The next morning was almost surreal for both men. Hijikata woke up with an aching body, realizing that he had not only spent the entire night sleeping in an awkward position on the floor, but also that he had overslept for work. Gintoki woke up to the sound of the Shinsengumi officer grumbling at his current plight. It was like a fucked up sleepover between two friends who didn't even know if they were really friends.

Hijikata exhaled loudly and considered his options. He could either leave right now with no proper closure to the previous night's conversation or stay and subject himself to more unpleasant moments with the Yorozuya. He pinched the bridge of his nose irritatedly and sighed, then chose the latter.

"Oh? Not going to work today, Hijikata-kun?" Gintoki sat up and idly ran a hand through his hair, before carrying on with his usual morning routine of digging his nose. What? He had to make sure no flowers were in there.

Hijikata slowly stood up, his bones slightly creaking. "Nah, I guess not." he said plainly, making his way to the bathroom to wash up.

"Wowwww, that's amazing. The Demonic Vice Commander, playing hooky." Gintoki mocked. "Hey, is it going to snow? It's snowing, isn't it? The pigs are flying outside right now too, aren't they?" he watched nonchalantly as Hijikata brushes his teeth with— Wait. Isn't that his fucking toothbrush? What the hell.

He tried to get up from where he was sitting to give Hijikata a piece of his mind, but was abruptly struck with an alarming dizziness. The world around him seemed to blur in motion and he gasped quietly at the intensity of his vertigo. He became suddenly aware of how weak he was — he probably couldn't leave this bed even if he tried.

Gintoki nevertheless said nothing, not even when Hijikata exited the bathroom and stomped over in indignation. "I'm not going to work today," He snarled, "because whatever the fuck is going on here, is more important than work."

The silver-haired man peered at him through unfocused eyes — which seemed entirely out of disinterest in Hijikata's point of view, but in Gintoki's defence was because of his light-headedness — and clicked his teeth in annoyance. "You're acting like today's the last day of my life." He remarked.

This seemed to strike a nerve in the other man, hard .

"And why the fuck ," Hijikata emphasized, "are you not acting like you're literally dying? because you are?"

Huh ? If Gintoki wasn't already reeling from the giddiness, the anger he felt from the cop's question was enough to send him into a raging oblivion.

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"You're sitting here pretending like you don't care about what's going on, you're refusing to do what would obviously help you, and you're just completely oblivious to the fact that this situation you're in is a major, fucking huge deal."

Gintoki saw red. "Who the fuck are you to tell me what I'm feeling?" Clenching his fist, he considered ignoring the exhaustion in his body just so he could strangle the person standing by his bedside. " You're not the one in pain. You're not the one who has to leave everyone behind. You're not the goddamn one who has to decide between forgetting or dying," he spat. "Don't you ever tell me how to act."

Hijikata didn't back down. It was the first time in days that they've exchanged this many words, and they were already riding on a tempo that was going too fast to stop now.

"You know what? You're right - and you know why? Because you don't tell me anything. I don't fucking know what's going on in that thick head of yours because you don't tell me SHIT."

"You never ASK."

Infuriated, Hijikata grabbed Gintoki violently by the collar of his yukata and nearly screamed in his face. "I DO ask, and I'm fucking asking again, asshole — why won't you go for the goddamn surgery ?!"

"Because-" Gintoki hesitated, and it was this moment of delay that threw Hijikata over the edge. Roughly pushing him back against the bed, the vice commander lost whatever little control he had left and swiped an arm across the bedside table in a rage, knocking over the lamp and alarm clock. Both objects flew across the room and landed with a loud crash that seemed to echo throughout the room.

Gintoki laid on the bed subduedly. He swore he was this close to telling the truth — he felt the words on the tip of his tongue. Looking at Hijikata from the corner of his eye, he scrutinized every facial expression; took note of how exasperated and worn down he is, and finally came to terms with the fact that this was not a man who would accept a love confession.

It was a man who very simply, absolutely hates his guts.

What would happen then, if Hijikata ever finds out in the near future that he was the cause of Gintoki's death? If his feelings aren't reciprocated, then he knows Hijikata's guilt would eat away at him like a curse after he leaves; he'd fill himself with the same vehement self-hatred he had when Mitsuba died, blaming himself for the plain fact that he wasn't able to give her what she wanted, even on her deathbed.

Gintoki cursed inwardly. He wanted so badly to have it all work out; wanted so badly to not be crippled with the irrational fear that rendered him speechless. In his mind, he was screaming. His lungs felt like they were burst and bleeding with the sheer amount of force expelled by every quiet shriek he made. Why couldn't he hear him? And why couldn't he fucking say anything? As he laid on the bed still and unmoving, his body, however, threatened to collapse within itself. He imagined his heart swelling excessively till thick blood seeped out of their chambers; his ribcage decaying and withering inwards like a plant that had never experienced a gardener's care. He felt so much despair in that moment, he thought he could vomit his guts out right there and then.

Hijikata, on the other hand, was livid. This was the angriest he had ever been in his life, enough to just straight up murder the other samurai in cold-blood right now, if he wasn't already dying in the first place. It was getting too stupidly exhausting; he felt like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum for not getting what he wanted. It just wasn't him, but he was running out of options. He thought he felt angry tears stinging his eyes, and decided that he had to find a way to calm himself down before he did something he'd regret.

The sound of light rain tapped against the window, and he took it as his cue to disengage. He straightened his clothes and stepped backwards before turning to grab his valuables. "Whatever. I'm going to get us lunch." He declared. Despite his explosion of anger seconds ago, he felt the need to announce that he was coming back, as if to assure the both of them that the animosity was merely short-lived. Gintoki, however, didn't seem convinced.

As the cop left the room without another word, Gintoki turned to lie on his side to face the windows once again. Ah . He should have asked Hijikata to open the blinds. He couldn't figure out much of what was going on outside, but it sounded like the rain was getting heavier. Hope he brought an umbrella , he mused to himself.

The abrupt silence that descended upon the room after Hijikata's exit wasn't as suffocating as when he was present, but it was just as uncomfortable. Gintoki couldn't help but be hyper-aware of how shallow his breathing had become, and how his head was starting to feel like he had a thousand rubber bands wrapped around his temples. The more oxygen he tried to draw in his breath, the more his chest convulsed and urged him to cough. He never knew how strangely claustrophobic it felt to have hindered breathing, and it filled him with an anxiety he never had to face till now.

He decided to forgo washing up entirely, seeing as he couldn't even move from his current position. If Hijikata was going to judge him for having a smelly breath when he comes back, then so be it. His impression of him at this point in time probably couldn't get any worse than it already was.

It was about an hour later when Hijikata returned; he had taken the time to slowly clear his head, smoke four cigarettes, and finally get food for the both of them. He came back with two plastic bags: one carrying a large tray of sushi from the nearest convenience store and a bottle of sake he had managed to stack precariously above it, and another carrying what he hoped would be a sufficient token of an apology for the silver-haired samurai.

"Woah, take-away parfait and strawberry milk?" Gintoki exclaimed excitedly, the remnant feelings of the earlier argument melting away in an instant. "Hijikata-kun, you know me so well," he cooed playfully.

Hijikata snorted under his breath and, without thinking, sat at the edge of the bed beside him. He realised too late that he could have just made things awkward with his sudden invasion of Gintoki's space, but the other man paid no attention and he relaxed. Unpacking the food from their plastic, he placed the large tray of sushi in between them on the blanket and passed Gintoki the carton of strawberry milk.

"Oh, I keep forgetting- could you open the blinds?"

Hijikata obliged and did exactly that, and the room was once again filled with light from the outside. In spite of the heavy rain, it was the brightest the room had been in a long while.

Returning to the bed, he noticed Gintoki making a face after tasting the milk. It wasn't that of disgust; it was somewhat despondent, but he couldn't properly tell. "Not to your liking?" He asked.

Gintoki forced a small laugh. "To be honest… I can't taste anything," he stared at the half-empty carton in his hand gloomily. "Not a single thing." Picking up the chopsticks, he dips and swirls them in the tub of soya sauce that the sushi came with, before placing them in his mouth. No saltiness, nothing. As sad as it was, his taste buds had completely failed him.

Hijikata didn't know what to say. What can he say? Oh, don't worry. Strawberry milk isn't that great anyway so you're not missing out. Nope. He chose to silently offer him the bottle of sake instead. Gintoki raised an eyebrow and looked at him quizzically, and Hijikata reasoned that he might as well drink alcohol — that's like, getting the benefits of liquor without having to taste the drawbacks.

Pushing the bottle towards the other man's face, Hijikata's voice wore a slight tinge of impatience. "Just take it before I add mayonnaise to it." That was enough for Gintoki to hastily grab the bottle and take a swig. It was crude, sure. Sake was meant to be poured into cups and slowly savored between friends, but at this point, who even cares anymore?

He relished the burning sensation that slid down his throat — the best thing that's ever happened to that part of his body the past few days — and leaned back against the bed's headboard, pleased.

Hijikata continued eating. For a moment, things seemed back to normal. Apologies were never needed after their fights; as much as they couldn't see eye to eye on most things, they still always managed to return to periods of shared respite after the dust settled.

"Thanks," Gintoki said simply, and the cop nodded his head in acknowledgement. It was already 4pm and the pitter-patter of the rain against the windows sounded like they were slowing down. As the dark clouds steadily dissipated, soft light gleamed through the glass and enveloped the room in a faint yellow hue.

Hijikata caught a glimpse of Gintoki gently immersed in pale amber, and was enchanted by the way the light delicately fell upon his silver locks; the way the red in his pupils shone crimson against the sun's rays. In this precious moment, he finally saw Gintoki clear as day: he was weary and thin, and his cheekbones were more prominent than he had remembered. His fatigued appearance was tremendously dissonant with the glow that gracefully veiled him — but Hijikata thought he still looked beautiful.

In that instant, he wished he could be the one to save Gintoki.

The idea in itself of the other man being mutually attracted to him sounded as ludicrous as it was presumptuous of him to think that it would have been possible in the first place. He knew how difficult he was to handle as a person, and how disagreeable and demanding he was by nature. What happened with Sougo and Mitsuba proved it, and so he'll hold this flaw close to his heart till he eventually rests in his own grave. With Gintoki, it was worse — they've always fought every time they met, so why would he stupidly assume that they'd both set aside their differences that easily?

The sudden forlornness that crept into his features must have been noticed by the other samurai, because Gintoki began to randomly mention funny instances in his life that had brought tears of laughter to his eyes; like that one prank he played on Shinpachi that ended up in total chaos, just like how the Yorozuyas' adventures usually end up being. It was almost as if he was trying to cheer up the both of them despite the situation. His voice was unrestrained and energetic, and Hijikata found himself slowly chuckling along as well.

It seemed like the alcohol was gradually taking effect, and a wave of contentment swept through both men as they reminisced about the past. It had been a long time since they've sat together amicably for such a long period of time and, honestly, it was nice. For both of them. As hours passed, however, the laughter soon died and was once again replaced with a somber silence. More specifically, Gintoki's quiet fear of dying and Hijikata's dread of losing him.

Gintoki felt his chest tighten once more, and he was flooded with desolation. If this brief moment of peace between them was meant to pave the way for a future without each other, then maybe he'd rather they bickered like snotty children forever instead. At least that would have been better than this .

He had never contemplated death like this before. Why was it such a big deal to die, and why was everyone so terrified of it? If you've lived a meaningful life with no regrets, then dying should be nothing to worry about, right? Gintoki glanced at the profile of the man sitting beside him. Hijikata was looking down at his half-eaten parfait, his thoughts distant.

Suddenly, his mind was filled with an incoherent list of shitty things that he had done throughout his life, and he found himself wrought with guilt. He should apologize. Apologize for being such a wreck of an adult - apologize for ultimately still being an unfixable mess despite everyone's efforts in loving him. I'm sorry, Shinpachi, for blowing our salary on alcohol and pachinko. I'm sorry, Kagura, for not buying you the hundred stacks of sukonbu you wanted because I made us go broke from that. I'm sorry, Sadaharu, for not feeding you because the Pogemon reruns were on TV and I was too lazy to move from the sofa. I'm sorry, Otose, for not paying rent on time and just being a useless adult in general.

Gintoki looked at the man before him once again. And I'm sorry, Hijikata . I'm sorry you had to know someone like me; a coward who doesn't have the fucking balls to tell you the truth.

He exhaled slowly. "This was bound to happen."

Hijikata looked up. "What was?"

"You, me, together like this. One of us breathing our last. It was only a matter of time, don't you think?"

A weary silence permeated through them, pulling both men deeper into their anxieties. It was starting to get cold all over again; Gintoki clutched the blanket tighter around him in response.

He imagined a perfect world where carefree actions didn't have their long-term consequences; a reality where he and Hijikata could share their emotions as easily as they came. He wished he could sufficiently articulate the chaos of feelings in his head, and how he ultimately was glad Hijikata existed in his life. They weren't the best things to have happened to each other, he thought, but they were enough.

The vice commander gritted his teeth. "I'm 'gonna ask you one last time," his eyes met with Gintoki's. "Will you go for the surgery?"

Gintoki stared back, the reds of his eyes boring deep into the other man's navy ones. He couldn't choose to forget about Hijikata, not now. Not anymore. Still, he was relatively more relaxed with the liquor in his body, and he found a little bit of courage in his next words. "Come on, man. Why're you so insistent on me going for the surgery?" he asked. "What if it was you?"

Hijikata's jaw dropped open slightly, but he quickly closed it before the other man could notice (he did). He consciously flattened his brows and loosened his shoulders in an effort to look as disinterested as he possibly could. His heart had skipped a beat involuntarily, and he surprised himself with his body's knee-jerk reaction at such a simple, rhetorical question. Unfortunately, he ended up looking more disgruntled and displeased than he actually was. In fact, he seemed like he was cringing a little, almost as if his facial expressions didn't know what to make of his thought process and just decided to go for what they were used to doing.

Gintoki, on the other hand, appeared mildly petrified. Regret filled him the moment the question had left his lips, and his fear was confirmed with Hijikata's look of displeasure that followed soon after. That was the wrong fucking move . It was the stupid alcohol — it gave him too much blind bravery, and he erroneously tried to use the opportunity to test the waters. Well, it obviously backfired. He now knew Hijikata would have never accepted his confession; not then, and certainly not now. He panicked and, with extreme trepidation, tried to coolly play it off how he thinks he usually would.

"I'm just joking, you don't have to look that angry about it," he scoffed, albeit with a slight tremor in his voice. The other man didn't immediately respond, which prompted Gintoki to stick a finger into his ear under the pretense of digging it because he was bored of this conversation. Please don't notice.

Hijikata didn't. He was much too preoccupied with his own thoughts — his heart had skipped another beat, but this time it had weighed a little heavier in his chest. Oh . He wasn't sure what he had expected, but Gintoki's words didn't make him feel happy either. "Well… if it were me. Hypothetically," he added, "I'd want you to go for the surgery so you'll live."

"Even if it meant that I'd forget you completely? Didn't know you were so self-sacrificial."

The cop paused for a moment. At this point, he was already convinced that any potential feelings he had for Gintoki would be purely one-sided. The Yorozuya boss was only joking , of course he was. Still, he was wrecked. An answer formed instantaneously in his mind: if you forget me, I'd make sure to meet you all over again. I'd make sure we get off on the right foot, this time. I'd make — I'd make you fall in love with me.

What? He wasn't sure which part of his brain he pulled that from, but he definitely wasn't thinking right. Trying not to overanalyze it, he decided to go with the customary insult as per their regular squabbles.

"Maybe you'll finally stop being a pain in my ass. It's a win-win situation."

Gintoki half-squinted at the shinsengumi officer. "Fuck you, asshole." he scowled, pettily slapping the rest of the uneaten sushi with the plastic tray cover. He wasn't actually angry — honestly he was glad for the brief exchange of jibes that he's more accustomed to.

Hijikata, however, was overwhelmed by a quiet fury. Not at Gintoki, no. He was furious at himself for not saying what he had truly meant. He initially thought his first choice of words would be the correct route to go, but now he was afflicted with a fierce uncertainty that pervaded his thoughts and jeopardized all sense of rationality. There was only one thing he could do. "I'm gonna go smoke." He stood up from the bed and started sweeping the rubbish into the plastic bags so that he could throw them into the bin on his way out. Gintoki made no fuss, and watched as the cop rummaged his abandoned jacket on the floor for his pack of cigarettes.

Perhaps after Hijikata returns, he might work up the courage to finally tell him the real reason behind not going for the surgery; how he had simply and unequivocally fallen in love with him and just couldn't bear the thought of forgetting him and the memories they had shared together. He smiled to himself in anticipation, and absentmindedly waved a hand as Hijikata turned back to face him.

The Shinsengumi officer gave the other man a lingering gaze as he reached for the door handle, as if to engrave Gintoki's face into the pits of his memory the best he could. "Do you need anything?" he asked, almost tenderly.

"Nah," came the reply.

"Thank you, Hijikata."

Hijikata gave a small smile in return, and closed the door behind him.

That was the last thing he'd ever hear him say.