Chapter Text
“Don’t say I never do anything for you, tax thief.”
Hijikata examines the contents of the fruit basket that Yorozuya has just plonked in his lap as he sits in his hospital bed. Or, more specifically, the content, i.e. one grape hanging forlornly from its otherwise barren stem. He’s not even going to consider the apple cores, orange peels, and various other garbage that lies scattered throughout the desolate wasteland of the basket.
He picks up the grape stem and holds it in front of his face, eyeing it critically. Through the spaces where – in a kinder world – the grapes would be, he can see Gintoki very carefully avoiding his gaze, what should at the very least be the appearance of sheepishness almost entirely smothered beneath a thick layer of self-righteous bluster. Hijikata can practically feel the indignation radiating off him.
“… Thanks, Yorozuya. You shouldn’t have.”
“Hey!” Gintoki is on his feet faster than the lazy fuck would normally have Hijikata believe possible. “It’s not my fault that Kagura got to them first! She’s a growing girl, and I’m not made of money. And in any case, it’s the thought that counts, you greedy bastard!”
Gintoki’s face is rapidly passing through ever-darkening shades of pink, and it’s pretty funny. Hijikata can’t even be angry at him; after all, this is actually more than he expected. Sure, some mayo would be nice, and the six-pack of cigarettes that Yamazaki brought him last night is going to run out sometime in the next few hours, but still, a grape is better than nothing. And that China girl’s appetite is kind of terrifying. He’s pretty sure that Gintoki would have to resort to less-than-legal means in order to keep her fed even if he were pulling in a nine-figure sum every year; he doesn’t even want to think about what kind of illicit acts he’s resorting to on his current average weekly income of a few thousand yen and a green tea Kit Kat.
“Oi, oi. Sit down, asshole. I’ll eat your stupid grape.” He pops it into his mouth as Gintoki flops back down dramatically onto the hospital bed, barely managing not to crush Hijikata’s legs in the process. The idiot leans back insouciantly on one elbow, putting his slippered feet up on the blanket.
“So. Who’s the lucky man who broke your butthole?”
Hijikata chokes as his singular grape almost goes down the wrong tube. He thumps himself on the chest a few times, more to buy time to formulate a response than for actual life-saving purposes… though, in the end, the time he bought isn’t worth shit. “My what? What the hell are you talking about?”
Gintoki examines his fingernails with a studied indifference that Hijikata knows is anything but. He’s encountered it way too many times, and it never, ever bodes well. The more Yorozuya pretends not to care about something, the more fucked Hijikata is.
“Your Okita-kun’s been putting these up all over town. Seems like congratulations are in order.”
Gintoki pulls a crumpled piece of bright yellow paper out of his yukata, and Hijikata leans forward and snatches it from him before that oh-too-familiar internal voice that says leave it, you don’t want to know, trust me can pipe up.
He unfolds the paper, smoothing it out – it’s A3, the most fucking ominous of all the sizes – and spreads it out over his lap with fingers that tremble slightly from what is presumably mayonnaise withdrawal.
HIJIKATA TOUSHIROU HAS BEEN PLACED ON IMMEDIATE LEAVE DUE TO A DEBILITATING BUTTHOLE INJURY
OKITA SOUGO IS ACTING VICE CHIEF OF THE SHINSENGUMI NOW AND IN PERPETUITY
IT’S A REALLY BAD INJURY
(SEE DIAGRAM)
Hijikata internally curses the fact that Sougo has apparently spent the past few months learning how to use Photoshop properly – a passerby might at a glance actually think that it’s Hijikata’s face and Hijikata’s body and Hijikata’s butt, and he hammers frantically at the button next to the bed, hoping for the blissful release of a morphine overdose.
“Once you’re done turning the TV on and off, you might want to work out what you want to do about this.”
He’d almost forgotten about Gintoki’s remarkably calm presence – though he’s not sure how, given that the bastard is managing to take up more of the bed than Hijikata himself – and oh shit, does this mean he thinks – does he actually believe this blatant libel –
“This isn’t true!” Hijikata blurts out, holding up the piece of paper and maybe thrusting it in Gintoki’s face just a little. “This isn’t why I’m here!”
Gintoki raises an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know that? Pretty sure I’d remember doing that, and you’re embarrassed enough about having sex with me – I can’t imagine a situation where you’d unclench for long enough to do it with someone else. So I’m assuming your butthole isn’t the actual issue here.”
Strategic deafness is a skill that Hijikata’s had to develop over these past two months. Especially when it’s clear that Gintoki is trying to get a rise out of him, and it will actually drive him even further up the wall if Hijikata ignores him. He puts his new skillset to good use now as he stares in fury at Sougo’s disgusting arts and crafts project, while Gintoki fidgets on the bed next to him.
“I said, I can’t imagine a situation where you –”
“All right, all right. I heard you the fucking first time. And no, my butthole isn’t the actual issue here, thanks for your concern.”
Hijikata leans over with as much nonchalance as he possibly can, reaching for his cigarettes on the bedside table. It’s a slight surprise when he finds Gintoki’s hand there first, picking up the packet and holding it out to his side, out of Hijikata’s reach.
“Yorozuya, you stupid bastard –”
“Now, now.” Gintoki is utterly unperturbed as Hijikata makes a grab for the packet, dangling it delicately between his thumb and forefinger through the open window next to the bed. “I’m only thinking of your health, Vice Commander, as well as the wellbeing of the other patients at this outstanding public facility. Do you have permission to smoke in this hospital bed? Is it the system at work again, affording corrupt officials privileges the likes of which the rest of us can only dream?”
“Drop those out of that window, and I’ll drop you out of it next,” Hijikata snarls at him, making another lunge for his smokes. It’s not like the end result is undignified, per se; it’s certainly not like he ends up half-dangling out of the bed and gasping in pain or anything stupid like that. He manages to haul himself back upright with a minimum of sweating and swearing, and it’s okay, he’s fine, the cigarettes are fine – still dangling perilously from Yorozuya’s grimy fingers but otherwise safe – and he fixes Gintoki with one of his pissier glares. Bastard hadn’t even offered to help him up! Not that he’d wanted it, and he would’ve punched the asshole if he’d tried, but the two of them are a thing now, and isn’t that what people who are a thing do?
No, he’s just threatening Hijikata’s cigarettes with grievous bodily harm, the box swaying gently back and forth in the warm afternoon breeze. As Hijikata watches, Gintoki plucks a cigarette from the pack; he lazily twirls it between his fingers for a moment, before flicking it out into the great beyond.
“Hey! You bastard – what the hell –”
Gintoki turns to face him, and his expression, if Hijikata’s being entirely honest with himself, makes his balls shrink back into his body just a bit. Normally Gintoki’s claims of sadism are all talk, but sometimes, just sometimes, he rises to the occasion. And the smile on his face right now is definitely one that Hijikata has learned to be wary of, to put it mildly.
“Consider that a taste of what’s to come, Hijikata-kun.” Another cigarette plummets to its untimely doom, and Hijikata yelps, his hand grabbing fruitlessly for it before he can even stop to think about how pointless it is.
“Whaddya mean, ‘what’s to come’? At least tell me what the hell it is you want, asshole!”
Gintoki blinks in what looks to be genuine confusion, even as he sends yet another cigarette to meet its maker. “What do you mean, what do I want? I want you to tell me how you ended up in hospital, you jackass!”
That’s it? That’s all he wants to know? That’s why three – make that four – innocent cigarettes are now no longer of this earth?
And yet….
Hijikata can feel the burn creeping up his face, even as he wills it to subside. There are some things you just don’t say. Hell, there are things you just don’t think – he’s gotten pretty damn good at repressing things over the years, to the point where he can barely even recall why he ended up in hospital, beyond the fact that it was stupid and shitty and he does not want to think about it ever again. On the embarrassment scale of zero to debilitating butthole injury, it’s closer to the upper end than the lower, and that’s all he needs to know.
“My leg is broken.”
Not technically a lie – it is broken, and Gintoki doesn’t need to know more than that. Lies of omission are just truth by a different name.
Yorozuya tosses a cigarette. Hijikata tries again.
“My work can get… pretty dangerous at times.”
There. That sounded almost convincing. All dark and mysterious – people love that shit. Yorozuya’s stupid enough to fall for that, right?
From Gintoki’s expression, it’s clear that there are some things that are too stupid even for him; however, for whatever unfathomable reason, he seems content to give Hijikata a pass on this occasion. His demeanour lightens until it’s downright sunny; he shrugs indifferently, and this time the whole damn pack of cigarettes tumbles from his hands.
“Oh.” Gintoki peers out the window after it, and winces. “That wasn’t actually deliberate, you know. Sorry?”
Hijikata rubs tiredly at his eyes. He can’t be surprised that it turned out this way. “Whatever.”
“No, really. I’ll bring you up a new pack in a bit.”
“You’ll pick up my cigarettes off the footpath, you mean. Unless someone else gets to them first.”
Gintoki simpers at him, batting his eyelashes. It’s disgusting. “We’ve only been together two months, and it’s like we can read each other’s minds.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
That showed the jerkass punk. Hijikata would kick him, but his leg really is fucked.
“You sweet-talker, Hijikata-kun. Don’t let the nurses hear you – they’ll be jealous and won’t empty your bedpan.”
With a supreme effort of will, Hijikata closes his eyes and does not rise to the bait. Whether or not it’s effective is debateable, however, since he still has to clench his teeth and knot his fists in the bedsheets in the struggle not to tell Yorozuya to go fuck himself or something equally as witty and devastating that would shut Yorozuya up for good.
“Anyway.” Gintoki paces back and forth in front of the window, gesticulating exaggeratedly, just rubbing it in that he can wander about looking like as much of a dickhead as he likes while Hijikata is trapped within the narrow, lumpy confines of his bed. “You can’t just go off gallivanting about willy-nilly anymore. You’re the breadwinner here, and what would people say if you couldn’t keep me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed because you’ve gone off and broken your butt? Today it’s your ass, but tomorrow it could be something actually important.”
“Like my wallet?”
“Yeah, like your wa— hey, you said that! That was you! I was going to say your heart, or your face, or your, I dunno, kidney or something. Or your pancreas. I might need your organs someday, since Shinpachi seems to have some insane idea that he’s saving his for his sister – not that yours are worth having, with the amount of those shitty things you smoke.” Gintoki perches on the edge of the bed and puts his hand on Hijikata’s arm, leaning forward with what is probably supposed to be great sincerity in his eyes. Hijikata tries to shake him off, but his grip tightens.
“What I’m saying is, if you’re not careful you’re going to meet a sticky end, and not in a good way.”
Hijikata opens his mouth to ask just what the hell a good sticky end might entail, but he can already see Gintoki’s eyebrows beginning to waggle and shuts it again.
Is this guy capable of having a conversation without trying to induce a constant state of emotional whiplash? Is Hijikata supposed to feel touched right now? Aroused? Disgusted? He could probably manage that last one without too much trouble, but the rest of it is just not going to happen.
He’d thought, on that first night, that maybe Gintoki would open up to him a little. Be a bit more honest. Not that Hijikata himself is one to get all mushy about his feelings – the closest he normally gets to that kind of thing is when he and Kondou share one too many drinks. And even then, he’s always got one foot on the emotional brake pedal. Or in its general vicinity, anyway.
But his first night with Gintoki, for the most part, was comprised of the fight-fuck-sleep trifecta, and any hint of – ugh – vulnerability on Gintoki’s part had disappeared around about ten o’clock the next morning, when Gintoki had been so affronted at Hijikata’s refusal to go and buy him breakfast that he’d dumped his entire dirty laundry basket on Hijikata’s head. The smell had lingered for days, and while the action had been emotionally honest on Gintoki’s part, it wasn’t really the kind of honesty that Hijikata had been hoping for, even as he’d been simultaneously dreading it.
Nope. What they’ve got going now is pretty great – for certain definitions of ‘great’ that involve lots of exasperation and thrown punches and attempts at keeping quiet in places they probably shouldn’t be fucking – but it’s… well, it’s what they had before, except with sex. Which is what he’d thought he’d wanted. And he does! He just also wants to occasionally know what the hell Gintoki is thinking. Is that so much to ask? Does it make him needy?
He doesn’t need to know every thought that passes through Gintoki’s stupid permed head. He already gets that from Kondou, and it’s exhausting. Just… some of them. Twenty per cent, maybe. The twenty per cent that aren’t to do with trying to scab as much money off Hijikata as possible.
Like right now, for instance. Is Gintoki actually concerned for his wellbeing, or is he just curious about how Hijikata broke his leg and putting on an act in order to wheedle the information out of him, while also being kind of gross as his own sort of side benefit? Hijikata would like to think that he’s concerned, even as he knows he’d rankle at it.
Beyond that… who the fuck knows what’s up with Gintoki. Hijikata knows that he was the Shiroyasha, obviously – although even that had taken an embarrassingly long time for him to figure out – and that he had this whole other life before their paths even came close to crossing. Hijikata understands being reticent to share that kind of thing, and not just because of the mortifying photographs from your teenaged years… but Gintoki just takes this mysterious shit to a whole new level. Which is pretty impressive, given how much he loves to mouth off about himself; Gintoki’s ability to say a whole lot of garbage while actually saying nothing at all is calculated in a way that Hijikata has to grudgingly give him credit for.
And there are some things that eat away at Hijikata’s mind more than others. Things that he’s not proud to admit.
Like sex.
Because Gintoki is obviously more… experienced than him, but just how experienced is likely going to remain a mystery for the ages, since Hijikata isn’t about to ask him about it and open himself up to the barrage of mockery that would inevitably result – “Feeling insecure are we, Hijikata-kun? Don’t worry, I’ll do my best not to make you feel inadequate.”
But seriously, who the hell did Gintoki learn to do – to do – all that from?! There’s no way in hell that he’s just that talented naturally. No way. Gintoki doesn’t even like to admit that he’s good at this stuff – that he’s far better than Hijikata himself – but he is. The competitive part of Hijikata – the part of him that isn’t consumed with mayonnaise and smokes – is determined to get better at sex than Gintoki, but in order to get better at sex, he has to have more sex, presumably with Gintoki, and that’ll mean that Gintoki will get even better at sex, and Hijikata really can’t see a way out of this.
More to the point, though, is that surely Gintoki didn’t get good just by jerking it to shitty cheap porn, or higher-quality stolen porn. So, who did he fuck?! Gintoki knows all of Hijikata’s stupid sex secrets, i.e., that he’d never gotten any of the non-paid variety until he hooked up with a fucking idiotic perm-headed samurai who was carting around enough glucose in his veins to open a frigging candy store.
Why doesn’t Hijikata know any of Gintoki’s stupid sex secrets, dammit? Or any of his stupid secrets in general? Because unless he can get a handle on this, all Hijikata can see in his future is yet more mortifying instances of driving around at three a.m. desperately trying to find somewhere that would steam clean a patrol car’s upholstery after Gintoki swore he would swallow.
“Hello? Earth to Hijikata-kun?”
Hijikata is dragged out of the pit of that dark memory by the sound of Gintoki’s voice and looks over to see him gazing at him with something approaching complete indifference, the pinky finger of one hand shoved up his nose while the other idly twirls his empty grape stem.
“Feel like telling me what happened or not?”
“It’s none of your business,” Hijikata shoots back at him – because really, it isn’t. What Hijikata does on his own time, what injuries he acquires and how he acquires them is no one’s business but his. “I don’t even know why you’re here – to give me this?” He snatches the grape stem out of Gintoki’s fingers. “Thanks. I’m touched. Maybe next week you could see your way clear to bringing me a half-deflated balloon and a bunch of flowers you pulled out of the trash.”
Gintoki doesn’t even bother to stop picking his nose as he gets up off the bed, yawning and stretching. “Fine, fine. Gin-san can tell when his caring bedside manner isn’t wanted. Anyway, I did have one other present for you, but if you don’t want it, then that’s fine.”
Hijikata knows when he’s being baited – all the signs are there, like Yorozuya’s mouth being open and words coming out of it. But apparently he’s simply incapable of learning.
“What present?”
Hijikata can’t say he’s pleased, exactly, to see the slightly smug look that crosses Yorozuya’s face, but at least it’s something other than cold indifference. It’s not that he cares about how Yorozuya looks at him or anything like that, and not that ‘smug’ is really an improvement, but at least it’s something.
“It’s nothing, really. Just something to pass the time.”
The tone of Gintoki’s voice is not encouraging, but Hijikata doesn’t have enough patience to think about all the ways in which this will backfire spectacularly on him.
He holds out his hand. “Okay, you win. You’ve made me curious. Hand over whatever the hell it is, so we can get this over with.”
He tries not to grit his teeth too obviously at the triumphant grin that spreads across Gintoki’s face as he whips a – magazine? – out of his yukata with a flourish and slaps it into Hijikata’s hand.
“This is a….” Hijikata can feel sweat trickling down his temple, but that’s okay – his face is suddenly burning hot enough to evaporate it into non-existence, leaving behind nothing but a salty residue. “This is….”
“A porn mag!” Yorozuya yells cheerfully, and Hijikata winces as the sound bounces off the walls. “Come on, Hijikata-kun – even you know what one of these is. I’m sure you’ve confiscated them off your men enough times.”
“I – yes, but....”
Not like this!
His men tend to collect magazines of scantily clad women with pouty lips and hyper-inflated breasts, posing with sultry come-hither looks. This… this is just a very well-worn collection of pictures of men fucking. In a variety of positions. With a variety of… accessories.
He flicks through the pages despite himself, but each picture is more inappropriate than the last. It’s completely outrageous.
He is suddenly very aware of just how thin the hospital blanket is.
“Yeah, so here’s a pen.” Yorozuya unceremoniously tosses a black marker into Hijikata’s lap as he begins heading towards the door. “Since you’ve got some free time right now, just mark the ones you’d be up for with an ‘x’ and I’ll see you once your butt gets better.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my butt!” Hijikata bellows at the rapidly closing door to his room – for a moment he contemplates hurling the magazine at it, but in an incredible feat of self-control he manages to restrain himself, if only because the only possible result of that is having to ask whoever enters the room next to pick it up for him since he can’t do it himself, which will just be more humiliation for him and absolutely no consequence whatsoever for Yorozuya.
He exhales loudly, pushing his lank hair out of his eyes and scratching at his itchy scalp with perhaps more vigour than is absolutely necessary.
Hijikata has enough self-awareness to realise that at least half of his anger is directed at himself – no one made him get into this… whatever it is with the kind of person who’d saunter in, give him a grape and a filthy stick mag, and then saunter out again without even telling him he hopes he feels better from the injury he actually has, as opposed to the one that exists entirely in Sougo’s sadism-fuelled fantasy world. He knew going into this that Gintoki was an asshole, so really, this is all on him.
Hell, all things considered, it’s probably going better than he could’ve hoped. The fact that Gintoki at least made an attempt to visit him is a good sign, right?
Hijikata looks down at the magazine, which lies open to a random page of particular depravity. His gaze is drawn to the picture as if he has no control now even over his own eyeballs, and he realises that he’s uncapped the marker without realising, the tip of it hovering over the page.
He recaps the marker with all haste and flings it into the corner of the room – or out the window, as it turns out. Even better, then. This way, he won’t be tempted into doing something incredibly stupid.
That godawful magazine is still there, though. He looks at it out of the corner of his eye, squinting so that he’s not really looking at it. One of the men in the picture stares back at him, mouth open wide in what is hopefully pleasure, and – well, he seems to be enjoying himself, despite everything that’s being done to him. Or because of it, Hijikata supposes. It’s hard to tell.
He’s never been into this kind of stuff, okay? Probably he never would’ve been in any case, but a decade or so in close proximity to Sougo has cured him of any possible inclinations towards that kind of thing.
Or so he’d thought, anyway.
Hijikata slams the magazine shut, but the front cover is still – ugh. He turns it over, but now the image on the back cover is reminding him of exactly why Sougo – and half of Edo, probably – thinks he ended up in the hospital in the first place. Flipping the edge of his blanket over to cover it is just making him cold, and like hell he’s going to hide it right under the blanket, next to his bare skin! And he’s not going to try to hide it under the mattress while he’s got a broken leg. There are a lot of stupid things he’s done in his time, but even he has his limits.
In the end, he decides that it’ll have to go into the not-very-private drawer in the bedside cabinet, and he’ll just have to hope that no one goes rummaging around in there.
He brightens a little as he remembers that his last pack of cigarettes is still tucked away safely inside the drawer – just what he needs to bring a little ray of tar-laden sunshine into his day. He pulls open the drawer, and –
Fucking Yorozuya.
How the hell did that fucker manage to open his drawer without him noticing?! Is he smoking Hijikata’s last cigarette right now?!
Maybe this is Gintoki’s way of encouraging him to get well as quickly as possible, so that he can get out of hospital and back to his regular life. As if he wants to be here! Doesn’t Gintoki know that broken legs take at least four days to heal?! He’ll be lucky if he’s back to normal by the weekend.
He jams the magazine into the drawer and then slams it shut, before shifting back onto his pillows with a sigh. Nothing to do for the next few days but lie here, heal, and reflect upon his abysmally shitty taste in men.