Everything went white.
Gin blinked. He almost lost himself in thoughts, not today.
He wasn't alone, but in nice company.
Anyhow.
"Ichimaru-taichou"
He turned his head, neck cracking silently, almost not audible.
"Hm?"
"Is everything okay? You seemed... well, engrossed in something..."
"Hm, no, 's fine... everythin's fine."
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Who? I mean... what?"
A mistake, a pretty little mistake. How did they call that nowadays?
"Freudian slip". Well, fine, a Freudian slip. Who cared anyway?
"The Snow"
Kira's brow crooked, just a bit, a little move before he turned around and placed some papers on Gin's desk.
"Ah... yeah, 's pretty."
Snow. White. White robe. Outside. Somewhere.
"Seem's like Aizen-taichou's out fer a walk."
Kira lifted his head. His Taichou was right, the Taichou of the fifth division strolled the snow-white little yard.
"Yes, you're right, maybe, he is already done..."
That was a hint. 'Don't talk, don't dream, go back to work, don't just sit around and stare at white things.'
Gin sighed. It was cruel... Torture... Purgatory.
But the snow didn't melt.
It was a cold pain.
Pain. Cold. Snow. Warmth. Hug. Kiss. Love.
Another Christmas Eve. Another day alone.
Even though he was in nice company.
"How long is this gonna take, huh? Months? Years? Tell me."
"You'll have to avoid me, Gin. Don't even dare to do a single step into my office."
"Aizen 'n' Ichimaru got a little chit-chat and aren't friends anymore?"
"If you want to take it like that."
"...crap."
"Gin!"
"How long?"
"Till the time has come."
How long is this gonna take, Aizen-taichou? When will we leave all that crap here?
And... will you remember how much you mean to me when you're sitting on the throne of a God?
God. Heaven.
He'll stand in heaven.
Snow decending from heaven.
Years ago, they stood together outside, near the little yards... and it was snowig.
Gin pulled his coat around his own thin figure. Back then, he wasn't cold, there was a certain warm body to nestle down in.
Weeks. Months. Years. Decades.
"Are you SURE that you are okay, Taichou?"
"I'm pretty fine, Izuru, ya know what? 'need some fresh air, see ya."
Air. Cold. Snow. Wind. Storm.
Umbrella?
He looked down, examining the thin paper, the fragile wood.
"Ah, Ichimaru."
Smile.
He bowed down and picked the umbrella up.
"I guess that's yours...
...Aizen-taichou."
"Gin."