The sun sets on a bloody day and thus the sunset is just as bloody to match. It's to be expected. They are fighting a war, after all. Gintoki Sakata is keeping watch on the roof of a temple, sitting cross-legged on broken tiles as he stares out at the opposing army. There are touches of red in his hair.

Gintoki shifts. He's bleeding through his bandages underneath his armour. It would be awful if he bled on the book set against his stomach. Zura would laugh if the words became illegible. Zura, who was downstairs coughing in a bed while talking strategy with Tatsuma. They would be alright. They always were.

He isn't alone. Metres away, Takasugi Shinsuke perches on the edge of the roof, legs dangling. There's a green book in his hands and he thumbs through it idly. He looks out on the mountainside, eyes vacant, looking beyond what is there. He's mouthing words to himself.

He glances at Takasugi, smirks and then claps twice. Loudly. Two birds scatter away and Gintoki returns his attention to the Bakufu army with a snap. No commotion.

Takasugi grumbles under his breath. "You bastard," he says with spite, raising a hand to his head. "I had two verses!"

Gintoki snorts, smiling. "Composing poetry in your head again?"

"The best damn poetry you'll never hear."

"You should watch it. You'll be composing poetry while taking off an Amanto's head and you'll get stabbed. The tragic fate of Takasugi Shinsuke." Gintoki flings his arms out dramatically.

There's an arrogant tilt to Takasugi's face. "I'll quit the war and become a poet. I'll be rich and famous and you'll be begging for scraps." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.

"Yeah right. I'm gonna become a Jump person and I can do Jump all day." Gintoki says, eyes closed in perfect confidence.

"...You don't even know how to do manga or anything." Takasugi points out, staring at Gintoki with his 'why, Gintoki, why' face.

"I could... test-read their manga."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"I read their manga and tell them if it's good." Gintoki completely and utterly bullshits.

"With the strict deadlines mangakas have? Sure, Gintoki. You do that."

"Damn right."

After a while: "Face it, Gintoki. You're useless at anything except fighting."

"Well, so are you, Shinsuke-chan."

"Oi." Takasugi calls (he is far too old to be insulted like this), but there's a smile curling the corners of Takasugi's mouth. Gintoki's pretending not to see it, but he's smiling too.

"At least you don't write poetry on my arms anymore," Gintoki mutters. (When they were kids, and Gintoki had fallen asleep outside during lunch, he'd wake up under the cherry trees with Takasugi's scrawls all over his arms. Shitty poetry, but enthusiastic.)

"Think of the circumstances, Gintoki." (Takasugi didn't have any paper available during lunch. When he'd grown up, he'd learnt how to compose without writing.)

"I could have died from ink-poisoning, bastard."

"The proper structure of sonnets only comes naturally through practise."

"Don't try to confuse me, asshole! I know your ways!" Gintoki says, finally turning his head from the Bakufu army.

Takasugi laughs, short and low. Gintoki couldn't stop smiling if he wanted to. The sun has set now, taking its' warmth with it and leaving the cold dark sky behind. There are battles to be fought and a war to lose. Gintoki doesn't mind it too bad, sitting here on a roof with a bastard he's known far too long.

Okay, so I didn't write anything for the anniversary, nor the movie (go see it, go cry) but now I write a shitty drabble. It's not even about Christmas. Oh well. Look within your heart, Gintoki and Takasugi were friends who pretended to hate each other, you know it to be true. Hope you had a happy 2013!