AN: It's something new! Yay! I know most of you prefer the funnies, but I'm out of funnies for now. xD I was analyzing human behavior and how we seem to attach sentimental value to objects or whatever. And I ended up landing on colors. It's amazing how we seem to favor one color over another, influenced by past experiences, specific preferences or our personality.

And then…this came to be.

Warning: Lack of humor. Angst-ish

Colors

What's your favorite color,Gin-chan?

It was an innocent question. It wasn't a question anyone would think twice about asking. And the same could be said for replying. It was just an ordinary question that anyone had probably asked once or twice and had just as likely answered once or twice.

Gintoki blinked slowly, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling as he thought over the question. Favorite color? Did he have one? No. He didn't think so at least. What did favoring a particular color matter anyway? What really mattered was they beautified his world. It would be hell boring if everything was black and white, right? After a long moment, he replied uncharacteristically softly, "Red." It was the first one he thought of and the one that stood out in the rainbow that was the visible spectrum of light.

It was the color he hated the most, but remembered the most. It was the color of his own lifeless (dead fish) eyes, the color of the blood his comrades had shed, painting the ground in splatters, streaks and puddles. It was the color of the blood he had drawn from so many, streaking his silver locks crimson as the spray of blood, like fine mist, settled on and around him. It was the color that brought back so many memories—bittersweet and painful with specks happiness dotting the sea of crimson—but more often than not, the red was so overpowering, it was numbing. What the hell was he doing remembering? Right, favorite color.

Shinpachi and Kagura exchanged looks, helpless shrugs and shakes of heads. Their leader was rarely ever in these kinds of moods, but when he was they knew better than to intrude on his thoughts. It wasn't something they'd ever understand even if they asked, so they quietly left throwing worrying glances over their shoulders as they did so.

It was this somber samurai that Sougo found hours later. He had come by to kill some time—something he was doing more and more often as his encounters with the silver-haired samurai had become more and more frequent during work and off. It had come to the point where if several days went by and he had not seen the other man, it felt odd. Somehow, the lazy leader of the Yorozuya always ended up in some sticky situation, and somehow the Shinsengumi would be involved in said sticky situation as well. How the lazy samurai managed to get into so much trouble while being so extremely lazy, unmotivated, and socially inept was something Sougo had a feeling he would never quite grasp. And it was definitely kind of strange how the man had never been arrested by them before with how frequent they came across each other—sometimes as enemies and sometimes as comrades.

Stepping over a fallen issue of Jump, Sougo stalked closer to the older man who didn't so much as twitch, observing every line and angle of his face and noticing the hardness in his empty gaze that was obviously not seeing. It was a look that the young captain had rarely ever witnessed and on the off chance that he did, the look was gone in a blink of the eye. He wondered what brought this on. As curious as he was, he didn't break the silence. Instead, he plopped down on one of the couches, still watching the other man intently. Minutes rolled by and the other man didn't move at all, eyes still staring unseeingly up ahead.

"What's your favorite color?" The question rebounded off the walls in the abnormally quiet room. The atmosphere which was only quiet and slightly oppressive had somehow become uncomfortably tense and awkward.

From his place at the couch, Sougo straightened unconsciously but displayed no outward sign of discomfort despite the fact that he had been more than startled by the sudden and decidedly strange question. He blinked twice; he almost fallen asleep watching the other man. For a brief moment, he wondered when the older man had noticed his presence but cast the thought quickly aside. It was likely he had known the moment he stepped inside the room.

"Saa," Sougo breathed out softly. He kept his eyes on Gintoki, watching for any movement. "Red maybe," he said dispassionately. Honestly, he never really thought about it, but if he had to choose then it would be red.

A hint of a smile formed on the Natural Perm's lips. "Really?" he questioned in reply, though it was obviously not a question but more of a statement.

The teenager lifted his eyes off the other man, now staring at the hardwood floor between his sock-clad feet. "Yeah, red's a good color," he confirmed in answer anyway. It was the color that made him feel most alive. It reminded him of the battlefield where all that mattered was cutting down your enemies one by one and staying alive, of his blood-stained hands that helped pave the road towards justice, of the adrenaline rush as he overpowered one opponent after another, of the determined eyes that stared straight back at him every time he looked in a mirror. His eyes wandered over to the silver-haired samurai again. And red reminded him of the other man sitting in the room, someone who he had come to deeply respect despite his oddities.

"Mine too," Gintoki replied softly, hiding his red orbs beneath silver-lashed lids.

Sougo chuckled, a small amused smile playing on his lips. His previous thoughts had all but melted and drifted towards the dark corners of his mind. "We have so much in common, Danna."

Gintoki replied with a chuckle of his own. "Don't we," he deadpanned.

And the pair lapsed into silence again, only this time it was a relaxed and comfortable silence—one shared by comrades or dare I say friends. They had reached a deeper level of understanding—of what? They weren't sure, but they knew it was something significant.