b u t t e r f l i i e . d r a g o n

life, intervened

"Tell him… tell him that my offer still stands."

She doesn't regret it.

But he does.

This is her life, and it's up to her to make these decisions and bear the consequences.

This is what she gets for pursuing the truth and trying to save her family.

—

Something is pounding, ringing in her ears and she knows very well that it isn't her heart. It sounds like… footsteps.

Eyelids flicker, half open, half closed, but the rest of her remains still on the cold floor. A bitter smile twists her mouth, fading away as she recognises the reiatsu, lingering a moment longer as the familiar feeling of hate washes over her. It's his fault, because if it wasn't for him she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't have—

It doesn't matter.

It's been a long time since she's seen or heard from this person.

Maybe he's disgraced, maybe he's embarrassed, or maybe he can't handle the different person she has become to survive. It's quite alright. She doesn't like him either, not anymore.

"Get up." He mutters, a scowl lodged in his face, voice terse. "Get the fuck up."

Smirking, the thought passes her by that if she stays motionless for long enough, she could be mistaken for dead. Perhaps that might be an improvement, since staying alive is a pain in the ass. But she won't grant him that honour, defying everything that he says, as much as she can help it. She won't get up, nor will she die. Rolling her eyes, her entire body, which was previously facing the wall with one barred window, the prisoner swivels over to face him, her dark eyes glitter maliciously at the sight of him.

Prisoner. Criminal. Jailbird. That's what she is and there's no point muttering excuses, because she earned it. She knew what she was doing, and she didn't care.

Remaining on the floor, she uses one hand to brush her unkempt hair out of her face, the other to support her head, resting on her ear; she casts a perfectly curled smile on her pale cheeks, as if the person standing before her is just a test subject up for slaughter, cruel fascination.

"Hello to you too, orange-berry." The prisoner drawls lazily, feigning disinterest, though her dark eyes gleam malevolently. "And what, dare I ask, gives me the pleasure to see you in… oh, so long?"

"Shut up." He snaps, hating what she has become. It was a bad idea, coming here.

Almost as if she reads his mind, the girl examines her fingernails, murmuring absentmindedly. "Oh, you mustn't say that. That would completely eradicate your purpose of coming here – unless you wanted me to be a zoo exhibit where you could stop, stare, point and say whatever the hell you want, making me listen to you and say nothing." There's a slight pause, where blue meets brown, one smirks, the other scowls and she continues, indifferent to his disgusted reactions. "So take your time, brother dearest, I have all the time in the world."

Stretching, bones click and fill the silence that neither break with words; one awkward and at a loss, the other uncaring and blasé.

The prison is doing handstands and contemplating walking on her hand by the time Kurosaki Ichigo says something.

"… you're looking well."

At his remark, she laughs, hollow and mirthless; gracefully landing on her feet and smoothing her hair back. "You're looking well? Is that the best you can do, orange-berry?" She sneers, eyebrow arched high. "I could fucking cringe at the lameness of that! Not an apology? Not a plea for forgiveness? Not an explanation for where the fuck you've been?" Her bony hands grip the bars tightly, shaking slightly. "Five years, Ichigo! Five fucking years, I was stuck in that shithole, and after spending a year here, what do I find out? That you never gave a damn—"

"You're my—my… of course I gave a damn!" Ichigo retorts to her rant, losing his composure as easily as her.

"Really." Coolly, she inclines her head at his outburst, taking notice of his faltering words. "And yet you can't even say sister, let alone my name. Why is that, I wonder? Let's think, brother dearest." Using the term derisively, she can't bite back a snicker when he flinches; slowly encircling him like a spider about to gobble up their prey, tightening the hold as every second passed. "Is it because you're ashamed of me? Is it because you can't stand my presence – could that be the reason why you've avoided for so long? Or is it…" As she settles on her next question, her dark eyes glimmer in spite. "… because you actually disowned me?"

Furious at the very idea, Ichigo's eyes find hers and narrow angrily. "Don't be fucking absurd! You know I'd never—"

"Do I?" Tartly interrupting, her head lowers, crow black tresses trembling down her spine. "Do I really? The Ichigo I knew wouldn't have taken so long. The Ichigo I knew wouldn't have kept secrets from me. The Ichigo I knew would have made sure that his own family was okay!" Though the last part is said quietly, showing how vulnerable she was all those years, he can hear her clearly, and the effect cuts him like a knife to the heart.

"For fuck's sake, get a grip on yourself!" Raising his voice to a shout in an attempt to rid the guilt. "Why would he of all people – kidnap you? Why couldn't you just be a fucking runaway? Why couldn't it be as simple as that?"

Flaring instantly at the insinuation that she wasn't worth anything, her icy exterior changes instantly, ready to smoulder, ready to burn and mar his scowling face. Anger does not suit her, but she has a nasty temper that matches the brightest flames of Hell. Unfortunately, her mouth tends to go haywire and spill out restrained secrets when her temper bursts.

"Because it's never that simple! Why do you think I'd go if I had runaway? To a friend's house? To a nearby train station and get on the next train? Think about it, dumbass. It was to break you – and I'll be damned if his plan hasn't worked! Look at you! Look at me! Can you honestly say that we're the same people that we were six years ago? Can you honestly admit that nothing's changed?" Exhaling deeply, she steps back, falling away from the rage, the hate, the bitter taste of lost innocence. Fingers slips from the bar, now tracing the frame of the kicked down chair that she refuses to use.

She is tired, if nothing else.

"What did you come here for?"

"I wanted to see you." Ichigo says simply. Time is running out.

Barely refraining from laughing, the jailbird turns slowly to face him, incredulous. Fury ignites once more in her veins, coursing far deeper than skin and bones. Yet she tries, for her own sake, not his, to keep it at bay. "… I see. Are you trying to act like a big brother again? Or has Rukia said something to make you 'see me'? If it's either of them, then I'll have to say that you've botched it up rather well." Her hands clench and unclench; nails digging crescent moons into her pallid flesh. She doesn't look at him. "I'm not the sweet sister who you used to know. I'm different, but still, I take the secrets I keep to the grave. I wouldn't have told anyone, had you told me."

The memory flickers into his mind, her hand clinging onto his. Small. Delicate. Fragile. So different to the person that she is now, like she said.

"I know."

"But still." It's no excuse. She sighs, no longer interested in the topic of the conversation, disappointment evident in the air she breathes, but for whom? Silence swallows them until she disrupts it. "… do you regret it?"

Ichigo blinks, taken off-guard, unsure how to answer her question; it can apply to many moments of his lifetime.

Impassive once more, she lets the subject go, a crooked scowl flittering onto her pale face. "Forget it." Feeling more civil, she sits cross legged on the floor, gazing at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What are you still doing here?" Tone scathing, she enunciates every syllable.

"Do you want me to go?" Blithe, he replies.

"I don't particularly care either way, but I don't appreciate being gawked at like an animal on display." Dispassionate, she shrugs, hating the standstill.

"Right. Well, I wanted to say that you've only got a month longer here in Soul Society prison, and then you're free to go." It sounds weak to his ears, and the prisoner only shrugs listlessly in reply, eyes glazed and mute. "Okay. That's it, I guess." What did he expect? Some mind changing revelation that would repair their relationship, like it used to be? No, that took work, and neither of them were interesting in rebuilding severed bonds. The disappointment he feels shouldn't be there. No longer wishing to remain in the cell, he turns to go.

"Wait."

And he does, back facing hers, waiting for whatever she has to say.

In that second, she feels ten again, full of secrets and things to say; unsure if she can confide in someone. She could tell the orange-berry about her dreams, tell him that she's sorry things turned out this way, tell him that she doesn't regret making that decision, forever changing her life. She wouldn't have made it, had he chosen a different path to live.

"How is he?" Hesitant, she asks, doubtful of whether he's the right person to get her answer.

"Who?" Though he has his suspicions on who he's talking about, Kurosaki Ichigo cannot help but respond warily. Family or not, he has to keep his wits about him when facing a criminal.

Her eyes lower and she breathes. "… Hitsugaya-soutaichou."

At this, he pauses, wondering what to say.

"I don't know. Rumour has it that he finally cracked under pressure. Others say he's resigned from that position – nobody can find him. Though people are keeping quiet about it."

"What do you think?" She persists, not bothering to conceal her true emotion.

"I think he's with Unohana. But I won't know. They are just rumours." Ichigo flatly states. "Why?"

She purses her lips and gazes out the window, wavering at her selection of words.

"Tell him… tell him that my offer still stands."

Silence floods the distance between them; one toying the question he should ask to those cryptic words, the other in no mood to talk any longer.

"I'll see you then."

"Bye." She quietly murmurs, falling prey to sleeping ghosts, with green eyes and a fever of blue.

And once more, does Kurosaki Karin feign death on the cold floor, waiting for something to happen that grants her freedom.

—

This is what he gets for trying to save his family and play the hero.

This is his life and it's up to him to make these decisions and bear the consequences.

He doesn't regret it.

But she does.

Disclaimer: Bleach. Tite Kubo's. Not mine.