This is a really short piece I wrote whilst 'working' in the library at college (we were meant to be working on a Psychology project, but one particular person in our group has taken it upon themselves to be the 'leader' - which annoys me - so I decided this was a much more worthy cause).
As it is, it appears my general negative emotions at that particular point in time have manifested themselves, to come out with this - something truly depressing. So I apologise in advance for that, and I blame listening to too much Thriving Ivory in part (at least a little bit).
This fic is very Byakuya-centric, which both terrifies me and pleases me all at once. I admit, right here and now, that writing Byakuya scares me no end - he's nearly impossible to get right. There's a thin line between making him human, and someone you can relate to, and completely OOC. Renji, Shuuhei - done, no problem (I think, being parentless myself, it's simply that I relate to them better, I can understand how they feel, whereas Byakuya's a whole other story).
It pleases me, because it's the only one (out of the many I've written), that I actually deem decent enough to post up here. And I'm proud of that. Still, your thoughts are always welcomed. Let's get to it!
Disclaimer: all characters belong to Kubo - I just like to mess 'round with them.
M to be on the safe side - I'm not completely sure of the rules 'round here yet, and I'd hate to annoy anyone. This has plenty of angst (perhaps too much), and general depressive-ness!
- Takeshi
Kuchiki Byakuya was the epitome of grace, strength and noble restraint. He was the ethereal, prized head of the noble house of Kuchiki. Many were in awe of him, yet more feared his cold words and colder blade, few truly understanding the complicated man who lay trapped, buried deep beneath the long years of discipline and pride, and as such, few truly came to love him.
Walking, stray, warming beams of a setting sun brushing reverently against dark, silken strands of his hair, he seemed entirely apart from other shinigami. Possessing an innate grace that had been enhanced after years and years of training, each step careful and measured, silent on a whispering sea of grass. His grandfather would have been proud to see the man he had become.
The absence of the priceless scarf and kenseikan that forced him to bear the heavy weight of his name and family pride, rendered him child-like. The familiar feel of his captain's haori vanished, he felt strangely cold, vulnerable. Clad in only the rudimentary black shihakusho that was required dress of all shinigami, he appeared smaller and more slender. Unadorned, he was less Kuchiki Byakuya, and more... something else. Something equally, if not, more powerful.
Power that concealed his breaking heart. Pride that concealed his human feelings.
It was fundamentally wrong to demonstrate those to the rest of Seireitei, and so he would continue blindly onwards, regardless of external circumstances, manfully oblivious to his own worn, crumbling defences.
He was Kuchiki Byakuya.
A small breath of wind caught at his unrestrained hair, curtaining his solemn face from the world.
It coaxed the cherry trees into stately dance, fragile blossoms carried away by the gentle breeze; drifting down to meet the ground. Their chaotic path followed with pensive grey eyes, Byakuya extended a slender, pale hand to halt one with delicate, inherent elegance.
He gazed at it, his thoughts wandering, allowing himself this brief respite from long days spent filling out the necessary paperwork, attending to the matters of his division with due attention - anything to keep his mind busy. Anything to keep him sane.
But night always came, no matter how much he wished against it. And he learnt yet another painful truth - that being a Kuchiki did not mean that he could control everything. And even though he sought to bend time and nature to his will, their flighty minds eluded him.
He walked, back straight and head held proudly high, poised under the night sky, and wondered why he had decided to return, on this particular night. But whilst his mind might deliberate over the minor details of the moment, his heart knew unfailingly where he traveled to, and led him with the easy familiarity of a path well-walked, despite only having trodden it once. He had refused to return.
Perhaps I left a small piece of this heart behind.
Or perhaps it was the simple solitude that had been ever-increasing, a loneliness that he felt much more keenly at night than during the day. Perhaps he had simply wished to escape the too-kind, understanding gaze of Ukitake, who although continued to treat him with due respect, seemed to perceive something greater.
Perhaps he longed to be apart from the sad, somber eyes of Rukia, who approached him only with words and actions of comfort and sorrow. She too, it seemed had guessed at something that could not be spoken, and so it was with a heavy heart and formal words that he dismissed her from his chambers.
A heavy heart that had finally stretched a tentative hand out to fate, to ask to be healed. To come to terms with his own half-healed wounds, and to accept, that what he had once treasured above all else, was gone. To accept, that what he had dreamed and longed for each night for over a year, was not to return. To accept that sometimes, the world was cruel enough to tear apart those that were most deserving of life here.
And so, this heart that had guided him knowingly and without question through the winding, maze-like cobbled streets of Seireitei, past the great stone wall, and out into the harsh world of Rukongai, through the small grove of cherry trees that appeared to be the only touch of colour in this grey world, had finally succumbed to sorrow. And it was here where his light footsteps brought him, here where his heart's song finally fell silent. Here, at the edge of his sanity, that he stopped.
Here.
His eyes slid closed, dark lashes contrasting with pale skin illuminated in the night. Where he had resisted coming, only to return out of need, of longing. Because he wanted to be with the one person who had made him realise he wasn't made of stone. Because he wanted to feel.
He wanted to feel something that wasn't pain.
And still, he was not prepared for the pain that met him, when he saw again what he had crafted with his own hands. Grief returned, as silent and heartbreaking as ever. Sinking to his knees, his shihakusho muddied, he brushed gentle fingertips over rough, grained wood.
And he let himself remember. Safe in the solitude that always resided on this hillside.
He remembered how the soutaichou had initially opposed his decision, had demanded him to be trapped forever behind Seireitei's white, impenetrable walls, away from everything that he had considered real.
How he himself had fought to finally give the gift of freedom to him, knowing that it was still too late.
"I am sorry," he whispered, lips barely moving. "Sorry, for everything you endured. For everything you lived through." I wish I had died with you, because I cannot live without you. "I hope you are at peace."
And he said no more, for there was nothing to be said. He had never been a man of many words, and much less comfortable with expressing his own emotions, so alien to him. And so he simply sat, and stared unseeing.
You would have liked to be... resting here. It is peaceful. You're friends, aren't so far away.
Byakuya sank back, his back resting against the rough bark of the large oak tree shading and sheltering this little place.
Days without you, without your laughter, your smile... hurt the most. I thought I understood pain, but now I realise I barely even comprehended it... before you left.
Your presence still lingers in everything I do, I cannot escape it. I have tried. I hear your footsteps running down the corridor in sixth, only to look up and find they have disappeared. I hear you laughing and shouting on the evenings when you used to enjoy impossible amounts of sake. I hear you sighing and complaining over the piles of paperwork you have left - yet again to the last minute, despite swearing every time that next time you'll do it when you get it.
I remember your hands in mine, your lips on mine, the warmth of your skin. I see your face in my dreams, I see your silhouette as I walk, alone, in the rain. My heart, refuses to believe... you have left.
Being here without you, has been a greater hell that I could ever have imagined. To have you ripped away from me, when neither of us was ready to die...
I wonder what would have happened if it had been me who died, would you be sitting here now? I should have died - it was meant for me. I wonder if you still think of me, wherever you are, I wonder what you have become, now, residing above the simple rules of this world. Do you remember me?
Your dreams... hopes and fears... are vanished from this world, but not from my heart. I will make Seireitei the world you believed it could be, I swear it. If only I could talk to you, one last time.
Byakuya leant forward hesitantly, and pulled a small blossom from the folds of his shihakusho, so perfect and delicate it might break at the slightest touch from the gentlest of hands. He tucked it into the taut, worn rope that held the simple cross together, his hands trembling slightly as he did so.
I cannot leave you anything else.
Byakuya rose then, his silent tears gifted only to this wilderness, only to the man who might have taken his heart into the next world with him.
You died too young, Abarai Renji. And no one will ever take your place in my heart.
My only comfort is that, one day, I too will follow you. Until that day comes...
...wait for me.