#i just want them curled and maybe dyed darker so they're more defined

[hexslvt]

kinda wanna get a lash lift or whatever they call it but idk

[sonnets-and-snowdrops]

Hi! I saw the prompt you did on Ukitake/Byakuya, and I was wondering if you'd do another one? I saw your writings on AO3 and they're amazing, and I absolutely love the way you portray this pairing! To be honest all these hurt!memes seem like amazing ideas for fics and I'd be fine with any of them, but maybe "you don’t care, nobody cares, just leave"? Either way, you're amazing and thanks for sharing all these stories!

From here || Always accepting :)))

Okaaaaay, so - here’s what I’ve learned. I’m pretty awful at incorporating these prompts word for word. In fact, I’m so awful at it that, this time, the prompt didn’t even make it into the final version of the fic. I tried giving a variation of the line to Ukitake in the second section, and then I tried giving it to Byakuya in the third section, but… it just didn’t quite work for me? Somehow? So, uh - apologies, but I, uh - may not have followed this prompt at all. Uh. Oops.That said - here’s a little story with some mild ByaUki senpai/kohai relationship stuff going on, and with a little bit of Yoruichi (which surprised me - I’ve never written her before, ever, and she just kinda showed up in this fic? So, uh, okay!) stepping in as Bya-kun’s mentor when Juu-chan finds himself pretty much down for the count.It’s worth noting that Byakuya is quite young in this fic - younger than he is in TBTP, even. He’s probably the equivalent to eight or ten years old, in Soul-Society-time, whatever that is.And, finally - thanks for your patience, and your lovely comments, and your lovely request, Anon-san! I hope you can forgive me for going off the rails so much, prompt-wise haha…

Byakuya is young.

Byakuya is old enough to understand the things that thenoblemen that come and go whisper to his grandfather in the shadows of theKuchiki mansion, but Byakuya is young enough for the noblemen to dismiss him asan innocent, inoffensive, innocuous presence. They do not recognize just howmuch Byakuya hears, and they speak freely in front of him. To say that Byakuyais glad to be looked at as childish and insignificant would be a grossexaggeration - he is of noble birth,after all, and no matter how young he is, Byakuya believes that he is worthy ofat least some small modicum of respect, under all circumstances - but,privately, Byakuya always finds himself quietly thrilled when secrets that arenot meant for him reach his ears.

But sometimes, these secrets remind Byakuya of how much hehas yet to learn.

Byakuya did not know, for example, that his favorite teacher- a Captain, like his grandfather, but a man who admonishes only gently, andwho speaks kindly to Byakuya, and who smiles,unlike his grandfather - is not, in fact,a strong person. Byakuya has marveled at the grace and elegance with which histeacher wields his zanpakutō,and Byakuya has found himself spellbound by his teacher’s extraordinaryfacility with intricate kidō.Byakuya has spent long hours sipping tea with his teacher, and talking abouthistory, and mythology, and what makes a good leader, and how to define thingslike happiness and sadness and friendship and love.Byakuya was led to believe, throughout his entire childhood and into his earlyadolescence, where he awkwardly lingers now, that his teacher was the pinnacleof strength.

Howvery, very wrong he was.

“CaptainUkitake has taken ill,” a seated officer from the Thirteenth Division tellsByakuya’s grandfather.

“Again,”Byakuya’s grandfather growls under his breath, clearly displeased. Byakuyafrowns from where he stands at the side of the reception hall. His grandfatherdoes not seem concerned, and that hits a sour chord with Byakuya. It’s as ifByakuya’s grandfather takes Captain Ukitake’s illness for granted, as if he expected that Captain Ukitake shouldfall ill - and that can’t be right, can it? Why, Byakuya wonders, is hisgrandfather not showing greater concern?

“I’vecome with a formal entreaty,” the seated officer continues, “from the Captainhimself. He wants to know whether it might be possible for the Sixth Divisionto take over a small portion of the Thirteenth’s reconnaissance duties, forapproximately the next two weeks. But,” the officer adds, dropping his voiceand glancing about himself, “between you and me, sir, I’d suggest making moreextensive preparations. The Captain mentioned two weeks, but we both know howoptimistic he is.”

Byakuya’sgrandfather, already frowning, makes a small sound of annoyance. “Oh?”

Theofficer shakes his head. “The Captain is not well, sir,” is all he says.

Byakuya’sgrandfather straightens his back, and he draws a high, tight breath, and henods, crisply, just once. “Very well,” he tells the seated officer. “I willmake the necessary arrangements.” He dismisses the officer with a curt wave ofhis hand, and he turns on his heel, making for his office. “Byakuya?” he calls.“Come. This will be a good lesson in logistics. I will show you - ”

Byakuya’s grandfather’s frown deepens. His grandson, who hecould have sworn was present for his interaction with the seated officer, isnowhere to be seen. Mildly irritated, but not enough to give it a secondthought, he harumphs under hisbreath, and sets off again, with bold strides and a head full of complaints,for his office.

—

Byakuya’s fists are balled up at his sides. He’d used hisvery best-flash step to make it here, just outside the small, wooden structurein the middle of the Thirteenth Division’s territory that serves as histeacher’s private quarters. Byakuya has been here many times, but never withoutinvitation - and never, Byakuya thinks, under such grave circumstances. Byakuyais not certain whether he will be welcome here, at a time like this. Histeacher has always been a generous host, but Byakuya wonders vaguely aboutother members of his teacher’s division. A sickroom is not a place for a child,Byakuya learned long ago. His grandfather taught him that, and though Byakuya’sfather had been of a different opinion, his grandfather’s wishes had always wonout. Not, of course, that it much matters anymore; Byakuya’s father is gone,now. Perhaps there was some wretched connection between his father’s untimelydeath, and the amount of time that Byakuya, fearful and foolish and ignorant,had spent at his bedside. It’s unlikely, Byakuya knows - but he can’t help butwonder.

Tentatively, Byakuya presses his palm to wood of the door.He applies pressure, and the door slides open, just as it always does.“…hello?” Byakuya dares to ask. “Ukitake-san? Are you here?”

When Byakuya hears no answer, he opens the door a little bitfarther. It is darker inside his teacher’s quarters than it is outside, andByakuya blinks, hoping that his eyes will adjust quickly -

And then Byakuya’s hand flies to his mouth. He stuffs thebacks of two fingers inside and bites down, almost succeeding - but not quite -in suppressing a gasp.

Because the man lying before him is not his teacher, not asByakuya knows him.

Still, Byakuya cannot deny that there uncanny similaritiesbetween his teacher and this barely breathing body, stripped to the waist andplied with cool cloths and poultices and splayed weakly out upon a sweat-soakedfuton that must once have been dry and clean. They have the same white hair,and the same kindly features. They have the same thin limbs, and the samemassive reiatsu. They even have the same bright, green eyes - though, Byakuyahas seen enough of sickness to know that fever can make a person’s eyes shinejust as readily as joy or cleverness.

Byakuya feels afraid. He feels afraid, because it seems tohim that he has, for perhaps the first time in his life, stumbled uponsomething that he is very definitely not supposed to see. He feels that he hasintruded upon something horribly private, and that he has somehow violated histeacher by coming here, and by seeing him like this. Byakuya squeezes his eyesshut, and he turns his head to the side. He will leave, he decides. He willleave, and he will run away, and he will forget that he ever saw his teacher’sbody laid so low.

“…who’s there?”

The voice that rises from the darkness is not his teacher’svoice, either, not as Byakuya knows it. Byakuya’s teacher has a rich, clearvoice that rolls like gentle waves, and this voice wafts, weak and wavering,floating slow and directionless through the air like fog on a grey and hazysummer morning.

Byakuya’s mouth is dry, and when he speaks, his voicecracks. “It’s Byakuya,” he says.

A quiet smile alights upon his teacher’s face. “Bya-kun,” hesays. His words are soft, and they slur gently - it’s subtle, but it’s enoughthat Byakuya notices. “Do come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Byakuya steps quietly through the door and inches closer,still staring at his teacher. Has no one, Byakuya wonders vaguely, thought toattend to his teacher in a more proper fashion than this? Should his teachernot be transferred to the Fourth Division for closer supervision and bettertreatment? Why has his teacher been left to suffer what is clearly a gravesickness in solitude, and in darkness? Byakuya’s nose wrinkles against thesmell of strong herbs, and his lip curls as the vague beginnings of anger start to coil inside his belly. This isn’t right. Somethingabout this isn’t right, and none of it sits well inside Byakuya’s youngheart.

He wants to help. He musthelp, somehow. His teacher is sick - his teacher could be dying, for allByakuya knows - and no one seems to be doing anything about it.

“I heard you were sick,” Byakuya says, kneeling tensely athis teacher’s side. “I was worried. I… wanted to see you…”

—

Tears stream down Byakuya’s face as he wanders his weary wayhome. Byakuya is young, but Byakuya is not so young that he does not know whatdeath looks like when it first begins to grip the living. Byakuya didn’t knowwhat he’d been thinking - why, he wonders, had he supposed that visiting histeacher would make anything better?

Byakuya’s teacher is dying.

Byakuya’s teacher is dying, and Byakuya knows it. The fever istoo high, and his teacher’s body is too weak, and though Byakuya is no experton the subject, he does not believe that anyone who brings up that much bloodwhen they cough is on track to survive for more than a few days.

Byakuya had sat with his teacher, and they had talked for atime, but soon, Ukitake had waved a weak and trembling hand, and had toldByakuya that he did not need to stay any longer, if he did not wish to.

Byakuya had nodded wordlessly, and he had risen anddeparted. It was for the best, he supposed; his throat had grown tight, and he hadnot wished to weep in front of his dying teacher.

Byakuya walks mindlessly, not quite knowing where he wantsto go, and not quite caring. Sunset bathes the Seireitei in golden light, andByakuya scowls at the splendor laid out before him. He finds it cruel, that theworld should keep on turning like this - and so beautifully, too - when one ofthe greatest lives that it has ever seen is about to end.

“Byakuya-bō!Yo - is that you?”

Byakuya groans aloud. This voice is one of the very, verylast he wants to hear right now. He is not in the mood for ridicule, and he isnot in the mood for games. He is in the mood for solitude and sadness. He is inthe mood to be alone with his grief.

“Byakuya-bō?C’mon! Turn around and face me, kid! I’m your elder, y’know - gotta respect me,right?”

Byakuya, limbs heavy with sorrow, musters the energy to makea slow about-face. He stares, dead-eyed, and he takes in Yoruichi-san’s big,bright smile, and he lets her read what she will in his expression and demeanor.He is too tired for her antics, and he silently prays that, perhaps, she willlook into his eyes and understand this.

For a second, Yoruichi-san is silent. Her smile, which wasbroad and wide and cheery at first, starts to crumple in on itself like awilting flower. She blinks, and lets out a soft, “Shit,” and she drops to herknees, so that her face is level with Byakuya’s now. Byakuya winces when shelays a hand on his shoulder, but she stays him with gentle words. “Hey,” shesays, “easy. Easy, kid. What happened to you?”

Byakuya shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Nothing happenedto me. I’m fine.”

“Yeah. Sure. That’s why you’re crying, right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Nah, you’re not. Nice try, Byakuya-bō.”

“Stop it, Yoruichi-san. Please. I’m fine. I promise.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I am. But…” Byakuyalooks away. “…Captain Ukitake isn’t,” he says softly.

Comprehension slowly dawns in Yoruichi-san’s face. “Oh,” shewhispers. “Byakuya-bō - ”

“He’s dying,” Byakuya says, unable to keep himself fromcutting Yoruichi-san off, because he’s quite sure that she doesn’t understand.“That’s not what he says - he says he’ll be all right soon, but - but he won’t. I know he won’t. I’ve just been to see him, and… a-and…” Byakuyahangs his head, and he finds himself leaning hard against Yoruichi-san, seekingcomfort from her in a way that he never, neverimagined he would. “He’s so sick, Yoruichi-san,” Byakuya says in a hoarse,broken whisper. “He can’t even breathe right, not really… and no one’s takingcare of him, I don’t think… and he’s dying,Yoruichi-san, he’s gonna die, I know it - ”

“…hey.” Yoruichi-san pulls Byakuya to her, and Byakuya,against every part of his better judgement, shakes and cries and breaks apartin her arms. He feels Yoruichi-san’s hands on his back, and he’s sure that histears are staining the pristine white of her haori, but she doesn’t seem tocare, and so, right now, neither does Byakuya. “Hey, Byakuya-bō. It’s cool. I’ve gotcha. Letit out, Byakuya-bō…let it out…”

After atime, Byakuya’s sobbing subsides. He finds himself trembling in Yoruichi-san’sarms, only half-listening to her words of comfort. He’s suddenly exhausted, andhe wants to lay down on the ground, right here and right now, and curl up intoa tiny ball, and never speak to anyone, ever again, unless they have come totell him truly that his teacher is alive and well, and will always be.

“Yougood now?” Yoruichi-san asks gently.

“No,”Byakuya answers.

“Right.Yeah, I guess - that’s not what I meant. I meant - if I were to tell yousomething about Captain Ukitake right now, do you think you’d have it in you tolisten to me?”

Thatpiques Byakuya’s interest. Hope flares in his chest - but Byakuya is wary, andhe does not let his hope glow too brightly. Still, he pulls slightly away fromYoruichi-san, and he says, “Yes.”

“Cool.”Yoruichi releases Byakuya from her embrace, and she lays both hands flat onByakuya’s shoulders, and she looks him squarely in the face. “Listen to me, kid- you might not believe it, but I promise you - Captain Ukitake isn’t dying.Okay?”

Byakuyablinks. “What?”

“Youheard me, right? He’s not gonna die, all right? Not any time soon. Simple asthat.”

“But -but I saw him - ”

“And?”

“And -and he’s sick, Yoruichi-san, he’s -he’s so sick - ”

“Easy,Byakuya-bō. Hear meout, okay?” Yoruichi-san’s eyes soften, and so do her hands on Byakuya’sshoulders. “I dunno how much of this I should be telling you,” she says, “butCaptain Ukitake has a really unusual body. He’s used to getting sick like this.It happens all the time.”

Byakuyafrowns. “I’ve never seen him get sick before,” he points out.

“Maybe.”Yoruichi-san pauses, considering. It looks to Byakuya like she’s choosing her wordscarefully, and that angers him. Byakuya is young, but he is not a child, andhe’s worried about his teacher. He wants Yoruichi-san to tell him the wholetruth. “Ask Captain Ukitake to explain this himself when he recovers,” is whatYoruichi-san says, in the end. “For now - believe me when I tell you he’s no stranger tosickness, and believe me when I tell you he’ll pull through. He always does.” She cocks her headto the side, and gives Byakuya a tiny, lopsided, half-hearted smile. “Do youfeel better now?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” Byakuya shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

“Do you believe me?”

“About Captain Ukitake?”

Yoruichi-san nods.

Byakuya chews his lip. “My grandfather,” he says quietly,“told me my father was going to get better. I don’t know if I can believeanyone, when they say things like that.”

Yoruichi-san nods again. “Makes sense,” she says, and herwords are harsh enough that they catch Byakuya by surprise. “I’m not reallyinto lying to kids, though. If that helps.”

Byakuya sets his jaw and crosses his arms. “I’m not a kid,”he tells Yoruichi-san.

She smiles, as if Byakuya has said something amusing.“Right,” she says. “Silly me - of course you’re not.” With that, Yoruichi-sanwithdraws her hands from Byakuya’s shoulders, and stands back up. She doesn’ttower over him now, not exactly, but Byakuya still finds himself standingbegrudgingly in her shadow. He hopes that he will grow to be taller than her,one day. Perhaps he’ll grow to be tall like Captain Ukitake, he thinks. That,Byakuya decides, would be very nice indeed.

“I should go home,” Byakuya says. “My grandfather will beangry if I’m gone much longer.”

“Want me to come with you?” Yoruichi-san asks. “Keep youcompany for a little while?” Her eyes glint mischievously. “I can give your grandpaa piece of my mind if he gets in your shit when you get home.”

Despite himself, Byakuya feels a smile tugging at his lips. “No,”he says, “that’s quite all right, Yoruichi-san. Thank you.”

“Any time, Byakuya-bō.”Yoruichi-san tips her head to Byakuya in a casual gesture of farewell. “Anytime. You got that?”

Byakuyanods. He understands what she means, and in truth, he is grateful. “Gotit,” he says, and with that, he turns around and runs, feeling very fast andvery free, down the cobbled streets of the Seireitei, making his way back tothe place he calls his home.

—

Two months pass, and summer slowly gives way to autumn. Byakuyaspends as much time as he can outside, basking in the last vestiges of seasonalwarmth and working industriously at his swordsmanship technique, masteringmaneuvers and perfecting his form. He twists lithely from position to position,fancying that he looks elegant and deadly like a real soldier, but knowing thathe probably looks clumsy and silly - not like a boy, because Byakuya is surelytoo big and strong to be called a boy anymore,but like an amateur. Byakuya does not want to be an amateur. He wants to be amaster, someone to be envied and mimicked and admired.

It takes practice to become a master, Byakuya knows.

And so, tirelessly, Byakuya practices.

The sun rises and sets every day, and every day, Byakuyafinds himself less and less offended by the beauty that comes with thesecelestial markers of passing time. He stomachs what little of his grief andfear remain, and he applies himself to his work, and he tries his best not tothink very much, or feel very deeply.

One evening, as the sun is starting to sink below thehorizon and Byakuya, as ever, is wielding his wooden practice sword in thegardens with tireless arms and dauntless sprit. He makes his diligent waythrough a series of moves that he’s only just recently mastered, and then hedrops his hands, and he hangs his head, and he lets is sweat drip down into hisface, reveling in the dual stings of exertion in his arms and of sharp, saltyliquid in his eyes.

A hand, heavy and gentle, drops onto Byakuya’s shoulder.

Byakuya starts. He whips around, and he is about to admonishthis newcomer for daring to be so bold -

And then, Byakuya finds himself horribly glad that his faceis drenched in sweat. Perhaps, he thinks dimly, it will hide the tears thatbegin to spill from his eyes.

Captain Ukitake, face aglow with health and eyes bright withgood humor, grins. “Remind me,” he says, “to show you a thing or two about wieldinga blade in your non-dominant hand. Your form could use some work, I’m afraid.”