Ghosts of the Past {Kenpachi, Yachiru}
Title: Ghosts of the Past
Characters/Pairing: Kenpachi, Yachiru, mentions of the first Yachiru and Kenpachi/first!Yachiru
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,206
Summary: One night, Kenpachi looks back on his past with the first Yachiru while the child lies sleeping in his bed.
A/N: Written for Table 33 of 5_prompts (prompt #1: bittersweet memories).
Moonlight shone through the window, casting ethereal glows unto the wooden floor and over a large figure that sat on the sill. It was quiet save for the occasional hooting of an owl, and it was dark, with only the light from lanterns hanging from the edges of rooftops, along with the bright sphere, serving as sources of illumination.
It was during nights like these that Kenpachi allowed himself to dwell within his thoughts. He wasn't one to muse over the past, present or the future, but tonight a stab of nostalgia had ambushed him, and he couldn't ignore it despite how much he wanted to.
What could possibly drive such a violent, bloodthirsty captain such as him to sit quietly in the corner and examine his thoughts was none other than his past. Of course, he didn't care much for history. Nobody could turn back time, and shinigami, though responsible for death, had to obey the laws of nature as well. He always thought that returning to the past, chastising oneself for a mistake that had happened a long time ago, was a weakness that should never exist.
But still, there he was, seeing his 'Chiru's face in his mind's eye.
Kenpachi had no idea as to how long it had been, how many years since he had set foot out of the 80th District, or how many years since her passing, but he still remembered her as if she had spoken to him just yesterday. Her face was as clear as day to him, and he still wished he could reach out and touch her cheek just once more.
Evidently, he couldn't, and that was what pained him. That was what he called a weakness - a battle-worn warrior tumbling into sorrow just because his past had caught up with him.
Most of the time, Kenpachi willed himself not to give into those memories, but it was difficult even for him. During their short life together - even after - Yachiru had a way of messing with his mind. She wasn't even here anymore, but still, in the deepest, darkest corner of his heart, he hoped to one day see her poke her head around the corner and wave at him, as if her passing had all just been a nasty prank.
Yachiru loved to play pranks on him, just like another one of those children in the streets. It was hard to put up with her antics sometimes, as Kenpachi certainly had not much taste for children. They didn't take an instant liking to him either - they scurried away, screaming and crying, whenever he was nearby. He didn't even need to raise a finger or quirk a sneer to drive them away - his oppressive spiritual pressure always did the trick. It was just as well too; gods knew just how much he despised children.
Much in contrast to him, Yachiru loved children. Of course, she was a woman, and almost every woman wanted to have kids of their own. Yachiru wasn't an exception, and seemingly, he was the man with whom she wanted to start a family with.
Unfortunately though, she had died way too early to even start thinking up names for their future generation. But, even before that, Kenpachi had some suspicions that she really couldn't bear any children. He didn't tell her this though - he was well aware of how much she wanted to have "little 'Chirus" of her own, as he liked to call them.
Shaking his head to rid himself of images of her, Kenpachi lifted a cup to his lips and took a sip of sake. It flowed through him, warming his insides, but that slight warmth was nothing compared to the feeling he experienced whenever Yachiru was near. Just the slightest glimpse of her in the streets would make his heart skip a beat - he never knew why, but she always seemed to know.
He especially enjoyed the nights when she would curl up in his arms, and he would watch over her, sometimes listen to her nonsense, until she fell asleep. After, he would gaze at her features, imprinting them in his mind as if the next moment she would fade away. Occasionally, he would bend down and plant a small, chaste kiss on her forehead. He didn't know what compelled him to do so, but he always felt a sudden surge of affection for her that drove him pass his emotional boundaries and make him do things he never even imagined.
A slight rustle caused him to turn away from the full moon towards his bed where Yachiru, the little brat with whom Kenpachi had entrusted his beloved's name to, lay entangled in the quilts. She twisted around a few times, fists clutching the sheets tightly to her chest, and then lay still, seemingly comfortable.
Speaking of warmth, maybe the brat was cold. Akin to the first Yachiru, she was fond of snuggling up to him. She was actually old enough to sleep in her own room now, but whenever Kenpachi told her that she was to sleep alone for the night, she would burst into tears and he had to give into her wails. He never liked to deal with a bawling brat, so he ceased his protests and settled with her sleeping in his room, on his bed, wrapped up in his captain's haori.
It was just as well anyway.
It had always been like that - just him and Yachiru since the olden days. The only reason why he considered having her be independent was because Yumichika had mentioned about her coming of age.
Once he had placed his cup on the tray, he rose to his feet, crossed the room and carefully settled himself on the bed, trying his best not to wake Yachiru. He propped himself on an elbow, supporting his jaw with a hand, and gazed at the sleeping child. The faint light of the candle fell upon her soft features, setting it aglow, casting a light orange hue over her ridiculously pink hair.
So peaceful, a little angel in slumber.
Kenpachi lay down, stretched his arms above his head, and just as he was about to drift off himself, he felt her snuggle up against his side. Still appearing to be asleep, she grasped small fistfuls of his yukata, burying her face in his chest. He watched her for a moment as she curled up into a ball, then wrapped an arm around her and brought her closer, sighing in contentment at the familiar feel of her small frame pressed up against him.
It had been hard trying to kick Yachiru out of his room - despite it being for her own good - but finally Kenpachi went over and told Yumichika to fuck off. The kid could sleep with him for as long as she wanted, nobody could say a damn thing about it, and even if anyone tried, he'd have their heads for Yachiru's new toys.
Now, as Kenpachi thought of the first Yachiru and how she used to give him a soft, peck good night on the chin, he bent down and brushed his lips against her pink strands.
And, as always, he wondered whether she was dreaming of him.
Characters/Pairing: Kenpachi, Yachiru, mentions of the first Yachiru and Kenpachi/first!Yachiru
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,206
Summary: One night, Kenpachi looks back on his past with the first Yachiru while the child lies sleeping in his bed.
A/N: Written for Table 33 of 5_prompts (prompt #1: bittersweet memories).
Moonlight shone through the window, casting ethereal glows unto the wooden floor and over a large figure that sat on the sill. It was quiet save for the occasional hooting of an owl, and it was dark, with only the light from lanterns hanging from the edges of rooftops, along with the bright sphere, serving as sources of illumination.
It was during nights like these that Kenpachi allowed himself to dwell within his thoughts. He wasn't one to muse over the past, present or the future, but tonight a stab of nostalgia had ambushed him, and he couldn't ignore it despite how much he wanted to.
What could possibly drive such a violent, bloodthirsty captain such as him to sit quietly in the corner and examine his thoughts was none other than his past. Of course, he didn't care much for history. Nobody could turn back time, and shinigami, though responsible for death, had to obey the laws of nature as well. He always thought that returning to the past, chastising oneself for a mistake that had happened a long time ago, was a weakness that should never exist.
But still, there he was, seeing his 'Chiru's face in his mind's eye.
Kenpachi had no idea as to how long it had been, how many years since he had set foot out of the 80th District, or how many years since her passing, but he still remembered her as if she had spoken to him just yesterday. Her face was as clear as day to him, and he still wished he could reach out and touch her cheek just once more.
Evidently, he couldn't, and that was what pained him. That was what he called a weakness - a battle-worn warrior tumbling into sorrow just because his past had caught up with him.
Most of the time, Kenpachi willed himself not to give into those memories, but it was difficult even for him. During their short life together - even after - Yachiru had a way of messing with his mind. She wasn't even here anymore, but still, in the deepest, darkest corner of his heart, he hoped to one day see her poke her head around the corner and wave at him, as if her passing had all just been a nasty prank.
Yachiru loved to play pranks on him, just like another one of those children in the streets. It was hard to put up with her antics sometimes, as Kenpachi certainly had not much taste for children. They didn't take an instant liking to him either - they scurried away, screaming and crying, whenever he was nearby. He didn't even need to raise a finger or quirk a sneer to drive them away - his oppressive spiritual pressure always did the trick. It was just as well too; gods knew just how much he despised children.
Much in contrast to him, Yachiru loved children. Of course, she was a woman, and almost every woman wanted to have kids of their own. Yachiru wasn't an exception, and seemingly, he was the man with whom she wanted to start a family with.
Unfortunately though, she had died way too early to even start thinking up names for their future generation. But, even before that, Kenpachi had some suspicions that she really couldn't bear any children. He didn't tell her this though - he was well aware of how much she wanted to have "little 'Chirus" of her own, as he liked to call them.
Shaking his head to rid himself of images of her, Kenpachi lifted a cup to his lips and took a sip of sake. It flowed through him, warming his insides, but that slight warmth was nothing compared to the feeling he experienced whenever Yachiru was near. Just the slightest glimpse of her in the streets would make his heart skip a beat - he never knew why, but she always seemed to know.
He especially enjoyed the nights when she would curl up in his arms, and he would watch over her, sometimes listen to her nonsense, until she fell asleep. After, he would gaze at her features, imprinting them in his mind as if the next moment she would fade away. Occasionally, he would bend down and plant a small, chaste kiss on her forehead. He didn't know what compelled him to do so, but he always felt a sudden surge of affection for her that drove him pass his emotional boundaries and make him do things he never even imagined.
A slight rustle caused him to turn away from the full moon towards his bed where Yachiru, the little brat with whom Kenpachi had entrusted his beloved's name to, lay entangled in the quilts. She twisted around a few times, fists clutching the sheets tightly to her chest, and then lay still, seemingly comfortable.
Speaking of warmth, maybe the brat was cold. Akin to the first Yachiru, she was fond of snuggling up to him. She was actually old enough to sleep in her own room now, but whenever Kenpachi told her that she was to sleep alone for the night, she would burst into tears and he had to give into her wails. He never liked to deal with a bawling brat, so he ceased his protests and settled with her sleeping in his room, on his bed, wrapped up in his captain's haori.
It was just as well anyway.
It had always been like that - just him and Yachiru since the olden days. The only reason why he considered having her be independent was because Yumichika had mentioned about her coming of age.
Once he had placed his cup on the tray, he rose to his feet, crossed the room and carefully settled himself on the bed, trying his best not to wake Yachiru. He propped himself on an elbow, supporting his jaw with a hand, and gazed at the sleeping child. The faint light of the candle fell upon her soft features, setting it aglow, casting a light orange hue over her ridiculously pink hair.
So peaceful, a little angel in slumber.
Kenpachi lay down, stretched his arms above his head, and just as he was about to drift off himself, he felt her snuggle up against his side. Still appearing to be asleep, she grasped small fistfuls of his yukata, burying her face in his chest. He watched her for a moment as she curled up into a ball, then wrapped an arm around her and brought her closer, sighing in contentment at the familiar feel of her small frame pressed up against him.
It had been hard trying to kick Yachiru out of his room - despite it being for her own good - but finally Kenpachi went over and told Yumichika to fuck off. The kid could sleep with him for as long as she wanted, nobody could say a damn thing about it, and even if anyone tried, he'd have their heads for Yachiru's new toys.
Now, as Kenpachi thought of the first Yachiru and how she used to give him a soft, peck good night on the chin, he bent down and brushed his lips against her pink strands.
And, as always, he wondered whether she was dreaming of him.