Characters: Uryuu, Ryuuken, Soken
Summary: Children can sense these things.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: no spoilers
Timeline: pre-manga
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
The child constantly winces at the cold words and the pain in the voice of the one whom those cold words are being directed at. The tension in the air is so thick that he thinks if he tried to cut it with a pair of scissors out of his bedroom, he'd have scraps of the air in his hands and on the carpet, shriveling into nothing.
Uryuu wonders how much tense air he'd have to cut away before he could ignore the tension entirely.
And soon, he comes to the conclusion that there aren't enough scissors in the world to do that.
Maybe it's better to just keep quiet. To feign ignorance and behave as though he can't see what goes on in front of him. Maybe, Uryuu thinks, with the hopefulness of a small child and the pessimism of an old man, if he feigns ignorance for long enough than the ignorance might become real. He might go blind and forget what he's seen, and be somewhat happy again.
But ignorance will never come, and as much as he tries, Uryuu can't block out his father's and his grandfather's voices when he puts his hands over his ears, whether it be in the next room or waiting outside near the tree or anywhere else at all.
Why do they always have to be like this?
Soken does his best not to arouse Ryuuken's resentment, his anger, but it's almost impossible to manage. Animosity on the part of Uryuu's father is mostly silent, reproach from his grandfather's end of the arena going the same way.
Has it always been like this?
Uryuu can't remember when he first noticed how difficult things are between them. It might have been the day Ryuuken first slipped and addressed his father coldly in front of his son. It might have been the day Soken slipped and showed pain in the veiled comments Ryuuken made, or (albeit gently) rebuked him for making such a remark and Uryuu was there to witness it.
Whenever it started, Uryuu always feels the same way when the air starts to grow thick.
He just wishes he could be anywhere else.
But there's nowhere he can go where the reality doesn't loom over him.
Uryuu feels like he's going to have to make a choice, of who he ends up siding with. The thought disturbs him immensely.
And out come the scissors again, but in vain.