Title: Falling flakes
Character/Pairing: Hitsugaya Toshirou
Style: Ficlet
Genre: General/Speculative
Rating: PG
Theme: 27. and the snow is falling
Notes: Hitsugaya's thoughts were actually kinda fun to write. No idea if I ever want to write him again in a fic where he's actually interacting with someone and not just shouting at Matsumoto. (I have written crack ship fic with him in it, but that was before this author's note was written.)
They fluttered down, pristine and white, winter cherry blossoms that lasted the entire season. Cold, crystalline blooms that never really felt cold to him.
Swirling and fluttering, they danced about, white eddying this way and that as the wind carried it's partner to and fro. Locked in dance, wind and snow chilled the air, froze those who passed through it, warmed those who loved it.
He watched them fall, wishing that his hand would pass through glass to touch them.
A victory should not end in cold and snowstorms, victory should end in warm summer breezes and long sunsets: or at least that was what he had always thought ever since he had been young.
Hitsugaya snorted at that thought; whenever had he stopped being called 'young'? Since he had donned a Captain's robe? Since he had battled an espada?
He had long since stopped calling himself young, stopping when he realised just what a captain had to do and how easily he seemed to do those duties compared to others. Those self-same others still called him young, although a few had realised just how mature he was, changing their tone and actions towards him. Being treated an equal by Kyouraku Shunsui was a high honour indeed, equally so by Komamura Saijin. The General Commander Yamamoto had even respected his ideas and thoughts enough to let him lead several groups in attack and reconnaissance.
He huffed impatiently, his breath fogging the window in front of him. That was why he was here, head of the small group who were stationed in Karakura as a precaution against any organised hollow groups that may still be out there. Because he had proved worthy in the past, so he would again.
Again, Hitsugaya exhaled, window misting over as the warm air coasted over it's surface. Things hadn't changed much since he had last been here. It was still a suburban part of Tokyo; peaceful though chaotic at times, with its ins and outs and with its own set of both infamous and famous.
The people were the same too mostly.
Like snow a few had crumbled, melted under the pressure of being involved in the war; others had packed together, forming strong groups and withstanding the numerous battles.
All of them had grown older from it though, more mature as well. Everybody, even those who had no idea what was going on; from Kurosaki's sisters and his classmates, to the upper echelons of Soul society and those few rogue outcasts.
Nobody went unchanged, nobody hadn't felt that gust of wind which had blown their comfort away.
Hitsugaya moved to open the window, chilly air cascading in as the window stiffly moved outwards, bringing in soft snowflakes that drifted lazily and evaporated quickly. He didn't mind the chill so much, the flakes floating gently inward and settling over him, in his hair and clothes, melting on his hands and face.
The war really had been like a snowstorm, some losing their way amongst the battle, some shining and letting their unique assets glow.
What had happened during the war was very much like it's happy ending; how the snow fell and acted, melted and clumped. It was fitting that it had ended like it had, but Hitsugaya still thought a happy ending should be sunshine and warm endless days.
He paused to look at the snowing sky again once more, leaning out the window and letting the cold air rush over his body; a chilly sensation very much like Hyourinmaru wrapping around him, very much like his perceived personality.
Time didn't freeze, but it felt like it for a couple of moments as he leant out the window and let the snow speak to him, chill air caressing him, snow fluttering its fingers across his skin.
"It is a happy ending."
He smiled, snow swirling as he breathed his words, melting as they met those lips and beating against the glass of window as he closed it.
Swirling and dancing, those crystaline flowers told their story to the night as wind whistled against the closed, empty window. Floating gently, they demonstrated all which had passed, all that would come.
They fluttered down, the season lasting white cherry blossoms of victory, of peace.