INCOMPLETE.
Who: Kira Izuru (sealship), Ichimaru Gin (gintsune).
What: Gin wants some BANDAGES AND SHIT after his little match with Aizen. Kira has these things? Because he gets beat up a lot? *sobs* I hate summaries.
Where: Kira's house/place/WHATEVER IT IS IDK.
When: Earlier this morning/late last night.
Kira had done as requested of him: shortly after speaking with his captain, he'd retrieved more medical supplies from the market, and now the gauze and the wrappings and the various assortment of bandages lay neatly lined up on the table directly across from his front door.
Idly, long fingers trailed over the soft padding of the wrappings, over the cross-stitching of the gauze, before they slipped along the edge of the table until his hand was falling back down to his side. He'd been waiting for five minutes, maybe ten, and he wasn't sure how long Gin would be, how long Gin would take, whether or not Gin was even in any sort of condition to be walking around at all. His captain knew his limits, though, and didn't he always, and Kira didn't have to worry, Kira didn't need to worry, and who the hell said he was goddamn worrying in the first place? He didn't worry, because he never worried, because there wasn't any point to it at all, and because--
He swallowed hard, and blue eyes fixed hollowly on a spot on the wall across from him.
Gin could take however long he wanted, in the end. It wasn't as if Kira was going anywhere, after all, and he'd left the door to his house open, wedging it into place with a small rock so that it didn't close on its own. His back was to that door, now, and those eyes were still fixed on the wall, still fixed on the white plastering, on the soft molding that framed the doorways and the bottoms of the walls. He didn't worry for a lot of reasons, except that was a lie, and it was funny that he couldn't even lie to himself, couldn't lie to Aizen (Aizen-sama, his brain corrected, and Kira bit back the small noise of protest), or Gin, or anyone, because everyone saw right through him, and maybe it wasn't really all that fair. But then it'd never been fair at all, never been fair since the very beginning, and.
That didn't mean that he stopped listening, that he paused to turn his back for one second, because he was utterly incapable of not believing a word that fell from Gin's mouth, and it had damned him long before he had ever damned himself. So, now he stood, waiting, silent, and his fingers curled into a fist against his side, and that same first found the surface of the table, and the bandaging trembled as the table shook, as his breath caught, as his lungs constricted because he couldn't fucking breathe. His hand slid away again, and his finger was barely bleeding from where he'd caught it on the table, but he hardly noticed.
It seemed to be happening a lot, lately.
Damnit.
His shoulders dropped, and he drew in a steady, long breath. His lungs hurt, and his hand hurt now, too, and his head was throbbing, and Gin was hurt, and Gin was coming, and Gin was probably already there for all he goddamn knew, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.
And he wouldn't have done anything, even if there had been.
What: Gin wants some BANDAGES AND SHIT after his little match with Aizen. Kira has these things? Because he gets beat up a lot? *sobs* I hate summaries.
Where: Kira's house/place/WHATEVER IT IS IDK.
When: Earlier this morning/late last night.
Kira had done as requested of him: shortly after speaking with his captain, he'd retrieved more medical supplies from the market, and now the gauze and the wrappings and the various assortment of bandages lay neatly lined up on the table directly across from his front door.
Idly, long fingers trailed over the soft padding of the wrappings, over the cross-stitching of the gauze, before they slipped along the edge of the table until his hand was falling back down to his side. He'd been waiting for five minutes, maybe ten, and he wasn't sure how long Gin would be, how long Gin would take, whether or not Gin was even in any sort of condition to be walking around at all. His captain knew his limits, though, and didn't he always, and Kira didn't have to worry, Kira didn't need to worry, and who the hell said he was goddamn worrying in the first place? He didn't worry, because he never worried, because there wasn't any point to it at all, and because--
He swallowed hard, and blue eyes fixed hollowly on a spot on the wall across from him.
Gin could take however long he wanted, in the end. It wasn't as if Kira was going anywhere, after all, and he'd left the door to his house open, wedging it into place with a small rock so that it didn't close on its own. His back was to that door, now, and those eyes were still fixed on the wall, still fixed on the white plastering, on the soft molding that framed the doorways and the bottoms of the walls. He didn't worry for a lot of reasons, except that was a lie, and it was funny that he couldn't even lie to himself, couldn't lie to Aizen (Aizen-sama, his brain corrected, and Kira bit back the small noise of protest), or Gin, or anyone, because everyone saw right through him, and maybe it wasn't really all that fair. But then it'd never been fair at all, never been fair since the very beginning, and.
That didn't mean that he stopped listening, that he paused to turn his back for one second, because he was utterly incapable of not believing a word that fell from Gin's mouth, and it had damned him long before he had ever damned himself. So, now he stood, waiting, silent, and his fingers curled into a fist against his side, and that same first found the surface of the table, and the bandaging trembled as the table shook, as his breath caught, as his lungs constricted because he couldn't fucking breathe. His hand slid away again, and his finger was barely bleeding from where he'd caught it on the table, but he hardly noticed.
It seemed to be happening a lot, lately.
Damnit.
His shoulders dropped, and he drew in a steady, long breath. His lungs hurt, and his hand hurt now, too, and his head was throbbing, and Gin was hurt, and Gin was coming, and Gin was probably already there for all he goddamn knew, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.
And he wouldn't have done anything, even if there had been.