流れ星
It was a scene all too familiar; the rubble, the debris, the vibrant hue that splattered before his eyes, the rage-filled roar of the Seventh Division captain, the scent of blood, and the pain on his chest.
"Tousen...taichou..."
These were the words that he weakly uttered. His eyes started to turn glossy. He could hear the faint sound of steel clashing. He could hear voices, but he couldn't tell what they're saying. He knows he should be helping out. But he's paralyzed. He can't even lift a finger. His cheeks felt warm. His vision blurred. He wanted to speak, but no words came out of his parted lips. His chest ached more and more until
...
...
A gasp.
Hisagi blinked. Tearful eyes meeting the ceiling.
"Shit." He mumbled, lifting an arm right to his face, wiping away the tears in his eyes. "Not again."
He shifted to his side to check the time on the digital clock that lay atop the wooden drawer beside his bed.
A quarter after 1 a.m.; After having that dream again, Hisagi doesn't want to go back to sleep. But it's still too early to attend to his responsibilities or even train. He took a deep breath, and sat up. Maybe some booze and a little walk can help ease up his mind.
The shinigami got off his bed and changed his clothes to a white track suit. Afterwards, he walked towards the kitchen, and grabbed a can of ice-cold canned beer, before heading out.
It looked so peaceful outside. White sleet covered the ground that used to be painted green by the grass that grew on it. Lifting his head, he looked up at the winter sky. Tiny specks of light twinkled in the dark tranquil sky. Hisagi took a sip from the canned beverage on his hand while admiring the beauty of the night sky. After a while, a streak of light crossed his line of vision.
"A shooting star?"
They say that you should make a wish if you see a shooting star. Childish, Hisagi thought. Shooting stars don't grant wishes, is what he mentally said to himself. Then again, what if...?
A wish? If he had one wish that he wants granted, what would he wish for?
"Pfft. What the heck. Why am I contradicting myself?" The raven-haired snorted and emptied his drink, tossing the empty can on the trash bin nearby. After taking a few steps forward, he stopped on his tracks when he noticed a figure standing solely underneath a withered tree. Who could still be up at a time like this? Or rather, who wakes up at this hour?
"Anoo--" Hisagi spoke when he neared the figure, but he came to a halt all of a sudden. His mouth hung open. His eyes widened. His knees weakened. His heart stopped beating.
"I..It can't be...!!"
That hair, that skin tone, that form, that reiatsu -- there's no mistaking it.
Is it... a dream again?
"...Tousen...taichou..."
