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A man, with silver hair and a white kimono only worn on one side.
Kneeling, arms bound.
Behind him, a silhouette. White kimono and black breastplate.
Standing, sword in hand.
The man on his knees hung his head lower as the blade of the sword rose higher.
The sound of silence and it was over.
*
Toushirou woke up with a flinch. Sitting up slowly, he ran a hand through his bangs, wondering why they were so sweaty. Why his hands were trembling, his breathing heavy. Wondering what in the hell he’d just seen.
“Did you have a nightmare, Hijikata-san?”
He looked up to see Sougo sitting by his futon, an ominous grin on his face.
Toushirou glared. “Why do you sound so happy about it?”
“Happy? Me? Come on, Hijikata-san,” Sougo said pleasantly. “I’m delighted.”
Toushirou was tempted to run him over with a sword, but for that, he’d have to actually get dressed and get a sword. He clicked his tongue instead, standing up. “I’d bet you had a hand in it.”
Sougo remained sitting. “Depends. Was it a dream of you dying?”
“No it wasn’t, you prick.” Rolling his futon to put it back in the cupboard, Toushirou paused. “...at least, it wasn’t me.”
“Oh, then was it a dream of you killing someone else? That’s no good, Hijikata-san. We’d better send you to a psychiatric hospital soon.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Toushirou snapped. He sighed, fishing out his clothes from a drawer. “And no, I didn’t kill anyone. He was...”
Beheaded by someone else.
Toushirou groaned, rubbing the vision out of his eyes. Why did he have to dream about that guy? And why that kind of dream? Sure, he had times when he wished the bastard would just rot and drop dead, but he’d never asked for an actual execution. He’d never asked to witness that scene, to see those eyes, those eyes so full of...
…of emptiness...
He shook his head. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out drinking the night before, it was making him strange.
“Anyway,” he said eventually. “What are you doing in my room, Sougo? Is there something urgent happening?”
“No,” Sougo answered. “I just enjoyed watching you squirming in your sleep, that’s all.”
“...”
*
Again, the same boundless, pitch-black darkness. He felt his apprehension rising when he recognized the place. He knew what would await him were he to turn around, knew what he’d get to see.
He did anyway.
The Yorozuya was still kneeling, still bound with ropes around his chest. He was still facing down, bangs hiding his face. Behind him, Toushirou recognized the silhouette. Still standing, still headless, as if wearing a mask of darkness. Sword in hand, it walked closer, until it stood right behind the kneeling man.
It brought its sword up, and at that instant, he could see it. In that brief instant where the Yorozuya looked up and met his gaze, Toushirou could see it again.
The relief. The abandon.
The resignation.
The sword slashed through the man’s neck and Toushirou woke up.
*
“Toushi, when it comes to things that matter, there are two types of men: the ones who act like they don't care, and the ones who aren't afraid to show that they care. Now, which one do you want to be?”
“I don’t want to be the type to think that haircuts matter.”
“It does matter!” Kondou crossed his arms as he walked. “A haircut is the representation of oneself, it can change your life forever. Why do you think women cut their hair after every relationship? Look, even Otae-san said she’d be willing to take me if I were to cut my hea– my hair.”
Toushirou let out a puff of smoke. “Kondou-san, please don’t commit suicide over a woman.”
“My hair, not my head! She did say to cut my head but she meant to cut my hair, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
They walked in silence for a moment, each immersed in their thoughts. While his commander muttered aloud his attempts at denial of reality, Toushirou wondered if he really ought to get a haircut. If it pleased Kondou, it would be worth a shot. Not to mention that it’d be a pain if his bangs went in his eyes during a fight.
...speaking of cutting heads, he’d had that dream again, hadn’t he?
“Are you okay, Toushi?” His commander asked suddenly. “You look tired today.”
Toushirou blinked, then nodded.
“Just having strange dreams is all.”
*
The third time he found himself facing that twisted scene, Toushirou wondered if he’d gotten cursed again without his knowledge. There had to be something that brought him back here again and again, and it sure as hell wasn’t him.
As he took in the unfair number of details in front of him, Toushirou wasn’t even sure he could call this a dream. He felt too aware, and it felt too real, as much as the setting in itself didn’t make sense. Toushirou had dreamed of people close to him dying before, but never like this. This didn’t feel like his dream, but like someone else’s.
The sword rose, and for the first time, Toushirou took a step.
The first syllable of a name had barely finished leaving his lips that the head fell.
*
“I checked through the backyard window and it looks like Katsura has already left. He did leave a note, but I’m not sure it could help us in any... um, Vice-Commander...? Are you listening?”
After seeing him in his dreams three times in a row, it felt stranger than usual to stare at that silver tuft of hair. Coming out of the supermarket, bags in hand, and walking away without noticing him. Toushirou let the smoke of his cigarette rise in the air as he took in the lazy gate of the man. With his eyes, he traced the contours of his frame, unbound and free.
Alive.
“Vice-Commander...?”
He puffed out a cloud of smoke, then let his cigarette fall to the ground. “Yamazaki, go check if Katsura’s still in there,” he said as he stubbed it with a foot. “I’ll be back.”
Yamazaki may or may not have answered with a meek, “I already checked...” but Toushirou was already too far away to care. With a couple of quick-not-quick steps, he closed in to the back of the silver-haired man. Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed the man’s collar and stretched it down.
There was no trace of a scar on his neck.
“Wha–!” The man yelped in surprise and stopped. “Oi, what do you think you’re doing?”
Toushirou looked up to see a heavy glare directed his way. He let go of the collar on reflex and, instead of answering, stared at his face; that grimacing, mocking, stupid-looking mug of his. That was familiar. That was normal.
That was not the face he saw in his dreams.
Try as he might, Toushirou could not rid himself of that face. It kept overlapping with the one currently in front of him, urging him to find the similarities where there were only differences. Making him wonder, not for the first time, which one was the real one.
They both felt too real to be fake.
There was however one thing that Toushirou noticed wasn’t usually there. “Bags,” he said aloud, staring at the dark marks under the man’s eyes.
The Yorozuya frowned. “Yeah, I’m coming back from the supermarket, so what? I didn’t shoplift anything.”
This man and his stupidity sometimes. “No, here,” Toushirou said while pointing at his face with a finger.
The Yorozuya narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t shoplift those either.”
“No, I–” Toushirou groaned, feeling the beginning of a headache. “No one said anything about shoplifting, why are you so insistent? Are you trying to sound suspicious?”
“See?” The Yorozuya pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I knew you’d somehow find a way to blame me for something so I went ahead and tried to avoid that and yet you still manage to find me suspicious! This is mental manipulation!”
“That’s just you being a paranoid idiot!”
“Well whose fault do you think that is, Mr. Abuse Of Power Officer?!”
“Obviously yours!” Toushirou was about to say, but shut his mouth at the last moment. Instead, he took a deep breath and lit himself a cigarette. He had better things to do than lose his precious time arguing. Why had he come here anyway? He should have just let the idiot be. Just because he’d had disturbing dreams and just because the man that kept getting killed in those same dreams was showing off signs of sleep deprivation and just because Toushirou might have thought the two could be correlated, it didn’t mean that he cared. He definitely didn’t ca–
“Toushi , when it comes to things that matter, there are two types of men: the ones who act like they don’t care, and the ones who aren’t afraid to show that they care.”
“Now, which one do you want to be?”
…
Toushirou cursed internally. He’d blame Kondou for this.
“Are you...” He looked away, trying not to cringe at himself. “Are you having trouble... sleeping? Recently... or something...”
He didn’t have to cringe at himself for the other guy was already doing a spectacular job at cringing for him.
Still, Toushirou powered on. “Like, for example... nightmares.”
It was subtle; so subtle Toushirou almost missed it. But the Yorozuya definitely flinched. While Toushirou had expected a reaction to some extent, his surprise at the sight made him realize that he actually hadn’t. Now there really was a ground for his suspicions about the man and him having the same dreams. Or more exactly, Toushirou walking into dreams that weren’t his in the first place.
“Yeah.”
The sound of the man’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a face that was the same as earlier, with the exception of his eyes that had lost their glimmer.
“Yeah,” the man repeated. “I keep seeing your ugly face and it’s ruining my sleep. Do me a favor and get out of my night space, will you?”
He didn’t give Toushirou any time to answer, turning around and walking away with a hand raised in silent farewell. Toushirou watched him leave, jaw clenching.
That kind of shitty dream, if I could stop seeing it I would have already.
*
But of course, the world didn’t work that way. Toushirou found himself facing the same desolating scene for the fourth time that night. Again, the Yorozuya was on his knees, not looking at him.
Avoiding him.
Where Toushirou used to feel a mix of both horror and confusion, there now was a rising spring of anger. Again, he had to witness this twisted show like some freaking spectator. He'd had enough already. Whoever it was that was haunting the man's dreams, he wouldn’t let him have his way anymore.
The silhouette's arm rose, ready to strike.
“Stop.”
The sword flinched, frozen in time. The heavier the silence had been so far, the louder Toushirou’s command had resounded. He stepped forward, hand going to his own sword, ready to draw if necessary. But before he could speak again, the silence was broken by someone else.
“Let him do it.”
Toushirou looked down, stunned. Without shifting an inch from his original position, the Yorozuya had spoken his first words.
But what he’d said–
“Let him do it,” the Yorozuya repeated, and although he didn’t say the word, Toushirou still heard it.
Please.
Toushirou took a step back. Then two, and three. He let his arms fall to the side as the implication of the demand properly sunk in.
Let him kill me.
This time, even as the sword sliced through his neck, the Yorozuya didn’t look up.
Toushirou never saw his eyes that night.
*
* *
*
When Toushirou woke up, sweaty and miffed for the sixth time now, it was three in the morning. He muttered a curse in the silence of his room and slipped out of his futon. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, so he didn’t try. Lighting himself a cigarette, he switched on the lamp and sat at his desk. While this newly developed insomnia of his allowed him more time to do his paperwork, it also exhausted him enough to significantly decrease his productivity. In the end, he was working more hours to get the exact same results as before.
Well, no point whining about it. Toushirou grabbed a brush and got to work.
Six nights. Six nights in a row of the same dream, of the same startle awake and ruined sleep. Two nights since he’d tried to do something about it, only to be told to kindly shut up and not interfere. Toushirou didn’t even know what to do anymore. Whenever he’d get the urge to move and step in, he’d remember those words and freeze. Two nights like this where he couldn’t do anything, however much he wanted to, and ended up watching helplessly as the same dreary end took place again and again.
Let him do it.
Toushirou sighed. How do you help someone who refuses to be helped? He had no idea.
But there was one thing that came to mind when he pictured the Yorozuya’s motionless frame. As strange as it was, Toushirou was reminded of his brother. A self-imposed punishment, an attempted escape from the prison of guilt; Toushirou wasn’t a stranger to those feelings. God knew how many times he’d wished those gangsters had taken his eyes and not his brother’s, how many times he’d dreamed about it. Rather than carrying the burden of guilt, he’d have gladly gouged his own two eyes instead. The only thing that allowed him to overcome the weight and walk on despite it was the knowledge that, at least, he’d spared his brother that same fate.
Guilt. Maybe that was the name of the demon swinging that sword every night. Or maybe it wasn’t, Toushirou couldn’t be sure. Alongside the theme of atonement, there was also a sense of inevitability. As if he was simply reliving a memory, an event that had cost him so greatly that his body still believed that he’d died that day. Maybe...
Toushirou crumpled the sheet of paper he was working on when he realized he was writing nonsense. He rubbed his face with a groan, took a drag of his cigarette, then sighed again.
“What are your demons, Yorozuya?” He muttered to the ceiling. “How much longer...”
After a moment of getting no response, he picked up his brush and went back to work.
*
“Toushi, take the day off.”
“What?” Toushirou was already on the threshold of the barracks when he turned to meet the stern eyes of his commander. “Why?”
“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately,” Kondou said, arms crossed. “You need to rest.”
“I’m fine,” Toushirou assured. “I’ll rest once this is over.”
Kondou’s expression almost turned sad. “Toushi, I know you haven’t been able to sleep properly for the past few days. I don’t even think you’ll be able to rest tonight.”
Toushirou clicked his tongue internally. Someone must have ratted on him. “I’m fine, Kondou-san. I’d rather work anyway.” He hesitated, then added, “I need the distraction.”
His commander didn’t seem convinced. “Toushi, we both know I can’t let that happen. I can’t just watch as you ruin your health right in front of me. As a commander, I can’t afford it, and as a friend... I can’t bear it.”
Toushirou opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to that.
“Take the day off, Toushi. I’ll make it an order if I have to.”
“Using your authority over me for this...” Toushirou gave a soft snort. “You’re being rather selfish, Kondou-san.”
Kondou smiled.
“I hope you soon realize who the selfish one is between the two of us.”
*
As he walked down the streets in his day-off kimono, Toushirou eventually found his way to a park. It was nearing noon and the weather was clear, allowing families and couples alike to settle beside the usual homeless old men. With no clear destination in mind, Toushirou ventured down one of the park’s pathways. Who knew, maybe the answers he sought were hiding away behind some flower bushes. He was getting desperate at this point.
“Gin-san, are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Toushirou made a dead stop, then backtracked a couple of steps. He’d definitely heard a familiar voice behind that flower bush.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Have fun, you guys.”
When he crouched and sneaked a peek through the leaves, he saw the profiles of a familiar silver-haired man sitting on a bench and a familiar pair of kids facing him.
The glasses kid seemed hesitant. “It’s rare for you to pass up on an all-you-can-eat buffet. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Pattsuan, your inner mom is coming out strong these days.”
“I’m just worried.”
A sigh, and a smile. “I’m fine, just hangover. Now go and make sure to suck the place dry for my sake.”
The glasses kid finally relented. “Alright then. Let’s go, Kagura-chan. My sister must be waiting.”
“Don't worry Gin-chan,” the China girl said. “I’d have sucked it dry even without you telling me.”
A snort. “How reliable.”
The Yorozuya sent off his kids with a lazy wave of his hand. He kept at it until they were out of sight, then finally let the smile slip. As if it were a puppet no longer attached to a string, his whole body crumpled, the back of his head coming to lean over the bench’s backrest. He closed his eyes and let out a breath before rubbing a hand over his face.
To say he looked tired would be an understatement.
As he took in the fatigue weighing over his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes and the frown of someone trying to stay awake while on the brink of collapsing, Toushirou was reminded of his commander’s words.
“Selfish, huh...” He snorted to himself, eyes still locked onto that silver tuft of hair. “I think I’m beginning to understand, Kondou-san.”
Yes, as ridiculous as it may sound, Toushirou really had managed to find his answers behind a flower bush. He got up discreetly and walked away, leaving the exhausted man to struggle on his own. His commander had been right, selfishness came in all types and forms. So why not he be selfish too?
“I’ll see you tonight,” Toushirou muttered. “Selfish permed bastard.”
*
On the seventh night, Toushirou didn’t lose any time. Both he and the silhouette walked over to the bound man at the same time, two executioners but with a different target: the man at their feet and the dream haunting him. As they both stood facing each other, Toushirou uttered a single command.
“Wait.”
Just like two nights ago, the blade flinched, then obeyed. It remained still in the silhouette’s hand. Toushirou used the opportunity to do what he should have done from the start: bring a hand to the silhouette’s face and wave the mist of darkness away.
When the face finally revealed itself, he could almost laugh.
“I should have known I was trying to save the wrong one.”
When the silhouette said nothing, Toushirou reached out a hand in demand. “Give me that. I’ll do it for you.”
After a moment of hesitation, the silhouette obeyed and handed Toushirou his weapon. Toushirou nodded and walked over to the Yorozuya’s back. He pointed the sword’s tip at his nape.
“You’re one hell of a guy,” he said. “How many more times do you have to kill yourself before you’re satisfied?”
The Yorozuya stayed silent. Toushirou clicked his tongue, then brought the sword up.
“You really piss me off.”
He swung the sword down in one swift slash.
The ropes fell to the floor, then faded.
“Stand up,” Toushirou ordered, throwing the blade to the side. “You’ve still got things to do.”
The Yorozuya looked up at him for the first time in three nights, confusion written over his face. He stood up nonetheless, and once he had turned around to face them, Toushirou pointed over to the silhouette.
“Your demon’s crying,” he said.
For the first time in every night, the Yorozuya took the time to properly look at his executioner and see that Toushirou was right. His demon hadn’t been anyone other than himself the whole time, a younger alter ego whose empty expression was even more telling than the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“It’s about time you let him rest, don’t you think?”
As he stared at his younger self, the Yorozuya looked lost. He glanced at Toushirou, a silent question on his lips, but Toushirou didn’t say anything. He only crossed his arms and waited.
After a long moment of nothing, the Yorozuya finally swallowed his hesitation and took a step forward. Another, and then he reached out an arm toward his younger self. But before it could make contact, he paused, seemingly frozen.
He sent a look Toushirou’s way. Toushirou returned it, and smiled.
Go for it.
The Yorozuya brought both his arms up and encircled his younger self’s back. It was awkward at first, a one-sided not quite hugging position. But eventually, the younger man lifted his arms as well and returned the embrace, burying his face in the crook of his older self’s neck.
There, he sobbed silently for the rest of the night.
*
“Welcome- Oh, Hijikata-san! Long time no see!”
Toushirou greeted the owner of the bar as he lifted the noren to come in. “You’re exaggerating. It’s only been a week.”
“A week’s a long time for an old man like me.” The owner chuckled. “I thought you’d found my sake bad and decided not to come again.”
“You think too much,” Toushirou huffed as he sat down at the counter.
The owner nodded happily. “What can I get you today?”
Toushirou was about to go for his usual Gekkeikan sake when he hesitated. Eventually, he said, “Give me the same as last time.”
The owner looked surprised. “The Muyuubyousha? You said it was too sweet for your taste.”
“It is.” Toushirou shrugged. “But I don’t mind something sweet right now.”
“As you wish,” the owner said, going to fetch a bottle.
It’d been a week since he’d come here, and a week since he’d gone out for a drink anywhere. Now that he thought of it, the last time he’d come here had been the evening before his first dream. He’d unconsciously gone back to his starting point, huh? Human habits could be scary.
“So you come here too.”
Toushirou looked up when he heard the sound of someone sitting on the stool beside him. The Yorozuya didn’t meet his gaze as he called out to the owner. “Old man, give me the same as this guy.”
“Right up!”
Although Toushirou had seen his stupid mug more often in a week than he usually did in a month, it still felt like a long time since he’d last seen him properly. He found the excuse as good as any to stare a little longer than usual at the man, and refused to divert his gaze even when the pair of wine-red eyes met his.
“You look like hell and back,” the man said, a mocking smile on his lips.
Toushirou snorted. “You don’t look so good yourself.”
The owner came and handed them two small bottles of sake. The Yorozuya grabbed his without waiting. “Knowing your tastes, I won’t take that as an offense.”
Toushirou scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” the man replied innocently.
Instead of pouring himself a cup, the Yorozuya gestured to Toushirou’s cup, prompting him to pick it up. Toushirou stared a little dumbfounded as the man poured him a cup from his bottle. A rare gesture coming from a guy like him.
“Nothing,” the man repeated. “Or maybe just... sorry.”
Toushirou looked down at his cup, at the ripples on the translucid liquid’s surface.
“And thank you.”
When he looked up, the Yorozuya was holding a cup of his own, and he was smiling. It was soft, maybe a little guilty, a little embarrassed. But more than anything, it was genuine, and it was directed at him.
Toushirou couldn’t help but return it.
He lifted his cup. “To a good night’s sleep.”
The Yorozuya lifted his cup as well, and the two cups clinked together with the soft sound of ceramic.
“To a good night’s sleep.”