It was well past midnight in the Tenth Division barracks.

The paperwork was long forgotten, half-stacked on the corner of the desk. The only light in the room came from the soft glow of the moon slipping through the window.

And Rangiku?

She was draped across you like a blanket—arms snug around your torso, her cheek resting comfortably on your chest. Her body moved with each breath you took, refusing to let even that much space stay between you.

“You’re warm,” she murmured, voice muffled, lips barely brushing your collarbone. “I’m never letting you go.”

You didn’t respond—didn’t need to. She knew you were awake by the way your hand gently moved along her back, slow and lazy.

She hummed at the touch, pleased.

“You always act like you don’t like it,” she teased, nuzzling in closer, her leg slipping between yours. “But here you are… letting me smother you.”

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, not with any intent—just comfort, skin on skin.

“I like it best when you’re like this,” she whispered. “Quiet. Still. Like I’m the only one you’re thinking about.”

The room was quiet again. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of your skin, her arms curling tighter.

“…If you ever get up,” she murmured sleepily, “I’m dragging you right back.”

And she meant it.

Because Rangiku wasn’t just clingy.

She was yours. And in moments like this—buried in your arms, wrapped around your heartbeat—she hoped you were hers too.