#aigin

When he was a child, he used to spy on Aizen. Although he lacked the skills required for the task, he once caught the man practicing his lines in front of a mirror. He remembered that clearly. It was both fascinating and creepy – to watch firsthand how Aizen crafted his perfect façade.

Focusing on his own reflection, the man spoke a lie in a gentle voice and with an even gentler smile. Then he repeated it, changing his facial expression just slightly. A barely visible shift, yet it made the smile feel different. More subtle.

Aizen kept shifting the angle of his head. Again and again, until the lie and the expression satisfied him. It felt like walking in on something intimate, like overhearing a dangerous secret. Still, the man never acted embarrassed, as if he allowed Gin to see and learn.

That was how Gin found out that his captain, who was just a lieutenant back then, was something else entirely. Not only dangerous, not only strong, but something that had trained itself to fool others into believing it was fully human.

That revelation didn’t shock young Gin as much as it should have. Because Gin had to train himself too – to become a snake.

Silent as a serpent, Gin slid onto the sofa.

Aizen didn’t turn to him; his gaze fixed on something that wasn’t quite there.

At the far end of the ridiculously large sofa, Gin grew impatient. So he got on all fours and, inch by inch, crawled across the distance until he was next to his captain – invading his personal space.

Saying nothing, he shifted his position and rested his head on Aizen’s lap.

Now, that earned him a judgmental glare.

The pair of sharp brown eyes snapped down to him, a spark of amusement – or maybe suspicion – flickering behind the coldness of that gaze.

Unbothered by Aizen looking down at him, Gin let his crafty smile widen a little. He didn’t explain himself, and Aizen didn’t ask. So they stayed like that – Gin’s lanky body sprawled across the sofa, his captain’s lap serving as a cushion.

After a few moments of absolute silence, broken only by the even rhythm of Aizen’s breathing, the stillness began to weigh on Gin uncomfortably. Finally, the pressure of it forced him to let out a sigh.

“Y’know, anyone else would probably be pettin’ my head by now,” he pointed out casually, his usual smile replaced by a pout. “Or at least tell me to knock it off. One or the other.”

There was no indication whether Aizen felt any discomfort due to their proximity or not. If anything, Gin’s remark only made the man curious.

“Do you want me to pet you, Gin?” his captain asked in a neutral tone. Not mocking the idea, or dismissing it as unrealistic, Aizen seemed quietly amused beneath the sterile surface.

“No,” Gin replied, sharply and decisively. “I want ya to want that.”

Aizen closed his eyes, offering a small, knowing smile in response.

***

District Sixty-Two of East Rukongai had mountains, forests, and only a few settlements where souls would gather. Larger groups of people suggested prosperity, and prosperity lured bandits and violent individuals.

It was safer to live alone, wandering across the forest in search of food and shelter. All kinds of beasts and wild animals did the same.

Stags ran in herds, always vigilant and ready to flee, with one keeping watch while the others fed. Wolves hunted in packs, coordinated and clever. Together, they succeeded where a lone wolf would fail. But when the prey was killed – it was always the alpha who sank his fangs into the juicy meat first.

Gin had learned many important lessons by watching predators hunt, kill, and survive. The ones he found the most deadly were venomous snakes. They weren’t big and didn’t look strong, but they struck faster than the eye could register. And once a viper bit, its poison did the rest – death both precise and certain.

Gin had taught himself to be a snake.

That was how he survived living in District Sixty-Two.

That knowledge came in handy later, as he started working under Lieutenant Aizen.

When Gin realized that he lacked the skills to kill that man on the spot, he decided to follow him and wait for the right moment. But that moment didn’t occur. The gap in their power too vast for Gin to cross easily, and Aizen turned out to be a man with long-term goals – having put Gin to good use from day one.

He couldn’t kill Aizen yet, so he was killing for him.

With his short sword hidden in the folds of his sleeve, concealed from the victim, Gin approached Officer Ukita with a smile. Absolutely nothing gave away his murderous intention.

The kill could hardly be called a fight. Gin’s quick strike slashed the man’s throat with a single swing. The gurgling sound of his victim choking on his own blood didn’t stop the boy from smiling.

When he reported back to Lieutenant Aizen later that night, the first thing Aizen did was study him with his steady gaze. The eyes behind the glasses were unblinking.

“Did anyone see you entering my quarters?” he asked.

Gin shook his head, the wide smile still plastered across his young, pale face.

“I was careful,” he explained. “I can move silently. Don’tcha worry, Aizen-fukutaichō.”

It didn’t fully satisfy the man; Gin could tell from the intensity of his piercing stare. He knew this kind of glare, he had seen it before.

Only predators stared like that, judging distance and timing before the attack.

Shivers ran across Gin’s small body, but he didn’t let his smile falter.

“Show me your hands,” Aizen demanded lightly, in that unnerving calm tone he always used.

Gin didn’t like it one bit. Showing his hands was like admitting he had nothing to hide, and he avoided being this transparent. But with no other choice, he stretched out both arms toward the man, his palms open. Empty.

A gesture of apparent innocence.

Aizen took his right hand into his own, his palm much larger than Gin’s. The touch wasn’t harsh or rushed; it could only be described as careful.

The contact with warm skin startled Gin a little.

He didn’t flinch, but Aizen holding his hand was entirely new. Unexpected. The lieutenant took his time examining Gin’s palm in silence. Then he lifted his gaze, eyes finding Gin’s face.

“You didn’t wash off the blood.”

The statement landed like an accusation – more precisely, like proof that Gin wasn’t as careful as he had claimed to be. Gin heard it for what it really meant: you came here with the Fifth Seat Ukita’s blood on your hands, so this murder could be traced back to me. Is this incompetence? Or is this on purpose?

None of this was ever said aloud, but the unspoken question hung in the air between them.

Instinctively, Gin pulled his hand back.

Or at least, he tried to. Aizen didn’t let him. The grip tightened, holding him in place. There was no point in struggling.

Once the instinct to flee had been abandoned, Aizen let go anyway.

“Wait here,” the man instructed before disappearing deeper into his private quarters, a space too small, too ordinary to contain someone like him.

To Gin, this room seemed like an attempt to cage a beast. A failed one, of course.

A moment later, the lieutenant returned, a white cotton cloth in one hand and a long white bottle in the other. With a perfectly neutral expression, he knelt down before Gin.

“Next time,” the man explained with uncanny patience as he poured liquid from the bottle onto the cloth, “use cold water. Not hot. It dissolves the fresh bloodstains.”

The sharp smell of alcohol tickled Gin’s nose.

Taking his hand again, Aizen rubbed it gently with the damp cloth.

“Sake?” Gin couldn’t resist asking.

“It helps with dried stains.”

With far more care than Gin would have given him credit for, Aizen continued to wipe the hand clean. Focused on the task, meticulous yet gentle, the man gave the impression of a nurturing superior officer.

It was a little scary how convincing his helpfulness was. Had Gin not known better, he’d have fallen for it. Because the act was real – the intention… not so much.

“Why Ukita?” Gin asked, trying to make his question sound childish – like there was nothing but thoughtless curiosity behind it. “Wasn’t he loyal to ya?”

The lieutenant didn’t pause in cleaning Gin’s hand, and he didn’t even look up when answering.

“Loyalty isn’t everything, Gin. I prefer my subordinates to be competent.”

***

He had never cared much for the Soul Reapers’ nonsense, but serving as the Third Seat of the Fifth Division turned out to be quite fun. Gin found it not only instructive, but also entertaining – to observe the endless contest of wits between Lieutenant Aizen and Captain Hirako.

Hirako knew that Aizen was suspicious, but he had no proof to do anything about it. And Aizen knew that Hirako knew. Yet, his cunning nature and his shikai power ensured that his transgressions stayed undetected for years.

It was a game of cat and mouse with a cruel twist, where the prey pursued the disguised predator. From the start, Gin had understood that Captain Hirako was doomed to fail. When the fateful day finally arrived, he was there, eager to watch the betrayal unfold.

“A truly terrifying betrayal is the one you cannot see,” Lieutenant Aizen said to his Hollowfied, injured, and utterly confused captain.

Something about this whole scene: the moon, Aizen’s unsheathed blade, his accusatory speech – made this murder attempt feel especially personal.

The game between the two had continued for decades. Was this a satisfying end to it? Was Aizen ever truly satisfied?

Would Gin be satisfied when he finally got his chance to strike and kill Aizen with his blade?

He imagined this moment in vivid detail: the angle, the strike, and the excitement that always came with the act of taking a life. Not just any life, but the life of prey unlike any other. A beast too large to be swallowed all at once – such a feast would have kept Gin full for the rest of his life.

He could almost see it: the blood – hot and sticky, its pleasant warmth enveloping his hands. Those brown, unblinking eyes staring back at him, widening with realization, and then slowly going dim.

Yes. Aizen’s death at his hands would be the ultimate reward for all his efforts, all his patience.

To be the one who ended Aizen… would make Gin feel fulfilled.

When Kaname flash-stepped away and only the two of them remained, Gin couldn’t help himself any longer.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his voice trembling with a thrill at how dangerous the topic was.

Aizen’s steps never faltered as they walked toward the gate – cloaked securely under the spell of invisibility, their reiatsu masked.

“You have to be more specific.”

The man’s voice was polite and steady. No emotion could be heard in it, even though he had just destroyed his superior’s life, but failed to assassinate him.

“Betrayin’ someone ya served under for so long,” Gin elaborated eagerly, strolling beside the lieutenant. “Was it exactly how ya imagined it?”

Not even trying to conceal the delight coiling beneath his words, he lifted his head up to look directly at Aizen. Reading him. Studying him.

“Is that the expression ya make when ya’re pleased?” he pressed on, needling him with deliberate persistence, idly wondering just how far he could push before crossing the line and getting on Aizen’s nerves.

That never happened.

“It all turned out better than expected,” the man replied plainly, with unshaken composure.

“Yeah,” Gin huffed. Then nagged once more, this time almost irritated. “But did ya enjoy it?”

“Enjoy it?”

The word rang oddly when uttered by this man, who always acted like he knew every possible answer.

Was this genuine confusion, or calculated deception? Gin wasn’t sure. But he didn’t miss the fact that Aizen took his time to consider his options.

“I wouldn’t call it joy,” the lieutenant said at last, his tone as mild as ever.

Gin’s sharp eyes, hidden beneath his lowered eyelids, discreetly followed every shift in Aizen’s body language. But they found none.

And just when he thought he wouldn’t get anything valuable from this exchange, Aizen surprised him by adding, “It is more subtle than that. Strangely enough, the experience was… complex.”

Gin almost stumbled over his own foot. Almost paused. Almost laughed.

He did neither of these things. Instead, his snake-like smile widened instinctively – a habit at this point.

The two of them continued walking in silence, as if nothing worth mentioning had been revealed. Under the pale, deathly moonlight, they made their way back to the division.

***

“Gin!”

The voice rang out, full of worry, maybe even desperation. Its high-pitched register barely cut through the raging wind of the blizzard.

“Gin! Where are you going!”

Rangiku’s voice.

He turned around, looking back. Her small, fragile figure stood there in the middle of the white haze. The rags she was wearing didn’t protect her from the biting cold, and the blowing wind threatened to knock her into a snowdrift.

She was weak. She had been like that ever since he had met her, as if she had never fully recovered from the brutal assault. Whatever had been stolen from her that day had taken a toll on her health. Yet she stood there in the snowstorm, ready to follow him. Shouting for him to take her with him, for better or for worse.

“Gin!”

He searched for her beautiful silver eyes. They were always there for him, trusting and clear like frozen mountain lakes. But as he looked toward her, his vision blurred. He couldn’t make out her features across the distance and the flurry of snowflakes.

“Gin.”

His eyes snapped open. The voice calling his name… it didn’t belong to Rangiku.

Rangiku wasn’t here. They weren’t kids anymore. It was just a dream, just a ghost of the past.

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the here and now as he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. The wooden beams on the ceiling looked awfully familiar. He must have been back in his quarters at the officers’ barracks.

That sounded about right – he was a lieutenant of the Fifth. He could recall getting back from a week-long assignment, laying out his futon, and feeling under the weather. How long had he been sleeping? He couldn’t tell.

Everything seemed a little too bright, and his headache throbbed like hell. Somewhere deep inside his ear, a piercing pain was blooming. It spread along the side of his skull. He squinted and hissed, his nose wrinkling involuntarily. Even under his blanket, he still felt cold. His body trembling slightly.

A fever? It did feel like one.

He noticed that someone had placed a white cotton rag over his forehead while he slept. The cloth was still there, no longer cold or even wet. Forgotten. Or left there on purpose so he would know.

The idea of someone walking into his private space while he had been sleeping didn’t sit well with Gin. And worse still, he remembered the voice he had heard in his fevered dream. Not Rangiku’s voice. The other one. Familiar. Unsettling.

Aizen’s.

Gin snapped up into a sitting position, a cloth slipping off his heated forehead. He looked around, but there was no one but him in the room. No sign of his captain.

He could have sworn, he had felt the man’s cold, unnaturally heavy presence. If his captain had been here, it had not been to help. Gin might be young, but he wasn’t naive.

The Aizen he knew – the one who had ordered his goons to assault Rangiku, the one who had to practice human expressions in the mirror – couldn’t care less about Gin’s health. Most likely, he wanted to check whether Gin was still useful, still functional.

“I prefer my subordinates to be competent.” Aizen’s words from years earlier still echoed in Gin’s head.

If he remained sick, weakened, and useless, his dear captain would certainly leave him to die.

Behind his window, the snow was quietly falling.

Gin had never liked the cold.

***

The ceiling high above his head was pure-white and distant, and it was the first thing Gin noticed when he opened his eyes. The whiteness around him assaulted his vision like an unfair punishment. He almost winced, but stopped himself at the last moment.

For some reason, it reminded him of snow. Not only the ceiling, but the entire surrounding – the kind of white that felt clean and cold. The enormous sofa he was sprawled across shared the exact same color. And so did Aizen’s robes.

His head was still resting upon the man’s lap, as if no time had passed at all. Yet something had changed, and Gin sensed the shift right away.

There was a hand – Aizen’s hand – resting atop his head. Not moving, not petting him, but undeniably there. An unmistakably deliberate gesture of… of what?

Gin shifted carefully, his movements minimal, because he didn’t want the hand to move away. When he lifted his gaze, he saw that Aizen’s eyes were fixed on his face. Reading him like a scroll containing a forbidden Kidō.

“Did I fall asleep?” Gin asked him lightly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

The man didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. His palm stayed where it was, at the top of Gin’s head.

Gin’s lips curled into a lazy smile, eyes narrowing against his captain’s intrusive stare.

“I didn’t say I was worried,” he argued, masking his initial recoil with playfulness.

It was rather amusing to see his dearest captain deciding to indulge him in this sort of game. Inviting interpretations, but not stating his intent. How typical of him. How manipulative. How fun.

“I just wanted to confirm how long I was out,” Gin added, rubbing his head lightly into the point of contact.

Aizen’s hand didn’t move.

“You were asleep for eighteen minutes,” the man replied with an uncanny, clockwork precision.

“Tsk,” Gin faked the embarrassed expression. “That’s no good. Ya could’ve woken me.”

“I could have,” his captain agreed, and the line landed far too simply for its context. Then, Aizen went and ruined it further by adding, “but you seemed comfortable. I saw no reason to interrupt.”

This made Gin go still for a single breath, and Aizen noticed it at once. His fingers shifted in a small, barely perceptible way, brushing over Gin’s hair like it was nothing unusual.

This wasn’t a coincidental touch, that much was painfully obvious. This was Aizen testing him – the intensity of his gaze gave that fact away. If he could, the man probably would have placed Gin in a Petri dish and studied him under a microscope.

Gin forced a smile back onto his face, but the reaction came a little too late to read genuine.

“How very considerate of ya, Aizen-taichō,” he let the ironic tone slip through. “Ya spoil me.”