Year Four: Summer
When Byakuya wakes, his arm reflexively sweeps the side of the bed where Hisana had fallen asleep to find only the chill of his bedsheet. She's gone. The only sign that she was ever there is the scent of white plum on her pillow.
His heart sinks a little in his chest. He doesn't know why. She's rarely there when he rises in the morning. He hates it. He tells her to stay. He tells her that no one in the house cares. They all already know, even his grandfather.
Grandfather has never spoken a word to him about Hisana, which is preferred. Expected, even. Grandfather would only speak out if Byakuya had done something improper, something against the rules, something sordid. Taking a lover isn't against the rules-even a common lover-especially since neither of them is married or affianced.
Perhaps Hisana doesn't believe him. She's not wrong to distrust his impulses, but he would not lead her astray where her safety is a concern.
Opening his eyes to find himself alone somehow feels worse. It's more real this way. He wishes she had stayed if only so he could be spared the horrible sensation of pining that twists its way into his brain before flooding him with wretched want.
Wanting.
It is weakness.
For some unfathomably stupid reason, he thought having her would cure him of this weakness. It did no such thing. It made everything worse. Much worse.
Now, she's all he wants, all he thinks about, all he sees, at times, even when she isn't there. His mind wanders to her, to her touch, to her smell, to all of her in every terrible way. He can't focus. If he could sever this feeling, he would. A thousand times, he would.
But, he can't, a fact that forces him up and away from the warmth of his bed and away from the smell of her.
He dresses and leaves for breakfast.
Grandfather is already reading the paper when Byakuya joins him at the table.
"You have been very passionately engaged these last few weeks," says Grandfather by way of greeting, his eyes flitting across the newsprint at a steady clip. "I take it that you are coming along in your studies."
Byakuya picks up his chopsticks, careful to keep his gaze on the bowl of rice set at his place on the table. "The last week's lessons on hakuda have been very informative."
"Hakuda?" Grandfather flips the page. "I thought you were practicing kaidou last week."
Byakuya's spine pulls up, ramrod straight, and he stiffens. No, he's certain that his lessons last week were on hakuda.
"Master Sanada was instructing me on several techniques used by members of the Onmitsukidō." This isn't a lie, even though it feels mostly like a lie. Byakuya's attention was anywhere but those lessons, and he forewent his usual hours of practicing the techniques learned after each session in lieu of… other, more interesting pursuits.
"I am glad to see that your right wrist appears to be in working order." There is a dryness in Grandfather's voice that immediately sets Byakuya on edge.
Byakuya, however, masters the urge to let slip his mask of calmness, taking a measured bite of grilled salmon. Swallowing thickly, he responds with a quiet, "Yes, it healed quite well."
There was never anything wrong with the wrist to begin with. He had lied about an injury to escape a lesson on kaidou two weeks ago. He had used the precious free time to….
He shoves the thought out of his head the moment he feels his cheeks begin to flush.
"Your training in the mountains begins in a few days." Grandfather turns the page.
Byakuya lowers his head. Etiquette compels him to search for words of gratitude, but his heart withers at the prospect. "Yes," he says, voice pained.
"The elders wish for you to take a wife shortly after you return."
"I am aware." Byakuya is somewhat relieved at Grandfather's characterization of the elders' desires. The last that he heard, the family was demanding he marry by the spring of the following year. Their demands morphing into mere wishes is a vast improvement.
"Is there someone-out of the hundreds of women paraded through this house-who has caught your fancy?" With these words, Grandfather's cold gray stare pins him. A gleam of light flashes in his eyes.
Tension pulls the muscles in Byakuya's jaw taut, and he looks away. "I do not wish to marry."
The top of the newspaper lowers, but only a hairsbreadth. "You do not wish to marry ever or you do not wish to marry except."
"Ever."
Grandfather folds the newspaper and sets it to the side of his plate of fish. "She will not consent?"
"No."
"You've inquired, then?"
Byakuya tenses but keeps his tongue pressed firmly against the roof of his mouth.
"Bold of you to assume." Notes of amusement and censure thread Grandfather's voice.
"Far be it from me to assume," argues Byakuya, the flames of his temper flaring at the implication that he would make such an offer without being fully prepared to face his family's opposition.
Grandfather frowns into his teacup before taking a long, pensive sip. "Well, that certainly flies in the face of the family's characterization of her."
"What characterization is that, pray tell?"
"That she is only interested in you for your status," Grandfather sighs.
"How would that distinguish her from any of the other hundreds of women that the family has forced me to endure these many long years?"
Grandfather chortles into his rice bowl. "An observation that I, too, have made on occasion whenever the elders raised the subject of your common interests."
Byakuya's eyes narrow, and he feels the pinch of his brows pulling together. "The elders speak openly-"
Grandfather shoots him an almost pitying stare. "Oh, come, now. You haven't been particularly coy about which woman holds your esteem."
True. He hasn't. "I would have thought—"
"As long as you keep your lovers of common birth behind closed doors, the family never cares. Which you did, to your credit. Then, there was the debacle with the Shimazu."
"Adultery is a capital offense. I couldn't have married her."
Grandfather smirks, signaling that he understands the implication ringing loudly in Byakuya's words well. "You could take Hisana as your concubine."
"I refuse."
"You refuse or she—"
"I refuse." Byakuya knows that Hisana would accept this status with as much certainty as he knows that she would reject another offer to become his primary and only wife. As is often the case with matters involving nobility, the results seem contradictory, but the logic, unfortunately, is anything but.
Grandfather inhales a long breath and then sighs. "You're too headstrong, Byakuya, and Sōjun is no longer here to caution the others who speak out against you."
"I don't need a champion to caution Auntie or the branch families. I can do that myself. What will they do? Remove me as heir?"
"They could try."
"Would you sign off on such a decision?"
"No."
"Even if I took a commoner as my wife?" he asks, voice low.
Grandfather pauses to consider this question. "No," he decides. "Others will oppose you. Not just our family or our vassals, Byakuya."
Byakuya's gaze flicks to the door, his head shaking. "Who? The Shiba? The Shihōin?" Neither of those families has ever been overly preoccupied with notions of propriety."
"Well, if we are limiting ourselves to just the Great Noble Families, I imagine the Tsunayashiro may have something to say about you choosing a peasant over one of their daughters."
Byakuya bites his cheek, unable to recall a single woman of marriageable age from that family.
"Also, your marrying a commoner is in violation of the law," says Grandfather evenly.
"The law is wrong."
"It isn't our place to decide which laws to follow and which ones to break, Byakuya. There is a process for—"
"So, we follow bad laws blindly without question? I don't believe our family's history supports such obsequiousness. We wouldn't be where we are if that were the case."
"It is our duty to redress our family's past failings."
"Failings," scoffs Byakuya. "Is that what we are calling it, now?"
"Byakuya," Grandfather says warningly.
"Fine. I don't see how my following this particular law will in any way redress our past failings, Grandfather."
"Sentimentality is not a defense for abandoning our duty and breaking the law, and there are sensible reasons to support this particular law. It is not completely without merit."
"What sensible reasons? What merits?"
"Most commoners cannot reproduce."
"Reproduction is based on one's spiritual power and reiatsu. She's a successful student at the Academy. She's proven her viability here."
"Perhaps, but there's also the reality that becoming the Lady to this house is a full-time job, one that requires a strong mind and an even stronger sense of resolve."
"And yet these fine qualities of which you speak appear to be completely extinct among my noble peers."
"Byakuya, I urge your sense of charity."
"I have no sense of charity on this matter."
"Well, then, let me appeal to your sense of self-preservation," Grandfather says, voice as sharp as iron.
Byakuya glares at the door, jaw clenched, lips pursed. "I understand the family wishes to use the opportunity of marriage as a bargaining chip to further solidify its power. I am content sacrificing my life for this family, but must they also take my peace and happiness as well?"
"This entire argument is moot, Byakuya," Grandfather counters, exasperation fraying the chords of his voice. "You admit yourself that she rejected your offer of marriage. So, now, what?"
"We have branch families. The continuation of our name is more than assured."
"You have a duty—"
"And I will fulfill my duty. Our family selects heirs on the basis of fitness, not on the basis of direct bloodline alone. If the family finds me unsuitable, then I will step aside as is required of me."
"Oh, you will not get off that easy, Byakuya. The family will make no such legitimate demand." Grandfather lets out another even longer sigh. "You are hot-tempered and bullheaded, but you are fit to serve. Even if you have terrible taste in romantic partners."
Byakuya grins at this despite himself. "An inherited trait, I presume?"
"Extremely." A corner of Grandfather's mouth pulls up into a smirk.
Taking another bite, Byakuya considers what led to this unpleasant conversation. Then, it hits him. "The family still has hopes that I will marry Lady Shimazu."
"They do." Grandfather's attention returns to the paper.
"Unbelievable," he mutters. "Is that why I will be training with her uncle for a year in isolation?"
"Don't be dramatic. You won't be in isolation, Byakuya."
"Virtual isolation." The mountain towns where he will train consist of little more than a supply shop and an inn. He's already been warned that excursions to Seireitei will be limited to non-existent. The elders do not want his attention diverted in any way. Byakuya assumes this is the family's method of punishing him for not falling into line sooner when his father was still alive.
"Genkichi is also an esteemed warrior of the first water. You would do well to remember that."
"Yes, Grandfather."
"You are dismissed, Byakuya. Go and do as you please for the next few days." Grandfather loosens a heavy breath. "Although, I suppose you don't need me to tell you that."
Byakuya nearly gapes at this.
Do as he pleases?
When his grandfather ever uttered those words without a trace of irony?
"Yes, Grandfather," he says, moving to leave.
Before he reaches the door, Grandfather stops him with a quiet, "If you ever do convince her to marry you, please wait until I am dead. I do not wish to be dragged into the ensuing legal drama with you, Byakuya."
"Understood."
When Byakuya meets Hisana at the bridge that night, he signals for her to follow him elsewhere. A look of confusion clouds her face, but only for an instant. She quickly relents and trails him into the thick of the maddening crowd that has gathered for the summer festival. They thread through the throngs of souls, through the festival booths, through the city, through the western gate, and, finally, through the First District.
When they arrive at the destination, Hisana looks charmed, quickly leaving his side to explore. "A cabin," she says, but her eyes are on the lake. "It's beautiful."
Without prompting, she steps onto the dock stretching out over the water. Quietly, he watches her and reaches for a comfort that turns sharp as soon as it's found. Fear. It's primal, he thinks, the way fear snakes through him, urging him to break the things that he loves, as if destruction by his own hand will somehow ease the damage of loss.
It never does.
And, so, he won't, choosing instead to shove this fear deep, far below the surface, before locking it away. If fate steals his happiness, then so be it. Tonight, he chooses to relish the moment, to stare into the sky and watch the sun set the clouds on fire, to find peace in her company.
Hisana's back is to him. The colors of the sunset shimmer in her hair just as vibrantly as they flicker across the lake's bobbing waves. But, before he can piece together something to say, she silences him with a sidelong glance. Her expression is soft, her eyes full of light, and she smiles at him.
"I was beginning to think this place was a lie," she calls teasingly before offering her hand.
He blinks. Had he mentioned the cabin to her? He must have. How else would she know of its existence?
Once their hands touch, her smile shortens, and she adds, as if having read his thoughts, "You don't remember?"
He stares down at her, his confusion suddenly feeling painfully obvious.
She chuckles and gives him a long shake of the head. "Years ago, I asked you what you would have done had I lost you the card game on the night of Lieutenant Ise's book club."
When he doesn't immediately respond, Hisana continues, "And you said that you would've brought me to the cabin to have me alone." Staring up at him, she looks charmed that he has seemingly forgotten this exchange.
"I remember now," he says, mind conjuring up the private room in his family's restaurant, where he told her this. She had been mocking him for not trusting her skill at cards.
"Well, here, I am." She gives a playful shrug. "What would you have proposed next?"
"That we go inside."
Her brows lift, and she smirks. "No moonlight swim?"
"You hate the water," he says, flatly.
"I don't hate the water when it's calm."
Byakuya considers her and what she might be trying to tell him. "You're not afraid?"
"Not as afraid," she says softly.
He doesn't like the sound of that. Briefly, he wonders if his presence contributes to this fear, if his proximity feeds it. His guilt surely swells any time he sees her near a body of water. The remnants of guilt, like grief, never seem to rinse away, no matter the efforts. Perhaps fear is an easier feeling to tame.
Hisana's gaze drifts to the lake, and she presses her lips together as if weighing competing thoughts. "It is getting dark," she reasons before looking back at him.
"Perhaps tomorrow morning," he says, knowing that this gentle sort of non-promise is functionally no different than rejection because it's easily ignored or forgotten, which is precisely his intent.
She nods. The smile that thins her lips is a wistful one because she understands. Her fingers lace through his as he tugs her in the direction of the cabin.
Once inside, her expression brightens. "It's lovely, my lord."
Byakuya thinks she's being charitable. The cabin is cozy but spartan with very little in the way of décor or comfort. It contains a few cramped bedrooms. There is a table for eating in the main room, where they stand, and a small kitchen nook in the corner that is supplied with cookware. The floor is naked bamboo. There are no scrolls or fusuma or paintings.
The purpose of the cabin is to host small hunting parties during game seasons. Seldom does anyone use it, now. On rare occasions, Grandfather may take a day to fish at the lake. Byakuya presumes he does so alone, but perhaps he doesn't.
No one would know either way. The cabin is relatively isolated. The few neighboring homes are miles apart. And, there are no servants unless specifically requested.
Picking up the large talon that rests on the kitchen counter, Hisana examines it. "Hunting?" she guesses.
He nods. "Long ago."
"What game does my lord like to pursue?"
"I was too young to join the last hunt, but I am told my grandmother was a very skillful markswoman who claimed the prize, then."
"Oh, how interesting. Did she fell this beast?"
"No, she preferred dangerous game like wild boar."
"Boar? Very dangerous game, indeed," says Hisana approvingly. Then, arching a brow, she asks, "Was she the grandmother who was pushed from a great height?"
He chuckles quietly. "No. I believe she would've been the one doing the pushing."
Hisana cups her mouth in mock surprise. "No," she whispers, breath rushing out of her. "She was a skillful hunter, then. Felling a Kuchiki man." The way she eyes him as she speaks is positively feral.
Byakuya, however, does his best to ignore it. If he appears too interested, she'll mock him, and, while he ordinarily doesn't mind her verbal jabs, he abhors how she teases him with proximity, wielding distance and anticipation like a weapon.
And, so, he says as mildly as he can manage, "Rumors. Terrible things those are."
"Umm hmm." Hisana sets the talon down and studies him like a cat might study a field mouse. "Speaking of games," she says, crossing the floor to him, "if I had lost you that card game, what would have wanted?" She stops just out of arm's reach.
"You."
Her cheeks flush, a fact he finds as endearing as it is disarming. "Is that still what you want?"
Taking her hand, he reels her close. "I brought you here, didn't I?"
Nimbly, she manages to freeze in place before their bodies can touch. A fact that he loathes, but one that she seems to find amusing.
Tilting her head back, Hisana gives him a long onceover. Her gaze stops at his shoulder, where she runs her hand over an imaginary wrinkle and asks, "What sort of activities would my lord like to partake in tonight?" Then, she looks him dead in the eye as if to dare him to fold.
"You're teasing me."
"Does my lord not like to be teased?" Her hands glide their way to his obi. "He seemed to like my teasing last night."
Mind going a little dim from expectation and the fluttering of her fingers at his ties, Byakuya leans down, eyes on her lips. Just before his mouth catches hers, however, Hisana sinks to her knees, gaze locking with his.
The heat of her stare sends a shiver crawling down his spine.
"Hisana—" he says, voice far too shaky for a convincing protest.
Her hands slip between his robes, and her eyes darken. "Is this not how my lord wants me?" she breathes.
Before she can pull away, his fingers tangle in her hair. He is careful, or as careful as he can be as euphoric anticipation floods him, to be gentle.
A small smile curves her lips, and, never breaking her stare, she takes him in her mouth.
One look is all he can manage before his eyes squeeze shut, before what little sense he possesses flees him, before he is lost.
Curled snuggly against his side in the bed, Hisana's breathing slowly quiets. Her hands, however, continue to stroke absent patterns on his chest. It feels good. All of it. Her. Her warmth. The delicate way she touches him. The flutter of her lashes against his side.
He never wants this feeling to end. It's trite, he knows, to want to bring her into himself, to make her forever a part of him. The closest they get is this is when their reiatsu twine or when their bodies merge or that moment of release, when a singular sensation destroys all other conscious sense. Perhaps la petite mort is the natural consequence when the boundaries between souls blur even for a moment. For surely, when they separate, their configuration will never be quite the same; a piece of them will inevitably be missing, and, while that piece may be alive in another, its loss represents a small death just the same.
"Is that all my lord desires?" Hisana asks, shifting against him so that her chin rests on his shoulder.
His eyes are closed, but he feels the weight of her stare fanning across his face. "For now." A corner of his mouth tugs into a grin, and she laughs.
"My lord only has the night per the bet."
"You won that bet," he reminds her.
"I'm pretending," she whispers.
He feels her lips as they draw into a smile against his chest. Unable to help himself, he runs a hand up the slope of her back. Her skin is so smooth that he can almost see the whiteness of it in his head.
When he opens his eyes, he finds her watching him with a plaintive look.
"Do you like—" he begins.
"Pretending?" she asks, the lantern light flickering in her eyes.
No, that's not what he means, but he doesn't correct her. He loses heart. The question that jabs him like a thorn isn't as light, isn't as easy.
"Sometimes," she says, answering her own question.
"Why?"
She bites her lip. "It's sometimes easier to be honest about what you want when can convince yourself that it's not you asking for it."
"Did you want to lose the bet that night?"
"Maybe," she murmurs. "I suppose there's something alluring in giving another power over you to do the thing you want but are too scared to ask for."
"You must trust a person to do that," he reasons.
"No, you can be reckless." She pauses for a beat before adding, "But, I don't think that was reckless."
"What?"
"Entering into that bet."
"Because you could read the marks on the card?"
She chuckles. "No, because I trusted you."
"You did?" His heart clenches hard. He hadn't considered that. Ever since he asked her whether she trusted him and her answer was a full-throated, "No," he's naturally assumed….
However, perhaps assuming the worst is a form of pretending as well.
"Yes," she replies, her grin widening. "Do you think people are static and never change?"
"I think people are confounding."
"Do I confound you, my lord?"
"Deeply."
She laughs long and hard. Her cheeks pinken. Her eyes squeeze shut. When the fit ends, she is sitting up with the sheet pulled around her. She peers down at him as if greatly entertained by whatever thought has possessed her. "Maybe I should be more direct."
"I would like that."
The radiance lighting her face slowly dies as if an unpleasant thought has taken hold of her. "You're leaving after tomorrow, right?"
Byakuya doesn't want to answer. He doesn't want to think about it. This is just something that's happening to him, against his will, without regard for his consent.
"I am," he manages for her sake.
"Will I get to see you before you leave, or is this—"
"Yes," he cuts her off. "I leave mid-morning, but-" He stops himself short, remembering that he's never asked her. "Are you going to the party?"
She blinks. "Party?"
"The Academy party that my family is hosting."
"Oh," she murmurs, "that."
Indeed, that. Also, how he views it. Glad they are aligned in their apathy.
"I assumed you received an invitation," he says, trying his best to hold back a grin.
"I did," she answers, not a shred of emotion to be heard in her voice.
"I take it that you weren't planning on attending."
"Is the spring shindig not enough for you? You need yet another party?"
"Good to know you're about as enthused at the prospect as I am," he says wryly. "But, since I will be away during the annual spring event, they are hosting this party to ensure I get my hours in before I leave."
Chortling, she asks, "Is attending Academy parties part of your community service? For the ban?"
Choosing to ignore her smug question, he carries on, "After, we can do as we please."
"After?" she says in mock surprise before leaning down to kiss him. "What about before or during?"
"During?" The thought nearly drives the breath from his lungs.
"I have a few ideas," she murmurs with a sly look. "That is, if my lord isn't too scandalized at the mere suggestion." She laughs.
Not one to take taunting lightly, Byakuya slides an arm around her and shoves her to the bed. With her body tucked under his, he kisses her hard before breaking away long enough to say, "I am open to suggestions."
When Byakuya wakes up the next morning, Hisana's side of the bed is still warm, and her scent is still fresh on the pillow. A sweep of his arm, however, reveals nothing. Miserably, he opens his eyes. She shouldn't have class today. And he can think of no other compelling excuse to explain her absence.
Pulling himself up, he stares into the space between the door and the frame. Then, he hears a stirring. It starts out as a soft rustling sound. But, if he listens more carefully, he hears the tinging of metal.
Byakuya shrugs on his clothes and slips out of the bedroom to find Hisana in the kitchen cooking. He pauses, head tilting to the side, gaze drifting to her hands then to the pots on the stove, then to the ingredients. He's never really stopped to watch someone prepare a meal. Most of his meals are made far from view in a place that he's only ever seen in passing. Occasionally, there are vendors in the market who cook on the street. Not that he'd ever dare to eat street food.
But, here, watching her work through the steps—as unfathomable as they are to him—there's something decidedly intimate about it. Tranquil, too. He supposes there's a sense of peaceful joy—of knowing the steps so well that they become automatic—to quotidian chores.
When Hisana catches him staring at her, she startles. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was."
A fierce blush turns her cheeks rosy. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long," he says, finding it curious that she's so flustered. She could be committing all the cardinal sins of cuisine and he would be none the wiser, a fact that she must know, having been a maid in his house.
"Don't give me that look," she says, pointing the wooden spoon rather menacingly at him.
"What look?"
"That look. Like you find this endearing."
He tries his best not to smirk. "I'm more surprised that you know how to cook."
She gapes at him. "I clearly need food to survive."
He stares at her, not disagreeing.
"And it's not like us Rukon peasants have servants to prepare all our meals for us."
He's never seen her so irrationally angry.
"Stop smirking," she snaps.
"I'm not smirking."
Her eyes narrow. "You're most definitely smirking," she grumbles to herself before turning back to the stove. "Also, I don't want to hear any complaints. I know I'm not the greatest chef. I don't need your snarky tasting notes."
"Duly noted." He studies her a moment longer before thinking to ask, "Do you need assistance?"
Hisana glances over her shoulder and raises a brow. "You know how to cook?"
He never said that. "I'm good with a sword."
"Do you think there's a lot of sword-fighting in the kitchen, my lord?" Her eyes sparkle with mischief at his logic.
"There are large knives in the kitchen," he reasons.
She lifts her chin and shakes her head. "You're good with knives?"
Byakuya stares at her, defenseless. Not particularly. He's not bad with them, either. When they're used as weapons, that is. Although, slaying a hollow is probably very different than slaying a radish.
"Go sit," she says with a knowing grin.
Far be it from him to beg for chores. Instead, he turns to the small table set in front of the open door overlooking the lake. The morning breeze is cool, a prelude to autumn, he thinks. On the table is a newspaper. "You've been to market?"
"Umm hmm," she hums. "For rice."
"You purchased rice?" Guilt bubbles in his chest at the thought of her sparing her money on his needs.
"Traded for rice."
"Traded what?" Oh, dear. He doesn't think there are many prized possessions kept at the cabin. He could probably find convincing substitutes for most things here if pressed.
"You have a little garden in the side yard."
We do? Byakuya turns his head in the direction of the side window located in the kitchen. It's no use. The shutters are pulled tight.
"I picked some of the vegetables that looked close to over-ripening and traded them for rice, some spices, and oil."
"And the fish?"
"Caught them myself," she says. Byakuya doesn't miss the notes of pride that swell in her voice.
"Sweetfish?"
"Trout," she answers.
"A woman who can hunt her own food." A novelty in his social circles.
"They didn't even see me coming," she says teasingly.
"Kidou, I take it?"
"Kidou?" she scoffs in mock offense. "What is this? Amateur hour?"
Catching her with a sidelong gaze, he grins, but she's not paying him any attention as she plates the food and loads it onto a tray. When she brings it to the table, he'll admit that he's mildly impressed that she hauled so much without incident.
"Milord," she says and gives him a mocking bow before unpacking the tray.
The spread, too, is beyond expectation. Rice, grilled fish, pickled radishes, steamed vegetables, and soup. "Thank you," he says softly.
Hisana meets his gaze and smirks. "You haven't tried it yet. You might regret such gratitude."
"That's why I thanked you before."
Laughing, she takes a seat next to him. Perhaps it is merely the morning's golden glow, but there's a radiance to her. She appears easy, unfettered. The heaviness of thoughts does not fall as fog over her eyes nor does it bend the line of her lips.
"No tea?" he teases when she catches him watching her.
She casts him a playful glare. "The vegetables in the garden weren't that nice. Not tea-money nice."
Smirking, he takes a small, uncertain bite of fish, unsure of where, exactly, to dial in his expectation. It's good, he thinks. Then, he takes another bite to confirm whether the flavor and texture are actually good or if he's blinded by affection. Concluding the former, his gaze shifts to her expectantly. Before he can say a word, however, she stops him with a stern look.
"I said no notes, remember?" she warns.
He hides a grin behind his cup of warm, tealess water. "No notes."
The iron in her gaze melts, and her expression brightens into a look of satisfaction as she starts on the vegetables.
"Is this normal?" he asks after a few long silent moments.
Hisana's brows lower. "Normal?" she echoes. Then, she rolls her eyes. "Are you making fun of my—"
"No," he cuts her off. "I mean, is this how it is in Rukongai?"
"How it is in Rukongai?" She squints at him blankly for a moment before realization seemingly sets in. "Do you mean to ask me if this is how the peons live? How us peasants usually take our breakfast?"
He sighs. "Your characterization, not mine." Indeed, he tried very hard to ask this question in a delicate, non-judgmental way. To no avail.
"Why?" She chortles. "Do you want to play-pretend being a peasant?"
Byakuya frowns. "No."
She shakes her head. "To answer your question: No, this is far nicer than anywhere I've ever lived."
"Nicer?" How much worse could it get?
"Do you see the size of this place?" she asks, eyes wide. "You'd need to be incredibly well off to afford a home like this next to a lake with drinkable water and fish."
"There's non-drinkable water in Rukongai?"
Her eyes widen further. "Yeah. Toxic dump sites. Bogs with water that can strip the flesh from bone. Hot springs with water so hot that it melts bone. Brackish swamps. Acidic marshes."
"It sounds inhospitable."
"It is. Large swathes of it, anyway."
Rukongai in its vast otherness always seemed impenetrable to him. Even when called out into the hinterland, he could never shake the overwhelming sense of depth and scale of that place. According to the historical texts, the Gotei 13, the Great Noble Families, and the Central Chambers have all commissioned studies of its boundaries at one time or another. Every time an inquiry is formalized and the cartographers and geographers are assembled, the studies always fail. Inevitably, inclement conditions, or dissidents, or hollows, or the land itself present too high a burden. The last group of surveyors and explorers to have been ordered into the wilderness never returned. Most assume that they were devoured by hollows or struck down by hostile souls. Some think they are alive but lost in some peculiarity of space, time, or land mass. Others think they found paradise and never wanted to return.
The Twelfth's efforts using technology have been more successful at mapping out the lay of the land, but even then, there are questions. Even then, there are places that need eyes and ears, not sonar or radar, to see to be known and understood.
"How did you manage?" he asks, pinning her with a sidelong stare.
"Manage what?"
"Traversing that land all the way from Inuzuri?"
Hisana lifts a shoulder. "Luck. There are also maps of the common trails that can take you from one district to another. I think if you survive there long enough, it sort of claws its way inside you and you feel its rhythm, its magic intuitively."
"Pattern recognition, then?"
She pauses to consider his words. "More primal, but sure. At some unconscious level, instinct sort of figures out what that place is asking you to do or, more often, not to do."
"Were you alone all that time?"
"Sometimes I traveled with others." An uneasy quiet comes over her until it seems as though he has lost her to an imposing thought. "It was quicker traveling alone."
"Was it safer, though?"
She shrugs. "Depended. If it was a battle against the land, it was often easier for me, at least, to go it alone. If it was a battle against others, then a group could be helpful."
"How long did it take you?"
"Probably a year." She sets her rice bowl down, her gaze becoming distant. "But it's hard to say for sure. I certainly felt much older by the end of it."
He studies her. The soft glow of morning can't pierce the melancholia that now darkens her eyes. He wants to ask her more, to know more about Rukongai, but mostly about her. The deep sadness that suffuses her reiatsu, however, bleeds into him, dampening his curiosity. And so, instead of questions, he gives her his hand. His touch seems to draw her away from the memories of her travels.
"Why do you ask?" she says. "Planning on running away into the deep wilderness of the Rukon?"
He shakes his head. "I don't think I would fare well there for long."
She quirks a brow. "No one does. I assume that is its purpose."
"Do you miss it?" he asks, trying his best to keep the sharp edge of expectation from his tone. But, he suspects there is still a bit of wildness left in her.
Hisana's gaze drifts to their hands, and she sits in wordless contemplation. "I suppose, at times, the pulse of danger in that place still beats in me."
Byakuya understands, better than she seems to think he does. Before she can pull away, he kisses her and hopes that she understands his intent.
The summer party is held in one of the estate's 116 private gardens. It is Byakuya's least favorite garden. There are few flowers, consisting instead of various species of trees, but it is the most spacious garden on the property.
The invitees consist of various Academy instructors, masters, lecturers, officers from Squad Six, and students who placed well in their classes the previous semester. As is custom, Hisana brings her roommate. Also, as per custom, Byakuya and Hisana pretend not to know one another very well. She is far more able than he in this regard.
When he does catch her in those fleeting moments when no one else is demanding either of their attention, he feels his entire body relax. The stress and tension of awkward small talk and the more awkward silences between conversational beats release him, and he is at peace in her regard. Hisana, too, appears gentler, less burdened by expectation when they steal away under a centuries' old pagoda tree. One of the branches swoops low, heavy with green life, obscuring them from sight of the attendees mingling near the food and drink.
"It's beautiful," says Hisana, not daring to turn to him.
"The party?"
Cutting him a sidelong glance over her shoulder, she grins. "The tree."
"There's another one that's older with more boughs a little distance away."
She shakes her head. "We are far enough from the party already. Others will notice."
"No one will notice," he says in a tone that is far more confident than he feels.
Hisana's grin shortens into something less happy and more wistful when she finally turns to him. Her gaze, however, is locked on the tables a stone's throw behind him. "Do you often corner your guests, Lord Kuchiki, for one-on-one conversations?"
"No," he answers, quietly, "but they often corner me."
"Shall I be the aggressor, then?"
"I've never stopped you from assuming that attitude before."
Her grin widens, and light sparks in her eyes. "Well, what do the women say when they corner you, my lord?"
"They usually tell me about their finer qualities."
"You already know all of my finer qualities."
"Then, their recent successes."
"I have no recent successes."
"You were invited here," he reasons. "You must have placed well in your class."
Hisana brandishes a skeptical look. "But, you would have already deduced as much by virtue of me being here."
"Logic has never stopped anyone from boasting to me."
"How trifling," she sighs.
"Indeed," he agrees, voice bright.
"What do you usually say in response to such boasts, my lord?"
"Nothing."
She laughs. "So, you just stare at them?"
"I do."
"Does your staring scare them away?"
"Sometimes."
"And the times when it doesn't?"
"I let them talk until we're interrupted or one of us leaves."
"Leaves?" she echoes in surprise. "You just up and walk away from someone mid-sentence?"
He chuckles. "Most of the time the person cornering me peters out and walks away."
"Poor thing."
"Me?"
"No," she corrects before he can agree, "the person who you scare off."
Before he has a chance to defend himself, a deep voice interrupts them with a relieved, "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere."
Byakuya doesn't need to spare a glance to know who is approaching them from the left. "What do you need from me, Shirogane?" he asks, his gaze tethered to Hisana. Shirogane may intrude on their privacy, but he cannot force Byakuya's attention once so ardently engaged.
Ginjirō Shirogane chuckles. "From you, Byakuya? I require nothing. I've been looking for Miss Hisana."
"Me?" Hisana's tone jumps up several octaves. "I'm sorry, who are—"
"Ginjirō Shirogane," Byakuya says by way of introduction. "He's the third seat of Squad Six."
"Apologies, Miss Hisana, for not introducing myself sooner." Shirogane gives Hisana a polite nod of the head. "But, I wanted to take a moment and—"
Byakuya interrupts the man with a pointed glare. "Can you not see that we are speaking, Shirogane? Your intrusion is unwanted."
"Oh, hush, Byakuya. You've been monopolizing all her time."
"Monopolizing all her time?" repeats Byakuya, incredulously. He's barely gotten a quiet moment with her.
"Yeah, I've been waiting for almost an hour to speak with her," counters Shirogane.
"I don't think Lord Kuchiki and I have been—" begins Hisana.
Byakuya, however, cuts her off with a haughty, "What possible purpose do you have to explain your imposition, Shirogane?"
"I don't know, Byakuya, maybe because this is supposed to be a recruiting event for the Sixth, and I'm trying to recruit talent," argues Shirogane.
"And you assume that is not what I am doing?"
"Yeah, I am assuming that your fawning all over the cute Academy girl doesn't count as recruiting."
"Fawning," scoffs Byakuya.
"I said what I said. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'm going to take Miss Hisana for a very convincing stroll."
"You are?" asks Hisana on a note of disbelief.
"Of course, I am. Come this way, Miss Hisana. I'm going to tell you all about why you should join the Sixth." Shirogane dons a wide grin.
Politely, Hisana steps to Shirogane's side. "Thank you, Lord Kuchiki," she says, pausing briefly to bid her farewell. With a tender look, she lowers her head, eyes on his, and then leaves.
Byakuya frowns as he watches them trail off toward a few other members of the squad. Then, he glances back at the tables, where he finds Grandfather watching him with a sly look of amusement.
Grandfather and Shirogane are being overly sensitive. He and Hisana weren't conversing for any great length of time. In fact, he barely had the chance to speak with her at all before Shirogane interrupted them. And with such a hilariously poor cover story, too.
There is no universe among the millions currently in existence that could contain the possibility of Hisana ever being seriously considered for a position at Squad Six. Grandfather would sooner combust in a spray of blood and fire before consenting to such an outcome. Not that Byakuya could blame him. He, too, would never. Being the one whose judgment could send her into harm's way or, worse, death would haunt him until the end of his days.
Reflexively, he finds her smiling pleasantly at Shirogane, who reciprocates her ease with a hearty laugh that carries across the field. What an absolute—
"I'm surprised you decided to come out today, Byakuya," observes Grandfather, his voice sounding far closer than he is, which is a few arms' lengths to Byakuya's side.
"I didn't realize my attendance was optional," murmurs Byakuya as he stares into the spread of food. Irritation, however, steals his hunger, trading it instead for a stomach full of slush and ice water. "Are there any other upcoming events for which my attendance is optional? Perchance the one set for tomorrow?"
Ignoring Byakuya's impertinence, Grandfather continues, "I meant what I said yesterday in earnest. You need to prepare yourself for the sojourn and the year abroad."
"I'm prepared," counters Byakuya.
All of his items have been packed, and he followed the specifications in Lord Shimazu's letter to avoid making an initial bad impression. Byakuya is wary that he is walking into an armed camp given his handling of Tomoe. There is no need to worsen his circumstances due to any unforced errors on his part.
"Is that what you were doing standing under the pagoda tree just now? Preparing yourself," asks Grandfather.
What little good humor Byakuya possessed drains from his face. The corners of his mouth slope into a frown, and he stares miserably into the skewers of dango.
"Oh, don't look so dour, Byakuya. It is only a year. You've survived worse for longer."
Indeed, he has. "Thank you, Grandfather. Your words have inspired in me great resolve. I'm sure they will bring me comfort in the distant months ahead." Not wishing to brook a further word on the subject, Byakuya gives a stiff, formal bow and turns to leave.
"If the inclination is thin enough to strangle over the course of a year, then let time kill it dead," says Grandfather, his voice low but forceful.
Glimpsing Grandfather from the corner of his eye, Byakuya nods his head. "Understood."
Patiently, Byakuya waits, enduring what he can of the small talk with the students and Squad Six officers until he catches Hisana alone. The crowds are beginning to scatter with the attendees saying their goodbyes and beginning to filter down the walking paths that lead into town. The late light of afternoon limns the cottony white clouds that hang overhead in gold. With a heavy glance, he drags Hisana along after him to a private trail.
Once they are safe in their distance from prying eyes and ears, Hisana begins, "Don't you have to wish the students—" but he stops her with a kiss. It doesn't take much convincing for her to cave.
"I have something to show you," he says, fingers catching in the fabric of the sleeves of her yukata. When she doesn't object, he leads her to a quiet stretch of ill-kempt road. Not far from it is a domed glass structure, and she grins up at him.
"Another greenhouse?" she asks.
The moment he pulls her inside he hears her breath sharpen. It has been so long. He's partly amazed that, given the condition of the road, the greenhouse has been maintained at all. But, it looks better tended than the main greenhouse where the kitchen staff sources some of their more exotic ingredients.
"A waterfall?" asks Hisana as if she cannot believe her eyes. She drifts toward the large water structure that is at the center of the greenhouse. "What is this place?"
"My mother had a fondness for tropical water plants so my father had this place built for her as a wedding gift."
"How kind of your father. He must have loved her," says Hisana as she perches at the edge of the large pond flowing out from the waterfall.
"They barely knew each other when they were wedded. I think it was more of a welcoming gift than a show of true affection."
Hisana peers at Byakuya from over her shoulder. "Well, your father knew your mother well enough to do this for her."
"They had been affianced since infancy. I suppose they knew of each other in an objective sense."
"But, they never crossed paths before the wedding?"
Drawing closer to her, Byakuya shakes his head. "Not in any meaningful way. Their lives had taken separate paths until marriage forced those paths to converge."
"She wasn't preparing to become a shinigami, I take it."
"No."
"Too unseemly?" teases Hisana, her gaze shifting to the pink lotuses floating past.
"Not unseemly," answers Byakuya, "but not typical. Not among the Kuchiki."
"Was your father fond of your mother?" asks Hisana.
Byakuya's shoulders shift stiffly as he considers the question. "I don't know." Which is true. "I do not have many memories of her." This admission strikes a surprisingly painful chord forcing his voice to splinter. "Father always spoke kindly of her."
Hisana nods approvingly. "Well, that's a loving thing to do."
He supposes he agrees. If not loving to his mother, then loving to him. He wishes he knew more about his mother, more than what his father's apt storytelling could convey.
"Do you remember your parents?" asks Byakuya.
Gazing into the water, a wisp of a smile thins her lips. "Some."
"Did they love each other?"
"They did," she replies, and then adds, "It was a very warm home from what I remember." Somberness shades her face, and she turns her head in the direction of the waterfall, leaving him with a view of the fall of her hair. "I took a lot for granted then, I now realize."
Byakuya considers her for a long silent moment, trying his hardest to memorize her every line and angle. He wishes there was something he could say to ease her spirits. He wishes he was good with words, with expressing himself.
Instead, he goes to her side and takes her hand in his. Her attention does not immediately snap to him. Instead, her hand tightens around his and stays that way until time's flow goes silent in his mind, until the seconds, minutes, and hours blur and there is only the task of existing separate and together, hand in hand.
"There is warmth here, too," he says finally.
Hisana turns to him. Her blue eyes reflect the twilight's burned golds and oranges. "You leave tomorrow."
Byakuya takes a seat next to her. "I will return not terribly long after."
"A year," she murmurs, her gaze falling to the red, green, and yellow flower print swirling across her lap.
"A year is not long for us," he says, not quite convinced of this wisdom but compelled to speak it nonetheless.
She nods. "You'll be betrothed when you return, though."
He shakes his head. "I refused."
"The papers say—"
"The papers are wrong." He squeezes her hand.
"I should break your heart right now," she murmurs and then looks away. "I should tell you that I don't want it. Tell you I feel nothing." The concern bending her brow, however, betrays her.
"That would only strengthen my resolve," he says and places his hand on the side of her face. His thumbs nudge her chin to him so that he may gaze into her eyes more easily.
"Why?" she asks.
"Because you'd only be doing it to spare me from myself. Few ever care to attempt such a feat."
"My lord allows few close enough to even try," she observes and tilts her head to the side, her lips frustratingly close to his.
He bridges the distance, kissing her softly at first then greedily like a starving man. He kisses her lips, her mouth, her jaw, her throat. Finding her pulse, he kisses her there, too, whispering, "I love you, Hisana," with his heart in his teeth.
At this confession, he feels her heart start against his lips, and he kisses her harder until all the sounds, colors, and sensations that aren't her pull away, like waves ebbing into the inky vastness of the sea at midnight.
The next morning, when the sun has begun its ascent-turning the light in the room a hazy hue of lavender-Byakuya wakes holding Hisana in his arms. Her warmth is pleasant despite the heat of summer. Her skin is so soft, softer than he thought softness could ever be as he caresses the top of her hand, memorizing the lines of her knuckles, the shape of her.
He doesn't want to leave for a year for many reasons, but especially because of her.
Her shoulders shift against his arm. Her eyes are closed, but he can tell that she's awake. He kisses her head and draws in a deep breath, full of her scent. It's clean and floral, and, right now, it's the only scent he ever wants to know.
"It's morning," she says, her voice full of the heaviness of sleep. "I should be going."
Gently, Byakuya urges her to face him, and her body obliges. Listless, her shoulder blades roll into the mattress, and she opens her eyes. The darkness that lingers in the room steals their radiance, but he knows them well enough that light isn't necessary. He sees her as she should be seen, always, resplendent and beautiful.
Hisana smiles dreamily up at him. Her hands skim his arms before resting against the plane of his back. "You're too tempting," she teases.
He dips his head down and kisses her. He swears he can almost taste the way the fog of slumber releases her as he kisses her back to consciousness, back to life. When he pulls away to see his work, he finds her gaze clearer than before, and the grin on her lips is sharper, less distant.
"Do you like this?" He means does she want this. "This" being the operative word, capable of containing multitudes in its ambiguity. The infiniteness of ambiguity, he thinks, is preferable to the terror of precision, of his fears being stated too plainly, his desires being too easily rejected.
Her grin softens into a smile, and her eyes fall closed. "These moments are a dream, my lord. And, I'm afraid to wake."
"Will you dream with me a while longer, then?" he asks, finding comfort in speaking in metaphor.
"As long as you wish."
"Will you wait for me?" It's the question he's been wanting to ask her for months, now.
Her smile shortens, then disappears as she searches him. "My lord," she murmurs, her voice sounding pleading as if she means to sway him from a reckless act.
Perhaps asking her to wait for him is a reckless act. It exposes his insecurity, his heart, his hopes. But, she is kind to him. He trusts her with these failings.
"You can't," she says the words, half of them missing, he thinks.
'You can't keep me.'
"You must," she adds.
More half-spoken sentiments.
'You must do your duty and take a wife.'
"Please," he says as quietly as a prayer.
Her fingers weave through the threads of his hair. "I meant what I said in that letter."
His brows knit together. Which letter? They've exchanged so many by now.
She brushes the strands from his eyes. "Don't you remember? The one where I said my friendship was forever."
"Friendship?" he whispers, trying his best to mask the sting of disappointment.
"We're friends," she says.
"Only friends?"
Her grin returns, and the golden flecks of dawn's early light enter her eyes. "More than friends. But lovers who aren't friends never seem to last, do they?"
"Will we only be friends upon my return?"
Her eyes flicker. "My lord is very important to more than just me. I don't want to hold him back."
"Never," he says and kisses her. "Tell me you'll wait."
"I'll wait forever. Ten thousand lifetimes. Maybe one of them will be kinder to us."
He shakes his head, wishing to dispense with poetry and metaphor. "We only need this one lifetime," he says.
"My lord." A note of caution steels her voice.
He won't have it. "You're my heart."
"A heart can be a heavy burden, my lord. I do not wish to cause you pain."
"Separation would cause me greater pain," he protests.
"Greater pain for now. Not forever. Institutions have ways of remembering that the body doesn't."
"The institutions are flawed, then, to force such contradictory outcomes."
"Contradictory?" She squints at him as if she doesn't understand.
She understands perfectly, though. She's already cataloged, in painful detail, the folly of placing blind hope in the institutions here. But, she knows he doesn't believe this.
Perhaps that's changed… in part.
"They tell me the noble purpose of the sword, of the fight, of all my training, is to protect. And then I find someone whom I wish to protect, and they tell me…." His voice trails, the words bunching in his throat. "I can't abide."
"It's not contradictory."
"How?" he argues rather than asking.
"What they want you to protect are the ideas foundational to this system. Not a girl from nowhere, with nothing, not even a family, not even a name."
"I'm your family," he says, his voice low and full of grit. "Have my name."
Pain carves lines into her face, forcing her eyes to shut and stopping the tide of her breath. "Love is sweet, my lord, but it cannot change the world."
"It can change a man."
"Only a man ready to—"
He kisses her, hoping to convince her with each sweep of his lips. Only when he feels the tension in her hands and arm melt, only when he feels her body arch up to be closer to his, only when he feels the heaviness of her breath, does he make his request. "Promise me you'll wait."
Her fingers tangle in his hair and press into the meat of his shoulders. "I promise."