disclaimer: i still dont get why ppl used to write disclaimers like 'ugh gintama is not mine' i mean there's a reason it's called FANfiction

They were perverts when he had to show Gintoki what a hymen was and their little dictionary adventure turned into a competition to find the dirtiest word. That's when he had the idea that maybe they deserved their own secret dictionary. He chose a blank page in the middle of his notebook – the same one he drew uneven sticks counting his wins and loses – and wrote it in a corner: pervert. It was the first thing they officially were.

They were rivals every first day of snow in the winter. Not because of the biggest snowball fights humanity ever witnessed, but because there was only one cozy blanket and sometimes they'd spend the whole night fighting for it. Sensei thought they were rivals for other reasons, though. "You two compete to see who screams the loudest to keep me awake," he used to say.

They were classmates when Gintoki dozed off in class and took his notebook without permission to check his notes. That's when he feared the most his secret page would be discovered. But if Gintoki ever found out, he kept quiet about it and the only thing he ever said was "your handwriting sucks."

They were partners in crime in the summer nights when it was too hot to sleep and Gintoki poked his ribs in that secret code of theirs that meant time to steal food from the kitchen. Most times they got the prettiest fruits, but sometimes they were blessed with hidden packages of candies that they could swear were there just to be found by them. Fruits or candies, they sat on the porch and listened to the frogs singing until they woke up the next morning with a thin blanket covering the mess of limbs that they were.

They were comrades the first time they held real swords with real blood dripping from them. Gintoki was not nervous at all, but his eyes got a bit darker and dead after he did it. For him, it was the hands. They just wouldn't stop shaking. Gintoki looked at them with serious eyes for whole two seconds before smirking and asking where the hell he got those ugly gloves. He smiled and said "I can take off my ugly gloves, what about that mop in your head?"

They were one when they got used to blood and battlefields and death, and now moved in synchrony. One of the kids, no older than sixteen, once asked him why he fought with his back so open. His back was someone else's responsibility.

They were shared heat when winter came and they couldn't find enough dry sticks to keep the campfire lit the whole night. They pressed their backs together and stayed still like that. They missed that cozy blanket and hell, they'd even share it after a bit of teasing.

They were medicine in the tough days when they couldn't reach the places they needed bandages and someone else had to take care of it. Sometimes they poked each other's wounds just to get gasps of pain and curses of eternal rage from each other. Perhaps the biggest damage was once when he made it without new scars but at least half of his men weren't even alive to eat the fancy processed meat they found in this old place. They talked about it all time, but now he ate it in silence. The cut was so deep no bandages or painkillers could ease the pain, so he rested his forehead on Gintoki's shoulder and he cried. They never talked about it: silence said what words could not.

They are enemies because Gintoki had to choose,

they are enemies because Gintoki left,

they are enemies because they are the same and he hates himself so much he sometimes wants to destroy the whole world and maybe it's not such a bad idea if he destroys himself along with it.

Sometimes his eye hurts so much at night he wakes up and doesn't even know if the pain was real or just another nightmare. These nights have no cozy blankets or loud frogs and that's when he thinks about it. Out of all the things that they were, are, and will be, the one who hurts the most is being estranged.

The wind is always strong when he's on his ship and it hits his open back with no restraints. He watches him down there, fighting back to back with Zura. Bansai listens to his song and smiles to himself, fascinated by the fierce and beautiful melody coming from him, a broken and tired radio. "Just what is he?" He hears him whispering under his breath. His notebook is in the same place it ever was but now he feels how it has become fragile and on verge of falling apart (not that he deserves to have it anymore). He knows their score by heart, so it's okay if it's destroyed. But he hopes his dictionary is not ruined by blood, he still needs to finish with that one world he never wrote down.

A friend

thanks for reading you are all lovely human beings. hope you died reading bc i sure did writing :))