Her guilt and shame were etched in the form on her desk with every pen stroke.

"Devision, Rank, Name, Manner of Death." There was nothing more unnerving than the death of a division member on what should have been a routine assignment. An assignment that she should have been on. She had delegated The assignment to keep the division running precisely on schedule. "Eight Division — Fifth Seat, Yatsuneko, Keiko — DOA — killed in action on routine patrol Rukongai, 37th district by an unknown assailant/entity."

The report was quick and easy to file, leaving no room for personal details about the deceased. There was no space for their lives before joining the Gotei-13. There was no space for the achievements or sacrifices they had made over the years in the service to said institution. Most notably, there was no space to list the lives they'd touched and who had been left in their wake. Fifth Seat, Yatsuneko, had a husband in the Sixth Division—a husband who had been left to wade through the wake of her loss.

Kyouraku Taicho had spoken to Yatsuneko-san's husband earlier in the afternoon and returned quiet and somber. Based on how his reiatsu was closed off, she knew he was hurting in ways he did not want to share. She did her best not to let it get to her — but it did. He rarely closed himself off to her, but that was not unusual. For as open and gregarious as he was, Kyouraku Taicho was guarded when it came to his true feelings and troubles. He was quick to hide his hurt, distress, and shame. She knew he buried any feelings that strayed from light and amusement. She understood; she did it herself, but she hated that he felt he had to withhold anything from him.

For most of the late afternoon, he had remained silent. He'd said nothing about his conversation with Yatsuneko-san's husband and simply sat down and began working on paperwork. She didn't have to ask Captian Kyouraku to know the conversation had gone poorly — how could it have gone any other way? The man would be in mourning right now, feeling this loss acutely. Losing someone so precious to you like that, so suddenly, would scar. She was sure he would feel a chasm of emptiness — a presence that remained even in its absence.

She never wanted to feel that absence — that emptiness. She had to fight the urge to look at the man sitting at the rarely-used desk beside hers. No. There was no comparison — the man had lost his wife, and her Taicho was just that — her Taicho. It was foolish even to make such a comparison. Foolish and inappropriate, she scolded herself.

Yet.

Yet, she could not keep her mind from straying to that kiss at the Fourth. Her soul had been on fire, her mind gone blank, and her body igniting in a scintillating pleasure she associated only with him. At the moment, all she knew was him. All she had felt was his fingers in her hair, his lips moving against hers, his tongue caressing hers, his stubble tickling her cheek; he had been everywhere.

She knew that whatever was simmering between her and Kyouraku Taicho was dangerous. She prided herself on being self-aware and sensible — self-aware enough to know that her feelings for him went beyond friendship and far beyond what was appropriate between Taicho and Fukutaicho. She was sensible enough to know that these feelings were not to be acknowledged, let alone acted on. Except, it seemed that in times of terror, she — they — lost their senses and gave in to raw emotion. Those kisses usually followed moments when they were separated in life-threatening situations. Situations where keeping up their play act was unimportant; all that mattered was being close and knowing the other was alive.

She wasn't exactly sure when those desperate kisses had started, but to her estimation, they had been going on for nearly three decades. The first time it happened, they had been separated in a confrontation. In the dark of night, both exhausted, it had taken them nearly an hour to find each other. She'd been injured and losing blood, and by the time they saw each other, she had been on the verge of losing consciousness. Before her sluggish brain could process what was happening, they were wrapped in each other's arms and kissing desperately. She'd lost consciousness at some point and only had fuzzy memories of him calling her name as he blinked in and out of focus. When they both recovered, they went on as if nothing had happened. After a while, she wondered if it had happened at all or if it was a figment of blood loss until it happened again.

Those moments of terror-fueled passion were never addressed. They never let those slipups impact their relationship — they couldn't. The moment they calmed down, they fell back into their respective roles and returned to pretending nothing had happened.

Thinking about those moments of weakness was dangerous, and she knew better. They were friends, but, at its core, their relationship was professional, which would never change, which was why she had to shut down this train of thought immediately. There was no place for those silly feelings in the real world.

"Nanao-chan, you've been staring at the same form for the past ten minutes." He broke through her thoughts. "Are you done? Can I sign off on it?"

He sounded tense and exhausted, sitting upright at his desk with his pink haori draped over his chair, filling out paperwork. It's a rare sight to behold. She would be grateful for such a rare occurrence on any other day. Today, however, the sight of him diligently working away made her nauseous — she wished he were lounging on the couch basking in the late afternoon sun. It was her fault he was sitting at his desk filling out paperwork.

"Sorry —" She cleared her throat. "Sorry, sir. I was distracted."

He was tense because she had delegated the assignment to catch up on last-minute changes to the budget. Budgeting had cost their Yatsuneko-san her life. She had only compounded his tension with her lack of communication; She could still feel his arms tight around her as he clung to her outside the morgue.

"It never gets easier. Filling out these forms." Even lost in his own mind, Kyouraku could see she was unsettled.

She hated when his voice took on that tone, that deep melancholy. A melancholy that he worked so hard to conceal beneath layers of flamboyant pink silk, endlessly flowing sake, parties, and warm disposition that rivaled the sun.

He finally turned to look at her, his eyes haunted. She knew that for as lackadaisical as her Taicho came off, she cared deeply for every soul in their division, and every single loss weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The magnitude of his pain hurt her in ways she was not comfortable acknowledging — let alone voicing to herself.

"It's nearly dark; we should wrap up this next stack of paperwork and go home." She wanted this day to be over as quickly as possible. Dinner, shower, and an early bedtime would surely disappear all these feelings.

His reiatsu flared briefly, just enough that she could sense barely restrained panic before he clamped down on it. She hated that she'd caused this. He should never feel like that.

"Nanao-chan," he spoke in a quiet and almost timid voice. It was all wrong. Her Taicho didn't do timid. "Let's do this after dinner. You haven't eaten all day. Could I make us something? Wouldn't that be nice?" His eyes regarded her with such intensity that she was taken aback. She felt exposed under his gaze. As if he saw through her carefully constructed strict persona, exposing her guilt and pain. Their shared pain.

"That's not a good idea. We have a lot to do, and tomorrow is going to be busy. I have to rework the schedule. You should be leading sword drills in the morning, and I have to run the kido — "

"Please?" The seriousness of the request stopped her dead in her tracks.

She knew he would drop the subject if she declined, but something about his countenance held her tongue. She knew if she stuck to their carefully rehearsed game, he would drop the subject, and they would part ways as they did every time.

How could she say no? She should say no. No was the right answer. The best answer. No one avoided any path that could lead to regrets. They had already crossed too many lines today. But how could she say no to those pained eyes and that pleading tone? She remembered his eyes wild with fear and his reiatsu barely under control.

"Alright," No. She meant to say no. "But it can't take too long — tomorrow's a busy day. And no funny business. We have to finish this paperwork; we're already behind." Damnit. She meant to say no — but how could she say no?

"Oh! You won't regret it!" The spark of joy in his eyes was worth it. Well worth whatever misstep she'd just committed. "You know I make the best katsudon in Seireitei, right? Everyone knows I do. My katsudon is famous!" He made a show of putting on his kimono and gathering his hat. His carefree tone was clearly an attempt to make her feel better, and she, in return, played along as best as she could.

"So, you've said. Many. Many. Many times," she said, rolling her eyes. She could feel the tension beginning to ease from her body. She picked up the paperwork and followed him out of the office.

The walk to his house was uneventful. Outside the subdued halls of the Eighth, walking through Seireitei, life continued as uneventfully as the day before. Usually, their early evening walks attracted minimal attention from other shinigami; today, there were far too many eyes on them. It wasn't surprising, after their spectacle, that was to be expected.

Perceptive as ever, Kyouraku Taicho's reiatsu extended to brush lightly against hers, and she had to fight the urge to speed up her pace and close the distance between them. However, as tempting as it was, they could not afford another slipup. Though still tense, his reiatsu was calmer than it had been earlier in the afternoon and brought a sense of warmth and peace to her soul; its presence played no small factor in lessening her unease. He had a way of defusing any tension in any situation. She had nearly relaxed by the time they reached his door.

"Nanao-chan, you can put that paperwork in the sitting room. I'll go get things started?"

She loved his house. The mixture of traditional and modern was so unique to him. Every corner of the home was imbued with his presence, his scent lingering in every room, his reiatsu ingrained into the walls. She loved spending time in his house. She knew it was inappropriate, but being in his home, surrounded by his essence, comforted her like nothing else.

She entered his sitting area and placed the paperwork by the table in the center of the room. The room was a near-perfect reflection of him — chaos that hid a particular carefulness. Looking around the sitting room, she took a moment to appreciate the cushions and a bottle of sake hat. He had clearly been lying there the previous night and hadn't tried before leaving this morning. Not that she could begrudge him for it, given the morning they'd had — that he'd had.

The sliding door was left open to reveal the neatly kept garden centered around an old cherry tree. He loved his garden. She did, too. Quiet nights spent sitting in the light of the moon and looking out into the carefully tended garden were some of her favorite nights. Not that she would ever admit it out loud, let alone to Kyouraku Taicho.

Books were neatly stacked against the room's walls; regardless of how scattered he appeared, he took meticulous care of things precious to him — people precious to him, a treacherous part of her mind whispered. Papers were strewn on the table in the center of the room. She couldn't help but glance over them. Poetry. Of course, it was poetry. About her, nonetheless. Most of the content made her blush, but there were some rather touching and brutally honest parts — somehow, those parts made her blush more. Quickly setting the paperwork down by the table, she made her way back to the kitchen.

She'd yet to see a house rival it in the entirety of Seireitei. Like him, his house was dynamic and complex, exciting and comforting. The only throughline was the warm wood tones throughout the house. Try as she might, she couldn't deny that she loved his house. His couch was extremely comfortable; his garden was a work of art; his baths, which she had only used once while sick, were as luxurious as any spa; and his bookshelves, which lined several walls, were her dreams come true. Worst of all, his scent — warm sake, old books, and summer sunshine — lingered throughout the house, bringing her an embarrassing amount of comfort. She loved his house.

Her favorite part of the house was the kitchen. His dining room and kitchen area were renovated to match current trends in the human world. The expansive room, rich in warm wooden accents, was divided between a dining room and a kitchen by a white stone island. On one side was a long table that had hosted many parties, and on the other side was a kitchen he claimed was the best in all of Soul Society — she had no doubt it was. Despite the size of the room and the steal and sleek appliances, it had the same cozy and lived-in feeling as the rest of his home. She couldn't say the same about her home, let alone her barely used kitchen.

She took her time walking through his dining area and around the spacious island. His back was to her as he pulled out pans from the tall cabinets when she walked into the kitchen. He'd taken off his haori and Taicho's robe while she was in the sitting room, and she couldn't help but admire the taught muscles on his back. She quickly crushed that line of thought and any feelings it sparked and focused on the smells emanating from the stove.

Kyouraku Taicho had always had a talent for cooking. He always boasted about being one of the best cooks in the entirety of the Gotei-13, and she had to begrudgingly admit that he was right. She'd yet to eat one of his meals that she didn't like.

"Did you hear me? Nanao-chan? Can you grab those carrots? They're on the counter next to you."

Startling, she reached for the carrots. "Of course." She handed him the carrots, and he turned back to the cabinet. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," he said in a mock serious tone, pointing a carrot at her, "I told you: I make the best katsudon. I have to be the one to make it. You can sit here and look cute, my lovely Nanao-chan." He pointed the carrot at a tall stool that was tucked under the island and gave her reiatsu a playful nudge. She was relieved to see him slipping back into his usual flirtatious role in their song and dance when she glared back.

She scowled at him, calling her "lovely" and "his," but didn't have the heart to reprimand him, not when he was working so hard to bring a sense of levity to their evening and gave his reiatsu a gentle pushback. After the day she'd had, she found she didn't mind the endearment as much as usual. The part of her mind reared its traitorous little head and spoke again, plainly telling her that she didn't mind it.

Watching him work had always been a soothing balm. In the kitchen, sword work, even writing poetry if she were to be honest, his talent and precision flowed with ease. He was brilliant and talented — effortlessly so. She sometimes envied how things seemed to come to him so easily when he applied himself. It frustrated her to no end when he would play-act incompetence. Yes, they served a purpose, but playing these games with her was unnecessary.

Watching his silent rhythm, she found her mind drifting. She wondered if her Fifth-seat husband was home in his kitchen. Alone. Making dinner for one instead of two. She was suddenly immensely grateful Kyouraku Taicho had suggested sharing dinner.

"Nanao-chan, do you think it will take long for summer to come? Ukitake seems to think so." He was so good at capturing her attention.

"I'm not sure. Spring is just starting."

"I'd be okay with it taking long. Cold weather is for cuddling. We could cuddle outside if you'd like. I dream of sharing a blanket under the stars with my precious Nanao-chan. Wouldn't it be romantic?"

Preposterous.

"I never said anything about cuddling under the stars. Speaking of, you can't leave your doors open when it's cold outside, and you should not be sleeping outside. You'll get sick."

"But how am I supposed to appreciate the stars if the doors are closed?" He shot back with his usual pout.

She almost smiled but kept up her role in their usual game, "You can't see the stars while you're sleeping. When you get sick, I won't be taking care of you. You can stay at the Fourth." It was so easy to slip back into their usual banter.

"You wouldn't dare. You know I hate the Fourth. I need my sweet Nanao-chan to heal me."

"I won't be so sweet if you get sick because you were careless."

"HA!" He pointed with the knife he'd been using. "So, you do admit. You are sweet!" This time, his smile wasn't an attempt at levity; it was real. Real and contagious.

"I never said that — I said I wouldn't be sweet."

"It's the same thing, dear."

"It is not."

At this point, they were both smiling.

"Well, we both know you'd take care of me." His smile was lighthearted, but his words held certainty. She really couldn't deny it. Of course, she'd take care of him. They both knew she would. Regardless of how he got to the Fourth, she would be the one they'd call. They both also knew she didn't mind taking care of him. No matter how much he wined. Seeing him take ill or suffer an injury unsettled her to her core. Taking care of him calmed that sickening feeling. Not that she would ever voice it out loud. That would be a step too far from their carefully maintained boundaries. A step that would have consequences.

Stepping away from his stirring, he moved to pour two cups of sake and passed one to her. She should refuse the cup. She should say no. But it had also been a stressful day, she rationalized. Cautiously, she reached out a hand, their fingers brushing as she accepted the cup from him.

She looked up only to find his eyes boring into hers. She had a feeling that whatever was going through his mind was serious, too serious, and consequential to be voiced.

"I would do the same. I'll always take care of you. You know that, right?" His voice was light, but his eyes held a steadfastness that she couldn't avoid. Of course, he would. She had no doubt.

The air was uncomfortably thick with the intensity of his confession. She needed to break the spell. "Well, since I usually end up at the Fourth because I'm picking up your slack, it's only fair." She sipped the sake.

"Right. Fair." There was an air of despondency to his response, and his reiatsu tightened up again. Shit. There it was. That haunted look in his eyes again. The same one from earlier. Shit. She'd ruined the lightness of the moment.

He turned around to open the rice maker, his tension clear.

"I mean — well — I mean — " She tried to helplessly find words that never came naturally to her.

"Done!" He turned around smiling. She could see right through his smiles and charades enough to know his levity was all for show. Clapping, he announced, "The food is ready - are you ready to eat?"