Title: Five times Renji tries to confess and...
Characters: Byakuya, Renji (rated PG)
Spoilers/Warnings: Ep. 63, omake 216, Bleach at the beach, Ep. 254, fluff-crack
AN: Can't write anymore, just wanted to get it out before ep. 254 becomes old hat and before I got sick of it.
1.
"Taichou, ore wa..." His gut churns and he averts his eyes from his Taichou. His throat catches on the tail-ends of wisps of emotions running riot within, and is too slow to trap into soundlessness the words that slip past his lips. The feelings trail tantalizing within reach, if only he can wrap his clumsy tongue around them. His eyes fall shut to gather his thoughts, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if this action, in imitation of his Taichou's, has the same function for the other man. Even in a sickbed, still wrapped to his chin in the same remnants of battle that Renji has already discarded, the man can, with a few simple words in that quietly reflective tone so alien to his usual imperiousness, stir him into twin declarations of loyalty and emulation.
Yet, Renji's heart has never been so free. It is a strange unburdening, and this resolution into a new truth, a new reality, is confirmed when Ichigo appears with his announcement of Rukia's disappearance. Renji is not impelled to follow Ichigo through the window but remains by his Taichou's side. After her recent peril, Rukia will not heedlessly endanger herself. But Rukia is her own person, and he, too, belongs to himself. Their connection is no longer a choke-chain on him but a infinitely supple thread of rare tenderness that spools through their hands.
In a different universe, there may not have been a Kurosaki-shaped interruption. But here, now, despite his complaint, Ichigo has held him back from an abyss of explanation, when he has yet to explore the rearranged symmetries of his inner horizon.
Besides, the look of complete befuddlement on his Taichou's face is rather iendearing./i
2.
"Taichou ni mo katte ki..." Renji begins, but is cut off. He deflates at his Taichou's flat-out refusal. Renji, when he saw the catalogue, did wonder if those sunglasses would be quite to Kuchiki taste. But Ichigo has assured him that they are the latest fashion, and Renji himself has considered the fact that he is dealing with the creator of the Seaweed Ambassador, and he figures that those sunglasses belong in the same order of beauty. Perhaps it is the colours to which his Taichou objects? He sighs inwardly. Pale green and purple are an impossible combination, that coupling of the pale green of Taichou's heirloom scarf and the violet of Rukia's eyes. No. Kuchiki Hisana's eyes, he corrects himself. The sisters resemble each other closely. But a pair of sunglasses cannot be matched like a beach costume, and yellow and pink are as near green and purple as he can find in that heart-shaped design. Besides, he has always assumed that his Taichou has a partiality for pink. It is a colour Renji himself is not averse to. Yumichika tells him that, while shinigami black and white work very well, pink is eminently suited to a man with his colouring.
Renji sighs again in disappointment as he withdraws from his Taichou's presence and touches his own pair of starry shades. So even the sight of these perched on his own head provide no encouragement to his Taichou. He removes them and puts them away ruefully. Yachiru might like them. The next time, he will go with his gut and order those wraparound Oakleys for himself. Now, those are sunglasses!
As for his present to his Taichou, Renji makes no attempt at retrieval.
3.
"Ore wa Taichou o... Taichou o... " He is shaking uncontrollably. At first beset by a sense of masculine outrage at his incipient, sappy confession, then propelled by his feelings and his forthrightness, he cannot but look at the object of his yearning in the eye. He is, after all, Abarai Renji, and he has his pride, just as his Taichou has his own, a pride that has taken him so far away from comrades and squad. But before Renji can finish, something catches in his throat, and he can only convey his meaning through the intensity of his posture. His mind howls in wordless frustration. Why can he never say what he means to this man, who, despite his exhaustion and the wounds that have sliced his shikahausho in so many places, still stands so arrogantly and so untouchable in his ineffable competence?
Then rescue comes. "Renji, ikuso." With one simple phrase, his Taichou restores the equilibrium between them. Once again, he has offered his back to Renji to protect. And even from his sideway glance, Renji can tell that the little crease between his brows has eased, and his Taichou is once again calm and unflappable, and in his devotion everything that Renji wants and wants to be.
Somehow, Renji's world has returned to its proper axis. A trickle of discontent remains, because his declaration has once again gone askew in the face of his Taichou's armored demeanor, but, someday, Renji knows, some day, he will find the strength. "Not cool, huh?" He thinks, as he ignores the gibes of Chimp and Snake, and shunpos after the man he has sworn to pursue. "Definitely not cool like Taichou, who always conveys what he wants to say without appearing to do so. But someday, you'll see, I'll find my own cool."
He does not see the little smile that edges the lips of his Taichou as he slashes at a Menos.
iTadaima. I have returned./i
4.
"Taichou, ore no..." My... my what? Renji lies on the rooftop above his office and scoffs at the moon, so tranquil in its course, so certain in tracing the constant trajectory of its unaltered course. "Though you once likened yourself to the moon, Taichou, that is something you can never, and should never, be." He speaks aloud, hearing his voice, bold and arrogant, and his words, frank and confident, hover in the night air. Though he has not yet found his voice with that man, Renji is no longer mute to himself. Bankai entails courage, conviction, agony, truth, and as he masters his soul, Renji merely becomes more himself. Brash, cocky, strong in ways he has never measured strength before. "And I am not a monkey. Not even for you will I be that monkey. Gibbering, seeking only the next meal or the next entertainment. Once, I did seek only the next meal, but my life has never been a series of entertainments." He grins wolfishly. "We are men. Nothing more and nothing less. Do you know how long it has taken me to say that? To see you as a man, in every way? And not a figment of my imagination? We are men. We have loved and we have lost. We make choices. We are pushed helter-skelter by the choices others make. We celebrate and we grieve. We weep and we laugh. Though I would dearly love to see you laugh. And love again." He falls silent and stares fixedly at the gauzy clouds obscuring the moon.
Then he chuckles and shakes himself. "And I am a man who talks to himself. I wonder what you would say if you knew? 'Renji, stop daydreaming.' 'Renji, futile words are inappropriate effort.' 'Renji, words should not be like a dog chasing its tail.' Ah, Taichou, I know you dislike repetition, but, surely, there are some things worth saying over and over again? Let me say them over and over again to myself, until I can finally say them to you." Stretching himself under the blanket, he wiggles until he finds a comfortable position, then allows his eyes to close.
In the darkened office beneath, the still figure bestirs itself and leaves silently.
5.
"Renji, ikuso." His taichou stands up and reaches for his cloak as Renji dismisses the hell butterfly. iRenji, let's go./i The familiar command settles among the thousand others Renji has heard during his tenure as his Taichou's second-in-command, and it is as if all of them have suddenly acquired weight and substance enough to push at the bottleneck of Renji's silence. With an imaginary 'pop', his previous reticence disappears, and Renji suddenly finds the words he has been seeking. Eyes narrowing, he spares a moment of rueful amusement at their sheer banality, but his Taichou has never been one for fancy words, at least, not between them. "Taichou," he begins, and the man turns a precise quarter-circle, his profile presented to Renji's view. "Taichou," Renji says again. And this time, he scarcely pauses before his tongue once again flexes in agile demonstration. "'Renji, ikuso.' That's what Taichou always says to me, but sometimes, I wish you would say 'Kuru, Renji.'" Come, Renji.
When his Taichou turns full-face to him, eyelids lowered and expression unchanged, Renji cannot quite suppress a tendril of trepidation. After all, as much as he has convinced himself that what he craves is an outlet and not a response, this confession bears the imprint of his soul, and is a confession that deliberately avoids the heat of the moment.
"Renji."
The sound of his name reverberates through his chest. Renji has often claimed, during his drunker moments, that his Taichou has one of the most beautiful voices in Seireitei despite the habitual absence of most emotional nuances. Now, Renji is glad that he cannot discern anger in it.
"It will be my greatest pleasure to utter those words in more felicitous surroundings."
As Renji's jaw drops, his Taichou lifts his eyes to him, and his legs abruptly give out at the silver-streaked laughter in Kuchiki Byakuya's eyes.