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“We should be careful / of each other, we should be kind / While there is still time.”
— Philip Larkin, from “The Mower”
Out of all the places Gintoki would have expected to find himself, it would have never been in his landlady's bathroom to get a haircut. Months after Otose had taken him and given him a place to stay, she had told him to trim his hair, unless he wanted to look like a homeless man. Truth be told, Gintoki had not noticed how long his hair had grown since she pointed it out, but that was expected. Who would have cared about their looks as they waited for death in jail?
When Otose had proposed to cut his hair herself, Gintoki had quickly accepted it, not knowing another way to react. He had thanked the woman and told her that he’d pass by later, and that’s how he ended up here.
Sitting on a little tool and with Otose behind him and no sound filling the room other than the scissors cutting and his hair falling to the floor, he feels oddly at peace. He’s not felt this calm since the war started, years ago. It’s been so long since someone has taken care of me, he thinks. Has it been years since Zura treated my wounds? Or centuries? Being trapped at jail for over a year must have taken a toll on him, it really did make him feel like he’d never be treated gently again. After all, each time he had been touched by anyone there during his stay, was just when he was getting beaten up or tortured. Except for the little girl that came once to his cell and held his hand, he’s not felt any warm embrace in so long. It’s no wonder Otose’s careful hands are making him relax. Having anyone’s attention and kindness used to be nothing more than a memory from the past. Now it’s like a reminder, a reminder that people can still care about him.
He’s interrupted from his thoughts when Otose lowers her scissor and looks at him through the mirror.
“Never seen you this quiet since I found you. What’s wrong? Cat ate your tongue?” She asks, smiling.
“You wish” Gintoki smirks at her. His relationship with the old woman for the past weeks had turned into some playful banter, an unexpected change but still something Gintoki found quite easy to follow. Acting like a kid had always been easy for him, having always been the one teasing his other friends, so this was not much more different. Except that Otose was pushing 50s and not one of his childhood friends whom he had failed.
“Tsk. Look up, I’m gonna cut your side bangs now”
“Hm? If you do that everyone will fall in love with my eyes”
“Idiot, you won’t see anything if you grow them more. I don’t know how this hair didn’t annoy you before I found you”
“My hair was never on my Problems that keep me up at night list, hag” He says snorting “Plus I knew a dude with worse hair in the war. Worse than a perm, can you believe?”
“How was it?” Otose asks as she lifts his chin with her hand and begins to cut his hair again. “Close your eyes now, unless you want the scissor in your eyes”
“Would be a pleasure” He jokes, though he oblied and closes his eyes “This guy had long hair, we always told him to cut it, but he never listened to us. People even made bets on his death, saying that some Amanto would one day grab him by his ponytail and cut his throat”
One thing that had surprised him from Otose is how she never flinched or looked disgusted at the stories Gintoki told her from the war whenever he was feeling like being open for once. She’d always listen to him in silence, make some comments afterwards or tell him back another story from her youth. He didn’t know how much Otose had seen from the war, or violence in general, but she seemed pretty used to it. He guesses that losing a loved one in the war is experience enough to know how bad such a place was.
“And did they? Did he survive?”
“Oh, as far as I know he's still kicking. He was one of the smartest strategist we had, but also stupid as fuck when it came to other stuff. He’s probably alive somewhere” He feels a little smile tugging on his lip. Knowing that Zura is alive somewhere is enough comfort for him. He can live carrying his sins alone, but he doesn’t know if he’d still find strength to wake up in the morning if his friends had died back then too. Living acknowledging the resentment of the people he loved more than anything looks easier than carrying their deaths, it seems.
Otose doesn’t push further on the matter, she keeps trimming his hair quietly. Sometimes she makes a little remark, about how he should take more care of his hair, or how he still has to pay her. In a few minutes, she’s done with hair. Otose hands him a mirror to look at the back of his head and he takes a brief look at his new haircut. He has to say it’s far better than he had originally expected it to be.
He looks at his reflection and sees, for once, how tired he actually looks. He usually tries to take care of himself, but it’s tiring. More than tiring. Some days, he feels like getting out of his small futon is more draining than every single battle he’s fought. Adjusting himself to society that does not really want him back is the worst part of it. He still finds himself jumping at loud noises, and when it’s raining, he doesn’t find the strength to leave his room. Memories of drowning at the dirty and struggling to breath fill those days. Other days, he feels like he’s 70 rather than 22. He feels too old. Older than anyone his age should feel, he thinks.
Things had gotten a bit better after Otose had gifted him his wooden sword. Carrying him around made him feel safer than he had thought it would. It’s not like he is going to fight Amantos any time soon if he can evade it, but it feels good to bring it with him everywhere.
Still, it was a difficult task to wash himself, even eating was troublesome sometimes. It required an effort some nights he thought he would never get back. However, when Otose was around keeping an eye on him, things seemed to go at its own pace for a little while. He’d not skip his meals if the woman ate with him, he’d wash himself to look presentable for her. He’d leave his bed every morning and try to find a job, so that he could afford to live with her for longer.
As long as Otose was around, things would be alright.
“Thank you” He says truthfully. He feels lighter than he felt before he stepped through the bathroom. He thinks he should buy the woman some flowers, treat her for a meal maybe, once he’s got enough money. “You are surely good at this”
“You thought I’d offer to help at something I’m bad at?” She questions him with amused eyes
“Nah, just thought you’d not have as much as practice”
“Ah. Well, I used to always cut my husband’s hair. When we opened the bar we had not enough money to afford going to a hair salon, so I eventually just learnt some tricks. It’s not difficult once you get used to it, really. I could teach you too”
“You taught someone?”
“A friend, before he went to war. His hair used to be similar to yours. Though his was longer at the sides,though. Same color as yours too”
“Sounds like a handsome man, then”
“You’re full of shit, Gintoki” The old woman says, but there’s no bitterness to her words. She ever chuckles for a second. Gintoki almost laughs back. He’s grown fond of the woman during the few months he’s been with her. After all, he has sworn to protect her with his life.
And he’ll do it. He won’t break one of his promises again