Shuhei Hisagi liked to be unnoticed. The daily grind of running the ninth squad, filling out paper work and remaining indoors was just as fulfilling as defending someone from a hollow – maybe even more so. He found comfort in his lonely haven where no one could ask questions; he loved that no one could scrutinize his lack of knowledge of:
Don't say it.
There were generally no thoughts besides that of direction and filling out forms. Nothing could break his will to stay concentrated except:
Don't say it!
Shuhei stares in disbelief as his newly-broken white quill spews ink onto his hand, his desk and the nearly completed, day's worth of required forms for the ninth squad. He slides some of them to the edge, searching for ones that can be salvaged in the mess. He sucks in a deep, regretful breath, just longing for the loudness of his guitar and places a hand across his forehead.
I hate the silence.
There is a faraway knock, something that doesn't quite register in his head. Somewhere in the world there is the scrape of a door, the padding of heels across cherry wood floors. Someone in the world cannot get his attention until he smells the sweet scent of lilac. It filters through his nose, cleansing his brain of the fog and removing the roadblocks set up in front of his senses. Something in this world has gone terribly wrong – again.
"Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi, we have an urgent letter from Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryusai. I am required to read it directly to you."
Shuhei looks up, his consciousness returning and focusing on the girl, or is she a woman? He takes in her scent again, debating on if there is vanilla somewhere in the mix. He stirs the flavor on his tongue and takes in the view, only to have his newest day dream interrupted.
"Um… Lieutenant?" she chokes.
He rubs his face, smoothing out the worry lines that have begun to crawl across his face. His silent, maturity has returned and the girl now only has a face, no sweet scent or natural beauty. She is just a delivery girl. "Yes?"
"I understand you've had a long day, what with all you're… um… paperwork and all… but…" The girl can hold it in no longer. With a burst of laughter she howls, "Would you mind painting my face when I'm done with the letter?" Laugh lines crease her face and she leans across the desk to prevent herself from keeling over and falling to the floor.
He glances at his right hand, the one covered in ink and the one he had used to touch his face. He sighs in disappointment.
No. She is definitely still a girl.