Archive of Our Own

Secrets were ugly things. Yumichika knew this, and yet he resigned himself to holding them inside his fist, behind his lips, under the fold of his chest, where they could rot and spread and grow uglier still.

No matter how much effort one could pour into them—secrets, or ugly things, or people —they were destined to bleed and break down and be lost, any shred of their appeal thrown into the dirt, with only bitter memories to attest to it. The world was not kind to that which was breakable, and so much of it was.

It was only fitting, then, that his own pride would meet a disgraceful sentence.

 ҉    ҉    ҉

The encounter was not entirely planned—when the garganta had first ripped across the sky, high above the woods circling the outer walls of Seireitei, it had not been the 11th Division who was dispatched. Small teams had been assigned between the 8th and 10th divisions, with seated officers in accompaniment, though they had seemed to be quite quickly overwhelmed.

Even after an end was put to the war in Hueco Mundo, there were still instances where sizable clans would arise, typically led by a handful of Arrancar and their hollow subjugates. Usually, these were not much of a threat, even if a decent portion of them had obtained expert control over their masks—the issue was that they were still occasionally faced with the presence of Arrancar that had gotten a taste of Aizen’s rule, usually originating from the Gillian class at least, and were now branching off in attempts to regain some of that power for themselves. 

These encounters were only a hassle when inevitably one or two captains had to be called to the field, but more often than not, and especially recently, the seated officers were able to handle it—which was why it was surprising when both squads had required backup, with many regular officers sent on their way to the 4th Division barracks in a less than ideal state. Still, the attack had been dealt with swiftly despite the initial struggle, and that was that. 

The 11th Division wasn’t exactly thrilled to be put on cleanup duty along with the 7th, ordered to go out and scope the area for any more activity, as multiple officers had reported there were still traces of reiatsu in the area that felt “off”, especially for such a deserted zone. There was no guarantee for a fight, yet when Yumichika was assigned, Ikkaku had been dispatched alongside him, making himself useful in some way considering how he neglected all paperwork entirely despite his supposed duties as vice captain.

Ikkaku had insisted he had an instinct of some sort—just that, an instinct , one that sent them in pretty much the opposite direction to where they could actually read any sort of reiatsu, away from where the garganta had even been in the first place. Yumichika had relented to humouring him on that, and left their unseated officers assigned to the new 5th seat, instructing them to follow the 7th Division’s lead despite their protests.

He almost thought it was quite unlike Ikkaku to willingly draw himself away from where battle was almost certain, but that only meant that he must be quite certain himself that where they were going would yield the real action. As strange as it seemed, Yumichika had long learned to have faith in these impulses from him, as they actually did point to something of value more often than not.

As it had turned out, two enemies with particularly unassuming reiatsu had been caught red-handed biding their time in a secluded zone of the woods, away from what were presumably the other stragglers whose reiatsu could be sensed from afar. It was difficult to tell what their power level was—they were unlikely to have been at the top of anything, with what seemed like their low spirit pressure, but Ikkaku still yapped about being lucky, probably just happy he’d been right enough to end up fighting anything at all.

“Alright, which one ‘a you’s stronger?” He said eventually, grinning with the usual over-the-top attitude. Yumichika just smirked, surveying the area for any concealed enemies—it was clear at this point that their reiatsu was easy to miss, and he wasn’t in the mood to get ambushed. It was this way that he spotted the movement before the taller enemy had a chance to lunge at him, his hand flying to his sword to easily block in time. 

Now that he was closer, he could definitely feel a difference in reiatsu between the two—they both seemed to be Arrancar, but the one that hadn’t sprung on him barely emitted danger at all, looking like he probably held a lesser status.

Yumichika smiled, pushing back against the other’s sword to regain his distance. “Ah, Ikkaku, looks like your luck is spent! We’ll count this as my turn, shall we?”

To be truthful, they didn’t really have “turns”—Ikkaku would rush for the biggest enemy by default, exceptions being made whenever Yumichika showed initiative instead, though it was rarer.

“Eh, hardly matters,” Ikkaku shrugged, eyebrow raised. He then turned to his opponent, who, to his credit, was doing a decent job of keeping a straight face. “This’ll be over soon.”

Yumichika prepared to parry another blow, but instead of stopping, the Arrancar let his blade slide right past Yumichika’s to slip away into a sonído. Yumichika turned to face Ikkaku briefly.

“Be prompt, then,” he said, then followed the leftover reiatsu in shunpo. 

The Arrancar hadn’t gone far, just enough ahead to be out of view. Still, it wasn’t long before their blades were clashing again, an exchange in which Yumichika was quickly gaining the upper hand. The Arrancar hadn’t said much—hadn’t bothered to state his name, so Yumichika hadn’t either—and he looked resigned, somehow, nearly fearful, as if he had already accepted his impending doom. It was true—Yumichika would win—but he could not match this behaviour to the way the Arrancar had lunged at him before, eager for a one-on-one fight.

When he had the chance to, Yumichika released his shikai, letting the blade split into four. There was no need to drag this out, especially with the pitiful demeanour of his enemy, who barely seemed to have a shred of motivation to fight. He’d thought Arrancar had a particular tendency towards taunts, as Hollows often did, but clearly this wasn’t the case—he could only hope Ikkaku was having a better time, for the sake of his own ears on the way back, but he doubted that was the case.

The air was filled with the clash of metal, the Arrancar’s occasional grunts in effort, as well as the distant sounds of the other parallel battle. Yumichika landed a blow to the Arrancar’s shoulder, which caused him to break their sequence of blows in an attempt to sidestep the next slash, but Yumichika would not so easily be caught from behind, and his answering attack hit hard, knocking the Arrancar’s sword right from his grip. The Arrancar backed away, but Yumichika was there in the flash, moving in shunpo to block his path. 

The defeat was clear in the other’s posture even as he kept making distance between them, readying a defensive stance. Yumichika raised his sword, not enjoying the way this fight had now been made to end with him as executioner, but he kept moving within the near-chase, speeding up so he could get in range.

Then, in the chilling quiet, a paralysing sound rang out. 

Yumichika’s legs froze, head whipping around in the direction of the source. It hadn’t been a scream, but it had definitely been a voice—a gurgling, involuntary sound, but a familiar one . It couldn’t be—?

He sidestepped the sword just fast enough for it to graze his side—in his shock, he had failed to even notice the Arrancar’s sonído, and now he had regained his sword. Yumichika turned to strike again, meeting the Arrancar’s eyes in the answering parry, but this time, the expression in them was entirely different; a twisted satisfaction, somehow, as if Yumichika had been made a fool of. Yumichika scowled.

“What?! What is it?” He demanded, not liking the away anxiety had spiked in his chest. The Arrancar remained silence, and he heard it again—in the distance, noises of pain, the sound of someone choking on their own blood. Yumichika’s eyes widened, and he stabbed at the enemy with new aggression, but the Arrancar kept grinning, even as his blows became sharper and deadlier. The faraway sound was repeated, and Yumichika’s patience broke.

“Answer me, you twisted imbecile!” He raised his voice again, and this time his blow landed, swiping clean against the Arrancar’s chest. Still, the expression went unchanged. “What is he doing to him?!”

“It’ll be over soon. Isn’t that what your associate said?” The Arrancar replied, tone eerie in the way it was so calm. Blood spilled steadily over his front. “Lord Piernonne was of the same opinion. That is why you’re the one fighting me.”

Yumichika stared, sword stagnant against the other’s middle as he processed. Lord Piernonne implied that the Arrancar fighting Ikkaku had been the leader of the invading clan, but that simply didn’t make sense—the Arrancar had been quite humanoid, sure, and with a stocky build, but there was nothing admirable or pristine about his appearance, and his reiatsu had been pitifully low. 

“Lord…? That can’t…”

But could it? Had that been why the other Arrancar had been so quick to lunge at him, to get him away from there, even though Ikkaku had been the one to ask for a fight?

“My master’s ability is very particular,” the Arrancar said, not waiting for Yumichika to voice his thoughts, and he had that infuriatingly knowing smile on his face again. “It allowed him to slip away, after all, even after the clan’s battle was lost. What is your friend? A vice captain? Considering how quickly he was felled, I believe the lord’s reach alone will be as great as we anticipated.”

Yumichika scowled. “Do not speak as if he were dead already. I don’t care how almighty you perceive your puny lord to be, you underestimate Ikkaku,” he said, tone threatening, and moved to kick down his opponent roughly, repositioning the sword at the base of his throat. “And if you believe for a second you will live to see your master win, you underestimate me, too.”

The Arrancar barely reacted, still bleeding profusely despite his nonchalance. “I never thought I would live. But neither will you, in the case that you attempt to interfere now.”

Yumichika scoffed, pressing his blade further against the Arrancar’s skin. “I would tell you to watch, but it seems you will not be around to do so.” The cryptic revelations and eerie attitude were bad enough without the insolence and tone of contempt, and he would have none of it. 

“He will die,” the Arrancar said, a wheeze in his voice from the sword at his throat. Unbothered by Yumichika’s threat, he continued. “If my master dies, so will your… partner.”

Yumichika lifted the Arrancar by his long hair, pressing his sword forward until he saw the beads of blood begin to appear. “Explain yourself, if you are so eager to speak,” he gritted out. “And do it quickly.”

The Arrancar began to speak, voice raspy but unwavering. “My master is far more powerful than he appears—but due to his true ability, his base reiatsu is very low. He forms a bond, you see, as soon as his sword meets his opponent’s, tying his reiatsu directly to the other’s. An unperceptive opponent remains unaware as their reiatsu is drained, and for all the reiatsu that is absorbed, my master regains a parallel amount of his own repressed reiatsu, effectively ending up with double the reiatsu that any enemy he faces has released.”

Yumichika considered the new information. It definitely made sense, now, why this Piernonne’s reiatsu had been nearly undetectable before. It was certain, too, that this ability would be activated by now, considering how simple its trigger was—in fact, Yumichika could feel the reiatsu from afar, now that he was looking for it. It was a trap of inevitability—by hiding this ability from the enemy, it could easily be activated on the first strike, binding the enemy to loss by producing double their reiatsu, no matter how high the benchmark. A dirty tactic, the perfect dueler’s tool, but…

“But the bond cannot be extended to more than one enemy,” Yumichika pointed out, challengingly. “A fight against one may be lost, but my interference would disturb this ability.”

The Arrancar smiled cryptically. “Perhaps that’s correct.”

…No, that wasn’t right. There was a detail he was missing, then. Something that explained what the Arrancar had taunted him with before.

Yumichika narrowed his eyes. “You said he would die. What are you omitting?”

Somewhat surprisingly, the Arrancar yielded right away. “Aside from the low base reiatsu, my master’s ability comes with another downside,” he began, “in that if the enemy he is bonded with dies, his reiatsu will drain as well through the bond, killing him too. That means he is forced to drag out his fights, beating down on the enemy until they are on the brink of death, as when he breaks the bond to administer the finishing blow, his reiatsu will return to levels so low he will barely have the strength to cut his opponent.” The Arrancar’s face began to twist into a grin, drinking in Yumichika’s reaction. “Often this involves slow dismemberment or carving, but that can be difficult to manage if the opponent refuses to go down quickly, though usually they’re kept conscious throughout the process—”

Yumichika rose slowly, watching the blood spray over his blade as he dislodged Fuji Kujaku from the Arrancar’s throat. The display was quite unbeautiful, but the satisfaction in erasing that sickening grin was more than enough to make up for it.

The explanation had been cut short, but Yumichika had been too overwhelmed with rage to care, as rare as that was. Besides, he could infer the rest for himself—the ability was likely a two-way street, meaning Ikkaku’s life force would potentially be drained upon the enemy’s death, too. All it meant was Yumichika had to, somehow, force the enemy to break the bond—but that could be dealt with in the moment. For now, all that he could do was get back quickly, hanging onto the fact that he could still sense Ikkaku’s reiatsu clear as day. At the very least, he would not yet be too late. 

He ran back to their initial location, using shunpo to speed up. He had no qualms, this time, about breaking Ikkaku’s rule—the very nature of Piernonne’s ability broke any agreement of honour within that fight, and he would not let Ikkaku die to such puny standards.

Once they were in sight, Yumichika paused for only a moment to survey the field, eyes darting between Ikkaku and Piernonne as his heart raced in his ears. Ikkaku was alive—in fact, he was still standing, but barely. There were deep injuries to his chest and shoulders, puncture wounds on his side and his leg. His feet were planted firmly on the ground, and his sword was still gripped, unreleased, in his hand. He wasn’t smiling.

Yumichika lunged from behind. Ikkaku’s eyes landed on him, mouth opening instantly.

“Yumichika, you idiot! Get back!”

His sword connected with Piernonne’s back, but it was only a fraction of a second before he felt the energy searing at the fabric of his sleeve, repelling his sword as if magnetic. He retracted his sword, knowing what would happen, but still got sent flying backwards, hitting the dirt roughly. This was bad—Ikkaku’s reiatsu was powerful enough on its own, so to double it was unthinkable. 

It was very rare that even the difference between a captain’s reiatsu and that of their seated officers would be as much as double, a vice captain much less, excluding their own Captain Zaraki as an anomaly. This was not their captain’s level, but it was bad —bad enough that Yumichika had been repelled like that, his sword barely producing a scratch.

Piernonne seemed to acknowledge him, at least, turning to face him curiously. Yumichika gritted his teeth and scrambled to his feet, planting them again in a fighting stance. “Ikkaku— His ability, it’s—!”

“I know what it is, ya smartass, why d’ya think I retracted my shikai?!” Ikkaku interrupted, angered. Piernonne turned, then, landing a kick that caught Ikkaku off-guard. “Urgh—!”

Piernonne lunged, and Ikkaku had to parry the hit on his knees, leaning backwards under the strain of their swords. Yumichika scrambled for a plan, a point of weakness—if an attack from behind wasn’t enough to crack this barrier, what was? 

Piernonne drew his sword back as Ikkaku regained his footing, and Yumichika squinted, heightening his senses. This “bond”... could it be something physical? Was it something that could be cut, by distance perhaps? It was difficult to tell where one’s reiatsu ended and the other’s started, only a concentration of energy. There were no fibers to pull, no chains to break, just a chasm through which power was filtered.

Yumichika clutched his sword tightly. This… could be a bad idea. As much as he intuitively knew about reiatsu dynamics, the truth was a chasm like this was something unpredictable. Interference with it in such a direct way was a risk he would normally think twice before taking.

Ikkaku had parried the hit, then another, still looking for an opening. Piernonne gave it to him, a clear taunt, but Ikkaku didn’t fall for it. For a moment, Yumichika saw his left arm twitch, the only indication that he planned to take a different angle—

Piernonne was faster. Yumichika watched as Ikkaku was struck once again, blood oozing from his already brutalised chest. And there, streaming from the torn skin, he could feel the thin threads of weakened reiatsu draining—into the chasm. Time moved slowly; Yumichika narrowed his eyes, pointed his sword, dug his feet into the earth. Then, he lunged.

He felt the impact through him, rattling with the shock. The tip of the sword was trembling, poised against the invisible chasm. Ikkaku’s back hit the ground.

The pain was searing when it came, burning through his bones, blacking out his vision. Yumichika didn’t let go of his sword, and perhaps that was a mistake; the force of the reiatsu sent him flying back again, a shattering sound accompanied by the metal shards that landed on the damp dirt with him. He struggled to regain his breath for a moment, before he managed to roll onto his stomach. His limbs felt heavy, but he lifted himself up onto his elbows, blinking away the droplets that were beginning to fall from the sky.

Piernonne, out of his reach now, paced around Ikkaku, his blade poking him like a piece of meat, searching for a tender spot to bite. Ikkaku was still conscious, breathing rapidly, but didn’t move. His grip tightened on his sword, and Yumichika could see his eyes searching around for an opening, but the movement was almost sluggish. Yumichika knew a lot about what it was like to drain someone’s reiatsu, and he knew the breaking point came slowly but surely.

But Ikkaku moved. When Piernonne showed an opening, he hoisted himself up onto one elbow, jutting out a knee to rotate and strike low, successfully avoiding Piernonne’s reactionary swing. To Yumichika’s surprise, Ikkaku’s sword actually cut him, but there was no reiatsu to escape. Piernonne growled in pain, but wasn’t deterred for long. Ikkaku’s parry was knocked away, and for the first time in a long while, Yumichika watched his sword slip from his grasp. 

“Ikkaku!”

Blood sprayed over Piernonne’s already tainted sword. Ikkaku choked a shallow gasp, and then he wasn’t fighting anymore. His form was torn and bloodied against the battered ground, blood running down his skin, diluted in the rain. If not for the ragged sound of his breathing, or the way his eyes fought to stay open, he would have looked dead. Yumichika’s chest tightened.

There was a choice to make.

Yumichika had vowed, again and again, that he would reject the true power of his sword. It was a strength built upon weakness, the leeching power of an arrogant spirit that would not play fair. If a Zanpakutou was part of a Shinigami’s soul, then Yumichika needed nothing more than a mirror to be met with his; despite everything, it felt good to use that power, it felt natural to grow his garden and take, take the irreplaceable and leave only a blooming testimony behind. Alike as they were, it was no accident that Yumichika’s hatred had tainted their relationship to this degree. 

Even knowing this, Yumichika took pride in his rejection, if only for it was the sole thing to set them apart. He would fail, and bleed, and fall, before he ever let himself give in to its demands. Countless times, he had steeled himself into that promise—he would rather give up his own life than betray the values of those he cares about, and be scorned. 

Piernonne lifted his sword again. Ikkaku closed his eyes.

But not him. 

It was only meant to be two weeks, at first. Two weeks of paid meals and a place to stay while he regained his footing, to make up for the mess that bald man had made of his perfectly calculated life. On the last day, he packed his bags, only to find an impatient Ikkaku sitting in front of their spot on his way out, two wooden bowls of steamed food resting on his knees. 

Never him.

He’d called out to him, rather rudely, only to inform him he was late for lunch. Yumichika had hesitated for a moment, that day, because he knew what it would mean if he stayed. And it was true—once he sat down, the one more day turned into thousands, and Yumichika was never late to a meal again.

It had always been him.

“Fuji— Ruri’ro,” he choked out, a trembling hand reaching for the fractured blade. His thin fingers stretched, sleeve dragging across the dirt, until he could feel the cold metal, just brushing against the tips. “Please,” he insisted, urgently. A gurgling scream rang out behind  him, and he gritted his teeth, his whole body seizing at the sound. When he spoke again, his voice shook with anger and desperation. “I know you’re in there. I won’t ever ask anything of you again, I swear it, if you just do this for me now.” 

It wasn’t enough; Yumichika reached forward then, crawling further on his one good elbow, hands finally clasping around the broken blade. He brought a shard to his forehead, grasped it tightly until he felt it pierce his skin, and did the unthinkable—he begged. “Please… Ruri’iro Kujaku!”

The answering light blinded his senses, and when he re-opened his eyes, it was to a bluer sky.

♫

Yumichika breathed in warm, humid air. His hands found soft grass as he sat up, met with the winding silhouettes of wide, branchy trees, adorned with hanging vines. In the distance, there was a tall cliff through which a gap ran, forming a waterfall against the light. A flock of birds flew from the dark green wilderness, drawn upwards against the rays of light. 

There was a rustle to his left, and Yumichika’s head snapped towards it, only to be met with the head of a peacock staring at him through the foliage. Even in the shade, its coat of azure was more vibrant than anything else in its surroundings, selfishly rendering the tropical forest almost drab in its presence. It stepped forward and into the light, its long feathers trailing behind it. Its neck bent to look down on Yumichika, disapprovingly. Yumichika scowled, pulling himself to his feet to dust himself off, a hand brushing through his hair to straighten it.

“Spare me from your contempt, I want none of it,” he snapped at the creature. Its dark brown eyes stared back at him, unfazed. Yumichika gritted his teeth, his shoulders tensing. “I know I’ve ruined things. I’m ready to face the consequences, if it means…”

Before him, the peacock began to change, azure plumage morphing into a long braid, feathers forming patterned drapery of green and orange. The spirit’s brown eyes remained the same. 

“If it means losing that foolish sense of pride you hold so closely, all for that hairless oaf?” Ruri’iro spoke, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in scepticism. “I wonder if I ought to be thanking him… Truly strange to consider.”

“I said, I want none of this right now!” Yumichika shot back, voice strained but firm. Normally, he avoided losing composure around Ruri’iro Kujaku, but such worries were behind him, now. Ruri’iro’s expression faltered for just a moment, before settling into neutrality. “He’s torturing him— humiliating him. I have long since accepted that… That Ikkaku would expect me to stand by when he meets his demise. I don’t like it—I can’t always obey it—but I understand his need for it. But not like this.” Yumichika’s tone soured further, fists clenching at his sides. “Not when the battle was over before it truly began, not when I’ll have to watch him succumb to the hands of a beast so filthily weak-hearted. I will sacrifice my honour for his, even if he hates me for it. I am ready, Ruri’iro Kujaku, isn’t this what you wanted from me?!”

Ruri’iro was silent for a long moment. Yumichika held his gaze, gritting his teeth as he regained his breath. Finally, Ruri’iro spoke, his expression softening into something mellower.

“It is. I just wish you were not doing it for him.”

Yumichika looked away, fixing his gaze onto a cluster of geraniums, poking red through the grass. “He matters to me. Is it so different?”

There was another pause. Then, Ruri’iro sighed.

“I cannot give you bankai, Yumichika.”

Yumichika nodded, lifting his eyes to meet Ruri’iro’s gaze once again. “I do not expect you to,” he admitted. It was not what he needed, regardless. “Just return to me, and lend me your power.”

“Go, then,” Ruri’iro conceded. “I cannot say whether this is the right path, but there is beauty in your passion, so I will give you my strength.” He stepped forward, raising a hand to rest against Yumichika’s cheek. The affection was strange, but Yumichika didn’t move. The world around him was warping, his consciousness beginning to pull him back. Ruri’iro’s voice was distant, but clear. “I hope you will learn something from this, whether or not it hurts us.”

Yumichika blinked.

The sword in his hand was whole again.

He slowly stood, fighting through the exhaustion as he planted his feet firmly, adopting a fighting stance. He said nothing, but Piernonne seemed to note his presence anyway. The Arrancar chuckled over his shoulder, before ripping his sword from Ikkaku’s side with a squelch. Ikkaku’s mouth fell open with a gasp, blood tinting his lips as he coughed. When he raised his head, it was to meet Yumichika’s eyes. 

“Stop,” he said, the word raspy as he struggled to catch his breath. His face was contorted into a frown, but his eyes were wide with meaning. “You can’t do anything until—”

Until he was dead. That was the opening—that was the weakness they both had deducted—but Yumichika held more cards than Ikkaku knew, and now it was finally time to place his misère.

But Ikkaku didn’t get to continue, the Arrancar swinging a kick at his jaw that made his teeth audibly snap, effectively silencing him back into a dizzy state. Yumichika clenched his fists, anger overtaking him at the display; it broke him to see Ikkaku injured, but seeing him disrespected, rendered helpless in this way, was a feeling of blind rage that he could not subdue. He gripped his sword tighter, fist shaking.

“How dare you humiliate him like this?!” He seethed, taking a step closer to Piernonne. “Your method is ugly, to leech on the strength of your opponent before the fight has even truly begun and call it a rightful battle. A power so cowardly as that should eat away at your honour, and yet there you stand in contempt, revelling in dirty victory,” he spat. There was disgust in his tone, mostly at the repulsive creature in front of him, but also similarly at himself, for what he was about to perform. 

The irony was not lost on him—essentially, their abilities were the same in this sense—but Yumichika still held his honour close, the desire to win his battles through sheer will and not some gift to tip the scales. He let a bitter smile contort his face, something dangerous, already regretful, slipping through in his gaze. “Someone ought to teach you shame. Perhaps then this would not be so pitiful for the both of us.”

For a split second, Piernonne looked nearly off-put, but it didn’t last long, an arrogant grin returning to his face just as quickly. “Eh? The hell you preachin’ about…”

Piernonne trailed off; Yumichika’s attention was nowhere near him, now, after all. It was Ikkaku’s gaze he held, when he spoke.

“Split and deviate…” A breath; suspension before the fall. Ikkaku’s eyes, puzzled but unwavering on his. A silent apology. “Ruri’iro Kujaku.”

Then, power.

He felt it, like a surge, a reinvigorating energy. The enemy’s reiatsu no longer burned at him from afar, and he was certain now that the Arrancar’s strength would not matter. There was nothing more to take away his freedom; nothing more to take away his will; and only one last thing to lose.

He raised his arm, the movement poised all the way to the tip of his blades, now shrouded in light. Piernonne began to step back before the vines were even visible, but the distance was closed as soon as they erupted, casting their blooms of green and blue to wrap around the Arrancar, whose grin was now a scowl. 

The Arrancar struggled against the vines, attempting to strong-arm his way out of them. “Puh. What’s with the light show?”

Yumichika’s stare was cold. Where normally he would taunt, he said nothing; he could not find it in him to be anything but bitter, knowing what he was about to give up.

Piernonne huffed at the lack of response. Then, his visible reiatsu grew. It was a sizzling sensation against the vines, as if he were trying to burn them off—but like a waning lightbulb, every pulse dimmed its strength. Piernonne was left breathless in seconds.

“What…?!” The Arrancar gritted out, eyes narrowing. “What have you…?”

Yumichika stepped forward, lowering the hilt of his sword, from which the vines still stemmed. Their blooms had grown substantially, and he could feel the hum of energy against his palm. 

“This,” he began, “is the true shikai form of my sword. As an Arrancar, you are familiar with the release of a sword, so I assume you are aware of the importance of its vocal command. My sword is… quite particular, in that sense.”

It wasn’t the first time he had provided this clarification; it was almost a script, and yet every word held far more importance now. It was Piernonne he faced, but truly, it wasn’t him the explanation was owed to.

Yumichika continued, his voice unwavering, but resigned, lacking any satisfaction. “It has a favourite colour, you see—it likes the peacock’s azure, and loathes the tone of a wisteria’s blooms. Thus, I have nicknamed it Fuji Kujaku, a name which upsets it enough to stop it from releasing at full power.”

The expressions that cross the Arrancar’s face were familiar; predictable. “I don’t understand. Why hide your true power?” He jerked his head in Ikkaku’s direction; Yumichika’s eyes followed the motion automatically, then regretted it, finding his eyes were still focused on him. He set his gaze firmly back onto Piernonne as the Arrancar continued. “I thought he was the strong one, the way he flaunts it.”

Yumichika gritted his teeth, a crack in his composure. “Ikkaku is strong,” he snapped at the eyesore. Clearly, his level of unawareness was far worse than even Yumichika had thought, if he could not recognise something so simple. “Don’t kid yourself; this… display isn’t strength, neither from you nor from me.”

Piernonne scowled, but didn’t answer. Yumichika could see it in his eyes, in the lines of his face, how his strength was leaving him. 

“In my division, zanpakutous with direct attacks are favoured,” he continued. “It is honourable to fight through sheer strength and will; no tricks, no shortcuts, no… kidou.” Yumichika swallowed thickly, willing his voice not to shake. He could feel Ikkaku’s gaze on him, hear his laboured breathing; there was no good explanation for his actions, but this could be his last chance to provide one. “Normally, I would rather perish in a fight than allow my sword’s true form to be seen, and betray those values. Death is preferable to dishonour; death is preferable to being loathed.”

“Why do it, then?” Piernonne asked, an edge of desperation in his voice. “Why throw away your pride?”

Yumichika held his gaze for a moment, then spoke.

“Well, it isn’t my blood you’ve drawn, is it?”

The Arrancar said nothing in response, but the rising panic was visible in his jerky movements. The blooms were nearly full, now; it would not be long.

“Ruri’iro’s power allows me to entrap a target within these vines, which feed on their reiatsu. You may struggle against them, but it will not matter; in fact, the more you do so, the faster they will drain you.” Yumichika paused for a moment, eyes darkening with leftover anger. “The flowers will grow, and will not stop. And when they bloom, you will be dead.”

The Arrancar gritted his teeth, eyes widening as they darted over the surrounding vines. Then, with a new urgency, they returned to Yumichika. “You’re a fool! You risk your reputation for this man, but do you not realise? This will kill him, too,” he said, and a trembling grin pulled at the sides of his face like a last stand. “If my reiatsu is drained as you say, the bond will break, but the stolen energy will not be returned to him. Once my power abandons him, with the little he has left he will not last even a handful of minutes.”

Yumichika’s expression remained neutral. “Surely you mustn’t think I didn’t account for that,” he replied evenly. What the Arrancar was saying had some merit to it, but the risk was calculated, and Yumichika would not lose to such fears. “Concern yourself with your own demise.”

Piernonne did not get a chance for last words–Yumichika doubted he had any of value, either way–and when the flowers bloomed, there was no satisfaction. This had been an enemy of no greater ambition, of no greater thought than the glory of recklessly commanding a handful of lives, following blindly after a lord made of shallow strength. Unremarkable, in the scope of Seireitei’s battles; a mere mosquito. And yet…

The Arrancar fell–Yumichika felt the chasm collapse–and his vines retreated. As a single flower floated down, Yumichika watched it, a momentary stillness in his chest. Then, it hit his palm, and he was at Ikkaku’s side in seconds.

He knelt, carefully flipping Ikkaku so he was laying on his back. The blood still streamed–the traces of his reiatsu were barely there–but his eyes were still open, staring at Yumichika with an expression he couldn’t decipher, dulled by exhaustion. Yumichika held the glowing flower to his lips, urgency in his movements.

“Take this,” he said, as firmly as he could muster. “Quickly, bite into it.”

Ikkaku barely spared the flower a glance. “Yumichika…”

The tension in Yumichika’s shoulders grew. His throat tightened painfully, but he forced himself to hold the other’s gaze. “I don’t care what you think of me now, Ikkaku, just take it!”

“I don’t…”  Brown eyes still searched his. He could see how they fought to keep his face in focus.

“Eat the god-damned flower, Ikkaku! ” he shrieked, hand tightening on Ikkaku’s shoulder in a way that had to be painful. Ikkaku didn’t flinch, but conceded, silently. 

In a small movement, he hesitantly took the flower between his teeth. Yumichika watched as it slowly lost its azure luminescence, the energy washing over Ikkaku. Even as the reiatsu began to flow again, staunching most of the bleeding, Ikkaku’s eyes started to droop, his gaze finally leaving Yumichika’s face. It was a relief, in a way, the moment he went limp against Yumichika’s arm.

Yumichika called for the relief team, and sat with him, at peace for the last time.

 ҉    ҉    ҉

It was a few hours before Ikkaku stirred again. Once they were taken to the 4th division medical centre, Yumichika offered no resistance against being treated for his own injuries, but still requested to be dismissed early to join Ikkaku as soon as his condition was stabilised. 

He sat next to the plain white bed, watching as the hours passed and the room grew darker. Eventually, sitting alone with his anxieties did nothing but further his exhaustion. He settled there the only way he could, slumped forward with his head resting on the edge of the bed; it was an uneasy sleep, though, leaving him mostly adrift in a state of half-consciousness.

He felt a brush against his cheek–featherlight, at first, just a tickle. The touch returned, moments later, and this time he could feel the calloused skin, gentle against his face. Yumichika let it stay, until slowly the sleep began to leave him, bringing his mind back to the waking present. He opened his eyes, carefully regulating his breathing–but Ikkaku’s eyes were still closed, and the rise and fall of his chest was far too calm. The hand that had rested over the bandages on his chest had now stretched out at his side, where it had found its place, instinctively almost, against Yumichika’s sleeping face. It would have made him smile, if not for the situation at hand.

Yumichika sat up, careful not to wake the sleeping man, but the hand stirred again at his absence. Ikkaku’s nose scrunched up as if he had an itch, then he shuffled around a bit, before once again laying still. At this point, though, Yumichika knew it would only be a minute or two before consciousness returned to him. For a moment, he contemplated leaving–was it worth it, being there to take the fall? Why not be gone, let it end before it could wilt into ugliness?

No, the decision wasn’t his to make. He had decided, all those years ago, to stay; but this time, it was his mistakes that hung between them, and Ikkaku that held the choice. He waited instead, picking nervously at the orange fabric that covered his wrists. 

Ikkaku’s breathing eventually sped up, and after some more shuffling, there was a grunt. Yumichika watched as Ikkaku blinked his eyes open against the dim candlelight. The bandaged man began to sit up, only wincing slightly at the still sore state of his wounds, but Yumichika’s hands still instinctively moved to steady him, helping him up. Ikkaku stared at him as if noticing him for the first time, a cloudy confusion in his eyes; Yumichika hastily let go of him. He knew the guilt must have shown in his expression, because Ikkaku seemed to realise in the same moment that something was wrong. It was only a few seconds before realisation took over his features.

There was no real anger there. Ikkaku looked up at him through a furrowed brow, opened his mouth, then closed it. It was rare for him to hold back like that, which only deepened Yumichika’s fear. He sat perfectly still, only to fight the urge to bolt. He clasped his hands together, to keep them from trembling.

The words never came. Ikkaku looked away from him, instead, shifting uncomfortably. It hit him, then, that Ikkaku didn’t even want to see him. He wasn’t yelling, because he didn’t want to hear his voice. Yumichika should have left, after all–it wasn’t that the choice hadn’t been his, it was that the choice had never existed. This was a consequence, and Ikkaku’s silence was rejection enough.

Yumichika stood silently, blinking through the burning in his eyes. It was all he could do to take the loss gracefully, without making a fuss. He began to step away, ignoring the sudden shuffling behind him, and was nearly startled out of his skin when Ikkaku’s voice rang loudly.

“Oi! What the hell? All that, an’ you’re just gonna leave like it’s nothin’?” he demanded. Yumichika turned stiffly to look at him, an expression of bewilderment taking over his face. Ikkaku really was frowning now, gesturing with one hand in the air almost indignantly.

Yumichika swallowed dryly, his words suddenly evading him. “I— I suppose, I thought…”

“Then stop thinking,” Ikkaku cut in, fresh annoyance in his tone. “You’re not off the hook just ‘cause I’m stuck here.”

Yumichika nodded, moving to take a seat again. “Right. I… owe you an explanation,” he said, taking a moment to compose himself again. He kept his gaze on the empty space between them. “You have to understand, I… My zanpakutou has always–”

“Yumichika,” Ikkaku interrupted again, “I don’t care what you hid, I knew that shit already. Now explain to me why. ”

Yumichika looked up again, the words catching him off-guard. It wasn’t for Ikkaku’s demand, as strange as it was given the circumstances, but for the way he had phrased that first sentence, almost like… “You… What?” He shook his head. “No, you can’t have known .”

Ikkaku raised his eyebrows a little, seemingly surprised at the reaction. “Well… Nah, I didn’t really,” he admitted, posture slumping somewhat. After a pause, he continued, quieter. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t really as surprised as you seem to think, though.”

“What…?”

Ikkaku shrugged, awkwardly scratching at the side of his neck. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I definitely didn’t know about… all that,” he said, gesturing in Yumichika’s general direction. “I can see now you’ve done fuckin’ everything to make sure I never did. But I always knew you had something, and that it was probably kidou.”

Yumichika couldn’t stop himself from gaping. It was difficult for the information to set in–he had known ? There had been moments before in which Ikkaku had shown doubt in his assurances, expressed in some form that he detected something hidden in Yumichika’s words. But that was how it had always been, since they had met–Yumichika with his secrets, Ikkaku with his penchant for cracking them open without ever pressing. To realise he had gone as far as suspecting his use of kidou-based abilities, and Yumichika had been completely blind to it… It was nearly more embarrassing than the discovery itself.

“Quit lookin’ all freaked out,” Ikkaku spoke up again. His tone was partially accusatory, but partially defensive, too. “I mean, whaddya expect? I’ve known ya since before I even knew what a zanpakutou was, of course I knew when you were limiting yourself. You were pretty sloppy at the start, y’know that? You let your true reiatsu slip out more often than not, it’s not like ya gained full control of it overnight,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Yumichika didn’t know what to say. The worst part was, it made complete sense–how much had he had to underestimate Ikkaku’s perception not to consider that? 

“At first I didn’t know why you were trying so damn hard to contain yer power,” Ikkaku continued, “but the way ya tensed up every time I even neared the subject, I thought it was better to feign ignorance.” He uncrossed his arms, shifting his gaze off to the side. “You don’t ask a lot from me, but ya respect my bullshit when you gotta, so I was just doin’ the same thing. I figured you’d just… tell me eventually.”

A silence overtook them. It was… touching, really, how even now, Ikkaku showed that he was often more thoughtful than he let on. It was something Yumichika had learnt early on, yet something that still sometimes took him by surprise. The deception was even worse, that way; but what else could he have done? One fact remained certain.

“You know why,” Yumichika said, quietly. At Ikkaku’s questioning look, he continued. “You asked me why, before. Well, you know why. You were there, when I told that Arrancar.”

Ikkaku furrowed his brow, the puzzled look still not leaving his face. “Yeah, well… I guess,” he said, slowly. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

Yumichika could only blink. “What?”

“You told him why you didn’t tell the squad. Makes sense, you don’t see me brandishin’ my bankai around ‘em either,” Ikkaku clarified, growing impatient again. “All I wanna know is why you didn’t tell me .” 

“It’s not the same,” Yumichika replied, though it felt rather obvious. Why had he even stayed, only for Ikkaku to have him sit there and state what they both knew?

“What?”

Yumichika’s hands tightened into fists around the fabric over his knees, finally giving in to frustration. “What is so difficult to understand?!” He demanded, finally raising his voice. “Was it not the rule? It’s shameful .” He paused, exhaling sharply. His eyes drifted to the gleam of his sword, which rested in its sheath against the wall. “It is a part of my soul, a reflection of my being, and I loathe it for all that it is, but it… it’s me,” he finished, his voice growing thinner. It was an admission he had always run from, and now that Ikkaku knew, he needed him to see it. He needed him to understand, at the very least, because now there was no going back. And yet…

Ikkaku looked taken aback, his frown twitching as he searched for words. “Yumichika… What’re you saying?” 

Yumichika’s hands released the fabric of his shihakusho. He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily as the exhaustion overtook him again. “Why must you drag this out?” He asked, quietly. Any resistance was gone from his voice. 

Ikkaku shook his head, leaning forward on the bed. “Yumichika, I don’t… What the hell, I don’t think any of that. Sure, I’m not a fan of kidou, but that’s… that’s a preference ,” he stressed. His tone was insistent, but strangely gentle. Yumichika let the words sink in, meeting Ikkaku’s eyes again in bewilderment. Ikkaku pressed on, his frown deepening. “You’re really going to rope me in with the rest of those meatheads? ‘Unspoken agreement’ my ass, most of them are talentless fucks anyway who just want some bullshit excuse to hold onto when a low-level hadou fuckin’ knocks them into next Tuesday. I’d be an idiot not to know that.”

Just like that, it was as if it was the simplest thing in the world. And to Ikkaku, it was. 

Yumichika opened his mouth, but could only manage a simple sound. “Oh.”

Ikkaku watched him carefully. His frown softened, but his brow remained knit. “You really thought I would hate you?” He asked, almost quietly. There was something hurt behind his eyes, and Yumichika knew he couldn’t answer, not when he was looking at him like that.

This was Ikkaku, he reminded himself. Thoughtful, genuine, steadfast Ikkaku, Ikkaku who had carried him through the wilderness when he’d lost his shoe and who had sat awake with him on the nights when darkness took over, Ikkaku who had spent hours installing wheels on Yachiru’s zanpakutou and who was unwaveringly devoted to their captain, Ikkaku who had once robbed Yumichika’s life of certainty, then shown him purpose instead. 

Distantly, he felt the warm trail of tears streaking down his cheeks. He blinked through the watery haze, wiping at his skin, but his hands trembled and the waterworks showed little sign of stopping. Ikkaku, for a moment, seemed startled at the sight, but when their eyes met again, there was a soft exhale.

“Ah, hell… C’mere,” Ikkaku muttered, holding out a bandage-covered arm. Yumichika hesitated a moment, before moving across to sit on the side of the bed, leaning carefully into the other’s embrace. Ikkaku’s arm settled over his trembling shoulders, hand running soothingly over the fabric there.

They stayed like that, Ikkaku’s chin hovering over Yumichika’s hair, until the rise and fall of his chest began to slow, until his chest no longer felt so tight.

Ikkaku was the first to break the silence. “For what it’s worth, that shikai is fuckin’ nuts,” he said. It earned him a short laugh. “Really! I almost thought it was a bankai for a second, back there. Plus… it saved my sorry ass.”

Yumichika sighed, shaking his head against Ikkaku’s chest. “That’s not fair. That wasn’t a real fight, Ikkaku, or you wouldn’t have lost that way.”

Ikkaku was quiet for a moment, before conceding. “…I know. ‘M not gonna give you trouble for it, but I still get to be bitter,” he defended. He paused, then, and Yumichika didn’t have to see his face to feel the grin that was certainly forming. “You’ll make it up to me, anyway, next time we spar. Can’t believe you’ve been holding back on me this whole time.”

Yumichika finally rose, wiping any leftover tears and lifting himself up just enough to face Ikkaku. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Aren’t you done getting all your reiatsu sucked out?”

Ikkaku frowned in offence, but he was still smiling. “Oi, don’t push your luck!”

Yumichika laughed, but the look in his eyes said enough.

Thank you.