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Shunsui began to grow out his beard and hair after his brother died.
The resemblance between them had never been very pronounced, but he’d found that it was hard to look in the mirror because it had become an easy mistake for him to make. He hadn’t been very close to his brother, especially after he’d been sent away to the Academy, but his loss had been hard.
It had been an easy task, his hair had always grown fast and once he’d found a suitable grooming technique for his beard he’d had no trouble with it. He’d received a few questioning glances from those around him when he’d first begun to change his appearance, but he’d played it off and no one seemed particularly inclined to push the issue.
Jūshirō had never seemed interested in growing any facial hair, although he did grow out his hair quite considerably once they’d both become seated officers. Shunsui never pushed the issue, Jūshirō was a youthful-looking man, and a white beard would look out of place on him anyways.
At least, that’s what Shunsui had assumed.
Jūshirō had told Shunsui about his illness fairly early into their friendship. There was no point in hiding it, many people already knew about it or had at least heard rumours about it. For many years Shunsui had never witnessed a serious attack, a few had Jūshirō spend an afternoon in the infirmary, and common colds could force him to spend a few days at Ugendō, but when Shunsui visited he never really looked haphazard, just a little worse for the wear.
That was, until one afternoon when Shunsui was a fourth seat and Jūshirō was a sixth seat, and they’d gone to one of the courtyards to train. The attack had come on suddenly, and Shunsui had barely managed to catch his friend before he could fall face first to the ground.
Shunsui would have stayed with Jūshirō at the Fourth division if he’d been allowed to do so, but there had been an unusual surge in Hollow activity and he’d been drawn away to help eradicate the threat. By the time he’d finally managed to visit his friend at Ugendō three days had gone by.
He found Jūshirō sitting on the back porch, drinking one of his many different medicinal teas. Sensing his presence Jūshirō had turned to him…
And had promptly caused Shunsui to break out into laughter.
“You…your beard,” Shunsui had managed to choke out between breaths.
At Jūshirō’s questioning glance, Shunsui tired to compose himself in order to form a complete sentence.
“It’s black,” Shunsui finally managed.
Jūshirō scowled at him, which made Shunsui laugh even harder. It had never occurred to him that Jūshirō’s beard might grow in black. Shunsui had never seen something that looked so out of place; three day’s worth of black stubble covered Jūshirō’s chin and parts of his jawline, and it looked so ridiculous.
“That’s a good look for you,” Shunsui said offhandedly when he’d finally calmed down and he took a seat beside Ukitake, who still looked vaguely annoyed at him.
“It could be worse,” Shunsui offered when Jūshirō didn’t respond, “It could grow in white, like I thought it did.”
Jūshirō rolled his eyes, but smiled slightly nonetheless. “That’s not helpful, Kyōraku.”
“It wasn’t intended to be,” Shunsui replied easily.
“Well,” Jūshirō said after a moment, “I guess I should go shave.”
Shunsui chuckled, and cleaned up the porch after his friend had gone back inside. When Jūshirō re-emerged from the bath sometime later he looked exactly like Shunsui remembered.
“Better?” Jūshirō asked.
“Very handsome,” Shunsui agreed.
Jūshirō let out an exasperated laugh, “You’re incorrigible.”
Shunsui shrugged, “What can I say?”
“You can’t tell anyone about the beard. I’m serious, Kyōraku.”
Shunsui waved the comment away, “It’s not that bad really.”
Jūshirō frowned, “The last thing I need is for someone to get a picture of that. You never know when something like that could come back to haunt you.”
Shunsui had never entirely figured out why Jūshirō had been so reluctant to be seen with facial hair. He was a highly respected captain of the Gotei 13, and there weren’t many who even knew about the secret to expose it.
Nevertheless, every time Jūshirō’s illness had an exacerbation that was so severe that he ended up bedridden and unable to exhaust energy on activities such as shaving, Shunsui did it for him. In the beginning it had been quiet an awkward ordeal, Shunsui wasn’t used to shaving someone else and there had been more than a few nicks and cuts left where the stubble had once covered. Overtime, Shunsui had become used to the act, and it required minimal focus on the rare occasions when it was needed. It was equal parts clinical and intimate, Shunsui knew for a fact that the trust required to let someone held a knife against your throat was immense, and it wasn’t something he took for granted. Jūshirō was always grateful though, no matter how many hundreds of years had passed of them practicing the same routine. It was such a small thing, yet it meant so much to Jūshirō that Shunsui could do little more than oblige, especially considering the types of favours Jūshirō had done for him over the years.
Not that they kept count, that was never an issue for them. It didn’t make sense to keep track, no one could keep those numbers straight for long.
Shunsui counted each brush of the blade over as a blessing. After all, dead men didn’t need shaving.