Author's Notes: This is set before episode 8. Slight IchiRuk. Created due to the complexity of dealing with loss and death I've recently been given. Winter never brings anything good. "/
Author's Warnings: Religion is discussed loosely. Rated for mild language.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I yield no custody or ownership of this anime's plot, or characters.
Breathe. Maybe if another gasp of oxygen was able to slip into her mouth, her nose, anything – anywhere, maybe she could feel. Because the rain pouring from the heavens down upon her, pounding hard against her soft flesh seems too irrelevant, unreal. It this what pain feels like?
The sky was no longer visible, heavy clouds painted across its blue hue instead, while the rain had immensely dampened the atmosphere, rendering it nearly suffocating. Pristine drops stain the streets' pavement and the ugly smell of tension manifests itself quite comfortably between every crack of the house. It's one of those days that misery feeds on, one of those grieve-stricken ones – the kind that leaves an unsettling feeling clawing at your heart.
"Ichigo," breathes a quiet, gentle voice reserved for those rare, fleeting moments like this. The moments that appear so surreal that one must rub their eyes efficiently and pinch their elbows to see if they would awaken just in case this really was a dream.
He shifts slowly, barely moving from his contorted position. He's hunched over, his broad shoulders rigid and tense, but manages to peer from the corner of his eyes toward the seated girl aside of him. He doesn't reply, simply allows his eyebrows to furrow further to indicate he was listening; living.
"Why… why do you think it rains?" she asks, the last remainder of innocence lacing to every crevasses of her refined lips and delicate words.
He grunts in response, pausing momentarily before sliding his body from its previous position and turns fully toward her. She's a magnificent liar. Although she exerts such innocence and naivety regularly, it's too shatteringly clear she leaks only false emotions. Still she only shows fake vulnerability for him, to lessen the shield she placed around her heart and general dull feelings and to raise his. When in fact she knows too much, maybe. But perhaps he knows too little.
Still…
"Simple, idiot," he explains, a hint of aggravation grappling his hoarse tone. She half scowls in return. "The clouds grow heavy with precipitation and eventually the water grows so immense, it falls."
They fall silent for aching seconds that stretch into minutes, droplets clanking against the thick glass window aside of them. They look like teardrops running down the clear surface with little cause, eventually falling into oblivion.
"What did your family tell you when you were younger?" she muses and, at the same time, prods.
"Angels were crying," he answers with an empty tone. He pushes the hollow feeling crystallizing in his stomach with an irritated emotion instead, crossing his arms and cocked his eyebrow at the girl accusingly. "Why? What's the significance anyways?"
"Do you think, if I were to live in this world instead of the soul society, that I would be told the same thing?" she questions. "To lessen the pain?"
He feels a smile of pure revolt stretch across his tight lips and he stands from his chair, peering down at her still seated form. In return she tilts her chin upward until she's able to lock eyes with him, confusion glazing over hers. "What do you mean 'lessen the pain'? You idiot, I'm right – on both answers."
"Fool, your explanations contradict themselves!" she hisses, her frustration masking her struggle to comprehend his perception. "Religion and science do not go hand in hand."
"No, but faith pieces everything together."
"Faith pieces lies together then, as well."
He shrugs indifferently. "Maybe. But why would I care?"
"You're foolish," she chides, standing erect to insert her authority. It's hopeless though, considering he was approximately two heads taller. Regardless, she still stands proudly; his stance slumped and tired.
"Then don't ask my opinion," he snaps back. "Just admit it. You were hoping to trip me over my own words."
"Of course not!"
He smiles and she cringes. "Rukia –"
His smiles were never real, only half existent and decayed. The gateway to his shattered soul lying astray of his collapsing heart. He had seen far too much and too vastly for his age, for his comprehension. Was his said heart really that invincible? Or had it already fallen apart years ago?
He had built and established himself on steel emotions and heartache. Maybe that's why he fights so viciously? To break away and detach himself from his mental pain, replacing it with a bearable physical one. She knows too well wounds on your skin will eventually heal while mental ones will forever embed themselves into your heart, breaking it whenever given the opportunity.
"–just trust me."
He leans closer to her and her eyes itch to widen, but instead she determinedly remains planted in her spot as if to gesture for him to prod her limitations. He continues to shift nearer and nearer, his face coming within view and his smile appearing more and more broken. Just as she readies herself to flinch and allow him to win, he outstretches his hand until his whole palm is pressed tightly against the window. Without hesitation her eyes travel down his arm until they reach his hand, now completely spread across the foggy translucent slate.
She tears her gaze away from the window and casts it upon him again, narrowing her eyes slightly. His smile stretches further, tearing the sides of his mouth. "I can't."
"You don't believe in angels, Rukia?" he snorts before leaning his weight onto his arm still connected with the glass aside of them.
"Your definition of angels is simply ignorance," she states calmly before explaining, "as you know, deceased beings are either sent to hell or incarnated into souls in the soul society. It's vice a versa whenever a soul dies there."
"Well then, that's sort of the whole angel prospect," he informs. "I know a majority of the soul society is in ruins and whatnot, but you said people are incarnated into souls. It's almost like our belief with angels. No one really dies. They just pass onto somewhere else."
"Why must you believe that someone is always alive?" she asks inquisitively. Humans, she deemed more or less, are strange. From what they eat to what lies they believe in, they are truly unique. Religion is one lie she always found interesting, of course, she never had the time to speak with Ichigo about it until recently now.
"Because we hate to lose." That snide remark earns him a strike to the stomach and she watches with twisted satisfaction as he coughs violently, bringing his previous limp arm to soothe his bruised torso. "What? I'm telling the truth!"
"Do you think that when someone dies, Ichigo?" she hisses.
His smile breaks, a true scowl clawing its way to his face. "No. I think God's greedy whenever someone dies. But hey, Heaven can't be that bad, right?"
Her eyes narrow more. Of all the days he's bitter and shielded he decides this is the best moment to tease and fake a light demeanor? "Why?"
"Simple, no one has come back yet."
She sighs, releasing the building frustration coursing through her veins and allows her thin shoulder blades to relax. Then she locks eyes with him again; realization dawning heavily upon her. She was so foolish. Beyond foolish. It was too clear that even he didn't believe his owns words. They were just tiny fragments of dreams and wishes chained together to cover the silhouettes of loss that frequently passed over his heart. This wasn't mocking or teasing, it was masked remorse and little understanding.
Something truly devastating had happened to him, aside from becoming a substitute death god. She couldn't place her finger on it, but that scowl and those plastered smiles held complications and pain. She just knew it.
"Then," she begins softer, quieter, and stretches her own hand against the cool slate, "there must be a lot of angels in Heaven."
Finally it was his turn to question, "Why, Rukia?"
"Because they cry so hard and so far and bear their pain on us." She answers, "But I also observed that generally, on rainy days, families stay inside. So, maybe, they cry to keep us together."
A small, genuine smile replaces his scowl and the tip of his pinky strains itself to brush against her index finger. "Yeah," he replies, glancing outside, "maybe."
And all I see, it could never make me happy
And all my sand castles spend their time collasping...
A/N: Wahh, I'm so nervous for posting this lame story. Hah. Lyrics by Switchfoot's Let That Be Enough.