"The weapon of the shinigami," says Mr. Mochida, "is the zanpakutou."
In a smooth motion, he draws a sword from the sheath tied to his hip.
Rukia has never seen anything so beautiful.
It is a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, true. Seventy centimeters of forged steel, sharpened to an edge that makes the air wobble around it. Rukia has seen plenty of weapons in her time- dull and rusty daggers, lengths of broken pipe. She knows well that even a sharpened stick or a well-thrown rock can take a life. Mr. Mochida's zanpakutou is different. It is elegant. It is-
"It sings," Renji exclaims, delighted.
Rukia is surprised (and a little peeved) that Renji has noticed this before her. Renji cannot carry a tune in a bucket. He is correct, though. "Singing" isn't exactly the word Rukia would have used, but the sword hums at some sub-audible frequency.
"It's not actually a sound," Mr. Mochida smiles. "You are sensing her reiatsu."
"Oh!" says Renji. "I suppose so."
Rukia wonders if this explains something about Renji. If maybe his hearing has always been tuned half an octave into a different plane of reality.
"What distinguishes a zanpakutou from a regular sword," Mr. Mochida goes on, "is the piece of your own heart that you must put inside it."
"Does that hurt?" Rukia asks immediately.
"As much as loving someone ever does," Mr. Mochida replies. "Some find the process unpleasant or impossible. It is not the end of the world if that turns out to be the case. Many graduates of Shin'ou return their asauchi and go on to serve in the Kidou Corps or the Onmitsukidou." Mr. Mochida takes a deep breath. "I am going to tell you something that I am not supposed to tell you, but we are out in District 70, so I do not think my superiors will overhear my very mild treason. At Shin'ou- indeed, among all shinigami-much is made over shikai, the process of learning your sword's name and how to call upon them for strength. The greatest of shinigami, the captains of the Gotei and the Royal Guards, can even dominate their swords by their names, and force them to assume their true forms. However-"
Rukia leans forward. She is looking forward to the treasonous part.
"-even among the Gotei 13, only a quarter of shinigami ever achieve shikai. And for many, learning the name of one's zanpakutou is the work of a lifetime. It is a journey that has its own rewards, regardless of whether one reaches the expected destination."
"Do you know the name of your zanpakutou?" Renji asks. "Ow!"
Rukia glares at him as she slowly extracts her elbow from his rib cage.
Mr. Mochida does not look sad, although Rukia feels like she would be sad if her sword refused to tell her their name. "Twice," he says, "I have had a dream where I spoke to my zanpakutou. For the span of the dream, I knew her name. But it was gone when I woke up." He smiles. "I spent twenty years as a Gotei officer. She never let me down, not once. But it was not my destiny to live by the sword. The work I do now means the world to me. Zanpakutou keep their own council. I think, perhaps, that if she had told me her name, my fate would have been quite different. Also, I am not so old, there is still a chance for me, yet!"
Rukia has never considered that she might have a fate before. The idea that anyone is sent to Inuzuri for some purpose is simply too depressing to consider. All the same, she finds herself strangely disappointed by the obvious fact that half of all shinigami are below average. She has noticed, in the margins of her consciousness, the tendency of Mr. Mochida's books to presume exceptionality. She knows logically that it would be exceptional for her to even get in. It's all well and good to dream of special attacks and seated officer positions, but all she really needs is a set of citizenship papers to the Seireitei. Well. Two sets of citizenship papers. But that would be enough.
"I still hope I get shikai," Renji puts in, a twinge of petulance in his voice.
"Yes!" Mr. Mochida agrees. "I hope that, too, for both of you! I simply wished you to understand that the rhetoric surrounding zanpakutou is sometimes rather…optimistic. Many young people…especially those from the Rukon, without family and friends in the corps, tie themselves in knots over their inability to reach shikai, when, in fact, it is quite common. A zanpakutou without a name will still slay a Hollow. A zanpakutou without a name will still perform a konsou." He resheathes his zanpakutou and some of the light seems to go out of the room. "But that is a long, long way off. If you want to make a good first impression on your zanpakutou, you can start by working hard at your sword lessons, which is what we're going to do next."
Rukia can't actually tell if this is true or if it's just more of his weird old man humor. It doesn't matter. Renji is already better than her at swords and she doesn't need any more reason than that to work hard at her lessons.
Unsurprisingly, Renji continues to be better than her at swords.
Afterward, they work on a new kidou, one called shakkahou. Rukia is proud of herself for conjuring up a tiny fireball and even managing to propel it forward a bit. Then, Renji manages to cast an enormous one. It hovers in his hand, wobbling and pulsing for a few moments before Mr. Mochida, in a panic, pulls down the emergency suppression charm on him. Mr. Mochida is absolutely perplexed by this feat, and spends the rest of the lesson trying to get Renji to do it again (he cannot). Despite the fact that Mr. Mochida doesn't exactly seem happy with this development, Rukia is sure it is a sign of great genius and that her superiority was merely fleeting.
So it is understandable that by the time the last lesson of the day rolls around, she is feeling a bit cross.
"Remember to keep your elbow gently curved-yes, yes, like that! Palms outward, and…!"
Rukia watches silently while Renji rolls across the mat. Like a toddler. Or a clown. She hopes she doesn't look that stupid when she does it.
"In hakuda, the ground is your friend!" Mr. Mochida announces. "Everyone falls. Everyone takes hits. Accept that fact, and become an expert at getting up quickly. It will serve you well." He claps his hands together. "How did that feel?"
"Bumpy," Renji admits.
Mr. Mochida nods sagely. "It will get smoother with practice. This is one technique where those long limbs of yours do you no favors. Do not fret. They will come in handy later, when we learn strikes."
Rukia snorts.
"We aren't all naturals, okay!" Renji barks at her.
Rukia pulls a face back at him. Funny how quickly his 'we're here to learn' attitude evaporates as soon as she's better at anything than him.
"Be patient with your friend, Miss Rukia." Mr. Mochida turns to Renji again. "You are both catching on very quickly. There is nothing to worry over."
"That wasn't what the snort was for," Rukia defends. "We only have two more weeks to get ready for these tests and we've spent all afternoon on falling, a thing that Renji is already a world-class authority on. I was wondering when we were actually going to get around to learning anything 'handy.'"
"C'mon, Rukia," Renji mutters. "Don't be like this."
"These are foundational skills," Mr. Mochida explains.
"But you know we already know how to fight!" Rukia presses. "Can't you teach us something more advanced? Something impressive?" She looks to Renji desperately. He's got to be sick of this kiddie shit, too. He makes a face like he agrees with her, but also doesn't want to take sides. Fink.
"I could," Mr. Mochida says slowly, "but it would not be a good use of our time together."
Rukia and Renji stare at him in abject confusion.
"How to put this…?" Mr. Mochida strokes his mustache absently. "You are thinking of the Shin'ou entrance exams as tests of capability, which is not quite correct. You are not auditioning to enter the Gotei. You are auditioning to go to school. To be honest, if they see that you are too good at fighting, too good at fighting in your own style, they say, 'Oh, they will not listen to us. They will not learn our way of fighting. They will not make good students.' Do you understand?"
Rukia says nothing. She understands quite well.
"What are we supposed to do, then?" Renji scowls. "How can we impress them if we can't show them the things we're actually good at?"
Mr. Mochida makes a calming motion with his hands. "Do not worry. You can. You just need to go about it correctly. That is why I am here. I have sent many, many students to the examinations. Some have passed and some have not. The challenges are different out here, so far from the center, but they are not more difficult. It is more a matter of…strategy?"
Rukia and Renji exchange a look. "Go on," says Rukia. "We know about strategies."
"For most candidates," Mr. Mochida starts slowly, "the biggest issue is spiritual power. There is no hard or fast level as to what is acceptable, it all depends on that year's candidate pool. In those cases, I do what I can to help them improve, and how to tighten up other aspects of their presentation, but it is mostly up to luck."
"Not us, though?" Renji asks.
"Not you," Mr. Mochida agrees. "If you were from Seireitei families-not even particularly powerful ones-you would be sure of gaining admittance, and that is with no training and having been half-starved for years. I can feed you and teach you a few basic techniques for using your spiritual pressure, but that is only burnishing the one area where you already shine."
This is not flattery. This is an honest appraisal, a listing of assets. This, Rukia understands.
"But?" she presses.
"But you lack any kind of formal education. In my opinion, it is abject stupidity on Shin'ou's part. Given the choice between two equally capable students, where one has had the benefit of practice and tutelage and the other has not, which should you pick? The second, of course! If they perform equally with no training, the untrained candidate clearly has much greater potential!"
"I think you're getting off track," Renji says gently. He does not add "eyes on the prize, buddy," which is what Rukia always says to him when he gets like this.
"Right," Mr. Mochida agrees. "The point is that even a mediocre, lazy candidate from the city will know proper forms and stances. I am not teaching you these skills to impress the judges, I am teaching them to you so you may avoid disappointing them."
Understanding dawns over Rukia. "You're teaching us how to fake it," she realizes.
"Er, well," Mr. Mochida hems. "That's not exactly…"
"It's about putting on the right act. Showing them what they want to see. It's like a grift. You should have said so earlier." A warm feeling blooms in her chest. They are definitely in familiar territory now.
"Ummm…" Mr. Mochida frowns.
"It's not at all like a grift," Renji bursts out. "Or if it is, I don't want any part of it. Either we've got the skills to get in, or we don't. I'm not lying my way in."
It's not pointed at her, not exactly, but Renji's vehemence knocks all the good feelings out of Rukia like a punch in the gut. She had presumed that this honest living stuff would come on a little more gradually, once they were securely within the Seireitei, once they had some breathing room.
"No," Mr. Mochida says firmly. "It would be incorrect to say that you are faking it. Your skills are real. I simply want to teach you to present them in the best light. A matter of packaging. If we are playing a trick, it is only to get the proctors to look past their own prejudices." He sighs and looks a bit sad. "But the other fact of the matter is, if you are accepted to Shin'ou-if you move to the Seireitei, you will have to do things according to their way, even if you know a better one. You will have to learn their style of fighting. You will adopt a city-centric viewpoint. You will lose your accents. Getting a head start on these things will create a favorable impression that will weigh heavily in your favor." He pauses. "If you cannot do these things…well, perhaps it is better to find out now and save the trip, eh?" His voice is very kind.
Renji looks uncharacteristically uncertain. "No…I understand. That makes sense. It's not that I thought…" He swallows down all these waffling thoughts and sets his jaw. "I knew we would have to change. I can do it."
Mr. Mochida turns his kind eyes to Rukia. "And you, Miss Rukia?"
Rukia crosses her arms. "I will never change," she declares. "But acting is second nature to me. I like this plan. By the end of two weeks, you will have never seen as convincing a student as me!" She jerks her chin at Renji. "I will certainly be better at it than him."
She mostly says this to get Renji riled up. She doesn't care for this pensive mood of his. He is overthinking things, as usual. Rukia has seen Renji swap out personas their entire time together. He does it as naturally as breathing. From everyone's best friend to clever shyster to affable meathead, she's watched him charm every soul in Inuzuri at one time or another. Dutiful student is a new face, but it's certainly closer to his true self than it is to hers. She is hoping that the suggestion of a competition will cause half his brain to fall out of his head, as it often does, and he will stop dwelling on it.
It doesn't work.
"Maybe," Renji says noncommittally. He looks back to Mr. Mochida. "The falling stuff we were doing. That's something the other students at Shin'ou will already know how to do?"
Mr. Mochida brightens. "Most will, yes. The hakuda classes will cover it as well, but they may move quickly through early topics. I was not teaching it to you merely for show. It is a very important skill that you will be building on for years to come."
Renji rolls his shoulders. "Let's keep working on it, then." He does not look at Rukia. "I'm not as good at acting as Rukia, so I'll just have to learn it for real."
"I think you should let me do the frying," Rukia declares, watching Mr. Mochida toss tofu cubes in a pan. The man very much does not look like he knows what he is doing.
"Have you ever fried anything before?" Mr. Mochida asks, squinting from the smoke.
"Of course not," Rukia replies. "But you seemed better at grating and I find grating very boring."
Rukia regrets making that joke a few days ago about learning to cook. She is currently trying to make Mr. Mochida regret taking her up on it.
"Like many things," Mr. Mochida says, "in cooking, one must start with the thankless and menial tasks, and through hard work and perseverance, earn their way to glory. I have already put in a lot of time grating."
"Did they teach you to cook in the Gotei?" Rukia asks.
"No," Mr. Mochida replies. "The Gotei has mess halls. I had to learn when I became a recruiter."
"Your cooking tastes good, but you seem kinda bad at this," Rukia comments. "That's why I asked."
Mr. Mochida throws some more green onions into the pan and flinches back like he expects them to explode. "I am used to being an assistant. The role of head chef is new to me, but we are always learning and growing!"
Rukia remembers him saying that the recruitment stations further north usually have multiple staff members. Mr. Mochida seems so unflappable, like he's seen and done everything. It's funny to think that maybe he is flying by the seat of his pants as much as they are. Rukia feels her respect for him tick up another notch.
"You do not need to worry about learning to cook," Mr. Mochida quickly adds. "You have enough other things to learn right now."
"I already know how to cook," Rukia informs him. "Not this fancy stuff, but enough to get by." Enough to get by is a bit of a bold claim. Rukia is actually quite capable when it comes to catching and dressing game. From there, she can jab it onto a stick and roast it until it's safe to eat, as long as you don't mind a few crunchy bits. The real enough to get by means hand it off to Renji, who will bother to cut her catches into pieces so that they'll roast more evenly, and possibly even stew them with some foraged mushrooms or bamboo shoots, because even watered-down leftover broth is better than plain water. It's not that she couldn't do all that herself, it's just good division of labor, that's all. "If you want actual help, you're probably better off to ask Renji," she mutters under her breath.
Renji is, at the moment, practicing his hohou in the courtyard. Renji, it turns out, is very good at the step-off and very bad at stopping. The three of them dragged a bunch of the hakuda pads out of the dojo and propped them up against the fence. Mr. Mochida declared it was probably the safest for everyone if they just left him some time and space to practice on his own. Rukia has gotten good enough at sensing reiatsu that her own brain rattles in her skull every time Renji goes full-bore into the pads. Maybe it's for the best that Mr. Mochida is handling the hot pans after all.
"The help is nice," Mr. Mochida says, "but I actually wanted to talk to you." As if on cue, there is a loud crash and Renji's reiatsu rings through the kitchen like a gong. "Also, he needs to…work this out." He pauses. "Do you think we should check on him? I assumed his reiatsu would plummet if he knocked himself out, but…"
"His head is very hard," Rukia reassures him, as she picks up the daikon she is supposed to be grating. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Mr. Mochida stares into his pan for a long moment. "Try to be charitable toward him, Miss Rukia."
"I didn't mean anything by it," Rukia explains. "It's just a fact. I saw him take a brick to the face once! He just shook it off! It was amazing!"
Mr. Mochida sighs, heavily. "That is…not what I meant." He takes a deep breath. "When I was learning to be a recruiter, there was a special section in the materials about how shinigami often come from the Rukon, especially the deep Rukon, in pairs."
Mr. Mochida checks on his rice, bubbling away in its pot. "It is, to some degree, a matter of selection bias. It is hard to survive out here, and high reiryouku potential without a steady source of food can be more of a liability than an asset. Having a friend to watch your back and share resources increases your chances of survival significantly."
"Anyone could tell you that," Rukia grumbles. "I don't see what that has to do with being nice to him."
"These relationships frequently do not survive the Academy years."
Rukia's fingers tighten around her daikon. "Oh."
"Sometimes they do!" Mr. Mochida adds very quickly. "Friendships between shinigami are tricky things, you see. When your strength comes from the ability to externalize a piece of your own soul, you must either become very comfortable with who you are, or work to become the person you truly wish to be. This can be a heavy load for any kind of relationship to bear. You may come through it all the stronger, or…well, it is very natural for people to drift apart from their childhood friends."
"If he tries to drift apart from me, I'll rearrange his face." Rukia starts grating again with a vengeance.
Mr. Mochida gives a pained chuckle. "That is exactly my point, Miss Rukia. You seem to be very comfortable in yourself, but Mr. Renji may need to explore who he is a bit. This is not any sort of betrayal. Be patient. I have not known either of you for very long, but I imagine that the person he wants to be will still care for you very much, and is still someone you will still want to be friends with."
"You're right," Rukia grimaces. "You don't know us very well. You're worried over nothing. You always think we're fighting, but we're not. This is just how we are. What do I care if he wants to try for the Seireitei Citizen of the Month? It's just Renji bullshit anyway. He'll be over it in a few weeks." She stops herself just before catching her own fingertips in the grater. "I'm done with this. Can I leave now?"
"You may," Mr. Mochida agrees. "Dinner will only be a few minutes more. You can go tell Mr. Renji to finish his exercises and wash up."
"Okay," Rukia mumbles, already feeling embarrassed about her babyish outburst.
"And I apologize if I have overstepped. A friendship such as yours is a precious thing, but I can see that you know that already."
"Thank you," Rukia says stiffly, but what she is thinking is: fuck.
At dinner, Renji doesn't appear to harbor any bad feelings from the afternoon's hakuda session. This is just as Rukia expected. He's likely forgotten it ever happened. If Renji has something to say, he says it, usually loudly. Stewing simply isn't his way.
Also, he seems downright exhausted. He can barely keep his eyes open as he shovels food into his mouth. Mr. Mochida asks him how the hohou went, and he can only respond with a vague grunt.
When Rukia returns from her bath, Renji is already sprawled out across the futon, snoring to wake the living. It's not unusual for him to fall asleep before her, but it is unusual for him to fall asleep without her. She stands at the edge of the futon and contemplates his starfish-like posture. Usually, they lay side by side until she finishes all her tossing and turning, and then he curves himself into a shape concentric to hers, a barrier island to her coastline.
Rukia can fit in the space between his arm and his outflung leg, if she curls into a ball. This offends her sensibilities, though, so she shoves at his leg with her foot until she has enough space to stretch out.
She doesn't care for this either. Judging by the volume of his snores, Renji is still pretty solidly asleep. Experimentally, Rukia snuggles into his side, resting her hand on his stomach. This is very comfy, actually. Renji radiates a cozy warmth against the chilly night air. He smells pleasantly of boy and soap and camellia oil.
It's too nice. Abruptly, Rukia rolls over, jams her butt into his hip, and lets her spine conform to the curve of his side. She squeezes her eyes closed and wills herself to go to sleep.
Fortunately, Rukia is also bone-tired and achy after her long day of training, and this actually works. Usually, in such circumstances, she sleeps at benthic depths, too far from sunlight and oxygen for dreams to coalesce, but tonight, one manages.
It's a real doozy.
She has made it to Shin'ou. She has just completed her entrance exams and is escorted to a small room where an improbably beautiful shinigami sits behind a desk. "Congratulations!" the woman announces. "You have done everything perfectly!"
"Oh," says Rukia, "does that mean I got in?"
"I didn't say that," explains the woman. She has long, sharp facial features that feel oddly familiar to Rukia, but she can't imagine how. No one so elegant would ever set foot in Inuzuri. The shinigami steeples her thin, pale fingers. "There is only one more slot available, and Renji has done everything perfectly, as well."
"Oh," Rukia says again, frowning.
"Also, there has been a mistake. A miscalculation. There is one more slot for students, but there are no more zanpakutou. We were one short."
Rukia furrows her brows. "So, neither of us can go, then?"
"I didn't say that, either!" The woman's voice is both bright and piercing, like winter birdsong. She reaches below her desk and brings out a naked katana. She places it on the desk. It is similar to Mr. Mochida's, but this one does not sing. It seems dark and dull. Just looking at it gives Rukia a stomachache. "There is a simple solution! One of you can become a shinigami, and the other can become their zanpakutou!"
Silence hangs in the office for a long moment.
"Is that…a thing you can do?" Rukia asks.
The woman peers curiously at the sword that sits between them. "I'm told you just go into the sword. The rest is supposed to follow very naturally. Don't you think it would be pleasant to be a sword?"
"Not…really," Rukia says slowly.
"Oh! Hmm. You'd rather Renji becomes the sword, then?" There is a brush in the shinigami's hand, suddenly, and a form on the desk with two checky boxes and a line for a signature. The brush hovers over it ominously.
"Wait, no!" Rukia waves her hands. "What if we just…leave? What if neither of us go to Shin'ou, but also, neither of us becomes a sword?"
It appears Rukia has hurt the lovely shinigami's feelings. "You would give up your shining, auspicious future?" She lowers her voice. "Is it so bad, you think? To be a sword? You would have a blade like solid moonlight, with an edge as sharp as a winter wind."
"I'd…just rather stay as I am," Rukia hems.
"Wouldn't we all?" the shinigami sighs. "But I think it is too late. Once you start to change, you can stop where you are, or you can become the thing you're meant to be, but you cannot go back to what you were."
Rukia swallows thickly. "Going back to Inuzuri with a few shinigami tricks still seems less extreme than one of us turning into a sword."
The woman makes a beautiful moue. "As you like. Inuzuri is a dangerous place, and sometimes having more power simply makes you a larger target." She pauses. "You won't survive."
"Everyone dies sooner or later," Rukia replies automatically.
"Shinigami can live a very long time," the shinigami offers as a counterpoint. "If you go back, you will not. Live a very long time, that is. You will live a very short time. But not as short a time as Renji."
It's not like this is some sort of surprise. That's why they left Inuzuri in the first place, isn't it? Rukia wrinkles her nose and grits her teeth. She has to make this decision. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, there is a clear choice. She isn't all that good with swords, and Renji is. "Okay. Fine. I'll be the zanpakutou."
The woman's eyes widen, and her mouth makes a lovely 'o'. "I see! Very well, then!"
"Why do you look so surprised?" Rukia asks suspiciously.
The woman's eyes slide off to the side. Renji does the same thing when he lies to her. "I just thought you would have chosen to bear the burden, rather than be the burden. But it's fine!" She marks a big, black 'x' onto the left checky box.
"Wait!" Rukia exclaims. "What does that mean? I was trying to take the worse one! Is a sword a burden?" She realizes immediately how stupid she sounds.
The woman looks up at her. Her eyes are pale, nearly colorless. "If you don't even know that, you certainly have no business becoming a shinigami." She taps her chin with one finger. "But maybe you have a point. Maybe a young shinigami is a burden to their zanpakutou. How can one learn to bear a burden until one has been a burden, after all?" She slides the paper across the desk. "Signature, please."
Rukia hesitates before picking up the brush. She cannot read any of the writing on the paper- not because she is bad at reading, but because the text blurs in and out, dancing and shifting. She looks back up again. "Don't tell him it's me. Tell him I didn't pass the tests and got sent home." She frowns. "Actually, tell him something better than that. Tell him they let me stay in District 70 to help out Mr. Mochida."
"I could do that," the woman shrugs. "But when you tell him your name, he will know it is you."
"What if I change my name first?" Rukia offers. "Before I sign." Rukia is very good at loopholes. "I was a Rukon foundling. 'Rukia' is just a name I made up, it's not even my real name."
The woman looks down at her through half-lowered eyelids. "It wouldn't work. Changing names is an ability that humans possess. Souls can do it, to some degree. Spirits cannot. If you become a zanpakutou, you can call yourself anything you please, but to share your name with someone is to allow them to know you." She purses her lips thoughtfully. "You don't have to tell him your name at all. That is also part of being a zanpakutou. You get that choice."
Rukia had said it because she knew Renji would be hurt and furious if he found out that she had done such a thing for him. Then he would probably be a stupid baby about it and refuse to stick her in things that really ought to be stabbed. But the thought of Renji not knowing her is too much to bear.
"We'll see what kind of shinigami he makes," she tries to blow it off. "If he even deserves to know my name. He probably will. He's going to be pretty great, I think. I won't be the one who holds him back, in any case."
The woman is regarding her with narrowed eyes, her lips slightly parted, like she is watching very closely for what Rukia does next.
"In fact," Rukia sniffs. "I probably won't have any choice in the matter. You can't keep stuff like that from Renji. There's no way he wouldn't figure out it was me." Swiftly, before she changes her mind, she scrawls a jaunty 'Rukia' onto the signature line. She is glad she has been practicing.
There is a funny beeping noise, and the mood abruptly shatters. The shinigami fumbles through the voluminous sleeves of her shihakushou before pulling out a small, rectangular object. She flips it open, presses a button, and holds it to her ear. "Hello? Oh, is that so? Interesting! Thank you for letting me know." This must be one of the fancy communication devices shinigami are supposed to have. Rukia wonders how it works, since it didn't seem like there was a long enough pause for the person on the other end to actually have said anything. "It turns out," the shinigami says with a sly grin, "you don't need to put your whole self into the sword. Just an itty, bitty little tiny piece."
"Oh," says Rukia. To be honest, she had just been getting used to the idea of becoming a sword.
"You won't even miss it, I promise!"
Rukia swears she hears something, a noise that is simultaneously a growl and a hiss and nothing at all. "Did you hear that?" she asks.
"No," the woman replies.
"So, uh, what happens next?" Rukia asks.
The shinigami stands and picks up the sword. The desk between them disappears. They are outside now. It is snowing. The woman draws the sword back. It is aimed directly at Rukia's heart. "Hold very still," says the woman, who no longer seems to be a shinigami at all.
Rukia's eyes snap open. She is in bed. It is dark. She is very tired.
Renji has rolled over in the night, a protective shell against her back, as usual. She tries to nestle herself into the curve of his stomach. His breathing is soft and shallow. Renji often has very stupid dreams, dreams about things that are very similar to their daily life, but with unnecessarily stressful twists thrown in. Sometimes, he tells her about them afterwards, and she makes fun of them for him. He says this helps a lot, actually.
"Renji," Rukia hisses. "Renji, are you awake? I think one of your dumb anxiety dreams overflowed onto me."
Renji's fingers tighten on her arms. "I don't like it here," he murmurs. Rukia stiffens. "It's too hot. I miss the lake."
He's just snarled up in a dream of his own. There is nothing close enough to a lake in Inuzuri to be worth missing.
Rukia decides not to wake him up. It is silly to get spooked over a dream, one that is already melting away. Even now, most of the details are gone. It had something to do with the entrance exams, she remembers that. Something else happened, too. She lost something or maybe gave it away? She feels like a tree that has lost a branch, but all she can find is a place where her bark has been torn away.
Renji sighs and shifts in his sleep, pulling her closer to him and scooching his chin onto the top of her head. His breathing eases into its usual deep, steady cadence.
She didn't actually give anything away, she decides, she gave something to Renji to hold onto. She still can't remember what it was. It doesn't matter, it was just a stupid dream. And whatever it was, she's sure Renji will take good care of it for her.