Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

.x.

Immediately upon waking, she assumes she hasn't really. The ceiling is alight with the approaching dawn, this pallid little blue that often reminds her of cotton candy, of curling smoke, of cool running water. The walls are dripping with dreams, drifting further, gliding closer, soothing her all the same. The covers are lumped both heavy and light atop her, the pillows soft as clouds underneath her head. Everything is both right in its place and shifted way out of place, locked and yet constantly shifting.

The air is hung with white noise, an empty symphony shimmering right at the ends of her fingers.

And when he breathes, so deeply, so profoundly, it is both a surprise and yet entirely expected.

His arm slides, smooth as rain, along her body, up her legs and then her stomach, hand open and searching, fingers shaping over her ribs, and he pulls her slowly toward him. His body curves easy for her, yields to her figure, gives into her presence as naturally as if he's never known anything else except for that alone; how much space she takes and how very willing he is to give her all of it at once. And there, his arm wraps up around her, the other disappears underneath her pillow, his nose touching and then lips kissing the top of her head.

She is so suddenly aware of how small she is, how not small he is, and how they fit together like two mismatched pieces—complete in themselves, melding, melding, melding together until they overlap well enough to pass. His breaths, now, tickle her skin, and when he sighs, it is from content and not from sleep, pulling at his mind; as it does beckon at her.

She assumes she hasn't actually woken, for this moment is hung with blaring noise, an overflowing symphony beating right through her bones—or maybe that's just her heart acting up all over again, she doesn't know.

She just knows this is best she's ever felt in all her life, this quiet little moment drenched in pallid blue and surrounded by him.

When he speaks, his voice sounds to her like dreams, a bass line so deep it shakes her to her core, rumbling like thunder over hills; "I don't wanna move from here."

Her toes curl, and up her spine there's this tingling she'll know anywhere. She tilts her head up, finds the underside of his jaw with her lips, and can't help the smile when he shakes, so light, with well-meaning laughter. "I don't think today wants us to," she says, and he hums with agreement, another rumble.

He kisses her forehead, rolling and then shifting until she is on her back and he, with cheek pressed against her shoulder, whispers into her neck, "This is fine. Let's just stay here."

His weight is a comfort she can't quite explain. The steady thrumming of his heart, there, against her stomach, is the only thing she can focus on. His fingers twirl her hair about carefully, and her head is swimming, euphoric. "Last night, I dreamed we were in space," she tells him, feels his lashes flutter on her collarbone feather-light.

"Were you the captain of that spaceship?" he asks, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

"We both were. I was setting the course, you were manning the ship." She brings her hand up to smooth down his hair; a pleased sound reverberates from his chest, and he turns his head to press another kiss to the sliver of skin the collar of her shirt had failed to cover. Warmth sparks, and he gently follows it up with another just at the top of the swell of her breast.

"Think I'd trust you better to do both, but I guess that's asking a little too much."

"I can do it."

"No doubt." Another kiss, just at the base of her throat; his hair tickles her face. "Realistically, though, these things run smoother as a team."

Just as he pushes himself up, she takes his face in both her hands and pulls him down, peppers his face with kisses; wiggles underneath him when a laugh tumbles sweetly from his mouth upon contact. "A team with me?"

"Can't imagine anyone better. Share a bed with you, and that's going pretty well so far."

"If it weren't?"

"We'd work things out." He pushes his hands under her pillow again, sinking back against her until their cheeks are pressed firmly together. "That's the thing about relationships, you can always keep mending them until you can't anymore." When she slides her hand down toward his jaw, he twists to kiss her palm. "I'll always try and make this work. Count on that."

Something shudders inside of her, some recollection of a lost thought; was this still a dream? His eyes, flickering toward hers all slow and unhurriedly, are so warm she almost feels like she can melt under them. That smile, curving just so at the ends of his lips, is so kind her heart feels likes it's about to burst. It feels so much like a dream, like she's floating weightlessly toward nothing at all; nirvana, in one sense of the word.

"—looking at me weird," he finishes saying, and her face heats up knowing she hadn't caught that first part. He dips his head and nuzzles her ear. "Are you hungry or something?"

"Just thinking. You look like…a dream," she says, and when he does not answer, continues with, "Just like a dream, a very good dream."

He breathes so deeply, so profoundly, she feels his answer there, expanding his ribs. "You look like a painting, or the stars. So kinda like a dream, except I can touch you." As if to prove it, he slides a hand down to cup the back of her head, fingers testing the weight.

She takes this time to stretch her arms over her head, and he accommodates her, yields to her. His hands relocate, lace with both of hers. "Can you touch a star?" she asks, puffs her cheeks up with air; it releases in a laugh when he bites, so lightly, as if to pop a bubble.

"I can certainly try. See, it's palpable. It's real. A dream—well, that's just wistful thinking, or just your fears talking." A pause, and then, "The reality here is, it's six in the morning—somewhere out there a star just exploded and we're not gonna know about it for hundreds and hundreds of years—and we're here having pillow talk. And between you and me, only one of those really matters to me."

"Imagine us as astronauts, out there witnessing that."

"Much rather be here, looking at you. Your eyes look like stars in this light, you know. That's good enough." When she squints, he pinches her thumb. "And the reality here is, it's six in the morning and I don't wanna be anywhere else. But that's why we have dreams—and this isn't a dream."

"Don't you like the idea?" In this light, he glowed almost eerie, and it fit him too well.

"Sure I do. It's romantic. Dreams are pretty things, and the comparison is nice. But we're talking about the difference, and here it is: If I had to choose between my dream—your dream, either one—and this reality, I wouldn't think twice. I dreamed about us, too, last night, but it doesn't even touch this. This," he pecks her forehead, "is infinitely better."

"What if I told you I really am hungry?"

"That's reality, too. So am I." He leaves a last kiss upon her lips, lingering, and then he pushes himself up on his hands.

"What was your dream about?" she asks, reaching out to grasp at his shirt and pull herself up.

"We were watching movies or something."

"That's boring."

"It's doable is what that is. We can eat in bed and watch TV today, I don't wanna do anything." He stretches, pops his back, and then climbs out of bed. "What are you feeling like? Pizza and comedies or takeout and suspense?"

"Why not both?" She holds her cellphone out to him, charms jangling off the end. "We're staying in today anyway. It's 'doable.'"

He plucks her phone from her hand. "Let's start with takeout. So what happened in that dream of yours, did we find anything?"

"A supernova. From a distance, of course."

"Of course."

"You got a little emotional."

"That's to be expected."

"Come here, I want to kiss you again."

Afterward, he lifts her off the bed and sets her down on her feet. "Would you rather be there or here?"

"As long as I'm with you, I don't care. We can be homeless."

"Rather not. But I feel the same." He follows her to the bathroom, but speaks to her through the door.

"What if all of this were a dream?"

"Do you think we're stretching this topic thin?" She hears his head thump against the door. "I like this dream, then."

She smiles, rubs the crust from her eyes. "Me, too."

.x.

A.N.: Thanks for reading.