Bleach: Kishou Arima

Unohana wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

Composing her face into the calm mask she wore so effortlessly, she quietly stepped through the door to their room.

The soft creak of the wooden floorboards under her feet seemed far louder in the quiet night.

Inside, Arima was already waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed.

His silver hair falling messily across his face.

The faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window outlined his sharp features, making him seem more ethereal, more distant, as though he were already halfway beyond her reach.

Before she could say anything, Arima stood.

In a rare motion, quick and deliberate, he crossed the space between them and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Unohana stiffened at first, caught off guard, but her body soon relaxed against his warmth.

His hands, steady yet trembling slightly, rested on her back as he patted her head in an awkward attempt at comfort.

He bent his head down, his lips close to her ear, and whispered softly—his voice, for once, carrying the faintest trace of emotion.

"I've told you many times, Yachiru," he murmured, his words deliberate and gentle, "you do not need to push yourself so hard over me."

Unohana's breath caught as he continued. "I'm happy enough to have you by my side."

For a man so often unreadable, those words carried emotions that shook her to her core.

She felt his hands tremble ever so slightly as he cradled her face, tilting her chin upward so their eyes could meet.

His gaze—pale, deep—held an unspoken truth.

And then, he kissed her.

The kiss was deep and lingering, full of all the things Arima could never put into words—gratitude, affection, regret.

Unohana melted against him, her hands gripping his robes tightly as though to anchor herself to him.

When he finally pulled back, Unohana stared up at him in silence, her chest tight.

She could see it in his face—the quiet acceptance of his fate.

"How can you expect me to listen to something so outrageous? You're a cruel man.." she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Arima said nothing.

He simply looked at her, his expression calm yet unreadable as always.

Her hands trembled as she shook her head, just like a child refusing to accept something painful. "No," she muttered weakly, her voice barely audible. "No…I will not listen to you."

How could he ask this of her? How could he tell her to do nothing, to accept this, when the man she loved was slowly withering away before her very eyes?

Arima's arms wrapped around her again, pulling her close.

This time, his touch was gentler, as though he knew there was nothing he could say to ease her pain.

Arima's gaze softened as he looked at her trembling form, her quiet refusals hanging in the air like fragile whispers.

He couldn't bring himself to respond—what was there to say? She wouldn't listen, and he wouldn't blame her.

A faint sigh escaped his lips, almost imperceptible, but it carried the emotions of centuries.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared, but it was real.

In that moment, regret pooled deep in his heart.

He regretted so many things, but most of all, he regretted that he didn't have the heart to give this woman—his wife—the love she truly deserved.

His thumb brushed gently against her cheek, catching a stray tear that had slipped down.

How cruel it must be, he thought, to love someone like him—someone who could give so little in return.

Someone whose fate was sealed long before they ever met.

"You…" he whispered softly, his voice barely above a murmur, "you've always been stronger than me, Yachiru."

The words were simple, but they carried an unspoken truth.

She cared for him, felt scared for him, cried for him—all that for him.

Arima's arms tightened around her just slightly, as though to hold her together, even as he himself fell apart.

He didn't say any more; there was no need.

He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't stop, that her love for him would always drive her to fight against the inevitable.

However before the atmosphere could settle into something too somber, Unohana snapped.

Her calm exterior cracked, and with an uncharacteristic burst of frustration, she pushed Arima back onto the bed.

"You're so cruel," she said, her voice trembling, eyes burning with unspoken emotion. "Saying something like that… how can you be so .. so... heartless?"

Arima blinked, momentarily startled, though his stoic demeanor barely shifted.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't let him.

Unohana leaned forward, capturing his lips in an aggressive kiss, her hands tangling into his hair as if to anchor herself to him.

Her movements were driven by raw—anguish, desperation, and a love so deep it terrified herself.

Arima didn't resist; instead, his hands came up to steady her, fingers brushing against her skin with surprising gentleness.

It wasn't long before the heat between them escalated, and whatever hesitation had lingered evaporated.

Clothes were discarded, falling carelessly to the floor, leaving nothing between them but the shared weight of their unspoken struggles.

Unohana's breath was heavy as she hovered above him, her eyes searching his pale face for a reaction he rarely gave. "If you won't let me save you," she whispered fiercely, her voice low, "then I'll keep proving how much you mean to me..In different ways"

Arima's expression shifted—an almost imperceptible change at first.

Then, to Unohana's surprise, a rare smile graced his lips, soft yet tinged with something unfamiliar.

Before she could process it, a low chuckle escaped him, quiet but unmistakable.

Her eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat at the sound.

It was rare—so rare—that it almost didn't seem real.

"You really don't know when to stop, do you?" he murmured, his voice carrying an unexpected warmth.

Before she could respond, Arima's hands suddenly moved with purpose, pulling her closer in one fluid motion.

Unohana gasped softly, caught off guard by his sudden proactiveness, the shift in his demeanor both surprising and intoxicating.

His lips captured hers again, but this time the kiss was different—fierce, deliberate, and filled with a passion that rarely surfaced in him.

His hands traced the curve of her back, grounding her as his touch turned more assertive.

"Arima…" she whispered against his lips, her breath hitching as she felt him take control, something he rarely did.

He didn't reply with words.

Instead, he deepened the kiss, his actions speaking volumes where his voice often fell silent.

For once, it seemed as though he allowed himself to shed the problems he carried—if only for her.

In that fleeting moment, Unohana could feel the barriers he always held disappear completely.

And though she knew the agony of his existence remained, his touch told her everything she needed to know: she was his refuge, as much as he was hers.

And both were hopelessly bound to the other.

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Stones and Reviews please