Work Text:
Part I:
Something Wicked This Way Comes
“Whether the wickedly good or wickedly bad come my way, I hope he stays.”
Unsolicited Somethings
At 7:21 PM, on a Thursday, Takasugi Shinsuke opens his mailbox, and, just because the universe never seems to give him a break, he is suddenly struck with a wave of thick, white envelopes, which fly towards his chest as alive as doves, and land into the floor with an all-too cartoonish sound.
The guy from the floor just below him –whom Takasugi guesses is either a drug-dealer or way into the Slacker wave from the 90s– sees this unfold, and walks towards the disastrous sea of Takasugi’s unopened mail. By that point, of course, he’s already kneeling down and gathering them all in a neat pile, so, whatever this guy is thinking of doing, he really, really shouldn’t.
“Need any help, dude?”
Takasugi can hear the man’s baggy pants even from where he uncomfortably sits. From the corner of his eye, he catches a red beanie and a Slam Dunk shirt. Maybe he is just a slacker after all.
Do know that he still has no intention of speaking to this man. Sure, it is impossible to pretend he didn’t hear him, even though feigning ignorance, and other stuff, comes as easy to him as breathing, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he needs to open his mouth to get it over with. Talking? That’s cheap stuff. There are other ways to get out of situations you didn’t ask for. Simpler ones.
Sometimes, all you need is one look. The secret is to not blink, and make sure your eyes give away how much you don’t want to have a conversation right now, how you wish to be left alone.
And that’s exactly what Takasugi does. He clutches his fists against the ground, not minding the coldness it instantly provides or the mud stuck in the corners of its grey tiles he manages to feel with his left thumb, and then, abruptly, he turns to look at the man, dead-eyed, just as he planned.
The guy knits his brow into a hilarious expression; a balance between shock and utter grump, as if he thought that, all this time, no one would ever defy him and his loose pants, which are now halfway down the floor, making the scene even more chuckle-worthy.
A silence spreads between the two, and it really isn’t painful, since it’s clear who’s the one in control of it. All of a sudden, like a bug finally sensing insecticide, the man flees away, not before grabbing his pants by the waist as he almost stumbles into the stairs. It had been an urgency to get away from Takasugi’s cold gaze, so much so he forgot there was a perfectly usable elevator right next to him.
That’s something to take pride in. It means Takasugi’s still got it, and it can still be a powerful tool when he wants to be unbothered. Alone.
It’s all he has ever wanted, really. Perpetual, undisturbed solitude. As he feels it become present, he grabs his mails, and sets his sight on the elevator, hoping it’s empty once the gates open.
The contents of the twenty-three envelopes that were previously stored in his mailbox and lay now on the kitchen table, are, to his lack of shock, fucking boring. Bills to pay, cable companies who think they’re luring customers in, and some obviously desperate restaurant owners here and there.
GET FOUR FREE CROQUETTES IF YOU GIVE US A GOOD RATING!!!!! GET EXCITED!!!!!!! \ ( ・ ∀ ・ ) /
Takasugi almost does. Almost.
After he adjusts his reading glasses, he tosses that last piece of mail to the don’t throw away pile, thinking how similar this all is to when a random advertisement pops out of nowhere while you’re browsing online recipes, or worse, when a man sends you photos of his genitals just as he waved at you in one of those stupid dating apps. Takasugi should know about that, it happened on seven different occasions before he finally realized that maybe going to clubs and flirting with other men there would bring him the same amount of unfiltered, celestial self-affirmation without the grotesque stuff, for the most part, at least. And mixed drinks. That’s the best part.
It’s funny how you have to get through life, dealing with stuff other people throw at your face, and that only on rare opportunities do you get to do something else other than suck it up. Life comes with a pre-installed virus. Mails you don’t want. Calls from numbers you have to block. People you hate knocking at your door.
That’s why, now more than ever, he has learned to appreciate his time alone with himself, even when he’s not that great of a company to begin with. Barely tolerable, actually, but when compared to other people, he borders on okayish territory. Still, it is something that belongs to only him, a cherished secret between he and himself only.
So, of course, right on cue, the universe fucks everything up, for once his sight falls on the table yet again he realizes something: he counted wrong. There it lays, having successfully sneaked in, the 24th envelope.
Takasugi wastes no time in grabbing it. However, everything seems to freeze in a matter of seconds as he reads the sender’s zip code. A rather familiar one. Too familiar to the point where it makes him sick.
His hands, now shaking slightly, open the envelope sloppily, and, out of it, a gold-plated card slips, finding refugee on Takasugi’s lap. He furrows his brow at it so hard it twitches. Then, he begins reading, despite him knowing what’s coming all too well.
COME AND CELEBRATE THE UNION OF
Minami Mei
&
Sakurai Ichiro
At... the Ritz-Carlton hotel in Osaka.
SEE YOU THERE!
(any questions shall be directed to me, the bride. You know my number.)
I don’t know her number, Takasugi thinks.
The Cat lives in The Bag and Stays There Forever
“Huh, what’s this ugly lookin’ paper?”
Listen, Takasugi hates people, he has always detested them. In his early twenties he learned to let loose, yes, more out of necessity than anything else, but the hatred very much remained there even until now. So, whenever he’s in verge of going berserk or just losing his grasp on humanity, such as on this very Friday, he calls one Sakata Gintoki, who he’d best describe as his personal emergency idiot.
They met when they were kids, back in their hometown. They were both ten at the time, and annoying to each other in ways that now, as an adult, make him chuckle. It had been such a strange thing, their earlier relationship. Takasugi remembers all the mocking things they said to each other in their child-like stupor, just as well as he remembers that, despite said things, both of them kept coming back to each other. But, the older he got, and the uglier his home life turned out to be, the more he grew closer to Gintoki. And that made him understand that what had been happening with the two of them all along was a blossoming, slow burn friendship that took some time to settle down, and be accepted for what it was.
Then, something shifted within him. When his father kicked him out of the house at the age of seventeen, and he found himself walking on the rainy streets of his neighborhood with a bloodied face, knocking on Gintoki’s door.
That was the first night they ever hugged each other. It’s such a vivid picture, regardless of the years that have passed, how there was something in the other boy’s embrace, something he had never felt before.
Warmth. Trust. Love. And the reminder of what it felt like to be happy, to know he’d be safe by the time morning came. Safe, and alive.
That’s what Gintoki became to him: his one and only safety, but personal emergency idiot sounds funnier.
Now, the same man stands across from him on the kitchen table. He’s nosing the don’t throw away pile like it’s the morning newspaper while he places a sushi roll in his mouth. Takasugi gets nervous as Gintoki eyes the last piece left, the goddamned 24th envelope.
This is stupid. This is stupid. So stupid. So, so stupid.
“Huh, Takasugi?”
He hears Gintoki call his name with a curious tone, hidden well, of course, in the rasp of his voice. Takasugi quickly chews on his own sushi roll, swallows, then rolls his eyes. “What?”
“Is this–? What? A wedding invitation?”
His eyes roll again, and his anxiety expands upon his stomach. “Yeah, what of it?”
“Who the heck is Minami Mei? What a bougie fuckin’ name.”
“It’s Mother’s younger sister.”
Gintoki coughs, and a split of rice that had been on his mouth plasters itself into his chin. “Your mother?! This gal’s your aunt?!”
“Yeah.”
For a second, it’s all quiet. Takasugi decides to give his friend a short look, and finds him turning the letter around, making a funny face. He immediately looks down, and sips his now lukewarm green tea.
“So, you’re not goin’ to this thing, yeah?”
Again, he could pretend he did not just hear that. He even could give him his bulletproof guaranteed-to-work death glare, but it just wouldn’t do. That’s a shortcut. It’s easy. And, whatever they could call their relationship for what it is now, it’s very far away from that word.
“Hey, shorty, I’m talking to you. Friday getting to your head?”
“Why are you asking?”
Takasugi works up the courage to look at him. Gintoki completely freezes.
“Huh, what?”
“Why are you asking if I’m going or not?”
“I was– y’know– just–” the man stumbles into his words, and it’s kind of cute. “…making conversation with you. I dunno.”
A smile forms in Takasugi’s lips. They continue eating their dinner, neither of them saying a word, as it’s not really needed. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s organic, comfortable, and there’s most certainly nothing he wants to say to Gintoki right now.
Fuck it. The chance is gone. He had one and he blew it. So, so stupid.
You see, this is what always happens. Takasugi digs himself into a hole he cannot walk out of by being a bitch. And most of the time, it’s fine, it’s routine, he grew up jumping from one shitty hole to another after all.
This one in particular, though? It feels like two hands are forming on each side of his lap, coming directly for his throat, with no way of getting help, no matter where he looks.
“I almost went to a wedding once,” says Gintoki an hour later, resting on the couch alongside him. They had settled into watching a documentary about the process of growing avocados in Mexico.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, remember the chick I hooked up with? Three years ago?”
Takasugi sighs shortly. “Vaguely.”
“Her mom was getting married, and she wanted me to come with. I didn’t give her a clear answer. Then she ended it three days later.”
“Tragic,” Takasugi replies, stoic.
Gintoki chuckles at his sarcasm. “You’re such a bitch,” he says, making Takasugi beam from ear to ear. For a few minutes, they just watch TV.
“She said my underwear smelled like celery.”
Because he feels he might have heard that wrong, Takasugi grabs the remote control and pauses the documentary. Then, he glances at Gintoki, who’s already looking at him with a cheeky smile, like he’s proud of it.
“Celery?” Takasugi asks. He knows he didn’t hear that wrong; it would be silly of him to think otherwise. With Gintoki, these things are like toast and rice for breakfast. Predictable.
“Celery doesn’t even smell bad, right?! It’s a perfectly fine vegetable! What was she on?!”
God, you’re so fucking stupid, he thinks of saying, but quickly stops himself. It might get completely lost in translation. Wait, no. He might just say it how he wants to say it, with all that fondness and affection he feels for him. And it might lead to unknown places, places he has forbid himself from imagining.
Instead, Takasugi just leans back and continues to look at him, his cheeks tinted pink. Gintoki’s reminiscing frown disappears, being replaced with the tiniest of smirks, then he leans back too. “Do my boxers smell of celery? I know I have a couple of ‘em here.”
“Smell them yourself, doofus.”
“I love how much of a supportive friend Takasugi-kun is. Really moving stuff.”
They smile at each other. God, you’re so fucking stupid, he thinks again, and almost says it, just because it’s late and he can’t help but adore this feeling, but the kettle whistles with an intensity that startles them both.
“I’ll get it,” Gintoki mumbles, and that’s the end of it.
His self-hatred hits him again once he’s left alone on the couch, making a tight knot form in his throat. For a second there, he forgets how to breathe.
Maybe the hands already got to him.
Three hours later, both men stand in Takasugi’s doorstep. Gintoki is about to leave, yet his feet don’t move an inch even.
“You never told me, y’know? Why you wanted to hang out, all of that.”
Takasugi pouts, and looks down at his own feet. He wants to answer but he can’t. He just can’t.
“Can you at least look at me? I’m talking to you, man.”
With a lip bite, Takasugi obliges.
His friend shakes his head, and he looks so very worried. “What is it, Takasugi? What’s wrong?”
In response, his mouth shivers. He cannot speak to save his life.
“…Is it the wedding thing? You worried about it?”
Takasugi nods, and, right away, Gintoki breathes out a sigh. “You big dummy,” he says. “If you want me to go with you, I’ll go. I have no problem with that, you got it? Just… talk to me.”
Out of instinct, Takasugi’s sight drops to the floor. Whatever is he supposed to do with all this gratefulness he feels for him now?
“Takasugi?”
Once he feels the tears coming, his hands grab the door with the intentions of closing it. There’s something profusely wrong with him, and, whatever it is, he doesn’t want Gintoki to see it.
“Hey, wait– wait–”
Gintoki, putting Takasugi’s strength to shame, pushes the door out of his grasp. It’s too late to hide now. The tears are already sliding down his cheeks.
“Come here, it’s okay,” Gintoki whispers between them, then he is wrapped with his warmth, making the overwhelming all-of-it vanish. He’s gone in him. Gone. He’s safe, and alive, even if he can’t utter a thing.
Takasugi just doesn't have the guts to say: I can't do this without you. But maybe he doesn’t have to, not with him, maybe the tears which are now soaking his friend’s shirt are better than words.
“I got you, so don’t say anything.”
God. He just can’t help but love Sakata Gintoki with all of him. Really, all the other personal emergency idiots of the world should bow down and kneel.
Not Everyone’s a Bowtie Rocker
A week passes and they’re both in Takasugi’s small bathroom, picking and choosing ties for Gintoki to wear to the wedding. There are two glasses with unfinished wine on the lid of the toilet tank.
“Where did this come from?” Takasugi asks when he finds a neon green tie inside the bag Gintoki had brought from home. He grabs it like it’s a dirty condom, then frowns at its colorful ugliness.
“Stole it from Zura.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Oh, I know you’d hate it. Why’d you think I put it there, uhm?”
Takasugi shakes his head. “Embarrassing.”
Digging a little deeper into the bag, he finds an adorable red bowtie. He points it towards Gintoki, who’s looking at his nostrils in the mirror and fixing the collar of his try-on shirt before turning to look at him back. As soon as he catches a glance of the bowtie in Takasugi’s hand, he makes a face. Another used condom situation.
“…The fuck is that? A bowtie? Fuck no.”
“You brought it with you. Direct that ‘Fuck no’ at yourself.”
Gintoki grunts and looks back in the mirror. “Is there a normal tie somewhere in there, shorty? If it’s with clips, even better.”
That makes him giggle mockingly. “You still don’t know how to tie a tie?”
“Shut up, you runt! I work with cars, what good is it gonna do?!”
Takasugi drops the bowtie, smiling wide. He then grabs his glass, chugs what’s left of the wine, and goes through the tie bag again.
It’s only after a couple of layers that he finds a neat, blue tie. Takasugi thinks it’s a little too perfect, but what will Gintoki say?
“No clips?”
“Grow up.”
He moves to stand in front of his friend, and steps closer to him to wrap the tie around his neck, doing it slowly but with skill. Takasugi then makes a mental note: Don’t look at him, you know how it will go, you know what’s going to happen. Just do what you have to do.
When he’s done, and the tie hangs flawlessly on his friend’s neck, Gintoki lets out a breath that gently hits his forehead and nose. He sounds amused. “See? I don’t need to know how to tie a tie. I have you to do it for me.”
Stepping back a little, Takasugi gets a hold of the tie and pulls it a bit, smiling at him. “I could choke you with this.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They stare at each other for a bit too long, and he starts to feel the smallest, most insignificant waves of arousal. If he stays this way for a little longer, he might find Gintoki’s hands on his waist, Gintoki’s lips on his neck…
That’s something he can’t allow to happen, even if there are occasions, such as right now, where it’s all he can think about.
They finish the bottle of wine by the time they’re done picking, and spend the rest of the day goofing off in the couch and watching TV, though they’re a little too busy being drunk to pay attention.
“’kay, here’s somethin’ I didn’t tell you,” Gintoki slurs, waving his empty glass at Takasugi, with the clear intentions of annoying him.
To Gintoki’s luck, he just finds it cute.
“What is?”
“Guess who–” his friend hicks, then burps, and does so two other times before making a gesture at his own neck. “Guess who gave me that dorky-ass bowtie.”
Takasugi sits back, crossing his legs, now fully deep in thought. “It obviously wasn’t Zura– he’s not as dorky as much as he’s an idiot–”
“He ain’t got a bowtie face too,” Gintoki suddenly adds, and the comment makes Takasugi chuckle drunkenly.
“Yeah, neither do you, for that matter.”
“Hey, fuck you. I could rock a bowtie. Gin-san– Gin-san can rock anything.”
Another chuckle leaves his lips. “Booze makes you too confident, Gintoki. You sound like a crazy person.”
Gintoki points his glass at Takasugi, like the thing can do shit. “Look who’s talking.”
“You think I’m crazy?”
“You’re nuts, Takasugi,” Gintoki leans in, and pats him on the shoulder. “Nuttiest guy I’ve ever met.”
For some reason, his comment doesn’t hurt. There’s a sweetness to his tone, it makes him feel giddy, and secure in himself.
“It was Asami-san, by the way. I bumped into her when I was leaving last night. We ‘ad tea.”
“She gave you the red bowtie?”
“Yeah, y’know, she said, ‘oh it’ll look so cute on you, Sakata-san! Either that or it’ll give Shinsuke-san a giggle!’ or something like that, she said.”
Takasugi, quite accordingly, giggles at the reenactment of his next door neighbor’s tone and gestures. And, really, not laughing at Gintoki’s girly voice should be a sin.
“It was definitely the latter,” Takasugi says.
“Up yours, runt,” Gintoki smirks, then runs a hand on his messy hair. “So… we’re really doing this, huh? Are you sure?”
The sudden tone shift makes Takasugi frown. “Sure about what?”
“Well, uh, the wedding thingy.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just saying… ain’t it better to just… not go? For you, I mean–”
It’s not that easy, Takasugi thinks to himself, a little angry. He refrains from speaking, and simply shakes his head, moving a bit away from Gintoki. This is another side of him he doesn’t want his friend to see.
“And… you sure you want me there with you? Ain’t I trouble? Your parents hate me, right?”
Takasugi has to look at Gintoki after he blurts out those words. There’s a hint of hurt buried in them, in turn, it hurts him as well. You’re not trouble, he thinks as he scoots back to his former position. Don’t say that.
Instead, he opts to tease Gintoki. He knows him well enough. “No, Father hates you, Mother thinks you’re tolerable.”
Gintoki smiles wide, like that previous sadness had not been there to begin with. “Jeez, thanks for clearing it up, Takasugi-kun.”
The TV roars as they share a look. Takasugi feels timid, and who can blame him? It’s late, he’s drunk, and sitting next to the only man who can make him feel this happy and dumb at the same time.
“So, we’re doing this, then, shorty? Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Takasugi replies, blushing and not really caring about it. He can easily blame it on the wine.
“Okay, I’ll ask the boss for a ride ‘cause there’s no way in hell I’m going on a train to the fuckland that is Osaka on a suit. People are gonna take pictures of me.”
“That would be pretty funny, an idiot in an idiot suit.”
“Shuddup, short-ass.”
Just then, Gintoki’s stomach growls.
“This conversation made you hungry?” Takasugi asks, trying his best not to break into giggles. “How out of it are you, Gintoki?”
“I… was thinking of celery, and thinking of celery made me hungry.”
“You’re an idiot,” Takasugi rolls his eyes with a fondness he cannot hide. “The free-croquette restaurant I told you about is still open, I think.”
“Really?!” Gintoki’s face lights up as he stares at Takasugi. God, it’s embarrassing how stupidly charming this man is, even on his drunkest of states.
“Score! Now… where’s that damn pamphlet again?”
Part II:
Stuck in The Middle with You
“…With him, the worst parts of what I call The Middle, feel like a small taste of Heaven sweet.”
Piece of Cake
Gintoki gets him an iced green tea and three pork buns when they make a stop in a gas station near the Nagoya Expressway. They have been travelling for about five hours, and Osaka is still a long way round, so this stop was very much needed on both ends.
“Regretting not taking the bullet train now, Oji-san?” Takasugi asks once Gintoki steps inside the car, with a strawberry milk carton in hand and a bag of Consome chips on the other.
The flushing state of his friend’s cheeks is all too noticeable. Takasugi watches him struggle to open the bag of chips because of it.
“It’s gonna take more than some cheap bullying to break me, y’know,” Gintoki snarks back in a sing-songy voice. He, at last, opens the bag, immediately takes a chip, and munches it loudly. “Also, you act way more like a grandpa than me, Grannysugi-kun.”
The nickname genuinely makes him laugh. As Gintoki settles into drinking and eating, all he can do is observe, his food intact even though he’s reasonably hungry.
His friend looks sharp and handsome, with a two-piece black suit, the blue tie they had unanimously agreed on, and a perfume that fits him quite well. The white shirt he’s wearing gives away the outline of his abdomen just a little bit, enough for Takasugi to look and not feel bad for doing so. And, well, his hair is messy as always, but it goes along well with the look, in an unorthodox kind of way.
Perhaps Gintoki was right and he can rock just about anything.
“Why are you looking at me like that, huh? My face too handsome you can’t look away, shorty?” Gintoki asks after a couple of minutes of pure silence, only broken by his own munching sounds. And he might be right. He looks too attractive it’s a distraction, even Takasugi’s brain can’t come up with any mental notes to help ease up his fluster.
“As if.”
At times like these, when it’s just the two of them, and Takasugi’s heart beats as though it’s trying to get rid of its stone-set yearn, he’s taken back to ten years ago. To the evening of their last day of class. To Gintoki’s bed. To that long, warm conversation. And to the things that happened after.
Takasugi, I think I want to kiss you now.
…
Then maybe you should.
It’s difficult to not think of it. The kisses and touches they shared that night. Takasugi had made a strict vow to not let it get to his head, that he could only perceive it for what it was: a silly thing between two boys now free of the shackles that were the Japanese school system. And it makes sense, that feeling of freedom has led to dumber things anyway, like that classmate of theirs who crashed his motorcycle against an electricity pole earlier on that same day.
But, sometimes, Gintoki looks at him differently. Like he has dared to think of it too, like the scene had made a home inside his head. And, suddenly, it doesn’t make sense. Suddenly, he wants answers.
Suddenly, he wants to know how things would go down if it ever happened again.
“You ready?” Gintoki speaks after a while, actually managing to startle him. His friend then throws the now empty bag of chips and milk carton into the backseat.
Takasugi nods, shifting to look outside the window. The sun is beginning to set, leaving the sky painted with a soft orange. He wishes he could do this more, to just look above and not think too much about stuff that shouldn’t matter. It sounds like such an easy thing he can never fully grasp.
“’Kay then, let’s go crap out this piece of crap.”
And, then, they’re off again. He had only drunk half of his green tea and one pork bun, but that will do just right for the rest of the road. At the moment, he’s desperately searching for some solace in the view of this small corner in Nagoya city. To shake this feeling off, at least for today.
“It’s cool that we didn’t have to go to the actual ceremony,” Gintoki mentions shortly after they leave, steering the wheel into the highway, “I would have fallen asleep in the church, and they’d end up kicking my ugly mug out.”
I like your ugly mug just fine.
As per usual, the things he wants to say the most stay inside his head. No matter how beautiful the Nagoya sky is, he can’t run away from that.
Bitter Old Fruit
They arrive at the hotel exactly forty-three minutes late, and, Takasugi is so exhausted from the six hour trip he just doesn’t give a shit anymore. He and Gintoki get out of the car once it’s neatly parked, and walk shoulder to shoulder in search for the entrance.
In the elevator they take from the parking lot to the lobby, Takasugi thinks of saying something, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. A blush attacks his face like a fever, and he buries both hands in the pockets of his pants. This is so stupid, he thinks, then, at that instant, his head reminds him he’s going to have to see his mother again, and the last time he saw her… it just wasn’t pretty. Getting kicked out of your house rarely is.
Why did I come here again? Why am I here? This is stupid. I can’t do it. I have to go. I have to run. I don’t want to see her.
I don’t want to see anybody.
“Hey, you okay?” Gintoki speaks out of the blue. Or, maybe it feels that way to Takasugi alone. Everything feels off, and the elevator keeps on shrinking for some fucking reason.
Takasugi finds he is a little breathless, but still has some of his composure to hold on to. “It’s fine. I’m– nothing’s wrong.”
“Know what? Look at me.”
It takes him a couple of seconds to find the strength to do as his friend says, but, by the time he finally gets to look at him in the eye, the doors open, and it’s time to get out. Thankfully, Gintoki stops them both from walking away, holding Takasugi by the arm.
As that movement makes them stand in front of each other, and perhaps a little too close, Takasugi feels breathless again.
“We can get the fuck out of here whenever,” Gintoki states firmly, leaning in. “You hear me?”
He feels Gintoki’s hand running through his arm, until their palms brush. It brings him back from that pit. It makes his heart flutter in the best way possible. For a moment, he wants nothing more than to hold his hand, and get lost in him.
But then he looks around. At the shiny infrastructure, the clean glass doors, the paintings, and that red carpet that seems to go on forever. It’s a fancy, tacky hotel filled with equally fancy, tacky people. In a place like this, what he wants is less than an afterthought. It’s nothing.
So he just nods at Gintoki and together, they step in.
By the time one of the receptionists gives them directions to the event room, he’s feeling sick again. It’s almost eerie how familiar walking the halls of this stupid hotel to meet his stupid family feels like to hearing final boss music.
“These people are crazy, man, why did two dudes ask me if I parked my car already?” Gintoki does two very lazy, and quite hilarious, air-quotes. “What was I supposed to do with the damn thing? What? Eat it?”
Takasugi, who’s a little behind him, catches up, and puts his hands in his pockets. “Remember that time you parked in the middle of the street to buy strawberry lollipops?”
His friend points a finger at him. Takasugi has to chuckle. “Don’t bring that up! I was going through some shit!”
“Which was?”
“…Me being shitfaced and wanting lollipops.”
“Devastating.”
They make one more turn to the right and they’re there, outside an event room with a big sign next to it that reads: PRIVATE EVENT. INVITE ONLY.
Just in the middle of the two doors that lead inside is a middle-aged woman, frantically scrolling through her phone, a half-smile formed on her reddish lips. She has her hair tied up in a bun that looks very painful, and is wearing a cream pink, floral dress, with white pearls hanging around her neck. It’s a little too much, like a highlighter in the shape of a person. So, of course, he figures, this must be the wedding planner.
The woman materializes in front of them before he gets a chance to breathe. She smiles at them both as, out of nowhere, she pulls out a notebook. “Yes? What can I do for you, gentlemen? Names?”
Takasugi swears he hears Gintoki blurt out a “jeez” under his breath, genuinely taken aback by the woman’s erratic behavior.
“Takasugi Shinsuke. And his plus one.”
She stops smiling for a second, checks the list, then smiles again. “Lovely, come on in, then! We’re having a little delay on the meal course, but the bar is already open!”
“Score,” Gintoki whispers into his ear, making him slightly shiver.
Stepping away from the doors, the woman swings them open and bids them goodbye. “Hope you have fun!” she says.
“Yeah, right,” Takasugi whispers to himself, walking in, with Gintoki just behind. His friend chuckles at around his same volume.
“Well, damn me, this does look like a rich party if I ever saw one.”
To Takasugi’s demise, it’s quite true. The room is stunning, with a balance of whites and blues. There are about thirty tables, some of them already filled in with people conversing, and in the middle of each of them is a beautiful set of white roses. Beyond the tables are the food cocktails, perfectly organized in trails and pyramids, he can’t make out what they all are exactly but he’s sure Gintoki is bound to eat at least half of them. Right next to it is the bar, black, shiny, and with one sentence in neon green: OPEN ALL NIGHT.
Though, it’s only when he turns to his right that he is actually blown away. From up there, is the most beautiful, breathtaking view of the city from the biggest glass window he has ever seen in his life. Buildings with dotted lights, cars running around, the sky beginning to let a couple of stars twinkle on a crimson haze, he can see it all from up here.
However, none of this stuff could be considered the best in his eyes. No, not at all. The true best part is that his mother is nowhere to be seen. Nowhere. Score, indeed.
“Want me to get you a drink?” asks Gintoki, who has been whistling for the past minute. “I could go for a drink right now.”
Second best thing: he has Sakata Gintoki with him.
For the next twenty minutes, he and Gintoki drink scotch on the rocks and hang in the bar, just talking and laughing. For a brief moment, Takasugi is happy he came.
“I’m just saying,” Gintoki teases, pressing his forearm on the bar, his voice draining all the other chitter-chatter happening throughout the room, and even the light-rock background music. “You could have kneeled or something, I think I’m worth it.”
Takasugi takes one of the ice cubes from his now empty glass of scotch, and chews on it. His face hurts too much from all the smiling he’s been doing.
“Kneel? To ask you to come to this shitty wedding reception?”
“Yeah, you paint yourself as this classy guy,” his friend waves his hand in the air, a clear sign he’s at least a little drunk already. “But that was not very decent of you, it was a kinda indecent proposal. Y’know, like that movie–”
“What?”
“Indecent Proposal.”
He covers his face because, now, he has laughed so much his face is red. “You have not seen that movie.”
“I fell asleep the moment it was put on.”
“I know, you goof. I was there.”
They get a second round of scotch, then, after another ten minutes, Gintoki wiggles his eyebrows at him, “Wanna go to our table?”
His friend’s flirt is ever so charming, Takasugi can’t help the small lip bite, it comes by itself. “Why? Are you getting tired, weakling?”
“Watch it!” Gintoki snarks back at him. He’s so cute when he’s like this. “And what about it, huh?! My legs ain’t work like they used to! Bet you’re feeling tired too, and you just don’t wanna lose to me!”
Takasugi smirks, and stands straight to leave, placing a 1000-yen bill in the tip jar, a gesture the mixologist acknowledges with a mid-vow. “Please, I’ve already won.”
“You… midget…”
Even though he’s actually not tired, Takasugi finds himself wanting to go sit at their table. It’s one of the closest to the massive glass window, which means he can go get drunk and have a nice view at the same time. He grabs two glasses of champagne that a nearby caterer kindly offers them, and hands one to Gintoki, turning to walk towards their spot.
And, then, he sees her.
“Yoohoo, Shin-chan, over here!”
It had all been too good to be true for too long. Takasugi almost breaks the champagne glass on his grip. “Fuck me.”
Gintoki sips his own champagne, making their shoulders brush as he stands beside him. “Huh? Where is that voice coming from? That your mom?”
“If you add more wrinkles. And a bigger mouth.”
Yes. Sitting at their table, with her hand doing an obnoxious little wave is Takasugi’s oldest aunt, Tomo, who has a reputation of being a nosey woman, nosier than any of her other sisters. Just a straight up mean old hag.
Plus, he hasn’t seen her in a good fifteen years, and, boy, can he feel the taste of time now. She has more wrinkles than he can mentally count, and she’s wearing a beach hat, and sunglasses. Sunglasses.
“Who the hell is the old lady waving at us? And why is she wearing sunglasses indoors?”
His question exactly. Although, he has a theory, all he needs now is to look at her closer to prove it to be correct. But he doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t. He doesn’t.
But, he has to, they already made eye contact with her, it’s just too late to turn the other cheek, or go back to the bar and get even more wasted. So, he grabs Gintoki by the sleeve of his suit and guides him towards their table, both his eyes wide shut, since this is too fucking embarrassing to look at.
When they get there, just at the border of the table, he sighs, with zero intentions of pretending he’s not annoyed. Takasugi puts his glass down, and, just to make his point even clearer, sighs again, finally opening his eyes to glance at their… table-partner.
“How are you, Shin-chan, dear?” Aunt Tomo asks with a gag-inducing, sweet tone. Now that he is closer, he can sense how she reeks of sake and tobacco. Well, that explains the sunglasses. “You’ve grown so much, look at you!”
“Yes, it’s called human aging, it seems you’ve done some of it yourself,” Takasugi replies bluntly, not feeling like sitting yet.
His aunt intertwines her hands together, and smiles at him. “As witty as always, Shin-chan. Good. Good.”
For some reason, Takasugi moves to eye Gintoki. The man is wide-eyed, and has a slight grin in the curve of his lips. The look of someone who’s sort of, kind of enjoying what’s happening, yet would never say it out loud. Oh, well, he’s glad that, at least, he’s getting a kick out of this.
“I was helping Mei-chan find her gold earring,” Aunt Tomo goes on, despite no one asking. “That silly girl lost it in the bathroom. Then she threw a temper tantrum, and delayed the meal course. You boys hungry? They’re just about to serve the appetizers. They’re to die for.”
Takasugi stares at her, dead in the eye. No matter the years, it seems, the woman’s incessant talking doesn’t go away. How obnoxious.
“I’m kinda hungry,” Gintoki says, kicking his foot against the floor. Takasugi now stares at him dead in the eye.
Gintoki shrugs the look off with a childish, shit eating grin. “What? I am hungry, Takasugi-kun.”
Both men look at each other in utter silence.
I am going to kill you. Takasugi thinks as he squints at his friend, tilting his head.
Doubt it. Gintoki raises his eyebrows, his smile wider than before.
Their little staring contest comes to an end, and Takasugi decides to finally sit, just in the spot across his aunt, as abruptly as he can. Gintoki follows right away.
Aunt Tomo immediately slides her sunglasses down, and looks at them both. Takasugi feels something coming from that. Something fucking bad.
“You still gay, honey?”
Yeah, that was exactly what he was expecting. Suddenly, he wants to chug on the rest of his glass, then throw it on the ground, maybe that would get the message across well too.
“It depends,” Takasugi looks to the side. “Are you still a bitch who sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong?”
His aunt, to his great shock, laughs at that. And it’s not an awkward laugh, it’s genuine. “Oh, dear! Touché! If Mi-chan could hear you say that, she’d die!”
That last comment stings a little too much. “You don’t have to insinuate my mother is disappointed in me, I already know.”
Now, more than ever, he wants to crawl into a hole and die. If he knew it would feel this bad, he’d cherish those thirty minutes he spent at the bar way more. Now… he has this. And he fucking hates it.
“And…this is the boyfriend?”
Kill me. Kill me now. Just kill me. I want to die.
Rarely does Takasugi feel flushed, or like the world is coming to an end after someone asks him something so unanswerable he’d even start contemplating his own death. But the times it does happen, it almost always has to do with Gintoki.
The last time it happened, Tatsuma was hanging out with them, half-drunk. Gintoki had just fallen asleep on the floor, and, Takasugi guesses that Tatsuma must have caught him staring, for he said, in the most harmless of tones: “Yer crashen’ on ‘im, aren’t ya, bud?”
Takasugi didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. At that point, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Sometimes, he still doesn’t. Maybe he simply doesn’t want to know, and people should mind their fucking business. Although, Tatsuma gets a pass.
This woman, on the other hand? Absolutely fucking not.
Right when he’s about to clear everything up in the most irritated fashion, he hears a chuckle coming from his left, and it’s undeniably Gintoki’s.
“Uh– Haha– No, I’m just a friend,” It’s what the man says, and Takasugi has no idea if that is making things better for him or not. He turns to look at Gintoki, and finds him blushing slightly, taking a large swig of champagne. It’s just the alcohol. Don’t get any big ideas.
“…pleasure to meet you, darling. I’m Shin-chan’s auntie. But you can call me obasan, I’m too old to care.”
“Well, as I was sayin’, I’m only here for the food, obasan.”
As if it could possibly be anything else.
He hates to admit it, to his absolute core, in fact, but the way Gintoki said those words, how they came out of him so easily… so quickly… that blatant No, it breaks his heart a little. And he can’t stand the feeling, so he drinks instead.
Food for Thought
Aunt Mei and her now husband emerge from wherever the fuck they have been fifteen minutes later, and, thus, dinner begins. Her green eyes are puffy, he can tell even from where he sits, and overall she seems not very happy for a person who just got married. To add, she doesn’t seem to take notice that Takasugi arrived. And it is very odd, considering her lineage, but thank fuck for that.
From the entree, a perfectly cooked egg custard with vegetables, to the main course, grilled kinki with potatoes and yuzu slices, his mind begins to clear from the pain he’s been feeling for the past hour. Although, he has barely said anything back to Gintoki the whole time, and he’s afraid he’ll notice something is off very soon.
“Takasugi-kuuuuuun~”
Right on cue.
Before he can look at his friend –his best friend of seventeen years, mind you– Takasugi reminds himself that he actually has no reason to be upset at him. Aunt Tomo asked a question, and Gintoki answered earnestly. End of story.
Don’t be a dick. It’s not his fault you have some unresolved feelings for him.
“What is it?” Takasugi asks, sparing him a glance, and not sounding quite like anything.
“Can I have some of your shrimp cakes? Like, one?”
Gintoki does that thing where he blinks fast like a girly girl. It almost makes Takasugi smile.
“Fine,” he responds, acting falsely annoyed, and ends up giving him two of his four shrimp cakes.
“Wow, two,” Gintoki’s dead-fish eyes twinkle, and perhaps that’s what gets Takasugi to crack a little smirk. His friend leans against him, then mutters some words of gratitude.
This man is going to be the death of him.
“I take it you’re enjoying the food, dearie?”
Oh, right, Aunt Tomo and her annoying self are still very much present. He had completely forgotten of the fact; no wonder he began feeling better all of a sudden. It is strange, how quiet she has been ever since they made small talk an hour ago. Takasugi remembers her being awfully chatty and controlling, and now she sits there, drinking her eighth glass of champagne, beaming.
She looks… pleased, or something similar to that feeling. And he can tell she’s not used to feeling that way.
“It’s not too bad,” Takasugi answers for Gintoki, who’s still chewing on shrimp cakes.
Aunt Tomo laughs under her breath. “I picked the menu myself. Mei-chan knows nothing about great food, so I had to step in. It’s a big sister thing.”
With one look at his aunt, Takasugi makes up his mind. Fine. Maybe he’ll talk to her. Along with each second he spends next to this woman, he realizes she’s just no longer the person he grew to dislike. The one who’d pinch his cheeks and ask if he had gotten a girlfriend yet, despite him being just a child.
He wonders if it has anything to do with the ring missing from her finger.
“A fucking champagne fountain?!” Gintoki exclaims, making him fidget. “Oh, I have to see this thing up close!”
Takasugi has been so lost in his own thoughts, he genuinely missed one of the caterers walking into the middle of the room with a tray of champagne glasses, all flawlessly organized into a pyramid. Now, there’s gasps coming from every corner, some of the invitees even clap. Of course they would go this far, that’s the sickness of being crazy rich.
The caterer proceeds to pop a bottle of champagne, and starts pouring it into the glass at the very top of the pyramid. Then, as the liquid begins to slide into the glasses below it, the room bursts into cheers and whistles. Takasugi can’t help but roll his eyes. This is just too fucking idiotic for him. Haven’t they all been drinking champagne already?
Gintoki stands up, and his own chair almost falls to the ground upon that harsh movement. “Oh, Takasugi, we have to see this thing. Let’s go.”
His friend has another one of his shit eating grins painted across his face. Takasugi just squints at him. “Why?”
“Are you kidding? It’s a champagne fountain! This is classic rich bullshit!”
He shrugs, uninterested, yet charmed at his friend’s enthusiasm. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“It’s a fountain with champagne!”
“I can see that.”
“Come on, Grannysugi!”
The nickname makes him smile. “Not interested.”
“Come ooooooooooooooon,” Gintoki sing-songs, putting a hand on Takasugi’s shoulder and shaking it. “We could at least go and drink some of the champagne.”
Will he ever be able to say no to him, he wonders.
“Fine. You go on first.”
“Time to mingle with some of these rich fucks,” Gintoki says, smiling from ear to ear, and off he goes. Just how drunk is he?
Takasugi watches him head towards the center of the room and disappear into the crowd. At that moment, his eyes catch a glimpse of Aunt Mei, in the corner where her table is located. She is wiping some tears away from her face, and her husband is giving her free hand a reassuring squeeze, which doesn’t seem to work at all, as she stands up from the table and storms off.
And not a single person seems to notice, they’re all too busy with the stupid champagne fountain to care. It’s… sad. Really sad. Or it would be, if Takasugi actually gave a shit about any of this.
“I give them six months,” Aunt Tomo blurts out, apparently having watched the same scene.
Takasugi doesn’t say anything to that. He just turns to the fourth seat on the table, now occupied by his aunt’s handbag, which he doubts was sent a personal invitation. Pressing his lips, he thinks carefully about what to say next.
“Where is…?”
His aunt chuckles. Wow. She’s fast.
“Don’t bother remembering his name, dearie. It’s alright.”
Takasugi silently thanks her for that. To be frank, he barely remembers what her husband looked like. As he knits his brow, he feels his next words come out organically. And it deeply confuses him.
“I’m sorry… about the divorce.”
Then, he finally looks at her, without a hint of remorse or hatred, and, for the first and probably only time, she feels like a whole person. Real. Human. Alive.
She takes out a cigarette from her purse and lights it up with a lighter she’d hid very deep into her bra. “Don’t be sorry, honey. Your auntie is okay. It was a long time coming, anyway.”
“What happened?”
Aunt Tomo blows a smoke, and states, bluntly, “His cock wasn’t doing it for me anymore.”
He takes some of the smoke in. It’s really pleasant, the absolute opposite of what he felt after hearing her words, all he can do is blink at her as they settle like dust.
“You left your husband because you didn’t like the sex? That seems shallow.”
“I was just playing with you, hon,” The woman laughs between her smokes, “he cheated on me.”
“Oh.”
“The cock thing is very true, though.”
For a moment, it feels like the conversation has run dry. But, honestly, it’s not like Aunt Tomo is giving him anything to work with. What is he supposed to say to that, as her estranged gay nephew who would much prefer to be stuck in a fender bender than to be a part of this?
“You know, dear, when I married him… I really thought I was going to be happy forever. It runs in the family, doesn’t it? That foolishness.”
Their eyes meet again. He finds himself frowning a tense frown, as though he knows exactly what –or, who– she’s referring to.
Aunt Tomo, without breaking eye contact, lets the ash from her cigarette drop on the white tablecloth. “Are you a curse-breaker, Shin-chan?”
“What?”
“Any boys break your heart yet?”
Takasugi scoffs, “No.”
I don’t let them.
“You’re a smart kid,” she smiles to herself. “You’ll go far. Just… never get married.”
A pause. The woman then inhales her biggest puff yet. “And, if you do, make sure he has a decent cock.”
He saw that coming from a mile away. She’s slowly starting to get on his nerves.
“How wise of you to say."
Once again, the conversation seems to have ended on an awkward note, but, this time, Takasugi is the one who kills it, as his sight jumps into the crowd to search for Gintoki. And it’s great, since he wasn’t liking where it was headed at all. He takes pride in how well he can read people, and one look at Aunt Tomo is all it took for him to figure out she was segueing her way into asking him some extremely personal questions, most of them likely rooted in homophobia that he has no energy to deal with. The straw that breaks the camel’s back might come at any moment, he can feel it creeping up from somewhere, the more he talks to her, the more he stays.
Feeling way into his head, Takasugi looks at the faces of the people running around the center of the room to get their hands on a glass, like animals. Half of them carry the same blood he has, and yet… they don’t know who he is, and he doesn’t know them either. This is his family, made out of nothing but strangers.
This is as good as it gets, right? For him, the only offspring of the Takasugi-Minami household. A boy born so rotten his parents couldn’t wait to erase his name out of the damned tree and never speak of it. This is all that he will ever get as far as families go, now, and forever.
His teenage self used to shed tears at that, but, right now, Takasugi thinks he’s too old to cry that pain away. Maybe if he lets it stay there, in a sunken place within his soul, it will vanish eventually.
Who is he kidding? That’s nothing more than wishful thinking. And it’s fucking pathetic, he feels like dying again.
“Look at you, Shin-chan. All closed up.”
His aunt’s voice hits his eardrums like a drill. To him, it feels like there is no other option except shooting a look at her with as much hatred as possible. He had been just searching for Gintoki, yearning for him more and more as his sadness grew to unbearable degrees, but now he’s too fucking pissed to even focus on that.
When he does look at Aunt Tomo after a moment of contemplation, she just smirks, the scarlet lines on her lips widening from side to side. “You’re like a hard cocoon, dear. You see the world with clarity, but does the world see you?”
Fuck her. And fuck this fucking family. Why did he come here? And who the hell does she think she is? He could be watching a nature documentary and laughing at the narrator’s voice cracks right now, just smoking the night away. Fuck this. Fuck this.
Shut the fuck up, just die already, he thinks in a drenching frustration that never actually comes out.
“What are you trying to say?”
Aunt Tomo doesn’t stop smiling. She now puts the butt of her finished cigarette into the glass of champagne, making it sizzle. “I'm saying, no wonder you haven't gotten your heart broken. To do that, you need to hand it over first. I doubt anyone has your heart.”
You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.
Takasugi grits his teeth. He’s fucking fuming. “Is that so?”
“Who could, really?” she pulls out another cigarette, and lights it up in a blink of an eye. “You’re a blank canvas.”
“You said I was smart, or perhaps you’re too senile to remember you did?”
The woman blows a heavy smoke, which goes over his shoulder and into the ceiling. “Don’t get me wrong, hon. You are a clever boy with a lot of wit. But that’s not all life is about. You're bound to go all stupid every once in a while. You don't fall in love by being smart…”
A lightbulb turns itself on amidst his anger. He doesn’t have to take this. He doesn’t need to listen to this… advice from a big-mouthed woman who hasn’t earned his respect, or his patience, especially when she’s lecturing him about love.
Takasugi stands to leave –honestly, a thing he should have done way sooner– making the utensils on the table clink against each other. He places both hands on its surface, and glares at her, his eyes roaring green.
“And you don't end up getting divorced by being smart either, do you now? You think you’re wise? Don’t make me laugh,” he presses his lips into the smallest of smiles, not taking his eyes away from her just yet. “Since you so bravely told me who I am, let me return the favor. You're nothing but a drunken old lady spitting some nonsense, hoping it sticks or sounds smart. And you dare to lecture me about the matters of life? How pathetic. I suggest you stay in your lane, so we won’t need to have this conversation again.”
The next breaths he takes in are lighter than they have been all night. It feels… freeing. He had forgotten what that truly feels like. To be free.
Perhaps there’s a part of him that still cares, a part he thought had forgotten without forgiving. And it’s finally coming to light.
When Aunt Tomo’s face goes from shock to amusement, Takasugi steps away from the table. In the last gaze he shoots her, he finds her face laced in pure joy.
“Hmm, see, this is why I like you, Shin-chan,” she says, “You always have something to say.”
A Toast Too Low
It takes him about a minute to get to Gintoki, stumbling as he pushes people away to get to the already half-empty fountain. His friend is standing on first row, looking very pleased with himself, and holding two glasses that look thinner than the ones they were given previously.
When their eyes meet, and Takasugi feels relief overtake him, he feels like kissing him senseless. There’s so much happiness inside him his hands tremble.
Damn it. This is what he should have been doing instead of feigning niceties. Gintoki is something he knows so well amongst the scribbled nothings that are pretty much all the other things surrounding them right now. Safe.
“Hey, look what the cat dragged in,” Gintoki beams, and, right away, hands him one of the glasses, “You missed the fountain part, but here.”
Takasugi takes the glass, full-on blushing. “…Thanks.”
They lean against the table in their own tiny corner, just sipping the champagne and looking around. It feels so awkward, yet, oddly, he doesn’t mind it.
“How are you feeling really?” Gintoki asks, his glass now half-empty.
“I'm… okay,” responds Takasugi so halfassedly it’s award-worthy. Fuck. His conversation with that… woman is still very fresh in his memory. He can’t stop thinking about it. Fuck. Fuck.
You’re like a hard cocoon.
I doubt anyone has your heart.
His friend presses his lips on the edge of his glass, and smiles, although he doesn’t seem to be happy. “Right,” he mutters.
You’re a blank canvas.
“What?”
Gintoki shrugs dismissively. It hurts. “I didn't say nothing.”
It starts to get hard to breathe, and Takasugi thinks he might just run away from everything and everyone, but, in that very second, his Aunt Mei materializes from the other side of the room, eyes still puffy and her tied hair now loose, and she’s fucking walking– no, stomping her way towards them.
Takasugi hopes he dies. Right here, right now.
“I should probably mention,” he hears Gintoki’s voice as every cell in his body begins to panic. “I kinda– sorta–”
“Uhm– excuse me?!” Aunt Mei’s voice soars through his ears for the first time since he was a kid. Not only is he panicking, now he’s fucking confused. What the fuck is happening?
“…almost fucked everything up.”
For better, or for worse –because, really, he doubts he’ll come out of this alive and well– Aunt Mei is now inches away from him, her arms folded, and face succumbed in pure anger. However, she is not looking at Takasugi at all.
“Uhm– hi– hello?” she speaks, smiling the politest, and most fake smile he has ever seen. It almost brings him back altogether. “Are you the gentleman that almost ruined my wedding, hmm? Are you even on the list, hmm?”
Takasugi side-eyes Gintoki from the spot where his body stays still, and watches as his friend picks his nose, and makes, out of thin air, an aloof expression, like he doesn’t even know he’s being talked to by the bride. “Huh?”
Aunt Mei points a finger at him. Gintoki just blinks as a response to her aggressiveness.
“Do you have any idea how much it cost to–?!” Aunt Mei, red in the face and absentminded, catches her breath, turns to look at Takasugi, and stops dead on her tracks with an all-too annoying gasp. “Oh. My. God. Shin-chan?! Is that really you?!”
Great. Just great.
“Devastating, I know,” Takasugi manages to say.
Aunt Mei looks at Gintoki again, in utter disgust. “Is… this man with you?”
He shoots his friend a look, and what he gets back from him is a wink.
“I have never seen him in my life,” he replies.
Gintoki chuckles, and raises his glass in a mocking toast. Surprisingly, things begin to feel less tense. Takasugi can actually feel air running through his lungs, at least.
“Real sorry about almost ruining your wedding, obasan,” Gintoki toasts at her. “Happy wedding time, or whatever you people call it.”
“Obasan?! I'm thirty-four!”
Then, his friend finishes the rest of his champagne in one go. “Sorry, you all look the same to me.”
Takasugi feels one of Gintoki’s hands press on his shoulder. He looks at him again, only to receive a second wink, this time accompanied with a smirk, before stepping a little away from the conversation.
God, he fucking adores him. It almost distracts him from the fact that Aunt Mei is now standing even closer to him, and grabbing him tightly by the arms. Both of them.
“Look at you! To think I was a teenager the last time we met! And, now...”
Out of nowhere, the groom shows up with an apologetic smile. “Hi– hello! I’m Ichiro!”
Aunt Mei raises a hand, stopping her husband from speaking any further. “I’m talking now, honey!” she lowers the hand and continues invading Takasugi’s space with her strong grip. “Anyway, Mi-chan– your mother, I mean, she wants to talk to you. She's somewhere, looking for my missing earring, but she'll be back soon.”
“I don’t want to talk to that woman. Or you for that matter. I was just doing this to keep some things safe.”
“Ugh, but I only invited you because she forced me to! She was so pushy about it too!”
“…What?”
And that’s when the claustrophobia hits again. Takasugi looks around the room, and almost everyone is staring at him, as if they’re figuring out who he is. All of this, without his fucking permission.
He hears some of the whispers. The worst ones.
Wait… what? “Mi-chan”? Is that?! No way!
Uhm, what’s going on? Who is that guy?
It’s Michi’s long-lost son, Shinsuke. He got kicked out of the house for being a troublemaker.
Really?! Why is he here then?! Get him out!
Yeah! Why is he here?!
Good fucking question.
“…Is he one of the cousins I haven’t met?” the groom intervenes again, absolutely clueless. Aunt Mei shushes him with a bratty whine.
“I have to go,” Takasugi says, already walking away from them, and heading straight to the exit of the room. His eyes are dwelling with tears, but he refuses to spill any of them. Not here.
These people are not fucking worth it.
“I didn't mean it that way, Shin-chan! Wait!” he feels Aunt Mei chasing after him, but he’s way too fast to catch up to.
“Don’t go! You didn’t even get to tell me if I look fat in this dress or—!”
In whatever way that sentence finishes, Takasugi doesn’t hear it, for the event doors close behind him, and he makes a run for it.
Blank Canvas
Now that he thinks about it, it’s been a while since he’s cried this much, years even. But, at least he doesn’t have to feel ashamed, after all, he’s utterly alone in the confines of this fancy bathroom stall, with no one to mock or ridicule him. Inside here, no one can hurt him. Safe.
No, that’s not quite right. It feels safe, yes, but so hallow, so unstable. Like a shitty acting job. Like a sandcastle built on shore.
And now he begins to feel ashamed.
What will Gintoki think? Does he hate him now for leaving out of nowhere? Does he despise him? Takasugi’s phone hasn’t rang, and he’s terrified. Tonight, out of all nights, he just cannot lose him.
He finally snaps out of it, sniffing the last snots away into a piece of toilet paper he gets rid of on the trash by his right. Next, he stands up, fixing the wrinkles in his suit, and opens the stall door, preparing himself for whatever war is waiting for him outside.
“Hey.”
Gintoki is currently cross-armed, his left shoulder leaning against the wall linked to the stall Takasugi had been in just a minute ago. He has been here the entire time. Waiting for him. Of course he has. It makes Takasugi’s eyes water again, which is why he commits to not make eye contact with him, even if it’s not fair.
“What are you doing here, standing there like a rock?” Takasugi states, coldly. “It’s fucking creepy.”
He doesn’t mean for his words to sound so nasty, they come out on their own. Everything does. All the things he doesn’t want to do or say ever are suddenly being approved by his brain. Maybe this is where he deals with his biggest fear.
Making Gintoki hate his fucking guts.
“I was waiting for you.”
Takasugi’s body moves to one of the sinks furthest away from Gintoki, and he soaks his hands in the cold water that comes from the automatic faucet. “Why?”
“I needed some time alone… with you.”
There is a tone to Gintoki’s voice that’s so hard to dismiss. Sweet, gentle, worried; all mixed in. If Takasugi weren’t in shambles, his heart would be shutting off through the roof. He’s afraid that he has fallen into the depths a little too deep, that he was eaten by the sharks living in the insides of his mind, which had been, until recently, swimming around him and now… the water is tainted a familiar red. No love of his can save him. He’s already dead. And if he’s not, it most certainly feels like it.
“Why?” he asks again, with the same harsh tone.
His eyes catch the reflection of Gintoki in the bathroom mirror as he moves from the wall to stand behind him, putting his hands on the pockets of his pants. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Oh, fuck. No. Not now. Not fucking now.
Takasugi, are you in love with me?
I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.
I never did.
I never loved you.
No one can love you.
You don’t allow yourself to be loved.
Who could have your heart?
You’re a…
His self-deprecation would gladly go on, but, suddenly, he realizes… they’re not alone. Emerging from the stall right next to the exit is an awkward-looking plump man wearing a white headband, a pink shirt, and tight khaki shorts. Takasugi frowns as the man stares at them, his awkward vibe blossoming still. It looks like he heard their entire, very much private conversation. It makes him cringe to his very core.
The plump man quickly pulls out a tennis racket as he closes the stall door behind him, grips it with a mighty fist, and leaves without saying a single thing.
“There’s a tennis court here somewhere?” Gintoki says, surprised but rather quiet. “I gotta see that one.”
It’s a good time, Takasugi thinks, to wipe his hands from the cold water and put this whole thing to rest. And he would if it wasn’t for the fact that, right away, Gintoki grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket, almost as tightly as that man did with that racket.
“Oi, are you gonna look at me, or what? This whole staring through the mirror stuff is really not my thing.”
Takasugi presses his hands on the border of the sink, then squints at Gintoki through the mirror, just to see if that will piss him off.
“Come on, shorty. Just for a few seconds. All I’m asking for.”
He truly will never be able to say no to him.
A sigh makes his lips part, and, at last, he turns around, and faces Gintoki. He can’t help but feel shy. They’re alone in a bathroom and a little too close. It seems the universe keeps placing them in these scenarios.
“What?” Takasugi asks for the third time, his exhaustion more than present in his tone.
Gintoki steps closer to him as soon as he’s done speaking, and it makes him feel even weaker.
“Why?”
He frowns at that. “Why, what?”
“…Why did you accept to come here? I know you would have come whether I was with you or not. I even gave you a lot of outs, and you didn’t take any of ‘em. Why?”
Now, Gintoki is the one who frowns. “Just tell me the truth, Takasugi.”
Just because it’s easier, Takasugi lies. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His friend doesn’t take it, as expected. He stands firm and cross-armed. “You hate this family. You can't stand it. You hate your mom. Hate your dad. And everyone else. And they all treat you like shit. So why are we here, huh? Spill it.”
“You can leave if you’re so displeased,” says Takasugi, avoiding Gintoki’s gaze at all costs. “I’m not forcing you to stay.”
“Takasugi, why the hell would I leave? I came here for you. Me hating this place has nothin’ to do with anything. Stop changing the damn subject.”
Why did he even try? As per usual, Gintoki can read him like pages in a book.
“Look at me, man. Think you can do that?”
It takes him some seconds to lift his gaze and meet Gintoki’s. As their eyes meet, his cowardice fades away. All of it at once.
Gintoki’s eyes are filled with worry. “What?”
The honesty flows out of him with no effort even through his lack of breath. “I couldn’t not go. There is no option for me. If I say no to her, a lot of things will be at risk.”
And, now, his friend’s gaze turns fiery once he begins to shake his head, it makes Takasugi step away little. “Damn it, Takasugi. When are you going to stand up to her? Aren't you sick of the way she treats you like a puppet?”
It breaks him to hear Gintoki, of all people, saying that, with such a hard voice, one he doesn’t hear him use that often. Takasugi just stares at him, his eyes widened.
“…Sorry,” Gintoki mutters with a sigh. “I didn’t want it to come out that way. I’m sorry.”
The smaller man looks to the side, and embraces himself, feeling his eyes might shed tears again. “I… can’t.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t do it.”
Gintoki seems to understand right away. “That’s bullshit. You know it’s bullshit.”
Takasugi clenches his jaw. This entire affair is making him ill. “I don’t want to talk about this now,” he states.
“All I'm saying is that the Takasugi I know would have already beaten her ass to another continent. That's who you are, who you've always been.”
“I can't be like that with her.”
“Why the hell not?”
The tears that do end up coming out of his eyes are born out of an unbearable anger. Maybe it would have been better if he went all the way out and just ran to never be seen by anyone again. At least, he wouldn’t be feeling this way.
At least, he wouldn’t be feeling this much anger towards the only man he has ever loved.
“You make it all sound so easy,” Takasugi blurts out, tears running on his light-red cheeks. “You have no idea what it feels like to be seen as a mistake by your own parents, you will never know what that feels like.”
“Takasugi, hey– just–” Gintoki mumbles nervously, raising his hands midair.
“And I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me. I’m sorry I’m not that version you have of me inside that skull of yours. I’m sorry this is all you get.”
“Huh?” it’s what his friend says to that, and he sounds genuinely confused, and upset. Maybe even more so than Takasugi himself.
“What?”
Gintoki leans down. There’s mere inches separating their faces now, Takasugi has to hold his breath, or else it might touch the other’s lips.
“That version of you? Seriously?” Gintoki raises his voice in a way that makes him tremble. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think I don't know you? You think I don't know who you are?”
It’s just too much. The all of it. He needs to breathe, and Gintoki’s not letting him. And, so, he has no choice but to press his hands on his friend’s chest, and shove him away, making the other man grunt in surprise.
“This is stupid,” Takasugi remarks, and trots to leave the room. As his hand touches the door handle, opening it, Gintoki reaches him, and shuts it with a single hand.
“Oi, I’m not done talking.”
Takasugi turns to look at him. “I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
Out of nowhere, Gintoki runs a hand on his arm. Up and down, caressing it. Takasugi lets him do it, mainly because the bigger part of himself actually wants to stay with him.
“You’re wrong. You’re so fucking wrong you have no idea.”
Then, Gintoki smiles at him, his hand continuing its gentle movement on Takasugi’s arm. A second later, his other hand does the same. It feels like utter comfort.
It feels like all his love being returned.
“Listen to me. You are not a disappointment, Takasugi.” Gintoki says, “You're the strongest guy I know. And... I... I'm proud of you. I mean that. I just... what do you expect me to do, huh? Just sit there, watch you take all of it by yourself, and not say anything? You're– you're my best friend, man.”
His friend takes a small break, and removes his hands from Takasugi’s arms. “And I’m sorry about what I said, I’m sorry about how I said it. You were right, I know jack shit about how you feel,” he goes on, “I just wanted to– I dunno– reach out to you. It’s been the two of us for so long. I can’t… stay away.”
Takasugi’s heart flutters, and flutters. He feels like doing so many things. Like saying he’s sorry as well. Like hugging him. Like kissing him. Like finally telling him how madly in love he is with him, and how many years he has been trying to deny it out of fear.
But, all that comes out is a single word.
“Gintoki…”
He desperately wishes to add a myriad of other things, but the fear kicks in again. At least that’s a sign things are going back to normal.
“Now, here’s the deal,” Gintoki clears his throat, and Takasugi, while looking at him, realizes his face is flushing. And he can’t blame him at all, his own face is flushing just as bad.
“I’m gonna get outta here. You’re gonna wash your face. And when you come back to the reception, I’m gonna have a scotch on the rocks ready for you, and we’re gonna get so shitfaced we’ll forget all that shitty stuff happened. Whaddaya say?”
For the first time ever, Takasugi is hit with a single realization as he stares straight into Gintoki’s eyes, seeing how they twinkle. And he can’t stop smiling. “Deal,” he whispers to him.
Before Gintoki leaves to follow their newly-born plan, he calls out Takasugi’s name.
“What is it now?” asks Takasugi.
His friend turns away from the door, and glances at him. It feels… intense. It kind of turns Takasugi on, and he doesn’t hate himself for it. Then, out of the blue, he feels Gintoki’s breath on his ear. It’s so pleasing, and he lets him know how much he likes it with a long sigh.
“I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here who actually knows you,” Takasugi can now feel Gintoki’s lips under his lobe. It drives him fucking crazy. “I dunno, just thought I'd say it.”
Gintoki exits the bathroom, leaving Takasugi barely breathing, spaced out, and enamored. It’d been one of those times where he accidentally gets aroused by something Gintoki does or says, where the lines of their friendship blur. But, now, he gladly takes it in. That known yearn for him has a sudden beauty to it.
He has so many different colors. Now, they're all freely bursting out of him, and he doesn't need everyone to see them. Being a blank canvas is more than fine to him, as long as the right person knows he's so much more. So much more.
And he does.
The Afterlife of The Party
The room goes dead quiet once he walks back in. There’s a lot of whispers and ambiguous gestures. Thankfully, Takasugi doesn’t give a fuck now. Even his seventeen-year-old self, who has restlessly lived in a cave inside his mind for the last ten years, seems to be at peace with all of it. Good, let them talk their shit.
He looks around, and smiles to himself, with a hint of mischief. Because it’s true what they said, he’s a little bit of a troublemaker. And they all should be terrified of him.
Aunt Tomo is right where he last saw her, in her seat, tapping her fingers on the table. When she spots him, she smiles wide, and even lets out a laugh that Takasugi finds annoying a reasonable amount. He then reaches their table, stands straight, and simply glares at her.
“Had a good cry, dearie?”
The smile continues to creep upon his lips. “Go to hell,” he says.
The woman seems pleased. “Quite right, hon.”
He ends up sitting on the same seat from before, using both of his hands to support his chin.
“I got you something,” Aunt Tomo speaks after he settles in.
“What?”
She digs her hands into her purse and takes out a metal-plated tablet strip, and slides it across the table. “What else could it be, love? It’s aspirin. Or is your head not throbbing like a train ran over it?”
Fuck. She’s right. Takasugi can’t stand the fact that she is.
“Fine,” he replies ever so reluctant.
“I also ordered you water,” Aunt Tomo proceeds to hand him a plastic cup, filled with water to the top, and lemon slices floating on the surface. “I made them put some in there, your boyfriend told me you like the taste.”
Jesus, he’s so fucking tired he doesn’t bother correcting her. Or maybe he just likes how it sounds. Your boyfriend.
Snatching the tablet strip from the table, Takasugi takes an aspirin pill off it and immediately chugs it down with the lemon water. Fresh, cold, with just the right scent of citrus. It’s perfect.
He’s, surprisingly, feeling better already. Although he knows the water has little to do with it. No, it’s all thanks to the moron he’s hopelessly in love with, who he finds hanging around in the now busy bar. Takasugi stares at him for long, at how he smiles while chatting with the mixologist, who laughs at whatever he’s saying.
It would be nice… to be his. It’s not the first time he has thought about it, not at all, these thoughts have flooded his head ever since puberty, and only seem to be getting worse the more he grows old. But, now, it’s the first time he feels it at the reach of his fingers.
There have been many times in which they could have fucked, but didn’t. Fucking would be fun, Fucking would be safe, but that’s not all there is to it. This book is a bit thicker than those friend with benefits stories, the ones everyone knows about.
Gintoki is indispensable, an essential part of his life. For the last ten years, Takasugi has swallowed his attraction to him for that very reason. Fucking would be fun, yes, but it would, in no way, be safe if it meant losing him sometime in the future.
This is why they have stayed in this weird, flirty, messed up limbo. There is just so much Takasugi could lose by giving into his desires. Half of his world, really.
So, it’s weird. This feeling of hope. For once, he feels like he might just get the cake and eat it too. Maybe he always could.
Maybe. That’s funny. Since when has that word ever been strong enough for him?
“Finish your water, darling. You can get lost in your thoughts later.”
Takasugi’s sight jumps from Gintoki at the bar to Aunt Tomo, who’s still smiling at him. He glares at her but he doesn’t really mean it, and drinks the rest of the plastic cup bottoms-up.
“Feeling better?” she asks.
“Maybe,” he squints at her, then closes his eyes, and rethinks his answer. “I’m– I’m not entirely sure.”
“It’s hard to determine how you feel when you’ve been on the edge for too long. I wouldn’t stress about it too much.”
“Still trying to give me advice? You don’t give up, do you?”
“I’m trying to cheer you up, hon.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not needed. I’m not a child with a scraped knee.”
They stay quiet for a bit, the both of them. And he doesn’t hate it. Hell, he doesn’t even hate that he doesn't hate it. That’s another strange development he did not see coming in the slightest. This silence is… calming, and unforced.
“I’m so sorry Shin-chan,” Takasugi hears his aunt say after a minute. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Her tone, crushed and broken, deeply confuses him. “About what?”
“I'm sorry that your father kicked you out of the house.”
Oh. Fuck him.
Instinctively, his eyes glue to the floor. Aunt Tomo sniffles, and she keeps on going, as if she knew this is how her nephew would react from the start. “It must have been so tough on you. You were just a boy, and he took everything away from you. It ain't right. I never got to tell you that. I'm so sorry, dear.”
Takasugi, bursting with light anger, settles a fist on the table. “I hate when people pity me. It makes me sick.”
“I’m not pitying you, dearie. I’m only saying it wasn’t right,” she says, her voice dripping with a kindness he didn’t know she had. “What did you do wrong? Be a little different? There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone is a little different. But, some people can't accept all kinds of differences. As soon as it goes against whatever the fuck they believe to be the right thing, they turn nasty.”
He finally looks at her, but he keeps his expression blank, trying his best to keep everything in place, and not lose his cool. “That was very inspiring. Thank you. Did you rehearse that while I was breaking down in the bathroom?”
Aunt Tomo looks saddened. “Don’t be sarcastic with your auntie.”
“What is it that you want? My gratitude? If so, you’re not getting it. What good is it going to do? I already lost that battle,” Takasugi says, surprisingly composed given how furious he is. “You want to act all high and mighty as if you're not part of the family that turned its back on me.”
He presses his fist against the table again, hoping it ends the conversation once and for all. “So, save the jerk-offs. I'm not in the mood.”
The woman gulps, followed by a tongue click. Great. So this thing is far from over.
Can he just have a single moment of peace? Can’t people just leave him the fuck alone?
“You're right, hon. I could've been there for you, I could have taken you in, or slap some sense into Mi-chan. But I didn't. You deserved to live a happy youth, and I took that away– we took that away.”
Those words make Takasugi look back at his aunt. For a moment, he’s completely speechless.
“Yes,” he replies, his frown loosing up, his mouth trembling. Right now, he is but a mere child. “You did.”
Aunt Tomo takes off her sunglasses to reveal her crying green eyes. She stretches her hands across the table, and reaches Takasugi’s own. When their hands touch, he doesn’t pull away. He finds that, deep in his soul, he doesn’t want to.
“It feels nice to tell your auntie to go fuck herself, no? Doesn’t it feel good?”
Takasugi smirks. “A little.”
The warmth of Aunt Tomo’s hands is strangely comforting. “That's my Shin-chan. But, hey, you did a good job, kid. Almost in your thirties, and all in one piece.”
“I… owe a lot to him,” he mutters without thinking. Does he trust her enough to tell her all of this?
“Your boyfriend, you mean, hon?”
This next part is a little painful, but it’s something that must be done. “He’s not my– he’s my friend, my best friend. He, and his father... they just welcomed me into their home. In there I learned what it meant to be a man.”
“A man?”
As he begins to recollect memories from a box he never thought he’d open again, his body lets him know in nervous waves that perhaps he should let his guard down now, and feel what he feels. Fucking tired.
“Yeah, I doubt Mother ever mentioned it to you, but I was called a sissy by a lot of the boys in my neighborhood,” Takasugi smiles gloomily as he continues to remember flashes of his childhood. “Father was worse, if I didn’t act how he wanted me to, he’d forbid Mother from feeding me. Sometimes, going as far as to forcing me to sleep outside in the cold.”
“Oh… no, no, no.” Aunt Tomo brings her hands to cover her mouth. Takasugi spares her a look. Her face is sunk in devastation.
“Shin-chan… it can’t be. Mi-chan… she…”
“Now you have a new topic of conversation for her,” Takasugi speaks over her mumbling. “If she ever told you Father was the only one to blame for what happened, she lied.”
They share a glance, the air between them feeling thick after such revelation.
“It takes two to tango,” Takasugi raises his brow at her. “Is that not true?”
Wow, he’s, yet again, suddenly feeling like chugging down an entire bottle of booze, and maybe throw it at one of these fuckers. That would be fun.
“… And, then, when I was finally out the house, I didn't know who I was,” he continues, to his own shock. “I wanted to be a man, I knew I was a man, but I spent so long getting called names I forgot along the way.”
He smiles again. “But, with his help, I was able to realize that whatever I believed about myself deep in my soul… it was the whole truth. Now, ten years later, I know who I am. I’m strong, and I can make people shut the fuck up if I so wish it. And, if I ever do forget...”
“… He reminds you,” Aunt Tomo finishes his sentence. All Takasugi can do is nod.
“I like to think of him as my family, and I hope he thinks of me that way, too. He’s… everything to me.”
His aunt chuckles, amused. “I was so wrong about you, dear.”
“Of what, out of the thousand things you got wrong about me?”
“Eh, you can figure out,” she smiles at Takasugi, and he can’t help but smile back, twice as wide. “Like I said, you’re a clever boy.”
The both of them turn to look at the bar. Takasugi blushes, quite pleased, as he catches a glimpse of Gintoki, who still seems to be waiting for their drinks.
It’s finally that time, isn’t it? The moment he has been dreading for years that, now, he can’t wait around for anymore. The clocks have stopped ticking at last. Yes. It’s time.
And he’s more than ready.
“Excuse me,” he says, standing from his seat. It feels as if his heart will pop out of his chest.
“I could have used it, Shin-chan,” Aunt Tomo mentions, just as he’s about to leave.
Takasugi frowns, his heart still beating fast. “… What?”
“To have you live with me. It would have done me some good. You know I don’t have kids.”
Her words move him so much he freezes for a full second. Then, he grins, wide. “If I were your son, I would shoot myself in the head.”
“And if I was your mother, I would be very proud of the person you turned out to be,” Aunt Tomo nods in a slow pace, as if she were acknowledging him, seeing him. “A man with dignity.”
After those warm words, she shoos him away with a knowing wink. Takasugi quickens his steps, making his way through the crowd of dancing people, to, at last, reach Gintoki. To take that risk he never thought he’d take.
Maybe they both want the same thing. And that maybe feels as strong as a thousand horses.
In the bar, he squeezes himself between two people on the first row of waiting drunkards, and touches Gintoki’s shoulder, who immediately turns around, his entire face lighting up once their gazes meet.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” Takasugi replies, breathless.
Gintoki leans in, and his voice is already less muffled. “The drinks are on the way, I promise. The fucking thing got crowded with middle-aged goons, and now–“
“Fuck the drinks.”
“Huh? What?”
Takasugi smirks at him. “Want to get the fuck out of here?”
His friend doesn’t hesitate. “Hell yeah, I do.”
“Then, let’s go,” Takasugi squints, overblown with a happiness that tastes better than any scotch. “Let’s go home… Gintoki.”
Recklessly, he grabs Gintoki by the hand, getting them away from the bar and its never-ending line of people. He feels as his friend holds his hand in return. So, so tightly.
When it’s the two of them against the world, that’s when he truly feels like he can do anything.
They agree to meet outside, and Takasugi’s stomach twists and turns in giddiness as he watches Gintoki slip out of the room with his back arched and hands deep into his pockets, like he just committed the most heinous crime known to men unperceived.
He’d come running to him as fast as his worn-out, drunk, just-got-over-crying body allowed him to, but, Takasugi finds there’s a thing he must do before he leaves all these ugly people and their ugly attires –God, he has been holding that one back all night– behind. A thing he never thought he would do, especially not since he first stepped in here almost four hours ago.
Perhaps, not all of it has been a big waste. Like most things in life, it is beautifully complicated. Tonight, he has chosen to go ahead and make a decision that could change everything he holds dear for the worse.
And, tonight, he also does this.
“I used to despise you. Actually, I used to despise all my mother's sisters. You were all noisy, know-it-all hags, and reeked of the same shitty perfume–”
Takasugi Shinsuke, against the odds, is willfully talking to a member of his family. And it comes as a bigger surprise when he realizes he’s happy he’s doing it.
Happy. With a family member. It’s against all of the odds. Beautifully complicated.
Aunt Tomo uplifts her brow, making a slightly surprised face, though some amusement filters through it to the point where it looks as something else completely. Like it’s shining with a light that is not there. It’s strange.
That gets him thinking in the seconds he’s allowed himself to. Maybe she’s just happy as well. Maybe she’s even joyous and Takasugi is not able to tell, for he only met her in a time in which she wasn’t.
Here they are, two happy people being happy together in the same room. Could there have been another scenario is which this specific feeling ran through the both of them like a shooting bullet?
This might be the thing that gets him to believe in destiny.
“Okay, gay boy,” Aunt Tomo replies. It makes Takasugi smile. Oh, she is joyous. And fairly drunk, but, fuck it, he is on the exact same page.
“…And, yet, I find myself not hating you now, auntie,” Takasugi continues. “You’re not the hag I took you for.”
“It’s the divorce, dear,” she says in between feather-like chortles.
“Well,” he turns to look to the exit door, then back at her. “Goodbye, then. Enjoy the post-divorce haze.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“Yes, we are. Take care.”
Aunt Tomo leans forward on her seat, a gesture so abrupt it makes him frown. “Don't half-ass your way through this, Shin-chan.”
He hates that he knows exactly what she means. Again.
“What?”
The woman doesn’t move. “I can tell you love him, dear. If you're ready to take a leap of faith, then go all the way out. You tell that boy how you really feel, and you don't skip any steps to get a quick fuck, or else you might regret it forever.”
Takasugi swallows at her words. And it hurts.
“Get your love like a true man does,” are the words she finishes with, then lets a silence take over, as she probably knows he needs it badly.
They feel odd, and stupid, and childish, these fresh tears that are threatening to come out of his eyes. It’s his second biggest fear, being proposed to as if it were a pitch in a board meeting.
“What if–” he blurts out, then takes a moment to breathe. “What if he wants it but not… the way I want it? What if he doesn’t… love me?”
“Don’t be a silly boy,” Aunt Tomo replies with a bluntness that could match his own. “You know he does, darling. You know he does. You’re just blinded by fear. So… just trust it. Trust that love you have for him; the same way he seems to trust you. You trust him back, don't you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then, go get him, Shin-chan. Think about it, who’s really stopping you here?”
Takasugi has found it in himself not to cry. He has cried enough for a lifetime in just one night, and he wonders if the places where his tears used to be are now making space for better things, waving at him hello.
“Go be stupid, go be in love. But do it the right way.”
They give each other another look. Takasugi doesn’t reply to her, mainly because he doesn’t want to lie and pretend he’ll do as she says. This isn’t a romantic comedy, and he’s certainly not the protagonist of one. This is reality. The simple truth. And it fucking blows.
If he ever let go of his filters and confessed to Gintoki, he’s not certain of what he’ll say. That’s the truth. If Gintoki loves him or not, if he thinks about him on late hours, if he truly yearns and lusts for Takasugi just as badly… he just doesn’t know.
The one thing he’s certain of is that tonight, at least, they want each other. Even if it’s just a little. And maybe it could be good after such a shitty night, to share a release with him.
He's willing to have this temporary truth. He needs it. He’s not the protagonist, or the hero of this story, he’s a lonely man in love with his best friend. It’s sad, cowardly, and pathetic, but that is the truth. The whole truth.
In reality, guys like him never get to see the end credits of the movie that ends with a happily ever after. They just live, and settle for the second best thing. Or the third. Or fourth. Guys like him never get to be happy. And he desperately needs to be okay with that.
There is just no such thing as doing it the right way for him.
With a lip quiver, Takasugi Shinsuke turns around and moves towards the exit. A sickness spreads throughout his gut. He is stricken with a wave of unkind thoughts.
What is he thinking? What has he been doing this past half hour? Dreaming of uncertainties? As though he has the privilege of turning them into a reality?
“You're a good kid, Shin-chan. You were always a good kid.”
The chain is broken as his ears catch Aunt Tomo’s voice. He stops dead on his tracks.
“Be happy, dear, and have lots of sex. You still have so much life to live. Live it right. Don't end up like this old, bitter fruit.”
Takasugi shuts his eyes for a moment, then keeps on walking, not once looking back.
Mommy Dearest
Looking at Gintoki as they meet outside takes his breath away. In such abruptness, he doesn’t feel brave anymore. It’s all gone.
It’s a mistake. It’s a fucking mistake. All of it, and how idiotic of him for even thinking he had a chance to risk their friendship and still come out on top.
Like he ever had that type of luck.
“You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost,” Gintoki asks with that familiar worry of his.
Takasugi looks at his friend, and thinks to himself for a second.
Do you think it’s a mistake, Gintoki? Would you take that leap with me? Would you be willing to risk our friendship of seventeen years together?
Is it truly worth it? To win something you want, and lose so much more?
He shakes his head to make all the questions vanish, and ponders on something witty to say.
“You’re not too wrong. It’s a zombie apocalypse in there,” is what Takasugi ends up telling him.
Luckily, it makes Gintoki smile.
“Did you see your, uh– the bride– what’s-her-name looking at you when you came back?” his friend chuckles. “I tried so hard not to laugh, she was doing all kinds of things to get your attention.”
“I noticed,” says Takasugi, the sides of his lips twitching into a grin.
Gintoki wraps an arm around his shoulder and brings him close. “You evil midget. Let’s get outta here.”
His perfume hits Takasugi’s nostrils, completely surrounding him. So safe. “Let’s,” he says, openly enjoying his touch.
It surprises him when Gintoki goes ahead and holds his hand as they walk to the elevator. If it’s a mistake, whatever may happen now, it doesn’t feel like it. Takasugi holds it right back, smiling, blushing, and so in love.
They are waiting for the elevator to go up when he feels a presence far behind them, followed by the clanking sounds of heels moving against the floor. Once it ceases, the presence feels overwhelmingly close. Too close. It dizzies Takasugi, this imminent danger, even if he has Gintoki’s hand wrapped on his own.
No matter what he does, he cannot escape his past.
“Shinsuke, oh dear. I finally caught you. We need to talk.”
Takasugi turns to look at the figure which has spoken his name, not letting go of Gintoki’s hand yet.
“…Mother.”
Minami Michi looks exactly how he remembers her. Her hair is tied perfectly with no bits loose, red dress falls like a perfect cascade, and she holds an expression that showcases in a perfect fashion how fucking uptight she is. Inhumanly perfect.
He always hated her for it. And, when her sight falls on his hand and Gintoki’s, at their tight link, he hates her even more.
“Uhm– can you excuse us? I must speak with my son,” she tells Gintoki, her tone filled with disdain and disgust. Takasugi fucking hates her. How fucking dare she talk to him like that.
When Gintoki lets his hand go, it truly feels like the world is ending, and he has to suck it up. This woman is a fucking virus, as big as they come.
“I’ll go validate our parking,” Gintoki whispers to him, and him alone. “Meet you outside?”
Takasugi nods quickly, already longing to see him again. He watches Gintoki shoot the nastiest look at her as he walks into the hallway on the left, then disappears.
God, he fucking loves him so much his body is sent into immediate panic the moment he’s left alone with his mother.
I don’t want to be here.
“How’s life, darling?”
“Normal,” he answers, his voice clipped.
I want to be with you. I want to be wherever you are.
“Oh, that's… good,” she says half-heartedly. “I was surprised to see Sakata-kun here.”
Takasugi flinches at the mention of Gintoki’s name. He glares at his mother, wishing to rip her apart.
“Don’t,” he warns her.
Of course, she ignores him. “Why is he… here?”
“He volunteered to be my plus one. End of story. What do you want?”
His mother continues on ignoring his words, as if she genuinely can’t hear him. “So, you two are not–? He’s not your–? uhm–”
“No,” Takasugi cuts her off, furious. “We’re just friends.”
“But that’s not the end of it, is it, Shinsuke? Were there really not any other people to–?”
Enough of this.
“Who did you want me to bring exactly?” he speaks over her, the anger a little palpable in his voice. “I’m not having this conversation with you, I’m done trying to figure out how to play into your little games.”
“I’m not playing anything, this is your mother speaking.”
Takasugi chuckles dreadfully. “I know that very well, which is why I’m quitting while I’m ahead.”
He gains the courage to step back from her and walk away, and even manages to move a bit before his mother speaks again.
“I just get so worried, Shinsuke. I wish this thing you have going on would stop.”
Takasugi looks over his shoulder with spite. “Stop what? My life?”
She folds her arms. “You’re almost thirty. You should not be clutching your nails into a man who’s–”
“What?!” he yells out as he walks back to her. She looks afraid, and nervous, blinking in quick patterns.
“…Who’s never going to love you.”
In the stillness created, Takasugi turns to leave again. However, his feet seem to be glued to the ground. A most strong shiver spreads on his shoulders, and he cannot stop it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I know it hurts, darling,” she says, staying just behind him. “but that's how most men are, take it from a woman. You fall in love with them, and you follow them around. Then, they turn into your safe space, and that's when they reveal their true colors. They ruin you, and it'll be so hard to learn to love again. I am just warn–”
Takasugi doesn’t even turn to look at her. “Save your warnings. I don’t need them. It’s a little too late to pretend you have my best interests at heart, Mother. Your words mean absolutely nothing to me.”
Her hand reaches his shoulder, and he immediately pulls away.
“And you’re delusional for thinking Gintoki is anything like… that man. He is not a cheater or an abuser. You know nothing about him.”
“Shinsuke,” his mother utters in a huff, as if that would make him have sympathy for her. “I was just trying to help you.”
“Were you trying to help me when that poor excuse of a man kicked me out of the house? When he punched me until I bled?”
“That’s not what I meant, dear.”
Takasugi rolls his eyes. “Oh, I know what you truly mean, Mother. You want me to live a boring life, get a boring job, settle down with a woman, and have kids. You want me to drown in a domestic bliss you never got.”
The woman stays silent. Good.
“I am not going to please you, or this… joke of a family,” he goes on. “You want me to leave the man that makes me happy behind? That’s unfortunate. I’m not doing it. I’m not a fucking plaything.”
A smile spreads across his lips. Everything feels lighter, the more spiteful he sounds. As cruel as it might be, he wants to hurt her a little.
“I love him. I’ve loved him since we were kids, and every day, I fall for him more, and more. Maybe he loves me too, I’m not certain. But you don’t get a say on it. Ever.”
He finally looks at her back, and she looks so upset it’s laughable. “I am who I am, and I'm not going to change even the slightest part of me. I'm going home, and you better not fucking follow me.”
“Why did you come here, then?”
“Don’t act stupid, Mother. It’s an ugly look on you,” he replies with a smirk, hoping it infuriates her.
Right then, he thinks hard about what to do. More specifically, about the thing that has been sitting inside his pocket since his trip to the bathroom. He thinks about who his family members are, and about who he is. And that’s when he makes his final choice.
Stepping close to his mother, he takes out a golden earring out of his pocket, and hands it to her.
“Tell Aunt Mei I hope she's happy as much as I hope she never gets in contact with me again.”
The earring falls on the woman’s hand. She’s utterly speechless. Takasugi steps away immediately, the anger from their conversation still beating fresh, but he figures it will go away soon. He hopes it does. He hopes it doesn’t linger the same way his family has let their own poison do and transform into something monstrous and not at all recognizable.
For he is better. Much better.
A Want, A Need
Takasugi reaches the parking lot, and he realizes how fucking tense he is. His shoulders are frigid, his jaw is clenched, and he has both hands turned into shaky fists.
“Yo!”
That’s Gintoki’s voice echoing through the long hall of aligned cars between them. When he catches his eyes, he sees the collar of his shirt unbuttoned, tie untied, and jacket hanging from his shoulder. Takasugi desperately wishes the other doesn’t notice how angry he still is, and that he finds it in him to forgive him for putting him through that shitshow.
“…Told you I was trouble,” Gintoki shrugs, looking kind of unhappy.
No. No. No. No. No.
It almost comes as an instinct, how he walks to him in such a fast pace. There’s one thing in his mind, and he could and could not do it, but, right now, there is no choice.
It is a want, a need. A must.
For the first time in ten years, Takasugi Shinsuke kisses Sakata Gintoki. His arms running on his neck with a desperate grip, his lips getting a faint taste of champagne.
At that moment, he damns all his fears and doubts. This feels fucking good, and he deserves to feel it. A big part of his brain is, in fact, telling him he should have felt it sooner. So much sooner.
Gintoki’s jacket slips from his hand, and he proceeds to grab Takasugi by the waist with both, pressing their bodies against each other.
Takasugi agrees.
Gintoki kisses him back, hungry.
He agrees so fucking much.
Right now there are but two thoughts on his head: how great Gintoki feels, and how badly he wants to take him home.
Part III:
Safe Travels
“In my dreams, I am a free man.
I love whatever my heart feels like loving.
I travel to the places I want to see, and stay there for as long as I wish.”
A Couple of Missed Things
The ride back home is shockingly quiet for two guys who spent around five minutes straight making out just a little over thirty minutes ago.
“You okay?” Gintoki had asked back in the parking lot, placing a final kiss on Takasugi’s lips before stepping back. His hands felt strong on both sides of his waist.
“Yeah,” Takasugi replied, breathless, then kissed him some more.
And now they’re here, just getting into the highway, with six hours left to Tokyo. This whole drowning in a mixture of strain and want really takes him back to his teenage years. Gintoki always makes him feel young, and like he’ll live forever. But there’s one thing this feeling hasn’t evaporated: his fear. Even though he has already stepped into the jungle, and let all wildlife know he’s there, there’s still that dread of not knowing exactly when he’ll be eaten.
His impulsivity might have just made him lose the only constant peace he has ever had. And maybe in the moment it felt worth it, but right now, he’s not sure.
Just like that, Takasugi Shinsuke stops feeling young, and thinks about getting out of this moving car without giving the consequences a thought. It seems he’s destined to make the same mistakes over and over again, all molded into different shapes.
It's funny how a mistake can feel this real and good, though. When kissing him, Takasugi genuinely believed he and Gintoki could live a happy life together. Have their own apartment. Fuck after a long day of work. Cook on the weekends. Maybe even get a cat.
All of it is gone now, but, for a moment, it was the realest thing he’d ever felt. He asks himself whether Gintoki felt it too, and what he makes out of it.
Did it feel real? How real?
The next hour and a half of the trip is filled with a silence he finds rather awkward. Even at one point, Gintoki turns on the radio. It truly doesn’t get any more awkward than that.
Takasugi feels he has to do something about it immediately, or else the awkward silence may turn into plain old awkwardness. That’s another type of dread, a clawed chokehold that barely lets him breathe.
“I’m sorry for saying we should leave,” he says after planning those same words for a full ten minutes.
Gintoki looks over at him, his brow raised in curiosity. It almost seems like he expected Takasugi to not speak to him throughout the entire road. And, knowing himself, he would have probably done it, but the air between them has turned suffocating.
“Why?” Gintoki asks.
He sits on the other man’s question for a second. There are many reasons why he’s sorry, it’s hard to pick only one to blurt out right there.
“You missed the cake,” Takasugi squints at him, and even smiles a little.
In turn, Gintoki breathes out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. Like he gets it. All of it.
“Come on. I can get cake whenever I want. Some cakes are worth it, and some are not. I bet it tasted like shit.”
Maybe it’s the burst of nervousness that has been accumulating inside his system ever since they kissed, but Takasugi laughs audibly at that. God. He’s always thinking too much. One day, that unhealthy habit of his is going to hurt him deeper than a scratch. He needs to stop.
“Hey,” Gintoki raises his voice, catching his attention. “You know what we missed for real?”
“What?”
“… Dancing.”
Takasugi drawls, trying his best to keep the chuckles in. “You don’t dance, don’t be silly.”
His friend grasps the steering wheel and smiles to himself.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Takasugi-kun,” Gintoki says proudly. “I dance when I’m shitfaced, and I kill it every time. I bet I could beat you in a dance-off.”
He shakes his head this time around. His cheeks begin to flush just as the rest of his body wears off all that anxiety it had left. This is safe. Gintoki is safe. Safe. How could he have forgotten?
“Right, Mr. Dancer,” Takasugi states with a bit of a flirty tone he hopes reaches Gintoki.
They stare at each other for a second. Gintoki smirks at him, his hands now shifting on the wheel. “Don't bully the man who's drivin' you home. Could be dangerous.”
When Takasugi sees him lean onto him, he returns that cheeky smirk. “You know I like a little danger.”
Gintoki says nothing to that, instead he just moves closer for a kiss, his red eyes closing as their lips nearly brush. And Takasugi almost –and quite enthusiastically– meets him halfway. Almost.
A red light makes Gintoki stop the car with an abruptness that leaves them both paralyzed. In front of them is the first crosswalk they have encountered on their nearly two-hour trip back to Tokyo. Suddenly, from the bushes to its left, a black and white Akita dog emerges, and walks elegantly towards the other side of the road. They blink at the view, gripping their seats just to hang onto something.
Are they in the Twilight Zone now?
“Well, at least the damn thing is following transit laws,” Gintoki mutters under his breath.
The dog disappears into the night, and the green light, at last, blinks. Takasugi catches Gintoki sighing. That was close, he can hear him say.
Despite the light changing, the car doesn’t move. He turns to meet Gintoki’s eyes.
“Gintoki, the green light is on.”
His friend scratches his cheek with his index finger, looking a little embarrassed. “Yeah– I know that– I was– Uh–”
In the blink of an eye, Gintoki leans in again, and briefly kisses him. While it takes Takasugi aback, he smiles right after it ends, sharing a look with the other man. That youthful feeling from before comes back in a crashing wave. Amidst that loving gaze, he is lost.
“Okay,” Gintoki speaks after returning to his seat. His chest moves up and down fast, yet he himself looks quite composed. It’s one of his most admirable traits, the way he manages to keep his nervousness on check, even more so when it matters. That’s his personal emergency idiot. His.
Takasugi catches his hands trembling on the steering wheel as the car engine begins to roar forward, and he thinks that he may not be able to wait until they get home to get him naked.
4:04
The three hours that follow are the greatest he’s had the entire day. He and Gintoki just chat and laugh. The car is warm, and there’s a great American song playing in the radio. Whitney Houston, if he remembers correctly.
At these times, being in love feels like nothing but pure bliss. It makes him sit back and sigh pleasingly, as if none of the awful things that happened even took place, or better, as if they don’t really matter at all. He is with the man he loves, drenched in a tiny world of their own creation.
“I never asked you why Aunt Mei was so angry at you,” says Takasugi after he finds the perfect silence amidst their conversation.
When he looks at Gintoki, he notices his jaw clench, and arm muscles contract into frigidness. This just got way more interesting.
“Uhhh…” Gintoki slurs with a high-pitched, strained tone. It makes Takasugi smile.
“What did you do?”
His friend lets out a nervous giggle that is followed by a dry cough. “I kinda– uh– tripped? Then almost made the champagne fountain fall.”
Classic Drunk Gintoki behavior. Takasugi’s smile widens.
“You buffoon,” he says.
“But, get it?! Almost!” Gintoki cocks his head, gaze sealing into Takasugi’s. “I didn’t break nothin’! The lady just overreacted. Too much of daddy’s pearls will do that to ya.”
For an unknown reason, that comment stings. It is in no way directed towards him, but it hurts as if it is. Takasugi vividly remembers Aunt Mei’s tears, how irritated and miserable she looked in what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. And it doesn’t sit right with him.
“I guess,” he speaks after a brief pause, staring down at his shoes. “She… looked unhappy. Very.”
“You think so?”
He answers the other man with a nod, then once again meets his eyes. His friend looks deep in thought, with an all-too visible frown, and uncharacteristic blinks. Finally, he shifts back against the driver’s seat and grasps the wheel hard.
“That's what always happens with older people,” Gintoki says, sight straight into the road. “They think marriage is the be-all, end-all. But, if it ain't ‘the right person’ or whatever, it goes down the crapper. It's all stupid bullshit if you ask me. The way I see it, that’s not how you love somebody.”
Takasugi’s stomach flutters at that last sentence. He can feel his heart raising within his chest, a heat taking control of his cheeks. What does love mean to Gintoki? How would he love someone?
Does he love someone now? Who?
How does it feel like? To be loved by Sakata Gintoki?
Ultimately, none of those questions ever leave his mind. They’re all too much, and Takasugi’s heart would break into pieces if the answers turned out to be more of a reality check than food for his delusions.
So, he asks a simpler one. He hopes it is.
“Would you ever get married?”
To his surprise, Gintoki side-smiles then shakes his head, looking as if he took it well. “I dunno, I don’t think so. Am I husband material?”
Takasugi blushes, and, too smiles. “The niche type,” he teases.
“Really?” Gintoki’s eyes jump from the road to Takasugi, then back to the road again. “Or are you just fuckin’ with me?”
“I mean it,” he says, with a lip bite Gintoki doesn’t see.
“Y’know, this would be a far bigger deal if the source was a little more reliable. But I guess I’ll settle with good ole Takasugi-kun.”
“Fuck you,” Takasugi shoves him playfully. “That was the last time I say a nice thing about you, goof.”
There’s a short silence between the two. Then, Gintoki eyes Takasugi, his gaze lingering dangerously.
“What about you?”
The blush on Takasugi’s cheeks doesn’t go away. God, he feels like such a kid. “Would I ever get married?”
Gintoki nods. “Yup.”
It’s such a stupid question, why is he thinking it through? He loses himself in the other man’s eyes, hoping to find something in there that could help him.
“I don’t think anyone would… take me.”
The second silence he predicted just then never comes. Instead he has Gintoki arching his brow at him slightly, and earnestly announcing: “I take you. I take you all the time.”
Within his shock, Takasugi finds it in himself to smile, feeling oh so hopeful. “What?” he asks, just for the fun of it.
He witnesses Gintoki blush on real time, sees how he fidgets as his eyes set in the road again, googly and directionless. “I– I– I– I mean… I’m with you most of the time… and… uh– y’know–”
“Know what?” Takasugi asks with a cheeky smirk that Gintoki is clearly avoiding.
“Aaaaaah! Forget it!” Gintoki snaps and even honks the car a couple of times, which makes Takasugi belly laugh. “You’re just trying to fluster me! I’m not falling for your tricks, midget! Up yours!”
“You’re already flustered, Gintoki.”
His friend honks the car again. “Shuddup!”
This time, a second silence does come, and Takasugi takes it as an opportunity to rest his head on Gintoki’s shoulder, who quietly lets him. They stay like that for many minutes, in that comfortable quiet, until Gintoki pecks him on the hair. At first, the smaller man thinks he’s daydreaming, but then he feels it a second time, and later, a third.
“Maybe I will,” Gintoki blurts out, lips still on his purple locks.
Takasugi is almost hypnotized. “What?”
“…Tie the knot one day. With, uhm… the right person. If they feel like taking me.”
Gintoki’s tone moves him. It sounds like he genuinely means every word he says. Takasugi only hopes he knows how easy it would be, to take him. He would do it in an instant if he had the chance.
He has loved him for seventeen years, and it hasn’t always been easy, no, but every second has been worth it. Gintoki is a good man, with a good heart, he deserves that right person he speaks of. Even if it’s most likely not himself.
Takasugi nuzzles against him, smiling. “And you can barely tie a tie.”
“Who says I need to?” he hears Gintoki reply. It sounds like he’s smiling as well. “Maybe they will do it for me.”
But, everyone gets to dream a little, right?
Blinded by The Fog
Ever since their little marriage conversation, Takasugi and Gintoki have been holding hands, both of which are now resting on Takasugi’s lap.
He can’t help but want more, though. His body feels hot, and his head as though clouds are floating through it, turning his thoughts into the shittiest of weathers. At one point, he got himself half-hard thinking about Gintoki lowering the hand from his lap to his thigh, and just caressing it. He thought about Gintoki making him come. About how he sounds when he moans in pleasure. How his dick feels. How it would be to have it deep inside him.
Just an overwhelming amount of useless fucking clouds.
“So… I fessed up. It’s your turn now, man.”
Takasugi is brought back to reality with the help of Gintoki’s voice. He sees their hands still intertwined in the same place he last saw them, and immediately notices how wet he is under his pants. Why does it have to be this way? How could hand-holding lead to this?
He feels dirty. He feels gross. Like a complete creep.
Why does he have to be this way?
How hard is it to be normal, Shinsuke? You’re sick in the head, just like your whore of a mother.
No. Stop. Stop it. He doesn’t want to remember that right now.
“Takasugi? You spacing out? Is Gin-san boring you to death with too much charm?”
With a breath of new air, and the taking of his lungs, he tries not to break down. A second cry would be overkill.
“What,” he begins, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand. “What did you say?”
Gintoki frowns at him from the driver’s seat. He can feel it.
“I was asking you about what the deal was with you and your aunt.”
“What aunt?” Takasugi asks, still wildly distracted.
“The one that sat with us. You were… uh… arguing or something?”
Oh. That. Okay. He can talk about that.
Without much thought, Takasugi rolls his eyes and looks out the window, perhaps better thoughts await for him there. “It was nothing. She just said some things that pissed me off.”
His hand gets squeezed gently after he speaks, then he feels a thumb making circles on his skin.
No. Stop it. Don’t even dare think about it.
“That was kinda cool,” Gintoki’s voice echoes, barely reaching his ears. “You looked cool.”
It is impossible to breathe. He cannot do it. Where can he go? Where should he run off to? What big fuck up comes next?
“Hey, Takasugi, look at me.”
His head shakes by itself. Gintoki finally lets go of his hand, and then, after a minute of draining awkwardness, he moves the car left and parks on the side of the highway. When he unlocks the car, Takasugi gets out like a speeding bullet into the foggy night.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t run. Instead, his back plasters against the car door just as he begins to try and catch his breath. A second after, the other door opens, and Takasugi hears Gintoki make his way to him.
“Your cigarettes are in the glove compartment,” is what the man says when he finally stands next to him. “In case you need ‘em.”
Takasugi shakes his head again, this time, out of his own will. “No, I just– need to breathe for a second,” he says, feeling the steam slip off his lips and into the air.
“Okay,” Gintoki replies, clipped. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. I feel like maybe I said something that made you feel uncomfortable.”
His next breaths, while still shaky, relax him a bit. “It’s not your fault. I’m just–”
“… too in your head again, huh?”
The smaller man nods, and finds himself smiling at that. Of course Gintoki would know.
As their shoulders brush, Takasugi can feel his head clear up at last. He’s stricken with tiredness, so he rests his head on Gintoki’s shoulder once more, his cheek thanking him for the much needed heat.
“Are you good to talk now?” Gintoki asks, their locks mingling on one another.
“Yes.”
“Good, ‘cause… uh… I was telling you that you looked cool arguing with your aunt.”
His lips curve some more. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” his friend nods, then lowers his voice slightly. Takasugi can feel his hot breath on his hair. “I would have intervened… but I kinda liked the view.”
Takasugi raises his brow, kicking his feet against the pavement. The tip of his nose has turned cold, and he enjoys the sensation through his surrounding giddiness. “How so?”
“You looked hot,” Gintoki sing-songs, overtly blunt to the point where it’s hilarious. “Are you happy with that answer, you smartass?”
“Very,” Takasugi replies with a devilish grin, cocking his head upward to look into Gintoki’s eyes.
The kiss they share doesn’t take him by surprise. It’s sweet, tender, and it makes him feel like he has finally found one of the pieces of himself he lost along the way. And, then, Gintoki deepens it, forcing a new type of fog out of the shadows and into his brain. His hands are on Takasugi’s cheeks, tracing nameless figures with the tip of his fingers. He holds onto him for dear life.
Soon enough, Takasugi thinks that he’ll become the fog, and live the rest of his gay life floating above everything and everyone. A part of this navy blue sky and all of its stars. But, right now, he just wants the love of his life to fuck him until he collapses.
Collapse.
Don’t all things that make up the universe do the same?
Not ten minutes less, they’re both back in the car, just passing a WELCOME TO TOKYO sign. This messed up adventure of theirs would cease sooner than he estimated. It had been one of the shittiest nights of his life, and, as ever the masochist, Takasugi doesn’t want it to end.
Both men chat about the food they ate, and the ugliest outfits they saw. Gintoki is particularly enthusiastic about the latter, and it charms Takasugi to no end.
“A yellow suit? Should have just written ‘asshole’ on his forehead. Seems easier.”
Just as the sky begins to clear up, his friend’s curiosity sneaks in almost unnoticed. “So… about your mom... what’d she say this time? Did she do one of her mom things?”
Takasugi is actually not bothered by this particular subject. He is so over that woman. Mentally and physically. She doesn’t deserve his annoyance.
“Define ‘mom things’.”
Gintoki lets out a chuckle, sounding a little relieved at his response. “Was she a bitch, mom-style?”
“Yeah,” Takasugi rolls his eyes and too, chuckles. “I guess.”
His friend reaches his hand again, gripping it tight. Takasugi looks at Gintoki’s hand on his lap, then at the man himself. Everything feels hot out of nowhere.
Well, maybe not too out of nowhere. They’ve been flirting ceaselessly since they hopped in the car after making that abrupt stop. He wonders about what Gintoki wants him to do, if he wants him to do anything at all. If the other man wanted to fool around, something would have happened at this point, right?
So, what does this hand and its strokes mean? What does Gintoki really want?
Maybe he’s just thinking too much. It’s got to be the thing he hates about himself the most. Sometimes, it feels like it’s choking him, like it wants him dead.
“… Well, whatever she told you, it’s bullshit,” Gintoki says, not letting go of his hand. “She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know shit.”
The next time their eyes meet, Takasugi thinks he has found the answer to this whole uncertainty. He tilts his head at Gintoki, beams, and intertwines their hands together.
Right near an abandoned Eneos gas station, Takasugi blurts out a word, the word that he knows better than anything in the entire world.
“Gintoki.”
A beat passes, as if the other man knows what’s going through his head down to the last detail. “…Yeah?”
“Can you pull over here?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Can you?”
Gintoki’s mouth opens for a second, then closes right away. In a moment of silence, his face is painted a strong red. “Yeah, of course,” he mutters, turning the car into the gas station parking lot, empty and grey from left to right.
The moment the engine stops, and their hands separate, Gintoki speaks again, “So, what is it? You wanna smoke? You know I have no problem if–”
Takasugi doesn’t let him finish. The second both of his hands are free, he uses them to grab Gintoki’s face and pull him close. He looks at him one last time before closing his eyes, and their lips meet, slow, and profound.
Next thing he knows, Gintoki is running a hand on the left side of his waist, then, slowly slides it to his inner thigh, rubbing it in and out, almost reaching his erection. Takasugi lets out a sigh against his mouth, and matches Gintoki’s speed as he begins to thrust. Before they go any further, he makes sure to take off his seatbelt and push it to the side, his friend following his steps.
Once they’re both seatbelt free, Gintoki moves away and presses a hand on Takasugi’s headrest, the other one pulling something from the side. It confuses him until he feels the backrest of his seat lower, leaving them both with more room.
“Better, yeah?” says Gintoki, eyes fired up.
Takasugi swallows with a smirk. “Yeah,” he breathlessly replies, hugging Gintoki by the neck as he lays on top of him. In a blink, he gets hold of the man by his blue tie, and begins to loosen it.
“Didn’t take you for a tie untier too, Takasugi-kun,” Gintoki teases him, seemingly thrilled by the harsh pulls at his neck.
“Shut up, you,” Takasugi says in a whisper, smiling from ear to ear. Gintoki kisses the corner of his mouth while he’s at it.
The tie comes off, and he jumps straight to unbuttoning his shirt. Gintoki pants, saying nothing, not even when he helps Takasugi in taking off the shirt, and finally revealing his chest.
“Gintoki,” Takasugi half-breathes, looking at him thoroughly. Admiring him. Wanting him. With not a drop of guilt, or shame.
There is no time for that.
“Come here.”
Kisses spread around his neck once Gintoki obeys him, and he kicks his shoes off, eyebrows curved, smile intact. He thinks about how good he feels, not as in just pleasure (and, trust him, there is) but happiness too.
He feels happy and safe when Gintoki undoes his pants and rubs his dick on his palm. Happy and safe when he tells the man to fuck him hard. Happy and safe when their naked bodies touch for the first time.
He's melting into him, into his warmth, their hard breaths fogging up the windows.
What does it feel like to be loved by Sakata Gintoki? For a moment, he thinks he knows.
And The Rain Washes Everything Away
Gintoki makes him come twice in the hour they spend hooking up. He’s on all fours, clinging into the seat as he gets fucked from behind, letting his friend bite his neck, and groan with every thrust.
On his first orgasm, he grabs Gintoki by the hair and pulls it as hard as he can. And, on his second, he turns around and simply kisses him, his cum dripping on the other’s hand.
Takasugi senses Gintoki’s climax nearing fairly quick after that. He feels his entire body turn frigid, and a hand scratching his abdomen, nails digging deep.
“Fill me up,” he breathes out, holding Gintoki’s hand in encouragement.
And the man takes it, for he thrusts hard, their wet skins pressing, hands holding onto each other, and orgasms with a raspy moan. Takasugi can feel the heat inside him, and he fucking loves it.
“Shit,” Gintoki pants against Takasugi’s drenched back. He lets him catch his breath, combing his silver hair in gentle strokes, hoping to comfort him.
When Gintoki hugs him and places a kiss on the crook of his neck, he feels like the happiest man alive.
Just heading into Taito city at around 6 AM, they find a 24 hour open McDonalds. And Gintoki starts to act like a little kid on a candy shop. It’s charming, Takasugi has to admit.
“Y’know what? Fuck all the fancy crap we ate, fast food burgers are where my heart is really at.”
He can’t blame Gintoki for getting excited at the sight of burgers. There’s a tiredness hidden well in those red eyes, how can there not be? He drove them around, and endured Takasugi’s family, all in the span of twelve hours, maybe more.
So, he volunteers to pay for the food and pick it up, loving the light coming back to Gintoki’s face at that moment.
“You sure?”
“Please, this is nothing. You’ve done enough for me today.”
Gintoki blinks at him. “I didn’t do nothing you wouldn’t do for me.”
Those words make him smile. He’s been doing that a lot, despite how shitty of a day it has been as a whole. His mouth hurts and his belly feels sore, a pain he gladly welcomes in. Gintoki’s right, he’d walk through the ends of the earth for him. It feels good to know he’d do the same.
Nobody else is up for the job anyway.
“I know,” Takasugi mutters, then pecks his temple, their hands brushing next to the gear shifter. “Get some rest. I’ll go get the food.”
“Extra fries,” says Gintoki under his breath.
He continues kissing the other’s forehead. “I know,” he repeats.
Fifteen minutes later, Takasugi walks out of McDonalds with a paper bag containing two burgers and a large serving of fries, whilst on his other hand he holds two cups of scolding hot coffee, which Gintoki didn’t ask for, but he’s sure he’ll love.
When he catches a glimpse of the car, he quickens his pace, his hot face refreshing itself against the cold morning air. The sky is grey and ugly now, but it hardly dampens him. He feels he’s over the moon and that no one who wants him to go down will ever succeed in getting him out.
His feet stop once he’s on Gintoki’s side of the car. The other man rolls down the window, and lowers his gaze onto Takasugi’s hand. “Is that coffee?” he asks, as though he can’t believe his own eyes.
“Yes,” Takasugi nods, feeling proud. He hands one of the cups to Gintoki carefully, and hears him sigh.
“That’s the stuff,” the man says after his first sip, then, he looks at Takasugi again. “Hop in, shorty. It looks like it’s gonna rain soon.”
That explains the sky’s pale state, it’s like staring straight into a white sheet. He despises it.
He has always detested the rain, as no good memories are attached to it. The fear of not knowing what will happen if he comes face to face with it on this day threatens him. If, by the time they get home, there is no other way out but through.
Don’t. Please. Don’t let it be rain. Don’t let it all end in such a grim tone. This day has had enough tears shed, enough pain brought up.
Let him breathe. Let him not think about the last time he choked on it. Let him not think about the blood, the slurs, and places he will never see.
Just let him breathe.
A harsh rain ends up soaking the streets of Tokyo an overwhelming amount, and Takasugi gives it his all to keep his lungs working. But his mind slips out as he catches a glimpse of the blurring streets.
He remembers it so well, the conversation they had the day he was kicked out of the house. It was raining just like this, and he sat in the corner of the guest room Gintoki’s father, Shoyo, had told him to wait on, his face beaten so well he was unrecognizable on the mirror directly across him.
It was so ugly, so disgusting he had to look away. He embraced himself, hugging his knees until they hurt. And right there, the door opened, creaking slightly.
“Hey,” a voice uttered, low and composed, only to be revealed it was Gintoki’s a second after when he stepped into the room, making the floorboards creek as well. It was awkward, and the lack of light wasn’t making it any easier, but Takasugi had never been this relieved to see him.
“Hey,” Takasugi said back, looking up to find his friend’s eyes through the darkness.
The door closed with a click, and he felt Gintoki walk towards him. “So... uh– shit– I don't know what to say.”
Takasugi didn’t say anything either. They were on the same page.
“What– uh– you– shit–” Gintoki struggled, and Takasugi managed to catch him digging his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. “What– Are you… here because you wanted leave?”
Once again, Takasugi remained quiet.
“Sorry… maybe I shouldn’t have… shit…”
He sensed him retreating back to the door, and it terrified him.
Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.
“Wait– Don’t–”
Gintoki stopped at his words, an unbearable silence taking over the room suddenly.
“Takasugi, what happened?” his friend asked after a couple of minutes, sounding so concerned it took him aback.
He took a moment to compose himself. “I wanted to leave, but Father kicked me out before I had a choice.”
“Why?”
Takasugi buried his face on his lap. “He doesn’t think I’m a man.”
“…What do you mean?”
The silence came back. He just couldn’t answer.
“Takasugi, what do you mean?” Gintoki pressed on, his tone serious.
Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.
“I can’t– I don’t–”
His friend seemed to understand right away. “Hey, hey,” Gintoki raised his voice, and moved towards him. When he stood before Takasugi, he immediately sat next to him, giving a bit of space. “I get it. It’s alright. You don’t have to say it. I got it.”
The sweetness in which he said those words made Takasugi upset. He wasn’t supposed to have this. He didn’t deserve it. He was ugly. Not even his parents wanted him.
“I barged in here with no consideration for you, or your father. He struggles enough as it is, and I just selfishly went ahead and burdened him even more. I– I didn't know where else to go. I should leave.”
His body shifted upward by instinct, but was quickly shut down once Gintoki grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back to his spot. “Takasugi, stop it. Sit here. There's a lot of shit running through your head right now. I'm not lettin' you leave this house. So, just, stay still, okay? Just–”
Gintoki continued to press his shoulder, and even made circles against it. The moment they looked at each other, he moved it away.
“Sorry, I was tryin’ to–”
For a second time, Gintoki pressed his hand on Takasugi’s shoulder, and it stayed. They gave each other another look, and, suddenly, his friend shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around him.
Takasugi blushed, and couldn’t help but fall against him, a hand reaching the collar of Gintoki’s shirt and grabbing it as he tried not to sob, his blood soaking its whiteness away.
It was the first time they hugged each other. Gintoki’s arms felt like home. Like he could fall apart and be caught.
“You are a man,” Gintoki said out of nowhere.
“What?”
“If that's how you feel, then that's what you are. And no one can take that away from you,” his friend went on, his hand tensing up on his skin. “Whatever you are now, or what you want to be, that’s your choice.”
Takasugi didn’t know what he’d choose then, and he still doesn’t know. Perhaps he never will.
“Takasugi, you good?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You haven’t touched your food.”
“Do you want it?”
“No, no, I’m just– I’m worried about you.”
He has had his eyes closed for the remainder of the road. Not talking, or moving even. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Gintoki is trying to, yet again, pull him out of that pit.
“Hey,” he hears Gintoki’s voice, and feels his hand being held by him. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t like it.”
Gintoki runs his thumb on the skin of his hand. “The rain, you mean?”
Takasugi nods.
“We’re close, by the way. Think you can hold on until then?”
A second nod, but it is a lie. The other man speeds up the car and lets his hand go.
The rain is still falling hard when they reach Takasugi’s apartment complex. That is just his luck, isn’t it? Just his fucking luck.
His eyes inspect as Gintoki stops the car, unbuckles his seatbelt, and gets out, closing the door behind him. A knot forms in Takasugi’s throat.
“Gintoki, what are you–”
The man runs around the car until he reaches Takasugi’s side. He knocks the window twice, then cocks his head down, staring at him through the falling drops on its surface. Takasugi sees his mouth moving, but he can’t hear a word, so, he raises above his fears, and opens the car door, finding a rather surprised and wet Gintoki on the other side.
“What were you saying?” Takasugi frowns as some raindrops fall on his head.
“I was–” his friend takes a pause, then runs a hand on his face, clearing some of the water away. “…telling you to just look at me.”
And so, he does. Gintoki smiles at him, stepping closer.
“Come on, Takasugi. It's just a little water.”
Gintoki stretches out a hand to him, his body ceaselessly dripping from head to toe, and him simply not caring. “Let’s go.”
In an act of courage, Takasugi takes it, and together, they run home.
Two hands run on his waist the second he inserts the key into the doorknob of his apartment. Both men are cold, and covered in water, yet Gintoki’s hands feel hot against his skin. The door opens, and he guides his lover inside, letting out breathless chuckles.
Takasugi takes it all in as he brings some light into the room with the switch by his left. His home. His couch. His TV. His collection of cassettes. His weird lamps. All of them his.
Such a shitty night almost made him forget there is a place in the universe he can call his own, and that he built it all himself. Well, he and his landlord’s grandfather but who gives a shit.
“Can I… crash here? I’m beat.”
The smaller man turns around to look at Gintoki. His Gintoki. Mine.
He walks to him and rubs his wet chest, smiling to himself. “You don’t have to ask.”
“Oh,” Gintoki arches his eyebrows. “I don’t?”
What a tease he is, he knows exactly what to say to make Takasugi squirm like a schoolgirl, to the point where he wonders whether he has been doing it on purpose all these years.
Yet again, he feels those flirty hands on his waist. He sighs into his touch.
“I need a bath,” Takasugi blurts out, now running his own hands around Gintoki’s neck.
“Maybe I’ll join you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Gintoki tells him. “If I don’t fall asleep in there.”
A smirk forms on his lips, “I’ll keep you entertained.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Maybe,” replies Takasugi, then kisses his neck a couple of times.
“Good enough for me.”
Yes, maybe he’ll bath with the man he loves. Maybe he’ll blow-dry his air as the sun rises. Maybe he’ll sleep with his arms around him. Maybe they’ll cook some food tomorrow, and laugh so hard the pain will turn to dust.
Whatever you are now, or what you want to be, that’s your choice.
And Takasugi chooses to be happy.