Matako had never tried to make the newborn Takasugi get the memories of his previous life back.

Since the day she had found that harmless little creature crying in the trunk of an old tree, she had sworn that she would never force him to recall a past that could harm him. Or kill him, as it happened last time.

She just wanted him to be a happy child. To enjoy that new life he gained, even if that meant he would never remember her, or the Kiheitai, or the time they spent together. And that would crush her heart.

She felt an uncomfortable sting of pain in her chest when he smiled at her like a normal child would, his green eyes blissfully unaware of the past they had seen.

A part of her desperately wanted the old Takasugi, the one she had fallen for, back. But another part, the strongest one, wanted him to be happy no matter the cost. After all, true love was about giving not obtaining something from the loved one. And she wanted to give him the best chance to be fully, completely happy.

Although he had already started to find out some differences between himself and other children.

"Why is everyone growing so slowly?"

Matako just said that he was somehow special, without going into stayed silent, his emerald eyes sweeping around as if they could find a better answer under a stone or behind a tree.

Matako wanted him to be happy, even if that meant he would never remember his past. But her love and her efforts were not enough. The old Takasugi had always been the strongest one. And was not going to stay firm and silent any longer.

"Am I… a monster?"

Takasugi asked her that morning, sitting on the futon. The yukata she had put on a five-year-old child the night before was now ridiculously short on the shoulders of the twelvish boy that was looking at her with a veil of melancholy in his eyes. That nostalgic fog in the emerald pupils was what told her the old Takasugi was slowly making his way back into the new child's mind and body.

She couldn't find words to comfort him, so she just hugged him.

Since that night, Takasugi grew more and more silent every passing day. He was always staring out of the window, as if he was captured in an invisible vision or something.

He said nothing, but he didn't have to.

Matako knew him very well. She could almost predict what was going to happen next: slowly, but steadily, the old Takasugi would awake in that new body. He would remember Shoyo, Katsura, the Kiheitai. But, above all, he was going to remember the silver haired samurai.

That's why she wasn't surprised at all when, waking up one morning, she found a grown-up Takasugi, who had collected the blankets to cover what had been left exposed after the yukata gave way under his suddenly grown limbs, sitting on the futon. Even under those circumstances, he somehow managed to sound serious and solemn when he said in the low, husky voice she remembered: "I'm leaving."

There was no need for her to ask where, or for him to tell her. It was him. The man who had been with Takasugi to catch his last breath. The man Takasugi had chased his entire life.

"I kept one of your old kimono in the wardrobe," and she added: "I'll fetch it" to spare Takasugi the embarrassment of going around naked, holding a blanket as a shield for his private parts. Not that she would not enjoyed the view, but it didn't feel right to make him walk down the hall of shame that way.

She didn't say goodbye, neither did he.

"You know you can always go back," she said instead, looking at his back – the back she had always run after, never reaching it.

He did not turn back, but she clearly heard his: "Thank you".

That was all she could wish for.

Everything else that Takasugi could have in his heart was not meant for her, or for anyone but the silver samurai.

There was just one thing Matako was wrong about.

What made the old Takasugi come back was not the Kihetai leader's stubbornness or resent.

It was that old, strong bond that Takasugi had treasured all his previous life. That thread slowly pulled him back, to his old heart and all the feelings it contained.

Even if his left eye was now open, that stupid face still scorched his soul.

Tatsuma was a good fellow, even if he still called him "Kintoki".

He invited him out that night, to have dinner and more than a few drinks outside. Mutsu was not with him, and he wondered who had thought of that courtesy, if the woman or his friend. Not showing loving happiness to someone who had lost that forever was really thoughtful. As it was inviting him out to drink his sadness away, when that period of the year was approaching.

The recurrence of their last battle. And of Takasugi's last words. Last breath. Last everything.

Even if the plan was knocking him drunk before painful memories could set back in, the first to lose against the powerful punch of sakè was Tatsuma.

Gintoki helped him back to his ship, ignoring the drunk babbling and loud laughing scratching his ears, then headed home.

He didn't drink that much that night. The burning feeling of alcohol was still lingering in his stomach, but his mind was clear.

He had decided not to drink like an animal that year. He could not keep running away from those memories: he would have to face them, eventually. So, why not that year?

Gintoki looked at the sky, a pitch-black veil punctuated by some pearly stars.

When Takasugi was alive, every time he had raised his eyes to meet the sky, he had wondered where his old friend could have been. Consciously or not, Takasugi was always wandering around his heart, like a ghost who would never disappear. Of a feeling that would never fade.

They had been friends, then more than friends. Fighting each other, protecting each other or clumsily making love in cramped places where Tatsuma and Katsura could not find them. They had always been together, for better or worse. Until Shoyo's death.

But they had found each other again… only to say farewell again. He still remembered the sharp pain that had torn his heart apart when he had seen the wound on Takasugi's cheek miraculously healing. In that moment, Gintoki had realized he had already lost him. No matter how desperately he could hug him, kiss him or fight for him: Takasugi had mercilessly slipped through his fingers like sand in the wind.

How many years had passed, since he lost his… what? Friend? Lover? Takasugi had been both, and had been more. He had been his everything. His worst friend, his best foe, his everlasting love. And he was gone.

"Damn you, Tatsuma," Gintoki spat out, scratching his head. "You were supposed to distract me."

He was the one who decided not to drink excessively and embrace the pain. Still, accusing his friend was kind of relieving.

Gintoki was still mumbling something against Sakamoto, and how he wished him a horrible hangover the next morning, when he finally entered his home. He immediately sensed that something was off. He silently put a hand on his wooden sword, trying to find out who was hiding in the shadows of the night.

Kagura was on a trip with his father, and would not be home for three days. Shinpachi had to help his sister renewing their dojo, so he was not coming back to that apartment any soon either.

He was still wondering and searching when a voice surprised him right behind his ear. A deep tone he knew too well, and a phrase he remembered too well.

"To think the man they called Shiroyasha would let someone attack him from behind… Gintoki, have you lost your edge?"

His soul evaporated from his body. He couldn't move, but not because he had a sharp blade pointed to his back like that time at the festival: reality suddenly felt as if it was made of molten lead, too thick and heavy to make even the slightest movement in it.

"Did I drink that much?" he exhaled, after some instants of heavy silence. "Or am I dreaming? Or did I fall drunk into the river, drown and die?"

Why was he picturing his death that way, knocked out by alcohol and water together, he couldn't tell. He just had to say something before his head and heart would explode. He had sworn he would face reality, as ugly as it was, that year. Was the grief so unbearable he was now seeing and hearing things?

Before he could say another word, a merciless punch directed to his nape got him flat on his stomach.

"As I suspected, I'd rather punch you than have a drink with you," that low voice mocked him. A rustle of silk, and a figure dressed in a violet kimono appeared in front of his watery – that punch hurt, damn it! - eyes. A closed fist swung dangerously near to his face. "Do you need another one? Just to be sure you're not dreaming."

"You little bastard," Gintoki spat out, emphasizing "little". "This is a dirty plan of yours to look taller!"

He had not more than a second to dodge the second punch. The wooden floor cracked under its strength.

"Looks like you finally got back to your senses," commented that too familiar voice.

Calm down, he needed to calm down.

Gintoki got back to his feet as quickly as he could, and reached for the light switch.

His breath withdrew in the deepest part of his lungs at the sight of the man knelt on his floor.

"Taka…" some air climbed painstakingly his throat, just enough to say that name "…sugi?"

The man stood up, and Gintoki could finally see him properly. Dark hair, contemptuous posture and that kimono always left maliciously open to uncover the firm chest. The color of the eyes was the same shade of green he remembered, except that that time they were both open and fixed on him.

"How is this possible?"

"How can I possibly know? I came back as a baby, and I grew up until…"

"You didn't grow that much. You should've tried harder."

"Do you want me to punch you again?"

That sarcasm and that fighting were the same that had always characterized their strange but everlasting bond.

Gintoki's hand edged towards the man, but stopped halfway.

There had been times, when he was still half asleep and had dreamt that Takasugi was still alive, he had reached for him with his hand… just to find a cold and empty sheet. And pain had always set back in like a fierce beast, maybe the black one Takasugi had always talked about.

Nevertheless, he forced his hand forward. That time, the man's bare chest didn't disappear between his stretched fingers. It felt warm, alive under his fingertips, and he could feel Takasugi's quiet heartbeat under his palm.

But that was impossible. He had seen him dying, he had felt him dying – his eyes dimming in the fog of death, his body going colder and colder in his arms. His old friend's eyelids hadn't fluttered when Gintoki had broken their last promise and one solitary tear had dropped on Takasugi's cold cheek.

He had witnessed every step Takasugi had made towards his grave, and hadn't been able to stop him. How could he be sure that what was standing in front of him was not something his mind had made up to lessen his remorse?

"I grieved your loss," he finally said. "All this time."

Takasugi placed his hands on Gintoki's face, slowly caressing his skin as if to sweep the pain away.

"Gintoki, this was not premeditated," one hand reached Gintoki's untamable silver curls, combing them backwards so he had no shield to hide his emotions behind. "I genuinely thought I was going to die. I died. But I managed to come back… in a way I, myself, cannot understand nor explain."

The grip on his curls tensed, and he would think that was one of Takasugi's bad jokes to bother him, hadn't it been for what he said after that:

"Do you really need an explanation?"

The subtle message was clear - Takasugi was very good at making himself understood even when he said just half of what he was thinking. Or maybe it was Gintoki that had learnt far back in the past how to read Takasugi's silences.

Do you really need an explanation, to go back to that time when we were together?

Gintoki raised his left hand, the right one still resting on his old friend's chest, and passed his fingers through the young man's hair. Even that sensation was identical to the one his palm and his heart remembered. His hand was driven almost automatically to reach Takasugi's nape, as he used to do when he was about to kiss him.

Gintoki pulled Takasugi closer and felt the man's warmth gently wafting over his body like a soothing wave. Gintoki had never forgotten that sensation too. It felt good, so good he was almost afraid to let himself believe it was all true.

"Why did you come here?"

That criminal smirk was another thing that hadn't changed.

"Isn't it obvious? You still have to give me back my Portopia Serial Murder Case."

"Uh?" Gintoki whispered on the man's lips - still curved in that arrogant smile. "Wasn't it Erotopia? Or Temple Babe? No, wait, weren't you into amateur stuff?"

Maybe Takasugi had had enough of his nonsense or he didn't like how Gintoki was making him wait for a stupid kiss. Whatever the reason, he grabbed his black shirt and pulled the silver samurai towards himself, making their lips finally meet. Gintoki exulted inside: he was still good at stressing Takasugi exactly what was needed to make him a little more… passionate.

Gintoki's hands did not hesitate to slip inside his lover's kimono and explore his body as the kiss grew intense. His fingertips moved almost hectically, frantically searching for proofs that that was real: his chest, his back, his shoulders, his neck. The scars they collected challenging each other when they were kids and fighting in the war as adults were missing: the skin of that brand new body was smooth and untouched, as no samurai's one could possibly be.

Gintoki tightened the grip on Takasugi's waist when he broke the kiss to look into his companion's eyes. Another thing that had changed: no closed eyelids with his crying face etched behind.

Takasugi had changed. Yet, he still was his Takasugi.

"Stay," Gintoki touched the man's forehead with his, a distance no longer than a breath between their lips. "I need to see with my own eyes that you won't disappear."

Takasugi released a sigh, as if he had to deal with a spoiled child. His kimono made a silky rustling noise when he raised his arms to wrap them around Gintoki's neck, placing his cheek against his companion's. Gintoki returned the hug, deeply breathing in Takasugi's criminal perfume and warmth.

"I'm neither a dream nor a ghost, Gintoki. I won't fade away with the sunrise. But I'll leave for sure, if you keep wasting time."

Gintoki almost jumped on the futon when a sunbeam poked him in the eye.

He had sworn to himself he would not fall asleep – he needed to be sure that Takasugi was staying – but he had spent a lot of energy, kissing and making love to his companion. Not only physical, but emotional one too: he had felt as if he was drowning in the turbulent ocean his feelings had become, and he had to use all of his strength to stay afloat. That was kind of ironical, considering that he had no idea how to swim.

And he had the felling that Takasugi was as desperate as he was for that longed-for intimacy. They gave each other everything they have, until the last fiber of their souls.

But had all that passion been real? Wasn't another of that nightmares that came to hunt him, was it?

Gintoki felt his heart pumping so fiercely it vibrated throughout his body, as he turned left to see if that unbelievably good dream was still there.

"My back is on fire, you moron."

Not exactly a dreamlike line to start the day with, but that was okay. He didn't need a dream. He needed Takasugi, alive, by his side.

"You asked for it," Gintoki replied, his eyes sweeping the figure lying on his futon. The blanket barely covered Takasugi's hips, letting the sunlight caress his back. He didn't have any scars, but he had now a lot of red love bites all over it.

Takasugi glared at him.

"When exactly did I ask for it?"

"Maybe not at the beginning, but you did somewhere halfway. I'm sure."

"You're sick in the head."

Takasugi pulled the blanket over his shoulders and rolled on his back to look at him – again, not exactly in a friendly way.

"Since I can't move, thanks to you, you go out and buy something that is actually intended for human consumption. I bet you have only anko and rice here."

"What's wrong with that?"

"That's dog food. Go and buy something decent. And some Yakult. And a kiseru. And tobacco."

"Wait, how much money do you think I have?"

"That's the least you should provide, if you want me to come back again."

Gintoki slid in under the blanket, reaching Takasugi and putting his hands on his hips, pressing them gently to make his lover move towards him. He stroked his back, pressing their chests one against each other so their heartbeats would melt together. Gintoki still had to get used to see both of Takasugi's green eyes returning his look.

"You don't have to come back. You can just stay, don't you think?"

"What about those two?" asked Takasugi, referring to Shinpachi and Kagura. "How are you going to explain my presence here?"

"I'll figure out."

Shinpachi would shout a lot, but maybe he could buy Kagura's comprehension with a generous amount of konbu and rice. Had he found money for that, first.

"What about the Shinsengumi, if they find out you're hiding a criminal?"

"I don't think your criminal records still count, since… what happened."

Gintoki stopped before saying: "since you died". He was afraid that, by putting that thought into words, Takasugi would be blown away by the wind like dust.

"And what about your old companions?" asked back Gintoki.

Takasugi turned serious

"They know where they can find me."

Gintoki didn't know what Matako had done in that period, but Takasugi did, and would not forget. He was grateful to her. But they both knew that he could never give her what she wished for: all of his heart and soul had been stolen by the samurai that was holding him in his arms.

"I can always tell them to come by and see."

"Wait, what do you think this is, a hotel?"

"Please. That would be the shabbiest hotel ever known to mankind."

"If you think so, why don't you leave?"

"Do you want me to?"

Silence. And that victorious smirk on Takasugi's face when Gintoki could not reply. Damn bastard, he knew he had won that one.

"Just stay. Quiet," replied Gintoki, hugging him tighter.

"It won't be easy, you know?" Takasugi's deep voice whispered into his ear.

"It has never been easy. But we have always found a way out."

They would find a way, they always did.

They had a whole life to work it out.

Please be understanding, English is not my mother-tongue, and I couldn't find a Beta reader.

So I'm sure there are some misspelled words or incorrect verb tenses, even if I checked three times.

Just wanted to see Shinsuke and Gintoki back together after GinTaka – ehrm, Gintama - the final.

E ancora auguri di buon Natale a te, kohai.

Spero che il mio pensierino ti sia piaciuto!