Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Your Diagrams On The Sky
A/N: AU.
It's just a dark room with windows. The night outside is bleak as well, pouring down over everything she knows and loves. Upon this city, her lovely little corner of the world. Her haven, as she once called it.
Then, she grew up.
She came to find that it was true, the words of the wise and aged. That a haven is what one makes of the world, and that, without that innocent mindset, there is no place to hide. They'd said that there are many things in this world that will wear you down, should you choose to let them. She hadn't. She stayed strong and proper, even with eyes bearing down upon her with disgust. She never cared. She knew who she was and what she wanted; how life would work for her were she to live by the standard of propriety. She had done such, and it had worked.
The pieces, it seemed, had fallen beautifully into place.
Now, if only dying were easy. If only it weren't painful, frightening, lingering over one's head like a storm waiting to strike.
Yes, she fears it, the unknown. She knows nothing beyond the tall buildings that light up the midnight horizon; nothing aside from cold streets and multitudes of strangers; nothing save it be the warmth of the sun on her back and the rain upon her skin. It's horrifying, knowing that something else is out there. She wants to know, but without leaving this moment.
In a sense, she's still a child.
She finds little comfort in the fact that she is not alone, that someone's been here the whole time. Even if he doesn't say anything. Not that she's ever expected him to. She learned that from the beginning.
A funny thing, contemplating this now, perhaps minutes from demise. How she could have been even the slightest bit attracted to a man so cold. Looking out this window, it's as if he's learned to project his emotion on the heavens, damning them. It won't surprise her. Nothing about him does anymore. Well, there is one exception.
She can't remember a waking moment in the last three days that he's been gone. He's just been there, silent, unmoving. He hasn't even looked at her, let alone listened to the doctors in regards to the state her health is in. It's as if he's been counting down the minutes, almost as if he's waiting for a time to say it to her. That's right. He's never once made mention of that which she's longed to hear.
Somehow, she's now reminded of a strange idea a friend proposed to her not so long ago. A line from a novel, it was so obscure to her: As cold and bleak a dawn as he'd ever known washing the windows. He never saw her again. She was a page torn from a calender, a year folded neatly and laid aside in some place you never look. Her name on his tongue was dry as ashes, bitter as quinine.
So, she'll go away, and it will be as though she never were.
That must be it. He won't say anything, because she won't be here long enough to acknowledge it.