In the Shape of a Heart
They were the little things that she noticed, at first.
Maybe it was some basic instinct of the cat DNA that she had yet to name. Something, anyway, had her glancing over her shoulder to find nothing and no one which could have disturbed her.
When Ryou was feeling particularly bossy (or was that all of the time?), he'd demand that someone would stay late and give the café an extra cleaning. Somehow it always ended up being Ichigo. Mint refused to lower herself to clean; Zakuro had more important work to do and she was excused no matter if she stated it outright or not; Lettuce had been sick recently and finally Pudding had siblings to take care of. So Ichigo took the brunt of the work and had been pulling a lot of extra hours. The only good thing that she could say about it was the extra income, and to see the number on her cheque increase each week made her happy.
It had been dusting one day, and cleaning the windows on another occasion, but whatever Ryou felt was required Ichigo was certain that the reason had more to do with keeping an eye on her. Keiichiro, Ryou, and the rest of the Mews all knew that one of the enemies had taken a liking to her, which was a major concern —she got it. She just wished that Ryou would say that he was worried about her to her face, without all of the nonsense of finding more work for someone to do (namely her) so that she'd be close enough to check in on more frequently.
Ichigo sighed as she leaned on her mop handle, despairing over the pointlessness of washing an already clean floor. Her eyes fell upon one of the many tall windows surrounding the dining area, half-imagining that she could see pink roses all laid out on the windowsill outside. But no: that had been some weeks ago.
It was the little things, at first.
Her cat instincts, making her twist her head around at noises she couldn't hear. Shadows out of the corner of her eyes. She had brushed these odd feelings off (though Ichigo had extraordinarily good eyesight and had not once seen things that were not really there).
Then there had been the roses. She had wondered if some shy suitor had left them for his sweetheart in the hopes that she would see them from a nearby table, but as Ichigo had wandered over to collect them, she'd had the rather curious realization that these roses were the exact same shade as her eyes when she transformed. It'd made her smile a little (or maybe she'd been smiling from the bell tied very delicately around the stem of one, she'd always had a fondness for bells).
After that, the things left at the café had increased. A charm bracelet, under a napkin at a table. A set of brightly coloured hair ties, wrapped in cellophane and left on the podium. Ichigo didn't admit to herself that which she already knew: these things weren't forgotten possessions from customers, and they certainly weren't enquired about by frantic teenagers days later, wondering if they had left them there. So they were stacked carefully in her locker, until she figured out what to do about them. She was comfortably sure that she was getting too soft, too guilty, or too compassionate (either way her feelings were getting muddled with her common sense, and Ichigo could no longer be sure what the logical action would be in the situation she was in). Perhaps she should have informed one of the others, handed over the carefully chosen gifts from someone who obviously cared. But instead she tried to ignore it all...for a few days, at least.
One lazy afternoon it had started to rain, but this had not come as a surprise. Grey clouds had been threatening the poor weather since late morning, yet Ichigo had held onto the firm belief that the water would hold off until she'd gotten home, at least. Ichigo hated the rain. It dulled her senses, and soaked the clothing she'd put an effort into choosing for the day, and it would almost always start raining when she'd left her rain jacket or umbrella at home. Masha hadn't been present, as it had been off being upgraded with new programs by Ryou in his lab, or she might have had some warning, but as it was she had only been aware that he was nearby by the fading message on the window. Drawn into the condensation when she had been in the back room, changing back into her other clothing, had been an already fading line of kanji.
Since you forgot your umbrella, I can take you home if you want, honey.
Flustered, she'd tramped over to the offending window and had wiped her hand over the condensation, erasing the message. He must have just popped in to write it and then had popped out again, not wanting to stay in the vicinity for the concern of a possible attack but not wanting to leave her there, either.
Just beyond the window, past the sheets of water drenching the plant life outside, had been him, floating a good five feet in the air. He'd looked just as miserably wet as the rest of the world outside, but with a contradiction: a teasing smile had been lighting up his face. Daring her to join him outside. It would have been an instantaneous trip home, and would have saved her the trouble of going home in the rain. But Ichigo had defiantly stuck out her tongue at him, and had stormed away, ready to ask to borrow an umbrella from Ryou.
If she had known that he'd stayed out in the poor weather for a few minutes afterward, on the chance that she'd turn around and request his assistance, she would have felt a little bad about the irritated look she'd shot at him.
In an attempt to pacify the constant attention she was getting from him, perhaps, or out of some absentminded thought that if they'd been on the same side they might actually have been friends, Ichigo had started returning the favours. She didn't know how else to accept the gifts: she certainly could never use them, or there'd be lies about where they'd come from. And there were enough lies surrounding her true identity anyway. She didn't want any more in her life. So in the locker the bracelet, the dying flowers, the bell, and the hair ties would remain, never to be touched again.
So on the windowsill after work one day, she'd left a tiny pink box with a cupcake inside: Keiichiro had taught her a recipe for lemon icing one day, and she had wanted to put it to some use. The next day the box had disappeared, leaving her with the vague wondering if it had been removed by one of the other Mews or Keiichiro or Ryou, though none of them had said anything about it. On another day she'd left three truffles, on the same sill, and they too had disappeared by the next day. Maybe it was cruel, in a way, like she was leading him on. But Ichigo had made it quite clear who she truly loved, and she thought that there would be no misunderstandings between them. At any rate, she felt a little sorry for him, caring for someone who would never return his feelings. Cupcakes and truffles were like, she felt, an apology that she could never speak aloud. Because of who they were, because of the battles that they'd faced, she could never say the words, "I'm sorry it had to be like this."
After all, if one started to harbour feelings for the enemy, sooner or later, it would come back and hurt them in the end. With that knowledge, Ichigo tried to keep herself distant, and put all thoughts of him out of her mind.
Her decision to not think of him at all was having little effect on her that day as she tried to mop the floor, as distracted as she was by what she was sure was a set of eyes, staring at her from outside. Making a frustrated sound, she scowled at the lack of noise in the empty café as she worked, which allowed her instincts to focus on the natural sounds of nature outside. Rustling in the bushes, birds calling to each other. Tapping on the window, the distant rumbling of engines as cars rolled down the street...wait. Tapping on the window?
Ichigo looked up.
Green hair mussed on his head, bangs falling over those molten eyes of his, Kish put his elbows on the windowsill and put his chin in his hands. He was shooting her the most cocky smirk that she had seen on his face yet, and after a few moments of surprise, Ichigo glared back and started to mop more furiously. Refusing to look up again.
"You can't ignore me, kitten, so don't bother trying,"
It really was too quiet in the café, for her to be able to hear him outside. A little annoyed at her cat genes now, she turned her back on the alien outside and started cleaning in the opposite direction. Eventually she realized that trying to ignore him really wasn't working, because she could still feel his eyes on the back of her head as she worked, and at any rate, she'd run out of floor space that needed cleaning. Deciding that if she just got out of the there as fast as she could, then perhaps he wouldn't bother her, Ichigo returned the mopping supplies to the closet. Quickly changing in the back room, she grabbed her bag, ready to leave.
The café had a side door past Ryou's room, down a hall, and was normally kept locked and unused, but this was a special case and she was hoping that Kish wouldn't notice her departure if she used it. She gave her employer a wave as she walked past his room, using the hastily called good-bye as her reason for using the side door. He barely looked up from his desk, still tinkering with Masha. Ichigo wondered if whatever upgrades he was doing would increase Masha's detection abilities and sensory range. It would certainly make things easier on everyone if that were true.
Sighing, she wished that everything could just return to the way it used to be. The sooner that she could go back to fighting, then the sooner that she could forget about her complicated feelings. It would become as simple as right and wrong, where things like caring and solicitude for the enemy would mean nothing. Battle tactics, and saving lives and the environment would be the only things that would matter.
One breath of fresh air was all that it took to relax her, the smells of freshly cut grass and flowers filtering into her brain and making her shoulders drop as the tension released. It was a good day, Ichigo told herself, and she firmly decided to stop brooding from that moment on. The door clicked shut behind her, and she took the first step away from the café, content to be done with her work for the day.
I really don't give him enough credit, Ichigo thought in surprise as Kish appeared from around the corner of the building, keen gaze suggesting that he'd been expecting this. Swallowing, she spoke to him for the first time in a while, fingers clenched around the handle of her book bag. "What are you doing here?" She accused, playing the part in their little act, like no flowers or cake had been exchanged between them. Like no cheerful endearments had been uttered from his lips, for her ears only. Her shoulders rolled back as if she was preparing for a fistfight; her opponent was known for being bold and unexpected and she couldn't be sure that he wouldn't just attempt to grab her. You're the enemy, Ichigo tried to condition herself to think, throat getting tight with the sadness of the way things had to be.
The fact that he was willing to risk being so close to the café —again— had her slightly worried that he was planning something serious, although the taunting smirk suggested that he was just up to his usual mischief. "Aw...and I just came here to thank you for the presents, Ichigo. You don't have to look so wary." He was not interested in pretending that that had never happened, apparently. Ichigo felt foolish for thinking otherwise.
"Kish," she said in heartfelt seriousness, eyes wide and fingers nervously tightening and relaxing around her bag handle, "this...thing...has to stop between us."
In three even strides he had reached her side (why was he so close, people would see and they'd have to fight, didn't he know that). He was a good bit taller than her, and the height difference only accentuated his overconfidence. "Not when you've finally started to respond to my feelings," he said determinedly, hands on his hips, ready for an argument.
"I am not responding to them!" She hissed, a little taken aback. One hand came out and she stabbed a finger into his chest, "I love Masaya, not you, you know that. So all of these...expressions of feelings...can't happen anymore, okay?"
A slim but strong hand curled around her offending finger, and his eyes narrowed. "I know you still love him. But it would be a lie if you said that you did not care for me, even if it's only a small piece of caring right now. But, by expanding on this piece of your heart that cares about me, and spending more time with each other, I intend to become more important to you than him." The teasing had completely left his face and voice now, and his jaw was firmly set in grim determination. Ichigo swallowed self-consciously.
Her voice came out as a slight croak. "Then this is where our interaction must stop, outside of the battlefield."
"What?" He said with an uncertain tone, unnerved.
With a snap she pulled her arm back, her finger leaving his warm grip. "I'm a human being, Kish. Of course I'll respond to kindness with more kindness...I wanted to return the gifts to you and explain that I couldn't accept them, but I knew you would never listen. So I could only offer something small back in return, because I couldn't do anything else." Kish actually took a step back as she spoke, face growing cold as her words struck him hard and cut deep. She knew it, too, and hurt equally, knowing that she had to be harsh to save them both more heartache. "Think of the cake as a replacement for affection. The truffles as a replacement to a thank-you." It came as something of a shock to feel as awful as she did in that moment, knowing that she was cutting him down further, giving perhaps the worst rejection that any guy could ever receive.
We are enemies, Ichigo told herself bluntly, feeling a stinging in her eyes, not knowing why. "Kitten," Kish said as a last resort, a quiet call to the woman looking so broken but staring him down so firmly he began to shake. Her eyes are wet.
"There is one last thing I never got to say," Ichigo sniffed, shaking hands unbuckling her bag to remove a small box, "the last thing I wanted to give you. So good-bye, okay...until we meet again..."
Her back was straight as she handed him the box, and strode away, soon out of sight, far down the street. Kish's chest was painfully tight. He slowly lifted the lid of the pink box, and froze in frustration and distress as his eyes lit upon what was inside. The cupcake for affection. The truffles for a thank-you. The last thing she wanted to tell him...
Inside the box was a simple cookie, in the shape of a heart.
I'm sorry.
The End.