Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

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She likes the gentle, quiet feeling. She only wishes it didn't come with a chill.

Most nights aren't quite this still and silent. They're much more entertaining than this. It's a bit sad, the change, as the time they spent just wasn't enough. But, lately, she's noticed that his effort has started to wane. Even now, there's a gap between them, his back to her.

A part of her wants to reach out, as if just touching him will grant her an understanding. But it's reminescent of the past, of every time before this came about. The moments where her mere presence would light the fuse, and touching him would have set everything off. The moments wherein he'd slap her hands away.

She thinks, at first, that it must be something she's said or done. Some hoplessly mundane thing that's driving him mad. But, considering it more carefully, she remembers that most everything drives him mad. Even his own thoughts.

There is no chance for real peace. She can only hope that her fingers, brushing through his hair, will send that madness away.