AN: Hehe. Right on time, ne? Exactly one month after V-day. Finally, procrastination hath not screwed me over.
If anyone's reading this without having read Two Days Late, you're probably not gonna get the same effect, so I strongly suggest reading that first.
Everyone else, I hope I haven't done too badly.
This was kinda written quickly. And while trying to do calculus. Which is bad :P
So yea. Bear with it, and try to enjoy.
For anyone who is not familiar with Japan's White Day, it's a holiday that occurs one month after V-day, on March 14, and involves men giving chocolates and gifts to women in order to repay them for the stuff they gave on V-Day. If you want more info, go Google it.
And now, the traditional disclaimer and on to the ficlet:
Disclaimer: I don't own TMM. Huh. I should make a list of "If I owned TMM…" That'd be funny :P. Mmyup.
She had known it would happen.
Even waking up with a smile lighting her face, ears meeting the cheerful chirps of sparrows outside her window, eyes opening to brilliant rays of sunshine streaming in through her curtains, she had known it.
The girl did manage to avoid that knowledge for about...oh… two, maybe two and half (if one wants to be precise) seconds, but it caught up to her very, very quickly.
It was a shame, she had mused to herself, dressing, washing up, eating, such a shame that this day, precisely twenty eight days from the loveliest Valentine's Day she had ever had, had to be ruined by another memory.
The memory in question was only emphasized by her mother's teasing smile as the girl had left for school.
"Ne, Ichigo-chan should I clear a room for today?"
Ichigo had given Sakura what she had hoped was a winning smile and tickled giggle before shutting the door and reverting back to a melancholy expression that followed her the whole way to school.
A room…mou, stupid roses… stupid…baka…
It was from that point on that she had known, really known, that this would happen.
In spite of receiving Aoyama's chocolates with a gracious, sweet smile, in spite of trying to convince herself that he would forget, that twenty six days ago had been a stupid fluke, a joke, she had still known, had still peered about warily as she had gone from class to class.
Still, now, that knowledge did little to curb her shocked shriek as dozens upon dozens of wildflowers, not roses, but wildflowers, tumbled out of her newly-opened locker. A sheer tidal wave of golden yellow, fiery orange, pinks and purples and striped violet-blues that made her eyes water with their intensity cascaded down onto the floor, landed on her feet, made it absolutely impossible to quickly shut the locker and scurry away.
And there was no hiding them.
As Ichigo stood there, mind fairly frozen, heart slowly picking up pace until finally taking to hammering away in her chest, she managed to hear the squeals of random girls around her, girls who she knew were pointing and whispering and giggling.
Girls who enviously shouted out "What a lucky girl!" and "I wish my boyfriend would do that!"
And as soon as that second statement reached her ears, Ichigo blushed scarlet because she wished her boyfriend would do that, too, but he hadn't…
He hadn't, and the one who had…
The one who…
He had…
Ki—…
The next moment Ichigo's brain decided to start functioning semi-normally found her walking down a mercifully empty street, clutching her books to her chest in a near-desperate vice grip, eyes still wide, still swimming with the same deep, nearly frightening confusion that had entered them the moment the bright fuchsia of the first petal had caught their gaze.
Why in all hell had he done this? Why not just drop in for a silly kiss and be done with her? Why… why go through such trouble?
And she knew it had been him, too, because she had been expecting it, dreading it, all morning, and all afternoon, anticipating something dramatic, something irrepressible, something that she wouldn't be able to look away from, to ignore…
And those flowers… those utterly wild, bold flowers, each one unique in shape and color, with petals just a little different from the next, a shade apart from its neighbors…
The more she thought about those beautifully fragrant jewels, the more she couldn't avoid his name…
Because he had been the one, not her boyfriend, not…
Ah, Ichigo tried to shake her head, tried to dislodge, unseat, this disloyal little reminder, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't shy away from it.
She couldn't replace it with a dismissive Stupid, can't-take-no-for-an-answer alien baka, or even an angry mental snarl.
Those flowers… they had been too goddamn gorgeous…
Ichigo looked up as a passing car broke into her thoughts for a moment, only to sigh a few seconds later as mental images of those blossoms assaulted her yet again, firmly destroying any hope of enjoying the day as she had been hoping to.
Heck, she had even turned Aoyama down for an afternoon walk, so profound was her unease, her near-nauseating distress.
"Mou…"
Her frustrated grumble seemed overly-loud in the relative quiet of the side-street as she stopped to stomp a foot in childish exasperation, leaning back against a tree trunk and staring at the ground with sudden anger, anger that was habitual and familiar, anger that often flared up whenever his name came to her.
Yet…
With that anger came a wave of such intense confusion, that Ichigo's grumble nearly turned into a short, soft sob. She couldn't forget those colors… at this point, as she took a deep breath, she almost choked, because she swore she could smell that exquisite blend of wild fragrances…
And the more she tried to fight the confusion with anger, the more she thought of those blooms, and the others, and the delicate sweets, and how all of these gifts (Gifts, she thought with a nervous, almost frightened swallow) would never be associated with Aoyama, the more this persistent confusion grew, until the girl gave a trembling sigh and finally, mercifully, managed just one somewhat comforting thought:
At least he hasn't—
Unfortunately for her, this little thought acted as the stereotypical jinx of a trigger.
Anyone could guess precisely what happened next.
"So, didja like 'em?"
Ichigo didn't even have to look up; the same feeling of anxiety that had dominated her day swiftly told her exactly what her eyes would meet: a smirking Kisshu, hands jauntily folded over his chest, eyes sparkling with a teasing amusement that made their golden irises seem even brighter than usual as he calmly levitated down to stand some ways before her. Instinctively, the girl pressed herself back against the tree, even as she remained strangely devoid of the usual fear his rather predatory gazes often inspired.
The boy gave her a slight grin as he approached slowly, drawing out every tense second in that languid way of his, always as calm and collected as she was radically distressed, now nearly close enough to reach out and run a finger across her cheek…
The closeness registered very suddenly in Ichigo's racing mind, and she latched onto the first reaction her body gave her.
"G-get away from me, you…" she stuttered, trailing off as she struggled to retain her footing, jerking away from the tree and backing away from Kisshu as slowly as he came towards her, blinking at her response, seeming almost comically surprised by it.
"Ne…what's wrong, koneko-chan? I thought I was right on time..." he ended by cocking his head to the side, grin widening slightly as he continued his slow walk.
The odd thing was that she didn't reach for her transformation charm this time. The girl didn't even think about it like she had in her room all those days ago, in spite of its perfect accessibility around her neck. That idea seemed too far away to touch, just like the anger she knew she should have been feeling, the anger that was absent.
For as she kept her wide-eyed gaze on him, she realized that that strange look, that almost out-of-place softness was there, hidden behind the mischief in his eyes, just like when he had given her those roses. Even has he chuckled at her as he always did, voice tinged with a near-cruel mirth, she could see that glint. She could see how his movements were somehow muted, not as quick and sharp as they were in battle, or as when he flew in to steal a quick kiss from her unsuspecting lips.
As the alien closed the distance between them, Ichigo couldn't avoid thoughts that would have been perfectly normal and commonplace had they concerned someone, anyone, else, but were distressing, somehow frantic, when pertaining to him:
He did remember… how, or why… but he did…
She had expected it, somehow, but the more she dwelled upon it, the more bizarre it became, the fact that he had remembered, had remembered so well, with such intent…
And he didn't have to…
Those flowers… what in the world would her mother say about those wildflowers? If she had thought two dozen roses unique… And actually, as Ichigo's mind focused its nervous attention on those flowers, she realized that the only way he could have found such fresh, colorful blossoms, each so different and vivid, was to avoid the stores and find them… himself?
Did… did he actually…?
Without a reminder, without dropping in for an unwelcome kiss, without anything, really, he had somehow found those dozens of flowers, arranged them in her locker, all without any prodding from her, in fact, with more discouragement than anything else, he had apparently gone through all of this trouble, trouble that Aoyama, while charming and sweet with his chocolates, probably would have never dreamed of going through.
What was more, she had given him nothing. He had, admittedly by mistake, taken her role a month ago, yet he had still fulfilled his today with no expectation from her, no encouragement, no nothing. The boy couldn't even really hope for any gratitude on her part, could he? Of course not… not now, not then, even after he had…
And before, right before he left…
The kiss suddenly came to mind, that kiss that had stunned her with its feathery touch, with its uniqueness among most of his bold demonstrations.
He had had that same look in his eyes, right before that kiss, that same look, a look she might have classified as hurt, almost, had its owner not been Kisshu.
Because that was impossible, wasn't it?
As impossible as…
…as those first roses? As this second gift? But they certainly existed… Ichigo wouldn't be able to rid her locker of the scent for at least a week…
Did that mean…?
Ichigo gasped, not only because of this alarming turn in her train of thought, but because her focus on these thoughts had been so deep, she had managed to overlook how close Kisshu was getting with each smooth, graceful step.
He was so close, she couldn't see past his great golden eyes, eyes that were glowing slightly, she couldn't guess why, but with that glow, they seemed all the more captivating, inviting. With that glow, she found it impossible to look away, and those thoughts rang truer than ever:
He didn't have to.
How did he find so many?
Why did he remember?
Why hasn't he grabbed me yet?
What is that, in his eyes…?
"Ichigo? Oi, you still there, koneko-chan?"
She started, actually jumped at the cadence of his voice. In spite of its ever-jovial tone, it somehow went along with that look in his eyes…it sounded… just a tinge worried? Saddened? Could such things run underneath that impishness that was so Kisshu?
Desperately trying to shake the thought, just like that near-month ago, she gathered as much indignant strength as she could muster and forced her voice out of a nervously constricted throat.
"I told you… I t-told you go get away, Kisshu…"
The words were there, and her face finally twisted itself into a scowl, but as soon as she spoke, she knew that the anger wasn't there. There was too much doubt, too much confusion, too much of that strangeness in his yellow-gold cat's eyes...
And she knew it even more when a pang of something struck her as his smirk weakened just slightly, so slightly that had he not positioned himself so very close to her, she wouldn't have seen it at all.
It amazed her, still, that she did notice it, considering everything.
Further more, it amazed her how it was paralyzing her…
As she stared back at the boy, unconsciously holding her breath in anticipation of some sort of reaction, her heart jumped when she thought she saw that dullness deepen, strengthen, at her obvious anxiety…
A blink later, she couldn't believe her ears. At first, she thought her stress was confusing her, but no:
"I could kiss you right now, you know that?"
Of course. There it was.
It must have been her imagination, all of it, from back then to now. That expression was a stupid figment, that brush of the lips an anomaly, and here came the unyielding kiss that would steal her breath and leave her shaking and screaming and furious with herself for letting him go this far, for falling for this…
"But that wouldn't really be in the holiday spirit, ne?"
She didn't know what bemused her more: his words, the rather funny thoughtful pose he assumed as he spoke them, or the sight of him starting to turn around, to walk away…
"You don't have to keep the flowers in water. Pai fixed that," he continued.
He didn't have to…
"He's good with genes and stuff, you know?"
…do all of that…
"But you can, if you…"
What is he talking about? Is he trying to…
"…want to. Those purple ones would probably look good…"
…hide…
"…right…"
...his…
"…on…"
…but that can't…
"…your—"
"Kisshu."
He stopped, turned, watched as she swallowed and, wearing a look of determination he had seen only when she had been avoiding him, marched straight up to him.
And clenched her slightly-trembling fists.
And closed her eyes…
…right before leaning in, quick as he could ever hope to be, to peck him straight on his lips.
Needless to say, even the birds were quiet for the next few seconds as alien stared at a rapidly breathing, fiercely blushing girl.
It took those few seconds for Ichigo to accustom herself to the plainly shocked expression on the boy's face, to the foreign feel of her lips intentionally touching his… and to the abrupt thought that that peck hadn't killed her. Here she was, still breathing, still listening to her blood pounding in her reddened ears, still Ichigo…
Of course, being Ichigo, she strove to break the awkwardness as swiftly as possible. With a sudden huff, she forced defiance into her expression.
"Happy now?"
She prayed, even as his ongoing stare made her want to squirm, that she sounded convincing.
For a few moments, she actually began to believe that she had triumphed, that she had beat the smug little alien, that she could even trick herself into believing in the disgust she was desperately trying to cultivate within her.
And then Kisshu's own paralysis broke, and he did what somehow shocked her under current circumstances.
He returned the peck with a slightly longer one of his own.
Then, under her new wide-eyed stare, he resumed his grin…
"Yup."
…and vanished, leaving a frozen Ichigo behind.
She didn't remain frozen for long. Within seconds, a frustrated squeal pierced the air, and an emotional, pouting cat-girl resumed her way home with three new thoughts occupying her frenzied mind:
One: There went forgetting that look. There went forgetting. Period.
Two: This was going to take one hell of a date with Aoyama to fix (If it would ever be fi… Ack. Avoid that thought…).
And three: Where would those purple ones look best…?
AN: Huh. Weird ending. Ah well. Excuse the crappiness. It was a quick-write. Other than that, review if you can! Wow… actually finished this before midnight… Hehe. Ah, and I apologize for grammatical errors and typos and the like. They'll be fixed. Right now, calculus calls. Unfortunately. Night!