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A morning no different than all the rest. The last spring sunrays light up a fire behind Shunsui’s fluttering eyelid but it’s not what wakes him. The featherlight, tickling sensation on his cheek flavoured with an addictive kiss of playful reiatsu, there and gone, there and gone urges him to stir and groan in the face of the new morning.
Memory becomes reality for the eternity of the moment, then the next it collapses into itself from the actualization. No familiar, gentle, centuries old company in his quarters; Shunsui is alone, another night of blank dreams induced by alcohol on the tally. Outside, the last traces of yesterday’s rain that confined him to drink indoors.
Nanao will have his head, but a blurring headache is preferable to clear heartache.
Something flickers from the corners of his blind spot, the edges of a shadow and enters his vision as if to rectify the previous belief of lack of companionship.
“Hey there beautiful,” he greets with a croaky, dry voice. The hell butterfly uses its wings on to move and settle on the water jug near, the only one among all the sake bottles. It becomes impatient when he doesn’t abide and circles over it to make a firm point, stark black spot absorbing all light.
With a laugh, Shunsui takes it and the cold water rejuvenates his voice. The hell butterfly makes sure to pass inside his field of vision with a chiming sound always following it, shoots to lead him to the cabinet that stores a certain kind of tea without a moment’s stalling. He pretends to not see it, already looking for his morning cup of sake- the more effective cure for hungover in his expert opinion- but the chime persists and the hell butterfly and the wind brings light pressures of reiatsu, one landing on his hand and the other on the open mouth of the bottle, cracking the ceramic mouth and down the long neck.
Shunsui lets out a breath, between a chuckle and a sigh and makes himself the damn cup of tea. Out of the large, forgotten collection, it’s the only one he drinks, given to him on the morning afters of heavy drinking.
It’s bitter, more so than sake or any kind of strong drink and mossy green in colour mixed with the water, only its fragrance sweet and deceiving. Powerful as all alcohol in the world too, shocks his body into sobriety and infuse it with energy.
All the while, the hell butterfly is flying above him, as if observing a child doing this for the first time and flutters its wings when it sits on the rim of his cup, motioning to finish the whole damn thing.
Just as he finishes it, the door is dragged open and footsteps roll against the floorboards like thunder.
“Captain Commander!” Nanao greets him with a frustrated expression, a frown in her lips that borderline into a pout unbeknownst to her. He can’t address her with any sort of fear or anything other than amusement when she wears that expression- so serious for her youthful features.
“Mornin’ Nanao-chan!” He smiles widely, rushing for an embrace she dodges and taking notice of the hell butterfly that is now flying discreetly behind her and disappears by the time he blinks, “Are you here to see your favourite uncle?”
Nanao scoffs, all mean and edgy, and pushes her sunglasses up, straightening her posture to be more professional. But by the time she reforms herself, Shunsui has caught plenty glimpse of the concerns at the corner of her lips, the tightness in her gaze. As always, he pretends he hallucinated its presence, for both of their sake.
“We have work to do.”
“Always the case, right Nanao-chan? Duty never sleeps.” The utters, the bitterness of the tea spat into his words.
Not even in peace.
The aftermath of the war is still apparent, but slowly covered up by creation and repair. Shunsui prefers to take the long way to the first and the captain’s meeting, uncaring of how late he’ll be. Now the sole resident of Kyouraku Estate -devoid of any servants or masters- the winds whistle between the wooden boards, caress the shoji doors and the singing windchimes for eerie effect.
Only Shunsui and his shadows.
Gardens abandoned from their usual extensive care for the last seven years, the plant life is a raging sea of green with the occasional stray visitors that run away at the feeling of his reiatsu. Never the one good with animals.
Before the gates shut, a frequent visitor in the form of pure white cat reaches its forepaws up in attempt to capture the hell butterfly hovering above, to no avail, as it follows the waving shadow of Shunsui’s kimono.
A small mercy of today that no Captain’s meeting is forcing them all to be dragged from their daily routines. Along with dear Nanao, they make way through what had turned into ruin in a period of less than seven days, now fixed exactly the same. The Shinigami they encounter straighten their backs at the sight of them and become overly formal, regardless the number of times Shunsui has reassured them he doesn’t care at all. Nanao’s glare burns through all of them, huffing and using her full height to become a bigger presence; a valiant effort that becomes futile once Shunsui hugs her from behind, draping cloth on her like curtains and cooing her like the youngster she is.
His cheek stings afterward. Singing reiatsu swipes over it like a cold salve before it flutters its wings merrily. Amusement before concern.
They pass by the eighth first, since the Kyouraku estate is strategically placed close for easy access of his clan. It’s lively and radiates of feminine whimsy- already an improvement from his time.
Well, since his dear niece won’t give her old man the time of day. “Lisa-chan! Woohoo!” he waves excitedly as his favourite lieutenant of all time.
Lisa perks up from her magazine, her expression melting into one of fond exasperation. Much prettier, Nanao-chan should smile more.
“Kyouraku,” She bows enough for the sake of formalities, “Nanao-chan, here. Light reading.”
She gives the magazine to Nanao, who blushes and throws it way as though on fire- thankfully at Shunsui’s direction so that he can catch it and store it for later. It has beautiful human models in it, in various forms of undress and bodies gorgeously contorted into elegant, allruring poses. Lisa’s taste is impeccable as always.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Nanao stutters with a stomp of her foot and the magazine is barely saved from her kido, everyone ignores her cute reactions for the sake of her pride, “You’re supposed to be looking for a new lieutenant!”
“I am,” Lisa grouches, “It’s a work in progress.” She turns to Shunsui, “Old man, come by for a drink tonight.”
Shunsui opens his mouth to both vehemently, reflexively deny being called ‘an old man’ and agree to the proposition but Nanao’s glare on his side is scorching with disapproval that will end up with him disowned and on the other, the hell butterfly has is fluttering its wings in a way that can only be read as the same.
“Not tonight.” He relents and lets Nanao drag him away, he manages to mouth a ‘tomorrow’ and earn and thumbs up from Lisa.
“It’s been years,” Nanao complains, “What’s taking her so long?”
“It’s not that long,” Shunsui responds pensively, a smile playing on his lips at the inside joke. Looking at the skyline of the Seireiheki piercing the vast blue, a block of hard white stone aiming for the soft clouds. The hangover is quickly wearing out his system and another pain replaces it.
“Byakuya-kun spent at least a decade doing everything by himself until Abarai’s arrival.” He provides with a nostalgic smile. He remembers the wild youth, then the somber, stoic adult and his journey to maturity and self-realizations. That’s all they wanted from him, even as their guidance went ignored but such is youth, they carve their own path and all they remain to do is stand by and watch over them.
“Choosing your right-hand man is important, give her time.” A sole eye focuses on Nanao, “But Nanao-chan, if you are so worried, you should apply. Return to your old post, with Lisa-chan as your capable captain. I have two lieutenants already, that’s a bit excess—”
“Absolutely not!” Her blush is as fierce as her words, straightens her back in pride, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.” then in a quieter murmur, “If I leave too, what would you do?”
Ah. But that’s the thing, isn’t it?
The hell butterfly always by his shadow, travels towards hers patting the shoulder.
A laugh, if it can even be called that, escapes him and he loops an arm around his niece, leaning his weight on her enough to throw her off course.
“Young things should open their wings,” he starts with a dramatic flair, “My dearest Nanao-chan should enjoy her life and not worry about paperwork and such boring stuff or her old uncle’s health—”
“Someone has to work in this squad! And make sure you don’t drink yourself to death.”
If life was kind fair, Shunsui thinks, he’ll die soon enough- if it were fair he’d be the one of Yama-jii’s students to die in the war. But he stands, a relic of the past until the ever-evolving generation has no need for him.
Alas, he keeps playing the losing game.
He hums and ignores his niece’s concerned look, pressing down on the frustration.
“You don’t have to fret so much, Nanao-chan.” A pause, “Save that for your prospective spouse.”
Like before, she lights ablaze and he laughs cheerfully, skipping away from her sputtering denials. He’ll live to see another day, and at the risk of sounding like an annoying parent, maybe that day will be Nanao’s wedding. A bright young woman like her, beautiful like her mother and strong like both her parents- although painfully stubborn and crossing overbearing like her father- he’ll be personally offended if she doesn’t have some admirers.
Shunsui whistles a tune and continues his walk, dragged away from any chance of pointless chitchat and to the tall building of the first, where his office lies.
Seven short and endless years cannot erase centuries of association with his former teacher and predecessor. This space will always be Yama-jii’s place, where they would stand like academy students and not captains, get scolded- Shunsui especially. Because he was the carefree one. He too, had gone his first twenty years without a lieutenant before Yama-jii fed up and unleashed Sasakibe on him as an ‘unofficial helper’ as he would never give up his post. And what a chaos that had been- one to reminisce and laugh at in decades to come. Or wince each time he saw him later, the quiet expressions hiding a demon of discipline- fitting of the Captain Commander’s right hand and most trusted.
Along their way follows the hell butterfly, hurried like his niece. When they enter, it rushed knowingly above the mountainous stack of papers on the desk.
“That’s left over from yesterday.”
“You kill me Nanao-chan! Who taught you this cruelty?”
She huffs in obvious satisfaction and closes the door behind her, abandoning him.
Well, almost. The hell butterfly is on his brush, black wings translucent in the sunrays it absorbs creating illusive charcoal and night shades.
Nothing else left to do. He picks up a report and starts to work.
His brush flows almost mechanically, his hand picking the document the butterfly sets at. The first’s office is quiet, apart from the occasional crystalline chime, a different kind from the Kyouraku estate. In the former, it’s due to discipline, like a library and taking him back to his student years, whereas at his house it’s nothing more than desolation.
Kyouraku would mistakenly be described as a loud man, especially in comparison. And he admittedly was- as a young man, rambunctious and keen on having the time of his life in the Academy and escaping certain family bindings. But no more; captaincy, marriage and age and life have calmed him down – or perhaps tamed him, after having his fill of adventure and preferring to relax at comfortable surfaces like a field or a firm lap, the wind sneaking on the inside of his sleeves. Under a clear sky regardless of the celestial light and preferably a bottle of good alcohol by his side and shared laughter and the bittersweet taste of soft lips.
The view outside the first’s office is gorgeous like no other, the entire Seireitei served on a plate to feed the gluttonous eye. He can trace each squad’s territory and its unique architecture. In retrospect, Shunsui never truly noticed despite being its Captain, but the eighth seems the least build upon in terms of height, almost quaint and self-sufficient as a comforting village neighborhood along with the modest seventh, among the regal sixth and the compacted ninth.
The sun descends under the lands and his cruel niece deems it worthy to come visit him solely in order to bring more paperwork. Shunsui convinces her in a battle of wits- involving a lot of complaining and guilt tripping- to go eat together because he doubts Nanao’s ability in getting away from her work.
He walks her coyly amidst alleys and turns to a tiny place, one whose owners addressed them by name after decades of insistence. He sits at the usual table, with view to people watch but not be too noticeable, orders for both him and Nanao for he knows the place’s menu by heart- something heavy and nutritious that will keep her for hours and replenish the colour in her paling complexion. She’s too thin, that girl- toned arms from carrying books back and forth but the rest of her body following from the training she’s doing. Not only what Shunsui instructs her, but also under the guidance of Matsumoto and Kurotsuchi Nemu.
Only then, as if a treat for doing his work, does Nanao relax and answers his questions. About her friendships and those she interacts. Few but hopefully not for long. Even gifts him a rare, girlish smile.
She may be his only family, but he’s far from hers- the bonds of comradery and intimacy are irrelevant of blood. She’s young.
Shunsui has lived through long enough to read between the lines and what information she avoids, the fluttering of her eyelashes mirroring those of the butterfly settled on her bun like an ornament, the pink dusting her cheeks.
She’ll be alright. He doesn’t worry- not anymore, not after he handed her true sword and fulfilled one of the two centuries long vows. He did his family right just this once.
Nanao should follow his example and devote her time elsewhere, but the easy atmosphere is too pleasant for pitying glances and egg-shell walking.
Shunsui manages to escape work while the sun is still up, the afternoon breeze cooling his skin pleasantly, rusting his clothes and the nature around them gently. It’s perfect weather for some company.
The path has become familiar and remains desolate apart from him and the hell butterfly, lingering close to his shadow as if to kiss the flowers on his kimono.
He had picked a magnificent view, similar to the one they used to enjoy in the past and a different sort of what he gazed earlier that day. The walls and imposing structures now appear paper thin under the hills and both sides of the walls mingle as one, all as an anthill, so far away they resemble another world, a quiet forest on one side and on the opposite a river that brings water to it as well as the civilization below. A long, contemplating walk, back turned to everything, filled with silence, not even his fair and whimsical zanpakutou lady uses her cunning tongue; Shunsui can feel her just as content in taking in the lonesome scenery, a prelude to the plucking of the koto strings into a somber melody.
By the time he arrives the sun is ready to rest, gathered the first hues of orange. They pour the stone tablet lovingly and always apologetic, grant it a precious gemstone quality. Shunsui is sure the sky would reflect gorgeously into snowy hair and an emerald gaze- an unforgettable piece of the past.
He plops down the ground with a huff, his winged companion perching on above a name that will never lose its sweet, addictive taste from his mouth.
After a long pause, a longer gaze and a second of clenched fists, Shunsui finally lets the tiredness lay heavy on his smile.
“Hey handsome.” He greets with a loving smile. Always.
Butterfly wings flutter excitedly in response and small circles flown above in a euphonic melody.
“Another day of peace,” there is not much to describe the departing day, sentences are repeated. Nothing to report means all goes as yesterday and the day before, unchanging and serene. Eventfulness is reserved more for calamities than any sort of harmonies.
He talks to an old soulmate recently gone- it will always feel recent deep down, Shunsui isn’t naive to expect time to heal him the same as the loss of his brother and sister-in-law centuries ago, always fresh as if yesterday- only his own voice bidding farewell to today’s sun.
His perfect Juu-chan would look ethereal under the setting sky, he knows- he’s seen it countless times and his heart never forgot to fly out his chest. Pale features painted healthy bloody crimson and hair shining all the way from the softest pink to fiery red. His face would match it whenever Shunsui made love to him right then and there, libido that of unruly teenagers. The thin layer of sweat a translucent quality on his skin. Would see the stars paint silver freckles on his cheekbones and paint the night in his white locks, granting him the closest his lost natural hair colour would become since its lost in childhood by divine intervention.
Memories so vivid they are alive in both dreams and waking hours. And under this dark night, clear of any stars, Shunsui’s yearning crawls out of his ribcage, bleeds from his eyes and boils his reiatsu. Katen Kyoukotsu’s slender fingers graze his neck as a reminder of everything that slipped through his fingers. He hears her call, to lay his weary head on her lap and lament together to the sound of recounts of stories about lovers split apart and torn away as they painlessly sink into dark waters.
It wouldn’t be the first time he slept here and the quality of his rest is a gamble addicted into participation. Even as he wins, he’s rested to function but not dreaming- nothing will ever reach the highs of waking up never to the other half of his soul, greeted with a loving smile and slurred words and enveloped by the heat of their bodies. Centuries of heaven make every damned second away from it hell.
A sole eyelid becoming heavy and tempted, until something sets on his nose, causing him to sneeze deafeningly. Vision clearing, the darker shape in the dark night hovers in front and already leaving this place.
With a bark of watery laughter, Shunsui takes his time to follow along, enjoying the impatient circles of the tiny creature. If it had any more weight, were something else, it would use it for impact.
Placing a palm on the cold, lifeless tombstone, then his forehead and exhaling a sigh of amassed exhaustion, he departs for the night, effortlessly never looking back. It won’t change anything.
Arriving at his house- it was once a home, theirs- the routine from the morning repeats. Guided away from alcohol and urge to less tasteful, healthier options, he spreads onto his futon, old as a fossil, all under the guidance of a worrying sweet little thing that can’t leave him alone.
On his fingers, the hell butterfly sits, wings moving slowly and slower, mirroring the rhythm of his eyelid. A delirious last smile, sharp with madness and lament at the edges splits Shunsui’s lips.
“I always bother and worry you, Juu-chan,” he looks at the creature he can easily crush in his palm, accidentally or not, “Even now, you still take good care of me.”
The butterfly moves its wings and the chimes echo from undersea, as if in agreement before moving to disappear inside his shadow. On the tips of his fingertips, reiatsu he would recognize as a blind deaf, limbless mass or nothing, refreshing like water and relaxing as observing the koi fish as a pond, its caress dipped ripples.
Ten years from Juushirou’s death will be completed soon. All days filled with lingering reiatsu that permeates their home and what was left behind and still untouched. On the swarm of little creatures that accompany him in obvious, unseen secret.
Shunsui must not be the only one. He’s seen the handful of reports from the thirteenth, rogue sentences here and there to raise understanding suspicion that after three years stopped for assumingly the same reason Shunsui never mentioned it to anyone: ravenous greed, indigestible grief.
Its persisting traces and void shape still echo in Soul Society. As Captain Commander, Shunsui got faster used to his own change in place than the lack of long flowing white hair everywhere he turned. His only bittersweet now being those tiny fragments of his soul veiling their lives.
And they must be eliminated – will be, for the greater good. Shunsui could only care for the world and its prosperity as long as Juushirou cared- and damn him he cared more than he should have, more than his own life. More than his fear of damning himself.
Thus he must, even if it steals the last ounces of warmth remained. He will push ahead.
And then wait until his own time comes, one of unpredictable, hopeful and desperate reunion, craving it as a parched man melting in the dessert.
Another day of empty peace, counted down until the last droplets of his love’s presence dry out.