Teetering heart in the wind
Title: Teetering heart in the wind
Prompt: Chilled to the bone by calm_isolation
Author: Kanon
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro
Disclaimer: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.
Distribution: Fanfiction and LJ
Summary: It was a job for no one else but him. And it was also the hardest job he had ever taken on. In the end, he failed, but no one could blame him.
Spoilers: None
Warning: Character death
Author’s Note:
This is a very belated birthday fic for calm_isolation with 'chilled to the bone' as the prompt for an angst. Happy birthday and I hope you enjoy this humble present. More A/N at the end of the fic.
:::::Teetering heart in the wind by Kanon:::::
“Toushiro, when the war is over…”
The small captain took a brief moment to lift his eyes from the paper when the substitute shinigami trailed off without finishing the phrase. The white eyebrow went up by another inch when the teal eyes caught the other’s cheekbone lightly dusted with a faint tinge of red.
“When the war is over…what?”
The orange-haired teen only chuckled somewhat sheepishly and shook his head, adding his hands in the motion while standing up to leave the office.
“Nah, nothing. I’ll tell you afterwards.”
The prodigy watched the substitute shinigami disappear behind the closing door, his face lightly creased in confusion, then with a sigh, returned to his work, paying no more attention. The idiotic strawberry said he would tell him later anyway; all he had to was wait a bit.
-x-
The front door of the empty quarters opened without a sound before it was soon shut, the stream of blinding sunlight that had poured into the cold darkness instantly barred out again. The sole entrant bent low to take off the warajis with a stony face then silently stepped onto the wooden floor that had gained a thin sheet of dust over the span of a mere few days. The figure only sighed, the soft ripple of the chilled air just barely audible, and slowly walked along the corridor, wrapped in undisturbed silence.
Each soundless footstep gave rise to a small flurry of the fine dirt twirling at his feet until they came to a halt in front of the first wooden door on the right. He knew behind it lied the kitchen that he used to wander in, looking for food, in the late morning after a particularly long and blissful night. He had once braved the art of cooking, feeling particularly elated after waking up with an armful of a fresh snow-scented bundle; it had ended in nothing short of a disaster.
The memory had the pursed lips twitching into something like a tiny smile but it vanished quickly, leaving the contorted face in its original bitterness. He was not going to bother looking around in there; he knew there would be nothing that required collecting. And he did not want to take an unnecessary chance for the killing weight on his heart to grow any heavier to hinder his already uneven, shallow breathing.
And so, he continued, his mouth clamped shut, his eyebrows knitted harshly. Although he had appreciated the offer and had been planning to volunteer for the job, he was starting to feel that perhaps, it was indeed too early for him to enter the premises. Everywhere his eyes turned to, every step he took, a myriad of unforgettable memories flooded in to blur his eyes and tightened his chest, twisting his airways and crippling his lungs.
Drawing in a large gulp of air, he forcibly inflated the spongy organs shrinking away from his ribcage and walked on forward like an anxious soldier firming his resolution as he marched onto the battlefield, each stride growing faster and faster. He never broke off into a run, though. The house had always been graced with otherworldly tranquillity that separated the area from the work-crammed life’s hubbubs and even now, he did not dare to shatter it, no matter what. It had always been what was the most appreciated of this comforting alcove of their privacy and it had all the right to remain so, at least in its last few hours.
The frigid emptiness filled the stagnant air, stealing the warmth right off his skin wherever it could, and he cringed at the sensation, not because it was unusual and eerie, but because it used to happen for an entirely different reason. The coldness stealthily but surely seeped through the black garment and crawled its way into his muscles, making them quiver.
He blinked when he realised where his feet had carried him to, while he was too busy ignoring the new method the quarters was plunging his temperature with to acknowledge the direction he had been heading towards. And when he took in the familiar shoji door, the only barrier between him and the room that he knew so well and held far too memories, all the sweetness, all the gentleness, all the laughter, all the comforts, he nearly choked on nothing and his hand shot out for the wooden frame for leverage before the knees could give out on him. The widened eyes scrunched shut in feeble retaliation against the parades of images flickering past one after the other in his mind and through the parted lips came the raspy panting, sometimes mixed with strangled moans that had escaped his clogged throat.
The blunt nails scratched against the bland frame and the fist, its knuckles bleached white, quivered in its own desperate curl. The want, the need to get out of this place was overwhelming and the torturous but unstoppable influx of every second they had spent here was like a hysteric laughter of a far too pleased devil, milking his suffering to the worth of it.
But he stayed; not moving forward but not backing off either. It took every last ounce of his willpower but he triumphed --not totally but he did-- and stayed.
He needed to. He had to.
Tomorrow, Matsumoto Rangiku was going to be officially appointed as the new captain of the tenth division and was expected to move in to the captain’s quarters.
It was where he was right at this moment.
The clenched fist re-opened and spread itself out on the door, sluggishly moving over it till it was at the right place to apply enough pressure to create the opening to the sealed chamber. Another heavy sigh echoed in the vacant silence then biting down his lower lip, he gathered up his swiftly dissipating determination and carefully pushed it to a side, only to stop almost immediately. A thin slice of winter brilliance flooded in through the tiny crack, causing him to wince at the shine that stole his eyesight.
A pang of pain ripped through his heart as he remembered that his lover had always left all the windows of the room wide open, regardless of the season. Then when the first rays of the dawn trickled into the room and teased his frozen skin, he would wake up, untangle himself from the cuddled snowball that was his baby dragon, make a quick work around the room with all the windows, then return to the cosy futon, enjoying the pleasurable mingle of gently pulsing frostiness and soft burning warmth churning under the blanket they shared.
However it was now a routine of the past. Today would be the last time that that they would be shut by his hands.
It took him at least another five minutes before his breathing had evened out to a healthy, regular rate. He shivered involuntarily when a glacial zephyr wafted in through the slightly widened slit, dragging down the already low temperature. The premises, deserted and overlooked in the chaotic aftermath of the war, now carried frigidness that was poles apart from the sharp but protective one that used to grace the place and every cell of his body was rebelling against the alien atmosphere that grasped him in its unforgiving clutch.
The muscles on the jawbone tensed visibly as the teeth grinded hard against each other and in a single, bold movement, he whipped the door open before the quiet emptiness could swallow him whole and bring him down to a pitiful mess.
And what greeted him froze his breathing, froze his steps, froze his eyes, froze his everything on the spot, just one step outside the room.
He had thought that he was ready to confront what he was seeing; it was a picture he remembered right down to the miniscule details. He had seen it almost every time he had been here because when your lover was a workaholic captain preparing his massive division for what would be the fiercest, the most desperate and savage battle in anyone’s memory, it became your job to deal with the mess of the night before.
The white futon was still laid out in the middle of the room, seemingly radiating mystifying luminosity from its pristine paleness in the sunlight. The equally white comforter and the baby blue blanket that had been added more for his sake than anything else were crumpled in a heap at the end, the mix of the shades reminding him of a clear blue sky with fluffy clumps of snowy clouds. The constant fluttering of the air through the windows had managed to keep everything in the room free from the settling dusts, conserving it just as it had been left; he wondered whether he should be grateful for this little piece of preservation from the negligence the quarters had been subjected to or despise it for its stark imprint of the past he could not return to.
The shimmering rays, sweetness of pastel blue and the unadulterated purity; what had once been the reason for his amused chuckles were now making him want to keel over and simply turn blind eyes on the world for the rest of his life. The very image of their togetherness, the one simple picture containing so many recollections of their moonlit hours, hit him so hard that all the air was knocked out of him with a force more powerful than any attack he had ever received.
The chilled air continued to dance around him, rustling the sleeves of his shihakshou and tousling his short spikes, but the caressing breeze was not enough to steal away all the moist welling up in the brown eyes. In the end, with a blink over the irises trying so hard not to shatter in glistening shards, a clear drop of tear plummeted through the frigid serenity that would have to make its leave as well once he had finished what he had come for.
“Ichigo.”
He jumped with a startle at the abrupt break in the hush then once more at the warmth spreading from a soft hand gently holding his arm; only then did he realise just how much of heat he had lost to the mute void of the place because the touch was almost scorching on his ice cold skin. Quickly rubbing his eyes clear of the wetness, he turned his head a little and weakly smiled.
“Rangiku-san.”
The vice-captain, no, the captain of the tenth division mirrored the barely discernible curl at the corner of the lips and the lost look in the eyes and nodded wordlessly, the silvery pools scanning the room behind him. When she spoke again, her gaze was fixed on what little of the garden outside she could see through the open window; but the simple contact that carried so much understanding did not leave his arm and for that, he could not help but feel grateful. He was only just starting to realise his body was unhealthily cold and the haunting chill that only the uninhabited could emit was incessantly thieving of him the fire that had been loved by the notorious glacial fortress.
“…Do you… want any help?”
“No… Thanks, but no. I’ll… be done soon.”
“…Okay.”
The woman looked like there was something more she wanted to say --maybe it was let us know if you need any help or perhaps it was take as long as you need-- but apparently she decided against it, because with a comforting squeeze on his arm and a few pats on the shoulder, she turned. However before she could make herself scarce, this time, he caught her wrist and when she looked at him with small surprise, he smiled and whispered.
“…Thanks, Rangiku-san, for back then…”
The hand that had dispersed the frostiness from his arm covered his own, enveloping it in the velvety warmth once more.
“…It was my pleasure, Ichigo.”
-x-
“…Ichigo…”
The raspy voice snatched their attention from the panic and disbelief engulfing them and when the wide hazel eyes locked the gaze with his, the captain uttered quietly, the tired voice almost inaudible in the calamity of explosions and crashes. It was too quiet for Matsumoto to hear, even though she was only a few inches further away than the panicking teen.
“…What… were you going to tell me… before?”
“What?”
“Before… in the office…”
The orange eyebrows shot up the creased forehead before coming back down in tight knits, the arm cradling the lithe body pulling it against the broad chest. He did not like the fact that the prodigy was asking the question now as if he would not be there to hear it later and he did not want to say what he had been about to say in the midst of dying screams and splatters of blood.
“Later, Toushiro. Not now, la-“
“What was it…?”
“Tou-“
“I… want to… know. It’s been bugging… me.”
The substitute shinigami could not decide whether to laugh in exasperation or scold his lover for his insistence at the wrong time but immediately lost his will to deny the small shinigami of the answer when a violent convulsion seized the battered body with gurgling coughs.
“Toushiro, Toushiro! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you so please… Please…”
“Baka… It’s…” Then the emerald eyes fluttered shut, the pale face twisted in weariness, before opening again with the air of resignation. He did not have enough breaths to waste on explaining that nothing the abnormally strong human could do could drive away the darkness seeping his strength away. “What was it?”
The teen lowered his head enough to press their foreheads together with an anguished smile and lightly pressing his lips on the blood-stained one, he uttered in one breath; “…Will you marry me?”
Ichigo could not help but grin ruefully when he heard the incredulous scoff from underneath, the fast-cooling frame in his arms jerking a little. Lifting his head a little so that they could see each other, he chuckled, though the sound was ruined with wet trembling.
“I know. Stupid, right?”
The spike-tufted head gave a small nod before Hitsugaya sighed then-
“…I will.”
Ichigo froze up when the reply was processed for the tenth time in his mind and came back with the same meaning. However before he could say anything, the captain added, “If the question… still stands.”
“…Tou…”
The teen’s breathing hitched when he caught what little was left of the icy wings cracking into tiny shards and in a split second, the trepidation and sorrow were replaced with resolution. Tightening his hold around the slowly wilting frame of his baby dragon, Ichigo looked up at Rangiku, surprising her with the energetic passion dancing in his chocolate eyes. A couple of metres away from them, a group of kidou pulverised several houses along with an arrancar and from the other direction, someone screamed in a hoarse voice for a medic. However, she could clearly hear what the substitute shinigami said next.
“Rangiku-san, will you be our celebrant?”
-x-
The busty shinigami exited the quarters after a warm embrace that melted his frozen muscles and with the sound of the front door closing as the cue, he started to move around the room, crouching down here and there. At the far right corner sat the tea set that used to hold the piping hot liquids of soothing green; he carefully lifted the china one by one and placed them in their original box he had found at the bottom of the wardrobe. At the left, just next to the window low enough for one to look out of even when sitting down, there was a small, rather worn-out wooden desk. A few books were stacked neatly on the right along with a brush-holder where a couple of the writing tools were dangling down from, and a simple traditional candle-holder stood to the left. The centre of the desktop was somewhat of a mess which was unusual for the austere captain but he knew that in the last few days before the assault, the duties had been far too demanding for his lover to insist on keeping everything properly cleared away every night. The scattered papers were of the training plans and the strategy drafts along with the possible alterations the division might need depending on how much loss they suffered. A sad smile touched the abused lips and he put the sheet filled with the familiar, tidy writing aside, separate from the rest. He would pass it onto the succeeding captain later; he knew she would appreciate it very much. After all, organisation had never been known to be her strongest asset.
The wardrobe was cleared out of the small shihakshous and the spare haories, folded immaculately on the middle shelf. His hands felt like they were dipped in acid every time they grasped the clothes but with clenched teeth, he went through the entire rack, tucking the sleeves and lining the clothes more carefully than ever. The only comfort, or rather, the only thing that made it even slightly easier for him was that they had all been newly cleaned so they smelt of soap and warmth that told you they had been toasted nicely under the unhindered sunshine in one bright afternoon.
However, when he reached the bottom shelf and his almost deadened gaze landed on the two yukatas, one small and pale green, the other large and navy blue, nothing in the world could force him to take the garments out and simply put them on the top of the growing pile next to him. Inside, he could feel everything that he had been holding back from the moment he had stepped into the quarters threatening to break out and against his better judgement, hastily reached out for the befriending clothes.
He shocked himself when he realised that he had proceeded as far as to bringing the two yutakas out of the wardrobe in one fist but he should have come to his senses when they had already left his grasp. The moment he realised the green yukata was close enough to fill up his vision, the unforgettable scent of fresh snow stuffed his nose and his lungs, the ambrosial smell having been embedded in the cottons from the long time it had served its purpose for the young prodigy, and the dam that he had been so fiercely protecting crumbled into nothingness, the ripping whirlpools of grief and anger finally unleashed from the precarious prison.
An unconstrained sob escaped him and belatedly, he attempted to hold back the burst of his pent-up heartbreak but it was too late. His vision was blurred, distorting the soft turquoise clothes, and his vocal cords, at last given free reign, eagerly gave into the necessity to cry out to the shredded and bruised heart’s content.
“Toushiro… Toushiro… Toushiro…”
His fingers tangled themselves in the small yukata oozing the scent that he was already missing so dearly, clutching it to his heart that was frantically writhing in the anguished sorrow drowning him, and streams of tears moistened his cheeks.
“Why… Why?!!”
A wretched scream echoed in the vacant chamber with no answer save his own cries. Doubling over in the waves of agony coursing through him, he hugged the old but precious clothes, his body trembling violently.
It hurts, he thought, and it’s so cold here, it’s so cold without you here. Once freed, the desolation he had refused to submit to assailed him in a multiplied magnitude and he soon could not even form coherent words, lost in the sodden whimpers and the fragrance of frosted winter.
The agonising cries resonated in the empty room, the sound hollow and lonely, with only the glacial breeze paying its condolences as it darted in and out. This room would never be graced with the same frigidness that he had, and still, loved; the futon would never taste the mellow unity of ice and fire; the yukata would never protect the cool body from the arctic night wind.
Minutes, perhaps hours, passed as the hitching sobs wrecked his body, his moist eyes painfully red with bloodshot. By the time the cries had subdued down to quiet sniffles, unbeatable fatigue was crashing down on him like a tsunami ready to swallow a poor, defenceless town and sweep everything away, and slowly, ever so slowly, he laid down on the freezing tatami floor on his side. He did not move over to the futon that was yet to be put away. He could not have even if he had wanted to; every last bit of his energy had already been drained even before the sudden woeful explosion in the effort not to dash out of the quarters.
An unsteady, shuddering inhalation was followed by a deep suspiration, elusive mist rising then dissipating. The brown eyes, their focus all but lost in the weariness, hazily gazed at the small mountain of his late lover’s possessions but fluttered shut not long after. He knew the vice-captain had delegated the task to him as a token of respect and appreciation of the depth of their relationship that she had witnessed at first-hand but as grateful as he was, he was simply too cold and worn-out to carry on. There was barely enough strength for him to mutter an apology that the intended was not there to hear and then his conscience plunged into the inviting darkness, the intertwined mess of green and blue wrapped around his two hands.
-x-
The newly appointed captain of the tenth division stood at the doorway in the flood of warm orange and hard red colouring the sky as the horizon slowly gulped down the burning star for another night. Her sorrowful gaze was rooted on the black form curled into a tight ball and she could see a shade of green in the desperate embrace.
The wintry breeze raised goosebumps on her neck down the arms and with a shiver, she silently stepped into the room that she had never thought she would be allowed in and grabbed both the comforter and blanket that had been deserted despite the arctic temperature that could not climb back up, not with the sheer emptiness residing in the building. Once gathered, she moved over to where the hurdled figure was, being careful not to step on anything, and then gently draped the layer over the quivering teen. There was only a hushed groan, the voice cracking bad enough for her to realise how severely he had been overwhelmed, but the hazel eyes did not open. It would be a while before the squared shoulders would lose the frigid tension.
The strawberry-blonde woman looked around the room once more, her eyes contemplative in a dilemma. She knew she should close the windows but there was something about those wide openings that told her the responsibility to do so did not lie with her. The quicksilver pools darted between the handful of windows and the human shinigami softly shuddering, uncertainty drawing the eyebrows closer. Just at the moment, a quiet whimper left the sleeping --was he truly sleeping?-- teen and one of his hands weakly grasped the comforter, drawing it up to his neck.
She stared at her captain’s --because Hitsugaya Toushiro would always be her captain, no matter when, no matter what-- lover, more specifically, the ragged strip of turquoise cloth, blotched with now-dried blood, wrapped around the fourth finger of the hand resting on the whiteness. Then, with a teary smile, she stood up and left the chamber, leaving the windows opened. Only this place that had stolen the crackling heat of the black fire could hope to return it to the substitute shinigami that was colder than ice to her touch.
“…Sweet dreams, Ichigo.”
She would let the teen linger in her future lodging just a little longer.
She was in no hurry to move in here anyway.
-x-
“To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till-“ Ichigo paused for a moment then with sweet bitterness, carried on. “-even after death do us part.”
“…You just changed it… didn’t you…?”
“Don’t be a nitpick now out of all times, Toushiro, just say ditto.”
What should have been a smirking scoff turned into another blood splatter expulsed from the crimson lips and Ichigo quickly kissed the sweaty forehead in an attempt to soothe the fatal wounds that were wreaking havoc in what his logical part knew to be the last few minutes of his lover’s life. The shoulders his arm was wrapped around heaved up and down violently in the wake of even more loss of blood but he felt the tainted locks under his lips giving a non-verbal sign of agreement and without waiting for Matsumoto’s instruction, softly pressed his lips on the petals that tasted of copper. The vice-captain was glad for it; she doubted she would have been able to find her voice to issue what she would have shouted gleefully at the top of her lungs in another circumstance and more importantly, they were running out of time, fast.
She did not even want to watch this heart-wrenching wedding; there was too much anguish and desperation for such a jolly occasion. Their rings were of blood, their kiss, of goodbye. Only the fact that she was the sole attendee kept her from turning her eyes away as the newly-weds shared their first and last kiss as a married couple in the middle of the corpse-strewn battlefield laden with bloodcurdling shrieks.
“Sorry, Toushiro, I haven’t got any rings on me.”
The hazy emerald eyes shifted about their gaze within the limited range they were allowed in the clutching embrace of the substitute shinigami before the hand that was trapped between their chests crept up to tug at the turquoise sword band, tattered and stained from the fight. No words left the captain whose breathing had declined to shallow wheezes; he knew the teen would understand him and he knew that he had to save the last of his strength for something a lot more important. As he had expected, the brown eyes widened slightly at the motion before shimmering in moist but he smirked feebly as his incredibly sappy lover broke out in a shaky grin, the laughter audibly trembling.
“You’re a genius, Toushiro. And I know you know so don’t get smug.” Don’t talk, reserve your energy and stay with me just a little longer.
The sash was unwrapped from the golden brooch, its corners chipped away from the clashes, and a ripping sound was followed by another of a different material. Dropping Zangetsu that had reverted to its shikai form on the crimson-drenched ground without a care, Ichigo finally moved the hand that had remained at the waist of the small shinigami, the one he had not dared to look at, afraid of the warm dampness numbing his skin. Shifting his other arm about, he managed to lift the dainty hand and as quickly as he could, wrapped the strip that he had torn from the white bandage of his zanpaktou around the fourth finger. Once the knot was tied, he noticed Hitsugaya reaching out for the turquoise cloth in his hand. It was an instinctive reflex that he first retracted it out of the captain’s reach, not wanting him to stress himself, but when the sea-green orbs momentarily regained their clear gleam and looked at him in the pressing gaze of Hitsugaya Toushiro, he handed over the strip without any further objection.
It was a clumsy work at best, very uncharacteristic for the praised prodigy, but Ichigo kissed the lean fingers without a word once they succeeded in securing the fluttering ends of the shift-made ring in a tie. The adoring touches soon travelled up back to the cold lips as their hands interlocked with strength that should not have been left anymore in someone tittering on the edge of eternal departure, then hovering near enough to feel the flitting breath, Ichigo murmured quietly.
“I love you, Toushiro.”
The teen was not surprised when he heard the baritone voice making a clear reply even if it croaked a little; he had known that this was what his dear, stubborn dragon had been hanging on for.
“I love you too, baka.”
The fogged teal orbs fluttered shut for the last time and with a breathy sigh, the young genius captain of Gotei 13 whispered his last word in the arms of his lover, his husband.
“Sayonara.”
Finally shedding the tear that had stung his eyes for a long time, Ichigo chuckled exasperatedly despite his face dreadfully twisting in numbing sadness. His Toushiro just had to be so well-mannered until the last moment. He buried his nose in the scarlet-dyed mane where the smell of the fresh snow still lingered, letting the tendrils soak up the sadness his eyes spilt, and unable to hold it back any longer, sobbed as quietly as he could.
“Sayonara, Kurosaki Toushiro.”
Author’s Note:
I’m sorry it was so late, calm_isolation, and I’m sorry that I took your prompt completely at face value and still miserably failed to actually stick to it. I think it all kinda spun out of my hands when I came up with a new way to span out the same plot then ended up writing a completely new story. *sweat* You requested angst despite it being your birthday fic, so I bring you the angst, or rather, a completely wrecked strawberry… orz I hope you still like it though… *wails and runs out*
The first version of this story is in fact the entire interaction between Ichigo and Hitsugaya with Matsumoto as cameo in the snowball’s last minutes. What you have in this fic as flashbacks are bits from that original version. If any of you want to read that as well, I’ll post it too but it would really depend on the requests I get for it. But calm_isolation, it’s something of a sister fic to your birthday fic, so if you ask for it, I’ll post it at least over in LJ regardless XD
Right, apology for killing off Tou-chan. I’ve lost my count on how many times I’ve already done that… And sorry that it’s such a depressing story when I’m returning after almost a month of nothing… *shot*
(<< Even after death do us part)
Prompt: Chilled to the bone by calm_isolation
Author: Kanon
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: PG
Pairing: Kurosaki Ichigo x Hitsugaya Toushiro
Disclaimer: Bleach sovereigns over me, not the other way round.
Distribution: Fanfiction and LJ
Summary: It was a job for no one else but him. And it was also the hardest job he had ever taken on. In the end, he failed, but no one could blame him.
Spoilers: None
Warning: Character death
Author’s Note:
This is a very belated birthday fic for calm_isolation with 'chilled to the bone' as the prompt for an angst. Happy birthday and I hope you enjoy this humble present. More A/N at the end of the fic.
:::::Teetering heart in the wind by Kanon:::::
“Toushiro, when the war is over…”
The small captain took a brief moment to lift his eyes from the paper when the substitute shinigami trailed off without finishing the phrase. The white eyebrow went up by another inch when the teal eyes caught the other’s cheekbone lightly dusted with a faint tinge of red.
“When the war is over…what?”
The orange-haired teen only chuckled somewhat sheepishly and shook his head, adding his hands in the motion while standing up to leave the office.
“Nah, nothing. I’ll tell you afterwards.”
The prodigy watched the substitute shinigami disappear behind the closing door, his face lightly creased in confusion, then with a sigh, returned to his work, paying no more attention. The idiotic strawberry said he would tell him later anyway; all he had to was wait a bit.
-x-
The front door of the empty quarters opened without a sound before it was soon shut, the stream of blinding sunlight that had poured into the cold darkness instantly barred out again. The sole entrant bent low to take off the warajis with a stony face then silently stepped onto the wooden floor that had gained a thin sheet of dust over the span of a mere few days. The figure only sighed, the soft ripple of the chilled air just barely audible, and slowly walked along the corridor, wrapped in undisturbed silence.
Each soundless footstep gave rise to a small flurry of the fine dirt twirling at his feet until they came to a halt in front of the first wooden door on the right. He knew behind it lied the kitchen that he used to wander in, looking for food, in the late morning after a particularly long and blissful night. He had once braved the art of cooking, feeling particularly elated after waking up with an armful of a fresh snow-scented bundle; it had ended in nothing short of a disaster.
The memory had the pursed lips twitching into something like a tiny smile but it vanished quickly, leaving the contorted face in its original bitterness. He was not going to bother looking around in there; he knew there would be nothing that required collecting. And he did not want to take an unnecessary chance for the killing weight on his heart to grow any heavier to hinder his already uneven, shallow breathing.
And so, he continued, his mouth clamped shut, his eyebrows knitted harshly. Although he had appreciated the offer and had been planning to volunteer for the job, he was starting to feel that perhaps, it was indeed too early for him to enter the premises. Everywhere his eyes turned to, every step he took, a myriad of unforgettable memories flooded in to blur his eyes and tightened his chest, twisting his airways and crippling his lungs.
Drawing in a large gulp of air, he forcibly inflated the spongy organs shrinking away from his ribcage and walked on forward like an anxious soldier firming his resolution as he marched onto the battlefield, each stride growing faster and faster. He never broke off into a run, though. The house had always been graced with otherworldly tranquillity that separated the area from the work-crammed life’s hubbubs and even now, he did not dare to shatter it, no matter what. It had always been what was the most appreciated of this comforting alcove of their privacy and it had all the right to remain so, at least in its last few hours.
The frigid emptiness filled the stagnant air, stealing the warmth right off his skin wherever it could, and he cringed at the sensation, not because it was unusual and eerie, but because it used to happen for an entirely different reason. The coldness stealthily but surely seeped through the black garment and crawled its way into his muscles, making them quiver.
He blinked when he realised where his feet had carried him to, while he was too busy ignoring the new method the quarters was plunging his temperature with to acknowledge the direction he had been heading towards. And when he took in the familiar shoji door, the only barrier between him and the room that he knew so well and held far too memories, all the sweetness, all the gentleness, all the laughter, all the comforts, he nearly choked on nothing and his hand shot out for the wooden frame for leverage before the knees could give out on him. The widened eyes scrunched shut in feeble retaliation against the parades of images flickering past one after the other in his mind and through the parted lips came the raspy panting, sometimes mixed with strangled moans that had escaped his clogged throat.
The blunt nails scratched against the bland frame and the fist, its knuckles bleached white, quivered in its own desperate curl. The want, the need to get out of this place was overwhelming and the torturous but unstoppable influx of every second they had spent here was like a hysteric laughter of a far too pleased devil, milking his suffering to the worth of it.
But he stayed; not moving forward but not backing off either. It took every last ounce of his willpower but he triumphed --not totally but he did-- and stayed.
He needed to. He had to.
Tomorrow, Matsumoto Rangiku was going to be officially appointed as the new captain of the tenth division and was expected to move in to the captain’s quarters.
It was where he was right at this moment.
The clenched fist re-opened and spread itself out on the door, sluggishly moving over it till it was at the right place to apply enough pressure to create the opening to the sealed chamber. Another heavy sigh echoed in the vacant silence then biting down his lower lip, he gathered up his swiftly dissipating determination and carefully pushed it to a side, only to stop almost immediately. A thin slice of winter brilliance flooded in through the tiny crack, causing him to wince at the shine that stole his eyesight.
A pang of pain ripped through his heart as he remembered that his lover had always left all the windows of the room wide open, regardless of the season. Then when the first rays of the dawn trickled into the room and teased his frozen skin, he would wake up, untangle himself from the cuddled snowball that was his baby dragon, make a quick work around the room with all the windows, then return to the cosy futon, enjoying the pleasurable mingle of gently pulsing frostiness and soft burning warmth churning under the blanket they shared.
However it was now a routine of the past. Today would be the last time that that they would be shut by his hands.
It took him at least another five minutes before his breathing had evened out to a healthy, regular rate. He shivered involuntarily when a glacial zephyr wafted in through the slightly widened slit, dragging down the already low temperature. The premises, deserted and overlooked in the chaotic aftermath of the war, now carried frigidness that was poles apart from the sharp but protective one that used to grace the place and every cell of his body was rebelling against the alien atmosphere that grasped him in its unforgiving clutch.
The muscles on the jawbone tensed visibly as the teeth grinded hard against each other and in a single, bold movement, he whipped the door open before the quiet emptiness could swallow him whole and bring him down to a pitiful mess.
And what greeted him froze his breathing, froze his steps, froze his eyes, froze his everything on the spot, just one step outside the room.
He had thought that he was ready to confront what he was seeing; it was a picture he remembered right down to the miniscule details. He had seen it almost every time he had been here because when your lover was a workaholic captain preparing his massive division for what would be the fiercest, the most desperate and savage battle in anyone’s memory, it became your job to deal with the mess of the night before.
The white futon was still laid out in the middle of the room, seemingly radiating mystifying luminosity from its pristine paleness in the sunlight. The equally white comforter and the baby blue blanket that had been added more for his sake than anything else were crumpled in a heap at the end, the mix of the shades reminding him of a clear blue sky with fluffy clumps of snowy clouds. The constant fluttering of the air through the windows had managed to keep everything in the room free from the settling dusts, conserving it just as it had been left; he wondered whether he should be grateful for this little piece of preservation from the negligence the quarters had been subjected to or despise it for its stark imprint of the past he could not return to.
The shimmering rays, sweetness of pastel blue and the unadulterated purity; what had once been the reason for his amused chuckles were now making him want to keel over and simply turn blind eyes on the world for the rest of his life. The very image of their togetherness, the one simple picture containing so many recollections of their moonlit hours, hit him so hard that all the air was knocked out of him with a force more powerful than any attack he had ever received.
The chilled air continued to dance around him, rustling the sleeves of his shihakshou and tousling his short spikes, but the caressing breeze was not enough to steal away all the moist welling up in the brown eyes. In the end, with a blink over the irises trying so hard not to shatter in glistening shards, a clear drop of tear plummeted through the frigid serenity that would have to make its leave as well once he had finished what he had come for.
“Ichigo.”
He jumped with a startle at the abrupt break in the hush then once more at the warmth spreading from a soft hand gently holding his arm; only then did he realise just how much of heat he had lost to the mute void of the place because the touch was almost scorching on his ice cold skin. Quickly rubbing his eyes clear of the wetness, he turned his head a little and weakly smiled.
“Rangiku-san.”
The vice-captain, no, the captain of the tenth division mirrored the barely discernible curl at the corner of the lips and the lost look in the eyes and nodded wordlessly, the silvery pools scanning the room behind him. When she spoke again, her gaze was fixed on what little of the garden outside she could see through the open window; but the simple contact that carried so much understanding did not leave his arm and for that, he could not help but feel grateful. He was only just starting to realise his body was unhealthily cold and the haunting chill that only the uninhabited could emit was incessantly thieving of him the fire that had been loved by the notorious glacial fortress.
“…Do you… want any help?”
“No… Thanks, but no. I’ll… be done soon.”
“…Okay.”
The woman looked like there was something more she wanted to say --maybe it was let us know if you need any help or perhaps it was take as long as you need-- but apparently she decided against it, because with a comforting squeeze on his arm and a few pats on the shoulder, she turned. However before she could make herself scarce, this time, he caught her wrist and when she looked at him with small surprise, he smiled and whispered.
“…Thanks, Rangiku-san, for back then…”
The hand that had dispersed the frostiness from his arm covered his own, enveloping it in the velvety warmth once more.
“…It was my pleasure, Ichigo.”
-x-
“…Ichigo…”
The raspy voice snatched their attention from the panic and disbelief engulfing them and when the wide hazel eyes locked the gaze with his, the captain uttered quietly, the tired voice almost inaudible in the calamity of explosions and crashes. It was too quiet for Matsumoto to hear, even though she was only a few inches further away than the panicking teen.
“…What… were you going to tell me… before?”
“What?”
“Before… in the office…”
The orange eyebrows shot up the creased forehead before coming back down in tight knits, the arm cradling the lithe body pulling it against the broad chest. He did not like the fact that the prodigy was asking the question now as if he would not be there to hear it later and he did not want to say what he had been about to say in the midst of dying screams and splatters of blood.
“Later, Toushiro. Not now, la-“
“What was it…?”
“Tou-“
“I… want to… know. It’s been bugging… me.”
The substitute shinigami could not decide whether to laugh in exasperation or scold his lover for his insistence at the wrong time but immediately lost his will to deny the small shinigami of the answer when a violent convulsion seized the battered body with gurgling coughs.
“Toushiro, Toushiro! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you so please… Please…”
“Baka… It’s…” Then the emerald eyes fluttered shut, the pale face twisted in weariness, before opening again with the air of resignation. He did not have enough breaths to waste on explaining that nothing the abnormally strong human could do could drive away the darkness seeping his strength away. “What was it?”
The teen lowered his head enough to press their foreheads together with an anguished smile and lightly pressing his lips on the blood-stained one, he uttered in one breath; “…Will you marry me?”
Ichigo could not help but grin ruefully when he heard the incredulous scoff from underneath, the fast-cooling frame in his arms jerking a little. Lifting his head a little so that they could see each other, he chuckled, though the sound was ruined with wet trembling.
“I know. Stupid, right?”
The spike-tufted head gave a small nod before Hitsugaya sighed then-
“…I will.”
Ichigo froze up when the reply was processed for the tenth time in his mind and came back with the same meaning. However before he could say anything, the captain added, “If the question… still stands.”
“…Tou…”
The teen’s breathing hitched when he caught what little was left of the icy wings cracking into tiny shards and in a split second, the trepidation and sorrow were replaced with resolution. Tightening his hold around the slowly wilting frame of his baby dragon, Ichigo looked up at Rangiku, surprising her with the energetic passion dancing in his chocolate eyes. A couple of metres away from them, a group of kidou pulverised several houses along with an arrancar and from the other direction, someone screamed in a hoarse voice for a medic. However, she could clearly hear what the substitute shinigami said next.
“Rangiku-san, will you be our celebrant?”
-x-
The busty shinigami exited the quarters after a warm embrace that melted his frozen muscles and with the sound of the front door closing as the cue, he started to move around the room, crouching down here and there. At the far right corner sat the tea set that used to hold the piping hot liquids of soothing green; he carefully lifted the china one by one and placed them in their original box he had found at the bottom of the wardrobe. At the left, just next to the window low enough for one to look out of even when sitting down, there was a small, rather worn-out wooden desk. A few books were stacked neatly on the right along with a brush-holder where a couple of the writing tools were dangling down from, and a simple traditional candle-holder stood to the left. The centre of the desktop was somewhat of a mess which was unusual for the austere captain but he knew that in the last few days before the assault, the duties had been far too demanding for his lover to insist on keeping everything properly cleared away every night. The scattered papers were of the training plans and the strategy drafts along with the possible alterations the division might need depending on how much loss they suffered. A sad smile touched the abused lips and he put the sheet filled with the familiar, tidy writing aside, separate from the rest. He would pass it onto the succeeding captain later; he knew she would appreciate it very much. After all, organisation had never been known to be her strongest asset.
The wardrobe was cleared out of the small shihakshous and the spare haories, folded immaculately on the middle shelf. His hands felt like they were dipped in acid every time they grasped the clothes but with clenched teeth, he went through the entire rack, tucking the sleeves and lining the clothes more carefully than ever. The only comfort, or rather, the only thing that made it even slightly easier for him was that they had all been newly cleaned so they smelt of soap and warmth that told you they had been toasted nicely under the unhindered sunshine in one bright afternoon.
However, when he reached the bottom shelf and his almost deadened gaze landed on the two yukatas, one small and pale green, the other large and navy blue, nothing in the world could force him to take the garments out and simply put them on the top of the growing pile next to him. Inside, he could feel everything that he had been holding back from the moment he had stepped into the quarters threatening to break out and against his better judgement, hastily reached out for the befriending clothes.
He shocked himself when he realised that he had proceeded as far as to bringing the two yutakas out of the wardrobe in one fist but he should have come to his senses when they had already left his grasp. The moment he realised the green yukata was close enough to fill up his vision, the unforgettable scent of fresh snow stuffed his nose and his lungs, the ambrosial smell having been embedded in the cottons from the long time it had served its purpose for the young prodigy, and the dam that he had been so fiercely protecting crumbled into nothingness, the ripping whirlpools of grief and anger finally unleashed from the precarious prison.
An unconstrained sob escaped him and belatedly, he attempted to hold back the burst of his pent-up heartbreak but it was too late. His vision was blurred, distorting the soft turquoise clothes, and his vocal cords, at last given free reign, eagerly gave into the necessity to cry out to the shredded and bruised heart’s content.
“Toushiro… Toushiro… Toushiro…”
His fingers tangled themselves in the small yukata oozing the scent that he was already missing so dearly, clutching it to his heart that was frantically writhing in the anguished sorrow drowning him, and streams of tears moistened his cheeks.
“Why… Why?!!”
A wretched scream echoed in the vacant chamber with no answer save his own cries. Doubling over in the waves of agony coursing through him, he hugged the old but precious clothes, his body trembling violently.
It hurts, he thought, and it’s so cold here, it’s so cold without you here. Once freed, the desolation he had refused to submit to assailed him in a multiplied magnitude and he soon could not even form coherent words, lost in the sodden whimpers and the fragrance of frosted winter.
The agonising cries resonated in the empty room, the sound hollow and lonely, with only the glacial breeze paying its condolences as it darted in and out. This room would never be graced with the same frigidness that he had, and still, loved; the futon would never taste the mellow unity of ice and fire; the yukata would never protect the cool body from the arctic night wind.
Minutes, perhaps hours, passed as the hitching sobs wrecked his body, his moist eyes painfully red with bloodshot. By the time the cries had subdued down to quiet sniffles, unbeatable fatigue was crashing down on him like a tsunami ready to swallow a poor, defenceless town and sweep everything away, and slowly, ever so slowly, he laid down on the freezing tatami floor on his side. He did not move over to the futon that was yet to be put away. He could not have even if he had wanted to; every last bit of his energy had already been drained even before the sudden woeful explosion in the effort not to dash out of the quarters.
An unsteady, shuddering inhalation was followed by a deep suspiration, elusive mist rising then dissipating. The brown eyes, their focus all but lost in the weariness, hazily gazed at the small mountain of his late lover’s possessions but fluttered shut not long after. He knew the vice-captain had delegated the task to him as a token of respect and appreciation of the depth of their relationship that she had witnessed at first-hand but as grateful as he was, he was simply too cold and worn-out to carry on. There was barely enough strength for him to mutter an apology that the intended was not there to hear and then his conscience plunged into the inviting darkness, the intertwined mess of green and blue wrapped around his two hands.
-x-
The newly appointed captain of the tenth division stood at the doorway in the flood of warm orange and hard red colouring the sky as the horizon slowly gulped down the burning star for another night. Her sorrowful gaze was rooted on the black form curled into a tight ball and she could see a shade of green in the desperate embrace.
The wintry breeze raised goosebumps on her neck down the arms and with a shiver, she silently stepped into the room that she had never thought she would be allowed in and grabbed both the comforter and blanket that had been deserted despite the arctic temperature that could not climb back up, not with the sheer emptiness residing in the building. Once gathered, she moved over to where the hurdled figure was, being careful not to step on anything, and then gently draped the layer over the quivering teen. There was only a hushed groan, the voice cracking bad enough for her to realise how severely he had been overwhelmed, but the hazel eyes did not open. It would be a while before the squared shoulders would lose the frigid tension.
The strawberry-blonde woman looked around the room once more, her eyes contemplative in a dilemma. She knew she should close the windows but there was something about those wide openings that told her the responsibility to do so did not lie with her. The quicksilver pools darted between the handful of windows and the human shinigami softly shuddering, uncertainty drawing the eyebrows closer. Just at the moment, a quiet whimper left the sleeping --was he truly sleeping?-- teen and one of his hands weakly grasped the comforter, drawing it up to his neck.
She stared at her captain’s --because Hitsugaya Toushiro would always be her captain, no matter when, no matter what-- lover, more specifically, the ragged strip of turquoise cloth, blotched with now-dried blood, wrapped around the fourth finger of the hand resting on the whiteness. Then, with a teary smile, she stood up and left the chamber, leaving the windows opened. Only this place that had stolen the crackling heat of the black fire could hope to return it to the substitute shinigami that was colder than ice to her touch.
“…Sweet dreams, Ichigo.”
She would let the teen linger in her future lodging just a little longer.
She was in no hurry to move in here anyway.
-x-
“To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till-“ Ichigo paused for a moment then with sweet bitterness, carried on. “-even after death do us part.”
“…You just changed it… didn’t you…?”
“Don’t be a nitpick now out of all times, Toushiro, just say ditto.”
What should have been a smirking scoff turned into another blood splatter expulsed from the crimson lips and Ichigo quickly kissed the sweaty forehead in an attempt to soothe the fatal wounds that were wreaking havoc in what his logical part knew to be the last few minutes of his lover’s life. The shoulders his arm was wrapped around heaved up and down violently in the wake of even more loss of blood but he felt the tainted locks under his lips giving a non-verbal sign of agreement and without waiting for Matsumoto’s instruction, softly pressed his lips on the petals that tasted of copper. The vice-captain was glad for it; she doubted she would have been able to find her voice to issue what she would have shouted gleefully at the top of her lungs in another circumstance and more importantly, they were running out of time, fast.
She did not even want to watch this heart-wrenching wedding; there was too much anguish and desperation for such a jolly occasion. Their rings were of blood, their kiss, of goodbye. Only the fact that she was the sole attendee kept her from turning her eyes away as the newly-weds shared their first and last kiss as a married couple in the middle of the corpse-strewn battlefield laden with bloodcurdling shrieks.
“Sorry, Toushiro, I haven’t got any rings on me.”
The hazy emerald eyes shifted about their gaze within the limited range they were allowed in the clutching embrace of the substitute shinigami before the hand that was trapped between their chests crept up to tug at the turquoise sword band, tattered and stained from the fight. No words left the captain whose breathing had declined to shallow wheezes; he knew the teen would understand him and he knew that he had to save the last of his strength for something a lot more important. As he had expected, the brown eyes widened slightly at the motion before shimmering in moist but he smirked feebly as his incredibly sappy lover broke out in a shaky grin, the laughter audibly trembling.
“You’re a genius, Toushiro. And I know you know so don’t get smug.” Don’t talk, reserve your energy and stay with me just a little longer.
The sash was unwrapped from the golden brooch, its corners chipped away from the clashes, and a ripping sound was followed by another of a different material. Dropping Zangetsu that had reverted to its shikai form on the crimson-drenched ground without a care, Ichigo finally moved the hand that had remained at the waist of the small shinigami, the one he had not dared to look at, afraid of the warm dampness numbing his skin. Shifting his other arm about, he managed to lift the dainty hand and as quickly as he could, wrapped the strip that he had torn from the white bandage of his zanpaktou around the fourth finger. Once the knot was tied, he noticed Hitsugaya reaching out for the turquoise cloth in his hand. It was an instinctive reflex that he first retracted it out of the captain’s reach, not wanting him to stress himself, but when the sea-green orbs momentarily regained their clear gleam and looked at him in the pressing gaze of Hitsugaya Toushiro, he handed over the strip without any further objection.
It was a clumsy work at best, very uncharacteristic for the praised prodigy, but Ichigo kissed the lean fingers without a word once they succeeded in securing the fluttering ends of the shift-made ring in a tie. The adoring touches soon travelled up back to the cold lips as their hands interlocked with strength that should not have been left anymore in someone tittering on the edge of eternal departure, then hovering near enough to feel the flitting breath, Ichigo murmured quietly.
“I love you, Toushiro.”
The teen was not surprised when he heard the baritone voice making a clear reply even if it croaked a little; he had known that this was what his dear, stubborn dragon had been hanging on for.
“I love you too, baka.”
The fogged teal orbs fluttered shut for the last time and with a breathy sigh, the young genius captain of Gotei 13 whispered his last word in the arms of his lover, his husband.
“Sayonara.”
Finally shedding the tear that had stung his eyes for a long time, Ichigo chuckled exasperatedly despite his face dreadfully twisting in numbing sadness. His Toushiro just had to be so well-mannered until the last moment. He buried his nose in the scarlet-dyed mane where the smell of the fresh snow still lingered, letting the tendrils soak up the sadness his eyes spilt, and unable to hold it back any longer, sobbed as quietly as he could.
“Sayonara, Kurosaki Toushiro.”
Author’s Note:
I’m sorry it was so late, calm_isolation, and I’m sorry that I took your prompt completely at face value and still miserably failed to actually stick to it. I think it all kinda spun out of my hands when I came up with a new way to span out the same plot then ended up writing a completely new story. *sweat* You requested angst despite it being your birthday fic, so I bring you the angst, or rather, a completely wrecked strawberry… orz I hope you still like it though… *wails and runs out*
The first version of this story is in fact the entire interaction between Ichigo and Hitsugaya with Matsumoto as cameo in the snowball’s last minutes. What you have in this fic as flashbacks are bits from that original version. If any of you want to read that as well, I’ll post it too but it would really depend on the requests I get for it. But calm_isolation, it’s something of a sister fic to your birthday fic, so if you ask for it, I’ll post it at least over in LJ regardless XD
Right, apology for killing off Tou-chan. I’ve lost my count on how many times I’ve already done that… And sorry that it’s such a depressing story when I’m returning after almost a month of nothing… *shot*
(<< Even after death do us part)