[ his answer would have sounded a lot like of course i do, they've been dead for longer than you've been alive, but it's the same reason why he holds a particular kind of disdain for the youth of the shinsengumi swords. but at the moment, there's something else to address. ]

I don't care. [ he speaks bluntly, almost like a stubborn child, but a stubborn child... with a sharp weapon that he knows very well how to use. ]

I don't care that it's fake, because they're not here — that's what these images are telling us. They're in the afterlife, and they're calling to us. They want to see us again, and somewhere, in the bottom of our hearts, we know that we want to see them again, too.

[ abruptly, tsurumaru lets go of his wrist, gathering up all of his strength — enough to set both of his hands against hijikata's chest (ah... it's not what you think! but maybe that's a good distraction) and to push him back, knocking him over.

he leans over, gazing into hijikata's eyes listlessly; one foot is placed on top of hijikata's leg, as if to prevent him from rising back up, somehow. he'll reach for his sword then, slowly withdrawing it from its sheath with the standard, metallic scraping sound. ]

I'll help you, Hijikata — humans die so easily, and I'm sure you're no different.