This is the last of Fuzzi's birthday gifts
I'm sorry hunni, I've really burned myself out, do you only get seven gifts- But I did stretch it out over eight days like I promised.
This is a little something I've been working on for a while... Actually, when I first saw that her birthday was coming up
I dun own Bleach, but I do know Aunt Kumiko and Mitsuko.
I was born many, many, years ago, and though I cannot clearly think of a reason why, I still count years.
My world has always been that of an island, the only son to an only son, a single prince among cousins, and when my mother passed away, I was given the proper upbringing.
I did not play with younger cousins, the few I had, instead, I was left in the hands of passing tutors and to the master quarters after the passing of my father.
I taught myself classical koto and shamisen [two traditional Japanese instruments], my pale fingers lightly thickened by equally pale calluses.
After a period, it was expected I would cast them off; instead they were placed away in my rooms, high and hidden in cupboards, for me to think of them, if not with a small smile, then fondly.
At fifteen, the entirety of my father's holdings were my own, something I did not desperately crave.
While my cousins learned outside, I calculated production of my rice fields, I managed my holdings, I trained my sword with my elder uncles, whom only raised an eyebrow to my exceptionally precocious skill.
I had been the Kuchiki heir, and then I was the Kuchiki leader at seventeen, and runners were sent between my academy quarters and my manor.
And then, I met Hisana.
She had been, at that time, an oiran [prostitute] in training.
She was pretty, with smooth eyes, painted lips, and a sighing voice.
I met her when she was caught in the rain, I politely offered to escort her with my parasol and was greeted with plum lips.
Her front tied sash, her secret smile, she was innocent despite her profession.
That night, I traded her for a small bundle of fine silks, the okaasan of the house happy to see the whelp fetch such a high price, and from a noble no less. That night, she packed away the few possessions she had in a furoshiki [square cloth], the light fabric easily hidden in the folds of my uniform.
In the dark of night, she was taken into my quarters, papers were drawn up, and she was a resident of the household.
The next morning, she was served by servants who raised no eyebrows.
I love her, very dearly, in time, and I think she was happy.
She loved the pretty silks, the fine china, the well-kept grounds.
She wasn't greedy; she enjoyed the simple pleasures of this life.
As a lover, she was acceptable to my family, so long as any child she bore was mine, and she kept scandal from our name.
But I would not taint her without wedding her, and she had her own quarters.
But, perhaps eight months later, I announced my intentions to marry her.
By the, her health was already failing, apparently it was fed by her self-loathing for leaving Rukia.
The rest of my family fought me bitterly, but threats of expulsions and the quiet whispers of her failing health made them eventually concede to my wayward wishes.
I think she loved bearing my name, even if she didn't love me, her soft voice curling around the family name when she introduced herself.
A few of her Rukongai mannerisms still stood, but they showed far and few between.
I loved her, very much so, but her depression disturbed me.
While we still searched for my wedded sister, she wasted away even more, her green silks exchanged for black wear, despite my quiet urgings for her to eat and sleep.
When we slept beside each other, I could not help but hold her tight, but her mumbled protests caused me to loosen my arms.
I cannot help but think if I had held on, she would not have died.
I found Rukia perhaps a year later, quite by accident.
Her and Abarai were rather amorously embraced, thinking back, they were like siblings them.
A rather frosty expression told them who I was, and within the month, she had her quarters with the nobility.
I took my shamisen and koto to my office again, hidden in their cupboards, and after that I was the perfect family head.
As time passed, my cousins and their lines drifted into their own estates, but all officially had chambers here.
My halls were quiet and lonely, and I was, in my own way comforted by the familiar presence of Rukia.
But still, life was not content nor particularly pleasant, nor was it unpleasant.
I existed.
Time passed, and I still counted the years.
Then, the ryoka came, and like the sunrise, the boy began to flourish.
Just as he was the sun, he was untouchable.
I was the lonely moon, proud in bearing, and undeniably lonely.
.o.O.o.
His victorious stance faded as he looked at his blade.
Zangetsu, the elegant cleaver it was, began to disintegrate at the tip, slowly, then with frightening speed.
He had used it to twist the Hogyuko out of Aizen's chest, and the bound traitor gave a knowing grin.
The world froze.
His sun kissed skin pale, gold flickering in his eyes, before falling to his knees, the arm that held the still disappearing hilt twitching, a groan on his lips.
Unohana-taichou gently pressed through the people, quickly kneeling at his side, while the other captains issued orders for their squads to begin returning home.
Dimly, I was frightened as I saw her smoothly lift the boy up, but I set about finding my lieutenant and gathering my men.
Perhaps an hour and a half later found my in my office.
Rukia was beside the boy in the hospital room, I knew she would be there.
Beside her sat Renji, fumbling his way through her sadness.
Then, sources tell me, outside the hospital, beneath his window, sat a drinking party; cheering for the boy and to the betterment of his health, lead by Rangiku Matsumoto, Ikkaku Madrame and Yumichika Aweswaga, and Koryaku-Taichou surprisingly accompanied by Ukitake-taichou. Around them sat the numerous friends Ichigo had accumulated in his time here, sake flowing freely for the victory and the boy.
The food in front of me was untouched.
I sighed.
For a moment, the breeze fluttered, and I looked to my hands.
Dutifully, I lifted a piece of takuan [pickled radish] to my mouth, chewing the sweet and tangy root. I silently mused over what type of tskimono [Japanese Pickles] he preferred, or if he instead liked warm broth over cold things.
Soon, the plate of bright vegetables was consumed; and I finished the last of my tea.
I thanked the stillroom, knowing a servant hid behind closed doors.
I rose, gently piling the lacquered dishes, and left for my own quarters, where none would disturb me.
The next morning found me sighing as I sat at the point of a table, furthest from the door, a head of one of the family branches quietly talking about the marriage negotiations of his youngest daughter to a member of the Hidaka family.
"Two water buffalos?" I intoned tranquilly, "Isn't that a little much for a Murida son?"
"They offered me three ri of already planted rice fields, and servants to match."
There was a sigh, "Very well," I signed the scroll placed before me, and handed it to my cousin, "Have this run over to the Murida family," we both gave our regards, and he left, to be replaced by another relative.
It was my sole surviving aunt, of my father's three sisters.
"Aunt Kumiko," I said softly, she gave a fond smile as she sat beside me, her silk layers huffing slightly as she lowered herself to the floor.
"Bara-kun," she said, and we gave small bows to each other.
Her lips were a light brown, still pretty and welcoming, her face etched with few smiles lines, she was still pretty.
She was of a great age by now, with very little reiatsu of her own, more than two hundred now, the youngest of my brother's siblings, and proof that kindness can be found here. She was never pushed into marriage, due to her station as the youngest and her scholarly mind, and she lived in a smaller estate of her own, having adopted several children from Rukongai.
Her children were all well into their lives now, and took care of her aging body, but they were not permitted to attend family meetings, nor to inherit our holdings, and in the family estate had to share a single room.
"My Hinata would like approval over a name for his fourth son," she said tranquilly. She had painted a petit kerchief with finches, and I gave a nod to the small characters painted.
"You realize all of my cousins are envious of Hinata's brood?" I muttered, eyes distractedly surveying the remaining relatives that dined before us, "That makes nine children now."
She gave a small, delicate, laugh.
She leaned closer, gently sipping the teacup balanced between her hands, "You are distracted," she murmured quietly, and I stiffened, though we were not confidents she was close to me, "Is it that ryoka boy?" My lips tightened the smallest bit, and I could see her own faintly quirk into a smile, "All these years, and you find another?"
My eyes slid over to meet her, her black eyes slightly worried, "Will you ever pursue him?"
I licked my lips, slightly, and paused, "It is not my intent."
There was a silent but that hung in the air, and she gave me a troubled glance, before she gestured to a young girl in the doorway.
"Good day," I said, and she replied likewise.
The girl walked up, and I recalled being like her as a child, standing tall, face impassive. This was Kumiko's middle grandchild, Mitsuko, with a short bob of black hair, scarcely taller than her esteemed grandmother, and supple arms that helped her hold her grandmother up.
"Kuchiki-sama," she bowed swiftly, and deeply, I nodded to her, "Thank you for entertaining my Obaasama."
I gave another nod, and the two left, their backs subtly followed by the rest of the family.
The day passed slowly, save for a small invitation from Ukitake-sense bidding me to meet him for tea.
Three hours after midday, I walked over to his office, where I knew he would have a warm pot of tea waiting.
When I sat down in front of my former taichou, I heard a faint snoring, and knew it was his koibito curled up on a hidden futon.
"Juushiro-sense," I said, my voice sure and even, there was no reason to fear my teacher.
His kind eyes met mine, "Bya-kun," he began, a teacup set in front of me, and I took a small sip-
It was white tea.
Sitting, cooling, on my tongue, I tasted its age, and it's quality.
It trickled down my throat, unbidden, and I choked for a moment, the coughs awakening the slumbering Captain.
For a moment, my teacher's eyes flashed with worry, and my hand set the cup down.
I licked my lips, tasting the remaining tea.
She smelled like the tea she drank.
I felt as though I were watching, and not actually sitting there, as if I were perched on my own shoulder.
We both leaned in closer, my back stiff, my brow slightly angered.
"Byakuya," his voice was serious, "Ichigo woke up, in his fever-"
The last crate, still sat in a corner of the kitchen, a few withered tea leaves still poking their way out, until eventually it was sealed and closed away.
"- he called out for you."
Still, I sat in this daze, my face unchanged, while I wallowed, his eyes, so deceptively probing, tried to scrutinize my reaction.
The cold stare revealed nothing, the pursed lip, and I smoothly rose.
"I see, you too," my voice deep, and overly formal, I think hurt flashed in his eyes, "Are drawn into idle gossip."
I turned by back, and left for my own quarters.
That night, Rukia took the boy to the Kuchiki estate, and I could not help but feel disgust with myself, for thinking lecherous thoughts of the weak boy, for betraying Hisana.
But I kept to myself, I did not look at him was we dined, I did not invite him to my rooms, and he stayed in a room further away, close to Rukia.
Perhaps a month later, the foolish boy kissed me.
.o.O.o.
Kept out of sight, usually out of mind.
He was kept in a small room, still close in proximity to my adopted sister's, rather than to me.
Silently, I stalked closer, having already known I was coming he would have waxed the doorframe.
It would slide open without a hiss, and I would turn my steel gray eyes to the boy.
His body would already be flushed, his skin hot to the touch, and his clothes unsashed and hanging slightly open.
He would whimper at the slightest touches, muffled by the fabric in his mouth, and my lips would smirk.
.o.O.o.
He was mine alone.
The fiery eyes, the sun kissed skin, the orange locks, the shocking grace.
It was mine.
But I was not chained by the boy, he had no claim in return, if I disappeared, the boy would have no right, no means, to pull me back.
This power, the sheer power, shocked me a bit, to think one so young would put their faith in one so much older.
I would not say I was happy to hold the boy, no, more that the boy was there to amuse me.
He was mine alone.
I was alone.
.o.O.o.
How... undignified.
I would never say I loved him, nor would he say that I had intentions to ever to.
Perhaps in the beginning.
The boy was to be kept secret, a partner whom would hide behind sliding doors and would stifle his cries.
He was not to be brought to the master bedroom.
But he began to invert himself, subtly, and I began to worry.
Still, I did not pull him closer, as I had tried to Hisana.
Then, one afternoon I returned home to find that he now stayed at my sense's estate.
He fell ill, dreadfully so, from such close approximations to the ailing Captain.
I wasn't sure if it was, not, betrayal, but he sat upon the boy's bedside, watching him weaken.
I still did not visit while he stayed at the estate, not until he was sent to the Fourth Division permanently.
And he began to fade.
I never appeared during daylight, I was a cowed by the idea of him holding a sway over me, appearing when my duties for the day were complete and I would sit and perhaps silently read.
My Ichigo was always resting then, his hair glowing in the dying sun.
His skin at first reflected the failing rays of the sun, but it leeched away to an alabaster, dry, white.
How absurdly aristocratic, that his skin should achieve the desired white.
Perhaps he should have gone out in a blaze, rather than fading away like this, I mused.
But then again, I knew much about unfitting deaths.
.o.O.o.
He was sleeping.
'My koibito...' a sadly happy mumble, the elder turned away, biting his lips, and praying the next words were that of the absent lover.
Choking blood, solitude overwhelmed him, it was not my arms that held his shoulders, but those of my sense, and his two eldest friends.
The eyes, which had shifted occasionally between golden and whisky, were weary.
His hands weakly twitched as they laid him gently back down on the bed.
'I am so sorry, Ichi-kun.'
'No, don't beat yourself over this.'
'But, who was he-'
'He knows where I am.'
.o.O.o.
The third eldest captain of the thirteen divisions was despairing over a small bottle of sake in the comfort of his dark blankets.
'You- you do not hate me for allowing him in, Shun?' the voice was forlorn.
'No, my Juu-kun, he needed to be away from Byakuya. You both knew it would only hurt him more.'
'But now, why is it that I am well, while he-'
'He is despairing, he does not have the wont to live.'
There was a long silence.
'What shall we do?'
'What it takes.'
There was a long silence.
'Thank you, Shun.'
With that, the two lovers tried to sleep.
.o.O.o.
He rested late into the day, finally woken when a nervous, but familiarly comforting, Hanatarou tripped outside his room, before continuing on his business.
It was to Shunsui's smile that his gaze finally cleared of fog.
He blinked several times, before turning his head to the window.
'Ichigo-kun, where is he?'
'My-' a pause, where he coughed, his reiatsu was low for having slumbered so long, 'My koibito has chosen to ignore me.'
'But, is he really worth this when-'
'I fell too hard for him, it is my fault.'
Outside, my foot faltered, before I turned on my heel.
The boy coughed, the pain subdued in a wet gurgle, and he fell back unto the white sheets.
'Ichi-'
'I have no claim on him. I never have.'
'Then you will die, foolish boy. Alone.' The normally soft-spoken captain's voice was hard.
Something within me broke to hear that, to hear my Ichigo, to hear my sense so.
'How long?' there was the unspoken, before he noticed, that you would die without him.
'Shun took forty hours,' He's never looked back.
'He has left me for forty days.'
'Then I am the fool.'
'All is forgiven-'
Another choking cough.
'Then I will be alone.'
'He cannot be persuaded?'
'I wouldn't make him watch another die.'
When the two captains left their friend, their hard eyes met mine, eyes narrowed and filled with ire.
'Kuchiki-san.'
'Ukitake-sense, Koryaku-san, how is he?'
'Wilting.'
No more words were exchanged.
'And, is there hope?'
'There are means to save him,' the eldest said.
'But no want,' the younger finished.
Bowing low, the Kuchiki head's voice was low, 'Then I must go to him.'
The black eyebrow rose, 'Apologize,' his voice was sharp and hard as I had heard it few times, 'He will need the assurance.' There was a pause, my head still bowed low, subservient, 'Now leave, until you are fit to be seen.'
My guilt eclipsed, I felt shame.
I walked away; head slightly inclined, and faintly heard their voices behind me.
'I was not harsh.'
'No, Juu, he needed it. His pride will keep him, but he cannot defy his teacher.'
'Do you think he will allow him back in?'
The brown-haired captain looked to his lover, shrewd despite the bottle of sake hidden in his sleeve, 'We both know how the nobility are, he will -'
'But will he?'
'The Soutaichou cannot afford to lose the head of a noble house, nor a hero of Soul Society.'
'Ichigo cannot afford to go to him when he will be relegated to dark rooms.'
.o.O.o.
Shock only shone in his eyes, the rest of his body too exhausted to react.
The door was closed behind him, and I sat down, smoothly despite my discomfort.
I knew what I had to do.
The cracked lips opened, trying to form a greeting, but the words died in his dry throat.
'Ichigo,' now that I thought, it was the first time I had called him by his given name, I liked the way it flowed off my lips, 'Be my koibito?'