Title: Slices of the Moon
Rating: MPAA: PG/PG-13, Fiction Rating: T
Pairing/Character/s: Renji, various referenced.
Warning/s: Not many, actually. Spoilers for the Soul Society Arc and current chapters, vaguely.
Word Count: 592
Summary: Renji ponders his sanity.
Author's Note: Why am I always comparing Byakuya to the moon? I just can't help it. Every time you see a moon in my story, just replace the word with "Byakuya". >>; Anyway, I was inspired by the ByaRen LJ community's achievement of 200 members and somehow that relates to be writing this, well, interlude of sorts...

Slices of the Moon
"There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls."
- George Carlin

Renji wondered if he was masochistic, lonely, or just plain weird.

He'd run the thought through his head a few times already, but hadn't come to any sort of conclusion. It occurred to him to ask someone else, but he was fairly certain he neither wanted to discuss it, nor expected any manner of honesty. That is to say, Rukia would call him a fool and gush sarcastically about why he was lonely, Ikkaku would just look at him like he really was as fucked up as he expected Ichigo would answer and Yumichika would make an even more disturbing statement than his current thoughts and make him wish he'd never asked in the first place. Forget Matsumoto and Hitsugaya Taichou, he couldn't even think of asking them to begin with.

Moonlight glinted off his arm, and he looked down at it, scrutinizing the lines of his tattoos. Nothing looked different. It was as if he'd never been attacked in the first place. No scars left over from the numerous gashes that caused his blood to rush out distractingly when he'd needed so very badly for it to stay in. No marks whatsoever that would indicate he'd ever been in any sort of fight, let alone died. He smirked at the irony in that thought and glanced up again, watching the large white moon overhead. It didn't really matter where he was at the moment; to him one part of town was the same as any other. A roguish grin spread across his face as he closed his eyes and basked in the moonlight.

There had been one particularly bad gash on his left arm just below the shoulder. It probably hurt like hell, but he hadn't been able to notice at the time. Between the adrenaline rush and the constant changes in the battle, he'd been lucky to realize he'd been hit. He supposed that was one of his downfalls: not paying enough attention. He'd been told as much, at least. He disagreed, of course, because he did pay attention… just only to the important stuff. So what if he got hit in battle? It was a fight: that was supposed to happen. Why pay attention to things like that when they were gone at the end of the day, anyway?

Of course, that was the problem, wasn't it? Paying too much attention to a detail like that… he was surprised he'd even remembered in the first place. Following that, he'd been surprised by his own thoughts on the subject, which really wasn't supposed to happen. How do you surprise yourself, anyway? Renji shook his head lightly and barked a laugh, opening his eyes to the dark sky once more. Maybe he was a little lonely, he grudgingly admitted to himself. He had a right to be, didn't he? …Maybe a little masochistic too. Who from eleventh wasn't? In some way, anyway. Not that it really mattered. Chuckling again, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his pants and, instead of once again wondering at the fashion in the living world, resolved to return to his walk, dropping his gaze back to the dark street.

Maybe he was a little lonely to be remembering all the little cuts, painful slices and large gashes. Maybe he was a little masochistic to be proud of it all. And maybe he was a little strange… but whatever the reason, he found some measure of comfort knowing that he'd yet to find someone who could slice him up as thoroughly as his own captain.