Summary: Renji was worthy of her. He just couldn't let her see it. Sophisticated!Renji
Pairing: RenjiRuki
Genre: Romance/Angst
A/N: Born from the thought, 'Damn, Renji would look really sexy playing the violin'.
The last three lines is a haiku I made. It's implied that Renji is playing Suite 'Never Meant to Belong' 1st Mouvement Violin from the Fade to Black OST. Enjoy and Review!
Renji thinks he was noble in his human life.
Noble, or at the very least high class. Renji muses that he must have been English; a poet or composer perhaps? Maybe even the great Shakespeare himself. Renji chuckles dryly at the thought and shakes his head, his long scarlet tresses swaying with him. Him, the greatest playwright the world has ever known? Doubtful. Renji could not remember anything of his former life as a human, but he knew he had been prestigious. His first years in Rukongai were awful, even more so than for Rukia or the others. He did not know how to survive on his own; did not know how to fight, or steal or get his hands dirty. Demanding what he wanted and expecting to receive was a trait that he unknowingly carried into his death.
He learned though. He learned how to smear his hands with mud and theft. After 5 years in Rukongai, he created his infamous pineapple appearance to blend in with the dirty streets and scummy citizens. The times of his elegant braid, the straight bold posture, the crafted language that spoke of superiority and class was gone. Death had torn him from the sky and slammed him into the earth as a lowly dog. Renji occasionally missed being among the glittering stars, but the sky was overrated anyway. All you did was observe, there was no action, no thrill. Renji was proud of being a street dog, low and struggling in the dirt.
It was a shame that he fell in love with a star.
Not even Death himself could drag her into the cold, filthy streets of peasantry. Death raised her to shine in the sky, while it chained him down. Renji sighed, cinnamon eyes glancing lazily out of the window. He would never have the forgotten luxury of a spacious and vast home, a garden overflowing with flowers and lush grass and blooming trees. Renji continued to be the free scrawly mutt that he was made to be; acting like a rash pompous fire-headed animal. Fighting, eating, yelling, and drinking was his life now. Still...
Renji still had, what he now called, his 'Noble Vices'. They were secrets that he hid from everyone. From Rukia, from the Captain, everyone.
No one knew that he found the taste of sake to be disgusting, and that he had his own little private cellar of fine wines that he collected from his trips to the Real World.
No one knew he liked to compose poems late at night about the stars, the sky, and dogs in snow.
No one knew (and he took great care not to let Ichigo find out) that he had Shakespeare originals lined up neatly on his bookshelf.
And no one knew, nor will they ever know, that Renji loved to play the violin.
The shiny red gleam of the finely crafted wood, the long pulls of the bow gliding across the strings, the feel of the magnificent instrument snug between his chin and shoulder had a simple, almost sensual, allure to him.
Renji leaned back in his chair, setting the now empty glass down and picked up his forbidden instrument. Tucking it expertly in the crook on his neck, he glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. No one would be awake. Long thick hair shone a bleached pink in the silvery moonlight as the bow slid across the strings, crying beautiful mournful notes as Renji's thoughts drifted away.
I don't belong anymore, if ever.
He wished that people would see and accept him for the fallen star and the dog he was.
My hearts yearns for yours, but my mind crawls with fear.
He knew they wouldn't. He could either be the aristocratic artist, thoughtful and dreaming, or the scrappy fighting street dog.
He would not be seen as both.
I wish you could see...
Renji wished he could talk with Ichigo about Shakespeare. He wished he could play his violin when the day's bright rays warmed his shoulders and the sakura petals played in his hair.
The dog howls at stars,
Desiring acceptance,
Not meant to belong.