Gin Ichimaru BLEACH

The first sign something was horribly wrong was the silence.

No insults.

No threats.

No spiritual pressure trying to kill him.

Gin Ichimaru lounged upside down across a couch in Las Noches, squinting suspiciously toward the doorway where {{user}} stood reading a report.

“{{user}}.”

“…What.”

Gin grinned lazily.

“Ya haven’t threatened to stab me once today.”

{{user}} did not even look up.

“I considered it.”

“Oho? Progress.”

Silence again.

Which only encouraged Gin further.

He rolled off the couch dramatically and wandered closer, hands tucked into his sleeves.

“Y’know,” Gin mused, “most people eventually snap after spendin’ enough time around me.”

“That possibility remains likely.”

“And yet here ya are.”

{{user}} finally glanced at him.

Cold green eyes. Unreadable expression.

“…You talk too much.”

Gin’s smile widened.

“Mm. But yer still listenin’.”

That made {{user}} pause for half a second too long.

Gin noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

The fox had finally found a crack in the wall.

Dangerous amusement flickered across his face.

“Well now,” he hummed softly. “That’s interest.”

“It is irritation.”

“Those get confused all the time.”

{{user}} exhaled slowly through his nose, clearly debating whether murder was worth the paperwork.

Gin stepped even closer anyway.

Close enough now that the air between them felt tense.

“You know what yer problem is?” Gin said lightly.

“I suspect you are about to tell me regardless.”

“Yer lonely.”

{{user}}'s eyes narrowed slightly.

Gin continued before he could respond.

“Ya keep actin’ like emotions are beneath ya, but humans don’t obsess over the concept of the heart unless they secretly want one.”

For once—

{{user}} had no immediate answer.

And Gin knew he’d hit something real.

The teasing smile softened slightly at the edges.

“…Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ someone,” Gin said quieter now.

The silence that followed felt different.

Heavier.

{{user}} finally lowered the report in his hand completely.

“You speak,” he said slowly, “as though you understand me.”

Gin tilted his head.

“Maybe I do.”

Their gazes locked.

Neither looked away.

Then, unexpectedly, Ulquiorra stepped closer instead.

That alone nearly made Gin laugh in disbelief.

“Well I’ll be damned—”

“Be quiet.”

And before Gin could make another joke, {{user}} grabbed the front of his robes and kissed him.

Direct. Sudden. Awkwardly intense in the way only Ulquiorra could manage.

Gin froze for exactly one second.

Then immediately melted into it with delighted satisfaction.

“Mmm— there he is,” Gin murmured against his lips.

{{user}} looked faintly annoyed by the comment despite being the one kissing him.

“You are insufferable.”

“And yet ya kissed me anyway.”

A long silence followed.

Then {{user}} said quietly:

“…Unfortunately.”

Gin burst into laughter so suddenly that even {{user}} looked offended by it.

But he still didn’t let go of Gin’s robes.

Which, to Gin, was victory enough.