defiance.

It is a frantic pace with which he searches the halls of Las Noches, Sōsuke’s grand yet exceptionally empty palace. Not here nor there, Hideyori cannot find his new favorite pastime anywhere. Not in his “den,” a room that is shabbily decorated with pelts and bone trophies of Hollows past, nor bothering the sixth Espada, his “fight companion” (which Hideyori knows is as close to the word friend as Dante would ever get). He is distraught, so used to having the Hollow’s company—perhaps ironically—fill the void of loneliness that’s grown since he was taken to this endless desert.

For all the posturing his husband does about how his “eternal flower” is his partner-in-crime and how their will is one, he sure treats Hideyori like a glorified prisoner here. A well-decorated room doesn’t make the room feel any less cold and impersonal, especially when Kidō seals are placed on the door. Sōsuke insists these are for Hideyori’s protection. “It’s not about keeping you inside, it’s about keeping the Arrancar out,” he says.

The Hollow who had broken the seals was Dante. The one who had returned a smile to his face was Dante. The person who had made his stay here bearable was Dante. And now he’s gone, and Hideyori doesn’t know what to do. He has half the mind to interrogate Sōsuke on his whereabouts to ensure he’s somewhere safe and accounted for. Not that Dante ever needed safety; the man was synonymous with the word danger. But he’s missing, and the one who really needs to be safe is Hideyori, and the one who makes him feel safe isn’t responding to his calls.

The strange looks he’s gotten from other Arrancar deter him from asking about his whereabouts. Even Grimmjow has evaded his sight, and one could hardly be found without the other nearby. He contemplates giving up and just waiting in his room for Dante to inevitably show up when he freezes in his tracks. For the briefest moment, he felt a familiar tickle up his spine, like a static shock. That sensation, Hideyori had come to recognize over time, was the feeling of Dante’s spiritual pressure, a shockwave that jolts your nerves and spurs you into action. Ecstatic at this revelation, he tracks down the source of that spiritual signature, a smile on his face. It falls when he realizes where he’s been led: the first room of Las Noches he was brought to.

In this room stood Sōsuke’s throne, elevated high above the lower beings of Hueco Mundo. From here, he would leer down at others, the perfect image of condescension. Hideyori hated this room. Nothing good ever happened here, where Sōsuke’s business was conducted. No matter, so long as Dante was here, he was sure his entrance wouldn’t be too harsh of an interruption. No sooner had he stepped foot in the door does he watch an arm go flying. It is Grimmjow’s, and Hideyori feels momentary shame at how this relieves him, but he can see that Kaname is indeed poised to hurt Dante as well.

Like hell he'd stand here and watch.

Without any need for further context, he flash-steps between the Soul Reaper and Arrancar, silent, swift, and deadly. While it was true that Sankeihana, his Zanpakuto, was confiscated after he had used it against Sōsuke, he did not need a blade to be a threat. It is his own hand he uses to stop Kaname’s blade, his own flesh that acts as an impenetrable barrier. Kaname seems surprised by this development, recognizing Hideyori’s presence, and does not strain to cut through, knowing Sōsuke is watching.

Blood trickles down the point of contact, staining the white sleeves of his uniform, but his grasp does not relent. He can feel Dante bristle behind him, always excited at the prospect of glory and gore. Perhaps it was also true that the scent of Hideyori’s blood roused him, his overactive salivary glands already moistening his lips. “Tōsen, put your blade away.”

“Punishment should be doled out equally. Step aside, Yamamoto.”

Hideyori can barely restrain a roll of his eyes at that word, ‘punishment.’ God, he sounds like Yumeshiro, except more pretentious and less convincing. He reminds himself to retain a sense of dignity and control; this was all unfolding before Sōsuke, after all. “If you harm even a hair on Dante’s head, I will execute you myself.” Not that someone of his level could ever harm Dante, but he does not say this.

Kaname’s blade is still not sheathed. Seeing as he was unwilling to listen to his order, he does something a bit more drastic. It had been ages since the last time he had to exert his own Reiatsu, something he was taught to control and keep under wraps since he was in the Seireitei, but god did it feel good to let that which was bottled up loose. Hideyori stares him down as Kaname strains under the pressure before crumpling to his knees before him, and only then does their onlooker speak.

“Aren’t you being just a little bit dramatic, Hideyori?”

Hideyori doesn’t even spare a glance, continuing to glare at Kaname who was now beginning to tremble under the weight. It was tempting to step on him, to further humiliate him and exert who exactly was the stronger between the two. Only now can he see the appeal of Sōsuke’s ridiculous throne standing over them. It was fun, in a way, to look down on others far weaker than one's self.

“Dismiss them. All of them. We need to talk.”

Sōsuke tilts his head, resting it on his curled hand. “Hideyori—”

“Now.” One more push of his spiritual pressure to indicate how serious he was, and Kaname wheezes out a strangled gasp.

The king sighs, but not in concession, not in the spirit of defeat. No, he was quite entertained. He lifts a hand up and waves it dismissively. Hideyori reels in his Reiatsu, releasing Kaname. He scrambles up, clearly wishing to object further, but never willing to directly disobey Lord Aizen. There’s a briskness to his steps as he retreats. Grimmjow spits on the ground before exiting, and Dante? Dante wore the largest grin, practically vibrating.

“You should show me that power again afterwards, Hide.”

Then he leaves, but not before Hideyori catches the man staring at his darkened sleeve with hooded eyes. Hunger? Bloodlust? Or… Or was that anger he saw, clouding the man’s red gaze? His claws flexed as he went after Grimmjow, and now it was just Sōsuke and Hideyori.

He turns to face him, arms crossed. “I thought I made it clear that Dante was exempt from these sorts of situations.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I did not order their punishment.” This is said with anything but an innocent tone as he is not truly defending himself. He does not have to, nor does he care to. “They acted without orders, but I did not truly mind.”

Hideyori scoffs. Maybe that would work to fool anyone else but him, but he knew that Sōsuke had manufactured the entire thing. The blame would fall on Kaname, not him, so that he could avoid the blame and Hideyori’s ire. “You are unbelievable, you know that? I know you. You manipulated this situation knowing that Tōsen wouldn’t be able to let it go. You come away looking like a merciful god who did not instigate the violence, but you are the merciless god who merely watched and did nothing to stop it.”

Furthermore, if Dante or Grimmjow had responded with violence, which would most likely be the former’s reaction, Sōsuke would have had a justifiable cause to dispose of Dante, the uncontrollable and feral thorn in his side. The thought alone terrifies him, and he doesn’t wish to hang around here any longer. He wants to seek out Dante and feel safe and whole again.

“He is but a Hollow, Hideyori. He is subject to the same rules as the rest of the ranks. I know he is… ‘special’ to you,” he trails off, tapping a finger against his temple.

One of his subtle tells; he was getting mildly irritated by this discussion. Hideyori had proven to be more of a handful than he anticipated, which must be a symptom of associating with that loose cannon of a Vasto Lorde. True, Hideyori was always someone he had to plan around and take into consideration, and of course someone as powerful as he would occasionally assert his own ambitions or beliefs, but he’s never been flat-out defiant before. To risk it all for this abomination? He was better than that, and if Sōsuke could see it, why couldn’t he?

“I don’t ask for much, Sōsuke. I have had all my other bonds severed by coming here with you. Let me have just this one.”

“Just this one,” he repeats back. A shake of his head, as though him even entertaining the thought was ludicrous. He really does spoil him. “Understood, but only on the condition that you keep him out of trouble. I don't want a repeat of my orders being defied by him.” Or you.

“Thank you, Sōsuke!” And just like that, his disposition changes into a more amiable one. Hideyori claps his hands together with a slanted smile. Getting what he wanted was the best feeling in the world. As he turns around to leave this wretched room and see Dante, he pauses with his hand on the door. Then he throws a smug look over his shoulder, knowingly facetious. “Maybe you really are a merciful god.”

Sōsuke chuckles at the thought and waves Hideyori away.