Listen [Bleach, Hisagi/Kira, R]
Title: Listen
Author: soleil_de_lune
Rating: R
Warnings: Mature themes, dark, suggestions of non-con, abuse
Word count: 2127
Summary: He wondered if things might have different, if Izuru might have been spared the misery he had endured, had only ever said anything.
Prompt: November 9th: Shuuhei/Kira: Submission - Unexpected
Note: You may all shoot me immediately for being late with this one. I feel terrible, and it's nothing but my own fault (with a bit of help from Real Life and my muses going on a temporary vacation in New Plot Land). I had also initially intended this to be wildly different, and even way more romantic than it comes across... but I'm all about new beginnings these days. Please enjoy, regardless!
It was his hair that gave him away and revealed his hiding place. Shuuhei had almost missed him when he cut across the courtyard garden of the 9th Division, the black of Izuru’s shihakushou blending in the shadows cast by the great building behind them, had it not been for the brilliant way the moon reflected on his blond hair.
He took a tentative step toward him, noting the short cup in Izuru’s hands. “Kira?”
The blond looked up, jumping a little in surprise and sloshing some of his sake out of the cup. “Hisagi-senpai, I didn’t see you.”
“What are you doing here?” Shuuhei was now standing above him, looking down at his friend. “This is the Ninth, not the Third.”
Izuru started to stumble to his feet. “Sorry… Didn’t want to be there…” He mumbled before Shuuhei motioned for him to stay sitting and sat down next to him.
“It’s alright. I don’t mind… just wondering what you’re doing drinking in my courtyard.” Shuuhei reached for the cup, which Izuru handed over without argument.
“Just… needed some time away from there. From him.” Izuru stared at his pale hands.
Shuuhei handed back the cup and stared at him. “Him?”
Kira looked up at him a moment before staring at the ground. “Ichimaru-tai… Ichimaru.”
For a long moment, Shuuhei was silent. “Ichimaru?” He finally managed, wrinkling his brow.
“I know it’s stupid.” He murmured, unable to meet his friend’s eyes.
“He is dead, you know,” Shuuhei told him softly. “He’s dead and he can’t come back.”
“I know,” Izuru finally managed to drag his eyes back to Shuuhei’s. “I know… and it’s stupid to be afraid.”
“But you’re here instead.” It wasn’t really a question as much as a general acknowledgement of Izuru’s fears.
“I’m sorry…” He apologized, taking a long drink from the cup before giving it back to Shuuhei. “Take that… I don’t really want to be drunk.”
A quick glance into the cup revealed that it was mostly empty anyway. “It’s been bothering me, Kira… I know Ichimaru was always a bit of a creepy guy, but… you seem outright terrified of him, and you were his fukutaichou. If anyone could have seen his positive side, it should have been you.”
“That’s Matsumoto-san’s thing,” Izuru interjected immediately. “Ichimaru had no redeeming qualities. He was a terrible man, and he did terrible things.” To me. The words weren’t spoken, but they hung heavily in the air between them.
Shuuhei looked at his friend. “He was your taichou. He led the Third Division. He couldn’t have been so terrible.”
But Izuru was pale-paler than normal-and he clenched the fabric of his shihakushou so tightly it seemed as if his knuckles might crack under the pressure. “Hisagi-senpai…” He whispered, and it came out a hiss between the tight lock of his jaw.
Shuuhei wrinkled his brow in concern. This could not be considered normal. “Kira…” He murmured, reaching out to comfort his former kohai, who pulled away instinctively. “Kira?”
The blond pulled himself up and kneeled by a nearby bush. The dark mercifully hid the vision of Izuru being sick, but the awful sound of revulsion carried through the night, no matter how much Shuuhei might have liked it to disappear. He stood up himself and headed to kneel next to Izuru, rubbing his back very gently.
Izuru was shaking, and Shuuhei first thought it was a result of being sick, but it was when he heard the nearly silent sob that he recognized Izuru’s misery. “Kira, what the hell is wrong?” Harsh words, but Shuuhei couldn’t stop himself from uttering them in horror. “Kira, did you get drunk or is it… is it about Ichimaru?” He hoped it was the former. Drunkenness could be dealt with easily with a cup of water and a trip to the 4th if it got too bad. It was emotional scarring Shuuhei wasn’t so good with.
The smaller man heaved a bit more before collapsing backward and Shuuhei caught him in bewilderment. “Hisagi-senpai…” He murmured again through restrained sobs, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.
Shuuhei shook him a little. “Kira, are you okay?”
Nodding, Izuru tried to push himself up out of Shuuhei’s arm with a groan. “I’m fine.” It was so obviously a lie, but Shuuhei didn’t bother to try and correct him, instead choosing to tug the blond backward.
“You’re not fine enough to get up yet.”
But Izuru struggled against his touch, pushing him back until he was bent over his knees and slowly calming his breathing.
Shuuhei frowned, at a loss as to what to do next. Izuru was getting hold of himself again, but still didn’t look much better for it. He kneeled in front of his friend and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Kira… You aren’t okay.”
If he had to put a name on the emotion prominent on Izuru’s face when he looked up, it might have been shame. “I…” He sighed, drawing his knees to his chest and looking much like the impressionable boy he had been when Shuuhei had first met him. “Tousen was good as taichou, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, aside from that whole thing where he betrayed all of Seireitei and killed both of his commanding officers.” Shuuhei tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It didn’t seem like it would help Izuru with his struggle. “But… yes, as far as I knew, he was great. He was always kind, fair, and helpful to his subordinates.”
“Ichimaru wasn’t.”
He raised an eyebrow at Izuru’s words. “It wasn’t really in his character to be like Tousen, though, was it?”
“No… I mean that he was never once any of those things to anyone. He commanded the Third Division on his skill with a sword and the terror he inspired among his subordinates. Everyone respected and followed him, because they didn’t want to think about what would happen to them otherwise.”
“Are you worried that any of the others are like that? That you’d be like that as taichou?” Shuuhei brushed his hand over Izuru’s shoulder in concern.
Izuru shook his head violently. “No. No. I don’t think I could ever be like him after… after…” His voice trailed off without finishing the thought.
Shuuhei felt a cold shudder run up his spine. “Kira... What are you talking about?” When the blond neither answered nor met his eyes, he grasped his shoulder tightly. “Kira.”
The halfhearted shrug of his shoulder was supposed to persuade Shuuhei to let go, but Izuru couldn’t quite summon the strength to push him away. “He showed me what it was to despair… He did… he showed me terrible things.” He felt tears well up in his eyes again, and he tried to force them back. It was weak… and he had sworn that he would never let anyone know.
“Then… that’s his problem, isn’t it? Or it was. It’s not your fault, and you shouldn’t have to be afraid of him now, no matter what he did to you.” Shuuhei tried not to dwell too long on the idea of what Ichimaru Gin might or might not have done to Izuru. “This… really isn’t like you. You haven’t been right since you started working under… him.”
This only seemed to reaffirm what Izuru had told him, and Shuuhei trailed off, making sense of the pieces of the puzzle he had been given. Before, in the 5th Division, Izuru had been able to slip into the masses of other seated officers, including Hinamori and Abarai, and had largely escaped notice. He had always been ambitious, if not a bit pompous, and always, always enthusiastic about his tasks. But it changed. Izuru changed.
Shuuhei found himself slowly piecing it all together. Kira’s sudden melancholic disposition after being transferred to the 3rd Division, as Ichimaru Gin’s direct subordinate. His furious determination that bordered on obsession after the great betrayal and the subsequent months of holding together his Division and training furiously. The expression of relief that was all too clear on his usually masked features when Ichimaru finally fell. The fading scars littered across his body, just where his shihakushou might cover, that Izuru was all too quick to hide when they trained as old friends. The humiliated shame Shuuhei had mistaken for modesty. The despair.
“Oh God, Kira.”
Izuru looked away from him, this time not even bothering to conceal the fact that he wouldn’t-or couldn’t-meet Shuuhei’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Hisagi-senpai. I…”
“You can’t possibly think that this is your fault, can you? Why didn’t you ever say anything to anyone?” Shuuhei shook him again. “Why didn’t you tell Abarai, or Hinamori, or-hell-even me?”
“He was taichou.” Izuru supplied miserably, as if it were that simple. “I knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that, but I swore that I would follow my commanding officers without hesitation when I was still in the Academy.” He finally met Shuuhei’s eyes. “You… you knew that.”
“But… Kira…” He finally pulled his hand away from Izuru’s shoulder; certain he would have left one more bruise on the blond’s already battered body. “You should have never… had to…” Words were failing him quickly, and Izuru was looking away from him again.
“Show me.” He finally commanded, putting more decisive force behind the words than he felt inside.
“W-what?” Izuru choked out.
“Your scars. Show me.”
“Hisagi-sen-”
“Kira, you’ve been carrying this around for a long time. It doesn’t just have to be you.” Shuuhei meant to sound more in control of himself and even nonchalant about the whole mess, but his voice shook, to his own disgust.
Izuru fumbled with his own hands, having caught the hitch in Shuuhei’s voice. “It’s really… I appreciate the thought.”
“I’m not asking, Kira.” Shuuhei managed to fortify himself against the wave of revulsion that inevitably came as Izuru gave him a frightened look and peeled back the shoulder of his kimono.
Almost immediately, he pulled it back over his shoulder, noting the way Shuuhei’s eyes had widened. The older shinigami shook his head and pulled his hands away, pushing it back himself, unable to speak.
A crisscrossed web of scars spread down his shoulders, spilling onto his back, the perfect symmetry marred by the occasional knot of scar tissue Shuuhei didn’t care to think about. He traced them with his eyes and then his hands, hardly surprised when Izuru flinched and pulled away. Before he realized what was happening, before Izuru could realize what was happening, he pulled the blond toward him and retraced the scars a third time.
“I told you these weren’t yours to carry alone.”
“Hisagi-senpai, please.” The tone of his voice begged more than the words; told Shuuhei of the misery Izuru was reliving, and of the awkward position he was manufacturing between them.
“What, Kira?” He hardened his eyes and hoped Izuru wouldn’t be able to see through them to his breaking heart. “We were friends. We are friends.” He kept anything more to himself. There was a time and a place for all things. There and then was not the place for Hisagi Shuuhei to say anthing about curious thoughts and inclinations that had driven to be closer to his friend since they had met. Not among the dysfunctional memories of Ichimaru Gin. Not among Izuru’s misery.
“Please let me help.”
Izuru swallowed and felt his breath sticking somewhere in his chest with his hammering heart. Panic flooded his veins; the urge to run and never stop. He dropped his hands to the side and closed his eyes, submitting himself to Shuuhei’s inquisition and praying it would be more merciful than the rest of the times he had surrendered.
A calloused finger traced a long scar softly, almost affectionately. He shuddered. Ichimaru had been as gentle when he inflicted that particular scar. The effect and the feeling, however, were entirely different. “Hisa…gi.”
“What happened with this one?” Shuuhei murmured, hoping it would be enough, fearing that it could never be.
There was a long pause, so long that it seemed to stretch eternally before and behind them. Shuuhei thought he would be better letting the issue drop, that Izuru would tell him when he was ready, and was in the middle of telling him so when Izuru began speaking.
His words were nearly inaudible at first, but as he spoke, they flowed faster and faster, louder and louder. Izuru didn’t cry, but he shook at times, and choked at others. Shuuhei took it in stride. If he could tell the stories-relive the memories-he could do so little as to be patient, accept them, and then take the next step.
Izuru told him everything. Shuuhei listened.
Author: soleil_de_lune
Rating: R
Warnings: Mature themes, dark, suggestions of non-con, abuse
Word count: 2127
Summary: He wondered if things might have different, if Izuru might have been spared the misery he had endured, had only ever said anything.
Prompt: November 9th: Shuuhei/Kira: Submission - Unexpected
Note: You may all shoot me immediately for being late with this one. I feel terrible, and it's nothing but my own fault (with a bit of help from Real Life and my muses going on a temporary vacation in New Plot Land). I had also initially intended this to be wildly different, and even way more romantic than it comes across... but I'm all about new beginnings these days. Please enjoy, regardless!
It was his hair that gave him away and revealed his hiding place. Shuuhei had almost missed him when he cut across the courtyard garden of the 9th Division, the black of Izuru’s shihakushou blending in the shadows cast by the great building behind them, had it not been for the brilliant way the moon reflected on his blond hair.
He took a tentative step toward him, noting the short cup in Izuru’s hands. “Kira?”
The blond looked up, jumping a little in surprise and sloshing some of his sake out of the cup. “Hisagi-senpai, I didn’t see you.”
“What are you doing here?” Shuuhei was now standing above him, looking down at his friend. “This is the Ninth, not the Third.”
Izuru started to stumble to his feet. “Sorry… Didn’t want to be there…” He mumbled before Shuuhei motioned for him to stay sitting and sat down next to him.
“It’s alright. I don’t mind… just wondering what you’re doing drinking in my courtyard.” Shuuhei reached for the cup, which Izuru handed over without argument.
“Just… needed some time away from there. From him.” Izuru stared at his pale hands.
Shuuhei handed back the cup and stared at him. “Him?”
Kira looked up at him a moment before staring at the ground. “Ichimaru-tai… Ichimaru.”
For a long moment, Shuuhei was silent. “Ichimaru?” He finally managed, wrinkling his brow.
“I know it’s stupid.” He murmured, unable to meet his friend’s eyes.
“He is dead, you know,” Shuuhei told him softly. “He’s dead and he can’t come back.”
“I know,” Izuru finally managed to drag his eyes back to Shuuhei’s. “I know… and it’s stupid to be afraid.”
“But you’re here instead.” It wasn’t really a question as much as a general acknowledgement of Izuru’s fears.
“I’m sorry…” He apologized, taking a long drink from the cup before giving it back to Shuuhei. “Take that… I don’t really want to be drunk.”
A quick glance into the cup revealed that it was mostly empty anyway. “It’s been bothering me, Kira… I know Ichimaru was always a bit of a creepy guy, but… you seem outright terrified of him, and you were his fukutaichou. If anyone could have seen his positive side, it should have been you.”
“That’s Matsumoto-san’s thing,” Izuru interjected immediately. “Ichimaru had no redeeming qualities. He was a terrible man, and he did terrible things.” To me. The words weren’t spoken, but they hung heavily in the air between them.
Shuuhei looked at his friend. “He was your taichou. He led the Third Division. He couldn’t have been so terrible.”
But Izuru was pale-paler than normal-and he clenched the fabric of his shihakushou so tightly it seemed as if his knuckles might crack under the pressure. “Hisagi-senpai…” He whispered, and it came out a hiss between the tight lock of his jaw.
Shuuhei wrinkled his brow in concern. This could not be considered normal. “Kira…” He murmured, reaching out to comfort his former kohai, who pulled away instinctively. “Kira?”
The blond pulled himself up and kneeled by a nearby bush. The dark mercifully hid the vision of Izuru being sick, but the awful sound of revulsion carried through the night, no matter how much Shuuhei might have liked it to disappear. He stood up himself and headed to kneel next to Izuru, rubbing his back very gently.
Izuru was shaking, and Shuuhei first thought it was a result of being sick, but it was when he heard the nearly silent sob that he recognized Izuru’s misery. “Kira, what the hell is wrong?” Harsh words, but Shuuhei couldn’t stop himself from uttering them in horror. “Kira, did you get drunk or is it… is it about Ichimaru?” He hoped it was the former. Drunkenness could be dealt with easily with a cup of water and a trip to the 4th if it got too bad. It was emotional scarring Shuuhei wasn’t so good with.
The smaller man heaved a bit more before collapsing backward and Shuuhei caught him in bewilderment. “Hisagi-senpai…” He murmured again through restrained sobs, closing his eyes and breathing heavily.
Shuuhei shook him a little. “Kira, are you okay?”
Nodding, Izuru tried to push himself up out of Shuuhei’s arm with a groan. “I’m fine.” It was so obviously a lie, but Shuuhei didn’t bother to try and correct him, instead choosing to tug the blond backward.
“You’re not fine enough to get up yet.”
But Izuru struggled against his touch, pushing him back until he was bent over his knees and slowly calming his breathing.
Shuuhei frowned, at a loss as to what to do next. Izuru was getting hold of himself again, but still didn’t look much better for it. He kneeled in front of his friend and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Kira… You aren’t okay.”
If he had to put a name on the emotion prominent on Izuru’s face when he looked up, it might have been shame. “I…” He sighed, drawing his knees to his chest and looking much like the impressionable boy he had been when Shuuhei had first met him. “Tousen was good as taichou, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, aside from that whole thing where he betrayed all of Seireitei and killed both of his commanding officers.” Shuuhei tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It didn’t seem like it would help Izuru with his struggle. “But… yes, as far as I knew, he was great. He was always kind, fair, and helpful to his subordinates.”
“Ichimaru wasn’t.”
He raised an eyebrow at Izuru’s words. “It wasn’t really in his character to be like Tousen, though, was it?”
“No… I mean that he was never once any of those things to anyone. He commanded the Third Division on his skill with a sword and the terror he inspired among his subordinates. Everyone respected and followed him, because they didn’t want to think about what would happen to them otherwise.”
“Are you worried that any of the others are like that? That you’d be like that as taichou?” Shuuhei brushed his hand over Izuru’s shoulder in concern.
Izuru shook his head violently. “No. No. I don’t think I could ever be like him after… after…” His voice trailed off without finishing the thought.
Shuuhei felt a cold shudder run up his spine. “Kira... What are you talking about?” When the blond neither answered nor met his eyes, he grasped his shoulder tightly. “Kira.”
The halfhearted shrug of his shoulder was supposed to persuade Shuuhei to let go, but Izuru couldn’t quite summon the strength to push him away. “He showed me what it was to despair… He did… he showed me terrible things.” He felt tears well up in his eyes again, and he tried to force them back. It was weak… and he had sworn that he would never let anyone know.
“Then… that’s his problem, isn’t it? Or it was. It’s not your fault, and you shouldn’t have to be afraid of him now, no matter what he did to you.” Shuuhei tried not to dwell too long on the idea of what Ichimaru Gin might or might not have done to Izuru. “This… really isn’t like you. You haven’t been right since you started working under… him.”
This only seemed to reaffirm what Izuru had told him, and Shuuhei trailed off, making sense of the pieces of the puzzle he had been given. Before, in the 5th Division, Izuru had been able to slip into the masses of other seated officers, including Hinamori and Abarai, and had largely escaped notice. He had always been ambitious, if not a bit pompous, and always, always enthusiastic about his tasks. But it changed. Izuru changed.
Shuuhei found himself slowly piecing it all together. Kira’s sudden melancholic disposition after being transferred to the 3rd Division, as Ichimaru Gin’s direct subordinate. His furious determination that bordered on obsession after the great betrayal and the subsequent months of holding together his Division and training furiously. The expression of relief that was all too clear on his usually masked features when Ichimaru finally fell. The fading scars littered across his body, just where his shihakushou might cover, that Izuru was all too quick to hide when they trained as old friends. The humiliated shame Shuuhei had mistaken for modesty. The despair.
“Oh God, Kira.”
Izuru looked away from him, this time not even bothering to conceal the fact that he wouldn’t-or couldn’t-meet Shuuhei’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Hisagi-senpai. I…”
“You can’t possibly think that this is your fault, can you? Why didn’t you ever say anything to anyone?” Shuuhei shook him again. “Why didn’t you tell Abarai, or Hinamori, or-hell-even me?”
“He was taichou.” Izuru supplied miserably, as if it were that simple. “I knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that, but I swore that I would follow my commanding officers without hesitation when I was still in the Academy.” He finally met Shuuhei’s eyes. “You… you knew that.”
“But… Kira…” He finally pulled his hand away from Izuru’s shoulder; certain he would have left one more bruise on the blond’s already battered body. “You should have never… had to…” Words were failing him quickly, and Izuru was looking away from him again.
“Show me.” He finally commanded, putting more decisive force behind the words than he felt inside.
“W-what?” Izuru choked out.
“Your scars. Show me.”
“Hisagi-sen-”
“Kira, you’ve been carrying this around for a long time. It doesn’t just have to be you.” Shuuhei meant to sound more in control of himself and even nonchalant about the whole mess, but his voice shook, to his own disgust.
Izuru fumbled with his own hands, having caught the hitch in Shuuhei’s voice. “It’s really… I appreciate the thought.”
“I’m not asking, Kira.” Shuuhei managed to fortify himself against the wave of revulsion that inevitably came as Izuru gave him a frightened look and peeled back the shoulder of his kimono.
Almost immediately, he pulled it back over his shoulder, noting the way Shuuhei’s eyes had widened. The older shinigami shook his head and pulled his hands away, pushing it back himself, unable to speak.
A crisscrossed web of scars spread down his shoulders, spilling onto his back, the perfect symmetry marred by the occasional knot of scar tissue Shuuhei didn’t care to think about. He traced them with his eyes and then his hands, hardly surprised when Izuru flinched and pulled away. Before he realized what was happening, before Izuru could realize what was happening, he pulled the blond toward him and retraced the scars a third time.
“I told you these weren’t yours to carry alone.”
“Hisagi-senpai, please.” The tone of his voice begged more than the words; told Shuuhei of the misery Izuru was reliving, and of the awkward position he was manufacturing between them.
“What, Kira?” He hardened his eyes and hoped Izuru wouldn’t be able to see through them to his breaking heart. “We were friends. We are friends.” He kept anything more to himself. There was a time and a place for all things. There and then was not the place for Hisagi Shuuhei to say anthing about curious thoughts and inclinations that had driven to be closer to his friend since they had met. Not among the dysfunctional memories of Ichimaru Gin. Not among Izuru’s misery.
“Please let me help.”
Izuru swallowed and felt his breath sticking somewhere in his chest with his hammering heart. Panic flooded his veins; the urge to run and never stop. He dropped his hands to the side and closed his eyes, submitting himself to Shuuhei’s inquisition and praying it would be more merciful than the rest of the times he had surrendered.
A calloused finger traced a long scar softly, almost affectionately. He shuddered. Ichimaru had been as gentle when he inflicted that particular scar. The effect and the feeling, however, were entirely different. “Hisa…gi.”
“What happened with this one?” Shuuhei murmured, hoping it would be enough, fearing that it could never be.
There was a long pause, so long that it seemed to stretch eternally before and behind them. Shuuhei thought he would be better letting the issue drop, that Izuru would tell him when he was ready, and was in the middle of telling him so when Izuru began speaking.
His words were nearly inaudible at first, but as he spoke, they flowed faster and faster, louder and louder. Izuru didn’t cry, but he shook at times, and choked at others. Shuuhei took it in stride. If he could tell the stories-relive the memories-he could do so little as to be patient, accept them, and then take the next step.
Izuru told him everything. Shuuhei listened.