The road is dusty, and your feet are cracking. The blood trail is a few kilometers long, and the small stones hurt as they are driven further into your sensitive skin. The wound on your side twinges with the heat, and your head wound makes you slightly dizzy. Still, you keep walking, knowing that he's probably worried. It's been six days since you saw each other last, after all. That's the longest time you've been apart since you got together three years ago.
Your chest hurts at the thought, knowing that you caused the fight, and also knowing that it was unfair of you to storm out like that. He had done nothing to warrant the treatment, yet he received it anyway. You glance up, you arm moving to protect your eyes from the relentless heat and blinding light of the sun, to spot the brick wall maybe less than a kilometer away. Though you want to walk faster, it hurts far too much so you keep the same pace, even though the adrenaline is coursing through your body like mad and making your heart race.
It seems to take an age before you meet the wall. Slowly, you raise your hand to meet the cold, rough stone, leaning on it heavily. Your feet begin to get warmer the longer stand there and it doesn't take you long to realize that you're standing in fresh, warm blood. When you do realize, you move again, and pain sears up your legs like acid. Biting back a scream, you continue to lean heavily on the wall for support as you walk to the gap that leads into the fifth division barracks.
Stumbling into the barracks, you quickly find the back door and yank it open, feeling relief wash over you as the cool air hits your face. There is a flurry of activity through the hall that the door opened into, much more than what was normal. Within moments, the fourth seat recognizes you and rushes off in the direction of the captain's quarters and office with a gasp and a sigh of relief.
Though you cannot wait to see him again, nervousness begins to set in. Panic wells up inside you, but the ache in your feet prevents you from moving. The feelings heighten when you feel a flux in the spiritual powers around you, the familiar hollow-shinigami hybrid reiatsu washing over you. It is laced with worry, and you feel bad all over again for leaving. Footsteps hurry toward you, and you feel yourself slide down the wall, as if being on the floor could make him miss you in his frantic search.
No such luck. When he turns the corner, his dark brown eyes find yours immediately, and he rushes to your side, anxious hands fluttering over your wounds. He orders one of his subordinates- the eighth seat, maybe- to call for the fourth. The small shinigami nods and takes off in what you think is one of the slowest Shunpo you've seen in a very long time.
That's not really fair, though, you think as his voice barely makes its way through your fog filled mind, since I usually go against masters. He sounds almost frantic as he asks if you're okay, his worry becoming more palpable when you don't respond. He says your name, over and over again, but everything sounds muted and you can't find the will to respond to his call.
You stare up at him, taking in the blond hair around his face, the long lashes against his worried brown eyes. He looks paler than normal, the shadows under his eyes only increasing the effect. He's still talking to you, and you can see flashes of the tongue ring that he had received long before you met him. He had told you once he got it on a dare, so you called him stupid for taking it. He had laughed.
He isn't laughing now, though. He's frowning, almost crying, maybe, in his obvious distress. There are a multitude of voices joining his, and you want to tell them all to shut the fuck up because you have a headache and you can't hear him, anymore.
However, not hearing him is better than not being able to see him. After a few more moments of his soundless talking, he looks away from you and you want to tell him to look at you again so you can see his eyes. He nods at something, then stands and moves away from your line of sight. A woman with silver hair, braided with beads on one side takes his place. She wears a captain's haori over her uniform, like he does, but it takes you a minute to place the face to the name- Kotetsu Isane. Rather uselessly, you mind reminds you that she's the one who replaced Retsu after she had been around for over a century. You tell that part of your mind to shut up, because while that part doesn't speak up very often, when it does, it's usually at the most inconvenient times.
She leans forward and starts talking, then pauses as if waiting for you to answer. You didn't hear her, though, so you remain silent. A frown appears and her hand is cool on your forehead, which is hot, hot, hot. She begins to say other things, but you can't hear her, and the other sounds become fainter and fainter. She blurs out of existence.
…
There are voices. They're quiet, almost nonexistent. It's very hard to hear them, never mind make out what they're saying. So you stop focusing on the voices, and instead focus on the hand holding tightly onto yours, and the presences that you can sense around you. It doesn't take you long to figure out that Rukia is there, and so is Renji. A few more moments and you can feel Isane and him. He's here. Relief runs through you, and your mind is quick to figure out that's who's holding your hand. You squeeze his hand, lightly, and the voices stop.
A hand runs through your hair, and you hear your name. Wearily, you peel open your eyes, forcing them open when they try to close again. At first, everything is too bright and the colors blend together. He calls your name again. You blink a few times and feel something like water leak from the corners of your eyes and run down your cheeks. You blink a few times more, a gentle, cool hand wiping away the water and his voice calling your name. There's a lot of movement suddenly, and everything becomes a little bit more disoriented. Rukia and Renji's reiatsu fade and you can hear the door close behind them. Isane says a few things more before also taking her leave.
There's a moment of silence, and in that time your eyesight becomes clearer. The lights don't hurt quite as much, though that might be because they were dimmed when Isane left. Still, you're grateful for the lessened brightness. There's his hand running through your hair again, but he doesn't say anything. He does hum, though. You lean into his hand, and he smiles, though it's a smile tinged with sadness. You're concerned even though you know the reason behind his slight depression.
"Everythin' okay?" he asks, still smiling slightly at you in that sad, almost worried way that makes your heart ache and the guilt weigh on you harder.
You nod in response, opening your mouth to say, "I'm so sorry." Your voice is quiet and raspy, and it shocks you to realize that you've barely spoken at all in the past six days- or more, since you must've been out for a little while. "For everything. I love you."
His smile becomes a little wider, a little less broken. He nods; his fingers never ceasing their repeating trail through your hair. "Me too," he mutters in response. "I'm sorry I made ya run off like that, provoked ya into a fight. I love ya, too." He mutters those three words over and over again, for a moment, before leaning forward and pressing his mouth to yours.
You kiss him back with a desperation that would have scared you in any other circumstance. It isn't so bad though, since you know he'll be there to catch you when you fall. He always has.
…
Six days later and you're sitting on the bed you share with him, staring at the bandages that are wrapped tightly around your feet. Isane thinks she got all of the stones out, but sometimes you imagine that they're still there, digging painfully into the raw, hairless skin on the pads of your feet. You know the mind can't conjure up pain unless it's really there, so you think it might just a physical representation of the guilt that threatens to swallow you whole.
A feather-light touch on your head rouses you, and you look up. He's grinning at you, haori in his other hand, the light blue-green color facing the ceiling. "Alright?" he asks, dropping the haori and sitting next to you on the bed. His hand moves from your head to your thigh, his thumb moving in pointing circles over the fabric that covers it.
You hum in reply, leaning back into his embrace. You don't look at him, and instead stare at the five that was painted onto the walls years and years and years ago, long before either of you had been born. "I'm sorry," you say again, because even though you've said it a thousand times already, you fear the words are never going to be enough to make up for the intense look of hurt that had been on his face when you left. When you left, when you left, when you left…the mantra repeats itself over and over again in your mind, and the guilt comes rushing back.
He's said it time and time again- he's forgiven you, and you've forgiven him, that it was time you forgive yourself. You don't know if you can, because it was so so horrible this time, and every time you look at him, you see the underlying tension around his eyes and his mouth, and you can feel the phantom stones dig into your feet all over again. Maybe, you think, hearing him sigh, the stones aren't in your feet, but rather in your heart, or in your head. His grip tightens around you, and you allow him to lean you on the bed, you allow him to kiss you.
When your wounds scream at you for the movements, you ignore them, used to pain like that and knowing that the stones there will disappear eventually, along with all the others.
I honestly don't know if this is really complete or not. I'm marking it complete anyway, though I can be persuaded to continue if someone wants me to. I started this stupid thing months ago and just lost the motivation for it, so I wrapped it up and. I dunno.