There it is, the pale yellow of the sun spilling over the tips of the trees outside the tenth divisions window. Rangiku lets it warm her face slightly, before sighing deeply.
She expected it to be the kind of day where it was sunny, but not completely warm. The kind of day where the wind came in sudden bursts and whipped at your hair and caused little tremors of cold to run up your spine. His favorite kind of day. And therefore, her favorite kind of day. That's how it had always been, anyways. He'd go, she'd follow. Always.
Gin.
The name shoots a tingle down her spine, her pink lips twisting upwards, a wry smile dancing across her features.
It always does.
She wonders if he knows that the only things keeping her sane sometimes are her memories. Of cold nights with the wind howling and whipping her hair around her figure, and how she'd reach, reach for him, his pale, pale skin. Sometimes, she thought it was almost translucent. Sometimes, when the hunger was ripping through her whole being, and she couldn't get to sleep, she'd lie awake, and look in wonder at how the moon would play tricks on her vision.
How her hair, twisted with Gin's looked like fading gold and silver, how their legs intertwined to keep warm, pale and paler, sharing breaths, sharing warmth.
How they'd always go to sleep the same way. Back to back. Guarding each other.
How they'd always wake the same way. Face to face. Her, wrapped in his arms, their faces pressed close together, one of his hands pressed against her back, the other in her hair.
Always. So stupid. Nothing lasts forever.
She wondered what he was doing as the war raged on.
No, she didn't want to know.
In all honesty, she shouldn't want anything to do with him anymore. Traitor.
But she did, anyway.
She missed the way he'd leave sometimes but he'd always come back.
Always, always come back. She wishes he would come back now. Maybe just one last time, so she could tell him how much she needed him and needed his warmth and needed his blithe smile, because not only did it guard his own emotions, but hers. She wants to tell him how much she wanted to touch his face and feel the electric pulse that would tingle in her fingertips.
She misses his rough, calloused fingers that would trace the spot right above her heart.
She misses how he knew he had it.
Her heart.
Stupid. She'd always been like that.
Rangiku lets her shoulders droop, her hair covering one side of her face.
She lets one memory, a slightly more pleasant one; wrap her in its consuming embrace.
He'd brought her a dried persimmon, held it out for her to take. She'd grabbed it from his bony hand, light blue eyes widening in delight.
"Ne, Gin, where's yours?"
"Couldn't find more than one."
So she'd taken one bite, then handed him the rest. After he'd finished, his smile grew a bit wider, a bit more sincere. His eyes had flickered open for one rare moment, their ruby red depths twinkling.
"Ya know what this is called, right?" he asked, motioning between the two of them.
Rangiku had tilted her head in confusion.
"An indirect kiss," Gin had snickered.
Rangiku had sputtered indignantly and blushed, to the tips of her ears.
Rangiku jolts out of the memory as the door to her office clangs open. Her captain is there, scowling as always. "Matsumoto, what are you doing!" He asks, but stops as she turns to face him.
Her emotions are clearly planted there, in the drop of her shoulders, the crease between her eyebrows, the glazed look in her eyes. Toshiro backs off quickly. This is how their relationship has always been- unspoken understanding.
"I'll come back later. The paperwork better be done." He says, a trace of sympathy in his young features.
She nods, and leans against the window, watching the way her breath fogs the glass. She wants Gin. She wants him to hold her in his arms, run his thin lips across her neck, run his surprisingly warm hands over her arms. She wants him to thread his long fingers in her hair, press his lips to her head, tell her, with no words, that he loved her.
She misses him.
She always does.
And she still she has things to say to him, unspoken words. So many things left unsaid.
Her feelings for him run deep, like a river, and thick like blood, and yet she knows she must be strong while he is gone. Because this time he won't come back, and even if he does, she needs to have the strength to fight against him.
She wishes he would come back to her side and whisper her name in her ear the way he always did, and she wishes he would open his eyes, one more time, for her again.
She wishes because she misses him, and she loves him.
But wishes are pointless, and she knows her wishes will not come true.
The tears threaten to spill over now, and she knows they will not do her any good.
Still, she lets them fall, because there is no one there to see her moment of weakness.
Rangiku Matsumoto stands up straight and shoulders her burden, wiping the tears from her eyes, and pushing her hair over her shoulders. She takes a deep breath and wills Gin Ichimaru to leave her thoughts.
She paints a smile on her face and reaches into the pocket of her shinigami robes, the pads of her fingers brushing against a dried persimmon, hidden beneath the folds of her clothing. She closes her eyes, and reopens them. She'll be strong.
She's always done that.
Gin slowly opens his eyes when he sees that no one else is in the room with him. He can see the white sands of Hueco Mundo from outside of his small window. The smile never leaves his face. It's a precaution.
He wonders if she thinks of him sometimes. He is a cold hearted, stony traitor, a masked snake.
But he still loves her.
He's always done that.
-End-
Hi guys... angsty mood today.. Sorry, I know this sucks.. I'm half asleep and slightly depressed at the moment.
