A Place for Purity, Bloody Trail, Half a Smile
Series: Bleach
Characters: Izuru, Momo, mentions of Sousuke and Gin
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns Bleach.
Title: A Place for Purity
Rating: G
Genre: Drama
Summary: They were both searching for redemption and some bit of innocence.
Warnings: Vague spoilers for the Soul Society arc.
In a prism, the color black - though it is not necessarily a color, by any means - takes in every other tone and shade. It takes and conquers everything, leaving no trace of what it has eaten.
Izuru has taken all the pain in. Despite being ostracized by the rest of the shinigami for remaining dutiful to that man, he registers each and every blow with precision. The words are stinging, meant to harm and knock some sense into the already well-knowing mind of his. Yet he allows them to continue, no retorts ever snaking their way out of his mind, though he is always coming up with snappy remarks at the gossips. He listens anyway, listening to the sharp points and jotting them down.
Then he conquers those fears and feelings of loneliness, one by one. He is outnumbered, but he will one day stand as the conqueror of his darkness. That is what he would like to believe. But Izuru knows that he has lied to himself many times, and that this is one of those occasions, because he is behind and losing to those words while the darkness swallows him.
The white does not take, but rejects. It pushes away the other colors of the spectrum, the epitome of perfection, not to ever be marred by even a single dot. It never takes, nor does it ever give.
Momo did not take in the pain. The blade had never sent a surge of pain through her frail and broken body, but regret. Regret that she could not free the man she so idolized from the clutches of that manipulative fox. There was never any blood shed on her part. That had not been her blood. Rather, a symbol of her captain's ache and pain as the liquid oozed out from her figure. She believed that he had taken responsibility by putting her in bed, by disabling her from fighting or having to watch more bloodshed from fellow comrades.
She is confused, but that is one thing she can comprehend. Without doubt, he will be there in the future, smiling at her with that same gentle expression he had always wore, even when he had put her out of harm's way by running her through with it. Momo is not broken by any means, she is merely looking deeper into the core of the problem than the others bother to. Because if she didn't, no one else would bother to, and that meant that her captain was a lost cause.
There is no pure color in a prism, or anywhere for that matter.
Neither were innocent. They were both tainted, as was everyone else. But like anyone else, their attempts to clear it all away were different.
A shimmering light in the darkness, and Izuru is clawing his way out. The words have hands, and though they attempt pulling him back, he continues to push forward. But when a strong force comes from the front, he is pushed back by the impulse, and crushed to the other end; right back to the beginning. He stays there for the longest time, bent up against the nothingness as he comprehends what has just happened. And in a moment Izuru is up on his feet again, trying to get back on track as he could see the faint sliver of light that corrupted the darkness.
The wound is opening again, and Momo can feel the liquid soaking through the bandages. The stark, hospitol white is marked by the evident crimson, and she tends to the injury - no, takes care of the mark he had left on her as a promise to keep her safe from all the trouble she was putting herself into. By the time the coverings are replaced, Momo is relieved that the blood has stopped. For a moment the bindings are clean and white again, before more splotches of red dribble across the unseen lines. She frowns and works to make the liquid undetectable again, unwrapping the bandages and working with a new set. She does it over and over again, until the wound stops, and that bit of pain she was experiencing leaving so abruptly.
They are far from it, but they continue to reach for purity anyway, as a way to redeem themselves for their incompetence. And maybe they will finish together and cross that line to redemption side by side.
Title: Bloody Trail
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Summary: The rain washed away blood, but it couldn't clear away the illusions.
Warnings: Vague spoilers for the Soul Society arc, and reference to blood.
Often on rainy days, the shinigami rejoiced when the weather turned to the worse after a mission. It usually meant they would not be required to clean up the bloody mess, or touch the corpses for that matter - because no matter who it was, laying a hand on a body and dumping it to the side for show was despicable and undeserving. So when the rain did the job for them with its unending sprinklers, it left an atmosphere of relief.
But not this time. No rain could ever wash away this tremendous amount of blood.
He hadn't witnessed it spill, hadn't even seen it at all truthfully. Just looking at her said enough, though, as the severity of the wound spoke for itself with a mere glance at the bandages and the spares by the nightstand, the used ones in a box set at the corner of the bed on the floor. But every time he looked at her when no one was around to see him visit her room in the 4th Division barracks, he felt his gut twist at the sight of a bedridden Momo.
He was hallucinating. She was covered in red, the imaginary blood leaving a puddle across the floor as it seaped through the sheets she was placed under, and he could hear the droplets hitting the ground with such audacity he would have to cover his ears. Even as he left the room and retreated to the hallway, that non existent trail of blood was there, splattered all over the ground as if she had been dragged to her bedside. Every time it appeared, he ran away, not taking a single glance back despite the odd glances the passerbys gave him.
Red, red, red. It was all he saw.
From day one he had known it was all a part of his imagination. He had stalked into the room after Hitsugaya had left, and while that fake sight had initiated a silenced cry from his lips, the realization that it was not a part of reality had made the atmosphere unsettling. Since that moment he had wanted to hold her, caress her, rub her back and rock back and forth with her in his gentle grasp to soothe away that horrible image. Not that he had never wanted to feel her skin before in the past, but the reasoning was different in this scenario.
However, he would never touch her when she was so vulnerable. He required her consent, that she was actually aware of what he was doing, rather than taking advantage of her disability to respond to the environment around her. The comatose was a curse, no doubt.
While he would have been fine and force himself to adapt to the crimson imagery, what left him utterly terrified was the fact that he could feel the blood. Not like the cliche events where the people would see the red on their hands and freak, but that he had seemingly slipped on a puddle when he had approached the room. It was all fake, nothing was real, yet it felt so real his logical mind was unable to comprehend it all. He remembered that one time when he fell with a soft thud, and after remaining flat on the floor for who knows how long to ensure no one had heard, that to his dismay his form was covered with the sticky and fresh liquid.
Which was why, when he made that same mistake again this time, he remained still. He did not rise from the floor, but simply sat there dumbfounded as he willed his eyes to not look at himself, or Momo for that matter. The room was completely silent, and he could again hear the droplets splashing as it made contact with the floor, grimacing at the sound. But before the halcyon atmosphere could drive him completely off the edge, he heard it; the sound of water hitting the roof.
Rain.
He scuttled his way down the hall, trying not to grab any attention as the hour was late and, surely, everyone must have retired to bed by this time. Quietly slipping out the entrance, he left the safeties of the extension above the door to keep the rain out, instead welcoming it as he walked straight into the open.
It was pure insanity, but he could feel the liquid being washed off of him. He knew it wasn't there. Never the less, he was satisfied that the feeling of it was gone and dripping off of his soaken uniform. He continued to stand with his eyes closed, chin poised up to face the sky as the droplets of the rain brutally made contact over and over again, without end.
He was not sure when he had passed out, but the moment he regained consciousness in the 4th Division barracks and was met with the illusion of red, Izuru cried out.
Title: Half A Smile
Rating: G
Genre: Angst
Summary: Everyone knew Izuru's smiles were strained and said nothing of it, but when Momo tried to fake her own, something in him snapped.
Warnings: Blatant spoilers for the Soul Society arc.
They knew just as well as Izuru did that his smiles were not truly genuine. Partially, maybe, but not entirely. After becoming Gin's adjutant, smiling for real did not seem to come by as a necessity, mostly due to the man's unshakeable and suffocating presence. Trying to be happy with that heavy weight from the uneasy atmosphere was hardly a simple task, and almost downright possible. Instead, he feigned most of it, but managed to retain some genunity in the expressions he offered to lighten the mood when with his friends, because that influence set by Gin had managed to become a permanent dent in his figure.
He knew it was upsetting to those around him that he was seemingly faking it all, but they were unable to understand that a part of it was indeed true. It was, to say, a white lie as they was some truth to it instead of a complete falsity. But he didn't say anything. He knew that if he ever brought the topic up, unnecessary questions would plague him that he wasn't ready to answer. Izuru would never be prepared enough to respond to such personal queries.
Which was why when he spoke with Momo for the first time in a while, he chose not to smile and merely maintained a straight face.
"I'm sure Aizen-taichou did this to us - to me - so that he could avoid any more problems than there already was." She had confessed, looking down at the floor as she twiddled her thumbs.
Thankfully no one was around the 5th Division barracks to hear what Momo what had said; if anyone had, they would have had her sent straight back to the bed for her instability. She couldn't accept that Sousuke had betrayed Soul Society, and remained loving to the good side of him that had never existed in the first place. Many had tried to gently push some sense into her mind, but she was so determined and set on her assumption that she listened to no one. Izuru didn't even bother with pressing her on the matter, as he knew it would be futile, especially with her numbing counter that he had helped Gin all the way and that he should be able to understand.
He did, but he didn't agree with it. But he played along anyway, to keep her hopes from being crushed, though he was sure she would have a harsh landing after the whole war. He would be to blame for it, but it was better for her to maintain that bit of optimism rather than having it oblierated from early on.
And every time she spoke out her theory, he would respond with the same words, as if the whole scene was scripted.
"I suppose."
He was neither agreeing or disagreeing. Yet, as it sounded more towards the agreeing side, Momo did not go out of her way to convince him that she was right and that her belief must be true.
Izuru swallowed, looking down at his fellow lieutenant. "Hinamori-kun."
She raised her head, her sight moving from the floor to his form as she acknowledged his call. "What is it?"
He sighed, breaking eye contact from those permanently sad eyes as he looked around for anything to focus on, as long as it wasn't her. It was a rude gesture, but he couldn't stand to look at her after what he had done; she was the result of his treacherous actions during the conspiracy, and it shamed him so much more than he was already feeling with a mere glance towards her direction.
"Are you all right...?" Izuru managed, slowly turning his head to gaze back at the girl, forcing himself to face his fears.
She smiled, her lips contorting into what normally would have been a sweet expression, but this time it was far from that. The corners of her eyes were strained, like how his always were from the constant facade. And the orbs of her eyes told otherwise, they spoke of anything and everything but happiness or contemptness. He shuddered at the sight, but willed his body to stay still and held back the sudden urge to gag.
"I'm okay, Kira-kun. You're here listening to me, so I'm all right."
Izuru had never felt so disgusted with himself.
Characters: Izuru, Momo, mentions of Sousuke and Gin
Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns Bleach.
Title: A Place for Purity
Rating: G
Genre: Drama
Summary: They were both searching for redemption and some bit of innocence.
Warnings: Vague spoilers for the Soul Society arc.
In a prism, the color black - though it is not necessarily a color, by any means - takes in every other tone and shade. It takes and conquers everything, leaving no trace of what it has eaten.
Izuru has taken all the pain in. Despite being ostracized by the rest of the shinigami for remaining dutiful to that man, he registers each and every blow with precision. The words are stinging, meant to harm and knock some sense into the already well-knowing mind of his. Yet he allows them to continue, no retorts ever snaking their way out of his mind, though he is always coming up with snappy remarks at the gossips. He listens anyway, listening to the sharp points and jotting them down.
Then he conquers those fears and feelings of loneliness, one by one. He is outnumbered, but he will one day stand as the conqueror of his darkness. That is what he would like to believe. But Izuru knows that he has lied to himself many times, and that this is one of those occasions, because he is behind and losing to those words while the darkness swallows him.
The white does not take, but rejects. It pushes away the other colors of the spectrum, the epitome of perfection, not to ever be marred by even a single dot. It never takes, nor does it ever give.
Momo did not take in the pain. The blade had never sent a surge of pain through her frail and broken body, but regret. Regret that she could not free the man she so idolized from the clutches of that manipulative fox. There was never any blood shed on her part. That had not been her blood. Rather, a symbol of her captain's ache and pain as the liquid oozed out from her figure. She believed that he had taken responsibility by putting her in bed, by disabling her from fighting or having to watch more bloodshed from fellow comrades.
She is confused, but that is one thing she can comprehend. Without doubt, he will be there in the future, smiling at her with that same gentle expression he had always wore, even when he had put her out of harm's way by running her through with it. Momo is not broken by any means, she is merely looking deeper into the core of the problem than the others bother to. Because if she didn't, no one else would bother to, and that meant that her captain was a lost cause.
There is no pure color in a prism, or anywhere for that matter.
Neither were innocent. They were both tainted, as was everyone else. But like anyone else, their attempts to clear it all away were different.
A shimmering light in the darkness, and Izuru is clawing his way out. The words have hands, and though they attempt pulling him back, he continues to push forward. But when a strong force comes from the front, he is pushed back by the impulse, and crushed to the other end; right back to the beginning. He stays there for the longest time, bent up against the nothingness as he comprehends what has just happened. And in a moment Izuru is up on his feet again, trying to get back on track as he could see the faint sliver of light that corrupted the darkness.
The wound is opening again, and Momo can feel the liquid soaking through the bandages. The stark, hospitol white is marked by the evident crimson, and she tends to the injury - no, takes care of the mark he had left on her as a promise to keep her safe from all the trouble she was putting herself into. By the time the coverings are replaced, Momo is relieved that the blood has stopped. For a moment the bindings are clean and white again, before more splotches of red dribble across the unseen lines. She frowns and works to make the liquid undetectable again, unwrapping the bandages and working with a new set. She does it over and over again, until the wound stops, and that bit of pain she was experiencing leaving so abruptly.
They are far from it, but they continue to reach for purity anyway, as a way to redeem themselves for their incompetence. And maybe they will finish together and cross that line to redemption side by side.
Title: Bloody Trail
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Summary: The rain washed away blood, but it couldn't clear away the illusions.
Warnings: Vague spoilers for the Soul Society arc, and reference to blood.
Often on rainy days, the shinigami rejoiced when the weather turned to the worse after a mission. It usually meant they would not be required to clean up the bloody mess, or touch the corpses for that matter - because no matter who it was, laying a hand on a body and dumping it to the side for show was despicable and undeserving. So when the rain did the job for them with its unending sprinklers, it left an atmosphere of relief.
But not this time. No rain could ever wash away this tremendous amount of blood.
He hadn't witnessed it spill, hadn't even seen it at all truthfully. Just looking at her said enough, though, as the severity of the wound spoke for itself with a mere glance at the bandages and the spares by the nightstand, the used ones in a box set at the corner of the bed on the floor. But every time he looked at her when no one was around to see him visit her room in the 4th Division barracks, he felt his gut twist at the sight of a bedridden Momo.
He was hallucinating. She was covered in red, the imaginary blood leaving a puddle across the floor as it seaped through the sheets she was placed under, and he could hear the droplets hitting the ground with such audacity he would have to cover his ears. Even as he left the room and retreated to the hallway, that non existent trail of blood was there, splattered all over the ground as if she had been dragged to her bedside. Every time it appeared, he ran away, not taking a single glance back despite the odd glances the passerbys gave him.
Red, red, red. It was all he saw.
From day one he had known it was all a part of his imagination. He had stalked into the room after Hitsugaya had left, and while that fake sight had initiated a silenced cry from his lips, the realization that it was not a part of reality had made the atmosphere unsettling. Since that moment he had wanted to hold her, caress her, rub her back and rock back and forth with her in his gentle grasp to soothe away that horrible image. Not that he had never wanted to feel her skin before in the past, but the reasoning was different in this scenario.
However, he would never touch her when she was so vulnerable. He required her consent, that she was actually aware of what he was doing, rather than taking advantage of her disability to respond to the environment around her. The comatose was a curse, no doubt.
While he would have been fine and force himself to adapt to the crimson imagery, what left him utterly terrified was the fact that he could feel the blood. Not like the cliche events where the people would see the red on their hands and freak, but that he had seemingly slipped on a puddle when he had approached the room. It was all fake, nothing was real, yet it felt so real his logical mind was unable to comprehend it all. He remembered that one time when he fell with a soft thud, and after remaining flat on the floor for who knows how long to ensure no one had heard, that to his dismay his form was covered with the sticky and fresh liquid.
Which was why, when he made that same mistake again this time, he remained still. He did not rise from the floor, but simply sat there dumbfounded as he willed his eyes to not look at himself, or Momo for that matter. The room was completely silent, and he could again hear the droplets splashing as it made contact with the floor, grimacing at the sound. But before the halcyon atmosphere could drive him completely off the edge, he heard it; the sound of water hitting the roof.
Rain.
He scuttled his way down the hall, trying not to grab any attention as the hour was late and, surely, everyone must have retired to bed by this time. Quietly slipping out the entrance, he left the safeties of the extension above the door to keep the rain out, instead welcoming it as he walked straight into the open.
It was pure insanity, but he could feel the liquid being washed off of him. He knew it wasn't there. Never the less, he was satisfied that the feeling of it was gone and dripping off of his soaken uniform. He continued to stand with his eyes closed, chin poised up to face the sky as the droplets of the rain brutally made contact over and over again, without end.
He was not sure when he had passed out, but the moment he regained consciousness in the 4th Division barracks and was met with the illusion of red, Izuru cried out.
Title: Half A Smile
Rating: G
Genre: Angst
Summary: Everyone knew Izuru's smiles were strained and said nothing of it, but when Momo tried to fake her own, something in him snapped.
Warnings: Blatant spoilers for the Soul Society arc.
They knew just as well as Izuru did that his smiles were not truly genuine. Partially, maybe, but not entirely. After becoming Gin's adjutant, smiling for real did not seem to come by as a necessity, mostly due to the man's unshakeable and suffocating presence. Trying to be happy with that heavy weight from the uneasy atmosphere was hardly a simple task, and almost downright possible. Instead, he feigned most of it, but managed to retain some genunity in the expressions he offered to lighten the mood when with his friends, because that influence set by Gin had managed to become a permanent dent in his figure.
He knew it was upsetting to those around him that he was seemingly faking it all, but they were unable to understand that a part of it was indeed true. It was, to say, a white lie as they was some truth to it instead of a complete falsity. But he didn't say anything. He knew that if he ever brought the topic up, unnecessary questions would plague him that he wasn't ready to answer. Izuru would never be prepared enough to respond to such personal queries.
Which was why when he spoke with Momo for the first time in a while, he chose not to smile and merely maintained a straight face.
"I'm sure Aizen-taichou did this to us - to me - so that he could avoid any more problems than there already was." She had confessed, looking down at the floor as she twiddled her thumbs.
Thankfully no one was around the 5th Division barracks to hear what Momo what had said; if anyone had, they would have had her sent straight back to the bed for her instability. She couldn't accept that Sousuke had betrayed Soul Society, and remained loving to the good side of him that had never existed in the first place. Many had tried to gently push some sense into her mind, but she was so determined and set on her assumption that she listened to no one. Izuru didn't even bother with pressing her on the matter, as he knew it would be futile, especially with her numbing counter that he had helped Gin all the way and that he should be able to understand.
He did, but he didn't agree with it. But he played along anyway, to keep her hopes from being crushed, though he was sure she would have a harsh landing after the whole war. He would be to blame for it, but it was better for her to maintain that bit of optimism rather than having it oblierated from early on.
And every time she spoke out her theory, he would respond with the same words, as if the whole scene was scripted.
"I suppose."
He was neither agreeing or disagreeing. Yet, as it sounded more towards the agreeing side, Momo did not go out of her way to convince him that she was right and that her belief must be true.
Izuru swallowed, looking down at his fellow lieutenant. "Hinamori-kun."
She raised her head, her sight moving from the floor to his form as she acknowledged his call. "What is it?"
He sighed, breaking eye contact from those permanently sad eyes as he looked around for anything to focus on, as long as it wasn't her. It was a rude gesture, but he couldn't stand to look at her after what he had done; she was the result of his treacherous actions during the conspiracy, and it shamed him so much more than he was already feeling with a mere glance towards her direction.
"Are you all right...?" Izuru managed, slowly turning his head to gaze back at the girl, forcing himself to face his fears.
She smiled, her lips contorting into what normally would have been a sweet expression, but this time it was far from that. The corners of her eyes were strained, like how his always were from the constant facade. And the orbs of her eyes told otherwise, they spoke of anything and everything but happiness or contemptness. He shuddered at the sight, but willed his body to stay still and held back the sudden urge to gag.
"I'm okay, Kira-kun. You're here listening to me, so I'm all right."
Izuru had never felt so disgusted with himself.