Genre: Romantic friendshippy attempt at fluffiness
Summary: Momo and Hitsugaya wonder, What could possibly make a plum tree fly?
A/N: Done for a HitsuHina contest on ff.net.
Spring has always been Soul Society’s best season. There are spring days that could make
even the darkest corner of Rukongai seem bearable for once, and as for the Seireitei... On these days, even the children of the stuffiest noble families abandon their pretense of properness and go outside to play, catching flower petals and picking handfuls of still unripe fruit that leave their hands stained sticky purple.
On this day, in this spring, on a large, lazily sloping hill a few miles away from the closest village, a boy and a girl are walking. The girl is young, pretty; she can’t be any older than thirteen at this point. Her hair is black, or rather, very dark brown, and is tied up in two pigtails. She is petit, fine-featured; everything about her is reminiscent of china doll. Her eyes are dark and very large, and today they sparkle with the sun. Her name is Hinamori Momo.
The boy, Hitsugaya Toushirou, is shorter than she is, and younger as well, which is curious since he carries himself with an air of businesslike briskness. Perhaps this is helped by his hair, which is as white as the morning after a snow storm. Yes, he is exactly like snow; one might wonder what he is doing on this springtime hill with this springtime girl.
She sings as she walks; he is silent. There is a picnic basket slung over her right arm, but what is of greater interest is what swings at her right hip: a sheathed sword. What could a girl like this possibly want a sword for? She doesn’t seem to have even an ounce of violence in her.
Of course, in actuality she is a shinigami-in-training over at the Academy, and this isn’t
just any sword. In a way, it is a piece of her own soul. In-between the lines of song she sings, she tries to tell the boy about this sword. He pretends not to listen, but truth be told, he awaits the day when he’ll get his own with more than a touch of envy.
Being who she is however, Momo will tell him all about it all the same; she is friendly and talkative and wants nothing more than to share about herself with others. Maybe certain others in particular, but the boy is oblivious.
“She’s named Tobiume. Flying Plum. Isn’t that a pretty name, Shiro-chan? It makes me think of a whole tree full of plums flying.”
“A flying plum tree? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nobody said it had to make sense. I bet when you get yours, it’ll be named something like Upside-Down Radioactive Frog.”
“Will not, Bed-Wetter Momo. Anyway, how could a plum tree possibly fly? It’s silly. It’s not like they have wings or anything.”
Momo has no answer to this, so she lapses back into song. Eventually, the two reach the
top of the hill, and Hitsugaya sits down in the shade of a flowering tree. It’s not a plum, but he doesn’t think that Momo notices, or would care about the difference if she did. Her back is turned to him now, as she cheerily removes the food she has packed from the picnic basket.
“Besides, its roots would still be all tangled up in the ground, even if it could fly. Which it can’t.”
“What was that, Shiro-chan?”
“The plum tree,” he explains with mild exasperation. “How could a plum tree possibly fly?”
“I don’t know. It just does.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you can’t give me one thing that could make a plum tree fly.”
The girl is silent after that. They both made boxed lunches for themselves that morning;
and Momo is a better cook than one might expect, so perhaps her silence is partly due to her indulgence in the fact that her food turned out just the way she wanted it.
She looks over at Hitsugaya. He has some food stuck to lip, although he doesn’t know it,
and a fallen flower has landed in his hair, and he is indifferent to that as well. All Momo can think is that despite his charade of constant annoyance, he woke up early this morning just because he heard she was coming home from the Academy for a few days.
She wishes that she could be the pale pink flower in his snowy white hair, or the bright
sunshine that caresses his bare arms. “Shiro-chan?”
“I know what makes a plum tree fly.”