[ ah... his hand is being held! it makes him happy, and it slowly eases some tension away — enough to make him say something a little more honest, perhaps. ]

If I wanted to talk to someone, the first person who I'd go to is you. I'm just... not good at it, you know?

[ of course, he's certainly not saying this for hijikata to repeat it back to him, nor does he expect him to, and nor does he even want him to; because for hijikata, there's trust born in the system of the shinsengumi, in fighting together and sparring together and eating meals together and doing chores together.

as for tsurumaru, however, being a sword means that he's never had a say in anything that's happened to him — not in being stolen, not in being sold, not in napping away centuries in dark collection rooms. is there a point in bringing it up in the first place, if his opinion and feelings usually mean nothing?

he's sure hijikata would be perfectly willing to listen to his thoughts, though it's still difficult to reroute centuries-old ways of thinking. but at the mention of the funeral, his grip on hijikata's hand tightens, and he feels his shoulders freeze. ]

Is that all you saw? [ because he knows what usually comes after Rich People Funerals — he'd just seen it, after all. ]