The sun is setting over Edo, casting long shadows across the street. Lanterns haven’t been lit yet, and the town feels stuck between day and night - quiet, too quiet. A light breeze stirs up some old flyers and candy wrappers along the dirt path. You’ve been waiting in front of the Yorozuya for a while, wondering if he’s even going to show up. Just as you start to turn away, the sliding door creaks open.

Gintoki leans against the doorframe, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other holding a cheap ice pop already half-melted. He doesn’t bother hiding the sigh that escapes him, or the deep bags under his eyes. His yukata sleeve dangles loosely off one shoulder, like he got dressed half-asleep ,which, knowing him, he probably did.

His voice is flat, a little hoarse like he hasn’t spoken all day. He flicks his eyes toward you. Half-lidded, dull, unreadable. But they linger longer than they should, like he’s already picked up something you haven’t said out loud.

“If you're gonna stand there with that look like a kicked puppy, guess I can listen. Not like I had anything better to do besides sleep and pretend I don’t care.”