This is my first one, and I don't own anything. Enjoy:D

Rukia stood in front of the memorial statue in stony silence.

Behind her, like a lantern in the night, the lights of the festival glowed. The noise of the party came broken and faded due to the distance. Her friends were probably waiting for her, down at the festival. Her subordinates were probably searching for her, deep in the barracks. Her clan members were probably summoning her, waiting at the manor. She should probably leave now, away from this far away hill in the night. But she stayed, her violet eyes heavy before the stone statue.

It was a cool night, and Rukia felt colder looking at the memorial statue. Erected out of grey stone, it was easily 15 feet tall, larger than life. But then, he always seemed larger than life to strangers. She could be considered very lucky. Compared to others who only knew of his battle prowess, she also knew the one who overslept and rushed to school in mornings.

For the most part, they had gotten his features right. His high cheekbones, furrowed eyebrows, and broad frame were captured perfectly. He was standing straight like a victorious warrior, one hand on his sword hilt and the other gripping his mask. For a moment, if she focused, Rukia could almost imagine those carved stone locks becoming a vibrant orange, and those long stiff hands becoming soft with skin, and the blank grey eyes becoming warmer than honey and deeper than chocolate.

But that was an illusion, and the Lieutenant of the Thirteenth Squad didn't keep illusions.

So she looked long and hard at the statue of Kurosaki Ichigo, Masked Visard, Substitute Shinigami, and forced herself to accept that this was the day his 129th death anniversary.

It was never supposed to be like this. He was supposed to come back from his last battle, grinning and scowling at the same time, with Aizen dead behind him.

He was never supposed to fall with the pseudo-god, never supposed to outlive him by a mere six minutes. He was never supposed to die at the too young age of 16.

But as mentioned before, the Lieutenant of the Thirteenth Squad didn't keep illusions, and she knew in her head they did die together.

So why couldn't her heart realize that too?

Behind her, the festival suddenly burst with more cheers. Briefly turning, Rukia wondered if Renji had lost another wrestling competition. She smirked. At least he was enjoying the festival.

"Hey, midget?" He was dying, despite Unohana and Inoue's best efforts. She could feel him draining away.

"What, berry-head?" She looked desperately into his amber eyes.

He coughed out more blood. "Don't hold a sad funeral. Make it a huge festival."

She couldn't hold back anymore tears. He went on talking. "I don't want anyone sad for my sake. Promise me Rukia."

Through her tears, she managed to say, "I promise Ichigo."

He gave a small smile in return. Suddenly, he hacked out more blood, and his wounds bled out faster. She panicked, and began to yell at him.

"You're not going to die!" she screamed, pounding the ground with her fists. "You're not going die on me!"

They both knew it was a lie, an illusion, but she clung onto it like she was drowning.

Let him live, she begged as Ichigo coughed violent sprays of blood, Let this illusion become real, and let him live.

But when he took his last shuddering breath, Rukia knew fate was too cruel to grant her wish. So she dropped all illusions.

"It has been 129 years, Ichigo," she murmered softly to the stone. "It has been 129 festivals."

She took a step closer and touched the base of the statue. "It's a holiday now, Ichigo."

She looked up at the still face of her dead friend. The statue made no response.

And because she held no illusions to her heart, she added three more words before turning to leave.

"I love you."

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