FIC: gintama - The Luckiest
Title: The Luckiest
Fandom: Gintama
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: If you'd like.
Notes: AU Japanese slice-of-life. Entering AU Inception at this point. A visit to the hospital. More archival.
Cross-posted to ginzura.
It doesn’t stop at the goofy red festival shirts. Hachimaki are tied on next, by Chiro, which almost results in strangulation and an earlier trip to the hospital for Gintoki. Zura then takes swiftly over, tying the thick strips of fabric on with cool, patient hands.
“Remember what you used to think about samurai?” Gintoki murmurs lowly to the other man, catching his wrist before he can pull those hands away.
Zura blushes, recalling hot whispers and muffled gasps into yukata patterns. “Aa, I remember,” he replies.
The Otters 11 Official Otter Cub Club badges are next, clipped to belt loops. Two are found missing from the set of four, probably marooned over at Minami’s house. This crisis is diplomatically handled, and Gintoki ends up with a One Park Official Going Cloudy Captain’s Crew button, which is almost as good.
“Remember when he learned to read Jump on his own?” Zura smiles, tucking a curl of white hair behind the taller man’s ear.
Gintoki flusters, recalling a pint of chocolate ice cream and a sulking afternoon lost to laps and hair-petting. “Yeah, I remember,” he returns.
Only Zura gets the crown of twigs and grass and flowers, plucked from the plot of blue columbines out near the mailbox. Gintoki picks Chiro up to help set it on the other’s head.
“‘Member when I planted these?” demands Chiro.
There are matching frozen faces as both men recall the hours of scrubbing, and the murky swamp their bathtub had become. “...We remember,” the two reply.
There is some debate over the No-Fail Sure-Thing Exam-Acing scarf, because it is August, and yellow wool isn’t exactly season-appropriate. In the end, a compromise is reached, and Zura ties it around his waist like a belt. After a moment of lip-biting and palm-snorting, Gintoki very astutely repositions it, turning the twin trailing “trunks” into two “tails” instead.
“Remember that idiot’s Christmas party?” Gintoki mutters, pulling the knot tight.
Zura bats his hands away, recalling Santamoto-san’s booming voice, and the hot apple cider that hadn’t warmed him nearly as much as the arm around his shoulders. “Mm, I remember,” he retorts.
Petals dropping, wool swinging, badges (or buttons) glinting, they board the next train. Gintoki takes Zura’s hand, who takes Chiro’s. The smaller perm doesn’t fidget on the train, because he is a good boy. The larger perm does, because he isn’t, and Zura produces a candy from the messenger bag slung across his shoulders. It looks quite professional, yes, but it’s filled with story-books and sweets and a Yoshida action figure, to frighten the bad luck away. Zura’s been handing Gintoki sweets on the train since they were in grade school, and it should feel like a marker of how nothing changes -- but Gintoki’s fingers are rougher than they were, and the shoulder pressed against his is broader. He doesn’t hold himself like a slacker anymore; he holds himself like a man.
“Remember when you built Chiro’s treehouse?” he asks, thumb running over that widened hand.
Gintoki’s hand tightens around the other’s, as he recalls too many bumps on the head from that low ceiling and Zura’s watchful eyes from the garden. “Hn, I remember,” he responds.
They arrive at the hospital, and are shuffled into a rather too-familiar waiting room. Among the stares and silence, Zura (still trailing leaves and yellow threads) elects to sit on the floor with Chiro, playing Guess Who?, the Complimentary Medical Pamphlets Edition. Gintoki tries to ignore the other’s blatant attempts to brainwash their son into a doctor from the age of five, while Chiro correctly guesses that an itchy and aggravated rash on the No-Nos is genital herpes.
“‘Member when we got the chicken’s pox,” the boy grunts, shuffling the pamphlets intensely.
Zura leans back against Gintoki’s leg, exchanging a look with the other man; they both recall the soothing green goop that had stained them all into sci-fi monsters, and all-day movie marathon that suited such a monstrous family. “Yes, I remember that,” says Zura, while Gintoki hums an affirmative.
He doesn’t go in alone. Chiro takes Zura’s hand this time, and Gintoki’s is heavy on his shoulder, grounding him. When he changes into the hospital gown, they hold his lucky items for him; Chiro tucking his face into the yellow wool of the scarf, Gintoki’s grip accidentally crushing a few flowers, smearing blue against his palm. The hachimaki is allowed to stay on, and Zura gives them a blank v-for-victory from the hospital bed, when he’s rolled off for a CAT scan.
Time passes with more tests, more questions, more scans -- the afternoon goes by in a whirl, but one unlike those spent together under summer sun. Chiro is napping on Gintoki’s lap when there’s a commotion from down the hall, and Gintoki stands up with his load, peering out through hospital curtains. Only a moment later has Zura yanking them aside, trailing a complaining orderly pushing a wheelchair.
The kiss isn’t the best one they’ve ever had -- they both still have breakfast-breath, a groggy Chiro is mashed between them, and the too-big hospital gown is half-off from Zura’s sprint down the hallway, having to be adjusted mid-kiss. But it’s a hard and excited kiss, uninhibited by that desperation of having had their time cut too, too goddamn short.
“Remember that time you made out with me half-naked in public?” Gintoki breathes against the other’s lips, tugging the flimsy cotton enough to stop scandalizing the nurse’s station.
“Shut up,” exhales Zura, pressing a kiss to the top of Chiro’s fluffy head. “Shut up.”
When he looks up again, he smiles. It’s that smile, the one that always, always, has had Gintoki’s heart pumping love, love, love. Even among the chatter of the doctors and the beep of machines, all Gintoki can hear is that pounding.
And just over it, Zura’s voice. “Enough remembering. We can make new memories, now.”
Fandom: Gintama
Rating: PG
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: If you'd like.
Notes: AU Japanese slice-of-life. Entering AU Inception at this point. A visit to the hospital. More archival.
Cross-posted to ginzura.
It doesn’t stop at the goofy red festival shirts. Hachimaki are tied on next, by Chiro, which almost results in strangulation and an earlier trip to the hospital for Gintoki. Zura then takes swiftly over, tying the thick strips of fabric on with cool, patient hands.
“Remember what you used to think about samurai?” Gintoki murmurs lowly to the other man, catching his wrist before he can pull those hands away.
Zura blushes, recalling hot whispers and muffled gasps into yukata patterns. “Aa, I remember,” he replies.
The Otters 11 Official Otter Cub Club badges are next, clipped to belt loops. Two are found missing from the set of four, probably marooned over at Minami’s house. This crisis is diplomatically handled, and Gintoki ends up with a One Park Official Going Cloudy Captain’s Crew button, which is almost as good.
“Remember when he learned to read Jump on his own?” Zura smiles, tucking a curl of white hair behind the taller man’s ear.
Gintoki flusters, recalling a pint of chocolate ice cream and a sulking afternoon lost to laps and hair-petting. “Yeah, I remember,” he returns.
Only Zura gets the crown of twigs and grass and flowers, plucked from the plot of blue columbines out near the mailbox. Gintoki picks Chiro up to help set it on the other’s head.
“‘Member when I planted these?” demands Chiro.
There are matching frozen faces as both men recall the hours of scrubbing, and the murky swamp their bathtub had become. “...We remember,” the two reply.
There is some debate over the No-Fail Sure-Thing Exam-Acing scarf, because it is August, and yellow wool isn’t exactly season-appropriate. In the end, a compromise is reached, and Zura ties it around his waist like a belt. After a moment of lip-biting and palm-snorting, Gintoki very astutely repositions it, turning the twin trailing “trunks” into two “tails” instead.
“Remember that idiot’s Christmas party?” Gintoki mutters, pulling the knot tight.
Zura bats his hands away, recalling Santamoto-san’s booming voice, and the hot apple cider that hadn’t warmed him nearly as much as the arm around his shoulders. “Mm, I remember,” he retorts.
Petals dropping, wool swinging, badges (or buttons) glinting, they board the next train. Gintoki takes Zura’s hand, who takes Chiro’s. The smaller perm doesn’t fidget on the train, because he is a good boy. The larger perm does, because he isn’t, and Zura produces a candy from the messenger bag slung across his shoulders. It looks quite professional, yes, but it’s filled with story-books and sweets and a Yoshida action figure, to frighten the bad luck away. Zura’s been handing Gintoki sweets on the train since they were in grade school, and it should feel like a marker of how nothing changes -- but Gintoki’s fingers are rougher than they were, and the shoulder pressed against his is broader. He doesn’t hold himself like a slacker anymore; he holds himself like a man.
“Remember when you built Chiro’s treehouse?” he asks, thumb running over that widened hand.
Gintoki’s hand tightens around the other’s, as he recalls too many bumps on the head from that low ceiling and Zura’s watchful eyes from the garden. “Hn, I remember,” he responds.
They arrive at the hospital, and are shuffled into a rather too-familiar waiting room. Among the stares and silence, Zura (still trailing leaves and yellow threads) elects to sit on the floor with Chiro, playing Guess Who?, the Complimentary Medical Pamphlets Edition. Gintoki tries to ignore the other’s blatant attempts to brainwash their son into a doctor from the age of five, while Chiro correctly guesses that an itchy and aggravated rash on the No-Nos is genital herpes.
“‘Member when we got the chicken’s pox,” the boy grunts, shuffling the pamphlets intensely.
Zura leans back against Gintoki’s leg, exchanging a look with the other man; they both recall the soothing green goop that had stained them all into sci-fi monsters, and all-day movie marathon that suited such a monstrous family. “Yes, I remember that,” says Zura, while Gintoki hums an affirmative.
He doesn’t go in alone. Chiro takes Zura’s hand this time, and Gintoki’s is heavy on his shoulder, grounding him. When he changes into the hospital gown, they hold his lucky items for him; Chiro tucking his face into the yellow wool of the scarf, Gintoki’s grip accidentally crushing a few flowers, smearing blue against his palm. The hachimaki is allowed to stay on, and Zura gives them a blank v-for-victory from the hospital bed, when he’s rolled off for a CAT scan.
Time passes with more tests, more questions, more scans -- the afternoon goes by in a whirl, but one unlike those spent together under summer sun. Chiro is napping on Gintoki’s lap when there’s a commotion from down the hall, and Gintoki stands up with his load, peering out through hospital curtains. Only a moment later has Zura yanking them aside, trailing a complaining orderly pushing a wheelchair.
The kiss isn’t the best one they’ve ever had -- they both still have breakfast-breath, a groggy Chiro is mashed between them, and the too-big hospital gown is half-off from Zura’s sprint down the hallway, having to be adjusted mid-kiss. But it’s a hard and excited kiss, uninhibited by that desperation of having had their time cut too, too goddamn short.
“Remember that time you made out with me half-naked in public?” Gintoki breathes against the other’s lips, tugging the flimsy cotton enough to stop scandalizing the nurse’s station.
“Shut up,” exhales Zura, pressing a kiss to the top of Chiro’s fluffy head. “Shut up.”
When he looks up again, he smiles. It’s that smile, the one that always, always, has had Gintoki’s heart pumping love, love, love. Even among the chatter of the doctors and the beep of machines, all Gintoki can hear is that pounding.
And just over it, Zura’s voice. “Enough remembering. We can make new memories, now.”