When Hisana arrives, the hostess quickly takes her to a private room tucked away in the corner of the restaurant. Hisana bows and thanks the hostess probably no fewer than three times for her troubles before finding a place at the table, where she waits.
Sometimes Byakuya is already waiting for her. Sometimes he is detained for what feels like infinity. Sometimes the only sign of him is an apologetic note that a waitress passes to her about an hour into her meal. The notes are always in his handwriting, they always inform her that he regrets that he cannot join her because of some pressing obligation, and they always end with a short poem.
Hisana hates these notes. No amount of pretty poetry can soothe the inescapable feeling of being duped. Because she has been duped. By him. The jerk.
She knows that Byakuya receives his daily schedules in advance. He probably receives them months in advance. In fact, there's likely a whole committee that convenes regularly to approve the events that are added to his calendar so as to ensure his precious time is not wasted on insignificant matters.
Insignificant matters like her.
Maybe that's the rub, but she understands. She exists on the margins, and that's part of life on the margins. You get the scraps afforded to you, and you learn to find your happiness there and to make peace with it. Which she does. But, she doesn't want to be forced to digest this truth more often than not, as the pattern is slowly becoming, which is how it feels when she is forced to eat in these stately rooms all alone.
Byakuya could remedy this infraction if only he would just tell her which days are bad for him. But, he doesn't. Instead, he chooses to lie to her.
And, she hates it.
Hisana wants to say something to him about it, but, every time the urge takes hold, her heart intervenes. It cautions her to hold her tongue because she doesn't think Byakuya is lying to her out of some malevolent desire to put her in her place or to make her sit with the fact that her time is less than his and, by extension, that she is less than him in this being the case. Rather, Hisana thinks his lies arise from some misguided sense of kindness. He knows being honest about his time means that she won't come, and, if she doesn't come, she won't have enough to eat during the winter months when work is less plentiful, and it takes more energy to train while keeping warm.
He's not entirely wrong in thinking this. Hisana has far less work in the winter months. The Academy jobs, especially, close down at the slightest hint of inclement weather, leaving her with few, if any, gainful hours of wages many weeks.
So, she can't complain. It would be wrong. And, she is grateful to have a warm meal.
Even if Byakuya is not coming.
Which certainly appears to be the case tonight.
This conclusion wraps around her like a blanket dripping wet with ice water. It infuses her, stealing her warmth, before gripping her heart and freezing it cold in her chest.
As much as it hurts, she's not surprised. She hasn't seen him in the last few days. As further evidence to support this conclusion, there's the room itself.
Hisana's lips twist to the side as she surveys the space, its lines, its shape, its walls, and its floors. It feels so desolate, so empty, as if it had been abandoned in this corner for eons and is only now being shaken back to life by her presence.
When Byakuya cannot make it, the hostess usually takes her to some forgotten place, just like this one. And here she is.
And here she stays—cold and alone—with only the study materials that she remembered to bring with her for company.
The next night begins similarly. The hostess leads Hisana down several faintly lit corridors to a quiet room in the corner. It's not the same room. It's never the same room. Although, maybe it is. The walls and fusuma of this strange place shift and change with the weather. It's possible that Hisana has been taken to this one room countless times and never even noticed.
With wordless weary, she sees that the room is empty, and she goes to her side of the table, the one that faces the door. Again, all the signs point to her receiving a note and a poem tonight as well. She's alone. The room is just remembering to wake up because she's now in it.
The only glimmer of hope that she may be wrong is the fusuma, which is not as handsome as it usually is when Byakuya tricks her into coming. This is not to say the fusuma is ever ugly. This restaurant simply does not possess items that are not of the very best quality or to the most exacting standards. The scene depicted across the walls, however, is a muted winter landscape of snow falling over a forested river. The piece uses only a limited color palette of blacks, grays, whites, and blues, which is likely sufficiently ambient for a party that would like to exist in a space that gestures at opulence without risking being distracted by opulence.
Or, maybe, this is the art that was available because other guests of esteem took priority when it came to the fusuma.
Hisana sighs, thinking that releasing the air building in her chest might reduce the heaviness of her heart. It does not.
At least, she's learned to come prepared. Instinctively, her hands loosen the straps of her satchel. She pulls out a large, bulky stack of cards. Thoughtfully, she begins laying them out in three orderly lines across the table. She barely hears the door slide back, and it is only out of the corner of her eye that she glimpses Byakuya when he enters the room.
Hisana, however, continues setting the cards on the table, pausing only to catch Byakuya quirk a brow as he looks on. She can tell he wants to ask, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a seat across from her and picks up one of the cards, inspects it, and sets it down. Then, he picks up another card and waits.
And waits.
And waits some more.
"What is this?" he finally asks.
"Memory aids for my kidou class," she says. "To help me learn all the incantations."
"You have a test, I take it." He flips the card from side to side between his fingers.
"Final exam. Could I interest you in saving me from complete and total failure and devastation?"
He grins. "Depends on the terms of the rescue mission."
"Of course, you would ask for the terms and conditions before giving aid."
"Better men than I have been beguiled by calls to charity."
"Alright, then." She puts the last card down and straightens her back. "What if I make it a game?"
"I'm listening," he says, glancing over the menu.
"Truth or dare. If I get a question correct, I will ask you whether you will give me a truth to any question, I ask you, or whether you will perform a daring act, also of my choice."
"And, if you are wrong?"
"You get to do the same."
He smirks. "Very well." He picks up one of the cards. "I take it that I hold it up and wait for you to give me the answer written on the back?"
"Such an apt pupil you are, my lord."
The face of the card that he flashes up reads, "Bakudō #9."
"Hōrin," she answers.
"The incantation?"
"Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini. Look upon yourself with horror and tear out your own throat."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"Incorrect." He appears far too amused for her liking.
"Dammit! Bakudō number nine can also be Geki." She remembers and rolls her eyes at her own stupidity and groans.
"Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?"
She glowers at him. He looks so fucking pleased with himself. "Dare."
"Take off your haori," he says.
With a smoldering glance, she drinks him in as she peels the threadbare fabric from her shoulders. "How kind of you, my lord, making sure I don't overheat."
The next card that he holds up reads, "Hadō #33."
"Sōkatsui. The incantation is: 'Ye lord. Mask of flesh and bone, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man. Truth and temperance, upon this sinless wall of dreams unleash but slightly the wrath of your claws.'"
"Correct."
"Truth or dare, Lord Byakuya?"
"Truth."
"Tell me a dark family secret that no one else knows."
His brows rise, and his smirk tugs into a grin. "Before my father was born, my firstborn aunt was married to a man. My grandfather did not believe he and his wife at the time would conceive any more children so my uncle took our family name and was made the heir. My uncle, however, proved to be exceedingly over-ambitious, reckless and then went mad. After causing the family a great deal of grief, he was removed, and all records of him destroyed."
Hisana's chin lowers to her neck. "Removed?" Her eyes flutter. "Is that fancy-speak for 'murdered'? Did your family murder the heir apparent?" She presses her hand to her chest in mock scandal.
Byakuya's grin widens, and he holds up another card. "Bakudō #77."
"Such a stickler for the rules." She clucks her tongue at him.
Unswayed, he waits. Smugly.
"Tenteikūra. The incantation is: 'Silken net of black and white. Twenty-two bridges, sixty-six crowning sash; footprints, distant thunder, pointed peaks, revolving grounds, nightly prostrations, sea of clouds, and the pale ranks of troops, complete the grand circle and surpass the heavens.'"
"Incorrect. There's no 'and.'"
Hisana blinks, brows furrowed.
"It's 'sea of clouds, the pale ranks of troops,' not 'sea of clouds and the pale ranks of troops.'"
"Are you really going to fault me for that?"
"It's incorrect."
"I would surely get partial credit for the response."
"Not if I were the instructor. Your addition would warp the spell and make it less effective." He places the card down. "Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?"
"Dare."
"Take off your sock."
"My sock?" She laughs. "Do you mean to strip an article of clothing from me every time I answer wrongly?"
"You chose 'dare.'"
"Fine." She pulls off her sock and tucks it under her legs. She then reads the next card. "Gochūtekkan. The incantation is 'Walls of iron sand, a priestly pagoda, glowing ironclad fireflies. Standing upright, silent to the end.'"
"Very good."
"Truth or dare, Lord Byakuya?"
"Truth."
"In the last story, you mentioned that your grandfather didn't think he and his 'wife at the time' would conceive a male heir. How many wives did your grandfather take?"
"Seven."
Her eyes widen. "Seven?" Oh, dear. "At the same time?"
He chuckles and shakes his head. "May I interest you in another card, Miss Hisana?"
"That's not fair!" she protests. "You can't leave me hanging with your grandfather, the twenty-whatever head of the Great Kuchiki House, having seven wives! Where are these women? Are they all dead? That's a lot of dead wives! Did they all die at the same time? Were they murdered, too? What were their names? Is your family cursed?"
Byakuya quietly forwards seven cards for her consideration, one for each of the questions that she has rattled off. He, then, lifts his head and gazes into her eyes. "The rules, Miss Hisana."
She shakes her head. "So cruel, Lord Byakuya. Using my rules against me."
When the only response she receives in return is a menacing grin, she loosens a hard breath and quickly fires off answers to each of the seven cards.
"Five correct," he says, "two incorrect."
"Incorrect as in I was actually wrong, or incorrect on the basis of a technicality because you want to see me naked?"
His grin lengthens into something that Hisana would almost consider a smile on anyone else as he flips over the two cards where he had deemed her answers "incorrect," "Bakudō #58" and "Hadō #63."
"You forgot the 'and' at the end of the incantation for bakudō fifty-eight. It's 'heart of the south, eye of the north, finger of the west, foot of the east, arrive with the wind and depart with the rain.'"
"So, another technicality," she teases, voice low.
"It isn't a technicality. It's important to know the exact incantation. Otherwise-"
"Otherwise, I'll weaken the spell." She rolls her eyes again. "So, what did I do wrong for raikōhō?"
"First, raikōhō is an inelegant spell that really serves no purpose."
Hisana laughs. "Unlike sōkatsui?" The rivalry between the House Shiba and House Kuchiki must run deep.
"I am glad you agree that sōkatsui is superior to raikōhō in every conceivable way."
"I didn't say th—"
"Moving along, you said, 'sharp tower, scarlet crystal, steel ring,' when it is, 'sharp tower, red crystal, steel ring.'"
"An actual mistake."
"I fail to see how forgetting or adding an 'and' is less an error than using the wrong word."
Hisana's eyes narrow. "Because the overworked, under-resourced teacher's assistant will not take many points off for an 'and,' but he may for using the wrong word."
"The purpose of the test, however, is for you to become an effective kidou user. Inserting or forgetting conjunctions will make you less effective."
She really wants to punch that imperious look off his face. Thing is…. She knows he's right. This, however, only makes her want to punch him harder.
"Fine." She sighs. "Truth."
Byakuya watches her for a long moment. The weight of his stare feels heavy, maybe even a little probing. It's the kind of heavy, probing look that makes her wonder if he can't think of a single interesting insight that she—a mere peasant—might offer him or if he knows exactly what he wants to ask, but is thinking better of it.
"You remember some of your past life. Do you remember your surname?"
Her heart knocks hard against her ribs. Of course, he would care about her surname. Even now. Even in death.
But, he asks the question so softly, so mildly, careful to keep any edge from his voice, that she can't frown at him. Nor does she sigh. Instead, she answers with a terse, "I do." Pressing her fingertips against the face of one of the cards, she slides it to her, signaling his forfeit per the rules.
Silence.
Expectant silence.
He wants to ask her what her name is. He wants her to give him this piece of her, but she can't let him have it. She wishes that she didn't have it, either. She wishes it had been lost to the black oblivion along with so many other memories.
And, so, in an attempt to deter him from ever making the obvious next inquiry, she adds, "It doesn't matter, Byakuya." Her voice is quiet, words measured. "I'm no longer my father's daughter."
Byakuya's head tips a hairsbreadth to the side, and he studies her with the look of a philosopher trying desperately to make sense of a faulty premise. She isn't sure if he manages to make the logic work in his head. His expression is too impenetrable for her to know for sure.
If she had to guess, he must be repulsed at how she so brazenly casts aside her family's legacy.
"Truth or dare, Lord Byakuya?" she asks, doing her best to keep the weight of emotion off her tone.
"Dare."
Hisana's gaze flies to what she assumes is his zanpakutō leaning against the wall. She assumes that because the black carrying bag is sword-shaped, and Byakuya doesn't look like a baguette man. "Hand me the bag."
He turns, reaches back, takes it in hand, and offers it to her. No protests. No questions asked.
Biting her lip, Hisana grins as she undoes the fasteners to reveal what can only be a zanpakutō. His zanpakutō.
Tenderly, she pulls the sword out of the bag and smiles. Its weight is light and feels so well-balanced that a pang of jealousy shoots through her belly. "You brought your weapon here? We have a weapons ban in this fair city, my lord. Tsk. Tsk."
"Actually," he begins, donning his best know-it-all look, "as long as the weapon is appropriately stored in a tactical bag while being transported from training sites to residences, there is no violation."
"This is neither a resident nor a training area."
"It is my family business, and there are apartments upstairs so technically the building serves as a residence. Also, you are the one violating the prohibition on openly carrying a weapon."
"Are you going to throw me in jail, my lord?" She bats her eyes. "Will you try your hand at Hojōjutsu and bind me up?"
Byakuya gives her a disapproving stare. "The judgment for a first-time violation in the fourth degree is censure."
With a sly grin, her gaze shifts back to the sword. Its sheath is white. Its hilt wrapping is lavender and a little fraying. She runs her thumb over the roughness of the wrap. The zanpakutō has been well-loved. Testament to that fact is how it thrums, lively and full of spirit. She bets it sings beautifully through the air.
Turning the sword with a gentle hand, she traces the design of the bronze guard. It's simple and open like the frame of a window.
If only its possessor was so open.
"It's lovely, Lord Byakuya," she says, her eyes finding his.
He watches her with a look of such fondness that her heart trembles. Just as the flush finds her cheeks, her mind summons sharp pointed fangs to siphon the sweetness from her and replace it with poison, leaving her to wonder how can he find any comfort in her at all when she, herself, can find no peace in her own company.
Shaking away the darkness of this question, she tears her eyes from his and glances back down at the zanpakutō. "What's its—" The sound of the door sliding back sends her words rushing back down her throat.
Reflexively, Hisana sets the zanpakutō in her lap under the table before the waitress can peer inside the room.
Perfunctorily, they order their food, and the woman leaves.
Hisana returns the zanpakutō to its carrying bag and hands it to Byakuya with a small smile.
"Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?" he asks, tendering his last card to her.
"Dare."
"Take off your hakama."
She startles at the boldness of the request. "My hakama?" she guffaws. "I still have this other sock you can take."
"I'm aware," he says and turns to set his sword against the wall.
"So, I'm going to have no pants and one sock?"
He levels an impressively icy stare her direction, one that will brook no further debate.
"What a look," she mutters under her breath before dragging herself to her feet.
Her hands pluck at the ties of her hakama. Feeling her blood start to rise, she decides then is the time to lock eyes with him.
It's a playful look that passes between them. Both are perfectly aware of what the other is getting at and neither of them is willing to admit how deeply uncomfortable they are with any of this. Least of all Byakuya, who sits completely stone-faced. Not a trace of lust, desire, nothing.
When Hisana returns to sitting, she folds her hakama next to her and sets her one sock on top of it. "Truth or dare, Lord Byakuya?"
"Truth."
"How many dead wives?"
"Assuming that you are referring to my grandfather's wives, all seven."
Her eyes widen. "What did they die of?"
Byakuya takes three cards from her. "Various things. Illness. Childbirth. Age. One fell from a great height."
"Go back to the last one, the one who fell from a great height." Her eyes widen more. "Was she pushed?"
He takes another card. "Potentially."
"Potentially? That's your answer?" She leans forward to snatch the card back, but he is quicker.
Holding the card just out of reach, he adds, "Seems unlikely, but there were rumors." His gaze then skims the remaining card. "Last one."
"Truth or dare, Lord Byakuya?"
"Dare."
She considers him for a long moment. "Take off your haori," she says, grinning slyly.
Fluidly, he shrugs off the ice-blue silk, eyes on her.
She watches him, thoughts going a little predatory. Part of her wants to test this thing that he has started. She thinks he will break before stripping her naked. But, she wants to know where that breaking point is. Her kosode? Shitage? Underwear? She wants to force him to capitulate. It might be her only shot at tallying a victory against him.
When he holds up a card, she presses her lips together and raises her shoulders. "Don't know that one."
"Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?"
"Dare."
"Take off your sock."
She grins. "Yes, my lord."
With the next card, she tilts her head to the side. "Bakudō one," she says, voice breathy, "is that Goryūtenmetsu ?"
Byakuya's brows knit together, and he stares at her, stunned. "Is bakudō one Goryūtenmetsu?" he repeats and blinks as if mortification has blinded him.
She nods, fighting back laughter.
"Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?" His voice is flat, but she can almost hear the censure.
"Dare."
"Take off your underwear." He reaches for the kettle set in the middle of the table, eyes slipping from her to the stream of steaming tea.
Hisana bites her bottom lip. He probably assumes that she will strip off her underwear under the table. If she was intent on being modest, that's exactly what she would do. But, she's not. So, instead, she rises to her feet again and gives him a performance, lifting her hems, and sliding her underwear down her legs. When they reach her ankles, she can almost feel the breath as it enters his chest.
He's very good, though. Very controlled. Restrained. A perfect gentleman. If not for the darkening of his eyes, she would believe him to be entirely disinterested.
For the next card, she doesn't even read it before declaring her ignorance.
"Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?"
"Dare."
"Take off your kosode."
Slowly, she unknots the ties and lets the white and red fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing only her red shitage underneath.
He lifts another card, and she speaks a quiet, "I don't know," eyes never leaving his.
"Truth or-"
"Dare."
He extends his hand to her, palm-side up. "Come here."
She places her hand in his and lets him reel her close to him. Almost too close. Their knees are just a few short inches apart. She feels the pulse of his reiatsu against hers, strong and steady. She has to tip her head back to read his face.
His impassive face.
His eyes are still dark, though. He peers down at her. There is a heat to his stare, one that draws the blood to her neck and cheeks.
She pauses to consider whether she should reach for his reiatsu, to run hers lightly through his so that she might get a better sense of his emotions. They're already so close, already touching, it would be no trouble for her to do this, no trouble at all.
"Truth or dare, Miss Hisana?" he asks, dispensing with pretext.
"Dare."
"Kiss me."
She grins. "Where would my lord like me to kiss?"
"Your choice."
Without hesitation, she presses her lips to his neck, right where she can see the flicker of his pulse. It quickens, and she gives it a swift stroke with her tongue. He tastes of salt, and he smells of winter and pine.
Drawing back, she pauses, heart quaking in her chest, and says "Dare," before he can ask the question.
"Loosen your robes."
Her fingers undo the last of her knots, and her red shitage pulls loose and separates, exposing a narrow sliver of pale skin.
Byakuya's cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he stares down at her, eyes on the sliver of flesh now exposed. "Truth or dare?" he asks, voice flat.
"Dare."
"Let me kiss you."
"Kiss me as you wish, my lord."
He leans down, eyes on the shelf of her clavicle. When he kisses her there, she gives a little gasp. The warmth of him obliterates her senses, draining the color, smells, and sounds from the room until all that she can perceive is each place his lips touch. It is at this moment that she lets go, and begins to weave her reiatsu through his.
If possible, the sensation that comes next feels even better than his kisses. It's certainly more intimate. To her, at least. Because as much as she can sense him and his desire, she's vulnerable to him doing the same should he choose.
"Truth or d—"
"Dare."
He pulls back just enough to look into her face, to meet her gaze. His face is fortressed, but she feels the clawing of his reiatsu against hers. It feels like he wants to consume her, to force himself into her.
"Let me—" he says, voice raw and snarled in his throat.
"Let you what, my lord?" She angles her head, her eyes focusing on his mouth. They are so close. She can feel the tide of his breath.
"Let me have you."
She shifts her shoulders, urging her underrobe to slip further down, and she lifts her chin to expose the length of her throat. "Then, possess me."
Byakuya closes the distance with swift ease, his mouth hungry against hers. Before he can take more than a kiss, however, the door to the room slides open with a thwap. Both break apart.
Hisana shrugs her underrobe back up, hands drawing the ends together. Precious distance comes between them, expanding with each second. With distance, sense, too, comes rushing back into her head.
One look at Byakuya, however, and his discomfort is obvious. His back is ramrod straight, the line of his shoulders even out, and the muscles in his jaw tightens. He does not return her stare, instead choosing to glance away.
The waitress, for her part, is doing her best not to smirk. "Does my lord wish me to return later with the food?"
"No," he says stiffly, eyes glued to the fusuma.
The waitress bows politely and disappears long enough for Hisana to shuffle back to her sitting mat across from him, her hands working the ties to her shitage.
Reading the room, the waitress moves quickly and diligently, foregoing the acts of presenting and explaining the food, as is customary. She works with such proficiency that Hisana wonders just how many times this woman has happened upon lovers caught in the throes of passion. Probably enough times to have developed an entire protocol for such instances.
Briefly, Hisana wonders if Byakuya has ever been here doing this very thing before. Judging by the way that he tenses and the pained expression stretching across his face, probably not. Or, at least, he was never caught.
Wordlessly, the waitress bows politely before stepping across the threshold to the room and drawing the door shut. A sly twinkle gleams in her eyes just before she disappears as the wood "clacks" together.
Hisana sucks in her cheeks and shrugs on her kosode. "Thank you, Lord Byakuya," she says softly, which brings his attention back to her.
He watches her, brows pulled together.
"The food looks delicious."
Sweetly, she serves him first then herself, an act that seems to assuage him. Which is strange. Perhaps he is worried that he did something that she did not want him to do. Untrue. She was the one testing him, seeing how far he would go, and she was prepared to be wrong. Part of her wanted to be wrong, a fact that only now dawns on her.
Next, Hisana collects the cards from the table and stuffs them back into her satchel. "Thank you for indulging me, my lord," she says, piecing herself into the rest of her clothes.
"Bakudō one is Sai," he says sardonically.
She chuckles. "Is that right?"
"You were teasing me."
"Me? Tease you? Never."
"Did you…."
She thinks he means to ask if she would have consented but for the game. And, so, she responds with a soft, "Of course."
The tension building on his face eases, and he glances down at the food.
Perhaps he is beginning to realize the impossibility of them consummating their relationship—as undefined as it may be—in any physical sense. There simply is no sanctuary for them. Not here. Not at the manor now that Lady Shimazu has taken up residence. Not at the Academy since he is banned.
"When is your test?" he asks after a long silence.
"Tomorrow."
He nearly chokes on his rice. "Tomorrow?"
She smiles wryly at his surprise.
"You're teasing me again."
"No. It's really tomorrow."
"Are you not concerned?"
"Was my performance that bad?" She chuckles.
His gaze dives to the pickled radishes, and she laughs harder.
"The issues you had were largely technical, my lord," she argues.
"Kidou is largely technical."
"I'm not expected to actually perform the spells, just know of them and their incantations. This is only for the written portion. They do assign partial credit." Plus, it's nearly impossible for her to fail. Even if she should fail. Hisana, however, suspects that Byakuya doesn't know just how much the deck has been stacked in her favor. Nor does she think he would understand that as a valid reason for why she shouldn't try to do her best.
"Written portion? Then, there must be a practical portion as well."
She nods. "The spells that I am expected to perform are very basic."
"Like shakkahō?"
She nods again. "And sōkatsui," she chides.
"I could—"
"You could help me practice kidou?" she asks before he can make the offer.
His brows rise slightly as if to signal this offer.
"Shall we practice in the greenhouse at the edge of your family estate?"
"Hisana."
"I think it might rain tonight."
"Hisana."
"It could be fun."
His eyes narrow, and she giggles.
"How is Mina?"
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "She remains an officer of the Sixth."
"Oh, she wasn't removed?"
"No. She was not removed." He smirks into his teacup.
Hisana pauses to watch him. Her heart is jittery. Oh, how she hates this development—wanting to stare at him like he's a piece of art to admire—and how desperately she wishes to return to discounting him entirely. "So, going back to your uncle. The one who was murdered—"
"He was not murdered."
"He wasn't?"
"He was contained."
Hisana presses her lips together. "Contained?" This is somehow sounding worse.
"Yes."
"So is your aunt still married to him?"
"No. Their marriage was dissolved."
"When you say contained, do you mean he was sentenced to imprisonment?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"In a manner of speaking?" Hisana gapes at him. "Lord Byakuya, you are begging the question."
"The question is impertinent."
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. "And, I thought we were close."
"We are. That doesn't change the fact that you ask impertinent questions."
"Well, I am going to assume contained means murdered. I will also assume that your family pushed one of your grandmothers to her death."
He grins. "My family…."
Hisana returns his grin. "Yes, your family."
Chuckling lightly, he takes a bite of pickled radish. "What about your family? You have a sister, I remember."
The good humor in her immediately crawls up and dies in her chest until she is left with a glacier in place of a heart. "Yes, I do." Her jaw tightens, and she stares distantly at the tuna in front of her.
Suddenly, Hisana feels transparent, and she wonders if Byakuya knows something, if he knows that she had lied before, when they first met, if he knows that she abandoned her sister not in the Third, but in Inuzuri, at the start.
"Hisana," he calls her, voice mild.
"I," she stammers, breaths coming hard and fast. "I didn't tell the complete truth when we first met."
"I know."
Her eyes dart back to him. Wordless, she stares, imploringly. How?
"Your wages," he answers. When her confusion only deepens, he continues, "When you worked for my family, you sent your wages to a temple in Inuzuri."
"You read my letters?"
Byakuya lowers his gaze. "I did."
Hisana hears the shame in his voice, but it does little to calm the swell of anger, of violation, of humiliation, of horror, of torment that collides and coalesces like a storm over troubled water.
Loosens a sharp breath, her eyes lock on the fusuma behind him. She doesn't know what to say. Where to begin. Why he would ever inquire if he already knew….
"I didn't – I couldn't – there was no way for us— for me to possibly-" She wants to dissolve. Into what? She isn't sure. All she knows is that she does not want to be here, in this room, in this skin, in this place, in Seireitei, maybe even in all of Soul Society.
"I know." He places his chopsticks down. "Someone with as much potential as you, as much potential as your sister probably has as well, would've never been able to survive let alone flee Inuzuri together without resources."
Tears stab at her eyes, but she refuses them. "I don't even know if she's still there or if the temple is operational any—"
"It is," he says matter-of-factly. "I inquired. I don't know if she's still there, though. I didn't have a name."
Hisana's chin trembles. Neither does she. With a shaky hand, she wipes away a tear. "You must think I am a monster. Dishonorable. That I am some loathsome—"
"I don't." Full stop.
She shakes her head, unable to believe him. "How could you not? I abandoned my own sister—"
"Dishonorable would have been allowing your pride to steal both your lives."
Hisana wipes away another tear with the joint of her thumb. Trembling, she stares at the door, trying her best to weather wave after crush wave of intense pain. When her sense of gravity returns, she rises to her feet and whispers, "I should go," breath strangling in her throat.
Before she can pull back the door, he stops her with a word. Her name. Spoken so gently that she almost doesn't recognize it.
Her fingers graze the catch in the wood, but she waits.
She waits, shoulders pulling up to her ears.
She waits, bracing with bated breath.
She waits for him to tell her exactly what she tells herself every single night before she goes to bed: That she is and never will be enough.
"I think you are honorable," he says somberly.
Her head lowers, and she murmurs a quiet, "Thank you, my lord," grateful that she escapes the room before he can hear her sob.