A/N: For GinZura Week 2019, Day 4. Prompt; Ghost

Warning: Mental instability and alcoholism

Sometimes, he could almost see it. See him. A faint image at the edge of his vision. Watching, with that stupidly innocent smile of his as Gintoki made a fool of himself in one way or another, always watching and looking out for him like he always did in a time long passed.

But usually, it was his voice. Only voice. Commenting, berating, comforting him.

"Gintoki, look over there. Isn't that sight beautiful?"

"Gintoki, that was nice of you."

"Gintoki, you should take better care of yourself."

"Gintoki, chew with your mouth closed. You're an adult, act like it."

Gintoki this, Gintoki that; the voice never shut up no matter how much he willed it. He would admit to not be the sanest person in the universe, but he didn't think that he was outright insane like this. One time, when he had enough of hearing it, of constantly being plagued by his voice like everything was alright and dandy in the world, he snapped at it.

"Shut up, shut up already! You're not real! So shut the fuck up and piss off!" He didn't care that the rest of the bar was looking at him like he was an escaped mental hospital patient - he sure as hell feels like it - he just wanted it to stop. To stop talking and reminding him of something that was no longer in his reach, of the person that he'd failed and would never be able to make up to.

The voice disappeared, then. And Gintoki downed his drink in relative peace. But try as he might he couldn't stop himself from feeling like he just lost him again.

"It's alright, Gintoki. Everything will be alright." The voice said, quietly, when he was silently sobbing under the covers of his futon; the result of weeks worth of lack of sleep and cheap alcohol that made him want to hurl his insides. The voice was quieter, as if hesitant to speak at all, but his words were no less genuine. Always there. Always so caring.

Like he was.

He couldn't- he couldn't lose it again. Not again, please, no. Even if it was only a voice - even if he knew perfectly well that it was all in his head; he couldn't lose him again. So what if it was only a voice? So what if it was all his imagination? At least he was there. Here. With him. Not some ashes scattered in a bloodied battlefield. Not just a memory to be forgotten in time.

He was here.

"I'm sorry," He choked out after what felt like years of being kept underwater, unable to breathe or even say anything. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.."

But to who? Was he apologizing to the imaginary voice inside his head? Or was he apologizing to the person that had long since left this cursed world?

Gintoki didn't know. Didn't want to know. He just knew that he was sorry and he wanted him here with him, no matter what. If disembodied voice was all he could have, then he'll take it.

"It's alright." And Gintoki wanted to laugh hysterically when at that precise moment, he could see him sitting by his futon, looking in all the worlds like he was always there as he ran his fingers through matted silver hair hair. Long black hair falling over his shoulder; warm brown eyes that spoke of home. The image was faint but there. Gintoki wanted to laugh so bad his eyes started to sting with unshed tears.

But he didn't. Instead, Gintoki just squeezed his eyes shut and listen to the (haunting) comforting words until the cold darkness of sleep took him away.

"I'm here. I'm always here."

And he was.

A/N: I want them to be happy. Yet I also want them to suffer. Decisions decisions..

A short not-exactly-sweet story to follow up on my messy schedule. So hey, at least I'm not late now!

Also, I apologize for any OOC-ness and/or incorrect portrayal of Gintoki's breakdown. This is purely how I imagine Gintoki would act in this kind of situation.

Thank you for reading!