Must Be Madness

The private room fell into sudden silence. Rukia sat staring blankly at her empty cup.

Then, quietly, she laughed.

She lifted her hands to her face, rubbed at her burning eyes and her stinging nose, trying to wipe it all away.

"I see."

She sniffled, then reached for the sake bottle herself and filled her cup to the brim, not once looking at Shin. She downed it in a single gulp.

Her stomach churned—but it wasn't the alcohol. She hadn't even had that much to drink. She still wanted to say something, anything, but her tears betrayed her, falling uncontrollably.

What was she crying for?

She didn't understand. She had made the decision a long time ago—to cut emotional ties, to move on. Her life now was good. A noble family, an impeccable reputation, stellar grades. The road ahead was wide and bright.

She had close friends. She had everything.

She was only missing one person. Just one. That shouldn't matter.

Her life now was leagues better than the days she spent in Rukongai. What was there to be dissatisfied with?

But the more she told herself this, the more her tears came—because maybe that life had always involved one particular person.

She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, clumsy and flustered.

And in that instant, Rukia realized: she was truly going to lose him.

To Shin, perhaps they could remain "friends." But to her, that was impossible. She couldn't pretend nothing had happened, couldn't relegate her feelings to some smaller, more manageable place.

Something in her chest had caved in.

"Congratulations… to you both," she said.

Shin looked at her, and guilt tightened in his chest.

But after a long silence, he asked, "Do you really think… she and I being together is a good thing?"

"…"

Rukia steadied herself and, unable to hold it in, asked, "What do you want me to say? Didn't you just say you liked her? What else do you want? That deep down it's me you—what, want me to believe that?! President, Captain Tachikawa, what more do you want from me?!"

Shin's eyes lowered slightly. "You've always known how Momo feels about me. She's stayed by my side this whole time. It moved me… and I felt I owed her an answer."

Rukia's lips trembled. She gave a bitter, broken smile.

"Right. You owed her an answer. She deserves it. She deserves you. She's better than me… better than—"

Suddenly, Shin leaned forward, crossing over the table, his movement sharp and impulsive.

Rukia blinked, caught off guard.

He was close. So close.

His hand reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

She didn't pull away.

Her lashes trembled, violet eyes soft and shimmering with a fragility that made Shin ache. Of all the eyes he had seen, hers were the most beautiful.

She looked like she might fall apart at any moment.

Then, his hand slid to cradle the back of her head—and he kissed her.

"Mmm—!"

Her eyes flew open.

She saw Shin's face inches from hers, felt the familiar scent of him, the press of his lips—everything so familiar it hurt.

Then slowly… her eyes fluttered shut.

Dishes and glasses clattered across the table, knocked over by their bodies.

The sharp sound jolted her. She broke the kiss, pushing away—but not fully. Her lips hovered inches from his, breath ragged.

Shin leaned in again, pulling her into his arms, kissing her hard.

And Rukia collapsed into it.

Her thoughts shattered. She didn't know what she was thinking—if she was thinking at all. Her body surrendered to instinct.

His kiss was everything she remembered, everything she craved. His embrace too—tight, overwhelming, as if trying to fuse their bodies together.

And for that moment, Rukia stopped resisting.

The kiss felt like it lasted forever.

By the time they parted, their breath mingled, skin heated, the scent of sake thick between them. Pale moonlight spilled through the half-open shoji screen, shimmering on Rukia's neck.

Shin's breath was warm, tinged with alcohol. Rukia had only had two or three drinks, yet her head was spinning.

Their foreheads rested against each other. At some point, her arms had wrapped around him, fingers clinging to his shoulders.

"…Why?"

Her voice was quiet. Barely a whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"Why would you kiss me… still?"

Rukia's downcast eyes could see their bodies pressed close, his arms locked around her. If they pulled apart now, the distance would never close again.

"No reason," Shin said. "I just wanted to kiss you."

"And Momo…? Does she deserve this?"

"I've done more than enough to wrong both of you already, haven't I?"

Rukia's eyes closed tight in anguish. She wasn't innocent. She hadn't pushed him away. The kiss—his touch—she'd accepted it all.

She was betraying Momo.

And Momo had always been her closest friend—aside from Renji, perhaps the most important person in her life.

She'd always wanted her relationship with Momo to remain pure, untarnished. She didn't want to carry unspeakable guilt whenever they met.

Why should she feel guilty?

Why should she be the one who had to live in Momo's shadow?

Rukia couldn't bear it.

She tried to push Shin away—but his arms were too strong, locked like steel.

She gave up struggling and said, "Let go of me."

Shin replied quietly, "If I let go now… will I never get to hold you again?"

Her heart trembled.

She turned away.

Silence.

Then, her voice rose, sharp and shaking, laced with fury and pain: "Let go of me! I have to go back!"

She didn't fight his arms anymore. Instead, she threw her head back, eyes blazing with grief and rage.

"Captain Tachikawa," she hissed, her voice biting and deliberate, "you hold me like this, kiss me, whisper these things… What do you think I am to you? What is Momo to you?"

Her words cracked through the room like a whip, slashing the silence apart.

Shin's grip loosened instinctively. His eyes flickered with conflicted emotion.

Rukia seized the opening—yanked herself free.

The moment she broke from his arms, the room turned cold. The warmth of his body vanished, replaced by icy air.

She stumbled back a step, catching herself against the wall. Her stomach twisted violently.

Several steps now separated them. The intimacy had vanished. Only silence, and the wreckage of a table between them.

She gasped for breath, chest heaving. Her fingers wiped at her tear-streaked face, rubbing so hard she turned her skin red.

Her eyes scanned the ruined table, then landed on her sleeve.

A dark oil stain marred the pale fabric—splashed from a fallen dish. It stood out like a brand, a shameful mark impossible to ignore.

She stared at it.

Stared like it was the only thing left in the world.

Her fingers began to scrub—obsessively, again and again, nails scraping cloth, each pass whispering against the silence like a scream.

It wouldn't come off.

No matter how hard she tried, the stain wouldn't vanish. It only smeared.

"Come off… come off!" she muttered, voice broken, nasal with tears.

Her tears fell like shattered beads, splashing against the stain.

The anger, the accusations—all crumbled before that stupid, stubborn stain.

She collapsed.

Not physically at first, but something inside her buckled.

Why had she let it come to this?

Why had she answered that kiss?

Why did she crave that embrace?

The guilt toward Momo. The contempt for her own weakness. The anger at Shin's indecision. And that helpless, aching love—buried deep, still there, still alive.

She slid down the wall.

Her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight, face buried, shoulders shaking.

Soft sobs escaped her, muffled but piercing, like the whimper of a wounded creature.

The private room echoed with them. Echoed with her brokenness.

Bathed in pale moonlight, she looked so small. So fragile. Like she'd been abandoned by the world.

Shin stepped toward her.

"Don't come any closer!"

Rukia's head snapped up.

Her face was wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen, but behind them was a blade of fury. A raw edge.

"Don't."

But Shin walked on.

Rukia trembled harder.

And then, as he crouched beside her—she went still.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. To her feet. To his feet.

And when his arms reached for her again, she didn't resist.

He held her.

And she let him.

How strange.

Why?

Why wouldn't he let go?

Why couldn't she refuse?

His arms wrapped around her like vines—firm, unyielding. But there was something heartbreakingly familiar about it.

Her cheek pressed to his chest. She heard his heart, as loud and messy as her own.

Two heartbeats, merging.

She'd spent all her strength earlier. Now, she was just tired. Empty.

Why?

She asked, silently. Not to him, but to herself.

Why, in front of him, was she always so weak?

His chin rested atop her head, breath warming her hair. The scent of sake, soap, him—wrapped around her.

She drowned in it.

He felt like the only thing keeping her from falling apart—and even that comfort felt like a lie. Like clinging to driftwood in a storm.

That oil stain… was still there.

She could see it, pressed to his uniform now. But it didn't seem so terrible anymore. Or maybe, she was just too exhausted to care.

Everything shrank—until there was only warmth, breath, touch.

She thought of Momo's smile.

It burned like a brand.

The betrayal twisted inside her, cold and suffocating.

But her body remembered.

His kiss still lingered. His warmth still wrapped her bones.

Every time he touched her, some buried part of her howled awake.

No wall could hold it back.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice muffled in his coat. Her tears soaked through the fabric.

"Tachikawa Shin… I hate you so much…"

But the hatred was hollow.

She didn't know what she hated more—his weakness, or her own inability to let go.

Or maybe she hated how much she still loved him.

Shin said nothing.

He just held her tighter.

His silence was both confession and apology.

Rukia's eyes closed again. Her tears kept falling.

The moonlight cut across the floor, catching the overturned plates, the shattered glasses, and their tangled shadows.

A still life of heartbreak.

She had given in.

Not to his embrace—but to the truth inside her.

She hated his indecision. His weakness.

But most of all, she hated the part of herself that, no matter what, couldn't push him away.

His fingers trembled as they touched the nape of her neck. She shivered, then melted, losing the last of her strength.

She didn't resist. Didn't speak. Just buried her face against him, drowning in guilt, surrender, and something far darker.

Her arms tightened around him.

In the shadows, the curled-up girl was gone—only a trembling soul remained, held tightly in another's grasp.

The only sounds were quiet sobs, ragged breaths, and the soundless crash of a future already doomed.

She must be mad.