Futility
Ichigo learns a new word. He doesn't like it. Stream of consciousness, Ichigo introspective, post Ch. 423 speculation.
Sometimes he catches himself doing silly things like talking out loud like the crazy people in the street. In his defense, he only does it at night, wandering around town, leaning against lamp posts and whispering "Hey, Rukia" under his breath. Of course, he never gets an answer, but he can damn well imagine he does. He imagines she's standing real close, her eyes dark pools of moonlight, speckled with just a hint of Karakura yellow neon, her dark robes indistinguishable from his shadow. Yeah, she's standing that close. She's scolding him, he imagines and smiles. She's wasting her breath really, it's not like he can hear her anymore. His smile fades. Not that he'd care if he actually could, mind you, but now he'd do…anything… to hear her getting vocal over something he'd assumedly done wrong. Like walking alone in the dead of the night, in just his flimsy tee shirt and light jacket. Doesn't he know he could catch a cold? He'd be miserable. His father would make sure of that. And what about Yuzu then? She'd worry and…and…and…
…and this is how Ichigo learns the true meaning of futility. No matter how hard he tries, his mind can never conjure up Rukia's true voice and her words and the things she never says because her eyes give them away. He's already had a strained relation with helplessness, but right now he feels that futility is a concept he could learn to hate. It doesn't make him happy, it doesn't make him sad, it makes him mad. Stark raving-ly so. Worse than the bout of schizophrenia that having a Hollow alter-ego racking your inner world apart brought upon him. What use is the knowledge that she can see him, if he can't reciprocate…
…Rukia…
He feels lost, misplaced and tired. Above all tired. The kind that seeps into your bones and lingers. Nothing to do, no one to fight, the mountain of people he wanted to protect slowly diminishing into a measly ant hill because his physical human strength can only handle that much and that's a strain.
The night lights of Karakura shine on like fallen stars and yet the darkness upon him seems thicker than ever. He's lost his guiding light. A small ray as it was – short and bossy and always in his face – it trickled steadily from a fragile twinkle to a true sunburst. He feels cast off and deprived. He kicks a stray pebble of the sidewalk in apathy, clenches his fists and sighs. If he were younger, he'd cry for his mother. But this is another type of pain. Another type of loss. A deceiving one. Futility drives a steel knife through his windpipe and he chokes and he sobs and...
…Rukia…
His jacket rustles softly, even as he slumps to the ground, defeated by the weight of a few wayward tears. To be reduced to this… he aches with his body. He aches with his soul. And just because he's a champion of denial, that doesn't mean he's made of stone. He's filled to the brim with feelings he doesn't know what to do with, it has always been so. He reads poetry, but he's not a poet. Words don't come as easy as he would like them to. And when they do, he runs the risk of sounding cheesy so he clams up and sucks it in. He wants Rukia back because silence between them is an everlasting dialogue. He wants her back because Rukia taps on all the boxes in his heart and sets things there free, be it for the good or for the bad. He wants her back because you never know what you've got till it's gone and there are so many things he has yet to tell her, to show her, to make her feel. His touch being the least of them.
Pointless to think about that now.
Futile.
He'd have a better chance at grabbing a fistful of air.
Which he does and he can just sit here, under the lamp post, and imagine it's full of her. His jacket feels tighter and he smiles a wan sort of smile.
"This still doesn't make me happy at all."
He stares at the patch of midnight nothingness gently clasped in his right hand and heaves a deep breath. Nothing stirs around him.
"What's that you say?"
He rests his head against the cool metal pole and it's cold and his bottom is numb. He tugs himself upwards, all the while imagining he's not doing it alone. He shivers and heads home….
"Yeah, maybe I should do something about it."
…where his heart is.
A/N: After two days of bawling over the new chapter, this thing demanded to come out, weird and senseless as it is. Hope you liked it, but feel free to review either way! Thanks for reading:)