isn't it just fantastic that hasegawa/gin is canon and that we can have melancholic boxer bozos? i submerge in this joy every day of my life (title comes from the poem "A Man In His Life" by Yehuda Amichai, it is a wonderful poem

"Hey, hey, Gin-san," says Taizou, one sticky summer night. "Pass me the last of the sake."

He is sprawled out on the ground, half of his slumped arm caught in the light of a nearby streetlamp. In the dust next to him lies an unlit cigarette, smudged from somebody's oily fingers, and Taizou stares hollowly into its dark, blue band, his face warm and flushed from the alcohol, and the leftover heat of Gintoki's arm linked in his. He blinks and slips his sandal off his left foot.

"Huh?" says Gintoki hoarsely. "My sake? Are you stupid, old geezer?"

"Come on, Gin-san," Taizou wheedles. "Come on, you already kicked me off the bench! You could give me the rest of the sake at least, keep me warm while I sleep on the street, huh? Respect your elders! Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

Gintoki peers down at him dully. His hair is mussed and there's dirt smudged on his cheek, and half of his limbs are dangling from the bench upon which he is stretched out.

"No way I'm sharing my sake with a MADAO. Get a job, old fart."

"Fine, fine," he groans. "You're killing me here, Gin-san. It's your fault my life is ruined, you know." He makes a face, partly for the sake of dramatising his tragic situation, and partly for the sake of trying to remove that pesky, dried saliva feeling from the side of his cheek. He's not sure whose drool it is, and that alone is objectively very worrying and possibly a biohazard. Being street-smart and possessed of common sense, Taizou wipes it off on Gintoki's hanging sleeve.

"You didn't have to kick me so hard…" he gazes mournfully.

"Oi, oi, oi," huffs Gintoki. He shifts slightly and points at Taizou, his eyes narrowed like an affronted cat. "I'm young and got kids to feed at home! I gotta keep my back in good condition to work, you know, Kagura and Shinpachi would kill me if I ended up a useless old man like you, whining and whinging about the consequences of my own actions!"

Taizou scoffs a laugh. "Kill you? Gin-san, I don't think I've ever seen a man be loved more."

And it's true. God, it's so true. Rivalled only by charismatic Kagura and the venerable Otose (bless her good heart and her alcohol shelves), who aren't men or mere mortals and therefore excepted from this specific evaluation, the Kabuki district looks no fonder upon a man than they do upon Sakata Gintoki.

That fond regard doesn't really soften anything other than their gazes towards his and his kids' antics, but either way, Taizou has never–and he doesn't think he ever will–meet someone like Sakata Gintoki who lives rent-free in everybody's hearts, which is really unfair, because he doesn't even pay rent in his own physical apartment, and Taizou's out here on the streets sleeping on cardboard and park benches, and that's discrimination against the homeless, and probably some sort of age discrimination as well, 'cause people like the younger men, don't they, and they call all the old men MADAO's, no matter how hard they're trying in life, even if everyone else keeps telling them to give up, they're still moving on, not quite forward, but any movement is good if it keeps your heart pumping, you know?

How ungrateful for the younger men to not even like themselves. They really don't know what they've got.

Gintoki tilts his head up, almost in a dismissive gesture, but it's rather spoiled by the slight curve of his lips. "Those idiots won't falter in their beliefs, not even if the heavens themselves came down to scold them," he says, with something that would sound like pride, if pride went hand-in-hand with disbelief. What a troublesome brat.

"What happened to being a young man?" says Taizou.

"Huh?"

He clarifies: "You sure sound like a stinky old man, right now. Only old people say things like that."

Gintoki snorts. "You must be hallucinating in your old age, because I'm a perfectly hearty specimen! In the prime of my life! Seriously, I'm all geared up for mating season!"

"Ha! If you say so, Gin-san." And Gin-san does say so, in fact, and he deigns to demonstrate why it is so, and why this means that he must drink all the remainder of the lovely, rich sake with such a smug slant to his eyes, Taizou does not know, why he must stretch out the act with such excruciating slowness, he does not know either.

He does know, however, how to pass the time, which comes with the territory of his situation, he supposes, in that meaningful occupation of his mind is sometimes the only thing that grounds him in reality. As his companion on the bench contentedly savours the vestiges of his prize, Taizou settles into a pensive mood.

"Hey, hey, Gin-san?" murmurs Taizou. "Do you like love poems?"

Gintoki finishes the bottle and lets out a sigh of satisfaction. The wind breathes deeply through their silence, rustling the leaves of the trees and leaving their canopies reaching uselessly towards its fickle, wispy hands. Taizou watches the moths flutter around the starved street lamps and thinks about love.

"Believe it or not," he says, "but I used to write poems sometimes. Actually, there are a lot of government officials who write secretly in their private lives! Lots of them wrote to their crushes and the like. You know, since poems convey sincere and passionate love. I wasn't one of them, though... I was the kind to write about stupid things like my favourite foods and paperwork, honestly. Maybe this is my punishment? What do you think, Gin-san?"

"Poems?" says Gintoki. "I don't need poems."

"You don't?" says Taizou. "What about for your lover? How are you letting them know of your feelings? Or reassuring them? You gotta have some sweet talk going on!"

Gintoki breathes, and rolls onto his back, his kimono sleeve rasping against the tanned skin of his wrist. "For me," he says, "if you love someone, then that's enough."

From his place in the dirt, Taizou barks out a laugh. "You're kind of a secret romantic, huh, Gin-san?" It's enough just to love someone, huh, Gin-san? That's cruel of you to say, Gin-san. What a cruel thing to say. We can't all be like you, Gin-san. Not all of our hearts are so strong.

Taizou shakes his head and scratches his chest and stares up at the silver moon, turned smoke-grey through the lens of his sunglasses. The stars blink down at him like dozens of eyes from dozens of people who also love this same aching, healing man. What was it that the woman from Yoshiwara said? What was it? Ah, he remembers now.

He belongs to no one, but he still finds a place in everyone's heart. Such a pain. Such a troublesome brat. Taizou's too old and sore for these kinds of feelings.

What would Hatsu say? What would she say? Ah, but Hatsu's gone, with the house and the money and the good life. Now there's just this hopeless brat with a sake-softened grin and sugar-smooth voice. Taizou's always been weak for smiles and sweetness.

"Ah," speaks Taizou finally. "Since you drank all the sake, then can you at least light my cigarette?" He holds out the joint he plucked off the ground, balancing the paper between the tips of his index and middle. "Come on, Gin-san," he begs.

"What a demanding old man," sighs Gintoki, but he still pulls out a lighter. It's got some cute stickers. They stand out against the deep purple case. "Your whining seriously tired me out."

"Huh? Are you going to leave me now?" Taizou grouses half-heartedly. "Who will I talk to? I can't fall asleep in this state, you know."

Gintoki heaves himself up and stretches leisurely. "That's funny," he says. " 'Cause I can. Night, geezer. Don't miss me too much, 'kay."

And Gintoki stumbles home.

His hair is a bright beacon of silver in the dark night, and he curses softly as he trips over his own feet. The bench is free for occupancy now, but Taizou stays sprawled out in the dust, listening to Gintoki's steps fade as he moves further away.

He huffs a laugh and breathes a ring of smoke into the sky. Tucked messily into the band of his boxers, a poem burns against his skin.

Dear Gin-san, the first line reads.