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Cast in the seaHe is unreachable.
Yoruichi often compares Byakuya to a rock cast deep in the ocean. No matter how far or deep she swims, he remains hidden from her, and it is by his own hands that he throws the stone into the ocean. He doesn't want her to find him, the person who he really is the one behind the sigil of nobility and austerity, the mask he's carved to keep people at bay. Yoruichi knows she's played a part in its creation.
It's times like this when she feels like conceding to these walls of his, the ocean he floods between them.
She runs her fingers down the page before her, as if trying to suck the meaning of its words from the ink into her skin. She wonders what makes a man like Byakuya Kuchiki tick, what sort of chime rings in his soul; a dirge, or a lullaby?
She'll never know.
His breath is warm on her neck, his lips softer and warmer than anything in the world. He holds her arms against her sides, and she lets him, because she needs to feel vulnerable, if only fo
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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