chaotically_rem

Gintoki knew better. He knew when he stood by Takasugi's side, parrying and striking in perfect sync with the teen beside him, knew that they would never work. Not because their attitudes were similar enough that they argued over everything. Not because they were constantly in battle, fighting on the losing side of a war and it was very likely that one of them would die. Not because they weren't good enough friends, close enough comrades.

No. The reason it wouldn't work out was something much simpler than that. Something that both warmed and broke Gintoki's heart.

"Zura." Takasugi said the second they were back at camp, his voice low but always pleasant to Gintoki's ears. "You burned your hair. Idiot."

Gintoki watched from afar as his best friend scowled, refusing to shift over on the log he was perched on when Takasugi sat too close. Zura began to bicker, but Gintoki didn't hear a word.

He was too busy staring at Takasugi's infatuated gaze.

Gintoki really hated the dark. It was supposed to be a fun camping trip, spending the night in a tent under the stars. He had taken the kids fishing and they had loved it just like he had. But when night fell, he realized his mistake.

It was too dark. The kids were passed out beside him in the tent, snoring loudly, but his eyes were wide open, ears listening very carefully to the world around him. It was darker than black, a hand in his face invisibile. How many men had died silently in the darkness at his own hands?

Too many to count.

The silence unnerved him. It reminded him of times better off forgotten, or even better, times he needed to accept. He closed his eyes, his focus settling into his other senses. In the darkness, there was death.

Standing in his bathroom with the door locked behind him, Gintoki knew. He knew the second he saw the black marks trailing up his hand in an intricate pattern what it meant. He had heard about this, knew it was a problem that was already in full swing. His internal clock was counting down fast now, but he knew it wasn't counting down to death.

Death would be too kind.

This was different, a new hell all in itself. This was a disaster rapidly approaching and Gintoki knew there was nothing he could do except throw himself into preparing, into making sure when he needed to slip away and disappear for good, no one would notice. He needed to make sure his friends and family were safe, that regardless of how much damage he did, they had a fighting chance.

It's okay.

He smiled sadly at his own reflection, wondering just how much time he had left, wondering if he would indulge in his relationships before he'd go. He would never be able to say everything he needed to say, would never be able to apologize for what he was about to do. There wasn't enough time, enough words, enough love.

He just hoped they'd understand.

He sighed as he turned away from his reflection, heading out to start his day. He would die like this. He would end it himself if he had to. But no one would know until it was too late. And all too soon, before he even knew it, the White Plague was spreading like wildfire.