Resonance in Monotone
Hope
V
Written by Dragenruler
Stars Are on Your Side - Ross Copperman
Every step Hisana took toward her apartment was like wading through an ocean churned by her past mistakes, where each wave crashed with memories of a once overwhelming darkness. Yet, beneath it, there flowed an undercurrent of something new—a fragile hope, a tentative step toward self-forgiveness, guided by Byakuya's words, a lighthouse steering her through stormy waters.
Exhaustion enveloped her, as pervasive as the morning mist clinging to the waking earth. She tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the soreness in her limbs—the labour of extricating deep-rooted weeds of her past, cutting back the overgrown brambles of her captivity.
The night's chill contrasted the fledgling warmth kindling within her. She wrapped her arms around herself, her skin prickling under the night's embrace. Standing before her apartment door, the future's weight pressed down, bending her shoulders. Ahead lay her only path: to confront the demons and pain she had long ignored.
Her hand, trembling, reached for the key. Its cold bite grounded her, pulling her thoughts to the reality awaiting on the other side. Thoughts of Rukia, ensnared in the fallout of her self-destruction, sent a sharp ache through her heart.
When her fingers brushed the door's surface, a swift, startling shiver ran through her. The door swung open silently. Hisana stepped inside with the caution of a shadow, her breath held tight. A sliver of light spilled through, casting elongated shadows across the floor, mirroring the darkness she sought to escape.
Rukia's soft whispers pricked at her conscience like thorns. "Ichigo, this is on me. I shouldn't have let it affect me." Her voice, usually so strong and assured, now trembled.
A familiar abyss tugged at Hisana's stomach, shadowed by pain—a legacy of the burden unwittingly cast upon Rukia, a weight her sister endured alone through endless days and nights.
"I always knew, deep down, that she wouldn't follow through. Despite never taking her promises at face value, a part of me clung to hope," Hisana listened, her heart faltering. Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she absorbed the words not meant for her ears—not as a shield but as the remnants of a crumbling mask.
Rukia's voice softened. "I understand how hard it must have been for her. But it's suffocating, watching her wither away before my eyes. My sister is killing herself, and I feel powerless to stop it."
Despite every reason to leave, Rukia stayed. Closing her eyes, Hisana inhaled deeply, the breath reaching the depths of her soul where Byakuya's words took root, blossoming into a renewal that cast shadows away, spreading warmth from her core to her fingertips.
The gentle cadence of Rukia's footsteps on the wooden floor harmonised with Hisana's heartbeat. "No, not yet, Ichigo," Rukia paused, her voice a fragile thread in the silence. "I'm in the dark about the work she's involved in; she keeps everything so close, as always."
Heat scorched Hisana's cheeks, the pressure at her temples pulsing with her quickening heartbeat and Rukia's footsteps. Conversations cried out for her voice, yet she remained a mere spectator, cloaked in the shadows of her own making. 'Enough of this,' she resolved, the door creaking softly as she pushed it closed.
The door's groan announced her entry, pausing the world. Rukia's tear-filled gaze met Hisana's, storms swirling in lavender depths—a mirror of their intertwined lives, reflecting every shared joy and sorrow.
"Ichigo – I'll call you back," Rukia said with shaky hands, ending her call. Her attention turned fully to Hisana, one hand resting on her stomach as she steadied herself with a deep, slow breath.
For a fragile heartbeat, time stretched between them, burdened with the ghosts of their past, urging her to mend the torn fabric of their relationship. However, a pause held her, her vision clouding with tears, rendering Rukia's trembling form a mere shadow. Hisana's arms encircled herself, warding off the chill that teased her skin.
Before Hisana could bridge the gap, to envelop Rukia in a long-lost embrace, Rukia lunged forward. Her movement shattered the calm, the silence breaking like ice beneath their feet.
Rukia's hug was immediate, all-encompassing, dissolving any remnants of distance, fusing their fragmented selves. This embrace, breath-stealing in its intensity, flooded Hisana with emotion so potent, her soul felt ablaze.
"Hisana, I was terrified...terrified you wouldn't return," Rukia's words, muffled against her, tightened their grip to the point of breathlessness, overshadowed with unvoiced fears.
Instinctively, Hisana's arms enfolded Rukia, her fingers soothing the chaos of her hair. "You stayed…" Hisana's voice fractured under the weight of her words, her heart a rapid drum against her ribs, igniting a warmth of love for Rukia.
Rukia shook her head, seeking further refuge in Hisana's arms. "Please, don't leave me again."
It struck Hisana with the force of lighting. She felt it with a piercing clarity, more profound than any wound. They had always been transparent to each other, as familiar as lines from a beloved poem—the smiles that served as armour, the looks that hinted at a desire to escape, the words that fortified their hearts.
Gently, Hisana raised Rukia's face, her touch a source of comfort, pausing the world. "I will never leave you, Rukia," she whispered, her eyes seeking Rukia's, imploring her. "I'm so sorry for what I've caused."
Rukia's reaction was immediate—a furrow of her brows, a tense shift in her posture, followed by a visible effort to contain the tremble of her lips as she looked away. "You misunderstand, Hisana, as you always have."
With gentle insistence, Hisana drew Rukia's gaze back to her own, a ghost of a smile playing across her lips—an echo of brighter days, a hint at mending the fissures of their past. "Rukia, it's crucial you understand," Hisana said, her fingers lightly tracing the stress lines on Rukia's face. Taking a deep, measured breath, she continued, "The fault lies with me. Since the car accident, I've let myself unravel. I've become a shadow, especially to you, and for that, I cannot forgive myself."
"Hisana—" Rukia began, only to be silenced by Hisana's finger, catching the tears that threatened to spill from Rukia's eyes with a touch as gentle as a breeze.
"I've been dwelling in darkness, despising myself," Hisana confessed, her gaze dropping, unable to bear the weight of her own admissions, the pain they unearthed. "I detest what I've become... My choices haunt me because I've been burdened by guilt, unable to face it, convinced it should have been me, not them, not you. It is unbearable."
Rukia's response was silent; her hand covered Hisana's, supporting her. Her grip was a beacon, a promise to keep her sister from the abyss.
Hisana's smile wavered as she leaned in, bringing their foreheads together, searching Rukia's eyes for understanding. "I need to leave—to breathe. The absence of them, of you, it's overwhelming. Can we go to Ehime together? I need to be there, but with you."
Rukia's vehement shake of her head was dismissive. "Hisana, doing this... it must be for you, not just for me."
"No, this isn't about anyone else. It's about me," Hisana promised, the deep lines on her face eased, like the sea withdrawing from the shore, revealing a gentle smile that hinted at hope—a sight Rukia hadn't beheld since before the accident. "I am ready, Rukia. And I deserve to be free from my guilt."
The train's gentle hum and rhythmic sway had been a comforting, if somewhat melancholic, prelude to Hisana's return. Landscapes blurred past, a mosaic of the past with the present, entrapping Hisana in the complex weave between the two. Beside her, Rukia's quiet presence was a steadfast reassurance with their shared glances and fleeting smiles.
As they disembarked in Ehime, Hisana stepped into a world both familiar and distant, her heart treading through uncharted waters. The air carried the briny tang of the sea and the rich loam of late summer, grounding her to the now while whispers of yesteryears beckoned. Avoiding their old home, the tea house and the graves of their parents were a deliberate choice; one Hisana wasn't ready to confront just yet.
Instead, they wandered the streets of Iyo, moving as if through a dream, each step a rediscovery, each sight a blend of nostalgia and novelty. Hisana's feet remembered the way, even as her heart balked, burdened by the years of absence and the guilt that gnawed at the ties to her birthplace. At moments, she would trail her fingers along the walls of familiar buildings, her steps faltering.
Freed from Tokyo's incessant rush, the sky settled around them in rich hues of orange and purple with the ocean's murmurs serenading the twilight. Strolling along cobblestone pathways, they navigated down long-forgotten lanes, where food stalls emerged under colourful banners, bathed in the flickering glow of paper lanterns swaying in the breeze.
The aroma of grilled seafood pervaded the air, drawing them to a cozy nook amid wooden stools and low tables with a plate of charred yakitori. Its savoury scent evoked memories of childhood laughter, the clink of chopsticks, and their mother's voice—fragments of a life before it got swept away.
Hisana closed her eyes, letting the scents envelop her, a tremor in her breath as she drowned in the resurgence of memories. Drawing a deep breath, her fingers intertwined in her lap, she acknowledged, "I'd forgotten the serenity here; it feels like stepping into another life."
Hisana's eyes fluttered open, resting on Rukia with a warmth that soon dimmed, witnessing her sister's guarded posture, shoulders hunched as though warding off an unseen chill. Despite the levity that peppered their journey, Hisana realised she had yet to see her sister unwind.
Drawing nearer to the table, Hisana offered a muted nod, her voice a soft murmur aimed at bridging the distance between them, "Rukia, I'm fine—I'm right here."
Rukia, caught like an actor who'd forgotten her lines, paused before masking her unease with an overplayed nonchalance, "Yes, I know" she replied, a bit too briskly, her chopsticks snapping apart in a telltale haste. Her "Itadakimasu" quivered, her façade fragile.
Hisana pulled back, a subtle retreat, brushing her curtain-like dark locks behind her ear while observing Rukia with renewed attention. From Rukia's styled bob adorned with a tasteful hairclip to the effortless manner she ate her yakitori, everything seemed in perfect order, all except her too-lively eyes that betrayed every flicker of thought.
"Rukia," Hisana ventured, almost motherly, reaching out to remove the plate from her sister's reach, "what's the matter – please, talk to me. I thought we were both enjoying being back."
Without looking up, Rukia stretched her chopsticks out, adding rather tersely, "Nothing is wrong, Hisana. You should eat, it is delicious."
Hisana withdrew, her hands retreating beneath the table, feeling the chill of Rukia's indifference as though trapped under ice. Biting her lip, Hisana held back her words, letting her gaze wander.
She watched the play of shadows and light across their table, then out to a vendor deftly flipping skewers over flames. Children darted between the stalls, their laughter pealing like chimes, mingling with the evening air, their delighted faces illuminated by the glowing lanterns. Above them, the first stars began to pierce the velvet sky, joining the chorus of lights that bathed the street. The air, now cooler, carried the scents of grilled delicacies and the distant, clean tang of the sea, calming her tingling stomach.
"Hisana," Rukia's voice cut through the din. Turning toward the familiarity of her name, Hisana focused on the sight of chopsticks hovering in front of her—a piece of yakitori poised before her lips. "Eat," Rukia insisted softly.
A shadow of resistance crossed Hisana's features, her brows knitting in a brief grimace. Yet, as she tentatively accepted the morsel, her reluctance dissolved. The flavour burst across her senses, richer and more complex than she recalled, prompting a hum of satisfaction to escape her lips. "It's even better than I remembered."
Her body acknowledged what her mind had tried to ignore: hunger, sharp and demanding, making itself known with a primal growl. Grabbing and snapping her own chopsticks apart, her previous tension melted away with each eager bite, her appetite now unabashed and insistent.
Feeling Rukia's gaze, warmth suffused Hisana's cheeks, tinting them like the leaves of autumn. Lowering her chopsticks, she covered a smile with her hand. "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I didn't realise how hungry I was."
"You've been skipping meals all day; we should really consider getting a few more plates," Rukia suggested, attempting nonchalance with a casual shrug of her shoulders. There was a subtle but deliberate puff of her cheeks, sparking Hisana's laughter. Rukia's poor acting skills, while endearing, were transparent to her sister.
However, Hisana's giggles faded when she met Rukia's stern and serious frown, the light-heartedness evaporated, a delicate wisp lost to the night air. Hisana's smile softened, morphing into a bridge she hoped Rukia might cross. But it was an offer Rukia couldn't—or wouldn't—accept, her whisper almost silent, "I can't."
"I know," Hisana conceded, her voice tight as if strangled by an invisible hand. Each effort to word her intentions became a battle, until, with a noticeable struggle, she managed to rasp, "and I don't expect you to."
"I should have asked if you are okay," Hisana offered, reaching across the table. Her fingers splayed-out in a gesture of openness, the streetlight catching on her trembling digits.
"No, it isn't that," Rukia refuted, her head shaking. Lifting her gaze to meet Hisana's, she nibbled on her bottom lip before extending her hand, slipping into her sister's, their fingers intertwining. "It's difficult, after everything, to act as if today is just another day... it's overwhelming to process."
"Rukia, this isn't just another day," Hisana said, setting aside her chopsticks to gently cradle their intertwined hands, a light caress against the skin. Despite the outward calm, her heart thundered, a relentless drum echoing in her chest, each beat a sharp twinge that knotted tighter.
"You've always known how to hide behind a mask," Rukia observed, withdrawing her hand into the safety of her lap. She sat up straighter, a rigid line against the night's breeze, her sharpened gaze centring on Hisana.
Hisana reacted with a pout, her teeth skimming the inside of her cheek, poised like a soldier biting into a bullet. She allowed his presence, through the memory of his stormy-grey eyes, to wrap around her, dissolving her restraints as dawn's light scattered the morning frost. Freed from the need for pretence, she found herself unbound.
Hisana's gaze flickered, reminiscent of the first hesitant rays breaking over a shadowed landscape. "Rukia, doing this... it's how I've managed to keep going, to hold back everything threatening to overwhelm me. It's who I am. But I need you to trust me on this."
Rukia paused, then, with a tentative nod, leaned forward to reach her chopsticks before selecting another skewer of yakitori. Her expression, though strained, softened into a faint smile. "Hisana, I'll think about it, but only if you're honest with me. What's really happening?"
Caught by Rukia's question, Hisana froze, her hand suspended over her chopsticks. Her brow furrowed as if her very thoughts were carving deep lines across her forehead. Admitting the truth was a battlefield she was unprepared to navigate—not only had she not yet come to terms with her own feelings, but the shadow of his influence loomed too large.
She could feel his presence as if he were a cloak draped over her shoulders, the weight of his authority palpable. She was like a book, and his influence was the hand that turned her pages, each word an ease to her restless spirit. Yet, this chapter of her life remained unknown, a story unfolding within, its narrative too raw, too tender for the light of day.
Her mind was thrust suddenly to that rooftop morning—a memory where wind played with her hair, and the magnetic pull of his gaze set against the nascent dawn and vivid stain of spilled blood. It was etched in her mind, the mark indelible. A rush of warmth, unexpected and intense, flooded her, painting a rosy flush across her neck and spilling over her shoulders.
"I haven't exactly been the epitome of perfection," Hisana confessed carefully, her cheek cradled in her palm as she leaned forward, eyes lost to the yakitori before her. Then, shifting her gaze upward, she met Rukia's inquisitive lavender eyes with an earnest intensity.
Rukia's endeavour at casual indifference couldn't veil the sharpness of her curiosity. Pausing mid-bite, chopsticks lingering at her lips, her eyebrows arched. "How does that relate to being honest?"
"About the gallery and my series for the upcoming exhibition," Hisana started, her fingers moved, absentmindedly tracing her neck's contours. It was a vain attempt to cool the warmth flushing her skin. "There's a confidentiality clause, so I can't share much. But the owner," she paused, mouth parting to moisten her lips, "he's quite prominent, and getting his endorsement required an... interview."
Feeling the weight of Rukia's stare, Hisana shielded her eyes with a hand. From behind her makeshift veil, Rukia's gentle prodding reached her, "And…?"
"This is rather embarrassing," Hisana confessed, her hand drifting upwards, resting against her forehead.
The atmosphere lightened as Rukia's voice, teasing and light, danced through the air. "Don't tell me you did something scandalous?"
Immediately, Hisana swept her hand through her hair, pushing the dark strands away in a fluid motion. She straightened, her posture rigid with mock offense, her eyes flashing a challenge, but her cheeks bloomed with deep shades of crimson. "What! No," Hisana protested with the faintest hint of laughter.
"You can't hide it from me now," Rukia pressed, her foot playfully nudging Hisana's beneath the table, her chopsticks poised to underline her point, aimed squarely at her sister.
A wave of heat, akin to a desert wind, swept through Hisana, consuming her as her pulse thundered in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head, her posture defiant, yet her gaze darted away, shying from Rukia's gleeful look. "I had, unknowingly, met him before—and," she faltered, her words tangling themselves, her frame tensing, "found myself fascinated. To the extent my sketchbook got filled with him."
"Like teenage infatuation?" Rukia probed, her eyebrows arching, her gaze wide and expectant.
Offering a wistful smile, Hisana sank back into the shadows of her chair. "My imagination may have strayed a bit too much, too wild," she confessed, her cheeks ablaze as though flames danced across her skin, "the sketches of him less than appropriate. And then, during the interview, he saw them all."
"Sis, did you sketch erotic artabout a stranger?" Rukia asked like a child poking a sleeping dog with a stick, all wide-eyed innocence and barely concealed glee.
Hisana's ducked her head in response, letting her hair form a curtain around her face. Her fingers toyed with her shirt's hem, tugging at it in a desperate bid for distraction, to divert attention from the flush that had engulfed her cheeks. Abruptly, she rose from her chair, hands flying to her face. "I'll get us some more food," she blurted out as she fled.
With her cheeks aflame, Hisana weaved through the stalls, her brisk steps searching for anonymity among the bustling crowd. Beneath the glow of paper lanterns and the echo of Rukia's laughter trailing her, she ordered their childhood favourites, leaving behind the night's whispers and the sea's sighs, all mingled with the scent of grilled meats and citrus blossoms.
The day unfurled with a deceptive calm, early sunlight seeping through the curtains of their modest hotel room in Iyo, sketching soft patterns across the floor. Hisana perched on the bed's edge, her gaze fixed on the sliver of light inching its way across the room. In the silence, her heart's erratic rhythm felt louder, almost as if taunting the calm.
It had come. Today marked the end of an eight-year-long night in her heart. She likened herself to a bird that had borne a mountain, moving through life haunted by ghosts of the past. But the time had arrived to lay down her burdens, to face the day with truths that would cast long shadows behind and illuminate her path forward.
Her movements mirrored the morning's awakening, a deliberate grace in the simple acts of preparing for the day. Reaching to awaken Rukia, her touch lingered on her sister's shoulder, a silent, tender rouse met with a sleepy smile—a wordless beginning to their day.
Adorned in denim's simplicity and a shirt as fluid and loose as her hair, Hisana donned her invisible armour, shielding the heart pulsating with vulnerability beneath.
Breakfast passed in a shared silence, a quiet Hisana appreciated, despite pretending to overlook Rukia's probing glances. With her brows furrowed and lips pressed together, Rukia seemed moments from sharing her thoughts. When their eyes eventually met across the table, Hisana felt a swift, firm squeeze of her hand beneath the table.
Their understanding needed no voice; the silence, for now, was sufficient, comfort found in the unspoken promise of Rukia's steadfast presence, knowing words would emerge in their own time.
Unfortunately, even the comfort of familiar tastes became bland. Barely having touched her food, Hisana began playing with her tea, watching the steam rise, but it offered no foresight, and no peace. Her hand, unable to steady the cup, traced its rim absentmindedly, her thoughts adrift in a sea of unrest, stirring an uneasy churn in her belly.
Approaching the hotel door felt akin to trudging through quicksand, each step a battle between the instinct to flee and the gnawing need for closure just beyond grasp. Once outside, late August's heat clung to her like a second skin, the sun's glare relentless. Hisana's breaths came in shallow gasps, her fingers clenched around her bag's strap.
Iyo's streets lay eerily silent, each passerby a shadow flickering past, their indifference mirroring her own isolation. The city's uncaring gaze weighed heavily, amplifying her solitude despite Rukia's presence.
As the day draped everything in a golden dawn, they ventured beyond Iyo's confines into the countryside. A chill draft through the bus couldn't quell the sweat beading on Hisana's brow, nor douse the inner fire of condemnation that summoned a dark, familiar shadow, coiling around her with stealth.
Transitioning from summer's warmth to autumn's crisp onset felt more like a final farewell than a gentle lullaby. The air shifted, imbued with the scent of early fallen leaves, and the sparse, persistent song of cicadas. Their melodies while there, was faint, echoing of upcoming change.
It was Rukia's hand on Hisana's shoulder that pulled her back to reality. The bus had stopped, and around them, people began to depart. Rukia stood poised to leave, her expression unreadable. There it was again; an unspoken understanding, and this time, it was both an invitation and a reminder. It was time.
Hisana's eyes wandered towards the bus window before settling on the old torii gate that loomed ahead; the wooden simplicity deceptive, layers of patina whispered tales of passing seasons and silent witnesses to the flow of countless lives.
She could make out the bleary shapes of stone lanterns dotting the pathway through the cemetery where cherry trees and maples, stood scattered throughout, flaunting their summer greenery, yet here and there, signs of crimson and gold began to surface. This beauty stood out sharply in the summer heat, setting her heart into an irregular, unsettling cadence.
"Let's go," Hisana snapped, her widened eyes returning to lock with Rukia's. With a swift motion, she shouldered her bag and grabbed the bucket from Rukia, stepping off the bus with strides that set the pace, Rukia hastening to match her steps.
"Slow down," Rukia called, quickening her steps in a bid to keep up.
Abruptly, Hisana stopped. She was anchored at the torii gate's threshold, as if the earth itself had woven roots around her feet. Rukia's brisk pace stopped just short of Hisana, giving her a moment to find her balance.
"There's no rush," Rukia urged, "Hisana, you're not going through this by yourself. And it's been a while. It's understandable if we take it slow." Hisana watched Rukia's dress flutter in the wind as she felt the weight of the bucket being lifted from her grasp.
"I'm sorry," Hisana whispered, closing her eyes while taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Rukia, I remember how you felt about me when I refused to talk about the accident after we moved to Karakura Town. For years, I stopped you from visiting them, all because of my own fears. And then, even when you came back with Ichigo-kun, my lack of action… my failure to support you… it kept me at a distance."
"Sis, you've apologised enough," Rukia's gentle reprimand coaxed a fleeting smile from Hisana.
"It's the truth," Hisana stated, the resonance undeniable in her heart. Her downfall hadn't stemmed from ignorance; rather, it was her acute awareness that had served as a double-edged sword, driving her into a downward spiral.
"That may be," positioning herself in front of Hisana. Rukia planted herself firmly, her eyes meeting Hisana's in a way that quieted the swirling doubts in her sister's head. "But I want you to know this; they, like I am, would be proud of you. You've already done more than was ever asked of you. You've given me everything, while never asking for anything. And sis, you were only nineteen."
Hisana inhaled, the knot in her throat loosening slightly, "and you... were only twelve."
Rukia responded with a surprising, playful smile. She gently nudged Hisana's shoulder, bringing a sense of lightness between them. "Right now, that's irrelevant. This is about you, not me. And don't dodge the conversation, or I might just delve into your erotic art collection featuring your new boss."
"You wouldn't, would you?" Hisana gasped, heat flooding her face, painting her cheeks a soft shade of pink. "You know they never supported my dreams of being an artist…"
Rukia's laughter, clear and uplifting, rang out, her smile infectious, brightening her features. "Then perhaps it's wise to listen to your little sister for once," she teased, her eyes alight.
Hisana embraced Rukia's laughter, letting it envelop her in a warmth akin to basking in the sun's glow, seeping into her very being and easing the stiffness that had unknowingly taken hold of her body. It was musical, and stirred a cherished memory—Hisana was nine, holding up a picture book upside down, watching a two-year old Rukia's delight bubble over at the absurdity.
Before long, the laughter faded, giving way to a peaceful hush with their only companion being the caress of the summer breeze and the warmth of daylight. Time seemed to stretch, drawing out their silent pause, but in truth, it lasted only for a few seconds.
Her smile faltered, clasping her bag with both hands in a firm grasp. Then with a slight nod, Hisana shifted her gaze to the path stretching out beyond the torii gate. "Let's go," she suggested.
Rukia stood firm, her steady demeanour a source of comfort. "Hisana, there's no rush," she reaffirmed, angling her head thoughtfully, "we can take a moment to stay here a little longer."
Hisana's hesitation was brief, her gaze meeting Rukia's before a slight shake of her head. "No, I'm ready," she declared, easing the bag from her tight grip up onto her shoulder, her fingers toyed with the strap.
Nibbling at her lip, Hisana took in her sister's firm stance, mirroring it; her hands finding rest at her sides. "No. I'm ready," she said, her face softened by a restrained smile. This wasn't entirely a facade, despite the continued tapping of her fingers against her bag.
The choice was clear; there was only forward. Her heart yearned for freedom, to escape the chains that bound her. Yet, at the cemetery's edge, she was paralysed; the echoes of their screams, the car's violent shaking, and the sharp ache from swallowed cries left her chest throbbing with pain.
"Hisana, we can wait," Rukia emphasised, breaking the dense fog of Hisana's memories. Hisana lifted her eyes to meet Rukia's, and in the depth of her lavender-coloured eyes, a smile emerged, as fleeting as a flower under the first frost, declining the suggestion.
The wind played with Hisana's hair, black strands fluttering against the breeze. Brushing her hair from her face, she gathered it and loosely tied it back. "Rukia, I've already waited too long to face this. Could," she sputtered, pushing her lips together as a tight line formed. "Could you... would you lead the way? I can't remember…"
Hisana watched Rukia glance upwards, her eyes searching the blue sky. Perhaps she was searching for a sign, or maybe gathering her courage. Whether Rukia found it or not, when her eyes lowered again, when her gaze returned to Hisana, there was a faint wetness shimmering.
With a solemn nod, Rukia took a step toward the torii gate, her footsteps steady, echoing softly on the path. Hisana felt a tightness in her chest, watching Rukia's tense back as she led the way.
For a moment, Hisana found the small family pendant she hadn't worn in years, her fingers lingered on the cold metal, drawing a deep breath.
Passing the gate, they were greeted by the familiar wooden sign of the cemetery, exactly as Hisana remembered—simple, unadorned. To their left, a stone basin awaited them. Setting aside the items they brought, they stood side by side, facing the basin, its surface smoothed by generations of hands performing the temizu.
Rukia reached for the bamboo ladle with practiced ease, the water flowing over her left hand in a clear, cool stream, a ritual cleansing that seemed as intrinsic as breath.
Hisana observed, her attention not just on the act but on the calm assurance with which Rukia moved. When Rukia washed her other hand, the water's gentle spill whispered to the breeze. More than just washing away both the physical and spiritual stains, this was a preparation, a deep purification of the soul.
Rukia extended the ladle, her expression layered with acknowledgment, encouragement, and a deep understanding. Hisana took a moment to simply look at it, feeling the depth of Rukia's gaze, before her trembling fingers encircled the handle.
The coolness of the ladle against her warm skin was striking, its heft reminding her of the familiar weight of her own burdens. Now was her turn to partake in the temizu. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird, as if it might break free from its ribcage prison, yearning for an escape.
Visiting them required her to be pure, but her sins were permanent stains on her soul; the guilt, anger and darker flaws had become inseparable parts of her.
Hisana's fingers skimmed the water, then using the ladle, she poured it over, eliciting a sharp gasp and a wince. It burned, reaching beyond her skin, touching a hidden pain. Her chest rose sharply, and her brow creased. After a brief pause, accepting the pain, she cleansed her right hand, and felt an immediate softening across her body. Her muscles unwound, soothing the sharp ache into a soft release.
Together, they rinsed their mouths, the act mindful, completing the temizu. Hisana, ladle in hand, cleansed it for the next visitor. A fragile sense of lightness blossomed within her, each breath a step toward freedom, as if she were emerging, trembling, from the long, oppressive shadows that had once defined her existence.
They resumed their path along the cemetery's gravel paths, guided by stone lanterns amidst the fragrance of incense and late blooms, with the earthiness of moss and stone beneath their feet. Their synchronised steps created a rhythmic crunch on the petal-strewn gravel, passing graves adorned with tokens of remembrance.
Rukia led the way, casting backward glances to ensure Hisana was still there. As Hisana walked, her fingers traced the cool, moss-covered stone lanterns, their rough texture anchoring her swirling thoughts with a grounding clarity. It shimmered like a tear in the fabric of reality itself. 'I'm okay,' she thought to herself in a mantra. 'I will be okay. I am doing this.'
Silence wrapped around them, intensifying with each step. The occasional rustle of leaves offered no reprieve, instead seeming to whisper accusations of guilt. With every breath, Hisana felt as though the silence was tightening its grip, her breaths becoming shallower.
A sharp pang of loss pierced her very core, the imminent threat of tears staging a fierce battle against her faltering resolve, each inhale a fight not to succumb to the waves of sorrow threatening to engulf her.
Then, a simple gesture broke through the heaviness around her—Rukia's fingers wrapped around hers. "You can do this, sis." Rukia assured, her voice breaking the suffocating quiet. With a comforting squeeze of her hand, she stood patiently, until Hisana released her grip, offering Rukia the faintest glimmer of a smile.
"We're close. It's this way," Rukia said, offering her own smile, brief and subdued, but long enough to convey a message of shared strength; of not being alone.
Late morning light sifted through the branches above, draping her face in a soft glow that eased the lines of her expression. Her short, bob-styled hair, tousled gently by the wind, caught the light as she gestured, guiding them down a tombstone-lined path.
The loss of Rukia's warmth left Hisana feeling untethered, her fingers grasping the emptiness. It took a moment to find her footing, like striking a match in the rain—futile until a flame finally caught before she continued following in Rukia's steps.
The remainder of the path was straightforward and arriving at the grave felt rather anticlimactic. She didn't crumble into tears or collapse.
As Hisana stopped behind Rukia, she began to tremble, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The world seemed to fracture, each crack a path leading deeper into the void within her, a landscape where silent screams rolled like fog over a cliff, enveloping her in their invisible, cold embrace.
Their names, familiar yet strangely foreign, were etched in the stone:
丸五 真里 | 丸五 彩芽
Marugo Masato | Marugo Ayame
Rukia's bow was graceful, measured, compared to Hisana's stiff, delayed mimicry. Their eyes met; a wordless exchange transpired—their lavender-coloured eyes heavy with unshed tears. Rukia's face held solemnity, while Hisana's betrayed her composure, her jaw quivering slightly.
Nodding, Hisana closed her eyes. She heard the soft rustle as Rukia knelt by the grave, beginning to unpack their cleaning supplies. When she opened her eyes, her gaze settled softly on her sister's back, her heartbeat escalating into a whirlwind of vertigo.
Years of self-exile had morphed into ghosts, haunting the empty corridors of the life she had confined herself to, each a witness to the isolation bred from her decisions. Questions without answers whirled in her mind—what had she lost, what, if anything, had she gained? Her life, frozen at nineteen, had plunged into a chasm of detachment and despair, shadowed by thoughts too dark to name.
The impulse to flee, to vanish into the refuge of her solitude, warred with a desperate yearning for freedom. Listening to the meticulous sounds of Rukia caring for the grave—the soft bristles against the stone, the gentle splash of water—revealed the truth.
Eight years of suffering culminated into a single, piercing revelation: she missed them.
Memories of her father's steadfast presence enveloped her; his ability to turn every doubt into a cherished lesson, and his listening that made her feel truly heard. And her mother—Hisana could almost hear the tune she hummed while baking for the teahouse, a melody Hisana had tried to mimic awkwardly on several occasions.
A warmth blossomed through Hisana's chest, its glow heightened by the gentle breeze that danced across her skin, with the leaves above joining in a hushed chorus. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt embraced by their presence, as tangible as the air she breathed.
Inhaling deeply, drawing strength from the ground beneath her, Hisana waited at the gravesites edge. Its unkempt state reflected her neglected life. She took a step forward, her hand instinctively reached out towards Rukia, only to hover mid-air, suspended as if the shadows of the past formed an invisible barrier she couldn't breach. Rukia, catching the motion, turned her gaze to Hisana. In the glare of the summer sun, their eyes found each other's.
Rukia tilted her head toward the empty space beside her, her soft expression tinged with sorrow. She reached out, her fingers intertwining with Hisana's suspended hand, an invitation conveyed in silence, save for Hisana's name forming on her lips, a whisper barely carried by the wind.
Hisana knelt beside Rukia, her movements carrying the hesitance of a stranger in her own life, especially once her fingers slipped away from Rukia's grasp. Her own smile, a fragile bloom, found its reflection in Rukia's. With a breath that trembled through her, Hisana reached out, gently wiping away the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
They quickly fell into rhythm; Rukia with careful pours of water that cleansed the grave, and Hisana, buffing the stone, her touch light as she outlined the names of their parents, dissolving the traces of the past year's neglect.
After the gravestone gleamed clean, Hisana retrieved fresh flowers from her bag. She placed them in a vase, their bright hues vibrant against the muted tones of stone and gravel. Rukia complemented the gesture by setting down a plate with offerings that spoke of their childhood and home—tea, dried seaweed, saké, and mikan candies.
Lighting incense sticks, they watched the smoke spiral upwards, its scent weaving into the cemetery's air. Side by side, they bowed in prayer. The silence shared between them felt as nurturing and protective as their parent's embrace. Hisana shifted, and the caress of the breeze against her back eased the stiffness that had seized her posture.
A deep sigh wove its way through the disarray of her heart, escaping her lips amidst the scattered whispers of her prayer. These whispers were so soft, barely stirring the air, carrying her deepest confessions of guilt, disappointment, fear—truths never voiced aloud but they needed to know, to understand.
Amongst the song of regret, sadness, and absence Hisana spun for their parents, she whispered truths to them. She celebrated Rukia—highlighting her strength and kindness, illuminating the dark corners of the past with the light of her praise. And that, despite the shadows she cast, around her, one could still find glimmers of light.
The air around her seemed to hold still, as if the very atmosphere paused, holding its breath, while all else quieted to a hush. Sunlight warmed her cheeks more intensely, enveloping her in a sensation long forgotten, nameless but familiar. It was as though the sunlight itself yearned to cradle her wounded heart, offering a release that was both painful and profoundly comforting.
It felt like a return to her own body after years of disconnection, a reclamation of self.
After finishing her prayer, Hisana's clasped hands settled in her lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unrestrained, their warmth a contrast to the deep, cold ache inside her. With each breath carefully drawn, her brows knitted together, and her lips trembled.
However, upon opening her eyes to the gravestone marked with her parents' names, it was Rukia's presence she felt beside her. A softening appeared around her eyes, and the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly—not quite forming a smile but hinting at a return of the person she used to be.
Hisana reached out with tentative fingers, barely brushing against Rukia's before entwining them in a firm grasp. Side by side, they sat before the gravestone, surrounded by the cemetery's hushed whispers, the incense's lingering fragrance, and the caress of sunlight.
Her childhood was dotted with countless afternoons at this playground. These memories, so vibrant and tangible, blurred the boundaries of time. Hisana could almost hear the echoes of her youthful laughter, see the ghostly images of her younger self darting across the grass, a blur of energy and innocence in pigtails. Back then, the world was simple, defined by games of catch and the thrill of climbing to the top of the slide.
And with Rukia's arrival, the playground transformed into a place of shared happiness. Together, they crafted castles in the sand and soared towards the clouds on swings, under the watchful eyes of their parents, who found peace from their children on the park benches.
Now, perched on the same familiar swing, she dwelt in solitude, save for the chain's quiet murmurs. The warmth of the seat, still holding the day's summer heat, served as a bridge—linking the cherished days gone by with the reflective chill of her present solitude. Each deliberate push against the earth was a desire to reach through time, to reclaim those carefree moments.
Her grasp on the chains tightened with every rise, knuckles whitening-not solely from the effort to elevate her frame, but from the weight of her heavy heart. Each swing towards the sky felt like climbing hand over hand up a rope, escaping the darkness to greet the light of a new day.
The playground stood deserted, basking in the waning light of the setting sun. Shadows stretched across the ground, painting everything in melancholy, a palette of muted oranges and pinks. While heartrending, it was a poignant reminder of time's inexorable march—a pace with which she had fallen out of step.
But here she was, finding her pace once more, drawn back to Ehime, to the past she had fled from. Surviving the unthinkable, she now breathed life anew, allowing the swing's rhythm to caress her, her ponytail dancing with each backward lean.
A sigh, filled with the day's burdens, escaped her. While the familiar twilight didn't lighten her weary heart; it recast her solitude in hues of understanding and budding acceptance. The setting sun's promise of a new dawn, a new start after years marred by condemnation, whispered to her.
But truth be told, this wasn't the start of those whispers.
It began months ago on that dawn-lit rooftop, with Tokyo sprawling beneath a sky painted in soft copper and deep crimson. She remembered the churning in her stomach, her heart climbing into her throat, and the sight of blood, bright against the concrete. All of it paled in comparison to his gaze—stormy grey eyes that ensnared her with an intensity that was haunting, leading her to this very moment.
A moment where she sought reconciliation with her past, and where true understanding remained elusive. As the day's emotional turmoil ebbed away, leaving behind a reflective weariness in its wake, answers remained beyond her grasp.
Why her?
Logic defied the very path that brought her here. Insignificant, neither a threat nor a person of influence, her being a witness was hardly noteworthy to a man of his stature. Given how each of their meetings only deepened her disgrace, her reactions were unpredictable and fraught with shame.
What made him choose her? Surely, it wasn't her talent.
A flush of heat crept up her cheeks, not even the breeze brushing against her skin could temper its intensity. Hisana was neither naïve nor a starry-eyed schoolgirl; she knew the origin of her fascination, and it was far from innocent, decidedly improper even.
It was his kindness that fuelled the flames, only serving to distance her further from the reality between them. Byakuya stood like a distant star, embodying strength, authority, and the boundless freedom of the cosmos, shining far beyond her earthly reach. Their meeting was a cosmic anomaly, a world straying from its course.
'Life', Hisana mused, 'had its ironies.'
She clung to this belief because even if it was an anomaly, he had truly seen her, in ways no one else had, and she believed she had seen him in the same light—or at least, she hoped so. This hope of hers carried risks far greater than mere glimpses of his criminality or the assertive dominance and privilege he displayed. Hidden beneath his stoic elegance was a man of lethal precision, equally dangerous and mesmerising.
Her heart fluttered anew, light, and unshackled, igniting a smile on her lips. He represented all she felt undeserving of yet longed for deeply. She was a mere nobody, who had found a purpose in his world, against all odds, he hadn't cast her aside but offered her opportunities.
At the thought, a different, unwelcome sensation stirred within, distant from the elation of her heart. It was pure and profound; however, she dared not embrace it, not when she was just beginning to find her step in life's relentless march again.
Engaging with Kuchiki Byakuya was akin to flirting with wildfire—each advance a dance around the edge of an all-consuming blaze, one that she knew, once entered, would consume her completely, leaving no escape.
'This is wrong,' she chastised herself. His kindness had been met with nothing but her chaos; from such a foundation, she knew no good could emerge.
This feeling persisted, undeterred by her resolve to quash it.
It clung to her rather stubbornly. Her palms pressed clammy to the metallic chains, and as the swing dipped towards the earth, her trainers lightly brushed the dirt with each descent. It burgeoned within her like a delicate flower; hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like her to have.
Shaking her head, she sought to dispel the thoughts, the memory of his presence, and his words. Facing the looming future ahead, she craved for a moment's abandon—a pause from reflection, a break from thought, and an escape from herself.
Halting her swinging, Hisana retrieved her phone from the pocket of her jeans, checking the time. Rukia's return was imminent, with the train station close, and Ichigo's train having arrived just under an hour ago. Thankfully, his arrival allowed her the freedom to leave Ehime tonight.
Someday, she pondered, she might manage to stay here longer, but for now, she had to begin with small steps, one foot after the other, resisting the urge to sprint away—despite how overwhelming it felt.
Besides, her solitude would grant her space to reflect and heal, and, more than anything, to demonstrate to Rukia through actions, not just words, her genuine effort to move forward.
Her hand gripped her loose shirt, directly over her heart. Today's burden wasn't hers alone; Rukia, too, carried its weight.
She was the one who made broken promises to Rukia. Hisana inhaled sharply, the breath held and released in a slow exhale. Ichigo, unlike her, had been Rukia's pillar, accompanying her to their parents' graves since Rukia was sixteen. He was always there.
With a heavy swallow, she typed her message and sent it off before pocketing her phone. Resettling on the swing, she leaned back, prepared to push off. She surrendered to the swing's motion, the wind's caress mingled with the twilight sky's hues—blushes of pink and strokes of lavender—painting the horizon ahead.
The nearby trees bore the sea's faint scent, brushing her cheeks with a briny tang that blended with the earthy aroma of greenery.
Ehime's nature was a sight to behold, one she imaged he, too, would find mesmerising.
Pushing higher on the swing, Hisana revelled in the fleeting freedom each ascent brought, her smile blossomed instinctively, bright, and unguarded. That was, until a soft notification drew her attention. In the park's verdant expanse, under the canopy of an aged oak, she spotted them, engrossed in quiet conversation.
Ichigo stood bathed in the retreating sun's glow, his distinctive hair striking against the twilight colours. Maturity had tempered his teenage edginess, but Hisana could recall the scowls that defined him, the traces of his headstrong nature visible.
His focus was entirely on her sister, his posture open and attentive. Rukia was merely a step away, her composure masking the depth of their conversation as she leaned into him. Her short bob truly flattered her, framing her pale skin, highlighting the expressiveness of her eyes. When Ichigo's hand gently stroked Rukia's shoulder, her sister grew quiet, her hand moving to cover her mouth.
Observing them, Hisana's heart swelled. Memories of their younger selves—of playful squabbles and veiled fondness—came flooding back. Rukia and Ichigo, to each other, were like stars in the night sky, each shining brighter in the other's presence, illuminating even the stormiest of skies.
However, as Hisana observed them, her smile tightened, and her gaze briefly shifted away. Her happiness for her sister was genuine, but it stirred unwelcome questions on her own life and relationships.
Her eyes closed for a fleeting moment on the backward swing, a brief retreat into herself at the thought of him, sending a shiver down her spine. Upon opening them, she was met with the rush of air against her face.
Rukia's curt nod in her direction caused Hisana's smile to falter, a brief crack in her façade. Nonetheless, Hisana continued her momentum on the swing, pushing higher, striving for the sky, allowing herself a moment of escape. Resting her head against the chain, she kept them in view, observing their interaction from a distance.
Her back straightened up when Ichigo's deep, rich brown eyes locked with hers across the distance. His eyebrows lifted in a look that had become achingly familiar to her of late. Since her departure from Karakura Town, he hadn't seen her, and now he found himself confronted with a semblance of the Hisana he once knew.
She had changed; her skin pulled taut over her bones, clothes draping loosely, her hair, straight and overly long, even when tied back, lent her an almost ghostly appearance.
Despite what she had become, as of today, there was a newfound lightness about her, a fragment of peace that had been absent before. This was evident in her blossoming smile, radiant and unrestrained, spreading across her face.
Her arm swept through the air with a vivacity of a child. As she swung backwards, her call, lively and spirited, reached out, "Rukia. Ichigo-kun!"
With each movement, the swing creaked its dissent, but she continued, each ascent murmuring promises to her. Rise after fall, her past weights vanished into the wind, her soul lightening and her spirit lifting towards the welcoming arms of the sky. Hisana's every move sprang from the inner child who, until today, had been concealed beneath layers of her constraints.
When they began to approach, Hisana leaned slightly forward, as if drawn by an unseen force towards the horizon. Her smile lifted alongside her, wind caressing her face, hair streaming behind in a moment of breathtaking suspension. Hisana looked over the landscape, where fields and trees blurred in the vast expanse of her childhood town, the cool rush of air filling her lungs, the scent of the fields and the freshness of the sky.
Heart racing, she released her grip on the chains, launching her body into the open air.
In that leap, Hisana soared like an eagle released, her spirit unfettered, rising higher with each beat of her heart. Time stretched thin, as she glided above the mundane, the shadows of shame, and the remnants of her past, the roar of her freedom drowning out gravity's pull.
Soon, gravity reasserted its claim, whispering caution as it swept past, her joyous giggle blossomed into laughter, deep and aching in her belly. Time snapped tight. The ground reclaimed its due with ruthless speed. The impact thundering through her, followed by a moment's hush, before the pain flared vivid and relentless, stealing her breath as her upper body constricted.
Beneath the immediate onslaught of pain and the harsh greeting from the ground, there existed a sensation that danced in her consciousness, easing her muscles into the earth's embrace, merging with her pulse and the pervasive sting of her flesh.
There, upon the ground, Hisana opened her eyes to a world blurred at the edges, her fingers dancing through tickling grass and the soft soil below. The sky above, now draped in purples and blues, shuddered in time with her fervent heartbeat. The cool evening breeze caressed her heated cheeks, and she erupted into irrepressible giggles.
"This," she mused, her eyes sparkling as pain and beauty tangled in her soul, "this is what life feels like."
Drawing a deep, shaky breath, filling her lungs, her smile bloomed anew, her laughter echoing with rare, unguarded joy. Then, her world sharpened into focus with Ichigo's intense gaze, his spiky hair a bit dishevelled, and Rukia, with raven locks framing her face, both overshadowing the colourful sky.
Fingers brushed her shoulder, hesitant, then firm, lifting her with care. Amidst her laughter, Ichigo's deep voice broke through, "Shit, are you okay, Hisana?" Beside him, Rukia's hands hovered, her eyes scanning for signs of harm.
Hisana rose with a wince that her laughter overrode, the mirth undiminished. It was an infectious melody, wrapping them in an untold language that resonated deeply. "I'm alright," she said, her face aching from exhilaration, "I haven't felt this way for a while."
Regaining her footing, her hands trembled as she brushed off her jeans. They stood with her, ready to catch her if needed. This softened Hisana's smile, warming her heart further.
Her gaze drifted back to the now-still swing set, bathed in the twilight's soft, fading glow. All other sounds faded away; she was sure someone was speaking, though their words did not reach her ears. In the shadow of the swing's stillness, she found understanding—she would be okay, it wouldn't be quick or simple, but much like the beauty that lingered in her past, the whispered promises of her future were there, waiting to be heard.
Thank you for reading, especially considering we are already at chapter 5 and almost at 50k words!
The month has been difficult, I had a small, but painful surgery recovery and was out for a bit, and then, my husband had some bad news this month. So, I am really really proud of this chapter, and that I still got it out (even if I wanted it out last night).
Also, I know this didn't have any Byakuya - but don't worry - things are about to get moving from the new chapter. Will it be quick or won't it? Key note, if you haven't noticed - the chapters follow her exhibition themes – so, when will we get to Passion & Desire? Or even Frustration & Release...
I have also added songs above each chapter - they are the songs in my playlist that really helped flesh out each chapter, so give them a listen.
Truly, thank you to everyone reading this story, and thank you for those who have left a review. Reviews and comments of all kind are always welcome and I love reading them.
