Gin finds Aizen sitting on the lawn outside the office. "Taichou," he chides, drawing out the first syllable, "are you slacking off?"
"It's a nice day to observe the clouds," says Aizen, turning his attention to his vice-captain. "Come, sit with me."
"We have reports."
"There will always be reports. Sit with me."
Sighing, Gin climbs out of the office and settles down next to his captain. It's always comforting to be gently welcomed by Aizen's reiatsu into his personal space; it's an intimacy that Aizen doesn't extend to anyone else.
"What's so interesting about clouds anyway?" he asks, tossing back his hair to enjoy the sun on his face.
Aizen hums thoughtfully. "Because they are endlessly changeable. They're up there now, clumps of white fluffy shapes. Gather enough of them and they become stormclouds. They become raindrops, or hail, or snow. Fall to the ground to run off into rivers or oceans-"
"-drains and gutters-"
"-or be absorbed by living things, or be used to create things, or seep all the way down into the deep places of the earth which have yet to be explored," Aizen says. "If you were a water molecule, you could live a million different existences."
"If I were a water molecule, I wouldn't be alive or aware," Gin replies smartly.
Aizen chuckles and bumps his shoulder against the younger shinigami. "You have no poetry in your soul."
"I already am a soul, taichou. And so are you."
"You know what I mean," Aizen scolds lightly. "Always so pragmatic."
With Aizen here, Gin doesn't have to worry. He lies down on the soft grass to gaze up into the brilliant blue. "Sounds like hell, though."
"What does?"
"Being water. Having to go through the same cycle over and over and over. Freeze and melt and evaporate and condense and coalesce, endlessly. Never escaping it." Gin exhales forcefully. "Yep. Hell."
Aizen gazes down at Gin, an inscrutable expression on his handsome face, and then he runs his fingers through Gin's silvery hair.
"I don't know if it is hell," Aizen says slowly, weighing every word. "I should like to become water and go through the endless cycle for eternity." His fingers stop combing Gin's hair and instead trail feather-light down his face along his jaw, stopping at his sharp chin. "If only to have the chance to be a raindrop to caress your sweet face again."
For a moment, Gin loses his ability to speak. Then he smiles. "Maa, you know that I'll die before you do. So if anyone is going to be water, it'd be me. You'll have to figure out which droplet is me, though, and be drenched every time it rains. You can't use an umbrella ever again."
"I can do that."
It's as good as a vow. Gin takes his captain's hand from his chin and, under the open sky, kisses his palm before nuzzling into it.
They still have time. The clouds are drifting slowly.
