They're like fire and snow, and when they meet, they melt.
It's just before dawn, and the sky is gray-blue, like a fine sapphire. Sunlight streaks through the window above them, the slats making prison-bar patterns on the floor. Renji lays on his side, long red hair loose and running over one shoulder. He props himself up on one elbow, the other arm pillowing Rukia's head. The top half of her robes have been discarded, her breasts bound in wrappings. Renji is dressed only in the black hakama of his uniform.
She sleeps with her arms curled into her chest, legs tangled in his. Her dark hair has been cut short, a few strands lingering close to her parted lips.
Renji swipes them away with the back of his hand, running his knuckles along the soft curve of her cheek. Her breathing remains steady, though her eyelashes flutter slightly. Renji holds his breath. In her sleep, she mumbles something he can't hear, and he smiles as she moves closer, to bury her face into his bare chest. When she wakes, he'll know she'll deny talking in her sleep. Renji grins to himself.
If he is fire, then she is snow – when their tempers collide, they're like a blaze and a blizzard. But in quiet moments like these, he's a softly burning flame, and she a cool winter breeze. When they meet, they melt.