On the eve of the Winter War, Ichimaru Gin feels as though his room has never been colder. The crescent moon shines vividly against the obsidian sky as he closes the door behind him, a gentle breeze wafting in through the open window.
'…It keeps on gettin' colder here', Gin murmurs as his thin fingers push down the window pane, locking it in place. He wonders for a moment why he even bothered to leave it open in the first place, but the thought soon passes as the weight of his zanpakutō is lifted from his tired body. He rests Shinsō against the wall and smiles lightly, thinking back on all of the training he has done in order to get him to this moment.
{ All of those tired, aching bones, stretched out and sprinting and flash stepping whilst thrusting his blade at his enemy's form… his enemy, his teacher, his captain, the creator of this dark, revenge-seeking side of a slithering snake.}
They will be proceeding with their plans in only a few hours. A good night's rest is crucial before they are thrust into battle, the God-King speaks to his most hostile, violent weapons over a quaint cup of tea. They need to be ready for whatever the shinigami plan on throwing at them, however minuscule and ineffective their measly plans soon prove to be.
Although Aizen is confident in his plans to ascend towards the Soul-King's glorious throne, his Second in Command feels restless… yet he keeps quiet, keeps that ever-grinning mask plastered to his face. But the apprehensive, nervous feeling continues to jolt every nerve ending in his body, until it reaches his very core… and then, as he slumps down upon his mattress in defeat, he accepts it, and lets it consume him.
'It's pretty funny, ain't it?' Gin thinks as he shifts underneath the covers of his oversized bed. 'Alla this work, an' time spent tryin' ta forget… jus' ta haveta see 'er pretty face again. Bet she ain't gonna be smilin' fer me this time, nah… she ain't gonna be smilin' at all…'
Gin swallows as he buries his face into his pillow, trying hard not to continue with that line of thought. It's not funny, it's painful, yet it's the truth he cannot allow himself to run away from.
A chill runs down his spine as he pulls his legs in closer, desperately seeking a warmth that he will never get a chance to feel.
In only a few hours, she will be standing before him, her blue eyes searching the tall, skinny form of the one person she always wished to understand.. only to eventually lose. A childhood friend, a kitsune posing as a violent, deceitful snake… the one man she ever truly loved, that had secretly loved her for more than a century, with everything that he had.
He wonders if she will be okay, if she has prepared herself for this moment.. and if she's laying there too, tossing and turning and searching for something she'll never have.
On the eve of the Winter War, Ichimaru Gin feels as though his room has never been colder. And yet, as the moonlight continues to filter in, Gin pretends to feel the warmth of Rangiku's loving, forgiving arms around him. Even though the illusion is not enough to conceal the condition of his bleeding heart and his worried frame of mind, he selfishly clings to it, no longer wanting to feel homesick for a place he had banished himself from long ago.