Every hand wave, every hidden smile.
Every bat of an eyelash, every connotation.
Every surpressed giggle, every inappropriate touch.
It was quite hard to explain, but each time he saw any one of these things it was easier for him to look away than keep watching.
Not that he was such a prude as to be unaccustomed or uncomfortable with any of these actions- no, he was far too weathered for that- but when they were directed to a person in particular, it was just so hard for him to look and accept like it was so easy for everyone else to.
It didn't help that these were fairly common occurrences either. With an object of affection that was as (rumoredly) promiscuous as Shunsui was, it was inevitable that these things would happen- and happen, they did.
Jyuushirou'd never forget that one time he had made the mistake of sliding open the paper door to Shunsui's quarters to ask him something inane about a meeting the next day. Why he had come, he didn't really recall, but he clearly remembered the scantily clad (if clad at all) woman that had been draped around his friend's body engaged in an act that could be considered anything but decent. Needless to say, he had hastily excused himself with a red face and a mumbled word of apology, hiding himself away in his quarters for the remainder of the day to recover from the encounter. He had refused visitors, food, hot drinks, under the pretense of having a bad turn; but since when did Shunsui actually listen to the rules he laid down?
Kyoraku came to apologise shortly afterward, but the white-haired captain insisted he'd hear none of it- after all, it had been his fault that he had intruded, and what Shunsui did in his free time was his own business, wasn't it?
The bearded man had considered his friend with a look of defeat, because he knew that it was pointless to argue with Jyuushirou- partly because he always made such good points, and partly because he never backed down once he was decided on something. So, instead, they had left it that it had been an unfortuate event and that perhaps it was better that it was forgotten, pushed back in the dark where they could pretend it never happened.
Shunsui left him to his own devices, leaving with no further words of apology or explanation, but a brief and gentle touch on Jyuushirou's shoulder.
The spot just beside his collarbone where his fingers had brushed him tingled until long after he had left, and Ukitake almost hated himself for it.
It was easy to see, as he had seen for what was it- centuries, now?- that a relationship between them would be pointless, despite how much he romantisized to himself about a picture-perfect world where perhaps his affection would be requited.
Simply put, Shunsui would always be Shunsui. A womanizer, an alcoholic, and a very, very good friend.
And it was just that- a friend he would be, and forever be, that made it so hard for Jyuushirou not to look away when he saw one of those dalliances shoot a glance at Kyoraku as they skulked past.
A smile, a laugh.
An inquiry into one's health and a shoulder to lean on.
That's what he'd give to make up the difference and shadow over the truth of what could never be.