summary – Aizen realises just how much Gin has changed him in so many unexpected ways, and how his feelings for Gin call for everything he is not. Aizen POV written as if he is addressing Gin directly.

a/n: I haven't written as much as I would've liked the past few months because of real life and pandemic leaving me really exhausted to produce much content. But things have been looking better, so have a story.

This one is inspired by a song of the same name by Vienna Teng. And I blame Catsafari for all of this because she said this was an AiGin song and its just perfect.

Notes: written in 1st person as if Aizen is addressing Gin. Soft angst. Implied nsfw scene in the middle. Aizen pov. Mild heirverse references but mostly canon compliant. I may come back at some point and do Gin's pov for this but will see what happens.

Stray Italian Greyhound

I sit on the sofa, quietly solving the morning crossword when you call my name softly.

"Hey, Sousuke."

I look up, as I always do when you call to me, and you're standing there offering me a mug of tea. It's in my favourite cat mug too, the one you brought for me all those years ago. A little worn now, but still in good nick. You smile warmly at me and I take your offering, warmth spreading through my palms and my chest as I handle the hot mug. My enjoyment of this peaceful moment in an uncertain world untainted by anything else. At least for today. I thank you – not just for the tea but the stability ad safe harbour you give me – as you settle down beside me on our sofa. Making yourself comfortable against me as you drink your tea and sigh contentedly.

I feel a wave of affection for you in that moment, and I catch myself watching you. Not for the first time, either. A soft smile on my lips before I manage to school my features a little into something that doesn't resemble an idiotic grin. I fail. As I always do when it comes to you. Something clicks into place inside me as I catch myself this time. A sudden realisation that things have irrevocably and entirely changed. And it has everything to do with you. The thought comes slowly, creeping steadily up through me.

Oh no. Please not now... don't tell me I've caught feelings now.

There's a heavy feeling in my chest. A weight made only heavier when you lean heavily against me, closing our eyes to rest them for a few minutes. More warmth rushes through me and melts my frozen insides and Oh god, I really have caught them.

I suppress a sigh, though it feels more like a scream that wants to come out of me. But I don't want to disturb your peace, so I squash it down. Later perhaps I can go somewhere deserted and scream my voice raw. But for now I hide all my thoughts and feelings like the coward I am. Though I know already I can't run from them forever. No-one can outrun anything forever. Eventually you have to stop and face whatever is chasing you. The truth always comes out eventually, though I wish it was a lie. Things would be easier, then. More black and white and a lot less complicated and colourful.

Even though the colours you've brought are beautiful and it's oh so wonderful having you in my life. I'm not sure I deserve you, or that I'm even good enough for you. Though you seem to be content in your choice of me.

It should make me happy. But all it does is fucking terrify me, because after all this time I'd just managed to stop believing in happy endings. Already settled into the glass half empty. I stopped believing in love anymore or that anyone out there could drive away the permanent chill from these old bones.

Until you came along. Until you came and thawed me out and warmed me up again. Given me the kind of safe harbour someone like me didn't believe he could have. Didn't deserve.

And yet, here you are. Curled up against me, drinking the tea I'd taught you to make and giving me just that.

"This's nice," you sigh.

I smile in agreement because I have to. "Yes. It is."

. . .

The feeling persists in the weeks after that, though I wish it wouldn't. But it seems like they're here to stay, these feelings.

We're in the office one warm summer afternoon, slowly trudging through the mountain of paperwork we've accumulated, when you glance up from your work at me. Smiling and exciting my jittery skittery heart. I'm sure that if it weren't contained by a cage of bone, it'd leap out of my chest and make a run for it out the door.

I smile back at you, unable to help myself now. I've caught you looking and my mask slips a little. I morph it into a smirk before you can catch on. You blush, glancing away from me back at your work, and again that feeling stirs in me. Not for the first time I wonder how it is you've managed to change everything about my world in so short a time.

Part of me, the rational part, knows it's a weakness. That you're a liability. That you could and would be used against me should my enemies be given half a chance. For payback or leverage or blackmail. And I wish – not for the last time – I was still the old me, cold and callous, who wouldn't give two shits if you lived or died. Not this sentimental sap who melted at the sight of your smile.

The old me was better. He wouldn't care about things like that. Love or affection. He most definitely wouldn't be caring about your affection or approval. I would've been just fine.

But you had to come along, didn't you? Open up the doors, throwing open all the windows. Exposing me to moonlight I thought non-existent. To warmth that melted my ice. And all wth a smile like the one you gave me a few seconds earlier.

And I can't even begin to know what to do with these feelings for you.

Your blush fades and you return to your work, while I mull over the question. Puzzling it out as I would my daily crossword. Wondering what do I do with this feeling?

. . .

The feeling permeates my being as the months pass us by. And as they rush by, I learn all about you. Committing everything to memory and journal entries. Just in case I forget it. Just in case I somehow fuck this up and I never get this chance with you again. Details drip fed to me over nights spent stargazing, laying in bed, over cups of tea.

It really is the strangest thing. Who'd have ever thought I'd fall in love over something so mundane as cups of tea. But I know it's more than that.

I spend my days and nights with you, over the course of those months. Hoping to use the information to hurt you later. Like I'd planned to from the start. But I come home to you one night – an unexpected surprise – and the smell of the stew you've made makes my mouth water. And I can't help smiling as you greet me, sheepish.

"I hope you don't mind, I took liberties with your kitchen."

You blush, shy, and the feeling stirs again. Making me soft. I smile back at you – a warm, genuine thing, like the sun – and give my reply.

"I don't mind at all,"

You grin and usher me in to take a seat at the table. My plan of crushing your heart forgotten as you serve the stew.

. . .

We fall into bed together that night so seamlessly, as if we'd done it a thousand times before. Well, it's really more like hundreds than thousands, but who's counting?

I kiss you and you moan for me, always willing, always eager. For my touch. My kiss. Me.

I push you down and kiss you again – your lips, your neck – and it really is like we could do this dance blindfolded. Perhaps we will, but not tonight. Tonight I just want to drown in you, and smother the voice in my head telling me I'm not good enough and don't deserve you. Filling my mind and my ears with the sound of you calling my name in the throes of passion.

. . .

Our months together blend into years that slip by without my notice. But the next time I look up, we're approaching our fourth autumn together. You moved in with me some time ago, and I've changed so completely and learned so much.

I've learned your birthday. Your favourite colour. Your favourite blend of tea. Your favourite movie. Where you like to eat out and what you get. Which shows you've watched more than once. What kind of stories you enjoy most. All the different places you've thought of living someday if given the chance. The way you brush the hair out of your eyes and behind your ear. What makes you flinch. Which of your smiles are genuine. How you ramble when you're nervous, and how you can talk for hours about things that inspire you. How your voice sounds before you cry. The way you look t me when you catch me staring. The smell of your clothes...

I don't know what to do with any of these things. I doubt I ever will. I don't even know what to do with myself, let alone my feelings.

I don't think I ever have, really. I've never been the honest type, you know that. Maybe one day that'll change, but it's not today. Though as long as you're here I'll make the most of you before I go and fuck it all up by being myself.

So when you sigh happily and lean against me on the sofa, curled up and ready to watch your favourite film. I soak up your warmth for all it's worth, and we reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time and our fingers brush together. Heat and redness colours your cheeks and what I'm sure is the most idiotic grin crosses my face. I try to recover and play the gentleman, though I know I fail.

"After you," I smile.

You smile back, still blushing, and the feeling inside me grows.

. . .

It isn't long after that when I have an existential crisis. Though of course, if anyone asks me I'll deny it. People like me aren't supposed to have doubts or breakdowns or an existential crisis. We aren't supposed to be uncertain. After all, it's black or white, there is no grey.

But you smile at me again and tug on my arm as we walk.

"Wanna go see the fireworks?"

I smile in return, because it's become second nature now. Because you're Pavlov and I'm a dog.

"Sure."

"Great! C'mon!"

You beam at me and drag me along the street, holding my wild animal heart in your hand though you don't know it yet.

We stand in the crows ready to watch the show, and soon enough the sky is alight with fireworks. But I'm not watching them so much as I'm watching you. The smile on your face and the squeeze of your hand in mine sets that feeling off again, and I'm so happy it couldn't possibly be legal.

"Pretty, eh?" you grin at me, and again, I can't help but smile back.

"Yes, very pretty. Just like you."

It's such a line and I know it. But you blush and melt for me anyway. I chuckle and pull you close as we watch the rest of the sky light up. Even though this feeling inside me sets off inconvenient fireworks of its own. The colours so bright they hurt my eyes.

. . .

More time passes between us, and I still don't know what to do with you. You're my stray Italian greyhound that I can't bear to give to the shelter, though I know it's for the best that I do.

Because deep down I'm a selfish bastard, so I'm still not sure what you see in me. Hell, I don't even love me. I don't see how anyone else could. I've lived with that in mind for the longest time. Settled into my glass half empty. Stopped believing in Happy Ever After's because those weren't meant for me.

But you had to come along and shatter all of those preconceptions. Plant this feeling inside me.

And if I'm really honest with myself if no-one else, I'm a little bit frightened because this feeling calls for everything I'm not. Though you seem to bring out that side of me anyway.

I wonder if you do it intentionally.

I'm lazing in the garden one morning, when you join me. I notice you've gone and 'borrowed' one of my yukatas. I smile and nod my head.

"Nice. It suits you. Where on Earth did you get it?"

You grin and sit beside me. "Five finger discount from a very wealthy man."

"Well, whoever they are, they have good taste."

You snort. "Well, obviously."

This drags a chuckle out of me and you lay back on the grass like the lazy fox you are.

"This's nice," you murmur. I'm inclined to agree.

"It is."

I sigh softly and close my eyes, soaking up your warmth in the sunshine. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be with you like this. I'm not that kind of person. And I'm certainly not that kind, either. I'm good at hurting people, breaking people. Shooting down any notion this tired old world can change into something better. That I can change. I was like that for as long as I can remember.

Until you came.

A stray fox following me in the rain. A brilliant burst of sunlight, and me with my umbrella cross indexing every single weatherman's report. Not knowing the forecast could be wrong sometimes.

I was so ready for the downpour, not for the springtime flowers to well up and bloom. You caught me unawares and made yourself at home beside me. Where I want you to be. Growing this feeling inside me like a gardener. But this feeling is a stubborn weed that keeps growing back no matter how much I cut it back. I figure the universe is trying to tell me something and I should probably listen, but I'm too stubborn and stuck in my ways.

But you don't know any of that. You just roll over and cuddle up to me, and out of habit I pull you close. Even though this feeling you've grown inside me calls for everything I can't afford.