Gintama; Takasugi x reader {Ephemeral Moments}

Chapter 18 {Y/N}

I wake to the sound of thunders.

My eyes open to the dim ceiling. Occasional lights flash through the window and rain taps against the glass. The world outside is shrouded in the dark, the downpour like a tangible white sheet forever unfurling. A deafening drum of thunder beats away the fogginess of my mind.

I try to sit up. The act no longer upsets the wound on my chest. It has healed much more over the past weeks, though not too greatly to not hinder smooth mobility. I exert some force into my limps in an attempt to stretch, and feel a numbness of my right arm.

For a moment I think I wouldn't have slept more than some short hours, and that the darkness is the result of the night which I had previously lain awake. That it is still the same night now. That I still have some more time here.

But I doubt that.

Yesterday event comes rushing to my head. Bansai's offer, the choice required from the dilemma. The dreadful dawn of tomorrow. Have I any choice anyway?

I curl up and bury my face to my knees. I'm not behaving right. Soon I would be able to resume my old routines, my old ordinary life of an ordinary girl. Yet that relief feels farfetched, as if I'm looking at it from underwater to a surreal surface. I jump when the door suddenly slides open, and relax when a man steps into the room with a tray of food.

I stare at the meal as he leaves it on the floor not far from me. Before he exits I ask him, the rain nearly drowning out my voice, "What time is it?"

"Noon," he says by the door.

"Is the commander..." Words fail to line up at the mention of him. I swallow back the question. Then with a shake of my head I instead say, "Thank you."

Frowning, the guy steps out and shuts the door.

My gaze goes back to the food. Steam rises from the soup and rice, an inviting aroma wafting to my nose. There has never been a day that my stomach doesn't crave the chef's food. But apparently my appetite has now gone as bleak as the laden sky.

I move to take up the chopsticks and pick a slice of fish into my mouth anyway. Try as I might, my futile attempt to shut away the memories only gives them strength to come dashing in. Those aren't good recollections. Remembering them is like having a sharp object penetrating my insides. Yet still I find myself longing for the thorn that prickles at my right-mindedness. For the narrow and fleeting moment of a golden time amidst thousands of misery. And yet still, as I force down each bite, I taste my own tears and blame the bitterness of it on the cooking.

After finishing, I head out to deposit the dishes back to the kitchen. There the chef looks at me with a visible concern. I clean the wares by the sink, putting up an effort to hide my face.

"Are you alright?" he asks anyway. "Your eyes seem quite red."

"Oh, umm, some dusts went in there," I casually say, and then dry my hands with the towel on the countertop after I'm finished. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you." I give him a smile before walking out of the kitchen, wanting to be rid of his searching gaze.

It's a good thing the hallway is somewhat spacious or else I would have bumped into the passing crews. I don't survey their attitude toward me as I mostly do. My mind broods around the one and only question that's managed to keep me awake for most of last night.

Was Bansai serving an order from Shinsuke when he told me to leave?

It actually shouldn't matter at all. Because either away, it doesn't change the fact that I don't belong here. But the pestering urge to find out won't cease.