Disclaimer: Nope, not that lucky.

Chronicles Of The Past

Chapter 21


She gave him her everything. Now he's going to give her his everything.

Sharp jabs of wind slashed the skin on his face and felt like concrete walls slapping its hardened surface on his bruised cheeks. All the way. His speed didn't decrease, he pushed on. Until the sight of he towering white box-like building came into view. A small, prickling dot of white from the distance, which- soon enough began to take the shape and size of the 4th division building.

Then it was as if his heart had refused to beat another thump.

The front of the building had been blown off its hinges, the insides of the structure, the small rooms, training halls, broken balustrades, shattered interior reduced to rubbles, were all visible from the outside. Debris was orbited everywhere as proof of the assault the building contracted. It now looked like a crumbling building of only half of what it used to house, standing on the tiptoes of doom. A blown up building, like an organism turned inside out.

Seeing such a high destruction level the building had underwent, it was impossible, for any survivors to be asking for help under those heavy concrete shard remains.

Even if it was Hinamori .

The world turned upside down. His vision blurred. He couldn't give in. She had waited all this time for him, enduring unbroken chains of suspicion and disbelief. She risked her life in believing in his existence. Now it was time for him to risk his.

Hitsugaya bolted through the cracked-open roof of the building. The wide gap swallowed him whole, and he landed on a concrete rubble near the cubic balustrades on the topmost floor, his eyes searching and screaming in silence for her.


He stayed inaudibly quiet after that, listening to traces of footsteps and the faintest of whispers that might lead him to her and the sound of his own rusty heart beating in slow motion.

He spun, and scurried past the opposite direction, spinning and spinning inside a wall of gripping panic inside his own head. His whole soul was issuing one mandatory commandment : find her, what with his whole senses could not succeed him.


His voice did a backflip over the quiet walls, resounding back at him with nothing but a silent answer from the surroundings.

And then he saw it, a hand falling out from under the low cradle of rubbles. Pale as porcelain, it supported 5 bleeding fingers, each one splattered with other's blood. The small hand evolved to a slender arm, and then revealed a skinny neck and the head of the owner.

A death goddess with blazing black hair tight in a bun, laying face down on the floor, pieces of concrete rests deep within her flesh, a few of her bones broken beyond repair.

His world dimmed.

Had he risked his life, and traveled 87 years back to the future, for this?

Is this truly the answer for everything, every single thing he believed about their destiny?

Hitsugaya suddenly became aware of the pressure his body was giving him, the pain on the wounds on his chest, the empty thumping sounds of his heart slowing and weakening with every passing second.

He stepped closer to her, slowly.

And stared, into the girl's brilliant sapphire blue, shock ridden eyes, glazed over by death.

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a fraction of a second, he was thankful that whoever this 4th squad member is, she was not his Hinamori.

He knelt down, and gently covered her eyes with his palm, feeling the cold dead skin against his cheeks as he closed her eyelids. Let her rest in peace. And those hollows later, in pieces.

And then he heard it. Footsteps moving in a fast, panicked state across what was left of the ground floor. He catapulted himself to the edge of the balcony, where the half broken balustrades kept him from keeling over to the lower levels.

Time stood still. And the whole world melted and siphoned into black and white. No sound dared interfere.

There stood Hinamori.

The Hinamori he always knew.

The same Hinamori who teased him and offered him daily watermelons.

The same Hinamori who continuously mocks him with weird pet names.

The same, vulnerable little girl who never succeeded in protecting herself.

The stupid, seemingly idiotic bed wetter whose childhood days he spent with.

The same, weak, defenseless, easily hurt soul he had always treasured.

Everything about her seemed so realistic now. Memories of her touch, the way her skin felt against his, her smiles, her tears, her laugh – everything was just as he remembered her to be. Perfection beyond compare. Her complexion slightly rosy, her lips peach colored and slightly askew. Nothing more to be added.

Perfection beyond compare.

His lungs constricted. His body reacted. His voice cords sprung back to life.


After so many years, so many memories, so many things he accepted and couldn't accept, this was the first time he ever felt thoroughly burdenless. Thoroughly untied. Free beyond the bare definition of the word itself.

And then she looked up.

And the whole world held its breath.

For everything melted in nothingness and nothingness suffused into everything.

For he was there. And she was here. And they were together.

And her eyes were the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed.

The trance remained. But there was something oddly wrong.

She wasn't blinking. Those lush eyelashes of hers weren't moving. She was stationary. Almost like a statue. Her eyes fixed on his but they were empty.

She didn't recognize him.

She didn't recognize him.

She didn't recognize him.

Her eyes, as blank and as empty as an unwritten wood, fixed themselves upon his.

How did she not recognize him?

Had he been too late? Did it happen?

Has she now forgotten everything?

Why wasn't she calling him back?

Why didn't she say anything?


Hitsugaya emptied his entire lungs on that yell alone. But his heart was aching so bad he didn't feel anything anymore.

It had happened. She no longer remembered him.

His brain was shutting down, all his senses deprived of each of their unique abilities. His ears have stopped listening, his eyes looking but not seeing, his skin lingering but unfeeling, his nose inhaling but not breathing.

Everything has ended.

His life no longer has a vocal point. He no longer has a purpose.

A vast, open wide ocean without a speck of water.

A dynamic desert without one grain of sand.

There is no captain of the 10th division without her.

There is no Shiro-chan, attacking slices after slices of watermelons on breezy sunsets without her.

There is no Hitsugaya Toushiro, standing proud and tall, without her.

He was too late after all. All his efforts worthless. For shinigamis didn't turn back time. Nor were they able to.

His knees gave away, and his kneecaps pounded the half destroyed floors under him, his sword following his pace and making a more tremuluous echo as it hit the ground.

He stayed there even when one lizard like hollow broke into the vicinity and blown off the remainings of the 4th division building. Debris and dust were flying everywhere and he knew the floor he was nestling on rupture any second, but he didn't move. His mind was somewhere else. He was taking stuck on his 3rd year at shinigami academy.

"Shiro-chan! Mou, you're so late."

"Oy, baka. What are we doing in the school roof?"

The place where she was sitting on had been slightly slippery and tilted, filled with the rich and raggy texture of black Japanese roof tiles. It had certainly been a very unpleasant sitting experience for anybody's behind, but the view that compensates, was priceless. The sun was releasing more and more red hue towards the slowly darkening sky and the yellow lines on the edges were scurrying fast. The air was slightly colder as the night air fought to replace the breezy afternoon air. From there everything was visible. The whole soul society shining in dazzling red gold light of the slowly retrieving sun.

"Well, I'd never be able to get chance to sit here anymore after today, wouldn't I?''

"That's you."

"You too. In a year."

He sat next to her.

"Hey baka. Why aren't you down at Renji's? Everyone else is celebrating graduation."

She was quiet for a while, blinking and breathing in a slow pace.

"Why celebrate with those you will surely meet again later at your shinigami divisions? I should be celebrating with the ones I won't get to meet again."

It was his turn to stay silent, reenacting her words inside his head and searching fro the true meaning of them.

"Ne, Shiro-chan-"

"I specifically told you NOT to call me that."

"I can't call you Hitsugaya-kun, that would be too weird."

"You have to try sooner or later, what if I graduate and positioned way above your level? You'd someday have to call me Hitsugaya taichou or something,"

"Ne, Shiro-chan-"

She was hugging her knees to her chest, speaking the words without looking at him.

"You have to graduate soon, okay? Make it less than a year?"

The boy leaned back.

"Why? I'm already graduating 10 years faster than everybody else."

She turned to him, her eyes searching for his.

"I'm scared you'll forget me."

He sniggered.

"And worrying about things like that was why you got paired up with that useless-I'm-scared-of-everything-Izuru Kira and that I'm-so-full-of-everything Abarai Renji."

The song of birds taking flight back into their humble nests intervened the slow pace of their conversation. The sky now looked a lot darker, the blood red color draining out and slowly being filled in with the inky black night.

She turned back to him.

"Take off your clothes."


"Just take off your clothes."

"Are you nuts? Why would I?"

"Ii kara, hayaku. Just take it off already!"

She made a grab for his white unform, tugging at the end of the lose fabric, meaning to rip it off his chest, But his hands stopped her, and they surprised her of how strong his grip has become. How firm and demanding his fingers have turned out. How different they were from the small hands she used to hold down the river banks in rukongai, up the attic of their old hut, and on the white little bed where they used to sleep together, boown by the winds of their own dreams.

"What is wrong with you, baka?"

He raised his tone, and steadied himself while trying to tidy up his sitting position.

"I need to write something."

"What, on my clothes?"

"No, on your chest."

The idea of her answer was even weirder than the first one.


"Please, would you just let me do it?"

"No way. Go write on somebody else's chest. You've got that Abarai and Izuru guy to write at any time you want."

Hearing that, the light dimmed in her eyes, and sadness filled the brown orbs of her eye.

The boy shifted uncomfortably. Minutes passed without a single word being uttered or bounced back in return.

"Why do you wanna write something on my chest?"

She looked at him, and her eyes told him she couldn't tell him now.

The boy sighed.

"Fine. Here. Happy?"

And as he said that, he slowly slipped out of his white top, revealing a structure broad shoulders supported with a mass of healthy muscles unobstructed to her.

She inched closer to him, gradually leaving not more than 30 centimeters between them, and pulled out her palm.

She held it out, and began touching his chest, looking for his heartbeat.

The boy recoiled slightly from her touch, light as feather, and gentle as wind. Hers had also changed. They were no longer those bigger, light hands who nestled and took care of his on warm summer days and short trips to the sea breeze. They were now gentler. More pure and innocent than ever.

"Where's your heart?"


He splurted out.

"Where's your heart?"

"Left side, idiot?"

"Oh, sorry."

Frankly he was surprised she wasn't able to tell the place of his heart, because right now he could feel it sending high tremors to his ribcage.


She had reached the left hemisphere of his chest, and was now resting her whole palm against it, leaving him breathless.

"You think?"


And then she began tracing lines over lines over at that part of his chest. Right above his heart.

He was looking at her, and that silent concentration of hers, her eyes glinting in the dark, her delicate fingers working its way in his chest.

"Why are you writing your name on my chest?"

She paused, and let her name be fully finished before answering.

"They say if you write your name on somebody else's heart, that person will never forget you."

He couldn't say anything. He just looked at her in the eye. The girl he had spent most of his childhood days with. How can he ever forget her?

"I'm not gonna forget you, you baka. How can I forget you if you wet your bed every single night I spent at grandma's house, huh? You think I don't remember how you did it?"

She didn't argue. He always liked to tease her about that part of her life.

"You should write on me too."

He snorted.

"There's NO way I'm writing anything on your chest."

She chuckled.

"No, not on my chest, Shiro-chan. On my wrist. The pulse is strongest there, right? So that means my heart is also there. I guess it's okay."

"You're weird. You know that?"

Hinamori merely smiled. She then handed him her hands, and flipped back the cloth covering her arms to give him the touch of her wrist.

"Come on."


Slowly he grabbed hold of her right wrist. His trained fingers moved and clasped as he positioned his hand to give him better access to write. They were softer than what he had remembered, and a lot more real than any memory of her. He traced the first few strokes of her name, and then looked up. She was looking at him, not smiling, not pouting, just that presence, and that look of her eyes was enough, and it completed the moment.

She was, had always been, and will always be his everything. He will never forget a single hair from her. Even if hell freezes over, or the world comes to and end. He promised.

Once it was done, they continued sitting silently under the moon. And the surrounding witnesses of soul society. The night air, the glinting roof tiles.

That promise remained with him, even until now.

Hitsugaya was moving in panic. He needed to find her. Locate her, and hold her in his arms. Even if she no longer remembered him.

But how would that be of any good?

He no longer existed in her mind, in her heart, in her soul.

So what would his existence mean, without those memories she kept of him?

Nobody had ever treasured, or kept a valuable sentimental feeling over each and every one of his movements except her.

Nobody had ever cherished or valued him more than her.

And nobody, had ever meant more than life and all of its full grown complexity itself, except her.

To everybody, Hitsugaya was a cold blooded captain, a genius beyond compare, somebody to look up to and follow with their backs bowed down in respect.

To everybody, Hinamori Momo was a gentle and loving vice captain, always caring and motivating her colleagues and subordinates in a positive and heart warming way.

But to each other, they were irreplaceable, their need for each other insatiable, their passion – priceless and inestimable.

And yet he was moving, unsure of how and why his body was carrying itself the way it did. For his instincts were telling his brain that everything was a lie, and that she still remembered him, and that somehow, against all odds, she would be waiting for him outside of the building, and then once again, he might be able to hear that sweet, sweet voice call 'shiro-chan' again–

His whole system yearned for her. Every inch of him wanted her in his arms. But he was too late after all. All his efforts worthless.

The image of her dead ridden blank eyes hot the insides of his head like billions of tons of water capsizing a pile of sand.He was screaming on the inside. His heart burning with uncontainable rage and frustration.


Surges and floods of memories flowed back through his memory lane.

Talk to me.

Hit me.

Stab me.

Hurt me.

Touch me.

Feel me.

Look at me.


Look at me.

Tell me you still remember me.

a/n :oh my god im sooooooooooooooooooooo sorry for the lousiest update in my life! do forgive me...im apologizing with all my heart... TT