Disclaimer:
I do not own Bleach. Bleach is by Kubo Tite.
A/N:
It took me forever, but perhaps this is the best time anyway – September. Gin and Ran's birth month.
~0~0~0~
The Last Spring:
Breaths
I miss those blue eyes, how you kissed me at night
I miss the way we sleep
Like there's no sunrise, like the taste of your smile
I miss the way we breathe
But I never told you what I should have said
No I never told you, I just held it in
And now I miss everything about you
I can't believe I still want you
After all the things we've been through
I miss everything about you
...
Without you
(I Never Told You, Colbie Caillat)
He paused a breath to ponder on it.
Indeed, this must be the longest moment of his life and it is lingering still in its sluggish pace. He could soak up in every freaking second because it seems to take so long to pass.
Her sobs were amplified in his limited hearing range, competing with the wild but faint beat of his heart. The sound of it pierced him even sharper than the katana that left his body in this failing state. He felt the familiar warmth of her touch as she cradled his bloodied body.
He wished to hear her voice. But she stopped calling his name.
She's just, crying.
Crying the way Gin never heard her do. Well, he never really heard Rangiku cry before. At least never that she cried so openly before him, before.
It must be true, what they say - that in the last moment of your life your entire life would flashback in your eyes, as if relieving the journey. A befitting way to end.
Or is it?
He figured it isn't the best time to ponder on that.
Her breaths reminded him. Fall. It is always fall wasn't it.
Always fall.
They met one afternoon of fall, Rangiku on the ground, barely breathing from starvation. Now, they'll part ways, eternally, Gin on the ground, barely breathing from trying to get back what was taken from her.
Then again, he liked fall. He came to existence some 10th of September he was told, around mid-autumn. He was past the time he wished he never came to exist. After all, he came to meet Ran, didn't he? He met Rangiku around past mid-autumn, 29th of September, and they decided that'll be her birth date. That's another nice thing in fall. Then, persimmons come in season at the on-set of autumn too. All the good things in autumn.
Then it must be in accordance that he dies in winter because in winter, all the good things in autumn ends.
He drew uneven breaths as she held him tighter and he could imagine her face, her eyes, her tears. Though, yet again, he never saw Rangiku cry before, cry before him.
He didn't like Rangiku crying. He liked the way Rangiku smiled, not really laugh. Laugh was easy but it was rare Rangiku smiles. She smiled when he comes home with dried persimmons. She said she liked it because it saved her once. He had been indulging himself to thinking that she meant the day he found her that day and gave her the dried persimmons he had that time. Persimmons and dried persimmons are different, she once said. Perhaps it is life's pun about them. Persimmons are full, bright and life against the naked branch of persimmon trees in autumn but it is when they aren't very much appreciated. Dried persimmons, however, are expensive and much wanted, better.
His head was becoming full of faded memories of younger days, carefree nights, when they worried most of having their persimmons. He almost smiled but the effort he needed to draw out his breaths held the smile back. He thought of another time Rangiku smiled. Ah, when he called her Ran-chan. She said the nickname ignored the origin of her name – kiku, rangiku, and she liked it because no one called her that before.
He wanted to lift his hand and run his fingers in her sun-kissed hair but he was too weak.
He remembered when he gave her an orange chrysanthemum, autumn's flower, because it is similar to the colour of her hair, and a white one because it is similar to her spirit. She smiled then and, to him he thinks, she almost cried. She never said why.
That night he first donned a shinigami uniform - it was the first time Rangiku asked something aloud and it was the first time he answered directly.
"That was winter again, wasn't it?" he thought - that night they ceased being kids. He began walking with a purpose that isn't entirely about him and she stopped smiling for herself.
And he walked a different path, away from her but lived because of her, for her. Sometimes, he'd like to think he was wrong for pursuing the road that led him away from her, even if it was for her. Even if it was for her, because she never knew it was for her. At least he never told her. Or he did but they were too young then to remember it now. Now, decades later, silence was a safer shadow and words are dangerous that they no longer had the courage to wield.
But he was glad he said sorry.
It was enough. Because Rangiku does not need to hear that he loved her but she must know he was sorry. He was. He is. For love is an easy word but sorry isn't. All the courage he managed to slowly build, piece by piece, in his soul, all those times he was taking his small steps away from her, was for him to tell her that – he was sorry.
He is about to go anyway, perhaps, the gods will forgive him for being a downright coward this time. He heaved a heavy breath and called out. "Ran-chan," he said, though his voice was silent, as he drew another set of ragged breaths. He felt his heart clench in pain as he felt her breaths against his ear. "I love you."
He did not see, because he was too weak to open his eyes that Rangiku was crying hard, eyes closed, so she didn't see his mouth and did not hear his most quite whisper.
He felt like laughing for it was indeed so much easier to say than sorry. Sorry was liberating, that was painful, more painful than all the pain he endured in his life.
They, they were fall.
They lived their lives in silence, with resonating stillness that spoke volumes. Like the gold and crimson of autumn they were beautiful as they fell, lovelier if they fall with the wind separating them. That is when they are most beautiful. Like purple and fading auburn of aging leaves, even in the approaching cloak of death, they were magnificent – a picture of eternal loneliness that is painted by the purest shade of love.
He wished as he drew a particularly difficult breath, Rangiku would kiss him one last time.
~0~0~0~
A/N:
Song reference: Colbie Caillat's I Never Told You.
It's bleeding with angst! Sorry, I had to vent it out, that's months and months of frustration. But that'll be the angstiest I have in store for this series.
I originally planned The Last Spring to be chapters of poems but after the first one, I couldn't get myself to write anything that makes sense to me. I was just too bitter to keep going.
This September Feisu-chan and I thought of writing a weekly prompt on GinRan, as a tribute and celebration, and it got me to start writing on them again. This one is for the first week and I personally think this is too painful, so as I said earlier, this will be the angstiest. The next ones will be lighter.
It took me more than half-a-year to face it, but it's time to bid goodbye to them.
Three more.