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Katsura, for the most part, is a man of simple pleasures.
Rather, he is easily pleased. At least that’s what he likes to think, and this situation is no exception.
If he’s being completely honest with himself, he and Gintoki aren’t as close as they used to be. The plights of battle truly brought them together, all those years ago—misery loves company, as the saying goes—and Katsura struggled when the bonds they’d formed in war gradually crumbled around him. Memories of their time together slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things, irretrievable.
This realization came to Katsura slowly but, when it eventually did soak in, he learned to savor the little wonders in life.
Any run in with Gintoki was certainly better than nothing. The familiar tuft of silver-white hair and lips set in an indifferent line, half-lidded eyes staring into the distance. There was no mistaking the white yukata, blue swirls curling around the bottom and hem of his sleeves, and the worn black boots. Katsura could easily spot his old companion from a mile away.
This morning just so happened to be one of those happy coincidences.
“Gintoki!” Katsura lifts a hand into the air, attempting to flag Gintoki down. “Over here!”
Gintoki freezes in his tracks, Sadaharu at his side looking equally bored with their current outing. His gaze falls right on Katsura and—he turns on his heels and sets off in the other direction.
This man… Katsura huffs and quickens his pace. “Keep up, Elizabeth,” he whispers to his friend who, predictably, follows. It thankfully doesn’t take long for Katsura to catch up, and he assumes his place at Gintoki’s other side, flashing a triumphant grin.
“Taking the pet out for a stroll, I see?” Katsura prompts. He swears Sadaharu gives him an annoyed ‘is this guy for real?’ look but Katsura chalks it up to his imagination. “I had the same idea!”
Elizabeth practically shoves their sign in Katsura’s face. I’m not some pet you take on walks!
“You have to take them out or they start to get anxious. Being trapped inside that stuffy hideout all day is no good for Elizabeth.”
Another sign, brandished with obvious frustration. If anything, you’re the pet, and I’m taking you out for a piss!
“This isn’t a walk, Zura,” Gintoki finally chimes in. “I’m sightseeing.”
“Sightseeing?” Katsura has always found Gintoki’s sense of humor to be strange. “Ah, yes, ‘sightseeing.’ Where are the other two then? Where’s Leader?”
“They were too busy.”
“And what could you possibly be looking for around here, Gintoki?”
“Something… important.”
“I suppose it’s for a job.”
“Don’t you have a terrorist group to be leading?” Gintoki sighs. “Or some idiot Shinsengumi officers to be avoiding?”
Katsura can’t help the gasp that slips past his lips. He isn’t sure what exactly gives him the idea but excitement overwhelms him. And, without a second thought, he reaches out to snag Gintoki’s wrist. “The sakura!”
Gintoki clicks his tongue but doesn’t try to pull away. “What the hell are you on about? You’ve got something stuck in that wig of yours again?”
“I know the perfect place!”
“You can’t seriously be thinking—“
“We need to hurry,” Katsura insists, tugging harder on Gintoki. He rounds the next corner and drags Gintoki along with him, destination clear as day in his mind.
To his surprise, Gintoki remains quiet as they quickly make their way to the viewing place. They jog through alleyway after alleyway, passing several curious bystanders along the way. Most probably recognize Gintoki, and an indescribable surge of pride rushes through Katsura at the thought. He is the sort of man who deserves every bit of appreciation. Elizabeth and Sadaharu continue to follow along—albeit reluctantly—and Elizabeth has the decency not to ask questions. They know Katsura well enough at this point to guess his intentions.
As they enter the clearing, Katsura feels his lips quirk into a grin. Laughter rises up his throat, and he yanks Gintoki the last few feet before claiming a place at the base of one of the trees. He picks one the farthest away from the other visitors. The hat secured to his head hides his face from any wandering eyes, but he can never be too sure.
Gintoki drops to the ground with a snort. Elizabeth and Sadaharu exchange a Look before choosing to circle around and sit on the opposite side of the trunk. Tucking his legs underneath him, Katsura makes himself comfortable and—oh. He’s still holding Gintoki.
Except, rather than holding his wrist, at some point during their rushed journey, his hand slipped and his fingers were now interlocked with Gintoki’s.
Immediately, Katsura lets go, jerking away as if shocked. Gintoki has yet to move his own hand and stares, brows furrowed, at his now free fingers. Katsura stifles the urge to place his hand over Gintoki’s and awkwardly sets his hands in his lap.
For a few seconds, no one says a word.
It’s a tad uncomfortable but that’s to be expected. They don’t talk like they used to. Katsura kept track of the years, the months, the number of days, he and Gintoki had been apart before he discovered they both lived in Edo.
Katsura remembered everything.
The time he miscalculated the size of the enemy army, and the four generals were forced to share a tent after losing far more man than they’d intended. Gintoki, warm and sure, at his back as Katsura drifted off to sleep, lulled by the soft rise and fall of Gintoki’s chest, by the crickets chirping just outside. It’s possible none of them actually slept, but Katsura felt well-rested the next morning nevertheless.
The time Katsura got hurt, and Gintoki nervously paced outside of his tent for several hours, until someone managed to stitch up the wounds. Afterwards, Gintoki swore up and down he only stayed nearby because he didn’t want to lose one of the generals. He said it would be hard to appoint another commanding officer. Takasugi politely responded to Gintoki’s explanation by saying, “You are such a fucking liar.”
The time Sakamoto and Gintoki got lost in the Red Light district in between fights. Katsura and Takasugi had been the ones to retrieve the two of them, reasonably upset with the other generals’ behavior. When they made it back to camp, Sakamoto pulled Katsura aside and told him Gintoki accidentally called a woman ‘Katsura’ while they were together. But Sakamoto was known for his ridiculous stories.
The time they drank a little too much after a particularly grueling skirmish. Katsura found himself gravitating toward Gintoki as they gathered around the fire. The pressure of an arm across his shoulders, later around his waist, had grounded him in that moment. A mental image, startling in its clarity, of his and Gintoki’s life after the war. He’d imagined them as inseparable, steady, a force of nature not a single person could stop. He’d also imagined what Gintoki’s lips would feel like and—and that night had certainly changed everything.
The time Takasugi nearly died. The time Sakamoto nearly died and the countless occasions Gintoki nearly died.
Katsura locked each memory deep in the recesses of his mind, hoping that, regardless of how far apart the four of them grew, he would still have something to remember them by. Beautifully preserved like paintings lining the halls of a museum, Katsura held each one close. Even though they were sometimes gruesome or difficult to accept as the truth, Katsura refused to forget.
“It’s a shame, you know?” Katsura remarks, seemingly out of the blue.
“This? Well, you said it. Not me.”
“No, no, I’m serious, Gintoki. Don’t you ever miss them?”
Gintoki stays quiet, but that comes as no big shock to Katsura.
“We never got the chance to do anything like this together.” Katsura pauses, humming softly under his breath. “Relax.”
“Soldiers don’t relax, Zura.”
“You don’t miss the others,” Katsura rebuts. It’s supposed to be a question but nothing about his tone suggests so.
Silence falls between them and, for a moment, Katsura considers standing and walking away. He’s growing tired of this game. This façade, this forced apathy, makes Katsura feel ill. What happened to Gintoki’s serious side? Not the side that killed thousands of Amanto soldiers, not the side that regards the world through the listless eyes of a dead fish. Katsura longs for the Gintoki who started honest conversations, late into the night, voicing feelings Katsura had no idea he even possessed.
Katsura has—and always will—want the truth.
“I do.”
Gintoki’s voice startles Katsura, heart fluttering in his chest.
“Not often but…” Gintoki purposely keeps his gaze focused on the trees overhead. “Sometimes. It happens less now that—hm.”
“Hm?”
“It’s difficult to forget someone’s wig when you’re forced to see it almost every day.”
A sakura blossom drifts lazily through the air. Turning, turning, it gently lands on Gintoki’s arm, pink standing out against the white of his yukata. Katsura has the strangest urge to reach out and retrieve it.
“Like those grimy old men on the streets who like watching women walk by—the pretty ones? They’re so obvious,” Gintoki rambles, gesturing wildly at their surroundings. “And all of their hair is falling out. So their wigs are even more obvious than their staring.”
Katsura smirks; it’s as close to the truth as he’s going to get. Gintoki may think he’s being subtle, but Katsura has a talent for reading between the lines. Especially when it comes to comrades—especially when it comes to Gintoki.
“Maybe we should get going, Gintoki,” Katsura insists as he climbs to his feet. “I have seen enough for today.” And heard enough.
Gintoki groans loudly and joins him. His arms lift into the air, and he grunts, carefully stretching each. A pleasant little pop follows each twist and turn. Sakura petals stuck to his yukata drift to the ground around him. A couple, however, remain lodged in the thick curls on top of his head. Katsura waits patiently, trying not to stare too hard.
Of course Elizabeth chooses that moment to peek around the tree and quickly scribbles out a response on their sign. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.
“Come now, Gintoki,” Katsura blurts. He swivels around to face the direction from which they came. “Mustn’t keep the boy and Leader waiting.”
A tiny voice in the back of Katsura’s head encourages him to invite Gintoki over. Even if he wants to bring the kids, Katsura wouldn’t care. This is one of the rare occasions he’s met with Gintoki alone—well, mostly alone—and he’d hate to waste even a second of that valuable time.
But Katsura has let himself be selfish for long enough.
He will take what he can get, even if it is only a few minutes of silence and serious conversation. Katsura, you see, is a man of simple pleasures.