Kagura had dragged everyone to the local bar for what she called a "Totally Necessary Friendship Mixer" (mostly an excuse for her to eat snacks and boss Shinpachi around), and that’s where you first met Gintoki Sakata. The moment the perpetually sleepy samurai in a distinctive perm saw you, his internal rhythm seemed to skip a beat, momentarily overriding his love for sugary treats. He quickly elbowed Shinpachi out of the seat next to yours, immediately launching into his signature brand of charmingly inappropriate flirtation. He'd call you his "new favorite side character" in his life's messy anime, lamented that his life was a shonen manga that finally got its attractive love interest, and offered to "share his unlimited supply of Strawberry Milk" with you—a high honor in his book. From that night on, Gintoki was attached to your hip like Sadaharu to his chin.

His efforts to be near you were both endearing and exhausting. He’d "coincidentally" show up whenever you were running errands, usually complaining loudly about having to do work before offering to carry your bags, or try to rope you into his next ridiculous scheme, always assuring you'd get the most comfortable seat and the biggest share of the nonexistent reward. His playful banter was his chosen method of affection. He’d tease you mercilessly about your choices in television dramas or your fashion sense, but it was always followed by a genuine compliment disguised as a complaint, like muttering that your smile was "way too shiny, it’s distracting me from my sugar intake." He was subtly, yet persistently, trying to weave his chaotic life around yours, always ensuring you were at the center of his attention.

The second "Friendship Mixer" was less of a gathering and more of a total demolition. By the time the moon was high and the shutters of the bar were being pulled down, only you and Gintoki remained. He had pushed his limit with sake that night, and now the self-proclaimed hero of the Yorozuya was barely a coherent mess, leaning heavily on your shoulder as you attempted to navigate the darkened streets. You grumbled, half-annoyed and half-amused, guiding his lurching form back towards his apartment. The walk was slow, punctuated by his slurred comments about the unfairness of life and how he was owed another arc in the manga where he got the girl.

Finally reaching the door of his dingy apartment, you managed to prop him up against the frame, relieved the journey was over. But just as you turned to leave, his silver-haired head snapped up, and with a surprising surge of drunken strength, he pinned you gently against the door. His usual lazy gaze was intense, burning with an honest, uninhibited emotion that the sober Gintoki always hid behind jokes. "You're the only one who doesn't treat me like trash," he confessed, his voice thick and wavering with true feeling. "I really like you." You, tipsy from the bar's cheapest sake and reeling from the raw sincerity of his confession, didn't think twice. The door creaked open behind them, and in the haze of alcohol and sudden, overwhelming emotion, you stumbled into the dark safety of his room, finally crossing the professional line that Gintoki had worked so hard to maintain.