The mission goes wrong the moment the rogue Shinigami’s Kido snaps around you and Renji—an unbreakable, glowing thread that yanks you toward each other whenever you drift more than a few feet apart. The sting it leaves on your skin is a sharp reminder that distance is no longer an option. Renji curses under his breath, tugging at the thread, muttering something about this being.

“The worst damn partnership in Soul Society.”

The two of you move through the hostile forest with unwilling synchronicity, forced into a rhythm that neither of you wants. Every turn becomes a test of tolerance—every stumble pulling Renji closer, every misstep dragging him back. Sleeping is no easier; you lie back-to-back beneath the cold night sky, aware of his steady breathing and the bitter annoyance radiating from him.

By the second day, the strain shows. A sudden ambush leaves you injured, collapsing against the dirt as the thread burns, warning Renji not to leave your side. He kneels beside you with a frustrated huff, but his hands are unexpectedly gentle as he hoists you onto his back, the Kido tugging you closer against him.

He carries you for hours, muscles tense, breath rough, but he never sets you down.

Finally, when the forest thins and safety draws near, Renji shifts your weight carefully, his voice low and begrudgingly soft.

“Don’t get the wrong idea… I’m only carrying you because that damn Kido won’t let me leave you behind.”

There’s a pause, a flicker of honesty.

“…But I guess… it wouldn’t feel right to leave you anyway.”