Sakamoto can no longer be a slave to the demons in his head- Perhaps that is why he's so loud, constantly clamoring above it all, laughing and hollering so that the will never hear them. Lately, they have been very irritating indeed.
He seats himself at the bar, blue eyes cloudy with a storm of their own. Nothing ferocious like usual, no glint of determination- Just something sad, daunting. As if the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he's on the verge of collapse. He really should just order something, but he's already had a little bit to drink tonight.
Sakamoto had missed Gintoki's funeral by three days- Well, supposedly. He had received a letter, a letter that he hadn't bothered to open as soon as he received it, as he had taken his friend's presence for granted. The handwriting belonged to that if Gintoki's kindhearted subordinate with a forgettable face, but this wasn't all that strange as the boy usually sent the Yorozuya's letters.
And Sakamoto carried on like usual when he read the news, distrusting of it as first, disbelieving. In fact he had carried on about his day until supper with an important client, laughing and chatting normally over a meal until he burst into tears over dessert.
How can one believe anything like that at all? Without seeing it with your own eyes. A man who had saved his life, gone, nothing? Just a body in a casket?
Fucking hell.]
H'oh. That color looks cute on you.
[Sakamoto barely registers the face of the waitress. She has nice hair; it's all he notices.]
no subject
To make his head empty.
Sakamoto can no longer be a slave to the demons in his head- Perhaps that is why he's so loud, constantly clamoring above it all, laughing and hollering so that the will never hear them. Lately, they have been very irritating indeed.
He seats himself at the bar, blue eyes cloudy with a storm of their own. Nothing ferocious like usual, no glint of determination- Just something sad, daunting. As if the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he's on the verge of collapse. He really should just order something, but he's already had a little bit to drink tonight.
Sakamoto had missed Gintoki's funeral by three days- Well, supposedly. He had received a letter, a letter that he hadn't bothered to open as soon as he received it, as he had taken his friend's presence for granted. The handwriting belonged to that if Gintoki's kindhearted subordinate with a forgettable face, but this wasn't all that strange as the boy usually sent the Yorozuya's letters.
And Sakamoto carried on like usual when he read the news, distrusting of it as first, disbelieving. In fact he had carried on about his day until supper with an important client, laughing and chatting normally over a meal until he burst into tears over dessert.
How can one believe anything like that at all? Without seeing it with your own eyes. A man who had saved his life, gone, nothing? Just a body in a casket?
Fucking hell.]
H'oh. That color looks cute on you.
[Sakamoto barely registers the face of the waitress. She has nice hair; it's all he notices.]