He knows that Rangiku has wondered about him, maybe once or twice or every minute of every day. Gin wonders about himself too. Sometimes he has the terrifying and venomous feeling that he's mired himself in something too deep for him to be dug out. Gin is not the sort of person who shies away from a thought. More often than not, he wonders if this will be the death of him.
There are fleeting sensations of her that he recalls sometimes: her hair on his cheekbone, her fingers fluttering like the wings of a hellmoth, the looseness that comes naturally to her hips and her breasts and the motion of her kimono. Gin has spent many lifetimes teaching himself how to keep his eyes narrowed constantly, his mouth in that notorious grin. He's spent just as many lifetimes learning that the word "Rangiku" will always be on the tip of his tongue.