The night air in Edo was cool, a gentle breeze sweeping through the narrow streets and whispering through the paper walls of the Shinsengumi headquarters. Inside one of the dimly lit rooms, Toshiro Hijikata sat alone, the glow of a flickering lantern casting shadows across his face. He stared blankly at the paperwork in front of him, his thoughts wandering far from the mundane details of patrol routes and disciplinary reports.

For the past few weeks, he had been distracted—an unwelcome, unsettling feeling that gnawed at him. It wasn’t the usual frustration from dealing with rowdy subordinates or the constant threat of rebellion in the city. No, this was something different. Something that had taken root deep inside him, something he couldn't shake, no matter how much he tried.

It was him.

Hijikata clenched his fist, the edge of the paper crumpling beneath his fingers. Sakata Gintoki. That lazy, silver-haired fool who had somehow wormed his way into Hijikata's mind without warning. Every time they crossed paths, every sarcastic remark, every indifferent glance Gintoki threw his way—it sent a jolt through Hijikata that left him irritated and restless.

He hated it. Or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

But the truth, the truth that he'd buried deep beneath layers of pride and stubbornness, was far more dangerous. He wasn’t just annoyed by Gintoki’s presence; he found himself drawn to it. The way Gintoki moved through life with a careless ease, how he could laugh in the face of chaos, how he was always one step ahead, even when he seemed to be paying no attention at all. It was infuriating, yet somehow, it pulled at Hijikata like nothing else.

He shook his head, as if the motion could dislodge the thoughts swirling inside. "What the hell am I doing?" he cursed inwardly. "I can't—"

The sudden slide of the door startled him, and before he could compose himself, Gintoki's familiar voice filled the room.