Presence
The first time Aizen Sosuke was taken off-guard was, all things considered, a rather uneventful day in the Gotei 13.
These days however, were rapt with tiring excitement, as the time where his plans would finally reap their reward was closing in.
'Just a little longer,' he thought idly.
It was rare for him to even be present in Seireitei at all nowadays, though he had made an exception for this day in particular, given that Rukia Kuchiki had just been retrieved from the human world.
While pondering on the short-sighted nature of the briefing earlier this morning, Aizen walked back to this room. It was already midnight.
While he walked, he had to live with the constant and exuberant idle chatter of his Lieutenant, Hinamori. Aizen barely knew her, yet the girl seemed almost obsessive. Kyoka Suigetsu worked wonders dutifully.
His final respite dead in the night had been his own private Quarters. Only, as the door slid shut behind a waving Hinamori, an odd sort of tenseness fell on him like a suffocating mist.
Nerves? Surely not.
Some instinctual anxieties even Sosuke Aizen, regrettably, could not lay to rest.
Despite his premonition whispering something of even wrongness to him, he proceeded to his desk and chair, glowing dimly under the candlelight.
'The Court Guard Squad has been made aware of the Ryoka. Under these circumstances, I'll have to act tonight…'
Aizen was someone who, even under incredible mental stress, could practice calm to an unnerving degree.
As he dipped his brush into the bottle of ink, his eyes wandered around the room. It was a standard room, if a bit barren. Aizen did not have enough time for interior decor, leaving the room with an odd sort of hollowness.
He stared at the darkest corner of the room, a few metres away from him, yet as he focused, it seemed to be getting further and further away.
"Who are you?" Aizen Sosuke was not a fool. He had felt uneasy as soon as he had entered. But there had been no spiritual signature to sense, and no physical source for his discomfort.
Yet something picked at his nerves, something was wrong. He felt watched, yet at the same time he could acknowledge that common sense dictated that there was no one there.
But something was.
It didn't reply, the thing, and Aizen felt the hair on his back stand up.
And then, just as suddenly, it was gone, along with the suffocating feeling that had permeated to the core of his nerves.
Aizen did not realise he had been holding his breath, nor did he realise that his hand, still gripping the brush, now thoroughly drenched in ink, was oily and just a little shaky.
He sighed and fixed his glasses.
Maybe a bit of sleep after he was done with the sabotage wouldn't be a bad idea.
Just before the strange presence disappeared, he thinks he caught sight of a flicker of white.
The first issued order he writes to forward his waiting army in Hueco Mundo is burnt, his uneasiness making it harder to focus on his prose.
He is annoyed that there are things he doesn't know, but for now the experience is forgotten for the sake of his plan.
Ichigo did not know if he had dreamt it all up, as his recollection of meeting the strange man was hazy at best.
He had returned home to sleep after hours of gruelling training, on the insistence of the annoying man called Urahara Kisuke. He had been left for dead by Rukia's brother, so badly defeated that he couldn't fathom the chasm of power difference.
His wounds and his frustration had not healed yet, at least not personally, although spending time with his family had made him feel better, or worse. He could feel his sisters were eternally accommodating of him, whereas he wasn't much of anything in return.
In his spiralling thoughts he kicked about in his bed, unable to sleep.
After many more minutes of trying, he grunted and stood up, unable to blank out, despite his body and mind screaming with exhaustion and phantom pain.
He walked to the feet of his bed, and thought to slide open his window. There was a slight wind blowing, and it gently ruffled his hair.
The moon was obscured by clouds today, the only illumination was via the streetlights and the one or two odd lights from the neighbouring houses. The streetlight adjacent to the Kurosaki Residence seemed to be out of order, as unlike every other, it was off, shrouding the clinic in darkness.
The streets were quiet.
"Nice weather," he didn't jump, although he should have. Something strange welled up in his chest as he turned to the voice.
Obscured by the dark, there was someone on the lower level roof decline, half laying and half sitting.
"..."
"Well, I didn't expect that I would be doing the talking," his voice was cold and distant, as if this person wasn't really even talking to anyone, or really expected someone to reply.
"No kicking or frustration, huh? Maybe I caught you at a bad time," the person spoke and it still felt as though he wasn't considering Ichigo's own presence.
Frustration? Kicking? Ichigo felt, for a loss of words, relaxed. As if his problems had suddenly vanished into the abyss of the night.
"Who are you?"
The person, still obscured by the dark, yet sounding definitively masculine, hummed.
"No one, not anymore."
Ichigo in return, nodded in consideration. In fact, Ichigo felt almost numb, as if he had fallen into a deep sleep. This did not feel corporeal, he thought to himself.
I'm dreaming.
Just as he thought this, for a split second the streetlight flickered on, and Ichigo saw.
The man wore a long white cloak, with black fur at the sleeves and collar.
He was a pale and gaunt man, his white hair unkept and long.
Before Ichigo could see more, the streetlight flickered back off, shrouding the strange man again into complete darkness.
Perhaps wondering if Ichigo was taken aback by his appearance, the man yawned lightly and spoke.
"I'm a bit of an impersonator see, this isn't what I look like, it's just the garb of an old friend."
Ichigo, who didn't really know what to say, asked the first question that popped up in his head, "Who's your old friend?"
He could hear the man's smile.
"You'll see."
With a buzz the streetlight flickered on again, this time, the man was all but gone.
Ichigo thought, considering that strange apprehension he felt, that the man wasn't there to begin with.
After all, he had, true to his words, felt like nothing, a whisper in the wind.
AN: important or not so important, this was highly inspired by "Straw Man," taking up the scenario of Ichigo succeeding the soul king in a groundhogs day loop.
I'm not sure if I'll write more of this, given that this will probably not make sense till I write more for it. I just wanted to get the idea out of my head.