Title: Symmetry
Author: burnishedvelvet
Characters/Pairings: Renji. Mentions of Renji/Rukia.
Length: 780 words
Rating: PG
Warnings: Vaguely spoilery for the Soul Society Arc.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach… If I did there would be shinigami-orgies occurring on a regular basis.

He does it almost reflexively. Measuring everything in terms of balance, harmony.

He is shocked but pleased when the new girl fights for the child's candy, in the end giving her own small bag to right the wrong. He tries to thank her, but she throws him off again with one of her strange comments. Seems that is what she does. He blushes and scowls. But he lets her stay; he likes having her around. She's a peculiarity, a welcome balance to his commonness.

He gets his first tattoo on his forehead, for completing the next level of his training. A permanent proclamation of his accomplishment. Bold, unruly, a strange and harsh rhythm of line, it is an external match to his own personality. He likes the way it looks, black ink contrasting to the pale skin. Light in equilibrium with the dark. But, it looks open and overly heavy upon his right brow, wanting of a counterpart. He knows there must be a corresponding one to reflect it, on the other side. So, he strives harder. Pushing his limits further, seeking to reward himself with the comfort of a matching mark. An equal. A reflection.

He runs to tell her of his latest success. And maybe poke fun, just a bit. In truth, it's only in jest. He wants her to pass too, to still be with him; he needs her to. It is just simply their way, how it would always be between them. So he plays his part and storms into the room, boasting loudly. Seems that is what he does. And as he strides in, all confidence and new tattoos, it hits him. Slams into him and very nearly knocks him over. A spirit force so clear, so intense, so unexpected, it shatters his balance and mood. Something is not right. Something is off. He can feel it as he watches the source of his discord glide past him, regal and cool, not bothering to reciprocate his bewildered gaze. And he knows in that moment, what perfection is supposed to be. What he wants. What he is not.

Then he hears her. Hears vaguely, as the blinding shockwaves of his revelation recede, and he's thrown off again. She's leaving. And he hears his voice telling her that she should go, before he can even stop himself. All he can think of is that person, his flawlessness. And how he could never be that for her. She should have this, even if he can't. And for a brief moment, as she looks down and his heart aches, his soul howls at the wrongness of this. He is raw inside as he watches her release his arm and walk past him. The door closes and he feels open and overly heavy.

He strikes at the beast with all his strength. And the animal breaks his blade as though it were made of porcelain. Then it shakes its head and speaks to him. It speaks in two voices; one solid and thoughtful, the other honest and impulsive. They are halves of himself and the power within him. The power he has always sought so hard to release. They tell him that he does not want this badly enough. But, he does. He knows he does. So he continues. Seeking it. Needing it. And this time, fighting for it. His sword has reminded him of the true reason he strives so hard. And he realizes for the first time that his true goal isn't perfection, never was.

It is completion.

Only now, as he delivers the final blow to his gray beast and earns his finest honor, can he see just how close he had been to it then. So close that it had clasped his arm and held it tightly for a moment... before he'd forced it away. Forced her away. His sword laughs heartily, pleased with his triumph, and commends him on his strength. And he's certain, more certain than he is in anything else, where his strength has always come from.

He is running as quickly as his flash steps can carry him. To the white tower on the horizon. He smiles inwardly, she will be the end of him. He is sure of it. He frowns outwardly, he can't deny what lies ahead. Who lies ahead. Or that she'd call him a damned fool for pursuing this path. Perfection is, after all, a formidable adversary. But if all he can do is buy time by fighting it, then his life will be well worth it. Because she is his counterpart, his matching mark.

And he always was a damned fool.