Year Four: Spring
Hisana wakes with a start. Heart pumping. Adrenaline replaces the blood in her veins. Her lungs grasp for air. The closed wound at her side aches, and, reflexively, her fingers test the flesh under her robe.
It's not bleeding. It's not open. It's healed, and, in the pre-dawn hours, the discoloration of the new skin that patches over the puncture is more noticeable.
Hisana lets out a soft hiss as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. When her feet touch the cool wood of the floor, she forces herself up. Reflexively, her left arm wraps over her right side, just as she had when the injury was fresh. The pain rattles her heart every third beat, and then her heart skips before making a jittery and bracing rebound.
Wincingly, she leaves her dorm room and hobbles down the hall to the communal bath, where she washes, eager to remind her skin with diligent scrubbing to "wake up" and forget the phantoms of the past. To no avail. It's only when she steps into the pale spring chill to the hot spring at the edge of the campus that she finally finds a measure of relief.
Fortunately for Hisana, no sane person is awake when she wades into a small pool in the back. Mind and body heavy with exhaustion, it's easy to drift once she finds a quiet, secluded spot to settle. With head tipped back and eyes shut, her mind slips. The sleep that finds her is full of static and memories of the night that landed her at the Fourth for over a month.
It begins as usual with darkness. This is a stale empty sort of darkness that continues until it doesn't. Sound comes next starting with the howling of wind, which rustles her hair, and then morphs into shouting and crying. The inky darkness shifts. Moonlight carves up the shades of night, allowing her to see the silhouettes of trees as they sway across the field of grass. This keeps her attention longer than it should. Maybe it's because she knows what happens next, having lived it, having been stuck in the strange lucid cycle of these moments ever since.
The dream always starts after her class's victory over the hollows that hunted them. She and the two upperclassmen had dispatched these hollows with relative ease before the upperclassmen opened the Senkaimon and began evacuating the students.
She doesn't get the benefit of glory. No, her mind will have none of that. Instead, it rushes straight for her first mistake.
And what a fucking mistake it was.
Looking down, Hisana finds Nobutada offering his hand palm-side up to her. "C'mon!" he urges, fingers straining as they stretch out for her. "The gate is going to close!"
Hisana, however, hesitates, gaze chasing the flaring spiritual pressure coming from her left. The wind picks up, carrying the cries of the other class just beyond the strip of trees that segment the glade.
"Shinigami will be here to help them. C'mon!" Nobutada calls again before lurching forward.
She evades his grasp-taking a step back-and shakes her head. Her heart pounds in her throat. She knows this is a terrible decision when she settles on it. But, she can't help herself. Instead, she utters a soft, "Go," to Nobutada before sprinting away, toward the danger that lies beyond the treeline.
The dream distorts. Hisana's vision swims and bile hammers her stomach and threatens to rise up to strangle her. She can almost taste the acid when she sees her classmates beaten and bloodied, lying in heaps scattered in the long grass. The danger that pulls around her and grips her like a vise, however, isn't from a hollow.
The hollows are long gone.
No, this is the danger that she first felt at the art job when she sensed an unknown other lying in wait. It's the danger she felt radiating off of Gin Ichimaru at Lieutenant Ise's book club. It's the danger of a snake ribboning itself around you, squeezing you until you can't breathe, can't think, can't feel, and then when you go numb as it crushes you.
When she sees him, she isn't surprised.
Not one bit.
"Lieutenant Ichimaru," greets Hisana, brain spinning, her whole world spinning.
She sees the jerking bob of his arm. Instinctively, she understands the motion he makes and knows its meaning. She hears the wet squelch of breath as it's forced from the chest cavity. The sharp yank of steel being dislodged from muscle, sinew, and meat brings with it a thick spray of blood.
Hisana stares into the lieutenant's, eyes refusing to follow the line of his arm. He brandishes his same cheerful expression with the deftness with which he wields his weapon.
"What are you doing?" she swears that she asks the question, swears she hears her voice, its shakiness, its ragged sound in her ears.
But, when Gin doesn't reply, Hisana fears that this question remains a thought locked inside her head.
Although, what could he say in response to such a question? He had just murdered a student, a classmate, a boy who does not look much older than she.
Why?
The answer is that it doesn't matter.
The answer is that she'll never truly know.
All she has is logic and instinct, a dreadful combination to discern the unknowable.
This indiscriminate killing is followed by Gin raising his sword to another fallen student. Instinct tells her what logic cannot: It tells her that her death is also assured. It's a reflex so visceral, so primal that logic cannot penetrate. Logic cannot stay her hand as it draws her zanpakutō against a senior officer. Logic has no purchase here.
Gin chuckles. His laughter is polite and silvery, which makes her even more scared and angry. Maybe that's the point, though. Maybe he means to shove her off balance even more.
"How unfair," he says and lifts his head. His sword remains pointed at one of the students. The muscles in his shoulders shift, indicating flexion.
Hisana knows she has to do or say something to shake him away from skewering the girl through. And, so, in a moment of breathtaking hubris, Hisana replies in kind.
"It is unfair," she agrees and then quickly adds, "for you."
Gin's smile inches ever longer. His eyes narrow into slits. But, the tension in his arm melts.
A question, unspoken but not unheard, hangs between them: How?
"You have a limiter," answers Hisana. "I don't."
This is a ploy. A cheap trick. Not for one fucking second does Hisana think that she can best a senior officer even when he is at twenty percent capacity and she at full tilt. She, however, would rather be a liar than watch him kill defenseless students while she still has fight left to give.
What follows is a blur of moves and countermoves. When the motion stops, Gin has succeeded in driving his zanpakutō through her side, but she, too, has succeeded in driving him to his knees. Her sword is raised above his neck, poised to strike.
Her heart stops. Her blood runs cold. The unbridled instinct to kill blankets her as it did at the art exhibit when she beheaded the Tsunayashiro lackey.
Just as she moves to bring down her blade, Hisana is stopped, physically unable. Her arm has been ensorcelled by an interloper.
Captain Aizen.
Surprise, not horror, enters her when she sees Captain Aizen's face but hears the sound of another's voice.
Hisana had not feared death for death was already assumed when she called upon her shikai. However, when Captain Shiba steps into view, she knows death has been averted today.
The suddenness of Captain Shiba's presence brings with it the force of a concussion wave, bending everyone's attention to it. The spell that once ensnared Hisana's arm falls into tatters. Gin summons back his zanpakutō, which sends her blood misting across the clearing.
By luck and sheer willpower, Hisana stays on her feet despite the forces of pain, blood loss, and gravity beckoning her to the ground. So focused on staying vertical, she does not hear a single word exchanged between Captains Aizen and Shiba. Only a vague reading of body language compels her to trail after Captain Shiba once the field goes silent.
Moving under her own command unaided feels like a monumental achievement, but it's not one that she can sustain for long. In the back of her mind is a clock, and it is ticking down fast. She hasn't much time to find relief, but she can pretend until she feels safe in the distance between her and Gin Ichimaru.
"Internal Affairs will likely pay you a visit so choose your words carefully when they do," instructs Captain Shiba.
"There's an Internal Affairs here?" she splutters.
This reply earns her a scoffing laugh from the captain. "That was reckless by the way," he says.
Hisana blinks back a bead of sweat from her eyes. "He has a limiter," she reasons.
"You will, too, now. So, don't try that again."
"What was I supposed to do?"
"Not duel a lieutenant as a student. That, maybe?"
"He was going to kill my classmates."
Captain Shiba considers her with a sidelong look, features grave. "What?"
"He plunged his sword into a student."
"Who?"
"Lieutenant Ichimaru." Hearing the claim spoken aloud fills Hisana with instant regret. It sounds positively ludicrous. Why would a lieutenant do such a thing?
Although, why would she lie about such a thing?
"Do you really think I would challenge a lieutenant to a duel for fun?" she mutters.
Captain Shiba shrugs. "I couldn't hear your conversation."
"Wouldn't I go to jail for that?"
"Duels are legal under certain circumstances."
Hisana glares at him. "I didn't challenge him to a duel."
"Did he challenge you?"
"No!"
"He was killing the students?"
"Yes," she decides, her breathing becoming increasingly labored.
The captain opens his mouth, but, before he can speak, Lieutenant Matsumoto appears at his side in a flash. The smell of burned earth and singed grass falls heavy. "Captain, I heard there was a—" begins the lieutenant.
"Take the girl," interrupts Captain Shiba.
The lieutenant gets one good look at Hisana and recognition immediately lights her eyes. "That's Kuchi—"
"I know," says the captain curtly. "She's injured."
"I'm fine!" argues Hisana.
Captain Shiba's eyeline dips down to the ground, where blood puddles at Hisana's feet. "Not fine," he notes and turns to the lieutenant. "Take her to the Fourth. I will—"
Before Hisana can hear the rest of the order, the black hole of unconsciousness engulfs her.
This is the part where she startles awake. Hisana's eyes fly open. Her breath catches in her chest. Her heart races a mile a minute.
Her side, however, doesn't ache as it did when she first awoke. The hot spring helps remind the flesh that she isn't in the glade, isn't injured, and isn't in danger. No, she's at the Academy, mostly submerged under a blanket of hot water.
"Woah, are you Hisana?"
A sharp breath stabs down Hisana's throat at the realization that she's not alone. Blinking back the fog of sleep and the misty haze of the springs, she quickly tracks the boy watching her from across the pool. He's got a baby face, but his stature is less soft and gangly and more wiry and lean, like that of an adolescent.
"Yeah," she answers after a pregnant pause, drawing her arms over her chest and girding herself as to why he knows her name.
There are a few reasons that jump to mind for why he might recognize her. Few of them are good.
"You're the one who saved those kids from the hollows on the field trip, right?"
Among other monsters, yes.
"I helped," she says instead.
"That is so amazing."
Hisana resists breathing a sigh of relief that this is the act to which she is now reduced. It's certainly better than "Rukon Dog," or "cheap thrill." The former is self-explanatory; the latter crystallized during her probationary period for the card game. Since illicit gambling on Academy grounds is an expellable offense, the administration couldn't technically punish her for the card game as she would've happily dragged the high lords down with her on that front. Instead, the high lords' families and the administration brokered an "understanding" in which she (and only she) was punished for "illicit forms of entertainment." Unsurprisingly, when word got out about the reason for her probation, the student body promptly assumed the "entertainment" was of the "paid companionship" variety. To avoid inquiries about her time and rate, Hisana locked herself in her dorm room between classes and work.
Being known for helping save her classmates, however, is decidedly much better.
"I hope to do something that remarkable before graduating," the boy continues.
"Hopefully, you won't need to."
He makes a few incoherent grunts as if he means to challenge that premise. "Isn't that what all students aspire to? Greatness on the field of battle?"
Hisana lifts a shoulder. "Is it? There's a lot more to do in our short time here than aspire to become cannon fodder for hollows."
The boy chuckles anxiously and shoves a hand through his short, choppy black hair. "I guess you're right. It's all a little too much. I'm afraid I'll make a mistake."
"Well, don't," she says, scooting to the edge of the pool where her towel is neatly folded. The calculus of exiting without this kid seeing her fully naked nearly breaks her brain.
"Don't what? Make a mistake?" he asks, his voice painfully earnest.
Was she ever that young?
Hisana glances over her shoulder. He's watching her intently but not creepily. Maybe this won't be so bad.
When did she become so precious over nudity, again?
She thinks Byakuya is to blame for her sudden bout of self-consciousness. He's always so annoyingly modest. It makes her feel crass for not being the same. Especially after they….
Hisana pushes away the next thought before it can fully metastasize and make her feel even more self-aware. She also hates the mere inkling that maybe she considers her body to be somehow less hers after their intimacy all those months ago.
"No, not that," she replies hastily, the contents of her stomach sloshing around as if it's suddenly been filled with ice water. "You're definitely going to make mistakes."
The boy's brows lift. "Then, what?"
"Don't worry about it," she says pulling herself out of the pool with far more grace than she thought possible. "Mistakes are inevitable so there is no use in being crippled by their possibility," she adds as she unfurls her towel and then wraps it around her.
"That scar from one of the hollows?" the boy asks. His gaze lingers on her now-covered right side.
"Yeah," she answers, noncommittally.
Why not? Gin is probably more of a hollow than some of the actual hollows that she's encountered in the Rukon wilds. And, he's definitely closer to a hollow than a soul.
"Thanks!" the boy calls after her.
Briefly, Hisana gazes at him sidelong. "For what?"
He shrugs. "Answering my questions. Being normal about it."
She blinks.
A pleasant interaction? Here of all places? Color her shocked.
"No problem," she replies before setting off to prepare for class.
"What is the meaning of this?" Captain Kyōraku's voice booms.
Internally cringing, Hisana hunches over herself as she slots the mail into the bins. Maybe if she doesn't move too quickly, the captain won't see or hear her. She pulls her reiatsu tightly against her body as well, for safe measure.
"Hisana?" he calls, expectantly, as if to demand an explanation.
Dammit!
With a heavy sigh, Hisana peeks into the captain's office. It's too late for him to be here, she thinks. Nearly twilight. Usually, the captain is off gallivanting with the other dilettante shinigami at this hour unless….
Unless he's on call for a mission.
As usual, her timing is impeccable. "Yes, Captain Kyōraku," she replies, voice low and placating. "What did I do now?"
In the captain's hand is a form. The Second's sigil is emblazoned in red at the top with the words "Academy Application to the Onmitsukidō Track" directly beneath it. Waving the papers for emphasis, he asks, "What is this?"
"Appears to be an application for the Second." Hisana presses her lips tightly together to suppress the nervous grin twitching at the corners of her mouth.
"Did you submit this application?"
"Umm hmm," she hums and demurely clasps her hands in front of her thighs.
"Why?"
"The track allows for expedited graduation from the Academy."
The captain lifts his brows. "Go on."
"You get to leave the Academy after the fifth year and work for the Second at a reduced pay rate for a year before being promoted to a junior officer. Seems like an expedited graduation to me," she argues.
"You know seventy-five percent of the students who opt into this track die before graduation?"
"Most grunts die by year three into their Gotei 13 career." Hisana shrugs. "What's your point?"
"So, you want to expedite both graduation and death? Interesting choices."
"Graduation? Yes. Death? Not particularly." Hisana's spine stiffens straight at having to concede the point about the track's poor outcomes. "But, it pays for the last year at the Academy, and that's one less year on my ledger."
The captain shoots her a quizzical look. "Your ledger?"
"You know… the debt I have to work off for you."
Laughter erupts from him. "Not in a million years would you be able to work off the debt you owe to me for all the trouble you've caused."
Hisana frowns.
"The answer is 'no,' by the way," he says before staring her straight in the eye and shredding the application for emphasis.
Her frown deepens. "Why?"
"The deal was six years, Hisana."
"The deal was 'attend the Academy,' which I have. This counts!"
The captain gives Hisana one of his best patronizing headshakes. The boyish gleam in his eyes, however, makes her wonder just how much of his schtick should be taken seriously.
Crumpling the application into a ball, he asks, "Do you even want to be assigned to Squad Two?"
Not really, but she'd rather burn alive than tell him that. So, instead, Hisana smooths the fabric of her hakama and replies in the most nonchalant tone that she can muster, "Internal Affairs seems interesting."
"We have an Internal Affairs?" he teases, a knowing glint burning in his eyes.
"You know we do," says Lieutenant Ise as she breezes into the office to hand the captain a folder. "It's on level seven of the main Squad Two building."
"Ah, yes, the basement, a level where ideas and actions are known to be taken most seriously," he mocks.
"The basement is on the eighth floor," corrects the lieutenant. "But, that's also the underground training facility."
"My point still stands is what you're saying." He smirks. "Also, why do you know where Internal Affairs is, Nanao?"
Lieutenant Ise tips her chin up and points to the signature block for the captain's review. "To send reports, of course."
"Reports concerning what?"
"You, mostly."
Hisana snorts. "I hope it's well-staffed, then."
"Oh, yes. Staffed by a scarecrow and a tumbleweed, no doubt," quips the captain as he signs the document.
The lieutenant gives the captain a disapproving look. "The office is fairly small, yes," she begins, "but, there are at least two part-time Squad Two members."
"Sounds like an opportunity to improve, then," Hisana counters before the captain can get a word in edgewise.
"That's the spirit!" says the lieutenant. "Honestly, we could use a more fearsome internal apparatus given our history. It might improve morale and the public image of the Gotei 13 within and outside of the squads."
"In theory." Captain Kyōraku folds his arms against his chest. "In practice, IA tends to put targets on backs and no one likes that, especially the folks up to no good." He then eyes Hisana; the light reflecting in his stare sharpens. "It's a death sentence to anyone who makes the office effective."
"Sounds like a challenge," says Hisana, choosing to raise his word of caution with one of profound arrogance. "I love a good challenge."
"I'm sure Captain Soifon would love to have you, Hisana. Especially with that zanpakutō of yours." Lieutenant Ise gives an approving nod of her head.
"What's the nature of that zanpakutō, again, Nanao?" queries the captain with a clever glance.
The lieutenant's eyelids droop, and she shakes her head. "Hisana is standing right here if you really must know."
"No," answers Hisana before the captain takes the chance. Although, if she's being honest, she already knows he knows, and he probably knows that she knows he knows.
"Well, all the more reason to toss this application in the garbage." With that, Captain Kyōraku lets the balled-up form fall into the bin near his desk.
Hisana gapes at him.
"If you're so passionate about Internal Affairs come Sixth Year, then apply," he argues.
Lieutenant Ise's attention ping-pongs between the two of them. "Oh, no, Hisana. You don't want to pledge your service to the Second now. Terrible survival odds if you do."
"That's what I said," says the captain.
"And, the survival odds after that magical Sixth Year?" asks Hisana, unconvinced.
The captain gestures for them to leave. "Never mind about that."
The lieutenant glances up and to the side. "I guess, you're right. We don't really know since their numbers are aggregated with all the—"
"That's more than enough Academy talk for today," interrupts Captain Kyōraku, shooing them out of his office and shutting the door behind them.
Lieutenant Ise eyes Hisana slyly and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "You want to graduate early, I take it."
Hisana nods. "It's the dream." For going on four fucking years.
"You should practice your shikai on one of the training fields. An Academy master is certain to notice and then…." The lieutenant arches a brow and cuts Hisana a conspiratorial look.
Hisana knows better than to hope. Captain Kyōraku is dead set on her graduating on time, not a minute sooner. She suspects the lieutenant doesn't know the particulars of this arrangement nor does Hisana necessarily want to tell her.
And so….
Hisana pretends. She forces an excited smile and bobs her head to signal that she will take this advice to heart. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate your counsel."
Lieutenant Ise bows politely. "I think there's enough time yet to apply and interview with the squads if you were bumped up to Sixth Year now."
"Terrific!" Hisana reciprocates the gesture. "Thanks, again!" she says, throwing her arm back in an exaggerated wave before slipping out the door into the crisp spring night.
Wearily, she traces the sparsely traveled street that winds from the Eighth to the Sixth. From the Sixth, she takes the cobblestone path to the market. The market is full of shinigami and nobles. There is barely room to breathe without fear of bumping into someone else.
Hisana escapes the crush through an alleyway between two Kuchiki-owned restaurants. Flash-step helps build enough momentum for her to hop across a few retaining walls. The road that takes her to the bridge is considerably less crowded, which isn't saying much. The foot traffic is shoulder-to-shoulder, and trying to cross it feels more like threading a needle than walking.
But, when Hisana finally spots Byakuya, her heart slams to a stop, and she pauses to drink in the sight of him leaning with forearms against the railing, staring into the stream. There is a solemness to his expression that makes her wonder if cruel uncertainty tears at his nerves. It has been so long. Too long. Almost six months since they last met at the bridge. Feels even longer. Feels like years and years.
Byakuya lifts his chin, and his eyes flicker, as if in pursuit of a stray thought. The instant they find her, his look of solemn contemplation gives way to that of relief. His back straightens. The molten glow of twilight gleams in his eyes. And, if she squints, she's pretty sure she can see the barest hint of a grin.
The tension between them—in that space of only a few yards—tightens around Hisana like an invisible ribbon pulling taut and fast before yanking her closer. She obliges. With each step, her thoughts unspool, his gravity unspooling them, until all she has left is breath and instinct.
She's barely an arm's length away when he moves to greet her, and she's pretty sure he is going to offer her his hand, and—
"Dearest Hisana, love of my life, light of my summer skies—" a strange voice sounds from behind her.
Hisana's heart goes from bounding with joy to a jittering pulse in her throat when she peers over her shoulder. At first glance, she sees no one. Only when her gaze drops to the boards does she find him.
Kawada….
"—will you accept this poem as the purity of my heart and intent to write your name next to mine in the annals of—"
Hisana glances away from the man crawling at her feet. First, she looks to Byakuya. A silent plea sprawls across her face, but it goes unanswered. His eyes are on Kawada, watching the man with the blankest stare that she's ever seen.
Which tracks, if she's being honest. She has no clue how to respond. Looking to Byakuya—of all people—for guidance was a mistake.
A clear mistake.
"—is this love reality or a dream? How would I know when both love and reality exist without truly existing?" Kawada continues, seemingly untethered by either reality or sanity.
Next, Hisana surveys the bridge. People are gawking at Kawada, but, more importantly, they're gawking at her as well. Some have stopped in their paces, necks bent as they trade reactions with friends. A few young women hide their mouths behind fans and turn to each other, eyes squeezing shut at the force of laughter. No one looks particularly impressed at what is taking place except for maybe Byakuya, whose expressionless face could be read to mean anything and nothing.
"—will you consent to being my wife?" Kawada finally concludes.
Hisana turns to Byakuya in wide-eyed panic. Only when the ensuing silence that follows Kawada's proposal becomes unbearable does Byakuya finally return her stare. He blinks, incredulously, as if he isn't entirely convinced that the scene playing out before him isn't some imaginary trick of the eye.
She wants to slug him, but the crowd stirring in her periphery forces her attention back to Kawada. Kawada continues to bow before her like a peasant to his god. His forehead is pressed to the wooden boards of the bridge. His arms remain stretched out as if in prayer.
"Kawada?" asks Hisana after a very long and very audible sigh.
Kawada raises his head so that it no longer touches the wooden slat. "Dearest Hisana," he begins but stops abruptly when his attention slips to the person standing behind her. "Lord Kuchiki?" His eyes flutter. "What are you doing here?"
The crowd's attention shifts to the young lord. Low gasps and even lower voices ripple through the crowd. More than a few suspicions appear to have been confirmed at the sight of Byakuya.
Byakuya tilts his head to see past Hisana. "Notwithstanding the shameless pilfering of Ono no Komachi, the spectacle you've created is enthralling. I was intrigued as to how this would end," he observes, imperiously.
Kawada's gaze flits to Hisana. "Is the lady similarly enthralled?" Hope burns brightly in his voice.
Hisana leans down and whispers, "Kawada, please go home," as she helps him to his feet before ushering him in the direction opposite of where she wants to go.
"Hisana, are you trying to play coy thereby increasing my desire to have you as my wi—"
"No!" she hisses. Without missing a beat, she keeps him moving toward the main artery of the market. "I am not trying to increase your anything. I am not interested in becoming your—"
"I am certain that my parents will give their approval considering that you—"
"You don't need their approval since the answer is, 'No.'" Hisana, then, shoves Kawada into a current of passersby and watches as the tide sweeps him forward.
"I will find a way to convince you of my heart!" he cries out, arms flailing in what she can only pray is a parting gesture.
Suddenly feeling very zapped of all goodwill and energy, Hisana pivots on her heels to find a group of young shinigami pausing to gawp at her. The moment she exchanges glances with them, they scatter like dandelion seeds in the wind.
How embarrassing, she thinks on her walk back to Byakuya. Her prior enthusiasm now a pale ghost of what it once was when she reaches him.
"I take it you didn't accept," he deadpans.
She glowers at him. "You could've said something."
"I did."
"Something beyond noting how enthralled you were."
Gazing ahead, he smirks. "It's rare to see a proposal in the wild."
"Why? Because proposals require committee approval here?"
He considers her with a quiet look. "Yes. Proposals of marriage are usually closed-door negotiations involving the intendeds' families."
"Well, he hadn't gotten parental sign-off so it was nothing more than a toothless gesture."
Byakuya's mask of impassivity slips as soon as they reach the estate. Hisana isn't sure what to make of the deepening lines of his face. The closest she comes is "concern" but, surely, he can't be concerned over Kawada. There's nothing there. If anything struck a nerve, she surmises, it must have been the proposal itself.
The freedom to make such a proposal—even as extravagant and awkward as it was—is not a freedom afforded to Byakuya. She isn't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Although… the more she mulls it over… the more she thinks that he would have to bend far too low to do such a thing. It would be like a god reaching into the bowels of hell to pluck a rather ordinary flower.
It would be a waste.
Worse, it would be debasing.
She wouldn't want to be the cause of his debasement.
Hisana chews on this thought at length as Byakuya leads her down an unfamiliar walking path. She doesn't know why it pains her. She's never expected more from this relationship. She's actually rather stunned that it has gone on as long as it has.
Lifting her head, she watches Byakuya discreetly under her lashes. He is dreadfully handsome, a fact that she somehow managed to ignore all these years but… now… it's hard to miss. His sharp jawline, his straight nose, his keen eyes. She likes his eyes best, even when he does his best to staunch the light that radiates from within.
Byakuya's cuts her an uneasy sideways look. "How do you know Kawada?"
Hisana loosens a long breath. "Remember that card game?"
"How could I forget?" he mutters drily.
"Fair point." She grins. "He was the one who roped me into it."
"Did you win his hand in marriage during it?" Byakuya arches a brow.
"No." She chuckles. "My guess is that my saving him during the field trip to the World of the Living is what prompted that."
"He was the student you rescued?"
Hisana nods. "One of them." Resisting the urge to say more, she averts her gaze to the overgrown footpath. "Kawada was one of the upperclassmen who was supposed to keep the students protected. I think that's why he feels so passionately about," she pauses and gives an exasperated wave of her arm, "whatever indebtedness he thought a proposal might cure."
Why are they still talking about Kawada, again? Her brows knit together. There's no way that he is….
"Are you jealous of Kawada, my lord?" she asks, careful to keep her voice mild.
"Perhaps," he says after a silent moment.
Hisana's eyes widen. "Why?"
"Proximity. I haven't seen you for nearly an entire season."
"That's not entirely tru—"
"His family is also easier," he cuts her off. "The Kawada are less fettered by customs and laws. You would have an easy lif-"
"My heart remains unchanged, my lord," she says fiercely, stopping short. The moment Byakuya follows suit, she pulls him down into a kiss.
A long, heart-stopping kiss.
She tastes his sorrow, his contrition, and his shame. She wishes she could kiss these feelings away, but she knows she cannot. Neither can he.
When Byakuya pulls away, sense filters into Hisana's head slowly. Very slowly. "I missed you," she says warmly, cupping his cheek.
He places his hand on top of hers and presses a kiss against her palm. "I want to show you something."
Hisana bows her head politely and follows the gentle tug of his hand.
The path they follow is thick with wild grass and contains pits half full of rainwater. Bluebells and snow-white daisies sway in the fields that flank them. Only after climbing a small hill does she see his goal made clear.
Blooming cherry blossom trees line a large pond. Petals take flight, swirling on the wind's current. The water reflects the blossoms' fluttering and scattering, and Hisana pauses to watch.
"This place looks so familiar," she murmurs to herself, unable to resist the flooding sensation of déjà vu that swells inside her. But how? She's certain she's never been here before.
"I used to come here when I was boy," he says.
Hisana wants to ask why when there are orchards of blooming cherry and plum blossom trees far closer to the manor. The answer-she realizes upon reflection-is blindingly obvious: He needed a reprieve from whatever or whomever at the manor was hounding him at the time.
"I think these excursions may have had quite the impression on me," he continues.
"Why do you say that, my lord?"
"My inner world looks nearly identical to this place."
Her grin widens. "How befitting."
Byakuya urges her to explain with a quiet look of curiosity.
"A lovely inner world for a lovely soul."
He glances away. A hard swallow shifts the muscles of his throat. "Perhaps, when I was a boy."
Hisana squeezes his hand. "And now as well, my lord."
Byakuya stares at her with some hesitance, as if he has something to confess but hasn't decided on quite how to do it.
"Is that why you brought me here?" she asks, voice as gentle as she can manage. "So, that I might know you better?"
He shakes his head. "I brought you here because I thought you might like it."
"Only in dreams could I imagine something better." Hisana reaches up to pluck a petal from his hair. "And even then, I don't think my imagination is that vivid."
Then, it hits her. Her dreams. She'd seen this place before in a dream. Probably during one of the fever dreams that plagued her while she was recuperating at the Fourth.
"You said that this place seemed familiar to you. Had you been here be—"
"A dream, maybe," she says before he can finish. "It's nothing important."
"Was it at the Fourth?"
Hisana tilts her head, wondering how he knew. She bites her bottom lip, reluctant to answer, but her heart won't allow an evasion. "Yes."
"What did it look like?"
She turns to examine the positioning of the trees and the pond. "Almost exactly like this. A serene place with densely packed cherry blossom trees around a large pond."
"Anything else?"
"Humming."
The furrow between Byakuya's brows deepens. "Humming?"
Hisana nods. "A man was humming a song. I think it was Sakura, but…." Dreams are strange things. Much like memories in Soul Society, the more Hisana tries the remember, the hazier the fragments that she thought she knew well become.
"I thought at first it was my father's voice, but it was deeper, older. I never saw the man, though." Realizing that Byakuya is staring down at her as if she has sprouted a second head, she asks, "Why?" There is a note of sarcasm playing in her voice. "Have you dreamt of a water mirror?" she asks wryly.
"I have." His jaw tenses, and he deepens their shared gaze. "And a bird."
Hisana smirks. "Did she try to kill you, too?"
Silence.
Just as her smirk dies, Byakuya pulls her close. Only a sliver of daylight separates them, limning them in the fiery hues of reds and oranges.
"Drowning," he adds, voice a ragged whisper. "That's quite a power you have."
"I've never used it on y—"
"I know." Byakuya dips his head down. He meets her gaze, his gray eyes steady and clear. "I know," he says again, his tone darker, richer.
"Is that possible?"
"I don't know." His mouth hovers over hers.
Feeling the warmth of his breath skim her cheeks, her fingers curl in the fabric of his haori. She holds him still long enough to catch his lips with her own.
Before she can break away, he pulls her tighter, kisses her harder, and doesn't stop until instinct, raw and needy, makes them one and brings them the sweet and bracing relief that accompanies the smallest of deaths.
That night, Hisana lays in Byakuya's room, buried in bedding worth several mansions, and wrapped in the arms of a man who she knows loves her. Yet, she cannot find peace. Instead, her worst thoughts and fears mount an offensive so wounding, so thralling that her mind escapes to the sanctuary of her recent torments at the hands of Gin Ichimaru and Captain Aizen.
If she concentrates hard enough, the burn and anguish of those wounds barely healed cry out. She can feel the fiery ache of her shattered arm. She can feel the electrical scream in her side. These feelings wash over her and rinse her more thoroughly than the heat of her lover. She clings to these terrible events and the phantom pain they bring so closely, like a drowning woman desperately grasping for weeds like rope to pull her to the surface.
It is here that Hisana realizes that there is something fundamentally broken in her. Why else would her mind reach for the sharp bitterness of painful defeat when swaddled with care? There must be something wrong with the way in which she tried to piece herself back together after the traumas of dying, abandonment, and abandoning. This wrongness pervades, suffusing her like a poison down to her very core.
What can she do to repair this flaw?
There is no turning back the hands of tragedy. She and her baby sister are dead, have been that way for decades. Their parents are long gone. But… there must be some small way to undo the wrongs that she has done. She knows her sister is out there. She feels it in her essence, her bones, through the poison that runs through her like a second blood.
Hisana squeezes her eyes shut.
She has nothing. She is nothing. She is…. broken and sharp pieces. Full of pain and anger. Full of resentment and venom.
She is….
Incomplete.
At this thought, Hisana tries to squirm out of Byakuya's arms, but his reflexes, even in sleep, are quick and strong. He sweeps her closer against his chest, and the threads of their reiatsu become more tangled and knotted, like those seals that he used to cast for her "entertainment" all those years ago.
Those seals took hours to undo.
Eying the mess of their reiatsu, she's certain that unspooling herself from him without waking him in the process would take great time and a far gentler hand than she has patience for. She's trapped. He's trapped her. Because he knows that she'd bolt the moment sleep fell upon him.
He knows all too well of the phantoms that keep her awake in the night, in the dark, when the world around them goes quiet, leaving her to thoughts that burn. He knows because he has his own phantoms, too. Her presence, however, seems to soothe them, but they're there, lingering, right beneath the surface, ready to pounce at her slightest movement.
Feeling his lips press against her shoulder in the faintest of kisses, heat surges through her. It's the warm happy heat of contentment, not the swelter of oppression, of summer, of lethargy. Juxtaposed against her loathing, however, it needles her how easy she becomes at the barest gesture of affection.
"Stay," he whispers, voice ragged and full of the grit of sleep.
Hisana glances at him from over her shoulder. "I'm not that tired," she says.
'Convince me,' is what she thinks he hears instead because without prompting or hesitation, he slips his hand between her legs and begins to play at the chords of her desire like a master musician.
Hisana also hates that he is such a quick study. She's never had a lover, a true lover, but she assumes that had she dared to risk such a thing, she probably would have been disappointed to find how truly uninspired such a lover had been upon meeting Byakuya.
The moment that her breath catches in her chest, his mouth finds her pulse, and his long fingers skim the column of her throat. How she wishes he would be rougher, but she'd never say such a thing because it's not what she really wants, even if it's what she craves right then.
She knows such a wish is merely a stray desire to poison this moment with violence so that it can feel as terrible as her very painful and imposing before. Her mind claws at ways to turn pleasure to pain, to make good things sour. It's naked sabotage, and she won't allow it, and, judging by the restraint he displays with each touch, each kiss, each caress, neither will he.
It doesn't take long before the poisonous fog of her prior thoughts burns away, and she is lost in the realm of the senses. When she surfaces from the rapture of release, a small peace comes over her as warm and wholesome as the way Byakuya holds her after. Unlike before, though, he doesn't immediately sink into the oblivion of sleep. He watches her under heavy-lidded eyes, through his thick dark lashes.
Maybe she should have been keen to escape because she knows what comes next. Her heart is already sinking when she feels the tender stroke of his hand against her shoulder as it moves to her elbow. He's trying to staunch what is left of her defense. As soon as her body relents, melting against his chest, he strikes.
"What happened in the World of the Living?" To soften the blow of this question, he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
The tension in Hisana's body melts even more upon hearing the question. At least he thinks to start at the beginning. She assumes he knows more than enough to probe at the parts that draw his concern, but Byakuya has always been fond of preamble.
"It was a field trip," she answers, voice feeling bladed in her throat. "Everything was going as planned then…." her voice trails. "Then, we were attacked by hollows."
"There were two classes down there," he observes, but the way he says the words makes her wonder if he had meant it as a question.
"There were. Class A and Class B sections of Class 2," she replies, knowing all too well that what he's really asking is how, when Class B's hollows were soundly defeated, did she get wrapped up in the mess that became Class A. She humors him on the latter, adding, "Once Class B's hollows were neutralized, the upperclassmen leading the trip opened the Senkaimon, and…." She lifts a shoulder.
Well, she didn't go with them. She remembers seeing Nobutada offer her his hand to hurry her along. When she stepped back, his eyes widened and a look of pure panic cracked the smooth planes of his face. The clack of the doors closing and the rustling wind that accompanied the gate vanishing feel as real on reflection as they did when it happened.
Her heart jumps at the realization of just how stupid she had been to stay.
"You didn't go," notes Byakuya.
"I didn't."
"Because you were left behind?" The pressure of his caresses increases as if he means to coax this truth from her.
"Because I could hear the screams of the other class." Her gaze fixes the shadowy corner of the room to the right of the writing desk. "So, I went to help."
Byakuya's chest tightens under her head, and Hisana hears the quickening of his heart. She waits for him to chastise her for such recklessness. Maybe that's what he's thinking inside his head, but, if it is the case, he does not breathe a word of such thoughts to her.
Instead, his lazy stroking of her arm ceases, and his fingers trace the scar from Ichimaru's blade. At first, she thinks these caresses are intentional, but the moment that her eyes flick up to his face, she can tell that this is an absent-minded reflex on his part.
Byakuya is staring into the middle distance as if puzzling through where next to take his inquiry. "Did the hollow cause your injuries?" he asks.
The hollow tinging of his voice confirms what Hisana already assumes to be true: Byakuya knows how she got her injuries, but he wants to hear it from her. Briefly, she considers why. Does he not trust his sources? Does he think she benefits from telling her this story in her own words? Is there a benefit to him?
"No," she says, swallowing hard. "The hollows had ripped through almost all of the ten students selected for the trip, true. But, they had been mostly felled by the shinigami on call to assist."
"Who were those shinigami?" he asks, voice hardening at the last word.
"Gin Ichimaru and Captain Aizen."
"Then, how did you sustain those wounds?"
"I was reckless."
"How?"
"Lord Byakuya," she says quietly, pleadingly, wanting him to abandon this line of questioning. "It isn't—"
"It was Gin Ichimaru, wasn't it?"
Hisana averts her gaze to the writing desk, eyes following the contours of the desk's shape, its corners, its sharp lines. Yes, it was Gin Ichimaru. The memory of his face, lips twisted in a smile and eyes narrowed into slits, enters her head crystal clear. Her mind even captured the way the moonlight scattered the shadows on the right side of his face and neck as he plunged his sword into one of the fallen students.
A ragged breath drags down her throat, chilling her to her core, and the memory scatters. "Lord Byakuya," she tries again.
And, again, he persists, "Tell me, Hisana."
"Why?"
Rolling her onto her back, Byakuya leans over her, eyes on hers, hands at either side of her head, and, with a solemn expression, he asks, "Do you not trust me?"
Hisana stares into his eyes. The dark blues of midnight steal their gray color, turning them black, but the shades cannot strip away their keenness or the vulnerability that flickers in them.
He asked her this question before. Years ago. The answer that she gave then was not the one that she thinks he expected. He has never asked this question since. The wound of that previous time is now laid bare in the absence of any expectation.
Tenderly, she rakes her fingers through his hair and whispers, "I trust you, my lord."
The hesitance in his eyes gives way, and a heavy breath ghosts across her cheeks. "Then, let me protect you."
A corner of her mouth curves into a grin. "Why would you want to do such a thing?"
"Because you protect the ones who you love."
"Lord Byakuya," she murmurs his name teasingly, "I don't require protecting."
He slides his hand down to her side. The coarseness of his palm scratches against the raised scar tissue of the wound there. "It seems that you do."
"It was Ichimaru," she admits and places her hand over his.
"What happened?"
Hisana shuts her eyes. She doesn't want to say. She doesn't want to remember. She regrets everything. "I don't know. It happened so fast. Maybe I misunderstood." None of it made sense. She thought maybe they were mercy killings at first.
True, she hadn't seen the hollows that attacked Class A, but there was something not quite right about the hollows that attacked Class B. When she saw Ichimaru standing in the glen, her mind flashed to the Barrel and the hollow fighting ring. He was there, too. For some reason, the chaos and the adrenaline had convinced her that these were no coincidences, that he wasn't killing the students out of any sense of mercy but either out of sadistic bloodlust or to ensure no surviving witnesses. Mercy would be the cover story to the extent anyone investigated the bodies and found puncture wounds of a sword instead of the tearing of flesh like a death by hollow.
"Misunderstood what?" Byakuya asks the obvious question that she doesn't have the words to answer.
Swallowing thickly, Hisana drags her fingers across his scalp. "What he was doing there."
"Ichimaru?" Byakuya gives her a quizzical look.
She nods. "He didn't seem to be helping the students if that's what he was called down to do."
"What was he doing?"
"It looked like he was killing the students."
Byakuya's brows knit. "Killing them?"
Hisana turns her head, chest feeling very heavy with doubt. "Maybe I misinterpreted what I saw. I was so…." She doesn't know how to say it because she didn't feel particularly afraid or altered. "I was so ready to confront the hollows tearing through the class. But, I saw him plunge his zanpakutō into a student. I heard the wet rattle of death as he did it."
Byakuya gently nudges her chin to him, forcing her gaze to follow.
"Maybe it was a mercy killing," she says, voice betraying her disbelief.
Byakuya, however, doesn't question her. He merely looks on, expression soft but perfectly unreadable.
"Before he could strike down another student, I challenged him," she says.
"You challenged Ichimaru?"
Hisana nods, unsure whether this confession surprises his expectations or if this is just his way of prompting her to continue. "I was convinced he was going to kill me anyway. Might as well beat him to the punch. Die on my feet. He was limited at twenty percent so I didn't think it was an absolute death sentence."
This is a lie. Hisana was prepared for death.
A furrow appears between Byakuya's brows. "What happened?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know. Everything was a blur." Her heart aches at the prospect of saying more. Part of her feels like she failed. She should've taken Nobutada's hand and stepped through the gate with him. She should've never looked back, never hesitated at the sight of the swaying trees or the sounds of screaming terror.
She should have run.
"Isshin reported Ichimaru attacking first. Is that true?" asks Byakuya.
Of course, he read whatever report must be floating around. She's not surprised. Nor does she think he went about asking her for her side of this story in bad faith. Nothing about this feels like a trap. Even if it had been, she would've known before now. Byakuya isn't particularly great at lying to her. Not this close up, not with her between his arms and in his bed, not with the look of raw concern that he presently wears.
"I don't know." Hisana lets out a little sigh before adding, "Probably."
This is the truth. She doesn't know who struck first. It was probably Gin. Gin knew full well which way the wind was blowing especially since she had declared her intention to stop him seconds prior to the skirmish.
Tucking a strand of hair behind Byakuya's ear, Hisana grins up at him wanly. "You can't save me from the past, my lord."
If he could, she could think of better insults from which he could spare her. This wouldn't make the top three.
"Ichimaru is dangerous," notes Byakuya, his eyes reflecting the silvery light of the stars.
"I'm aware," she says wryly.
At only twenty percent capacity, the lieutenant sent her to the Fourth for over a month. If that doesn't constitute danger, then she's at a loss for what would.
"His squad shields him from consequences," Byakuya continues.
"I've noticed."
"Let me protect you," he whispers before pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw.
Her eyes fall shut. All the tension that weighs heavy in her chest melts away. "You protect me well enough, my lord."
"Not at all. Not like this."
Hisana's hands skim his shoulders before her fingers tangle in the fall of his hair. A gentle tug is all it takes to convince him to pull back and meet her gaze. "This is more than enough." She means it, means it whole-heartedly.
He kisses her lips first. Then, her jaw. Then, her neck. When he makes it to her ear, he asks her a question that turns the desire arching her back into glacial terror.
The impact of it cuts the wiring to her brain. Her thoughts blare like static. She swears her heart has burst from her chest and fallen to the floor. All the breath in her lungs abandons her.
The spit that she swallows goes down like a bucket of sand, and she stares at him, eyes wide, lips parted, panic icing her nerves. Her voice is nowhere to be found. The sand that she swallowed has cut all her cords, and she prays that she misheard him, that her mind is fraying from too little sleep and from plying him with too much honesty.
One look into his face—his expression soft and earnest—and she knows she heard correctly. She knows his question was no trick of perception. She knows….
"My lord," says Hisana, voice a dim plea, "I can't—"
Byakuya silences her rejection with a kiss, drinking down the words that fill her mouth. "It is the only way I can ensure your protection."
Hisana shakes her head. "You can't—I won't let you ruin yourself like th—"
"Let me lend you my strength."
"I don't need it, my lord," she protests, her heart feeling like it's about to punch through her ribs. "You waste enough of your time and energy on me," she murmurs teasingly and cups the side of his cheek in her hand.
Byakuya's brows pinch together and his eyes squeeze shut, as if he is bracing against a jolt of pain. "It's not a waste," he says, breath ragged, "here with you is the only place I ever want to be."
"Lord Byakuya," she murmurs, and, then, without a second thought, she lifts her head and kisses him hard.
Kisses him with her whole heart.