Serendipity

Summary: Six years ago, he left her. In fact, he left everything behind after Mitsuba's death and sought to create a new life for himself – away from the memories and the friends that served as a painful reminder of his sister. But China found him again, adamant to make a mess of everything and destroy the horrid world he had discovered for himself. And before he knew it, his black and white universe was beginning to fall into ruins, slowly but gradually starting to be consumed by her vibrant colors.

Warnings: Depictions of suicidal tendencies, depression, coarse language, BDSM, dom/sub undertones, and graphic sex scenes. If any of these are potential triggers to you, please avoid this story at all costs.

A/N: Gintama is comedy gold, but I would have to say that this fic will be the exact opposite of that. Pretty depressing, but it will also have its heartfelt moments. Completely AU and completely Okikagu. As usual, Okita and Kagura are both aged up in this story, with Okita being 24 and Kagura reaching the age of 20.

And yes, I realize that I already have an ongoing Okikagu fic, but can you blame me? This world needs more Okikagu content. No worries though, I'll be updating Nirvana either tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. In any case, I'm not dropping any of my fics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gintama. I'm not that funny.

Prologue

Since when did he start seeing things differently?

Okita ambled his way through the large, bustling crowd on the streets, his footsteps distinct but heavy as he trudged his way through the busy city for the safety of his apartment. He considered something for a moment, mulling over the pros and cons of buying his own birthday cake as he paused mid-step to fixate his attention on the lit up bakery at his right. His mind drifted, a ringing sound deafening in his ears as his gaze involuntarily landed on a pair of siblings bickering at the counter. Recollections of brown hair that closely resembled his, memories of scarlet orbs and a warm smile permeated his head in an instant before he all but defused his brain. An all too familiar ache tugged at his heartstrings before he habitually disregarded the feeling.

On second thought, he probably didn't need to celebrate his birthday. There was no one to celebrate with in the first place, and what was the point? He wasn't a kid anymore. Besides, the exhaustion creeping in from the previous game was already seeping into his skin – and the notion of his comfortable bed became all the more tempting, prompting him to hasten his already hurried steps.

Seriously? Go to hell.

July 8th, 8:45 p.m. and Okita found himself inwardly conjuring up a long string of curses in his head as he caught a glimpse of overbearingly recognizable vermillion hair and sapphire blue irises on one of the billboards in front of him. The brief, accidental glance ignited even more unbearable memories from within the closed off depths of his subconscious and caused a lump to appear in his throat. Even after all these years, she refused to leave him alone and stubbornly remained as the biggest thorn at his side.

His luck was at an all time low as usual. Today was no different, though he wasn't sure what he was expecting to begin with. His life ever since the passing of Mitsuba was nothing short of miserable, and his sight had long since been impaired with monotonous shades as time continued to be at a standstill for him. Not that he minded; he had regularly retained his aloof and distant persona for all this time and he was hard-headed enough to keep it that way. He didn't need the emotions – neither did he harbor a sliver a desire for a companion. He had taken extreme measures to abandon all remnants of humanity and dreams from his system and he wasn't about to pick any of those prospects up anytime soon.

Someone like him was better suited to be alone after all.

He checked the time as displayed by his wristwatch. July 8th, 8:50, his date and time of birth. But as per usual, his days remained to be voided of any splinter of joy or vibrance. As it should be.

"And here I thought I was finally going to get some peace and quiet."

Okita's high-pitched, exasperated sigh was painstakingly sluggish as he perceived the familiar figure seating and making himself comfortable on the couch of his living room. Lustrous strands as pitch black as the night sky, slitted and vacant orbs in an equally dark blue hue and a distinguishable thin line on chapped lips was the sight that greeted him that evening. The 24 year old promptly kicked his shoes off and practically slammed the door shut behind him before he then proceeded to saunter into the threshold of his almost empty apartment. His habitually impassive demeanor suffered a hairline fracture as a frisson of irritation crushed over him in strong waves.

Kirigaya Ikari. An eloquent man in his 50s with the luck of having his facial features appearing far younger than his actual age. His shogi mentor, adoptive parent, and a prominent parasyte clinging to him for dear life who had taken him in when he lost both of his parents and his sister. The two of them shared a rather convoluted bond – then again, looking back on it, Okita was all too aware of the fact that most of his relationships with anyone comprised of complicated feelings he would rather not indulge in. That, of course, didn't mean that Ikari could simply barge into his residence whenever he felt like it. If even the safety of his penthouse was robbed away from him, Okita dreaded musing over how he would no longer have a single moment of peace or reprieve from that ever present numbing pain poking needles at the middle of his chest.

"I'm here to talk about some relevant matters with you," Ikari droned, the rich and deep baritone of his voice possessing that trademark detached approach as he spoke. Cautious, prolonged, perfectly articulate. Even their manner of speech functioned to directly contradict each other.

"Can't this wait until tomorrow?" came Okita's dry response as he began unbuttoning his pristine buttoned down shirt. "I'm feeling crappy as shit as it is already. Don't really need you to make things worse."

Ikari observed him discarding the article of clothing in a nonchalant way over his shoulder, uncaring of where it landed as he flopped down on the other single-seater couch facing him. He gave a deliberate pause, knowing that the delayed response would merely aggravate his adoptive son's nerves even further before the words eventually bubbled out of his throat. "Today's your birthday, no? Perhaps we should make it a special occasion for once. It would suffice to assume that you won against your opponent today as well, I reckon. A little gift once a while would bring no harm."

"You like to sugarcoat things too much," Okita uttered the blunt, tart retort, a scoff rippling out of his chest. Reaching for the remote on the coffee table, he then went on to switch on the television, expression neutral as usual as he flipped through the channels. "What did you come here for? You rarely visit. Not that I care, I'd prefer if you didn't."

The older man shrewdly opted against acknowledging the blatant insult thrown at his direction as he instead alternated the subject. "Who was your match again? It was that crippled and senile golden citizen, no? Was it difficult to compete against him, knowing that if he lost he would have to retire from being a pro shogi player?"

"Doesn't make much difference," Okita snorted out his reply, wisely repudiating the sudden guilt interrupting his composed bearing as he offered a disinterested shrug of his left shoulder. "Senile or not, I'm gonna need cash. Can't have the ladies unsatisfied whenever they come over after all."

He noticed the slight twitch of Ikari's mouth, almost condescending as a jeering sneer slanted at the corners of his lips. "Still sleeping around I see."

"Not as much as before," Okita firmly corrected him, somewhat offended at the patronizing look plastered on his features. "Women get too attached, and I don't really need the drama. Besides, I'm too busy."

"You have about five to six matches a month, if I remember correctly," Ikari asserted as if he was confident in the truth behind the little detail. Which wasn't really a far stretch from reality. "I don't reckon you would return to my house ever again, what with you earning plenty every year."

"I needed the solitude," Okita murmured, loathing grabbing at his sides. Although, whether it was due to his deep-rooted hatred for Ikari, or himself for coming across as meek despite his best efforts to recoup himself – he himself was entirely unconvinced. "Stop beating around the bush and tell me what you want. This dilly-dallying is pissing me off. I'll give you anything, just leave me alone."

The man in front of him ran a wrinkled hand through his jet black mane, his fingers pushing his bangs away from his eyes as he drank in the sight of the lively city outside of the building complex. "How do you feel about tying the knot, Sougo? I think it would do you good to have someone by your side if you really want to spend the rest of your life away from the only family you have."

The sudden suggestion was the last thing he had anticipated, and Okita wasn't positive whether he should laugh out loud or supply a snappy remark as he pondered over the feasibility of this being a well-planned but ill-conceived prank. "Are you messing around with me? If you are, I'm not finding this funny at all," the snarl, low and dangerous, rumbled through his chest. "Cut the crap and get out."

"I see you are still quite rude as usual. Haven't you learnt some manners at all?" Ikari's displeasure-consumed sigh echoed through his disdainful syllables. "Cease that glaring and calm yourself. I am here to discuss, not to indulge you in a mouth war. That kind of interaction with you is draining."

Okita's scornful glower didn't waver for even a milisecond – if anything, the icy stare simply intensified even further with the tight press of his lips in a line of muted chagrin. "Then leave."

"I need an heir," Ikari proceeded despite Okita's threatening stance, one hand reaching to tuck a single tress of his hair behind his ear. His picture of poised posturing held in patent contrast with the hatred dancing in Okita's furious scarlet irises as he went on, "You are the only offspring I have, and I need you to follow through with legacy, even if you need a little bit of fixing in regards to your rotten demeanor.

"Legacy?" Okita repeated in an incredulous growl, the sound guttural and from within the deepest pit of his gut. "You mean, shogi? Bullshit. I'm not your plaything."

"Say whatever you like if that makes you feel better." Ikari paused as he took in Okita's biting of his lower lip, the younger male apparently trying his damnest to quell another insult. "But if you really do wish to be rid of my presence, then you will have to be patient and listen for once. I am not stepping out of this apartment until we have this discussion."

"A forced discussion," came Okita's bitter remark, the resentment conspicuous as it scratched the surface of his voice. But then his mind reeled, the gears in his head turning before clicking as an idea flashed in his subconscious. "Fine then, whatever. Have it your way, old man. I'll give you as many fucking babies you want." He relented as he then pointed a finger at the older man, a slow smirk quirking at the edges of his lips. "But if I do, you promise you'll stop butting into my life. For good, this time. I didn't leave the house to have you around."

"Of course." A smile was now plastered on Ikari's chafed mouth. A chilling smile, possessing undertones of sinister intent. Okita perceived this and attempted to ignore the bad feeling forming in his belly as he retained his challenging attitude. "But I already have a pretty nice young lady set for you. If we're really going to go along with this…how do I say it, agreement? Yes, yes. If we're really going to follow through with this agree, then I reckon you don't mind me choosing your bride."

"Does it matter?" Okita responded despite the growing doubt budding in his head. He wasn't about to back out – if there was anything worth salvaging about him, it was his inflated ego for one. "I'm gonna be divorcing her after I give you a kid or two. Not really that different from the women I've been with."

"Always so detached," Ikari reflected, the smirk on his face broadening ever so slightly as his cerulean eyes flashed a dangerous glint at his adoptive son's direction. "I wonder if you'll keep up with the act when I show you this?" he pondered aloud as he reached inside his neatly ironed vest, retrieving a single photo before he proceeded to situate it on the coffee table. Okita produced a lump in his throat the instant he caught sight of the familiar woman in the picture.

Vermillion hair, sapphire blue eyes. That ever present shit eating grin. Of course. She was always a thorn at his side, after all.

In spite of himself, Okita couldn't fight the recollections perturbing the composed depths of his mind as his gaze lingered on the recognizable face of a ghost from his past. Memories of tender kisses, fingers intertwining in a tight hold, the chiming bells of her laughter and the warmth behind her smile invaded his senses and ran havoc all over his subconscious. At the same time, flashes of blood pooling under his sister's body, Mitsuba's weak-willed and coerced smile, and her lifeless form lying on the bed in front of him continued to accompany the reminiscent sensation that came along with seeing her face again. Pleasant remembrance mingled with the heart-stabbing reminder of his sister's death and Okita found himself regretting his earlier confidence.

However, for some reason, he couldn't stop himself from forming the words: "Yeah, sure. You've got a deal."

She was his weakness, she had always been. Even after six years.