Gin and I have never exactly had a concrete, official relationship. He often told me that I was beautiful, that he loved me, and I told him the same, soon after which he burst into laughter and said that he was only kidding; I did the same. But I could tell, when I looked deep into those ruby eyes of his, that he meant every word it. No matter how jocular, unserious and immature he was back in those days when we still gazed up together at the same starry sky, Gin and I have always had something special. It was like an unwritten agreement between us: that I was most special person in his life, and he in mine; deeper still, that I was his sole love, and he mine.
The first time I met Gin and looked into those deep eyes of his that he rarely revealed in their full beauty, and saw him walk away from me, grinning toothily, I knew that it wasn’t going to be our last meeting by any means. We would meet again someday—someday soon.
And I was right. The very next day, I saw him sitting at the edge of a river in the middle of a forest in Rukongai, idly throwing pebbles at fish he saw, and then doubling over in laughter when he hit one. I went and sat beside him and began copying him. For a long time neither of us spoke. He was the one to break the silence. He asked me my name, and I hesitated while I tried to remember—not many people asked. I managed eventually. I in turn asked him his name, and he replied, grinning from ear to ear, “Gin Ichimaru.” He proceeded to ask me my birthday. I said I didn’t know—I was orphaned a time earlier than my earliest memories, and all through my life, I had no one; no one to tell me when I was born.
“That’s fine.” Gin said. I was expecting him to mock me; tease me. But he didn’t. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said in a soothing tone, “From now on, we’ll celebrate the day we first met”—the previous day—“as yer birthday.”
The prospect of having a birthday—a real birthday—that I could call my own exhilarated me no end, and I realized that no one but Gin could have given it to me.
The rest of my years in Rukongai were spent with Gin, whom I would see every day and play with. Together, we went exploring random and remote places, with no particular place in mind—the fact that we explored together being a better map than anything on paper could ever achieve. We plucked every last flower in the fields, climbed every last tree in the woods, caught every last fish in the ponds, and poked fun at every last resident of our district.
Time flew by quicker than I could cherish it. Gin decided to try for the Soul Reaper Academy. He mentioned something about spirit energy, about which I knew nothing at the time. He said I had it, too, and that I should try for it as well. I tried for it. I didn’t know or care what a soul reaper was; what spirit energy was—I joined so I could be with Gin.
In other words, it was Gin who helped make me what I am today.
I thought that once Gin and I were in the Academy together, we would have all the time in the world to ourselves. He thought so to, and many a time, we proclaimed with great conviction that we would be with each other forever and never forget each other. That was a promise. On top of it, we made another promise—that we would never break the first.
But Gin graduated in a year, and I didn’t. He’d already gotten a position in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads as a seated officer. I heartily congratulated him when he gleefully broke the news to me, but deep inside, I was devastated. Gin was the reason I’d joined the Academy, and with him gone, there was no purpose left there for me. But he reassured me that once I graduated a few years later, we could be together again; and I believed him.
I believed him, and I worked as hard as I could at the Academy, scoring the highest grades I could manage, all with one goal in mind—to be with Gin again.
My hard work and perseverance paid off when I graduated and was awarded a position in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, which was nowhere near Gin’s—already the Lieutenant of the 5th Squad—but satisfying, nonetheless, since I could see him every day again.
We recommenced gazing up together at the same old starry sky—the familiarity of which attested to the fact that the times we spent as children were real. And I reaffirmed my faith in the promise we had made.
“Rangiku,” Gin began one such night, as he often began, “why d’ya like lookin’ up at the stars?”
“Why do you?” I asked in return.
“The stars bring back memories.” he replied a little dreamily.
“Memories of what?” I ask.
He turned and looked at me, his face devoid of that grin, or anything else to show that he wasn’t serious. “Memories of ya.” he replied in a soft tone.
I felt myself filling up with an inexplicable feeling of ecstasy at his words. I knew that he felt the same, too, because he quickly turned away in a futile attempt to hide his reddening cheeks from me.
“Why d’ya like lookin’ up at the stars?” he reiterated.
“The same reason.” I replied, and both of us fell upon each other, laughing.
And I felt secure in his arms.
I wished for time to stop, so that we could be in each other’s arms for all sweet eternity. But the wheels of time never stopped, and Gin moved on to become the Captain of the 3rd Squad, while I became the Lieutenant of the 10th. Our visits began to decrease in frequency. The few times when we did meet, he seemed strangely distant—as though he were hiding something that he feared I would discover. When I mentioned it to him, he grinned in his characteristic manner, and I forgot everything.
By and by, we stopped meeting each other except at the behest of our respective offices. Somewhere at the back of my head, I’d feared with that such a time was inevitable. When it finally arrived, I wasn’t surprised.
Gin Ichimaru? A distant, incredible memory that had taken the form of an official superior of mine; in flesh and blood, the same as the silver-haired boy that was part of every chapter of my childhood days. Somewhere, deep in my heart, he was still my Gin; even though our difference in position necessitated my addressing him as ‘Captain Ichimaru’.
We grew more distant from each other, and our memories together threatened to fade away into the darkness. I held onto them with all my will, and at the same time, prayed for Gin to come and help me.
He never came.
I let go.
One night, many years later, I found myself staring into the depths of his red eyes, transfixed. Goodness knows how it happened, but the space between our bodies was almost negligible. Time seemed to have stopped like I’d always wanted. I stared into his eyes; he stared into mine. He gently tucked a stray bang of mine behind an ear.
I averted my gaze. I stepped back.
“What is it, Rangiku?” he asked with obvious hurt.
“You injured my captain.” I replied. He had decided to prioritize his duties over me long ago. Why should I be any different?
“I’m sorry.”
I turned to look at him again. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, begging me to forgive him.
“What do you want?” I asked rather icily.
“I wanna take ya somewhere.”
I didn’t say anything, but both of us knew my answer, and he held me gently by the hand and led me to the roof.
A wave of nostalgia swept over me. It was so powerful that I had to hold onto Gin to support myself.
We were on the roof, staring up at a sky that couldn’t have been any starrier. I looked up at them, instantaneously recalling all the times we spent together. Before I knew it, tears began spilling from my overfilled eyes.
“What’s wrong, Rangiku?” Gin asked solicitously, wiping away my tears with his thumbs.
“Nothing.” I replied, smiling through my tears. “Nothing, Gin. Now that you’re here.”
It must have been hours before any of us spoke. It was Gin who broke the silence, as usual. He said,
“Rangiku, will ya always remember me?”
“I will.” I replied. “I gave you my word.”
Gin nodded, satisfied with my answer. “And I’ll always remember you. Whenever I look up at the starry sky, all I can see is yer smiling face. Don’t ever think that I’ve forgotten you, ‘kay?”
I nodded, and rested my head against his chest.
The very next day, Aizen betrayed the Soul Society and departed to Hueco Mundo with Captain Tousen and Gin. For reasons that I don’t think I’ll ever understand, I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry a single tear. I didn’t cry, because Gin assured me the previous night that he would never forget me.
Nowadays, I sit alone and stare up at the starry skies, thinking singularly about Gin. I think of how I kept my part of the promise, and how he failed to keep his.
“Gin, you bastard,” I said through tears one such night; “I’ll always remember you. Whenever I look up at the starry sky, all I can see is your damn face.”
But Hueco Mundo’s skies were starless.
The first time I met Gin and looked into those deep eyes of his that he rarely revealed in their full beauty, and saw him walk away from me, grinning toothily, I knew that it wasn’t going to be our last meeting by any means. We would meet again someday—someday soon.
And I was right. The very next day, I saw him sitting at the edge of a river in the middle of a forest in Rukongai, idly throwing pebbles at fish he saw, and then doubling over in laughter when he hit one. I went and sat beside him and began copying him. For a long time neither of us spoke. He was the one to break the silence. He asked me my name, and I hesitated while I tried to remember—not many people asked. I managed eventually. I in turn asked him his name, and he replied, grinning from ear to ear, “Gin Ichimaru.” He proceeded to ask me my birthday. I said I didn’t know—I was orphaned a time earlier than my earliest memories, and all through my life, I had no one; no one to tell me when I was born.
“That’s fine.” Gin said. I was expecting him to mock me; tease me. But he didn’t. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said in a soothing tone, “From now on, we’ll celebrate the day we first met”—the previous day—“as yer birthday.”
The prospect of having a birthday—a real birthday—that I could call my own exhilarated me no end, and I realized that no one but Gin could have given it to me.
The rest of my years in Rukongai were spent with Gin, whom I would see every day and play with. Together, we went exploring random and remote places, with no particular place in mind—the fact that we explored together being a better map than anything on paper could ever achieve. We plucked every last flower in the fields, climbed every last tree in the woods, caught every last fish in the ponds, and poked fun at every last resident of our district.
Time flew by quicker than I could cherish it. Gin decided to try for the Soul Reaper Academy. He mentioned something about spirit energy, about which I knew nothing at the time. He said I had it, too, and that I should try for it as well. I tried for it. I didn’t know or care what a soul reaper was; what spirit energy was—I joined so I could be with Gin.
In other words, it was Gin who helped make me what I am today.
I thought that once Gin and I were in the Academy together, we would have all the time in the world to ourselves. He thought so to, and many a time, we proclaimed with great conviction that we would be with each other forever and never forget each other. That was a promise. On top of it, we made another promise—that we would never break the first.
But Gin graduated in a year, and I didn’t. He’d already gotten a position in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads as a seated officer. I heartily congratulated him when he gleefully broke the news to me, but deep inside, I was devastated. Gin was the reason I’d joined the Academy, and with him gone, there was no purpose left there for me. But he reassured me that once I graduated a few years later, we could be together again; and I believed him.
I believed him, and I worked as hard as I could at the Academy, scoring the highest grades I could manage, all with one goal in mind—to be with Gin again.
My hard work and perseverance paid off when I graduated and was awarded a position in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, which was nowhere near Gin’s—already the Lieutenant of the 5th Squad—but satisfying, nonetheless, since I could see him every day again.
We recommenced gazing up together at the same old starry sky—the familiarity of which attested to the fact that the times we spent as children were real. And I reaffirmed my faith in the promise we had made.
“Rangiku,” Gin began one such night, as he often began, “why d’ya like lookin’ up at the stars?”
“Why do you?” I asked in return.
“The stars bring back memories.” he replied a little dreamily.
“Memories of what?” I ask.
He turned and looked at me, his face devoid of that grin, or anything else to show that he wasn’t serious. “Memories of ya.” he replied in a soft tone.
I felt myself filling up with an inexplicable feeling of ecstasy at his words. I knew that he felt the same, too, because he quickly turned away in a futile attempt to hide his reddening cheeks from me.
“Why d’ya like lookin’ up at the stars?” he reiterated.
“The same reason.” I replied, and both of us fell upon each other, laughing.
And I felt secure in his arms.
I wished for time to stop, so that we could be in each other’s arms for all sweet eternity. But the wheels of time never stopped, and Gin moved on to become the Captain of the 3rd Squad, while I became the Lieutenant of the 10th. Our visits began to decrease in frequency. The few times when we did meet, he seemed strangely distant—as though he were hiding something that he feared I would discover. When I mentioned it to him, he grinned in his characteristic manner, and I forgot everything.
By and by, we stopped meeting each other except at the behest of our respective offices. Somewhere at the back of my head, I’d feared with that such a time was inevitable. When it finally arrived, I wasn’t surprised.
Gin Ichimaru? A distant, incredible memory that had taken the form of an official superior of mine; in flesh and blood, the same as the silver-haired boy that was part of every chapter of my childhood days. Somewhere, deep in my heart, he was still my Gin; even though our difference in position necessitated my addressing him as ‘Captain Ichimaru’.
We grew more distant from each other, and our memories together threatened to fade away into the darkness. I held onto them with all my will, and at the same time, prayed for Gin to come and help me.
He never came.
I let go.
One night, many years later, I found myself staring into the depths of his red eyes, transfixed. Goodness knows how it happened, but the space between our bodies was almost negligible. Time seemed to have stopped like I’d always wanted. I stared into his eyes; he stared into mine. He gently tucked a stray bang of mine behind an ear.
I averted my gaze. I stepped back.
“What is it, Rangiku?” he asked with obvious hurt.
“You injured my captain.” I replied. He had decided to prioritize his duties over me long ago. Why should I be any different?
“I’m sorry.”
I turned to look at him again. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, begging me to forgive him.
“What do you want?” I asked rather icily.
“I wanna take ya somewhere.”
I didn’t say anything, but both of us knew my answer, and he held me gently by the hand and led me to the roof.
A wave of nostalgia swept over me. It was so powerful that I had to hold onto Gin to support myself.
We were on the roof, staring up at a sky that couldn’t have been any starrier. I looked up at them, instantaneously recalling all the times we spent together. Before I knew it, tears began spilling from my overfilled eyes.
“What’s wrong, Rangiku?” Gin asked solicitously, wiping away my tears with his thumbs.
“Nothing.” I replied, smiling through my tears. “Nothing, Gin. Now that you’re here.”
It must have been hours before any of us spoke. It was Gin who broke the silence, as usual. He said,
“Rangiku, will ya always remember me?”
“I will.” I replied. “I gave you my word.”
Gin nodded, satisfied with my answer. “And I’ll always remember you. Whenever I look up at the starry sky, all I can see is yer smiling face. Don’t ever think that I’ve forgotten you, ‘kay?”
I nodded, and rested my head against his chest.
The very next day, Aizen betrayed the Soul Society and departed to Hueco Mundo with Captain Tousen and Gin. For reasons that I don’t think I’ll ever understand, I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry a single tear. I didn’t cry, because Gin assured me the previous night that he would never forget me.
Nowadays, I sit alone and stare up at the starry skies, thinking singularly about Gin. I think of how I kept my part of the promise, and how he failed to keep his.
“Gin, you bastard,” I said through tears one such night; “I’ll always remember you. Whenever I look up at the starry sky, all I can see is your damn face.”
But Hueco Mundo’s skies were starless.
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