This is how they hide.
Byakuya pulls her closer, one hand against the small of her back, the other in her hair. Yoruichi kisses him with soft lips, his hands gentle, rough, things she can't name. They always meet like this; in the hours before sunrise she comes into his bedroom, unnoticed by the guards and servants. He always waits for her, hair loose, sometimes in uniform, sometimes not. They do not speak as he undresses her, lips on her throat, shoulders, breasts.
She moans, and he sighs against her lips.
Twenty years since the War have changed them.
She's no longer an annoying were-cat, nor he a foul-tempered teenager. They're adults now, in mind and body. They use one another to hide from their pasts; Yoruichi from her betrayal, and he from Hisana's death.
Yoruichi pushes the Captain's haori from his shoulders, and it falls to their feet. He pulls her to the bed, and now they can forget, for a moment.
This is how they hide.
Yoruichi stares at the ceiling.
Byakuya stands at the foot of her bed, dressing slowly, his back to her. She can hear each rustle of silk as he ties and folds the uniform into its proper place. With the dark robes and hair, he nearly blends into the shadows of her bedroom.
She sighs in frustration.
"I'm not asking you to forget about her."
She can feel his eyes on her, her own still on the ceiling, counting the cracks.
She can hear him tying the knot of his hakama too harshly. "I know that," he says, quietly.
Yoruichi sits up to glare, hair falling over her bare breasts. "Then why do you act like I am?"
They look at each other, moonlight in their eyes.
Then, Byakuya sighs.
"I'm not the one who needs to forget the past, Yoruichi."
He leaves, but his words stay with her all night.
Sometimes, Yoruichi wonders why she doesn't run away.
She wonders, but already knows the answer; she doesn't run, because it gets her nowhere. She may travel to another location, but in the end, her true self is always left behind. Her physical self is gone, but her emotional self stays.
Byakuya runs in his own way; he doesn't let himself feel. Yoruichi knows of his inner turmoil, about himself, his dead wife, the family name he's forced to uphold. In this way, those of Noble blood are cursed. Their lives are not easy.
Later that day, she finds Byakuya in the shrine room, back to her, Hisana's photograph visible from over his shoulder.
They stand apart, unmoving, the sunlight shining behind her.
Slowly, he shuts the doors to the shrine, the room otherwise silent. Byakuya remains where he is, his black robes stark against the sunlit walls. The haori and scarf are gone, only the keinseikan remaining. His voice is calm when he speaks to her.
"You usually don't visit at this time of day."
She makes a sound through her nose, flipping a lock of violet hair. She's dressed in her usual attire, hair done up in a high ponytail. Yoruichi places her hands low on her hips.
"I didn't know I had a schedule for visiting you." Her voice is haughty.
His fingers linger on the shrine doors, the room smelling of fine incense and wildflowers.
"Did you know her favorite flower were white camellias?"
Yoruichi is unprepared for this confession, blinking with confusion. She raises an eyebrow and grins.
"No, I didn't," her voice is unusually gentle.
He speaks to her from over one shoulder, gray-violet eyes fixed on her. He has the longest eyelashes she's ever seen. Yoruichi turns her head to look at the wall beside her.
"I think you would have liked her, Yoruichi. She was a kind woman."
Yoruichi bites her lip, an ache beginning in her chest, one she hasn't felt in a long while.
"But I didn't know her."
When she looks up, his eyes are hard, and that familiar mask is back in place.
"You didn't, because you left."
Although she tries, she can't run away from her own past, not even here.
When she returns to the Living World in the evenings, Kisuke is always waiting for her.
He sits in the guest room beyond the store front, a single lamp illuminating the room. His hat is gone and the trademark white fan is tucked into his clothing. He sits in a casual way, ankles crossed, wrists dangling from his bent knees. By the darkness beneath his eyes, Yoruichi can tell he's been waiting for some time.
He's smiling, but Yoruichi knows this face; he's concerned.
"You'll both have to face it someday," he says. Above him, the lamp flickers, momentarily immersing them in shadows.
When it flicks on again, Kisuke's smile is gone.
Yoruichi huffs at him, flicking her tail back and forth. It's easier to leave the Seireitei as a cat, with no one to recognize her. She leaps on the table he sits at, lowering her head to stare at him with unblinking, feline eyes. Her whiskers droop when she speaks, voice lower now as a cat.
"What I do with my time is hardly your business, Kisuke. I thought we made an agreement when I came with you; I don't ask questions, and neither do you."
Kisuke shrugs and pets her head, scratching behind her pointed ears. Despite her irritation, Yoruichi purrs and butts her head against his hand. Kisuke smiles knowingly.
"Sorry, I can't help it. You're my most valued friend, Yoru. I can't stand by and watch you hurt yourself."
"You can't run forever," he says.
She turns to him, arms at her sides, orange jacket thrown open. Her eyes are small sunsets in the dark. A pot of oil burns in the corner of his bedroom, the shadows thick and heavy around them. Byakuya stands before her, yukata loose, long hair over one shoulder. She can already see marks forming on his neck, from her teeth and hands. She can feel bruises forming on her hips and thighs, where his hands had been moments before.
Yoruichi looks to his bed, blankets in a heap, the expensive silk stained with sweat and sex.
Outside, the summer moon illuminates the flowers and foliage of the Kuchiki gardens. Her full mouth parts slightly, the air humid against her lips.
"No," she whispers, "but I can hide."