Year Two: Spring
Night is on the ground. The guttering flames from the two lanterns situated at opposite ends of the dojo are not enough to stave it back. Shadows flutter and dance across them and the floor like black ribbons. Yes, they are both on the floor, panting and lathered in sweat, even though winter's chill still lingers at the edges of the day.
Hisana rolls her head to the side and gives Byakuya a sly smirk. He's already staring at her. He's been staring at her this entire time, ever since they fell and then both wordlessly decided that the effort of getting back up for another bout was too much.
"You know, that wasn't half bad," she admits with a sheepish grin.
"You've improved." He tries to blunt the edge of his voice but fails. Not that he means to sound harsh. The edge is there for other reasons.
She shoots him a playful glance before rolling her head back to center.
Byakuya thinks that she's looking at the ceiling, but perhaps she's only staring into her internal world. Either way, he continues to study the way the lantern light flickers over her skin, washing it in pale gold before the shadows lap over her again like waves on a shoreline.
They've been here before. Like this. Splayed on the floor, breathless from sparring.
This time is different, though. At least for him. It's easier. While his desire is no less acute, the absence of guilt and self-loathing allows him to enjoy her in peace.
And what a pleasant peace it is.
Hisana catches him in the corner of her eye, and her grin returns. This time, she reaches her hand out. It's a silent request, one that he eagerly obliges.
"Shouldn't you be romancing your lady-love?" she teases, her eyes slipping shut the moment his hand finds hers.
"I thought I was," he teases back.
Her grin lengthens. "A fine romancing, trouncing me like that."
He thinks she prefers trouncings to gifts.
"But, I was referring to Lady Shimazu," she clarifies.
Oh, her.
Reflexively, Byakuya's lips press together.
"What's that look?" she asks.
Her eyes are closed, how does she see him?
"What look?" he protests.
Hisana's eyes blink open, and she turns her head to him. "That look."
"Tomoe is away on business."
"Away on business?" she parrots back. "What business?"
A fair question. Tomoe has the appearance of a woman who has never had to make a single important decision in her life. Knowing her a little better has not changed his opinion of this assumption, not one bit.
Perhaps attributing Tomoe's absence to "business" demands is too generous. Tomoe has been sent away to the hinterland as tribute to his family's centuries-old hazing rituals. Hisana knows nothing of these hazing rituals, which is probably for the best.
Inhaling a long breath, Byakuya's gaze flicks up to the ceiling. What to say without running the risk of further exposing his family's penchant for emotional violence?
He decides to keep things ambiguously factual: "She agreed to assist with my aunts' Conservation Project."
"What's the Conservation Project?"
"Thus far, it seemingly consists of an anti-littering initiative."
Hisana squints at him as if she is trying to read print that is too fine. "An anti-littering initiative?" She sounds skeptical.
"Yes. They deployed the initiative during the spring festival."
"Are you talking about the public service campaign with the raccoon mascot?"
He stares at her blankly.
"The one with the raccoon mascot that dances around the trash bins?" she adds as if he might have misunderstood her.
No, he understood her just fine the first time.
"The one with the motto 'trashy isn't classy so feed the can, man'?" She stares at him in what he can only assume is beleaguered bewilderment.
"I believe you're eliding two separate mottos, but yes," he replies.
Hisana gasps. "She's not…." her voice trails.
He waits, believing that realization is moments away from cresting.
"She's really not…." With wide eyes, Hisana searches him for answers. He can almost feel the weight of her gaze boring into his soul. "She's not the raccoon, right?"
Byakuya lifts a brow.
"The children throw empty cups at that thing. And fruit! Rotten fruit!"
He watches her, taking great amusement in the way Hisana can simultaneously both believe and reject the idea that Tomoe is the one in the cursed raccoon suit.
"Byakuya," she says, voice warningly low. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"I told her that she should've gone with the litterbug costume," he states drily.
"What?" She stares at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
"It's made of rubber," he reasons. "Much easier to clean."
"No. Go back. The future lady of House Kuchiki is really the poor hapless soul trapped inside that giant raccoon costume?"
Again, he stares at her, unmoved.
"Stop." Surprise quickly morphs into scandalization when he does not correct her. "No, really. You're kidding."
"I don't know why that is so difficult to believe. My family sponsors many philanthropic causes."
Now, he's teasing her.
Dumbfounded, she gapes at him. He can almost hear the moment her thoughts go silent. But, he says not a word. No, he's too charmed by Hisana and her inability to believe that his family would force Tomoe into this humiliating position for their own entertainment.
Hisana props herself up on the back of her arms as if perhaps thinking that changing her elevation might also change the facts. "Did you force her to do that?"
"I did not."
While Byakuya would very much like to take credit for this particular vintage of torture, the Conservation Project and its many indignities belong to the members of the Flower Quarters. Yes, perhaps, he spoke to Yasuko about the campaign, and perhaps his cousin took a modest amount of pity on him given how her situation worsened his, but he had no hand in the extent and depth of the hazing that Tomoe now endures.
Byakuya does not believe that Tomoe has done anything particularly deserving of his aunties and cousins' cruelty other than assuming the role of his "intended." He supposes the Kuchiki women would like to get their licks in while they still can, while Tomoe is decidedly below them in the House's pecking order. Although, if he's being critical, he believes his aunts, especially Aunt Haruko, want to assert their dominance over Tomoe early and often with the goal of forcing her into permanent submission.
Unfortunately for Tomoe, her nature is already very submissive. Too submissive. She brings out his aunts' and cousins' worst tendencies. To them, she is the meandering gazelle to their Kuchiki lions. Although, he would have thought that by now the gazelle would have learned to run from her attackers. Such, however, is not the case.
"How long must she—" Hisana begins only for a fit of laughter to steal her words.
"How long must she dress as a raccoon and dance around rubbish bins?" he supplies, trying his hardest not to smirk.
Hisana presses the back of her hand to her mouth. "Yes."
"Until the end of summer."
"Summer?" She stares at him in horror. "That suit looks so heavy. She'll die in the heat!"
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps?"
"Who can say?"
"Lord Byakuya," chides Hisana.
He thinks she means to chasten him for his callous disregard, but he cannot help the fact that he harbors only the deepest of apathies toward Tomoe. This entire predicament is one of her own making, and he would no sooner intervene on her behalf than make her his wife. In fact, he finds her absence at the manor a welcomed respite, especially after months of being forced to entertain her for public spectacle.
"So, how does her being a mascot for this initiative take her away on business?" asks Hisana.
Oh, that. He did have a small hand in that wrinkle.
"Captain Ukitake suggested expanding the anti-littering initiative to portions of the Rukon. So, in collaboration with the Thirteenth, she has been raising awareness in the western districts of the First, Second, and Third, which necessitates several overnight trips."
What Byakuya omits from this explanation is that Captain Ukitake learned of the initiative from Byakuya. As Byakuya suspected, Captain Ukitake was enthusiastically supportive of this idea and offered his assistance. At Byakuya's suggestion, Captain Ukitake agreed to help extend the campaign to the West Rukongai. Byakuya merely informed Yasuko of this development, and his dear cousin took it from there.
"Your family endorses this behavior?"
"It is done at their behest."
"Lady Shimazu never protests?"
"I don't believe she does. Though, it is hard to hear her when she's in the suit."
"That is terrible, my lord!" says Hisana, struggling mightily not to laugh.
How Hisana can pluck a thread of empathy from her heart for this woman's sake is beyond him. Doubly so since he could not fathom—not in his wildest dreams—Hisana being so spineless or so witless as to allow his family to humiliate her in this way. This observation only serves as further evidence as to why Tomoe is not fit to be the future lady of his family. She hasn't the resolve.
Hisana's cheeks are pink and her eyes bright from all the laughter, but, when she meets his stare, a shade of sadness crosses her face. "Lady Shimazu seems like the perfect submissive lady to be able to tolerate such embarrassment."
"One might argue submissiveness is only cowardice repackaged."
"Or," says Hisana, "it's a demonstration of her strength of will. She's at the mercy of your family, and she has the fortitude and perseverance to keep going despite these hardships, my lord."
"To what end?"
"To be your wife."
He frowns. "So, she's a coward and a fool."
"Byakuya," chides Hisana.
"I do not want a submissive wife, Hisana. Nor would such a wife serve my family well."
"My lord." Her voice is soft and gentle, but he hears the quiet protest undulating just beneath its surface. "If you want a wildflower, then why do you desire to pluck it and place it in a vase?" "I don't," he says and gathers himself up.
"I only wish to be free to admire it without restraint."
Hisana tilts her head to the side and murmurs a tender, "My lord," before pulling him into a kiss.
It's a delicate brush of the lips. His eyes close. His heart goes still. His breathing quiets. All he feels is her: her warmth; the sweet pull of her reiatsu against his; the shape of her back against his hands. All else recedes like waves into the darkness.
Hisana urges him back, to the floor. His eyes open when he feels the bristly weave of the mat pressing into his spine. She is above him limned in the amber glow of lantern light, looking down, gazing deep into his face. Her hands are lightly fisted in the slack of his kosode.
Memories of another time, of another night they had spent here in the dojo, tear into him, and his breathing goes ragged. He wonders if that memory plays in her head, too. It must, they are in the same position now as they were then.
Gently, he runs his hands up to the dip in her waist. His thumbs absently press into the cliff of her hips. The bone is sharp but it feels fragile, breakable. She feels fragile, breakable. Barely a wisp.
He tried to crush her that night, almost two years ago, but she did not break. Perhaps that's part of her beauty. Fragile in appearance but not easily broken.
Hisana leans down and kisses him once again. The kiss is softer, sweeter, and somehow more restrained. Tenderly, she caresses the side of his cheek, her touch featherlight, and she stares intently into his eyes.
His stomach tightens, but he waits. He knows the question that comes next. It's the same one that she asked him two years ago, the one that has haunted him ever since. He has turned this event over in his head countless times, usually in the midnight hours.
Perhaps this is his chance to undo the past, to retake and redeem this moment.
With a wan smile, she asks, "Did you want me that night?"
"I did," he answers without hesitation, his fingers sinking deeper into her back.
"What about now?" Her tone is mild, her gaze hazy. Perhaps she also wants. Perhaps she is merely teasing.
He isn't teasing, though, when he says, "I want more than that now."
Hisana pulls back, the spring's chill eager to rush between them. Her expression turns pensive, brows furrowing, as if he's just spoken a riddle. "What more could I offer?"
"Your heart."
Her smile widens into something less wan and more warm. Dipping her head down, she whispers against the shell of his ear, "You already have as much, my lord."
When she draws back again, his heart goes quiet. It knows what comes next. It knows that this is merely a prelude to her bidding him farewell for the evening.
He will not let her go. Not just yet.
Before she can speak another word, Byakuya forces himself up and says, "I got you a gift."
Hisana responds with one of her wistful smiles, the kind that only ever seems to darken her eyes. "You didn't—"
"I know." She hates gifts. He wishes she didn't, especially when his time is in short supply, as it has been these last few months, and the only means with which he can express his affection is by proxy. "I wanted to congratulate you on your performance at the Academy."
"My performance?" Her brows knit together. "How did you…?"
He searches his pockets. It isn't there. He could have sworn that he brought it with him before leaving for the bridge. "I must have left it," he mumbles to himself, frowning at his sleeves. "Would you mind escorting me to my room so that I might give it to you?"
"Your room?" she repeats the words back to him with great caution, as if they are the start of a particularly cantankerous spell. Her cheeks then flush. "Only for the gift, though?" she quickly adds.
Byakuya's lips twitch at the realization that Hisana thinks he is being forward. Perhaps he should be forward. "Only for the gift unless…."
"Unless?" A corner of her mouth turns up as if she might consider an offer for more.
"Unless you would also like to stay for tea."
"Tea?" She grins, knowing better.
Perhaps she is tempted by this invitation. He certainly is. His hand tenses against hers. He wishes he could compel her acceptance with a look or a gesture. Words never seem to do the trick.
That wistful smile returns, and the light in her eyes dims again. "Not tonight, my lord."
He understands. Even when he doesn't. Even when it stings. Everywhere. All at once.
"Will you be at the party tomorrow, then?" he asks, careful to keep any signs of disappointment from his face.
"Party?"
"The one my family is hosting for the Academy students. It will take place in the garden. You should have—"
Hisana inhales a sharp breath. "Oh, right. That's how you knew about my performance."
Yes, that's how he learned. His family hosts a cherry blossom viewing party every year for the Academy students who did particularly well the semester prior. The unstated purpose of the party is to scope out talent for the Sixth's recruitment efforts.
"Plus-ones are allowed, no?" asks Hisana.
Byakuya's heart slams to a stop. "Plus-ones?" The word scorches his tongue. "Do you—are you seeing—is there someone el—"
Before he can blunder his way through more half-asked questions, Hisana stops him with a gentle smile and a shake of her head. "My roommate," she says sweetly and reaches over to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. "I'm not seeing anyone else, my lord."
Anyone else. Byakuya turns this phrase over in his head. Which means, he stops short, afraid that he may draw the wrong conclusion and harm himself in so doing.
"Yes," he says. "You may invite a friend."
She rakes her fingers through his hair a moment longer. "I will come, then."
He doesn't want her to stop. Nor does he want her to leave. He wants her to stay forever.
"It's late, my lord. I must be going." Her touch fades, quickly becoming a ghost of warmth then a memory, and she leans over and presses a kiss to his brow.
He watches her with an ache in his heart as she takes to her feet. "The greenhouse," he says, thoughts scattering.
"The greenhouse?"
"Meet me there after the party so that I may give you your gift."
She nods. "Goodnight, Byakuya."
"Goodnight, Hisana."
The next morning starts with a deviation, one that immediately sets Byakuya on edge. As he enters the dining room, sitting in his father's usual place is not his father. No, indeed, it's Grandfather. In Grandfather's hand is a folder full of papers that Byakuya can only assume spell disaster for him.
Holding back a sigh, Byakuya takes his place at the table and braces. His face is drawn. His lips already sinking into a frown. "Good morning, Grandfather," he remembers to say probably a beat too late for Grandfather's liking.
"Byakuya." Grandfather's tone is sharp, almost reprimanding, which leaves Byakuya to guess as to what crime has been alleged against him today and by whom.
If he had to wager good money, he would choose Tomoe as the whom, and as to the what, well, literally anything. What little genuine interest Tomoe may have felt for him in the beginning has long since fled her. Now, whenever she sees him, she regards him with a look that one ordinarily reserves for sidling up to ravenous beasts.
"I've received the daily list of grievances," says Grandfather.
"Daily?" Byakuya squawks.
Has Father been receiving daily reports on him, too?
Grandfather's piercing blue eyes quickly skim the document in hand. "Two, actually," he adds, "one from the family and one from your intended."
Byakuya glowers into his tea.
"Although, the one from your intended today hardly mentions you at all. I imagine that's because she's been traveling the hinterland since late last week."
Byakuya presses the rim of his teacup to his lips to hide his smirk. "How is the hinterland these days?"
Grandfather lifts his chin and stares at Byakuya over the top of the "report." "Weather is good. However, there appears to be a run on beds in the western Rukon districts as of late."
Byakuya takes a sip of tea. "Really?"
"Well, it's either that or a member of the family only sought fit to reserve one room for Tomoe and her three guards."
"Perhaps cost-saving measures were implemented given Yasuko's divorce?" provides Byakuya, thoughtfully.
"There's also the matter of the guards."
"Oh, there is?" Byakuya takes another, longer sip of tea.
"None of the three men appear to have any relevant previous work experience."
"Is that right?"
"No, it seems that the only previous experience they all share—if one could even call it that—is working for Hanging Berries."
"As retail employees?"
"No. As male models."
"Oh, my."
"Yes," says Grandfather. "One can only assume that whoever was in charge of arranging this had mistaken the Conservation Project trip for a ménage à quatre."
"Perhaps Tomoe communicated her penchant for taking lovers to the family's travel coordinator."
The report inches down Grandfather's face just enough to reveal his penetrating stare. His lips twitch, and, for the briefest of moments, Byakuya thinks Grandfather might inquire further. Honestly, Byakuya's surprised that he hasn't mentioned this tidbit to his grandfather by now. He's certainly mentioned it to Father a time or twenty.
"Speaking of lovers," Grandfather digresses, his gaze returning to the document, "it seems that two of the three guards are now romantically entangled."
"With Tomoe?"
"With each other."
"The heart finds a way," says Byakuya wryly.
"It certainly makes the lack of beds at the inns a more exciting turn of events."
"Indeed." Byakuya picks up his chopsticks. "How is the Conservation Project coming along?"
Grandfather pages through no fewer than five hand-written sheets. "Judging by the volume of ink expended, poorly."
"Auntie will be heartbroken."
"She'd need to steal a heart first for that to happen," mutters Grandfather under his breath.
Byakuya chuckles into his teacup.
"Oh, I'm sure you think yourself very clever torturing this poor girl," grouses Grandfather.
"Whatever do you mean?" Byakuya manages a convincing protest considering that all he wants to do at the moment is laugh.
Byakuya's amusement, however, is not shared. No, Grandfather appears to be deeply unamused with his lips pursed, brows lifted, and chin tucked down. "Oh, come now, Byakuya. The excursion into the wilds of the Rukon, the untrained guards, the uncomfortable accommodations, the costume."
"I had no hand in the project or the costume," Byakuya objects primly.
"Oh yes, that's because you advised her to wear the giant cockroach outfit instead."
"It was a litterbug," Byakuya bristles as he sets his teacup down. "In my defense, I had nothing to do with her choosing this particular passion project, and I believe it was the esteemed and honorable Captain Ukitake who recruited Tomoe to the Rukon wilds."
"Byakuya," says Grandfather, his voice a low warning.
Byakuya lifts his head and stares blankly ahead. "I assume no responsibility for Tomoe."
"A fact that is clearly evident by your indifference toward her being cannibalized by the rest of the family."
"Are you insinuating that I should be protecting her?" scoffs Byakuya, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"If she is to be your wife, then, yes, protecting her is an expectation."
Byakuya shakes his head. "I did not ask for this burden."
"None of us do. And, yet, we have all managed to fulfill this particular duty with far fewer dramatics."
Byakuya's gaze chases the movement of swaying branches into the garden. He hasn't been dramatic, he thinks. Not at all. He has kept his end of the bargain, fulfilling all the conditions that the family has placed on his time. Does he do so with great joy? No. Is that much obvious? Yes. But, the family can only command his presence, not his spirit.
"This behavior is markedly unlike you, Byakuya," notes Grandfather.
The urge to protest this observation rises like a reflex, but Byakuya smothers it. He smothers it because it's true. Despite what others may say or think about him and his reported wild youth, he never openly defied his family's commands. His purported recklessness and brashness emanated from his over-eagerness to embrace the expectations placed on him and to exceed them. Desperately, he wanted to prove himself, his skill, his value as an heir, and, perhaps, to prove his worth to himself. Only rarely did he achieve the former goals. He has yet to convince himself of the latter.
His recalcitrance to this particular expectation is different. It's different because he is placing his wants and needs above those of his family. His younger self would be ashamed. Perhaps he should be ashamed, now.
The rustling of paper tells Byakuya that Grandfather has put away the list of grievances against him, and the needling sensation that rolls from his cheek down to his arm tells him that Grandfather is examining him. What Grandfather expects him to say in reply? Byakuya hasn't the faintest idea.
He doesn't feel as if he can agree.
He doesn't have the heart to disagree.
So, he stares into the garden, his heart deflating like a balloon.
"I can only assume that your outward defiance of the arranged marriage is because your interest lies elsewhere, Byakuya."
Byakuya lowers his head.
"You seem particularly interested in the party today, which leads me to think that the rumors of your flirtation with an Academy girl are true."
Byakuya closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath.
"Are they true, Byakuya?"
When he opens them again, his head sinks lower still.
"The silence is deafening."
Yes, it is. But silence comes no other way in House Kuchiki.
"Are you forbidding me from attending the party today?" asks Byakuya, bracing for impact.
Grandfather pauses. "No. Enjoy the party, Byakuya," he says at length, "and enjoy your guest."
Byakuya's gaze snaps up to find Grandfather staring distantly into the garden. His face is impenetrable, but Byakuya can sense a shift in him. A current of sadness darkens the shades of the room, and Byakuya wonders as to why.
"You are dismissed, Byakuya."
Wordlessly, Byakuya bows politely and leaves.
Byakuya hates parties. This is an unfortunate truth since he is often required to attend parties. This party is no different. Even though, it is different.
There are few high nobles on the guest list, a fact that Byakuya thought may improve the experience. It does not. Apparently, his tendency toward silence, which is well-known among his family and their affiliates, is not common knowledge among the peasantry, which leaves him at a loss for what to say when the students prattle at him instead of offering short and perfunctory sentiments of gratitude and moving along.
He assumes his reactions must seem harsh as some of the students physically recoil when his patience begins to slip. He is careful to keep his reiatsu and its attendant effects tightly compressed so he knows the students are not wilting due to spiritual overwhelm. No, it is he that draws their discomfort.
When he was much younger, Byakuya made a point to study his more affable and easier cousins to discern what made them likeable and him less so. With a few notable exceptions, his findings were largely that these individuals were open, prone to sharing their banal in-the-moment processing of everything-emotions, experiences, sensations, and interests-with everyone. Byakuya isn't naturally inclined to such openness. Even if he were, years of being picked apart on a subatomic level would have cautioned him against indulging in such proclivity.
How his father managed to maintain his affability in the face of the family's scrutiny, Byakuya can only guess. Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps Father's illness played a role, deterring some of the more malignant members from speaking too forcefully or too loudly against him. Perhaps Father was never deemed a threat.
Byakuya wishes he possessed his father's easiness. Especially now, as some doe-eyed Academy boy rambles on about how "scenic" the garden is. The boy proceeds to bow an impressively high number of times in quick succession before scurrying away. The next student chooses the word "wonderful" to abuse, and the next bleeds dry all meaning from "epic." One student's liberal use of "lovely" to describe everything—from the garden, to the cherry blossoms, to the estate, to the water served in cups—melts his brain. By the end, Byakuya questions if "lovely" is even a word, and, if it is, whether it has a commonly agreed-upon meaning.
Byakuya continues to chew on the nature of "lovely" when he glimpses her. His heart swerves in his chest. His spine straightens. His attention narrows to her and her alone, her presence looming large in his head even when his gaze shifts to the students currently expressing their gratitude.
A feeling of surrealness overtakes him, unspooling his senses. Seeing Hisana here, in the garden, in the middle of the day, a sight that had been once so mundane two years ago, is now unfathomable. It's like witnessing a wish manifest from the ether, seeing it but knowing it can't possibly be real.
Only when the line's current brings her and her friend (the 'roommate,' perhaps?) forward does the realness of her begin to set in. There is a strange intimacy of seeing someone in previously forbidden places, of sharing a common space, of breathing the same air, of seeing how the light bends around them, of seeing them among people you know and people you don't know. It's a reminder that you know and don't know them, as well. That no one, no matter how open, is completely knowable, and that each new experience with them may defy expectation in some unforeseeable way.
Hisana bows to him. It is a graceful movement, one that he has seen countless times already today, but it feels like the first time he has ever seen a bow. Perhaps it's the wryness in her eye that sets her apart from the others. Or perhaps this is the first formal bow she has ever given him.
When Hisana straightens, she smiles at him, and there is a knowing gleam in her eye. He thinks she's about to introduce herself as if this is their first meeting. He waits, part of him desperate to hear the impertinence in her voice as she gestures vaguely at etiquette. However, before Hisana has the chance, her guest interrupts.
"Lord Byakuya Kuchiki, it is—"
He glances down at the woman. She's wearing oily lavender silks. Plum blossoms whirl around the hem of her robes, scattering up to her sleeves. The kamon on her shoulder is faint, almost imperceptible, but it belongs to the Sasaki family, who are pledged to House Tsunayashiro. If he had to guess, standing before him is the youngest daughter of Daichi Sasaki, Tsuna.
Tsuna's manner is loquacious, but at least she addresses him with her head bowed and her eyes rooted to the ground, which affords him the ability to ignore her without seeming terribly rude. His gaze then drifts to Hisana, who is watching Tsuna with some amusement. Perhaps Hisana deems Tsuna's excessive obsequiousness to be a novelty.
When Hisana returns his stare, she offers him a wry grin at first. Then, her expression softens into one of contentment, he thinks. He certainly feels content, standing there, enjoying her presence. He fears, however, that his happiness is less obviously expressed. She knows, though.
She must by now.
Byakuya doesn't notice when Tsuna stops speaking. The sound of her voice has long since been eclipsed by feelings that are as consuming as they are ineffable. Hisana notices. She's better at these sorts of things than he.
"It is a pleasure, Lord Kuchiki. The cherry blossoms are lovely," says Hisana with an elegant bow of her head.
Lovely. Yes, he remembers that word now. She has spoken it back into being.
"Your name?" he teases her.
Hisana beams up at him, her entire face brightening, especially her eyes, which reflect the light from the pale blue sky above. "Hisana. I am a Second Year Student."
"Well, Second Year Hisana—"
He reaches to say, 'it is lovely hosting you and Miss Sasaki.'
What comes out instead is, "—you're lovely—" Realizing his mistake, Byakuya's tongue only becomes more tied in the correction: "What I mean to say is, I love y—your presence is lovely—it is lovely—"
"You mean to say that it is lovely having us, Lord Kuchiki?" Hisana warmly supplies.
"Yes. That." He grins at her, feeling both very foolish and also very comforted.
Hisana looks as if she wants to say more, but Tsuna grabs her by the wrist. "Apologies for Hisana's flustering, she's new." Tsuna then yanks Hisana out of the line.
Vaguely, Byakuya wonders at Tsuna's meaning as his gaze trails after the two women. He waits for Hisana to peer back at him, knowing that she will. When she does, he bows his head slightly.
She blushes and looks away.
The airy feeling that once possessed him strangles the moment he sees that the line has swollen with even more students and the person standing before him is not Hisana. Somehow, countenancing the party-goers' gratitude has become both more and less dreadful. More because all he wants to do is exist closer to Hisana, and less because, even if she is not standing nearby, he feels her and this feeling brings him a measure of relief.
After speaking with what he presumes is every young person who has ever considered enrolling in a class at the Academy, Byakuya tries his best to wade through the crowd without being dragged into some conversation or another. He mostly fails at this endeavor. If it is not well-meaning students, it is well-meaning Squad Six shinigami or less-than-well-meaning family members. It feels as if an entire millennium has gone by before he reunites with Hisana at one of the many tables supplying food.
He spots her weaving her way through the line, her gaze distantly focused on the garden. Her roommate stands next to her, chattering away with one of the male students. The instant Byakuya arrives, the boy speaking with Tsuna catches his eye and asks aloud, "We were discussing, Lord Kuchiki, what is the quickest route to communicating with one's zanpakutō?"
Byakuya glances behind him to ensure that he is the Lord Kuchiki to whom the question is addressed. Realizing that, yes, he appears to be the sole Kuchiki in the line, his next thought is, 'Is this boy asking me for advice?' He isn't sure whether to be amused or aggrieved at such boldness.
"You could always throw yourself into mortal danger," he replies sardonically.
The sound of his voice appears to force Hisana's attention to him, and she chuckles. Apparently, she is the only one capable of understanding his jokes.
"Does the lady object?" he teases, feigning umbrage.
Hisana grins, but before she can utter a word, the boy who asked the question interjects, "Trust me, she's no lady. She's just a peasant, milord. Pay her no mind."
Hisana doesn't flinch, and Byakuya isn't sure whether that's good or bad. She hadn't flinched when he was cruel to her either. Perhaps having that much emotional scar tissue is a necessity. But, the soul must grow weary carrying such weight.
"No, I wish to hear her thoughts," he says, eyes on her.
"Throwing yourself into mortal danger sounds like great advice for getting killed, my lord, and little else," she responds.
"Most zanpakutō have a sense of self-preservation, assuming you've imparted a piece of yourself on it. The spirit contained therein is more likely to manifest its power if it senses death is nigh," he reasons.
"Yes, and once it realizes you nearly sacrificed yourself to trick it, it will be upset with you for a long while if not forever. It will never learn to trust in your relationship, judging you careless and imprudent, and, you in turn, will never be able to trust yourself to fight against these terrible impulses since you are the blade. And, that's setting aside whether the mortal danger into which you have thrown yourself is in anyway survivable with the skills you possess."
"I apologize, Lord Kuchiki, on behalf of the entire student body for her and her ilk," says the boy.
Byakuya starts at her explanation. Not because she's wrong but because she knows. And the only way to know, to truly know, what it is like to have a relationship with the spirit that inhabits your zanpakutō is to have convened with that spirit.
"You know your zanpakutō's name," he states more so than asks.
"No way a Second-Year peasant in Class Two would have that ability," scoffs another boy.
Hisana lifts her chin and bites her lip. Byakuya can tell that she is weighing her choices. When she decides, she gives a little nod. "I do. I know her name."
And she's never thought to tell him before now.
"You should show me your release some day. I'm sure it's beautiful," he says both because he means it and because he might snap the neck of the next person who thinks to denigrate her.
"Only if the lord would consent to do the same. I am told that his zanpakutō's release is peerless," she says sweetly.
This comment sets off a round of students calling for him to present his release for their amusement.
Quickly, Byakuya puts an end to these requests with a quiet, "Not today," before slipping out of line with barely any food on his plate.
The rest of the party goes similarly. He imagines if his father were not on assignment, he might have more relief casually floating between his father and Grandfather. His presence feels more like absence when orbiting them as their importance in the social fabric of Seireitei and the ranks dwarfs his. However, at present, there are few places to hide so he must weather the dreadful small talk.
When the party dies and only the stragglers remain, Byakuya excuses himself to the walking trail that leads to the edge of the estate where the greenhouse sits. Like many things at the estate, the greenhouse is largely forgotten until it isn't. According to Father, Mother had loved this place dearly. Even at the end, when she was waning, she came to tend to her prized sunflowers. After she died, no one in the main house spoke of it out of respect for Father.
The gardeners continue to tend to the flora housed inside, and it appears that the guards seek refuge there when bad weather strikes. Byakuya, however, certainly never thinks of it unless Hisana brings it up, and she only ever thinks to bring it up to tease him about the time that he sought shelter there with an amorous member of the Sixth.
The thick glass door always sticks when he tries to push it open on the first attempt. Today is no different. Perhaps the greenhouse means to teach him a lesson, to be gentle first then vigorous. If so, this is a lesson that he still has yet to learn.
"You're here," he says, surprised and yet unsurprised to find Hisana sitting atop one of the taller tables, her legs hanging off the side. She leans forward to peer at him through the hydrangeas packed around her.
Her expression brightens as soon as their eyes meet, and she holds up a half-eaten banana. "They taste like ice cream. I've never had a banana that tasted like that."
He smirks at her. "They have bananas in the Rukon?"
"In the nicer districts, which means some poor schmuck must get stuck harvesting in the wilds somewhere," she says. "You aren't going to charge me for this or something?"
His smirk widens.
"I imagine each bite is like 1,000,000 kan." She breaks off another piece, devours it, and continues, mouth full, "So, that's 8,000,000 kan now. I'm in deep. You better tell me if I have to wash dishes for a million years to pay this thing off."
"You think the service demanded as payment would be dishwashing?" He lifts a brow.
"What's the going rate for bananas these days, then? Organ harvesting or something? Really tell me now if I have to pay for this with my kidney and spleen. I might need those."
Byakuya steps in front of her and glances down at the half-eaten fruit. He must look hungry because Hisana immediately offers him a taste, which he takes.
"It's good," he agrees.
"You haven't had one yet?" Immediately, she produces a banana from her sleeve like it's a magic trick.
"You're raiding my family's banana tree?" he asks, amused, taking it from her to only set it aside on the table.
She laughs. "It's not like anyone notices except maybe the occasional guard in need of a late-night snack." With a gentle touch, she brushes a stray strand behind his ear before deciding to run her fingertips across his scalp in long, even strokes.
It's kaidou, he thinks, his eyes slipping shut. It must be. The tension that once pulled at his neck and back melts away, and he takes his first easy breath of the day. Only then—only when breath turns to air and his chest relaxes—does he sense the shimmer of her reiatsu twining through his.
The small step he takes toward her feels like submission. This feeling intensifies as he grips the edge of the table on either side of her. Part of him wants to tug at the thread of her reiatsu, to let her know that he is aware of what she is doing, that he isn't as ill at ease as she must assume. The part of him that wins, though, does nothing.
"It's nice to finally look down at you for once," she says slyly, her voice nudging his gaze back to her.
A corner of his lips tips up. Indeed, it is rare to find her at eye level. He studies her for a long moment, thoughts running liquid and slow in his head. Until now, he has not had the chance to fully appreciate her. The wall of garishly large pinkish-purple flowers brings her into stark relief. Her pale skin. Her blue eyes. The darkness of her hair, which is swept back and away from her face. She isn't wearing her Academy uniform, a fact that he only now realizes. In its place is a cornflower-blue yukata with a bellflower pattern. Wrapped around her waist is a red obi.
Hisana looks lovely.
"The party was nice," she says gently.
"It was?" He sounds more surprised than intended.
She chuckles. "It was. There was laughter and banter, and I think even bonding happened."
He grins. "I don't remember seeing you laugh." Not once. Any time he found her through the throng of students, she appeared fixed on distant thoughts.
"I was plenty amused," Hisana replies, her hands continuing to comb through his hair. "Why the greenhouse? Do you mean to seduce me like you did poor Mina?"
"Mina?" he gapes. "I believe you have the seducer and target switched."
"Oh," she says, drawing the sound out, "is that why she brought you here?"
Hisana is mocking him.
"We came here to escape the storm," he reminds her, but it's no use. She already knows.
"So, she was the one who requested the kidou lesson?"
"No, I requested the kidou lesson." She knows this as well.
"How did she seduce you, again?"
Byakuya inhales a long breath. "I, perhaps, was naïve as to how my request may have been received."
"How did you mean that request, my lord?"
He pauses to weigh his thoughts, understanding perfectly the unstated premises knocking around in Hisana's inquiry. No, he wasn't really interested in a kidou lesson when he proposed such a thing to Mina that night. But, the proposal also wasn't one for a tryst. It was….
"I was bored," he says, finally.
"And you have a habit of leading women on when you're bored?"
"Hisana."
"Are you bored, now?"
He exhales a heavy breath, and she laughs. It is a warm sort of laugh, one that she immediately smooths over with a tender sweep of her hand against his head. But why? he wonders. She has teased him mercilessly on this very thing over the years.
"Were you jealous?" he surmises.
Her grin lengthens. "Do you want me to be jealous?"
His brows rise. Perhaps. Now, maybe. At the time, however, inducing her into jealousy was not a goal of his. Indeed, when he realized that she was there with them in the greenhouse, humiliation was all he felt. "Why do you ask?"
Hisana gives the barest of shrugs before resting her hands lightly on the tops of his shoulders. "Maybe I want to know what it takes to seduce you."
"Do you mean to seduce me?"
She arches a brow. "Maybe. My efforts at seduction never seem to work."
"You've tried?" he says, stunned.
"Yes," she chuckles. "Also, ouch."
They laugh. The sound is sweet. Like bells chiming. When it stops, easy silence wraps around them. It's just him. It's just her. And, suddenly, their aloneness feels perilous.
"Maybe this is enough, though," she says, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. "More than enough."
His brows pinch together. "What is enough?"
"This. These stolen moments together. It's better than…." her voice goes distant.
It's better than nothing.
"This is not forever," he promises.
She doesn't believe him. He can see it in her eyes, in her face, in the way her touch goes from warm to barely there. Then, finally, he hears it in the question that follows.
"When does Lady Shimazu return?"
His frown comes as a reflex, one that she understands well.
"I'm not marrying her," he says, thinking this is the question that she's really asking.
Hisana's smile dims as does the light in her eyes. "You will marry someone, someday," she says.
The unspoken implication ringing loudly in the silent spaces of her words is, 'That someone cannot be me.'
He glances down at her lap, at the bellflower pattern sweeping across her thighs. His hands inch closer to the warmth of her, to the outside of her legs, until his knuckles graze the soft fabric of her yukata. "I want you," he murmurs.
Hisana presses her lips to the top of his head and wraps her arms loosely around his neck, but she does not say a word. Perhaps her solemn kiss is response enough.
This is not enough.
She holds him until the bright light of afternoon turns gold and diffuse. With the coming twilight also comes more obligations. Specifically, Tomoe, who is due to arrive at any moment. The prickle of this thought fills his heart with misery and dread. He hasn't the desire to endure her tonight, not with his patience spread so thin after the party.
But he must per his family's terms and conditions.
Wearily, Byakuya pulls his chest up and gazes lovingly into Hisana's face. He doesn't want to reach for "goodbye," but he also doesn't want her to hear the guard's knock on the door or the request that will follow.
"Your gift," he remembers, withdrawing the small package from his pocket and pressing it to her thigh.
Hisana's gaze trails to his hand. "Thank you, my lord." He doesn't miss the reluctance in her voice or the slowness of her acceptance.
Tilting her head back, Hisana places the package at her side and rests her hand against his. "Is this 'goodnight,' my lord?"
He smirks at her evasion. "Are you not going to open it?"
She looks down again. He can tell that she'd rather not, that she'd rather open the present in private and feel however she feels about it without his gaze upon her. But, she relents. For his sake.
Listlessly, Hisana takes the gift in hand and peels back the wrapping. Her smile is instantaneous when she opens the box. "It's beautiful."
"Let me," he says, adroitly plucking the hairpin from the packaging and fixing it near the knot twisting the fall of her hair. Three simple blossoms fall from the base of the pin, the last of which skims the slope of her neck.
Her hand squeezes his. "Thank you, my lord."
"Tomorrow?" he asks.
"Tomorrow," she says.
Byakuya bows his head and then leaves.