The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single candle casting soft shadows against the crumbling walls. Rangiku sat cross-legged on the floor, her back pressed against the cold stone. She said nothing, her eyes fixed on the dried dates Gin had brought home. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her torn clothes, trying to close the gaps in the fabric as much as she could. The silence between them was thick, but Gin didn't press her right away.
He sat across from her, relaxed in contrast to her tension. He picked up one of the dried dates and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His sharp eyes, always seeming to see more than they should, flicked over to Rangiku.
"You're quiet tonight," he said casually, his tone light. "That's not like you."
"I'm fine," she replied quickly, a little too quickly, keeping her eyes on the dates in her lap.
Gin tilted his head, unconvinced. He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin in his hand. "You're fiddling with your clothes an awful lot for someone who's fine."
Rangiku's hands froze. She looked up at him, her face conflicted. "It's nothing. Really."
He raised an eyebrow, waiting. Gin had always been patient, but he had a way of wearing down walls without seeming to try.
Finally, she let out a small sigh and looked away. "I was out today, stealing some food. You know, just… just trying to help."
His expression didn't change, but she could feel his focus sharpen. "And?"
"There was a man," she admitted reluctantly. "He saw me running off and chased me. I tripped, and-" She gestured to her clothes, her cheeks flushing. "My clothes got torn. That's all."
Gin's eyes darted to her hands, still gripping the fabric of her clothes, trying to hold it together. He didn't speak right away, and for a moment, Rangiku thought he wouldn't say anything at all.
"I'm sorry," she added quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Sorry for what?" Gin finally said, his voice steady.
"For being careless. For not being able to fix this myself. For... making things harder for us."
Gin's lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, though there was no humor in it. "Rangiku, you've got nothing to be sorry for."
She looked up at him, startled.
"Next time," he continued, "just tell me what happened."
Rangiku nodded, a lump forming in her throat.
Gin stood, brushing off his knees. "Get some sleep," he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. "Tomorrow's another day." And she wondered when he would come home again.
The next morning, Rangiku woke to find a neatly folded bundle of clothes beside her. The fabric was coarse but whole, and far better than the tattered rags she had been wearing. She stared at it in disbelief, her fingers brushing over the unfamiliar texture.
Gin strolled in, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He glanced at the clothes and shrugged as if it were nothing.
Her mouth opened to say something, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.
"You don't have to go stealing anymore," he said. "I'll bring the food. You'll never go hungry again."
Rangiku's vision blurred as tears pricked her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't find her voice. Then, with a wobbly smile, she whispered, "Thank you, Gin."
He didn't reply, just gave her a small, knowing smile - the kind that made her believe, even in the worst of times, that they'd be okay as long as they had each other.
Rangiku leaned against her desk in the 10th Division barracks, combing through her hair absentmindedly. It was longer now, cascading well past her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light in a way that seemed to draw attention she hadn't entirely expected - or welcomed.
She sighed, glancing at her reflection in the small mirror on the wall. Maybe growing it out was a bad idea after all.
Ever since she let her hair grow, there had been an uptick in odd encounters - men with peculiar tastes and overly confident approaches. They'd compliment her on how "womanly" she looked now or made some comment about how much they "loved a wild mane." It was exhausting. Rangiku could handle attention, even thrived on it sometimes, but the sheer audacity of some people was starting to wear thin.
She tossed the comb onto her desk and groaned, running her fingers through the golden strands. She thought about it often lately. Back when it was shorter, she never had to deal with this kind of nonsense. Sure, it was less feminine, but it was practical - and she had liked the edgier look.
Her lips twitched into a smile as she imagined the reactions if she turned up one day with a blunt, no-nonsense cut. Most of the division would probably be too stunned to say anything. And as for the men with their "weird kinks," well…
"Serves them right," she muttered to herself.
Still, there was something about her longer hair that she liked too. It felt like a declaration of her confidence and freedom - a sign that she was comfortable with herself and didn't mind a little extra effort to maintain it. She wasn't about to let a few creeps ruin that for her.
But as she twisted a lock around her finger, she couldn't help but think of the simplicity of shorter hair. Gin had once told her it suited her when they were younger, a rare and sincere compliment that had stuck with her.
His name flitted through her mind, and she quickly shook it away. No use dwelling on someone who was barely a shadow in her life now.
For now, she decided, the hair could stay. But if another strange man approached her with some odd comment about it, she might just grab the nearest blade and take matters into her own hands.
She laughed softly to herself at the thought, already feeling lighter. She stood and headed for the door, ready to take on the day with her usual charm - and maybe just a hint of menace for anyone who dared to test her patience.
She walked through the barracks, adjusting the stack of papers in her hands, her usual confident stride unbroken by the weight of responsibility. Her destination was the 7th Division, and although delivering paperwork wasn't the most exciting task, it gave her a chance to stretch her legs and enjoy the feeling of sunlight on her skin.
She was aware of the stares as she passed groups of men and she found herself smiling slightly. It wasn't unwelcome, not today. She liked the way they looked at her, the way her confidence seemed to draw them in.
Her outfit, as usual, was deliberately a touch revealing. Her Shihakushō hung loosely around her shoulders, the neckline dipping low to reveal the soft curve of her collarbone and a hint more than that. She wasn't being scandalous, but she wasn't modest either. Rangiku knew exactly what she was doing, and today, she felt good about it.
Maybe I'm finally growing into myself, she thought as she passed a group of younger Shinigami who scrambled to look busy as she caught them staring. She chuckled softly, adjusting her hair over her shoulder.
The truth was, it had been a while since she'd graduated from the academy. She wasn't a kid anymore, and maybe it was time to stop pretending she was. She liked feeling womanly - powerful in a way that had nothing to do with swords or reiatsu.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice him until she was almost upon him.
Gin.
He stood just a little to the side of the path, his usual serene demeanor in place, hands tucked into his sleeves as if he had all the time in the world. She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden presence but recovering quickly.
He turned his head slightly to look at her, his eyes half-lidded and unreadable as always, his gaze traveling over her for a moment, but not in the way the others had, not like he was staring at her body.
"Your hair," he said then. "It suits you now. Matches the rest of you… you've changed, Rangiku."
Rangiku blinked, feeling a warmth rise to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. She opened her mouth to respond, but Gin had already begun walking away, his haori swaying gently behind him.
She stood there for a moment, watching his retreating figure and letting his words sink in.
Maybe I won't cut it, she thought, touching a strand of her hair and smiling faintly.
Maybe I'll just let it be.
Adjusting her grip on the papers, she continued on her way, her stride a little lighter and her smile a little softer.