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How To Tell A Really Bad Story In 500 Words.

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At his desk shoving the unopened mail into the mail drawer, Gintoki had first been amused. Hadn't thought twice about what he was hearing from his open window. Someone in the neighborhood was getting lucky, and she sounded like it was the best lay of her life. Good for them, Gintoki thought. People deserved to get laid and be happy and he wasn't going to complain about the noise.

In his bedroom getting ready for bed, Gintoki realized with absolute horror that the moaning was coming from directly beneath his floorboards. Downstairs. That the half-screamed 'Oh you hunk!' was in fact, to Gintoki's absolute mortification, Otose. He wouldn't mistake that voice anywhere, but the tone she was using would haunt him for many a night to come.

Suddenly, his semi was gone. Suddenly, Gintoki was creeping back out of his bedroom to check on Kagura, to make sure she was, in fact, still sleeping like the dead and not subject to this nightmare. Suddenly, Gintoki was sweating with second-hand embarrassment as the noises proceeded to get louder and the comments proceeded to get more lewd. He covered his ears, lying on the couch with the television on and a blanket pulled up to his chin. Oh gross.

Otose had been mourning the passing of her husband earlier in the week. The day had come again this year and like Gintoki, she turned to a bottle of aged whatever-she-could-find. She would sit and share it with her husband in spirit. She was more controlled than Gintoki was with her liquor, only really drank on that day, so he supposed it wasn't too weird that maybe she was getting laid too. She was old, gonna croak soon. She could… that was totally normal, right? This was totally normal, right? Maybe she did this every year, and Gintoki had just never noticed. Yeah. Something like that.

Early the next morning, after the noises stopped, Gintoki might have checked the window a few times to see if anyone was leaving. He shouldn't care. Didn't really want to know. But he looked anyway. And way later that next morning when he was brushing his teeth and regretting staying up so late, he might have checked the window again, seeing no one leave the snack shop.

Oh well. It probably wouldn't happen again, and Gintoki didn't really want to know anyway.

Except a week later, when he had both kids fighting with him over whether his latest gambling night was worth it, Gintoki ran into a friend of his. A friend of his who took one look at him and then turned as red as a tomato, guilt etching into his very existence. A friend of his who suddenly couldn't look Gintoki in the eye. A friend who scarpered immediately, his hands over his face in both embarrassment and shame.

A close friend of his who had an unhealthy lust for widowed women and sneaky housewives.

Gintoki's mouth hung open, eyes wide as Katsura Kotarou fled.