No apology [Renji/Rukia, G]
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking up with guilty eyes.
Renji grips her wrist and pulls her a step closer; he can feel the warmth of her skin so near his own, see the flecks of indigo in her eyes. Her lips are softly parted, skin glowing in the sunlight streaming through the doorway.
“What’s wrong, Rukia? Why won’t you…”
He looks away and frowns, unable to finish.
Rukia sighs and dips her head, and he can see fine strands of hair fall down her nape as she does. Her skin is pale and unmarked, and he wants to run his lips down that tempting glimpse of flesh.
She rests her forehead against his abdomen, small hands on his sides. Her fingers run slowly down the lines of his ribs, across tattoos and scars; scars her bore for her, and her only.
“I just can’t, Renji. I’m sorry.”
Renji swallows the knot blocking his voice. Rukia doesn’t look up, and before he can stop her again, she’s already gone.
________________________________________________
Renji glares into the sunset.
He’s sitting on a hillside outside Rukongai, near where he and Rukia grew up. In place of the uniform, he’s wearing an emerald yukata and straw sandals. His hair is done up in its usual fashion, the fiery color matching that of the sky.
Digging his fingers into the soil, he unearths a rock and flings it down the hill. He can’t stop replaying the scene over and over in his mind, all efforts to forget it useless. He came here because it used to be their favorite spot, to sit and talk, to watch clouds and count stars.
Why has that changed?
Renji sighs and tips his head toward the fading sunlight. It streaked across the sky in bruised blues and purples, the sun itself a small red blot on the horizon. Birds fly overhead, and a fragrant breeze tugs at his clothing, much like a lover would.
It has been five months since the Winter War. Five months since anyone had heard of Ichigo, and five months still too little for repair. Many injuries have yet to heal. The demons Aizen has left behind still haunt those most affected by his spell.
Renji has hardly spoken to Rukia these few, unbearable months. Something in her has changed, transforming her into a quieter, more duty-bound person, someone he doesn’t know. Her cheeks are paler and thinner, and her voice is quiet, lost in something Renji cannot name.
He doesn’t know what he hates more; her, for letting herself feel so strongly for Ichigo, or himself, for hating her for it.
________________________________________________
“Damnit, why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? Why don’t you trust me?”
He leans forward and takes her face in his hands, fingers curling easily behind her head. Her hair is soft, smelling faintly of flowers and sandalwood. Rukia swallows, biting her lower lip between small, white teeth.
“I don’t know, Renji. Please, don’t push it. I can’t tell you why.”
For a moment, he thinks she’s going to place her hands upon his own, but she only pushes them away. Setting his jaw, Renji leans back, sitting on his heels. Between them is a tray of tea and uneaten rice crackers. The tea is cold, and has been so for some time.
They’re still in uniform, she just returning from training, he having finished paperwork hours before. They sit in her quarters in the 13th Squad barracks. It’s a small room, used only when she is too weary to return to the Kuchiki manor. These days, however, Byakuya has requested her return each night; not out of control, but of worry.
There is time yet before sunset, and Renji wants to make use of it.
She sits, straight-backed and tense. Renji feels something in his chest, watching her like this; what is she afraid of?
Renji takes one of her hands, fitting easily into his palm, squeezing it. Her fingers are slightly cold, although it’s warm outside.
She looks up, but averts her eyes once more. “I’m sorry, Renji.”
________________________________________________
“Sorry for what?”
He speaks to himself, knowing an answer won’t be provided. He speaks to himself because there is no one there to listen.
Renji purses his lips, sighing quietly through his nose. He leans back on his elbows, legs sprawled out before him, one sandal slipping from his foot. The grass beneath his palms is newly grown, and he’s sure there will be stains on his clothing after he leaves.
He had to clean a grass stain from her kimono, once, as children. It was her favorite, one that he had given to her. He had to steal to get it, but she had admired it so, and all he wanted to do was make her happy. It was pink, with strange rabbits printed everywhere on it. Renji called them ugly, she called them cute.
Renji laughs at the memory. He is partially responsible for her obsession with Chappy, a fact he likes to remind her of given the chance.
He picks grass from the soil, throwing it carelessly. The breeze catches bits and blows it away. The sky is darker now, with just enough light to see by. Because he knows he’ll be walking home, Renji lights the lamp he’d brought, hanging it from the tree.
Fireflies begin to appear.
________________________________________________
“I told you not to roll around like that! Look what you did. It’s all stained now.”
Rukia sticks her tongue out at him, stomping her foot. Sunlight shines behind her. “You were the one tickling me! I wouldn’t have been rolling around if it weren’t for you, so it wouldn’t have gotten stained. So, this is all your fault.”
Renji looks up from the basin of soapy water to glare. His arms are covered in suds, her kimono clutched in his hands. “Would you just shut up? If you’re not gonna help, go somewhere else. I’m trying to do you a favor, you know.”
Rukia crosses her arms, huffing. “Whatever. Tell me when you’re finished, I’m going to go look for food.”
Renji stops, opening his mouth to speak. Before he can, she storms away, bare feet kicking up dust.
His shoulders slump. He looks to the kimono and the large green stain on its sleeve, lifting it in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs.
________________________________________________
Renji runs a hand through his hair, swallowing heavily.
He can’t stop thinking of her, and he hates it. He can’t stop thinking of how much she’s changed, how they’ve grown from Rukongai brats to respected Shinigami. She’s changed his life, and he can only hope that he’s changed hers. Renji doubts it.
Slowly, Renji rises to his feet. He slips the fallen sandal back on and retrieves the lamp. It glows softly in the darkness, and a few fireflies hover about its golden light.
He senses someone nearby, but knows who it is.
Rukia emerges from the darkness, her small form partially illuminated from the lamp’s glow. The fireflies dip and whirl around them.
They’re silent. Renji looks her up and down, noting her cream colored yukata, tied together with a cotton sash. Her hands are at her sides, and the humidity has caused fine strands of hair to stick to her neck. Looking at her in this light, Renji thinks she’s some ghost coming back to haunt him.
She reaches out, placing her hand on his own, her fingers still cold, but it warms him all the same.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and smiles.
Renji grips her wrist and pulls her a step closer; he can feel the warmth of her skin so near his own, see the flecks of indigo in her eyes. Her lips are softly parted, skin glowing in the sunlight streaming through the doorway.
“What’s wrong, Rukia? Why won’t you…”
He looks away and frowns, unable to finish.
Rukia sighs and dips her head, and he can see fine strands of hair fall down her nape as she does. Her skin is pale and unmarked, and he wants to run his lips down that tempting glimpse of flesh.
She rests her forehead against his abdomen, small hands on his sides. Her fingers run slowly down the lines of his ribs, across tattoos and scars; scars her bore for her, and her only.
“I just can’t, Renji. I’m sorry.”
Renji swallows the knot blocking his voice. Rukia doesn’t look up, and before he can stop her again, she’s already gone.
________________________________________________
Renji glares into the sunset.
He’s sitting on a hillside outside Rukongai, near where he and Rukia grew up. In place of the uniform, he’s wearing an emerald yukata and straw sandals. His hair is done up in its usual fashion, the fiery color matching that of the sky.
Digging his fingers into the soil, he unearths a rock and flings it down the hill. He can’t stop replaying the scene over and over in his mind, all efforts to forget it useless. He came here because it used to be their favorite spot, to sit and talk, to watch clouds and count stars.
Why has that changed?
Renji sighs and tips his head toward the fading sunlight. It streaked across the sky in bruised blues and purples, the sun itself a small red blot on the horizon. Birds fly overhead, and a fragrant breeze tugs at his clothing, much like a lover would.
It has been five months since the Winter War. Five months since anyone had heard of Ichigo, and five months still too little for repair. Many injuries have yet to heal. The demons Aizen has left behind still haunt those most affected by his spell.
Renji has hardly spoken to Rukia these few, unbearable months. Something in her has changed, transforming her into a quieter, more duty-bound person, someone he doesn’t know. Her cheeks are paler and thinner, and her voice is quiet, lost in something Renji cannot name.
He doesn’t know what he hates more; her, for letting herself feel so strongly for Ichigo, or himself, for hating her for it.
________________________________________________
“Damnit, why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? Why don’t you trust me?”
He leans forward and takes her face in his hands, fingers curling easily behind her head. Her hair is soft, smelling faintly of flowers and sandalwood. Rukia swallows, biting her lower lip between small, white teeth.
“I don’t know, Renji. Please, don’t push it. I can’t tell you why.”
For a moment, he thinks she’s going to place her hands upon his own, but she only pushes them away. Setting his jaw, Renji leans back, sitting on his heels. Between them is a tray of tea and uneaten rice crackers. The tea is cold, and has been so for some time.
They’re still in uniform, she just returning from training, he having finished paperwork hours before. They sit in her quarters in the 13th Squad barracks. It’s a small room, used only when she is too weary to return to the Kuchiki manor. These days, however, Byakuya has requested her return each night; not out of control, but of worry.
There is time yet before sunset, and Renji wants to make use of it.
She sits, straight-backed and tense. Renji feels something in his chest, watching her like this; what is she afraid of?
Renji takes one of her hands, fitting easily into his palm, squeezing it. Her fingers are slightly cold, although it’s warm outside.
She looks up, but averts her eyes once more. “I’m sorry, Renji.”
________________________________________________
“Sorry for what?”
He speaks to himself, knowing an answer won’t be provided. He speaks to himself because there is no one there to listen.
Renji purses his lips, sighing quietly through his nose. He leans back on his elbows, legs sprawled out before him, one sandal slipping from his foot. The grass beneath his palms is newly grown, and he’s sure there will be stains on his clothing after he leaves.
He had to clean a grass stain from her kimono, once, as children. It was her favorite, one that he had given to her. He had to steal to get it, but she had admired it so, and all he wanted to do was make her happy. It was pink, with strange rabbits printed everywhere on it. Renji called them ugly, she called them cute.
Renji laughs at the memory. He is partially responsible for her obsession with Chappy, a fact he likes to remind her of given the chance.
He picks grass from the soil, throwing it carelessly. The breeze catches bits and blows it away. The sky is darker now, with just enough light to see by. Because he knows he’ll be walking home, Renji lights the lamp he’d brought, hanging it from the tree.
Fireflies begin to appear.
________________________________________________
“I told you not to roll around like that! Look what you did. It’s all stained now.”
Rukia sticks her tongue out at him, stomping her foot. Sunlight shines behind her. “You were the one tickling me! I wouldn’t have been rolling around if it weren’t for you, so it wouldn’t have gotten stained. So, this is all your fault.”
Renji looks up from the basin of soapy water to glare. His arms are covered in suds, her kimono clutched in his hands. “Would you just shut up? If you’re not gonna help, go somewhere else. I’m trying to do you a favor, you know.”
Rukia crosses her arms, huffing. “Whatever. Tell me when you’re finished, I’m going to go look for food.”
Renji stops, opening his mouth to speak. Before he can, she storms away, bare feet kicking up dust.
His shoulders slump. He looks to the kimono and the large green stain on its sleeve, lifting it in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs.
________________________________________________
Renji runs a hand through his hair, swallowing heavily.
He can’t stop thinking of her, and he hates it. He can’t stop thinking of how much she’s changed, how they’ve grown from Rukongai brats to respected Shinigami. She’s changed his life, and he can only hope that he’s changed hers. Renji doubts it.
Slowly, Renji rises to his feet. He slips the fallen sandal back on and retrieves the lamp. It glows softly in the darkness, and a few fireflies hover about its golden light.
He senses someone nearby, but knows who it is.
Rukia emerges from the darkness, her small form partially illuminated from the lamp’s glow. The fireflies dip and whirl around them.
They’re silent. Renji looks her up and down, noting her cream colored yukata, tied together with a cotton sash. Her hands are at her sides, and the humidity has caused fine strands of hair to stick to her neck. Looking at her in this light, Renji thinks she’s some ghost coming back to haunt him.
She reaches out, placing her hand on his own, her fingers still cold, but it warms him all the same.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and smiles.