Chapter Text
The passage of time never ceases in Muken. Yet for Aizen, and the other inmates in the underground prison, time has become irrelevant. The days, weeks and months pass by, with seasons changing to and fro.
Yet sometimes Aizen reminisces for the changing of seasons. To smell the fragrant blossoms of spring, the hazy gaze of the summer sun, to the sound of fallen leaves in autumn, and the feel of the deep chill of winter. The sensations of time feel further away from him the longer he remains imprisoned.
Most days he pays it no mind, deciding to focus on strengthening his mind in his inner world, learning to better understand kyoka suigetsu, learning to better understand himself.
But some days, such as today, he feels nostalgic. Of the sweltering summer heat, of cicadas buzzing incessantly, to the sunsets smeared with vivid colours.
The thought of summer makes Aizen wistful. It’s a season marred by memories of you (as if you didn’t leave marks on all the other seasons). Although blindfolded in Muken, he closes his eyes, thinking of you. The sound of your voice as you share with him the new blooms of the garden, and the echoes of your annoyance at the oppressive summer heat.
The beads of sweat that rolled off your face that reminded him of dew drops off a flower petal. The way your eyes shimmered and softened at sipping cold, barley tea.
Aizen recalls the middle of summer of years past. The point of summer where the heat smothers everyone, leaving them motionless, hot and silent too. The cruelty of summer that seeps under everyone’s skin, even his. Yet without warning, without asking, you smile at him, a smile that softens the brilliant, almost blinding sun. The bright sun blurs in his memories, but your smile remains the same. The smile you would give him as you pour a cup of your personal brew of barely tea.
The smell is long gone from his memory, the taste lingers in his mouth for a moment, before it’s gone again. The feel of your warm fingers as you give him his cup is a fading sensation from his hands.
The summers remain indistinct in his memory, as if it was one continuous summer in his life. Was it the same summer he offered to use kyoka suigetsu on you? To distract you from the heat?
The laughter in your voice, louder and clearer than the cicadas in the courtyard. It was a laugh of surprise and of shock. You cupped his cheek, rubbing your noses together.
“Why would I want to do that, if we can’t experience this together?” You asked, giving him a curious look. The summer, as with all seasons, was enjoyable with his presence. To be given a way out, even of Aizen’s own doing and offering, wasn’t what you wanted, it was never what you wanted.
So the two of you would continue to drink barley tea, listening to the chirping of cicadas, under the intensity of the summer sun. The memory rolls in Aizen’s mind, like the small bead of sweat off his forehead.
Aizen smiles to himself, in the utter silence of Muken. The thought of summer, the thought of you, leaving a physical lasting impression on him. The memories of past summers rushing through his mind, soul and now body, leaving him haunted by you.