Once Mimihagi spoke of lingering in Soul Society for an indefinite amount of time, Shunsui stopped listening altogether.
For a moment, Shunsui entertained the thought that there might be a higher deity out there that was hellbent on making it as difficult for him as possible, but then again that was an arrogant notion to think that God would give a damn for a single soul when it could hardly spare a glance to the realms He was governing.
"This will not be an issue for the foreseeable future, I presume?"
Shunsui was fairly certain he didn't wince, though replying to Mimihagi while staring directly into his eyes remained difficult doing so.
At the back of his mind, he wondered why Mimihagi was asking in the first place.
"It most certainly will not," Shunsui answered evenly. "You're the Boss," he drawled.
If Mimihagi took offense on his tone, he didn't react. Not that Shunsui thought him capable of such. Mimihagi held his gaze emotionlessly; if Shunsui was the first to look away, he wasn't ashamed to admit it.
So long as he stopped looking at the wrong expression on a painfully familiar face.
Which, Shunsui thought belatedly, would be a form of torment from then on. For the foreseeable future, Mimihagi had told him.
Wanting peace of mind, Shunsui supposed, was asking for too much.
On the first non-fitful slumber Shunsui was able to have since the aftermath, he dreamed of Ukitake.
It was rather inconsequential and as nonsensical as far as dreams went, all random shapes and confusing imagery.
The only consistent part was Ukitake with his usual serene smile, staring far away while he waited for Shunsui in that secluded spot below the Sōkyoku Hill. He turned to him, and it was all wrong.
It was Ukitake's face but the expression of indifference and the empty green eyes devoid of kindness were not.
Black began staining his snowy hair until it spilled like ink on his white haori and everything else, painting Shunsui's surroundings with darkness and eventually his single clear vision.
Shunsui woke with a start, the memory from the dream imprinted on his mind was that Ukitake's right eye was the last to be swallowed by the shadow.
In hindsight, it was about as good as a warning of days to come.
...
The funeral pyre was lit for the fallen once a considerable amount of bodies were discovered among the ruins. It was a week after the war where plenty remained unaccounted for while the living was either in a coma or awake to nurse their grievous injuries.
The activities were ceased in order to pay respect to the dead, and kind words were offered to those who suffered tremendous losses one way or another.
Shunsui could count on one hand who approached him that day to say their condolences.
They said their eulogies to the respected Captain of the Thirteenth Division, and when it was Shunsui's turn, he found that he couldn't speak beyond the recognition of Ukitake's sacrifices in the war and the respect he inspired inside and outside the Gotei 13 while he lived.
What went past Shunsui's lips was a speech for a fallen comrade—a platitude unbefitting for a brother-in-arms of a thousand years, for the person who he spent most of his life with.
It was hardly for a friend.
But as Shunsui's single eye was drawn to the pyre that was burning no body, it occurred to him that he stood there as the Captain-Commander and not the Kyōraku Shunsui who lost what might as well be the half of his soul.
And with the sole person who got to fully know him gone, perhaps he wasn't the only one Shunsui laid to rest that stormy day.
The entirety of Seireitei easily adjusted to Mimihagi's presence.
The younger generation thought him a myth while the others were suspended in disbelief at who it was that they had the honor to personally witness. Mimihagi was revered as the God who walked among the commoners, and he was the savior of Soul Society who arrived in the nick of time and turned the tide into their favor.
Those were not lies, and yet Shunsui couldn't find it in himself to muster at least a spark of that reverence.
"Your Highness," Shunsui said in greeting when he walked in his office the following morning and found Mimihagi already present.
Mimihagi had been quietly gazing out the balcony and tilted his head at Shunsui's arrival. The genuine smile that Shunsui foolishly half-expected never came.
There was, however, an indistinguishable flicker across Mimihagi's features that was gone as soon as it came.
"I've been wondering why they call me that," Mimihagi spoke.
"Do you prefer a different title to address you with?"
Mimihagi shook his head faintly. "It is unnecessary for I am not the Soul King, a fact which several misunderstand." He met Shunsui's single eye. "Even you."
"Can you blame us? You are presently standing as the Soul King, are you not?"
"I am but the sole animated part of Him left," said Mimihagi as if that should explain a vast difference.
"Ah. You can always inform them of the distinction," Shunsui suggested. "Mimihagi-sama."
Mimihagi gave a nod, either seriously considering the suggestion or pleased at the proper way Shunsui addressed him.
"I thought it would help to assimilate me as one of you," Mimihagi said. At Shunsui's apparent confusion, Mimihagi laid a palm on his chest. "This vessel. He is a familiar face, isn't he? To most and more so to—"
"Don't ."
The silence that followed was cutting, thick with a strained tension that didn't make itself known the first time they were around each other. If Shunsui let his reiatsu roil threateningly, he didn't bother tempering it down.
Let them come, he thought. Let them think their God was in immediate peril because Shunsui could try harming this… this creature that paraded itself while wearing Ukitake's face.
But that was the thing, wasn't it? Ukitake knew too well that this was one of the possible outcomes once the God that resided in him decided to take back what it lent.
Ukitake had long ago come into terms with his fate.
The fight left Shunsui in an instant. "Can I help you with anything, Mimihagi-sama?"
At a considerable distance, Mimihagi studied him for a moment. "No," he said eventually in the same rich voice but a flat tone. "Not this time. I will be back."
I'd rather you don't, Shunsui wanted to say, but Mimihagi was gone before he could express his sentiments.
Shunsui understood then why.
Mimihagi couldn't inspire reverence in him because more than anything, Shunsui loathed him with every fiber of his being.
And Shunsui loathed Mimihagi especially so for leaving him empty and bereft of even a shred of that hatred that early morning.
Nanao didn't have to ask him.
Ukitake's belongings were left in the care of the still-recovering Rukia including his haori and Sogyo no Kotowari. There they would be stored away in a box until it was time for the haori to be worn by Rukia once she stepped as the new captain.
Sogyo no Kotowari, meanwhile, would be an untouched relic of time.
Shunsui pitied that part of Ukitake that was left in there. They should have been gone with their master and transcended to the next phase of the afterlife, let the sword return as asauchi and burned in the pyre.
He could have told Nanao that he could keep it, a remembrance of a friend. Perhaps that way the twin Zanpakutō that Ukitake left behind wouldn't be so lonely.
Who are you fooling? It's you who needs them as your pitiful crutches.
Shunsui determinedly refused to acknowledge Katen's voice at the back of his head.
...
Nanao didn't ask him what he would like to keep, but there was a small box sitting on Shunsui's table later that evening.
It was a simple wooden frame that contained an old picture. Shunsui remembered seeing it around Ukitake's office, a fixture that he never once paid attention to no matter how often he had been there.
It was them, young and eager to prove themselves as the new captains in the Gotei 13. They hadn't been weary then of any war, of betrayal, of anger. They had been the happiest then—Ukitake for the payoff of all his hard work, and Shunsui…
Shunsui had been happy to share a momentous occasion with the one that mattered the most.
He had this belief that if he walked the same path as Ukitake's, he wouldn't be left out alone to figure it out on his own, that the harrowing journey wouldn't have to be lonely and unbearable.
It was the destination, Shunsui found out, that was unforgiving and cruel than the journey itself.
...
In his dream, he found Mimihagi once more in his office, and cold fury bubbled from the deep recesses of Shunsui's chest.
Mimihagi, who was presently identical to Ukitake's appearance than before with the wash of white hair instead of black, was holding the framed photo, looking at it with what amounted to confusion.
"I don't understand," he began, thumbing the spot where Shunsui knew Ukitake was positioned, "I don't understand your hatred of me when he and I are the same."
Shunsui wanted to laugh at the gall of this God to stroll in his territory, unannounced, to ask him of that.
But more than anything he wanted to pry Mimihagi's hand away because how dare he.
"You're not," Shunsui said, his low voice vibrating with rage. "You can wear his face and speak with his voice, but you're not, and never will be, Ukitake."
A certain expression dawned on Mimihagi's face, and Shunsui hated with a passion how he was rapidly learning these little aspects that made him resemble Ukitake more than the God that he was.
"I don't expect a God to understand," Shunsui spat. "Because for all your claims to be Mimihagi, I can only see a dead person who should have been alive in your place. And don't… don't ask me this because you'll never get how it pains me to see you here in front of me."
The words kept tumbling out of his mouth without care, and it was a testament of deep Shunsui was in this particular dream that he could utter this deep-seated contempt that he had right at Mimihagi's face.
"I hate you," Shunsui said, almost breathless. "I hate you because it's the only way I know how I can tolerate you."
He had no idea when Mimihagi left him slumped on the cold floor, unseeing and shaking with all the unnameable mix of anger, confusion, and defeat.
Shunsui would acknowledge belatedly that for a nightmare, it was rather vivid.
...
He woke up at the crack of the dawn, reeking of sake, his unwashed self, and possibly his own sick.
Shunsui wondered how much of last night was a dream.
By an odd stroke of luck, Shunsui didn't see Mimihagi for a week.
It was in the middle of the afternoon when Mimihagi showed himself again to Shunsui.
For once, Shunsui was there to hear his silent footfalls when Mimihagi arrived, accompanied by the significant increase of his spiritual pressure that hadn't been there before.
Although despite the apparent change in Mimihagi's predominance, it was superseded by the distinct transformation of his appearance.
Mimihagi looked every bit of the royalty that he was by simply standing there, draped in the finest silk of azure and teal that reflected the hue of the skies and seas, his dark hair held up loosely by a scarlet band and a single golden hairpin.
"Mimihagi-sama," Shunsui said, standing formally. Somehow, he was a little better at holding Mimihagi's gaze.
"Kyōraku-soutaicho," he said, still with the same mellifluous voice. "I hope you do not mind my intrusion."
Shunsui's mouth twitched. He had no idea that Mimihagi's integration would be this quick. "Not at all." He gestured across him and sat back. "I see that you've learned plenty within a couple of days."
Mimihagi didn't deign him an answer to the clear gibe; that or he hadn't developed that far yet to understand. "I have taken His left arm and His heart."
Shunsui had been aware of the former with Kisuke keeping him up to speed. The latter, though, was news. "I see." Almost whole, but not yet. "There's only one left, no?"
"Urahara Kisuke is preparing him as we speak," Mimihagi said. "He and your Captain Kurotsuchi Mayuri are commendable in their swiftness."
His lips thinned into a line that Shunsui believed was an attempt to smile.
"They said that it would be done in a fortnight, and by then..." he trailed off, eyes far beyond Shunsui. "May I ask you a favor?"
"What is it?"
"Will you be there with me when I see him?" Mimihagi asked, with eyes that were almost imploring. "Will you be there with me when I see my son?"
His son. Shunsui seemed to have underestimated the extent of Mimihagi's current growth. "Why?"
"I… I don't know," Mimihagi replied softly. "But I do believe that I want you there with me."
No, Shunsui's mind insisted over and over. No good would surely come out of it. He was setting himself for another misery, he thought, but even that reasoning wasn't enough to convince himself not to.
Not when Mimihagi appeared just as lost and very, very human.
"I can't make a promise," Shunsui finally said. "But I can try."
Mimihagi was victorious in his second attempt at a smile, and Shunsui's heart ached with a faded pang of pain.
It was a little better this time, at least.
Shunsui didn't hold Mimihagi's hand when the fateful day came. He was outside the 12th Division Barracks when the process began, and there he remained while the air was oppressive and heavy with power, of sanctitude, of life.
It lasted until nightfall, and when Mimihagi emerged, He was complete.
"May we speak?"
With all the blasphemy Shunsui had likely committed when it concerned Mimihagi, it was ironic that he was yet to refuse to talk to him.
"You have my attention, Your Highness."
It was a smile that crossed Mimihagi's face, one that no ordinary soul should be able to discern but which Shunsui found suitable. "I remain as Mimihagi while I am on this plane. It is only once I ascend to take His place that I will truly be Him to maintain the balance once more," Mimihagi explained. He inclined his head, taking off his gaze from the palace they both knew was above them. "It is a pleasant evening. I hope you do not mind me taking some of it from you."
The evening was nothing spectacular in Shunsui's opinion. "You said you wish to talk."
Mimihagi nodded. "First is I want to personally express my gratitude for your hospitality."
"I hardly own the place, Mimihagi-sama."
"You're right, but you do a much better job of keeping it together and running it," Mimihagi acknowledged. "I am but a guest in your territory, Kyōraku-soutaicho."
If Mimihagi wanted to see it that way, then Shunsui wasn't one to argue.
"Second," Mimihagi continued, and there was a hint of hesitance in his tone. Who would have thought a deity could have uncertainty. "I am sorry for your loss."
Shunsui has no idea how to accept the—was it sympathy? Was it right to call it that?
Not trusting himself to speak, he settled for silence. Shunsui was willing to be that unmoving effigy beside Mimihagi.
"Ukitake Jūshirō was a good man and a good soldier," Mimihagi said. "I was honored to be a part of him."
Shunsui closed his eye briefly. Those were certainly words that Ukitake deserved to hear himself.
"You are right. I am not him. I might have lived in him, but I will never be him." Mimihagi folded his hands on his lap.
Interestingly, Shunsui wasn't surprised that it hadn't been a dream at all.
"Ukitake Jūshirō had a bright soul," Mimihagi told him. "His was one of the brightest I've ever seen. We were forbidden to live inside one, you see, but I noticed that dying boy and the sheen of his soul when his parents brought him to me out of desperation." He smiled wistfully. "It was a decision I did not regret."
Shunsui could only listen to Mimihagi attentively, thinking that Ukitake should have known of this before he passed away. It felt intrusive to be the one hearing Mimihagi's recollection, and nor could Shunsui keep the bitterness from growing.
Why did you let him die?
A trace of shame fell and shrouded Mimihagi as if he could read Shunsui's mind. Mimihagi bit back another apology that was about to escape his lips.
"I was like a mirror; what he learned from the people he cherished and respected the most, I learned as well—happiness and kindness from his family, loyalty and honor from the late Yamamoto-soutaichou, and from you he learned the most important thing."
"Which is?"
"Love."
Shunsui blinked and huffed out a chuckle that sounded hollow in his ears. "Did that mean that Ukitake rubbed off on me?"
Mimihagi quirked an eyebrow. "You knew he did, in small ways," he allowed. "But you understand what I mean."
No, Shunsui did not, or rather he did not want to comprehend it differently because it meant accepting what Mimihagi was implying and… and Shunsui did not want to go there lest he fell down that slippery slope and never got back on his safe ground.
And he never would. It would have eaten him from within, all that regret for what could have been if he had simply reached out first.
Mimihagi smiled at him sadly. Regretfully. "You were his sun, Kyōraku."
Shunsui would have pointed out the irony there if not for his mind muddled with those words. His one-sided vision blurred, unbidden. Shit. Shit.
A pale hand enclosed Shunsui's, and he did not remove his own despite the pale fingers that curled themselves with his.
"I'm sorry," Mimihagi said, sincere. He genuinely meant it. He understood the weight of his apology. "I'm sorry that you have to find it this way and this late, but I understand now as to why Mimihagi is also drawn to you."
He reached for Shunsui's face, thumbing his cheek endearingly. "I will never be him because Ukitake is the greater part of me, and Mimihagi cannot measure up to someone dearly loved and who loved dearly like him."
Mimihagi touched Shunsui's forehead with his, and Shunsui was unavailable to pull away, his heart seemingly being squeezed painfully.
He ached for this. For Ukitake. For someone gone that he could never have or be with ever again.
"I am not a God who can grant wishes," he heard Mimihagi whisper. "But I want to, this time."
Mimihagi's—Ukitake's lips connected with Shunsui's in a tender touch, and Shunsui let himself get lost into the sensation.
Shunsui sat awake, alerted by something he could not pinpoint what.
There was a sense of urgency, that much he knew, but his head was blank and could not recall what it could be.
He could hardly remember last night or the day prior even, and while Shunsui became immediately concerned for his wellbeing, his feet carried him somewhere familiar as if they have a mind of their own.
But it felt right, the direction, and Shunsui permitted himself to go where his instincts guided him.
He landed on the grassy field with the morning's sun on his back, and Shunsui stopped, frozen.
Up ahead was a familiar white hair billowing in the wind and a figure sitting in seiza, face turned away.
Shunsui could not mistake it for anyone else.
Ukitake seemed to have sensed his arrival and spotted him in an instant. He raised his hand in greeting, beaming. He had been patiently waiting for Shunsui.
"Hello, Kyōraku. It took you long enough."