AN: So... I was actually working on a completely different one-shot but then I read something absolutely amazing by Juliedoo (who somehow knows I am an angst!junkie and wrote something amazing called Landscape Lovers and no, this is not a shameless plug that demands that you read and review its awesomeness, not at all) so I guess blame her for this? Does this count as a credit or some kind of dedication/inspired by thingy? I'm not sure. I'll let you decide. Haha.

Enjoy~

Beautiful

He reenters her life the same way he exited.

At her kitchen table one late afternoon, she's sipping a cup of black tea, relaxing after a hard day of work. No one else is home and she'll later realize that was an intentional choice of his, to wait until there was no chance anyone else would see him. And then she'll forget to tell him that he shouldn't worry so much, that his blue moon visits aren't illicit acts he needs to hide. Her husband will never be able to tell, and she's sure her daughter will be nothing more than mildly curious.

She can still sense him though, a slight ache between her eyes that she's had ever since she was a child. But unlike then, there's no misstep of her pulse or wave of excitement to temper the ache. She's not eleven or thirteen or twenty-eight. And, as she peers behind herself to see him looking right back, her first thought is how unfair it is that he gets to be sixteen while she's just a few months shy of fifty-three.

There's no point in asking him if he wants to come in because he'd never visit if he didn't intend to already. So she unlatches the window, pushing it open and lets him sidle in through the frame to stand before her. And the wave of memories hits her just as strongly as his scent in her nose, the handful of moments that she once thought was fate had unraveled at her fingertips along with her youthful hopes. The only thing that softens that bitterness is that they both suffered from the same poison, the same ache that continues to hide in the crevices of their hearts.

Long time no see, Toushirou, she greets, crossing her arms over her chest as she glances up at a face she can barely recognize, his features seemingly carved from stone. He's far too handsome and familiar for her not to pink, though she chastises herself for doing so. She's a grown woman, a married one at that, but old feelings die hard in the face of a first love. Her sense always did have a habit of leaving whenever he came into sight.

Ah, he replies, staring down at her with those gem green eyes. But where there is usually a slight sneer to them, a quiet confidence that might be arrogance on another, they're soft as silk, roving every inch of her openly aged face.

If anyone else analyzed her like that—taking in every line and wrinkle and cataloguing her physicality with interest—she might have felt self-conscious, defensive on her own behalf. But not him. It's as if he's seeing her for the first time but all it does is make her nerves quake, unsettled as she gestured to the dining table to offer him a seat.

I can't stay, he says, his voice sounding like a confused explanation. It's almost as if he's not sure why he's here, after all the years they've spent apart. And honestly she's a little puzzled as well, as she shrugs her shoulders and sits back down. Watching him round the corner of the table, his movements are as clean and concise as she remembers, smooth like the water he commands at will. He's growing into himself with each passing era and she finds him even more beautiful than she's willing to admit.

Then why are you here? she asks. Neither attempt to delve any deeper into that long unanswered question, a query as old as their friendship itself. But even with half her lifetime and a dimension between them, she considers him nothing less than her friend. It's what else they might be that has them at an impasse so far down the road.

The answer is the same one she's gotten time and time again. I don't know.

And that, she thinks, as she swirls her lukewarm tea in her cup, is probably the most honest thing he's ever said to her. No excess words or clipped impatience, nor any expectation or anger. Their relationship has always followed a blurred line, some strange boundary between right and wrong. Sometimes she wonders if it's much simpler than they think, a messed up fairy tale that never came to pass or merely a mismatch made in hell. Neither option would surprise her.

I'm too old for this, she finally responds, though it's not him she's speaking to. It earns her a raised brow, a little bit of disdain mixing in with hidden amusement. He fights the smile that comes to his naturally downturned lips, as she brings back to life something he'd long thought dead.

You're far younger than I am, you know, he jabs, shrugging easily as he leans against the wall. He's careful not to take in the surroundings, too afraid of what he might find. One look will be his undoing but just being in her home forces him to confront that they're at two very different places in two separate worlds.

She has a good life with the man he watched her marry, and a daughter who is nearly as powerful as she is. There are reasons he's purposely stayed away, but they all disappear whenever he catches himself musing about the little girl that had shaken his world forty years ago. How he still finds her stunning with the etched strokes in her skin and fatigued but far from broken spirit makes him wonder how he's managed to stay away so long.

Yeah, but you look like a kid. If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the same person you met last time. And at her words, they both stop, immediately finding some faraway, inanimate object fascinating. But even as they stare so determinedly in opposite directions, the emotion creeps back, replaying that sad, peaceful moment.

That memory of their last meeting is effortlessly vivid. She'd been much younger then, about to walk down the aisle with indecision burning a hole in her stomach. The fear and restlessness took her by surprise, making her question every moment that led up to her pacing mindlessly in her room. But he'd been there in her time of need, just as he always was, easing away her uncertainty by brushing away a few strands from her face and clasping her hands in his. But there were no words, as he disappeared through the window in her dressing room when Isshin had come for her.

And though she knew her father was aware of his presence, the old man didn't ask why. Maybe the former captain knew what she was doing had been for both of them, growing up and living her very human life while he remained stuck in his slowly maturing thirteen-year-old form. And he understood it just as well as she did, wanted it to some extent, because he had no future in her world and she wasn't ready to become a part of his. Even now, nothing about their circumstances have changed.

But he's sure that the people in them haven't either. You're beautiful, Karin.

And, for a single moment, her face relaxes into shocked silence and he finds there the little girl he met so long ago. It's like yesterday to him, stumbling upon a tomboy with an easygoing manner but steely resolve. The fact that he can find her there, beneath the weariness that takes all souls, nearly has him sighing in relief. While she might be wrapped in a different shell, the little things he knew and loved about her are alive and well.

D-don't joke like what, Toushirou! Her cheeks color red, as she glares the same glare that is signature to the Kurosaki family. I'm old and wrinkled and… old! There's nothing beautiful about that.

You have always been, and you will always be, beautiful, Karin. He tries not to flinch at his own sincerity, for it's truth that is long overdue. Before, he wouldn't have afforded himself the privilege of those words. There were too many rules they'd break, too many people they'd hurt, he consoled himself, as he walked away with every intention of never looking back.

But she's as addictive as they come, and even now that gravity has him caught, as he holds her gaze a moment longer before turning away. Right now, she belongs to another man, one who can be there for her and love her in ways he cannot offer. And he's not stupid enough to ask her to change her mind, not when her life is settled and his is everything but. So today he'll walk away from her, from them, and hope that this isn't the last time they have this conversation. But he has to escape before he loses what little control he has left, the one that keeps him from begging her to come with him, to forget about all of the things she's come to love.

Even though he's over a hundred years old he's still nothing but a mess of emotions and impulsiveness when it comes to her, broken by her existence alone. But he has hope that there will be a time when she'll put him back together, using the missing pieces he leaves in her hands to finally become his. Because, from the very beginning, he's sure that he has always been hers.

As she lets him go without a reason or farewell, she wonders how long they'll be able to go without each other this time. It's a guessing game that will have them losing far more than anything they have to gain, a painful Russian Roulette that makes her wish for the bullet more than anything else. But, as she stares down at the brown wood of her table and the now-cold pot in front of her, she understands that, when it comes to him, falling apart only means falling back together.

Someday, we'll belong to each other.

AN: I wrote this instead of studying for my anatomy final, which was hard as hell. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. I was having HitsuKarin angst after watching episode 316 randomly. (Why are you both so meant for each other but don't even live in the same dimension?! Why, dammit?) So, yes, this spawned an impromptu ficlet that I hope everyone enjoyed.

Thanks for reading, everyone! Until next time~