Gestalt

Disclaimer: The characters detailed in the following piece of writing belongs to Kubo Tite and not to the lowly fic writer who borrows them on occasion.

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‘The blank sheet of page is always the most intimidating,’ she thinks, and hastily draws a line, small, insignificant, but dark against the sheet. ‘There,’ and her satisfaction is evident. She sees Renji in the corner of her eye; he is sleeping, head leaning against the trunk of the tree, arms crossed, legs carelessly crooked. His face is a profile, its sharp angles shadowed by the leaves above them. Even in sleep, his mouth turns down. He looks bad tempered.

Idly, Rukia makes another line, then another. Pencil marks crowd and twist together, running in criss-crossing parallels and shaded patches. The paper begins to feel too friendly, so she drops her pencil and turns the page.

Once again, she stares, the cool-white apprehension rendering her incapable of movement. Finally, she marks the corner and relaxes.

Renji shifts in his sleep so his face turns to her; his hair is coming loose as the strands cling to tree bark and twist themselves from his tie. Watching him contemplatively, Rukia rotates her position so that he is in front of her, instead of to her right.

She sees the inky-black strokes upon his forehead and remembers the shock of seeing them for the first time. He had been so proud of himself, and she had been so bad. After overcoming the initial speechlessness, she’d teased him, and he hadn’t spoken to her for a week.

Now she recreates the outline, smooth and straight, painstakingly and slowly. Her hands do not tremble, and she falters only once, when he opens him mouth to mumble some unintelligible words.

The pattern was done only a few months before; already, she barely remembers how he looked without it. They have characterized him. In a population where red hair is nothing next to child prodigies, one-eyed mercenaries, or vintage samurais, the tattoos have given him identity.

Rukia knows this, and so she is careful to capture their lines as perfectly as she could.

She stares at the page as her hand directs finishing touches. Had a passerby glanced over her shoulder, he would not have seen the shape of a face. Instead, lines, thick and black, thin and gray, formed two sharp, inter-locking shapes and patterns, perfectly distanced from each other.

He breathes deep as he comes away from sleep, and opens an eye. Her pencil is still making lazy sketches across the sheet.

“What are you doing?” His eyes are curious, his voice still sleepy. He knows she cannot draw to save her life. She carefully closes the notebook and smiles.

“Making lines.”

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A/N: This started out as an attempt to write a Valentine's poem for class. Oops. Apparently, Renji and Rukia are much stronger than my English teacher.
This is my first real attempt in writing present tense, so do point out any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise, if seen. I'd appreciate it as much as slavish praising. XD

edit: thanks for pointing out the mistake, The Muses TK and Zv and jnet! I honestly meant present tense...why did I write first person? >. ;;