Toushiro sighed, both palms covering his eyes as he lied on his bed in his dark room. His world was silent and dark; it had been three weeks since he'd seen the sun or heard the chirping of birds.

It would be ten years before he knew it, ten years since the day she died. He had grown taller, but not by much. He was still short for his age. His body had matured in other ways, though. His chest had grown wider and his shoulders had grown broader in his sleep. The years of inactivity had left him with only a subtly muscled form. His face no longer resembled the face of a child, although that might have been because of the definite marks of mourning now etched onto every line of his face. In more than one way, Toushiro had lost his childhood.

This fact was painfully obvious to him right now, as he lied awake on his bed, a new sort of guilt and disgust tearing away at him viciously. The thin blanket was tented shamefully at his crotch as Toushiro wondered why in hell this was happening to him.

She had been like a sister to him. He had loved her, but as a sister. He remembered how many times he had told himself this, how many times those words had been his only solace as he watched her leave him behind, going farther and father away each time. He had no reason to continue running to her side, but he did, again and again. But she was only his friend. A friend, nothing more. Toushiro had no idea why such a thought was made to comfort him. What was worse than losing a friend?

But for some reason, he kept asserting in his mind over and over that Momo had only been a friend to him. That had certainly been the way she had seen him. That was something he wanted to believe, something that he had refused to question, because he just didn't want to know the answer.

It must have been the hormones. It was typical of his age to have such dreams. That coupled with his deep fixation on Momo had yielded the obvious results. This sort of thing wasn't strange, just unfortunate and very, very inappropriate.

Toushiro sat up in his bed, back hunched and hands still covering his eyes. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening to him. He looked through the cage of his fingers and saw that the blanket was still tented, as if a monument to his shame. It tainted the memory of his precious friend and brought to his attention feelings that he would rather not explore.

His hands took firm grip of his blanket, as he whispered in agony his apology to his departed friend, like a prayer.


"I swear to God I'm not kidding," Renji exclaimed, hand in the air as if to take an oath.

"Oh, sure Renji," Rangiku laughed. "How could you expect us to believe that?"

"You say some crazy stuff when you're drunk," Ikkaku laughed loudly, clearly drunk. "As if Captain Kuchiki would even look at a woman!"

"Yeah," Rangiku agreed loudly. "If he wouldn't even spare me a passing glance, he's either gay or still in love!" Renji grumbled his agreement, slyly eyeing the woman's impressive assets.

"But I'm serious," Renji continued to proclaim. "He leaves the Headquarters every day at noon…"

"Lunchtime, idiot, that's normal," Ikkaku mocked.

Renji growled. "Not for my Captain. He's not like Captain Zaraki, ditchin' work whenever he feels like it," he bit back. "And by chance I find him, just sitting by a water fountain talking to this girl! And, of all people, a freshly-recruited shinigami!"

"That's just not possible," Rangiku said, shaking her head. "He barely gives Captains the time of day."

"Exactly!" Renji downed another shot of sake, hoping that Byakuya would never find out about this conversation. "So why else would he talk to this kid if it wasn't 'cause he was diggin' her?!"

Yumichika laughed dryly. "I'll believe that when I see it," he said. "Your Captain really needs to let his hair down. Figuratively, of course; his kenseikan is rather gorgeous…"

"What did this girl look like," Rangiku demanded, leaning over the table, suspicious eyes revealing just a little curiosity.

Renji frowned. "I didn't get to see her very well, but she didn't look like a supermodel or anything. Black hair, short, slim…"

"Did she look like Hisana-sama?" Shuuhei asked.

Renji's frown grew deeper. "How should I know? She didn't look like Rukia, though. She seemed… reserved? The quiet type, ya know…" He cut off his own explanation as he felt a familiar reiatsu approaching the group.

Toushiro had found them. Being a Captain, it wasn't particularly incredible that he had tracked down his lieutenant and her friends that Friday night, eating and drinking cheerfully at a restaurant near the Third Division. But when he walked into the restaurant, eyes dull and skin pale despite his efforts to look healthy, the whole area went silent. Rangiku was the first to overcome her shock, smiling widely.

"Hey Cap'n," she shouted out to him, "come join us!" Toushiro's eyes fell to the floor in guilt, and he dragged his feet over to where his lieutenant sat. She moved over to give him space beside her.

"Hello, Matsumoto," Toushiro voiced, more of a mumble than anything else. Rangiku smiled and shouted out to a hostess for another sake cup. He just sat staring at the wood table, the outside world a flurry of bustling waitresses and rowdy patrons. When Rangiku insisted that he try some of his sake, he finally tore his eyes off the woodwork.

"Unohana says that I'm about fifteen years old now," Toushiro intoned. "I'm still under-aged." Rangiku nudged him in the ribs playfully.

"Oh, c'mon Cap'n," Rangiku coaxed, just a little tipsy herself, "no one's going to complain if you have a drink or two! Right, guys?" There was cheering and toasting all around.

Toushiro looked back down at the table. "No," he murmured quietly. "I'm still too young."

Rangiku sensed that her Captain was slipping further into melancholy, and she let the goofy smile drop from her face. She watched him quietly for a while, only mildly aware of the other sets of eyes trained sadly on her. After a moment, she smiled again and ruffled Toushiro's hair affectionately. His head shot up and he stared at her in mild astonishment.

"I think you're plenty grown up already, Captain," she whispered to him warmly, and there was a world of significance in her words. Toushiro actually managed a slight smile, and it felt strange on him.

When Toushiro left about an hour later, just like when he had first arrived, the table fell into silence. Everyone simply looked into their glasses, as if to avoid seeing their worry reflected in others, arms crossed on the table.

"Well," Renji started, "he was awake, at least…" The others nodded slowly, and silence descended again.

"But it's been nine years already," Shuuhei noted. "And he's still…"

"It's different with Captain Hitsugaya," Isane said, still looking into her sake cup. "Hinamori was…" She too drifted off, eyes finding Rangiku looking across the room absently. "Matsumoto-san, are you okay?"

Rangiku continued to gaze into the distance. "I'm alright." She seemed lost in thought. "And he'll be alright too, one day."

She hadn't noticed before that the Third Seat of the Third Division was in the bar. As soon as she had caught his glance, he had blushed, paid his bill, and scurried out of there as soon as he could, an odd look on his face.


The next day, as midday approached, Akai jumped from rooftop to rooftop, eyes searching the landscape for any sign of the Captain of the Sixth Division. Captain Kuchiki had suppressed his reiatsu, which proved that he was up to something he didn't want others to know about.

Akai didn't know Byakuya personally; he could count on one hand the number of times he had been in the same room as him. But from what he had heard, the man was very introverted and more than a little stuck up. He lived according to the ritual and dogma of the high-classed nobility, and broke his creed only for the sake of those he loved, which was a grand total of two people: his deceased wife Hisana and his adopted sister Rukia.

Akai had done his research. He had snuck into the Grand Library, looked through the old records, and had seen it clearly with his own eyes. Hisana. Her name was spelt to mean "Crimson Truth." And the name of the seventeen-year-old girl who died by suicide in Dollard-Des-Ormeaux, Montreal, in summer 1993: Shani Albin. A name that means "Crimson" and "White."

Pêche Prunier's name was practically a translation of Hinamori Momo's. It was the same for all the former shinigami; their human names seemed to be derived from their past names.

For no discernable reason, just about everyone in Soul Society seemed to have Japanese names, even those who certainly did not look Japanese. Hinamori Momo became Pêche Prunier; when she would die, would she remember her name to be Hinamori Momo?

That seemed unlikely. Even though there hadn't been many, there had been shinigami who had died by a zanpakuto in the past. If they called themselves by those same names a hundred years later, someone might perhaps have noticed, especially in the case of a lieutenant or a Captain.

He supposed that there was no reason to be getting into what-ifs at this stage. He would have to meet this young shinigami, and see for himself how this obscure system of life and death truly worked. It was ironic, he supposed, that even those brandishing the name "Death God" did not have even the foggiest idea as to the nature of life and death.

Akai, spiritual pressure suppressed to the best of his ability, finally found Byakuya and the girl. He crouched down on the rooftop, making sure to remain unseen.

The spectacle before him was even odder than he'd imagined it'd be. The two were sitting by a water fountain, facing each other, but daring only to meet each other's eyes in flickers. They spoke calmly, softly. It felt like they were in a world all their own. Akai couldn't have eavesdropped if he had wanted to.

He continued to watch the pair for some time, until at twelve thirty, on the dot, Byakuya rose to leave. They bade farewell to each other the same way they spoke, quietly, demurely. Byakuya shunpo-ed straight to the Sixth Division, and Akai in a flicker saw his chance. He jumped down from above and landed a few feet before the startled shinigami, words already on the tip of his tongue.

However, looking into her wide indigo eyes as she stumbled backwards, Akai thought maybe he should have thought that through a little more. Been a little more subtle, perhaps. What was he supposed to do now?

"Uh, hi," Akai started awkwardly. "My name is Minamoto Akai."

The girl measured him up silently, eyes revealing suspicion and just a little fear. "Good afternoon, Minamoto-fukutaicho."

"Uh…" Akai stuttered, racking his brain. What could he possibly say to her? "So, how are you?"

"I'm fine," the woman said, edging away just slightly. "I have to get back to my division…"

"Oh," Akai exclaimed, "Allow me to escort you! Which division are you from?"

She seemed almost unwilling to reveal this piece of personal information. "I'm in the Eighth Division…"

"Great," Akai shouted, happy that she had decided to answer his question. Of course, the overly-enthusiastic outburst went a long way to further spooking the poor newbie. "What's your name?"

She seemed much more hesitant than before, as if she was wondering if she could run back to headquarters before this man caught up with her. "Kouhaku Shinku…" Akai blanched.

"How do you spell that," he asked, despite the scared look in the girl's eyes. "Is it Kouhaku like 'red and white'?"

The girl had to wonder if he was a stalker. "No, it's Kouhaku like 'feudal lord'."

"And Shinku," Akai continued, unabashed. "Is it Shinku like 'crimson'?"

"No," she contradicted again, "it's Shinku like 'hardship'." Akai nodded, glazed eyes looking far away, a look of contemplation etched into his young, yet strangely worn, face.

"How long have you been in Soul Society?" Akai asked suddenly, turning to again face the demure young woman.

"About eighteen years, I think," Shinku revealed hesitantly, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear, and Akai nodded again, still distant.

"Okay, thank you, Kouhaku-san," the fukutaicho said, already turning away. "Have yourself a nice day." With those words, he disappeared out of there.

Kouhaku Shinku was her name. Quite different from Kuchiki Hisana, in pronunciation and in spelling, but there were similarities. Shinku could mean crimson, similar to the scarlet character in Hisana's name. Kouhaku could mean 'red and white' which was a direct translation of 'Shani Albin' and, he imagined, would relate once again to the 'scarlet' in Hisana, and maybe even to the 'white' in Byakuya's given name. Even the true spelling of Kouhaku hinted to her former life as a Kuchiki, itself one of the most prestigious families in the Seireitei…

As Akai contemplated this, he nearly ran headlong into Rangiku Matsumoto, who watched him with unreadable eyes, arms crossed over her chest. He played it cool. He couldn't afford any more screw-ups. "Good afternoon, Matsumoto-fukutaicho," he said, straightening himself to stand at attention.

Rangiku was still eyeing him speculatively. "What were you doing talking to Captain Kuchiki's friend?" Akai's face unwillingly twisted into a frown. He never knew how to respond properly to this woman. She was like a cat perched on a window sill; her eyes made you believe that she knew much more than she should.

"I heard you guys talking in the bar," Akai admitted, "and I wanted to check her out." Although not technically a lie, the nervousness in Akai's eyes betrayed him.

"Kira says you're acting strangely," she commented. "Says you spend a lot of time in the human world." Akai froze. Damn it.

The hesitation lasted only a second. "There has been an increase in the frequency of the appearance of high-profile Hollows lately. It is my duty to protect the humans in my Column to the best of my ability." He managed to keep his eyes and voice steadfast. The two shinigami stared into each others eyes for a long moment, neither flinching from the intensity.

When it seemed obvious that Minamoto wasn't going to let up, Rangiku's eyes softened in an almost knowing way, and she relented. "Alright, Akai," she said levelly, already turning away from the conversation, although her eyes hadn't left his. "I'll see you around." She was gone in a flash.

Akai looked back down at the water fountain below him, scowling at the cheerfully flowing water. It would be harder for him to move from now on. He'd have to be more careful; Rangiku had her eye on him, and, by the Gods, if that didn't spell trouble, than nothing did.