4. our distance and that person - Memories in the Rain
Shunsui awakens in the middle of the night to an empty space at his side. Rubbing his eyes, he pushes the covers aside and gets up. The rain patters against the lake's ripple surface, cold and dreary.
He finds Ukitake sitting outside wearing only a light yukata. Raindrops melt seamlessly into his hair and roll off his skin like tears.
"You're soaked," Shunsui murmurs unnecessarily into his ear as his arms slip around him.
"It's alright. This is an old yukata anyways," Ukitake responds, not moving.
"But you'll get sick."
Ukitake turns to look at him, a trace of irony in his voice. "doesn't really matter much, does it, Shunsui?"
He knows that it would be futile to argue. Not when Jyuushirou's like this. They sit there quietly in the pouring rain, staring into the grey sky as rain splashes around them.
"You're getting wet too, you know," Ukitake quietly observes after a while.
"I know."
"Why don't you go back to sleep? I'm alright out here. Really."
Shunsui shakes his head against Ukitake's neck and pulls his frigid, sodden body closer. "No."
Ukitake leans forward, sliding away. "Shun, just go," he sighs, but Shunsui keeps a firm hold on him.
Suddenly, Shunsui lets go and Ukitake wonders if perhaps, for once, Shunsui has actually listened to him. However, he soon reappears, gaudy pink haori in hand. He drapes the flowery garment around Ukitake's shoulder, making a sharp contrast to their surroundings.
"It's the memories, isn't it."
He says it as a fact, as a statement without the uncertainity that accompanies a question, and it is for that reason Ukitake has no response. They both know the answer. It hangs heavily between them, like a weight about to crash down. Both of them can not forget. Ukitake will never forgive.
All Shunsui wants to do is hug him, embrace him, and tell him again and again, until he finally understands, it's i not his fault /i . But he knows Ukitake will never accept that. It's just the way he is. Was there anything anyone could have done? If Ukitake had not been suddenly hit by coughing spasms, could he have at least saved Rukia from having to kill him? Ukitake will never stop thinking about that even if he lives another two thousand years. They'll never know.
A solitary tear rolls off Jyuushirou's cheek as he collapses back into Kyouraku, coughing lightly. Shunsui clutches him tighter out of habit.
"I should have died back there," he whispers hoarsely. "It should have been me. Not Kaien." Shunsui just barely bites back a scream of frustration.
Ukitake cares for his subordinates too much. Not that he himself does not, but Jyuushirou takes it so damned hard when anything happens. Kyouraku had not been deaf to the gossip surrounding the 13th division's captain and vice either. And although he knew their relationship had been entirely platonic, no one could deny that they had been very close. That is why it simply breaks his heart every time Ukitake says thing like this. Kaien would have hated it too.
Kaien could probably have probably dealt with it better, even. He would have thought of something to say. But Shunsui is not Kaien. He never will be. And although he and Ukitake have been the closest of friends for countless years, he will never be able to fill that place.
And so he says nothing, because all he can do is hold him, as they both remember their memories in the rain.