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How much longer do we have to wait?” Haineko complains. “I’m bored! I want to sink my claws into some soul-reapers!”
“Quiet,” grumbles Hozukimaru. His eyes are closed and his head is resting in Ruri’iro Kujaku’s lap, enjoying the feel of deft, slender fingers pulling gently through his mane.
“Ugh, you are so lazy, Hozukimaru. Don’t you even want to destroy the soul-reapers?”
Hozukimaru peels one eye open. “Course I do,” he says simply. She makes a rude gesture and he closes his eye again. “But we have to wait until Muramasa gives the order. There’s no point in wasting energy until then.”
Haineko is dissatisfied, but Hozukimaru has stopped listening to her shriek and shrill as she seeks another target. In fact, he stops paying attention to everyone who is not Ruri’iro Kujaku.
“Well said,” the peacock hums softly, soothingly rubbing his fingers over the warrior’s scalp. It feels so good, Hozukimaru could fall asleep right here. He always feels calm when Ruri’iro Kujaku is near. Not peaceful, for he’s not a peaceful soul, but unhurried and unworried, because, with beautiful Ruri’iro Kujaku in his sights and at his side, he has everything he needs.
He wonders if he’ll still feel the same once Ikkaku and Yumichika are gone… but it’s a fetal, fleeting thought only, because as soon as it manifests, Muramasa’s voice drowns it out.
Instead, he reaches up and lazily threads his fingers through Ruri’iro Kujaku’s. He gives the delicate hand a gentle squeeze, and Ruri’iro Kujaku squeezes back. A promise and a reminder that, no matter what happens, they will not be parted, just like their masters. Even if that promise means death.
Hozukimaru.”
It’s not a question or greeting, but an accusation. Ikkaku would know that reiatsu anywhere, because it’s a part of him as much as the hulking figure is, or was. Hozukimaru’s appearance is not unexpected, nor is it a shock—the zanpakuto is a tall, rugged man, with the breadth and strength of a veteran fighter—however, it’s not by his physique that Ikkaku knows him, but by his warrior’s soul. Even as he slams his hilt to the sheath and orders: “Grow!” he knows that this one-on-one battle will be an honourable one; that Hozukimaru’s attacks will be strong, skillful, and straightforward; that he will not attack unaware, or use tricks to achieve victory; that he will fight with the same vigor and passion that Ikkaku does, because their souls are one and the same.
Ikkaku—gasping, bleeding—is disappointed when the battle is interrupted and left incomplete.
“Hozukimaru,” he sighs in regret.
Why have you forsaken me, partner?
“Ikkaku!”
If Hozukimaru is the other half of Ikkaku’s soul, Yumichika is the other half of his heart.
He shakes his head at Yumichika’s approach, conveying his disappointment. “He got away,” he says, bloody fist still clutching his sword.
Yumichika surveys Ikkaku, then presses his lips together. He nods in understanding, offering no condolence or advice.
“My lucky dance…” Ikkaku says, sitting up, spitting blood, “…didn’t work.”
Yumichika rolls his eyes, but those pretty lips tug upward.
“Have you met Fuji Kujaku yet?”
“No.”
“Be careful when you do,” says Ikkaku needlessly. “He’ll be strong.”
He sees colour bloom in Yumichika’s cheeks—soft and smooth and pale as jade—but he merely nods again in agreement. It’s not like the Fifth Seat of Squad Eleven to be so quiet; he must have a lot on his mind, like Ikkaku does.
“Hey,” he says gruffly, sheathing his sword. “We’re gonna find ‘em, alright? And we’re gonna get ‘em back.”
Finally, Ikkaku is rewarded with a smile. Full lips curve like a Cupid’s bow and violet eyes dance like wisteria blossoms.
“Yes,” says Yumichika simply.
Then he turns away.
Yumichika has to find Fuji Kujaku before anyone else does. His life in Squad Eleven literally depends on it. At liberty, there’s no telling what the selfish zanpakuto might do, nor who might see him do it.
“Hey, you okay—?”
Ikkaku mistakes Yumichika’s silence for fear. He thinks that he’s worried about facing his rogue zanpakuto. Maybe he is, but for all of the wrong reasons.
“Mm hmm,” Yumichika replies distractedly. “It’s just such an inconvenience,” he adds, employing privileged self-entitlement to disguise his apprehension. He offers Ikkaku a bored smile and preens his feathers, fixes his hair. Anything to divert attention from the truth.
When Yumichika does finally meet Fuji Kujaku, vanity somewhat assuages his ire.
Fuji Kujaku is breathtakingly beautiful. He must be the most physically perfect zanpakuto ever created, and Yumichika is not the only one who thinks so.
Before Fuji Kujaku follows Yumichika to an isolated rooftop to do battle, his long-lashed eyes glance over at Hozukimaru, who takes in the sight of him and nods.
Yumichika takes a combat stance and draws his sword, but he’s taken aback when Fuji Kujaku says:
“You really are the most beautiful soul-reaper, Yumichika. Your feathers are inauthentic, but wonderful. You could wear some of mine, if you like. They’d look gorgeous on that soft, perfect skin. I do so like looking at you.”
Yumichika is both flattered and distrustful of the zanpakuto’s compliment. Rather than accept, he goads him into a fight:
“Fuji Kujaku.”
“I told you not to call me that. My name is Ruri’iro Kujaku and you know it!”
Yumichika knows it, because he knows his zanpakuto. He knows Fuji Kujaku won’t fight unless he’s angry.
“You brought me here where no one can see, because you’re ashamed of me.”
“Yes.”
Fuji Kujaku’s azure eyes reveal hurt, then deep resentment. Then he calls upon his sword and attacks.
Bankai!” Hozukimaru thunders.
There’s a blast of red reiatsu and then Hozukimaru is holding the spade, guandao, and massive axe-blade of Ryumon Hozukimaru. The longer the fight lasts, the more damage he endures from Ikkaku’s attacks, and the more force his bankai absorbs, until the dragon crest glows crimson. Ikkaku grins wickedly when he sees it, high on blood-lust, and Hozukimaru laughs.
“It’s been fun, partner, but it ends here. There’s no way you can withstand the power of my bankai.”
Ikkaku’s smile pulls wider, sharper. He raises his shikai and charges at Hozukimaru, weapons clashing in a reckless, earth-shattering explosion of physical and spiritual force. The resulting shockwave knocks Ikkaku off his feet and rips his shikai from his hand, but he goes down laughing, because he can feel Hozukimaru’s reiatsu receding; can feel the zanpakuto’s resentment shatter along with his bankai and knows without a doubt that he’s won.
“Welcome back…” he gasps in victory, “…partner.”
Yumichika is entrapped in long, fibrous vines that leech the reiatsu from his body. Fuji Kujaku holds the four sickles of his shikai, glowing green and then blue as it drinks in the soul-reaper’s life.
“Haven’t you noticed?” says the zanpakuto smugly. “Ikkaku’s reiatsu has disappeared.”
Despite himself, Yumichika’s head snaps up in panic. No, Ikkaku! Then he realizes: “Hozukimaru’s reiatsu is gone, now, too.”
Fuji Kujaku’s lips tighten. “Hozukimaru is probably just matching his opponent’s power to ensure the fight is fair. Those two are so similar,” he says with affection. Then his azure eyes meet Yumichika’s violets and his tone goes cold. “You don’t deserve them. Hozukimaru and Ikkaku are honest men and you, Yumichika, are made of lies. You’ve been lying about yourself and your feelings for far too long, because you’re afraid of who you are. Afraid to tell Ikkkau the truth, but I’m not. Unlike you, I’m proud of my power.”
Yumichika winces as the vines squeeze tighter, as more and more of his reiatsu is taken, leaving him weaker with every passing second.
“Well—?” Fuji Kujaku goads. “How does it feel to be attacked by the power you detest so much? The part of yourself you reject every day? What a lovely expression you have, wilting away so beautifully.”
Fuji Kujaku’s smile is merciless. He licks his lips, as if he can taste Yumichika’s reiatsu. But Yumichika is not afraid; that’s where Fuji Kujaku is wrong.
“I don’t need your tricks, Fuji Kujaku”—the zanpakuto grimaces at the name—“I am the Fifth Seat of Squad Eleven, the strongest unit in all of Soul Society. I’ll win this fight by willpower alone, and if I die then I’ll die laughing.”
With a mighty burst of reiatsu, Yumichika rips himself free of Fuji Kujaku’s vines and launches an attack that sends the zanpakuto reeling. Fuji Kujaku squawks in surprise, but Yumichika doesn’t stop. He strikes as fast and hard as he can and doesn’t stop until his opponent collapses in a heap of feathers.
Yumichika barely manages a satisfied smile before severe reiatsu depletion overwhelms him and he faints.
When Ikkaku wakes, a beautiful face is staring down at him.
“Yumi… chika—?” he mumbles.
His head is pounding. He feels like he’s been beaten with wooden clubs, but he peels his eyes open to stare at the figure made of soft, smooth skin, silken black hair, and delicate lines. Soft lips smile down at him, arching high cheekbones and a straight, slender nose, guiding his gaze into a pair of vibrant azure eyes.
“No,” says a voice that is not Yumichika’s. But God, he feels so much like Yumichika. And surely no one else in the world is so beautiful.
Ikkaku squints, then shakes his head. A delicate hand slides across his shoulders to support him as he hauls himself into a sitting position.
“You’re… not Yumichika? But you feel like him,” he blurts, eyes searching the figure, the feathers, the long, black braid. Then it hits him: “You’re Fuji Kujaku—”
“Ruri’iro Kujaku,” says the zanpakuto with forced politeness. “That is my true name. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face, Madarame Ikkaku.”
Ruri’iro Kujaku offers a hand, which Ikkaku hesitantly takes and immediately feels the brush of soft feathers, each one an iridescent jewel of colour. Then Ruri’iro Kujaku pulls Ikkaku to his feet with ease, and Ikkaku is reminded that strength is not measured in looks.
“You’re strong,” he says, a bit baffled.
Ruri’iro Kujaku flushes in delight. “Yes, I am.”
His smile is radiant and Ikkaku finds himself replying with a crooked smile of his own. That’s when Ruri’iro Kujaku loops an arm through his and lays his head on the soul-reaper’s shoulder.
“You’re strong, too, Ikkaku. You must be, or Hozukimaru wouldn’t haven’t chosen you.”
The shameless intimacy makes Ikkaku’s heartbeat increase. Ruri’iro Kujaku is a part of Yumichika and he’s wrapped himself around Ikkaku like a lover. But the zanpakuto’s proximity can’t distract from his words.
“Wait,” says Ikkaku, going stiff. “Where is Hozukimaru? And if you’re here… where is Yumichika? Where…” he says, whipping his head frantically from side-to-side, “…are we?”
“Things got complicated when Captain Zaraki arrived to battle,” Ruri’iro Kujaku says. “The sheer pressure of his reiatsu was astounding. I’ve never felt it like that before, so… present, so close. I awoke here with you and that’s all I know. I’m not sure where Hozukimaru is, or Yumichika. But don’t fret,” he adds, smiling coyly up at Ikkaku, “we can look for them together. I’m sure they’re not far. And if we find trouble…” He leans up to whisper in Ikkaku’s ear: “You can use me.”
“I-I-I—ahem. I don’t think Yumichika would like that…”
“But Ikkaku,” says Ruri’iro Kujaku, batting his eyelashes, “I am a part of Yumichika. Don’t you want me? Or, are you ashamed of me, too?”
It’s said with such heartbreaking sadness that Ikkaku can’t help but speak the truth:
“What fuckin’ idiot would ever be ashamed of you?”
Ruri’iro Kujaku smiles, but this time it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Who, indeed…” he says quietly.
Then he lays his head back on Ikkaku’s shoulder and closes his eyes.
Yumichika is too weak to run.
As the hulking warrior walks toward him, he tries and fails to stand. It takes all of his strength just to push himself onto his knees, and even that leaves him trembling in reiatsu-deficient fatigue. He used up all of his power reserve fighting Fuji Kujaku and now he has nothing left to defend himself; can’t even call upon the shikai form of his sword. And still the mountainous man marches toward him, a sword at his hip and a spark of recognition in his coal-black eyes.
“S-S-Stay away from me!” Yumichika warns, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. But, of course, the warrior disobeys.
For a moment, he stands before Yumichika, looking down at him; looming over him like a great, stone pillar. Then he sinks to his knees and leans forward, lifting a hand. Yumichika flinches, but the warrior’s palm is warm and callused as it gently cups his cheek.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Yumichika. I would never hurt you.”
Yumichika catches his breath, but his heart has already relaxed in recognition. “You feel like Ikkaku,” he says in awe, looking up at a battle-hard face framed by a mane of thick ginger hair. “Hozukimaru—?”
Hozukimaru’s smile is big and bold, showing animal canines. He nods.
“I don’t understand… Where is Ikkaku?”
“I don’t know. But don’t worry, we’ll find him. And until we do, I will protect you.”
Protect me—? It’s then that Yumichika realizes Fuji Kujaku is missing, too. To Hozukimaru, he says: “Why?”
Hozukimaru’s eyes twinkle with unabashed sincerity. “Because we love you,” he says simply, proudly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Yumichika’s heart seizes in his chest, because: We.
Then his violet eyes roll back and he faints.
Hozukimaru effortlessly lifts Yumichika into his arms, cradling the unconscious soul-reaper carefully. He looks like a fairy tale prince, serene in slumber and awaiting a kiss, but he feels fragile. Hozukimaru could never have imagined how very delicate Yumichika’s body is, nor how insubstantial his weight. He feels like a songbird in the zanpakuto’s arms, hollow-boned and breakable and entirely defenceless. Beautiful Ruri’iro Kujaku is strong and so very durable, so Hozukimaru thought that his master would be the same, but he’s not. Not compared to the power of a zanpakuto, at least. And not compared to Ikkaku, either.
Ikkaku, you fool… he thinks soberly, as he walks through the woods.
Yumichika may be a talented soul-reaper in possession of a warrior’s heart, but he does not have a warrior’s body. It’s no wonder that he needs Ruri’iro Kujaku’s power post-battle to replenish his reiatsu, even if he hates relying on it. Without it, he would—well, he would faint and be left completely vulnerable, precisely as he is, now. Or, would be if not for Hozukimaru, who feels more possessive and protective of the soul-reaper than ever before.
Ikkaku, how dare you leave him unguarded!
Hozukimaru is determined to reunite with his wayward partner as fast as possible, whereupon they will have words about keeping safe the person they love. If only Ikkaku were not such a coward then Yumichika might know the truth of his feelings; feelings that Hozukimaru must endure every day that his partner’s confession goes unsaid—
Suddenly, Hozukimaru walks into a wall of intense spiritual pressure that radiates from a rival zanpakuto in warning.
Hyorinmaru freezes—literally—holding his master in much the same way that Hozukimaru holds Yumichika, and with the same instinctive protectiveness. As if the warrior is a threat, the dragon hugs the soul-reaper boy closer to himself and assumes a defensive position, pale lips pressed together and aquamarine eyes alight with fierce loyalty. He loves the boy in the pure, unconditional way that a dog loves its master and will not let any rogue zanpakuto lay a finger upon him.
In response, Hozukimaru inclines his head in respect. He, too, is shielding a helpless soul-reaper from rogue zanpakuto. Hyorinmaru sees it and thaws a fraction, his brow lifting in question.
That is not the soul-reaper you belong to, he seems to say.
No, is Hozukimaru’s wordless reply. But I will protect him nonetheless. Let me pass with this soul-reaper and I will let you pass with yours. There need not be a battle, nor any animosity between us.
Hyorinmaru stares at Hozukimaru for a moment, then nods. The dragon and the warrior pass by each other, shoulder-to-shoulder, but neither of them attacks, or gives any indication that he knows the other is there at all. Still, Hozukimaru is relieved when Hyorinmaru is gone, because he knows he couldn’t have defeated Hyorinmaru in a fair fight without Ikkaku, and maybe not even then.
Yumichika stirs and shivers in the cold of Hyorinmaru’s wake. “…kkaku…” he whispers in sleep.
Hozukimaru tenderly kisses the top of his sable-black head, and says:
“Soon. We will be reunited with Ikkaku soon.”
Who is that? No—” Ikkaku corrects himself in horror, “—what is that?”
“Ugh, Kazeshini,” says Ruri’iro Kujaku in disdain.
As soon as the demon zanpakuto sees them, he changes direction and wheels to an abrupt stop, wind-milling his scythes with malicious glee.
“Ruri’iro Kujaku,” he says in a rasping purr. His smile stretches wide to show pointed canines, then he licks his lips.
Ruri’iro Kujaku recoils.
“No Hozukimaru today?” says Kazeshini, sauntering over. He spins a scythe casually as he circles them. “Too bad. Maybe you’d like to play with me instead?”
It’s not a question and Ruri’iro Kujaku doesn’t deign to reply. Ikkaku says:
“Who the fuck’s this guy and what’s he got against Hozukimaru?”
“Kazeshini,” Ruri’iro Kujaku repeats without taking his eyes off of the circling demon. “He’s the zanpakuto of soul-reaper Shuhei Hisagi.”
“Oh.”
Oh, indeed, thinks Ruri’iro Kujaku, recognizing—and approving of—Ikkaku’s defensive tone. It’s not that he dislikes Shuhei Hisagi, but Shuhei Hisagi has put hands on Yumichika too many times for Ruri’iro Kujaku’s liking and it’s caused Kazeshini to feel… entitled.
“What do you say, Kujaku?” says the demon. He stops in front of Ruri’iro Kujaku, his pale, fathomless eyes leering at the peacock’s figure and feathers. He even has the gall to touch him; to take his hand and drag the knuckles down Ruri’iro Kujaku’s cheek, making him shiver. “Come play with me.”
Ruri’iro Kujaku glares at Kazeshini in loathing. He likes to be coveted and admired, but not like this. Not like a toy, or a possession.
Ruri’iro Kujaku and his beautiful master are the goddam treasures of this godforsaken world and too many people have never understood that.
One person does, though, because before Ruri’iro Kujaku can say a single word, Ikkaku’s sword comes down on Kazeshini’s forearm, cutting deep.
“Oi,” he says menacingly. Kazeshini leaps back. “Don’t fucking touch him.”
“Stay out of this, soul-reaper. This is between zanpakuto.”
“Really? Cause it looked to me like it was between Ruri’iro Kujaku and some creep.”
Kazeshini bares his teeth. “Kujaku doesn’t need—”
“Ruri’iro Kujaku,” Ikkaku emphasizes sternly, “is way out of your fucking league, pal. And also, he can speak for himself.”
Ruri’iro Kujaku is glowing with pride, now. Oh, how he loves Madarame Ikkaku! He really, truly does.
He faces Kazeshini with renewed vigor: confident and elegant, standing with his hip cocked and his long silk braid hanging over one pearlescent shoulder.
“You have until the count of five to disappear, Kazeshini. Then I’m going to suck you dry,” he says, parroting the demon’s maliciously flirtatious tone.
Kazeshini swallows, not because Ruri’iro Kujaku has referenced oral sex—though, that could be a factor—but because he’s been reminded of the last time they fought and the devastating toll Ruri’iro Kujaku’s power had taken on Kazeshini and Hisagi, stealing the life-giving reiatsu from them both.
Kazeshini spats: “tch—!” but as soon as Ruri’iro Kujaku starts counting—
“One, two…”
—the demon flees.
“What was that all about?” Ikkaku asks, confused.
Ruri’iro Kujaku smiles at the perfectly imperfect man whom he loves so dearly and wants to tell so badly the truth of himself. But he doesn’t, because it’s also Yumichika’s truth, and, as much as it frustrates Ruri’iro Kujaku, Yumichika needs to be the one to tell. So, he simply takes Ikkaku’s arm again, and sweetly says:
“Nothing.”
As soon as Ikkaku spots unconscious Yumichika he charges forward. “What’d ye do to him?” he demands.
Hozukimaru bares his canines at the soul-reaper in insult. “Me—? You think I did this?”
“Well… no, maybe not. But if not you, then who? Tell me, I’ll kill the bastard who—”
“I did,” says Ruri’iro Kujaku calmly.
Ikkaku whips around. “You?” He studies the prim peacock from feathered head-to-foot.
“Yes. I wasn’t myself and I resented him so much. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted… to make him disappear.”
“Yeah, but… how?” says Ikkaku, because he can’t fathom how a straightforward duel—even between a soul-reaper and a zanpakuto—could leave Yumichika looking so lifeless, without a single scratch.
Ruri’iro Kujaku doesn’t reply. Instead, he walks over to Hozukimaru and gently smooths a lock of hair off of Yumichika’s brow. His eyes are sad as he looks down at his master; sad and dejected.
“Kujaku,” Hozukimaru says in want of privacy, “you must. Yumichika is fading.”
“I know.” Sigh. “I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
Ikkaku is confused and on the verge of panic. “What is it, what’s wrong? He’s gonna be okay, right?”
Ruri’iro Kujaku glances back at Ikkaku with a melancholic smile. “Yes,” he says simply. “I can heal him. But he won’t be grateful for it. He’ll hate me even more.”
“Fuck grateful,” says Ikkaku urgently. “Just do it, whatever it is. His spiritual pressure is almost gone!”
“As you wish.”
Hozukimaru lays Yumichika on the grass, where Ruri’iro Kujaku kneels beside him. He closes his azure eyes, then draws his sword.
“Hey—” Ikkaku takes a nervous step forward, but Hozukimaru’s hand on his shoulder stops him. The warrior nods in confidence, as if to say: Trust in Ruri’iro Kujaku, and trust in Yumichika. So, Ikkaku does. He watches in awe as turquois vines manifest from Ruri’iro Kujaku’s sickle sword, artful as a brushstroke, and begin to glow as they twist around the zanpakuto’s body. A perfect lily blooms at Ruri’iro Kujaku’s wrist and he plucks it without pause. Ikkaku can feel the warm reiatsu pulsing within it, and it feels undeniably like Yumichika. He watches Ruri’iro Kujaku tear a petal off with his teeth, then push it between Yumichika’s lips. The soul-reaper’s eyelashes flutter, but he doesn’t wake yet, so Ruri’iro Kujaku feeds him another, each petal returning reiatsu to Yumichika’s depleted soul and returning the life that was stolen.
By the time Yumichika rouses, Ikkaku is staring, stunned speechless by the terrifying display of kido. When Yumichika sees Ikkaku seeing, his expression changes from drowsy to alert and his violet eyes grow wide. What little colour he possesses drains from his face and his lip trembles, wanting to speak but finding no words. Ikkaku has known Yumichika for a long time; has seen him through countless life-threatening and dignity-crushing trials, and yet he’s never seen him look more afraid than he does now.
“Ikkaku, I—”
“Have you always been able to do that?” Ikkaku looks from Yumichika to Ruri’iro Kujaku and back.
Yumichika bows his head in shame. He looks small and fragile, not Ikkaku’s Yumichika at all. “I’m sorry… I should’ve told you,” he says meekly.
“Fuck yeah, you should’ve told me. I thought we didn’t have secrets from each other. What the fuck?”
Then, before Yumichika can make an excuse, Ikkaku gathers him into a fierce hug.
“I’m sorry…” Yumichika repeats, hugging back. He presses his forehead to the underside of Ikkaku’s neck and squeezes him tight. “I didn’t choose it. I wouldn’t have. I… don’t know why I’m like this. Ikkaku, I’m sorry…”
Ikkaku rubs up-and-down Yumichika’s spine, because the latter is trembling. Cold from reiatsu-depletion, or something else. He says:
“You don’t… fight with it, do you?”
A part of him is afraid of the answer, but he heeds Hozukimaru’s advice: trust Yumichika.
“Not if I can help it, but sometimes…” Yumichika’s voice fades until it’s barely a whisper. An admission of guilt. “Sometimes I don’t want to die.”
The shame and self-loathing in Yumichika’s voice is heartbreaking. Ikkaku pulls him closer.
“I don’t want you to die either,” he says. “Seeing you lying there all limp and pale…” He swallows. “You really scared me, Chika. I’ve never seen ye like that before and I don’t wanna see ye like that again, so… if using kido’s what ye gotta do…”
Yumichika inhales sharply and wet eyelashes flutter against Ikkaku’s skin. “I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you, Ikkaku. I’m sorry I’m not what you want me to be—”
“I want ye alive,” says Ikkaku firmly. “And I want ye to do whatever ye gotta do to stay that way. I know your heart’s in the Eleventh, Chika. I know you’re a strong and honourable swordsman with a soul for the fight. You and Ruri’iro Kujaku both. If kido keeps that heart beating… Fuck, Yumichika. I can’t lose you. You’re the reason I’m still here.”
Ikkaku doesn’t elaborate: here, in Soul Society; or here, among the living. He doesn’t say, because he doesn’t know. But Yumichika seems to understand, because he pulls back and offers Ikkaku a small, honest smile: petal-soft lips inviting, jade-white cheeks glowing, violet eyes shining with unshed tears. Ikkaku’s heart goes ba-bump in reply and the tops of his ears get hot.
Mustering his dignity, the spit-and-vinegar that pumps through his red-blooded veins, he says: “The point is, I ain’t gonna lose ye, Chika, no matter what. Got it? So, keep fighin’ with everything you’ve got. It’s Ruri’iro Kujaku’s strength, after all. And he’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Agreed,” rumbles Hozukimaru in a deep, satisfied voice. He pulls Ruri’iro Kujaku into his arms and kisses his cheek, making the peacock sigh in relief. The look he gives Hozukimaru is so tender that Ikkaku immediately lets go of Yumichika, feeling suddenly awkward.
“So, err…” He rubs the back of his neck.
Yumichika purses his lips and nods. “We should probably report back to the barracks.”
“Yeah,” says Ikkaku, not knowing if it’s his own heart fluttering madly, or Hozukimaru’s.
Yumichika nods again and begins to walk. Ikkaku glances back at their zanpakuto—Ruri’iro Kujaku’s hand cupping Hozukimaru’s cheek; Hozukimaru’s head turned to kiss Kujaku’s fingers—and feels a nervous tug, a pang of envy. It’s obvious that the two zanpakuto have a deep, genuine affection for each other, despite being so different. And it’s obvious how uncomplicated and shameless that affection is. Ikkaku can see at a glance how proud they are of each other, how they admire each other, and how doubtless their trust in each other is.
Is that really us—? he lets himself wonder, but only for a moment.
“Ikkaku?” says Yumichika.
“Yeah, comin’,” he answers. His longer stride catches up to Yumichika easily and then they’re walking side-by-side, as they always have and always will. But maybe this time Ikkaku walks a little closer than normal and brushes his arm against Yumichika’s, and maybe Yumichika doesn’t pull away. Maybe he leans into Ikkaku’s side and presses the knuckles of his soft, slender hand to Ikkaku’s bigger, callused one.
“Ikkaku?” says Yumichika after a time.
“Yeah?”
“When Hozukimaru and I were alone together, he told me something.”
“Oh, yeah? What’d he say? He didn’t insult ye, did he?”
“No, of course not. Quite the opposite, in fact. He said that he… well, that you both…”
“Chika?” says Ikkaku when Yumichika fails to continue. He looks down at his companion and sees a bloom of colour in his cheeks.
Yumichika smiles and shakes his head. “Actually, I don’t want to know. I’d rather find out for myself.”
And with that, he slips his hand into Ikkaku’s and they return to the barracks together.
THE END
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