Ukitake fought desperately to reign in his coughing, wishing people hadn't stopped talking. He felt ridiculous, but knowing how rude he must look wasn't exactly helping him stop.
Under the table, Shunsui's hand slipped over his, and Ukitake slipped his fingers into the calloused warmth, squeezing tightly with his own bony digits. Above the table, his face began to regain its calm, and finally he stopped, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with the handkerchief. He closed his eyes for a moment with relief, and put the stained handkerchief back between the sleeves of his gi and shitagi, wiping his forehead with his haori as his shallow breaths slowly returned to some semblance of normality.
As Ukitake tried to recover beside him, Shunsui picked up where he'd left off thinking. He looked the dejected arrancar in the eye. "Beer not your thing?" he asked, as sweetly as he could manage, giving Ukitake's hand a little squeeze. "You know, it's very hard to condemn you for what you are, on a personal level. Without you dragging one of these humans off their stool and disembowelling them in front of us, you just seem like a sad man, given ridiculous orders. What did Aizen want to get out of observing us? He knows our behaviour is generally aberrant and doesn't reflect the will of the soutaichou. And he knows that we're rather good, when it comes to fighting. Was he trying to get you killed, or have you got some sort of ulterior? I don't get it." He sighed. "D'you want something else to drink? I like the beer here, but I've got my own sake if you want a try, and they do plenty of other stuff."
Ukitake, who, was doing his best to look chipper, but still hadn't actually yet dared to open his mouth again, gave Ulquiorra a long-suffering smile and a half-shrug - trying to suggest that alcohol might not be the solution to everybody's problems, but with a friend like Shunsui, well, what were you going to do?
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Avatar is a male me, drawn by a very close friend.
Just don't ask why.