Sometimes, it's not about keeping up with the speed of the world. It's also about the lapses in time. The quietness. The stillness. The little moments that may be overshadowed by the multitudes following immediately after.
But because time is precious, especially for them, wrought by the tragedies they've been experiencing since innocence was shattered, nothing is overlooked. They can't afford to be. They're the pennies we see on the ground, the crumbs scattered on the table from a delicious pastry, and the blurry pictures that were deleted.
For Ichigo, it's Rukia's legs swinging to and fro on the edge of the closet while she reads a manga she stole from him. It's her bursting out in laughter — with a contradictory blush on her cheeks — after he enters his bedroom donning only a towel around his waist. It's her cheating when they race each other home after school.
For Rukia, it's Ichigo's startled face when he opens a can and soda splatters all over him. It's him trying his best to carry his little sisters with both arms and grunting from exertion. It's him taking a bite out of her ice cream sandwich and grinning like a little brat afterwards.
Admittedly, these moments are put away during battles, tedious paperwork, and extracurricular activities. They're put away when they're angry at one another. They're put away when life gets too much, and they sink into the confines of their room.
They do not disappear, however.
When Ichigo is listening to his teacher drone on about algebraic formulas, his eyes would slide over to an empty seat. He would see Rukia sitting ramrod straight with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed, trying her best to understand the lecture — or to not fall asleep.
When Rukia is out patrolling in the woods with her squad, her eyes would notice a riverbank. She would see Ichigo squatting on the edge of it, enjoying the breeze — or cursing at her for throwing his chocolate bar in the river after he insulted her.
The moments stretch far back to their early days together. During their rare hollow-less patrols, her strong, slender arms would be wrapped around his neck; his large, calloused hands would be holding her firmly around her thighs. He'd jump from building to building, and they would experience the sun setting and feel the warm hues gradually turn cool.
It's easy to forget the significant memories like Rukia giving him the power to protect and Ichigo saving her from execution. Their times in the rain. Their firsts together. Their nights. They're easy to forget because they need to be forgotten.
But while Rukia is breastfeeding Ichika, the memory of Ichigo's lost eyes after his battle with Ulquiorra in Hueco Mundo won't appear. No. In fact, it's Ichigo lying on her chest during a hot summer's day, and she won't remember how old they were or how it happened; she'll remember how soft his auburn locks felt and how heavy and right he felt on her.
While Orihime massages his shoulders after a long day at the hospital, the image of Rukia unconscious after Grimmjow impaled her won't appear. The image of her looking over her shoulder and smiling so beautifully at him will. He won't know why she's smiling at him; all he'll remember is that she looked absolutely radiant.
It's the power of time. The pace it goes. The memories it embodies. And the limited amount of mercy it gives to people.