AN – This just a silly fic I wrote in honor of one of my OTPs for Bleach. A shame there are so little fics with both Byakuya and Rukia together. Sadly, I don't own Bleach.
Anyway, review please!
…
The room was dark and the captain was quite sure it was rather late. No light could pass through the partially closed windows and, for some reason he couldn't possibly phantom, any artificial lighting had been discarded in favour of the small black box.
The couch was hurting his back, a particularly hard edge digging into his ribs, kenseikan sliding slightly from his black hair, allowing several tresses to fall over his eyes. As if that wasn't bad enough, he couldn't move. Trapped between an object he could destroy with a hand - pushed against something he could swear to be marble – and a young girl half his size. The irony was killing him.
He almost sighed. Almost. A noble doesn't sigh. He never had – not even when laying still for hours in the reunions he was bound to attend – and he wouldn't start now. Not with audience. And not for such an idiotic reason.
"What is this?" His voice didn't rise above his normal tone, the grave voice everyone would expect from the leader of the Kuchiki family.
"Shhh…" Except when the television was on and the several individuals filling the room didn't wish to be interrupted.
He was not pouting. He was not seething. But he was definitively annoyed as his words were ignored in favour of the strange images. What in the world was that for? How had he been caught in such a situation? Yamamoto had sent them to investigate the Arrancar, not to be immersed in the wonders of technology and culture of the living world.
"Does this even have a purpose?"
"Shhh!"
Now, they were pushing the situation. From his lieutenant – someone who would spend his entire existence drowning in paperwork if he had anything to do with it – to Ukitake, everyone seemed too focused in the glass panel. How in the world could that "thing" be so absorbing to the ones that were supposed to be sane? Even his sis…the girl, currently touching his arm. The only one giving him some degree of attention. He didn't speak and he couldn't see her face in the dim atmosphere, but it wasn't hard to imagine what his eyes would find.
Her own would be wide open, staring at some place that was not his face. No smile, no expression but respect. Maybe fear. For the first time since he had found himself in that room, he thanked the lack of light.
Byakuya didn't repeat himself either, hoping she knew exactly what he wished to know without words. Or the fact that he wanted to leave that place, the mind-sucking device, his lieutenant, the humans and, especially, the forsaken couch currently torturing everything from his femur to his neck
Rukia moved faintly by his side, barely enough to disturb Kurasagi's sister, even though nothing short of his Senbonzakura would draw her attention away from the screen.
"It's a pastime nii-sama," she said hesitantly, keeping her voice to a whisper as she tried to bring some sense into what, for him, held none. "It doesn't need to have a purpose, a meaning. It just..."
He felt her shrug before settling into her previous position, effectively stopping his escape. He could push her away, that would be easy enough. How many times had the captain done so in the past?
"Not all moments have to be spent doing something that makes sense, nii-sama. We can just...cherish them."
Maybe one day she would be able to tell him how he could cherish the broken ribs his gigai seemed to sport at the moment. Saying so, however, would be everything but dignified. Not to mention useless, as the television won her attention over his attempt of conversation.
What was the purpose of all this? The way they smiled and laughed, even cried with the fake actions displayed on a glass window. How could that matter next to what happened to them daily? Especially, how could they lose time with such a useless thing when so many things were expecting them to be done? They were captains, shinigami, responsible for too much...
A soft weight on his arm pushed him away from his thoughts. There was a gentle breath, barely perceptible against his clothing and a head using him as a pillow.
"Rukia?" She didn't budge. He was told to be silent once again.
"Rukia..." The younger shinigami had fallen asleep, the soft snoring reaching his ears when he struggled to listen to something other than the commercials invading the air.
Byakuya found himself dumbfounded, the only difference in his appearance being the slightly raised eyebrow. How could she be sleeping? Especially after subjecting him to such torture – because he hadn't sat down on his own free will, that was a fact – and corrupting her companions to the television's subversive ways. How could she leave him alone?
Her snoring was his answer, almost silent, akin to a cat purring.
How could she be sleeping so soundly next to him? How could she trust him?
Rukia moved silently, burrowing her face deeper into his scarf, before stilling once again. Giving him no response to this riddle, either conscious or unconscious. It made no sense to him, not after everything that had happened between the two.
"Not all moments have to be spent doing something that makes sense, nii-sama. We can just...cherish them."
"Cherish…"
Maybe the black box wasn't so bad, he thought as he allowed his complaints to fade in his mind. By his side, Rukia remained asleep, lost in her own world while her reiatsu seemed oddly at peace.
The captain spent the rest of the night staring down at those looking at the pair, founding an almost sadistic pleasure in the way his companions could barely hold his gaze.
Yes, maybe she was right – not that he would tell her that. Maybe this television actually had a purpose, after all.