Characters: Kira, Hinamori
Summary: And she's not quite the same anymore.
Pairings: onesided KiraHina
Warnings/Spoilers: vague spoilers for Fake Karakura Town and Deicide arcs
Timeline: post-Deicide arc
Author's Note: My mind is weird today. I'm not sure whether to hope that will show up here or hope that it won't.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

You've always adored her, from the day you first met. She looked so bright, so warm and sunny. Those sweet brown eyes when she spoke to you seemed to see you alone in all the world for the few moments in which you spoke, and you couldn't take your eyes off her.

No one had ever made you feel like this before. No one had ever made you feel so warm with just a glance, so happy with just a smile, so buoyant with just a laugh. She was the only one; you knew, you were so certain from those early days on, that she was the only one for you.

But you knew you'd never have her. You knew she'd never look at you the way you looked at her.

And you still know that.

It's okay to cherish a secret desire for decades. It's okay to never say a word but to simply let it grow in the heart until it's nearly all-consuming. At least that's what Kira tells himself, with miserable wringing of the hands as he looks at the vase full of butter-yellow poppies and keeps telling himself that, along with trying to bolster his confidence enough to pick up the vase to take it with him to the hospital.

Hinamori, Kira knows, likes yellow flowers. She's always valued them as bright and cheery. She loves bright flowers the way she loves and esteems all bright, vivid things; a little bit of bright light to give the sun to her dark world.

Kira knows he's washed out and colorless by comparison.

But if he takes the flowers to her, maybe they'll lend him a little of their color, so this melody is carried all the way through, and he can present the silent song to her.

If anything, Kira hopes she'll like it.

-0-

Most of the Shinigami in the hospital when Kira enters it are Fourth Division members who remember Kira from his days training with them in the use of healing kido. At the close of the training program, Kira's skill in healing kido was average at best, but he had come away with several new acquaintances; Kira still marvels at how different the atmosphere of the Fourth Division is, how open and welcoming it is, despite the way Fourth Division Shinigami tend to be treated.

None of them can fail to notice what Kira has balanced securely in his hands. The men shoot him openly curious stares while the women share secret smiles behind their hands.

Kira can feel his cheeks going red. Another thing about the Fourth Division is that everyone knows everything about everybody, and that no one has any scruples about displaying that knowledge. He'd forgotten that, and now he just wishes he'd taken a back door or had the vase delivered.

Ah, well. There can be no satisfaction without some embarrassment.

The thin song, that tremulous melody, snakes its way across his skin as he moves on through the halls, trying to ignore all the stares he's getting—or at least, the stares Kira thinks he's getting; serving under Ichimaru-taicho always guaranteed paranoia and even though Kira hasn't served under him for over six months that paranoia hasn't dissipated and he doesn't think it ever will.

Meanwhile, he's just telling himself, over and over again, to keep going, not to bolt.

When Kira gets to the door on one of the upper floors, the door he knows Hinamori is behind, he draws in a deep breath, and that inhalation sounds like music to him. Then, he balances the clear glass vase of poppies in one arm, before raising his free hand to rap against the door.

Three heartbeats on wood, to let her know he's there.

-0-

It feels like an eternity passes between the time in which Kira knocks on Hinamori's door and the time in which he receives an answer. In that eternity, Kira begins to wonder if maybe she's asleep or if maybe he heard the receptionist wrong and this isn't Hinamori's room at all. His pulse quickens; his palms grow sweaty. Kira begins to wonder whether he shouldn't just put the vase on the floor by the door and run, and never have to face her or that tight feeling that comes in his stomach whenever he meets her. There are so many things he doesn't want to confront right now.

But then, there's a response.

"Come in." It's the sweet trill of Hinamori's voice, muffled through the door but still so clear, that stops Kira dead in his tracks in the process of leaving. So this is Hinamori's room after all.

Now that she knows someone's outside, Kira can't in clear conscience leave; he was raised to be polite, and by God that's how he'll behave. With a whistling song somewhat akin to a cat being strangled rising in his stomach, Kira shifts the glass vase securely in the crook of his arm and gently presses the door open.

Hinamori's sitting upright in her hospital bed, propped up on two pillows. Her hair is down loose about her shoulders, and the effect is to make her appear even softer and younger than usual. The room is all down in white and silver, and the large window lets in the bright afternoon sunlight, giving the edges of every object in the room a fuzzy, indistinct sort of feel.

"Hello, Kira-kun!" Hinamori smiles brightly as Kira sidles sheepishly into the room. There's something off about that smile though, something faintly artificial, as though she has to force her lips to curl upwards. Kira chooses not to notice it. She's just tired, he tells himself—and Hinamori certainly looks tired, with purple shadows under her eyes and a noticeable wan cast to her skin.

Shyly, Kira holds out the vase for her to see, and her dark eyes light up, or seem to. "Oh, thank you, they're lovely! Put the flowers on the windowsill, would you? I'd get up but—" Hinamori gestures towards the IV needle in her arm with a languidly irritated flourish "—I don't think the needle would oblige me."

The glistening vase lands with a muted clink on the windowsill and Kira pulls a chair up to the bed so he can sit in close proximity to Hinamori, despite the wave of butterflies that unleashes in his stomach. "So…" Kira's voice is exceptionally gentle as he manages a twitching imitation of a smile "…how are you doing?"

The way Hinamori's brow furrows, anyone would think that was a question requiring serious thought—and in Hinamori's case, it probably is. Kira's eye is drawn to the tapping of one of her fingers on the back of the opposite hand, and Hinamori's eyes cloud for a moment—or maybe an eternity—as her head slouches forward slightly like a ventriloquist's doll left abandoned on the stage.

"I'm… great," she manages, smiling a pretty smile that doesn't reach her eyes (wan and tired eyes; eyes that were once so open but now hide an ocean of secrets that whisper about the lacing of her stitched flesh) and Kira realizes that she's unmistakably lying.

Kira bites his lip, a sharp stab of hurt echoing in his lungs. He starts wringing at his hands again. "Are you sure? You look really pale, you know."

Hinamori waves him off. "Yes, Kira-kun, I'm sure. I'm just tired; I've been having trouble sleeping."

She giggles unnecessarily, the breathy stabs of air darting out under the crack of the door. Kira stares at her.

It is without a doubt the most disturbing sound he's ever heard. Like a miscarried melody, something started but never brought to the close.

And the thought occurs to him, that Hinamori never had trouble sleeping before.

"Oh… okay." It's hard to keep his voice from sounding ridiculously fragile when he sounds that, but if it sounds fragile it's because it's on the verge of breaking. Kira stands, feeling his face flush and wondering why he came here at all. "Well I'll… I'll just let you get some rest, then. I'll see you later, Hinamori-san."

Her expression settles to washed out blankness as Kira leaves the room, eyes darting to each wall and then, obsessively, to the glistening mirror at the corner.

Kira closes the door behind him, and feels as though he's been completely wrung out, the strength drained from him.

As he leaves, Kira comes to a realization, not sudden but the final product of several cascading thoughts.

Hinamori used to be so bright, so vivid.

But now it's anything but that. Now, she seems faded, dull, all the colors drained from her.

Like cloth flowers left out too long in the sun.

And Kira doesn't have to wonder where all the color went. He knows where it went.

All sacrificed in the name of despair and screaming madness that settles to a blank stare, all siphoned away so her heart could keep beating.

But is it still beating, really?