Prompt #015 Loneliness
Title: Anti-Anxiety
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/characters: Ichigo/Toshiro, Isane
Prompt: #015 Loneliness
Warnings: Implications of off-screen major character death, swearing
Summary: This was the only part of being the Fourth Division taicho that Isane absolutely hated.
Having been the Fourth Division taicho for over six hundred years, Isane could safely say she had seen the best and the worst of every single person in Seireitei. She had survived wars, seen pale faces twisted in agony and bright, young faces smoothed in happiness, conducted countless of operations and saved thousands of lives, held people’s hands as they faded away, and handed over squirming babies as they screaming in joy at taking their first breaths. As such she knew, that beautiful light morning, what the Fifth Division taicho was going to say when he hauled himself into her office wearing a haunted, blotched expression and dry, crackled lips tucked tightly behind his teeth. He was robed in nothing but a sleeping yukata and a pair of slippers, and this would have startled Isane if the situation had been any different. Instead, she offered him a cup of tea (freshly poured from the flowery china tea-cup her late-taicho had gifted her) and took a sip of her own, if only to suspend the most abhorrent part of her job.
Ichigo took the tea without thanking her. The cup was hot and his hands were undoubtedly burning, but he just stared at it with such an air of vulnerability that she almost insisted that he take a seat before he bowed under the weight of his sorrow. Isane didn’t say anything however, for Ichigo made a distressed sound and sat down of his own accord, a large portion of his tea spilling onto the carpet.
She was sure that wasn’t the only thing she’d been clearing up later.
“He knew.” At his whisper, Isane decided it would be best to settle into her own chair. He paid no attention to her movement, or the redness of his hand, or how one of his slippers had flown across the room when he’d dropped into his seat. He just sat, like a statue, like he was waiting for something impossible. “He knew,” he repeated, words catching painfully at the grief in his voice. “And I think I did too - he told - he told me, before we went to bed last night, in not so many words. He’s like that.”
She waited for him to continue, knowing that he was aware of his grammatical mistake, but neither of them cruel enough to point it out.
“What do I do now?” he blurted.
Isane glanced at him over her cup. His vibrant demeanour was falling apart at the seams. (She didn’t think they’d ever be able to stitch him back together). “Remember him,” she said softly. “Just remember him.”
Ichigo sobbed out a violent laugh. “How the hell am I - I couldn’t even forget him if I wanted to! He’s still at home for fuck’s sa - fuck! Fuck!”
His tea went everywhere. She didn’t think he’d notice through his frenzy, but a second later he was on his knees on the carpet, apologies profoundly and desperately trying to mop it up with his yukata. The Fourth Division taicho took another sip of her own drink and watched him dissolve into a disarray of great, dreadful tears. Once he sounded like he’d started to collect himself, she slipped over and pulled him into a hug, flattening his bed-head hair down like she’d seen Tōshirō do many times before. They stayed like that for an indefinite amount of time, curled up together in the middle of the office, Isane’s spiritual energy warding away anybody who didn’t urgently need her. Eventually he pulled away, but he didn’t seem embarrassed - no, he’d expected such behaviour from himself; he knew that he was going to fall apart.
“How do you think he would’ve liked to be remembered?” she prompted, getting up to pour him another cup of tea. He probably wasn’t going to drink that one either, though.
Ichigo sniffed and looked down at the stain on his clothing. “Not like this,” he muttered quietly. “I need to do something with - can we…? I can’t leave him - his - him... I can’t leave him…”
She cut him off by encouraging him to drink the tea. He did, hesitantly, and then caught her gaze from across the room. His gaze narrowing, Ichigo glanced down at the cup and then sighed heavily. “You put something in this, didn’t you?”
“My apologies,” Isane fluttered. “I understand it wasn’t ethical, but I thought it might help.”
Ichigo sighed again and downed the rest. He swished the last of the tea around in the cup, watching it sadly. Isane spared a thought that this might be a common occurrence in the upcoming months as he looked up, indicating that he’d like another drink. He was still extremely pale and he was shaking with the effort of living, but he didn’t appear to be on the verge of crying anymore. She pressed her lips together and reached for the teacup, wondering if she’d have to make some more.
He wouldn’t be the only one unwilling to face the day, after all.
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/characters: Ichigo/Toshiro, Isane
Prompt: #015 Loneliness
Warnings: Implications of off-screen major character death, swearing
Summary: This was the only part of being the Fourth Division taicho that Isane absolutely hated.
Having been the Fourth Division taicho for over six hundred years, Isane could safely say she had seen the best and the worst of every single person in Seireitei. She had survived wars, seen pale faces twisted in agony and bright, young faces smoothed in happiness, conducted countless of operations and saved thousands of lives, held people’s hands as they faded away, and handed over squirming babies as they screaming in joy at taking their first breaths. As such she knew, that beautiful light morning, what the Fifth Division taicho was going to say when he hauled himself into her office wearing a haunted, blotched expression and dry, crackled lips tucked tightly behind his teeth. He was robed in nothing but a sleeping yukata and a pair of slippers, and this would have startled Isane if the situation had been any different. Instead, she offered him a cup of tea (freshly poured from the flowery china tea-cup her late-taicho had gifted her) and took a sip of her own, if only to suspend the most abhorrent part of her job.
Ichigo took the tea without thanking her. The cup was hot and his hands were undoubtedly burning, but he just stared at it with such an air of vulnerability that she almost insisted that he take a seat before he bowed under the weight of his sorrow. Isane didn’t say anything however, for Ichigo made a distressed sound and sat down of his own accord, a large portion of his tea spilling onto the carpet.
She was sure that wasn’t the only thing she’d been clearing up later.
“He knew.” At his whisper, Isane decided it would be best to settle into her own chair. He paid no attention to her movement, or the redness of his hand, or how one of his slippers had flown across the room when he’d dropped into his seat. He just sat, like a statue, like he was waiting for something impossible. “He knew,” he repeated, words catching painfully at the grief in his voice. “And I think I did too - he told - he told me, before we went to bed last night, in not so many words. He’s like that.”
She waited for him to continue, knowing that he was aware of his grammatical mistake, but neither of them cruel enough to point it out.
“What do I do now?” he blurted.
Isane glanced at him over her cup. His vibrant demeanour was falling apart at the seams. (She didn’t think they’d ever be able to stitch him back together). “Remember him,” she said softly. “Just remember him.”
Ichigo sobbed out a violent laugh. “How the hell am I - I couldn’t even forget him if I wanted to! He’s still at home for fuck’s sa - fuck! Fuck!”
His tea went everywhere. She didn’t think he’d notice through his frenzy, but a second later he was on his knees on the carpet, apologies profoundly and desperately trying to mop it up with his yukata. The Fourth Division taicho took another sip of her own drink and watched him dissolve into a disarray of great, dreadful tears. Once he sounded like he’d started to collect himself, she slipped over and pulled him into a hug, flattening his bed-head hair down like she’d seen Tōshirō do many times before. They stayed like that for an indefinite amount of time, curled up together in the middle of the office, Isane’s spiritual energy warding away anybody who didn’t urgently need her. Eventually he pulled away, but he didn’t seem embarrassed - no, he’d expected such behaviour from himself; he knew that he was going to fall apart.
“How do you think he would’ve liked to be remembered?” she prompted, getting up to pour him another cup of tea. He probably wasn’t going to drink that one either, though.
Ichigo sniffed and looked down at the stain on his clothing. “Not like this,” he muttered quietly. “I need to do something with - can we…? I can’t leave him - his - him... I can’t leave him…”
She cut him off by encouraging him to drink the tea. He did, hesitantly, and then caught her gaze from across the room. His gaze narrowing, Ichigo glanced down at the cup and then sighed heavily. “You put something in this, didn’t you?”
“My apologies,” Isane fluttered. “I understand it wasn’t ethical, but I thought it might help.”
Ichigo sighed again and downed the rest. He swished the last of the tea around in the cup, watching it sadly. Isane spared a thought that this might be a common occurrence in the upcoming months as he looked up, indicating that he’d like another drink. He was still extremely pale and he was shaking with the effort of living, but he didn’t appear to be on the verge of crying anymore. She pressed her lips together and reached for the teacup, wondering if she’d have to make some more.
He wouldn’t be the only one unwilling to face the day, after all.