A/N: Just a quick pastime oneshot for an author who has writer's block xD

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GINTAMA IT BELONGS TO SORACHI HIDEAKI

Enjoy~

Cold Rain

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The dim light serenades her as it does not for him. Because she is not the same as him. She is pure—she is pure and innocent and—different. And sometimes, he wonders where he stands in their world. Their made-up world filled with dung beetles, swear words, and sweat. But that world was fading—fading because of them. They changed; and he wonders why they can't go back to those days filled with whatever they used to have instead of now, where he has to hide the obnoxious flutters in his stomach whenever he sees her taking walks with that giant dog, or when she notices him when he's on patrol, or when she finds him sleeping on the bench in the park.

Their bench.

And that was probably the only thing that didn't change.

She grew up. She grew up from the china girl who wore her head in those stupid telephone buns and red outfits. And he cursed puberty. Because he can't help but grip his sword a little tighter when he sees her with someone else other than him.

And that just barely worked.

Because she was different now. She was a woman. She matured in the time that he knew her while he subconsciously stayed in their world. And when he knew that it started crumbling, he was the first to pull back and push himself into reality, where dreams don't come true. And he became distant in that span of time when he realizes that he had to change.

Because she was Kagura. An entirely different being from him.

And he was Okita Sougo. The hitokiri of the bakufu dogs. He was the hitokiri that serenades himself in the blood of his own kind, where there's no going back once you do it.

But he supposes that it's too late to think of things like that now.

As he did for so many other things.

And she still doesn't notice, that stupid girl. She still doesn't notice the signs he puts up. The signs that he lets her see. The signs that say that he wants her more than anyone else, all jumbled up in random places—like the times when he brushes his arm against hers' when they walk past each other, or on occasion, decide to clash—and he knew it was a lousy sign, but what else could he do? It was a lousy sign saying that he wanted her. He wanted her just as much as five years of hidden affection could turn into.

"When's the rain gonna stop?"

It's that voice. That annoying voice that's always in some corner of his head and—

It's her who says it.

So he silently rolls his head over to her, and then realizes that his walls are gone. Like they always are when she was around, and he begins to wonder when—just when had he started looking at her like that—

When had he become so soft?

But before she could turn her head from the rain and gaze into his eyes, he puts up his walls again and shrugs nonchalantly.

He still remembers.

He still remembers what he's done—and he doesn't leave.

He can leave—but he doesn't.

"You and China-san look like a married couple! Just look at that, Toshi! Our boy is growing up!"

He sticks his hand out—away from the protection of the shade, into the air, and he feels the rain silently drip onto his hand.

Plip, plop, plip, plop, plip, plop.

"Dunno, we're gonna be stuck here for a while."

The rain is cold.

They don't talk, they don't speak. They just wait impatiently in a tiny, rotting shed until the rain passes and for the wind to ease into a light breeze.

But unfortunately, the rain is unrelenting.

She tries to calm her heart, only to realize that the attempt is futile and that she wasted a whole minute holding her breath. The flips and the flops in her stomach only turn for the worse as she tries to still and settle.

B-bump, B-bump, B-bump.

She curses. What the hell was this? A shoujo manga?

And then she remembers. She remembers the rejection and the facts—and the fact that she needed to stop fantasizing. She needed to quickly come back to reality.

He doesn't like her. He doesn't.

"Hah, Kondo-san, why would I wanna marry a China monster like her?"

It stung, and it still hurts, and just from that, she knows that he drew the imaginary line.

And she wishes that she could stop thinking about him after all of that.

Three weeks. Three dreadful weeks of ignoring him and hiding herself were completely and utterly wasted when the rain came down.

Screw Gin-chan for forcing her to go out.

She counts in her head. A month. That's almost a month of not seeing his face, a month of that tight feeling in her chest that no amounts of sukonbu could fix (which put a dent in Gin-chan's wallet), a month of listening to her Anego's advice whenever she brought that topic up. . .and the woman knew that it was a sore spot for Kagura.

She didn't believe in God, she never believed in him. But honestly, if he was real, Kagura wonders. Out of all the people she could've fallen for, that destined person just had to be one of the most revolting people that she had ever come across.

It was all so stupidly cliché, but she couldn't do anything about it.

So instead, she decides to stare outside, watching as the grass and the ground mesh together. And then, she looks at the rain and presses back the bottled up emotions that are waiting impatiently to come out.

It looks cold.

Time. That's one of the things that he hates as of now—because no matter how much he prays or counts Hijikata's corpses in his head (the current record is one thousand and six hundred fifty seven), the rain would not stop.

And he begins to wonder; that after three weeks of not seeing her, why can't he properly look at her?

And the seconds he spends just standing there feels like forever as he withdraws his hand and lets his arm hang loosely on his side, droplets dripping everywhere and staining the rotting floorboards.

Why doesn't he just leave? After three weeks of trying to ignore her, they've all gone to waste just because of rain.

He officially decided that Mother Nature was his enemy, and precisely because Mother Nature's rain was so cold, he jumped off from the shaded porch—ignoring the look she gave him—and walked out into the torrents of water.

It was still cold.

"Hey!"

He walks—he walks through the muddy grass and feels the stickiness of the rain in his hair and clothes and he ignores whatever is left inside of him, because he is tired of waiting. He is tired of doing this for five years. He is tired. And that's precisely why he stops waiting and takes the chance to jump like a coward; away from the situation, away from her.

And he feels even heavier, like everything he's done has all of a sudden just slammed into him in full force.

And the rain still remained cold.

"Hah, Kondo-san, why would I wanna marry a China monster like her?"

He drew the line. He was the first to pull away and shrink back into his old lifestyle for three weeks—all the while ignoring Hijikata's words of advice—

Actually, it was precisely Hijikata's fault, because if he didn't open his fat mouth and decide to tell him make him stop giving rigorous training sessions and meet with the 'china girl', he would just develop into his cranky phase even more. Of course, he refused to accept the fact that he was cranky and stormed out of the shinsengumi. . .

Because Okita Sougo does not get cranky—

"What the hell are you doing!?"

And he spins around and meets the eyes of the person that he's been desperately avoiding for so long.

"Walking."

The rain doesn't do anything but observe and drip onto them.

How cold.

She's angry. She's angry as hell because after ignoring and hiding for so long, he decided to take it even further by jumping off of the porch and ignoring her existence like it never even mattered!

Like the three weeks that she experienced were all for nothing—

"Kagura-chan, I suggest you talk to Okita-san again. He may not mean what he says."

"He's too stubborn, Anego. That bastard's a Sadist."

And she asks again, "What. The hell. Are you doing."

This time, he remains placid, and his bangs cover his eyes as he remains silent and still and carefully walled up, and the fact that she can't see anything through it kills her. Guess she didn't know anything about him after all.

But it still kills her. The sensation is still there. So she places both of her hands on his shoulders and forcefully brings him down to her eye-level. Because she wants to know. She wants to know exactly why.

And the fact that he replies with "Nothing" just makes the fury in her stomach rage as she grips his shoulders tighter and observes as a miniscule of emotion passes through his eyes—surprise.

"Look at me."

And he tilts his head to her direction—willingly—almost robotically, and she presses back whatever is making her eyes sting and grips his shoulders even harder until she thinks she feels him flinch—

"Look at me!"

—And she yells it so loudly because she doesn't want what they have right now. She wants to fix it and make something new of it. So she ignores the way her eyes are itching, the fact that she feels the strain in her throat as it painfully cracks, and the fact that she lets loose the infinite amount of emotions in eyes as they pass and swirl all around, filling her with everything up to the point where she could just burst. And after a few moments, she waits and finally loosens her grip on him.

Because he's looking at her.

Hesitantly, as if wary, she watches as he slowly unravels himself as he looks at her without everything he's built up. Without the walls, the barriers, the indifference—

And in those eyes, she sees a part of his anger and feels his large hands grasp her arms. She stiffens.

"What the hell, China." He murmurs in a low voice. "I should be the one to ask what the hell you're doing."

She tries to blink back the itchiness that's collecting around her eyes and the whirl of new emotions in those red orbs that are consuming her. "What?"

He sighs, and she feels his breath tickle her skin as it numbs her, and she notices the exhaustion in his voice. The exasperation. The disappointment.

"Even after five years, why are you still so dense?"

"Wha—!" And after a moment, she feels a whoosh of everything—a realization—a memory—a brush on the arm and—

The longing in his eyes.

"What the hell."

And she can't help but feel angry too. "I've been dense?! Sadist, just who are you to say that?!"

She watches in a sudden burst of something as he grows stunningly still and watches her with—realization? But it doesn't matter to her, because she swallows everything down and continues.

"Because after five fucking years, you stupid brain still didn't realize that I—"

The cold rain tickles her skin and intensifies as she yells the word, ignoring the way his eyes widen and how his grip loosens, and he gets it now. He finally gets it.

"—you!"

The rain dripping down on her is still cold, and so is the grip around her arms that is so tight she thinks that her blood flow may have been cut off, but she doesn't pull away. She waits, and for a few moments, she realizes what she just said and before a blush creeps onto her cheeks—

"China," He starts, "You're gonna be the death of me one day."

And she forgets everything and childishly grins back, because he's back, and she doesn't need to ask. She doesn't need to ask about before, because she sees it all in his eyes. Everything that he doesn't say goes right there, and she sees it. He's back.

Not wanting to ruin the mood, she decides to play along. "What the hell, you bastard. After my amazing confession that's all you sa—?"

And she feels the Earth crashing down onto her and the droplets of rain that are mixing with the stinging feelings that are finally cascading down her face as she feels the intensity of what's on her mouth. Cold, sour, and filled with tobasco sauce; she doesn't pull away, and they stay like that, with many things laying—hanging in the air, already resolved—and she feels it. She feels the release of all her bottled up emotions and intensity as they pour out in torrents of waves with the rain. And she feels it—that she knows that they don't have to hide anymore, and they don't have to address either of their worries centered around them.

Because it's all gone, and their shoulders are light.

The warmness on her mouth lingers as they pull away. She feels him sigh, his breath warm on her skin as he buries his face in her neck, and she feels the tremble of his fingers cease as she wraps her arms around him, and they don't need important words right now.

After several seconds—or minutes—or hours, she feels his head shift.

"We're gonna catch one hell of a cold."

". . .shit."

And as they run through everything, they smirk at each other, and she feels the rain trickle down her face as it sticks to her like glue as she looks up at the skies.

And all that's left in between is the cold rain.

A/N: Was it good? Bad? Too much fluff? (I vote for the latter xD)

Hope you guys liked it xD

Til next story~