Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
A Message In the Clouds
Prompt: Go our separate ways...
A/N: Written for LJ. Post-Winter War.
He'd never once taken his own feelings seriously, having always thought that it was best to numb himself with distractions. For a while, his plan had worked. He'd acquired a job, continued going to school, studying, and caring for his family. His friends, however, had been shut out completely. Their faces alone were too much of a reminder, causing old memories of good times and tough battles to surface. When he spoke to them, he couldn't even bring himself to look them in the eye, always looking away or finding something else to set his gaze upon. Surely, they'd noticed, but they had refused to say anything, having taken his pain into consideration.
It wasn't so much pain as it was longing. He missed the old life he had, the life he'd lived for less than a year. At first, it had been horrifying, learning of his powers. But, gradually, he had eased into them like a new pair of shoes, disappointed at the end of the day when he slipped back into his own body. It had been like a dream. Invisible to civilians, strong beyond his wildest wishes, and able to move like the four winds, slipping around, protecting all who needed him. He had almost been like the superheroes of his childhood fantasies.
Now, he's gone back to being just like everyone else. Ordinary, just another anonymous face in the crowd. He missed the thrill of battle, the sting of ointment as it cleansed his wounds, the way he'd be able to stand tall and bar the flames of hell. In that way, he supposed, he was like many of the opponents he'd faced: Thirsting for something that made them feel truly alive.
It had all been hard work, to be sure, but he was used to it. And now that he was just another high school student, there was always something to distract him from his studies. Some small memoir of the past, hovering about his head in circles. These days, the clouds, the days, passed by slowly. They were taunting him, it seemed. Reminding him of how quickly everything had gone by before, forcing him to accept the fact that his life would never be remarkable again. The sun would slide by in the sky, slothful, mocking him.
Lying on the grassy hillside of the park, as he used to do with his mother, was relaxing. Fond memories resurfaced, her voice pointing out to him the various shapes of the clouds, laughing with him, her little "berry." He'd never liked it when other people called him that, as it had been his mother's special name for him. The privilege to tease him in such a way had been reserved for her alone. He sighed, little needles of sorrow sinking into his heart as if it were a pincushion. Rukia had never given a damn, even after he'd shared such a memory with her. She'd gone about as she always had, calling him whatever she pleased.
It had been annoying, but he'd always liked that about her. She had been persistent, unwavering in what she stood for.
Ichigo stretched out his hand above his head, closing one eye as he pretended to trap the clouds inside a fist. Were she here, he wouldn't mind sharing this moment with her as well.