pale

No matter where you are...
my heart will always remember and find you.

—

Just like the leaves in their drifting flight outside his window, his mind wanders; figures and scenes roam wildly in his head. There are too many pictures to remember, too many names to memorize, savor and scent his senses can't feel anymore.

There are too many missing figures to long for, too many broken smiles to be mended, too many laughs to hear. There are too many memories to look back on.

Sometimes, lying on this bed, covered with pristine sheet and accompanied with nothing but reminiscences, he misses his innocent childhood. Other times he looks wistfully at his 15-year-old-self, oblivious and determined.

Smiles and tears mingle together, drenched by rain; laughs and screams shrill so loudly that they can't be distinguished anymore, becoming one. Everything and nothing echoes together, his voice lost between them. Everywhere he goes, glasses will surround him like sentinels, his reflections distorted and overwhelming until his true self is no longer there.

Sometimes he wonders who he is, who he was, who he will be in the future.

He has too many identities. He's worn too many masks. Somewhere along the way, he forgot the man behind the façade.

But she helped him rediscover his self.

She intruded upon his life. And for a moment, everything seemed to stop. Her presence froze the rain in his world mid-air, frosts hovering and glistening somberly as she smiled, helping him to his feet, his mask breaking into splinters.

Amongst the sea of identities and memories, he can never imagine his world without her.

The room remains impassive, offering no answers and condolence to his spiraling thoughts. No voice, no smile, no smirk, no response even the slightest – her replica bursts into deafening silence, bleeding lingering shadows behind his eyes.

Who is he without her?

Just a ghost of a name.

—

—

After a while, smiling becomes something as natural as breathing – something he doesn't need to find reasons for, something that will just come and go eventually.

And all he can do is return his friends' concern with an empty smile.

It's their usual visit. At first he used to always look forward to seeing them – but the number shrinks and his hope and anticipation with it: five slowly becomes three.

He always tries to stay focused on the figures before him, clinging to words that don't make much sense or impression by smiling and rolling his eyes. He lets them take the pretense for granted.

He always tries not to avert his eyes to the gap between his friends, looking for a presence that used to be there. He tries not to imagine her gleaming violet eyes, their eye contact that relays wordless secrets and messages, their mutual smiles that reverberate with understanding and support.

It has never been this hard to accept reality.

Ishida's grunt snaps him out of his trance, the Quincy adjusting his glasses as he, as usual, recites the everyday events. There is a smug smirk plastered across the dark haired man's countenance, but it never reaches his eyes.

Chad, as always, is as silent as ever, his concern displayed in marginal gestures and low grumbles which winter breaths steal away too soon.

Inoue has been blaming herself for not being able to bring his powers back, and for letting this to happen to him – all he can do is smile and tell her that it isn't her fault. Everything was his decision and these consequences are inevitable.

This pain is inescapable.

Advancing through life without so much as a movement, ghosting through time and being chased by memories that render his reality invalid and hollow – it's an entirely different pain, hurts and is more difficult to deal with.

He smiles again when they make their leave, a routine he's getting used to, the aches he's trying to ignore.

Alone, he lets winter winds blow into his room, chiming death calls in their cold whispers.

In his corner of memories, he watches countless recollections build before his eyes, colors and shapes merging together, presenting a play of wishes and faraway smiles on the stage of his mind.

And he just lies motionless, silently counting to zero, waiting for the curtain call.

—

—

Winter has never been this cold.

Everything is white, too white to the point he can't differentiate his room from the bleached landscape below. Time moves ever onward, but vestiges of spring never seem to blossom.

It's very cold, but he likes it. The cold makes him forget the throbbing. And in his unyielding silence, he revels in the deadening pain. The numbing cold wraps him in sedated bandages – tranquilizers to the tattooed scars beneath his skin, ones that don't bleed anymore but still like to ache and rouse him at nights.

Death seems nearer and nearer with each passing day.

He remembers how he feared it back then when he was a child.

Funny how it offers him a beckon of repose now.

If he dies and goes to Soul Society, he'll be able to see and meet her again. They won't be separated, his heart will stop throbbing, his fake smiles will recede and finally stop, and he won't have to search for her imaginary shadow in every corner of his mind anymore.

Death will reunite them.

As scarlet as blood, their entwined ribbons will rendezvous once again, relishing the union.

A small – true – smile dances across his lips as he ponders.

But it doesn't last long. Urahara's words cut across his fleeting euphoria in an abrupt remembrance: it is very rare for Shinigami to retain their pasts.

If he dies and goes to Soul Society, will he remember her?

Will he be able to distinguish her figure from the crowd? Will he still recognize those violet eyes and grasp the tacit messages hidden in her slight nod and flick of hair? Will he feel calm upon seeing her smile?

Will he ever feel nostalgic for those ephemeral halcyon days they spent together? Will he remember those few moments untainted by bloodshed, just tinted with laughs and smiles and beautiful sunsets?

Will he remember his own feelings? Will he remember how much she means to him – how much he loves her?

Will he know it's her?

The one who has changed his world forever, someone he can't live without.

He will remember. He must.

Dubious but determined, he raises his hands to his head.

He wants her figure to forever haunt him, every little detail of her presence etched to the tombstone of his mind. He wants her to stay bold and black when death finally comes, painting everything white.

If he tries hard enough, will he successfully remember? Or will he eventually forget?

He will never find any answer to this endless carousel of questions. Not until he goes there and sees her.

And he will find his answers. Soon.

—

—

I wonder how it would be like to see you again. Will I know it's you? Will you kick me as soon as you're done with your stupid, smug smile?

Will I... smile in return?

Maybe…

Maybe it'll just feel like coming home again.

—

—

Almost blissful, he welcomes the familiar white with a longing embrace as though it was vestige of spring to his winter heart.

"Wait for me,"

His eyelids flutter down into a close, but a ghostly smile lingers on his pale face as he breathes her name in a barely audible mantra;

"Rukia."

I'm going there.

—

disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
a/n: The latest chapters have been bittersweet and heartbreakingly beautiful for both of them, so this is my tribute to IchiRuki. I have faith in them that they'll be reunited once again.

Thanks very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews would be greatly appreciated.