Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.
Warning: This sucks. Sucks, I repeat.
He possessed certain qualities of a man that were a great deal worthy of credit. Though his wits lacked an edge, he was strong, hard-working, and good-willed. Despite that, he was a long shot from establishing an exalted name for himself, and it would not be until decades, perhaps centuries, before he could have his name entailed with the glorified 'taichou'. But Renji Abarai was as good as any faithful and abiding subordinate could get. In many respects, he was not a man imbued with the greatness of the past before him. If anything, he was arisen from the depths of a dishonorable background. From there, however, he had elevated to quite a notable stature, respectable and renowned. Apart from those, he had taken part in deeds of great overturns and had in countless times proved his name deserving of regards pertaining to heroism. On that respect, he was a man of various notabilities; a good man indeed, not yet half great, but in his love he was more than that.
...
He was a man of many honors, of the finest breeding, of intellectual overreaching, and of unequaled physical prowess and beauty. In a word, he was a man made of all things great. It was said that his name bore the most part of his steadfast attachment to his duties. Hence whatever was there to taint this name he would eliminate. As it was, his way to greatness had been paved long before he was born. And so it was easy to conclude that he might have been associated with everything which bestowed good name. And yet behind these honest appraisals of his being was a shadow he so held with tenacity, and also with anguish and discontent. In the end, he might have lived a life free from disconcertion had she been alive. But she had departed to a place where no amount of his power could influence, and so the laughter she used to inspire had long since gone to decay. Passing through a grief which seemed to have frozen his very heart, he went on. Amazingly, his devotion to her remained unfailing. And so from these sorrow bred. Kuchiki Byakuya would perhaps never love again.
...
The black of this particular night was menacing him, only because he once again had the misfortune of partially glimpsing his captain wearing that familiar face, the kind which gave him a good reason to be worried, for in it was a defeat merciless and lingering. Renji had long ago put to light what was behind it; Byakuya was thinking of Hisana again. Having learned as much, the vice-captain had more than once sought to offer faint comforts to this man, who was badly in need of them. Unfortunately, an action such as that was likely to be a plain insult to the noble, the man of anonymity, impersonality, and impenetrable solace. Now as the lieutenant tried to reconcile the doubts in his mind on whether to approach his captain or leave him at peace, the man spoke to him, in a voice that shook him convulsively from his deep thought.
"Renji."
"Yes, captain?" And even as Renji was accustomed to hearing him pronounce his name, the manner by which it was uttered boded a sense of something unprecedented.
"Stay a little while."
"Y-yes, captain." The vice-captain obliged, though he knew not what further assistance he could offer his superior. Nevertheless, he sank to a seat across him, all the while weaving shadowy guesses of what his detained presence could conceivably serve.
He watched Byakuya ink the final touches of the filed reports until the inch-thick pad was slipped into the topmost drawer.
"Stay for tea, will you?" The captain's tone of voice was scantly entreating. He stood up without waiting for a reply and made his way to the garden, to which Renji followed suit. Once there, they sat side by side on the patio overlooking the vast garden of the Kuchiki Mansion. They didn't speak until their drinks were served.
"Humor me with your plight." Byakuya said, the mechanical flow of his voice emotionally distancing.
The lieutenant blinked twice before managing to collect his voice, "Humor you with what, captain?" He asked apologetically.
The captain gave his rare smile, which made Renji's embarrassment present itself in bold and candid colors. And then the captain elaborated, "There seems to be nothing in reach to relieve me of the joyless monotony of everyday shinigami duties. If you have any interesting and recent occupation that doesn't involve these duties, I entreat you to share this fancy with me by telling me your story." A faint grin was visible across his pristinely white face, and a very rare and precious spectacle it was.
"A recent occupation, sir?" Renji could not help presupposing that his plight was the last among every subject in the world that could possibly be of any interest to his no-nonsense captain.
"Yes, anything."
"Uhm, I haven't been busying myself with anything worthy of your time and lending ears—I mean, all I've been doing during my off is to have a few drinks and laughs with my buds, the other vice-captains, but besides that I…"
Byakuya was listening in a willing and intent silence. But Renji, on the other hand, felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair, if his strands could indeed get any redder. Despite the evening having plunged down to a deeper phase, their eyes were strangely visible by some forlorn light of their own. In time, the silence dissipated when the captain spoke in a rather weary and bleak manner,
"Do you think she really departed to a profounder sleep?"
And the heart he so seldom revealed to anyone was clearly in need of being acquainted with the outside. After a lengthy and covert inspection of his captain's face, which was unsurprisingly indicative of nothing, the lieutenant concluded that what he heard was all a trick of the imagination. Perhaps noticing it, Byakuya shifted his face and fixed his stare upon his companion in return for the latter's silence. Finally, before he could stop himself, Renji stammered,
"It's great-I mean- sir, death is the final remedy after all."
"Yes, of course it is."
The moon was hanging low and its surface shone, looking like a dead face among the stars. All it presented was a gloomy reminder to him who had learned how genuine a fact death was and to the other whose heart's contents were kept in an unsuspected confinement. In the stillness of everything, the vice-captain sighed and the captain might as good have done the same. There, close together in a night far advanced, they both sank into a wretched consciousness of being adrift. They did away with their deep individual musings with their faces submerging into so evident a solemnity that it seemed they were no more than the ashes of their former fires. Indeed, the lack of movements between them only heightened the theory that all could be expressed by silence.
"Captain," The vice-captain started at last. He lifted his head slightly while at the same time his throat tightened fast, and he continued, seeming as though he would not stop for anything less necessary than breathing, "Perhaps none has the power to peel this shadow that wraps your heart. Perhaps you are permanently shattered by this previous calamity. Perhaps happiness has gone out of your knowledge and practice. But, sir, be you hurting or suffering, I'll stay by you. I'll follow you down even if the limits of where you're falling stretch to the infinite and the unseen. I'll be with you no matter how vague and inestimable your routes are. I won't let you stray from my vision as our roads meander to purposeless curves; I'll be beside you through all these. And these self-appointed tasks I won't lay aside for the entire world, because you, to me, are everything."
He knew not exactly what propelled the engines of his mouth to burst forth with such a strong proclamation. To add on that, the final word in his short speech evinced more sincerity and weight than both of them had ever known or heard a word to possibly contain. When all had been said, they found themselves sitting in absolute silence and stillness, and it appeared the very rustle of the garments of the dead could be heard. Across the night, the irregular beatings of their hearts were scattering incoherent melodies abroad. They stayed like that for long, and it seemed not the strongest and coldest of winds could diversify the scene. Silence is always deceptive in its depth; it could bode something delightful or it might mean that the world is tumbling headlong to chaos. Renji thought. He stood up at long last, bowed courteously to his superior, and guttered out of his proximity. He retreated, as it was the only sane thing to do, and he felt like he was trapped in a state between sleeping and walking. And in hi mind there was no earthly doubt that he would never again be summoned. Or so the lieutenant thought.
"Renji."
It seemed that an unseen assailant had pulled Renji to a sudden halt. He assumed that nothing in him was reparable now, and he wondered what further injury could be thrust upon him by his captain's yet to be known appeal.
"If you meant all that," Sounding as though he had recently lapsed from listlessness, Byakuya continued, "you may dive after me to where this life is to lead me, only don't forsake me to rot and be damned like what she did."
END.