cashew (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} cashew) wrote,@ 2007-10-03 00:22:00 |
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More 20loves - yeah, I bet you thought I forgot about this
Theme: 7 and 15, Table 2
Author: Me
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ukitake/Byakuya
Disclaimer: Belongs to Kubo Tite and etc. Although he really ought to give us more fangirl fodder.
Theme 7
The first time you seriously consider quitting your job was when Hisana died. Byakuya locked himself in his room and refused to come out for three days. Genryuusai-sensei had been so furious that he’d ordered you to go flush out the spoiled Kuchiki heir or else. Even before you had arrived at the Kuchiki mansion you had thought Genryuusai-sensei was over reacting.
Then you’d see the room. White upon white, layers of lily petals strewn across the floor, over the futon, piled in little drifts against the low desk. And sitting the middle of it all was Byakuya, quietly and methodically pulling the petals off of a handful of lilies and spreading them across the room.
You didn’t think when you asked, “What are you doing?”
Byakuya’s eyes had always been distant. It had been the first thing you noticed and had caused you to lose many days of sleep over the worry that he would one day disappear into those depths. Yet, unlike others, you did not fear them, those eyes that can sometimes look farther than the night sky. Yet despite their distance, they had always been shining with life. Until now.
You tried to shake the cold shiver that had taken hold of your spine when his eyes met yours and approached the young man. Despite your gradual approach and that your eyes had met, Byakuya had still been startled by your appearance. Blank eyes widening without recognition and you could feel your heart squeeze tight. You ignored his silence and repeated yourself, the cold growing worse as the silence stretched.
Finally he answered, “Hisana likes lilies,” then, in an even flatter voice, “especially in the summer.”
“Oh,” you’d replied and then sat, in the middle of a large pile of lily petals and just watched as Byakuya returned to his task. You can’t remember how long you were with him, it might have been an hour or a day. All you remember is the endless white and the helplessness that gripped your entire being. There was no wonder or thought, nothing but blank numbness as you watched the petals fall.
Yet, when all the petals had been picked from their stems, Byakuya’s eyes regained their life. He hadn’t needed to say anything. A simple touch and squeeze to your hand was all you needed to pull yourself from the trance and lead him out of that room of white and death.
It was then, as you left the room hand in hand with the Sixth Division captain, you realized that you could never leave.
Theme 15
You’re not sure what woke you from your slumber. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, lazy in the early morning and loathed to get up. You sympathize as you can still feel the hazy warm edges of sleep tickling the corners of your eyes. Your bed feels cold and empty, although you’ve slept in it for a night, and you wonder, now ten years later, if you’ll ever learn to get used to not having that small body pressed up against your side, making small cooing sounds as he slept.
You force your body to get up, shaking off what felt like the remnants of a dream, and trudge to your morning ritual. Wash and dress and dine, then stroll to the Thirteenth Division’s headquarters because you can’t muster enough energy yet to shunpo your way there. On the way you pick up a steaming manjuu and savor it as you walk to work.
When you arrive, you nod a greeting to your subordinates and try to keep from noticing the way Kiyone and Sentaro is too helpful when it comes to whatever little thing, or the glaring emptiness in the chair on the other side of your office. You especially try not to notice the way Kuchiki hovers around you, like a lost child looking for her family. Sometimes you wonder what he was thinking, placing this kid under your care instead of taking her to the Sixth.
But you try not to let your mind wander in that direction. After all, down that path inevitably lies the memories of the marriage and too soon funeral, of white lily petals strewn across the floors, drifting everywhere and covering every last sign of life. It had been the height of summer, yet when you stepped through the gate you had to rub your eyes at the wintry sight.
So instead you concentrate on the work in front of you, reading and signing report after report, taking a break here and there when your body fails your mind. You nod thanks to Kiyone when she brings in the tea and drift back to the paper at hand.
You must have nodded off again, still tired after the recent debacle and the hours you’d spent in the library archives, because the next thing you know you’re being shaken awake by a concerned Kiyone. With her was the soft waft of sakura and you inquired after the source.
“I brought sakura daifuku for a snack,” she answers, holding up the small pink confection for your inspection.
“Oh,” you say numbly and ignore the way she shifts, unsure and worried. You take the pastry and swallow a mouthful, ignoring the way the sticky rice clings to your throat, refusing to let go.
Theme: 7 and 15, Table 2
Author: Me
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ukitake/Byakuya
Disclaimer: Belongs to Kubo Tite and etc. Although he really ought to give us more fangirl fodder.
Theme 7
The first time you seriously consider quitting your job was when Hisana died. Byakuya locked himself in his room and refused to come out for three days. Genryuusai-sensei had been so furious that he’d ordered you to go flush out the spoiled Kuchiki heir or else. Even before you had arrived at the Kuchiki mansion you had thought Genryuusai-sensei was over reacting.
Then you’d see the room. White upon white, layers of lily petals strewn across the floor, over the futon, piled in little drifts against the low desk. And sitting the middle of it all was Byakuya, quietly and methodically pulling the petals off of a handful of lilies and spreading them across the room.
You didn’t think when you asked, “What are you doing?”
Byakuya’s eyes had always been distant. It had been the first thing you noticed and had caused you to lose many days of sleep over the worry that he would one day disappear into those depths. Yet, unlike others, you did not fear them, those eyes that can sometimes look farther than the night sky. Yet despite their distance, they had always been shining with life. Until now.
You tried to shake the cold shiver that had taken hold of your spine when his eyes met yours and approached the young man. Despite your gradual approach and that your eyes had met, Byakuya had still been startled by your appearance. Blank eyes widening without recognition and you could feel your heart squeeze tight. You ignored his silence and repeated yourself, the cold growing worse as the silence stretched.
Finally he answered, “Hisana likes lilies,” then, in an even flatter voice, “especially in the summer.”
“Oh,” you’d replied and then sat, in the middle of a large pile of lily petals and just watched as Byakuya returned to his task. You can’t remember how long you were with him, it might have been an hour or a day. All you remember is the endless white and the helplessness that gripped your entire being. There was no wonder or thought, nothing but blank numbness as you watched the petals fall.
Yet, when all the petals had been picked from their stems, Byakuya’s eyes regained their life. He hadn’t needed to say anything. A simple touch and squeeze to your hand was all you needed to pull yourself from the trance and lead him out of that room of white and death.
It was then, as you left the room hand in hand with the Sixth Division captain, you realized that you could never leave.
Theme 15
You’re not sure what woke you from your slumber. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, lazy in the early morning and loathed to get up. You sympathize as you can still feel the hazy warm edges of sleep tickling the corners of your eyes. Your bed feels cold and empty, although you’ve slept in it for a night, and you wonder, now ten years later, if you’ll ever learn to get used to not having that small body pressed up against your side, making small cooing sounds as he slept.
You force your body to get up, shaking off what felt like the remnants of a dream, and trudge to your morning ritual. Wash and dress and dine, then stroll to the Thirteenth Division’s headquarters because you can’t muster enough energy yet to shunpo your way there. On the way you pick up a steaming manjuu and savor it as you walk to work.
When you arrive, you nod a greeting to your subordinates and try to keep from noticing the way Kiyone and Sentaro is too helpful when it comes to whatever little thing, or the glaring emptiness in the chair on the other side of your office. You especially try not to notice the way Kuchiki hovers around you, like a lost child looking for her family. Sometimes you wonder what he was thinking, placing this kid under your care instead of taking her to the Sixth.
But you try not to let your mind wander in that direction. After all, down that path inevitably lies the memories of the marriage and too soon funeral, of white lily petals strewn across the floors, drifting everywhere and covering every last sign of life. It had been the height of summer, yet when you stepped through the gate you had to rub your eyes at the wintry sight.
So instead you concentrate on the work in front of you, reading and signing report after report, taking a break here and there when your body fails your mind. You nod thanks to Kiyone when she brings in the tea and drift back to the paper at hand.
You must have nodded off again, still tired after the recent debacle and the hours you’d spent in the library archives, because the next thing you know you’re being shaken awake by a concerned Kiyone. With her was the soft waft of sakura and you inquired after the source.
“I brought sakura daifuku for a snack,” she answers, holding up the small pink confection for your inspection.
“Oh,” you say numbly and ignore the way she shifts, unsure and worried. You take the pastry and swallow a mouthful, ignoring the way the sticky rice clings to your throat, refusing to let go.