A/N: Yes, another experiment! I'm going for writing a story in Present Tense this time, so tell me how it sounds. It's going to be a two-shot or a three shot, with a lemon, of course. I would've published it later and I would've made it longer, but I'm going on a 4 day school trip and I wanted to leave you guys something before I go. *sheepish grin* It takes place immediately after Aizen's big betrayal... thing. But I think it'll be pretty clear once you start reading. Anyway, make me happy, okay? Please?
Also, Doublebend, my friend, this is for you. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Illuminated Illusions
Part 1
Hitsugaya Toushiro has always known that there's nothing as lethal as an illusion. The illusion is like a poison to the mind, a veil that falls over a man's eyes, grasping, squeezing and clutching, creeping underneath the skin, deeper and deeper, till there's not a single cell in the entire body that hasn't been infected. It's a deceitful lie that cannot be found until it's too late, a venomous spider bite at the back of your neck that, much like fever, causes the most dangerous delusion: trust. It might grow, develop gradually into predilection, it may blossom into care… sometimes even love. But how real it is, or how much destruction it has cost – that a man can never gauge until it's too late. An illusion repudiates all accusations, no matter how salient or brash they are, and it creates an image, so strong, so resilient against any perusals and suspects, that even the most observant eyes miss. Even the most suspicious lips remain silent in denial. Even the sharpest mind evades the obvious…
An illusion can embezzle the very essence of what one is. It steals little by little of a man's sober-mindedness, lulling the senses to sleep, as only a gentle lover could. Like a mid-desert mirage, it deforms, and twists, and shapes, until, similarly to a slithery snake, it sheds its skin, adopting another form, another face. An illusion coos lies into your ear, it whispers hoarsely next to your neck, and calls those battered susurrations secrets, our secrets. And you believe, oh, how selflessly you believe that, and keep the secret clasped securely next to your heart, willingly fooling yourself into thinking that you've got something special. That you've achieved something unique and different that no one else can ever have.
Toushiro knows better know. He's learned what it means to walk with your eyes blinded and your hands bound behind your back, he still feels the burns of the betrayal, smoldering holes into his cold flesh day by day. It doesn't make it better than that no one ever knew, that no one's ever suspected what was going on, and that looking now at how pitifully he's pining away, wilting like a broken flower, they all assume it's Hinamori he's worried about. Momo is and always has been his sister, and he loves her more than he can possibly say. But it's not her that's been keeping him awake at night, the one that's made his heart ache so badly he can't breathe, he can't speak, he can't walk… He refuses to be touched and he's swat away so many friendly hands from his shoulder, from landing there in an attempt to express support, that he can't possibly count them anymore. He knows people are now torn between feeling sympathy towards him and wanting to slap him again and again, in pathetic hopes to get him back to his senses. Hitsugaya Toushiro's so cold they say, so cold… And they are right. He is cold. His body's been freezing for so long now, he doesn't know if he's ever going to feel warm again. The pain has soaked all the way to the core of his bones and it hurts to move, to live, to fight. He wants his Illusion back and he hates himself so badly for it, he wants to scream and claw his useless heart out of his chest… But he can't.
He wants Gin back.
When they first started this… this strange thing between them, it was just a game. Ichimaru would chase him, tease him, embarrass him and then chuckle that annoying little chuckle, making Hitsugaya want to yell in frustration. The young captain shouted numerous times, chasing the fox away again and again, until it finally dawned on him that he had stopped wanting to shoo the man away long ago. True, Gin would always perplex and irritate him beyond belief, but those tiny little touches, those eyes, undressing him even in the thickest darkness, that breath, dancing along the boy's white skin, those were the most sinfully delicious sensations Toushiro had ever felt before. And the more they played, the strangest their game seemed to grow. The supposedly 'accidental' brushes would drawl deliberately, the sharp words would soften into ambiguous suggestions and their meetings would grow more frequent. Then the people around them would become less and less and less…
Until one night, there was no one, nobody at all in sight. Hitsugaya remembers resisting at first, stepping back, recoiling from the approaching hands. He remembers the confusion and the fear, but also the excitement and the desire to see more, feel more, explore more. He remembers how good it felt to submit to another man's will and just let go, let the shell shatter beyond the butterfly kisses. He recalls how loud he moaned and how hard he clawed against Gin's chest, and how tightly he clutched the sheets… how softly, yet desperately he begged. The completion he has memorized the best. The hot, primal feeling of union, of warmth, that spread all across his body, to the very tips of his toes and fingers, he holds that so dearly, so selfishly to the very depths of his soul, that even the sharpest blade cannot pierce far enough to reach his treasure. He craves that sensation more than anything else now, he yearns to have it back, experience it all over again, and it's killing him to know that it would never happen. Gin's gone now. He betrayed Sereitei, he lied to everybody…
…He lied to Toushiro.
And why is it so hard to believe that he did? It all makes sense now. Hitsugaya, he's the only one who could've figured the plan out, the only one whose mind would've clicked in all the right places and brought out the truth… Gin knew that. Aizen knew that. And they both understood the grave outcomes the tiniest slip would have for their plan. The only way to keep the genius off the trail, was to throw him the right bone, give him the perfect reason to stay away. Cloud the mind, fill those petite hands with foggy dreams, with nominal problems, that's what was needed. And the simple plan had worked beautifully…
Looking out of the window into the darkening world outside, Hitsugaya swallows with difficulty, his long slender fingers toying with the simple white candle on the table before him. It's not lit, but that's alright, because he dislikes the smell of candles – especially the ones without a particular scent. They all remind him of how one time Gin lit seemingly hundreds of them all around the bedroom, just to see the boy gasp in amazement.
Candles… How gullible, how stupid he has been to believe that Ichimaru ever wanted more than sex. All those breathless moans of I love you in the flickering light, the devotion of those bony hands running down Toushiro's body, the strength of the spindly arms as they encircled his waist… How could he not see it? How could he fall for this so, so foolishly…
He swallows with difficulty, his grasp around the candle tightening. He knows it's mere seconds before he loses it and the candle breaks in half. But he doesn't care now, he'd never ignite it anyway.
The captain understands it all. He's flown to unfathomable heights, and he's fallen down hard because of it. His wings are broken now, the feathers ripped, the down burned, he's forgotten how to soar above the earth, but the memories of the skies still haunt him like lurid ghosts. Hitsugaya feels pathetic for letting this happen and the shame is almost as bad as the longing, nearly as agonizing as the loneliness. Sure, Toushiro keeps existing, pretending that he's going to be okay soon, but that's only because he knows he can't give up. He gets up, he dresses in his meticulously folded clothes, he eats his favourite breakfast and drinks his favourite tea, he goes to work, fills paperwork, yells at Matsumoto some, and then he's back home. All alone in the darkness.
Sometimes he wants to just destroy things. Trash his living-room, break everything in the kitchen, he simply wishes he could shatter and tear whatever he can find, because turning around, gliding his eyes across the different corners and nooks, he can see himself… He can see the shadows of a naked, writhing form, pressed under another, bigger one, he can watch the graceful arching of his own back, hear the pleading pants, the erotic moans, smell the incredibly arousing scent of sex. And it hurts him so much, he doesn't know what he has to do to get rid of those. He doesn't understand anything, and it makes his torture all the more impossible to bear…
Toushiro feels like he's lost everything already, even if his mind is constantly reminding him in the most vicious mockery that he hasn't really ever had anything. He's been toyed with, lied to, tossed around, but he's never really owned what he had thought he did. His cruel mind doesn't miss to tell him that again and again, almost like some sort of a sick nursery rhyme. But he's too worn out to be angry anymore. He just feels all the empty spaces inside of him, bleeding for what has been stolen from him and he mourns for those pieces like he's never mourned for anything else before.
Selfishness… It's the safest attitude, the safest emotion of all, yet he's never wielded it well enough. If he had, then he would've never ended up in such situation. He wouldn't have had to collect the shreds of his shattered heart, or the inexplicable anguish that clutched his body every moment of every day…
A soft creak sounds behind his back, but he never notices, too absorbed in the candle and the way its long, lithe body curves under the smallest push. The wax is so pliable, even in its most solid form. With a tiny humourless smile on his face, Hitsugaya can't help it but deem that this is what he must've looked like in Gin's eyes. Breakable, easy to manipulate, pretty much a child's play to use… The famous boy genius had been a toy in the fox's hands and nobody had ever known. How pathetic, how stupid is that?
Another creak and this time the air moves, a small waft of some foreign scent coiling around the room and causing Hitsugaya to jump to his feet and turn around. He drops the candle and it falls on the floor, rolling away under the bookcase rather loudly. Toushiro's hands instantly reach for the hilt of his zanpakuto, but his fingers close around nothing before he remembers he's left it on his bed upon his arrival at home. Swallowing with difficulty, he lets his arms fall by his sides, digits clutching the edge of the table behind him for support as he narrows his eyes, trying in vain to see something in the dark. The sound of fabric brushing against another fabric fills the air but the man's face is still nowhere in sight.
"Who's there?" the boy inquires – slowly, collectedly, but mere seconds afterwards he completely loses his composure. Because the reply that comes emerge seemingly from the very bottom of both his dreams and nightmares.
"'s jus' me, Toushiro… No need ta panic."
A/N: Review!