But he's already started chewing on the rice ball. For a moment Katsura is reminded how similar he and Gintoki can be. He valiantly resists the impulse to wipe stray rice grains off Takasugi’s face. Instead he scrutinizes it. The man looks healthy, has both eyes intact, no rings underneath either of them, a good hue to his face; his facial features, however, aren’t exactly like how Katsura remembers them from back in the day. Just like how it was with child Shinsaku, his current features are close to those he had in his former life, but not identical.
“Kind of like when a cartoonist starts to draw a new manga and reuses character designs,” he mumbles to himself. “Or even the difference between the start and end of a manga with the same character.” Takasugi glances up at him and gives him a dry look, but only reaches for the water bottle.
After he’s had some more water, he mutters, “Don’t wanna lie like this. Help me sit up.” Katsura lets out a put-upon sigh, but does pull him up and then adjusts his seating so Takasugi can lean against his back for a few minutes.
They sit like that, back to back, for a while. The sun glitters on the spring’s surface.
Takasugi is taking long, slow breaths.
He moves, sits up straighter, and reaches for the picnic basket wordlessly. Katsura hands him a fishcake this time around, then the thermos with green tea. As he pours out tea for him, he says, “You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?”
“Well, you’ve long had a good information network,” observes Takasugi, munching on the fishcake. “You can be hard to shake.”
This is so typical of Takasugi, not wanting to look uncool by expressing surprise. Katsura has to smile. “Be like that, then,” he says. “Anyway, it was just a dream.” He pauses, then adds, “I see you’ve been causing havoc on the landscape; how typical. What on earth happened to your clothes?”
Takasugi closes his eyes again. “I don’t really know,” he mumbles, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “S’ all pretty hazy.” He looks cold, so Katsura adjusts the blanket he brought, wrapping it tighter around him.
Everything was still and sunlit. There was the sound of trees rustling in the wind, traffic noise in the distance, the burbling from a brook close by, and the sound of Zura’s long, patient breathing.
Crows were cawing.
Chirps from small birds, calls from song birds. And… wasn’t that the call of the lesser cuckoo, the hototogisu so fabled in poetry ? But it was too early in spring for that…
Well, here he was. Too early for him to be here too, in this state. He shouldn’t be alive at all. Or he should be nothing but a blithely ignorant young child, as small as his calendar years said he should be. This second time around.
He couldn’t hear that bird call again. Maybe it had only been a passing aural hallucination.
Maybe Zura was only a passing hallucination as well, just affecting more of the senses. The thought made him chuckle.
But no. He sat up straighter again, adjusting his seating. He wouldn’t fall for that line of thinking. He hadn’t come back all this way back to the world -- or, put another way, he hadn’t left home and gone here to get his older self back -- just to start thinking life was all about common sense. There shouldn’t have been any hototogisu singing, but there was. That was all.
He finished the second fishcake and a tiny octopus-shaped sausage, wiping his greasy fingers on Zura’s blanket. It was only now he noticed the small spring’s presence in the shrine. When had that happened? He had been too swept-up in the metaphysics last night, not really aware of how the whole event affected his physical surroundings.
“There should be a sword here somewhere, and the sheath for it,” he said. “Also my leather satchel.”
“Oh, so you expect me to go looking for them? You need to learn to take better care of your things… a sword? What do you mean, a sword?” Zura had already started wandering around the shrine area. “You’re far too small for a sword. I mean, young. I mean… you know what I mean!”
“Don’t knock it, I used that sword to get some punks off my back on the way here.” He poured more tea from the thermos, wishing it had held booze instead. “It’s a gift from the director of the police department, if you can believe it.”
“...Hmph. she’s so capricious. Really, what a thing to do… huh. There’s a book here.”
Takasugi turns his head to see Zura hold a small blue book in one hand. The leather satchel was at his feet. “Oi, give that back here, you. That’s my diary.” It must have fallen out of the satchel at some point during the night’s event.
Zura, who had stopped respecting Takasugi’s personal boundaries at some distant point back in his first childhood, was browsing through the book perfunctorily, as if needing to check the veracity of Takasugi’s statement. “I see, I see. So it is a diary,” he mumbled. “Yes, very much a teenage boy’s diary,” he pronounced, as if it had been in doubt. Takasugi wanted to hit him, but he needed to conserve his strength right now.
He looked around and realized the sheath of his sword was right in front of him, hiding in plain sight in the heather just outside the shrine’s boundary. With a sigh, he managed to get to his feet and trudged over there, then had to sit down again.
“Pathetic;” he announced self-critically. “I’m moving like an old man. That’s you, not me.”
“Stop that! I’m still several years from 40, you know!!” Zura exclaimed indignantly.
“You’re ancient. Always have been. You were an old man at eight.” Takasugi started to dress himself from the pile of borrowed clothes. The kimono was plain cotton and too simple for his taste (both old and new tastes), but at least it wasn’t one of Zura’s regular blue ones. Idly, he wondered if he could mix his newer rock-inspired look with traditional clothing in the future; he supposed he had some money to save up.
“I see your sword now,” Zura announced, sounding serious again. “It’s in the spring.”
Huh. “Well, get it out.”
“You’re so demanding,” huffed Zura, but crouched down and bent forward to fish out the sword. “I really shouldn’t. We do still have a sword ban, you know, even if it’s less strict now.”
“Yes, I do know. And I also see you’re still carrying your sword, so stop being a hypocrite already, Zuramp.”
Zura threw the satchel at him; Takasugi ducked out of the way. “A sword in a spring…” Zura went on, more thoughtfully, “...it’s like something from a fantasy anime, isn’t it? Scaring off hoodlums, is that really all you’ve been using it for?”
“Give it to me!” said Takasugi impatiently. “And the book too. I used the sword to draw out Altana from the ground last night, as a point of focus. Don’t ask me to do it again, it was just on impulse.” He had also used the blade to draw circles and symbols on the ground, right in the centre where the spring was now. But he was dubious that that had been of any use at all.
“Why would I ask that of you?” Zura walked back and handed over the sword and the diary. Takasugi sheathed the sword. “You keep saying, ‘I did this and that’,” Zura added quietly. “It’s still you? Are you Shinsaku, or Shinsuke? Or both?”
Takasugi checked to see that his wallet was still in the satchel. Good. But he put the diary inside his kimono instead, this time. “It’s both.” He got to his feet, then leaned one hand against the nearest tree for support against the dizziness. “It had to be both. Shin-chan isn’t erased, he’s me as well. I have two childhoods in my head now.” He drew his hands together, entwined his fingers, drew them out again. “Like that.”
Zura gave a small sigh. “I don’t quite understand, but I’m relieved all the same,” he confessed. “All right, time to go. You should put your socks on, too.” He packed everything up again into his various packs: blanket and thermos and leftovers and the tabi socks that Takasugi had ignored (Zura grumbled at that). They couldn’t find the thin gray blanket anywhere, as if it had evaporated. Takasugi wasn’t too astonished at that, since he didn’t recall having brought it to this place to begin with.
A part of him didn’t want to leave the shrine. There was a sense of order and balance right here, on this shrine among the trees as the sun broke shone down from the opening in the clouds. Outside waited disorder, chaos, unrest, uncertainty.
Then again, if he had been at peace -- the new him or the old him -- he wouldn’t have come here, he wouldn’t be in this state now.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Zura, beckoning him forward with a worried look in his eyes. Takasugi allowed him to put a supporting arm on his shoulder as they passed out through the shrine gate. just for now. Zura had to retoggle his bags to get one arm free, but it wasn’t like it was Takasugi’s fault he’d brought that much stuff.
“You totally want to call Gintoki, don’t you?” he said, climbing over a fallen tree.
“Yes, I do,” Zura admitted, “But not yet. Once we’ve reached the main road.”
“Tch, what’s the difference?” He didn’t really have the energy to argue the point, though. Better save it for the long journey back.
It was around noon when Gintoki woke up. He hadn’t felt as exhausted as he’d been the night before in a long time -- running all over the space terminal, in both public and restricted areas, trying so hard to sense, to listen inwards, to feel a presence, to just know where he should be going, but all the while the familiar sense of defeat had only been growing -- yet when he managed to make it home (Otose took one long look at him and then agreed to pay off the taxi driver, saying under her breath they would discuss this matter later) he’d still pretty much expected his sleep would be uneasy in spite of the exhaustion, full of nightmares.
But instead, he woke up feeling weirdly refreshed. He vaguely remembered the dream he’d had, something about splashing around in the countryside and having something to look for. True, he hadn’t been able to find his quarry in the dream, either, but that hadn’t bothered him so much when he drifted out of sleep. A new calmness had settled inside him, very different from the lethargic feeling he’d had when he sat at his desk for so long the day before. He hummed a theme from an old anime as he got up, went to the bathroom, got dressed, drew a comb through his hair a good number of times and then went to the kitchen.
There was rice left in the rice cooker -- was it Kagura’s or Shinpachi’s doing? Neither of them was here right now, but looking around, he figured they must both have been in earlier. Sadaharu was back, gently snoring in a corner, and his moped keys lay on the kitchen table. Next to the keys was a note in Shinpachi’s neat handwriting.
The note said, ‘We’ve heard the news and we’re out looking, too. Please call Katsura-san when you’re up. I parked the moped at the usual place. By the way, you really should get a more reliable mobile phone.’
“Sheesh, with what money, four-eyes? Stop nagging me!” commented Gintoki out loud, but he did go to check that his crappy, beat-up, second-hand mobile was indeed plugged in and fully charged by now. Then he finished breakfast and his latest JUMP magazine, put on his boots and went outside (being careful not to rouse Otose’s attention); he got on his moped and set off for Edo’s central railway station, guided by pretty much nothing but instinct. Or perhaps just a whim, who knew.
The space terminal was just one of Edo’s dragon holes, the other four remained to be investigated… But he was already convinced he needed to look beyond the city. He didn’t have any idea which destination he should choose, or even which direction he should look in, but he told himself that once he was at the train station, seeing the big screens of arrivals and departures, he might just know. And once he knew, he’d find some way to scrounge up the money for a train ticket.
Of course, the central train station was itself very close to the space terminal, but he found he was just fine returning there again already. This was different. It was a new day!
And he couldn’t just stay home and wait and do nothing. Not when it came to this.
His mobile phone rang just as he stood outside the station being busy locking up his moped.
“What’s up?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, though his calm was already shakier. He’d recognized Zura’s number on the display screen right away.
“Gintoki, do you think you can be in Edo Station in about two hours?”
He took a moment to boggle, then rallied, “Shouldn’t be that much of a problem given that I’m there right now already.” Where the hell did you go, Zura? And what happened there?? he wanted to shout, but… it was better to wait it out, he knew that.
“You are?” Zura sounded baffled. “But how did you-- Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I will be coming in on the 3:23 train on platform 2E. I’m-- I’m bringing someone. Can you meet us?”
“Zura…”
“Look--” Zura started to sound defensive “--I simply have to get away for a meeting I can’t get out of by four o’clock. Also I need to return a late library book today. I blew the month’s budget on these damn train tickets, so please just trust me and come meet us in time.”
“You -- I-- that’s just an exaggeration, stop that, I know you have reserves these days, you haven’t blown anything!” Gintoki fumed, taking refuge in irrelevant small stuff. “You’re just sulking because you think you’ve got a thrifty reputation to uphold! Forget that, nobody is thinking you’re some kind of thrift genius, everybody knows you’re primarily and utterly a lunatic!” Also, do you believe that your phone is under surveillance, or would you just be cryptic regardless?
“It’s not lunatic, it’s Katsura. A part-time teacher doesn't make much money! Just come to the platform in time, Gintoki. I have things to do and you need to be there.”
He hung up.
Gintoki sighed, finished locking his moped, and entered the big, crowded railway station. He told himself it wouldn’t be too bad to just sit and take it easy for two hours. He could watch the crowd, especially the girls in mini-kimonos, and maybe be able to bum a cup of coffee from some naive tourists.
But…
If it had been just the boy that Zura had found, with no ancient memories unlocked in him, then Gintoki was pretty much 100% certain that Zura would have made that fact clearer. If he had run into some totally different person who was somehow relevant right now, he’d have hinted at that, too. But just saying ‘I’m bringing someone’ and nothing else --
He felt lightheaded; he knew he should find a place to sit down sooner rather than later. His fingers were reaching into empty space, all on their own. As if trying to grab hold of something invisible. He unclenched them and breathed out, slowly.
And instead of sitting down at some cosy spot somewhere in the main hall to watch the crowd from, he found himself walking onwards and continuing directly to platform 2E to wait for the train right there. Even if it took hours.
This was where he needed to be.
The train arrived on time with a stream of people pouring out of it, some of them diverted into eddies by other people coming to meet them, while others poured on towards the main hall and eventual exit.
Gintoki waited in the middle of it all. At first he stood still, impassively, but eventually he started to walk back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse of one familiar face, maybe two familiar faces. His heart was beating faster now. There were just way too many people here.
“It would just be so like that bastard to come back sneaking up on me,” he mumbled to himself, shooting a quick look behind him. “Repeating his fucking manga introduction and everything...”
“But you make it so easy,” a voice said in his ear.
Gintoki froze. He turned his head, slowly.
“Middle-aged guy,” the young man in front of him adds. There is a sloppily hidden sword at his side, and in one hand he’s carrying an incongruous picnic basket.
Gintoki stood very still. It was one thing to believe yourself prepared, to come up with some witty words in advance, to figure out what should be the right way to conduct yourself… No, no, no, he couldn’t hold onto it, to hell with all the expectations of coolness, and he didn’t care if this guy would have preferred to cross swords with him as a greeting instead. He stopped second-guessing himself and surged forward, grabbing Takasugi -- yes it’s him, yes it’s him, yes it’s him -- by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth and back and forth and left and right. Touching, smelling, seeing.
He ruffled his hair and pulled at one of his ears -- that earned him a hair-pulling in retaliation, which he ignored -- he looked in stunned wonder at the intact left eye, noted the small differences in facial traits (and height, hm) that proved it really was Shin-chan’s body after all, just grown even older now -- and leaned in close not even caring what onlookers might think. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come.
He grabbed him tighter instead, and Takasugi hissed and glared but didn’t actually try to squirm out of his grip.
“...Where the hell did Zura go?” Gintoki finally managed to say, his voice hoarse and his tongue thick.
“Claimed he had an appointment to keep and ran away.” Takasugi’s voice was dry, he was rolling his eyes. “Stuck me with this damn basket.”
Gintoki frowned. “Could have stuck around for a few minutes at least,” he muttered. “If that’s a real appo in the first place.” One moment’s hesitation, but then he acted, not wishing to lose the momentum and give too much of it to this guy instead; who knows what he’d do? “Come on.” He stepped back and let go of Takasugi’s shoulders, instead seizing his sleeve and pulling him towards the nearest flight of stairs leading away from the platform. “There’s got to be a bar somewhere near here.”
“You’re planning on letting a minor pay? What a sleaze.” Takasugi allowed himself to be pulled along for a few steps, then elbowed him and grabbed his sleeve back. But he kept up with him side by side.
“Minor? Maybe according to your faked birth certificate, but you look old enough to vote or rent a porno video to me,” replied Gintoki. “And yeah, I don’t have any money on me so you’re paying.”
The bar they found was just two streets away from the railway station and was rather small and dark, but at least it wasn’t some overpriced tourist trap. Takasugi looked pretty exhausted once he flopped down in a corner, even though he’d presumably done nothing these past couple of hours but sit his ass in a train car. The waiter brought them a bottle of sake and two cups, plus a bowl of dried squid snacks.
“Zura didn’t tell me a single fucking thing except to come meet your train,” said Gintoki, pouring out sake for the other. “Where did he find you? It was by a dragon hole, right?”
Takasugi wiped his hands on the towel by the table and took a dried squid. “Yes. I don’t know if you’ve been there, it’s in a grove in a forest in the [X] prefecture not that far from the sea.” He poured sake into Gintoki’s cup.
“Oh. Yeah, I know that one.” Gintoki took a drink, musing. “Pretty place. That was the last place I went to before I found Shōyō by the sea shrine.”
“I wondered what would have happened if I’d gone to that shrine instead.”
“You’d have been pretty damn cold, for one thing.”
“Hnh.”
“Tatsuma… Tatsuma wrote something. Before. After Matako had found you.” Gintoki holds out his cup for a refill, then finishes it in one go. “He thought it might have been Shōyō that brought your soul back in the first place. If it was you. We never really knew for sure, you know.”
Takasugi was quiet for what seemed like a long time. Then he took another drink and said, calmly, “It’s possible he was right. I think I was supposed to be all cleansed. A new person entirely. But like an inky black cloud, the darkness from my past couldn't go away completely, and since I couldn't be dragged to Hell after all, or be stuck as a ghost on this plane, it leaked into what was supposed to be my new life.”
“Whaddya mean it leaked into? How?”
“I could sense it, I guess?” Takasugi made an impatient gesture and ate some more dried squid. “The new me could tell the old me was still out there in a way and I decided I wanted it back. So, here I am. With all these rubbish memories." He waved dismissively into the air -- and towards Gintoki.
Gintoki groaned, hiding his face in his hand. "Man," he muttered, tongue feeling thick, "you're sounding exactly like I figured you'd sound if you ever managed to come back. Fucking edgelord. I need more booze.” He filled his cup himself this time. “Let’s get a new bottle, this one’s almost empty.”
“You pay for it this time. You probably have some money hidden in your pocket, you damn con man.” Takasugi grabbed the bottle back from Gintoki and poured out the last of the sake into his own cup. “The boy didn’t go away, you know,” he added, rocking the cup slightly, letting the liquid swish around before he drank again. “I’m still him.”
“So you’re really a literal infant, huh?” Gintoki waved at the waiter and ordered a new bottle. They could fight about who would pay what once the bill came.
“I’m in the prime of my life, unlike certain middle-aged guys who are probably going to lose half their hair soon.”
Gintoki glared at him, not wanting to reveal a certain fear he felt related to this guy’s rapid aging -- what if it couldn’t be slowed down? But at least he was back for now, at least there was that much -- “You’re going to regret saying that, damn brat,” he said. “You don’t have your old muscle memory back, do you? Let alone your actual old muscles and endurance. I bet I could beat you with my hands tied against my back with just a twig in my mouth, the way you are now.”
“Hooo?” Takasugi leaned away, grinning nastily. “Those are brave words indeed. I might need a few days getting my body in order, but I’ll be sure to take you up on the offer.” He snatched the bottle out of Gintoki's hand to fill his own cup first, ignoring Gintoki's grousing. “The new me will have fun beating up on the damn skeezy guy who kept lurking in the shadows as he grew up, too. Too scared to have an actual conversation, were you?”
“Hey! I-- I wasn’t there all that often! And I had my reasons not to intrude! I figured out the new you was meant to be happy and fine, and whole and at peace, but nooo, he just had to go the edgelord route and throw away all that?” Gintoki subsided as the waiter returned, asking if they wanted something more to eat, and ordered some fried chicken karaage for them both, although Takasugi interrupted and insisted on getting sashimi instead.
“Seriously,” Gintoki resumed as the waiter left again, “you realize that the new you has got pretty much exactly the personality profile of some daft teenager in an anime who wants to do dark magic for the fun of it and gets it into the head to summon some dumbass demon? Learn some preservation instincts, already!!”
“Ha, you said ‘demon’,” said Takasugi, leaning his head in his palm and smirking at him. “You were the one who always made fun of the word Kiheitai in the first place.”
“It was a metaphor, a metaphor!”
“Don’t bother me over some stupid metaphor! Come back and complain once you’ve been reincarnated, idiot!”
Their food arrived and they sat and munched in silence for a while. Gintoki realized that Takasugi had just been better at getting a rise out of him than the other way around, which seemed against the natural order of things. Well, maybe he could see it as a ‘welcome back’ gift, seeing as Gin didn’t have the money to pay for the bar bill.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked. “For a job, I mean.”
“Haven’t really given it much thought yet,” said Takasugi. “First step is getting good identity papers so I’ll get an official age that matches my look. After that, I’ll see. Maybe I’ll get into smuggling.”
“Just become a host or something. If Okita could do it… I hate to admit it, but you always scored high on the popularity polls. Women like that kind of bad-boy air. Like Vegeta.”
“Doesn’t really matter these days now that the manga is over, does it?” Takasugi finished his sashimi and put his chopsticks away. “I’m not like certain dumbass main characters who can’t stand not to be in the centre of things anymore.”
Gintoki stared. “You… You’ve finally… You can see through the fourth wall!”
Takasugi wiped his face. “It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be, this meta awareness,” he said. “Now that I know what you two meant by all that ridiculous nonsense you’d be spouting… Well, honestly I can finally appreciate you’re even bigger morons than I thought you were.”
“I’m so proud of you.” Gintoki clapped him on the back and ruffled his hair energetically, choking a little. “I knew you could do it! One day, I knew even you would be able to-- !!”
“Fucking-- stop that-- !! Takasugi squirmed and bit Gintoki on the wrist.
“Ow! Stop overreacting!” Gintoki whacked him over the head.
“You stop being a jerk!” Takasugi pulled his hair.
“A jerk? I was being happy for you, eighth-grade bastard--”
“Like hell you were!”
“Hey, don’t take it out on me that you’re lousy at fighting now--”
“I’ll show you lousy at fighting, shithead--”
The waiter turned up and coughed reprovingly. They turned down their volume, muttering half-hearted apologies to him and promising to behave, since the sake was pretty good here and they didn’t feel like being thrown out yet.
“Anyway,” said Gintoki, “I’m sure Zura would be happy to put you up, so don’t you even think about squatting over at my place. My landlady can’t stand retired boss villains.” That was code for, ‘if you have nowhere else to go you’re welcome to stay with me for the moment’.
“Wouldn’t dream of setting my feet inside a pigsty like your home is bound to be,” said Takasugi, drinking deeply. That was most probably code for, ‘yeah, I might just take you up on that, depending’.
“Of course,” Gintoki went on pensively, “with Zura there’s always the risk that Elizabeth can pop up at any moment. He’s supposedly moved out, but you wouldn’t know it just from being there, he’s around all the time… Waving his signs and staring at you. Saying nothing. Being creepy and protective and creepy.”
“Gintoki, are you saying you’re letting yourself get cuckolded by a furry-cosplaying Amanto?” said Takasugi nastily. “How pathetic.”
A full-body shudder ripped through Gintoki. “Don’t even think such things! Zura would rip out your tongue for that, he always claims they’ve got a super-pure relationship, and for my own peace of mind I prefer to believe him. And he’s the one with the NTR kink, not me! Also, we’re not married,” he added belatedly.
“Pervy geezers.” Takasugi filled up Gintoki’s cup to the brim and held out his own. Gintoki didn’t know why they were back to being mannerly, but he followed suit anyway.
He didn’t bother pushing back on the insult. “We’ve got our moments,” he said, shrugging. “Man, I could really go for some ice cream. More bars should serve ice cream, y’know?”
“You’re such an embarrassment.”
“Next you’re going to say, ‘I can’t take you anywhere’”. Gintoki mimicked Takasugi’s voice but put even more of a bored drawl into it. Under the table, he pushed the side of his knee against Takasugi’s thigh, experimentally, half expecting to get pinched for his trouble. Possibly even stabbed.
He got a push in return the same way first, thigh to knee; then a sandalled foot sneaked under one of his booted feet to shove his leg up to the underside of the table.
“Charmless,” commented Gintoki. He leaned his elbow on the table, chin in palm, and gave Takasugi his best dead fish expression.
“Brainless,” countered Takasugi, taking another drink from his cup. When he put it down on the table again, he swiftly reached out and grabbed Gintoki’s other hand, very ungently, letting his nails dig into the hand enough to sting. Then he let go.
Gintoki’s mouth had gone dry. He didn’t move his hand away. He considered pressing his leg against the other’s under the table again, but a thought slowed him down. A part in his chest that felt colder than usual, even as another part was decidedly on the hot side.
“I wonder what Zura was thinking,” he said, drumming his fingers against the table in a slow rhythm. “Why he had to pull that manoeuvre at the train station.”
Takasugi gave him a weighing look, with slightly less of his usual familiar aren’t-you-an-idiot expression. He wasn’t smirking now. “Isn’t that obvious?” He kept his voice low, quiet. “You know how he is.”
Gintoki felt a sudden flash of… not quite anger. Irritation? You haven’t been around for years, you kept yourself apart from us so much before you died, how can you be so sure you still know what we’re like? He breathed out, slowly: it ebbed away from him as quickly as it had come.
He groaned instead, kneading his forehead. “Shouldn’t be this damn difficult,” he mumbled. Now Takasugi was the one pressing his thigh against Gintoki’s knee, not quite as violent this time. A flush was on Gintoki’s cheeks as he coughed and drew himself up to call for the bill.
Takasugi did pay for the bill without much argument, and they left to get Gin’s moped. The weather was bright and sunny outside, still at least one hour till sunset.
“You’re the pervy one,” he said, clearing his throat. “What was that, playing footsies? Poor old Gin-san can’t keep up with these teenage hormones.”
“I know, I know. I could do so much better.” This time, Takasugi’s grin looked more like a real smile than a smirk. That had always been rare. The sunlight made his teeth glint.
Gintoki couldn’t help but smiling, too. “Yeah. But you won’t,” he said simply.
The excuses he’d given weren’t completely fake. He really did have a library book to return, but it could have been renewed by telephone. He also really had an appointment with the Prime Minister herself -- but it was at five o’clock, not four, and it wasn’t actually all that urgent. Soyo had sent him a proposal she wanted his opinions about, but it could have waited until the next day.
Mostly he just wanted to give the other two some time alone. It was the right thing to do. They needed that.
True, he did start doubting himself almost immediately after leaving the train platform, remembering that damned sword. This was Gintoki and Takasugi, after all. And Takasugi might not be as strong as he used to be, without the muscle memory of training hard and fighting hundreds of life-and-death battles, but he did have a real sword tied to his belt while Gintoki would be carrying his wooden sword at best. What if he decided to launch an attack on Gintoki, just like that? Just to see which one was stronger?
And Gintoki in turn might also believe Takasugi to be stronger than he was, now, not sensing the difference in strength or realize how exhausted the man was right now until it was too late… Katsura swore under his breath, and sneaked back to spy on them, just a little. Thankfully they seemed to behave themselves, at least initially, and after he’d tailed them to a nearby izakaya he gave a sigh of relief and slipped away for real.
First he went home to his quiet flat to get rid of his big backpack and suitcase, and also to pick up those government documents and to freshen up. Next off to the library. Then to a nondescript office building in central Tokyo where he used a code to identify himself on the intercom, before being let in and going up a rickety elevator and down several winding corridors before reaching a small room where Soyo and her closest assistant were already waiting for him.
He apologized for being late and they started to go over the new draft proposal: it was a plan that could potentially mean employment both for many ex-Jōi ronin and a number of ex-Bakufu forces, now that things were finally being more peaceful and the Bakufu itself was a thing of the past. It was built on the development and reassessment of a number of earlier projects. Katsura had seen a lot of merits in this new proposal but also had a number of points he thought could use improvement, so the three of them buckled down and started to go through the hefty file together.
Before they were through half of it, he became aware that Soyo and her assistant were glancing at each other, then back at him, and that his hands were trembling. He realized he was mixing up different passages, pointing things up that one of the others had already said, repeating himself.
“Are you all right, Katsura-san?” asked Soyo with concern.
He blinked. “I’m fine, Soyo-dono. I’m sorry, just a little distracted, just a little…” He abruptly started to laugh, and then there were suddenly tears in his eyes and he was laughing through them.
Bewildered and confused, he wiped his eyes and drew deep breaths but the avalanche of small, almost soundless, but insistent chuckles kept coming through. “I’m just happy, I suppose,” he said, realizing it was true as he said it. His hands were trembling, and his knees were shaking, too. He shook his head, swallowed, his chest too full of stinging unreasonable joy. “I’m just… so happy.” There was wonder in his voice. He smoothed his kimono, tried to take a calming sip of tea but swallowed the wrong way and started to cough.
He looked up, ready to apologize again, but the words died on his tongue as he saw Soyo giving him a warm gaze. “It’s all right, Katsura-san. This is fine for now. We can continue this later.”
“But… You’re always so busy… I’ll be fine!” he protested. This was ridiculous; what kind of affliction was “being too stupidly happy” supposed to be? He had to laugh just because of that, then felt embarrassed, cheeks hot.
Soyo leaned over and patted his hand, and her assistant also gave an understanding smile. “I have a gap this Friday, we can fit it in then, if it will be fine with you. Take your time, Katsura-san. You’ve earned it.”
“But… but, but…” he still tried to argue but had to subside, finally, and just nod and take his leave, still feeling a little embarrassed and a little troubled (he liked being of use to people; if he couldn’t be useful, what good was he?); but primarily he just felt weird and lightheaded and stunned. Happy.
A few blocks away there was a small city park, and he walked by its greeny paths still clutching the briefcase with the draft proposal inside, half afraid he’d get so distracted he’d forget it behind him somewhere.
This joy that reverberated in him was strong, it was powerful, but he still thought it could be fragile; he wanted to protect it, he wanted to keep guard over it, and the thought that he could do so was a gladness, too, sinking into his heart. There was carefulness in it, and a certain loneliness, but nothing that wasn’t worth the price, he thought.
Katsura made it home, still feeling like his feet weren't quite touching the ground, left his briefcase, went shopping for groceries. He found himself buying twice as much as he needed, forgetting Elizabeth had moved out – a mistake he hadn't made for months now. No matter, the food would keep in the refrigerator, he told himself; and then went three streets too far on the way home before he realized his mistake.
He cooked and ate dinner, but he wasn't tired, not at all; he started to pace the flat then decided to go take an evening walk and get some use for the energy that kept bubbling up inside him. It was dark out by then, a clear night in spring with cold, crisp air and a few stars bright enough to be seen in the electrified city. There were less and less of badly-lit streets and neighbourhoods, these days; he'd had a hand in making that happen, but he did miss being able to see more of the stars.
The moon must have been behind a big bank of clouds. It came out as he approached a small wooden bridge over a canal. As he set foot on the bridge, he saw a figure on the other side of the canal walking briskly in his direction. The figure reached the bridge when Katsura was at the apex of it, and the moon shone on him, reflecting on his naturally wavy white hair.
Katsura stopped. “Gintoki?”
Gintoki kept walking, stopping when he was right in front of Katsura, barring his way. He looked displeased. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked in a low voice.
Katsura crossed his arms defensively. “I’m taking an evening walk. Why? What about you?”
“Out looking. For you.”
Startled, Katsura gave him a puzzled look. “You could just call me if you wanted something…”
“You’ve turned off your phone or something.”
“I have? Oh. My mistake.” He must have forgotten to switch his mobile back on after the meeting ended prematurely.
“But that’s just as well. I want to talk eye to eye. You’d just have found another way to evade me if I’d called first.”
Katsura stood silent for a moment. “Did… did things not go well?” he asked haltingly. “Did you two fight?” Had he miscalculated?
“No, no, it went fine!” Gintoki waved energetically. “For being me and him, it went really fine! Of course we fought some, and we kissed some, too, and stuff.”
Katsura gave him a weighing look. There was a faint blush on Gintoki’s cheeks now. He didn’t appear to be lying. And there really was more life in his eyes than usually, much as Katsura had hoped. “Good…” he said. “I wanted that.” His cheeks got a little warm, too.
“Yeah! But you? You just made up some lame excuse so you could run away.”
Katsura twined a strand of hair around his finger. “It wasn’t made up,” he mumbled. “Anyway… you deserved some time alone.”
Gintoki took a step forward. They stood close now: if they’d worn traditional hats their hat rims would have touched each other. “Maybe,” he said, his voice sinking. “But it felt like you were making yourself vanish. Do you want to be on the outside like that?”
Katsura stared at the gravel by his feet. “I just want you to be happy,” he mumbled, voice thick. “Both of you.”
“Yeah, and that gives you a noble, warm feeling, right? Fuck that.” Gintoki was all up in his face now, glaring. “I'll smash that lame careful happiness. Drag you inside so you can take the risks of being selfish and fucking up, just like we do.”
Katsura took a step back, fear and shame and joy mingling in one raging inner bowl of soup. "Gintoki, you shouldn't say that, I-"
He wanted to look away, but Gintoki was making it impossible. Swallowing tightly, staring at him and wondering if he looked as much like a deer crossed in headlights as he felt, he managed, “Yes, I know it’s taking the easy way out, stepping away like that, but... I'll just jinx it. I want you to be fine, not..." If I'm on the outside, I can stand guard over you, was what he wanted to say, but the reasoning felt so thin and unconvincing now. Gintoki wouldn't buy it. He always thought he was the one most suited to be the guard, anyway.
Gintoki waited several long seconds, then reached out gently and held his wrist, his grip very light. “Do you even hear yourself, Zura?” he said, sounding calmer now, but with a hoarseness in his voice. “Out of the three of us... you think you're going to be the jinx?”
A voice broke in, “Heh. But wouldn't it be ironic if that was the case?”
Katsura and Gintoki both started as Takasugi stepped forward into the moonlight right behind Gintoki. How long had he been standing there in the dark?
“You shut up,” they said in chorus.
Katsura added, “You have no say in this,” sniffing haughtily.
Takasugi drew a hand through his head languidly. “See, Gintoki?” he said. “If Zura wants to be on ‘stand-by’ as you called it so damn much, who are we to stop him? He might well be happier that way. That’s a kink of yours, isn’t it, Zura?”
Katsura flushed. “What do you mean… No, it’s not!” He suddenly struggled with the urge to whap Takasugi over the head. “It’s not that I like to do it, it’s just that…"
Gintoki stepped closer again, so near his breath felt warm on Kasura’s cheek. From gripping Katsura’s wrist he moved to cupping Katsura’s hand between his hands. “Listen, Zura, you’re a pain in the neck whenever you grouse about being on stand-by as if people should just magically know when you want company. But that’s still loads better than when you just go silent and fade away. I hate that. You should stop doing that.”
“Oi!” With a glare, Takasugi stepped closer, too, grabbing Katsura’s free hand and yanking his upper body away from Gintoki. “Why are you two standing so close right out in public?” he growled. “Stop that. You’re not allowed.”
Gintoki burst out laughing. “See, Zura? Isn’t he cute when he’s jealous? Suuure, you totally don’t care what Zura does, you’re completely convincing us, you edgelord.”
“Is that tobacco I smell on you?” said Katsura with a frown, looking suspiciously at Takasugi, heat remaining in his face. There was a confused but growing warmth in his chest, too. “Have you already taken up that bad habit again? Gintoki!” He cleared his throat, now acutely aware of their nearness, their scents, their lips and how close they were to his. Jealous or not, Takasugi hadn’t been wrong that this was no way to behave in public, even at night.
“What?” asked Gintoki, now gently rubbing Katsura’s one hand, thumb stroking his palm and the other fingers working the other side, almost but not quite tickling him.
“You were supposed to keep an eye on him!”
Meanwhile, Takasugi, watching this display with narrowing eyes, raised Katsura’s other hand and first kissed his knuckles, then nibbled on them. Katsura flushed even darker, very off-balance now, but finally wrenched both his hands free. Trying to decide his next move, he jumped high as he heard meaningful coughs from behind him, and they had to move to make way for three chatting old grannies to cross the narrow bridge carrying grocery bags. Katsura had to remind himself it wasn’t actually so late that grocery stores wouldn’t be open, not in these days with the increased safety in the neighbourhood.
“This is silly. You’re both being silly.” Katsura drew his warm scarf around himself and started to walk home. “Inconsiderate and irresponsible and destructive…!”
He huffed as he walked, but the other two walked alongside him, on each side.
“Zura, you know we can’t be responsible for this brat our whole lives,” said Gintoki, picking his nose and patting Katsura on the back. “You’ve got to let the little bird fly out of the nest eventually.”
“Zura, you know you can just ditch this guy and put him on standby,” said Takasugi, immediately putting his own arm around Katsura’s waist, maybe more possessively than supportingly. “He’s not the main character anymore, the manga’s over. It will even be good for him. Teach him discipline.”
They entered the sidestreet where Katsura lived, not letting go of him till they all reached his building’s front door. He sighed, contriving to look put-upon. “Like anything could teach either of you discipline,” he muttered. He dug into his sleeves for his house-keys.
His chest felt hot, burning, too much of everything there, fear and joy and desire and grief and a relief that flooded like a river. And too much need, too much yearning, surely they didn’t need him anywhere near the same way…
“I meant what I said, Zura,” Gintoki’s voice said, clear in the night. Katsura, whose hands had been fumbled with the keys, paused. “I’ll smash it. And he’s going to help.”
“Gintoki’s talking rubbish, I’m not here to help him with any of his stupid shonen hero stuff,” said Takasugi. “But stop imagining you’re not mine.”
Gintoki rolled his eyes at this, and the two of them glared at each other as if trying to start something, which at least would have been familiar territory. But then they abruptly stopped and just turned to look at Katsura instead, who still said nothing. He opened the outer door, led them inside the building, up the creaky wooden stairs, then unlocked the door to his flat and let them in. His skin felt full of tiny little pinpricks. He had run out of words and there was no script in his head for this.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, voice heavy. He closed the door behind them, supporting himself on Takasugi as he bent down to take his shoes off. “It’s just that-- can we really be like this, can we be--” he didn’t quite dare to say happy -- “What if we really would be jinxing it-- demanding too much--” He reached out to the backs of their heads, pulling them close, touching their foreheads with his own, breathing them in.
“Oh, stop it already!” Takasugi shoved at Katsura, then grabbed him for real, pushing him towards the wall and finally, finally kissing him deeply. Katsura held him tightly and kissed him back, trying to drink him in, his scent, the whole heady mix of strength and impatience, charisma and hunger. Perhaps finally soothed just enough not to burn himself out. “Seriously, you need to rebel more,” he added at the end of the kiss.
“Hnf,” said Gintoki, pushing himself closer. His hands were making a room for themselves inside Katsura’s kimono, now stroking his bare chest. “Don’t listen to that edgelord,” he mumbled, a humming undertone in his voice that he would only get when he felt really happy, Katsura knew. That incredibly comforting presence brimming with strength and compassion, so deserving of all that was good in this world. “Just take it easy and ride the moment. Just relax and stay with me. Idiot."
Katsura shivered, then laughed helplessly. “Well-- well, then,” he said hoarsely, breath catching. He wanted to say, If you won’t let me stand guard over you, then you’d better shape up so I don’t need to worry. But it became too complicated, all of a sudden, his mind overwhelmed and his mouth and tongue finding better and more fun things to do, so he supposed he just had to show them how to apply themselves, and then even that thought flew out of his brain in favour of more immediate actions and sensations. He let himself be coaxed into the strongest stream in the rushing river of this now, this here, where he allowed himself, finally, to let go and be swept along, clutching at the other two, guiding them and being guided; together, and together, and together.
--end.
: The forest shrine where Katsura finds Takasugi is inspired by the one seen in manga chapter 679, page 10, panel 8.