Spoilers: End of SS arc, and beyond

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They had met by chance. An evening like every other. A bar like every other.

His visits to the living world were becoming increasingly rare. He didn't really have the time anymore to leave the division, neither the courage, nor the desire, but Rukia could be very persuasive, and had arguments he could seldom resist.

And here he was, in the middle of those who had been his friends, who certainly still were, but to whom he had nothing to say anymore. The unfailing energy of the 6th division lieutenant had been smothered little by little, covered by heavy drapes of melancholy, and the flame of his warm smile had wavered. Renji had faded away.

They had decided that evening to pace the dark streets of the town, scattered with prisms of wan light. In the damp of a summer storm, they had found refuge behind a heavy wooden door, which let nothing of its muffled atmosphere filter. They took their sits in the broad chairs, laughing, indifferent to all. And their voices had grown blurred, washed by the glasses of alcohol that flowed down their dry throats. Soon there was nothing more than a murmur of memories.

Renji then slowly detached his eyes from those he had to call his friends, and he looked all over the room, following the curves of the panelling all around him. And he stopped.

It was even darker over there, in that backed-off alcove, snuggled near a lifeless window. But there are some things that the eyes don't need to see for the heart to understand. He watched with fascination the delicate white hand wrap its caressing fingers around the almost empty glass which lay on the table. He followed almost with apprehension the languid gesture which brought it to the graceful lips, half-opened in anticipation of the sweet liqueur. He lost himself with pain in the dark, expressionless, haughty and disdainful look. He closed his eyes and turned his head aside when he didn't find the white fine-cut ornaments which should have adorned the raven hair.

…

The choice of the 6th division's new lieutenant had been well thought through. It was out of the question for Kuchiki Byakuya to make the slightest mistake, and it wouldn't have been worthy of a noble family's heir not to find the perfect candidate. However, when Renji arrived for the first time to his new division, rumours spread about the captain's decision. Rumours that faded quickly, while Renji established his position as second in command and came to grips with his subordinates.

For a long time, Byakuya had remained indifferent to the young man's presence. As long as work was done and his orders respected, he had no reasons to worry about his lieutenant. But discretion was far from being one of Renji's qualities. By dint of interruptions in his office, interjections in the hallways, unexpected visits in his estate, Byakuya had been forced to notice the other man's presence in his life.

Their relation had then begun to slowly evolve. From indifference, from hate, to respect, to admiration. In a too white room of a too gloomy hospital, they finally got to bare their feelings, to understand, to appreciate, to love each other. Every day's life became gentle and colourful at the same time, subjected to the constant threat of their relationship's discovery, under the intoxicating caress of passionate lovers.

…

He hadn't seen him again. Every day, he passed through that same closed door again, which had never wanted for open on the one he had wished to find. He was wandering in the streets in full daylight, but nothing more had been shown up.

He went back to Soul society, and to Rukia's delight, kept on coming back as often as possible. And kept on seeking. He went through that door again, without success. He waited, he hoped. And he was disappointed.

And that evening too, from the bottom of a roomy sofa, he was staring at the busy, fevered drinkers. He didn't hear anything of what was said around him, seeing only blurred forms, who were laughing too loud. When the others decided to leave, he did not even have enough courage to stand up. He could not. He did not want to. He could only wait.

He had been right. He did not turn his head when he heard the door shut softly. He did not see the silhouette which past him. He had his eyes closed for not to think, not to remember anymore. And when he opened them again, he pushed aside in a mechanical gesture a lock which was gently tickling his cheek, and in the corner of the eye, he finally noticed him.

He quickly turned aside, and felt the fire invading his cheeks. Like a child caught in the act, he made his still almost full glass roll between his damp hands, staring at the dimples in the table in front of him. Gathering all the little of courage he still had, he turned around slowly again, and time stopped. He lost himself in the dark gaze locked with his, he found life again in the intense pupils that were meeting his.

…

Their time together had been short, way too short. All those stolen moments, all those lost instants, they did not even have the time to realize what was happening to them. What can feelings, so deep be they, do against a madman's work?

Aizen had driven all hope from men's hearts. One fought for the other, one fought to live. And one died, alone.

Renji had never understood. He had just been there, on his knees, hands red from blood which wasn't his, cheeks striated with tears which belonged only to him, holding a body which he so often used to make his.

…

He knew they had talked, like old friends who still acknowledge each other after long years with no news, but who don't really know each other anymore. He remembered having walked him back to his place, staying a footstep behind, never leaving his shadow.

And as soon as the doors were closed, he pounced on the silken lips like a famished wolf, devouring fiercely the body pressed against his. He had frantically removed the fabric panels, too rough under his fingers, to reach the soft and tender skin, which he traced with shivering hands, tracing each declivity of the firm muscles, transcended by the words murmured against his neck.

He gave up all reason, and lost himself in the burning pit of the body under him, his tears mingling with the sweat of their joined bodies, his hands printing their mark on the slender hips, his lips forming in a husky sound only the name of his lover.

And when the first rays of light came to softly caress their exhausted bodies, Renji slowly moved from the tender embrace. Before he could have fled, a hand caught his. He hesitated, then turned around, and their eyes met again. And in the dark pupils, he saw what he wished he would never have seen.

- I am not Byakuya.

He wore a sad and soft smile.

- I know.