Title: As Cold As The Sun
Genres: Angst/Romance
Rating: K+
Couple: HitsuMatsu
Tōshirō had been disturbed before in his slumber, but this time it wasn't unpleasant. Lying completely still, he didn't hear any footsteps, but he felt something. What he felt sent a shiver up his spine, made him pull on the sheets, and he waited, eyes looking up towards the cracked ceiling.
It was a well known fact that Tōshirō's worst enemy was the sun. Although he possessed a large heart, which burst with passion, his soul didn't reflect such. Naturally, the boy was cursed – cursed with a chill. He was fragile and vulnerable. Although he was powerful, he wasn't invincible. Nature was a perfect, prime weapon against him; a burn was fatal.
Stuck in the sweltering heat was agony.
However, what he felt now was a different sort of heat. It was hot, it scorched his flesh, and when he exhaled slowly, his throat felt as if it were on fire. But he was calm, soothed. He didn't sweat. He didn't panic. His anger didn't spike. Everything was content. He recognised this heat – he recognised this spiritual pressure. This reiatsu which called for him.
The door creaked open.
Tōshirō didn't speak. Instead, he was still, and felt the end of his bed dip a little when extra weight was added. Then, a soft, warm hand pressed against his bare chest and she lay on him. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder, and she closed his eyes, her hand over his heart. And she felt it beat, she felt him live, and she sighed, silent – they didn't need to speak.
Words were useless.
Hesitantly, he brought a hand through her hair affectionately. In the darkness, she seemed to glow and he wanted to protect her. He wanted to put her image to shame, and protect her. He wanted to treat her as if she was his everything. He wanted to treat her as if she carried his very soul, his heart. He wanted to treat her like he loved her. He wanted her.
He wanted to forget what they were.
What they had become.
'You were hurt.' And her voice was gentle, like her touch.
Tōshirō hissed between his teeth when she trailed a finger down a long scar down his stomach. In his pain, he wrapped an arm around her waist and held her so tightly. He clung to her, locked her in his hold. She was worried – she had been scared. She had been informed earlier that her Captain had been injured in the Material World, and returned home without reporting in. So, she came to see him, to make sure he was okay, that he hadn't left her too.
How many months had it been?
Only one.
Only one since her heart was broken. She was still healing.
She still loved, and it was tearing her apart. The sight ruined him entirely – he burst with ice, he burst with love and guilt. He burst with hatred and spite. He burst with everything he felt for her. The smile had disappeared, the hugs had gone, the laughter vanished.
And then she came to him this night, she came to check on him. She needed to be sure if hadn't abandoned her. Her deepest fears shone, they were so clear to him. Never had Rangiku revealed how scared she was of being alone, until now. Finally, she was exhausted and couldn't maintain the act. For one night, she needed to show him how ruined she was.
Only when something was lost (her smiles, her laughter, her embraces, her love and her warmth) did one realise what they had. What – who – they loved.
'Matsumoto.'
There was nothing he could say. She had silenced him without even trying, and it took a lot to silence a boy like Tōshirō. And yet, she, too, was silenced by him. They were both silenced by each other. And they lay together, holding the other, because that was all they could do. So pathetic and weak, so guilty and shamed and destroyed by the war, all they could do was hold each other.
By now, his entire form was warm.
And, by now, she was shivering.
He wanted to tell her he would never leave her, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, and he wanted to tell her he loved her. Loved her more than Gin did, more than he ever could, but something stopped him from speaking. It was as if his throat was being squeezed and he couldn't breathe, and in his desperation he held Rangiku tighter.
Please, don't ever let me go.
Ten minutes past, thirty – an hour.
None of them slept. They couldn't. They were restless, healing warriors who still bled a war from weeks ago.
If he were to kiss her sweet lips, he would taste blood.
And he would burn. Be victim to the sun – the monster he feared.
Suddenly, she moved, and looked at him. She seemed to be studying him, or waiting for him to do something – she watched him, and he watched her back, and they wondered who would leave first. Who would turn away and abandon the other. Who was that much of a coward that they couldn't bare the thought of feeling lost. Who would let the pain end quickly.
Tōshirō moved his hand, and ran his hand across her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.
Please, don't pull away from me. Not yet.
When she removed herself from him, off the bed, and out of the door, when she closed it behind her, and when he felt her reaistu disappear, he remained lying, still, and he thought about her.
He thought about her and dreamed.
Dreamed of a happy ending. The ever under.