Sons Embody The Worst Qualities of Their Fathers

[pinkysworn]

A catch-all log for Shouyou and his students.

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Gintoki | Shouyou + a little Perm

[pinkysworn]

The weight of the child on his back served as a gentle reminder of his connection to the earth. It kept the man grounded in a way that was nearly foreign, but it was a welcome sensation. A smile was painted on his lips as he adjusted the child’s body on his back, arms locked to secure the little perm in place.

Every rise and fall of his chest, every little movement… Shouyou could feel them all. Each gesture left his skin prickling with warmth, his chest tightening with an emotion he only vaguely recognized: anticipation.

Having heard talk of a ‘little demon’ that was prowling about – Shouyou originally hadn’t known what to expect. Would he run into a child who was like him, hiding from the world in terror of being found – of being abused by those who could not understand and so they simply felt fear…? Would he run into a demon that could finally drag him to hell?

The questions had spun in his head over and over, but upon looking at the child – it was clear that the boy was neither of those things. He was simply too cute…

And with the child’s unkempt white hair and dull red eyes, Shouyou saw that the only demon on this particular battlefield was the memory of the last child he’d come into contact to. The withered promise of a school and freedom that the two of them could share – before it was all crushed as he idly stood by – unable to prevent it, unable to save his first “student.”

So with a bittersweet twist of fate, Shouyou stared at yet another child who had been abandoned by the world and yet so desperately fought through it…

And, once more, he reached out to the child – though this time there was no intent of preening this child to hate him…

No, there was simply an idle wish that his first student had once fueled.

The simple idea that, perhaps, he could give something back after so many years of taking.

The thoughts only guarantee that the smile stays on his features. He closes his eyes as he nears a small, ramshackle little home. It was a small hut that he had rented out from a local farmer – with the promise that he would only stay for a few passing weeks while he nursed a head cold.

And now, he supposed, he would nurse a cold and a small mind as well.

“This is where we’ll sleep,” he spoke to the child on his back, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to wake the child up in case he had started to dose, “after you are bathed, of course. Do you understand?”