Fanfic: Numb Reflection
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Title: Numb Reflection
Author: Dustii
Pairing: Onesided Hinamori x Aizen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 967
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
Notes: Set just prior to Hinamori's appearance in Ch. 334. Drabblish.
Summary: Hers was a tainted love. He had given her an armband and two beautiful, perfect pink scars.
Numb Reflection
Alone in her room, Hinamori looks into the mirror.
It’s the way she’s started all her days since she first became a shinigami. She’d glance in the mirror, get dressed, do her hair, check and recheck her appearance in the mirror again, then, satisfied, skip excitedly out the door with a smile. (Oh, how many months has it been since then?)
These days, she still looks into the mirror. But she spends a much more time at that, and hardly any skipping or smiling.
Today is no different. (Right?)
She lets her sleeping gown fall to the floor in a soft rustle, exposing her bare body and the scar that adorns her midriff and the identical one on her back. Squinting at the mirror, she scrutinizes her body. It’s thin, bony, her skin is pale and veined with blue. Her hair is tousled, her lips are dry, and her eyes resemble dull charcoal. Is that really who she is now? Repulsion fills her, and she bites her lip in disgust. Everything about her is hideous.
Except for the scars. They are beautiful.
She trails a finger down the valley between her breasts to rest on that pale pink line. Her other hand runs behind her back to finger the other scar. (She just needs to know that it’s still there.) The scars are very precious to her. They were the last things he’d given her before he left.
Goodbye.
A familiar aching unfolds within her chest and her vision is suddenly blurred by tears. She shivers uncontrollably as the cold seeps into her limbs, wrapping her arms around herself and choking back a sob. No, please, no, she didn’t want to remember. Perhaps her heart will never mend.
(She had nearly forgotten. Today was not the same after all.)
A while has passed when she finally slips on her white under-robe. Already, her reflection in the mirror looks better, her naked boniness partially concealed under folds of cloth. She dries her eyes with a sleeve.
Then she steps into her hakama, pulls on her gi, and secures them in place with her obi. (There. Some color has returned to her cheeks.) She pulls on socks, and laces her sandals with the ease and speed of one who has been doing it for decades.
All that’s left is her hair. She’s always been meticulous with her hair, even now. Carefully, she brushes away the tangles and pulls her hair back into a neat bun. She places a white cover over it and ties it in place with a ribbon. A girlish accessory that she still indulged in.
She checks herself in the mirror again. Much better. This is how she should look - dignified, a shinigami of the 5th division. She tucks Tobiume into her obi and a surge of confidence fills her, chasing the fatigue out of her system. She manages a small smile at her reflection. Yes. This is the way that it should be. She feels whole -
- But not quite.
There’s one last thing… her lieutenant’s armband. It’s sitting on her table, left unworn for months. (Ah. Some of the bloodstains never washed out.)
She picks it up reverently, almost a little afraid. This too had been a gift from him, when she first became his lieutenant. She’d treasured it for years and years and years. Just as she’d treasured him. Just as she still did. (She had long forgiven him. How could she not?) He was everything in her world back then, and most of her world even now.
She remembers the deep nuances of his voice, the gentleness of his hand, the strength of his presence. She remembers the warmth of their last embrace, and knows she can never love any other.
Then she remembers his sword through her body, his parting farewell to her. Pain, betrayal, disbelief. Everyday she’s forced to remember this. Over, and over, and over, yet she can’t find it in her to hate him. How many times must her heart be broken before it finally ends? Time flows by against her will.
Today she will fight the arrancar.
This will be the first time since she became a shinigami that she’s not under his command, the first time since she became his lieutenant that she’s not fighting by his side. The choice is her own, though, and her resolve is as set as it will ever be. (Will he hate her? She can’t bear to think about it, but she does.)
It's the right thing to do, she knows. He was a terrible man, who had killed his own comrades and was plotting to destroy Soul Society. (Though inside, she would never be truly able to accept that.) As a shinigami and the acting leader of the 5th division, it was her sworn duty to stop him.
And yet the one thing that she truly wanted was to be by his side once again. She crushes the though, knowing that they could never go back.
Goodbye, he had said. Indeed, it was goodbye. But not entirely.
Because he had given her presents. A pair of beautiful, perfect, pink scars. Oh, how she yearned to give him a pair in return, a token of her gratitude. And he'd given her the armband, too. The armband, that was filled with her memories of him. The armband, that was proof that she was close to him. The armband that was stained with her blood.
Hers was a tainted love.
She couldn't feel her scars through the fabric of her uniform. The armband is her only other connection to him. No one would mind if she indulged in an accessory.
She slips on the bloodstained armband, and when she gazes into the mirror, there is no pain.
Only numbness.
-End
Title: Numb Reflection
Author: Dustii
Pairing: Onesided Hinamori x Aizen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 967
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
Notes: Set just prior to Hinamori's appearance in Ch. 334. Drabblish.
Summary: Hers was a tainted love. He had given her an armband and two beautiful, perfect pink scars.
Numb Reflection
Alone in her room, Hinamori looks into the mirror.
It’s the way she’s started all her days since she first became a shinigami. She’d glance in the mirror, get dressed, do her hair, check and recheck her appearance in the mirror again, then, satisfied, skip excitedly out the door with a smile. (Oh, how many months has it been since then?)
These days, she still looks into the mirror. But she spends a much more time at that, and hardly any skipping or smiling.
Today is no different. (Right?)
She lets her sleeping gown fall to the floor in a soft rustle, exposing her bare body and the scar that adorns her midriff and the identical one on her back. Squinting at the mirror, she scrutinizes her body. It’s thin, bony, her skin is pale and veined with blue. Her hair is tousled, her lips are dry, and her eyes resemble dull charcoal. Is that really who she is now? Repulsion fills her, and she bites her lip in disgust. Everything about her is hideous.
Except for the scars. They are beautiful.
She trails a finger down the valley between her breasts to rest on that pale pink line. Her other hand runs behind her back to finger the other scar. (She just needs to know that it’s still there.) The scars are very precious to her. They were the last things he’d given her before he left.
Goodbye.
A familiar aching unfolds within her chest and her vision is suddenly blurred by tears. She shivers uncontrollably as the cold seeps into her limbs, wrapping her arms around herself and choking back a sob. No, please, no, she didn’t want to remember. Perhaps her heart will never mend.
(She had nearly forgotten. Today was not the same after all.)
A while has passed when she finally slips on her white under-robe. Already, her reflection in the mirror looks better, her naked boniness partially concealed under folds of cloth. She dries her eyes with a sleeve.
Then she steps into her hakama, pulls on her gi, and secures them in place with her obi. (There. Some color has returned to her cheeks.) She pulls on socks, and laces her sandals with the ease and speed of one who has been doing it for decades.
All that’s left is her hair. She’s always been meticulous with her hair, even now. Carefully, she brushes away the tangles and pulls her hair back into a neat bun. She places a white cover over it and ties it in place with a ribbon. A girlish accessory that she still indulged in.
She checks herself in the mirror again. Much better. This is how she should look - dignified, a shinigami of the 5th division. She tucks Tobiume into her obi and a surge of confidence fills her, chasing the fatigue out of her system. She manages a small smile at her reflection. Yes. This is the way that it should be. She feels whole -
- But not quite.
There’s one last thing… her lieutenant’s armband. It’s sitting on her table, left unworn for months. (Ah. Some of the bloodstains never washed out.)
She picks it up reverently, almost a little afraid. This too had been a gift from him, when she first became his lieutenant. She’d treasured it for years and years and years. Just as she’d treasured him. Just as she still did. (She had long forgiven him. How could she not?) He was everything in her world back then, and most of her world even now.
She remembers the deep nuances of his voice, the gentleness of his hand, the strength of his presence. She remembers the warmth of their last embrace, and knows she can never love any other.
Then she remembers his sword through her body, his parting farewell to her. Pain, betrayal, disbelief. Everyday she’s forced to remember this. Over, and over, and over, yet she can’t find it in her to hate him. How many times must her heart be broken before it finally ends? Time flows by against her will.
Today she will fight the arrancar.
This will be the first time since she became a shinigami that she’s not under his command, the first time since she became his lieutenant that she’s not fighting by his side. The choice is her own, though, and her resolve is as set as it will ever be. (Will he hate her? She can’t bear to think about it, but she does.)
It's the right thing to do, she knows. He was a terrible man, who had killed his own comrades and was plotting to destroy Soul Society. (Though inside, she would never be truly able to accept that.) As a shinigami and the acting leader of the 5th division, it was her sworn duty to stop him.
And yet the one thing that she truly wanted was to be by his side once again. She crushes the though, knowing that they could never go back.
Goodbye, he had said. Indeed, it was goodbye. But not entirely.
Because he had given her presents. A pair of beautiful, perfect, pink scars. Oh, how she yearned to give him a pair in return, a token of her gratitude. And he'd given her the armband, too. The armband, that was filled with her memories of him. The armband, that was proof that she was close to him. The armband that was stained with her blood.
Hers was a tainted love.
She couldn't feel her scars through the fabric of her uniform. The armband is her only other connection to him. No one would mind if she indulged in an accessory.
She slips on the bloodstained armband, and when she gazes into the mirror, there is no pain.
Only numbness.
-End