Archive of Our Own ^beta

With the lanterns' lights and the shadow cast by the only moving form nearby, the headquarters' flooring becomes a flickering silhouette show. Maybe the periodic creaking isn't fit for accompanying music, but the cicadas might be, if one pays close attention to their noise after tuning it out as a background attribute of the summer season for too long. On second thought, the instability of those floorboards is rather annoying in comparison, especially since, aside from not wearing solid shoes, the subject they're carrying supposedly doesn't weigh much.

Weight, right. Gin keeps being told he should eat more, something besides persimmons — mostly by Rangiku, but he's sure he's heard remarks on his constitution at least once from every member of the Gotei 13, with the exception of people too important to talk to him. Aizen has never told him either, he thinks as he continues his evening stroll, maybe he should ask him when he gets to his office. It would probably be an odd question; 'Do you think I'm too skinny, vice-captain?' and Aizen would raise his eyebrows but be amused, because he has a taste for unexpected things. Either that, or such an irrelevant inquiry would bother him.

Since Gin still has some trouble deciding what Aizen would like and dislike, he prefers to remain quiet. He figures it's more advantageous to spend some time observing how the man functions before proceeding with any plan to oppose him; for a few months or, give, years he can still play it off as a shy kid act. Either way, if he just does whatever Aizen says, he should be fine — like visiting the office at such an odd hour, an office that isn’t even his... Yet. Gin is fairly sure Aizen is planning to get Hirako Shinji out of the way somehow, though he hasn't mentioned it to him. It's not too long for Gin to walk to the place, ten minutes from the Squad Five barracks at most, though it's an exasperating ten minutes with those barely-functional lanterns and noisy flooring.

He slides the door open as inconspicuously as possible and spends a moment just standing there, letting the strip of moonlight and outdoor illumination mingle with the poor inner lighting. A candle on the table, to be precise. There's a moment in which Gin wonders if there's some tension in the air he's unaware of, as even the flame is too small to make percpetible movements. It goes long enough to make him conscious of the cicadas again. Aizen blends into the room as he's sat there, doesn't look his way, like he's meant to be the last thing to pay attention to in the whole interior. It gives Gin a whiplash that his biggest, most difficult goal in life is to kill this person.

"Ichimaru-kun," Aizen snaps him out of his contemplation, "good evening."

What an odd way of addressing him. Or of smiling with his eyes partly shielded by those ugly-looking glasses. Even when nobody else can see the two of them, he's like this — Gin wonders for a moment if Aizen has started believing his own façades.

"Would you take a seat?" He speaks again, making Gin acutely aware of how awkward he must look, standing in the open door like that. The formality of the situation is being salvaged.

He decides to take a step in and pulls the door shut, hiding the brief panoramic view of the moon. As the cicada sounds deafen, Gin settles on his knees on the pillow behind Aizen and suppresses the urge to fiddle with his hands or peel hangnails.

"'Tis quite late, vice-captain” he comments, just to talk at all.

“The briefing is related to our project,” Aizen puts the calligraphy brush down, “I can’t go around mentioning it anywhere and anytime, I hope you can understand.”

They stare at each other with the ongoing competition of who can produce a more disingenuous smile, maybe the corners of Gin’s mouth curl even wider than usual from the additional mockery of it all. He’s conspiring against a conspiracy he’s participating in, he reminds himself sometimes. Positively comical.

“Who’re we takin’ out?”

“Three or four lower officers, barracks inspection squad. Well, not yet,” Aizen corrects himself and hands him the list, “they are only to be officially appointed next week. There’s some research equipment of mine inconveniently in plain sight. A renomination will make for some delay, hopefully.”

“Aye, sir. Consider it done.”

“While you’re at it, scout me a new lab location” he adds. “Get around to it in the next two days.”

Gin nods and concludes his work here is done, just beginning to get up when Aizen speaks again, fingers browsing through ornamental notes and scraps of paper in a calculatingly spontaneous gesture.

“You’re in a hurry, have you had a tiring day?”

Gin pulls up his nose involuntarily. It’s almost half past one and he can't tell what interpersonal maneuver asking him that would accomplish.

“Not more than usual” he shrugs and sits back down, foreseeing the possibility of more mandatory conversation.

“You know— well, this is just funny. See the girl on that list? She goes to my calligraphy classes.” Aizen lifts a sheet of paper, neat and decorated with small prints of cherry blossoms. “She gave me this.”

Gin does a hint of a snort.

“Are you mournin’ your pupil, vice-captain?”

“Sure am,” the other jokes, “the lettering is very clean.”

In a gesture that could, out of context, seem impolite, the page is soon clasped between a bony thumb and index, every single stroke under close examination. It’s pretty, yes. Written with care and, willingly or not, doused in some kind of perfume.

“Love letter?”

“Not precisely.” Aizen stares off, almost bored of the chitchat he, himself started. “Have you heard the legend about the Kuchikis’ garden river? She transcribed it by hand.”

“Haven’t heard, actually.” Instead of waiting for the narration, Gin scans the first paragraph and begins to read out loud. “ On a full moon’s night, when the sky was so clear no trees cast shadows ,”

“In short, they allege there’s a kappa.” Aizen has actually interrupted him. Oh, now he’s irritated. “But it only shows up once every five years on a full moon. It wants the sacrifice of a young lady troubled by unrequited love, or it will abduct a member of the family instead.”

Gin loses composure and folds into two in a quiet hiss of a laughter. He has to admit that’s a good anecdote.

“So the way I see it, missy’s makin’ a suicide threat. An’ the Kuchikis are responsible for several murders.”

“Oh, the Kuchikis don’t need fairytales for that.”

"Why this story out of all?" Gin brings the letter closer to his face as if it would make it easier for nitpicking. "It's in bad taste. Wait, lemme guess, it's s'posed to come this year."

"So it seems."

He folds up the paper irreverently, not bothering to uphold an image of respect for its author in a context like this, but looks back at Aizen, just to make sure. Yes, he's the same as always, in his uncaringness that flies under everyone else's radar. With his curls a little disheveled and his shave maybe not as clean as always, superficially innocuous but devoid of care. It registers to Gin that he's been staring for too long.

"You mind if I take this with me? I wanna read the rest of it an' you ain't gonna look at it again anyway."

Aizen scratches his chin, for a second he looks like he might object. But all he does is nod towards a package wrapped in paper on one of the shelves.

"Sure, but take that too, it's for you. I've been to a fair and I thought of you."

There’s a subtle satisfaction transpiring from his face when Gin begins to undo the layers covering the box impatiently. He could have waited, but he did suspect Aizen would want to see him get all excited about it since he went as far as getting him a gift that isn't part of his public performance. Underneath, there's an ornate packaging with golden kanji — Gin doesn't remember how to read all of them. Lifting the lid reveals two rows of dried persimmons, symmetrical and probably handpicked with accuracy. This is sophisticated stuff, unlike anything he's ever had in the Rukongai, unlike the ones he used to offer Rangiku.

"These look expensive, vice-captain." Gin runs a finger across one of the bright orange sections of fruit.

"A reward for your good work."

He realizes he really is tired when he finds himself spacing out and trying to disembroil the mystery behind Aizen's frighteningly convincing kindness.

"I get told I should eat somethin' else." Gin makes an addition when he sees the other's brows draw together; "But it's real difficult 'cause I get an appetite for 'em every time you give me some."

"You manage to live off them in one way or another" Aizen observes.

"D'you think I'm too skinny, vice-captain?"

He can't fathom why he actually ended up asking that. The other seems to think a lot about the answer, but doesn't look surprised, which is exactly what Gin finds surprising. Aizen looks at him again.

"I don't object to anything about you."

It's just cryptic enough to give him some trouble sleeping.

*

Shinji Hirako tucks behind his ear the lock of hair that has accidentally landed between his line of vision and the paper stack on his desk. He combs through another, readjusts his bangs and looks back and forth between Gin and the documents a few times.

"Sousuke's a pain, but he has a remarkable—" he glances over towards the entrance of his office again, where his guest is standing, "—ability to find candidates for high seats. 'S like the black hole in the place of his sense of humor is pullin' in all the fun people."

Gin takes an unsure step towards the captain but can't really come up with a response. He examines the oddities in the room as a displacement activity; there's a variety of musical instruments he's never seen before, gadgets that look more like they belong in the Squad Twelve storages, and many, many of those so-called vinyl discs, scattered all over the floor.

"Ya know what a black hole is, kid?"

"No, sir." Gin squints even more than usual, but Hirako is reading his personal data again and can't see it.

"Mad fuckers in the World of the Living found these—" He has to pause due to his lack of in-depth scientific knowledge. "Well, they're so heavy they suck in light. In Space. So damn resourceful they know what's in Space."

One would think he's expecting a reaction, but he moves on from his rambles almost immediately, picking up the stack.

"Back on track. Heard you pulled a prank on Kenpachi. Gutsy."

"'Pologies,—" Gin tries not to chuckle.

"And you graduated the Academy in one year." It's a plunge of seriousness. Hirako says it with such a tone that Gin actually starts worrying the past training efforts might be backfiring by making him suspicious.

"Mostly luck" he tries to salvage.

"This fake modesty shit." The other interrupts. "Already learnin' from the worst, aren't ya."

Gin isn't sure what to say to that. No, captain, you don't want to know how far the parallels with Aizen go. Parallels, or more accurately analogies and points of correspondence .

"Well, I like you." Hirako follows up. "Yer a talented kid. Kinda like me at yer age, braggin' aside. We talk the same too, I reckon."

"I believe I'm leanin' more towards Kyoto-ben, sir."

The captain gives Gin a death glare for a few moments that he's not sure whether he's supposed to be taking seriously — and then it dawns on him. That he might have just blown his chance for the job position, an integral part to getting close to Aizen. The air of amusement that made the phrase slip out fades away in milliseconds, a time lapse Gin had no idea was enough to break out in cold sweat. Suddenly the office and its peculiar decorational objects go from charming to threatening and heavy. More awkward silence.

"The backtalk," Hirako speaks finally, "ya gotta cut it out when yer Third Seat."

Gin breathes out what feels like a gas tank's worth of air.

"I take it I passed?"

"Stop messin'. Yer already more useful than Sousuke before yer even hired." He follows up after noticing the residues of Gin's confusion; "And now you are. There ya go. But I'll fire you if I need to spell out everythin'."

"Thank you, sir!"

He only becomes aware how uncharacteristically loud he spoke and how abruptly he bowed when he's already done it, running in a frenzy towards the exit of the Gotei 13 Headquarters. He doesn't even have somewhere to hurry to, he realizes upon further thought. Something just feels cathartic about the rush.

*

"You rarely talk to me anymore."

Gin raises his light eyebrows, taking another bite of persimmon in silence. The sparring continues on the training grounds behind the bench, unaffected by the bubble of dramatic tension the two of them are in. He examines Rangiku's demanding expression from the shadow she casts as she stands between him and the midday sun. Amusingly, the colour of her hair is similar to persimmons under the light. It makes for a good aesthetic.

"What's even going on in your squad?" She sits down next to him without asking; she's assuming she doesn't have to ask. "You get all these... jobs and you disappear for days."

"Bein' a Third Seat is busy" Gin shrugs, quickly realizing the apathy might be offensive, and holding up the box her way. "Want one?"

Rangiku disregards the offer completely and all of the sudden looks so downcast it hits Gin right where it hurts. If this is making her sad, something inside tells him, then it's all for nothing, then he already failed.

"I'm not asking you to be around me all the time. Just— Say something. Just a little, every day, so I know you're alright."

A guy behind their backs gets hit in the stomach during the training session and begins yelling curses a bit too loudly to tune out of. Gin wants so badly to tell her he's operating on long-term goals — because he knows how Aizen is, because Aizen pre-plans and if he can't keep up with it he's going to outdo him, because if Gin gets sentimental for a single moment then that's the spot he'll aim at.

"I'm doin' great. You can always assume I am." His smile fades for a second as he opens his eyes and looks into Rangiku's. "You gettin' all worked up ain't gonna help either of us."

"Are you telling me to just ignore you?" Her voice is more sad than angry — it's a gentle anger.

"I'm tellin' you not to meddle."

Gin gets up and begins walking away, leaving Rangiku speechless, and the last glance he casts at her probably goes unnoticed. He states to himself that, regretfully, she looks much prettier when she's confused and upset, as much as that's a thought he wants to erase from his mind, lest he get attached to the negativity of it. Then again, it's in his nature; to see Rangiku sitting there still and dejected and feel a semblance of delight. He's sacrificing so much for what he's going to accomplish. It's the beauty of the ritual offerings thrown into fire, burning to crisp.

*

Gin isn't opposed to killing in broad daylight, it usually just happens to be less convenient. Not, however, when he has an entire day off. Might as well take care of this in the meantime, he muses as he rubs one foot into the dusty dirt road with a step, intentionally flipping a beetle on its back.

It's a weird liminal space, a green area right at the edge of the Seireitei. Small woods for the wealthy families to make their pale little kids breathe some fresh air. There's a harmony to how similar it is to the Rukongai countryside he used to roam as a child; would have been the same if the latter hadn't been devastated by war. With a stretch, it's still a measure of equality between the rich and the poor. A common ground . He chuckles at his own joke.

The path passes through an open field, ending at the edge of a thicket, with the Kuchiki residence right in front of it. It's surrounded by a high wall, family crests all over it, delineating its rectangular span; they keep the gate sealed shut, but he's not here to get inside anyway.

His attention flicks to the dark-clad shape a few steps from the manor as soon as he spots it in the corner of his eye.

Gin exhales, troubled by the task to about the same extent as if he were grocery-shopping. Nobles make a big deal out of wanting rivers to flow through their gardens, it seems to be a sort of trend, or just a personal obsession of the Kuchikis' brat. And then all the portions that flow outside accumulate and form a swamp. And then some dumbass decides to walk straight through it. And then Gin has to go through the trouble of following them there for an assassination. He's truly, honestly tempted to release Shinso and pull a toothpick-style from a distance, but his brain is playing on repeat all the times Aizen has told him not to use shikai unnecessarily.

It comes as a bit of a surprise. She's quite young. Suddenly, it's not that odd that she would go on ridiculous scouting trips for some stupid legend and out of hormonal desperation. Her shihakusho is covered in mud up to her knees as she pulls clusters of grass out of the way, looking for some semblance of the non-privatized section of the Kuchiki family river.

"If you ain't careful it's gon' drag you down and drown you!"

The girl almost falls on her back into the swamp, probably bordering on a heart attack in that moment.

"'Sides," Gin continues, cutting away the vegetation in front of him with his zanpakuto, "it doesn't work if you're outside Kuchiki property, I don't think."

"What are you—" She has a high pitch with a lot of confusion in it. It's sort of loathsome.

"You know what kappa do to young missies? Don't feel like spellin' it out if I'm honest."

"Ew" the other instinctively grimaces.

She seems to decide not to address the comment further, simply standing around in bewilderment as Gin takes three slow steps her way. Awful reaction times and even worse adaptation. Oh, the people who manage to become shinigami these days...

"You're the Third Seat" she says when the memory hits her. "Under Aizen-sa—"

"'Course you'd know, wouldncha." Gin grins wider, doesn't even reach for his sword hilt. "Is it 'cause you stalk him like the rest of 'em?"

It's fun. It's fun to see her pale and forget to retort, to get suddenly consumed by unbearable and maddening feelings that have grown pathological enough for her to send stupid letters like the last one. Gin isn't sure what overcomes him in these moments but there's something exhilarating about the agony on her face. He can only imagine what it'll look like when she realizes she's about to die. He moves even closer and the slimy ground under him produces a distasteful smack.

"You gettin' your rocks off thinkin' 'bout him?"

It's a whimsical addition, but it makes the girl realize there's something wrong and she attempts a scream that comes out as a whine, then looks alarmed about how her vocal cords gave out.

"You won't anymore if you die, y'know," Gin continues, "you should be careful not to get killed by some monster out here, 's a dangerous place."

He almost grabs his zanpakuto, but then his hand halts, a distant voice progressively fading into his perception.

“—maru! Ichimaru!”

He barely has the time to take in Hirako Shinji closing in with sharp flashes mid-air, upside down and with a cascade of golden hair to follow. Gin is grabbed by the collar and forcibly lifted, he can’t even glance over at the girl held up by the captain’s other hand.

The swamp, the thicket and the fields grow more and more distant and obfuscated by the clouds’ vapor. A single glimpse of the Kuchiki manor can be caught for a moment, the well-kempt grass and trimmed trees. Of the river, which for now seems unperturbed.

*

“We’ve talked 'bout this.”

Kuchiki Ginrei’s chastising stare is more effective than Hirako's lecturing or the firm grasp he has on Gin's shoulder. He doesn't notice his own focus wandering off, but the captain does, and he grabs ahold of his jaw to turn his face back towards himself. Of all times, this is the one where his superiors had to have a work meetup. That's just how his luck is. Surely, there's an element of public humiliation in this, otherwise it wouldn't be happening in front of the Kuchikis' front gate and with the head of the family present.

"Imma be upfront kid," Hirako continues as if he's not always upfront, "as funny as the bullyin' thing is, it ain't funny when you do it."

"Why?" The question escapes Gin's ever-grinning lips, and really, he considers he should learn to keep himself in check.

"'Cause people are scared shitless of ya. Some other snot-nosed brat tells me he's gon' kill me, I laugh it off. If you tell me, it's believable. You understand?"

Continuing this discussion would be an utter waste of time, and so Gin nods. They part from the elder Kuchiki with a bow and the walk back to the barracks is one of the most tense few minutes of his life.

"Not only scared," Hirako speaks again after a while, apparently determined to continue scolding him, "but envious. That's probably worse."

There's a whiff of wind — air circulates well in open areas — and it sends the captain's showy haircut flying in a vortex of blonde as it covers his eyes and almost hits the other in the face as well.

"How could that be?" Gin decides to indulge him by asking.

"Just think 'bout it. Wouldn't you find it weird? That a Third Seat gets killed and is immediately replaced with some kid ain't nobody's seen before? Folk were linin' up for that position. I spend my days comin' up with bullshit excuses for the kinda rumors goin' 'round."

"Rumors" the apparently menacing Third Seat repeats, tasting the word. Hirako doesn't acknowledge his reaction and goes off on a ramble more to himself than a response.

"And Sousuke ain't doin' anything 'bout this, the smug bastard. I should bring this to his attention, actually, so he can play babysitter from now. I ain't suited for it."

It could have gone worse, Gin thinks as he fixates on the specks of mud on his uniform. Or maybe he was expecting the predicament.

*

The summer sun makes Gin's eyes narrow to the point of barely seeing. They haven't had such an idyllic weather for a long time and the trees are just shedding their flowers and beginning to bear fruits as well. He almost deludes himself into a good mood. There seems to be a minor congregation of people in the headquarters' interior garden, with high-ranking officials engaging in lighthearted conversation and looking rather like a group of schoolgirls during break. He can see Hiyori Sarugaki pulling Hirako's hair violently and the two throwing insults at each other; the usual thing.

Gin almost drops the heavy stack of documents he's carrying from the loss of focus. He manages to hold it together in the last moment, supporting them against his knee and reordering them into a pile again.

"Gin-kun!" Hirako yells at him from the distance, waving broadly. He doesn't remember them being on a first name basis.

The next moment everyone is turned towards him, gesturing him to join them. Aside from the aforementioned, he can spot Urahara, Otoribashi, Aikawa, a few seated officers he doesn't recognize and — of course — Aizen in the back, doing his best not to attract attention. Gin is mildly confused about the sudden interest in him.

"Speak of the devil, I just mentioned ya" Hirako pats him on the shoulder when he steps inside the circle, putting the fate of the document pile at risk again. He turns towards the others. "Ain't he charmin'?"

"Shin'o Academy's little virtuoso." Otoribashi looks at him for a while with some sort of soft curiosity. "Your squad sure did its best to hog him for themselves."

"I guess I understand now," Urahara scratches his chin, looking up, "appointing him to Third Seat is a pretty foolproof way to make sure he doesn't get a better offer. Good thinking, Captain Hirako."

The knowing glance back and forth between the Fifth's captain and vice-captain goes completely unperceived by everyone but Gin — it's not for anyone's benefit to mention that the thinking wasn't mainly done by the former. He jumps back when he suddenly finds Sarugaki's scowl close to his face. She pretend-whispers to him behind her hand as a joke.

"Hey, if I were you I'd run as fast as I can. If you work for idiot Shinji, he's gonna make you do his haircare routine."

"Shut up Hiyori, I do my routine all by myself!" Hirako yells at her, and so they begin fighting again a few meters away.

"Oh really? Because from what I heard you make Aizen brush your hair, baldy!"

"Yer not even makin' sense! How are ya callin' me bald if yer talkin' 'bout my hair?"

Gin tries not to look exhausted when Otoribashi turns back to him.

"Well, if you feel like making a change, the Third Squad is always here to welcome you, Gin-kun."

He maintains his usual smile and gives a polite nod while knowing full well that the possibility is discarded a priori. Gin can feel Aizen's eyes on him from behind the glasses, as if they were saying ' Don't even think about it '. He returns the look for barely a second, with an expression that replies ' I wasn't going to '.

"How much work do you have left for today?" Hirako asks when he's done with his and Sarugaki's childish fisticuffs.

"I only have these to hand in" Gin lifts the stack a bit. "I was lookin' for the vice-captain actually."

"Lazin' 'round instead of doin' yer work, Sousuke" the captain groans halfway across his own shoulder.

"You requested I come with you, captain" Aizen smiles with mock-patience.

"We're havin' dinner and a few drinks at eight, kid. You should come."

Seeing his puzzlement, Hirako takes him to the side with an unexpected tone of importance.

"'S better if you get on friendly terms with everyone. There's other academy graduates invited, I'm pretty sure Rangiku-chan's among 'em too. It ain't gonna be awkward, you're gonna have fun and the squad's gonna get some good rep. Aight?"

Gin's heart skips a beat.

"I don't like parties, sir."

No, he actually has no opinion on them. But he realizes that the idea of being around Rangiku weighs on him like concrete— When did it become like this? It's not that Gin doesn't care for her, perhaps he cares even more than before and that's why he feels like, with the way the events are headed, the air gets sucked out of his lungs every time her name is mentioned.

"But yer good at pretendin' you like things" Hirako snaps him out of it.

The phrase sticks with him somehow.

*

The sun begins to go down with all its pinks and oranges, settling right at an angle that illuminates the whole office even through the rice paper blinds obfuscating the windows. It's hard to see whether Aizen is even looking at the reports, the light cast onto his lenses makes him utterly inscrutable. His face shifts and he gives a smile after a few seconds, like he forgot Gin was there before then.

"Did you like the persimmons?"

"I was almost done with 'em in a day."

"How many are there left?"

There's clearly a riddle somewhere. Gin's brains, the ones he's often praised for, try to crack the code.

"Four, vice-captain. I'm tryna be quick but things ain't always linin' up to help."

"I see." Aizen breathes. "This evening they might."

These moments of silence almost bother Gin more than everything else he thinks of him — it's a very Squad Five-esque thing to take these long pauses, generate tension between interlocutors. He finds his brain looking for something to pay attention to in the lapses when he's supposed to digest what's been said. Especially if it's Aizen, there's always something else to think about besides his words, — mostly lies anyway — his humanizing quirks that always may or may not be artificial and the suspense of wondering is what's interesting about them. Like how, despite his formality, he bites the cap off of pens, or that the precise looseness with which he ties his robes has a certain delicacy to it, always showing a small portion of collarbone and muscle. Gin knows he's done for, because this is how it always starts, endearing the villain to ourselves; his conscience, fortunately, remains critical enough. Besides, it's not like he hasn't demanded of others to soften at his own villainy.

"There's no issue with these" Aizen then says, setting the documents aside.

He gets up from his chair and Gin follows him with his eyes as he pulls the keys out the drawer and makes his leisurely way towards the door.

"It's almost time, the others should be there already."

What's even the point of making that mellow expression? It bugs Gin to no end. It's the one thing he can make no sense of, or that he doesn't want to make sense of, because it would involve admitting to the subconscious reactions that smile causes in him. It's nothing but a game of showing off, of Aizen rubbing it in his face that a mass murderer like him can have the most trust-evoking features in the world and don't you think it's funny? The irony? You have always liked irony, Ichimaru-kun .

In three turns of the key the office is locked. There's nobody besides them in the headquarters anymore. The floorboards creak a little more from Aizen's steps than his.

"You didn't tell me 'bout all the other parts of that story" Gin breaks the silence as they walk towards the main entrance.

"You actually kept that thing?" Aizen chuckles, opening the floodgates to all his repressed disdain in that single sentence.

"Like that the kappa dragged the chick away 'cause it was longin' for her. She coulda understood it 'cause they both had unrequited feelings, an' it fell for her, but only for this one fact. If she'd actually felt anythin' for it, it wouldn've liked her at all."

Gin feels like he's given up all semblance of professionalism before the person he's supposed to impress as a matter of life or death. But he can't keep himself from talking once he starts. God, he feels immature. Another unexpected thing about Aizen is that, instead of dismissing the conversation as it is, he demonstrates having carefully listened to all of it.

"The way I see it," he closes the gates as they set off on a stroll along the foot soldiers' lodgings directly outside, "it's rare in mythology for a monster's feelings to be reciprocated. Usually, if that even happens, the monster would turn out to have been human all along or some such."

"Then it coulda happened, would've been an even bigger downer if ya ask me."

"Unlikely. Legends would pick at least a more sympathetic monster for that, a mammal or something similar. Kappa are cold-blooded like a frog or snake."

"See? That's the punchline. 'T was supposed to be hopeless."

The inn is among the mass barracks, it can already be spotted in the distance from where they are — simple but not quite Rukongai levels of sobriety. It's a funny word to associate to a place where everyone is piss drunk either way. Most of the soldiers are preparing for missions or bed, only the small cabal of high officers can allow themselves to drink right now. There's so much wrong with the Gotei 13's hierarchical structure that Gin would think about destroying it if he wasn't already on a life mission to kill the man walking a few meters from him.

"Depressin' story" he states in an attempt to bring a closure to the earlier dialogue.

"It made you think a lot" Aizen smiles. There's nothing to even be smiling about at this point. Gin supposes that's ironic coming from him though.

They've run out of time to chat about irrelevant issues, they're right in front of the inn. Gin can hear Hirako's and Sarugaki's bickering even from outside. The day fades out in the appearance of a peaceful atmosphere as the last few people disappear from the streets and the darkness begins to set in. He hopes nobody brings it up that he has his zanpakuto with him.

*

Having his afternoon nap interrupted for the fourth time, Gin decides to give up on it altogether. His vision is suddenly filled with an uncomfortable amount of light as someone removes the letter positioned on his face to provide shade. He manages to snatch it back from the girl in the Shin'o uniform as she runs back to her group of friends and giggles. The poor piece of paper is severely crumpled at this point from being brought around too much — a more charitable destiny than Aizen's paper shredder, but miserable nonetheless.

He sits up, flicks an ant off his arm and back into the grass. The students seem to have just been released from one of the many final ceremonies, disturbing the peace of Gin's personal relaxing spot with their endless chatter about which divison they'll be assigned to. The girls are still staring at him from a distance and laughing somewhat, identical little ponytails and red shihakusho. He vaguely remembers them being his classmates for the brief time period when his talents hadn't been scouted out yet.

"Ichimaru!" One of them finally decides to address him. Gin maintains the usual smirk, it's what his facial muscles default to.

"Huh?"

"So when are you gonna do it?"

"Do what?" The lack of succintness is starting to bother him.

"Ask Matsumoto-chan out" another girl from the flock yells as if they're a hivemind.

Gin gets up to at least move closer, and he can see them flinch as soon as he gets too close , which at least is entertaining.

"My, who coulda told you I would?" For a second, the girls get excited. "I had no such plans."

"That's so unfair to her!" One of them steps out and points a finger into Gin's chest. "Come on, you guys have known each other since forever. Everyone is just waiting for it to happen."

Right, because to them, they're just a couple of childhood sweethearts pining for each other. He wants to get angry, but then he'd have to justify it, so he remains quiet. Same strategy for every situation.

"Oh, he's such a loser. Just leave him alone" a girl with a braid, who seems to be the previous one's friend, pats her on the arm gently and nudges her away.

The clique leaves shortly, assimilating with all the other groups of academy students interspersed between the institution's gates and the meadow. For a moment, Gin tastes true and complete isolation, in this place with so many people around.

It could have been like this , they all seem to say with their smiling faces and carefree hearts, you could have been like this . 'Could have been' is such a futile phrase, Gin assesses inwardly. It doesn't matter that it could have or would have or had a chance to , it's more important that it isn't . And that somebody took that away from him and Rangiku.

Oh, but he'll die for it. He'll die in despair and agony — when the time comes. When everything is set in motion and the chances are right. Not now.

*

"—So I see this kid in battle, and he's absolutely killin' it. Like a lil' lawnmower, chop-chop-chop hollow after hollow."

Gin realizes it's impossible for him to fade into the background with a tipsy Shinji Hirako around, especially after he was sat at the captains' and vice-captains' table like their decorative piece. True, he's probably envied, he can believe it after repeatedly observing that the conversation loops back to him even when he doesn't say a word.

"I'm not sure everyone here knows what a lawnmower is, sir" Aizen comments with a cautious tone, sipping his sake the same way one would do to tea.

"Then why the hell do you know? Damn, ya piss me off."

"I think he's right and you're just trying to look cool" Sarugaki taunts from the other end.

The inn would already be a mess with just the two of them; but then there's the lower officers, as well as a fifty-seat table with the academy graduates, going wild after what was, for many, probably the first drink of their lives. The chaos is immeasurable, it's hard to even discern a phrase yelled into one's ear. Gin is in his own little tense headspace, fidgeting with Shinso's hilt under the tabletop.

Some of the senior captains are present too; Kyoraku came along, as well as Ukitake and an entire first aid team watching every cough of his like a death battle.

"I did see your graduation" the former turns towards Gin, possibly two bottles further down than everyone else. "Very impressive. You've got an odd shikai but you handle it well."

"Now now, isn't it hurtful to call someone's shikai odd?" Ukitake intervenes.

"Oh, I didn't mean to insult you, Ichimaru-kun. It's a good kind of odd." For some reason they both feel like they're handling him with care, and Gin has to wonder if it's his age or if they're catching on to what's foreign about him.

The various conversations — about half of them concerning him — continue on through the evening, and in one moment the Fifth's famous Third Seat is about to fall asleep from boredom, but something catches his eye that reinvigorates his entire nervous system.

"Excuse me," Gin stands up, attracting the entire table's attention. It's barely audible with the graduates' yelling as they throw food at each other a few meters away. "I'm leavin' for a moment to get some tap water. Be right back."

*

The inn has a dark corridor running all the way around the main hall, with both the doors leading outside and into the center on two opposing sides. Gin is careful to appear to be walking in the rudimentary bathrooms' direction, hiding behind the corner as soon as he's out of sight from the attendees’ perspective. His eyes start to get used to darkness, and if he peeks out, he can see all the way to the next turn, the one his current target is rounding with a drunken stagger. This area is completely obscured, he calculates, so if he can be silent and control it well enough, he should be able to extend Shinso without being noticed.

It's the Fifteenth Seat of Squad 2 and Gin has recognized his face immediately from the files he dug up a day earlier, based on the names from the list. He had him wonder how an incompetent-looking man would be appointed for inspections — then again, he's likely in the Stealth Force and it's common knowledge that members of the Second are different from what they seem. Gin is confident he can outdo him at deception despite all that; he's learned from the best, after all. It's an unusual strike of luck that the fellow seems to have gotten lost in a place where nobody will look for his body, so much so that it might be a trap. It's one of those cases where the mission is more important than avoiding falling into it.

Gin remains still as his target stumbles back a little, stops in order to lean against a wall and wait in confusion for a moment — the guy’s really drunk. He channels his spiritual pressure into his zanpakuto, ready to strike, when the sound of footsteps behind him almost makes him topple over. The Fifteenth Seat on the other end gets spooked at the sound and disappears behind the corner. Shit.

"Here you are!"

Suddenly, there's the weight of an entire person put into the hand grasping at his uniform seam. His heart is still beating so unevenly from the surprise that he doesn't manage to speak.

"You left again," Rangiku giggles in the middle of the sentence, "I had no idea where you'd gone."

Her face is flushed and she can barely stand. Gin knew she was keen on alcohol in the sparse times she could afford having it, but she's gone far this time, unwittingly undermining a step in a revenge plot done for her sake. She needs to be held up by the armpits not to lose her balance.

"Weren't ya havin' enough fun?" It's a question asked more to himself.

All Rangiku does is laugh and Gin figures a decent person would escort her to her barracks, put her to sleep and notify someone. However, a decent person is very far from what he is. So all he does is help her back to the main hall and then the seat she previously occupied; everyone is too caught-up in the celebrations to even notice anyway. Rangiku seems to have started losing awareness of what's happening around her, which gives Gin the opportunity to shuffle back to the captains' table. He has to come up with a new excuse to leave, something, anything. He can't afford messing this up, not after Aizen specifically pointed it out to him.

The Gotei 13's leaders have begun losing their composure, laughing louder than the students a table away from them or bickering over even more irrelevant issues than usual. Somebody seems to have braided Hirako's hair. Kyoraku is leaning back in a cataleptic state and Ukitake is being assisted by his medical team to help his breathing.

As Gin returns to his place, between Hirako and Aikawa, the latter gives him a knowing look like he just wants to be saved from the situation, before pouring him a drink without giving him time to refuse. Suddenly, he begins getting stares — precisely the last thing he needs right now — and so, out of politeness, he gulps down the glass all in one go.

It's the worst decision of the evening. Maybe it's the persistent anxiety from the mission, or the fact that he was given a strong liquor, but it goes to his head immediately. Gin can feel his body physically doing a spin.

"Ya know, that's what my shikai does too." He can hear Hirako comment as a background voice to the ringing in his ears.

"If yer sense of direction is gettin' screwed up, it's better to grab onto somethin' stable so ya have a reference."

It's drunken babble, but Gin considers it might be good advice. The realization of what he should be doing comes back to him like a sobering splash of cold water. Right, the man he's supposed to kill hasn't come back, he's nowhere in the crowd.

Gin runs. He doesn't care how much he stands out — there should be enough chaos for people not to bother. He runs with steps that somehow seem incredibly loud to him and feels like he could fall anytime.

Doesn't matter. There's not enough time left.

*

"What the—"

The man's back hits the corridor wall behind him as Gin holds his mouth shut, deceptively slender-looking fingers exerting an unexpected amount of force that's a moment away from splitting the other's face in half. His lips curl up in a way he doesn't even have to control, in genuine satisfaction this time. The Fifteenth Seat struggles, tries to free his wrists from Gin's other hand, before getting kneed in the stomach by him. He goes rigid for a second. When he sees the flicker of dim light on the blade being pulled out, he conjures a gasp, teeth clasping together in his now freed mouth.

Being a Stealth Force member might be what allows him to use this time lapse to knock Gin back, having him trip a few steps. Doesn't come to the latter's advantage that the guy is surely above two meters and fairly robust — it wasn't this noticeable from a distance.

Gin reacts fast, effortlessly summons a binding kido without incantation. They're back where they were. This will be done with if he can concentrate and maintain the spell, he thinks, no more worrying about gaining Aizen's trust, no more chasing after infatuated girls, no more legends and letters and swamps and kappa. He grabs Shinso without releasing it because really, any sharp object would do at this point.

And he stabs.

The man lets out a scream. It's not a brief one of instant death; it's a heavy injury scream, because Gin missed , he didn't hit a vital spot. Of all times, after having a perfect record of exams and missions, this is the one where he makes a tiny mistake from his balance having been thrown off by stress and alcohol. The impact of shock makes the kido dissolve as the other crumbles onto the floor and continues to voice his pain.

Gin is ready to sink into a pit of despair and let the world collapse around him when, in a single moment, everything halts and goes quiet. The lack of sound makes the cicadas remarkably easy to notice.

*

The scene turns out quite picturesque. As if it was carefully arranged with the canons of classical paintings; the corridor's perspective forms symmetrical guidelines on each side that lead the eye to the relevant part, a few meters away. The Fifteenth Seat is on the verge of fainting from the wound but stuck in a mesmerized kneeling nonetheless, droplets of his blood in an undulating trail behind him like flower petals purposely placed there. And the image's centre, the one emphasized by the whole composition, is the man standing in the back and looking directly at Gin, obscured by the light pouring in from behind him.

He gets a vague thought about being confronted with a god.

It does at least serve as a reminder of Aizen being human when he begins to walk and sheathes his zanpakuto in the casual manner typical of him. Gin quickly snaps out of the trance, though he's still not sure his balance is quite right and it's now coupled with a headache. His supervisor avoids stepping into the blood as he passes by, and with a single gesture of his hand, the failed assassination's target falls lifeless onto the floor; was it kido? His zanpakuto? His spiritual pressure? It's impossible to even tell.

Gin takes note that Aizen isn't wearing his glasses; maybe it wasn't part of the setup and they just got lost in the mix, but his gaze is so much sharper like this that he's nearly unrecognizable.

"Vice-captain?"

"Kyoka Suigetsu" Aizen says as he stops in front of him.

He's actually going to die now. He'll end up like the Fifteenth Seat. Gin spares Rangiku a thought and ponders on many regrets.

"I used my shikai. They—" he nods in the main hall's general direction, "currently believe they're asleep and think of the commotion as a confused drunken memory."

Gin's brain blanks and switches to autopilot — he tries to stand and assumes for a moment he's managed, but his legs are too shaky. 'Grab onto something stable', huh. The closest thing to him for that purpose seems to be Aizen's left arm, the one with the vice-captain badge. His grip on it is so strong it could pass as a restraining move, except his face is buried in his superior's shoulder in an act of primal exhaustion, before he can even assess his own actions. It smells like laundry and road dust, as well as something distinct that one would expect to characterize a human being, rather than a monster, a god or the abstract idea of a force responsible for all the misery in one's life.

"I messed up real bad there," Gin attempts to sound carefree even now, as if it would help, "I s'pose I'm gettin' discharged now." It's muffled by the fabric of the other's uniform, but he can't move away, or it'd become clear he can't force a smile.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't so important."

In that moment, Gin's rationality knows the whole situation was set up by Aizen. He knows full well that the conflict was created and resolved by the same person, and he was a mere spectator that was there to emotionally react to it. Nevertheless, a weight has been lifted from him. The anxiety dissolves to leave room for unearned gratitude. Suddenly, Aizen is the saviour, the benevolent deity with a soft smile who places a hand on Gin's shoulderblade with so much care. And Gin is stunned by this duality of god and man, coming to the conclusion that they might just coexist in the same person.

Besides, he thinks as he leans into the embrace for a longer time than one should in a professional relationship, how many of the girls who had crushes on Aizen got this much? None, absolutely none. He can't tell how he's so sure of that extrapolation, but his thought process has stopped being logical a long while ago.

*

The headquarters are half-vacant and therefore particularly quiet. All the captains who aren't trapped in an illusion have gone to sleep without suspecting anything, outside is a pacific summer scenery of damp garden trees and a moon just past a full one. The door leading to Aizen's room on the first floor is ajar, revealing a glimpse of bare skin for only a second.

In that moment, Gin thinks about how odd it is that Aizen would kiss him at all, let alone it be tame and so mockingly restrained. This isn't how he imagined it — because he did imagine it, just tried to purge it from his memory immediately out of shame. But it's perhaps for the better that he can't quantify the amount of times he very vividly fantasized about Aizen's hands on him, and how much he wanted them there, a forbidden fruit the forbiddenness of which was reinforced by the other's reserved attitude. Gin used to brush it off as a natural curiosity — of course he'd wonder, those are the careful hands of a calligrapher and a meticulous planner.

Living through it isn't a far cry from a fever dream. Aizen's fingers snake under his uniform agonizingly slow as Gin lies on the futon, tilting his chin back with his eyes shut, not entirely in his right mind. This is not what he should be doing, he should be thinking about how to murder the man, and it's so sick and anomalous that he got to this point. He almost lets out a whine that would undermine the last bits of his dignity when Aizen undoes his sash. But a part of him isn't surprised at all, as if everything had been leading up to them doing this for a long, long time.

"You look quite good right now" Aizen leans down to whisper in his ear.

Gin can feel himself grow harder. The sinister glint in the other man's eye under a few strands of slightly displaced chestnut curls pushes his buttons just right. He thinks of the irony — he could have gotten off to just this, like that desperate girl — and true, he's always liked irony.

"Vice-captain..."

There's some unwanted desperation in his voice, and he slips his arms around the solid expanse of Aizen's back for a reference if anything, in this state of confusion. He's somehow surprised there's bodily temperature there.

"Referring to me by my rank is... humorous."

Then he bites Gin's neck, and Gin is gone , gasping in shock and frantically writhing out of his clothes in some spasm of repressed arousal.

"God—"

It's witty, because it's unclear whether he means it as an exclamation, but it hits a bullseye with Aizen's very evident superiority complex and prompts him to tighten his grip on Gin's thighs, spreading them impatiently. It's a complicated game they're both playing, and blind compliance isn't enough for Aizen, he wants a fight and he wants to win it.

"Been lookin' forward to this?" Gin pants with a smirk, somehow more smug when completely naked.

"I admit I found your pining endearing" Aizen replies with masterful poise as he removes the rest of his clothes.

*

A few minutes later Gin is truly confronted with how little he cares. The part of him that cries out so loud from pleasure it sounds like he's in pain when Aizen's cock hits that one spot — it's not a part he has reconciled with just yet. It's one of those graceful hands that pushes his face into the pillow, a violence that's somehow gentle, which is an oxymoron but that doesn't matter right now. He can feel the droplets of sweat collect in the pit of his elbow. Aizen fucks him at a pace that's neither too slow or too fast, just right to make him feel every inch, every individual sensation.

It's then that Gin truly gives up on denying he enjoys it. The fact that he should hate the man makes him enjoy it more. The other's hold on his waist as he fills him up again is so strong he suspects it would normally hurt.

"More..." he breathes out, moaning so loud at the next thrust it would put Rukongai hookers to shame.

"How demanding."

Gin rolls his hips back with no restraint, their coordinated movements get faster and more erratic. It brings him a certain satisfaction to hear the panting behind him, he can at least delude himself that he made an impact on Aizen in some indirect way. He wishes he could look at his face instead of staring sideways at the slight gap of the door, with that hand tangled into the strands of his hair. He turns halfway and clutches Aizen's bicep; the latter pulls out with some perceptible annoyance.

"I wanna see you,—" It's quiet and cut off, like Gin is afraid of saying something out of character.

"Anything you wish, Gin" the other says through a smirk, flipping him around and making his body perform another contraction out of neediness.

Aizen forces his way into his ass again, holding his knees — his hands are big enough that he could reach all the way around. Everything about him is heavy, overwhelming and absolute above Gin, who can only groan and reach for leverage on his shoulders. His superior is really handsome up close, he observes, as much as that's a strangely innocuous thing to focus on while he's being pounded into the man's futon. Handsome, intelligent, charming and holds Gin in high regard — ideal, if it wasn't for the archnemesis thing.

Gin doesn't want to think about it and suddenly feels an urge to cry; and so he holds onto Aizen tighter and abandons himself to the warmth of his cock inside him. It wouldn't be difficult to kill him right now, not when he's so close his pulse is palpable, but Gin's mind blanks before he can finish the thought as everything grows visceral and incoherent, and some perversion of the word 'Vice-captain' escapes his lips beyond his control. Aizen's hand wraps around his cock, but it's barely needed because Gin comes within moments, his whole body stiffening.

He then lies there passively, the bones of his chest shifting up and down with his heavy breathing, waiting for the other man to satisfy himself; there's an almost comical underlying disregard from both their ends. It might be closer to Aizen's true self, the way he shuts his eyes as he continues to thrust into Gin and then finally orgasms. Or, it's just physiological, and this reveals nothing at all. But that's the fun of wondering about these questions: never knowing if the answer is right.

*

"Why me?"

Aizen casts him a mildly perplexed glance, interrupting his teamaking in the corner. Gin sits up, the sheets slowly slide off his bare chest.

"Of everyone who woulda thrown 'emselves at you, I mean" he specifies.

"Who, desperate little girls?"

Gin doesn't want to comment on how he, himself is really not that far from them. He leans back and has to narrow his eyes at the light of the setting sun, pouring into the room in a single beam.

"I prefer not to waste my time on frustrating people" Aizen finally answers, proceeding to pour hot water on the leaves.

"Is that so?" The other turns back to him with a smirk. "Most of 'em call me frustratin'"

"Because you annoy them deliberately. You don't do that to me."

Waiting for the tea to be ready, he returns to the futon. The peace of the morning atmosphere is interrupted with a sudden, harsh movement as he falls on the floor next to the mattress. Despite their difference in body mass, Gin manages to topple him, slinging one leg over his waist. Aizen doesn't even look surprised. His hair has been thrown backwards in the process, framing his face in a completely different way.

"What are you doing?" He sounds incredibly amused.

"Tryin' to annoy you, I guess, Vice-captain."

This is how you're going to die , Gin wants to say. His fingers trail one of Aizen's collarbones, then the furrow in the middle of his chest, feeling a very calm and very ordinary heartbeat underneath. This is how you're going to die, on the day it has to happen . Aizen reaches up in a gesture of disgustingly fake affection, seemingly to stroke his cheek, but his palm lingers way too long on Gin's neck as if to say he could strangle him on the spot. Eventually, his thumb brushes the area under the other's eye, making it widen with a bit of stupefaction and showing off its bright aquamarine, rarely visible from all the squinting.

"Are you sure?" Aizen whispers.

The smile is quickly wiped off Gin's face with the realization. Within mere moments, he feels violently ill like his stomach has been turned inside out. Does he know? The attack never comes. Aizen isn't doing anything besides remaning still in a physically vulnerable position that would have allowed Gin to kill him in a whole number of ways by now— No, that's not it. He's relishing the fact that it's not happening despite the circumstances.

"Haven't answered—" Gin shifts his weight a bit to lean lower towards his superior, finally manages to exhale but has to pause a while, "my question. You said why not 'em but you haven't said why me."

"I'll ask something else in return. How many people do you think really know you, Gin?"

He gives it reflection. He refuses to allow Aizen to belong to that category so he thinks of Rangiku, he thinks of all his colleagues and his classmates.

"None."

"See," the man's eyes in those few seconds could burn a hole in his conscience, "I just feel like you understand a great deal. That's all there is to it."

The paradoxical nature of things — commonly called irony — is truly something phenomenal.

*

Rangiku kneels before the well-maintained side of the river and washes her face. She collects the water in her hands and brings it towards her forehead in careless splashes, likely too tired to even get her long, strawberry-blonde locks out of the way. Nobody seems to be paying much attention to her — or the blatant hangover she spent the entire graduation tea party in. All the participants are too busy chatting with each other in various points of the garden, perhaps the only one keeping an eye on the more isolated guests is the youngest Kuchiki, an arrogant boy with an overly-cautious attitude. Or, in Rangiku's case, Gin is watching too. Though he's not sure whether she knows he's there.

They've gone back to this bright, numb happiness like nothing happened. Nobody seems to have the vaguest idea of having been brainwashed; it's a terrifying power. It's going to be difficult to defeat. Even the strongest captains are content with chewing on homemade sweets and sharing first impressions on their brand new squad members. One would think that Rangiku might have figured it out and that's why she seems confused, but having seen how much she'd drunk yesterday the explanation is likely simpler.

She finally stands, perhaps to let her face and the drenched parts of her hair dry in the sunlight. Her observer, a few steps away from her, doesn't move. The river continues to flow at her feet vigorously as Gin's mind is filled with intrusive images of some reptilian creature reaching out of it and wrapping its cold feelers around her ankles. The fantasy's continuation is him desperately trying to stop it and his body going into paralysis, unable to do anything to help.

But maybe, if he tries, he can get dragged away in her stead.