In sight
A/N: Random title, yes. I miss this fandom and I feel as if I'm breaking promises here, so here I go, the "promise" in my old fic "Rumor"
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, Bleach belongs to its respective authors.
Warnings: Possible OoC-ness, non-canon pairing, storyline changes, subtle hints of romance
In sight
"Parting is the younger sister of death – Osip Mandelstam"
In was years before, many, many years before; longer than any human could remembers, but short enough for any shinigami to remember it detail by detail.
She was young, naïve, and she believed everything that was promised to her. She now grimaces at the thought of her young days.
He was also young, naïve like any child, and he trusted his superior with the utmost; he looked up at him like how any child would to their parents. Now he would rather forget everything in the past, than to tell someone about it.
She became captain of the 2nd Division and the commander of the Onmitsukido. She takes her business seriously, professionally, shoving down emotions and memories of how she is walking directly on the footsteps of her.
He is still the lieutenant of the 3rd Division, he cannot move forward for he is still trapped in those memories that keep him in despair. He tries to move on, to change his "image" among the squad, to become stronger and better than his former captain.
She herself refuses to move on; she cannot forget her former master, her teacher, her sister. But she is gone; she is left without any explanation for her sudden departure.
He tries to forget, he cannot; because until now he feels as if he is living under the same shadow from years before.
When she arrives, she is greeted by a fight, a loud "Why didn't you take me with you?" I was more loyal to you than that scoundrel could ever be, why him? Why not me? Why? Her former master was still the same over all those years, but yet she seemed different; she was changed over the course of time in her duration in the Human World.
When he meets him, he is sinking ever so fast. Former captain turned onto Soul Society, he is now the enemy. He was now considered a scoundrel together with the two of the most powerful captains in the Gotei 13. Somehow he cannot bring himself to fight him, he held himself back; from fighting and from breaking down.
At the epilogue of the Winter War, she cries, she screams, she curses; the one she has idolized from the very day they met was now gone—forever. Why couldn't she have died in her place? She wants to avenge her death, filled with raging anger she charges towards the man who killed her. Suzumebachi is on her arm, ready to strike, ready to dissipate the monster. She is greeted with an arrogant smirk, shading his malicious intentions towards all of them. She watches his every move, every treacherous move he makes. He compliments her on her cloning ability—she learned from the best after all. She charges, she attacks, leaving a Homonka visible on his chest. He laughs, mocking her inferior ability before stroking her side with Kyouka Suigetsu; he had her in a chokehold. She could see her life flash before her eyes—a blinding white, but not before seeing the silhouette of her.
It has ended. The war waged by the traitors together with their army of hollows, was a success. Victory for the shinigami forces; all the hard work, it finally paid off, but not without leaving devastating scars. They've nearly lost several captains, with their deep wounds and severe injuries; it felt as if the war wasn't over. His former captain was now dead, he didn't even have a glimpse of him after all these years. He chose to forget, for the war is over, and there is no use for emotional breakdowns.
She is greeted with the nervous face, fearful if possible, of Kira Izuru. She is laid on a bed. She realizes that he has created a healing barrier around her. Minor injuries are healing gradually, but her arm, her disintegrated arm had nothing occurring to it. How could she be called a captain if her arm was still out of sight?
Sometimes he wonders about her; her objective willingness to any task given to her; her unmatched competence to any other captain.
Sometimes she reflects about him; his quiet lonesomeness ever since the day; his strung-and-chained emotions.
Sometimes he catches her eye—she catches his eye—and an imminent burning in at his cheeks.
Sometimes she hears him—she's very-well aware of his presence—and immediately shakes off from being further distracted.
Once, he saw her smile—or smirk—and it was somehow more blinding than the sun.
Once, she saw his confidence—with a simple facial expression—and compliments him silently.
Often, their clothing would brush each other's in the corridors.
Often, they would think nothing of it.
Rarely, they wonder; what if?
"Drunken words are sober truths."
It was late then, past the usual curfew time in Seireitei. It was just a bit of harmless leisure time—some simple drinks and gambles and whatnot. It was a forgettable event, since mainly everyone was quick to lose memory due to alcohol.
Not her—well not entirely.
She was drowning her sorrows, as they say; her sixth shot of strong alcohol now. Her eyes were tearing up, but she wasn't crying. Her body felt numb, but she wasn't sick. Her head ached, but she wasn't injured. Honestly, she was just not herself at this time.
But he was sober; drinking didn't really come to his character—only two to three shots would be his maximum. Although, he's seen her—he's been watching her, wary what a second division captain who is extremely skilled in assassination would do when drunk. It wasn't any personal feeling; he acknowledges it as more of a "respect obligation" of some sort.
He's been in deep thought for so long, he doesn't even notice the sudden shift of reiatsu form her; she's disappeared.
He almost jumps from his seat when he saw her eyes glimmer with what seemed to be unconscious lust—in such close proximity.
She's bent down to his eye-level since he was sitting down. Warm, calloused hands pull his face to hers.
He hears a resonating laughter from her glossed mouth, he smiles very little—but he's still smiling.
She murmurs something incoherent, her burning, drunken breath blurring his sight and his mind.
He almost tells her how beautiful she is.
She laughs harder, taking it as a "go" signal to rest herself upon him—his lap.
His eyes widen as his hands almost cradle her like a child.
For a while, she's been laughing—and giggling, surprisingly—like an idiot, visible rouge brushing her cheeks.
He relaxes for a while, unnoticing his hand wrapped around her shoulder and the other placed on her knee.
She stops all of a sudden and straightens up; still not sober. She presses her cheek to his, hands grabbing whatever they can—his neck, his hair.
He stops breathing.
She presses in closer.
He tenses up like a rock.
Her chest now seems to meld with his.
It was all too quiet then, the blurs of the crowd around them seem to die down.
Everything stops.
She exhales with a laugh.
Lips connect.
A/N: Ack, what happened to my writing style? Hehe, well, school has been murdering me with stress, but I'm still alive.
Read and review, please?