So I have a big thing for Byakuya/Hisana... so what? Aren't the two just pretty? (...um, or not? Comments, please :) Thanks!)
She would…
… smile with every fall of snow and crawl under the covers when it rained. One rainy day she'd said to him that, in the living world, some rain alone would not excuse her from her daily chores. She hadn't minded much, she'd said, things were the way they were, and, except for the little one, her family would be equally soaked by the end of the day. Still, what a guilty pleasure, to stay in when it rained!
Byakuya had looked at her in silence, then put his pen away. He'd slowly risen from his desk (it had been brought in to her chambers so that he might be near her as he worked that day) and joined her on the futon.
She'd smiled at him.
They'd stayed in bed all day, telling each other stories.
… show little grace when writing. She'd clutch fearfully at the brush, and even though she had a good memory for them, her kanji were forever strained.
Byakuya didn't mind. It gave him ample opportunities to tutor her in this; his right hand on her own, gently guiding the brush, his left arm round her middle as they sat by his desk, he'd write down words of love and praise and watch her blush as they were read to her in steady whispers by her ear.
… accept any discreet suggestion she received regarding etiquette and manners, behave as they all said the wife of the Kuchiki Head should do. To their surprise and great relief, she'd listen and comply – in every thing but one.
Until her illness had her spend her days in bed, she would insist that, when they were alone, she'd serve her husband's plate herself. The first time this took place, Hisana had explained to him with lowered eyes that, from her youngest days, she had connected married life with this small task, because her mother had done so each day throughout her life, mealtime had always been so peaceful, it had seemed so right, and so, please do not be displeased, Byakuya-sama.
He'd been surprised instead, argued that such a thing was surely not expected of his wife, but in the end he had relented and agreed to it, if only for their breakfasts.
Now that a servant serves his plate again, his meal tastes like ashes in his mouth.
… gaze lost in thought at the children who played at times outside her window. Byakuya had never asked whether she thought of her lost sister then, or, perhaps, children of her own instead.
He'd found Rukia so soon after Hisana's death that he can't help but rage – silently, guiltily – that she could not have lasted longer, only a little longer. And when he sometimes looks down at his (her) sister, he wonders how the years would have passed by if she had met his wife – would Hisana have lived? Would Rukia smile more? Be more at ease when by him? Would there be peace? Would there be children? Would there be joy?
He turns such thoughts away – "what ifs" would bring their bearer little comfort.
… return from her searches with downcast eyes and heavy steps. Byakuya wouldn't comfort her – she'd lock herself in her rooms for a while and kindly ask that she be left alone by all – but he would send in secret a group of men to thoroughly retrace her steps and search with even greater care the streets that she had walked that day. And when she would at last exit her chambers he would be there, to receive her strained smile.
… rise almost with the sunrise – too many years of doing so would see she kept the habit. He would wake up beside her, they'd don their clothes, then spend nearly an hour in easy company over a cup of scented tea.
One morning she woke very late, and both their lives began to crumble.