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Rain hits the window. It puts him back to sleep after thunders, and although the relief is short-lived, it’s enough to make him squint for two minutes. A repeatable sound is the only stability they’ve been able to afford for a month. But when he rests, he doesn’t bother about it, even if parenthood fears knock on the depths of his brain.
In the end, Kyōraku wakes to a baby crying, a routine memorized by heart. Lazily opening his eye, he stretches his aching bones, all too closely reminding him of his age. For a second, he thinks he’s no longer cut out for this role, yet then he remembers the stakes and that it would be cowardly to retreat. That’s not the kind of guy he’s trying to be.
Outside the futon, it’s not cozy or welcoming. The gusty downpour makes him shiver even worse, but he doesn’t let the curse escape his throat. He glances at the clock — a few moments before the alarm. He reluctantly turns it off, missing the days when even captaincy couldn’t stop him from lazing around or drinking. Alcohol could keep him warm now, yet Ukitake would kill him if he caught him.
No, he would understand but wouldn’t be any less disappointed.
It’s suffocating sometimes, not to relapse. The taste of sake forces itself onto his tongue, but he knows better than to resort to his old addiction. He promised to do better, never forgiving the inner fool if he hurt his loved ones. He briefly wonders if his head hurts more after drinking or when listening to screams for too long. It’s a remark too cruel.
With lethargic steps, he approaches the cradle, where is his daughter. Her red face is enough for him to overflow with love, every doubt gone. Anzu’s face is Jūshirō’s mirror image, though her short hair seems to be his. Maybe the eye color will be, too?
“What’s up, little one?” His voice is groggy as he takes the infant into his arms. She weighs as much as any baby should, but he can’t help feeling paranoid after doctors tended to her to ensure she hasn’t inherited any ailments. She’s healthy, and he couldn’t be happier. “We must be quiet. Your other dad is still asleep.”
Her diaper is fine, and feeding time is an hour away; formula for nights and mornings for his husband’s comfort. As the girl gets rocked by her father, her cries soften, but one lightning is enough to restart her weeping. Tears stream down the young face, just like raindrops on the window.
“So you’re afraid of the storm, hm?” It’s silly, almost. As a kid, he was also scared of it, but few people took it seriously. He can’t count how many sleepless evenings he spent under the covers. “I’m sorry we can’t have better weather for your first month. Japan is like that during this time, you know?”
Shunsui sits on the armchair with her. His daughter continues to whimper; however, it appears weaker as the rain eases. Nowhere in the house is hushed for her to calm down, yet he doesn’t allow panic to consume him. To kill the silence, he talks about anything.
“We live in a subtropical climate. You were born at the brink of spring when temperatures are moderate, and the cherry is in bloom. It’s summer now, so the weather is humid and hot. It’s caused by colliding the north’s cold and the south’s warm winds. We also have a typhoon season. Clouds with wind gather over the warm ocean, spinning faster. It absorbs more water and wind, causing rain and hurricanes when it reaches land. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Of course, Anzu doesn’t understand him, but she still seems curious about whatever gibberish he’s saying. He explains it more to himself to accept that the outside conditions disturbing his child’s sleep aren’t a parental failure.
“What else…” His yawn helps the girl giggle, and when she’s feeling playful, he can only pray she doesn’t start tugging at his hair. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Mind if I sing to you?”
The man hums the melody he heard from his lover. He explained that his mother always sang it when he lacked the energy to leave the bed. A note escapes him here and there, yet the baby’s eyelids sag under the drowsiness, eventually falling asleep. He keeps humming, closing his eye, and failing miserably at not napping. There are things to deal with, though Nanao is a kind niece and cousin who promised to look after Gotei.
Perhaps for half an hour…
“You two are cute together.” A familiar voice breaks him out of his attempt. Smiling tiredly, Ukitake looks at them, his gaze gleaming with joy despite the daily hell. “Is she hungry?”
Kyōraku reminds himself that he’s still holding an infant, dozing off being too irresponsible in this position. His mind is all over the place, but he manages to stand up, placing her back in the cradle and wrapping her in fluffy blankets. Shaking his head in amusement, he replies:
“No, just scared of the storm.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
“Oh, drop it.” The green regard doesn’t miss how dully he returns to bed, his legs nearly crooked under the weight of his body. His facial hair has overgrown, tangles are pushing between the curls, and his shoulders are slouching worse than usual. He’s aware of such changes, yet little can be done about them. “Go back to sleep, darling. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I can handle myself and our child.”
“You’re in the middle of recovery.”
“I gave birth last month, not yesterday.” Jūshirō laughs as he sits up, making his spouse wonder how he can still beam. He doesn’t get enough rest, his head and muscles ache from delivery, and his hormones won’t stabilize for weeks. His skin is stretched and his hair unwashed, but these are his last concerns. He became a father. “Please, you need sleep, too. You’re doing enough.”
“I’m wo–”
“I know you’re worried better than anyone.” A pale hand cups his face. Shunsui then realizes his husband won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, so he sighs, hugging and kissing him. “I’ll kick your butt if it makes you stop panicking.”
“I have nothing against it.”
“Alright.” After one last peck on the cheek, Ukitake leaves the mattress on his way to the door, sending his daughter a loving smile. “Now let me bathe and eat before Anzu wakes up again.”
The man leaves, and the room suddenly falls silent. Their child is asleep, and Kyōraku is left gaping. How many centuries have they spent together? It’s too many to count, yet not enough to grow immune to his charm. Despite being shadows of themselves and the hardships their bodies endured, they’re happy. He still needs to clean the spiderwebs and rusty cogs from the family sphere, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
The shrimp mascot got soaked in tears. Another nightmare rouses the girl with a pant, too confused to connect the dots. Shifting on the futon would’ve been easier if she weren’t squeezed between two men, but their presence keeps her from hiding under the covers once she notices the downpour. Imaginations again…
Anzu feels embarrassed enough after waking up her parents at night. Ichika and Nemuri bragged about how they didn’t cry anymore at seven years old, so why does she continue? Kazui would reassure her that it happens to everyone, although maybe she should stop taking opinions from people far into their teenhood. The toy still clutched to her chest, she peeks at these nearby.
She nudges her dad hard to wake him. However, her papa gets rocked gently, cautious of his belly, the reason for all the commotion — an accident, as they called it, yet a welcome one. After a few groans, the fathers look into her gray eyes, frightened by their wetness.
“What is it, princess?” Jūshirō immediately captures his daughter into his arms as she lets out more sobs. She wants to stop so much, but it’s stronger than her. And yet, sitting in the warmth of her parent is relaxing, and the sensation of the other stroking her hair helps her forget the crisis.
“We’re here for you, sweetie.” Their hearts break at the sight of their child in tears, which seems to be happening more often lately. Shunsui has a theory but knows his partner wouldn’t appreciate it in his state. It’s not his fault they got up the duff. “Bad dream again?” He encourages her, having learned that when it comes to nightmares, she has trouble opening up.
The girl wavers. So many times, she managed to think of an excuse; she got chased by monsters, got lost, someone mocked her, or didn’t remember. But now she feels she can’t delay any longer if she doesn’t want conflicts in the future. For her age, she understands well that her fears aren’t her sibling’s blame. Nanao even called her emotionally intelligent. Wiping her nose, she explains:
“Yes.” Her voice is barely a whisper, careful not to press Papa’s stomach. Somewhere beneath her dread, she loves the new family member. “You won’t forget about me, right? You’ll still love me when my little brother comes?” She asks them with suspicion, and the couple, despite studying each other in panic, can’t hold back a chuckle.
Kyōraku doesn’t know whether to be glad or displeased that his hunch is correct. He guesses by his daughter’s tone that it’s been disturbing her since she received the news, and can he blame her? He can’t tell how he feels about it, too, yet he swears to cherish that baby more than life itself. Letting his husband answer, he pulls her onto his lap.
“Zuzu, why would we forget about you?” Ukitake doesn’t take his eyes off the rosy face, brushing the tears with his fingers. He was worried it would end like this, yet now that it happened, he feels lighter. “We would never leave you behind. You’re our child, just like your sibling. We love you, and nothing will change that, okay?”
“But you’ll be around the new baby all the time! You won’t give me as much attention.” They must understand children behave irrationally, though nothing is unreasonable about Anzu’s unease. She clings to her dad like he’s about to evaporate into thin air. “I dreamed I was left alone at home, and you never returned.”
“Oh, sweetheart…” Involuntarily, Shunsui smiles at his daughter and lover. If it were possible, he would beat up the nightmare version of himself. “A new kid in the house is a huge responsibility, so believe us, we’re as surprised as you. If anything, it has strengthened our love. We’re family and will never prioritize your brother over you.”
“You’re a big girl, too.” Adds the white-haired man. “We can’t be at your beck and call forever. Don’t you think the arrival of your little brother will be a good test of your independence?” He grins at her, and just like his husband’s gray irises, he sees mischief in hers. “Take this as a chance to prove yourself. I’m sure you’ll be the best older sister he could ever ask for.”
“So you won’t leave me alone?” Anzu chokes out, considering the role she’s been given.
“No, princess.” Ukitake kisses her forehead, with the help of his partner, tucking her back into the sheets with her plush shrimp. “We’ll have to divide our care, but it’s in good faith. Why should we abandon a dream come true that you are?”
“And if you need company, you always have Nanao, Rangiku, Rukia, Ichika, and many other peers. Everyone loves you.” Kyōraku also kisses her, this time on the cheek, his core rejoicing as he hears her giggle. “We love you.”
“I love you, too.” However, before she squints, her watch wanders to her parent’s abdomen. She guesses they’re right. There’s no point diving into the negatives when their family is growing. “What will you name him?” She won’t forget their bafflement after asking the question for a long. One stares at the other and back again, trying to come up with a response.
“Come on, Ju. You had an idea years ago.”
“Jūgorō.” He replies with a blush, and all he sees is approval on his daughter’s front. “Naming tradition in my clan. I’ll explain another time.”
“It’s cute!” But after saying these words, she can’t keep her eyes open; Anzu falls back into a sweet rest, seemingly forgetting that just a while ago, she woke up terrified. In a silence broken by raindrops, two parents observe their kid.
“We should’ve expected that, huh?” Shunsui asks, amused, lying down next to the girl. He can’t even be angry at himself for getting them into this situation, and judging by his spouse’s countenance, he shares this opinion. “Were you also so dramatic when you found out you’re going to have siblings?”
“Mind you, I was thrilled.” Someone to fill a quiet hut, for whom he could be of support, and not a ball and chain to look after. “You sounded like you were about to cry, though.”
“Was it that obvious?” He sees worry in the green, how he predicted what it’s about, and he can’t help but think back to the porch in the old house, so desolate and unwanted. “I won’t do to her what my parents did to me. She’s loved with one sibling, two, three, or none. Favoritism isn’t in my style.”
“You’re a good dad.”
“And you’re perfect.”
“It’s not a competition.” Jūshirō pecks his lips, giving him a comforting yet teasing smile. It reminds him that those days are long behind him. “Zuzu and Jūgō are lucky to have us.” Just like that, husbands fall asleep, even if for only a moment.
It’s a sleepless night for Ukitake. His mother assured him it gets better when the child reaches school age, yet it further turns him feverish. He doesn’t understand how she managed eight kids, but he’ll respect her for that until death. Will his daughter handle it? She can read and write, solves logical puzzles, and is curious about the world. However, Soul Reapers’ education is on a different level. With a toddler at home, too, he feels like he has to bend over backward.
Anzu repeats she can’t wait and will enjoy it. They did a great job raising her, an effortless ray of sunshine, easily socializing, brilliant, and assertive, even if bordering on argumentative. So why is he still concerned? It’s not that she would be far away. He’s one of the teachers and can check on her anytime. Maybe it’s innate to parents.
Just as he’s falling asleep, he hears someone entering the bedroom, but he dismisses it as rain. It’s too early in the morning to worry. Perhaps it’s his fidgeting spouse, yet subconsciously, he senses the initial assumption is wrong. Hesitantly, he opens one eye, then the other, noticing a short figure next to his son’s futon.
“Zuzu? What are you doing here?” He walks past his husband to approach his daughter, her smile cheerful enough to light up the whole place. How long did he sleep in total? Three hours? “You must be rested for the opening ceremony.” He almost apologizes for the stern tone, but her grin remains unwavering.
“I can’t! I’m too excited!” The girl is nearly jumping on the spot, her hands shaking from emotions, and her laughter interjecting between words to give vent to the delight. The man can tell from her flushed cheeks that she’s been in this state since at least last evening. “He soothes me.” She points at her brother.
“He’s asleep.”
“No, I mean his presence.” Her gaze is tender when she looks at the boy. Her reiatsu, although still developing, exudes care. And his, even weaker yet determined, responds to hers with trust. He always knew she would grow to love him. “If he can sleep through my stress, I’ll be fine. I’ll study to set an example for him!”
These words move Jūshirō so much that he can’t be angry at the intrusion. He ruffles her hair, accepting her into his embrace. Who is he to argue with childish logic? Somewhere deep down, he can understand. Jūgorō is an oasis of peace, so unusual for kids his age. As he stares out the window, he catches the rising sun peeking out from behind storm clouds.
“You’re bothering him, princess.” Anzu sends him a disappointed regard, but he doesn’t let it melt his resolve. “Go take a nap for an hour. I’ll wake you for breakfast, and next, we’ll go to the academy.” What made him a bit enthusiastic? His little girl is starting school. They have so much to experience!
“Can Jūgō come with us?” She’s pushy about him as if it can change his mind.
“Jūgō is too young and will sleep in the meantime. We’ll enroll him in seven years.” Just when she finishes her education and joins Gotei — it’s strange to reach so distantly into the future, so he returns to the present, squeezing his daughter’s cheek one last time. “Go now. You’ll see your brother again before you know it.”
She nods and runs out of the room, omitting to reprimand her for her loud footsteps. As Ukitake is about to return to bed, he hears shifting on the futon below, his son’s soft murmurs reaching his ears. Jūgorō says something under his breath, still half asleep but aware of someone’s presence above him. The boy glances at Papa, confused, yet happy it’s only him.
“Zuzu?” He looks left and right, rubbing his eyelids.
“Zuzu already left, prince.” The parent crouches before his child, collecting the mascots and setting them in one place. Despite the darkness, he catches his greenery sparkling with kindness like his own. “She missed you so much overnight, can you believe it?”
“Missed me?” His pronunciation is still wobbly, unsure of how to pick words and communicate his thoughts. But that’s what makes it beautiful to watch his development and how, every day, he learns more. He moves to grab the white-haired man’s hand. “I miss her, too.”
“Your sister has a big day ahead of her, so it’s best we let her rest. She’ll be home in a few hours, and you’ll play again.” His reiatsu, a stroll by a sandy sea, wraps his kid to relax him, adjusting his blanket and stroking his head. “Hug your toys and sleep. It’s still too early for you.”
It doesn’t take the boy long to doze off. The juvenile mind quickly moves to an easier world, a storm of brown strands arranged on the pillow in an accompaniment of slow breaths. Jūshirō could watch him like this for hours, but he knows that if he doesn’t nap for a while, he’ll be half-dead for the rest of the day. He can’t let Anzu down. So he gets up, yet something prevents him.
Maybe his daughter isn’t wrong about Jūgorō’s calming properties. Why is he anxious again? Where do these shivers running through his body come from? He has more questions than answers, and the more he tries to come up with aid, the worse he feels. Isn’t ten too young to be sent to the academy? Will his child truly manage? Sure, he and Shunsui were the same age when they started, but they harbored a duty and expectations. Their kid doesn’t.
What if she doesn’t understand the topics, gets bullied or injured, skips classes, cheats on exams…
“Ju?” A sleepy voice frees him from his overthinking, a soft gasp leaving his lips. His partner looks at him in confusion; no, he knows exactly what’s going on, reaching out to him. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Anzu came, and I had to put Jūgorō to sleep. They’re alright now.” He fakes a smile, taking his place on the futon, but nothing escapes his husband’s eye. The man sighs, his worry lines too visible on his front. “And I’m stressed, I guess.” An almost whispered admission as he plays with the hem of his yukata.
“Huh, the one that always calms me down now needs it himself?” Ukitake only rolls his eyes, Kyōraku laughing heartily, quietly enough not to wake their son. “It’s about Zuzu, isn’t it? You can’t bear her starting school and not being around Papa at all times?” He nudges his side, a snort fleeing them both.
“Look who’s talking. The one who panics if his darling daughter doesn’t call every hour when playing outside.” It’s a nearly personal offense, yet he can’t be insulted for stating the truth. “Will you be like that with Jūgō, too?”
“I don’t know, will you? They say second kids are easier.” However, here, he stops joking, understanding all too well how his spouse must be feeling. Lying down with him, gently caressing his cheek, he tries to come up with advice, even though he’s no better. “She’s a big girl. Do you think someone who bosses everyone around, isn’t afraid to express her opinion, and has the strongest parents in Soul Society, won’t handle school?”
“I know, but it’s stronger than me… Are you not worried?”
“Oh, I am like crazy. But I don’t let it cloud my faith in Anzu. She’s strong and resourceful, so why should I deprive her of the fun of starting her education? Let her try. It was her own decision to start so early. And aren’t you excited to see her zanpakutō?”
Jūshirō doesn’t answer. Perhaps he senses tears welling up in his eyes, but he forces them back, the corners of his mouth lifting sincerely. He wants to tell the other how he did a good job raising Nanao and is now repeating his success, yet he guesses his lover already knows that.
“And you’re a teacher. If something is to happen, you’ll go to her fast. The academy isn’t too far from First Division, so I also can take a look.” Before his partner can say anything, he silences him with his finger. “Don’t even think about Jūgorō. Your parents raised eight children. They can babysit one grandkid at a time.”
“Do you know you’re perfect?”
“I’m trying.” Chuckling, followed by hush, nothing more to add. Ukitake cannot say that all his torment has been settled, yet his muscles have relaxed, and his breathing has evened out. He doesn’t give his wonderful children enough credit. To think he was once the one always helping others. “There’s not much time, but close your eyes, dear. I promise everything will be fine.”
“I believe you.” The hour doesn’t matter, nor is the sun rising in the sky. Kyōraku watches the green disappear behind his eyelids, the man no longer fretting about his daughter. He dips his fingers into the snowy hair, and oh, how he can’t get enough of the fact that this is the person who gave him the family he’s always dreamed of.
Between Anzu and Jūgorō, he has better persuasive skills. At fifteen, an age so ripe in her view, she lost her charm, no longer owning the same twinkle in her eyes or a sweet smile to sway on her side. Also, she would have to let go of the teenage angst that keeps her from affection. She’s still a sunshine, but not in the same way as little girls. It could be their son anytime now!
The boy never causes problems — quiet and polite, alarmingly so. No one can decipher what’s going through his mind behind the neutral face. So, he uses his reputation to accomplish the mission. His clothes are drenched, his ponytail is falling apart, and his sister’s request still rings between his ears, yet he doesn’t shy away from his parents’ room. They’ll cut him some slack, even if he must explain why he played in the rain this morning. He knows, however, that they’ll agonize over his health and the hypothetical illness after Papa.
He opens the door, all confidence flying out of him when the towel-wrapped creature mewls. He prefers to wake them up himself rather than the picked-up kitten. Dad is a cat person and will be the first to approve, although Papa already has an aquarium and leans towards dogs. A tiny stray would catch everyone’s heart, though, right?
“Hey, get up…” Jūgorō climbs onto the futon, pressing them both. Jūshirō is the first to open his eyes, immediately drawn to the animal like a magnet. At first, he thinks he’s hallucinating, yet the more he observes, the more he’s convinced of the kitty’s presence. His son appears uncharacteristically innocent. “Good morning?”
“Good morning, prince.” Parenting has challenges, but he’s not less dissatisfied about shortening his sleep on a day off. He nudges his husband because why should he be in this alone? “What do we owe the pleasure?” He tries not to glance too accusingly at the cat.
Shunsui groans in annoyance, his tired bones cracking from insufficient rest. He stretches and yawns, but only the sensation of damp fur opens his eye. His son sits before him — the same one famous for never bringing trouble — looking as if he’d run a mile in the sea. The animal explores their bed.
“Jūgō?” He can’t deny that the fluffy beauty is stealing his breath, her company seeming too right. Their kids were talking about adoption, yet they postponed this discussion for later. He guesses they can’t get away now. “Truth be told, it’s something I would expect from Zuzu.”
“Don’t be angry.” The boy asks preventively, but he notices his dad isn’t mad, and the mask of a strict parent fails Papa. The corners of the white-haired one’s mouth lift for a millisecond, but he forces on a straight face. “Anzu and I were playing outside. Then we heard something in the bushes.” He points at the kitten, comfortably placed between the men. “It was her idea.”
“It’s easiest to blame your sister, huh?” Ukitake can’t stand his ground when he hears the purring and sees the excitement on both his child and spouse. The kitten feels at home, and he can’t imagine ever offering her to someone else. “Are you sure she doesn’t have an owner?”
“I am.”
“I don’t see why–”
“I’m not sure if we can keep her, sweetie.” He interrupts Kyōraku’s words, exhausting whatever is left of his resistance. Even the man doesn’t believe his words, knowing he would’ve done the same as a kid. “Who would clean the litter box or feed her when we’re out? What if she damages something? Who would pay the vet bills?”
“I’ll do everything.”
“My sweet boy will pay?”
“Dad will.” Shunsui rolls his eyes, but he’s willing to bear such consequences. The kitty moves towards him, so harmless and adorable, and he doesn’t know how anyone could refuse. “Say yes, please! I promise that Anzu and I will take care of her. Wouldn’t it be a good test of my responsibility?”
Jūshirō is stunned that his son’s statement sounds almost like what he told his daughter years earlier about having a younger sibling. Jūgorō follows in his steps, and if that isn’t enough, the cat stares at him with these large eyes. He lets out an exasperated sigh when he catches his lover’s smirk, nearly guessing what he wants to say. You’re not sly, Ju. Give in.
“As I said before someone interrupted me.” The man pinches his partner’s thigh under the covers. “I have nothing against. Just be honest in your promise.” This time, he peeks at the other sincerely, behind the deep green, seeing he’s broken down. “What about you?”
“Fine, so be it.” The pale hand involuntarily wanders to pet the kitten. “I believe you’ll do well. But please, don’t play in the rain without dressing properly! We don’t want to risk your health.” He spreads his arms for a hug, his smile so tender.
“Thank you!” Jūgorō falls into his embrace, and Ukitake thinks it’s for moments like these that he became a parent. What greater reward than seeing his kid happy? “We’re sorry and won’t do it again.” And he doesn’t even get irate, just laughing at the sparkle in his son’s regard.
“I believe you. Now go and change from wet clothes, prince. We’ll think about the name later.” The boy nods, glancing at the cat again before running out of the bedroom. The men’s stare follows him until the door bangs and returns them to privacy. “Am I too soft? They always get what they want.”
“If you’re too soft, I’d rather not know what it makes me.” Kyōraku chuckles, enamored by the little creature. It would benefit her to get thoroughly cleaned. “No child has ever ended spoiled because they got a pet. Neither will ours. Who knows? Maybe they’ll learn something, and we’ll learn from them.” Another meow. “And look, she has white fur. I wonder who she resembles.”
He grumbles — perhaps this morning’s events don’t amount to flawed parenthood.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
Anzu showed courage by joining Gotei. She also did this when starting her education. Everything the girl does seems to come easily, but only her family is entrusted with her innermost shortcomings. So Jūgorō doesn’t understand why he feels inferior for worrying about the academy. Maybe it was his sister’s excitement back then, absent in him. Shouldn’t he be optimistic?
Always a proper child, it’s ironic he’s the one reluctant to go to school. He heard from people that professors would favor his good manners and gallant smile, unusual for a ten-year-old. A bookworm and clever, he shouldn’t have issues with studying. But expectations make him afraid — his sibling encountered the same, complimented how she inherited perfection from their parents. What if they fail? What if they don’t meet the standard? What a shame it would be if they disappointed a captain commander with a teacher.
However, he knows their parents aren’t like this. Why does he head to their bedroom in the morning, then? It’s funny how it always rains when something is wrong as if the weather sympathizes with them. Aunt Rukia said Papa’s zanpakutō controls downpours and lightning, and Dad’s can turn surroundings cold. Perhaps they’re stressed, too?
The boy tries to console himself with the lingering sensation of the cat’s fur, although it’s poor comfort when he stands before the door. Since he arrived here, he must finish the job by passing the threshold. He sees his parents sleeping in their futon, unaware that their rest is about to be interrupted. It passed his mind to talk with his sister, yet he would hear from her what last night; anxiety is normal.
The room is warm; much nicer than any classroom could ever be. There are no judging glances, just waiting for the first fall. His parents’ reiatsu wraps around him intuitively as if inviting him closer, like holidays by the sea that they’ve been on so many times. He squeezes between them, the smell of ocean and alcohol candies reaching his nostrils.
“Jūgō, prince, it’s early…” He doesn’t have to say anything for the parent to stir awake. Shunsui doesn’t appear upset, though dark circles creep around his eyes. Moments later, his partner rises, his son’s reitasu unconsciously crushing him with its power. “What’s up?”
Jūgorō doesn’t answer. His lower lip quivers in uncertainty, his eyes focused anywhere but on the men. Even a hug invitation doesn’t help much. They hate to see their child in such a condition, yet if parental instincts ever aided in anything, it’s to guess what’s bothering him.
“It’s about the academy, isn’t it?” Jūshirō descends his fingers into the boy’s brown strands, growing past his shoulders. After cutting his white hair all these years earlier, they’re also back to the original length. How much he would give away to watch in the green irises their regular composure, too; the kid fidgets, peeking from Papa to Dad.
“It’s not about it.” He hides his face in the parent’s chest, listening to the heartbeat. It’s sped up a bit, though forced to hush to avoid affecting the child. The other’s hand, meanwhile, is stroking his back, sweaty from nightmares all night long. “It’s… It’s about you.” He says, and the surprised men look at each other.
“Have we made a mistake? Do you feel wronged, sweetie?”
“If yes, we apologize.” The silence is deafening, thankful this once that at least the rain and wind distract them. Kyōraku’s hand stops, cursing internally at how much of his time work has been consuming. How did he not notice his son’s dismay? He would ditch Gotei to hell if he could, but he still hasn’t found a worthy successor. “We can’t help if we don’t know what caused it.”
Jūgorō nods and wants to say something, but Dad interrupts.
“It’s just…” He scratches his neck, attempting to hide his shame behind a smile. “We have a lot on our minds. The work exhausted us, and we had to help Anzu get used to her new job. But it doesn’t mean we love you less. We’re sorry for neglecting you.”
“That’s not it.” Jūgorō has to admit that his fathers' remorse makes his tummy warm. He heard from his peers that they could only dream of honesty. Thanks to this, he’s better. “Thank you, but…” He choked out, his hands clasped between the man’s bigger ones. “What if I let you down? What if you get angry at me for not achieving anything? Will you compare me to Zuzu? Or teachers and students won’t like me?”
The gray-eyed one returns to his childhood memories — the promise he made his daughter a decade ago — and how his family treated him. He still doesn’t show himself to his parents. They reconciled with his brother but weren’t given enough time. Would he be proud of him? Or his sister-in-law? He feels everything his son says, learning back then not to fight for professors’ kindness or to debunk rumors.
Ukitake knits his eyebrows. The child doesn’t express anything he hasn’t experienced: the pressure from teachers, being looked down upon due to his illness, trying to prove himself despite his lungs, and carrying a deity within. He can’t count how much he overheard about himself, but it taught him the strength he intends to pass on to his kids. His parents never compared his siblings to him or vice versa.
“Jūgō, we won’t do to you what we went through.” The white-haired man kisses the boy’s forehead. It’s not much, yet it’s heartfelt in the crowd of concerns. “I kid you not, I wouldn’t have mercy on anyone who bullies you. You’re perfect the way you are, so never let people tell you otherwise. And we, your parents, won’t turn against you. We’ll be proud, no matter what.”
“Really?”
“Really.” The downpour gives way to the sun, higher on the horizon. “There’s no standard. Be diligent, but don’t reach for the impossible. Only do what makes you happy. We’ll support your choice.” One more kiss, this time on the cheek. It’s far from his bad dreams where he’s abandoned.
“We love you, prince.” After his dad’s reassurance, Jūgorō can return to sleep; in his bed, with the warmth of the cat by his side, without the nightmares that abuse his adolescent mind. Shunsui speaks up, “Isn’t parenthood demanding?”
“You figured it out after seventeen years?”
“No, but it never ceases to astound me.” Jūshirō rolls his eyes at his lover’s comment, tilting his head enough to dodge an attempted kiss. Sending him a smirk, he can’t believe what he’s about to say with his workaholic reputation.
“We’re taking leave until Jūgō doesn’t start school. We’ll spend as much time with him as he wants. Zuzu also needs to relax.”
“Oh, Ju, I would never complain about extra days off.”
A quarter past eleven, it’s sunny. The noon is warm — cordial even — when the rays sneak through the windows and curtains. They illuminate the clean apartment without specks of dirt floating in the air. Everywhere you look, vivid colors catch your eye; pillows, paintings, or other dust catchers. One could say that the house in the First Division is its happiest part.
Captain Commander doesn’t wander near the barracks, training grounds, or other squads. It’s strangely quiet throughout Gotei, likely because of the scorching temperature. The fact is, however, that the man announced a day off, a trivial reason as it’s a wedding anniversary with the academy teacher. He didn’t show up for classes either, the prospect of staying in bed being more tempting.
Harmony is all around, except on the first floor on the way to the stairs, where verbal skirmishes — minor insults with curses are commonplace, to the point no one pays them mind anymore. The siblings would be grounded for life if their parents bothered.
“Which one is it?” The woman asks, rubbing her head after having her curls tugged. She didn’t spend half the morning arranging them to see them tangled again! “Two hundred and eleven? Two hundred and ten? Gosh, they’re old!”
“Two hundred and twenty-one.” The man ignores the comment about their parents’ age, hissing a little at his scratched arm. Damn her and her press-on nails! “Are you sure about intruding on them? They don’t often get to sleep in.”
“They’ll have a nice surprise.” Anzu grabs the decorated package, ensuring it’s not torn, scraped, or bent in any corner. Their fathers deserve the best, but she has to admit it’s challenging to be creative another year in a row. How do they still have ideas for celebration? “It won’t be the first time we’ve woken them up, right?”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jūgorō checks after her whether the gift is intact; there are no tears, scrapes, or bends. Knowing the men as well as they do, they’re sure they’ll appreciate it. “Now, let’s go before we accidentally destroy it.” Gray eyes shoot at him, almost comedically offended.
“Don’t start again.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You’re suggesting I would destroy their present.”
“It’s an objective remark.”
“Objective as your bias.” The package ends under her arms, feigned vexation turning into a signature smirk. The sun falls on the pink lipgloss, and her eyes shine with mischief as if wondering how to press her brother’s buttons before they reach the bedroom door. “Respect your elders.”
“An adult fighting with a teenager.”
“Don’t pull out the teen card on me, you little shit.” They finally turn to the stairs, lowering their voices as much as possible. Trying to detect whether any sounds come from the room, it turns out it’s silent, or they want to convince themselves that they’re not hearing how their parents are busy with one another. “How’s the search for a girlfriend going?”
“I could ask the same, but I don’t want my big sister to be sad.” His expression remains indifferent as he says it, his stare focused forward. Only strangers and morons couldn’t notice the naughtiness in the green irises, her being all too familiar with it. “Are there no lovely girls in Gotei? I heard Aunt Rangiku is hoarding them in the tenth. You didn’t join it without a reason.”
“I have time while you’re in your last academic year.” The woman thinks about throwing her sibling downstairs, yet she wouldn’t forgive herself if anything serious happened to him. He’s a nuisance but a precious one. Instead of letting him get the better of her, she plays along. “Tell me, has anyone caught your eye? You’re so sought as rumors have it!”
Despite his exterior, Jūgorō bursts into laughing momentarily, stopping in his tracks. He can tell from his sister’s demeanor that one comment too many will lead to the package crashing on his head — in the worst-case scenario, he’ll end up in a headlock, and it’s moments like these when he wishes he took up working out.
They’re on the second floor. Their parents can hear them, but it doesn’t matter now.
“What, are you jealous? Like it’s my fault you’re unsuccessful.” He hit a nerve, just waiting for a retort. Papa would roll his eyes, and Dad would be proud of teaching his children to adore women. At what cost, though? They’re at each other’s throats. “I’m unaware of their advances most of the time. I don’t need dating.”
“Don’t play modest now! You have a sharp tongue.” Anzu stands right before him, her voice mocking. It’s always loud and bold, yet it’s around her brother that an inner troublemaker awakens. “Look, I’m Jūgorō Ukitake-Kyōraku! All the girls flock to me, but I’m playing it cool! I’m so mysterious! And so sophisticated because I write poetry and read books!”
The man doesn’t allow himself to get provoked. Although he must agree that the parody of him is accurate, he cannot give the other this satisfaction. Seemingly unfazed, he glances at their parents’ bedroom, yet she doesn’t give in.
“Come on, everyone knows your temper is no better than mine. Don’t pretend to be mature when it flows in our blood.” The lure is too great.
“Look, I’m Anzu Ukitake-Kyōraku! I’m so popular and endearing but too dense to notice how many women drool over me! I’m not like the other girls because I exercise and don’t listen to modern music trash! And yet I don’t admit to having a collection of stuffed animals, lest it ruin my reputation as a hard-ass!” His tone, usually honeyed with dignity, is now brash, nearly obnoxious.
The silence is awkward, the siblings examining each other. Both of them have no way to defend their pride, this time conceding a draw. The war, however, is not over, judging from their reitasu that they’ll return to this discussion later. Continuing, the woman aims her last shot.
“At least I don’t have such a puny mustache.”
“It just started growing!” His sister sticks out her tongue to him. He only sighs, assuming a collected face as if on cue. They may argue, yet they still love one another, keeping this fact on the forefront when reminding themselves of their purpose. “Can we finally deliver them this present?”
“We can.” The path to the bedroom is hushed as if that would change how they could be listened to throughout the house. Standing before the door, they study the quietness coming from behind it. Still hearing nothing, one grasps the knob to enter. There, their parents, visibly disheveled, their act interrupted. Some things are better ignored, so they wish together:
“Happy anniversary!”
“Forgive us for bothering you,” Anzu adds alone. “We have a gift!”
“It was her idea to come.”
“Shut up.” After smacking her brother’s shoulder, they place the package on the futon’s edge.
To say men are speechless would be an understatement. They look from one kid to another, then at each other, and finally, at the gift. Their children also observe them: wrinkles that arrived over the last twenty-three years, eternal shine in their eyes, gentle smiles, and parental pride. Dad’s first grays are growing, and Papa complains about back pains, yet they’re happy.
It’s hard not to be elated when your greatest achievement stands before you. Jūgorō’s hair, tied in a brown bun with a single streak on his face, reminds Shunsui of his younger days. Those high cheekbones, too; his disappeared under age. However, the green irises bring to mind his lover, with a slender figure and a straight nose. On the other hand, the blackness of Anzu’s hair evokes in Jūshirō what he could’ve had, but instead of jealousy, he feels relief. Her face appears like his did in the academy. Yet a storm of curls and gray regard could be only after his partner — and those muscles, typical for him at the time.
How beautiful it is to see part of your love in a shared piece of you.
“Well, aren’t you considerate?” Kyōraku catches the present, examining it from every side. It’s soft, wrapped in glitter paper, probably chosen by his daughter. His son had to pick the ribbon in his favorite shade of red. “You didn’t have to give us anything.”
“But we wanted to.” The woman admits coyly, antsy with excitement.
“For everything you’ve done for us over the years.” Her sibling notes next, anticipation creeping even between his stoic expression.
“We raised a pair of angels!” Ukitake gets his hands on the package, too impatient to open it nicely. Layer after layer, the couple reveals two silk kimonos, green and pink, with identical patterns of fish gliding among flowers. It takes their breath away, their trembling fingers brushing over the textile. “Sweethearts… You seriously didn’t have to. It must’ve cost a fortune!”
“Don’t mention it.” Even Jūgorō laughs when he sees his parents’ reaction. He sends his sister an encouraging glance, and in response, she nudges him playfully. “We hope you like it.”
“Like it? Don’t joke around. We’re beyond impressed.” Shunsui clutches the clothing. Is it possible to be nostalgic about a new thing? He feels as if he’s reliving crucial moments of his life. It speaks to his soul and to that of his spouse. “Come and hug.” Without a word, their children land in their embrace. Then they notice how the son uses Papa’s perfume, and the daughter is wearing Dad’s old earrings.
“We also prepared breakfast. Your favorites. Do you want it before it turns cold?” Anzu’s comment is mischievous, her tone dipping into a challenge.
“We cannot refuse such an offer.” The gray-eyed man chuckles, releasing the two from his clasp. The four reitasu tangle together yet have one in common: they couldn’t be happier to be together. “Can we make ourselves decent first? We don’t want to frighten you with our improper condition.” The other chuckles at these words, followed by their kids, quickly disappearing from the bedroom and going downstairs. He can’t help but stare at his husband lovingly. “We were interrupted in the best way, eh?”
“We–” Jūshirō can’t finish because he bursts into laughter. His lungs feel light, so unburdened, despite his robust amusement. “We’ll return to our business in the evening. You don’t plan to keep our kids waiting, correct?”
“I wouldn’t have the heart, Ju.” They end it with a kiss, teasing yet tender, a perfect start to the day. Both men can’t get enough of each other while dressing up; of the life they’ve built together. At times, it still seems like a fantasy they’ll soon wake from. But nothing like that occurs. Everything goes on. “Hey.”
“What is it?”
“I love you.” Kyōraku grins at his partner, and Ukitake snorts again. “You and them.”
“I love you all, too.” The confession tastes like the sweetest liquor he could get drunk on for days. It’s almost like he’s soaring on the clouds as the sunlight sinks on his face and the fresh breeze envelops him in shivers. Soul Society hasn’t been engulfed in war for decades. It’s thriving, and Gotei is doing its job. Their family has nothing to complain about. Another giggle pushes itself onto his tongue as the cat rubs against his leg — it was worth it to survive for times like this.