Well, this started out as something for a valentines fanworks exchange on LJ, but meh... I have something different for that now. I know I need to update my other fics, and I'm sorry I've not done so. I'm STILL waiting on the replacement cable for my laptop to be delivered. I only get a few hours here and there on my flatmate's college laptop, so I decided to focus on the valentines thing...

The title is taken from the haiku by Basho...

Yase nagara / From the edge of death
wari naki kiku no / these chrysanthemums somehow
tsubomi kana / begin to blossom

Yase nagara - Part I

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"Oi, Kira!"

Shūhei fisted his hand and battered on the door before him again, hoping that Izuru would finally let him in. He'd been standing there on Izuru's doorstep for about six minutes now (not that he was counting), and was definitely feeling the disadvantage of a sleeveless kosode in the bitter winter air. Flurries of snow were beginning to fall, a reminder that the long, biting cold had yet to relinquish its grip on Seireitei. He supposed it was just a short time until the snow settled, and wasn't quite sure if he welcomed that fact, as he'd have to trudge home in it. Shūhei watched a few delicate flakes touch the ground, disappearing after a fleeting moment of contact.

The sound of the door finally being opened caught his attention, and Shūhei looked back up. He sighed and pushed at the partly open door. Izuru had already retreated back into the house, leaving his dark-haired guest to slip off his shoes and welcome himself into the slightly-too-dark home. Shūhei knew the way, but that wasn't the point. Izuru wasn't intending to be rude, he knew, but he would have liked to actually see the man and exchange greetings before walking into his home. It was just a peculiarity of Izuru's that Shūhei guessed he just had to deal with. He himself had a tendency to immerse himself in work, put in long hours and go out of the way to attend to the tiniest detail within his grasp. Momo had… well, she'd just completely fallen to pieces – as any sane person probably would have done when all they had ever know, trusted and held dear to them ripped away, and they were betrayed. Izuru, on the other hand, bore the weight. He smiled as was required of him he could, went about his duties, attended to pressing issues calmly. Yet inside, Shūhei knew the man was slowly choking with shame and regret – which they all felt, but which Izuru openly sought and dwelt upon. Shūhei could almost read the mantra in Izuru's eyes as the blonde thought it; "I am worthless, I am shameful, I am disgusting, I am useless, I am pitiful, I am worthless…" And it broke his heart.

It was a revelation that came shortly after the betrayal, on a sake-filled night painted the deepest bruise-black in respect of the fresh heartache inflicted on the sombre group that had gathered to drink away the pain. And it had worked, for the most part. The alcohol had offered something almost abusively-intensive training and monotonous paperwork could not – a chance for the still-tender wound to find voice, and for those broken words to finally see the light of day. It had been an important start to Shūhei in organising his inner turmoil, and while he could feel some relief at finally being able to vocalise his ordeal to those who understood, he had been painfully aware that Izuru wasn't finding the same thing. He wondered if Izuru had taken his own suffering and added it to his own, for the utter desolation and defeat on his face seemed to indicate so. If Shūhei hadn't known any better, he would have thought then that Izuru was on the verge of tears. He had been moved, and had wanted to reach out and touch the withering blonde in his constricting turmoil of loneliness and self-loathing. But something held him back. He wasn't sure how exactly to reach him. The touches, soothing caresses and close embraces he longed to show the other man would, he decided, not be welcome. So instead he had settled for silence, and unspoken companionship. And here it led…

Shūhei couldn't help but instinctively reach for the light. Izuru's voice cut his action short. Leave it. Shūhei obliged, running his hands over the front of his hakama to smooth out the pleats instead, and stepped into the dimly lit room. Izuru was huddled on the sofa, firmly tucked under a duvet from the real world. Shūhei had one too, and thought longingly of its comforting warmth and soft volume awaiting him when he finally returned home. Maybe walking in the snow wouldn't be too bad. It would be even better if he had company, but he quickly dismissed that thought, selecting his usual seat in the room and walk to it. Although before he could sit himself down on the unoccupied seat, Izuru began to unfold himself from the warm cover and slowly stood up. Shūhei watched his lithe form unfold, both cursing and thanking the lack of lighting, as his eyes ran appreciatively over the almost naked man stretching not two feet away. Izuru had his eyes closed, reaching skywards, and Shūhei blushed deeply at the fact he was unashamedly appraising his unassuming friend. But he didn't look away. Instead, he made use of the brief opportunity to run his eyes from the almost blissful expression Izuru had while stretching his muscles, down the curve of his neck, along the delicate pale skin of his torso, the soft definition of muscles, and down the inviting line of light blonde hair trailing from his navel to underneath the waistband of the close-fitting boxers. Well, Shūhei assumed they were boxers. He knew next to nothing about underwear from the real world, only that what Izuru was wearing just now was perfect. The soft bulge of his manhood was visible in the dim light, holding Shūhei's gaze. Damn, he knew that Izuru would probably notice, but he couldn't help it.

Izuru finally turned, heading for the kitchen door, giving Shūhei a perfect view of his ass in the process. Shūhei slowly seated himself, rearranging the fabric around his hardening member. He wasn't quite sure when Izuru had become such a sexually attractive figure to him, nor what to do with the feelings, so – just like his yearning to hold Izuru close, to ease his pain and tell him how much he was truly worth – Shūhei just let them be and tried not to dwell on them. The blonde was raking about in the kitchen for something, giving Shūhei the chance to close his eyes and still his racing heart. He opened them in time to catch an eyeful of Izuru walk back into the living room.

Shūhei had seen those fishing hooks before – the ones with the carefully-placed little barb at the end to prevent the catch from escaping. And right now he could swear there was one piercing his heart. The ache, the tug he felt at the sight of Izuru standing near him. Not even that – just the thought of Izuru, the idea of Izuru. He was caught between the stunning composure of Izuru's body and his desire to demonstrate his appreciation of it in a physical way, and the knowledge that such actions would definitely ruin what was between them. It ached. The friendship was precious to Shūhei, and the loneliness and pain he would feel at losing what he had didn't justify throwing it all away just to show Izuru how he felt for one brief moment. So he sat, heart aching anyway, took the proffered spoon, helped himself to a slice of the cake, and kept quiet. Given the stunning view Shūhei had of the slim blonde, it was no surprise his erection refused to go down. But that was something he'd just have to get used to, for as much as he wanted to give in and worship, sooth and heal Izuru, Shūhei let it be. After all, Izuru wasn't the kind of soul who probably didn't want to be saved. And certainly not by a man.