Nanao wasn't sure what she expected about their sleeping arrangements. However, she was still surprised when Kyouraku led her to the guest bedroom. She was torn—yes, she wanted to be by his side, but it was probably best to separate. The need to ensure that he was well and comfort him was nearly as strong as her fear of losing their relationship. Sleeping in separate rooms would ensure no confusion, temptation, or broken rules.
He paused at the guest room doorway and turned to look at her. His change in demeanor took her aback — his body was tight and tense, his brows furrowed, and his eyes clouded. She opened her mouth but wasn't sure what she wanted to say — did she want to say good night, ask him to stay, or ask to go with him?
The confusion and indecision in his eyes lifted and was replaced with a despondency she was not equipped to navigate. He was so quick to deny himself comfort.
He sighed, his mouth slightly downturned. "I'll be right back."
She turned to follow and held herself still; his message was clear: she was not to follow. His disposition was reviving anxiety that lingered in her chest.
When he returned, he held out a bundle of pink, which she quickly recognized as a shirt she had bought him years ago in the Living World as a gift.
She expected him to move closer and was only more anxious and worried when he maintained his distance. She took a hesitant step forward and reached for the clothes.
"Taicho..." The words ran dry in her mouth. She didn't know what to say — hell, she didn't even know what she wanted from this interaction.
He beat her to it. "Goodnight, Nanao-chan."
"Goodnight, Taicho." What else could she say?
He smiled, that sweet, melancholic smile that broke her heart, and she was left watching him retreat into his room.
She made the short trip to the bathroom and took off her uniform. She couldn't help but stare at herself in the mirror. She didn't look like the women her captain flirted with. She'd heard nearly all sorts of comments over the years: what did Ise Nanao have that other women didn't? — she was plain, she was flat-chested, nothing about her looks was special — she was cold and strict, woefully unsuited for his joyful nature —the list went on. She'd heard it all, and while initially the worst comments — the ones that attacked her professional capacities — stung, they quickly became uncreative and lost their impact. Still, sometimes, when she let herself ponder Kyouraku's feelings about her, she couldn't help but hear those cruel voices rear up.
In an attempt to regulate her wandering mind, she took in everything she could about the shirt fisted in her hand. It was soft and worn. She had never seen him wearing the shirt; however, based on the softness of the cotton, he wore it often. Bringing the shirt up to her nose, it was evident he had worn it recently enough that it smelled like him — sake, books, and summer sunshine. The knowledge that he wore her gift brought peace to her tumultuous mind and offered comfort in a way few things and people could.
Smiling, her mood uplifted, she slipped the shirt on. It was as soft as it looked and long enough to hit right above her knees. The feeling of the soft, worn cotton against her skin sent a shiver up her spine.
She left the bathroom and stepped into the empty hallway, lit by the light spilling from his room. She was presented with a choice: his bedroom or the guest room. She wanted to go to him and comfort him, but based on his unusual silence and distance, perhaps giving him his distance would be best.
Sighing, she retreated to the guest room.
Settling into bed and turning off the light, she was left in the darkened room with only her restless mind. She was worried about Kyouraku Taicho, worried about her division members and the families of those who died, worried that the decision to stay with Kyouraku tonight was a mistake, worried that he would once again avoid her, worried that whatever was happening between them was unsustainable.
Her building anxiety was interrupted by his reiatsu brushing against her, carefully asking for her presence. As always, he knew precisely when and how to reassure her, and she couldn't hold back the wave of shame that washed over her — she was supposed to be taking care of him, not the other way around. Taking deep breaths, she calmed herself enough to open up to him and provide him with as much comfort as possible.
Nanao woke up gasping for air — something was very wrong. Steadying her breathing, she tried to make sense of where she was. Disoriented, she looked around the room, trying to make sense of where she was.
A sudden spike in spiritual pressure weighed on her lungs. Even as she struggled to breathe, she would recognize that reiatsu anywhere, and the previous day's events came flooding back. She'd spent the day growing increasingly more anxious and worried about Kyrouky. Breaking devastating news to her lost division members' loved ones. Finding him swimming in the shadows that dwelt in his soul. Kyouraku's sweet smile as they sat on the porch. His lips against her cheek. And finally, his sudden sullenness in the hallway as they parted ways for the night.
The pressure on her chest lightened, and she was left panting on the bed. However, there was no time to wait or catch her breath. Halfway down the hallway, the spiritual pressure around her spiked. She was shocked by how his spiritual pressure, which always blanketed her in warmth, could be oppressive and suffocating.
Bracing herself on the wall, she did her best to breathe through the crushing pressure as she staggered to Kyouraku's bedroom. The tightening in her chest had nothing to do with his reiatsu when she opened the door to find him mumbling feverishly in his sleep. She fought her way to the bed and had nearly made it when an intense wave of sheer power pulsed through the room.
Her knees buckled, and gasping for breath, she was momentarily stunned and rendered unable to move under the anvil of spiritual pressure weighing on her chest. Paralyzed, she watched Kyouraku toss and turn on the bed, her desperation building at her inability to do anything. To watch Kyouraku, who was so kind and caring, always putting others before himself, struggle to find compassion for himself was heart-wrenching and tore at her soul more than the sheer power of his reiatsu.
"Taicho," she gasped.
Gods. She'd felt his spiritual pressure unleashed before, but always in a controlled setting. She knew his spiritual pressure was nearly unrivaled, but if this were a fraction of it unrestrained, at its full force, she would be unconscious within seconds. She used her remaining strength to pull herself up to the bed. "Taicho, wake up."
Kyouraku's eyes were tightly closed, his breath harsh and fast, and his face contorted in pain. She'd just about regained her senses when she felt it again — a drastic spike in spiritual pressure that had her unable to draw breath.
She held herself on a shaking arm and brought her free hand to his cheek. She shouldn't do this. Sitting in his bed, trying to coax him awake, crossed many lines, and he had been clear about his desire for distance. However, all rules lost meaning when his face contorted yet again in pain. She thought she might have heard him mutter her name through her disorientation.
"Taicho, wake up." She asked him as his reiatsu swelled further and the air in the room became thin.
"Please?" He whimpered.
She'd never heard him whimper, let alone sound so small and scared.
Unable to hold herself up, she collapsed onto his chest and clenched his yukata in her fists. Her vision was fading when the pressure eased off her chest. Gasping for breath, she could not stop her body from going limp.
Distantly, she heard a whisper of her name. Before long, she could feel warmth encompassing her whole being, holding her close as hands ran up and down her back.
"Breathe, Nanao." His breath was hot in her ear. "Breathe."
Finally, after several moments, she matched his breath and pulled back. Reorienting herself, she was caught in the guilt and shame swimming in his eyes, yet another burden he had not earned but would bear forever.
She pushed back against his chest. "Are you alright?" She asked between measured breaths.
"I'm fine," he said, the heaviness in his voice doing nothing to convince her. "It was only a nightmare."
He exhaled and laid back on his back, an arm resting over his eyes. With no care for rules, Nanao remained sitting up and reached to smooth back his hair. For a woman known for her strict adherence to protocol and strategics, the sight of Kyouraku's distress rendered all her rules and logic irrelevant.
The lines on his face melted away as she ran her fingers through his hair. As much as she scolded him for his unruly appearance, she loved everything about his hair. She loved how richly colored it was, how soft and silky it was, how it never seemed to cooperate — she loved everything about it. Running her fingers through his hair always brought her a sense of peace.
She wasn't sure how long she spent carting her fingers through his hair, but eventually, his breathing evened out. While she ached to stay with him, she knew it would be best if she left—he'd been very clear about needing space.
Slowly, she started to pull away, only to be stopped by a hand grasping hers.
He opened a tired eye and stared. "Stay?"
"Taicho," she whispered.
Of course — of course, she would stay. She would never deny his calls for help, no matter how silent they were. She would do anything to wipe away that melancholic look in his eyes — there was no room for consideration, only action.
She nodded and readjusted herself, sliding down the bed.
Without speaking, he released her arm hand and allowed her to settle in his arms.
He released her hand, his arms enveloping her middle, melding her to his side.
She ignored the distant alarms of self-preservation and focused on how her other senses told her she was exactly where she needed to be. The tension in his arms told every one of her senses to stay and hold him tight.
She burrowed closer to him, molding herself to his side, tentatively resting her head on his shoulder.
After minutes of silence, she spoke again, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly," he said, sounding more tired than she'd heard him in years.
"Okay." She knew this version of him when his demons reared their heads and came at his usually affable nature.
He remained silent, and before she could stop herself or think of rules, she lightly massaged his chest. He met her caress by rubbing circles on her back.
After a series of long moments lying in silence, he sighed. Frowning, she tilted her face to look up at him, and the arm around her middle tightened. Based on the straight line of his lips, she could tell he was holding back whatever he wanted to say. She brought the hand to his hair, running her thumbs along his hairline.
He smiled ruefully down at her, his eyes still haunted.
"Your dream wasn't about today, was it?" She whispered.
"No."
She said nothing and let him decide where the conversation would flow. Sensing his discomfort, she laid her head back on his chest and cautiously returned her hand to its spot on his chest.
Kyouraku knew it would be better to tell Nanao about his dreams — nightmares. Nightmares that seemed to chase him down every other night.
Every other night, he was forced to relive the terrifying morning at the Fourth. Except in his nightmares, in the fluorescent light of the Fourth Division, she was a body on a cold metal slab, lost to him forever. So, to have her lying with her in his arms was nearly more than he could bear. Having her so close and warm against his body overwhelmed every single one of his nerves. He sighed at the feeling of her fingers running mindlessly across his chest.
In her warmth, he couldn't help but be truthful; releasing a shaky breath, he finally spoke. "I dreamt about that morning."
"Which morning?"
He tensed and brought her closer to his chest. "The one where we met at the morgue." She froze momentarily but remained silent and returned her hands to soothe his chest.
Her breathing evened out, and he thought she'd fallen asleep when she spoke again, her voice soft in the dark, "this isn't the first time you've had this dream, is it?"
He let out a breath. It would be easier to lie to her — to avoid the truth altogether. However, something about her open and earnest voice prevented him from saying anything but the truth.
"No."
"Do you …" she said quietly, her voice careful and measured. It was so rare to hear Nanao, who moved through life with conviction and was a pillar of stability, sound tentative was rare and disconcerting.
It had him speaking truths he wasn't sure he should.
"Everything is the same as that day: the hell butterfly, Ukitake waiting for me, you're missing, and no one answers my questions. It's always the same until I have to step into the morgue." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself — he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop himself.
He brought his free hand to squeeze hers lightly. "In the dream, you don't show up, and when I lift the sheet, it's your body on that gurney." He paused and took her in, his eyes desperately drinking her in to block out the haunting image of her lifeless eyes on that journey. Thankfully, her eyes held nothing but concern.
"Taicho," she whispered. He closed his eyes tightly and was suddenly transported back into the dream.
"This time…" he cleared his throat, "—this time you were in treatment when I got to the Fourth," He knew he failed miserably to keep his voice steady. "but there was nothing they could do."
She touched his cheek to stroke her thumb across his cheekbone9. "Taicho."
"I held you as you died." He found himself caught again in the images that had been plaguing his sleep and bleeding into his waking hours. "You died in my arms."
How was he supposed to tell her that for weeks, he had been plagued by nightmares about her death? In those nightmares, he bargained for her lifetime and timed again, only to fail every time. In one particularly heinous iteration of the dream, he reached her in the field only to have her die, saving him from a hollow. He shuddered at the memory of his hands sticky with her blood.
"Look at me?" she asked, directing his face towards hers. "Taicho? Look at me?" He was shocked into silence by the concern and naked affection in her eyes. It was rare to see such emotions so plainly on her face.
However, it was the grief and guilt in her eyes that only grew when she stroked his cheek yet again took him by surprise.
"Taicho — that day — I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize."
"But I do."
He shifted her so she rested her head on the pillow and tightened his arms. "No, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong; there was no way you could have known what would happen."
Her hand came to his jaw softly before tipping his head down. "Still. I'm sorry you keep having these nightmares. I don't want you to keep reliving that morning." She paused and, after a few moments, ran her thumb across his jaw; she spoke again, "You'll come to find me next time this happens?"
Her face softened, and all he wanted to do was hold her close and never let go. "I'll be alright."
"Taicho," she whispered.
He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "You always make it better," he murmured against her skin, pulling back to meet her eyes.
"Then find me." Her eyes were immovable; she'd made up her mind, and it would not be changed. He was entranced by her eyes, sparking bright violet in the moonlight. Moving slowly, he nuzzled her cheek. Her eyes closed when he leaned in and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. Her breath quickened when his lips brushed against her cheek. They were treading on dangerous territory. One false move, and they could cross lines of no return.
"Nanao?"
She slipped her hand into his hair, her thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind his ear, and closed the distance between them; he leaned in to meet her lips halfway. Her lips were as soft as he remembered, and he couldn't help but move them gently over hers. He had to hold back a groan when she matched his every movement without hesitation.
Pulling back, he let his lips linger over hers, waiting for her reaction. When she murmured his name, he lost all semblance of control, and he captured her lips again; this time, he tilted his head and gave himself into the kiss.
She slipped her hand into his hair, and he gave himself entirely to the kiss. It wasn't long before he felt heat scorch throughout his very soul as their reiatsus entwined and melded together. All rules went out the window, and time and space seemed to melt away when he kissed her — all that mattered was that she was so close. He kissed her until his lungs burned. When she pulled back, he chased her lips, smiling as she kissed him back.
"Taicho. You. Need. Rest." She said in between kisses. She pulled away just long enough to whisper against his lips, "Taicho, your wound — you need rest." He responded by kissing her briefly and, pulling back, smoothing back her hair.
"Okay," He kissed her once more and lay down, opening his arms wide in invitation. Much to his delight, she settled in his arms with a sigh of contentment, resting her head against his chest. "Goodnight, Nanao-chan."
She cuddled against him and whispered back, "Goodnight."
He fell asleep to the feeling of his hand running aimlessly across his chest.
This time, Kyouraku found himself waking up before Nanao. It was so rare that she slept in, and given her current workload, she needed all the sleep she could get. Lazily opening his eyes, he saw the beginnings of dawn streaming through the windows. They still had at least two hours, and he would take every minute greedily.
He knew the moment he opened his eyes that she would sense it and wake — he wasn't sure how, but Nanao had a sixth sense for knowing when he was asleep and awake. However, she remained relaxed against his side, resting her head against his chest. At some point over the night, their legs had become entangled under the sheets, her foot trapped between his calves; her hand had slipped inside his yukata to rest over his heart.
He vowed to make this moment last as long as possible. However, that didn't mean he was above taking risks. He leaned down to kiss her hair before settling back into the pillow. He held his breath, waiting to see if she would wake. He would hold this moment for as long as he could.
He wasn't sure how long it had been when he felt Nanao stir. He had to hold back a chuckle; she would be irritated to know just how cute her sighs sounded when she woke. He waited with bated breath for her to pull away, expecting her to pull away and rise for the day. However, she only mumbled and relaxed on his chest.
He followed her lead and relaxed. He would allow them the privilege of another few minutes of comfort. Taking a second risk, he ran his hand up her back experimentally, and when she only buried herself deeper into his side, he ran his hand back down her back.
He'd been relaxed to the point of sleep when he felt Nanao stir again, stretching across his chest. Tilting his head down, he saw her eyes flutter open, shining a soft and powdery violet in the dawn.
"Good morning." She said, looking up at him, her eyes soft and sleepy.
He'd never heard her voice that deep and rough with sleep. Cupping the side of her face, he reached over to press his lips against her forehead. Allowing his lips to linger, he closed his eyes and breathed her in — ink and lavender. He'd long since come to associate Nanao with the smell of ink. However, after That Night, he couldn't associate lavender with anything but Nanao.
"Good morning, darling," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. He smiled down at her. "Did you sleep well?"
"I did — and you?" she said softly. "Better?"
He felt her soul stretch across his and had to keep himself from sinking into it.
"Much better." He felt her run her fingers absentmindedly along his chest — a habit he was quickly becoming addicted to. At the feeling, he allowed himself to caress her reiastu with his, and when she returned the gesture, he relaxed into the blissful feeling of their entwining. He wanted to lean down and kiss her, but the risk of breaking the spell they found themselves currently under. It was too much to risk.
He smiled against her hair when he felt her sigh contently and burrow herself deeper into his chest.
The golden light of dawn was bleeding into the room when she finally tilted her head up. "I should go."
"No," he pouted in her ear, holding her more securely to his chest. "You should stay."
To his never-ending surprise, Nanao bridged the gap between them and chastely kissed his cheek before sitting up and pressing her hand against his chest. "Well, someone has to work."
His hand ran up and down her back, matching her strokes on his chest. "I'll come in and do an hour's worth of paperwork if you stay."
She shivered under his touch and, unconvincingly, pretended to be unaffected. "There is more than an hour's worth of paperwork."
"Fine," he heaved a sigh and fell on his back, dramatically draping an arm over his eyes, "I suppose I'll just have to see you later."
"That is assuming you come in at all."
Opening one eye, he was amused to find that she was fighting off a smile, doing her best to glare at him.
"As if I would miss the opportunity to see my precious Nanao-chan." He pulled her back down on the bed, pulling her back against his chest. He kissed the back of her neck and smiled into the soft skin as she shivered.
"Taicho!" she admonished and pulled away to get out of bed. At the door, she turned around and, using her best Ise Fukutaicho voice, ordered, "I'll be seeing you in the office no later than eleven, Captain."