Misery
Character/Pairings: Izuru/Momo
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst
Rating: T
Summary: After Aizen's defection, Izuru is trying to piece together his friendship with Momo. A sudden mistake while they are alone awakens the realization that they may be more than that.
Hinamori had broken another mirror.
She hated anything that reflected the dejection on her face. It wasn't just the emotional torture, but the physical damage that Aizen had inflicted on her that made her reluctant to gaze upon herself.
There were sunken shadows under her once joyful brown eyes that almost resembled bruises now from her lack of immediate sleep, her skin, paper-like and ashen, her hair greasy and matted from neglect. Hinamori had used to love brushing her hair; she couldn't stand it when it got tangled or when it was anything other than silky from use of her preferred shampoo.
She felt vigilant hands lacing through her brunette locks and soothingly unraveling the knots with expert care as she sat precariously on the edge of her bed.
A low-ranked echelon from squad 4 tended to her injury, the healing kido he'd executed casting a warm glow that stitched the frayed tissue back together. Hinamori winced, but she remained utterly concentrated on Izuru's hands as he brushed her hair, as he tugged on her tethered tresses, as the un-callused pads of his fingers-so unlike a normal Shinigami's, worn from labor- brushed against her skin.
Hinamori would have never permitted these actions before, but before wasn't now, and now wasn't of any significance to her. Now scarcely involved her...
Aizen had brushed her hair once.
She recalled the way the soles of her feet had padded against the ancient wood boards beneath her, polished to a flawless patina that more or less reflected her image. Momo even remembered the ephemeral glow that had radiated around her as she skipped to his courters, his aroma lingering in the air, his presence etched into every fiber of his division- everlasting.
It had been an innocent offer. Momo had been weary of the day's events and had come to bid him goodnight, he had offered to brush her hair. It had all been so bittersweet.
But she didn't miss him; she barely remembered him. Sosuke Aizen was no more to her.
Momo only just moved a fraction as the 4th division underling rose to his feet, bowed to the lieutenant, and turned to leave with nothing but a noteworthy mention of how and when to dress her wounds before he vanished. She tilted her head to the left as Izuru instructed her compassionately and with guidance of his hands.
He spoke optimistically to her, about the what, why's, and how's that had gone in his day, as if he was furtively anticipating that she would answer even though it was blatant she wouldn't. He asked her consistenly about what she did, about the woes to her day, and even when she didn't respond, he continued to talk...not because he was being ignorant...but because he didn't know what else to do.
Izuru asked frequently of her why she wouldn't make conversation with him, and when she yet again failed to reply, frustration would bubble up inside of him.
"Momo...please," he pleaded miserably. Izuru twined his fingers through her locks, pulling resolutely on them in a futile attempt to gain her attention.
Her impassiveness only served to further his aggravation. He gritted his teeth, seething as he ground out her name once more. Momo shifted to some extent, and when she didn't show any intention of moving or speaking to him, he growled and grasped a handful of her kimono, yanking her around so that she faced him.
"Momo!" he shouted in her face.
Izuru was nearly moved to tears when he saw her blank, inert expression, her ashen complexion lacking the vivacious peach color he'd adored so deeply before Sosuke Aizen had taken the color from her soul...and his. Not even Toshiro, who was closer to Momo than Izuru could have ever hoped of being, could get her to find her voice after the tragedy that had stolen all her energy and spirit. Momo was nothing if not lethargic anymore.
He grabbed her by her arms, trying to shake sense into her. Without thinking, he pressed his lips agressively to hers, biting into her delicate skin and groaning.
Izuru tasted the copper elements of her blood, and it took him a few seconds before he came to realize that he was physically abusing his best friend and comrade.
His hands had a vice-like grip on her wrists so tight that his nails had made crescent moon shapes in her skin, the pads of his fingers marking her with bruises.
Horrified and disgusted with himself, Kira retreated, nearly sobbing aloud as she gazed back at him blankly, eyes empty.
"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." He cradled her hand in his own, kissing her knuckles repetitively, begging forgiveness that would never pass her now marred lips.
He tended to the wounds that he'd inflicted, wiping her supple skin down with scented oils and lotion. He refused to meet her eyes, his lip trembling with shame and regret.
A warm hand settled soothingly on his cheek.
"Izuru," she said. Momo inclined her head, kissing him, the ghostly sensation of her lips on his causing him to shiver. Though not in words, this was her acceptance of his agology.
"W-would you like me to bathe you?" he inquired softly. She smiled. The smile didn't quite touch her expression, but it was a start, he thought.
"I would like that very much," she said. He took her hand in his, and she took her first steps to recovery.
A/N: I was actually ticked off after I finished this. Izuru's character was difficult to write about because he is so complex, so it took me longer than most one-shots to complete. I hope this appealed to all you readers. I would appreciate comments on your thoughts of this.