#wwhatthehellman

Gin was a happy person. Or, he was a happy person as far as Shinpachi and Kagura knew. For that reason, the days when he was quiet and sad, and not quite with them were all that much more disturbing and strange. Neither of his friends knew how to deal with it, or what the cause of it was when he would zone out, and when he returned to the present he was missing something. A gap in his smile, or something wrong in the way he spoke, even if he seemed mostly normal.

Sometimes it was worse, days where Gin would wake up in the morning in a terrible mood, angry, or sad, or blank, and nothing could cheer him up, not even strawberry milk or Jump. On those rare, terrifying day he would speak very little, avoid people's eyes, drift through everything like a ghost. Once, at the end of one of those days, Kagura had found him standing on the room, staring at the moon as his shoulders shook and silent tears rolled down his face.

Those days were uncommon, but Kagura and Shinpachi were never ready for them when they came. For all their scarcity, they were still sickening.

And then, in the middle of one of those dark days, Katsura showed up. He let himself into the Yorozuya, Elizabeth waddling behind him, and sighed sadly at the sight of Gin curled up on the couch.

Gin looked up at the raven-haired man from where he sat, met his eyes. “Zura.”

Zura shot Elizabeth a glance, then walked over to Gin and reached down to place a gentle hand on his cheek. “Gintoki.”

Shinpachi and Kagura stared, confused, as silent conversation passed between the two old friends. Then Elizabeth stuck a sign reading, “Let's go,” in their faces.

Shinpachi blinked, derailed. “But-”

The sign was waved around a bit, then the large, duck-like alien waddled towards the door. Kagura shrugged and followed, leaving Shinpachi to trail after them.

Once the door closed behind their various companions, Zura sighed again and stepped back from the couch, then opened his arms to Gin. The sliver-haired man stood and came to him, burying his face in the shorter man's shoulder.

“I'm here, Gin,” Zura murmured, stroking a hand through the curly hair. “We're here.”

“I know,” Gin said, his voice muffled. “Zura.”

“Hush,” Zura said, pulling away from Gin to push him back down onto the couch then sitting down beside him and tucking himself into the larger man.

“I'm sorry.” Gin sounded miserable, curling around Zura and holding him close. Zura did his best to press himself even closer, knowing that if Gin needed anything, he needed something to anchor him to the present, and that Zura's warmth could act as that.

“Gintoki. Everyone has bad days.”

“I don't want you to have to deal with it.”

Zura shook his head, a few silky strands of midnight black hair falling across Gin's shoulder. “I share your woes, old friend. I fought at your side, and we watched our comrades die together.”

“I'm being selfish, aren't I?” Gin asked.

“Grief is both selfish and unselfish. Don't think too hard about it.”

Gin smiled into Zura's hiair, then tipped his face up and laid a gentle kiss on his lips. “Thank you for coming. You didn't have to.”

Zura stretched his neck up and received another soft kiss, then said, “Of course I had to. I keep track of the anniversaries just as well as you do, and I knew you would need me today. And I needed it too, I think.”

“Yeah, today is... one of the worst.”

Zura shifted so that he was pressed against Gin's side, facing him, then brushed his lips against the column of Gin's throat. “I will never be able to convince you that their deaths were not your fault, will I?”

“Probably not,” Gin said, pressing into Zura's kisses. “They were my friends, and I lead them to their deaths.”

“They followed you because they trusted you.” Zura's lips ghosted against Gin's skin as he spoke, and a gentle shudder ran down the larger man's spine. “You couldn't have known, and if you had you never would have risked them, not for a second.”

“Does it matter? They're still dead.”

“So let it rest, rather than worrying their spirits with your guilt,” Zura said, then pulled Gin down for a proper kiss. Sounds from the street filtered into the still room, providing rhythm as their lips met, mouths sliding together into something sweetly perfect. For a moment, both of them could forget the world, pretend that the blood and fury of war and the frozen emptiness of death had never touched them. They could imagine for a second that all they knew was the warmth of another body, the rustle of cloth, the taste of something beautiful that could only be found in a lover's mouth.

Then Zura drew away, lips pink and parted, and whispered, “I love you, Gintoki. No matter what. Never forget.”