Silence
There were never any words between them. There was no need for words. They both knew that, and they were both fine with the way it was. Silence, they mutually agreed, was better. They simply sat together, in the silent company of a kindred spirit.
It started after Ichigo had rescued her from Soul Society. Rukia had discovered not long after that she found herself, in her aimless walks, wandering back to the tower that had kept her confined for so long. There was something about it that drew her with magnetic force, and she found that she could not keep away.
So she went.
Whenever she had free time, and especially at night, Rukia would scale to the top of the tower and sit on its roof. It was the highest point in Seireitei, and from her vantage point she could gaze over the entire landscape in quiet contemplation or mere stillness. The cool of the night air and the beauty of the whole world bathed in moonlight called her back night after night, and soon she found that she spent almost all her time there.
The walls of the tower drained her riatsu, but to Rukia the peace she got was worth it. Besides, it meant that for a few hours every night, Rukia could vanish from the world without them being able to know where she went, and for some reason that idea appealed greatly to her. Perhaps it was because of her nature as a loner, she mused once. But it did not matter. What mattered was that she could do it, and it made her happy.
She did not know how long she did this before he joined her.
One night as she sat on the roof not thinking about anything, she became aware of footsteps getting closer. She did not know who it was, because the tower had blocked her ability to sense this stranger's riatsu, but she did not turn around to see who it was. Instead, she waited in silence.
From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of white on black. The figure strolled up casually and dropped to a sitting position an arm's length away from her. He draped his legs over the lip of the roof and leaned back, relaxed. The captain neither acknowledged Rukia's presence nor made any attempt at conversation; he simply sat in silence.
Rukia threw a sidelong glance at Captain Hitsugaya. She wondered what he was doing here, but did not say anything; it was considered impolite for the subordinate to speak before someone senior to them.
They sat in the silence, wrapped in moonlight and embraced by the cool night air.
And so it was for a long time after. Rukia did not know how long they continued this, but many nights she would arrive to find him already there – deep in thought or simply enjoying the peace – and she would sit next to him. It seemed to her that he enjoyed her silent company. He never said anything and never tried to make conversation, and after a while she grew used to it, and found that the silence was confortable. In fact, on the nights where he did not show up, Rukia found that she missed his quiet presence.
They never spoke of it to each other. When she passed him in the corridors as she went about her job, she would greet him, and he would return her greeting. They both acted as if their nightly meetings did not exist, because they both did not need other people interfering in a good thing. Rumors would abound, and they would both get teased endlessly by colleagues and friends. Even worse, it might mean that they could not sit in silence together anymore, and both Rukia and Hitsugaya treasured those moments, even though neither one ever admitted it to the other.
They understood each other. They did not need words; the silence was enough. To some people, silence was a barrier; to Rukia and Hitsugaya, it was a bridge.
She could tell, after a while, when he had had a bad day. He would sit slouched, chin resting in one hand, and his gaze would be downcast. His brow would furrow in deep thought, and a scowl would be etched across his face. On those days Rukia offered only silence, because she knew that was all he wanted.
On his good days he would sit all the way back, leaning on his palms, and once in a while she actually caught him smiling to himself. She guessed by then that he could also tell apart her good days from her bad, but she did not mind being read so easily by him; their mutual silences had built their friendship, respect and trust.
She did not know how long they had left. Seireitei was always under one threat or another, but when it ended she would always return to this spot, and she would always find him there. They never exchanged words, but they never needed to.
The silence was enough.