Notes: Alternate universe, college/university setting. A gift for twinklexin's birthday, for her request "bike accidents." Title from the October 2, 2010 prompt for the lj community 31_days.
He had a bad habit of going out just when she wanted to talk to him, but maybe that was because she had a bad habit of wanting to talk to him just when she needed a favor. Maybe he was sleeping, in any case the door was shut and he wouldn't answer his damn phone.
It had been a spectacular flight. She tumbled over and around handlebars, a pedal dragging a long scrape down her leg, knees introducing themselves to pavement, the impact on her palms radiating through to her shoulders. Of course the bike had ended up on top of her. Her eyes narrowed but she didn't cry, the scarf was a complete loss and that was the worst of it. The bike could be fixed, but she liked that scarf, damn it, and it was cold.
So the bike was in the shop, and naturally she needed another. There was just no way she could leave early enough to walk all the way across campus and still make it to class on time. She pounded on the door.
"Gin!"
"Noisy…" He mumbled, rolling over to face the wall.
"I know you're in there! Open up!"
"So high-maintenance…You're lucky I'm such a patient man." His voice was suddenly close as the door clicked and squeaked open. When she pushed it farther open, he was in bed eyeing her with apparent amusement.
"You're bleeding all over the carpet," he whined.
She gritted her teeth. "I need to borrow your bike."
The next day she was back in his room with more injuries, fewer bicycles, and no excuses. Ever prideful, she stood firm: scraped, bruised, and unapologetic. She fixed her gaze at a point over his shoulder rather than meet his eyes directly.
"It's all your fault," he said matter-of-factly, seemingly unconcerned by it all.
She promised to pay the repair costs, which was as close to courteous as he'd get and more than he expected from a brat like her. Unspoken was the agreement that she would never ride a bike again. He mussed her hair a little bit, spinning her name into sing-song insults.
"Stupid little girl, silly little Rangiku, so silly, so stupid," he hummed to himself.
She wanted him to be angry at her, or at least to yell. But he only smiled indulgently, drawing the blanket tighter around him. The room was stiflingly hot and he wanted blankets. For a moment she thought of joining him, her hand was almost to his bed when he spoke.
"Isn't there someone else you could be bothering? If you stay, you have to make yourself useful!" He patted the mattress in mock invitation.
"The only reason I'd go up there would be to smother you with your pillow."
"Promise?"
She stalked off, seething, and Gin went back to bed.