"You think you're so special, don't you?" Rangiku would have tossed the stale bread in her hands at him if it wasn't precious food, and instead chose to stalk out the door. Stupid Gin, coming back after disappearing for six days (at most, before, he'd only been gone for four, so of course she'd been worried), and just thinking she'd be sated with a simple 'H'llo, Rangiku.' Pah! Selfish cretin!

In the ferocious wind flicked her irritating, short ginger hair into her eyes. She angrily raked it back behind her ears and made her way around the small hut. She didn't really have anywhere to storm in a huff, so she would get some of the firewood from the back and toss log by log to the front to let off steam. By the third log, thrown, turning back for the fourth, she heard the clunk of gathered wood.

Rangiku grabbed the fourth and chucked it toward the stooped figure of Gin.

"Ow! Geez, could ya throw with less malice, Rangiku?"

"Shut up," she said, tossing the fifth and final log at his feet. "It's not malice. It's anger."

"Anger breeds malice," he said, grinning up at her before he stood. "I know yer mad, 'Giku, but be patient wit' me, 'kay? One day, you'll see how important these excursions are."

Rangiku crossed her arms and glanced to the left. "Yeah."

"For both of us."

"Yeah."

"Now, let's go inside."

"Okay."

She wasn't mad anymore, but she'd let him carry the five logs. He stuffed one in the smoldering, tiny fireplace and lit a bit of kindling for it to start up. Once it did, Gin stood and stretched, and Rangiku noticed for the nth time that month that his clothes were getting too small. He was growing up and up, looming farther and farther over her every day. She sighed.

Gin glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled, beckoning. "C'mon. It's warm here."

And of course it would be. She padded over and stood with him by the fire.

"Yer quiet." She glanced up, not finding a reply to the statement handy. "Did I apologize yet?"

"… Probably."

He turned her face toward him, long, lean fingers beneath her chin, and lowered his head.

His lips were chapped. (Well, it was windy, and he had been out of the house for one day shy of a week.) She'd forgive him, though. Just this once. Again. "You think you're special, don't you?" she murmured into the dark cloth of his too-small yukata.

"Cert'nly I'm special. I can dupe you, can't I?"