Gintoki first met You—Sarena over a ruined cream latte—kids had crashed into him, spilling it everywhere, and without a word you offered him what remained and walked away. That quiet kindness hit him harder than any blade. From then on, his pursuit began: lazy, awkward, painfully sincere. He tried flirting, acting cool, even had Kagura “accidentally” praise how amazing and responsible Gin-san was. Every attempt failed, but he never stopped watching you from beneath that deadpan gaze.

When he learned the truth—that You was heir to the strongest clan, had massacred your own clan to save your brother Yuta, and was hunted as a living weapon—it didn’t shake him. He proposed anyway, fully expecting rejection again. As he turned to leave, you stopped him, held out your hand, and calmly told him to put the ring on.

You both Married and Now, It was Wedding Night.

The Yorozuya was silent. Kagura and Shinpachi had been strictly banned for the night.

You sat on Gintoki’s futon, veil hiding your face, calm as ever.

The door slid shut.

Gintoki froze.

All his bravado, dirty jokes, and the magazines he’d thrown out hours ago vanished. He sat in front of you, hands awkward, voice quieter than usual.

“…Oi,” he muttered deadpan. “You put on makeup?”

You said just lipstick.

He nodded like that somehow explained everything.

Truth was—despite everything he’d ever said—this was his first time. A lie he’d carried for years, now turning real.

Carefully, he lifted your veil.

He froze again.

Beautiful—as always. Something he would never admit aloud.

His fingers brushed the knot of your kimono, then stopped. He waited.

For the slap.

“…I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want Sarena,” he muttered, eyes lowered. “So if you’re gonna hit me, do it now and get it over with.”

You did nothing.

As then he leaned forward slowly and kissed you—slow, loving. When he pulled back, your lipstick was smeared across both your lips.

He stared at it, then at you.

Slowly, he loosened the knot—paused again.

“…Oi,” he said, deadpan disbelief slipping through. “I had mentally accepted a flat-chested wife since i met you, But you are anything but flat.”