I don't own Bleach.
A/N: scribbles! W00t!
Word count: 322
Spoilers: episode 63
Roommate
I'm not used to sharing a room.
Ever since I was born, I was either an only child or an only son, under both titles entitled to my own room, my own kingdom and territory.
I could always make as much of a mess as I wanted, never having to care about anything other than how much my mother would have to clean up after.
Due to that, I never was a messy child, but I had the relative freedom roommates lacked.
Maybe that was why, actually; it's not fun when they let you.
By the time I had my first roommate, I was already fifteen.
She just appeared in my bedroom closet just as suddenly as she did in my life, not taking 'no' for an answer, even though now that I think about it, she never asked for permission.
That doesn't mean I ever told her to go.
Before I knew it, I was used to sneaking her meals up from downstairs.
Used to knocking before I entered my own bedroom, or before opening my closet door.
Used to minding my own personal space and respect hers.
I was so used to her in both my room and my life that when I came back without her, I didn't need Kon to remind me I left her behind.
I had her shape still embedded on the blankets in my closet, my sisters' clothing she wore recently and were yet to be washed, but above all else I was driven mad by her scent which seemed to cling to my sheets and my closet and my desk and the very walls, reminding me of the person who made me no longer fond of being alone.
The very same scent which clings to my pillow reassures me I'll see her again.
I know that with every fiber of my being;
I'm just sick and tired of how empty this room will feel until then.