#from this

You take stock of the room. At the moment, there's only a dresser, a nightstand, and the bed frame that he's currently working on. But, most importantly, they're all matching, which must mean—

"Did you build all of these? By yourself?" you question in disbelief.

He raises a brow, snorting. "Who else was gonna build it? You?"

You cross your arms, somehow offended. "I could've built these on my own," you assert haughtily.

Unlike his sister, Megumi doesn't entertain your antics. He merely hums in reply, once again focusing at the task at hand. You can only watch as he twists another screw into place with unnatural precision.

"How long have you been doing this?" you ask, shifting your weight between your feet.

He shrugs. "A while. We had morning practice and then Tsumiki asked me to come help."

"Practice?" You crouch down next to him, picking up the flimsy instructions packet and flipping through it like a magazine. "For what?"

His lips set thinly, and he pointedly looks away as he replies, "I'm on the soccer team at my university."

Your brows nearly shoot to your hairline in surprise. The Megumi you'd known wouldn't have gotten within 500 feet of a school-sanctioned activity, not unless someone forced him.

And now that you're close enough to really look at him, you realize that his limbs are longer and shoulders broader than you remember. He's a university student now, and a student athlete at that—of course he would look different, be different. But it only serves to remind you of how long it's been since you last met.

"You're real tall now," you observe with a laugh. "Last time I saw you, you were only an inch taller than me. That, and you were getting into tons of fights."

He'd been about fifteen back then, skinny and awkward and growing like a beanstalk. Tsumiki had told you he'd started getting into trouble at school, and it had worried you, but you hadn't stuck around long enough to see it through.

Megumi's ears redden. "Yeah, well, I was a kid back then."

"Aw, c'mon," you tease, ruffling his hair. He stiffens momentarily under your touch. "You're still just—"

Lightning-fast, his fingers wrap over your wrist, the grip so shockingly strong that you're forced to suck in a breath, heart pounding. His widened eyes meet yours, and it's like a thread snaps. Hesitantly, you withdraw your hand once his grip loosens.

"Whoa—"

"I should finish up the bed," he interrupts, turning away sharply.

There's a weight to his words that you can't quite untangle. He typically has an edge to his tone that can be interpreted to the untrained ear as unfriendly, but he's never come off that way to you.

He's always just been Megumi. Little Megumi, who let you and Tsumiki stick clips and ribbons in his hair when you had sleepovers, though that deep frown never left his face. Little Megumi who used to walk home from school three steps behind the two of you, not wanting to be seen walking home with his big sister.

But now, with his eyes narrowing to a glare, you're not sure if you still know him that way. It's been years, after all.

Rising to your feet, you settle back under the doorway as your lip snags between your teeth. Megumi seems to react to the distance—his grip goes white-knuckled around the screwdriver.

"Right," you relent softly. "Sorry. Thanks for your help, then." Then, even quieter, you add, "Happy to have you around for a bit."

"I've always been around," he finally says, still not looking at you. "You were the one who left."

The tension in the room seems to thicken, time slowing to an indiscernible tick. Your gaze drags over Megumi's strained expression, the rigidity in his posture, the screw twisted in his fist. You can't make sense of it.

Just a kid, you had meant to say. You'd known that, and so had Megumi. It shouldn't have been odd—you'd called him that for years before you left, and he'd never complained.

Gintama is not plot or story driven, it's roughly about a war veteran who finds his family and does random shit with them. He semi-adopts a teenage boy, unofficially adopts a tween girl, regularly harasses the police, regularly gets harassed by the police, plays the hero but isn't over powered, and fights at his best when he's fighting with people.

It takes place in like 1860 Japan, but an AU where aliens forcibly shoved themselves through Japan's isolationist wall, so it's a mix of future tech, old tech, and no tech. (and yes, that is absolutely an allusion to foreign nations getting in Japans business after Japan told them it didn't want them to do that)

Mostly, it's comedy and crack. The comedy is very crass a lot of the time, and very slapstick, but it is funny and you will choke on your spit.

And then.

Then there are the serious arcs.

Holy shit there are the serious arcs.

They don't last long, but it's a nice refresher before it goes into comedy and crack again.

The fillers also contribute by providing depth for the world and deepening the relationships with the characters.

Comedy

Serious Arc

I dunno consider this both a recommendation and also curiosity, cuz I think a lot of us have the same taste.

Oh yeah also there is so much blood here.