Renji wasn’t used to stillness.

His world, his life was one of movement—fast decisions, hard training and harsher consequences. But ever since you two had become something more than friends, more than comrades, he found himself craving for those moments between the chaos. The quiet ones. Especially since they now involved you.

It was one of those lazy afternoons. Sunlight dripping in through the open windows, painting their skin in honey-coloured tones. The warm breeze against your skin, and the faint smell of flowers and freshly cut grass.

Renji sat with his back propped against the futon, his chest bare and scarred, the intricate lines of his tattoos catching in the gold of the light. He had discarded his uniform top hours ago, and now he sat here—arms resting loosely on his knees, eyes half-lidded as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

You always touched his tattoos like they were something sacred—delicate. Your fingertips would ghost over the inked lines across his shoulders, his ribs, the centre of his chest. Sometimes you’d trace his marks without saying much, watching how his muscles flexed underneath your touch—how his breath hitched ever so slightly.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. People stared at his tattoos all the time—some with judgment, others with curiosity. They didn’t understand that those tattoos represented something meaningful—a symbolic bond between his Zanpakuto, Zabimaru. But your gaze was different—like you had understood without ever having to ask him.

It was disarming, in a way he could never quite put into words—like every time your hand skimmed over him, you weren’t just touching skin, you were touching the man beneath it.

A version of Renji that not everyone got to see.

Though today, there was a different glint in your eyes. Mischief. You have been hovering around your makeup bag for the past ten minutes; picking through your palettes until you found your brushes and a few warm tones of shimmer and matte eyeshadows. Renji raised a brow when you sat down in front of him—looking all too pleased with yourself.

“What’s all of that for?” he asked, his gaze skeptic.

You smiled, kneeling between his legs, a brush twirling between your fingers. “I have an idea…you can say no…of course, but…” you reached out and dragged a finger down the curve of a tattoo stretching over his shoulder blade. “Can I paint your tattoos? Just for fun. I promise it’s nothing weird.”

He blinked. “You wanna…paint over ‘em?” There was a flicker of hesitation in his voice—nothing to do with not trusting you, rather no one had ever asked him something like that before.

You nodded, the soft brush tickling the ink just above his ribs. “Just with eyeshadow. Nothing permanent. I just know it will look beautiful in the sunlight.”

That did it. He let out a soft laugh and leaned back on his hands. “Tch. You’re such a weirdo,” he muttered, though the flush creeping up his neck said otherwise. “Alright, go ahead.”

You took your time. With every sweep of the brush, you breathed colour into the black lines. Soft red along on his arms, gold shimmer dusted across the curves wrapping his side, a smoky blue around the edges that curved down his collarbone. His skin was so warm beneath your hands, and you felt the way his breath deepened—something tender.

And Renji? He couldn’t stop watching you.

His eyes trailing down to catch the way your brows furrowed in concentration, how your fingers cradled his arm so delicately—like he was precious, like his body was worth admiring.

“Don’t show Ichigo,” he grumbled under his breath, trying to sound annoyed even though there was no bite to his words.

You grinned, leaning up to press a kiss just over his chest. “I won’t. This is just for me.”

And for the first time in a long while, Renji felt like he wasn’t being measured by strength, scars, or ranks.

He was simply yours.

And for once, Renji didn’t mind being seen through your eyes.