Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.
Six Months Later...
Kyoraku Estate...
It was quiet for once in the Kyoraku estate. No guests were scheduled for that evening, nor did any parties hover on the horizon. For the servants, it was a time for high spirits and much leisure as the family they served left them mostly to their own devices. Chores were accomplished with much laughter and with little rush, for they were a joyous bunch that regularly enjoyed each other's presence. Good company, it seemed, significantly shortened the work day. That is until a member of the family entered their lowly sphere. Chatter would die a swift death on their tongue and eyes would fall as low as their bows when their lords and lady passed by. So consistent and true was their charade, Lord Shunsui Kyoraku passed by a gaggle of servant women completely under the impression the Kyoraku line employed only the meekest and unobtrusive of servants.
As the youngest of the Kyoraku lords continued his aimless stroll he whistled a hilariously lewd tune, chuckling quietly to himself as he came to his favorite verses. He was rather enjoying himself. The sun was shining, the air was crisp. His feet were bare, and his yukata, soft and loose. With only a single responsibility for later that evening, it was quickly becoming one of his very favorite kinds of days: idle. And, as if the very gods were smiling down on him, he'd seen neither hide nor hair of his family. He grinned and further mussed his shaggy, unkempt hair. A comb had yet to meet his head that day, and Shunsui knew he looked particularly manic. With any luck, the sight of his messy appearance would only further drive his mother to an early grave.
He'd just begun to wonder what exactly he'd wear to her funeral when a disheveled maid darted out of a nearby room and slammed the door behind her. The tie in her hair did little to restrain her curls, and it was as she attempted to tame her locks and simultaneously straighten her yukata that she spotted Shunsui and squeaked loudly. The nameless girl dropped into a low bow.
"Forgive me, my lord. I didn't see you. If you'll excuse me," she said without breath before darting down the hall with nary a backwards glance, continuing to adjust her wrinkled clothes as she went.
Her behavior was disrespectful, he knew. But as he turned to face the room she'd vacated, he could very reasonably guess the reason for her swift departure. It was none of his business, he told himself as he stared at the door. He didn't care what the servants did nor what they were commanded to do. Didn't care that the girl was younger than himself. Certainly didn't note the thin film of tears in her eyes or the shimmer of sweat on her brow when she met his gaze for but a moment.
None of his business.
But after hesitating for who knows how long, an unseen force lifted his hand and pressed it against the door, hovering in the air as it slowly slid open. Without setting a single foot inside, the familiar stench of alcohol and sex flooded his senses and gave him pause.
It was a spare room. One of the many finely furnished areas whose only occupants—normally—were the servants who cleaned them. But today the air was heated and stuffy, several bottles laid haphazardly on their sides, and a pile of sordid sheets, twisted and damp, entangled a large form on the ground.
"I said I was done with ya, di'nt I?" a low voice rumbled.
Shunsui's gut twisted as he leaned against the doorframe. "Already, Otou-san? And here I thought you'd be happy to see me so early in the day," he said casually, eyeing the roiling hill.
The mound shifted and stirred until the hulking form of Haruto Kyoraku emerged to squint irritatingly at his second son. "Shunsui?" he questioned, Shunsui recognizing the thickened speech of a drunk man. "The hell you doin?"
Condescension tinged Shunsui's smile. "Just making sure my father doesn't drown in his own fluids," he quipped lightly. His father snorted in disdain, gingerly untangling himself from the blankets that shackled his legs. He lost grip of the sheets as he rose to his feet, unashamedly baring his nakedness to his son.
Haruto Kyoraku was a monster of a man, even for a Kyoraku. He towered over his sons, with legs like the trunks of trees and shoulders as broad as a bear's. In his prime, Shunsui was sure he was something to behold. However now, with his gluttonous appetite for all things sensual and his dedicated slothful living, he had softened and sagged. Where once he might have embodied the pinnacle of masculinity, he now possessed the soft mold of a true nobleman.
Shunsui raised an unimpressed brow. "Careful Otou-san. I wouldn't want you to slip."
Haruto fastened his blood-shot eyes on Shunsui and spat at his feet. "Watch your tongue, boy," he growled. Unconcerned, Shunsui lifted both hands in a mockingly placating manner.
The two Kyoraku's fell silent, eyeing the other. With a dark chuckle, the elder broke eye contact and stooped to pick up the fallen sheet. "There a reason you're botherin' me, Shunsui?" he asked, wrapping the blanket around his thickened waist.
His jaw clenched. "I saw the girl you bedded," Shunsui said, folding his arms as his father staggered heavily toward him. "Wanted to make sure she didn't wear you out, old man."
Shunsui cringed at Haruto's hearty laugh. He clapped his son's shoulder as he moved past. "Please. A virgin. Barely knew what she was doing." Anger set his blood boiling as he followed his father who boldly staggered down the halls in his minuscule covering. "You've become quite the adventurous soul, I hear," his father boomed.
Shunsui's consciously ignored the servants who dotted the halls, lest they spot his own embarrassment. Haruto, in his nudity, didn't spare them a glance. "Oh?" Shunsui replied.
"I heard rumors ya found your way to The Quivering Hills," he said smugly over his shoulder. He quirked an amused brow. "Not a place for little boys."
His skin heated in humiliation. His father's whoring was legendary, with a reputation so tainted a harlot would blush. It shouldn't have surprised him to hear his father mention a brothel by name. It shouldn't have. But it did. And it left Shunsui wondering just how many women he and his father had shared.
Shunsui felt nauseous.
"It is good to know my father and brother can bond over their similar taste in trash."
Haruto was quick to turn around while Shunsui followed reluctantly, for he now knew the gods had only been mocking him. The owner of that hardened voice was all too familiar.
Kenzo stood before them with regal condescension, somehow managing to look down on both father and brother. The manager of the estate, Kai Nishimura, a thin man made up of sharp angles, stood just behind his master—an ever loyal dog at heel. Kenzo's nose scrunched in refined distaste. "You both reek. I can smell you from here." Shunsui didn't bother pointing out he'd bathed that morning. That the stench of depravity clung only about their naked father. Kenzo turned to Kai. "Escort Lord Kyoraku to his chambers. He's tainted my home enough for today."
The thin servant bowed low to Kenzo. "Yes, my lord," he squeaked reverently. He twitched his way past Shunsui and gave a short dip to Haruto before gesturing down the hall.
Haruto glared fiercely at his eldest son. "I need no escort in my own home, boy," he snarled.
Kenzo locked burning eyes with his father. "Watch how you speak to me, filth," he bared his teeth, all sense of noble restraint lost. "Or I'll drain your accounts, strip you of your title, and ship you off to work as a temple servant." Haruto's jaw snapped shut angrily. With an animalistic growl, he pivoted on his heel and marched away, his sheet billowing behind him. Kai hurried after him, straightening his lord's every drunken stagger along the way.
Shunsui had kept quiet as he'd watched the power struggle, though he'd known immediately who'd walk away in defeat. Mere weeks prior, a major upheaval had shifted the political landscape. Kenzo, heir to to near the entirety of the Kyoraku name, had somehow successfully received his full inheritance. An inheritance only bestowed upon the death or retirement of the patriarch. An inheritance that included all the Kyoraku estates, fortunes, and titles. In a matter of hours, Shunsui's elder brother had gone from eldest son of Lord Haruto Kyoraku, Heir Apparent to Lord Kenzo Kyoraku, Head of the Kyoraku Clan, Master of the Eastern Gate. In the game of blood and politics, Kenzo was now second in power only to that ancient Kuchiki relic.
And Shunsui was clueless as to how the bastard had done it.
With the object of his scorn gone, Kenzo turned his scorching glare to Shunsui. The new Head's residual anger was palpable and, though Shunsui's focus sharpened, he maintained his relaxed pose, grinning casually. "Well, you certainly showed him," Shunsui declared lightly.
Kenzo tilted his chin up in disdain and silently turned back the way he'd come. He'd only gone a few steps before he halted, dashing Shunsui's hope for minimal contact. When Kenzo turned back, he looked thoughtful. "I wonder how long it will be before I summon someone to take you away."
Shunsui's smile vanished.
Kenzo's face returned to its stony default. "You're a poison, Shunsui," he said quietly. "Just like our father. Get in my way and I'll destroy you."
He turned and left, with Shunsui glaring daggers at his back. "I'll see you this evening, Kenzo-ani," he called out, darkly satisfied when his brother hesitated before continuing silently down the hall.
~.~
That Same Day...
Ukitake Estate...
"Enough," Kohei Nakata declared. "We're done for today."
Jushiro allowed the point of his blade to fall, forcing his labored breaths to even out and smooth over. "I can go longer," he panted, impatiently swiping damp hair from his face. He shook out his numbed hand. Many years had passed since Kohei had gone easy on him, and his strikes now fell heavily against Jushiro's defending steel.
"We're done," the stocky man repeated forcefully, turning and walking away.
Jushiro scowled at his mentor's broad back. "I haven't had an attack in months. Why do you insist on so little training?" he demanded.
Kohei turned and saw Jushiro hadn't moved. He arched a bushy brow. "Put your blade away, my lord." He sheathed his own and turned away from his white-haired pupil once more.
The fire that had boiled stagnantly in his gut for months exploded. Gathering his reiatsu to himself, Jushiro struck out and slammed it against Kohei with all the force he could muster. Kohei stopped dead, much to Jushiro's roiling satisfaction. "You call me 'lord' yet refuse to treat me as such," he said coldly, infusing his tone with every ounce of noble disdain he possessed. "Learn your place, Nakata. Or I will teach it to you."
Kohei turned with a sudden wrathful scowl, his shorter frame barely containing his rage. The heat of it burned Jushiro's face. "Ya gonna teach me, boy? I'll put ya on your ass!" he roared, his near-forgotten Rukongai accent riding the wave of his anger.
With pride on the line and fire in his veins, Jushiro tore across the dozen feet between them and struck with a previously unknown fury. Kohei met his blade with equal fervor and they did battle, anger fueling every strike, parry, lunge, and block.
Jushiro was sick of it. Sick of the concerned looks and the pitying smiles. Of the useless assurances and empty words. To not fight him? To tell him to drop his blade? How fucking dare he. Jushiro was not a weakling to be coddled!
They came together with a flurry of blades and scowls and pushed apart with snarls and spittle. It was ugly and fierce, not Jushiro's usual display of control and finesse. And on it went. On and on, until the adrenaline dried up and the rage cooled down. Jushiro's blows still held power, but the speed of his strikes slowed and it wasn't long before it was all he could do to defend against Kohei's relentless barrage. Even then he continued, refusing to bend. His pride would allow him no such weakness. Until finally he could no longer keep up. A desperate lunge was met with a fierce block and a fist the size of a boulder connected with the side of his face.
And suddenly Jushiro could fly.
The resounding thud was followed by a rush of expelled air, and Jushiro fought the instinctual urge to panic. Lying still, he waited for his lungs to painfully jump start again before heaving a desperate breath. An invisible band tightened around each lung, and Jushiro knew even while muddled that he'd be fighting off the effects of this fight for days.
Suddenly, Kohei was in his face. Dazed, it was all Jushiro could do to keep his eyes open.
"About damn time. Now stay still, boy. Don' move ya head. I wasn't holdin' back when I hit ya."
Several minutes later, armed with ice and a wall to lean on, Jushiro glared at his smirking mentor. "You've been egging me on for weeks?" Next to him, Kohei chuckled under his breath. "I'm glad one of us is amused," he muttered, wincing as he shifted the ice against his face. The burgeoning bruise sapped what little charity he had. "Any particular reason? Or do you enjoy being an ass?"
Kohei's lips split in a wide grin. "Swearing at the help are we, my lord? How very crass."
Jushiro scowled and turned away, childishly ignoring his snickering swordmaster. The silence stretched for a few minutes, leaving Jushiro to stew in his ire.
"Your father told me you wanted to join the Gotei 13."
Jushiro clenched his jaw, frustration stealing his words. He'd heard enough from his parents. From Kimi. He didn't want to hear it from Kohei.
"We discussed it at length," Kohei continued, and Jushiro could feel him studying him out the corner of his eye. Jushiro stayed resolutely silent, glaring at the ground between his feet. He heard Kohei sigh seriously. "I won't lie to you; you'd be at a distinct disadvantage, my lord. Few warriors last long with their own bodies fighting against them as yours does. Should your comrades find out, they'll see you as a liability. A weakness in the ranks."
Jushiro shot a glare at his mentor.
He continued without pause."You would need to train. Nonstop. For the rest of your life, my lord, without ever letting up. You'll need to prove yourself over and over and over again. Power will make people listen." His words echoed in Jushiro's mind.
Power. With that simple word a wave of subtle desperation set his limbs to restless twitching. He wished he could say honor was what he craved. Or perhaps dignity. Something his parents would be proud of. Anything was better then the seductive allure power had over him.
His darkened mood marred his tone. "So you don't think I can do it." Of course not. Was it his destiny then to be weak? To be a victim?
"I didn't say that, my lord." Jushiro whipped his head up so fast the world spun. "You are exceptionally skilled for your age. Continue at this speed and you'll achieve mastery quickly. And your reiatsu?" Kohei looked over and snorted at Jushiro's wide-eyes stare. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. You have potential, my lord. You have the drive. And now, after that little display," he smirked at Jushiro's reddened ears, "I know you have the passion. About time too. You were quickly becoming the dullest opponent I've had the misfortune of fighting."
~.~
Dinner at the Ukitake's was usually a boisterous affair. And it definitely still was, Isamu reassured himself. Masami was gurgling as babies tended to. The twins were volleying food at each other like normal, and Kazuko and Kenshin had their heads together, giggling loudly to themselves. Even Kimi and he were exchanging their normal glares and barbed words.
But something was off. Isamu's eyes narrowed as he silently studied the older half of his family.
Jushiro was sitting at their father's right, as was his place as eldest, and across from their mother. But not once had he seen or heard them speak to one another. The tension hung heavily about them and Father's behavior was more erratic as a result. Even Mother, ever calm in the face of conflict, sported tight shoulders and a painful smile.
Isamu sipped slowly from his cup and stared over the rim.
Kimi and Jushiro hadn't been speaking for weeks now. He would have been blind not to have noticed as Kimi wasn't exactly one to stew silently. She'd been stomping around the estate like an enraged Hollow, attacking anyone who'd committed the slightest transgression. Even as he watched, Kimi knocked over a pitcher, spilling the contents into Jushiro's lap. No one in the family paid much mind to it, barely sparing it more than a glance as something always spilled at dinner, but Jushiro shot an uncharacteristic glower at Kimi. She raised a challenging brow to him and haughtily turned away. He exhaled slowly through his nose, exercising a level of patience Isamu was certain he'd never possess. Servants, meanwhile, flew to the heir immediately, hastily dabbing his soaked clothes with rags.
Jushiro turned to their father for the first time that evening and mumbled something to him around the servants, but the twins let out matching shrieks, stopping Isamu from catching the exchange.
"Will you two shut up," he hissed angrily at the twins, though both paid him no mind.
By the time he'd refocused, Jushiro had risen, and the servants had fallen back immediately. He gingerly exited the dining hall, holding his damp clothes away from his body.
Things had better return to normal soon, thought Isamu as he watched Kimi sulk in her chair. The longer this went on, the more likely it was he'd be drawn into it. And it was most certainly none of his business.
~.~
The roaring fire in one of the Ukitake sitting rooms crackled quietly as the heir stared heavily into it's smoldering depths. It was quiet. He was certain dinner had passed a while ago, for the sun was swiftly approaching the horizon, and he found himself hoping he'd not be discovered. He hadn't returned to the table after changing his clothes, so his peacemaking mother was no doubt in search of him. Jushiro's frustration over Kimi, his parents, and his own weakness boiled too close to the surface to safely interact with anyone, as his behavior with Kohei had proven earlier.
Months had passed. Months. And still his parents side-stepped his questions and ignored his requests with little grace and all-too-obvious panic. He saw it in their widened eyes and shared glances. Did they think so little of him? Did his father think him weak? His stomach rolled sickeningly and his skin heated angrily. Could that be it? His father—the one who stood by him against his mother's overbearing concern—thought him incapable?
But Kohei said he spoke with the Ukitake head. Surely he spoke of Jushiro's talents, of his skill. Jushiro cursed himself for not asking if his father had been convinced.
A knock at the door startled Jushiro. His palms tingled as he called in the knocker, and he knew if he were to look, little half-moon indentations would be pressed into his palm. His parents entered the sitting room slowly, and Jushiro couldn't stop from scowling at their obvious trepidation.
"Yes?" he asked rudely.
Yuudai and Hana looked at each other. "We wanted to talk to you," his mother began slowly. "Too make sure you're alright."
Jushiro snorted loudly and turned back to the fire. No doubt he'd feel guilty for his behavior in a few hours, but for now he took sophomoric pleasure in it.
There was rustling as his parents sat on nearby cushions. "You obviously still wish to attend the Academy, Jushiro, but please understand our concerns," his mother said earnestly, but still Jushiro kept his eyes on the fire. To look into his mother's concerned eyes was to admit defeat.
At his unresponsiveness, Hana hopelessly turned to her husband.
He crossed his arms. "Of course we are worried about your health, Jushiro," he said lowly. Jushiro's head whipped around and he glared at his father, feeling betrayed. His father met his heated stare stonily. "It's a hard truth. But one that cannot be ignored. You are sick, son. And no amount of anger will change that."
Jushiro leaned back and crossed his arms as well, stubborn anger only encouraging his disrespectful behavior.
Yuudai studied his son for a moment before sighing wearily. Tucking his chin to his chest, he began to absently stroke his dark beard, ignoring the the hateful looks of his son and the pleading eyes of his wife. "This is obviously not a passing fancy as we'd hoped," he murmured to himself.
Jushiro, searching for anything to fuel his anger, found more kindling in those words, and he scowled as a result. Did they really think him so flighty?
No one spoke as Yuudai continued to stroke his beard. "Convince me," he said finally. Yuudai met his son's suspicious eyes. "You have responsibilities here, Jushiro. To myself, your mother, your siblings, and as heir to the Ukitake estate and fortunes. Tell me why I should allow my heir to risk his life fighting for something he doesn't truly understand."
Hope widened his eyes and he sat up straight. He resisted the urge to babble immediately, knowing that any absent-minded statement would be used against him. Jushiro quickly organized his long-since prepared argument. He explained swiftly and methodically his plan on staying on top of his studies, both at home and while at the Academy. It was a simple one, one that only took a few moments of explanation, it would just leave him little free time. Yuudai continued to silently stroke his beard.
He swallowed thickly. "As far as my siblings," he continued, "they still have Kimi, and they are far more obedient to her."
Hana lifted her hands earnestly. "That's not the concern, Jushiro. Your brothers look up to you. As much as your father and I try, you're the one to keep Kimi grounded." She shrugged helplessly and dropped her hands into her lap. "And your father will miss you. I will miss you," she murmured as her eyes filled with tears.
Guilt twisted his gut, but determination stiffened his spine. "I'd miss you too, Okaa-san," he mumbled. "And everyone else, but-," he cut off and stared down into his lap. "I need to do this," he said after a lengthy pause."
"And if something were to happen to you?" his mother pressed. "What if you get hurt, or sick, or killed?" At his silence, Hana frowned. "I suppose you value your pride so much you're willing to sacrifice your family's peace of mind." His guilty yet resolute silence made his mother's lips purse.
Angry tears filled her eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak again before her husband laid a quieting hand on her. Jushiro watched the incomprehensible conversation they had with their eyes. His mother's teary gaze fell to her lap.
Yuudai turned to his son, leveling a steady gaze at him. "You gave me your plan but didn't tell me why I should allow you to go, Jushiro." Several seconds passed and it became clear Jushiro either wasn't going to or couldn't answer. Yuudai's jaw clenched before he sighed defeatedly. "I know you feel you have something to prove, Jushiro. And something tells me it has little to do with us." Jushiro tensed. Yuudai stared heavily at him before closing his eyes and sighing again. "I'm not entirely pleased with your request. However," he rushed, seeing Jushiro open his mouth to argue. "You are a grown man. Perhaps it is time to allow you to act as one."
Shock silenced the room. His mother, however, quickly found her voice. "It seems this decision will be made without me," she sniffed as a tear fell down her cheek. "If you'll excuse me." And she left, swiftly and tearfully.
As the door clicked shut, Jushiro felt his face pinch and he looked down at his hands. Indeed, the little half-moon imprints were still indenting his skin. A small discomfort compared to the pain he knew he caused his mother. Doubt once more twisted his gut.
Yuudai broke the silence with a quiet groan. Jushiro glanced up and watched his father rub his eyes. "I'll speak to your mother," he said heavily. Wearily rising to his feet he looked at his son. "Be patient with her, Jushiro. She loves you desperately." Slowly, as if the weight of his decisions was crushing down on his shoulders, Yuudai gripped the handle of the door before turning back to his son. "If this is truly what you want, know that you have made your life that much more difficult." Jushiro nodded once and watched his father's face slowly fall before he left, quietly closing the door behind him.
~.~
Kyaraku Estate...
Same Evening...
Shunsui leaned forward and studied the rack of practice blades with mock solemnity. The blunt edges shone offensively in the dimming light, and thus Shunsui found himself already bored of them. Sensing behind him his brother impatient presence, he smirked to himself. His hand hovered over each blade in turn as if to choose it before tutting at some unseen flaw and moving to the next. He heard even his mother sigh from across the yard. Just as he'd finally decided which glorified butterknife he'd duel with, a dark thought rose from the back of his mind.
He straightened as if struck by lightening and turned to his irritated brother, holding up a finger as if struck by brilliance. "Kenzo-ani, I have an idea," he cried out dramatically.
Kenzo, standing ramrod straight in his dull training gi, raised a thick brow. "Not interested," he deadpanned.
Shunsui chuckled. "Come now, Nii-chan. Aren't you curious?" he asked gleefully before grabbing hold of a sword behind him and twirling it about with practiced ease.
Unimpressed, Kenzo only raised a brow at him.
Lunging forward as if to spear an enemy, Shunsui let loose a melodramatic sigh. "I'm bored!" he whined before rising from the stance. "You can't possibly enjoy sparring with the blades of children."
Kenzo only continued to ignore him, stepping around his brother to select his own.
His very soul hissed in frustration. Scowling, Shunsui clapped a hand around Kenzo's forearm, halting him. He smoothed his features to innocence by the time Kenzo leveled a wrathful glare at him. "Surely you're not holding back for my sake? After all," he said with a humorous shrug, "I've already proven my proclivity against you." Oh, how the jealous rage in his brother's cold eyes delighted him.
"What do you want, Shunsui?"
His fingers twitched against his brother's skin in excitement. "Is it not obvious?" he asked casually, releasing his brother's arm, the imprint fading even as he watched. "I want to fight, Kenzo-ani. To truly cross our blades." His heart pounded at the thought as his lips peeled up across his teeth. "Don't tell me you don't long to see my blood."
Kenzo, ever obvious in his disgust, wrinkled a proud nose at him. "How asinine," he mocked, continuing to swiftly scan the choices before him.
Frustration made Shunsui grit his teeth. "A wager, then?" he offered swiftly, that ever present subconscious presence driving him forward. "How about for that little woman of yours?"
Kenzo's hand froze. Shunsui's eyes gleamed at his victory.
"I don't know what you-,"
"Don't play the fool, Nii-chan. It doesn't suit you," Shunsui interrupted delightedly. Kenzo hadn't turned to him yet, but he could practically see the rage boiling through his clenched fists. "Our bet wouldn't be lasting, of course. It's not as if I want to marry her," he nearly gagged at the thought. "I'd merely like a moment of her time," he said lightly. He swallowed his elated laughter at his brothers stiffened shoulders.
Kenzo finally whipped around. "You son-of-a—"
"An hour," he said loudly, drowning out his brother's venomous insult with a grin. "When I win, the next time I've the pleasure of seeing the girl, I get an hour with her. Alone."
His brother turned positively red with fury. "You'd taint her reputation on a whim?" he hissed, for they both knew what an hour with a man like Shunsui would do to her name among the nobles.
Shunsui chuckled lewdly. "Any tainting done by me will be at the lady's request." Could it be his ever-in-control brother was shaking? "Of course, if you win—and what a mighty if—I leave her alone."
"And if I refuse?" he spat shakily, his fury sapping what control he had of his voice.
Shunsui fought his desire to clap giddily for he had his brother trapped. Kenzo only saw him shrug with a secret smile. "I suppose I'll just behave as usual, then."
With nostrils flared, Kenzo looked like an enraged bull. "Very well," he snarled. Snatching up his own personal blade, he stalked to the center of the courtyard, stretching his arms as he went.
His skin heated in excitement as he watched Kenzo begin his warm up. His blood began to sing, and he did precious little to stop the quiet, manic giggling from bubbling past his lips. An almost drunken stupor settled like a blanket across his mind as he staggered to his position.
Better than sake—better even than women—was the promise of spilled blood. As Shunsui unsheathed his own sword, his limbs twitched in anticipation. He forced his body to still as he languidly watched his brother prepare himself.
Hurry up.
~.~
A week later...
"If aaall the young lasses were locks on a gate, then I'd be the key to insert and rotaaaaate!" Shunsui sang warbly as he stumbled and tripped through the land of his estate. The earth beneath shifted and swayed, sending him headlong into trees as he struggled to stay upright.
An evening well spent, he thought sluggishly, only just avoiding the raised roots of the large oaks and the freshly trimmed shrubbery that lined the path. There was a girl—well, several girls—with long hair, and soft skin that did such a lovely job of occupying his evening. The only pleasure he took in leaving was knowing they'd miss him in his absence. What was that girl's name?
"My lord?"
Startled out of his drunken thoughts, it was all the young Kyoraku could do to stay upright. Turning as swiftly as possible without tipping over, he found Ayaka on her knees next to a small hole in the ground. She'd frozen at his loud arrival with dirt caked on her arm up to her elbow and a startled look on her face, a sight that would have normally amused the inebriated young noble but now only served as a metaphorical ice bath. Suddenly, and unfortunately, more level-headed, Shunsui couldn't help but notice the cloying scent of perfume and alcohol that clung as tightly to his clothes and skin as the women themselves did.
Ayaka's gentle face wrinkled charmingly as she gave him a sad smile. "Good evening, Kyoraku-sama."
Finding it difficult to meet her warm gaze, Shunsui grinned painfully and glanced away. "You know better than that, Ohmae-san," he said carefully, forcing the words past his thickened tongue.
He peeked back to see her smile widen, much to his relieved delight. "Of course, Shunsui-kun." His obnoxious grin fell back to a boyish one for this was a script they'd kept since he was a child.
Unfortunately, her smile was short-lived and it gave way to lips pursed in saddened displeasure. "You don't look well, my dear." His rolling stomach suddenly came to the forefront of his mind and he fought the urge to heave in front of her. Normally he'd have no qualms, but not in front of Ayaka. He'd be mortified.
At his silence she sighed. "Come. Let me make you some tea. It should settle you."
The short walk to the estate took far too long. Shunsui's feet refused to sober at the same pace as his mind, and he knew he was tripping and stumbling far too often for a man normally so sure-footed. Having to struggle to keep up with a near-elderly servant would have been humiliating had Shunsui not been more focused on not vomiting at Ayaka's feet. Ayaka didn't speak and simply kept pace with the young lord. Though sweet, Shunsui knew she was not naive. There was no way she couldn't know of his activities for the last several hours.
Finally they arrived and Shunsui sent up a grateful prayer to whoever was listening that he hadn't made an embarrassment of himself. Following Ayaka's lead, Shunsui trailed behind the servant in confusion for they passed the Kyoraku's magnificent dining hall and we're headed for one of the servant's doors. His curiosity piqued as Ayaka passed through, and it was with a newly invigorated step that Shunsui followed her.
It took only a moment to realize he'd arrived in the mess hall for the staff.
"I know this is far less than what you're accustomed. Forgive my presumption, my lord, but I'd feel guilty using one of the Kyoraku sets to make tea for myself."
"It's fine," he said absently still taking in his surroundings.
It was a large room, nearly as large as the Kyoraku dining room but far less grand. The table was just as long, for there were far more servants than family members, but instead of polished cedar that shone even in the darkness, it seemed to be a mere slab of wood one would find on the forest floor. Someone just screwed on four longer-than-average legs and called it a table. Shunsui approached it curiously. It was much higher than he was used to, coming up to his waist, and he stared questioningly at Ayaka. If not for the chairs lining it's sides, Shunsui would have been at a loss as how to sit.
At his obvious confusion, Ayaka spoke. "Some of the young men hid the table as a joke," she said with a put-upon smile, "and replaced it with this silly version. It's been missing for several weeks now, so everyone began bringing their own stools to sit on. I'm beginning to suspect the boys have lost track of it."
And now that Shunsui was looking, none of the stools seemed to match another. All were simple, bare of any ornament or cushion, but some were taller than others, some had a back to lean against, and others still were obviously formed by a skilled craftsman. Ayaka pulled out one said chair for him, and he sat cautiously, unsure if it would even handle his weight. It creaked alarmingly, but Ayaka turned away to begin preparing tea so Shunsui figured it wasn't out of the ordinary.
How on earth could they have managed to hide an entire table? Shunsui grinned at the thought. He'd have to be on the lookout from now on.
Unfortunately, his humor died swiftly, for the pungent smell of Ayaka's brew had wafted into his face and set his gut to churning. Even as she brought over a pot and two simple cups, Shunsui was battling with the familiar urge to lose what little food he'd eaten.
"You'll have to forgive me again, my lord. For having the gall to sit as your equal," she said formally, shooting him an apologetic look as she poured first his cup than her own.
A strange churning, completely unrelated to the alcohol he'd consumed, twisted Shunsui's insides into knots. Don't say that. "It's fine," he mumbled, forcing himself to sip the tea despite his stomach's protests. The concoction was sharp and thick, and he prepared himself for stomach cramps but found his gut settling instead.
Unwilling to break the silence, partially because he was attempting to chug his cup without seeming boorish, and partially because he didn't want Ayaka's perceptive eyes on him, Shunsui instead busied himself by studying his surroundings over the rim of his cup. Though the room was impeccably tidy, Shunsui saw multiple signs of wear and tear what with the creaking cupboards, worn dishes, and faded walls. The cup he drank from was smooth yet cracked, and he could feel ridges and splinters digging into his elbows as he leaned against the table. The ceiling was low, making Shunsui, used to vaulted ceilings, feel slightly claustrophobic.
Even so. Shunsui glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ayaka. The very picture of an unassuming lady, she sat quietly with eyes half-closed as she enjoyed her tea. Her gray hair was tied up simply in a servants style and worn with a dignity only the oldest of women seemed to possess. Even in her worn yukata, with grass stains on its knees and dirt on its collar, Ayaka shone radiantly in Shunsui's mind's eye. Had he his way, he'd shower her with everything she could ever want. Even give her the title of Lady, for he could think of none more worthy of the honor. He simply couldn't help this quiet and—dare a young man say—tender affection he had for her.
And yet Shunsui thought as he looked around that room he'd never set foot in again. She belonged here. Not because she was poor or broken or undeserving of anything better, but because it was simple. Beautiful even, in its antiquity and rougher edges. Though only she sat with him now, it was as if her presence sparked his imagination, allowing him to hear the boisterous sounds of hollering and laughter. He could see servants rushing in and out, back and forth. All while Ayaka sat by, serenely sipping her tea. It all came together, a woven tapestry of time passed in that hall and of the people who sat at that table, and through it all he could just see Ayaka watching it all carry on with patient maternal pleasure.
Shunsui set down his tea, confused at the tightness in his chest. As he fiddled with his cup, he felt Ayaka's soft gaze on his forehead.
"I'm sorry, Ohmae-san," he murmured to his cup though his words traveled easily in the silence.
"Whatever for, my dear?"
He couldn't help shifting in his seat. "That you-," he cut himself off, wary of the lump he could feel rising. Only when he had forced it down did he continue, "had to see me like this." He looked up and met her steady gaze. "I'm not fit company right now, I'm afraid."
She continued to study him until he could no longer bear looking at her. Instead, he dove into his cup, half-expecting (half-hoping) for sake to wash across his tongue.
Undeterred, Ayaka touched his forearm. Though she carried herself as a lady, the rough callouses gently scraping at Shunsui's skin gave her away. It wasn't until Shunsui tore himself away from studying her hands and looked at her that she spoke. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, Shunsui-kun. You are grown and may live however you wish." Her thumb stroked his arm soothingly with earnest eyes. "But if it pleases you to hear the request of an old servant then hear this, my boy: Be safe. You're far too precious to be endangering yourself needlessly."
Shunsui's eyes stung and he turned away from her quiet request. After what had happened with his brother, there was little doubt that Ayaka was the only one who considered him precious.
A gentle hand brushed away his hair. "Shunsui-kun, look at me." It was painful and creaking, but slowly Shunsui brought his gaze back to her. Ayaka's eyes shone with unshed tears as she shook her head and clicked her tongue. "You make things so difficult for yourself, child," she sighed wearily, moving her hand from his hair to his cheek. Her affection stung like the bite of an insect and he turned away swiftly, feeling her settle both hands on one of his forearms. Even such minimal contact felt like sandpaper against his flesh and he fought the urge to tear himself away from her. Ayaka's feelings were important, and he didn't want to hurt them.
It wasn't her fault she cared for a monster.
Several minutes passed in silence before Ayaka slowly pulled away and began to sip her tea, and after a long while he followed her lead. "Your brother is healing well," she mentioned calmly.
For a moment there was relief before a sudden fury tore through Shunsui, and he very nearly crushed his cup.
"The physicians expect he'll make a full recovery."
A rage from a part of him he'd only just now discovered erupted. He wanted to howl and scream and tear his clothes. How dare he—Shunsui pummeled that thought down fiercely as if it were a tangible enemy. Deeper and deeper he shoved at this sudden wrath for he'd never voice that thought. Not even to himself.
"I don't remember asking for a report on my brother." He snapped, a corner of his heart regretting his harshness even as he spoke.
There was a beat of silence before Ayaka spoke. "Forgive me, my lord. I overstepped," she murmured.
He glared at the top of her head, threw back his tea, and slammed it onto the table. Ayaka still sat calmly, head down and hands folded in lap. A proper lady now bowed as a servant. He clenched his eyes shut, fisting his hands in his lap. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. He heard her clothes rustle and suddenly her small arms wrapped around his shoulders and head, pulling him gently to her chest. Even in his anger, Shunsui drank deeply of her affection, allowing himself a moment of indulgence, guiltily enjoying a comfort he didn't deserve.
His brothers loathing glare and broken body came to mind, and he jerked away from Ayaka, rising to his feet. "I'm too old for hugs, Ohmae-san," he said coldly, glaring above her head.
He rose swiftly and departed, leaving a saddened old woman in his wake.
It would be two decades before he spoke to her again.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Review if you have the desire. I love knowing what I can work on!
FYI: just some things for you guys to be aware of. Each story I write I usually have a sort of writing goal in mind. One of the main ones for Legends is accurately portraying a deep friendship between two male characters (sorry for those who ship these two. I'm not headed that way). Being a girl, it's a bit challenging to get into their heads, and I'm hoping you can give me some advice as I go. Especially if I have any male readers, don't hesitate to hit me with You're Writing Them Like Girls! type of review. Lol.
The second goal I have (and the last I'll put in this note) is to do justice to Jushiro. I feel like a lot of stories paint him as this sickly, feeble, super-nice-guy who has all the character depth of a puddle in the Sahara. No thank you! Jushiro is a BAMF that has battled his body since birth and has ended up one of the most powerful and longest lasting captains in the Gotei 13! That little f***er shouldnt be messed with! (Sorry for the language, I'll get off my soapbox.) Anyway, I would like it if you were on my case about it. Don't let me slack off and fall into that trap.
Sorry for the long note! I'll try and keep them shorter in the coming chapters.
