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Romance and Rivalries	By : Kinnikuman Category: Bleach > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2658 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Neither author owns or holds any rights to "Bleach". No profit is made from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty-Five
By Rob
There were very few things in this world that could surprise a man like Aizen.
He had seen it all, done it all, heard it all . . . The events in this world that occurred had occurred a thousand times before, each one varying slightly but never enough, never different enough to make it unique or special. It was as if each time he learnt of something new it was merely a reinterpretation of an old classic; the actors were different, the scenery different, the setting different, and yet ultimately the plot was the same. The things people did always followed the same formula, and so after so long a murder ceased to be shocking and merely became but a genre, something to which all other murders fell under, each one varying in its story but ultimately conforming to a predetermined set of rules, each one inevitably nothing more than another example of what ‘murder’ should be. Rape could never be more than rape, and famine could never strive to be more than famine, the horrors of this world lived as little more than abstract ideals to which all criminals strived to achieve with their crimes. How often did one break the boundaries and create something new? How often were words such as murder, rape or torture redefined and shaped into something that broke the human mind’s perception, which shocked us to our very core? To a man like Aizen it made no sense to allow oneself to feel horror each time one heard of a crime. There would always be crime, and crime would always be little more than a clichéd plot worn thin in a genre overdone by overly ambitious authors with little reach, and to a man like Aizen he always strove to hear that one piece of news that would break his jaded cynicism. He strove for that feeling of surprise.
It was a feeling perhaps alike to one of his many film junkie employees. It would begin with a few of them like Grimmjow or Nnoitra watching a horror film, their emotions tense and excited as they hoped for a scare and a thrill so hard to achieve, and then finding that – after so many films, so many life events – that the thrill wasn’t there. Not once did they jump, not once did they gasp, and so they tried another film to find that fright. The sad thing was that the more one watched the more one grew used to the conventions of media, genre and the general ways of the world, and the more one grew used to these things the more one understood them. At lunch hours he would enter the staff rooms and see Grimmjow dissecting a horror film as he watched it, ripping it apart scene by scene, understanding the principles behind it, and as such that elusive thrill he sought became harder and harder to reach. We do not fear what we know. We fear the unknown.
So it was that Aizen sought out the unknown, the unique, and the thrill of that feeling of surprise. The many simpleminded people would tell you that they despise the feeling of shock, it is disturbs their everyday views on the world, it shakes their cores and makes them question themselves, and how many people can handle that self-analysis, that introspection? Those fools at the bottom of the ladder despised crime merely because it made them empathise, made then frightened to be a victim, forcing them not to take charge of their own fate and thus making themselves victims. It was the same as those child-minded adults afraid of horror films. What these people were truly frightened of was that every evil that should occur on screen once occurred in the mind of a man, that there were people out there with the mind of a killer, that they themselves had the potential to do great evil. The person who – unlike those such as Aizen, Urahara and Kuchiki – was scared of those things was merely scared of himself, scared of realising he was just like everyone else, and so he was just as evil as the world around him. He would forever be surprised by the actions of others, because he would never truly realise that he too was capable of such actions. The man that understood his own mind would never be surprised by the mind of another.
Whilst Aizen may have had a . . . fondness for Shinji, the man posed no challenge to a mind like Aizen’s. The blond wore his heart on his sleeve, his thoughts on his face, and his motives were not unlike reading the words upon a children’s book, and so no matter what the Vizard did there was never an element of surprise. It was the same for Kaname, the blind man who was blinder still to the minds of men, never realising that his passion for justice was being manipulated and twisted by those he allowed himself to trust. Shinji, Kaname, and Momo . . . they were all so trusting, so loyal, so simple; they would never pose a challenge to Aizen the way that Kisuke could, and they would never surprise him in the way that a certain someone could.
Perhaps – when all was said and done – he was not surprised by the events or people themselves, but by the very fact he could be surprised. After all he was a man who prided himself on understanding everything around him, and sometimes – just sometimes – he forget that even he did not truly know everything in this world, and one prime example of that was lying quietly upon his couch . . .
Gin. He would never openly admit it but Ichimaru Gin was the only person in this world he would never truly comprehend. It was often for some the incomprehensible smile that he wore that caused such uncertainty, making one wonder what his true motives and reasoning were, causing one to feel trapped, constricted and fearful under the slithering smile of a man that could by no means be happy. He would smile in wrath, in joy, in fear, but he would always smile, that was certain. Yet it was not that smile which caused concern for Aizen, it was other things, subtle things . . . It was how Gin always seemed to know exactly what Aizen felt and thought, despite his almost perfect acting skills and his own permanent smile, or how there were moments where Gin appeared to be disobeying a direct order, yet somehow had obeyed the order to its every letter, always finding some small loophole . . . The man was indeed a fox. He was sneaky, suspicious and even to this day Aizen didn’t fully trust Gin to be on his side, always wondering if he would one day be betrayed the way that he had long ago betrayed Shinji, and yet despite that element of fear and uncertainty he could not help but think of Gin as a friend and as a son. He loved the young man as much as he feared and hated him, and he both loved and hated him for being so damned mysterious, for always leaving Aizen guessing, for always surprising him when Aizen knew after all this time that he should no longer be surprised. One day Gin would truly be a force to be reckoned with.
It could honestly be said that Gin was one of the rare people who could surprise him.
He perhaps should have expected to see his ‘adoptive’ son in his private study, lying lazily on his expensive couch, but truthfully he had expected – after a period of six evenings and seven days – to see his friend and colleague elsewhere.
That did not necessarily mean he wished or thought that Gin would have been out of his home at this point in time, but he had somewhat thought that the younger man would have grown bored of the same scenery day in and day out. It was very much out of character for him to occupy the same space for such a long period. Gin was a man that enjoyed the sight of people, watching and analysing them albeit often from a distance, it was the interaction with other human beings and the sight of life that seemed to give his meaning purpose. Perhaps he feared being alone and the sight of others quelled that loneliness inside of him, or maybe there was a genuine interest in the minds of others, a longing to understand the people around him, but regardless a place of such solitude and isolation was the antithesis to all that Gin stood for. It was a room that suited Aizen, a man who found humankind repulsive, not the kind of place for a man that needed to be surrounded by people and in the midst of life. Aizen had known his protégée since childhood, and he knew that beyond this that Gin was a person who adored travel, who longed to see new places, who strove to always be on the go and see new things. Gin always teased Aizen growing up, calling the man a recluse and a hermit, and if he stayed too long in his father figure’s home he’d grow insanely bored, usually ending up in the surveillance room in order to fulfil his need to be around people, even if it was only through the distance of a television monitor. Why the young man would suffer the same private study for an entire week did not make sense to Aizen, nor to his current – if insufficient – knowledge of Gin, it was something that surprised him, shocked him, and made him wonder.
The young man was reclining upon the sofa with eyes half-closed and a faint, weak smile upon his lips. It was obvious that his usual mirth had faded with recent events. His face was somewhat longer, paler, frailer and his eyes was lifeless, pulled at the corners as if caught somewhere in grief, and each time Aizen or Kaname tried to talk to him – tried to pull him out of his current depression – his eyes would open, exposing their old beautiful blue selves that were now dull and glassy, and his voice would reply in soft, sorrowful tones. The thing that most worried Aizen, however, was the fact that clothes that once form-fitted Gin’s previously thin frame were now practically hanging from him. It was obvious the young man had lost weight, obvious that he was perhaps entering dangerous territory, and Aizen was worried that if the behaviour continued that he may have to intervene.
It was then that Aizen entered the room and closed the study door softly behind him. He walked slowly over to a chair opposite the sofa and sat down, his eyes fell on Gin as he noted that the young man had yet to look up and observe him. Gin did not respond to Aizen at all. In fact his only response was to completely close his eyes, and then that Aizen noticed Gin’s fingertips tracing rhythmic patterns over the pages of a book upon his lap.
It seemed his young friend was reading one of Kaname’s books. Aizen smiled as he suddenly realised that Gin’s inappropriate choices of literature for Kaname had actually been intentional. He somewhat hoped that Gin’s mischievous, prankster nature would soon return, thus indicating a return to normality and good health.
“What are you reading, Gin?”
Aizen adjusted his glasses and gave a warm, docile smile towards his youthful companion. He kept his tone light and unassuming, knowing that if he began this conversation with direct accusations or inquisitive questions that Gin would become defensive.
It was best to begin with small talk when addressing Gin, to allow the young man to be a participant in the conversation and to take charge when need be, it took longer to discover what one was looking for, but it was ultimately the easiest way. If one tried to force Gin into revealing something you could see a wall come down behind those blue eyes, his smile become tense and cruel, and if a practical joke did not follow some thinly veiled insults would. It wasn’t that Gin was a private person, or disliked giving control to someone else enough that they could question him, it was merely that – despite popular opinion – there was a sensitive side to him, one that took any criticism or question as an attack on his person. Aizen saw this, Rangiku knew it, but so many others assumed the man to have a heart of stone, and so when they spoke to him they hurt him, and – in turn – he would hurt them too.
“Have you been reading the same book for the past week, Gin?” Aizen beamed brightly, closing his eyes and tilting his head. “It must be very absorbing. Perhaps I shall find a printed copy and read it for myself, I am afraid I have never allowed myself the time to study Braille.”
“Actually, Aizen-sama, I think ya already have this book on one of yer shelves, just yers is in English an’ it was pretty incomprehensible to me.”
Gin replied with a large smile of his own, although it was obviously fake despite how he made a show of closing his book and turning to face Aizen. He may pretend to be more interested in the company of his father figure, but there was a slight tenseness to his eyes, and sharpness to his features, that betrayed his annoyance at being interrupted. He would of course show nothing but reverence and kindness to Aizen, but the brunet still expected some subtle insults would follow in retaliation for disturbing his charge.
“Oh? If you had only asked, I’m sure I could have found you a Japanese translation of whatever it was you were looking for.”
“Nah, it ain’t a problem, Aizen-sama. Tousen’s room’s got much more interesting books anyway . . . yer books are all too difficult to read, and mah books just depress me at the moment . . . the books in Tousen’s room are more fun to read, ya know?”
“Although Kaname does not officially live here that is still his room, Gin, and I do not think that he would appreciate you breaking in to borrow his personal items without permission . . .”
Aizen was perhaps bending the truth slightly. It was not that Kaname would not appreciate his personal space being violated, for the blind man was quite generous and would share his items with any who asked, but it was more that he did not trust Gin.
Gin was given a room in Aizen’s home a year or so after they had first met, when Aizen took more of an active role in his charge’s life, and even now – as Gin reached adulthood – he still had a permanent room in Aizen’s home, because as far as Aizen was concerned what was his was also Gin’s. On the other hand, although Aizen did not share a familial relationship with Kaname, they were close. Kaname often spent nights at Aizen’s home for the heavy demands of work, meetings and social events often demanded it, and so – despite having a home with Komamura and their adoptive son Wonderweiss – Kaname had a room of his own in Aizen’s property . . . During the many years that room had existed many pranks had centred around it in some way. Gin had – in the past five years – dyed all of Kaname’s clothes pink with ‘I heart justice’ written large upon his jackets, he had also installed large cameras and pornographic posters around the room before Komamura was due to arrive, and he had also rearranged the furniture completely, causing Kaname to sprain his ankle as he walked into a bed that should not have been where it was placed.
Of course Aizen had been rather less than amused when he had heard Gin playing pranks upon a blind man, but when Tousen had begun to retaliate in less than fair ways he began to see the whole thing as out of his hands, and realised that they both deserved whatever they got. So when Kaname hid a tape recorder in Gin’s room of the English, audio version of War and Peace, or when Gin’s shampoo had been secretly replaced with green hair dye, or even when Gin mysteriously found himself forced to baby-sit Wonderweiss, Nel and Yachiru on the same evening, Aizen had just shaken his head and thanked God that he was not a part of their rivalry.
“What is it that you are reading, Gin?”
“Just words,” Gin said in a rather childish response.
“Any particular words?”
“It’s just a story ‘bout some woman whose husband’s sailing out at sea for ten years, an’ everyone wants her t’ find a new suitor or something, but she stays faithful, and ten years later her husband returns an’ she’s happy again . . .”
Ah, a story about two lovers forced apart by circumstances beyond their control, only to eventually be rewarded for their patience and brought back together. A very romantic tale to say the least, but in Gin’s circumstances somewhat torturous, not only was he forced apart from his young lover but he had lost his job in the process, it was indeed as if they were seas apart, and Gin was uncertain if anything would bring them together again. It would not be surprising if he had spent the past week reading stories of lovers torn apart but ultimately brought back together, and if that was the case then hopefully they gave him hope and faith. Admittedly Aizen found himself tempted to hide the more dramatic, tragic love stories such as Romeo and Juliet for fear it might give Gin ideas, but he doubted Gin would ever resort to something so extreme.
“Gin, I understand that you are hurt that Kira’s parents have forbidden you from being together, but I trust that you see the upside to recent events?” Aizen smiled weakly as he saw Gin become defensive. His eyes became stony and cold, and his body became tense and closed, it was obvious he did not want to hear what Aizen had to say. “Although you were forced to resign your teaching license has, fortunately, not been revoked and no charges have been made. There are many schools in Karakura-cho that would happily hire you Gin.”
“With all due respect, Aizen-sama, that ain’t the issue,” he replied rather bitterly. “I know I can get a job anywhere, and I know that ‘cause I lost the company housing I can live here until I get somewhere new. I ain’t worried about where I’m goin’ t’ live or work. I’m just worried about my little Kira-kun. Ja, I guess that’s hard to understand for someone who locked his boyfriend in a walk-in closet, naked and tied up last night because he was ‘disobedient’, then spent t’day makin’ sure his security kept said boyfriend away in case he tried to kill ya . . . but ya know, some of us actually like the people we date.”
It was hard to ignore the rebellious tone, verbal jab and attempt at provocation, but Aizen somehow managed to hide his irritation and kept up his bright, innocent smile. His gaze was gentle and soft, and he made sure his body language was unobtrusive and unassuming; after all if his companion wanted a rise it would be unwise to provide him with one. He was also somewhat sympathetic to Gin’s plight . . .
Gin clearly loved Kira more than anything, more than his job and reputation, and he had risked everything to be with him, and in return he had lost everything. Kira’s parents had deleted all his email accounts, taken away his phone, and replaced both with heavily supervised and controlled alternatives. Every email, text or IM sent would be automatically sent to his parents’ account for them to peruse at a convenient time, and he was also forbidden from all social events and from leaving the house aside for school, if he wished to see his friends he must do so chaperoned inside his parents’ home. It was essentially impossible for Gin and Kira to make contact, almost as if they were in two separate realms, and Gin had fallen into despair knowing that it was impossible to speak to his lover in any form. Luckily Kira – despite having also fallen into severe depression – had a much more pro-active personality. It struck Aizen as obsessive, dependent and weak, as if Kira could not survive without Gin’s very presence, and rumour had it that the day after they had been forced apart Kira had broke down and trashed his room and harmed himself, forcing his parents to lock him in an empty room until he calmed down, almost like a prisoner in a cell. Their love reminded Aizen of an anime or drama, it seemed too unreal to be true. Luckily – as he said – Kira was a highly intelligent individual, and had found a way to see Gin, however this would require convincing Gin to leave the privacy of the private study in order to do so.
The problem was not so much reuniting the two young lovers, for that was an easy task to solve, as Kira himself had recently proved and Gin had yet to discover. The problem was that there was a deeper-rooted issue at hand. The separation from Kira had brought about some negative emotions in the both men, and whilst Kira’s friends had supported him fully and his parents pushed him into therapy, Gin’s support system was a little . . . lax. That was no to say his friends did not care, on the contrary Rangiku, Byakuya and Shunsui had all desperately tried to make contact with him, but Gin – being Gin – had disappeared to Aizen’s and told not a soul. He hadn’t even left information with his school as to where he would be moving, and so his friends were left chasing ghosts, unable to find Gin and forced to accept weak assurances from Aizen that yes Gin was still alive, and no he had not kidnapped him or enslaved him in the way that he had to Shinji, and whilst he was on the subject he thoroughly denied all the accusations his new lover cast his way.
Gin was an unusual man who coped in unusual ways. In his childhood he would resort to uncanny displays of almost psychopathic violence, in his teenage years he fell into an almost lethargy that was hard to break, and in his young adult years he coped by playing pranks and manipulating those around him. Now, without Kira, he had chosen to isolate himself in Aizen’s home, and his only amusement came from reading, spying on Aizen, or lurking in the security room and playing with the security features to set traps for Aizen’s staff. It had seemed he had fallen into his old lethargic stage, and after a day or two stopped doing much of anything, including necessary daily events such as bathing, exercising or eating. It was no wonder he scared so many people. What other man would still be smiling during a time like this . . . aside from Aizen himself, of course?
“If you are that upset over your loss of Kira-kun, then you shall be happy to know I have made you an appointment with Unohana-sensei for tomorrow afternoon,” Aizen said warmly and softly, smiling in a way almost identical to Gin’s old smiles. “I trust that you have no complaints? I shall have one of the staff drive you to and from your appointment. The appointments shall be daily until I deem them unnecessary, and I hope that they shall soon be unnecessary . . . for I should hate to take further action on the matter.”
“Aw, ain’t that sweet of ya, Aizen-sama!” Gin cocked his head to side and gave a dangerous smile of his own, “ya so worried about hospitalising me, when ya boyfriend was thrown out o’ here with rope burns an’ an aching jaw from that silly ol’ gag. Ya must love me so much more when mah safety is so much more important than Scary Teeth’s. Ja! Guess I should feel lucky, eh? I get threatened with hospital treatment, but at least I ain’t getting tied up in closets, ain’t that right?”
It was hard not to get distracted and ask where the name ‘Scary Teeth’ had come from. After all, Aizen had thought that with age came maturity, he had not expected for two of the most important people in his current affairs to still be taking part in some sort of childish rivalry. Although Shinji was little more than a toy, an object to satisfy a need, he was still involved – no matter how insignificantly – in Aizen’s life, and he did not wish to be subject to petty arguments and bickering like he was so many years ago. He had a feeling Gin would not respond well to insults such as ‘Fox-Face’ at the moment, and it would either cause him to fall further down the spiral, or – as was most likely – retaliate by trying to torture Shinji in very imaginative ways, and the angrier Shinji became the harder it would become to participate in . . . enjoyable activities that he had control over, as opposed to the other. The easiest thing to do was to ignore the insult and hope that if Gin had outgrown that stage where nicknames stuck so easily . . .
Aizen truly held a deep-seated fear that a smiling face and an interest in nicknames was indicative of a certain personality type, and that very thought was somewhat disconcerting. It would mean that in a few years time they’d be two people just like Gin in the world, two people ready to confuse him and keep him on his toes, because there could be no doubt that Zaraki’s Yachiru would grow to be identical to Gin.
Aizen chose to ignore Gin’s thinly veiled criticism and subtle displays of jealousy, and instead brought the conversation back on to a topic of his personal choosing: “I worry, Gin. My kitchen staff informs me that you haven’t eaten in quite some time.”
“Eh? Is that right?” There was an almost genuine look of puzzlement on his face as he gazed off into a distant corner, one of his hands moving away from his book to touch his lip as if in thought. “They lie. Today I had a nice cup of green tea . . . Ja! I even had a bowl of dried persimmons for breakfast yesterday too, an’ I might o’ had a few grapes for supper too.”
“Oh? Now that is a shame,” Aizen made sure to keep his tone light and airy, it was better to affect an air of innocence in a game such as this, otherwise Gin would surely see through his plan, “it means that you would be too full to join us for dinner this evening. There are some guests who are looking forward to seeing you.”
“Yeah? I’m sorry t’ disappoint them.”
“Indeed, Kira-kun will be so disappointed.”
It was hard to keep a straight face as Gin automatically jumped up in his seat. His eyes were softened in relief and excitement, but pulled taut in places as if filled with nervousness, distrust and scepticism. It seemed a part of him wanted to believe Aizen, to believe that the boy he loved was a few rooms away, waiting for dinner to begin, waiting for Gin to arrive . . . but there was that fear tingeing his excitement. There was the fear that if he allowed himself to believe his Kira-kun was just a few doors away, and then Kira wasn’t really there, that he’d have to face the disappointment and pain that would come with that. Gin was not the type of person who wore his heart on his sleeve, but Rangiku could certainly attest that the moments when he revealed his pain were the most heartbreaking moments of all. There was something in his blue eyes that would speak volumes, something in his soft smile that would die away, and his heartfelt apologies could melt even a heart like Aizen’s. It was both sobering and heart-warming to see Gin spark alive with a newfound sense of hope, and it made Aizen want to smile to see his friend so full of real life for the first time in so long.
The book in Gin’s hand slid to the floor as he clenched at his seat, facing his father figure with complete interest and focus, and his eyes stayed on Aizen’s face, never moving and never flickering.
Aizen gracefully reached down and lifted the book into his lap. It would not do to leave the item lying haphazardly on the floor, it would no doubt become damaged and Tousen – unable to see – would not be able to find it again. He contented himself for a moment tracing his fingers over the cover, yet he could decipher no discernable pattern to the raised dots, instead feeling only a bubbly mass, it was somewhat frustrating not to be able to read the words before him, it felt as if there was something the world knew but he did not.
There was a somewhat dangerous gleam in Gin’s eyes. He seemed to be thinking, and that was typically the very last thing one wanted Gin to do. When the silver-haired man acted on instinct things always worked best, he would be lucid and carefree, doing things according to what the situation dictated, but when he thought about things . . .? It wasn’t that he was vindictive, or rebellious, or even disobedient, but when he was given a chance to think things went from ‘what will work best’ to ‘what will work best for me’, and often that led to other people getting hurt or orders being ‘disobeyed’ as Gin began a ‘work-to-rule’.
The most entertaining of these moments consisted many years ago, when Shinji had referred to Gin as ‘Creepy-Face’ one too many times and drastically hurt Gin’s feelings and self-esteem. Gin had spent the entire night thinking, sitting in the corner of his bedroom in Aizen’s home just thinking, without moving or sleeping . . . Shinji had been very crept out, but ignored him and went to work as per usual, and Gin (having had a day off from school for teacher training) went to Shinji’s place of work. The silver-haired youth had sat in during several classes, helped Shinji with some paperwork during the small breaks, and then broke down into tears during lunchtime and had begged Shinji, in front of staff and students, not to beat him. He said he had only came to the university because the bruises from the previous night’s beating caused him too much pain to sit for long, and he couldn’t go home as Shinji had taken his keys away, and then on seeing Aizen enter he had ran into his arms and started asking if ‘Daddy’ would protect him from his evil boyfriend. Shinji hadn’t seen the funny side, especially when Gin was grinning at him secretly as he clung to Aizen’s waist.
So it was that if Gin shown that dark, sharpened expression that Aizen knew it could mean no good was to come . . . his only consolation was that he knew Gin would not betray him or antagonise him in any way. True, Aizen may note a lot more ‘accidental eavesdropping’ or thinly veiled, subtle insults, but he did not fear any actual wrath. If anything, it would be Shinji or Kisuke who’d later bear the brunt of Gin’s misdirected anger and sadism.
“Kira-kun is here?”
“Yes, Gin,” Aizen said softly and innocently. “Izuru has managed to convince his parents to allow him out unsupervised providing he has an adequate chaperone and, although during the day his friends do suffice, for the evenings he has asked that I chaperone.” He smiled brightly and nodded his head indifferently, “I am mildly acquainted with the Kira family, and a famous public figure of great respect, they did not see any harm in allowing a family friend to supervise their son as he partakes in social gatherings. Kira has so far pretended to enjoy every social event I have hosted this week, telling his parents that he hopes to become as prominent a member of society as they are. His acting I must say is somewhat atrocious and, after six nights of merely hoping to see you, he has finally plucked up the courage to ask me to directly ask you.”
Gin stood up and folded his arms across his narrow chest.
He turned his head to face a random spot and his smile disappeared entirely, leaving him with a mixture of an indifferent stare and an intense frown. His mouth actually pulled in the corners, and his eyes were hard and tight. Whilst it was true that Aizen threw many social events, not all of those were formal meals, and so Gin was left with the rather frustrating feeling that Aizen had chosen a meal to reveal Kira’s appearance purposely, in order to coerce his friend into eating. He was of course rather relieved to know that his love and soulmate was within his reach, but the anger that Aizen could force him – or try to force him – into eating was unforgivable. Still, there was one small consolation . . . Gin may have to suffer a disagreeable meal just to spend time with Kira, but there was no reason why the case shouldn’t be the same for Aizen, should it? He did have Shinji’s number on speed-dial – accidentally of course – and the security would be easy to fool if he accidentally text Shinji the password for tonight’s party, and maybe bribed a few guards . . . Plus if Aizen-sama was distracted then it meant more privacy for him and Kira!
“There are many guests this evening, so I ask that you be discreet. Kaname and his family may be spending the night, I have also invited Byakuya, his sister and future son-in-law, and I believe Jushiro and Kyoraku will also be attending. Alas, I did invite Kisuke and several of the Vizards, but they declined my invitation.” Aizen stood up and gestured towards the door, a look of complete superiority hidden in his features and he smiled brightly, obviously believing he’d beaten Gin into submission . . . “Of course, I have arranged with Izuru’s parents that he may spend the night, in fact they have allowed him one night here a week. I will make sure the security cameras are turned off in both your bedroom and within his.”
“Really, Aizen-sama? Ya too kind, I ain’t sure what to say . . .”
“It is my pleasure Gin, really.”
Aizen escorted his friend to the door and stopped briefly outside the study. The party was still very early, some guests had yet to arrive and drinks were still being consumed as the staff prepared the dining room.
He had heard Izuru in the cloakroom talking on his phone to a young Abarai-kun, trying to convince him not to reveal the relationship to his parents, talking of how much he loved Gin. Yoruichi – for some reason – had decided to ‘drop by’, and was drinking sociably with Byakuya, who was keeping a very close eye on his sister, who seemed to be somewhat uncomfortable as she sat in a distance with a young Yamada-san, who had told Aizen excitedly how he had never been to such a formal meal before. No one else had arrived yet, save for Kaname and his family, and already Wonderweiss was shying away from certain people, he was a very introverted boy at the best of times but his autism seemed to increase his fear of new places, it probably did not help that the boy knew Gin could not be too far away – hopefully in time the youngster would learn to cope with these situations.
“Well, I shall return to my guests,” Aizen said kindly. “I trust that you shall wish to change before you join us? I shall save a seat for you beside Izuru, you have half-an-hour to get ready.”
“Thanks, Aizen-sama,” came the slightly too sweet reply. “Ya mind if I invite a friend too? It’d be a nice distraction from the stress, an’ yer’d like him, he’s very silver-tongued . . .”
“Hmm? Is that so? Very well, you may invite your friend, Gin.”
“Thanks, Aizen-sama, I appreciate it.”
* * *
That bastard! That sneaky, low-down, two-faced bastard!
Ikkaku couldn’t believe it. It had been over a week or so now but the pain of the betrayal was still heavy on his heart; it was like a battle wound that just wouldn’t heal, a bruise that wouldn’t fade, and each time he woke up it was the first thing on his mind, the first thing his heart felt. It hurt. It fucking hurt! He was angry, he was sad, he was frightened; it was like every bad feeling was welling up inside him, swirling around like being caught in the maelstrom, and no matter what he did he just couldn’t get out of it. He’d drank, he’d fought, he’d even drank and fought at the same time with Iba, but no matter what he did that – that – that bastard was still on his goddamned mind!
He was a man, right? He was manly and strong and tough and masculine, so he shouldn’t be dwelling on what that little bitch had done to him, he should be out there moving on! It wasn’t – he shouldn’t – it was just - . . . Fuck! It just wasn’t right! How could Yumichika have him so worked up, so twisted and insecure? A real man shouldn’t feel this way. A real man shouldn’t care!
It was just that he’d given everything for Yumichika. Sure he was pretty young, and some had even told him he was too young to know what love was, but he knew what love was and he loved Yumi, he did! They’d been inseparable, each one understanding the other, or at least he’d thought so . . . how was it possible that Yumi could know him so well, understand his motivations and fears and strengths and weaknesses, and yet Ikkaku couldn’t understand his lover at all? He hadn’t seen his fear of abandonment, his dislike for direct combat, or even his complete insecurities that had led him to kiss another man. Yumi had kept all of it secret from him. Was it possible to love a man who kept secrets, who you didn’t really know? After all, he did know Yumi; he knew everything about the man! He’d known how much he loved beauty, or how he’d sometimes hide translated copies of Plato inside fashion magazines, reading up on olden ideas of aesthetics whilst pretending to be an airhead, or how he’d hate eating in front of people, or how he secretly thought Zaraki’s dojo was full of idiots, or how - . . . or how none of that was important anymore . . . Yumichika had lied to him. He’d lied. Ikkaku had risked his reputation with Sensei, nearly sacrificed his friendship with Renji, and given his heart to someone for the first time, and in return Yumichika had lied to him. What kind of man does that? What kind of man pretends to love you and then -? The thing that pissed Ikkaku off most was that Yumichika hadn’t pretended. He had loved Ikkaku, and Ikkaku knew he had, and most of all he still did, he hadn’t stopped loving Ikkaku. So why -? So why do what he did? Why do it?
Yumichika loved him. He did! If he didn’t then why would he try to make amends, and why would he be so sorry, and why would he still be chasing after Ikkaku? The very next day after the kiss – the very next day – Yumichika had signed up at Zaraki’s academy.
He didn’t quite go so far as to enrol as a student full-time and stay in the dorms; he was still a full-time university student with plans of making it big as a model, and he still lived in a reasonable apartment that his mother paid for, albeit with a creepy, gun-toting, American guy as a doorman. It was still worth a lot though that Yumichika was willing to do something he hated, to do something he considered to be ugly, all in order to make things right with Zaraki and Ikkaku, and to be closer to his lover in the process. When Ikkaku curled his lip, huffed indignation, and called Yumi a hypocrite, the older man just sighed and called Ikkaku an idiot, he said that he had no qualms about supervised, sportsman-like sparring matches, it was only the brutal, violent, and street-brawls he objected to. He’d then proceeded to beat up every single one of his opponents, beating Ikkaku’s record times, and returned to Ikkaku’s side with a flick of his hair and smile, asking the bald man if he could do better.
That fucking bastard . . . it was because of that Ikkaku knew he was still in love and that he actually loved Yumi all the more! It wasn’t fair! He was supposed to be angry, not turned on by how hot Yumi looked in his kendo uniform as he beat his opponents to a pulp! Damn him!
Yeah, they’d made up a little bit. They were being civil again at least, and Ikkaku could now spend more than two minutes alone with Yumi before he felt an urge to punch something, but they were far from being a couple again. It wasn’t until last night when Ikkaku had heard crying from Sensei’s office that he’d started to think maybe, just maybe, it was time to talk to his lover again properly. It had been weird, because he’d honestly thought at first it was Sensei crying, and frankly the thought had crept him out a little, but then he’d realised that – due to the lack of anyone else doing the job properly – Yumichika had been given the job of practically all administrative work, and that it was Yumi crying. Well, it’s not like he had a choice; he had to talk to the guy, didn’t he? It’d be pretty low not to, right? It turned out, after an hour talking, that Yumi had been so distraught over Ikkaku’s disappearance and fighting that he’d turned to Hisagi for sympathy, hoping that he’d understand his fear, of always wondering – every day – whether his boyfriend’s lust for fighting would get him killed or worse. Yumi was terrified, and when Hisagi kissed him he’d given in, needing the comfort and love that Ikkaku wasn’t giving him, and then -? Then he’d realised what he was doing and felt disgusted with himself, sick and repulsed, and hating his ugly behaviour he’d attacked Hisagi and went straight to Ikkaku to repent. Ikkaku could understand the trauma and terror Yumi might have felt at losing Ikkaku, and he could somewhat understand turning to Hisagi, but a kiss was a kiss, and a betrayal was a betrayal, and he couldn’t forgive his boyfriend that easily. Although when Yumi had torn up all of Hisagi’s photos, deleted both his number and Renji’s, and then threatened to scar his beautiful face so no other man but Ikkaku would want him, Ikkaku had started to forgive him . . . a little.
It was hard to forgive someone completely. Yumichika had kissed another man! So what if they hadn’t slept together, or fondled, or took it further, it didn’t mean that a kiss was any less intimate or any less of a betrayal of the heart . . . Great, just great, now he was sounding like some crappy love song! ‘Betrayal of the heart’! What kind of man used words like those, huh? See, that was Yumi for you! He got in your head, twisted things around, made you fall in love with him and then let his abandonment issues screw things up, and then you had to forgive him because - . . . because if you didn’t then you’d be no better than that fucking ass-wipe that abandoned Yumi in the first place. Ikkaku loved Yumi; he loved him enough not to make his issues worse, and loved him enough to prove to Yumi that some people could be trusted . . . and hated him just enough to rub it in his face that Yumi wasn’t one of those people. Ha! He deserved a little guilt trip; he did kiss someone else after all!
So Ikkaku had ended up spending the night at Yumichika’s place. Sensei hadn’t minded, but Ikkaku ended up on the sofa because he was still pissed enough not to share a bed with his boyfriend, and Yumichika had respected that enough not to try and seduce him into the bedroom. They’d eaten breakfast, they’d chatted, they’d sparred a little, and then Yumichika went off to his photography class, and Ikkaku . . . Ikkaku had been pissed.
Suddenly it wasn’t about the betrayal as such, it was about everything. He wanted closure, he wanted to defend Yumi’s honour, he wanted payback – he just wanted to make his anger go fucking away! It wasn’t just Yumi after all, it was that damned Hisagi too, the damned Hisagi who’d taken advantage of his boyfriend, who’d used him in his moment of need, who’d – who’d – who’d even did it in front of Kira! Yeah! Who does that? No one should kiss in front of some blond kid, and that was for sure! No, he wasn’t just looking for excuses, he just wanted to show this Hisagi guy what for and teach him a lesson, because no one touched his best friend and lover and got away with it! No one!
So it was that he’d ended up stealing Yumichika’s employee badge, reading his journal for the entry codes, and heading over to Vizard headquarters on the very next bus he could find . . . sadly after stopping by Zaraki’s for permission to go, which resulted in a little pink-haired brat asking to go with him, and her father saying ‘yes’ in hopes babysitting a child would prevent Ikkaku from getting in trouble.
It had been surprisingly easy to get into the building, and when the security guards had asked about why the photograph on the ID was so different to what he looked like, he’d responded with that he’d shaved off his hair, and then was forced to chase after Yachiru as she ran after a ‘doggy-chan!’ that was supposed to be used as a prop for a photo-shoot. Admittedly they’d gotten lost a few times after that, and Ikkaku had knocked out a couple of security guards on the fifth floor after they had the nerve to call him ‘bald’, but after another ten minutes they’d soon found the right department, albeit it was rather empty considering it was the main office to the heads of the company. Wasn’t there supposed to be eight people in charge of the place? Why could he only see a creepy woman in a schoolgirl outfit, and a short, feminine man in a waistcoat and cat ears?
“May I help you?”
It was the weird-looking woman in a school uniform that spoke. She was sitting cross-legged with her feet up upon her desk, and Ikkaku was grateful she was cross-legged because her skirt was so short any subtle movement was sure to give anyone opposite her an eye full. Still, she had an air about her that was somewhat disturbing. She seemed so serious, so strong, like a woman who was in charge of the world and wanted the world to just realise it . . . and the creepy man wearing a waistcoat and massaging her feet didn’t help the image at all.
“Yay! Kitty!” Yachiru bounced up and down a few times next to Ikkaku, clapping her hands and gazing at the creepy guy wearing the waistcoat and cat ears, then gazed at the lady with big, dark eyes. “Can I play with him, School Lady? Can I? Can I?”
“Sure, make sure you find his tail and pull it hard too.”
Ikkaku spluttered hard as Yachiru squealed loudly and dived for the poor man, jumping on his back and kicking him hard to make him move. The problem was – did that – no way did she - . . . Did that woman really say something so inappropriate to a hyperactive child that would probably take her literally? Ikkaku was just a teenager himself, and he wouldn’t dare say anything like that to a kid! What kind of adult – what would – if he just - . . . That wasn’t freaking right!
“Relax,” the woman said as she shuffled some papers. “I was just joking. If your sister really does try to find Luppi-san’s tail then I’ll be sure to stop her, it’s not like we need any more lawsuits around this place.”
“Huh? What? How man damned kids pulls tails around here!”
She smiled in such a creepy way that it was like looking at a female version of Gin, and Ikkaku shivered. When she spoke her voice was all bitter and slippery, just like his former history teacher, and it made him want to go find a corner to hide in and forget all about Hisagi . . . He almost felt sorry for Hisagi working in a place like this, no wonder he kissed Yumi, he was probably suffering from post traumatic stress or something. God only knew what they did to him here.
“My, and they say I’m the pervert,” she said coldly. “Now, may I help you?”
“Err, I’m looking for Hisagi-san,” Ikkaku said nervously, ignoring the squeals of Yachiru as she tried to give Luppi earrings, which meant trying to insert pens into his eardrums. “Isn’t anyone else here? I’d really like it if someone . . . responsible was here. I don’t feel right leaving my sensei’s daughter in a room with a man wearing cat ears, and a woman who uses ‘tail’ as a euphemism for –”
“Some of the Vizards are attending an informal meeting. The rest are asleep, five o’clock in the afternoon really is too early to expect them to be over their hangovers, you silly boy.” She bent down and lifted Yachiru from Luppi, who was literally huddled against the desk on the verge of a panic attack, with his hair full of paperclips and face covered in pink pen, “I’ll watch this thing for you. It can only be five, perfect age. Hisagi-kun is over there by the copier, just through that door next to the desk to your right. Enjoy yourself.”
“Err, thanks?”
“My pleasure.”
Ikkaku carefully began walking backwards across the main office, he made sure to keep a very close eye on Yachiru as he walked. The girl seemed happy enough, she was throwing around pieces of paper as the Vizard woman handed over pieces of chocolate, and although Ikkaku was tempted to scream ‘don’t eat that!’ in case it was poisoned, he decided not to. The way he saw it the Vizard wouldn’t dare poison a little girl . . . true she looked like the sort to slip sedatives into the juice, or give the kid sugar in hopes that after a harsh sugar high the kid would crash, but she didn’t seem like she’d do any harm to children, or at least he hoped not. Still, he had his phone with him, he could kick ass, and as long as he kept Yachiru in his eye line then all should be okay. He was still a little worried that they might start using her in some sort of child labour, or let her bounce out of a window, but if he acted too concerned Yachiru would only bite him hard and cause him to scream out in pain . . . at least she could take care of herself, the little brat.
He gave a little sigh and ran a hand over his head, then turned and walked past the nearest desk on the far right. It was a pretty strange layout. The main office was a huge circular shape with eight desks all around, and whilst a part of him wanted to assume one belonged to each Vizard, he’d actually walked past several private offices with names on. He’d already seen ‘Hirako Shinji’ and ‘Muguruma Ke-Sucks!’ with the latter having a graffiti picture of what seemed to be a smiling poo to go with it.
When he looked around it seemed this place was pretty casual, more like a meeting room, a place to come and sit down and have the other editors and owners around to bounce ideas off, and the whole round thing seemed pretty cool too, like Arthur and his round table. He was pretty glad he didn’t work here though, because one chair had a whoopee cushion on it and on a far desk that Luppi guy was pouring superglue all over the top, come to think of it he was sure someone had messed with the legs on the nearest table, the slightest bit of pressure and it’d collapse! Hey, come to think of it, that couldn’t be a stash of beer and sake under the table in the corner, could it? What kind of people ran this place? That was it; no way was he taking his eyes off from Yachiru! Luckily the little side-offices and storage rooms attached to this main office had glass windows, and it kind of gave the impression that the Vizards were using the main room as an office (which should have been used by their secretaries), and the actual offices as storage rooms or places for their secretaries. Huh, these people were backward freaks . . . how Hisagi could stand to work for these people he’d never know!
Ikkaku walked straight into the side room the Vizard had pointed out. He kept sending backwards glances at Yachiru, and surprisingly she seemed to be in a very calm, civil conversation with the lady, and although she seemed very childlike and happy she was a lot calmer than she’d ever been. Wow, maybe the Vizards really did have some talents after all?
The room was pretty small; just enough room for a copier and a fax machine, and high on a shelf was an old, beat-up radio playing some of the latest tunes from the Visual Kei bands. It was pretty loud, loud enough to have drowned out much of the conversation Ikkaku had with the Vizard lady, but because it was so banged-up the volume kept going from high to low, and because of the layout (and soundproofing of the office) it was hard to hear it from the main room anyway. It meant that when Ikkaku entered that Hisagi didn’t notice. His back was to the door and it was only when Ikkaku turned off the machine that Hisagi realised he had company, he turned around slowly, hands full of latest reports, and frowned as he saw Ikkaku standing there, holding himself in a fighting stance.
“Madarame-san?” Hisagi frowned as he looked Ikkaku up and down, “what are you doing here? Can I help you?”
Ikkaku was standing there looking as idiotic as ever.
He had the most insane grin that he’d ever seen, and seemed like he was looking for a fight. It was strange, but Hisagi really couldn’t think of any reasons why a boy like Ikkaku would want to start something with him, after all they barely ever spoke or saw each other. The last time Hisagi remembered seeing the kid was at some house party a while back, and before then it had to have been around a year or so back. He remembered because it was around the time that Tousen-san was still working for that publishing company, and Hisagi had served as his assistant, and after something bad had been written about in some book or other about Zaraki’s academy the man had turned up himself to ‘talk’ to Tousen. It had been surprisingly civil . . . until Yumichika had sided with Ikkaku in a fight against himself and Iba trying to defend their sensei. It hadn’t been long after that they’d broken up for good. They’d actually broken up officially when Hisagi headed to university, leaving Yumichika behind, and at first it’d been kind of hard with a few nights together in the holidays, but by his second year at university Hisagi had met Kensei . . .
It was then he’d started dating Hisagi, and it was then that they’d began working together, and when Tousen quit to work full-time for Aizen Hisagi had decided to just stay working for Kensei. He’d never regretted it, and he’d never looked back. The publishing firm had been great, but it’d been so stressful! Then there was all the drama with Yumi, and he really couldn’t deal with that guy’s issues, so frankly he was a lot happier here. All in all life was a lot easier.
Still, it didn’t explain what Ikkaku was doing here. The man only ever came near him when he was looking for a fight, or when he was forced to by the likes of Yumi or Renji, and he sure as hell didn’t shy away from his feelings about things either. He looked pissed, and Hisagi wasn’t entirely sure why . . . then it hit him. This had to be about Yumichika! Ikkaku was here for revenge or to defend his boyfriend’s honour, or some shit like that, and it’d obviously taken him a week to get up the nerve or to blame Hisagi. He’d be willing to bet he’d made up with Yumi, that they were back together, and he was looking to pound on Hisagi just to make himself feel better about things. It made him jealous in a way, because Yumichika was the one who started it – he was the one who kissed him – and yet here he was, back with Ikkaku with his boyfriend crazy enough about him to fight for him, and what about Hisagi? He hadn’t even started the kiss and yet he’d been the one to get beaten up, he’d been the one to be kicked out of his home, and when all that was done Kensei hadn’t said sorry by any conventional means, or trying to defend his honour like Ikkaku had to Yumi, instead he’d sang drunkenly at a window until Kira’s parents called the cops on him. Part of him just wanted a real, heartfelt apology and some real security in the relationship, some knowledge that Kensei wanted him and that he wasn’t going anywhere, and instead all he got was front page news about the domestic abuse and drunken serenades. Where was the romance?
“If you’re here to cause trouble,” Hisagi said, shuffling the papers onto a barely-there side-table, “then I’m really not in the mood, Ikkaku. I need to find a new place to live, and preferably a new job in a different department away from Muguruma-san, and I don’t need you to –”
He hadn’t seen the blow coming. He’d barely finished his sentence when Ikkaku’s fist came out of nowhere and hit him hard on the jaw, exactly in the spot where Kensei had struck him, and at once the cut on his lip tore open.
It was a hard hit and his whole jaw was bruised. His neck ached as he’d been force to twist it at an awkward angle, and – worse of all – the punch had knocked him off his feet and caused him to be sent flying sideways. He crashed hard against the office window, his forehead striking the glass, causing it to crack under the pressure, and he could feel the trickling of blood down his face. He’d landed oddly on his arm and his whole shoulder was in agony. Damn it! That kid wasn’t messing about, and he sure could pack a punch! He couldn’t just go and start hitting him back though, Tousen had always taught him to refrain from violence whenever possible and he didn’t want to disappoint his friend, besides Ikkaku was just a kid! If he struck him hard back then Yumichika would be pissed, Zaraki would get involved, Renji would start siding with Ikkaku too . . . The main reason he wouldn’t hit back though was that through the glass he could see Lisa at her desk, with some pink-haired kid with her, one that obviously knew Ikkaku. The brat was chanting ‘Baldy! Baldy!’ and giggling wildly, and there was no way he could punch a man in front of a child, especially not when the kid was so innocent and obviously had affection for Ikkaku. He couldn’t traumatise her like that, he couldn’t.
He tried not to wince as he saw Ikkaku coming straight for him, he wasn’t scared of some punk kid and he certainly wasn’t going to show him any fear either. He felt almost sick that Yumichika had chosen this brat over him or Renji. Ikkaku was reckless, violent and a complete fool, there was no way a man like Yumi should be with him. It wasn’t that Hisagi loved Yumi any more, but he still cared for him as a friend, and friends looked out for each other, he deserved better. Yet when Ikkaku came at him one more time, with his hand raised high in a fist, ready to strike him . . . he actually closed his eyes and flinched. He actually flinched! It wasn’t until he realised he hadn’t been hit that he opened his eyes and looked up . . .
“Ken-Kensei?”
Kensei was standing right behind Ikkaku with the guy’s fist in his hand, looking down at him with a less than impressed expression. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to threaten Ikkaku before kicking his ass, but before he could say or do anything the little pink-haired kid ran inside the office. Hisagi was glad he was paying attention, because she moved so fast that he would have missed her entirely if he so much as blinked. She ran around and punched Kensei hard in the groin, and as he bent over Ikkaku elbowed him in the nose (pulling his fist free of Kensei) and made a snide comment about how at least he’d never beat Yumi up, and then punched him in the stomach. Yachiru cheered at this before stamping hard on Kensei’s foot, declaring ‘that’s because Scars kissed Feathers!’ she then jumped on Ikkaku’s back as the two ran out of there . . . which was a good choice considering Kensei looked like he was two seconds away from ripping someone’s head off.
Hisagi could only hope that it wouldn’t be him suffering for this . . .
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Romance and Rivalries