This is based on a long-running roleplay, so (at least) half the credit goes to my beta and rp partner.

Characters belong to Kubo Tite.

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When he first saw him, there was a coppery taste on the back of his tongue, like he'd bitten down hard on the inside of his cheek and drawn blood. He was frightened. He was excited. His heart choked him.

The first time those lips had parted and addressed him, only him, with that drawl that lent every word some special significance that only their owner would understand- then, he'd felt the nervous feather tickling at his insides, chasing the blood to his cheeks and sending his heart into double time.

It hadn't been until he'd felt his hands that he'd been afraid.

He wasn't one for risks. He couldn't claim the hardiness of growing up in Rukongai, or even the need for excitement he saw in his classmates. He was calm, staid, withdrawn- and this lack of control, of understanding, frightened him. Like the edges of a blade, each finger hovered just a hairsbreadth away from gutting him, spilling him over the floor for the eyes of curious passerby. Each lazy twitch of that ever-smiling mouth sent him into shudders.

But he was frozen. The man could walk circles around him, knock him off his feet, grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him to his knees, and there wasn't one step he could take.

And it was his own weight that was dragging him down.

There was nothing he had done to hold him there. Not one threat, not one lie, nothing but the sheer fascination of his presence. Only that fear. Only that want, that slavish need for every scrap of his attention.

There had been no order to raise his sword against one of his oldest friends, but he had done it.

There had been no threat to keep his mouth shut when he'd learned of the plot against Soul Society, but he hadn't opened it anyway.

There had been no consequences offered if he hadn't submitted himself to his every whim once the doors closed. But he had given in, time and time again.

Every time, it had taken less and less effort.

His blade brought those he fought to their knees in penitence, each strike dragging their head closer to the ground. Wabisuke was a part of his soul, and so it hadn't surprised him the day he had learned the sword's name. He spent day after day apologizing- or at the very least, giving himself reasons that he should.

The day they had left, he'd spent hours apologizing and apologizing to Rangiku- she refused to hear any of it, but the alcohol had only loosened his tongue. He was sorry for attacking her, he was sorry for her pain and his, but more than anything he was sorry for wanting so badly to hate her- only because it was her who had been there when he left. She was the one he had nearly taken with him.

He was the one who had been loyal.

Loyal, desperate, and stupid.

It was shame that bowed his head now. There was no way to repay his foolishness but to fix the damage his silence had done. When Soul Society had named him one of the four pillars, he had lifted his head, if just a little. He had been useful. No matter how distasteful the job or tiny the favor, he would do it.

That would be his penitence.