There are no flowers in Hueco Mundo. Gin had watched the girl wander through the fortress grounds, searching for the tiniest scrap of vegetation. Obviously, she wanted to be reminded of home.

Gin, surprisingly, shares her longing. His own thoughts often turn towards the memory of the loveliest flower he’d ever seen, one that irrevocably reminded him of Soul Society. Red-gold shining in the sun, clear ice-blue never flickering. He would give anything—yes, for this, anything—to stroke those silken petals once more.

But his flower would never have survived transplanting to the cold, arid soil here. So Gin must content himself with memories.

Same obligatory disclaimer exists for all of these drabbles; I’m not the creator of Bleach, and am using these characters for fun and not profit.