Title: Dark Ballrooms
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
Warnings: none, or fluffy-ness
Music Choice: All You Wanted (Michelle Branch)
--x--
It's a ceremony. Or a celebration. Either one, he doesn't really care for. If not for his appearance, the sixth division would have been frowned upon. Every captain representing their respective divisions are here, laughing, jesting, drinking, or simply listening.
It doesn't seem to strike anyone odd that Ukitake is usually solemn tonight, or how the Guest of Honor is standing closer to the white haired man without hesitation. But Byakuya notes how her eyes flicker in his direction, then to Jushiro's, as Yoruichi whispers secrets that no one else may hear. He sees how Jushiro nods his head and sighs, gripping the glass in his hand a bit more; a glass he has yet to drink out of. Her blood-red dress speaks volumes of her personality, the crest of her family's signature worn as a brotch on her shoulder strap.
When the small orchestra of quaint musicians strike up another song, Yoruichi guides her beloved friend out onto the dance floor. They don't stand close to each other and each have smiles to match. For a moment, Byakuya thinks of leaving, finding no more interest in this place. Until he glances back and locks on to her unyielding stare. Jushiro says something to her and she laughs, backing away and leaving the room, almost unnoticed. Before she exits out the door, she, once again, looks Byakuya's way. He ignores it and sips from his glass.
"You should go," Jushiro says suddenly besides him. Byakuya stares after the door, leading to the gardens. "It's the least you could do."
"The least I could do is attend."
"That's never been your part," Jushiro states and Byakuya stares at the man, questioning the comment. "It's been much time since we've had a replacement for a captain of the third division and even more years since having her as a captain."
He doesn't answer after that. It doesn't change his mind that (yeah, Jushiro's totally right and there's nothing that will change that) this celebration is senseless and idiotic and if he were in charge this would have gone on quietly. But there's a small nag in his chest, and a tug at the tips of his fingers and feet, something so familiar and unsteady, unreliable, predictable to anyone but him.
So he pushes off the wall and begins towards the gardens.
--x--
It's funny how he chases after her. Even after all these years.
He finds her deep within the paved paths and roses of different pinks and reds and blossoming trees. She stands there, awaiting his presence, as if it were so expected of him to come to see her. Over all, it doesn't matter, really. Because she doesn't want to fight, he can see it in her eyes, but she's ready for confrontation. It's finally time for the talk; the deliberate subject between them.
It's sad, however, because all that is going through his mind is she's so beautiful. Her eyes show him a new world of the years to him, telling the story that he has missed. Before, it was just him, there as a boy, knowing exactly where she would be because that is where he was too. But, as he stares at her form (he tells himself that she does not look venerable right now, that she hasn't left all guards down just for him) he knows there are too many things that have been over looked and missed. And it's probably all his fault.
She opens her mouth but he moves first. Stepping closer until he's right besides her, pausing, before continuing down the path, his eyes towards the half moon in the sky. (It's not because he'll be distracted looking at her, it's not because he'll become even more undone if she speaks to him softly and she'll see his pained face. No...that's not it at all. Because that's what he's telling himself thus far and it's working, isn't it? Solitude has never been his thing and he figures it's never been hers either, since they're both here. Now. And completely stripped of supposed titles until it's just a man named Byakuya and a woman named Yoruichi.) He hears her shift to look upon his form, outlined by the moon's light. A quiet sigh fills the air from her lips.
"Is this it? Where we tell our stories?" There's scathing humor in her words so he bites back an equally belittling remark.
His back still turned to her, he asks her if she's satisfied. No specifics, but there's enough implication.
"Yes," she says in a heartbeat (because she's always been so good at that), gripping the side of her dress (lies, lies, lies).
"Will you stay?"
"You never know what will happen."
Quietly, he whispers, "But I do. You'll leave and run away."
She doesn't say anything. It's not that she doesn't know what to say, it's because if she does, they both know it'll all be over. Whatever is happening now, it can stop in a blink of an eye (just like him, just like her).
Silently, he shifts positions until she can see part of his face. The light from the moon gives the view of a broken, broken man, left with nothing but his name. And she realizes she had done that to him so long ago. Because, right now, in this moment, they are back a hundred years ago. There's no in between now. They're picking up from what has been left unsaid and undone.
"As I have recently learned," his voice is tired and worn of war and age (she realizes this him, the man she had believed he would be and more), "there can only be a future now. We just believe in what is called 'Today' and plan then."
She doesn't understand it altogether. But she has always lived in what is called Today and, even if it always hasn't worked out, it's gotten her this far. And that's what she lives on. It's so strange coming from his lips, however. As if they have suddenly traded places and she's the stoic and disconcerted form standing by and he the anxious and interested one.
He turns further and locks gazes with her finally and she suddenly forgets everything. What she was supposed to sign later tonight, that she was to speak with Yammamoto about the schedule of sparing newbies, what she's wearing. It's all about him--not her, not anything else. Just him.
There's no sadness that mists his eyes. It's the plain and dried discontentment. He's unsatisfied and her feelings match his. She can't run away this time, can't smile until it's over, can't scowl and say this is done. This is that thing Kisuke says is inventible--confrontations of that sort.
And she finds herself a 100 years younger, staring at a man 100 years older.
"If you ever leave again, Shihoin Yoruichi, I will hunt you down, even if it means leaving this life behind me."
It feels like a threat, as if he will be out for blood and will slaugher her himself. But he opens his mouth again and she finds he's not done yet.
A spark of something (determination? affection?) flickers through his eyes and bounces on his lips which morphs into something akin to a smirk.
"Because I will follow you, until I die," he says, never breaking her gaze.
It's suprising, really, she thinks. He's Byakuya, therefore, unable to express feelings to her, unless they consist of anger and coldness. But because he's Byakuya and she's Yoruichi together, it's different.
She can't say anything. Just like before, she's afraid her voice will break whatever is keeping them there. So many things fly through her mind. What was it that you said? Could you really keep up, Bya-bo? Would anyone stop us? I'm a loner. They'll all hate it. Why would you follow anyway? Would you stay there forever? Could you even love me? And not care? You, of all people?
For long moments stretched into a semi-forever, they stare at each other. She can only guess what he's thinking but she's sure he knows what's going through her head. He's always had a knack for that. Always known how to read her eyes just right.
"Choose an answer, Yoruichi," he says as if speaking to a child before him.
And he's right for doing so, for she certainly feels like one. His voice hides the forceful statement, but she sees it clearly: If you do not agree with me, then you'll just have to live with it. It's fitting for him. He's always been so stubborn and a 100 years wouldn't change that about him. And she wouldn't change it either.
"Yoruichi..." this time, quietly and affectionately, he says it as he steps forward and closer.
It's when he brings a hand near her cheek and catches a droplet, she realizes she's crying.
"Oh...oh great..." it's almost embarrassing--but there's something about the air now that has changed. And everything that happens now is okay for them.
As he brings both his hands forward and cups both her cheeks, he whispers her name again but so softly, as if the name were meant to be cradled and gently handled. And before she knows it, fresh tears fall and meet his fingers and she can do nothing about it.
"Will you say nothing?" it's almost a plead because they both know she has two choices here and no matter how close he is to kissing her, she can still run away. "Will you not speak to me?"
She sniffs once. Then twice. And slips a hand under her eyes to stop the flow.
"Oh...silly man," she half-chuckles, eyes closed and a small smile upon her lips, "Don't you know it's been me following you?"
Instantly, she feels his lips brush the surface of her forehead and him returning a chuckle or two.
And they're back on the same level again.
--x--
Author's Notes:
--x--
A small re-make from the one that I created on the spot in Bleach Asylum. Posted on livejournal too.
Comment, PM, and/or read. Just enjoy.