A/N: Surprise, surprise. Another drabble that got out of hand. The title of the work just kind of manifested itself as I was writing. Also, it happens to be a great song by Up Dharma Down. Check it out, and thank you for reading!

"I don't understand how ya do it."

"Understand what?"

"Don'tcha get tried? Aren'tcha 'fraid of gettin' wrinkles? Ahahaha!"

"Goddamn it, Tatsuma! What are you talking about?"

Sakamoto rested his chin on his hand and blinked innocently. "How yer always scowlin'. Ahaha, ya've got ta have some other emotions in ya."

An offended grunt rumbled from Takasugi's throat.

"See? Exactly that! Ya won't even spare me a laugh, Shinsuke? It's easy! Just—" Sakamoto threw his head back and squawked obnoxious guffaws into the sky as he flung an arm around his favorite curmudgeon.

Takasugi reluctantly allowed himself to be jostled while Sakamoto shook with each hearty exhale. He decided resisting wasn't worth the energy. Besides, tolerating Sakamoto's joy was very different from actually giving into it. So sitting in the grass, Takasugi let his head loll manically around as he tried to fixate on the babbling brook in front of him instead of the babbling idiot beside him.

The laughing fit had barely ended before Sakamoto spoke again, "D'ya think they'll actually be able ta sucker in more recruits?"

"I hope not," muttered Takasugi spitefully, peeling the gangly limb off of his shoulders. "I can't take responsibility for anything more than my Kiheitai, and you do know I wanted to be alone, right?"

"Nah, ya want me here," Sakamoto disputed playfully, flashing an incisive grin. "Ya would've shooed me away long ago if ya really wanted ta be alone."

Takasugi cocked his fist back and punched the shoulder that was pressed against his. "The hell makes you think you're so special?"

Sakamoto theatrically toppled over, embarrassingly thrashing around and whining to tattle to "Zura-mama."

"Fucking manchild." Takasugi drew up a knee and rested an elbow on it, using his hand to conceal his unwilling smile.

Though he'd never admit it out loud, it was true. Sakamoto was right. He had a soft spot for him. Sakamoto was the only person he could be himself around— his surly, dour, cranky, hotheaded, insensitive self. Their opposites complemented each other, and that was intuitively understood between them. Takasugi appreciated how nothing more needed to be said or explained.

"Ahahaha! Oi, bastard! Are ya hidin' a smile from me?" Sakamoto grabbed his wrist and tugged at it full of mischievous glee. "C'mon, ya got nothin' ta be embarrassed 'bout, Shinsuke! I've overheard the ladies say yer quite handsome! Ya must be even more so when smilin'! Ahaha! Lemme see!"

Hand practically soldered to his mouth, Takasugi spat through his fingers, "Flattery gets you nowhere in a war, you merchant trash."

"Ahahaha, yeowch! Whadda meanie! I may be of the merchant class, but my family's pretty fuckin' wealthy! I would halfta say we're 'bout the same since a certain," Sakamoto wrapped another oversized palm around Takasugi's wrist and yanked harder, "white demon motioned yer from a low-ranking samurai family!"

Takasugi had been leaning further and further back to counter Sakamoto's weight, and while there was truly no harm in letting him see his smile, Takasugi was too stubborn to forfeit the game. If he was going to laugh for Sakamoto, he wanted the last one. So without warning, he let his arm fall limp.

The rich merchant's son whipped backwards with a yelp of surprise and knocked his head against the hard earth, stunning him.

"I'd say we're the same, Tatsuma, since we're both ronin disowned by our fathers," gloated Takasugi, leaning over a ways to loom above dazed blue eyes.

Sakamoto chucked dizzily, "Ahahaha, one unruly brat locked outta his house n' the other literally shipped off ta go die in a war. Absolutely brutal."

Still seated on the ground, Takasugi extended his arm to pull his friend upright again. "Let's hope Zura and Gintoki come back empty-handed."

Not before making a mental note of Takasugi's rare display of empathy, Sakamoto ripped of his chainmail coif and rubbed the base of his skull, visibly upset.

"Yer a dick, Shinsuke. That hurt."

"You had headgear on. You're fine," Takasugi shrugged, compassion gone.

"Thank god fer it. If not, I'd prolly be concussed."

"And you believe in a god? Forsaken sons like us?"

A dark chuckle was the response Takasugi received. He had heard Sakamoto make all sorts of outrageous noises before, but he had never heard him laugh like this. Laughter was an action intrinsic to Sakamoto's identity, and listening to a laugh so uncharacteristic…well, frankly, it thrilled him. Shivers were crawling down his spine.

Takasugi shook his head ever-so-slightly in disapproval at himself. God, he was so fucked up. Why did he like seeing the good things burn?

The air settled heavily around them, and Takasugi seized the newfound quiet. He marveled at the setting sun, loosing himself in thought like he had originally wanted. Yet he should've known better than to hope for his companion to go fifteen minutes without talking.

"Hey, Shinsuke."

"Shut up, Tatsuma. I'm enjoying myself."

Sakamoto plowed through, "Can I show ya somethin'? N' promise ta not freak out?"

"Am I going crazy or did I not just say to shut the fuck up?" Takasugi clicked his tongue. "No. Neither do I know nor want to see what latest disease your crotch plundered on its last raid."

"Shinsuke, could ya take me seriously fer once? Please?"

The frustrated tone caught Takasugi off-guard. He turned to shoot Sakamoto a doubtful look, but Sakamoto was already there to meet his gaze.

"Ya weren't too far off when ya said plundered I somethin'," he admitted, and he carefully produced a sleek black pistol from the inside of his shirt.

Takasugi's eyes grew wide in disbelief and flitted between the weapon and Sakamoto's guilty face.

"Why do you have that?" he spoke softly, almost fearful of the gun. It was as if Sakamoto was holding some kind of venomous creature, and any noise too loud would have it lunge.

"I—"

Something in Takasugi's bones snapped. "WHY THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU HAVE THAT?"

"Shinsu—"

"No! Shut up! You don't get to speak anymore! How fucking stupid are you? Don't you have any ounce of loyalty?" He was grinding his teeth so hard that it was starting to bring on a headache. "Do you not remember how many of our men that those fucking things have killed?"

"Well, some of 'em use swords. Why can't I use a gun?" posed Sakamoto calmly, seemingly unfazed by his confidant's hostility.

"You mean you know how to actually use it?"

"Absolutely! I've taken it apart n' reassembled it n' everythin'!"

Takasugi had had enough. He was on the verge of passing out from anger. His headache was radiating from his temples to all over his skull and was subsequently affecting his vision.

"I'm done. I can't be around you. You're disgusting."

He used his sword to push himself off the ground, but Sakamoto snatched the end of the sheath when Takasugi turned on his heel.

"Shinsuke! Hold it! Why ya gotta freak out? It's just a gun. Here," Sakamoto offered up the little machine up to Takasugi, "try it out."

Kicking Sakamoto's forearm, Takasugi hissed, "I'm not touching that thing!"

Sakamoto stood up, and Takasugi was instantly reminded of their significant difference in height. His vision slowly trailed up, the man in front of him being at least a head and a half taller than himself.

"I really think ya need ta do this, Shinsuke," the bouncy cadence of Sakamoto's voice had vanished, and Takasugi felt the gun firmly press into his palm. "Shoot it."

Sakamoto was fundamentally a pacifist, and it was startling to witness how convincing he could be when needed. His blue eyes were steely, his voice was even and deep, and his whole presence— Takasugi was intimidated. He felt so small in comparison.

But he put on his best sneer anyway, "You really are that stupid. These things are loud you fool. We'll be heard."

"It's a lil' handgun. We're far out 'nough that no one 'ill notice." Sakamoto stepped forward a pace to close the gap between them. "A good opponent knows his enemy better than his enemy knows hisself. As the Kiheitai Commander it's in yer best interest ta have shot a gun at least once. Wouldn't ya say?"

Takasugi didn't allow himself to blink. He didn't allow himself to breathe. Teeth gnashing again, he searched Sakamoto's eyes for an underlying motive, but they were unreadable. Just what the hell was Sakamoto was trying to accomplish by this?

A personal war waged within Takasugi. His gut was convulsing in violent repulsion at the weapon, but his mind was also treacherously curious.

Fine," he agreed hatefully.

Most of Sakamoto's lightheartedness returned, but something in his voice still seemed withholding. "Oh, shit. Really? Um, then, great! I swear it'll be good fer ya!"

Takasugi turned the gun over in his hand and studied it. It felt as foreign to him as its origins were. Most of all, he felt dirty for holding the enemy's invention in his proud sword hand.

"Easy now, Shinsuke. I flipped the safety off. It's live. Two hands, a'ight? Elbows bent, wide stance, 'n look right down the length of the pistol." Thinking on his feet, Sakamoto briefly panned their surroundings. "Aha! Shoot inta the water?"

Takasugi strode with a bluff of confidence to the stream. A deep breath in, and he pointed down and out, firing the trigger twice.

As quick as that, it was over.

Sakamoto cheered behind him.

It wasn't the bangs or flashes of light that bothered Takasugi. Rather, it was the recoil of the gun. It was like the gun was fighting against him, like it had a will of its own. It was the complete opposite of a sword. A sword was as loyal as a weapon could get. It eventually became an extension of the wielder's arm, and ultimately, of a swordsman's soul.

However, even silently, he had to admit the act of shooting felt thrillingly powerful, and he could see how unorthodox Sakamoto could take to it.

As he had earlier, the forsaken son shook his head ever-so-slightly in disapproval at himself. He was so fucked up.

"Ahahahaha! Way ta go!" crooned Sakamoto excitedly. "I mean ya got shit aim. Yer shots weren't clustered at all, but ya shot it! Two times even! Ain't it great?" He was back to normal.

Takasugi immediately outstretched his arm, more than ready to be done with the weapon. "It was an experience."

Sakamoto took the gun, clicked something on the side, and then stuffed it back in his shirt. "Aw, yer no fun. C'mon, Shinsuke. Gimme somethin' more."

"I'm thoroughly convinced I'm going to forever prefer swords. Let's get going, Tatsuma. We've been out here long enough. Any longer, and we're going to be doing something even more stupid and reckless than shooting a gun."

Sakamoto obliged and, like a puppy, tailed behind Takasugi as they trekked through farm fields and forests back to camp.

"Shinsuke?" Sakamoto sounded concerned.

A grunt of acknowledgement.

"So, um, d'ya hate me fer havin' a gun?"

"No."

"I only pushed so hard 'cuz I thought it would be good fer ya. Honest truth," Sakamoto was hopscotching across a line of large rocks while confessing. "Ya know, broaden yer perspective a 'lil. Not everyone thinks the same as you, n' I don't want ya ta hate people who may see things differently. I'm sorry. D'ya forgive me? D'ya hate me fer makin' ya shoot the gun?"

Takasugi remained stoic as he hiked forward. The bit about people seeing things differently from himself— Takasugi knew it was a reference to their relationship.

"No."

"No...ya don't hate me? Or no, ya don't forgive me?"

"Yes."

"Shinsuke, please!" cried Sakamoto desperately.

There wasn't a straightforward answer to how Takasugi felt. He didn't resent Sakamoto, but he wasn't happy about the questions the day had raised either. He had a strong feeling that this incident was meant to foreshadow something, and he had an even stronger feeling that it would bring about an end.

Be that as it may, to ponder and to mourn would have its turn. Today wasn't the time or place for such happenings.

Takasugi deadpanned, "We'll be fine as long as you don't tell 'Zura-mama' I punched you."

He looked over his shoulder to find a relieved grin on Sakamoto's dopey mug, and this time, Takasugi didn't hide his own smirk in return. Takasugi was still convinced he was fucked up, but Sakamoto's slap happy smile? Perhaps it was proof after all that he didn't like seeing the good things burn.

If only for today, Takasugi decided it would be alright to give into his friend's infectious joy.

P.S.: Protect Takasugi's smile at all cost!