A rustle of leaves, a slight breeze. A still silence. Memories, like living things, twine among the branches of an old sakura tree. A tree which had lived many years; a tree which had seen many things; sorrowful, joyful, bitter, painful. Nature's memories never fade. On that winter night, once particularly young memory stole its way into the old tree's thoughts. A sweet story of the beauty of love.
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Kurosaki Ichigo closed his eyes. Who was this who haunted his mind and entered his dreams? Who was the young, serious, snowy-haired boy with the piercing sea-green eyes?
It had only been a fleeting glimpse that night as he passed the boy who had been standing alone in the moonlight, face upturned toward the moon, as if admiring the beauty of Luna. The pale moonlight illuminated his sharp features and gave his lightly tanned skin a slight glow, as if the boy himself had been lightly brushed with the iridescent moonshine he stood in.
As the boy turned he averted his gaze, but the memory of that moment had already imprinted itself clearly and indelibly in his mind, the mind's firebrand of memory. He would not, and could not forget his first glimpse of Hitsugaya Toushirou.
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The light of the moon on his face, the soft, soothing breeze… Quiet, calming solitude. Yet the memory of these brought him a strange, mystified feeling. Hitsugaya Toushirou sighed inaudibly. That night's incident replayed itself in his mind.
He'd been standing in the light of the full moon, enjoying the cool night air and abundance of moonlight when he felt the gaze of a passing someone. Turning, he caught the tall, orange-haired youth turning and walking swiftly away. Yet in that brief moment, as the youth turned, Toushirou's quick eye caught his stance for that split second: the dark beauty the shadows threw on his strong features, how the moonlight cast about him a sense of mystery.
"Who might he be?"
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In the soft rays of the early dawn, Ichigo made his way back to where he'd seen the boy that night. A nagging feeling told him that there was someone to meet. Strangely enough, it was the same boy. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw him.
"Who are you?"
The boy spun around, pivoting on his heel. It was a quick, graceful movement.
"Hitsugaya Toushirou," was his calm reply. "I believe I've seen you before."
So it was true. It wasn't the far off memory of a strange dream.
Toushirou looked at him questioningly. "And you are…?"
"Kurosaki Ichigo."
"Well, hi."
What?
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In this same place they met each day, a strong, unbreaking bond growing between them; to bind their hearts, to warm their friendship into love.
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That day, the wind was bitter and snow blanketed the ground in a beautiful, silver-tinged carpet of cold, piercing white. The wind no longer howled, but whispered softly and tenderly in the leaves, sending the petals of a sakura tree (A/N: to add: a sakura tree blooming in winter) fluttering down with the light snowflakes. The moon hung low and bright in the star-sprinkled midnight sky, a large pearl nestled in black, diamond-studded silk.
Toushirou stood in the snow, feeling the cold breeze on his face and hair, and the crisp snow under the soles of his shoes.
Ichigo ran up.
"Am I late—"
And he stopped short, staring at the picture-perfect scene laid out before him.
The boy standing ankle deep in snow, his longish howlite-white hair blowing in the wind. He looked over his shoulder at this 'intruder', and his sea-green eyes shone with life, living emeralds set in the silver of his face.
"Yeah, you are. But that's fine." Toushirou's voice was soft.
They stood side by side in silence for awhile. Ichigo found that despite the dramatic landscape his eyes could not help straying to Toushirou to rest on him. There was something about the boy and the dreamy surroundings that blended captivatingly well together. He gave up resisting and allowed his gaze to lie upon the boy's slight figure. Toushirou perceived his gaze and turned, advancing unhurriedly toward him. His deep turquoise eyes looked straight into Ichigo's, and the seemingly probing depth of the glance made the older boy look away. Yet he stepped closer still, drawing Toushirou to himself.
"What is it?" he asked softly, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder and looking, for the first time, directly into the fathomless depths of the teal-coloured sea of his eyes, trying not to lose his balance and fall in.
Toushirou said nothing, only the pressure of his small stature and the upward glance of his eyes spoke. Ichigo admired the blithe, graceful way in which he moved, relished the tender touch of his body's warm, resisting frame. He looked down and into his eyes, once more. Then he was falling, falling headlong into the depths of those eyes, as the remaining space between their lips closed.
And he knew that all he had ever wanted was there in his arms that windswept, frost dusted night.
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All this the old tree remembered, and treasured, for a love fully given is one of life's rarest treasures.