It Takes Time

By: Le tired

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or its characters, blah blah blah, etc.

Rated: M.

Author's Notes: HitsuKarin fans, beware: this chapter and the next incorporate events of filler episode 132 where Hitsugaya meets Karin, and gives my take on their interactions, and I guess it's the closest I'll ever come to recognizing the HitsuKarin pairing and demonstrating an anti-Karin stance, though it's more like I can't really even consider them a legitimate pairing. It's been a while since I read the manga, but I don't think they ever met in the original story and in the few anime episodes they're together in, they have like ZERO chemistry to me. People can ship whatever pairing they want, but I admit this one baffles me. What is the basis for their supposed attraction? They have so little in common. He's like ten times older than she is. Is it the 'opposites attract' thing with their personalities? It's the same with HitsuMatsu, only they actually have an established relationship in canon (not necessarily a romantic one, but they have worked together for at least a hundred years or so), and he's shown significant more concern and reliance on Matsumoto.

Anyway, sorry, rant's over. Again, I'm not hating on Karin in my writing – that is NOT my intention. I'm trying to portray what I imagine a century-old Shinigami would feel towards an eleven-year old human girl. It's up to you if you agree or disagree!

Oh, and yes, I made a Twilight reference haha. My drafts for this chapter are from a few years ago, but I remember how the Twilight craze was pretty big at one point while I was reading/watching Bleach. It amused me that it was popular in Japan too, and that they even had graphic novels for it, and it struck me as something Matsumoto might enjoy. Maybe it stuck out too much? Oh well, I had fun running with it in the end.

Also, I love the Bleach wiki and its fount of trivia. That's where I got that Matsumoto doesn't like bamboo.

Mata Shiru: Thanks for another review! Unfortunately, I haven't gotten a chance to read most of the manga after Aizen, but I caught a few chapters here and there, and there were definitely some more moments of what I thought HitsuMatsu hinting! Also, I personally find it very telling that for the end of the manga, they're drawn together :).

RoyalblueKitsune: Haha thank you! I love good fanfics that just leave me in tears I'm laughing so much, so that is high praise! ILU TOO!

Geishaaa: Haha I know, I need to be more disciplined with my updates. But thank you for your patience and sticking with the story for all this time!

kriitikko: Lol it IS back! Good to hear from you again too! Thanks for still following the story! I'm seriously determined to finish this story, I just have so many ideas that I want to include! I also keep searching for good HitsuMatsu fics, they're so short in supply!

ZeroDarkNex14: Thanks very much for the review! I'm glad you caught it, even without the notification! has been wonky for me with review alerts, if that helps :/. So happy you liked the chapter!

Chapter 36

Another week passed uneventfully. It was both a relief and a source of stress—waiting for Aizen to make his next move. Toshirou was grateful for the peace, but he couldn't help feeling that there had to be more he could be doing. As Madarame and Ayasegawa had said, there was a higher than average frequency in Hollow appearances, and he'd confirmed it for himself over the last few days. Karakura Town had an unusually high density of spiritual beings, so perhaps it was only to be expected. Still, it occurred to him that it was worth investigating and to know for certain that this wasn't some new machination of Aizen's.

He was typing the request on his phone for further data to the twelfth division when he heard running footsteps. Light, as only a child or small animal could make. Children, again? Too bad Matsumoto wasn't around to deal with them for him this time.

The black-haired girl who approached him looked vaguely familiar. "You picked up my ball, didn't you?" She smiled at him.

Ah, that's where he'd seen her. He recalled the fleeting memory of a child chasing after a soccer ball that was about to roll into traffic. He'd been close by and decided to stop it for her just in case she was careless enough to actually run after it across a busy street. A group of four or five other children stood some distance behind her. Probably her companions. "Yeah."

"Thanks."

At least this one was well-mannered. "You're welcome." He turned back to his phone, relieved that all she'd wanted was to thank him. He had no idea what children like her and her friends might want from a strange adult like him, but he was of the utmost certainty it was nothing he'd want to indulge them with.

The girl didn't scamper off, as he'd expected. "Hey, what school are you from?"

"I'm not from any school!" he barked before he could help himself. Of course she'd mistaken him for a student. In his concentration over the reports, he'd forgotten how he looked to others. It was such a pain being in the human world sometimes. Many Shinigami still mistook him as a child or believed him to at least have held onto childish interests (Ukitake with the candy, for example) and hell, Matsumoto loved to poke fun at his slow growth, but the reiatsu he emitted and the captain's haori he wore commanded some respect from even the most ignorant souls in Seireitei. Shinigami bowed to him when he passed, and did as he said. Here, in the living world, he was stripped of all recognition and power and value. Here, no one could see the years he'd devoted to the Academy— the blood and sweat he'd poured into his training so that he could master the terrifying power within him and never endanger anyone the way he did Granny, the fear he'd lain with every night (and still did) that he might fail. Here, no one saw him for who he was; he didn't register as an independent, intelligent person with his own thoughts and burdens. It wasn't just about being mistaken as younger or less mature; it was about being invisible.

That was no excuse, however, for lashing out at a human child who didn't know any better. Trying to reign his ire back into control, he told the girl to go away. Like most children, she seemed only keen on hearing what she wanted to hear, and continued talking at him. Toshirou drowned her out with ease; he'd had ample practice with Matsumoto. Eventually, she would have to lose interest and wander off in search of a new toy.

Her more sensible friends did finally drag her away, though it was only a few feet. There, they proceeded to huddle around and exchange more insulting comments regarding his appearance from his hair to his height. Maybe it was the unseasonably warm weather today, or more likely the shattering of the nostalgic effect the sunset had been having on him—the sun was an especially deep golden like the summer days of old where he and Hinamori would sit and eat watermelon— that had him in a fouler mood than usual, but he nearly lost his temper again.

It was time to walk away.

The girl—not appreciating the loss of attention, he guessed—kicked a ball at him. Not a half-hearted punt either. And it was aimed straight at his head, where it could do some real damage if he'd been an ordinary boy.

That pissed him off. He could tell, even as the ball whistled through the air towards him, that the girl was above average in terms of physicality for her age and build. Instead of being cautious about how she used her strength, she was just throwing it around, hoping to get her way.

He decided to scare her a little. Instead of dodging the ball and letting it roll down the nearby hill (which would have made for an apt lesson as well), he flipped in the air and kicked it back with just enough velocity to surprise the brats.

Instead of running crying to the closest parental figure, however, after a moment of awe, they crowded around him in a half-circle, all jabbering nonstop. He started to understand that they wanted him to play soccer with them. It was like he'd somehow won their recognition and they were now attempting to drag him into their fold. As if he was actually on the same level as these squealing, runny-nosed, grubby-fingered, uncoordinated youngsters.

On the other hand, their liking for him was genuine and unaffected and their innocence was touching in a way, though he didn't like to admit it. He had the time, he supposed, to talk to them, and try to understand them a little. Matsumoto did it all the time and he knew had she been here, she'd be laughing at her captain fleeing from a few scrawny elementary schoolers. She'd be quick to point out that children needed more nurturing attention when they were young. Perhaps their parents were too busy to play with them, or maybe they were struggling to fit in at school. Kids had their own challenges, and maybe playing soccer was an escape from them. Anyway, he shouldn't be so quick to judge. It wouldn't really be any skin off his back to kick the ball around with them if he had nothing else to do at the moment.

His phone went off. Toshirou flipped it open grimly, knowing what he'd see. Another Hollow. These increased appearances definitely needed to be looked at more closely. In the meantime, however, the Hollow needed to be dealt with. He looked up and was surprised to see the tensely drawn expression on the girl's face. She was staring in the direction of the Hollow's location, and her brows were drawn together in fearful worry. Could she actually be sensing the Hollow? Or maybe it was coincidence, and she was thinking about something entirely different.

The phone beeped again, and Toshirou's attention returned fully to the screen. "I'm the only one near it?" he muttered. These Hollows were getting to be a real nuisance. Clearing out one or two was fine, but it really wasn't the job of a captain. Wasn't there an actual Shinigami assigned to Karakura Town after Kuchiki Rukia had been recalled from the post? A loud, self-important man with a ridiculous haircut…what was his name? He couldn't remember. Anyway, what the hell was he doing these days if he wasn't fulfilling his duties as an officer and hunting down Hollows? It was a disgrace.

Well, there was no helping it. Every second the Hollow was out there unimpeded, the higher the chance of it hurting someone. Toshirou spun on his heel and ran.

"…so they're totally in love, even though she's a high school student and he's an immortal vampire that's over a hundred years old…like us, taichou! And he's very handsome and intelligent and also the brooding, romantic type that comes into her bedroom to watch her every night, and it's obvious they're supposed to be together. But then there's also this friend of hers who's a werewolf and he's totally in love with her too…"

Toshirou had no idea what he was listening to. He could feel a pulsing behind his eyes that was threatening to evolve into a full-blown headache, and he focused on suppressing that rather than waste brain cells processing Matsumoto's strings of nonsensical words. The soup he was heating bubbled into a boil, and he turned down the heat, added the teaspoons of miso, and began to stir.

"…and he's been by her side and tried to support her all the way while the vampire kinda pushes her away, for her own safety, of course, but it's still very hurtful, I'm sure, so I feel sort of bad for him. It's a tough love triangle, you know, taichou?"

He gave her a baleful look. "Matsumoto, can't you see I'm cooking?"

"Of course, taichou! That's why I'm here, keeping you company and entertaining you with the latest news since you never pay any attention to what's going on in the living world."

"This is neither news nor entertaining for me. Stop talking and get some bowls. The soup will be ready in another few minutes."

"Ahh, that's great! It smells good, taichou! You're so talented!" Matsumoto brushed past him as she walked over to the kitchen cupboards. There was the sound of ceramics clinking as she moved dishes around. "You know, few women can resist a handsome man who can cook."

"Instead of relying on someone else, maybe they should learn to cook for themselves." He ladled the soup into the bowls and together, he and Matsumoto brought them to the coffee table in the living room where they now had their meals. There was also steamed rice and canned eel that they'd purchased a few days back. He supposed they could have bought the soup too, but after years of living frugally with Granny in Rukongai, it felt too decadent eating out all the time. As he'd told Matsumoto, he knew the basics of cooking and he didn't mind preparing food if he had the time; he considered it a basic skill for any self-respecting adult to be able to feed themselves. He'd have cooked more often except for the fact that he didn't want to wear out Inoue's kitchenware too much.

"Don't be so stingy, taichou!" Matsumoto replied as they seated themselves on the floor around the table. "I'm just saying, it's sexy when your guy cooks for you! It makes you feel all loved and cared for! Of course, if you really want to impress someone, you're going to have to do better than some measly miso soup!"

"If it falls so short of your expectations, don't drink it."

"Well, I didn't say that! Food is food, after all! Speaking of which…itadakimasu!" Matsumoto clapped her hands. Then, she looked down into the bowl. And instantly pouted. "Taichou!"

"Now what?"

"You put bamboo shoots in these!"

"And?" He knew what she was going to say. "Don't tell me…"

"I don't like bamboo." Matsumoto looked down at her bowl desolately, then back up at him, as if he'd put them in to spite her personally.

His growing headache gave a warning pound against his temple. "Too bad." He reached over with his chopsticks to pick up a portion of eel, deliberately not looking at his lieutenant. "Eat it anyway."

"Mouu taichou, don't be like that!" Matsumoto leaned across the table hard enough that it jerked to one side. A bit of soup sloshed out of their bowls from the sudden movement.

"Get off the table! You're making a mess!"

"I really can't stand bamboo! The flavor and texture is all wrong!" Matsumoto insisted. She pouted harder, as if once she reached a maximum threshold of petulance, the bamboo would just disappear on its own.

Toshirou glared at his lieutenant. She pushed her lower lip out even further in response.

"FINE. Give me your bowl."

"Thank you, taichou," she said sweetly, as she watched him pick out all the bamboo shoots from her soup and deposit them into his own bowl.

"To think," he muttered as he finished and turned to hand her back her soup, "that you've happily eaten Inoue's cooking and all that processed junk food without blinking, and now you complain about a few strips of bamboo…" He stopped, realizing too late that she'd wasn't still an arm's length away on her side of the table, but had in fact come over to his side to retrieve her soup and was now seated close enough to him that her knees bumped against his thigh. The tips of their fingers pressed together over the smooth china of the soup bowl, and he looked up at her soft blue eyes that also appeared startled at they took in their nearness and the weird lapse of silence stretching out between them.

"Thank you, taichou," Matsumoto finally whispered, as if afraid to let out her breath for the fear of it touching him and setting him off somehow. "And…sorry for the trouble." Color rose to her high-boned cheeks.

"Don't mention it." He seemed to be having trouble talking and breathing at the same time too. There was that stupid urge again. In the middle of dinner. Telling him to just grab her and kiss her like she was his to do with however he pleased. Telling him it was what they both wanted, so why not just give in?

No. Just because a woman had expressed romantic interest and attraction towards him didn't mean he had a green light to manhandle her whenever and wherever. He'd seen how other men leaped at Matsumoto, wanting to touch her without a thought to her consent. He wouldn't show her the same lack of respect.

He looked down at his own steaming bowl of miso soup with the extra bamboo shoots floating in its cloudy midst. He heard Matsumoto shuffle meekly back to her seat. There was a long slurp that was almost explosive in its quality against the subdued silence of the room.

"It's really good now, taichou." Matsumoto cleared her throat. There was another drawn out slurp.

He shook himself. The urge retreated for the moment, though his body was still thrumming and his palms were heated as though they'd been pressed against Matsumoto's skin. But that was just from holding the warm bowl of soup, Toshirou told himself. "Good." It was a lame response, but Matsumoto didn't seem to take notice as she went on slurping.

He picked up his chopsticks again.

"So, what do you think, taichou?"

"What do I think about what?" Tentatively, he looked over at Matsumoto, almost fearful the sight of her would set off another bizarre whim to embrace her. There wasn't a particular trigger he could identify—it could be a smile, a turn of her head. And she was smiling again over the rim of her bowl as she held it up to her face for another slurp. Why she couldn't use spoons and drink like a normal person, he didn't know. Then again, he'd seen her down sake in cups larger than these bowls.

"The story I was telling you earlier. With the vampire and werewolf."

"What?" She was bringing that up again? His peculiar awareness of Matsumoto shifted aside to make room for good old regular confusion and exasperation. "I don't think anything. It's a ridiculous story, and I was barely listening anyway."

"Aww don't be like that, taichou! It's a huuuuge story right now! There's even going to be movies based on it! Everyone's talking about it, so you should talk about it too! Come on, who do you think she should choose?"

She didn't really expect him to talk about this seriously. "She should choose another human like her. Someone normal and reasonable and quiet and not idiotic enough to get caught up in make-believe love stories about vampires and werewolves."

Matsumoto leaned back from the table and laughed unreservedly. He found himself relaxing and even allowed himself a private smile. This new conversation was absurd, but it wasn't bad talking about lighter topics now and then, especially if it made Matsumoto laugh like that. Plus, it was definitely preferable to the weirdly charged lull they'd accidentally happened into moments earlier. "You mean, that's who you would choose, taichou. Someone boring who didn't excite you at all. Someone who never challenged you, made you change your pace, or got you a little fired up with raw animal magnetism."

"If I had the choice, yes."

"Heeeh, it's too bad for you then, taichou," Matsumoto grinned, catching his backhanded acknowledgment of her, "that you don't have much of a choice at all."

"A real travesty," he agreed dryly, "but I've dealt with it for years, and I'm used to it now."

"Well, that's just sad, taichou! You shouldn't ever just give in to circumstances and settle, you know!" Matsumoto grabbed some eel of her own, and poked it in his direction as she held it between her chopsticks. "See, I could only stay with someone I really liked." She smiled and popped the eel into her mouth, her eyes full of meaning. "And really wanted to sleep with."

Yes, he got it. He didn't know who wouldn't. Subtlety, thy name is not Matsumoto. Though her words got the job done; he felt his hands growing restless and warmer at the memory of her flesh beneath them. Still, he wasn't going to let her provoke him that easily. "The vampire for you then, probably." He stared coolly back at her. "He's the good-looking romantic one, right?"

For a moment, Matsumoto looked surprised that he hadn't responded in some emotional fashion, but then she smirked. "That's true, normally, I'd pick the vampire. He's more elegant and classically handsome or something, I think, but you know…these days, I have a bit of a weak spot for werewolves."

Ugh. He froze, remembering the incident with his gigai in costume. "You just had to bring that up, didn't you?" He glared, unable to remain so calm and unprovoked any more.

Matsumoto lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and her smile appeared on the surface to be a self-conscious one, but there was a satisfied, victorious curve to her lips. She knew she'd finally gotten to him. "What can I say, taichou? I have a thing for cute wolfboys. Especially if they've got white fur. Ne, taichou," she leaned forward, chin resting on her interlaced fingers, "now that you won't let me anywhere near your gigai, will you dress up for me? It doesn't even have to be the full costume. Just the ears will do."

"Not a chance in hell."

"You're so cruel to deny me like that, taichou! I'd wear whatever you wanted! A maid outfit, or maybe a nurse costume? Maybe a sexy witch if we're going with the Halloween theme? Or how about tying me up? It's a little risqué, but I'd do it for you, taichou…"

"Stop talking like I have weird fetishes like you!"

Later that night, despite a marked lack of costumed wolf ears, they ended up in bed together.

That had hardly been a surprise. Matsumoto had made her desire for intimacy quite clear at dinner, and he hadn't reigned in his desire for her nearly as well as he'd thought—it was like an oceanic tide; it would recede one moment, but always return strengthened and heightened in force to crash down upon him at a later time.

Toshirou looked up at the setting sun in the sky from where he stood on top of the same hill where he'd encountered that group of soccer-playing kids yesterday, and sighed. He'd come here hoping its calming, nostalgic influence that reminded him of happier, simpler days with Hinamori would scatter the clouds in his mind and he could focus on more communications to Soul Society (their third seat was frankly having a hard time running the division by himself), but his thoughts had quickly turned to his troublesome lieutenant. And the surrounding quietness of the area only made his reflections resound louder by contrast in his head.

Matsumoto wanted him at least every other night. It still came as a shock when he looked down and saw her with her lips reddened and open as she panted softly beneath him, and her fingers clawing and twisting in the bedsheets, as if this were the first and not twentieth time they'd been like this. He'd quickly learned what brought her pleasure and was able to bring her to climax readily enough, but it wasn't like he possessed a skilled or varied bedroom repertoire, and Matsumoto had made enough allusions to weird kinks or positions in passing conversation when she was just teasing him that he knew she had an adventurous appetite. They weren't even actually making love yet…it stood to reason that she'd be bored by now of this routine.

Then again, he supposed he should have grown tired as well—in fact, he'd sort of been counting on becoming accustomed to their embraces before he went further with Matsumoto—but that hadn't happened either. The burning shock of her fingers when she clutched at him still branded his skin; they scalded deeper every time. Her desperate and incoherent cries in the throes of passion still enflamed his body and mind. He still drank in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst who finds water, still hungered for her like a man starved for weeks—when by all accounts, he should have had his fill.

Toshirou continued entering his instructions on his phone. It took a great deal longer than usual— he had to go back and retype every other word due to his distracted mind and the images it was conjuring from last night's activities.

He still left her lips swollen and bruised when they kissed. He'd started leaving marks on her where he'd placed his mouth on her throat and breasts. He hadn't gained any self-control—in fact, he was losing it further. Even worse, he felt himself growing impatient; each time, it was harder to care and remember to pull away instead of pushing his way inside her.

It went against everything he knew. When you wanted something, you obtained it, and then your needs were met—you weren't supposed to crave it more. Unless it was some sort of addiction. Was that what Matsumoto had become to him? That was kind of an unnerving notion.

Perhaps Matsumoto had picked up on this new development as well. Because she no longer approached him so openly at night. At the beginning, she used to call out to him or whisper coy invitations or just suddenly pounce on him and push him onto the sheets, her body pressed flush against his. Now, all she had to do was look at him after they'd finished laying out their futons and blankets. All she did was smile her usual smile—and something in her face would give away her yearning, and he'd reach for her. Or maybe she reached for him first. Sometimes, it seemed like they just sort of fell into each other simultaneously.

But was her change of behavior a good sign? Lately, she didn't always look at him or she'd blush—at least, he thought he saw her blush—at unwarranted times. It was like she got stuck in a moment the way he sometimes did when they got too close somehow or made eye contact at the wrong time. Dinner had been a good and thoroughly ridiculous example. Toshirou had rerun the scenario through his head a dozen times, but he still couldn't explain it. He'd just been handing her bowl back, for god sakes. She hadn't been making more bawdy jokes or shoving her breasts at him. Why had a simple touch of fingers made him want her fitted against him at once?

It wasn't even sexual release he'd craved at that time. He just wanted to hold her, close enough so he could see himself reflected in her bright blue eyes, feel her warmth, and…and let her know how much he cherished her.

Toshirou frowned into the senescent rays of the sun, his eyes absently trailing their reflections in the clouds as they transitioned from a golden hue to shades of red and dark violet at the edges. He knew he had a colder, more reserved personality, but he wasn't heartless; like other people, he felt the desire to express affection—perhaps not as frequently as some, but it wasn't a foreign emotion to him by any stretch of the imagination. The difference was, he was simply better at suppressing it. When he'd told Granny about entering the Shinigami Academy, he'd wanted to just throw his arms around her and sob, maybe beg her to let him stay. But that would only have made things harder on her, and he was already the ungrateful child repaying her care and kindness by first freezing her every night and then deserting her in her old age, so he'd merely knelt on the floor and asked for forgiveness. And then when she'd spoken with nothing but more love and understanding and he'd broken down in hot tears of regret, fear, and shame…he still never reached out to her. She was the one who laid a hand gently on his head as he wailed like a baby. He never touched her—never hugged her tight the way a part of him longed to do.

It was the same with Hinamori. …well, he didn't know about hugging her. Between arresting her when she first lost her mind at Aizen's forged murder and knocking her out later when she tried to kill him, a simple hug probably wasn't going to go very far in terms of bolstering their friendship. But he was keenly aware that there was something more he could have said to her somewhere along the line besides calling her a bed-wetter and offering shallow encouragements. He could have told her, I will always protect you. I will always care for you. Please smile again the way you used to. Please stop hurting.

But no, it just wasn't in his character. No matter how he looked at it, it felt discourteous to push your feelings on someone just because you were too weak to deal with them on your own. If you cared about someone, you demonstrated it by doing things for them, being of active use in their life; you didn't hang around them like a dead weight and drag them down with your own wants and fears—you didn't suffocate them and force them to take you on as an emotional responsibility.

It was why he barely wrote to Granny; it was too easy to start writing about how he missed her and how heavily the responsibility and stresses of a Shinigami captain weighed on him at times. It was why he had nothing to say to Hinamori and preferred to avoid her at the moment; it was too easy to in the spur of the moment to blurt out some stupid sentiments.

He couldn't avoid Matsumoto. That was the problem. She was always around him. And every hour she was in his company, it was harder to ensure that he was keeping his respectful emotional distance—he felt more of a compulsion to say or do something that would communicate how he was feeling to her. It was a nuisance and it had to be addressed.

But what exactly was he supposed to do?

"Toshirou!"

It was the black-haired girl again. Now why was she seeking him out? Vaguely, he recalled something about soccer practice. That was probably it—they'd been expecting him to join them. Well, he hadn't committed one way or the other, and that's exactly what he told the girl.

He was surprised when she changed the subject instead of whining harder and instead asked him why he'd come to the same spot again. That indicated a rare perspicacity and sensitivity for her age. He responded in truth, telling her that it brought back memories. Hinamori's youthful face framed on either side by a pigtail appeared before him, backlit by the red-orange fire of the setting sun, smiling as she chatted excitedly about the Shinigami Academy and urged him to join. Things had been so much simpler then. Back then, he was allowed to be a brat and act stubborn and as willful as he wanted. He had the freedom that came with knowing his actions had little impact on anyone to say and do irresponsible things.

Now…his actions came with a little more consequence. Now, he ordered other Shinigami, ready to offer up their lives for him, into battle. His opinion at the captains' meetings could effect a policy change for the entirety of Soul Society. His choices on the battlefield this coming winter would be a deciding factor as to whether or not Aizen succeeded in obliterating a hundred thousand souls and destroying the very balance of the universe. And...a careless word or action from him now could ruin the relationship he shared with a beautiful woman who for some singular and unfathomable reason was offering him her heart, body, and soul.

He needed to think about this more, alone and uninterrupted, without this soccer-obsessed girl breaking into his thoughts every few minutes with another question. He was about to walk away when his phone went off with another Hollow alert.

It looked to be the same area as before. That was important to note. He prepared to run off, but the girl—he couldn't remember if she told him her name—grabbed him.

"Don't go that way!" The same worried look was in her eyes as before. "W-well, uh, I mean…I have a bad feeling about over there." She couldn't meet his eyes, aware that to a normal human, her words made little sense and possibly made her sound unbalanced.

Now Toshirou was fairly certain she had spiritual power. Hollows would be drawn to her—perhaps that was even the reason for the repeated appearances in this area. He'd look into it more once he got rid of the current Hollow.