"Sousuke Aizen, Gin Ichimaru, Kaname Tousen have betrayed the Soul Society"
"Would you kill your own taicho?"
Eyelids hide the tortured gray irises beneath. The rising sun permeates through the seemingly vacant room, bringing soft muted light to a standstill against a sleeping form. The air around is damp as a light summer rain falls and brushes against the outer confines of the building. For a moment the rain, appears like tears falling down from the sky. The sigh of a deep breath breaks that morning's silence. A groan escapes from parched lips, and the once hidden eyes are exposed. They search questionably for the source of light, as an arm is brought up to block the sun's radiance away.
The muscular form of a man lies still, his back flat against the stiffness of a tatami mat positioned over a hard concrete floor. A thin white blanket covers his body, draping his long limbs in warmth. The cloth is pulled back to reveal the pale flesh of his abdomen. Several bandages are wrapped over wounds. Another groan and he attempts to sit forward only to lie prone once more. Limbs retaliate in a painful reckoning, and a sharp ache settles within his stomach. Where am I? Such a strange environment... The bleak gray walls of the large room bring no easiness to his conflicted mind. He considers that maybe he has contracted some form of amnesia. I need to think. Who am I? Hisagi Shuuhei, the fukutaicho of the ninth division. Right...The small relief of knowing his own identity brought a degree of comfort to ease into his mind; however, it was still unlike him to have no awareness of where he was. He had to have been in Karakura, where his last mission had been.
Rough, calloused hands press against his eyes and rub exhaustion from the stoic visage. His fingers idly trace the numbers of the tattoo etched onto his left cheekbone— the remnants of a past life. The emblem of the "69" no longer provided the familiar warmth as it once did. As each year passed so did the preciseness of the memory of that certain man. Now, he was a figure without a face, revered for actions so many years ago, and still was a permanent scar of the happiness that had been present. He had disappeared. Was he dead? Shuuhei had refused to believe that the man he had idolized could be wiped out so easily, and, thus, he held himself up by the façade that one day he would find that man alive. But that too had passed. No more. No more! I can't think of him anymore! And he was crying, just like a child.
"Stop crying, kid."
...those deep soul-searing words. He couldn't forget that voice or the body it accompanied. It was enough to subside his tears. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply. So many emotions surging through that he just had to escape. Anger, loneliness, heartache, but most of all desperation... Why did he have to think about that man at this moment? An image. Silver tainted hair emboldened by golden flecks of sun. A husky overzealous laugh. Lips part to show straight teeth. Brown, almost amber eyes stare back. Expansive tanned flesh spread over broad toned muscle. Forever haunting.
A/N: Thank you all for reading. This is just a small glimpse into the story. There is plenty more to come just wait :) I hope it was at least tolerable.
-x-