Katsura Kotarou was trying very hard to stay awake.

It was the middle of winter, and it was bitter and dark and cold, and the dampness clung uncomfortably to his clothes. He blinked against the frozen air, trying to keep himself from falling asleep, but he had been fighting sleep for the past few days now.

Behind his closed eyelids, once again he saw burnings fields of carnage, rotting corpses covered merely by a light scattering of ash. Fallen comrades bathed in blood. The visions haunted him, and for weeks now he'd woken up from nightmare after nightmare, soaked in sweat and feverish, as if he'd been running for miles. Clutching his sword close, he willed himself awake.

"Hey, look - it's snowing."

The sudden voice broke the still, winter silence, and woke Kotarou from his drowsiness. Slightly annoyed, he threw a dark look at his comrade and remarked, "It's the middle of winter. Of course it's snowing."

His friend gave a brief chuckle. "Just making conversation, Zura."

"It's not Zura," Kotarou muttered, narrowing his eyes. "It's Katsura."

He glanced back at the silver-haired oddity that sat behind him, the only other human being for miles around, as far as they knew. Feeling Kotarou's gaze on his back, the boy barely out of his teens turned around, his crimson stare expressionless.

"How long have we been here, Zura?" Gintoki muttered in his deadpan voice, absent-mindedly picking at his nose.

Kotarou shrugged, and felt the stiffness in his shoulders. "A week, perhaps."

Gintoki sighed. "It feels a lot longer than that."

The snow continued to fall silently, and the two soldiers huddled deeper into their frayed blankets, searching for some extra shred of warmth. The tiny hut they were sheltering in barely kept out the cold, and there was barely enough firewood left to burn. Kotarou sighed, shvering slightly.

There was a reason he wanted this guard post, in the middle of a wilderness blanketed by snow. When the order came, he accepted it with gratitude, nearly sighing with relief at the cheap escape from the endless blood and dust of the battlefield. Looking at the landscape, he felt it was as if the land were purifying itself, and in this white stillness, maybe he could find a shred of peace –

"Did you always want to do this?" Gintoki muttered suddenly.

… If only he weren't here.

Kotarou spun around. "Do what?" he snapped.

"Fight the Amanto. Defend your country. Go several days unwashed and eating nothing but radishes. Sit in a hut in the middle of winter, freezing to death, imagining an ambush that could come any time now, though you know it won't." Gintoki shrugged. "Stuff like that."

Kotarou gritted his teeth. "Look, I was ordered to guard this station. I had no choice. It's one of the last outposts the Amanto haven't taken yet!"

Gintoki shrugged again. "No surprise there," he murmbled, his voice barely audible. But Kotarou heard it.

Rearing up, Kotarou finally felt the fatigue and the stress come crashing down on him. He lashed out at his companion, "What do you want from me? You chose to come out here and follow me, so stop your whining! If you hated being cold and bored so much, why did you sign up for the guard position, anyway? I would have been fine on my own!"

Gintoki merely stared up at his companion, eyes unwavering. "No, you wouldn't."

Kotarou flew at his friend, roaring curses, throwing punches blindly in Gintoki's direction. His long hair flew wildly around him. They fought, swinging and missing, staggering into each other, wrestling and snarling. Defending himself, Gintoki barreled forward, catching his friend by the waist and pinning him down to the tatami floor.

"Calm down, Zura. You're wasting your energy," he said between gasps. "You haven't slept in days. You hardly eat. You don't talk to me anymore – in fact, you don't talk at all. What's wrong with you?"

Kotarou panted from the sudden exersion, watching his breath condense into clouds and mingle with Gintoki's. "You idiot," he said weakly, the strength suddenly draining from his body. "Let go off me."

Gintoki released his grip on Kotarou's wrists, but remained in his position, looking down at his friend, not allowing him to get up. A strange smile was on his face, a mixture of curiousity and delight.

Kotarou felt the colour rise to his cheeks. "What are you looking at?"

Absent-mindedly, Gintoki reached out and brushed away the wild locks of hair from the other boy's face. Katarou blinked back his surprise, and at the sudden touch, felt his face burn more intensely. "What …?" he began, but was unable to find the rest of the words.

The smile grew into a grin. "You know, Zura, with your hair like this, you'd make a pretty cute girl."

Eyes widening, Kotarou seized Gintoki's arm and threw him forward, and in a split second their positions were reversed – now it was Kotarou looking down at Gintoki, looking scandalized, his hair now falling past his shoulders and framing Gintoki's face.

Gintoki's gaze was surprisingly soft. "It's like grass," he said quietly.

Kotarou suddenly felt the weight of the world on his shoulders then. The fatigue melted into despair, and his heart ached with the sudden pain. The simple pleasure of hearing such a plain phrase left him shocked and fragile, and, fighting the urge to cry, he pressed his forehead to Gintoki's and begged in a whisper, " Say that again."

"Your hair is like grass," Gintoki murmured. He wrapped his arms around Kotarou's shoulders, and their bodies drew closer. He was hesitant and clumsy at first, but Gintoki's slow, languid movements and fingers lingering on Kotarou's skin made his body burn up like he was under a fever.

Kotarou traced his lips over Gintoki mouth, slowly carressing the rest of his body down his chin, neck, collarbone, chest. As he did, all the barriers that had been holding his despair at bay broke down and he began to cry. He clung like a child to Gintoki, shoulders shaking as he choked back sobs, fists clenching around his clothes. "I keep hearing them," he whispered hoarsely, "I keep fighting and fighting and it doesn't stop. Why am I always the only one who gets to live? I can't …" he choked then, and pressed himself closer, the deafening sounds of war echoing in his ears.

"It's alright," he heard Gintoki say softly, placing a comforting hand over his friend's head. "I hear them, too."

As he looked up at his friend's dark eyes through his tears, he became more aware of the arms that encircled him, and the warm skin under his fingertips. Almost instinctively, their faces drew closer.

The kiss lasted barely a second, but it was bold and deep and strong, and warmed their bodies like a fire. As they pressed closer, twilight deepened into night, and the snow fell silently and steadily thicker outside.

When morning came, Kotarou lay encircled in Gintoki's arms, back pressed lightly to his chest. The sun shone sparklingly across the dazzlingly white snow. They stared out at the open veranda, admiring the sight in silence.

"The snow's really deep," Gintoki murmured casually. "We might get trapped here for days."

Katarou gave a slight shrug. "We'll manage."

"You were whining about our food stocks just yesterday."

"That's only because you wouldn't eat wild radish stew for the third time in a row."

"I wouldn't eat your radish stew for the third time in a row. There's a difference. When will you let me cook around here?"

"When you stop making so much noise and scaring off dinner when we're out trapping rabbits. Stop nibbling on my ear, that hurts."

Once again silence fell, as deep and pristine as the driven snow. In that silence, Kotarou felt as if they were the only living things left in existance, their heartbeats the only sounds in a world that had ended.

"Yes, by the way," Kotarou said suddenly.

"Mm, what?"

"The answer to your question. Yes. Yes, I did always want to do this. Fight Amanto, defend my country, freeze in the snow." He looked over his shoulder to meet Gintoki's eyes. "But that's only because you are, too."

Gintoki smiled, tightening his hold around his friend's waist. "That's what I thought. Now, let's get some sleep, Zura."

"It's not Zura," Kotarou yawned. "It's Katsura." Closing his eyes, he felt the welcoming waves of sleep finally wash over him. And as he gave in, the last thing he felt was Gintoki's lips caress the back of his neck, and a feeling that this time, probably, things were going to be alright.

Author's notes/Disclaimer: The phrase, ''You're hair is like grass," is inspired from, "The Book of Loss", by Julith Jedamus. "A world that had ended," is inspired from the anime series, Clannad. )