Chapter Text
Inside the 10th Division captain’s office, the years-old ceiling fan would creak at a certain rotation every time it spun. There were many occasions when Hitsugaya Toshiro had reminded his lieutenant about reporting this for a replacement, but boisterous and free-spirited, Matsumoto Rangiku never had the chance to do so—even when she is on one of her escapades of avoiding paperwork. Somehow, she has no intention of doing a single task her captain asks of her. It irks Toshiro, especially during his afternoon naps when he would lie down on the couch and all he sees is the spinning fan. He almost has it memorized, the exact moment when it would creak again and again. But the longer Rangiku had delayed the replacement report, the more Toshiro had grown accustomed to the sounds it makes. Eventually, the ceiling fan and its continuous spinning blades had become Toshiro’s way of falling asleep as he began to unconsciously associate them with the swinging pocket watches hypnotists use to put people under a spell. He had watched too much TV with Ichigo’s friends back in the World of the Living for him to have learned that idea.
When Toshiro falls asleep, he always dreams. But sometimes, he would dream of a memory. Vague yet nostalgic, in his vision, it would play like a slideshow of some sort. There were no specific events that would play out, it was close to that of a compilation of different remnants of his past. And every time he dreams of a memory, it was always with this one girl. Long braided plum hair and golden eyes with specks of brighter yellow that made them look like they glow. She smiles, she was always smiling in his dreams, and it never failed to make him smile back.
She was someone whom he met during his time at the Shinigami Academy. It has been a century or so since he last saw her, and it was always a wonder how some days his subconscious would tap on his memories like that and show all these things like it was yesterday. Of all the things that he has experienced in his life, the Academy was short-lived. He graduated early, with only one year of studying, and found his way to the 3rd Seat of the 10th Division, and eventually, Captain. Therefore, if anything, he should not be harboring any trace of memories during that day.
But this girl, even during his waking moments he would think about her from time to time.
“Shion.”
Toshiro’s eyes flutter open as he heard himself mumble. they proceed to squint as the lights from the ceiling became unfamiliar and hurt his vision. He moves a hand to cover some of the glare as he sits up, welcoming him with an empty room he left as is before he went into slumber; only the sun setting from the window changing the ambiance of the said room. A sigh escapes his lips, eyebrows knit together upon glancing at the untouched tower of papers left on Rangiku’s table. He turned slightly to glance over to his table and realized that he, too, still had a mountain of papers. He moves his gaze then to the window and it finally dawned on him the time. He has slept more than he initially planned to.
His feet shuffled hurriedly to his seat. He has a pen he would always place specifically at the right side of his table so that it was easy for him to access it when signing off documents, but for some reason, it wasn’t there. Toshiro does not panic, at least, he never lets it show on his face. But when his hand began to shift around practically encircling his whole table only to find his pen wasn’t there, he grew impatient with the clock ticking and the papers still left unchecked. He multitasked as his other hand was used to hold onto documents he was reading while the other opened all kinds of drawers that made up the support of his table, shoving his hand inside in hopes of feeling the familiar shape of his writing instrument.
Eventually, he grew frustrated, all common sense leaving his body as his only goal now was to find something to sign the papers. He took off from his chair and knelt on the floor to search in the lower drawers, shoving his hands and shifting them in every nook and cranny. Beads of sweat formed on his temples, slowly dripping down his chin as the pressure consumes him and the ceiling fan failed to give him the right amount of ventilation.
His hand jerks to a pause at the feeling of a flat object in the final drawer. He let his fingers slide to feel its texture, then slowly picks it up to discover a photo. His eyebrows relax as his face slowly softens as if the nagging feeling at the back of his head had dissipated at that moment.
In the picture were him and the girl that appeared in his dreams. Braided plum-colored hair and golden eyes. “Shion,” he spoke again, a smile creeping on his lips. Shion was her name, and Shion was his first and only friend back in the Academy.
Toshiro remembers the picture was taken on the day of his graduation. Relatively, the very last day he saw and heard of Shion. He found it funny yet shuddersome how his dream a while ago had consisted of the very last days he had spent with the female, and then to find the photograph of their last moment together seemed like it was some sort of sign. But Toshiro shrugged it off, nonetheless. He let himself wallow in the memories of his old friend and wondered how she was doing, heck, if she was still out there.
If there was anything he could remember back in the day, it was that he never changed. Uptight, refusing to loosen up, serious. Shion would tell him off about being overly stressed during evaluations and exams, stating that it wasn’t healthy to worry over it when he was already the best in class. He eventually learned to put his guard down around Shion. After all, she was the only known person who was around his age in the Academy.
In the photograph, they were only a few inches apart. Both sported a smile, but Shion’s was bigger and more prominent, and she had a hand on a peace sign, her head tilting slightly to Toshiro’s side. She was a little taller than him. Toshiro had always been shy around cameras, often showing a scowl in most of the old pictures in his grandmother’s house. But he remembers vividly the presence that Shion emits that it made him curve a small smile for the camera that time—that was all he could muster, anyways.
“Captain!”
Toshiro heard Rangiku’s voice and slammed the door open. The sense of urgency that surrounded her voice made Toshiro jolt up. “Matsumoto,” he acknowledges her presence, mindlessly placing the picture on his table and sliding it under the stack of papers.
“Captain,” Rangiku prolonged the last syllables of Toshiro’s title, akin to that of a whine. Toshiro sighs as he expects a new absurd request (that is beyond his responsibility as a captain) that will come out of her mouth. “It’s about this month’s issue of Seireitei Communication.”
Toshiro raises an eyebrow, “What about it?”
Rangiku, the drama queen that she is, kneels with the back of her hand placed on her forehead. “They won’t be able to deliver the magazine to their subscribers due to unknown circumstances,” she speaks as if it was the end of the world.
“And what do you expect of me to do?” He crosses his arms.
The taller female drags herself closer to Toshiro using her knees, her hands clasped together and her mouth in a pout, “Perhaps you would like to use your captain perks to get me one directly from Shuuhei?”
Toshiro stares at her for a moment, the usual look of disinterest. Mouth pursed, tight-knit eyebrows, he responds: “Wait in line like a normal person, Matsumoto.”
Rangiku proceeds to beg, even promising to do all her paperwork the very next day—to which, Toshiro doubts she will. But alas the 10th Division’s captain, albeit widely known to be strict and firm around deadlines and responsibilities, has somehow grown softer over the years. At least he would like to think of it that way. He heaves a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“Okay, fine. But you are definitely finishing your paperwork. I will expect to sign them all before the day ends tomorrow.”
His lieutenant stands upright and puts a hand on a salute. She smiles cheerfully and chirps, “Yes, sir!”
The 9th Division has always been a place for the artistic Shinigamis. A part of their barracks was built as an editing department for the infamous magazine called the Seireitei Communication. Every month, they would release an issue, its contents usually depicting current news, trends, and some collaborative serials from other Shinigamis outside of the 9th Division. The Gotei 13 lieutenants are usually in charge of handing in reports that will provide as one of the contents for the magazine. Rangiku also sends in from time to time entries for her gossip column.
Usually, a temporary stand would be placed near the editing department, specifically close to one of its windows. The way the members would operate this stand was that most of the copies of the magazine were inside the building and that someone would just pass a copy through the window to whoever was managing the stand when a customer intends to buy one. This was done so that normal passers-by who are not part of the monthly subscribers of the magazine will be able to get their hands on the issue as well—since monthly subscribers have the perks of having their copies automatically delivered to their doorstep.
This was Rangiku’s concern. Due to what Shuuhei Hisagi deemed unforeseen circumstances, whoever oversaw the logistics for this month’s issue had announced that they will not be able to deliver copies to their subscribers. She finds impatience in waiting in line, especially when she was made known that this month’s issue was going to be quite popular. She had even passed by the editing department on her way to the 10th Division office prior, and upon arriving there back once again with her captain, the magazine stand was still packed with so many people squeezing themselves in impatiently to buy a copy. Rangiku can spot one of the members manning the stand getting all worked up, shifting back and forth to the small window that handed him copies and to the people that were demanding faster accommodation.
“See?” Rangiku quips as she faces Toshiro with a hand gesturing at the large mob of people. She quirks up a witty smile, “How can I wait in line when there is practically no line?”
Toshiro responds, waving his hand in defeat, “Let’s just get this over with, it’s getting dark.”
Rangiku hums an unfamiliar song as she lightly skips on the way to the editing department, Toshiro tailing behind. There was no assurance that Shuuhei will be inside, but everyone always presumes that the lieutenant is stuck inside there attempting to gather his sanity; for after all, every passed deadline of the magazine is one decade out of his lifespan.
Amongst the mixed spiritual pressure that came from the customers that they effortlessly passed through, Toshiro brings himself to an abrupt stop as he feels one spiritual pressure standing out the most. It was vague, and if he were to be honest, unsure. But there was always something about Shion’s spiritual pressure that made it unforgettable. It was always akin to that of warmth, sometimes a painless burning sensation that wraps a person’s whole body. Shion always made herself known that way. He remembers how the temperature around her would grow hotter depending on how intense her emotions become. It was just like his back then, but for him it was ice.
Toshiro turned and he tried to search through the crowds any fragments that could define Shion. Plum-colored locks, braids, golden eyes, her short stature—has she even grown through the years? How tall was she back then? Does she still wear her hair that way?
And then it disappeared. For a moment he had felt like she was there, and then she was gone. Or maybe it was just his imagination, that thinking of her too much had now also affected his senses. Nonetheless, his shoulders fell, and he found himself balling his one hand into a fist, rubbing his fingers on his palm. As if searching for a feeling and trying to hold onto it, but it just wasn’t there.
And he can’t remember how it felt the last time he held them.
“Captain?”
Toshiro shoots back his head back up, straightening his back a little more tense than normal. He hums back in response, “Yeah, let’s go.”
When Rangiku finally gets a hold of the latest issue of Seireitei Communication, she held out the page spread that she had been dying to show her captain. And when Toshiro finally realized the reason for the fuss outside that will most probably leave the members of the 9th Division traumatized, he snatched the magazine from Rangiku’s hands without any remorse. Ripped it in half and slammed it on the ground. It was swift and quick, emotionless and silent.
Rangiku stared at the pieces of magazine flaunted on the floor, stunned. Her mood quickly switches as she faces Shuuhei (who knelt down staring at the broken copy of his hard work).
“Perhaps you can give me another copy, Shuuhei?” The way Rangiku spoke was as if nothing had happened at all.
“Yes,” Shuuhei spoke in a whisper, his voice made it known that he was fighting back tears. “Just… Pay for the new one upfront, please.”