"Even after we're dead, I'll still love you." –Hesiuke Toudou, Hakuouki

Thick and slow like molasses, the droplet of saké cascaded to the surface of the nearly established cup she cradled between numb fingertips and shaking palms. Running her tongue over the chapped layer on her lips, she watched it spiral with extreme hesitation. Once it hit the surface, she'd drown once more. As with every drunken ritual she had perfected over the years, the final glass of alcohol was the maddening drop of poison that stapled her back to insanity.

Tensing her shoulders, hair slipping around to frame her excessive chest and mole decorated chin, she sucked in the last of her labor-free air. From this point forward, she would suffer. Again. Without shuffle, this song played on repeat and tore away at her hope for a different outcome for tomorrow.

"Enjoy," the hostess teased joyfully, floating off to another table and another tip. Another world. Far from this one.

The droplet crashed against the surface of the drink, throwing the calm exterior into utter chaos. With each ripple that landed against the cup, the liquid disappeared and a sardonic, impish smile filled her realm of vision. Lies and unspoken wishes pulled tightly against the white of his teeth as he gazed at her. With the soft ring as it sank into the rest of the moisture, the smile split wider and she heard the soft sound of his merriment. It circled around and around inside her cranium, leaving no memory untouched as it stirred within her repressed desires and adoration.

Finally the drink would settle and her paranoia was set to ease. That is, up to when a tear of hers sent the process back in motion. Each one shed made it worse. More than it ever was and could be. For with every smile and chuckle, she could feel more. See more. Remember more. How he smelled and the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot constantly, always afraid to be too comfortable. He had been born to run. Or the smell of cottonwood. His skin wreaked of it. The glimmer of blue his silver hair caught in just the right light. How dark, blood-thirsty red his eyes were whenever he caught her looking at him for more than what he thought was necessary. Even then he had been trying to spare her the misery of chasing a falling star, destined to plummet to the embers of hell and rot.

Little good that had done.

"Stop laughing," she choked out, face a soggy mess and lips blood red from her biting and protesting.

As he often did, he mouth split wider and he offered a hand.

Clutching at her hair desperately, she shook her head and stomached a sob as best she could. He'd left her. The bastard. Alone in the snow as he had done so many years ago.

But she was so hot. Burning alive. Happily. As much as this tormented her and as much as she just wanted to be free, here, she found him again. Pristine and untouched. Free of red dews decorating his skin and clothing. Liberated of shadows and withheld honesties. Something he had so honestly and openly longed for (now that she could glance back at his heavily saddled shoulders) and could never find within her accusing her tone and devastated eyes.

Humming loudly she attempted to sink his amusement and gentle voice that teetered on husky and sad.

Rangiku.

Jittering her legs up and down as she tried to swallow down his memories, she pressed her forehead to the table. Clutching desperately to her necklace, she willed him away; back to the depths of her subconscious until tomorrow night when she would relive it all over again. The earnest expression when he gave her life and a new birthday. The hushed whispers he gifted her with at night when they were too tired to sleep and too happy to cry. The sad smile he protected her with when he betrayed her concept of reality; good and evil; loyal and traitor; friend and foe. The touch he scorched against her chest as he traced the design of her jewelry and rendered her immobile. The silence he punished her with when she finally realized everything he was about and everything he had delivered under the scarlet flavor of her disdain. The silence of death.

What a pity. A cruel, cruel story ending. She was lost without a map or compass in sight. Only with that last drop of drink did she find him, untainted and perfected from tears and heartache. His secret hiding place only known to her and her alone.

So she suffered through her days and drank herself into a stupor each and every single night. For with the last ring she found his laughter and company once more. A place free of eulogies and burial sights. Free of pain and truth. Her little utopia trapped behind drinks and teardrops.

Gin.

"Closing time," the hostess murmured, a yawn masking her irritation as she shook Rangiku's shoulders and ushered her out.

Leaving the appropriate money on the table, Rangiku stumbled for the door and wondered, off handedly: In the world post after-death, would he still know me? Does he love me there, as I love him here? Is he still Gin? Am I still…

Forever smiling, he tilted his head and waited for her to answer before fading away with her high.

Shaking her head back into clarity, she freed herself of the tavern.

Good night. Until tomorrow, Ichimaru.