The thing about Kenpachi is, when he’s quiet, something’s wrong. So when Ichigo rounds the corner into the Fourth Division’s library annex and sees Zaraki Kenpachi standing stockstill in front of an empty chair, glaring at it like it personally insulted his entire division, Ichigo slows to a stop. He sits the stack of scrolls he’s dropping off for Rukia on a desk and scans the room. 

There’s no blood, no shattered furniture, no screaming librarian—just Kenpachi. Staring. Breathing like he’s waiting for the chair to make the first move as a library intern eyes him warily.

Ichigo blinks. Once. Twice. Nope, still just a chair.

Then he feels it. Ichigo knows this feeling. That whisper-thin pulse of reiatsu, too smooth to be accidental, too deliberate to be anything but him.

Ichigo doesn’t say a word—just turns, follows the familiar pressure of reiryoku down a side aisle, and there, in a comfortable chair beside an imposing stack of theoretical texts and untouched library dust, is Aizen. Sitting peacefully, reading like he hasn’t orchestrated a standstill between the eleventh captain and a piece of furniture.

Ichigo steps into view, lifts the topmost book from the stack beside him, and flips it open. “Symbolism and Structure in Ancient Seireitei Rituals.” He glances over the pages, then at Aizen.

-> They don't respond. Just keep their eyes on him and keep their distance. Slowly, reluctantly, lift one foot and take a step forward parallel to him like a wary animal, because that's all they are, isn't it? At their core, just a beast on the whim of their instincts and fear, no longer human. ( but they wanted to be. so dearly. desperate to be human and rip the corrupted part out of them and return home. )

"... ..."

" When was the last time you ever loved something? Or even so, why was the last time you ever felt loved?"

Her hands are put together close to her chest. It was very obvious that the man was cold. She hasn't seen someone like him before -- someone so empty inside the shell they called their bodies. She might be young, but it was easy to spot.

The female couldn't help but sigh for a moment and shook her head a little bit.

" I'm sorry, I overstepped."

Truly, Aizen had what Byakuya had considered to be delusions of godhood. But perhaps that was a small-minded thought implanted in him under the duress of the current system. Aizen believed it to be as such. Previous conversation lingered within the noble's mind. The structured way he lived his life was called into question by the baritone of the man before him. Glory. Held in high regard by only his will. Aizen sought to reshape the world and end the rot that even Byakuya could not dispute plagued the world. Rot severing the world's life, bleeding its veins dry. The disparity between those with power and those forced to crawl in the mud to survive was a great divide. Only those born with the ability to become soul reapers could crawl their way out of the dirt and live a decent life within the confines of the Seireitei. Byakuya understood this fact easily, for he was no fool. Having seen the conditions Hisana lived in prior to their being wed. Of all people, Byakuya ought to be the first to seek change given his history of going against clan rules.

Yet there was no denying the cowardice he showed. Bowed head towards the clan leaders. Clan leaders who showed little tolerance for others considered those beneath them. Clan leaders who smiled in public but wielded words like knives in private. The archaic ways of their clan were held in high regard. They chose to maintain the unequal power instead of progressing forward. Upholding the law to benefit the clan.

Aizen was correct that Byakuya held the power to help reshape the world, yet, despite his feelings, Byakuya chose to remain shackled to the ways of old. Despite being head of the clan he remained in servitude to the law and what the Kuchiki clan represented.