Characters: Rukia, Kaien, Miyako
Summary: A storybook marriage, and the one who inks the illustrations.
Pairings: Kaien x Miyako, onesided KaienRuki
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for Soul Society arc
Timeline: pre-manga
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Storybook marriage to all those who watch and all those who know, perfectly suited to each other. Never has there been a more loving and functional marriage, to the eyes of the world at large, than that of Shiba Kaien and Shiba Miyako.
And Rukia is just another of those watches. Nothing more than a watcher.
She paints the illustrations dutifully, with a steady hand on the brush and a gentle touch on the paint. A kiss here, hug there, warm glances had by all. And all the while her own insides burn and shrivel and undoubtedly begin to die.
How can you paint a giggle? A laugh? An exchange of words? They flow as music, not as colors on a worn, yellowed page, and even if music could be captured, Rukia still wouldn't paint it for posterity, still wouldn't want everyone to know. Her own secrets she must maintain, even if she allows them to bleed over into life like this.
She's just the artist. She can never be a participant. Rukia knows that but still wishes she could get inside, any way she could.
If she respected Miyako-dono perhaps a little less, than maybe she could try.
But as it stands, she can't, and won't.
Rukia still stands in dim churches, painting stained glass windows and pages on a book, blowing on the paint for it to dry, seeing frozen, happy faces before her while something dies inside of her.
She's just the painter. Just the one who gets paint and ink on her hands, day in and day out. Make sure their faces have contour, detail, life. It all depends on the perspective—happy faces for a storybook marriage, one Rukia never thought anyone could have.
In her own way with little confidence and great pessimism, Rukia knows in places no one can ever see that she will never be loved like that, never be loved like that by him.
So all she can do is paint and stain her fingers with watercolor, wishing it was her in the wife's place.