#have a sick gin hiding from rangiku uwu

[godkilller]

DRABBLE    //    REDEMPTION VERSE.

          JOLTING TO LIFE, EYES SNAPPING OPEN THEN SQUEEZED SHUT, HE IMMEDIATELY SWALLOWED BACK A COUGH. A strained, rough and rude awakening in the dead of night. A brief moment of disorientation led Gin to swiftly feel for the presence beside him; had he been coughing in his sleep, did she wake up from it ? In observing, in the slow, ragged breaths that followed, he found that she hadn’t. Thankfully. Sluggishly, careful, Gin began the tedious process of untangling himself from the sheets, from the mess of limbs splayed together, without further disturbance. FEATHERLIGHT MOTIONS. He held his breath at times, cautiously detaching himself, until at last freed to roll himself to the edge of their shared bed.

          He sucked in another breath, especially, as a familiar burning ache clawed within his throat, prompting him to go rigid in refusal to hack up a lung in the bedroom.

          Straightening up, Gin chose his footing deliberately, extremely avoidant of certain known sections of their dark abode’s flooring to creak or groan under a step’s weight. He snuck himself out of their room, down the hall, and towards the washroom with a practiced silence. There, and once enclosed, he promptly heaved and coughed into the cold basin. A white-knuckled grip at the sink’s edge kept him steady as he strained to keep his volume down, keep his fit quiet. Wheezing coughs were rough, heavy, wet against his throat, and his lungs felt drowned.

          Sputters subsiding, Gin shuddered and lowered himself down onto the cool floor, propping his back against the opposing wall behind him. Calmly, quietly, quietly, he tiredly cursed out something broken and huffed in a few breaths. In, out, until he felt control ease back in. The washroom floor was nice, chilly even, he felt overheated in comparison. Gin closed his eyes. Breathed. The air ached around him, this sad and pathetic kind of crispness to it, sharp, the way a blade cut through skin.

          Absently, he sought past the loosened opening of his yukata and reached to press his palm to his heart, a small raised scar seeped with that same weight, constant, thrumming in pangs. He could feel it linger at his fingers, as though some black fire spreading upon touch, and Gin half expected to be able to see some terrible black and purple hue licking at the digits when he brought them to his gaze. Eyes narrowed in the dim dark.

          Nothing.

          Just his hand, without ailment, shaking subtly. Gin sat illuminated by a high moon outside draining through the washroom window, dazedly staring at his hand, and confirmed to himself that he was in some feverish daydream. Stupidly sitting here... imagining thick flame eating at his chest, the back of his neck, sticking to his temples and biting, shivering. Damn it if it didn’t hurt sometimes, as though pierced anew... when he lost himself in the ache of it all, he could feel the blade nestled in his ribcage. It slid narrowly past his heart, this poisonous fang flooding his lungs, his veins.

          Gin knew he should’ve gotten up and went back to bed, really, he knew better than to linger in the cold air like this. At this rate, laying around on the floor, he’d end up making himself more sick. BUT HE NEEDED JUST A LITTLE LONGER... to make sure he didn’t return to bed only to wake Rangiku up an hour later to his rasping coughs. At least one of them deserved to sleep through the night.