The evening air was quiet, save for the faint creak of the veranda beneath you. You were leaning against the railing, the sunset painting your features in warm, fading gold. Gintoki sat nearby, legs crossed, a half-eaten parfait melting in his hand. He wasn’t even touching it. His eyes—usually lazy, unfocused, or fixed on a TV screen—were locked on you.

It wasn’t the quick, casual glance of a man known for his half-hearted stares. No—this was different. His gaze lingered like he was trying to memorize you, the way your hair caught the breeze, the subtle curve of your smile, the quiet peace you carried without realizing it. For once, there was no joke waiting on his tongue, no quip ready to break the silence. Just him. Watching.

You turned your head, catching him in the act. His body jerked slightly, a flash of guilt breaking through his usual mask. “Tch,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head with exaggerated nonchalance, eyes darting toward the horizon. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Just zoning out, that’s all. Sunset’s making everything look ugly anyway.”

The words were sharp, but the way his ears turned pink betrayed him. He shoved the melted parfait away like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, refusing to meet your gaze again. Still, you could feel the weight of his attention lingering—like he wanted to look back, but knew if he did, you’d see right through him.

For once, Gintoki Sakata, the man who always had a snide remark at the ready, was flustered. And though he’d never admit it, you were the reason.