Now You See Me

When a monster's not a monster, but rather someone for you to stare, the sight of you makes them softer—makes them vulnerable without a care.

That they look to you, it's your weakness. You see them smile, then you're done for. Because you love them, you've peeled an orange. They already have one within their mouth. And it's the sunset, it's like a rind; they cleaned it before they were asked to because if anyone could've done it, it was them—oh, they loved you.

If peeling oranges was easy, then the sunset was child's play. Especially when he gnawed it, really worked it between his teeth, chewed it to submission, and had it stained around his mouth. That his laughter, his smile and the rosiness in his cheeks begged the question of what was love, if not sheer insanity?

When Ichigo fed him slices, when Grimmjow killed the sun—or perhaps, he took a nibble that the shinigami had to bite. Perhaps, he was a weakness that even gods couldn't deny, while tousled and defenseless—a weapon for the eyes. And the kotatsu, the floor, the halo near his smile were no match, were unfounded to all the warmth that stayed awhile.