Disclaimer: Gintama SO not mine, don't sue.
A Thousand Battles Won
Once upon a time, Hijikata thought he knew what love was. Love was war, as gruelling as katana training and requiring as much self-discipline as meditation. Love demanded he construct the ultimate defence – never show the opponent weakness and never let her see any openings to the treacherous, longing core of him. The consequences of being defeated were worse than any fight he could imagine. Death was nothing at all compared to the image (branded onto his heart in blood red strokes) of her, broken and cheated and alone. No. No, that he could not, would not bear.
Now, Hijikata remembers the last time she'd looked at him, still waiting, still hoping, and the last time he'd allowed himself to look back. The scent of funeral flowers had clung to her skin, skin delicate and thin as rice paper. Now, he wonders if this image is better and more bearable. The war's won and he has done his duty to them both. His walls are intact and unassailed, defending only barren wasteland.
Once upon a time, Hijikata thought he knew what love was. Nowadays, he eats extra-spicy senbei, yells at Okita's homocidal tendencies, and tries not to look overlong into his eyes.