Just some space nerd with another Ichiruki drabble here. I like weird, vague romance. It's so...romantic.

Nope, Bleach ain't mine.

0000

This is it. This is all they can do that's left. Win, or prolong the moment the universe snaps back in on itself.

It is in this suspended moment he stands amidst his own combustion. Like inky solar flares, morphing threads of black and smoke angrily whip around his head. He takes a breath. Feels the ash drag through his lungs. Without thought, fiery crimson eyes seek. Crash into lavender frost.

Like the moon, she has always eclipsed his vision.

If he is a calamity of fusion and supernova, then she glows like a constellation threaded of ice and crystal.

She is everything white and light in the swirling vortex of his presence. Quiet, like the calm of winter's first snowfall. But he can feel it, a cold thrum that clashes into the heat waves distorting the air around him, that slips just underneath his own skin. It's there, all that she is capable of should she will it so, her silent ferocity like winter's last blizzard.

Lavender gazes back, and she steps closer, freezing the earth and leaving luminous ice patches in her wake. With every movement she makes he thinks he can hear the soft tinkle of crystal emanate from her. When she's close enough, she lifts her head up to him and barely tips it to the side, eyes contemplative. She remains wordless, but through the evaporating air between them, he understands her. Always, always understands her.

Without thought once again, his hand is reaching for hers, and he squeezes her fingers as the air audibly sizzles. The corners of her lips curve just so, and she squeezes his hand back. He's holding onto the feeling for as long as he can even as he's letting her go. Ruefully letting her fingers slip through his, he nods once, and it is sealed.

There is no signal, but they move all the same. Her sword is a flurry of snow, white ribbons unfurling just as his is a hissing, smoldering blade igniting in his hands.

One more long moment of synchronicity lingers between them as lavender and crimson collide again like asteroids in the vastness of space, and he thinks it remarkable how they can always find each other. Just like this. They are satellites caught in their own gravity, celestial bodies orbiting the other in their own system.

There is a strange peace in the certainty of no longer wondering. In this moment of finality, there is only what lies ahead. And there is them.

This is it.