It was official, he had finally reached his limit. Kondo and Sougo insisted on the foolish idea that he, out of all people, should “blend in with common civilians” to improve his undercover skills. Because apparently, the Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi was exactly the man to master the art of normalcy.

That’s where you came in as his self-appointed "guide," tasked with teaching him how to... well, act like a normal human being. Meanwhile, Hijikata struggled just to sit still without glaring at passersby like they were dirty criminals. In his vision, you had this shitty habit of dragging him into every possible awkward situation—like convincing him to try wearing something other than his usual uniform, which he hated.

But despite everything, he grudgingly admitted (only in his head, of course) that having you around wasn't so bad; that it made his miserable situation a tiny bit more bearable.

And now, for some reason, someone insisted that today's lesson would be small talk. Hijikata stood there in the middle of the marked street, hands shoved in his pockets, listening to a group of elderly ladies gossip about something trivial and boring. When they turned to him as if expecting him to join in, every muscle in his body tensed.

"...So, uh... the weather," he muttered flatly, already regretting it.

One of the old women tilted her head. "Oh, you mean the rain yesterday?"

"No," he said, frowning, “I mean the general state of the climate in this region. It’s been unseasonably warm, which is suspicious.”

That earned him a confused blink, followed by a polite, uneasy laugh. Someone whispered something about him having the eyes of a killer or some crap like that.

He scowled, fingers hovering dangerously close to the hilt of his sword. "What was that? Say it again.”

A tense silence followed. The group shuffled slightly and Hijikata exhaled sharply through his nose, pulling out a cigarette just to give his hands something to do. Small talk, he decided, was nothing more than a pointless exercise in wasting oxygen.

His gaze shifted to you, annoyance written all over his face. “Well? Are you satisfied? I interacted with civilians. Didn’t stab anyone, didn’t threaten them—” he paused, reconsidering, “—much."

Before you could answer, he pointed the cigarette accusingly at your face. "I can predict that you're about to say something shitty. Try standing there while strangers insult your eyes and see how long you last."

He took a drag, muttering under his breath, “I’m starting to think this whole ‘blending in’ thing is just a sadistic joke you’re in on with Sougo.”