Characters: Shinji, Hiyori
Summary: They aren't supposed to be like this.
Parings: Shinji x Hiyori
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers for Fake Karakura Town Arc
Timeline: post-Deicide arc
Author's Note: You can consider this a bit of a spiritual successor to 'Heart Beating Open'. It would be advisable to read that one first, since some of the things in here deal with the events of that oneshot.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Shinji and Hiyori have suddenly both decided that they love the rain. Specifically, that they both love sitting on a park bench while it's raining, with no umbrella to keep the rain off. Why they have both developed this same new hobby, at the same time no less, is anybody's guess. For right now, Shinji and Hiyori are waiting for a bus.
A white spire of lightning rockets downwards, followed close behind by a drum roll of thunder. Hiyori looks up and frowns, watching the lightning's progress. "How much you wanna bet we're gonna get hit by lightning?"
Shinji snorts and leans back on the bench, drenched shirt stretching along his skin as he does so. "I'm not taking that bet, Hiyori."
Something about the rain manages to sap them both of their normally boundless energy. Even Hiyori doesn't seem to have the desire to argue or commit acts of physical violence; instead, after voicing her comment, she goes back to staring down at the sidewalk as little rivers of rain water filter through the cracks in the pavement to spill out into the street. She swings her legs with the ankles crossed, lazy, fluid motions, and soon she stops, letting her small, thin legs fall limply underneath the bench, where they are no more dry than anywhere else.
Shinji starts to pray that the bus will come soon and stares, brooding, off into the distance. There's a patch of trees across the road but he can't see it for all the rain, the dim, murky gray sheet of rain obscuring everything not within three feet of him.
Another crash of thunder later, and for some reason the weather's taking Shinji back to memory of blood on his hands and the smell of it saturating the air, leaking into everything.
He sneaks a look at Hiyori. She's sitting on the opposite end of the bench, arms folded across her chest.
Her blood, and no one else's.
A sharp stab erupts in Shinji's chest, something that has nothing to do with the inner voice that, for the moment is lying dormant. It's sleeping, Shinji's fairly certain. He's sure that the pallor of Hiyori's face has nothing to do with anything but the rain, but he remembers blood spilling on his hands and color draining out of her face simultaneously.
"So…" Shinji's voice trails off lamely "…Unohana-taicho says you're all healed?"
For a moment Hiyori doesn't answer, though Shinji can see her breath getting just a little more shallow. Then, still watching the freezing rainwater drain into the street, she replies, in a low, flat voice. "Yeah, she did." The utter lack of aggression in her body language, something that normally surfaces when relating to injuries, is utterly disturbing to Shinji in his hyper-aware state. She seems just as drained of energy now as she did of blood then; like a lifeless little doll as she looked lying with her hair loose in a hospital bed. He makes sure not to say so, though; Hiyori certainly wouldn't appreciate being compared to a doll.
He nods jerkily, straining for words again as he always has to around Hiyori these days. "That's… good. That's good. I mean, I…" Shinji's words fall off and he looks at the street, his shoes, anywhere but back at Hiyori.
Again, Shinji is remembering. First, it's Hiyori trying to apologize to him through blood in her mouth. Then, it's him returning the favor in her hospital room, stumbling over his words and voice barely audible for all the cracks. Apologetic, remorse and guilt and regret diffusing poison into the air. She didn't want to hear his "Sorries" then, and she probably doesn't want to hear them now.
But, like an idiot, Shinji's going to try again. It's the only thing that will stop his heart from screaming.
"Listen, Hiyori, I know I've already said this…" Shinji pauses and marvels that, even though he's so much more composed now than he was then, dragging the words from his throat still feels like running barbed wire across his skin or swallowing sandpaper. He swallows, hard, and is suddenly insanely glad it's raining. "…I'm sorry… I know… I should have done something… I should have been able to—"
At this point, Hiyori whirls around, face again suddenly full of the rage that's been gone from it for weeks now, lips white, eyes huge and wild in her face. It's that primal, almost animal rage that makes Shinji recoil and say nothing else, half shocked by this display of anger, half relieved that Hiyori finally seems to be coming back to herself.
He can't say he hasn't missed her, somewhat. Even though he's hardly been out of Hiyori's company at all in the past few weeks, he feels like he hasn't seen hide nor hair of her in the same amount of time.
It's not that Hiyori doesn't want to hear Shinji say "Sorry", even if he shouldn't really be saying it.
There's something else.
She can't stand the way he looked, both times he said that, can't stand how pale and frightened and vulnerable Shinji looks when he tries to say sorry, or how the sight of him looking vulnerable makes her feel.
A thunderclap rolls overhead.
Because they aren't supposed to be like this.
They're supposed to be stronger than this.