Work Text:
[Kondou]
TOSHIIII
WHERE R U
I NEED U
[Me]
Getting coffee
What’s going on
[Kondou]
LOCKED OUT
(image file—a selfie of Kondou standing outside of their apartment building, shirtless and crying)
[Me]
Where’s your clothes
No nevermind
Okita’s home
Text him
[Kondou]
LEFT ME ON READ
[Me]
Fucker
Ok
Be back soon
Fuck’s sake. Toshirou pockets his phone and laments the loss of his Friday morning study session at the coffee shop. He’s here to get away from Okita in the first place—he’s been trying to sabotage Toshirou’s Multivar grade for ages now, and his midterm is next week—but of course that fucker has found a way to get him back to their apartment so he can keep bothering him while he tries to study.
Whatever. He’ll go let Kondou in and then go to the library or something. It doesn’t have to be a total waste.
“—kata, your order’s ready.”
Toshirou grabs his iced Americano off the bar and takes a long, grateful pull, but it’s—ugh, nauseatingly sweet—
“Hey,” he says, trying to get the attention of the barista who’d just walked away. “‘Scuse me, I don’t think this is my—”
There’s a voice behind him then, close enough he almost jumps. “Oi, that’s mine!”
“Sorry, my bad,” says Toshirou, embarrassed. He’s about to offer to pay the guy back, only—
“Moron,” says the guy.
Moron? The fuck. Toshirou turns around to face the asshole whose drink he apparently stole, accidentally, and he’s already right up in Toshirou’s personal space like he’s looking for a fight. He’s about Toshirou’s height, but sturdier, with these fucking broad shoulders and a huge chest that Toshirou hates himself for noticing right now, of all times, but he’s wearing the tightest white t-shirt. He has this crazy mess of curly white hair that probably hasn’t seen a comb for a few days, and his eyes are a weird mix of dead tired and sharp, flashing over Toshirou’s body like he’s looking for something. He’s obviously trying to be intimidating.
Fuck this. Toshirou meets his eyes. He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Sorry,” he says again, clipped. “Thought they said my name.”
The guy sneers at him. “Yeah? Is your name Sakata? We long lost cousins or something?”
“No, it’s Hijikata—”
The guy holds up a hand in his face. “Don't care. Listen, stupid—”
Absolutely fuck this. Fuck him. Toshirou takes another deep breath. “Call me stupid again,” he says, low and dark. Maybe he’s posturing a little now too, but whatever. He’s having a shitty morning.
The guy—Sakata—smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Alright. You’re stupid. You’re a total fucking dipshit waste of—”
Toshirou doesn’t let him finish. He pulls the lid off the coffee cup in his hand and throws the drink right in his face. It’s satisfying, watching it drip into his eyes and all down his neck, down his white shirt—which is turning transparent now, and oh man, Toshirou can feel his face start to heat up a little because his body sucks at recognizing the appropriate time and place for this shit, but—
Things happen pretty quickly then.
Sakata grabs at him and then they're on the ground. He’s got his hands balled in Sakata's shirt and the guy is pinning him, and Toshirou can feel his stupid muscles, moving hot under his skin even with the cold drink soaking through his clothes. His whole body is heavy, imposing, and it's kind of doing something to Toshirou's brain—but then Sakata throws a punch and Toshirou punches back and someone is shouting—it’s 7 in the goddamn morning, Gin—and then they’re being pulled apart. The whole exchange can't have been more than a minute, but Toshirou’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears so loud, and he can’t catch his breath. He can taste blood in his mouth, can feel it dripping from his nose, and there’s some on his knuckles too. He looks to the side and sees Sakata sitting on the floor nearby looking about the same as he feels, kinda stunned and shaky. There’s some little red-headed kid fussing over him, and then she smacks him in the back of the head. It looks like it hurts. Good.
As Toshirou starts to come down from the adrenaline, he remembers the other people in the coffee shop. They look freaked out. He thinks he hears someone say the cops are coming, which, fuck—so he shoulders his backpack and leaves as fast as he can.
His legs take him to a park a few blocks away, where he drops onto a bench and lights up a cigarette. It’s probably the best cigarette he’s ever had. Goddamn. What the fuck.
He hasn’t been that angry in forever, not since he was a teenager, since all the stuff that happened with Mitsuba back then. She’d probably laugh at him if she could see him now: his knuckles are swelling and he stinks like coffee, and he’s still trembling with the rush of it, thinking about the way it felt having Sakata’s wet shirt fisted in his hands on the coffee shop floor. You should be careful around guys like that, Toshirou, she’d say, but her eyes would be twinkling like she meant the opposite. Like he should go back for more.
Toshirou smiles. He misses her.
He takes a deep drag off his cigarette and leans back on the bench, closing his eyes and blowing out a stream of smoke in a long, steady exhale.
“Oh, gross. A smoker? Really?” A weight settles on the bench next to him. He looks over and it’s fucking Sakata, still covered in coffee and blood and everything. It’s starting to dry up, at least, but he smells all sticky and sweet.
Toshirou feels himself tense up, and Sakata notices, because he puts out a placating hand in front of himself. “Hey, it’s cool,” he says. “We’re done.”
The shitty part of Toshirou, the part that used to get into trouble all the time, the part that resurfaced earlier today, wants to disagree with Sakata, but—he’s tired. He doesn’t give a shit, doesn’t want to fight anymore. Still, he can’t help but run his mouth. “Yeah? You decide that on your own?”
Sakata laughs. He leans a big, warm shoulder on Toshirou as he does it, his whole body shaking, and it’s—Toshirou can feel himself fucking blushing. He turns his head away and fiddles with the butt of his cigarette, but he’s pretty sure he’s been caught out, the way Sakata is looking at him.
“Listen, Hijikata,” Sakata says. He stops for a second, thinking. “Wait, that’s your name, right?”
Toshirou nods, still looking away.
“Cool. I’m Gintoki, by the way. If you want. But anyway, Hijikata, you wanna go get a coffee with me?”
The fuck? Toshirou’s head turns so fast to stare at Sakata—Gintoki?—that his nose oozes a little more blood. Gintoki wipes at it with his thumb and rubs it on the leg of his jeans, then just stares back at Toshirou, waiting. His eyes are still tired and flat like before, bored, but there’s a little pink starting to show in his cheeks and—he’s serious. He’s fucking serious. What the fuck.
Toshirou wonders if he got concussed in the fight or something, and he’s reading the situation wrong. Maybe he’s knocked out on the shop floor and this is all some weird coma dream. Either way, though—“Sure,” he says. “Probably not that same place, though, huh.”
Gintoki smiles at him, for real this time, quiet and full of something that makes Toshirou’s heart bump stupidly in his chest.
Toshirou’s pocket buzzes a bunch of times in quick succession, breaking the moment. He thinks about ignoring it, but then he remembers—goddamn it—
“My fucking roommate. I should go, but—” he hands Gintoki his phone. “Here, gimme your number.”
Gintoki types for a few seconds and hands the phone back. His fingers are long and warm where they brush against Toshirou’s and it does something in his brain, like, his face is getting all hot again, and his heart’s going crazy, and maybe Kondou can wait a little longer? Or—No. Fuck's sake. Get it together.
Toshirou grabs his backpack and stands up. He smiles in a way that he hopes looks normal. “See you around, Gintoki.”
Gintoki grins at him and gives him a little half-wave. “Yep. See ya.”
[Kondou]
TOSHI
TOSHI R U DONE YET
PLEAS
PLEASE
TOSHI
PLEASE
THERS A DOG
[Okita]
Hijikata
Come home
Something funny is about to happen
[Me]
Yeah
On my way
[gintoki 🍆💦😩]
heyyyy
its gintoki
c u soon i hope ;)