A/N: Hello, this is just a short scene that I came up with during my free time in college. Didn't really have any characters in mind when I wrote it, but a mate said it reminded him of Gin and Rangiku, so it's slightly AU and OOC.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or the characters.

Moving On.

She stood alone in her - their - home, the wind billowing in through the open window sending shivers running up and down her spine. The cold darkness that surrounded her reflected the silent pain she was in - all consuming. She dared not look into the the spider-cracked mirror before her and break the fantasy she found herself currently within.

With her eyes held tightly shut she could feel his chest pressed firmly back with an almost obsessive possession of the space between them. His chin rested on her shoulder almost playfully as his empty breath tickled the nape of her back and a cold flaky hand played with a single lock of her long, blonde hair.

She knew that if she opened her eyes he wouldn't truly be there with her, rather, that he would still be on some cold slab, lifeless and smiling. Why had he been smiling?

Yet it seemed her own mind was plotting against her. His free hand slowly began snaking its way upwards from its tight grip on her hip, cupping the side of her breast, moving across a collarbone in delicate, numb strokes before firmly gripping her neck with a rough squeeze.

Her eyes widened with gasping intakes of ragged breaths and they locked onto his crystal blue orbs, glazed over from death. He was there.

"G-Gin?" she whispered inaudibly, her throat dry from the tears she would not cry out, not for him, not anymore. Her movement gained his attention away from the golden lock he was twirling between his bloody fingers, towards her lips.

"You did this for me, didn'tcha?" his voice was distanced and heavy, almost like a foreboding sense of depression, "I always prefered your hair long, Ran."

His dead eyes broke away from her reflection in the cracked mirror travelling downwards to what she was gripping so tightly in her hands - a knife.

Her own gaze followed that of his reflection and her face becomes melancholy for the briefest of moments before been replaced by a strong sense of resolve.

One hand pulled violently the lock he was holding from his grasp, anything else and she would falter, as she brought the knife upwards as well.

With a tearful, pained scream laced with every betrayal and lie he ever told her, she cut the lock, and then another, and another until Gin slowly faded away back to the oblivion he came from and she's left alone once again in an empty bathroom with only her sobs and hated memories of a snake for comfort.