Thank you for reviewing to my last chapter! Love you guys!
To-
forever122: Thanks a lot for your review! I am happy to know you like the combination!
Eto117: Hehe, thanks for the review! Actually, in the beginning, I wanted to make this into a one-shot, but later changed my mind! :)And, don't worry about the review! It was really eloquent and it made me very happy!
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Kaien Kimura: Yup, I'm continuing! This chapter is the proof! :)
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She pressed the blade against his throat, this time with more, unnecessary, force; he could feel the pain and hear the sickening hiss of burning flesh. Her face was inches apart from his, her hand pressed firmly beside his shoulder, on the bark of the tree, her left leg pressed tightly against his right one, preventing any means of escape.
Devoid of any answer, she pressed the sword further, and he could vaguely see the black swirls turning orange, as if responding to her rage, "Who are you?" she hissed, her obsidian eyes angry.
He did not answer, suddenly realizing their proximity.
It wasn't the correct thing to notice at a time like this when such a violent person like her had him practically straddled, with her face so damn close. This wasn't good. He wondered whether the bad part was the fact that she actually fancied that he was peeking at her of all things, or whether it was because her face was inches apart from his. Or whether it was because her body was tightly pressed against his, not intentionally, he knew, but still.
He kept his face impassive, feeling his yukata getting wet courtesy of the water dripping from her hair. He thanked God that his haori was securely hanging via a hook hanger—he preferred the white piece of material to be as dry as possible.
Her leg shifted forward, and her body pressed itself against his. He was pretty sure why—by now, people usually tried to escape, while in his case he wasn't(busy trying to not be distracted), which usually meant that the captured was going to break free by using some other means, a dirty one, some would say. There was one question which was still bugging him.
How did she see me?
Maybe it was his expression that was a dead giveaway, or maybe it was because this was what a normal person always thought when stuck in a situation, he mused, when she answered, narrowing her eyes, "I sensed your reiatsu, in case you are wondering. Now, who the hell are you and what do you want?"
He mentally slapped himself. Of all the ways she could have realized that he was hiding behind a tree, did it have to be in this elementary method? He was losing his touch. The thought disturbed him.
Devoid of another answer, she gritted her teeth in frustration, "I have got no idea who you are, but if you were trying to stare at me while I was taking a dip, I'm going to kill you." She brought the other hand's finger near the pressure point below the base of his ear—to make him unconscious; he was aware of the different pressure points in a human body.
He still did not answer, but, despite the current predicament, he couldn't help but smile, appreciating her violent and blunt nature. He did not understand why, and somehow he really did not care whether or not the answer came to him or not.
His teal eyes looked into hers again, this time with mere amusement. Her eyes widened.
It didn't take him long to realize that the widening of her eyes was due to the fact that she hadjust realized who he was.
Shit. Shit, because he knew he was in a pickle. A particularly nasty, rotting, jar of pickle.
Her dark eyes travelled upwards, stared incredulously at the shock of white hair, then back at his eyes.
"Wha…" Instinctively, her form slackened, and she let her defense slip, startled, her mouth parting silently.
The little mistake on her side was all it took for him to escape.
Milliseconds later, Karin found herself staring at the tree bark. She turned around, her eyes still incredulous and skeptical. She knew who he was, Toshiro was sure. She knew who he was, because they had met, they had freaking met.
Her voice had been quite and soft, not too soft, startled, but he had heard it.
"Hitsugaya."
No 'Taicho'. She did not know his rank. He thanked God. He again thanked God that he wasn't wearing his haori—that would have been a dead giveaway. He did not want to ruin his reputation. Not over such a measly thing. He craned his neck, glanced briefly at her, clad in nothing but a towel, Zanpakto in hand, hair dripping with water and clinging to her neck.
Shit.
He ran, his cheeks brightening up. She had been close to his body, wearing nothing but a thin material to keep her body away from his. Of course, he, too, was wearing something, but, the thought slipped his mind. He felt queasy, not in a weird way, just… wary. Not in a serious manner, either.
It confused him even more.
He let the thought slide from his mind, staring, instead, forward. The lights of the Fifth Squad's Quarters were on, much to his pleasure. It was unlike him to like something bright, but somehow, he really didn't find himself minding.
What was the time?
He looked up, distractedly, at the walls, in hope of seeing a happily-ticking-away-clock. He saw nothing, just the blank white walls. He shut his eyes, and sighed.
He did not want their meeting to be like this. Don't get him wrong—he never really thought of talking to her, though sometimes the fleeting contemplation did pass his mind. It was nothing serious; he found enough satisfaction by just observing her, hiding in the dark like some sort of a stealth animal, prowling. He liked staring at her playing away, blissfully oblivious his presence; the presence of a person who found her amazing, like a different, magical, creature.
Jigoku no ryū.
Hell's Dragon.
He was aware that he wouldn't be able to see her anymore—not after what had just passed between them. It hurt for some unknown reason; or, maybe, this was how Yachiru reacted when the pink ball of energy was devoid of sweets. It made sense in a way; not a particularly nice way, but that was the only simile he found. Or was it a metaphor?
No, not sweets. Comparing her with sweets was an understatement.
But, then again, why did he care?
He paused, and his fast running legs came to an abrupt halt. It wasn't a forced halt, per se, just a sudden realization.
Why did he care, really? She wasn't related to him. In fact, she wasn't even his friend or a comrade for that matter. She just… existed. She was present. Nothing less nothing more.
His legs moved forward, slowly, reluctantly, not really sure what to do. It was unlike him to be confused of all things, especially when he was referring to his own feelings. He was always aware of what he felt or thought, despite how fleeting it might be.
He let the thought slide again, easing it fluidly out of his mind, not bothering to crush such a stupid thought. He knew that he was simply distracting himself uselessly, and worrying himself for no reason. But, it was like him to get worried, despite how calm many claimed he was.
He did not sigh, but simply shrugged nonchalantly, preferring to walk forward, back to the comfort of his office.
He did exactly that; but, sometimes, he would find himself twisting backwards, waiting for a shock of raven hair.
But, then again, why did hecare?
.
.
"Shiro-chan, did you meet Karin-chan recently?"
Toshiro stiffened minutely, an action done so quickly, that even Momo did not seem to notice it. The red meat, wedged between a pair of chopsticks, was about to enter his mouth came to a forced halt, before returning back to its previous task—getting chewed by the white haired Captain.
"No." he answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He let his brows wrinkle in what he termed as annoyance, his forehead coated with nervous beads of sweat for some absurd reason. His partially closed teal eyes glanced briefly at his chocolate haired sister, before returning back to the bowl.
They were in a restaurant, a nostalgic one, too.
Kanimori, the name was.
When he had just joined the Academy, he and Momo used visit Kanimori quite often. Over the years, with both growing up, and after Granny's abrupt and tragic death, their visits to the wooden restaurant had decreased a lot.
They did try to go, whenever possible.
Momo's eyes narrowed in suspicion, Toshiro's behavior not satisfying her. She shrugged, reprimanding herself, that, perhaps, she was getting paranoid.
"Oh." She said, biting onto the onigiri, "She was looking for you."
Toshiro's form visibly stiffened, and Momo noticed it. Later, she termed it as her 'imagination'—her brother had no reason to lie to her.
"Oh?" Toshiro asked, nervousness present in his voice. He tried to gulp down the nervousness, reminding himself that he had no reason to be nervous. Sure, he had practically seen her naked, but that didn't really matter, "What did she say?"
"I don't quite remember." Momo answered, tilting her head to one side, thoughtful. She brought a finger near her chin, and Toshiro's eyes travelled to the food stuck to right side of her lip. Toshiro pointed toward the area beside his lip, informing Momo. Momo looked quizzically at him, realized his message and rubbed the grain off her face.
"Something about, 'your bastard of a brother was staring at me'."
Toshiro's form stiffened again, and this time Momo knew that she was not imagining it. Her eyes did not brighten, but she looked monotonously at him, "Shiro-chan, what did you do?"
The Tenth Squad's Captain looked at Hinamori, trying to mask an indifferent look, "Nothing." He said, his voice final, leaving no room for an argument.
Maybe it was because of the sternness in his voice, or maybe the nonchalance, but, whatever the reason, Momo believed his words the next moment.
.
.
That day, Toshiro swore to himself that he would never pass by the Eleventh Division.
Ever.
.
.
Toshiro knew for a fact that he was overreacting. He knew that not seeing Karin anymore meant that he was giving up—or that he was simply embarrassed. Three-fifths of his mind believed in the latter, while the rest forced itself to believe in the former.
He sighed and sat down, tired, resting his elbows on the table.
Matsumoto poked her head out of the magazine she was reading to look at the disconcerted Tenth Squad's Captain. His eyes gave a reminiscing look, something which made her anxious about his mental state, but she tried not being bothered by it, knowing that whatever the reason for her Captain's look was something which was bugging him a lot.
"Taicho," she ventured, stressing, whiningly, "is everything alright?"
Broken from his reverie, Toshiro started, before calming down. What was up with people and knowing his emotions?
It was disturbing because he was a man who preferred keeping things to himself.
He looked at Matsumoto, as if he had just noticed her. Which, in his case, was true. Her light blue eyes were looking at him, concerned, like a mother did when looking at her sick child. Toshiro paused.
'Mother? Why am I comparing everyone?'
"Toaicho?" Matsumoto ventured again, a slight frown taking up her gregarious features. She flicked a strand of strawberry blonde hair dangling in front of her face, and flipped a glossy page of the magazine, "You alright?"
"Ah." He replied, and Matsumoto knew, from that single syllable, that Toshiro had replied as a positive.
That, however, even she could say, was not the case. Toshiro, for her, was like a child figure—and, with a soft click of her fingers, she could tell what the snow haired captain was thinking.
Toshiro wasn't in a good mood; he had been seeing a lot of Karin recently. With Momo. When he had asked Hinamori why Karin was sticking to her, she had looked quizzically at him, as if to say, You noticed it now?
Okay, maybe he hadn't been that attentive in the past two and a half month, what with Karin occupying his mind every fraction of a second. He used to, previously, before meeting Karin face-to-face in that embarrassing manner. Before, he would simple wave at Hinamori, hastily, before excusing himself with a furtive, Ja.
He would find himself in a reverie; too excited to meet her, see her there, performing the unknown custom. It had been a routine for him, and currently it hurt a lot, in a weird, soft sort of way, to see her there and knowing that he wouldn't be able to see her.
He groaned in frustration, and dropped his face on his palm.
"Are you sure?" Matsumoto asked again, placing the magazine on the coffee table, and leaning forward worriedly.
"Hai." He replied, mechanically.
There was an abruptness in his voice, making Matsumoto suspicious. Her light blue eyes slid into worried slits, and she looked at him, slightly bemused. It was mainly a wild conjecture on her part, but she piped, her voice unusually curious, "Is it a girl?"
"No." Toshiro all but snapped; Matsumoto had expected him to blush. She looked contemplatively at him, her mind wheeling with possibilities and fantasies. Toshiro's abrupt disappearances, during the nights, had left her bewildered. And then, suddenly, instead of going wherever it was that he went, he was here. He, on the other hand, thought, she was sure, that she hadn't noticed his disappearances.
Matsumoto rolled her eyes in incredulity.
What was he, ten?
"Are you sure?"
"Hn."
Now Matsumoto was more worried—for reasons she wasn't sure of, but her women's intuition deemed her to be worried.
"Okay." She replied, apprehensively.
On Toshiro's side, he busied himself by being bemused; how did Rangiku know that it was a girl? Granted, it was not the way she thought the whole ordeal was, but still.
"You are not in love, are you?"
Toshiro facepalmed.
.
.
It was after the incident with Karin and him that, every night, he would find himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to go to sleep.
.
.
After three days of not sleeping, staring dully out of the window, and resisting the urge to go out and see her again, Toshiro Hitsugaya found himself in the middle of a crowd, waiting idly for Hinamori and staring distractedly at a raven head. Her back was turned against his, and she was a few metres away from him, talking amiably to a guy.
His whole form paused, as if waiting for sudden cramps to occur.
It was her. No doubt about it. He had seen her back, her hair, her eyes, her face, her, thousands of time to know that the person in front was Karin.
'No.' he tried to assure himself, 'It's not her. I am imagining things.'
If he were imagining things, a part of him spoke up, why was he staring at her?
He felt apprehension settle at the pit of his stomach. He was being paranoid. He was overreacting. He was not acting like himself.
He hated that.
He ordered his eyes to close, tried to force his eyelids to cover his pupil, telling them that the person in front wasn't Karin. At that moment he completely forgot that telling his eyes stuff wasn't going to help him in anyway; telling his brain, on the other hand, would.
He crossed his arms, adjusted his haori, his eyes lingering on her back, intending to walk. Towards her, or away from her, he wasn't really sure because his mind still hadn't comprehended the seemingly menial task. He took in a deep breath.
He walked forward.
His gaze was still on her.
He moved in with the crowd, a few anxious students giving him glances, ushering the others, bowing at his direction, the girls turning a pretty pink. It was all the same; he was used to it. He didn't regard their stares, just looked forward, at her.
It was as if his eyes could send darts made up of ice; she shuddered and turned around, her brow wrinkled in worry.
In the eyes of the students, the Captain of the Tenth Division had just disappeared, leaving nothing in his wake.
Whereas, in reality, he had actually dove into a nearby bush.
.
.
He didn't know when he had blacked out, but when he woke up, he found himself staring at the blue sky. He felt dazed, and he blinked, once, twice, to get rid of the sleep. He figured that he was tired, or maybe he wasn't, he didn't know. He blearily shifted his body and got up, using his hands to support his body.
His legs were stuffed into a bush.
He stared at the green leaves, for what felt like an eternity, not really sure what to do.
'Huh.'
His mind was unusually blank, the effects of slumber still present.
"Taicho?"
He craned his neck, to stare at the owner of the voice, her bright blue eyes staring at him with worry, concern and surprise. He wasn't really sure how the hell she had actually found him here of all places, with his legs stuffed into a bush, and he tried to ignore the nagging question, fearing her laugh and the well-meant humiliation.
"Matsumoto." He greeted.
"Taicho, what are you doing here?"
Toshiro regarded the question. What should he say? That he was scared of seeing a girl, which was why he was busy hiding? No, ho preferred being dead than admitting that.
"I was searching for a cat," he replied nonchalantly. He got up, staggering a bit. Brushing the leaves and twigs from his uniform, and then adjusting the scarf, he looked at the strawberry haired woman.
"A cat?" she inquired. The tone in her voice was that of mock belief—not that he blamed her. His excuse was overly lame.
"Yes."
"Ah." She said and turned around, bobbing her head, as if accepting the excuse. Toshiro blinked in surprise.
'That's it?'
"Taicho? Are you coming?"
Broken from his confusion, he nodded his head, and stepped beside her.
Silence followed.
"So…" Rangiku said conversationally, "Who's the girl?"
"Matsumoto!" he growled.
.
.
The buzz of the restaurant was, as usual, present. People laughed and smiled with joy and mirth, ordering Sake, food and more food. Their laughs echoed like bubbles, the giggles of drunken Shinigamis, women and men, waving noisily like the harsh waves of the sea.
Shindei, at night, was an annoying place to eat at. Not that Toshiro hated the place in general—it wasn't too garrulous —but, the restaurant became too noisy for his liking. He had to pretend to be an extrovert, meeting with people, having girls fawn over him, having Matsumoto drag him to this Godforsaken place; the whole ordeal tired him.
"Taicho!" Matsumoto slurred, holding him by his hand and pulling him towards her. Toshiro tried to ignore how her breasts pressed itself against his head, staring forward, instead, with a tick on his right temple.
"What?" he asked, distractedly, his eyes shifting, waiting for Hinamori to appear. If there was one person he could tolerate whilst said person being drunk, it was definitely Hinamori. Sure, Hinamori usually became overly rude due to the effects of alcohol, dancing about like crazy (joined by Matsumoto), but Toshiro could still handle her.
"You are so cute!" she declared, gulping onto a bottle of sake and giggling madly.
"Ah." He replied, her simple sentence hurting his man pride.
His fukutaicho wouldn't have, he mused, lived to see another day if she ever were to call him 'cute', when being somber.
In front of him, sitting, were Renji and Hisagi, Matsumoto's usual drinking buddies. Hisagi had passed out fifteen minutes ago, courtesy of a drinking competition he had been subjected to, competing Matsumoto. Renji, on the other hand, was grinning like a half witted idiot, teeth gleaming, as he busied himself by saying crap Toshiro did not bother listening to.
Toshiro kept his gaze fixed on the door, urging, with his eyes, for the door to open, waiting for a brunette to appear.
And appear, she did.
With Karin.
His mind went off like a switch, and he stared at the raven haired, his mouth wide. Shit. He planned on escaping, but chucked the idea out immediately; Matsumoto's grip on him was rather tight. He shrunk uncharacteristically, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible.
"Hinamori-kun!"
"Rangiku-san!"
Shit.
Fate was a bitch.
He heard meek footsteps approaching their table, accompanied by more daring shuffles.
"Who might she be?"
An inquiring silence, followed by movements.
"I'm Karin." he heard her distinct voice, "Nice to meet you."
"Matsumoto Rangiku." His fukutaicho slurred happily.
"I didn't tell you about her?" Hinamori.
"No." Rangiku.
"Seriously?! She defeated all the members—"
"Momo!"
"Ah. Gomen, gomen."
Toshiro heard the whole conversation with an attentive ear, shrinking further, hoping to blend with the background of the restaurant. That didn't happen, however.
He could feel her gaze on him, the unwavering look that he had come to admire. He didn't raise his head to meet her face, too apprehensive to do such. Briefly, he thanked God again that he wasn't wearing his haori—a public place like this, where ranks were of no importance, didn't seem it worthy for such a formal attire, anyway.
"Ah, Karin!" Hinamori said cheerfully, taking a seat beside Renji, who greeted her by grinning amiably at her direction, "You wanted to talk to Toshiro, right?" he could feel her gesturing towards his direction.
He cursed.
It was a confirmed fact—Fate wasn't a bitch. It was a BITCH.
"Oh?" he didn't miss the anger which surfaced in her voice.
He shrunk further, swallowing his pride. Out of all the places they could have met in, did it have to be in a public place? With Matsumoto? With Hinamori? With EVERY Godforsaken person?!
Things happened pretty quickly.
Milliseconds later, he found his face close to female's, whose eyes burned furiously, the grudge she held against him burgeoning. He heard the clattering of a few dishes; her pull was really abrupt and belligerent.
His face was unusually calm and stoic, as teal eyes stared at black ones, his heart rate rising (because of the current situation or because of their proximity, he wasn't really sure).
He heard audible gasps erupting from the people present, and whispers broke out, their hushes similar to that when in a church.
"What do you want?" even to him, his voice was as calm as a sleeping animal, and reflexively, a smirk broke his lips.
His unconscious smirk seemed to anger her further, and she seethed, her teeth clenched in annoyance:
"You. Me. Fight. Now."
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