When we were in flames,
I needed, I needed you,
To run through my veins,
Like disease, disease,
And now we are strange,
Strangers.
- Daughter, Winter
These nights were the worst.
The nights where Fifth Division would spend it's remaining monthly budget on a party, many thanks to Shunsui Kyoraku and Urahara Kisuke. And of course, with Shinji Hirako being the carefree, fan-fucking-tastic man he was, he'd make it the best party of the month, which it usually was. Who'd want to spend the night with a sobbing Hisagi, anyway? No, Shinji's party's were always the best.
And of course, these parties always had a more than sufficient supply of alcohol, much to Aizen's discontent. Not being very much of a drinker, he was left with the job of stopping various different Shinigami from wrecking down the place or trying to sleep through the noise. The latter was generally not the case. So there he was again, forcibly planted in front of the double doors of the Fifth Division's banquet hall with his Captain fumbling with a piece of fabric around his neck.
'Captain, if I may ask, what is that?'
'A tie, Sosuke,' came the bored reply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The Captain continued to fuss over the thing, brows furrowed in a deep frown. Aizen took the time to glance over his Captain's choice of wardrobe for the evening; a slim fitting orchid colored dress shirt tucked into the waistband of equally as tight black slacks. This wasn't a surprise, he had gotten used to the strange clothing his Captain often brought from the world of the living. He couldn't help but notice how slim he looked in the clothes, the fabric shifting over his toned skin like it was made for him. The rich purple of his shirt brought out the honey color of his eyes, making them seem more sultry than they usually were. Those same eyes finally glanced up at him, frown still in place as he walked over to him.
'Kay, let anyone and everyone in. An' don't scare tha' ladies off with yer' looks, alright?'
'I will try my best not to, Captain.' Aizen smiled softly at his Captain, his mood almost classified as happy. Though the actual party was an annoyance to the reserved man, it was one of the rare moments his Captain would act normal around him. Or at least not as hostile as he usually was. He was probably too busy to bother with Aizen was the closest to the truth.
'Oh, and if Hiyori tries ta' come in, kick 'er out,' he muttered before placing numerous bottles of sake next to the fried fish, patting down the table cloth. The challenge of the evening, it seemed. The blonde seemed to sneak past him anyway, and Shinji didn't really seem to mind. He nodded, smoothing out his uniform as he saw Matsumoto approach with a bottle of sake already in her hand, closely followed by the rest of her drinking buddies. It would be a long night.
As the drinks on the table decreased, the limp bodies scattered around the room increased, the majority of the Shinigmi drifting into much needed sleep. Aizen nearly tripped over Kira's arm as he tried to clear up the spare bottles on the floor. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. His head was pounding from all the noise earlier that night, his nose still bruised from the brutal kick he had taken from Hiyori. Yes, Aizen was reminded once again why he hated these parties. Socked feet pounded lightly against the floor boards as he made his way to the main door, relieved he was able to finally leave, but he was stopped by a soft whimper.
Yes, these nights were the worst.
He stepped into the room, holding his breath as he found his Captain curled into a ball in the wardrobe, rocking his body back and forth in the tiny space. This was definitely the worst part of the night. Deafening jazz music and violent chicks were nothing compared to this. Aizen stepped closer cautiously, frowning as another choked sob ripped from the Captain's chest, tears that weren't there muffling his senses. A pale hand rested on blonde hair before moving over the back of his head. Aizen bent down infront of him, watching the man rub at his eyes in agitation. It wasn't part of his job description to help calm his Captain out of his drunken stupor. He could have carried on walking and pretend it never happened. But something in the sight of the strong, lean frame he had come to respect curled against itself twisted his stomach tightly and the next thing he knew it, he was comforting his Captain.
Gentle hands wrapped around wet palms, tugging them away.
'It's alright, Captain. You're alright.'
Dark eye lashes fluttered open at the sound to reveal large, wheat colored irises. Golden bangs fell into his eyes, dry lips parted and cheeks tinted with the unmistakable pink of his drunken state. The light from the window fell on to his frame, his hair shimmering. There, bathed in the moonlight, Shinji almost looked beautiful.
'Let's stand up and take you back home, Captain,' he mumbled, standing up and gently tugging on his hands. The blond immediately shook his head, face crumpling and Aizen promptly sat down next to him. He reached out to brush a tear away from his cheek with the pad of his thumb. He had never touched his Captain's face before, had never been so close to him. Despite the reek of alcohol, the raw scent of plums and musk wafted in the air between them. His fingers brushed against a strand of light hair. Shinji never let Aizen anywhere near him. The first time he was able to feel the silk of his Captain's hair against his own skin was when he was drunk. He didn't want to know how he felt about that.
'No...Nonononono...'
His voice was soft and high pitched as hiccups took over his words and Aizen found himself shifting closer to the broken man, defensiveness kicking in. Before he had a chance to speak, thin but strong arms were wrapped around his neck, the blond's frail body pressed tightly against his. Aizen's head was swimming, the proximity too much for him to handle as Shinji buried his face into his chest, muffling his cries.
'Don't leave me, Aizen...'
He stiffened. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he always thought Shinji assumed him to be a different Shinigami, maybe Urahara or Love. But his Captain knew who he was, just who exactly he was clinging so desperately on to. He had never uttered his name during one of his drunken fits before, or ever embraced him, and the sudden realization that his Captain, the one who hated his guts and wanted to rip his eyes out, grasped for his comfort; not any of the girls he always seemed to chase after, nor any of his many Shinigami friends- it was only Sosuke Aizen.
The night passed by as Shinji's muffles droned out into a light snore, knuckles white from clutching onto his Lieutenant's uniform so tightly. Shinji fell asleep in his arms, head cradled in the crook of Aizen's neck, and he realized how perfectly the Captain fit into his embrace.
But morning dawned too soon and Aizen untangled himself from his Captain's grasp, laying him down on his side and standing up to exit the room. A sigh escaped his lips as the realization finally dawned on him; the night would be nothing but a hazy hang over for Shinji and he would return to his coldness. He didn't know which was worse; receiving his Captain's hostility the following day or not being able to forget what it felt like to have him in his arms. He didn't want to know why but it left an unfulfilled ache in his chest.
These nights were the worst.