I don't own Bleach.
Childish Laughter
He breathed in deeply the smell that filled the air. The smell of moisture, and sour sweetness, and freshness, and autumn. How he loved it, whenever that smell filled the air of the world he lived in.
That blue and white, side-turned world. He rarely ever saw another, yet he hardly minded. It suited him perfectly, how even the clouds were going in the wrong direction.
He swiftly jumped from one side-turned building to another, hearing his footsteps echo in the vacant, now silent space. How wide that space was for a single human soul! No, hardly human, he mused; his very existence meant that the one whose soul he lived inside was at the very least partially inhuman.
The sound of water splashing as though cut through the air as he hopped into a puddle. He stared at it in slight transfixition, musing how funny it all seemed as through it he stared through the windows which made his floor.
He noticed it lately, more and more. The faces; the scenes; the memories packed into every room, every apartment. Happy memories; sad memories; memories that had their curtains pulled in front of them.
How he loved those; he could feel it – the feeling in the air around them, the smell of fear, regret and agony. He knew – those were the memories that gathered together to create him, form him, make him the heartless being he was.
How he longed to see past those curtains; see the boy's innermost fears and darkest secrets. It was more than just past traumas, too. The curtains were shed over all he was ashamed of – forbidden desires; treacherous little betrayals towards those who were closest to him; small moments of letting himself act his age – for all the possible different meanings that had. Oh, how he loved how those smelled! Self-inflicted humiliation had to have been his favorite, after all.
But at the end, he wasn't truly alone, he reckoned as he landed next to another curtain-covered memory. No, there was one other resident in his lonesome world.
The man cloaked in black turned to look at him as one would at a naughty child, though with quite a bit of his usual indifference. His coat rustled around him as the wind blew past them, carrying with it a chill which made the white and black boy grin almost painfully innocently and with extreme happiness.
"It's coming again" he said, voice practically dripping with glee. The man said nothing as he turned to look at the rapidly darkening sky. The man hated it, the boy knew, and he understood why better than anyone; for all the same reasons, however, he loved it ever so much.
Though the clouds blew by vertically, it hadn't affected the direction in which the small water drops fell on them. Few and gentle at first, it rapidly escalated into a storm as the heart of the king of their world fell into chaos around them. The man bowed his head in silent grief, yet the boy had other intentions. Throwing his head backwards, he opened his mouth in a face-splitting grin, tasting a few drops before letting his voice out.
He laughed. Oh, he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed. So much he had to hold his stomach as he kept laughing so much. He'd have dropped to the floor had it not been wet, he initially thought, yet realizing he was already soaked, he allowed himself to fall, first to his knees as the tears slid down his cheeks. It was almost too much! "Fall, fall! Ah ha ha ha!" He laughed as he rolled on his back, laughing as he watched the dark sky above.
Fall, fall, the rain wouldn't stop falling, and him losing his voice was the only reason why he had stopped laughing.
Yes, fall, more and more until the whole world was flooded, he thought, until all the memories drowned in their little apartments, until the curtains were washed away with the currents.
Fall until no one could notice any more tears.
He loved it. Oh, how he loved it!
That scent of moisture, and sour sweetness and freshness and autumn.
Like her; like the one woman most important to the king of his world.
Like the woman who died and made the rain fall.
How he loved her…
Therefore, he loved the rain.
More than anything, even more than the pain of what was left of his human side.