living corpse Chapter 4: label it love, a bleach fanfic

Click. Click. Click.

It starts slow, short and stunted, soft against her ears. It's a clipped tune that slowly binds her to her surroundings; focusing her disorientated mind into thoughts of the present and something that Karin has accustomed to, since Ichigo refuses to harm girls and Yuzu dares not hurt her.

Slow. Rhythmic. Familiar.

Annoying.

The irritation grows as the noise increases, flowing through her veins and into her mind, and as she blinks, regaining her thoughts and scattering them in the air like feathers being mercilessly trapped by the wind, floating like clouds, before sinking like rain. Eyelashes blink, fluttering rapidly as control seeps into her cold body as she snaps her fingers once, friction crackling her fingertips.

Click. Click. Cli—

"Stop."

Her hand catches his wrist, squeezing almost painfully, insinuating anger as the sound is silenced. But her face has a wry grin, and it spreads onto Ichigo's face as he speaks.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

Cruel words, stupid words, profound words.

Maybe they're the wrong thing to say; maybe they're the right ones.

But they are out, thrown away into the air, never to be reclaimed. Because time can't be rewound, back to the start, back to where things started to go wrong. Mistakes have to be made, mistakes allow people to learn and grow from the experience. However, it doesn't make it any less embarrassing or humiliating.

He notices his little sister stiffen and relax, the words mocking and familiar to her.

Luckily, Karin knows how to take a joke, and the uneasiness fades from Ichigo's mind.

"Idiot. I never left." Karin scowls, looking away as she catches Yuzu's eyes. Lips curl, ever so slightly, quirked as the old joke murmurs in their ears. "I just…" She shrugs, her expression fading into the blank canvas that she often likes to hide behind.

"Does it really matter?" Yuzu asks, quelling her questions for now, hesitating to find the right time and place. "You're back. We have all the time in the world to ask you anything."

"… yeah." The younger sister says; slow to reply, strangely off kilter. "You're right. We should get out of here while we can."

Ichigo narrows his eyes, deep brown taking in the dazed behaviour, the shaken exterior. "You're not driving."

"Aa, I thought you might say that." A lopsided grin slides onto her face, fleeting and fragile, as his nature is like second-hand clothes, and she wears them with pride, inhaling his familiar scent as she picks and drops them when she feels like it. "But you're not driving either, mister."

"Play nice." Yuzu serenely says, sensing the oncoming storm.

Her siblings smirk, all too aware of past events. Like spiders spinning webs, they twirl and dance, ever so daintily, in mock-teasing, around Yuzu, their pretty little fly dressed in sleek silver silk, swallowed up in currents of love.

"Now, you take good care of my baby, won't you, Yuzu?" Karin strokes her car, patting it tenderly. She doesn't care much for her sister's answer; a simple nod is all she needs for confirmation.

Ichigo rolls his eyes, earning a punch from his younger sister. She would have kicked, much more discrete and to her preference, but alas, Yuzu would have found out either way, pouting in disproval.

So childish.

What is she saying?

She would have laughed either way, ushering them into the car before patting them on the head as a mild punishment.

Looking back, she glances at the passengers in question. "So, where are we going?"

The answer is caught in her throat, standing on the tip of her tongue, daring to be said.

An adventure.

Somewhere. Anywhere.

… just not here.

But reality is a bitter thing and not a comfort for those who adore waltzing in a delusion and whimsical ideas. With difficulty, she chokes the words back, pushed down her throat and kicked out by her feet. Sighing, she closes her eyes, dark blue mirrors delving into memories best left forgotten, best left remembered.

Pressure on her temples; a smile that lazily curls like a cat stretching out, extending and retracting its claws, the answer is clear in her mind.

Blue eyes open and the irises sparkle, adjusting to the simple life that she comes from.

"To the convenience store, we're getting that pocky."

Vices.

Wonderful, wonderful things.

When the world crumbles, everything shattering into a chiasmus, vices help grapple the world, like catching a rock as a person slides down a mountain, hoping for a branch – something, anything – to hold on to.

They soften the blow.

And they create a dream world, for those people who cling on to fantasy and impossibilities.

Drugs. Booze. Cigarettes.

Sex.

Vices. Addictions. Coping mechanisms.

Are they really wonderful when they take away people's sanity?

"You're going to get fat."

"And who, Nii-san, asked for your opinion?"

Boink.

Boink.

"Hey!" The chorused reply makes Yuzu's lips curl as she makes her announcement. Laughter showers the air, refreshing the mood once more.

"Attention all passengers: no distracting the driver with petty arguments."

Karin glares, narrowing her eyes as she waits for the reassurance.

"… and I will look after this car with my very life."

Yuzu hastens to add this, earning a grateful smile. For the moment, Karin is satisfied as she snuggles into the passenger seat.

… she is dismal with the knowledge that Yuzu is still a slow and cautious driver.

It is both a blessing and a curse to realize that she still hasn't changed.

Be that as it may, it doesn't prevent a few snarky comments from being made.

Or a sibling smack fest.

living corpse
4 : label it love

In all honesty, Kuchiki Rukia would like to move on. To find out what happens next, where her journey leads her, to travel the great beyond.

What's life after death if she is stuck in the realm of the living?

She's a ghost, pale as she exhales the breath of death, translucent as her fragile presence wavers from time to time. Dependant on faith, her ever-loyal spirit stays, remaining in Karakura, nothing more than a lucid reflection, tracing faded footsteps as she watches the outcome, unable to meddle.

So she stays, half-curious, half-anxious.

There are people waiting for her, like Hisana and Byakuya, but they are people amongst the dead, fallen leaves that have long since fluttered from the tree.

They can wait a little bit longer.

And so she watches, through a glass, darkly, her beloved boyfriend, noticing his red-rimmed eyes, his dark shadows, that slowly damages himself as he wastes away, trapped in the past and unable to let go, spiralling into self-destruction as he shuts himself down.

She worries. And so, she remains.

To be by his side, just a little bit longer.

He cannot sense her, cannot feel her presence – the ghostly leftover – not the memory, cannot hear her.

And when she sits beside him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her lips to his temple…

… he doesn't know she's there.

It annoys her, at times.

But, she can poke him into oblivion.

At least, until he moves and there isn't a mirror able to reflect her faded footsteps.

Move on.

She can't.

Not before her boyfriend.

Hitsugaya Toushirou has become very well acquainted with the ceiling and all forty-two cracks during the last month.

Sometimes, all he'd do is stare, before blinking himself into unconsciousness, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. And his fingertips would let go, the empty bottle sliding out of his grasp, hitting the floor with an echoing clink! Or perhaps it would smash against other bottles left lying on the floor, abandoned as he disperses, lost in the memories of her.

Except someone else occupies his mind – fucking Kurosaki Karin, the girl who pushes dominoes with a flick of her finger, setting off a chain reaction of trouble and leaves despair in her wake.

So she's grown, so she tried to make a difference, but she's still the same in his tired eyes. Still the girl who chewed and popped bubblegum, inseparable with her soccer ball and her family, their bonds tightly-knit as before, bold and brash and never backing down from her statement. Still the girl who wears those hollow eyes behind that precious sparkle, beneath those finely curled eyelashes, dark with that glisten that never completely evaporates from her face. She's still too thin and too bony, below her well-chosen clothes, hidden as she swishes and sways her hips, trying to own her life. Breaking windows to gain control, shards of glass scrape her skin, she stands in the shadows, her expression indifferent as the wind breathes into her face and aligns her hair with leaves and flowers.

No, that was a girl—

A girl—

A girl who was completely different to the girl who stood her ground before him.

No soccer ball in her arm. No bubblegum in her mouth. No sneakers and sports kit, ever the tomboy.

Instead there was family, clothes that reflected her style and blue eyes that blazed a fiery inferno, bright like a star. Unrestrained, yet completely in control; when she walks, she rules the land that her feet crushes. At least, that's what her fluid body language seemed to imply, when she graced his house with her presence.

Tired, numb and barely maintaining consciousness, when he lets go of the bottle, never hearing the glass bottle smash into a thousand pieces, he dreams of her.

And her face blurs into someone else's.

Somewhere along the way, when the rift started, he's forgotten that lonely girl who used to be a cry-baby.

Or so he claims, never mentioning it to anyone; it's not like it's anybody's business.

There are forty-three cracks in the ceiling.

In the end, there isn't any significance to it. It's a just a reminder that he's falling apart like the house he lives in.

Flashing lights, disco dancers, music screeching in his ears.

Lips are millimetres away from him, mocking a kiss that hasn't been initiated.

Alcohol courses through their bloodstream, and he hears her laughter purring in his ears.

Eyelids flicker open, eyelids flicker shut.

There is no point dwelling on memories he can't completely remember.

It's such a pity that he follows his advice only for certain parts of his life and not the rest.

When he dreams, this time Hitsugaya Toushirou sees nothing, only darkness as black as Kuchiki Rukia's hair.

Her hands, long and slender, pass through his arms, his snow-white hair, his face, seeking contact.

She knows that he cannot feel her, knows that every time she tries to reach for him, her attempt will be in vain, knows that he cannot communicate with her.

But…

I love you, she whispers. I love you, I love you, I love you.

And the tear that slides down her face, trickling onto his cheek-bone is never felt, even as a trail slowly dries like a river left to waste.

"Okay! We've reached the convenience store. Now, aside from pocky sticks, does anybody want anything?" Yuzu drums her fingers on the driver's wheel, glancing at her two pouting passengers, one with a scowl, the other with a glower.

She knows that they're grinning really, laughing at their pettiness. Only, she hopes that their disputes weren't quite so… volatile.

"I need pocky…" Karin moans; her head colliding into Ichigo's shoulder, locks of black falling onto her face and past her ears. "Go, Yuzu, go!"

"Do as our younger sister says," Ichigo intones with a serious face, "lest you want to see the withdrawals take their untimely revenge."

"… mm. Just checking." The middle child grins, her smile prettily worn on her summer face as she nods, hands clasped together. Content, she steps out of the car, stretching as she drinks in the sunlight, spreading across her skin like wildfire. Smoothing out her crumpled dress, she gives them one last piece of advice. "It never hurts to make sure. So, Ichi-nii: make sure she doesn't escape."

"Got it." Ichigo lazily says, slinging his arm around the rebellious sister, his hold firm but gentle. With his other hand, he waves her away, wondering if Yuzu realized that she looks like a bed head, still drifting in the realms of sleep while being completely awake.

"Yes. Go." Karin mumbles, aware that Yuzu can hear her. "The knights in rusty armour needs pocky…"

"Pocky sticks coming right up!" Yuzu affirms, marching into the store, the doorbell musically singing as it closes shut.

Silence.

"… she hasn't realized it yet, has she?"

"Nah. Didn't have the heart to tell her."

"Well, it's fun watching her reaction fizzle and pop like a firework."

"You always did like being a spectator, Karin."

"Well, it's better to have the bigger picture than rush in like an ignorant fool."

"So… how much?"

"Before she realizes? I'd say about… fifty yen that she realizes after she steps out of the store."

"Done."

He can feel her lips curve against his shoulder.

"I love this family."

"And," Ichigo, feeling distinctly awkward, adds. "This family loves you."

"… if you were the old man, you know very well that I would hit you."

"If he says those words, I'm counting on it."

"Cheesiness." Karin snorts. "Gotta love it."

Contact.

It feels alien.

It feels warm.

It feels like she finally belongs somewhere.

But Karin knows that feelings can only last for so long. Like under the influence of alcohol or mood swings and hormones, or when delicious fantasies seem to turn into reality, breaking forth the barrier of truth and lies, the clouded sky and muddy earth.

Emotions are like rain.

They bind the earth and the sky; they tether passion and touch, the wet liquid against dry skin, mimicking sentiments hidden under umbrellas. In the rain, it is impossible to discern whether someone is crying or is merely drenched in it. In that regard, the rain is a liar, like actors, like ripples, like photos, trapped in moments that seem so true on the surface but what the camera hides, what the rainwater covers, there is a masquerade, and all the dancers in the party, veiled by disguises, blur in the background and the true purpose is gone, devoured in dribs and drabs of multicoloured flashes and monotone sparkle.

Rain lasts forever. Rain lasts but a moment.

Rain evaporates into nothingness, extinguished by the transcending changing sun. It washes away what was never there.

All that's left is a rainbow, spilling prisms of multifaceted hues into the violet-red ground.

And one day it runs dry, like the cracks on her pretty porcelain skin, hollow like a china doll.

"You look tired." Ichigo says, tapping his foot against the back of the seat.

"Haven't been sleeping well lately." Karin replies, tone curt and nonchalant.

"Well," The eldest sibling shifts in his seat, "do you want to talk about it?"

"Not until you tell me more." Stretching, the youngest sibling pushes away from him, hands circling as bones click into place, trying to reach the castle made of clouds that floats in a sea of blue, known as the sky. She yawns, locks of black hair tumbling past her shoulders. With her feet, she back-pedals herself to the other side of the car, easily finding her comfort zone before the interrogation begins, cocking her head to the side, dark blue eyes narrowed.

"I knew it." Ichigo grumbles, disgruntled as the calm illusion is shattered; she wants answers and he has to give it to her.

"Care to explain, Captain Strawberry?" She hisses, her voice like honeyed poison, dripping with sugared sweetness and killer intent. "I did exactly want I didn't want to do! I charged in… and acted like a complete idiot."

He shrugs, gazing into the sky. "What can I say; you've been gone a long time."

Urge to kill… rising… rising…

Oh screw it.

Kick him anyway.

"Ow! Geez… fine, fine, what do you want to know?" Ichigo scowls, his trademark feature graciously in place.

"Rukia. Why was she, of all people, in there?" Folding her arms, she quizzically enquires. "I know Rukia. Heck, you know Rukia. So, why exactly was she there in the first place?"

"Well, standard ghost rule: they don't move on if there's something holding them back."

"Pfft. I know that." Karin gives him a pointed glance. "Still: why was she with him, of all people?"

"She was Toushirou's girlfriend." His voice slowly speaks, as he watches her every reaction.

"Ah." Squirming is inevitable.

"They lived together for about six months."

"Go on…"

"She died about a month ago."

"… I'm in deep shit, aren't I?" She closes her eyes, the tips of her fingers pressed gently on her temple, for she could sense a migraine coming. "And he fucking hates me as well."

"I'd say the feeling is mutual."

"What?" Surprise flitters over her face, blue irises widening and Ichigo remembers how young she is. "I… I don't hate him. I… just… don't like him that much." She huffs, feeling her cheeks flush, hot red blossoming like unfurling roses. "Stupid dragon-boy always throws a wrench into my plans. I was gonna apologize as well. But," she grimaces, chest rising up and down, "you know how well that went."

"You get points for trying. It counts for something."

"But still, Rukia…" Her eyes soften, the hard shield crumbling into a million pieces as the emotion builds up in her eyelashes, brimming into glimmering diamonds and pouring down cracked china glass.

Yeah.

I'm in deep shit.

And I…

I gotta get out of here.

She was Rukia. Forever a friend and forever a memory, and in photos she shone with all her bright smiles, her teases and amicable banters with Ichigo, Karin and Yuzu apropos nothing but sheer amusement.

And now all she'll ever be is a recollection, kept within the black box that gathers dust, compiled neatly in bunny doodles and white tombstones.

"Hey, c'mere." Ichigo murmurs in a low voice, brotherly instincts taking control.

And so he takes her into his arms, stroking her hair, waiting for her to calm down as she sizzles in her internal monologue.

If they've got nothing else, they have love.

Dry those tears.

In the end, you're the girl that always says goodbye.

And with a crooked grin and fading embers, you leave everything behind.

"Yuzu's been gone for quite some time."

"She'll come back soon."

Laughter slips past her lips, but it's bitter, haunted and mocking that makes the hair at the back of Ichigo's neck prickle.

"Of course she will."

Despite being twins, Yuzu is not Karin.

"So," Ichigo inspects her face before asking the dreaded question. "What now?"

Karin gives him a good look, shrugs her shoulders, languidly relaxing, a twisted grin falling from her lip.

"What else? I'm going to pay Kuchiki Rukia my respects."