The bottle of sake sat nearly empty on the table.

You hadn’t meant to stay this late, but when Captain Unohana offered you a quiet drink after hours, you didn’t have the heart—or courage—to refuse.

She sat across from you, legs tucked to the side, her sleeves loosened and hair slightly undone. Her cheeks were flushed, just enough to betray what the slight sway in her posture already told you: she was drunk.

Not wildly. Just… quietly unraveling.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said softly, swirling the last sip in her cup. “Lose control.”

You watched her, unsure if you should speak. She smiled—calm, elegant, and yet... almost sad.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she went on. “I’ve held blades sharper than words. Bled more times than I can count. But one drink too many, and suddenly, I want to say all the things I never should.”

You said nothing, only waited. She looked up at you, eyes a little glassy, but still sharp enough to see through you.

“I like when you visit me,” she said, voice low, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just paperwork. Even if it’s nothing.”

She leaned forward slightly, hands folding around yours before you even noticed she’d reached for them.

“Sometimes I pretend it means something. That you come here… for me.”

You felt your heart skip. Her grip tightened, gentle but unwilling to let go.

“I’m not supposed to feel this much,” she murmured, leaning her head lightly against your shoulder. “But when I drink, I do.”

A pause.

“Tell me I’m not imagining it. That you… care. Just a little.”

And in that moment, the great Captain Unohana—the name whispered in fear and reverence—just wanted to be held.

By you.