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polyarmory2006-06-20 03:48 am
shortitude.livejournal.com) wrote in polyarmory2006-06-20 03:48 am
Entry tags:
FIC: Wild Roses In Ten Steps [HitsuMatsu] ::1/1::
Title: Wild Roses In Ten Steps
Author: Cella [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stereotype_vamp]
Fandom:BLEACH
Ship: Hitsugaya/Matsumoto (10th Division taichou/fukutaichou is ♥)
Summary: They are many things, but liars they are not. HITSUGAYA. MATSUMOTO. Of friendship, trust, loyalty, love and double-edged swords.
Spoilers: Soul Society arc, and so forth.
Dedications: Toran_huo, who knows when to prod me to write, and who dug my whole for this fandom, making it so deep that now I can’t get out. Not sure I want to get out. Which is just as good, because she doesn‘t want to throw me any ropes to climb up.
A/N: Of course, only Seren is able to make me write her a monster-fic at 1:30 am. (Hey, no school!) Damn her kitty eyes. :: furrows brow:: This isn’t exactly ‘cause she was feeling bad, per se. She was feeling more like…write-me-something-now. Alas, as her fic-slave…I complied. I just love writing her stuff, or else I’d have shot her long ago. Who writes fics at 2 am? Well…I do. Now shut up, and enjoy.
||Wild Roses In Ten Steps||
Love is much like a wild rose; beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense". ~ Mark A. Overby
08
“Orihime left us some soup.”
Hitsugaya turns his head, looking at her over the back of the sofa. Her haori hangs disarrayed over her shoulder, ample bust almost spilling over; but she’s too tired to care, and he’s too tired to scold her. Besides, it’s not as much the loose haori that bothers him, as the bleeding which occurs underneath. Damned fast Hollows.
“Taichou?” she tries, snapping him out of his daze. “Chicken soup?”
“Yeah, yeah. Heat it up.” He does admit it, he adores Orihime’s chicken soup with a passion. Matsumoto says she likes everything the girl cooks, but Hitsugaya can only stomach the soup.
Hitsugaya sighs, and leans his head back on the sofa, closing his eyes in fatigue. He knows it’s not only him and Matsumoto in this position, many of the other Shinigami have also been injured by the Menos Grandes. His head is throbbing, and he’s probably blind with hunger right now, but there’s another pressing matter at hand. His fukutaichou is injured. And if he didn’t like Orihime as much, he’d probably go and shake her awake, prodding her to ‘heal Matsumoto, now’. In stead, he sighs, and lifts his body from the couch, heading towards the bathroom. He picks up the first aid kit, checking to see if there’s gauze first. Then makes his way to the kitchen.
Matsumoto, he finds, leaning against the kitchen counter, hand at her ribs, eyes clenched shut. The soup heats over the stove, and there’s no noise but Hitsugaya making his way next to her. He grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from the wound. Her haori is already a shade darker from the blood, and he curses. “Untie,” he orders. Matsumoto does not question; loyal until her last breath, Matsumoto. She obeys, managing to hold the sides of her haori over her breasts; not that Hitsugaya was paying attention to them. Maybe if they were in any other position, he would, but tonight there’s injury in between, and cleaning her pale skin of the blood gets his attention.
“Thank you,” she murmurs when he finishes, tying the sash around her newly bandaged waist with a slight blush. Hitsugaya’s face is still contorted in a frown, and Matsumoto lifts up her hand, dragging a finger over his brow. The lines there quickly disappear, his eyebrows rising. “You were dazing off again,” she explains, and offers a mild smile.
His own hand rises up to catch her hand, and they share a moment, staring into each other’s eyes.
Don’t get hurt next time.
Okay.
01
It’s not that she was set on disliking her new taichou, but it comes as a disappointment when she can’t bring herself to do so. She should’ve been there, it should’ve been her the one to take the captaincy of the 10th Division, and yet they’re sending her a boy genius who hasn’t met puberty yet. She knows she’ll hate him, because he’ll be obnoxious, and prove that he only got here based on nepotism. From who, she doesn’t care. It’s just not fair, so she’s going to dislike her new captain, and take as much time as possible to sleep on the couch in stead of completing her tasks.
But all thoughts of an obnoxious brat fly out the window when Hitsugaya Toushiro steps into the office for the first time. He seems lost. Lost, but determined to prove that he’s strong, and it pulls a string in her. He reminds her of herself, fighting to fit in, fighting to be someone strong, to prove herself, and the world that she could. On the plus side, he’s strangely cute, in that misunderstood kind of way, and she instantly becomes immune to his glare; and decides that she can’t dislike her new taichou. If anything, she’ll probably like him very much.
04
This is finally fitting in.
The way they fight now, it’s like a choreographed dance, something they’ve spent hours, days perfecting. Hitsugaya knows when Matsumoto’s too tired, and knows that she’ll never tell him; it’s weak, it wouldn’t please him. Matsumoto understands his orders, even if they’re unspoken; she obeys, and fulfils them with the uttermost perfection only Matsumoto is capable of when she actually sets her mind to it.
He still can’t get her to do paperwork, but at least they fight like taichou and fukutaichou now. Not only that, but rumour has it they’re by far the most co-ordinated pair in the entire Divisions. It’s not a surprise, because Hitsugaya only has to shift slightly, and Matsumoto knows what he wants. When they attack, together, it’s like ice and ashes, all together, and no one comes out. They’ve been working together for a fairly small amount of time now; and even though there have even been bets on who’d last how much, or which one would quit first; the sense of loyalty, the respect, it’s all there, growing at the base.
They jump, and slash; and no survivors.
02
It isn’t that he wants to use the showers adjacent to his office, but he really has no choice. There’s blood on his hair, and he has to get it out fast, before it remains there. He’s obsessive about things like that: everything pale or white must remain that way, blood is not accepted anywhere that fits former description.
He showers quickly, frowning in the mirror at the curls of wet hair. That’s his secret, what he tries to keep everyone from knowing. It’s bad enough he hardly gets taken seriously because he looks young, but to actually go around with curls would be like throwing himself into their hungry paws. Spikes seem to work better, they give him a rough edge, something that fits, because he’s cold as ice, sometimes. Even if putting them up takes more time than he’s willing to admit.
The door to the bathroom opens suddenly, and he tightens the hold on the towel around his waist.
“Taichou, I’m sorry!” Matsumoto jumps, “You hardly use this shower, so I thought it was free to use, and I needed a showe--erm.” Now Matsumoto’s mouth is twitching, and the hand on the door-knob shakes slightly. She stares at his curly hair with amused amazement.
Hitsugaya moves quick, “Mention this,” he grits out, “And death won’t even begin to describe the results.”
Matsumoto nods, mouth still alternating between wide open and twitching into smiles. She sobers up quickly, and seriously says: “I still sleep with a teddy-bear sometimes.”
Hitsugaya, who was busy glaring at her, furrows his brows in confusion, “What?”
Matsumoto shrugs, “You know, just in case. Now you have something against me too, so you know I’ll keep the secret.”
Hitsugaya pauses, and sees her logic. “…okay.”
This is when their trust begins.
05
Pride doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels for Matsumoto right now.
He’s very close to shaking her awake just to hug her tightly, but Lord knows she needs her sleep. One can only drink as much sake before passing out. He knows he shouldn’t rejoice because of this, but he can’t help it. Ichimaru is gone, but she isn’t. she stayed. When he asks her why, she looks at him oddly hurt; as if questioning if there was even a need to ask. Matsumoto is loyal. You could cut deep, and analyse, there probably is a part of her soul reserved exclusively to that frightening loyalty of hers. And he’s lucky enough to have it. Him, not Gin.
She could’ve left with the traitor, and it pains him to say that he thought, for a moment, that she would. But Matsumoto stayed, out of loyalty, out of respect, and because she somehow valued him more than Ichimaru. He was grateful for that. Grateful enough that he replaced her sake with a less strong one, and kept her company every once in a while. He once threatened Ichimaru with death if he hurt Momo-san.
Death wouldn’t even begin to describe it, if the traitor so much as laid hands on his fukutaichou.
07
“I’ve signed us up in the party to go to the human world.”
Matsumoto lifts her head up from the papers she’s finally working on. “Alright.” There it is again, that trust, that confidence in her taichou and his decisions. Hitsugaya doesn’t know whether to be enraged or pleased. She’s loyal, yes, and she trust him, of course, but he fears this loyalty. He fears it because he’s never known it so far; not even Momo-san, because Momo-san doubted him, actually thought he was capable of murder (Rangiku would have never believed that.). The loyalty, he doesn’t realise, works as a double edged blade; it’s as deep on her side as it is on his.
“We’ll probably be high school students.”
Matsumoto pauses in her work, a frown on her face. “Hmm. As long as we share one class.” For debriefing, she means. He understands. The constant need for contact and communication has always existed in their relationship; it had them researching Aizen’s death together, it had them sharing their doubts and suspicions, it had been thanks to it that they had actually managed to warn everyone on time. If they do indeed intent on passing as students in the human world, he expects her to share every dubious observation she makes. If they do have a class together, it’s just as good.
He enjoys her company way too much for it to be healthy for his mental stability.
09
Matsumoto groans, rolling her sore shoulder until she hears a click. There’s blood in her skin again, but she’ll clean it up later. All she wants to do now is sleep. The knock on her door impedes her from doing so. She opens it, and lets Hitsugaya inside. It’s odd, but it seems as if he’s grown taller. Or maybe it’s just because she’s hunched over from exhaustion.
“Matsumoto,” her taichou begins.
She gives him her full attention, as per usual. When he speaks, there’s always something which makes her search for eye contact. Maybe it’s because she can actually see his eyes, see his expressions, and drown in them should she want to. And sometimes, she wants to so much. Like today.
“I came to congratulate you on the battle.” Ah yes, her battle with Nakim. Haineko is still purring at her hip, pride rolling off of it in waves. Sometimes, after having a talk with her zanpakuto, she wonders idly if a zanpakuto can communicate with another; and if so, she wonders what Hyourinmaru thinks of her achievement in battle. The weird need to be accepted by her taichou’s blade would seem off to anyone who didn’t know them well. To her it just seems logical.
“Thank you,” she replies after a while, looking at the bed with a longing expression.
“But the next time you think of doing something that stupid, I am going to ask for a transfer.”
A transfer is by far the biggest threat Hitsugaya ever used; and this is the first time he uses it. If he’s willing to separate from her, to send all their perfected relationship out on the battle field to hell, to ruin the friendship, and distance themselves, then she must have really enraged him. “Taichou,” she breathes.
“If you ever got hurt, if I can’t help but see you get hurt, I don’t think I’d ever life with the guilt,” he bites, and his words pull strings in her heart, pulls them hard.
The silence is too cutting, and tense, and they’re never tense, they’re always calm. Matsumoto wants to cry, and apologize and laugh at her victory, and she’s confused at Hitsugaya’s threat, possibly hurt. “Taichou,” she starts, teasing to relieve the atmosphere. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Hitsugaya rolls his eyes, and moves quickly. His lips are soft, slightly clumsy but soft. Hitsugaya might be giving her his first kiss, but Hitsugaya never does things in any way other than perfect. She crumbles a little into his arms, and sighs when he deepens the kiss, ready to spend as much time as needed to show her exactly how much he cares.
06
The apparatus around Momo’s body buzz dimly, and Hitsugaya’s hands are clammy, because he doesn’t really feel comfortable being here.
Matsumoto is behind him, because she was the one with the idea. They linger in the room for a while longer, until it’s hard to breathe, and Hitsugaya rushes out of the room, welcoming the fresh air when it comes. Matsumoto follows at a slow pace. They take a walk, and end up pausing at a bridge, leaning over the railings to look at the water.
“Do you think it’ll ever get better?” she softly inquires.
“I think so. As long as there’s still hope, and people who fight for that hope.”
“It’s hard, remembering him sometimes. Because it’s getting harder and harder not to hate him,” she murmurs, glaring at the lake.
“We’ll get through this.” They probably will, he has no doubt. With bruises and scars in the end, but that legendary silver lining will come for them as well.
“I have sake,” Rangiku says. The question hangs in the air; and Hitsugaya gets it because this state of mind, the mood they’re in, probably demands a good amount of drinking. Do you want to join me?
“Yeah,” he answers.
They make their way back to the office quietly.
10
Hitsugaya can’t be accused of meddling if the drawers he’s curiously inspecting belong to his lover. And it’s only understandable he has to do it, because it’s her underwear drawer, and he wants to be prepared. His hand hits something hard, and he pulls out a framed picture. The blush creeps to his cheeks.
It’s a picture of him, pre-growth-spurt. And why she has it in between her underwear is beyond him, but it certainly increases that pressing need to pine her against a wall somewhere, and--
“Toushiro,” Matsumoto slyly drawls, arms going around his waist, and chin pressed onto his shoulder. (Oh, how he thanks the gods for having given him the wonders of growth-spurt. Having her chest pressed against his back like that only made it worth the wait.) “Why are you going through my drawers?” she asks.
“Curious.” He holds up the picture, “Care to say why you have a picture of me in there?”
“Hmm?” she picks the frame from his hands to analyse it. “Oh, this is a reminder, my darling taichou. Now that you are so tall, I sometimes get nostalgic and need to remember the way you were when you were a short little eunuch.”
Hitsugaya splutters, “Short, little--Rangiku!”
Matsumoto laughs and lets go of her hold on his waist. “I know, I know,” she grins, laughter threatening to come out again. “You love me anyway.”
He does. And just like the trust, the loyalty, the friendship, the love is a double edged sword. It’s as passionate and as dangerous and as strong and as loyal on both sides.
Like it should always have been.
::end::
:
:
::they might not live happily ever after, but at least they live::
:
:
Wild honey has the scent of freedom
Dust - of a ray of sun
A girl's mouth - of a violet
And gold - has no perfume
Watery, the minionette
And like an apple - love
But we have found out forever
That blood smells only of blood
~Anna Akhmatova, Untitled poem
Author: Cella [
stereotype_vamp] Fandom:BLEACH
Ship: Hitsugaya/Matsumoto (10th Division taichou/fukutaichou is ♥)
Summary: They are many things, but liars they are not. HITSUGAYA. MATSUMOTO. Of friendship, trust, loyalty, love and double-edged swords.
Spoilers: Soul Society arc, and so forth.
Dedications: To
ran_huo, who knows when to prod me to write, and who dug my whole for this fandom, making it so deep that now I can’t get out. Not sure I want to get out. Which is just as good, because she doesn‘t want to throw me any ropes to climb up. A/N: Of course, only Seren is able to make me write her a monster-fic at 1:30 am. (Hey, no school!) Damn her kitty eyes. :: furrows brow:: This isn’t exactly ‘cause she was feeling bad, per se. She was feeling more like…write-me-something-now. Alas, as her fic-slave…I complied. I just love writing her stuff, or else I’d have shot her long ago. Who writes fics at 2 am? Well…I do. Now shut up, and enjoy.
Love is much like a wild rose; beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense". ~ Mark A. Overby
“Orihime left us some soup.”
Hitsugaya turns his head, looking at her over the back of the sofa. Her haori hangs disarrayed over her shoulder, ample bust almost spilling over; but she’s too tired to care, and he’s too tired to scold her. Besides, it’s not as much the loose haori that bothers him, as the bleeding which occurs underneath. Damned fast Hollows.
“Taichou?” she tries, snapping him out of his daze. “Chicken soup?”
“Yeah, yeah. Heat it up.” He does admit it, he adores Orihime’s chicken soup with a passion. Matsumoto says she likes everything the girl cooks, but Hitsugaya can only stomach the soup.
Hitsugaya sighs, and leans his head back on the sofa, closing his eyes in fatigue. He knows it’s not only him and Matsumoto in this position, many of the other Shinigami have also been injured by the Menos Grandes. His head is throbbing, and he’s probably blind with hunger right now, but there’s another pressing matter at hand. His fukutaichou is injured. And if he didn’t like Orihime as much, he’d probably go and shake her awake, prodding her to ‘heal Matsumoto, now’. In stead, he sighs, and lifts his body from the couch, heading towards the bathroom. He picks up the first aid kit, checking to see if there’s gauze first. Then makes his way to the kitchen.
Matsumoto, he finds, leaning against the kitchen counter, hand at her ribs, eyes clenched shut. The soup heats over the stove, and there’s no noise but Hitsugaya making his way next to her. He grabs her wrist, pulling her hand away from the wound. Her haori is already a shade darker from the blood, and he curses. “Untie,” he orders. Matsumoto does not question; loyal until her last breath, Matsumoto. She obeys, managing to hold the sides of her haori over her breasts; not that Hitsugaya was paying attention to them. Maybe if they were in any other position, he would, but tonight there’s injury in between, and cleaning her pale skin of the blood gets his attention.
“Thank you,” she murmurs when he finishes, tying the sash around her newly bandaged waist with a slight blush. Hitsugaya’s face is still contorted in a frown, and Matsumoto lifts up her hand, dragging a finger over his brow. The lines there quickly disappear, his eyebrows rising. “You were dazing off again,” she explains, and offers a mild smile.
His own hand rises up to catch her hand, and they share a moment, staring into each other’s eyes.
Don’t get hurt next time.
Okay.
It’s not that she was set on disliking her new taichou, but it comes as a disappointment when she can’t bring herself to do so. She should’ve been there, it should’ve been her the one to take the captaincy of the 10th Division, and yet they’re sending her a boy genius who hasn’t met puberty yet. She knows she’ll hate him, because he’ll be obnoxious, and prove that he only got here based on nepotism. From who, she doesn’t care. It’s just not fair, so she’s going to dislike her new captain, and take as much time as possible to sleep on the couch in stead of completing her tasks.
But all thoughts of an obnoxious brat fly out the window when Hitsugaya Toushiro steps into the office for the first time. He seems lost. Lost, but determined to prove that he’s strong, and it pulls a string in her. He reminds her of herself, fighting to fit in, fighting to be someone strong, to prove herself, and the world that she could. On the plus side, he’s strangely cute, in that misunderstood kind of way, and she instantly becomes immune to his glare; and decides that she can’t dislike her new taichou. If anything, she’ll probably like him very much.
This is finally fitting in.
The way they fight now, it’s like a choreographed dance, something they’ve spent hours, days perfecting. Hitsugaya knows when Matsumoto’s too tired, and knows that she’ll never tell him; it’s weak, it wouldn’t please him. Matsumoto understands his orders, even if they’re unspoken; she obeys, and fulfils them with the uttermost perfection only Matsumoto is capable of when she actually sets her mind to it.
He still can’t get her to do paperwork, but at least they fight like taichou and fukutaichou now. Not only that, but rumour has it they’re by far the most co-ordinated pair in the entire Divisions. It’s not a surprise, because Hitsugaya only has to shift slightly, and Matsumoto knows what he wants. When they attack, together, it’s like ice and ashes, all together, and no one comes out. They’ve been working together for a fairly small amount of time now; and even though there have even been bets on who’d last how much, or which one would quit first; the sense of loyalty, the respect, it’s all there, growing at the base.
They jump, and slash; and no survivors.
It isn’t that he wants to use the showers adjacent to his office, but he really has no choice. There’s blood on his hair, and he has to get it out fast, before it remains there. He’s obsessive about things like that: everything pale or white must remain that way, blood is not accepted anywhere that fits former description.
He showers quickly, frowning in the mirror at the curls of wet hair. That’s his secret, what he tries to keep everyone from knowing. It’s bad enough he hardly gets taken seriously because he looks young, but to actually go around with curls would be like throwing himself into their hungry paws. Spikes seem to work better, they give him a rough edge, something that fits, because he’s cold as ice, sometimes. Even if putting them up takes more time than he’s willing to admit.
The door to the bathroom opens suddenly, and he tightens the hold on the towel around his waist.
“Taichou, I’m sorry!” Matsumoto jumps, “You hardly use this shower, so I thought it was free to use, and I needed a showe--erm.” Now Matsumoto’s mouth is twitching, and the hand on the door-knob shakes slightly. She stares at his curly hair with amused amazement.
Hitsugaya moves quick, “Mention this,” he grits out, “And death won’t even begin to describe the results.”
Matsumoto nods, mouth still alternating between wide open and twitching into smiles. She sobers up quickly, and seriously says: “I still sleep with a teddy-bear sometimes.”
Hitsugaya, who was busy glaring at her, furrows his brows in confusion, “What?”
Matsumoto shrugs, “You know, just in case. Now you have something against me too, so you know I’ll keep the secret.”
Hitsugaya pauses, and sees her logic. “…okay.”
This is when their trust begins.
Pride doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels for Matsumoto right now.
He’s very close to shaking her awake just to hug her tightly, but Lord knows she needs her sleep. One can only drink as much sake before passing out. He knows he shouldn’t rejoice because of this, but he can’t help it. Ichimaru is gone, but she isn’t. she stayed. When he asks her why, she looks at him oddly hurt; as if questioning if there was even a need to ask. Matsumoto is loyal. You could cut deep, and analyse, there probably is a part of her soul reserved exclusively to that frightening loyalty of hers. And he’s lucky enough to have it. Him, not Gin.
She could’ve left with the traitor, and it pains him to say that he thought, for a moment, that she would. But Matsumoto stayed, out of loyalty, out of respect, and because she somehow valued him more than Ichimaru. He was grateful for that. Grateful enough that he replaced her sake with a less strong one, and kept her company every once in a while. He once threatened Ichimaru with death if he hurt Momo-san.
Death wouldn’t even begin to describe it, if the traitor so much as laid hands on his fukutaichou.
“I’ve signed us up in the party to go to the human world.”
Matsumoto lifts her head up from the papers she’s finally working on. “Alright.” There it is again, that trust, that confidence in her taichou and his decisions. Hitsugaya doesn’t know whether to be enraged or pleased. She’s loyal, yes, and she trust him, of course, but he fears this loyalty. He fears it because he’s never known it so far; not even Momo-san, because Momo-san doubted him, actually thought he was capable of murder (Rangiku would have never believed that.). The loyalty, he doesn’t realise, works as a double edged blade; it’s as deep on her side as it is on his.
“We’ll probably be high school students.”
Matsumoto pauses in her work, a frown on her face. “Hmm. As long as we share one class.” For debriefing, she means. He understands. The constant need for contact and communication has always existed in their relationship; it had them researching Aizen’s death together, it had them sharing their doubts and suspicions, it had been thanks to it that they had actually managed to warn everyone on time. If they do indeed intent on passing as students in the human world, he expects her to share every dubious observation she makes. If they do have a class together, it’s just as good.
He enjoys her company way too much for it to be healthy for his mental stability.
Matsumoto groans, rolling her sore shoulder until she hears a click. There’s blood in her skin again, but she’ll clean it up later. All she wants to do now is sleep. The knock on her door impedes her from doing so. She opens it, and lets Hitsugaya inside. It’s odd, but it seems as if he’s grown taller. Or maybe it’s just because she’s hunched over from exhaustion.
“Matsumoto,” her taichou begins.
She gives him her full attention, as per usual. When he speaks, there’s always something which makes her search for eye contact. Maybe it’s because she can actually see his eyes, see his expressions, and drown in them should she want to. And sometimes, she wants to so much. Like today.
“I came to congratulate you on the battle.” Ah yes, her battle with Nakim. Haineko is still purring at her hip, pride rolling off of it in waves. Sometimes, after having a talk with her zanpakuto, she wonders idly if a zanpakuto can communicate with another; and if so, she wonders what Hyourinmaru thinks of her achievement in battle. The weird need to be accepted by her taichou’s blade would seem off to anyone who didn’t know them well. To her it just seems logical.
“Thank you,” she replies after a while, looking at the bed with a longing expression.
“But the next time you think of doing something that stupid, I am going to ask for a transfer.”
A transfer is by far the biggest threat Hitsugaya ever used; and this is the first time he uses it. If he’s willing to separate from her, to send all their perfected relationship out on the battle field to hell, to ruin the friendship, and distance themselves, then she must have really enraged him. “Taichou,” she breathes.
“If you ever got hurt, if I can’t help but see you get hurt, I don’t think I’d ever life with the guilt,” he bites, and his words pull strings in her heart, pulls them hard.
The silence is too cutting, and tense, and they’re never tense, they’re always calm. Matsumoto wants to cry, and apologize and laugh at her victory, and she’s confused at Hitsugaya’s threat, possibly hurt. “Taichou,” she starts, teasing to relieve the atmosphere. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Hitsugaya rolls his eyes, and moves quickly. His lips are soft, slightly clumsy but soft. Hitsugaya might be giving her his first kiss, but Hitsugaya never does things in any way other than perfect. She crumbles a little into his arms, and sighs when he deepens the kiss, ready to spend as much time as needed to show her exactly how much he cares.
The apparatus around Momo’s body buzz dimly, and Hitsugaya’s hands are clammy, because he doesn’t really feel comfortable being here.
Matsumoto is behind him, because she was the one with the idea. They linger in the room for a while longer, until it’s hard to breathe, and Hitsugaya rushes out of the room, welcoming the fresh air when it comes. Matsumoto follows at a slow pace. They take a walk, and end up pausing at a bridge, leaning over the railings to look at the water.
“Do you think it’ll ever get better?” she softly inquires.
“I think so. As long as there’s still hope, and people who fight for that hope.”
“It’s hard, remembering him sometimes. Because it’s getting harder and harder not to hate him,” she murmurs, glaring at the lake.
“We’ll get through this.” They probably will, he has no doubt. With bruises and scars in the end, but that legendary silver lining will come for them as well.
“I have sake,” Rangiku says. The question hangs in the air; and Hitsugaya gets it because this state of mind, the mood they’re in, probably demands a good amount of drinking. Do you want to join me?
“Yeah,” he answers.
They make their way back to the office quietly.
Hitsugaya can’t be accused of meddling if the drawers he’s curiously inspecting belong to his lover. And it’s only understandable he has to do it, because it’s her underwear drawer, and he wants to be prepared. His hand hits something hard, and he pulls out a framed picture. The blush creeps to his cheeks.
It’s a picture of him, pre-growth-spurt. And why she has it in between her underwear is beyond him, but it certainly increases that pressing need to pine her against a wall somewhere, and--
“Toushiro,” Matsumoto slyly drawls, arms going around his waist, and chin pressed onto his shoulder. (Oh, how he thanks the gods for having given him the wonders of growth-spurt. Having her chest pressed against his back like that only made it worth the wait.) “Why are you going through my drawers?” she asks.
“Curious.” He holds up the picture, “Care to say why you have a picture of me in there?”
“Hmm?” she picks the frame from his hands to analyse it. “Oh, this is a reminder, my darling taichou. Now that you are so tall, I sometimes get nostalgic and need to remember the way you were when you were a short little eunuch.”
Hitsugaya splutters, “Short, little--Rangiku!”
Matsumoto laughs and lets go of her hold on his waist. “I know, I know,” she grins, laughter threatening to come out again. “You love me anyway.”
He does. And just like the trust, the loyalty, the friendship, the love is a double edged sword. It’s as passionate and as dangerous and as strong and as loyal on both sides.
Like it should always have been.
::end::
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::they might not live happily ever after, but at least they live::
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Wild honey has the scent of freedom
Dust - of a ray of sun
A girl's mouth - of a violet
And gold - has no perfume
Watery, the minionette
And like an apple - love
But we have found out forever
That blood smells only of blood
~Anna Akhmatova, Untitled poem