A/N: Oh dear, I'm guilty of Kira abuse... AGAIN. Oh, and sorry if it gets confusing about whom I'm referring to... it's so hard to write romance when both the people involved are the same gender.. (goddamned pronouns!)

This started out as just plain old Kira abuse, but it kinda morphed into ULTRA Kira abuseā€¦ oops, sorry Kira, everyone loves to torture you.

So Much to Ask

A lot of the time, he missed him. He did his best to disguise it, and for the most part no one noticed - it also helped that almost no one would mention his name for fear of harming he, the one who was left behind. Well, no, they saw it as abused and abandoned, but he felt more like it was left behind - there was a subtle difference between the two, no matter what anyone else said.

Regardless, he missed him. It seemed to happen the most when he went out with his friends, when the alcohol had set in and left everyone senseless, flushed, and giggly. They reeled around, laughing at nothing in particular, teasing each other and making lewd comments. But then he would suddenly feel alone, as if he wasn't even with the group. He had always been the first one to be tipsy before, but now he didn't even bother to have much... so they were all drunk and he was alone with himself. He just didn't have the heart to lift the sake to his lips any more, and once they'd had enough his friends were happy to finish his glass for him.

It had been one of those nights. He had actually managed to get himself excused early this time, and now, here he was, wandering alone in the empty night air of the Court of Pure Souls. He shivered slightly, and he was unsure if it was the chilled air or his chilled heart. He just wished... that, even if this had to happen, he could've gone with him. He wasn't proud of the things he had done to aid his taichou, but he wouldn't care if he had been brought along. Swept up in his strong arms, torn from the ground with pinching nails, carried up to that strange world of Menos Grandes... was it so much to ask?

He wished he had the luxury Hinamori possessed, slumbering away from this utter emptiness. She had loved her taichou, too, hadn't she? A purer sort of love, untainted by deeds like he had done with Gin... why had her taichou left her? Aizen had stabbed her, too... Kira suddenly fervently wished that Gin had done the same to him, impaled his heart and let his life cease to ebb and flow... if he were dead, he wouldn't remember this, wouldn't know this horrid, wrenching pain.

He suddenly found his hands gently around his sword, delicately tracing the pattern of the hand-guard. Wouldn't it be so easy just to end it himself? He thought about the patterns his blood would leave behind, and gave a sudden, bitter smile. Wouldn't he have liked that? His taichou had loved to see blood, especially his dear fukutaichou's blood. And his dear fukutaichou was always happy to bleed for him, to leave the sheets so spattered it looked like someone had dropped a paintcan. But he was always sad when the blood dried and turned brown... he loved the brilliant red. They both did.

Both. But it was just himself now. Alone, standing on a bridge over a drought-dried creek. He used to think the seasons didn't change in Soul Society, but he was no longer so sure. The creek was summer dried, and his soul was winter frozen... the flowers had wilted with Hinamori, and the warmth had died with Gin's departure. And if the sun shined, it was only with spite and a wish to beat down those left behind.

He realized with a jolt that there was metal slicing through his skin. He turned quickly, expecting, half-hoping, to see Gin. But there was only the night breeze, and when he looked down he realized it was his own hand doing the damage. He smirked at his arm... with Gin gone, he'd have to do his own damage, bring forth the red by himself - there wasn't someone to do it for him any more. His sword was shrieking at him, but he twisted it this way, then that, letting the blood spatter onto his black robes. I was bitterly ironic to him that he wouldn't be able to admire it on his own clothes, but had to look to the bridge's planks to see the shining red. Some of it splashed into the dry creek-bed, staining the dirt and rocks a curious red. Oh, Gin would've liked the different shades... But then, the sword was gone, fallen into the dead creek. He was crying, and he sank to his knees, hands to his face. He choked out sobs, and cried so hard his head hurt. But he kept crying, his arms warming with the spread of blood, maybe even steaming in the cooling air. His throat hurt, and his eyes hurt, and he just wanted to be held by his taichou, his only taichou... was it so much to ask? He brought his arms around his torso, hugging himself against the emptiness, and continued to cry.

Was it so much to ask? Was it so much to ask?