Chapter 5

(Kisuke)

Kisuke smiled lazily as the Sake turned his mind into his own pleasure. He had woken up that morning and glanced at the calendar and realized what day it was. Yoruichi was away on a trip, meaning that her stash of Sake was unprotected. He had no problem tucking into. Tessai and the others knew to leave him alone on this day—to let him mope and be a pitiful drunkard.

All he could think about was Kumiko on the day of their wedding.

She had looked gorgeous that day. Her hair had been tucked up into a tight bun with little braids and she wore a blue-white dress that had fit her so brilliantly. Tight on her chest and waist, flowing down to the ground from her hips. It had lace sleeves and all Kisuke kept thinking about while she walked down the aisle was he wanted to be that dress. Wrapped around her creamy, scarred skin and feeling every rise and dip of her muscular form.

He had enjoyed unlacing that dress from her almost as much as he had marrying her. Her lips as they pressed to his, so soft. So sweet like the girl he imagined she was before life had molded her into someone different.

"You look beautiful," He whispered in her ear. His hands grasped her naked hips and pulled her in, "Can we go back and do that again?"

She laughed and flicked his nose, "Get married again? Sure, let me get my dress on again."

He kissed her before she could move, stealing her breath like she had stolen his heart. He could feel those delicious lips tilt upwards into a smile only he was allowed to see. How had he been so lucky?

"I'm fine holding our own private ceremony," She murmured, tracing the lines of his mouth with the tip of her finger. Her eyes were heavy and dark as she pushed his clothes away from his body. "Tell me again."

He grinned and scooped her up, "You look beautiful, Missus Urahara."

She had been so incredibly stunning that day. He had imagined everything their life would be. How she would look with a little rise of her belly when she was pregnant with his kid. How she would look at him when she was upset with him. How her laugh would mend a crappy day back together.

He hadn't ever thought that they would be apart. How he had thought so incredibly wrong.

"For a smart man," He raised his glass and mumbled, "You, Kisuke Urahara, are not very smart all the time."

Being this drunk reminded him of that time Kumiko had danced with him at that Irish pub. The way she had curled into him had him falling in love with her. Even though she had broken into his office and read a classified document to ruin his career, he couldn't help but want to hold her against his beating heart then. She ran deeper than most people. She was complex like he was.

Being drunk reminded him of the time she had snuck into the Squad Twelve barracks, completely hammered. That had been the night that she had opened up to him for the first time. She had told him about her past without him forcing her hand. That had been the night where he wanted nothing but to bury himself deep in her and tell her how much deeper he was falling for her.

Being this drunk reminded Kisuke how badly he had fucked up. He had left his only chance of happiness back at the Soul Society.

"Happy Anniversary, Kumi-kun."


(Shizuko)

I hated October Eleventh.

It was a day I knew to make myself scarce on. I wasn't sure why but it was always a day that felt like a funeral. We would all wake up and take one look at the calendar, and then all the life was sucked out of my mother.

On October Eleventh, I would often see her frozen in the past. She would be walking with me and Grandmother, or sitting in the garden, but her eyes were elsewhere. I never thought I would ever see pain in someone's eyes—I had always thought pain was abstract, a feeling we felt but never saw.

Every movement and breath she took on October Eleventh looked like Agony.

My Grandmother would always be sure to take me out of the house on this day of the year. I wasn't sure if it was to give my mother space and time to herself, or that Grandmother didn't want me seeing her like that.

It was on October Eleventh that my mother would look at me and I felt disgust ooze off her. The way she looked at me told me that October Eleventh had everything to do with my father. I made myself scarce because I knew how much I reminded her of him—which was usually something she cherished…but not on this day.

"Tomorrow is nearly here," My Grandmother said as she kissed me goodnight, "And then your mother will be fine again. When do you return to your okiya?"

"I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning," I glanced behind to check that all my bags were in order.

My Grandmother patted my cheek, "Your mother and I are so proud of you. To think that we'll have a geisha in the family. How exquisite you'll be."

She was talking to distract me, but I welcomed it too. I would rather be at my academy and attending my gruelling training as a maiko than here this time of year. In many ways, I couldn't wait to become a geisha and begin paying off what I owed to my okiya. Then I would be free to live away from the darkness that clung to the walls of this house.

"Has your mentor given you an idea how much longer you have until you become a full-fledged geisha?" My Grandmother asked with a smile.

"Still a few more years. Perhaps more since we live longer than in the World of the Living—we're not bound by time the same way human geisha are."

"Makes sense, I suppose. Still, I can't wait for you to be coming to my parties. How jealous all my friends will be that their granddaughters could not be so elegant and charming," She pinched my cheeks, "So much like your mother—though I'm grateful that you are far more graceful than her."

My mother was the toughest person I knew. She never cried and never bowed her head to anything or anyone. I had only known my mother to push through life's challenges and not complain. She was defiant. But inside, I think that it was all a front—deep inside, I saw how broken she was.

It was only on October Eleventh that that brokenness came to light. It was the one day of the year when she couldn't pretend that she could handle with what the world threw at her.

"He didn't come back," My words made my Grandmother flinch. As a girl, I kept quiet because I knew they were uncomfortable talking about my father. But I was sixteen now, and I found it harder to keep my opinions to myself, "He didn't come back because he couldn't…he just didn't come back."

My Grandmother only sighed, "I'm not someone who can guess what went through your father's mind, Shizuko. The only ones who seemed to understand him was your mother and his friends—but they're all gone too."

"Do you resent the fact that I look just like him?" She could only stare at me with wide eyes. "I know that you hate him, Grandma."

She cupped my face with her soft, bony hands, "You listen here, Shizuko, and you listen good. You may look like your father, but you are more like your mother than you realize. And neither Kumiko or I resent you. You are everything we wanted you to become."

I nodded and waited until she shut my bedroom door. Her footsteps faded into the distance before I slipped out of bed again. The halls were cast in darkness, and I crept along the shadows to my mother's bedroom.

She was sitting on the bed, hugging her knees. Wrapped around her was a white haori that was too big to be hers. Her shoulders shook up and down. I saw photos scattered among the bedspread, but it was too dark to see what they were.

Her mouth was covered by her hands as she uncurled herself. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and neck, glistening with tears. The haori's sleeves were soaked through and I wondered how long she had been sitting there, crying.

"Kisuke."

It was a whisper, and I had initially thought that I had imagined it. But her hands dropped and I saw her mouth move around the name of my father's again as she stared out of her window.

"Kisuke—I…I'm so tired of loving you."

I ran back to my room because I felt like I was violating her by watching her crumble. She didn't want me to see her like that…she wanted me to believe that she was fine.

That October Eleventh, I huddled in my covers and cried too. Why was I born to a man who only made my mother cry?

I hated October Eleventh.