Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the Bleach characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Nameless
A/N: Honestly, I have no idea how to do this, since the first Yachiru is shrouded in mystery. So, if this is horrid, please bear with me. For St. Harridan.
Even in the incarnadine desolation and misery that was the 80th district of the Rukongai, there were still little things for the people to look forward to. But, even in the presence of the mild pleasures, a man was always in danger. Watching one's back was a must in this part of Hell, and the infamous swordsman, a man who had killed many without so much as a regret, was the one the locals knew not to pick a fight with. He was a dark man, like a demon with those eyes that gleamed at the sight of blood. And yet, of all the people who feared him, he had an admirer of sorts.
Fair as she was, this woman was looked down upon for this, called a devil and a beast for speaking highly of such a man. But their words were nothing. Her own opinions were what mattered here, and she would stand by them. She would follow this man, this enigma, whom she was so captivated with. He was unlike any other man she'd met. He was no coward, not even in the face of death, fighting for something so simple as the thrill and adrenaline it brought to his system.
She would watch him, having memorized his daily patterns down to the last second. He had no name, she had noticed, responding to whatever foolish title the fearful and dying threw upon his broad shoulders. And yet, it seemed that he welcomed their curses, their words of malice. The look on his rugged face was more than enough to convey, to her at the least, that he had already given himself a name. One that, she was sure, was all his own.
This man was anything but a beast, a monster, spawn of the devil. Inhuman, but not at all evil. Like her, he was looking for a purpose. Something to which he could dedicate himself, mind, body, and soul. A smile crept across her lips as his gaze fell upon her, questioning.
"The hell're you doin' following me?" he growled, oblivious to the grin that graced her features. "Ya got some dirt with me?"
Had she not given him the time of day, surely she would have feared him. But she knew, better than anyone else in the district, that he would not dare harm a woman. Let alone one who had gone so far as to follow him. Surely, the spark in his eye was one of appreciation for her flattery.
"We're the same," she said, speaking gently. "Like you, I was once nameless..."
Now that I look at it, this doesn't seem nearly as bad as I thought it would be.