Kyouraku was exhausted and in a foul mood.
Nanao had worked late the night before, and to distract himself from his restlessness without her, he'd stayed out late, only crawling into bed beside her in the early hour of the morning. He had intended to sleep in; however, a hell butterfly summoned him to a meeting at dawn, and, to his never-ending torment, the meeting had lasted hours.
It was approaching lunchtime when they let out, and he was tempted to go home and nap, but he had yet to see Nanao today. While they'd shared a bed every night that week, it had been days since they'd spent any substantial time together outside work, and he found himself sorely missing her company.
He extended his reiatsu and traced her to the office. He would quickly drop by to see if he could nap on the roof.
When he stepped into the office, he found Nanao standing looking out the window. She turned around when she sensed his presence in the room.
"What's wrong?" Her concern was palpable, permeating the room.
"What?"
"Are you alright?" she walked up to him and placed a hand on his side.
He grasped her free hand and brought it to his chest, "It's nothing."
Her eyebrows pinched, and her reiatsu flared from his head to his toes. "It doesn't feel like nothing." She paused and seemed to realize what she said and blushed brightly, "I mean — that is —"
"I'm just tired. I woke up early."
"You had me worried because you woke up early?" She scolded.
"Well, dear, it was very, very early," he pouted and was rewarded with a stern frown.
"Taicho," she glared, "it was seven in the morning — a reasonable hour to wake on a work day."
"But I didn't even get to nap," he whined.
"You shouldn't be napping during work hours anyways, sir."
He grinned. "But Nanao-chan, your darling Shunsui is a growing boy."
"But nothing," she scolded and rolled her eyes. "Are you going to get any work done?"
"Um, no?" He said innocently.
Sighing, she patted his chest and pushed him back. "Well, then — get going,"
He moved to the door but stopped and turned to face her, "Nanao-chan."
"Yes, sir?" she said, turning her head to face him.
"Don't work too late. You've stayed late every night this week."
She let out an exasperated noise and returned her focus to a form on her desk.
It was true. Her work at the First had been increasingly demanding the past few weeks, and she'd been coming home later and later, much to Kyouraku's distaste. He'd been complaining nearly all week that she was never home in time for dinner.
"Please, Nanao-chan."
"I'll go home early today."
"I'm serious."
"Yes, dear," she said absentmindedly.
His breath caught at her slip-up. She'd so rarely called him anything other than his title, and here she was, calling him by a term of endearment, seemingly without any thought — at the office nonetheless! Before he could stop himself, he was at her side with his hand on her arm, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.
"I'll see you later?" he murmured against her cheek.
She turned and leaned up to gently brush her lips lightly against his cheek before falling back to her feet.
"I'll see you later," she said, smiling openly at him.
After a pause, she blushed brightly, stepped back, and quickly sat down.
He loved it when she got all flustered.
"No staying late."
"Yes, yes — now, stop disturbing my peace and go."
He left the office feeling lighter than he had all day.
Nanao had plans. She had spent the day looking forward to going home, taking a warm bath, reading a book, and retiring early. With or without Kyouraku's company, she was determined to sleep early. However, she'd been caught unawares by one Matsumoto Rangiku. Caught unawares and with no way to escape their monthly shopping trip.
Contrary to popular belief, though they had different public dispositions, she and Matsumoto shared many traits and values—one of which was a love for shopping. Try as she might to uphold her strict and no-nonsense persona, she enjoyed these afternoons out with her best friend and looked forward to them.
"What's going on with Kyouraku Taicho, Nanao?" Matsumoto asked, feigning innocence as she shuffled through dresses.
Nanao rolled her eyes — a typical, poorly veiled trap.
"The same as usual: dodging work, lazing in the sun, drinking — you should know this. You aid and abed him in doing most of these things," Nanao said accusingly, not bothering to look up from the dress she was assessing to meet her friend's eyes. She knew, however, that her answer would do nothing to satiate her friend's curiosity.
Matsumoto raised her head to eye her suspiciously. "The man barely comes out anymore, and when he does, he leaves early — barely drinks."
"Somehow, I highly doubt that." A lie, she realized — a startling lie.
Upon reflection, to her sudden surprise, she realized that Matsumoto was right. Though it had somehow escaped her notice, Kyouraku spent more evenings at home with her than out with a friend. On the nights he did go out, he was always home by midnight. Had she really gotten so used to their new routine that she didn't notice his change in routine
"Oh, come on, Nanao-chan, surely you know something?" Matsumoto drawled. "
Her friend had a knack for knowing when she was lying and a talent for getting her to talk.
"I really don't know what to tell you; what Kyouraku Taicho does outside of work is none of my business."
She risked looking up and saw Matsumoto's eyes narrow — caught.
"Oh, really?" The smugness in her friend's voice set off alarm bells. "None of your business? So, you wouldn't have anything to do with scheduling his appointments at the Fourth, or dragging him to haircuts, or making sure he goes to his fancy family parties?"
She sighed and rolled her eyes again. This particular line of discussion was a gateway into more probing questions — questions that were far too intimate and incriminating to be discussed in public.
"What's your point?"
"My point is that something suspicious is happening, and I think that something has to do with you," Matsumoto said, her tone jovial and teasing but her eyes sharp and accusatory.
She returned the piercing stare with a glare of her own. "As far as I can tell, nothing has changed about Kyouraku Taicho's habits."
"Sure, sure, of course not. Now, that doesn't explain your change in habits."
"Mine," she said flatly.
"Yours. You missed a book club meeting?" Damn. She thought no one would notice. "I went looking for you on Monday after book club, and Momo-chan said you missed the meeting. "I went to make sure you were alright, only to discover that you already had a guest — the very same guest that has been missing from outings recently."
"And! It seemed like you and said guest stayed out there awfully late."
"You watched us all night?!" she hissed in a whisper of disbelief.
"All night?!" Matsumoto's grin turned wicked, "So there is an us, and that us was together all night?"
"There's not —" Nanao cut herself off, catching all the sideways glances they were attracting. Nanao dropped her voice to speak sternly, "there is no us. It was just tea."
Lie.
A quirked eyebrow told her there was no way to escape this conversation or the truth. "Just tea?"
Matsumoto was instantly beside her, putting aside the dress she was holding and pulling her out of the shop by the hand.
"Rangiku-san! Hey!" Nanao protested, "I wasn't done — I wanted that dress!"
Matsumoto ignored her and continued to guide them through the maze of streets and alleys.
Nanao gave up all hope for the dress. "Rangiku-san? Where are you taking me."
"My place — you need a drink."
"That's unnecessary," she shot back, trying to appear unaffected.
Matsumoto stopped and turned to face her; her friend's smug look told her she would not be winning any awards for her acting abilities. "Yes, it is — you have a lot of explaining to do."
Her friend was right: if she wasn't getting out of this conversation, she needed a fortification to get through it.
Matsumoto made short work of ushering her into her home and setting them up with a bottle of plum wine.
"You are going to tell me everything."
"I…" What could she say?
"You?"
"I…"
What was there to say? She couldn't just say she no longer seemed to have the ability to refuse the magnetic pull of Kyouraku Taicho, that they had recently developed a highly unprofessional and inappropriate form of insomnia, that she was becoming increasingly more dependent on him, and that in her moments of weakness, she couldn't help but to wish for — hope for — a future that she knew was not theirs to have.
"You?"
She settled on the truth.
"I — we…" she breathed out. "I don't know what to tell you," She wasn't sure what she could or should divulge. However, based on the anxiety and fear currently coursing through her body, she knew, above all else, that she needed help.
Matsumoto's whole demeanor shifted, and a patient sympathy replaced the impish delight.
"Start at the beginning; tell me the facts."
Facts. Facts she could do.
She took a deep breath and began.
It took far less time than she expected to recount what had transpired since that fateful day at the morgue.
After she had completed her recitation, she waited for Matsumoto to process what she'd shared. Her friend had a calm and clinical expression — the same one she got when she dropped her bubbly act and focused on battle. It was so easy to forget how formidable and fearsome Matsumoto was; her act, a carefully manicured mask that more often than not gave her an upper hand, had served her well.
"So, the two of you share a bed every night — just share a bed, nothing more." She said slowly. Thinking out loud.
Nanao nodded, too embarrassed to voice it for the second time.
"And this has been going on for…"
"A few weeks."
"So, every time Kyouraku Taicho leaves early from the bars or doesn't show?"
"Yes," She nodded.
"And the night I saw you both having tea — he stayed over."
"Yes."
"I see." Matsumoto studied her carefully. She felt exposed in a way she rarely did and had to fight off the temptation of readjusting her glasses. "And you've really not done anything beyond sleep?"
She froze. That — that was not a fact she had relayed.
"You have." A flat statement.
"I — that is — we occasionally kiss."
Her friend's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and her eyes widened. However, to Nanao's surprise, none of her puckish teasing from earlier at the store returned.
"How occasionally is occasionally?"
Near Constantly. Like clockwork. There was not a night where she hadn't kissed him in the past few weeks. They kissed in a chaste greeting, shrouded under cover of night; in a languid rhythm, warm and cozy in bed; in a soft goodnight, wrapped in each other's arms; and, as of recently, in increasingly ardent heat under cool moonlight.
She couldn't resist the urge to remove her glasses this time, so she cleaned them on her sleeve.
"I see."
She nodded and returned her glasses, ready to face Matsumoto.
"And these kisses, are they...good?"
"Very." It slipped out before she could stop herself, and she could feel the flush crawl further up her neck; she was sure even her ears were bright red.
Matsumoto made a startled noise, and finally, her grin from earlier made its reappearance. Her admission seemed to break through and returned the grin to Matsumoto's face. "Oh, really?" She drawled. "I had always wondered, I mean, I've heard — obviously."
"You've never…" She had always assumed. She had always felt a particular burn when she thought about the likelihood her friend and her Taicho had been intimate. To know it never happened lifted a weight off her shoulders.
"Us?! No, never! Can you even imagine? It would be a disaster — two divisions would be down for the count, and half the sake of Seireitei would be gone."
She laughed. "Neither of you would ever get paperwork done. Hitsugaya Taicho would also not be happy."
Matsumoto chuckled and placed a hand over hers before asking softly, "do you worry about that? Him and other women."
She sighed and looked away, feeling raw and exposed. "I know I'm not the most — that is — I know he has a type, and I'm not that." She gestured to herself.
Matsumoto let out a bark of laughter that had her hackles up. "Are you serious?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Her friend raised her hands in apparent surrender. "No — no. You've heard how he speaks about you: did you see how elegantly my beautiful Nanao-chan took care of that hollow — She was shining like a goddess in the morning sunlight. I got my lovely Nanao-chan a new yukata for her birthday — it will bring out her enchanting eyes; my amazing Nanao-chan made a brand new and incredibly deadly kido spell today — it nearly burnt off my clothes — she's perfect."
She'd heard. For years, she'd been center stage to his public proclamations and poetic waxing of her beauty and skills. She'd listened to every single one of his declarations of undying love. All of them without substance. His only intention with his spectacle was to tease and rile her up. And it worked. His public spectacles never failed to disturb her peace — they were unprofessional and undermined her position as a high-ranking officer.
While his words initially stirred a flutter she'd rather not acknowledge, after years of ceaseless teasing, they fell flat and only bruised her ego.
Even now, with whatever they were doing — whatever they were becoming, his words still stung, and she had difficulty believing her friend's claims.
"He doesn't mean it in that way."
The hand around hers tightened. "Oh, sweetie. You think he's joking?"
She remained silent, still unable to process this newfound revelation.
"Nanao." Her voice was kind and soft.
Still, she couldn't quite believe her friend, not after years of evidence to the contrary. "You can't deny that he's never… he's never said it seriously."
Matsumoto sighed. There. No argument could be made against that simple truth.
And it broke her heart.
"You should talk to him," She pushed, nonetheless. "Have an honest conversation."
"It's not the that simple."
"Isn't it?"
"Of course, it isn't." There was too much at stake.
"You could have so much more — you could have a future together — be happy together."
Her heart tightened, and her stomach turned at the possibility. So tempting and so dangerous. What they had, their new game, was nascent, precious, and delicate. One false move, one minor slip-up, and everything they had built over the decades would shatter in one conversation.
"If it were that simple."
"It could be." Matsumoto's calm sincerity nearly broke her resolve. It could be easy. However, the undercurrent of heartbreak lacing those three simple words warned of the devastation that lived down that not-so-simple path.
She knew what her friend had been through; she'd spent long nights consoling her after one too many heartbreak-induced drinks. She'd seen the magnitude of Matsumoto's suffering and never wished to put herself in a position to experience even a fraction of that pain.
All her fight left her in a breath. It wasn't and couldn't be.
"I'll have another drink."
Kyouraku woke up on his porch in the early evening and decided to keep his promise and check on Nanao. He reached the office and found it empty. Good — she'd left work at a reasonable time. Reaching out with his reiatsu, he was surprised that she was nowhere to be found.
What?
Extending his reiatsu, he found her at the Rukongai. What was she doing there? She wasn't supposed to be on patrol today. He carefully ran his reiatsu over hers and felt her unhurt and annoyed. Upon further probing, he felt her gently push him back — she was relaxed and amused. He was glad she was having fun.
He was more than confident she could handle whatever she was doing by herself and decided to find his usual drinking buddies. He'd been neglecting his friends with his and Nanao's changing relationship. It would also be good to dispel the rumors he was sure were swirling around about them.
He quickly found his usual group at their most frequented bar and sat in his usual spot.
"Oh!" Kensei said, looking up, "Kyouraku is here!"
Suddenly, he found himself hyper-aware of the eyes carefully examining him.
Hirako grinned, "So, the wife let you come out tonight, too? Four nights this week?"
He sighed dramatically. "Not my wife — no matter how many times I propose, I can't seem to get her to say yes," he said dramatically.
"You tease the poor woman too much," Ukitake interjected, sitting in the seat at his side. "Leave her be; she's much too good for you."
"So cruel, Ukitake," he pouted. "Your words wound me."
"It's true," his friend pushed, his eyes glinting in that dissecting way they had when the topic had first been broached, and he had been left stunned in his indecision.
The table laughed.
It stung. He could be. Maybe.
"Where's Matsumoto-san? She said she'd be here early." It was best to change the subject.
Hirako's grin widened wolfishly, and his eyes gleamed with mischief, "Did your wife not tell you? The two are in the Rukongai — something about a monthly shopping trip."
That would explain why she was at the Rukongai.
Kensei pilled on, "I figured that's why she let you come out twice in a row."
He rolled his eyes and, laughing, decided to play along with Ukitake, "Ukitake's right; there is no wife." he laughed it off. He'd said it enough times before for it to sound believable. "Too much work." He downed his cup of sake. "Someone nagging me every day? I get enough of that at work. Can you imagine — me? With a wife?"
The table laughed once more, taking their usual jabs.
He had been imagining. He'd spent far too much time imagining. He poured and downed another cup. He and Nanao had been flirting with domesticity, walking a precarious tightrope that could spell their ruin. He wasn't sure if he would be able to handle the loss of what they had, but he knew that, at this point, they were too far gone. They were too dependent and too tied together to turn back. He wasn't sure he wanted to turn back.
"Sure — sure," he heard Ukitake say gleefully as he approached the table, "and that's why you're never out, and when you are, you're always distracted?"
"I've been out nearly every day this week." It was true enough.
Ukitake grinned as he prodded, "And if you do come out at all, you go home early?"
Nanao would be more than upset if he let them get caught. There was only one option. He poured himself a cup of sake before addressing the table, "You know me well enough to know I'm not a one-woman sort of man."
Ukitake's eyebrows shot up, and eyes narrowed — even in his surprise, his friend could see straight through his act, but thankfully, he dropped the subject.
"Is that so?"
That bubbly voice was the last thing he wanted to hear.
"Well, we all knew that, didn't we?" Matsumoto's tone was jovial and joking, but her eyes held a warning.
Shit.
"Nothing indicates otherwise," Ukitake piled on.
"Is that where you've been these past few weeks?" Kensei asked, "Here we thought you were playing house with your uptight wife — excuse me, Fukutaicho —but you were just having a good time?"
He had to keep himself still; any false move would give him away. Since the late winter, the idea of spending his nights bedding women throughout Seireitei made his skin crawl. Rather than dwell on his discomfort, he laughed along with the table.
"Well, Ise-san will be happy that her name is no longer associated with yours."
Matsumoto laughed, "I'll be sure to let her know." A clear threat.
Shit.
"Speaking of your not-wife," Matsumoto said while shuffling through the bags and extending a hand with a bag out towards him. "This is hers."
That caught his attention. He could only hope that Matsumoto had steered his sweet Nanao-chan in her choice of clothes.
"What is it?" He asked before taking a casual sip of sake.
"That," she said, her eyes glinting in a way that promised hell to pay with Nanao, "is for your sweet Nanao-chan to tell you or, better yet, show you. Let's say you won't want to say no to posing for the centerfold this year."
He chose the wrong moment to sip his sake. As Matsumoto's lascivious grin widened, he inhaled the sake.
The table broke into raucous laughter at his near asphyxiation.
Matsumoto laughed. "You're so easy."
He only glared as he tried to catch his breath.
With the group sufficiently distracted, he contemplated checking in on Nanao. Given that whatever was in the bag would likely be a scandalous piece of fabric, he bet Nanao would be in quite the state.
Slowly, he extended his reiatsu. He found her at home, relaxed and sleepy. Surprised and satisfied that she was home and well, he pulled back and returned to the conversation at hand.
He did his best to rejoin the conversation; however, in truth, he just wanted to go home to Nanao. She'd been overworking herself this week, and he'd barely seen her. He really should make sure she took time off this weekend. Maybe they could have a picnic.
He was slightly surprised when, after an hour, he felt Nanao gently reach for him; usually, he reached for her spirit. They had been careful to be discrete about any reiatsu contact. However, recently, they'd become more emboldened and transparent in seeking out one another. Gladly reciprocating her contact, he entwined their reiatsus as conspicuously as possible. She felt content and tired. He had to stop himself from laughing when he felt her sleepy tugging on his reiatsu — his ever-so-serious Nanao-chan reaching for him as she fell asleep. He gently coaxed her to sleep and had to hold himself back from sulking. All he wanted to do was to go home to Nanao. However, based on the earlier conversation, leaving would only further complicate their situation. Once she was asleep, he focused on the conversation, doing his best to be present.
It was late at night when the group disbanded. He knew it would be best to go home. While he'd dispelled some of the rumors surrounding them, his casual indifference and joking came at a cost — if he were seen going to her house, all his efforts would be in vain. Still, he wanted to be sure. He caressed her reiatsu and felt her reach for him. That made up his mind.
It took less than a minute to reach her house. Quitely, he walked to the porch doors and, with ease, slid them open. Her wards had become increasingly easy to work around. He doubted she had simplified them, but he wouldn't push her on why he could now circumvent them easily.
Closing the door behind him, he made his way to the bathroom. At some point in the past weeks, he'd forgotten his sleepwear at her house, and she'd hung it next to hers. His sweet Nanao-chan was nothing if not deliberate, so to see his sleepwear in her space meant she was making a conscious decision to accept him into her home — into her life. In the cover of night, there seemed to be no more charades.
Walking as silently as he could to the bedroom, he found her sleeping on her back with an arm extended above her head. He had to hold back a chuckle — she really was very cute when she slept.
He crawled into his side of the bed, and she rolled over to drape herself across his chest. She stirred in his arms and grasped his yukata. "Shunsui?" she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.
His breath caught. To hear her say his name, half-asleep, was something he'd never imagined possible. Yet, she'd been saying it name more and more, usually in sleepy slip-ups. He couldn't imagine spending his nights doing anything else but listening to his name said like that.
He smoothed back her hair and brought his lips to her forehead, "Hi, sweetheart, I'm home."
"What took you so long?" she whispered, her voice groggy with sleep.
He chuckled; of course, she knew he would eventually give in. "I had to keep up appearances."
"What?" she said, her voice still groggy with sleep.
"Don't worry about it." He ran a soothing hand through her hair. Go back to sleep."
She hummed in acknowledgment and raised her head to look at him through half-lidded eyes. There really was no place he'd rather be.
"Come're," she mumbled softly.
He was not one to deny her and tipped his head down, lightly brushed his lips against hers, and entangled their reiatus deeper.
"I missed you," he murmured.
She pulled back to meet his eyes, her hand cupping his face and thumb caressing the peak of his high cheekbone. "I saw you this afternoon."
"I know, but I still missed you." He traced her jawline with a finger and kissed her again. "We haven't spent time, just the two of us at home in a while."
She returned his slow kisses, her hands tangling in his hair. "I've been busy at the First," she murmured against his lips.
"I've noticed." He smoothed back her hair and kissed her again. He laid back down and, resting his head on the pillow, held her close to his chest.
She stretched herself across his chest and tucked her head under his chin. He brought a hand to run his fingers through her hair and was rewarded with a small sigh.
"Logistics?"
"Logistics things," she said dismissively and massaged his chest.
"What sort of Logistics things?"
"It's nothing."
Classified. He held back a sigh. "If you can't tell me, it's not nothing."
"Really, it's fine," she was evading him.
Secrecy didn't bode well.
"I don't like this, Nanao."
She looked back up at him with a stubborn glint in her eyes that he knew meant that his arguments would not be entertained.
"I wouldn't knowingly put myself in danger."
"Hmmm. That's what I'm worried about." Tilting his head down, he ran his knuckles gently over her cheek, "Promise me you'll tell me if something is off?"
She frowned and avoided his gaze, "you know I can't."
Sighing, he lay his head back against his pillow. She returned to her position on his chest. Running his fingertips along her back, he did his best to keep his tone light. "Just — just be careful."
"I couldn't handle it if anything happened to my precious Nanao-chan. My world would end — stop spinning — grow dark and cold without her there to guide me." He cooed, trying to lighten the mood.
She tensed in his arms, her eyes dimming, and a wave of solemn resignation coursed through her spirit.
"Nanao-chan?" he asked, concerned at the sudden change in her demeanor.
The only answer he received was silence and a pulsing ache.
He tipped her chin up and was startled to see the hurt swimming in her eyes. "Sweetheart? Is something wrong?"
She shifted her eyes away. "It's nothing," she whispered.
"Nanao?"
She only buried herself closer into his chest.
"Goodnight," she said, her voice strained.
Still startled, he didn't know what to say. He brought her closer to him and soothed his hands over her back.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
Her breathing evened out, and his mind drifted back to the conversation from earlier that evening. He supposed their words had a level of truth behind them. Was their relationship really at a point where others could see right through them? He honestly thought they were being discrete. But, here he was, sleeping in her bed, as comfortable as if he were in his own bed. Did he care what they all thought?
Tightening his arms, he focused on her warmth and allowed sleep to take him.