Okay, seriously, nobody hate me for this, you should've read the warnings! A little plot bunny just popped in my head and wouldn't leave me alone! So without further ado read and R&R!
He was surrounded by stiff white sheets, dull as the falling dusk outside. His long, whispy white hair splayed out about him like a halo, his skin as pale as the moon. Arms once so strong and capable, now thin and skeletal, every bone and withering vein in his face poking through with sickly exaggeration. He shook and trembled whenever they cleaned the blood from his chin or chest, handling his fragile form with great care. But their efforts where futile, he was slipping away, a great man, now just a ghost of his former self.
All of the Seirietei kept silence for him, paying their respects with sympathetic glances and brief bows. The sight of him took the breath away from all and just for a moment they felt his pain and anguish, but only for a moment. Ukitake Jyuushiro had to live with it.
Crimson blood stained his sheets, overwhelming their absorbency and leaking onto his hair which now resembled Abarai's red locks. He felt a cold hand gently stroke his face, his eyes creaking open to see the first non-medic to touch him since he became bed-ridden. "Shunsui" he whispered feebly, a large flow of blood dripping from his dry lips as he hacked and coughed, a few stray tears falling from his eyes. Even though it pained him to talk, and the more he coughed the sooner he'd die, he didn't care, he needed to tell him this. He stroked Shunsui's face, the skin there was smooth, no facial hair at all. He shaved for me, he thought, because he knows…
Shunsui took his hand in his and didn't release his grasp even as he heard the diaphanous bones begin to crack and break. He lowered his face, his straw hat shielding his eyes where slow tears slipped from pooling on the blood stained sheets. He leaned forward, capturing Ukitake's lips in a gentle kiss, slowly parting away, never wanting to let go.
"Please don't cry for me", Ukitake rasped, more blood slipping from his mouth, "for I am now free." More blood oozed from his mouth as his head sunk slowly onto his crimson pillow, blood pooling in his lungs and in his throat, he never let go of Shunsui, not once. A few stray tears slipped from his eyes as the slowly closed, his thin, pale chest completely stilling. Shunsui buried his face in Ukitake's neck desperately trying to identify his scent, all he could smell was blood and antiseptic.
He shuddered clutching desperately at the soul that was departing, his breath coming in pained gasps, but not once did he cry. Because deep down inside, deep down in his heart, he knew Jyuushiro, his Jyuushiro, was free.
And if Jyuushiro was free, so was he.