#shinai

He directs his attention inward—focuses on breathing, monitors the tension in his shoulders with the same care he applies to his Reiatsu. He forces every instinct into absolute stillness. No reaction. No unconscious leaning away—or worse, toward.

This is theater, he reminds himself.

This is not him walking next to Shinji—but the good, loyal Lieutenant he pretends to be.

Aizen does not feel it.

He is not supposed to.

And yet.

As the umbrella tilts slightly, shielding Shinji more than himself, a stray, treacherous thought slips in:

He wouldn’t even flinch if Shinji’s hand touched his.

If they walked arm in arm instead of side by side.

The silence stretches—not comfortable. Still, neither of them speaks.

The rain grows heavier, soaking the hems of their uniforms. Seireitei dissolves into a blur of shapes and colors, an abstract backdrop sliding past as they continue forward.

They reach the First Division’s headquarters without incident.

Hirako stops at the main gate.

“Wait here,” he says—his first words in fifteen minutes. His voice—cool, flat, like the falling rain—reveals nothing at all.

Only a few millimeters separate them now: wet fabric, damp air. Water trails from Shinji’s hair, catching briefly in the pale gold before dripping away.

“Captain…”

The word escapes before intention can form. He stops himself, unsure what he meant to say—or why.

Shinji steps away, not waiting for him to finish.

And just like that, the closeness ends.

Aizen remains where he is, watching his Captain’s silhouette vanish beyond the closing gates, swallowed by the stern, unforgiving architecture of Seireitei—meant to protect order.

The realization comes later. Slowly.

That void between them—that impossible distance—it is not suspicion.

Not a lack of trust.

It is contempt.

Cold.

Abyssal.

Born not of ignorance, but of judgment.

Aizen would have preferred any warmer feeling—hatred, fury, even the open desire to destroy him. Those emotions would mean engagement.

But contempt? Contempt means he has already been measured—and found lacking.

Could it be that Shinji has seen through him and dismissed him outright?

No.

That cannot be.

Shinji doesn’t even know him—can’t know him—because if he did…

If he comprehended the full scope of his intellect, his power, the potential of what he could achieve—then contempt would be impossible.

It would give way to respect. To trust. Or, at the very least, fear.

In time, Shinji will understand. There is no alternative.

Because trust is not a choice—it is a necessity for the weak.

And Aizen is strong enough to take it upon himself, to bear it as effortlessly as he holds this umbrella—and the full weight of what this walk, this waiting, means for him. For them.

Shinji told him to wait, so he will keep waiting.

In the rain.

In suspension.

Maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour. Maybe a hundred and ten years.

But his Captain will return.

Will see him.

Will understand.

And the contempt will disappear.

Because Aizen is right.

He must be.

Otherwise, everything he carries—every restraint, all the secrecy—would be nothing but a pointless burden.

Aizen stays motionless, not moving from the spot where his Captain left him. Stillness comes easily to him—his body trained to obey his will precisely. What bothers him slightly is the fact that he doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed since Shinji was gone.

The gate opens again, and Hirako’s slim, hunched silhouette appears back into view.

The Captain pauses mid-step when he spots him—a reaction akin to an unpleasant surprise.

Only then does Aizen walk toward him, the parasol still in hand, offering shelter from the rain.

“Could’ve waited under a roof, ya know that?” Shinji mutters, betraying not concern, but irritation.

“I could have,” Aizen agrees without elaborating.

Shinji would not understand him anyway.

They walk back together—same pose, same path. But something feels different. Not externally—internally.

Perhaps it’s because Aizen had made up his mind. It caused the silence between them to turn anticipatory.

They are both chilled to the bone and uncomfortable in their rain-soaked uniforms when they finally return to the office.

“Would you like some tea, Captain?” Aizen offers.

“Nah, I’m good,” Hirako declines, as usual.

The routine settles right back in, as if nothing had happened between them before.

If not for…

“Allow me,” Aizen says, extending his hand. He is standing by the door, half a step behind his Captain.

He means: the haori—drenched and heavy from the rain.

The gesture is unmistakable: I want to help remove it.

And before Hirako can object, Aizen’s hands are already near his Captain’s shoulders. His fingers already brushing the folds of white fabric.

There is a brief instant when he could withdraw his hands.

He doesn’t.

And then, the line is crossed.

The touch.

Shinji doesn’t react harshly—that would shatter his cool, leaderly façade.

He allows Aizen to assist in removing the haori. He has no other choice now.

He says nothing.

Aizen doesn’t smile. His face is perfectly neutral.

“What’s with the helpful attitude, Sōsuke?” A rhetorical question. Shinji must be displeased. “Worried your dear Captain will melt from a few raindrops, hm?”

“Of course not,” he replies without the slightest hesitation. “I wouldn’t dare suggest my Captain is made of sugar.”

He lets the words linger before continuing.

“That might imply he’s sweet. Or fragile.”

Shinji narrows his eyes.

Aizen looks at him intently from behind his glasses.

“And that would be irrational, wouldn’t it? After all, we both know you’re a dangerous man, Captain Hirako.”

There’s not a trace of triumph in his voice. No hint of the quiet satisfaction he feels.

But he feels it—undeniably.

Because when he removed the haori, he took control.

He closed the distance. He chose the moment.

And when he touched Shinji—tension betrayed the Captain. Just a flicker, just a second long. But he was affected, and Aizen knows it.

And one more thing.

Perhaps the most important.

As the haori slipped from Hirako’s shoulders, his wet, golden hair brushed against the back of Aizen’s hand—light as a sunbeam on a cloudy day. Fragrant with rain. And camellia oil.

A detail.

To Aizen, details are everything.

He’ll hold on to this one, long after today.

He’ll remember the touch. The scent of camellias. The rain.

Aizen doesn’t stop writing. Doesn’t turn his head toward Shinji.

“How did the demonstration at the Academy go?”

From the sound of a parasol being set down and raindrops dripping onto the tatami, Aizen infers that Hirako is soaked, cold, and not in a good mood. Which means irritation will soon escalate.

Perfect. The morning in the office was starting to bore him.

“Tragically mediocre,” Shinji sighs, almost dramatically, although his tone is flat and dull. “Kids don’t know how to put on a show these days. Nearly fell asleep. Lucky ya—comfy office and all.”

Hirako’s comment—seemingly neutral—is, of course, nothing but a jab.

One word, one order from his Captain, and Aizen would’ve gone to the demonstration, just like Lieutenant Sasakibe or Lieutenant Yadōmaru.

Shinji didn’t want to be seen with him in public.

Shinji wanted him busy with something time-consuming, but ultimately unimportant.

By protocol, patrol reports from Rukongai should be filled out by the teams assigned to them, and the Division’s captain is supposed to review them.

Hirako had no intention of reviewing anything.

Aizen isn’t planning to call him out on this rule-bending.

In fact, the reports work in his favor—thanks to them, he knows exactly what’s going on in the Division—who, where, and when someone is outside the barracks.

He hears Shinji shake off his soaked haori, hang it on the back of a chair, and walk toward the couch.

He still has twenty, maybe twenty-five reports left to transcribe and stamp. Aizen is confident he’ll finish within the next three hours.

The couch—dragged here from the World of the Living on Shinji’s orders—creaks slightly as the Captain flops down onto it unceremoniously, likely sprawled out full-length across it.

The gesture might deserve a glance, but Aizen sits with his back to the couch and doesn’t turn around pointedly. Still, he knows exactly how Shinji looks right now—legs up, heels on the armrest, wet hair splayed across the cushions.

A picture of carefree nonchalance—carefully arranged. Pleasing, from an aesthetic standpoint.

“Hey, Sōsuke?” The Captain’s voice is casual, yet clearly demands attention.

Aizen pauses his writing.

He waits.

“D’ya remember your presentation back in the Academy?”

An unexpected question.

Aizen sets down the brush to avoid smudging the report with ink.

Of course he remembers—and Shinji must too—which is why he doesn’t answer immediately.

“I remember it was sunny,” he begins cautiously, weighing every word.

He doesn’t rush, as if slowly recalling everything. But that’s a lie—Aizen remembers details with startling clarity.

“I remember because I was worried about the Hakuda demonstration. That the sun might get in my eyes and put me at a tactical disadvantage. I wanted to make a good impression on the captains.”

“Huh. Ya got a memory on ya,” Shinji mutters dryly. Sounds like a compliment, but it is more of an observation. Or an accusation.

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Aizen defends himself, though he doesn’t need to. He knows full well that only the guilty explain themselves.

His goal is to appear neutral, but Captain Hirako clearly has a point to make with this conversation.

“What year were ya in then?”

“Fourth.”

Aizen hears a low whistle—mockingly impressed.

“Less than eight years from student to lieutenant.”

The couch creaks, as if Shinji is shifting position.

Aizen can’t see him, only guesses.

“Impressive pace. Plenty of folks would envy you, Sōsuke.”

“Thank you, Captain. But it wasn’t just my doing.”

Always modest. Always polite. Aizen knows exactly what he’s doing.

He knows Shinji is testing him. The best move in this situation is to redirect attention—away from himself, toward someone else.

“Right after completing my sixth year, I was assigned to your Division. The captains can request selected students,” Aizen’s tone is matter-of-fact, but suggestive. “You were at my demonstration… I owe my career to you, sir.”

Shinji goes quiet for a moment. Only the rain grows louder, pounding the roof.

“Ya sure ya saw me back then?”

“Of course.”

Aizen wouldn’t forget their first meeting.

“Funny…” Shinji says, “’cause I don’t remember ya at all.”

Silence falls.

And again, only the rain—cold, persistent.

Aizen could call him out—because it’s a lie—but such a clever one. So precisely aimed right where it hurts.

He can appreciate the artistry.

He says nothing. What could he say? His Captain has clearly ended this round—just as Aizen ended his Hakuda match eight years ago at that demonstration.

The wooden legs of the couch creak slightly, warning Aizen that Hirako is getting up.

Soft footsteps. Unhurried. The tabi lazily scuff against the floorboards.

One step—then another—a third.

Aizen counts them in his head, not turning around.

He senses it when his Captain gets close. Dangerously close.

Suddenly—a hand lands on him.

No warning.

Shinji’s palm—placed casually on Aizen’s right shoulder.

A friendly gesture.

Nothing special.

Nothing strange.

And yet… This has never before happened between them.

It’s no accident—nothing ever is.

This is a provocation. Everything in it screams: Better watch out.

Aizen does what he can to avoid flinching.

That hand doesn’t belong there. There’s no place for it on that shoulder.

Shinji leans in slightly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in Aizen’s ear. His breath tickles, irritates with its unwelcome warmth. “Gotcha now. Full attention.”

Aizen blinks. Remembers to breathe. And that he should say something.

“You’re too kind, sir.”

The sentence feels empty. Even to him.

He turns his head slightly, catching a glimpse of Hirako out of the corner of his eye.

Shinji’s grinning face—sharp and too close—meets his own.

“Drop the papers and come.” The tone is too soft to be a command. Too flat to be anything else.

Aizen doesn’t move. He waits.

The hand remains on his shoulder. The touch, though light, weighs on him like an intruder.

“Captain? Will you enlighten me?”

The response is a short, dry huff—a laugh devoid of humor.

Its echo spills from Hirako’s throat and runs down Aizen’s spine like a trickle of ice-cold water.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” Shinji notes.

“It’s nothing. Your hand is simply…cold.”

A half-truth—maybe enough for now. He needs to maintain control, get to the point.

“Where are we going?”

Shinji straightens slowly.

His slender fingers pat Aizen’s shoulder.

Patronizingly.

Twice.

As if sealing a deal.

Then the touch vanishes—as if it had never been there at all.

“To the First’s headquarters,” he explains reluctantly. “Gotta sign that stupid request from today’s outing. Bureaucracy, y’know?”

Aizen nods to show he understands.

“And how can I be of service?”

Shinji shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter either way.

A new iteration works much less painfully, but also triggers a state in alpha!Shinich that, while not a true rut, is initially identical to a very intense one, and omega!Ai "has" to help (aka she 100% volunteered herself because he's hot). He feels absolutely terrible about the whole thing after meanwhile she's just like "hell yeah best side effect ever" because she absolutely got the best sex of her life out of it with the alpha of her dreams even if she's sure he's not into her personally. They end up having to talk about it because he's being a guilty mess and she gets him pinned down, sitting on him with her thighs wrapped around his sides trapping him there and he can feel her pressed against his skin and how his own cum is leaking out of her while she's like "don't you DARE act like I didn't have a say in this, I had a chance to tranquilize you with your own watch if I wanted to, I stayed because I wanted, if anything I should feel bad because I know I'm not the one you like and stayed because it was the only time I'd ever get to have you like that" and then they get a fun confession that he's actually fallen for her by now so she's like "Then you won't feel bad about more rounds before this one wears off, right~?"