AN: Just some darker musing I've been doing lately
Notices: Implied AiUra
Disclaimer : I do not own bleach, characters belong to Tite Kubo
Comatose
Glazed grey eyes slowly cracked open, adjusting quickly to the soft orange hues that streamed in from the frosted window behind him and crept across the tired, faded walls. Yawning, he groggily sat up, his head still veiled by swirling dizziness as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, the amazing smell of breakfast enticing his senses.
He lazily swung his legs to the edge of the bed, it was just like any other morning, the crisp chill of the morning air nipping at his exposed skin, unprotected by the warmth of the covers anymore. It was a perfect morning, he loved the icy embrace of winter, no matter how many colds it gave him. Someone was always there to wrap him up in warm scarves and clothes, to take care of him and lecture him about his health when he was sick...who?
His body feels weighted down, an unbearable burden sitting on his shoulders as he rounded the corner. There's no one there, nothing is cooking, it's all empty. Confusion flooded his mind as he searched each room, it suddenly feels unsettling. It was as if something had tipped his life upside down, mixed up the pieces and glued it back together, missing the crucial details. He doesn't notice the worn photo on the table slowly fading to white, each feature, each smile. Gone. Erased. He doesn't notice the colour draining from the surroundings. He wanders aimlessly now, like a silent ghost to the front door, the sun touches his skin but bears no warmth to his soul.
He sets foot outside, or what he thinks is outside. The world is lost in a blur, his eyes fail to function for a moment. The temperature plummets in a downward spiral. In the split second he blinks he is back in his old house, dusty and empty. He looks at the broken clock, his mind clicks the haunting moments in place, this was the night his parents had died. Cries echo in his ears, are they his own? A storm roars and rages outside, he is breathing decay. The house like a calloused, empty heart with whispers ringing in his ears, whispers of a familiar sentence he'd heard many times.
The colour returns to the house, the howling wind ceases and the curtains stop fluttering, the maelstrom gone. His ears focus on minute sounds, he hears talking coming from the kitchen and travels downstairs. He doesn't notice the steps disappearing and fading behind him.
A familiar scent captures his senses, delicate and sweet. His mother's favourite perfume. He sees her standing before the window, staring blankly out. Kisuke swears he's dreaming, his father hidden behind a large newspaper with no date, no words, nothing but sparse tainted paper. His mother turns, her face missing. Her arms wrap around him, as she disappears so too does the world.
He could swear he heard someone calling his name.
He closes his eyes for but a second, his eyelids like lead as his glassy grey depths are revealed once again. He is clad in scythe black with a crisp white haori draped over his heavy shoulders, a burden. His breathing rattling his lungs as he walks through the street, he hears whispers but no one speaks, he sees people but there are no faces.
The wind picks up viciously and his haori is gone, torn away from his fragile being. He stands on thin glass before the central 46, their eyes burning holes through him from the veil of thick, dark shadows. Like mourners at a funeral their eyes are now down-cast, they disappear too, fading to dust that pools in his frail, light palm.
The calling returns, the sound growing louder now. It calls his name with passion and agony, he can't see their face, he can't see where they are. He can't speak, his throat constricted by invisible fingers and painful like he was gargling razor blades. He can't ask the why it calls for him. He can't ask. He walks through another ominous door. He's back at the shoten again...what remains of it...The world is darker now, the sky lined with streaks of crimson like spilt blood feeding the parched sky and ominous black clouds loomed overhead, lightning cracking like a lethal beast within waiting to strike down on unsuspecting prey.
He walks the broken sidewalk past his shop, it fades into smoke that he can't grasp nor breathe as he passes through it, the specks of dust cutting his cheek and forming crimson beads that trickle away. Fractured, dirty puddles of pitch black sludge lie in cracked asphalt on the street, they form bloodshot eyes and elongated fangs as their clawed paws drag their form from the dark liquid like vicious panthers.
They growl at him with bared fangs, their eyes alight with murderous flickers and smoldering flames. He begins running but he can't feel his legs. They are frigid, as if ice were pounding through his veins and flooding his bleeding heart. He can't feel the shattered glass that scars his feet as he runs over it, leaving a scarlet trail for the beasts to pursue. He feels like he's trapped beneath a frozen lake, pounding at the surface but no one can hear the screams, he's wasting his breath.
His feet hit the cold caress of murky water, a placid lake lies before him, burnt twisted trees frame its edges and not a single ripple disturbs its calm surface. It's water becomes black as he wades in to his waist. He watches in horror as snow-white hands with black claws raise under the surface around him. They grasp his arms, his legs and take away his freedom as they drag him beneath the crashing ripples. He thrashes to no avail, they easily drag him deeper and deeper into the icy abyss, the air forced from his lungs as pressure weighed down on his chest. The voice screams for him again, pain bitter in their voice. It pulls him back to the surface as he gasps in lungfuls of air, it's dense and humid air the makes him sick to the pit of his stomach, the bile rising to the back of his tongue and lining his mouth with a bitter taste.
Suddenly everything fades, only one person stands before him, they're dressed in pure white with ink black trimmings. He runs towards them with all he has left in his aching body, pain like white hot needles forcing under his skin. As they turn he sees once warm chocolate depths become cold and filled with emotions he can't yet place. His lover stands before him, the source of the voice was him...His lips move but Kisuke can't hear the sound, he can't remember the voice. The reality of it bringing tears to his eyes as his fingers grasp desperately in the haori, he begs for the man to speak, who tries but again there's no noise. He wraps his arms around the brunet, he can't even remember their name, his heart stringing a mournful tune as a cold breeze lashes his skin.
"Please Kisuke, W -"
Kisuke? He wonders, is that his own name? The sound of the man's voice piercing his fragile heart.
"Can you hear m -"
The sound broken and jarred. Fractured, like it was echoing through a tunnel, whispered from the dark unforgiving depths of the ocean.
"Please, wake u -"
He feels the subtle warmth building, emanating from the being before him, the man's name edging at the back of his mind like a serrated blade.
"Don't leave -"
The man begins fading, the sounds draining once again as the figure disappears from its physical form.
"Wake up."
The being disappears and he can feel nothing, he slips to his knees and lets the warm sorrow escape his broken eyes, it trickles down his chin and drops but never hits the ground. He wraps his arms around himself, and he too begins to fade.
...
The brunet still holds the icy, calloused hands in his own, his warmth doing nothing to erase the numbing cold. He is interrupted by a tender voice, yet he can see through it, it's dripping with sadness, their voice wavering in the slightest. Only bad news can arrive now.
"I'm sorry, we're going to have to remove the life support. I'm afraid he's never going to wake up." The doctor's voice is thick with sincerity as the words remain, hanging in the room. Aizen keeps a solid facade, but deep within something breaks, it barely even beats as he exhales the pain with a trembling breath.
The other man leaves them in silence that eats away at him, he glances over the blond's peaceful form and leans in, lightly sweeping back pale blond wisps and pressing a final kiss to the man's forehead. He feels something arise, something he'd long since shut away, vehemently banished and locked up within his chest. He felt it escape, the subtle warmth weaving down his face. He watched the tear crash silently against the blankets covering the blond's chest.
He whispered under his breath and didn't bother to curse the weakness, a genuine smile brought to his lips as he remembered all the time he'd spent with the man, the first time in his life that someone had accepted him and never gave up on him like many others had. Now he was being forced to give up. He'd never forget, he spoke his final words to the blond as the system shut off and the heartbeats wore thin and grew distant.
...
I love you