Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and thus I do not own these characters...I should, I really should, but alas I do not. Oh woe is me!
Note 1: This is supposed to be set before the SS arc, a lot before. In case you were wondering.
Note 2: This is my first story, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, but please be a little gentle, m'kay?
Winter Sunlight
Gin had never been the poetic type. He thought poetry was simply foolish in every respect. Why bother with wracking your brain for flowery words and symbolic imagery when you could just as easily get your point across with minimal effort? Gin was like that in every respect really, come to think of it. Yet here he was, watching his lieutenant trudge across the third squad compound, with a folder full of paperwork tucked under one arm and a bowl of something or other for lunch in each hand, thinking poetically. It was a chilly day; snow lay on the ground and was occasionally picked up by the wind and tossed into glittering flurries. Despite the fact that there was not a cloud in the sky, the air held a decidedly sharp, wintry bite. As he watched the other man struggling to keep everything in balance while picking his way through the snow towards him, Gin reflected that Izuru was like a human incarnation of the sun in winter. He mentally scolded himself for the foolish (and not to mention rather corny) comparison, but at the same time he could not deny how fitting it was. After all, the sun in winter was the same sun as it was in summer, except it was as if all of the golden tones had been sucked out of it, leaving a pale, cold yellow, precisely the colour of Kira's hair. It was sharp and harsh, but with the undertone of something sweeter (perhaps it was the memory of summer) and despite the strength of the light, causing one to squint with pain as they glanced outside, there was a certain fragility to it, as if regarding it too long would cause it to shatter. The blond neared the door, and Gin turned from the window, shivering as Izuru entered accompanied by a gust of cold air. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, courtesy of the cold. He looked to his captain and flashed a grin that could only be described as glorious. Closing the door with his foot, he shook the light dusting of snow from his hair before making his way to the desk and setting the paperwork down. Turning he handed one bowl to his captain and sat across from him in the other chair, a small smile still playing about his lips as he began to eat. Neither man said anything, the silence was comfortable, and words would only defile the moment. That's the other way that Izuru is like the sun, Gin mused, digging in to his lunch, he can brighten a room without even trying.