Resonance in Monotone
Resilience
IV
Written by Dragenruler
You are a memory - Message to Bears
If only you knew - Alexander Stewart
Hisana stood in front of her bathroom mirror, water droplets winding down her skin—a shower's attempt at cleansing, yet insufficient to lighten her soul's burden. Her eyes, typically vibrant and keen, now held a mirror to her weariness, reflecting a dullness uncharacteristic of her. Observing her reflection, she noted how her hair, laden with moisture, clung to her face.
Beside her, a glass of wine, half-consumed, stood as her effort to blur the sharp edges of reality, to dull the bite of her failures. The slight sway of her stance betrayed her inebriation, a fleeting escape from the thoughts within. Tracing her facial contours—the curve of her jaw, the shape of her lips—she faced a stranger intimately known yet unsettlingly unfamiliar.
In her reflection, Hisana sought answers, perhaps forgiveness, from the woman who gazed back. Her reflection bore eyes of a lifeless purple, puffy and ringed with red, not offering solace but echoing with truths too harsh to bear, each revelation more cutting than the last.
Suddenly, Kuchiki Byakuya's image overtook her own in the mirror, his eyes—a stormy grey—peering into something beyond the surface, suggesting depths unexplored. There was a resonance in his gaze, a familiarity unexpected yet profound. His fleeting influence in her life had imposed order amidst chaos, granting her moments of unguarded release. It was in these moments, her defences crumbling, that she confronted herself—vulnerable, raw, facing the shadows of her past.
However, the rationale behind his actions eluded her—why he allowed such closeness, why he engaged with deliberate intent. Their interactions transcended mere business, yet outside these intense moments, they remained strangers, divided by status and circumstance. She felt undeserving of his attention, his kindness a puzzle she could not solve.
This perplexity led her to seek freedom, paradoxically using his own kindness as a plea. Aware of the fleeting nature of their connection and her reckless actions, she feared she had already crossed an invisible boundary.
Hisana shook her head, dispelling the thoughts. Her hand trembled as she reached for the wine, the glass's soft chime against the counter punctuating her fragility. Despite the allure of surrendering to despair, she found herself resisting, caught between the desire for oblivion and an innate refusal to yield to the darkness.
What she yearned for most was an escape, a release from the chains of her past, a chance to feel the weightlessness of unbridled joy once more. But happiness felt like a concept as distant as a fading dream, leaving her to question if it had ever been a part of her life.
With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes, trying to escape the reflection that seemed to cast judgment with every fleeting look. However, the darkness behind her eyelids didn't offer sanctuary; instead, it served as a canvas for her memories to emerge in stark relief, vivid and unyielding.
The warmth of a summer day enveloped her, a bittersweet reminder of a time when joy seemed within reach. She could nearly touch the pride in her parents' eyes, hear the infectious laughter of Rukia, and feel the security of their embraces—ghostly comforts from a life forever altered.
Tears carved silent trails down her cheeks, mourning for the moments lost to fate's cruel twist. Her happiness disintegrated, dragging her back into the nightmare that had irrevocably shattered their lives.
She was in the car again, amidst the chaos of bending metal and breaking glass, each violent jolt and piercing shard. The echo of the impact, the cold rain of glass against her skin, became a cruel reminder of the day that had woven itself into the fabric of her being.
A sob shattered the silence, a sound so burdened with grief it seemed to engulf her entirely. The aftermath was a deafening quiet, broken only by Rukia's inconsolable cries, their shared despair magnified by the loss that surrounded them—their parents, reduced to mere shadows in the mangled remains of their vehicle.
The air was thick with the scent of tragedy—blood, gasoline, and fear—a miasma that clung to her, marking her with its stench. She felt the sticky presence of blood, hers and her family's indistinguishably mingled. The surreal quality of the night was pierced only by the distant sound of sirens, a promise of rescue too delayed to undo the damage.
Fighting for control among the flood of memories, Hisana felt each recollection tightening around her heart, caging her in a prison.
Confronting her reflection once more, she still saw a stranger—her appearance etched with the map of her loss, her complexion ghostly, a canvas for the scars of the past. Her cheeks, hollowed and streaked with tears, bore the weight of it.
Grasping the half-empty glass, she sought solace in its bitter contents, the alcohol's burn a temporary distraction from the relentless ache. The memories that ensnared her allowed for no escape, like a noose around her chest, it left no reprieve from the torment. Wiping away the remnants of her tears, she turned from the mirror, her only wish to dissolve into the comforting embrace of darkness that her apartment offered, the oblivion she longed for out of reach.
The silence of the atelier was shattered by the insistent buzz of her phone. Startled, Hisana's movements were slow, almost reluctant, as she reached for the device. The name flashing across the screen secured her to the present amidst the sea of her thoughts.
"Sis, where are you?" Rukia's voice came through the phone. A pause hung in the air before she added, "I'm at the building with the massive glass walls and the interior staircase, right? It seems so empty from here."
"Coming," Hisana responded, finding warmth in her wintry expression. Rising, she moved, navigating through the atelier's emptiness with a grace that concealed the trailing shadows.
Descending into the gallery, the world outside came into sharp focus through the expansive glass wall. The Tokyo crowd, a pulsating entity of its own, framed a tiny, solitary figure that stood apart—Rukia. The sight of her sister, so familiar yet so distant, stirred her heart into a frenzy as she approached the entrance. The door clicked open, the city sounds flooding the gallery's stillness. Rukia's eyes, a vivid violet framed by dark lashes, sparkled with recognition and a hidden intensity.
Without thought, Hisana ended the call and pulled her sister into an embrace; a hug so tight it swallowed all air. Pulling away, Hisana finally faced the scrutiny she had tried to avoid. Rukia's brow was knitted, her gaze swept over her sister, assessing her from head to toe.
With pursed lips, Rukia took note of Hisana's lustreless hair, the shadows beneath eyes that once shone, and the pallor of her skin. "Why is it that every time I see you, Hisana, my worries deepen?" Rukia observed, her touch gently lingering on Hisana's shoulder.
Hisana offered a glance at her attire, gone was the colourful, form-fitting wardrobe she once favoured in Karakura. The clothes now hanging from her frame were muted, shapeless. "I'm dressed as usual," she countered, attempting to deflect with a flick of her wrist.
Rukia's smile pulled into a taut line. The space between them stretched. Hisana turned to lock the expansive glass doors of the gallery, her movements fluid yet her shoulders stiff. Tucking her bag securely under her arm, she deflected her sister's silent probing with a casualness she didn't feel.
Rukia's gaze, drawn to the sweeping glass facade of the gallery, hesitated on its white walls and still-empty space. "This is really impressive," she noted. "You said it was new, but it feels so empty."
"My collection will be the inaugural one, it is scheduled for December." Hisana, sidestepping the depth of Rukia's look with practiced ease, further offered, "There is an atelier upstairs where I am currently working. However, I cannot divulge much more than that and will only have more details as the time approaches." Each word was measured.
"Still?" the accusation, soft yet piercing, rooted Hisana to the spot, "not even to your sister?" The brief dance of shadows in Rukia's eyes was as piercing as an arrow, her grip tightening reflexively before easing.
This momentary lapse burrowed into Hisana's heart with the relentlessness of an incoming tide, eroding the facade plastered on her face.
"Rukia," Hisana's tone softened, eyes brimming with the hollow echo of what had been lost, and unspoken secrets. "It's not about withholding from you. It's just... there are details that are still being planned. Details I am not privy to yet. Let's head to that café I mentioned, okay?"
Her hand outstretched, Hisana beckoned to Rukia, looking to lighten the air between them. Rukia's hushed nod kindled a pensive smile in Hisana, her expression fading, akin to a sunset dimming into dusk. Together, they stepped away from the gallery's quietude, into the lively streets of the Ginza District.
The walk to the café was filled with Hisana's attempts at light conversation, punctuated by moments of laughter from Rukia that seemed to lift the clouds hanging over Hisana. Their path meandered until they stood before the discreet charm of the café's entrance, nestled on a secluded side street, its simplicity belying the warmth within.
Upon noticing the sign, Rukia's eyes sparkled with an unmistakable vibrancy, hands clasping over her heart. "A rabbit café!" The exuberance in her squeal, childlike and full of wonder, swept through both. It momentarily lifted Hisana's spirits and infused her with a burst of warmth.
"Surprise!" Hisana found herself echoing, her voice lifting in a rare mimicry of her sister's unbridled enthusiasm. Her shoulders, previously hunched, dropped.
Rukia led the way into the café, her enthusiasm palpable in her brisk steps while Hisana followed at a distance, quietly observing. As Hisana and Rukia crossed the threshold into the café, they were immediately enveloped by its coziness. The interior was a charming clutter of shelves lined with an eclectic mix of books and board games, interspersed with abstract trinkets that gave the space a unique, whimsical vibe.
The café hummed with a content buzz, punctuated by the laughter of schoolgirls at a nearby table. Their mirth, light and musical, mingled with the rustle of rabbits under their gentle touch. The sound of tiny paws tapping against the wooden floor created a gentle, rhythmic backdrop to the café's atmosphere, while the sweet, earthy smell of hay filled the air.
Inside an enclosure were rabbits of every size and hue engaging in their own routines—some frolicked freely while others nibbled on food or rested in snug beds. A few curious ones ventured into man-made burrows, casting cautious glances at the world outside.
Rukia sprinted towards the large pen, and with every step, the years of maturity and restraint melted away, allowing her the freedom of her childhood once more. Lost in a whirlwind of pure delight, Rukia scooped and cradled three rabbits against her, her movements tender as if she were holding the most precious treasures. Nestling the soft, warm fur against her cheek, her eyes danced with the magic of the moment.
A café maid, standing a distance away, watched the scene unfold, her attention flitting from Rukia to the animals cradled in her arms.
Hisana navigated the café with a thoughtful grace, selecting and ordering tea with consideration before securing them a table that afforded an unobstructed view of the pen. Settling down, she occupied herself with her phone. Every so often, her eyes would drift upward, landing on Rukia with a tender, reflective smile.
Shortly thereafter, Rukia made her way back, sinking into her chair with rabbits cuddled in her lap. Time drifted, stretching between them in the peaceful atmosphere. Hisana leaned into this moment, her shoulders relaxing, a subtle sigh escaping her lips as she allowed the murmur of distant conversations and the gentle clinking of teacups to wash over her.
It was Rukia who shattered the serene bubble, capturing Hisana with an intensity that sparked her eyes to widen. "This won't work, you know that," she uttered softly, her fingers stroking the rabbits, her focus absorbed by these gentle beings rather than facing Hisana.
"I know," Hisana's hand clutched her teacup a fraction tighter, the porcelain cool under her fingertips as she savoured a sip of her tea. Her muted smile felt like a confession of her own descent into an abyss from which she saw no ascent. "But if this moment brings you happiness, then it's worth it. Let's capture it for Ichigo-kun."
Rukia's rebuttal was but a playful exhalation, the edges of her mouth curling despite her intentions. "He'd never let me keep one," she half-joked, infusing her words with a levity that masked the sting of being redirected.
Her gaze lingered on Hisana for a beat longer than necessary.
Seeing the opportunity, Hisana dived into the distraction with gusto, her phone camera snapping away. She snapped photo after photo, each capturing a fragment of Rukia lost in the chaos of the interaction.
Moving in, Hisana giggled at her attempt of a shared selfie, her hands juggling the phone to frame them both with their furry companions. Despite the awkward angles and the struggle to get their faces and the rabbits into the shot, Hisana persisted, coaxing Rukia closer, their cheeks brushing in forced proximity for the camera's lens.
Rukia, for her part, leaned into the closeness, a smile playing on her lips, an effort to embrace the distraction despite the growing difficulty of ignoring her own feelings being sidelined again.
However, as the café's cozy atmosphere began to recede into the background, so too did the closeness they shared. Hisana saw the light drain from Rukia's eyes, her posture now edged with strain, a reflection of the chill setting in her heart. Her brows drew together in a dawning realisation, her forced smile weakening.
Rukia's sudden withdrawal felt like a colour fading from a painting. An emotional schism grew between them, leaving them stranded on opposite sides of an ever-expanding divide.
"Rukia—" escaped Hisana's lips, shrouded in the weight of unspoken truths. A sudden tightness constricted her stomach, the knots rendering her breathless.
Facing Hisana, the once-lively gleam in Rukia's eyes had dimmed, replaced by a depth that swallowed light whole. "You won't be coming to Ehime with me, will you? Despite your promises," she said, not as an accusation but as a resigned acknowledgment of their pattern. Her body tensed, prepared for the familiar retreat of her sister. "Like always, you find a way to escape."
Words seemed just out of reach for Hisana, her hands entwining. When she managed to speak, "I'm sorry," it was so soft it nearly blended into the café's ambient noise of distant clatter and clinking dishes.
Rukia's movements while she stroked a rabbit became mechanical, her precision was a little too deliberate. With a difficult swallow and lips pressed into a narrow line, she began, "You need—"
"I can't," Hisana interrupted, her hand shot out, clasping Rukia's with a fervency that bordered on survival. "Not yet."
Rukia's response was swift, her words frosted, "Stop lying, Hisana. This pattern," she paused, her gaze wrenching away as if the act of looking at Hisana made the truth harder to bear. Her posture stiffened, bracing against the admission. "It's suffocating. I know things have never been completely fine after the accident, but it has never been this."
The rabbits in Rukia's lap grew restless, once content but now shuffling uneasily, their ears flicking back and forth, burrowing deeper into Rukia's embrace.
Hisana's breaths were sharp, struggling to articulate her thoughts. "I... I just need more time," she choked out, her gaze diverted, unable to confront the pain mirrored in Rukia's eyes. Each truth felt like a tug at the knots binding her heart, exacerbating the ache within.
"Hisana, I don't believe you have much time left," Rukia admitted, her words cutting through the strained atmosphere.
At Rukia's stark declaration, Hisana inwardly crumbled, her facade of strength giving way as she hugged herself. Her focus became lost as her breathing turned ragged, each inhale a hitch, each exhale a surrender.
An inadvertent confession, "I will be here until December," slipped out, her hand moving too late to capture the fleeing words. Her eyes widened, flaring with panic as she realised the gravity of her slip, her head shaking.
"What does that mean! What are you referring to?" Rukia's demand burst out, her fingers in a vice-like grip on the table's edge, her knuckles whitening. The rabbits on her lap shuffled and nudged against each other, a flurry of soft, agitated motions.
Hisana whispered, her hand still hovering over her mouth, trembling, as if it were a meagre shield against the onslaught of Rukia's scrutiny, "The exhibition."
Scepticism shadowed Rukia's features, a flush colouring her cheeks. She took a sharp breath, her chest rising. "Hisana, stop this. Don't lie to me. What did you really mean?" leaning forward, Rukia sought Hisana's gaze.
"It's nothing, Rukia, I—" Hisana's plea stumbled, fragmented and evasive, drowned by the weight of unmet expectations and unspoken truths.
Rukia straightened her back, her decision evident in the firmness of her shoulders. "I can't do this anymore, Hisana. I'm staying elsewhere tonight," she stated, her jaw tight, severing their shared understanding. "Consider whether you'll come to Ehime. We can't keep going back and forth like this."
Pushing back her chair, Rukia strode towards the pen, her hands gently but firmly placing the rabbits back into their haven. Only then did she turn to leave, her movement— a mix of decisive strides and momentary pauses, as if each step away from Hisana was a battle.
Hisana remained still, her gaze fixed on Rukia's diminishing figure, her own body frozen in contrast to her sister's departure. Her fingertips brushed against her cheeks like leaves trembling in a storm. With each step Rukia took, Hisana felt the chasm between them widen, her hand dropping limply to her side.
The soft click of the café door reverberated through her, marking the severance of their bond with quiet finality. Her gaze remained fixed on the door, and with each passing second, the café seemed to grow hollower, echoing the void in her chest—a silent, aching expanse where warmth and connection once thrived.
This lingering look spoke of a soul grappling, as if Rukia's departure hadn't just emptied the room but also drained the last light from within her, leaving only shadows behind.
The atelier now felt like a prison, its air thick with the echo of Hisana's unmoored thoughts that blurred into the dark corners of her psyche. Creativity had fled, leaving her adrift in a sea of half-formed ideas and silenced expressions. Each effort to grasp the frayed threads of inspiration into a coherent whole only served to amplify her solitude, painting her world in the desolate hues of her own making.
Since that fateful afternoon with Kuchiki, when she had tendered the Chappy hairclip—she felt herself unravelling. Back then, the impending anniversary at August's end cast its pall, with each day marking a further retreat into the shadows that had begun to claim the remnants of her soul.
This downward spiral, though anticipated, hit with the mute force of an unseen squall. She became a spectator to her own dissolution, her cries for salvation lost in the void of her enveloping despair.
Fatigue enshrouded her, seeping into her bones, draining her strength, and rendering the world a monochrome blur. The paintbrush in her grasp, mocked her with its inert potential, symbolising the chasm between her and the elusive spark to create anything meaningful.
Ensnared in this fog of disconnection, Hisana's gaze lingered on the stark whiteness of the canvas before her—a blank slate that taunted her, challenging her to reclaim her dwindling tether to her life. However, her body rebelled, mired in an exhaustion that rooted her to inaction.
The silence became a tangible presence, a solitude that had flourished in the aftermath of her glimpse into Kuchiki's world at the loading bay. Confronted with the magnitude of the trust she had fractured, she navigated her isolation, stripped of her art, her sister, and any comfort.
In the bleak spectacle of her own design, the harsh truth lay bare: she had severed not just her connections to the external world but had lost herself in the process. This constant erosion of her will to endure, fed by the venomous notion that she warranted no better than this limbo, found agreement in her heart. She was lost in nothingness, akin to a starless sky, devoid of any beacon to guide her back.
As daylight faded, unnoticed, into the embrace of night, the artificial light of the atelier cast a false sense of warmth around her. The blank canvas, illuminated by this ersatz glow, stood as a cruel jest to her stagnation. With a sigh, Hisana's touch grazed the canvas, its texture numb against her fingers. The day's weight pressed down on her. Her actions, draped in the dullness of her attire, mirrored the decay of a once vibrant flower, now faded and desolate.
As she began tidying her space—paints, brushes, charcoal set aside—each movement was a bid for order amidst chaos. The sound of footsteps ascending the stairway paused her—a reminder too potent of a morning spent fleeing from him. Nonetheless, she pressed on, her attempts at normalcy a feeble defence against his inevitable approach, his presence filling the atelier with an aura that was both commanding and inescapable.
"Marugo-san," he announced, his silhouette framing the doorway. His gaze swept the room with a precision that felt almost tangible, strain playing just beneath the surface of his stoic expression.
It was only at his address that she paused, meeting his gaze with a heavy heart before offering a brief bow. "Kuchiki-sama," she acknowledged, the words barely escaping her before she forced herself back to her futile attempts at tidiness. Her disregard for protocol, she knew, would be unacceptable to someone of Kuchiki Byakuya's stature, but the weight she bore made such considerations seem distant, almost inconsequential.
Their silence filled the room, a tangible barrier, a clash of stubborn wills neither was prepared to concede. His presence became everything, not just the visual sharpness of his gaze or the subtle tension in his jaw but the unspoken disapproval that seemed to resonate in the space between them.
With each step he took into the atelier, drawing closer, the air thickened with a significance that commanded her attention. However, her mind was caught in a frenzy of her own making, leaving her adrift and unresponsive to his authority.
The air crackled. "It seems you've grown quite accustomed to my gallery, Marugo-san," his voice cut through the thickness, cold, precise. His nearness arrested her actions, his stature overshadowing her.
Turning to face him, albeit partially, Hisana's gaze lingered in the distance, her posture a mix of defiance and resignation as she offered, "I apologize for any inconvenience, Kuchiki-sama,"
Venturing further, she challenged the constraints he imposed, "However, the agreement—entered into with little choice—afforded me this space for my work," she reminded him, her voice steady.
His response was immediate, his demeanour cooling into a frosty reprimand. "Indeed, a workspace," he retorted, his tone sharper, "not a haven for your diversions or indiscretions. Your grasp of this concept seems as elusive as your commitment to basic expectations."
His critique consumed her, each word a tightening loop around her spirit. Her eyes fluttered closed, shielding her from the barrage of thoughts clamouring for release.
His examination became a siege, his presence encircling her with the inevitability of a hunter closing in on its quarry. "Your penchant for defiance is noted," he remarked in a deep rumble, "and found lacking."
Drawn by an inexorable pull, Hisana faced him fully, their closeness dissolving any remaining distance between them. His presence was overwhelming, as though the world itself was collapsing in on her, each moment pressing in with the force of a thousand tons, sending quivers through her core.
Her heart thrummed a discordant rhythm, betraying the outward calm she attempted to project, a familiar yearning awakening that pooled between her legs. However, her response remained a rehearsed veneer, "My discretion is unwavering, Kuchiki-sama, even in the face of...observation."
His stare intensified, a silent admonition clear in the hardening of his gaze. "Do not provoke me," he warned, the storm beneath his composed exterior threatening to break free.
Backed into a corner, literally against the table's edge, the thrill of their confrontation was overshadowed by a deepening emptiness, a keen awareness of her fragmented self. His presence felt all too invasive, prompting her to divert her gaze. Her strained breaths fought against the pressure of his dominance.
"Consequences will follow," he declared, his gaze pierced her heart, his indifference barely masking the restrained ire lighting his eyes.
With a swallow that navigated the tightness in her throat, Hisana tested the limits of their dynamic, "And what consequences have not already come to pass in our arrangement?" A spark ignited within her, challenging the frost encasing her heart, yet it danced in the emptiness, ensnared by the shadows of her past.
His reply drew her gaze upward, "Defiance will offer you no refuge." He stood tall, an overwhelming presence that filled her world with an almost spectral dominance. Yet, within his silhouette, there flickered soft glimmers of an unknown.
"And what insights do you believe you have of me, Kuchiki-sama?" Hisana's challenge was softened by the closeness that enveloped them. His scent, a heady blend of spice and aged wood, encircled her, compelling her to lean in. Tilting her head to bare her neck, her eyes locked onto his with a fierce intensity, a battle waged in the mere inches that separated them.
"More than enough to see that you're treading water in depths too vast for you," he countered, his proximity stealing the breath from her lungs. But, Hisana remained steadfast, an immovable force countering the pressure he exerted, denying him the air he withheld.
Her face, framed by strands of hair that fell limply around her, though marked by pallor, radiated a determined calm. "I stand exactly where fate has placed me. I know well the ground upon which I stand," she asserted, her serenity masking the contortions that underpinned her carefully measured words.
"Contrary to your assertions, Marugo-san, your actions betray you. You've ventured into a realm where the stakes are beyond your reckoning," His melodic timbre carried an edge of reprimand. Leaning against the desk, she felt the paradoxical pull of him.
Her lips parted, the ache in her chest twisting as his gaze momentarily drifted to her mouth. She inhaled sharply, her heartbeat accelerating before she managed to articulate, "This was never my choice."
Closing the negligible distance between them, their separation vanished into nothingness. "I hold little patience for duplicity, Marugo-san. It may have served you before, but here, it will do no such thing."
Beneath the weight of his scrutiny, Hisana's frame wilted. She turned away, seeking refuge behind the curtain of her hair. "Your kindness is misplaced, Kuchiki-sama."
The air between them thickened, squeezing around her heart. "I am acutely aware of consequences, likely more than most. My life's path is predetermined, inevitably leading to a singular conclusion, Kuchiki-sama. This truth applies to us all."
"And you hasten towards that end?" His reply was soft, almost tender.
"It is because I am unworthy of anything more," she admitted, her expression broken. Her eyes met his again, their connection electric, her skin burned with a static hum, every hair standing on end. Captured within the grey expanse of his gaze, Hisana surrendered. He was a breathtaking demise, an end far grander than she felt her due, but she accepted it with a quiet gratitude.
In his nearness, Hisana was spellbound, the lines of his face—the assertive set of his jaw, the noble arch of his cheekbones—sketched a portrait of power cloaked in aristocratic grace. His lips, a firm line, betrayed no secrets. The desire to reach out, to trace the contours of his visage, was an agony she endured, accepting the poignant beauty of her ruin in his shadow.
"I lay myself bare before this fate, Kuchiki-sama, confined by the boundaries you impose," her pledge was a lament, a raw ache that clawed at her soul. She averted her eyes, withdrawing from the pull of him, her departure as gentle as a leaf carried by the stream, leaving no trace in its wake. "I only ask that this be the last thing I do in life."
In the musty warmth of an old bar, Hisana sought refuge among the shadows. The air, thick with the scent of aged wood and the ghost of tobacco, wrapped the space in nostalgia, punctuated by the murmur of conversations and the chime of glasses. This haven, a mere whisper away from her doorstep, offered a fleeting quiet from the chaos that was her life.
Cradling a glass that bore more resemblance to water than its alcoholic inception, she peered through its transparency, her thoughts untethered.
Around her, the bar thrived—raucous laughter and whispered intimacies painted the air, each group ensconced in their bubble of reality. But, Hisana hovered on the periphery, a ghost among the living.
The din of the bar dulled, as though the universe itself had dialled down its volume, encasing her in a silent bubble amidst the clamour. In its cracked façade and the weary flicker of its bulbs, she saw a reflection of herself.
Tears, unbidden, traced her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands, her fingers weaving through her hair. She drank, not for the taste—now a distant memory—but as a guide in the darkness that became consuming.
The day's events, especially the chasm that had widened between her and Rukia, spiralled beyond her grasp, shredding the veneer of control she clung to. And her encounter with Kuchiki Byakuya, where she had asked nothing more than freedom. The inevitable fact stood before her: her death would stitch the wounds she wrought. She was the cause, her very presence a catalyst for decay.
Her introspection was shattered by the resounding bang of a slap against the bar, jolting her from her reverie. Startled, she sought the source—through the haze of tears and the fog of inebriation, a figure materialised, marked by a cascade of red hair and the bold lines of tattoos. Deep brown eyes, alight with brazen certainty, sliced through her daze. Leaning casually across the countertop, he propped his head on one arm.
"Abarai-san…?" Instinctively, she recoiled, her fingers gripping the bar for purchase. His presence, an unwelcome intrusion, tightened the noose of tension around her, drawing a sharp intake of breath.
"Not what I expected from you, Miss Prim-and-Proper," his amusement was palpable, his gaze skimming her choice of drink, an unspoken challenge in his cocky grin.
"W-what do you want?" Clutching her glass, the chill of the container seeped into her palms, a stark contrast to the warmth creeping up her neck. With an effort to distance herself, she attempted to stand, her balance betraying her, her world tilting.
Abarai's demeanour shifted, his casual façade slipping away as he seized her arm with a decisiveness that bordered on intrusion. The contact, unexpected and firm, sent a shock through her, halting her to the spot despite her urge to flee. Her breaths came out quick and shallow.
"Release me," she demanded, her voice a hiss. She scrambled for leverage, her feet shuffling while the alcohol churned hotly within her.
"Cut it. The boss wants you, and there's no time for your drunken theatrics," Abarai's voice was terse, his grip inflexible. He began to pull her along, reducing her to a mere parcel to be delivered.
Her resistance was futile, a lone reed against the wind, her efforts to break free were futile. Pain flared when the fabric of her sleeve twisted under his grip, reaching out, her fingers clawed at his tight grasp. "You're hurting me," she pleaded, her feet scraping against the floor, drawing curious glances.
Abarai's indifference to her struggle was a cold blade, his dismissal an aloof glance. "Quit your struggling. You're only making it worse."
The silence that enveloped the bar, the weight of every gaze upon her, was a tangible pressure, each look a needle pricking at her. It felt suffocating. In that moment, surrender was her only recourse—her fight fading, her hands hung limply at her side. Each small step towards the door a reluctant resignation to her fate.
Yet, within this capitulation, Hisana found a perverse solace. Was this not the conclusion she had sought? The unspoken judgment of Kuchiki Byakuya was a benediction she had implored. A fractured laugh, barely audible, escaped her.
As she was led from the bar's dim glow into the glaring neon of Tokyo's embrace, the clear disparity assaulted her senses. Held captive in Abarai's grasp, she was a mere shadow being drawn across the pavement, the night air, thick with the scent of impending rain, a cold caress against her skin. They approached a vehicle that promised nothing but obscurity within.
Hurled into the backseat, Hisana felt the sting of the leather beneath her as cold and unforgiving as the reality she was being driven into. The door's harsh slam sealed her fate, muffling the city's pulse outside, leaving her in a moving tomb of her own making. Tears blurred her vision, merging with the stifled expression etched across her face.
Abarai's laughter, a discordant melody, drifted from the front, mocking the gravity of her thoughts. Tokyo's vibrant lights, once beacons of dreams, now streaked past in a dizzying blur, each a fleeting star of hope slipping like sand through her clenched fists.
The car's jerks whispered cruel reminders of her end. Wiping away her tears with hands that shook, she sought to quiet her sobs. As the car halted, silence surrounded her, broken only when Abarai's silhouette appeared against the stark city lights, his hand reaching out.
"Oi! Come," his command cut through the night, his gaze piercing. His lips twitched, flirting with unspoken words, before solidifying into a determined line—any flicker of momentary concern, quickly masked by his hardened exterior.
Her hand, trembling, found his. Abarai's grip drew her out into the night. Her steps, unsteady as a puppet on severed strings, betrayed her. "Shit!" He lunged forward, his swift catch was the only thing that saved her from embracing the cold ground. "Be careful Hisana."
Hisana let out a brittle laugh, a sound foreign to her own ears. "No, Abarai-san. The fault is mine." It was a laughter born from the abyss, from the twisted relief of confronting her own demise.
Suddenly, Abarai stepped back, releasing her hand as if burned, a wince-like smile flickered across his face. Standing tall, he scratched his head.
Once the car departed, the night reclaimed the silence, leaving them standing alone at the edge of a business block. The world around her, a kaleidoscope of mottled lights and shadows, were unfamiliar. Hisana moved with small and tentative steps until, betraying her intent, she stumbled, prompting Abarai's swift intervention. His steadying hands righted her with ease. "Hey! Watch it, you're drunk," he chided, a furrow marking his brow.
"I'm perfectly fine," Hisana protested, her smile an echo of her dull, vacant gaze. With a half-hearted flick of her wrist, she attempted to wave him away, but he kept his hold steady, refusing to let go.
Surveying her surroundings with eyes clouded by more than just alcohol, she found herself at odds with the grandeur. Skyscrapers pierced through the sky like giants of glass and steel, gardens manicured to perfection, pathways snaking through—this was not the location she had envisioned.
Slowly, and with a tight grip, Abarai guided her into a building that radiated opulence, where Hisana's disarray stood in a glaring disparity to its splendour, her muted form an unwelcomed guest.
The lobby, quiet and empty, magnified their footsteps across the grand, sleekly furnished space. Recognised by security, Abarai's familiarity with such privilege was unsettling, his nonchalant "Pretty exclusive" barely registered as they stepped into the elevator.
The elevator stirred gently, a hum filling the air as it climbed, the soft glow of the floors passing by in a quiet flicker. Mirrors on every side captured their forms, creating endless duplicates. Hisana's eyes met her own reflection, seeing a figure reduced to a shadow, her face bearing the marks of exhaustion with her skin drawn tightly across her bones.
As her gaze shifted to Abarai, Hisana began to see past the superficial—the striking red hair and the ink that adorned his skin. Beneath these markers, she noted a tension in his jaw, a contrast to the almost protective way he guided her.
"Not long now," he murmured, the pressure of his grasp easing as his gaze found its way to hers.
It stirred a visceral reaction that clenched her stomach in a fierce grip, threatening to spill over. Poised at the brink of surrender, the rawness scraping at her throat, she braced for the purge that never came.
"What the fuck!" Abarai exclaimed, jerking back as if to protect his shoes from the imminent threat of her sickness. However, his initial recoil was swiftly replaced by a gesture of support—a hand on her back, offering clumsy pats. "Hey, breathe slowly now," he advised, "you're too drunk."
Gradually, her breathing steadied, the spasms subsiding into shallow gasps. With his awkward yet reassuring touch guiding her to rise, Hisana managed a nod. Bringing a shaky hand to her mouth, she cleared the traces of her ordeal, her other finding stability in the cold grip of the railing.
But the respite was fleeting; the elevator's chime announced their arrival, its doors parting to unveil a lavish space that felt as suffocating as it was grand.
Emerging into the bar, they were immediately engulfed in a commotion of life—the chatter of patrons and the clink of glasses weaving an atmosphere of apathy around her. The air, thick with the aroma of cigars and aged spirits, carried the sultry undertones of a piano melody, wrapping the room in a seductive allure.
Their path was momentarily obstructed by a hostess, her elegance accentuated by a sleek black dress and a demeanour perfected in high society. Her smile, though warm, was measured, clearly distinguishing those who belonged from those, like Hisana, who did not.
A few words from Abarai, and they were ushered inside, Hisana feeling the weight of her displacement amidst the bar's extravagant excess. She moved as if in a trance, her senses dulled yet strangely acute, absorbing the details of her surroundings—the gleam of polished wood, the soft embrace of velvet chairs, and the dance of light on crystal chandeliers.
Among the patrons, a man with neatly tied back hair and a flowery pink scarf caught her attention, his wink sending a wave of warmth rushing over her, colouring her cheeks with embarrassment.
"Come now," Abarai urged, gently steering her through the throng. With her head bowed, she hastened her steps, wary of the ground beneath her.
They navigated toward a secluded corridor, leading to a room hidden from the casual glance. Inside, the ambiance shifted dramatically in response to Kuchiki Byakuya's presence. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, pulled her fragmented attention into sharp focus, revealing truths unspoken but deeply felt.
This moment, in her drunken stupor's glory, marked the culmination of her life—a tragic denouement authored by her own hand.
Tears overwhelmed her, blurring her vision and laying bare the depths of her heart. In a desperate attempt to anchor herself, she bit down on her cheek, seeking pain as relief from the nightmarish spiral. However, this attempt only sent her swirling faster into the depths, her sobs unravelling her grip on sanity, each thread pulling apart until nothing remained.
As Kuchiki's aura of stern disapproval shifted its focus to Abarai, the atmosphere within the room constricted, a palpable tension seizing the air as if electrified by his silent, potent warning. Abarai, well-versed in the unspoken language of authority, responded with a bow that married precision with deep respect.
Kuchiki's command sliced through the tense air, not merely dispelling the silence but reigning over it with an icy, calculated precision. "Abarai, guide Marugo-san to her seat," he directed, his voice imperious, wielding the silence like a conductor directing an orchestra towards compliance.
Abarai's guidance towards the lounge was tender, contradictory to the coldness of command, sparking an impulsive reaction within her. Perhaps it was a deep-seated instinct for self-preservation, or a desperate yearning to break free from the chains of her current existence, that made her tears flow. Shaking her head vehemently, she attempted to wrestle free from his grip, "No. Let me go!" Her plea, however heartfelt, dissipated into the room, as insignificant as whispers against a storm.
Kuchiki's gaze, reminiscent of the cold depths of the ocean, offered no sanctuary, his indifference an unflinching wall against her silent appeals for mercy. His dismissal, a mere shift of his gaze, was a rejection more piercing than any verbal rebuke, stripping her of any semblance of dignity.
Resigned, she became pliant; a marionette devoid of strings, her surrender mirrored in the way she sank into the plush embrace of the lounge chair. Her hair fell like a dark veil, offering a shelter from prying eyes. The world around her receded, leaving her in a bubble of solitude where even the niggling sting of Abarai's grip faded into obscurity.
The click of the door sealed her in isolation, the darkness swelling into an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole. In this silence, her heartbeat and the soft cadence of her tears were the only disruptions to the profound stillness.
As the door opened once more, her reaction was instinctual—a hand clasped over her mouth to stifle her sobs, a futile attempt to quell the storm that raged, threatening to fracture her very essence.
His presence permeated the room, a chill tracing her spine as she braced for his approach, the sound of his movements drawing an invisible line that shrunk the space between them. Hidden behind the curtain of her hair, time stood still, her gaze timid, barely daring to meet his.
When she finally allowed her lavender eyes to meet his, the encounter was not with the harshness she anticipated but with a soothing calm. Kuchiki Byakuya, appeared not as the figure of authority but as a being imbued with gentleness, evoking a sense of familiarity within her that she couldn't quite pinpoint. It made him more human, more profound—and it splintered her defences.
Seated across from her, both his posture and spirit carried an understanding she was vastly unworthy of. The way he looked at her was akin to a mirror, not reflecting the flaws she saw in herself but illuminating a worth and significance.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her expression collapsing. Shielding her face behind her hands, she hid from his scrutinizing gaze, a sob breaking free from the fortress she had built around her pain.
Drawing breaths deep and ragged, she fought to compose herself, her hands eventually parting to reveal a visage marred by the passage of tears. "I apologise," she uttered again, her hands quivering as they brushed away the last of her tears. With a mask of composure, she added, "I truly accept this, and I'm thankful."
"For what, Marugo-san?" Kuchiki's inquiry was soft, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He titled his head to grasp the depth of her sentiments. The steady grey of his eyes provided support, encircling her with the tenderness of a hushed lullaby.
"For my end," Hisana's voice carried a resigned clarity, her posture reminiscent of a flower bent under the relentless assault of harsh winds. Her hands rested limply in her lap.
A serene calm emanated from him, intensifying the wild cadence of her heartbeat, making it the lone sound in her ears. In moments that spanned fewer than five heartbeats, he shifted, touching his chin, nodding. "There appears to be a misunderstanding. What cause could there possibly be for 'your end,' if not to perpetuate the cycle of grief?"
Her world seemed to tilt, his words stirring her into tight knots, compelling her to seek stability against the table. "I... I don't understand. I thought..." Hisana stammered, eyebrows arching and her mouth agape.
"Marugo-san, to yield so readily to the will of others scarcely leads to achieving one's desires," Kuchiki advised, each word deliberate, echoing his methodical approach. His composed posture cast a sharp relief to her dishevelled state. "Your well-being in my company is not for negotiation."
Discomfort burgeoned at his words, blooming into a profound ache that rendered her speechless. Only when her breathing turned erratic, her nostrils widening with each laboured inhale, did she muster the strength to speak, "Then I wish to leave, at once."
"For what purpose? To further wallow in self-destructive drunken acts, or worse, to contemplate suicide?" His incisive question left no room for evasion, like a rope restraining her. Hisana tensed under his gaze, a wave of apprehension washing over her as she averted her eyes from the storm brewing in his.
Her heart constricted at his words, each syllable a dagger that cut deep, her body tensing against the cold truth. "You don't know me, Kuchiki-sama," she whispered, a fresh trail of tears carving paths down her cheeks, her body coiling inward to stave off the looming nausea.
Acknowledging her point with a slight nod, he conceded, "Indeed, Marugo-san." His hair, a dark cascade, framed his face, lending him an ethereal quality that echoed the burden she felt.
"I could claim the same of you. Your perception, coloured by hearsay or fleeting interactions, misses much. But allow me a moment to offer a glimpse." He shifted with a grace that was calculated, combining assertiveness with a tender warmth. However, a quick, almost imperceptible flash of sadness flitted across his polished face, so brief she questioned her own perception.
An oppressive silence stretched between them, elongating the moment until his voice, distant yet clear, broke through. When it arrived, it carried the softness of a distant melody. With eyes like the dark, brooding grey of storm clouds, he looked beyond, into a space filled with unspoken thoughts, as he expressed, "Not only do I sympathise with your past, but I understand it."
"How could you possibly?" Her challenge was sharp, a clarity that surprised even herself.
A sensation of freefall engulfed Hisana, her heart both plummeting and pulsating wildly, as her gaze became ensnared by the subtle contours of his lips. She braced herself for an answer that whispered through her thoughts.
"Every child must say goodbye to their parents, each in their own time," he started, drawing in slow, purposeful breaths, his chest moving in a consistent rhythm. " This commonality binds us," he paused, fixing her with a steady look, "yet it has consumed you."
Hisana recoiled as though the air around her had thickened, her gaze withdrawing, a tremble touching her jaw. The tightness in her chest silenced her scattered thoughts, her hand instinctively moving to stem the tears threatening to fall.
"Look at me," he commanded, cutting through the haze. Lifting her eyes, she met his gaze, thunder reflecting in the depths of both. Despite the exhaustion that permeated her being, a deep breath steadied her, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of recognition and the beginnings of understanding.
As the quiet murmur of arrival permeated the air, Hisana's gaze drifted towards the door. The entry of a server, distinguished in his elegant uniform, deepened the room's silence, save for the delicate sound of a wooden tray being placed upon the table. The tea set, with its design whispering tales of a bygone era, transported her back to her family's tea house in Ehime, its floral motifs stirring memories of light-hearted conversations steeped in affection. The teapot, resplendent in its ornate detail, cast a shadow over the modest cups beside it, each silhouette heavy with the weight of lost moments.
The deliberate choice by Kuchiki struck her with the force of a physical blow, her lips quivering as she fought back the surge of a raw sob. Her poise crumbled; shoulders slumped; breaths hitched in her throat as if caught on thorns. Her gaze sought his—her lavender eyes, now pools of unshed tears, shimmering with a fragile accusation.
"No," she managed to whisper, her voice broken, barely audible.
Kuchiki's features, once gentle, now hid behind an implacable façade, his expression and lips drawn into rigid lines. "I believe you possess the skill to conduct a tea ceremony," he stated, his posture a bastion of contained strength, exuding an aura of steadfast calm.
"Please," she murmured, the word scraping against her throat, leaving her a mere echo of herself. Her final vestiges of restraint melted away, tears carving rivers down her cheeks.
"Marugo-san, conduct a tea ceremony for me," he commanded, his voice wrapping around her, leaving no room for refusal. His words, fused with the rhythm of her heartbeat, casted a silence so profound it swallowed her words whole. Her voice lost to his expectation.
Drawing a breath that carried her shattered hopes, Hisana acquiesced. Her fingers, tentative at first, grazed the tea set with the delicacy of touching something once beloved but now lost. The flood of memories—echoes of laughter, the comforting scent of matcha, the whisper of kimono fabric—flooded her, a bitter reminder of what had been.
She clenched her jaw, biting into her cheeks until the taste of blood mingled with her saliva, a sting that was calming and deeply known. The pain brought a strange peace, quickly dispelled by Kuchiki's gentle caress, making her look up sharply, her breath catching. He lifted her chin, his fingers brushing her tears away with the delicacy of falling cherry blossoms. "Marugo Hisana," Hearing her name, she closed her eyes, letting his presence consume her, "never harm yourself again."
Guided by his command, she found herself lifted from the shadows, her spirit touched by a flicker of light. Her eyes, upon opening, met his stoic grey gaze, creating a connection that erased the distance between them.
He withdrew, his movement back to his seat marked by an innate elegance that spoke of his noble lineage. "Now, Marugo-san, begin the tea ceremony."
With a subtle nod, she surrendered to the task at hand, her mind tracing the familiar yet distant steps of the ceremony. What was once an effortless extension of her being now felt like a path obscured by fog, each motion emphasised by the dissonance between her practiced hands and the expectation that loomed large in the room.
Her actions, ponderous and imprecise, scattered matcha like fallen leaves across the tray, and when pouring the hot water, its rebellious stream escaped its intended path. Under her breath, Hisana chastised herself, her fingers trembling as if caught in an autumn chill.
Stirring the matcha, the coarse sound of the whisk scraped harshly against the bowl. Kuchiki-san's critical gaze tracked every motion with unsettling precision. When she finally presented the tea bowl, the subtle raise of his eyebrow under silence was a loud critique of her faltering attempt.
He accepted the tea, his head inclining in a modest bow before taking a measured sip. Watching him, the flaws in her preparation dissolved, like ink in water, leaving behind a canvas of unexpected contentment.
After a moment, he set the tea bowl back with deliberate care. "That was insufficient. Prepare another for me," he said, leaving no room for protest.
Hisana nodded, a frown shadowing her features, yet within her, a peculiar relief unfurled at his command. She prepared another serving, correcting the amount of matcha with a more focused determination, her brows furrowing as she tried to steady her thoughts.
Kuchiki-san's presence, both commanding and supportive, guided her through the ceremony's steps again. Despite the critiques that followed, his demeanour remained unflappably polite, each suggestion pushing her to refine her technique further while the crucible of his expectations shaped her resolve, refining it to emerge stronger and more steadfast.
Gradually, Hisana became attuned to the ceremony's rhythm, her earlier missteps giving way to a tranquil focus that cleared the remnants of alcohol from her senses. Each gesture became more assured, weaving a sense of calm through the tattered edges of her being. With each attempt, Hisana's posture shifted; her physique grew firmer, her focus sharper. The relentless onset of tears had ceased, and a newfound purpose shone through her.
The server, with a quiet grace, replaced the used tray with a fresh one, identical to the original in every detail. Hisana, now more composed, found freedom in the repetitive nature. Despite Kuchiki-san's stern feedback at each offer, it spurred her on, his every word a nudge towards perfection.
When suddenly, clarity dawned, and the recipe came alive in her mind, igniting a warmth that seemed to radiate from within; her face lit up with a smile, the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness of night. It allowed her to move with an elegance and certainty that had eluded her before.
Her smile beamed as she served the tea, her eyes glistening with the soft glow of distant stars. Hope fluttered in her heart, yearning for his approval. Deep within, she knew—this was the one.
The atmosphere surrounding them had mellowed to a soft ember, casting a peaceful glow while he accepted his cup. He tasted the tea with a stoicism that was his nature, his eyes closed in contemplation. Hisana watched, captivated by the beauty of his devoted engagement with the tradition.
Finally, he placed the empty tea bowl on the table and spoke with a note of sincere praise, "An excellent cup of tea. Thank you."
His acknowledgment unfurled a bloom of delight within her, reminiscent of a flower embracing the first light of spring. This surge of it nearly propelled her from her seat, her movements embodying grace as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, grounding herself.
"Thank you, Kuchiki-sama," she said, offering a modest bow. Her smile broke through like sunlight piercing storm clouds, casting a radiant light that seized his gaze—a gaze that held her as if beholding something both wondrous and unfamiliar, gently edging into her world.
Softening his manner, he moved closer, "Did your mother teach you?"
"Yes," she murmured, her smile dimming and shadowing the warmth that had just danced in her eyes.
She understood his intent, visible in the distance that separated them; the chessboard and his deliberate plays, navigating around her pawns and knights, translating her feelings into strategic moves. His tactics were deliberate, aiming to safeguard the most vulnerable part of her essence—the king in their silent game. Rather than feeling overpowered, she found comfort in it.
"The teachings of your mother have clearly been invaluable. I've been made aware that your family once presided over a tea house. How often were you a part of the service there?" His stare captured hers, a firm and penetrating look that demanded her full attention, while his fingers faintly grazed his lips.
Lost in the ghostly grey expanse of his eyes, where shades moved as wistfully as smoke, she felt herself floating. With a timid nod, she affirmed, softly admitting, "Yes, as I got older, it became something I loved to engage in, especially with guests."
Beneath his steady gaze, a glimmer of something unspoken shimmered, hinting at a desire for recognition she felt but couldn't quite capture. Try as she might, it eluded her grasp, leaving an impression that he was silently urging her to recall a forgotten memory.
Seeing she offered no further words, he eased back against his seat, his chin lifted in indignation, "And why did you stop?"
Memories overwhelmed her, dragging her back to days filled with her sister's absence, paperwork, and overwhelming stress. She struggled for stability and to prove herself; there was never time for her. She shook her head, trying to erase the ghosts of those times, her attention shifting back to Kuchiki. "Because," she caught herself, "my sister needed me."
"You sacrificed your own life for your sister?" His question came laced with a veneer of disinterest, yet she perceived a depth behind it, and the nudges hidden within.
Far from discouraging her, it fanned the flames of an inner fire, sending a rush of warmth coursing through her veins. Abruptly, she sprang up, causing the tea set to clatter against the table, her eyes widening, "Absolutely! Considering what I—" Her words stopped short, mouth tight and eyes alight.
She felt the intensity of his gaze carefully assessing her expression. The faint furrow on his brow urged her to continue, "Marug-"
"Kuchiki-sama," she interjected, unfazed by his suddenly widened eyes. Leaning forward, her hands gripping the table for anchor, she bridged the gap between them. Her move was bold, challenging his established rhythm and marked her own play. "Do your own burdens not weigh heavily? The demands your life places upon you, they must reflect similar expectations?"
Her gaze traced the hardening lines of his expression, noting the firm set of his jaw and the icy compression of his stormy eyes that mirrored the stiff contour of his shoulders. The air around them condensed, heavy with a quiet intensity. She waited; her breath caught in her throat.
When he finally spoke, her attention was riveted to his lips, hanging on every word. "My life bears its own weight, accompanied by expectations whether we deem them favourable or not. However, I have grown accustomed to such circumstances."
She sank back into her seat, her grip on the table's edge loosening, widening the space between them once more. A wistful smile briefly caressed her lips, as fleeting as a whispering breeze. In his stoic presence, she found a strange kinship, a sense of solidarity with another soul familiar with burdens.
"And your parents?" Hisana ventured softly, her gaze lifting, allowing her eyes to flicker towards him beneath the veil of her lashes.
His eyes briefly dipped, magnifying the lines across his forehead, and enhancing a minor frown that for a moment, fractured the aristocratic serenity of his face. This departure from his usual detached poise held her spellbound, luring her with a potency that felt almost magnetic.
"My parents passed many years ago. My mother departed first, followed by my father," he revealed, maintaining a detached tone. It struck a chord within her, pulling her heart into her throat. However, it was brief, and when his eyes met hers again, it held a decisive authority, "While I recognise your curiosity, Marugo-san, tonight's focus remains elsewhere."
"I'm sorry," she found herself saying, exposing the weariness in her eyes as if chains weighed down her lashes. Her racing heartbeat choked her, a relentless grip that wouldn't ease.
"Honouring the past is important," he asserted, leaving her no room for retreat. "The strength required to shoulder burdens like yours is commendable. But do not let your grief cloud your present and future."
Under the weight of his stare, her eyes dropped, skimming the delicate features of the tea set as a warmth rose from within, colouring her cheeks with the hue of unset suns. "No, Kuchiki-sama – you misunderstand." Her protest faded, leaving a resonant silence in its wake.
With shallow breaths, she shook her head, steadied by the quiet. The familiar urge to bite the inside of her cheek arose, but she resisted, closing her eyes instead, letting his words and the memory of his proximity wash over her, easing the oppressive force.
With eyes closed, wrapped in a calm she hadn't foreseen, Hisana whispered a truth that had long been cloistered in the darkest corners of her mind, "I killed them." After her words escaped her lips, she shattered. A visceral collapse followed, the relentless torment of her heart twisting her into a form both bent and marred. She remained seated, barely upright, a trembling remnant of the young girl she once was.
"I-I," her voice cracked, overwhelmed by tears that flowed as freely as the cracks in her heart were deep. Hisana became lost in the desolation of her own words. "I bring ruin to all I hold dear – my family, my sister, myself. Association with me, Kuchiki-sama, only leads to misfortune."
His voice reached her like a feather gliding across the vast darkness that lay behind her closed eyes, whispering the question, "Marugo-san, do you believe you are to blame?"
Her nod was barely perceptible. "Had I not been so relentless, they'd still be here, and Rukia wouldn't have suffered." Her hand, unsteady and weak, tried in vain to stifle the sobs wracking her, her breath hitching. "I've taken everything away."
"It follows me like a shadow. The sudden jolts, the sound of metal twisting and breaking upon the rocks—it's all imprinted into my mind. I can't forget it. I don't deserve to forget it." Within the sacred confines of her heart, she alone had steered through the murky waters of her truth—a truth that had submerged her into darkness so absolute, light seemed but a distant memory. "I killed them."
"The blood was overwhelming, thick and everywhere, obscuring everything. I couldn't see beyond it," her trembling hand travelled from her mouth to trace the contours of her face and her closed eyes, as if to erase remnants of a nightmare.
"Rukia," her sobs were like shards of glass, leaving her voice fragmented and raw. "Her screams echoed, unending, while I remained frozen, helpless. She—she," it tore through her, an anguish that was pure torture, "cried out for me, and I couldn't even respond. All because I—"
Desperate for something to hold onto, her other hand gripped at her chest, tethering her to the moment. "Our parents were gone, my sister badly injured, and me? Barely a scratch. Fate made a mistake; it should have been me."
"And after everything, they decided that I couldn't provide what Rukia needed. They said I was just a child at nineteen, too young to bear such responsibility. It was another blow, another failure on my part." Her heart, imprisoned in a thicket of spikes, pulsed with excruciating pain, each heartbeat a stab that sewed through her. "But deep down, I knew it was because I was the cause of all her pain."
Eyes still sealed against the world, her lips quivered, and her chest heaved with each breath. "The funeral, losing the tea house, the pitying looks from social services... It felt like a punishment, a rightful one, for surviving when perhaps I shouldn't have." Her voice, a feather caught in a breeze, faded. Engulfed by the shadow of her long, dark hair, she receded from view, her words chillingly pieced together, "I deserve to die, Kuchiki-sama."
"Marugo-san," his voice reached out, cleaving the thick darkness that had ensnared her, its warmth a rescuing force against the pain that had settled deep within her. "Look at me."
His command stirred her as gently as the vernal wind that signals the return of life, nudging her eyes to witness the world anew. When she met his gaze, she could feel the thaw setting in, her heart catapulted into her throat, banishing all competing thoughts with its thunderous echo.
She was entranced, wholly consumed by the sight of him and the undeniable authority of his words. His grey eyes held the calm of a twilight sky. Beneath his gaze, the shackles of her past, the chains of her guilt, seemed to rust, their grip loosening.
"Hisana," her name was like a balm on his lips, soothing the raw, jagged edges of her wounds. "Let this evening mark the beginning of a new chapter. A chapter unencumbered by burdens that are not yours to carry. You are free. You are forgiven."
His words wrapped around her like a gentle caress, promising to cradle her heart in the warmth of his palms, lifting it tenderly. Without allowing for any doubts to surface, he continued, "And whenever troubling thoughts arise, channel them into something beautiful, something meaningful. You are deserving of forgiveness and compassion."
Kuchiki's words, soft yet resonant, echoed deep within her, not just as sounds but as a healing melody. The release of her tears and the easing of her breath felt like the breaking of a long storm, with the first rays of sun piercing through the clouds to touch her face, leaving behind a clarity she had never imagined possible.
The fortress of guilt and self-punishment that had imprisoned her spirit began to crumble, its once impenetrable walls now just fragments of dust carried away by the wind of his understanding and forgiveness. It was a freedom Hisana had never known, a sensation of being unbound from chains she had thought permanent, leaving her exposed yet anew, on the threshold of a path she had never dared to walk.
"Have you heard me?" His voice, insistent yet gentle, pulled her back, demanding her acknowledgment of the freedom being offered.
With hands trembling like leaves in a soft wind, she brushed away the last traces of her tears. Her nod, though delicate, was an unspoken declaration. When she lifted her gaze, pushing aside the curtain of her hair to reveal eyes that sparkled with tears and clarity. Her complexion, mottled from weeping, only served to enhance the charm of the smile that his words brought forth—so sincere and striking, it held the beauty of a cherished secret.
The world around them fell away, leaving only the space between. This moment, brief yet infinite, held the fragility of a dewdrop poised on the brink of dawn— on the cusp of falling, yet glowing with something that couldn't be voiced.
Beside him, she blossomed, like petals to sunlight. "Yes, Byakuya-sama."
Okay, well, firstly, I apologise, as this was meant to be updated in February, and I am a few days late. The reason for this, well, was I just kept editing, and re-editing!
Earlier this week, I was still feeling on the fence of this chapter and how I wrote it. I felt very differently to what I feel about it now.
I hope I did it justice, as this story touches on serious trauma and healing – and will do so throughout.
And like always, thank you so so much for the comments and reviews! I love hearing what you think, I probably read them every week.
I should be able to post again in March, as I am getting a bit of time off from work, and considering I am already spending most of my nights and weekends writing (sorry to my husband, he knew what he was getting into) – it shouldn't be difficult, that is, if I don't go on an editing spree again!
Thank you for reading
