I could paint him picture perfect...

You'll find him by the bridge, the one that arches over the humming river flow. He's still standing there, in the midst of pink petals and wind ribbons. The cherry blossoms dance and twirl in the waves of the breeze, but he remains idle. Like a statue. Unbroken. I worry that one day he'll disappear with those petals...I'm not sure I'd know what to feel if that were to happen. Contentment, because the wall between Rukia and I would be gone? Or emptiness, because the Sixth Division would be in shambles again?

Detachment is painted on his lips, apathy is dyed onto the paleness of his cheeks, and frigid gloom is stained onto his eyelids. To top it all off is the somber seal of sadness. His eyes lack emotion-except for sorrow- and there is no way to see through them. I've never been able to, and I don't think I ever will.

That same expression is on his face; he wears it frequently, like he's forgotten how to feel. Sometimes I wonder...if it rained, would he notice? Would he acknowledge the crystal drops that would be cascading from the sky? Would he pause to touch the rain that would land on his cheek?
I don't think he would. I think that, in his mind, it's always been raining. No matter how untamed the sun becomes, and no matter how wildly it burns, he sees the perpetual rain that drips from the sky.

So, still, I ask.

What made you this way...Byakuya Kuchiki? Can you feel it raining on us?