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canariie · 1 year

Text

morning routine

Rating: T

Synopsis: Toushiro builds it into his routine to stop by Hinamori’s room before he begins his day. Sleep eludes him so much so that by the time he sees her, it is still early and dark with the streetlights still twinkling. While the world is still with blue muted tones and the infirmary night shift staff are exchanging guard, he has this moment of solitude with her.

But right as the soft light of dawn breaks, he departs immediately.

...

Toushiro’s morning routine in the aftermath of the defection where he learns the healing power of proximity and trust.

Word Count: 2680 words

Setting: time in between the Save Rukia Arc & Arrancar Arc (around the time of the Bleach novel Honey Dish Rhapsody)

Prompt: @hitsuhina-week‘s Hitsuhina 2023 Weekend Day 2 - Morning

Authour’s Note: This was an idea I had for a long time to expand on the few lines that Toushiro is mentioned in the first light novel, and Hinamori by proxmity. (I linked the novel up above if anyone wants to read a translation.) It really excited me to go super super deep into that one bit of him biting his nails as a nervous tick--which ended up being a whole story about hands haha

I didn’t spend too much time on final editing, in trying to keep with the unfiltered emotions and state of shock at coping with a loved one that is unreachable. I think I could have spent more time on this but also wanted to keep it quite raw.

Shout out to Chanhyuk’s songs Goodbye, stay well & If I can’t see you right now for being the songs that helped in the final push!

—

Toushiro never liked the healing barracks. The sterile whiteness of the walls, the artificial lights, the ticking of the clock. Everything felt bare and magnified like it was under a microscope.

He has been called to the intensive care treatment centers—when the shinigami that have almost slipped off the edge towards death have been hastily pulled up—and made to stand tall again for the Gotei 13. Currently, the center has seen its highest volume of patients and it makes his stomach drop as he passes by the doors of soldiers incapacitated by severed limbs and ailments that can only be treated with precedent prognoses.

But he endures it all as he watches the fourth captain check the vitals of her latest patient. He observes from the doorway; on the threshold of being involved, but far enough to be removed.

“Hinamori-fukutaicho’s treatment is complete. The damage to her body will heal sooner or later,” she says softly, her hands flipping through the paper charts; it’s careful in a way that makes Toushiro wonder if she is curating her words.

“The damage to her body…” Toushiro parrots as he bites his nails, a nervous habit he wished he had left outside of Seireitei.

He forces himself to stop.

Toushiro thinks of the times Hinamori chided him in the past. She would take his hands in hers and pull them towards herself, her brown eyes looking at him in admonishment before she would wrap his hands in her much warmer ones; they were always warmer, like she had just carried sunshine.

Shiro-chan, you shouldn’t do that! You’ll ruin your nails. She would tilt her head and smile, the pig tails drifting to the side, making him stop and stare.

If you’re ever worried about something, you can tell me, you know?

Now he has failed her and left her in a dreamless sleep.

It has only been a few days since the defection of the three captains, including Hinamori’s former captain; only a few days since she had been mercilessly stabbed through the chest, and left to die. His blood still runs cold as the sight of her lifeless eyes.

Admiration is the emotion furthest from understanding.

Toushiro gnaws at his thumb.

Unohana-taicho continues undeterred.

“I can only treat the wounds that we can see…Beyond that, we must rely on the patient’s own ‘will to live.’” She looks down at the sleeping girl who looks paler than ever before, as if the walls had sucked away the color of her life. Toushiro grimaces and quickly schools his face, before curtly bowing.

“Thank you Unohana-taicho,” he turns to leave.

“She is waiting for someone to call out to her,” Unohana-taicho calls out with something of an admonishment and plea.

Toushiro stops in his tracks. He knows the older captain knew the guilt he was drowning himself in. Without her intervention, he knew he would have bled out to death in that cold court and Hinamori would have surely not survived. And for that, he owes her an unpayable debt.

His throat tightens and his back remains rigid as he barely looks to the side.

“The way I am now, I can’t be the one to call out to her,” Toushiro says solemnly, before departing the room.

Toushiro builds it into his routine to stop by Hinamori’s room before he begins his day. Sleep eludes him so much so that by the time he sees her, it is still early and dark with the streetlights still twinkling. While the world is still with blue muted tones and the infirmary night shift staff are exchanging guard, he has this moment of solitude with her. But right as the soft light of dawn breaks, he departs immediately.

It surprises him one morning to see his lieutenant there before him as she moves around Hinamori’s room. She doesn’t startle when Toushiro calls out to her, instead turns with a worn look on her face, the soft shadows under her eyes looking deeper in the blue light.

“I knew you’ve been holding yourself back from coming in, Taicho,” she says resignedly. “But you shouldn’t punish yourself—we are both equally to blame and self-pity won’t help us.” Her tone is not unkind and she stares at the young girl in the bed with a loaded look that makes Toushiro feel like he’s not the only one carrying demons.

“Unohana-taicho updated me on her condition. She’s not gone but we have to prove her from here that we can bring her back.” She runs her hands through her long blond hair. “I’m proposing that we help with external care that the nurses wouldn’t normally do.”

He raises his eyebrow dubiously. “Like what?”

“Well,” she starts with that knowing tone, “We can do her nails! Who knows when Hinamori has had a manicure last and clearly there has been no time to do so,” she says matter-of-factly lifting up the young girls hands in her own and inspecting it. She tsks in disapproval while Toushiro can only gawk.

“Matsumoto, you cannot be serious.” His lieutenant has had some far-fetched ideas but this certainly tops them all.

“Isane-san said we’re not allowed to change her robes to something more colourful,” Rangiku said with a roll of her eyes. “So—this is the next big thing.” She stares at him, her gray eyes expecting him to retort.

Toushiro cannot say anything. His gut reaction is to do nothing and not move any closer. But he also knows that as much as his vice-captain says Hinamori needs this, Matsumoto equally as much needs this moment—to rid the guilt that is plaguing her.

“It’s up to you,” he offers quietly.

She lets out a slight smile and exhales a long breath. “I know, I know it seems out there. But I truly believe that if she feels that someone is caring for—it’ll bring her back to us.” Rangiku pulls a seat by the bed and settles herself as she brings up a large hang bag that thunks on the side table.

“I don’t think her nails will grow that long, but regardless we can still file them.” She pulls out a long nail file and begins on Hinamori’s smallest finger. "You take the file and move it along the nail,"—she demonstrated—"like that."

Toushiro only watches from the doorway, still in partial disbelief of what he was witnessing. Her eyebrows furrow as she concentrates, "Don't pull too fast or it might tear,” Matsumoto murmurs.

Toushiro wasn't enthused by the idea and the older girl could tell when she looks up at him.

She sighs. "Why don't you brush her hair? There's a brush in my bag," she gestured with her shoulder, her long blond hair spilling to the side.

"How much stuff did you bring, Matsumoto?" he asked warily, eyeing the unending volume of items she seemed to bring out of the bottomless bag. He makes no move to step forward from the doorway.

"Just the necessary items." Matsumoto defended as she started pulling out more items from her purse (“a make-up bag,” she had corrected him later). Finally in her hand she holds out the brush, but he still remains where he stands.

“Why don’t you bring Tobiume closer to her?” the older woman asks, but Toushiro hears the unasked question. You can still carry it, right?

Zanptakou’s are remnants of their owner’s soul. Depending on proximity and the nature of the relationship, any close companion of the wielder is able to hold the sword. It implies trust and honor to carry another’s soul in one’s hands. Otherwise, it remains heavy and immovable to any stranger.

Typically with trust over time, it is common for a vice-captain to be able to carry their captain’s sword in their hand. What is rarer is when individuals outside of one’s division are able to hold the blade. It is a precious secret as it carries confidence—and therefore weakness.

He knew long before that he was able to hold Tobiume; he’s felt the warmth seep into him, like sunshine, like a warm flame, like Hinamori—vibrant and alive.

Toushiro steps forward from the threshold and approaches the sword that has been propped up in the corner.

A flare burns his hands and he drops Tobiume on the floor. The clang of the sword echoes in the room.

He stares down at his hands that are singed with burns, bright red bruises marring his skin.

It is with cold realization that he realizes they are in the same places as Hinamori’s bruises were from when she had accused him of murder.

Rangiku looks at him with great sadness and sighs in defeat. “It’ll take some time, but they’ll both come around.”

And so the routine began. Every morning the two would go and tidy up the room, with Rangiku tending to Hinamori and Toushiro just watching from far. After a couple of days, he starts moving closer—replacing the flowers by her bed stand, opening the curtains—but still never touching her.

A week passed and Matsumoto says that she had a lieutenants’ debrief in the morning and wouldn’t be able to come, which left him standing awkwardly in the door way of Hinamori’s room.

Toushiro went about his usual steps of changing the water for the flowers and opening the curtains. He makes a brief survey of her vitals, observing the machines that monitor her heartbeat with a steady steady soft staccato along with making a note to see if her IV bag has been replaced.

Ultimately, he finds himself by her side but cannot bring himself to tend to her hands, so he just opts to lift them. Rangiku has been dedicating a lot of care and besides the soft lines from her bruises, you couldn't tell she was in battle.

As he weighs her hand in his, he grimaced at the cold. He wishes she were warmer like when she was younger and would pull him along. He was never a fan of it, deeming it too childish to be directed by someone else.

Now, he regrets pulling away so quickly.

He studies her hand. There were still scars from when she had held Tobiume so tightly--with all her life to execute a dead man's wish. Which sent her to a dreamless sleep.

Her hands were never meant to carry such pain. They were to protect, take care and bring warmth.

He laments leaving her to face such demons on her own.

Toushiro drops her hand.

“She’ll wake up. I know she will.”

He turns to see the intruder in the doorway, taking up the whole width with his grand presence and bright orange hair.

“I’ve been told I’m not the best at detecting rieatsu but she’s there. I can feel it,” Kurosaki supplies like a hasty defense. "You looked so...sad," he finished lamely. There's a moment of pause as the older boy scratches his head, clearly uncomfortable. "It reminded me of when I lost my mom."

Toushiro regards him slowly. Though he wore the black death robes, his bright shock of hair made him stand out in the door frame, foreign and so alive. In every moment that Ichigo Kurosaki was present in Soul Society, his presence had disrupted their quotidian way of living. And though it was too soon for many captains reflecting on the unknown deceit, there was a begrudging admittance that the boy had wreaked havoc to save a friend and irreparably saved all of Soul Society.

Toushiro himself hadn't spent much time with the ryoka boy; he knew that Matsumoto had acquainted herself with the rest of the group, but he was not keen on making shallow introductions. Toushiro knows that he has been visiting Kuchiki from the Thirteenth but he did not expect to be sought out by the boy—especially to be offered unsolicited sympathy.

A flash of blood passes through his mind. Momo’s eyes pleading and drowning in confusion.

If Ichigo is bothered by Toushiro's silence, he doesn't show it. "My sisters were really young at the time so they couldn't understand the concept of death. Instead, my dad told the story of 'Sleeping Beauty,' and that our mother was far away, asleep and gone,” he speaks softly with the weight of someone who carried grief too prematurely.

"It gave them solace and relief that she'd one day wake up. But after a couple years, they realized it was a fairy tale."

(Toushiro doesn’t know who his father was and felt it was like fool hardy advice—but maybe he knew something more of consoling than Toushiro did).

The ryoka looks past Toushiro to the sleeping girl on the bed.

"But for you, you still have a chance. She's not gone—she's here. Don't give up, Toushiro."

The tenth captain was too stunned to correct the misuse of his title and watched as the human boy left.

Only the hum of the machines buzzed as time ticked by slowly. He looked to Hinamori, who was still asleep but maybe with the boys words and closer inspection, he could start to see a colour on her cheeks, and her chest deeply moving in breaths.

During one of his breaks later, he found himself wandering through a bookstore in the outer rings and found the tale of ‘sleeping beauty.’

He couldn't help himself and bought it.

As he reads it, it seemed like the stories that Momo would have liked to read—which made it harder to turn the pages, but he persists. Toushiro ends up bringing it with him in his morning visits and reads portions of it out loud to her.

A beautiful young girl who was tricked unknowingly into a dreamless sleep, caught in between life and death in a castle.

There were descriptions of flowers intricate and delicate as they covered up the walls of her castle. It seems that even in the image of death, there was life. But somehow, Toushiro knows, that when those hundreds of flowers seemed to pile up, then life would eventually fade. It makes him uneasy, knowing that there was this helpless person, left in a state of flux unknowing whether her saviour would come.

After he finishes the story, Toushrio found himself picturing the flowers in his hands. The nervous energy he had stored inside, started manifesting in little shards of ice. And he sculpted them—one by one. Picking at the shards and pulling them long between the prints of his fingers, pinching and piecing them into petals. It felt instinctual to one to bind them all together, until he had a single flower that reflected the light of the early dawn.

Toushiro glances at Momo, whose chest was rising up and down softly—higher than it ever did before.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

From then on, Toushiro comes every morning, and sculpts a flower, until he is called away to World of the Living, leaving behind a bouquet of ice by the sleeping girl’s bed.

The first thing that Momo could remember when she opened her eyes, was the warmth of sunshine on her face. Lifting herself slowly from the bed she looked down at her nails, painted with a light sheen reflecting the morning light, that she knew she didn't do herself.

She could hear the birds outside and the conversations of passerby. A soft breeze billows the curtain out and she can see the trees outside sway along.

A blinding flash of light catches her attention as she sees ice shimmer—and she is drawn to a beautiful bouquet of ice flowers standing by her bedside table. She drinks it in like water, the varieties of petals and designs and she marvels at the time that has manifested into it.

“Hitsugaya-kun?” Momo moves forward to touch the last remaining petal, but at the prick of her finger, it shatters into a thousand shards.

She wakes up alone, with broken shards of ice by her side of what once was.

—

Authour’s Note: I hope you all enjoyed this one! I really enjoyed taking on a sort of self-deprecating Hitsugaya and thinking about the ones that would get him out of his slump. Ichigo’s conversation was actually the first part that was written down, as part of my Hitsugaya gets life advice from older peers series haha I think Ichigo is the kind of guy that wouldn’t leave a sad kid without imparting something, right?

Also it’s a personal headcanon of mine that zanpaktous change perceived weight depending on the weilder and the holder’s relationship to the weilder! in tie with this, i would love to explore a future fic of Momo and Hyorinmaru post-Winter War.

I also hope that you got the Hyoten Hyakkaso reference! Sleeping beauty worked itself in somehow and then I was like, “oh! i must reference this! it all ties together!”

(but if you didn’t that’s okay! I hope the last paragraph was haunting enough haha)

#hitsuhina #canariie: my fics #ichigo kurosaki #momo hinamori #toushiro hitsugaya #OMG I JUST GOT A GLIMPSE OF RAY'S SECOND FIC BUT I HAVEN'T READ IT #BUT READING HER INTRO PART DID SHE ALSO HAVE THE SAME WAVELENGTH OR SOMETHING #THAT IS SPOOKY #going to read it and clarify it but omg that would be so wild #okay that's enough babbling i need to sleep #rangiku matsumoto

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