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Aizen was a devious cat. He hid his malevolence under an easygoing facade, pretending to be a well-behaved and loyal pet, but at the first opportunity he would loot the pantry, ruin the couch’s cushions and piss on the doormat, all the while making sure that the dog would be blamed instead.
Needless to say, Shinji had a rather low esteem of cats.
He had chosen Aizen as his lieutenant fully aware of this, ready for any sign of nefarious plans.
The adoption of a baby snake wasn't planned.
The sudden interest of Aizen in the newest recruit should have immediately aroused his suspicions.
But at the time, he was far too happy to be rid of a tedious task to ask questions. Let Aizen take care of the newbies’s training if he wanted to! This would only give him yet another occasion to act like a saint in front of his colleagues, the perfect lieutenant who did twice the work required of him without a single complaint.
Shinji could have slapped himself.
He had sent Aizen to the other side of Rukongai on a mission that would last a day at least, and his third seat wouldn’t leave his office any time soon with the imposing pile of paperwork Shinji had buried him under.
It was now or never.
Shinji came in without knocking and closed the door behind him.
The kid lifted his head upon hearing his arrival, confused, the quill held in his hand stopped mid-movement. Framed by silver hair, his face still had the roundness of childhood, and he seemed even smaller than before seeing that he was barely tall enough to work comfortably on the desk. He would have been cute, like a child trying to imitate adults by wearing their parents’s too large clothes, if he hadn’t immediately hid behind a cutting smile upon seeing his captain.
Shinji approached the desk, teeth bared in a smile, his long hair and white haori swaying with his steps.
“Third Seat Ichimaru Gin.”
Said Shinigami delicately put his brush on the inkstone to his right.
“Captain Hirako.”
Uncaring of the papers he disturbed, Shinji carelessly put the bag he brought in front of his subordinate. He untied the green cotton cloth wrapped around it, revealing the inside filled with dried persimmons.
“A gift from me, to welcome you to the Fifth Division.”
Ichimaru gazed down at the bag but made no move to take it.
“It’s been three weeks since I joined, Captain.”
And it was also the longest conversation they had since. Shinji shook his head, pretending to be disappointed.
“You don’t like persimmons? What a shame. I’ll give it to someone else then.”
He pretended to reach for the bag but Ichimaru beat him to it, grabbing one end of the back and pulling it toward him.
“It’s perfectly fine. Thank you, Captain.”
Shinji let a wide, satisfied smirk grow on his face. He knew that Ichimaru enjoyed dried persimmons after having the opportunity to see him happily gobbling down handfuls, but even without this, experience had taught him that nobody said no to free food, especially not someone from Rukongai.
He sat down on the desk, jostling a thick folder in the process which ended up balancing precariously on one edge, ready to fall down at the slightest disturbance.
“I noticed that Sousuke seems to have taken you under his wing, but don't forget that I'm here too, if you ever need help.”
One hand resting on a stack of documents, he leaned forward, letting some blond locks fall over his shoulder. His smile remained firmly in place, but his gaze was cold.
“Actually, I’d rather you speak directly to me. Sousuke’s not as… nice as he appears.”
“Unlike you?”
Shinji straightened up and clasped his hands to his chest, feigning the utmost seriousness.
“I am goodness incarnate.”
Ichimaru let out a brief exhalation that vaguely sounded like laughter, but his lips barely twitched.
“Thanks for the offer, but I know what I'm doing.”
Eyebrows furrowed, Shinji scrutinized him for a moment, an annoyed crease distorting the corners of his lips. Finally, he threw back his head and sighed loudly. Clearly, he wasn't going to get anything else out of Ichimaru at the moment.
“I'm serious,” he said, getting back on his feet. “Don't hesitate to come and see me.”
The pile of documents finally succumbed to gravity and crashed down on the ground in a flurry of papers.
Shinji ignored it.
“Be careful, Gin.”
With that, he turned away and headed towards the exit.
“Captain.”
Shinji stopped, one hand on the door handle. He turned his head to the side, looking over his shoulder at Ichimaru. His subordinate's enigmatic smile had vanished, but his expression was no less indecipherable.
“What is it?”
Shinji mourned the fact that Ichimaru’s eyes were rarely visible – he didn’t even know their colour – but at this moment, he imagined them both curious and calculating behind those half-closed eyelids.
“I’m a snake, you know.”
Shinji chuckled.
“Hard to miss, it’s written all over your face.”
And Ichimaru certainly looked the part, with his slim body, oval head and eyes reduced to two slits so thin they were almost closed. Not to mention a smile so sharp he might as well walk around with a warning sign hanging from his neck.
Ichimaru Gin was a predator, no one would have doubted it for a second.
And Shinji would rather deal with a snake who didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was, than with a cat whose deceit was hidden under a complacent mask.
Shinji began to visit his third seat whenever he felt like it, taking care of bringing along a few treats as offerings. These were not always enough to soften the sharp edges of the smile Ichimaru gave him when the Captain unexpectedly appeared in his office or at the corner of an empty corridor.
Shinji had diversified his selection – sweets, salted plums, puffed rice cakes, cakes filled with red bean paste – all of which had eventually been accepted, albeit reluctantly. (Except for the dried sweet potatoes. Ichimaru's murderous aura at the sight of them could have rivalled Unohana's. Shinji had cautiously retreated). However, the persimmons remained the undeniable favourites. Upon seeing them, the usually indecipherable kid couldn't entirely hide his impatience, his fingers shaking with anticipation.
These rare displays of weakness never failed to soften Shinji.
Ichimaru Gin was far from innocent, but watching this child play among the adults with an unwavering confidence and boldness, the Captain couldn’t help but feel both awe and pride (this was his third seat!) mixed with a strange desire to protect him (this was his third seat).
Leaving him in Sousuke’s claws was now out of question.
Pensive, Shinji examined the masks on display, arms crossed and a hand under his chin. The music and the hubbub of the surrounding crowd seemed to come from far away, relegated to the background of his thoughts. Finally, he decided to take the fox mask that had caught his eye in the first place to examine it more closely. It was painted white, except for the flashes of red on the muzzle, the inside of the ears and the smiling mouth. The thin black lines representing the eyes and whiskers completed the image.
“Captain.”
The voice of his subordinate brought him back to reality.
Shinji had almost had to drag the kid behind him to get him to come to the festival, but Ichimaru's reluctance had vanished when his Captain had assured him that he would pay him whatever he wanted. The boy hadn’t waited any longer to begin asking for anything that piqued his interest with obvious glee.
Ichimaru, who had gone away to scout the stalls, was back with a dango skewer in each hand.
Shinji ignored the treat held out toward him, putting the mask over the kid’s face and pulling the string behind his skull to keep it in place. He almost chuckled at the irony of his gesture – he had spent more time and energy than he cared to admit cracking Ichimaru's permanent mask, and here he was covering him with a mask of his own choosing.
Admiring his work with a critical eye, he eventually nodded.
“It suits you.”
Once done handing the money to the owner of the masks, Shinji finally grabbed the skewer offered by his subordinate and, with a flick of his teeth, slid a ball of mochi off the wooden skewer and gobbled it up without further ado.
“If you don’t chew, you risk choking.”
Ichimaru pulled the mask away from his face but didn't take it off, keeping it attached on the side of his head.
Shinji shrugged.
“I like to live dangerously.”
It was well into the night when they decided to stop in a secluded corner. The parade and dances were already done, but most of the visitors would not leave for several hours yet. Some walked around the stalls, playing the games displayed, while others ate and drank in the designated areas or scattered in small groups on the side of the road. The festival was in full swing, more crowded and noisy than when they first arrived.
Shinji and Ichimaru sat on the low stone wall framing one of the shrine gardens, their booty piled between them. A tray of takoyaki, another of yakisoba, some trinkets they'd won in a shooting match and a goldfish swimming in a plastic bag half-filled with water.
Ichimaru took one of the pairs of disposable wooden chopsticks and, with a sharp tug on each end, split them neatly in two. He used them to guide a steaming takoyaki to his lips, blowing on it before biting it.
“How much longer do you intend to harass me, Captain?” he asked as he chewed.
It was a shame that Ichimaru’s attitude wasn’t as polite as his language – actually, it was the opposite.
“Finish swallowing before you speak, you rude brat!”
Shinji looked down at the now snapped chopsticks. The end of one was broken, though still stuck to the other. Accepting this bad omen with resignation, he stuffed a portion of yakisoba into his mouth, the tantalising smell making his stomach growl.
“I’m not harassing you, I’m building you a social life. I noticed you only talk to Sousuke. That’s not good.”
“And I noticed you’re rather cold to your lieutenant. That’s not good.”
Ichimaru’s smile grew upon seeing his Captain’s irritated expression. He seemed to have redirected his attention to the food, looking for another takoyaki with his chopsticks, when he added nonchalantly:
“You can’t watch someone if you don’t even look at them.”
Ha.
Had Ichimaru finally decided to open up to him? Shinji forced himself to hid his interest behind a mask of obliviousness, taking time to drink a sip of sake before answering.
“What makes you think I’m not paying attention?”
He couldn’t help but startle when Ichimaru turned toward him to meet his gaze. Even under the weak lights of the lanterns, his eyes were a striking shade of light blue made even more captivating by the paleness of his hair and skin.
“I killed your third seat.”
“…What?”
Although Shinji examined the sentence from every angle, he couldn't find any hidden meaning in it, nothing that would make it any less absurd.
“Lieutenant Aizen promised me the rank of third seat,” Ichimaru continued, “if I could kill the man who then held that position.”
Brushing aside the growing feeling of unease inside him, Shinji pushed himself to let out a mocking laugh.
“Don't be stupid! Your predecessor came to hand me his letter of resignation in person. He's probably comfortable and living the good life with his family in the Rukongai by now!”
But even as he spoke, doubt spread in his mind.
Sashino had fought tooth and nail to climb through the ranks and then, overnight, he was abandoning his career with Gotei 13 to return to work in the slums? Shinji had greeted the news with scepticism, but Sashino had seemed determined. Upon seeing his captain's suspicion, he’d assured him that no one was forcing his hand and that this decision had been carefully thought through. Shinji had no choice but to let him go, but that didn't stop him from asking questions here and there afterwards.
Unfortunately, Sashino didn't have any close friends in the Seireitei – and come to think of it, wasn’t that quite convenient? No one had heard him talk about resigning and, as soon as his resignation had been approved, he had slipped away without saying goodbye to anyone.
No sign of life since then.
As if reading his thoughts, Ichimaru’s eyes slowly closed until Shinji couldn’t see his blue eyes, and a smirk grew on his face.
“If you’re so sure.”
He stood up, gathered his winnings in the crook of his arm and grabbed the tray of takoyaki with one hand.
“You can keep the goldfish. You look like you could use some company.”
With that, he pulled the fox mask down over his face and started to walk away. Without looking back, he waved his hand in a mocking salute above his head just before disappearing into the shadows of the trees.
Bewildered, Shinji watched him leave and, despite the summer heat which had not abated with nightfall, he suddenly felt chilled to the bone.
“Do you know what a persimmon tree is called?”
Gin stiffened, a flinch barely suppressed.
Standing in the corridor outside the division, Shinji smiled, leaning against his subordinate's open window, his chin resting on his hands. Taking people by surprise never failed to amuse him or make him feel smug.
“… Diospyros virginiana.”
At least Gin's passion for persimmons was not feigned.
Shinji pulled himself away from the wall and motioned for the kid to follow him.
“Forget the paperwork and get over here.”
“I've got to take care of it before tonight.” Gin protested.
“Captain's orders. Don't worry, you'll be back to finish on time.”
When his subordinate finally complied, Shinji guided him to a secluded corner of the Fifth Division. He had brought some gardening tools with him, which he had left lying on the grass growing along the perimeter wall.
The captain picked up a shovel and shoved it into Gin's hands.
“Start digging, I'll be right back.”
Apparently, the boy had realized that protesting wouldn’t do anything because when Shinji returned, he was shovelling earth – albeit without much enthusiasm – and a hole could already be seen in the ground.
As he approached, Gin stopped what he was doing and looked up.
As always, his reaction was difficult to gauge, but from the way his eyelids twitched when he noticed what his Captain was carrying, Shinji concluded that he had managed to surprise him.
For the second time today, he thought, satisfied.
“You’re going to plant a persimmon tree.” Gin eventually said.
It wasn't a question, but the underlying ‘Why?’ was obvious.
“At the rate you're devouring the persimmons I'm giving you, I'd better grow a whole orchard if I don't want to end up broke.”
Shinji leaned the tree against the wall, taking care not to break the roots by accident. It was still a young persimmon tree, the trunk thin and the branches sparse, but it was already nearly three metres high and, if you were careful, little green bulbs could be seen under the round leaves, a sign that they could expect some persimmons next month.
“I hope the orchard isn't for today.”
Shinji shook his head, amused.
“One tree at a time, Gin. After all, you've got to finish your work before tonight, or your captain won't be happy.”
He took a shovel and set to work. Between them, they soon dug a hole wide and deep enough to bury the roots of the persimmon tree completely.
The tree eventually stood from the ground, and Shinji stepped back to admire their work. He lifted his hair with one hand, away from his sweaty neck.
Summer probably wasn't the best season to plant a tree, especially when wearing something as unsuitable for a task as a shinigami uniform. But the symbol was well worth the effort.
He turned to Gin, whose smile was softer than usual.
No more games.
“Tell me everything you know about Aizen.”