Hello everyone! I'm back and potentially angstier than ever! Ugh. I've been reading too much Edgar Allan Poe; it's made my writing angstier then usual. This one is pretty average, in my opinion. Definitely not my best, but probably not my worst. It starts off okay, but as usual, I'm not happy with the ending. This was requested by Lunacat13, for her fic The twenty five nicest thing a guy can do. Here's the link: ... I can't figure out how too put it in here. Please visit my profile for the link!
"Rukia!" Ichigo yelled, fist knocking against the thick wood of her door. Frost swirled in the air, columns of smoke tumbling like dragon's breath from the young man's chapped lips. What kind of sick jerk left their boyfriend standing out in the cold in the middle of January?
The angry kind, he thought to himself, frown deepening more than usual. Ichigo grunted, shifted his weight from foot to foot, blew into his hand to restore some form of circulation, knocked on the door again. "Damn it Rukia! I'm sorry, all right?! Will you let me in now? I'm freezing my ass off out here!"
Rukia stuck her head out of the second story window, dark hair blending in flawlessly with the chill night air. "Good! You can just stay out there and freeze to death for all I care! Asshole!" She pulled her head back in, slamming the window shut behind her.
Ichigo sighed. Why was he doing this? What happened wasn't even his fault. Why was he here, bearing gifts of Chinese food and grovelling, when she should be the one crawling back to him, begging him too take her back? Damned if he knew.
Fricken Renji. He's right; I really am whipped. Raising his fist, Ichigo knocked against the door once more. "Rukia…" he whined, "Let me in. Please? I wanna talk to you." He rested his suddenly heavy head against the doorframe. "Please…. just let me in."
A jingling of locks, the sharp crack of frozen wood: the door opened. There was Rukia, lavender eyes hard, arms crossed over her chest. A deep purple turtleneck hugged her thin frame, protecting her from the freezing winter night. A thin silver chain hung from her neck; a tiny snowflake pendant dangling from it.
A thin smile spread across Ichigo's face. "You're still wearing that thing? Guess you're not as mad as you said you were. As I recall, you told me you were going to melt it." He stepped into the house, sighing as the warm air billowed about his lean frame. Much better.
The door snapped shut behind him. "The only reason you're here is because you have food, Kurosaki. Don't think for a second I'm pleased too see you." Rukia spat as she flounced off into the living room.
Ichigo sighed, unwinding the thick scarf from around his neck. Time hadn't mellowed out her temper, evidently. He set down the food, yanking his bomber jacket from his shoulders. Fine. Let her be mad. At least she had let him in the house this time.
Something warm brushed against Ichigo's jean clad leg, making him jump in surprise. He glanced down and smiled softly. Rukia's cat was winding in between his legs, piercing blue eyes staring up at him imploringly. "Mew." Ichigo bent down, scooping the cat into one arm.
"At least you still love me," he muttered, glancing at the mirror. He was dressed similarly to Rukia: a steel gray sweater hugging his frame tightly, a pair of dark jeans. It offset his flaming hair nicely, if he did say so himself. Finally, he grabbed the food and walked into her living room.
It was very nice, if sparsely furnished. A large crème coloured couch here, a flat screen TV there. Rukia was currently sitting in the crook of the crème sectional, a cup of steaming tea grasped firmly in her hands. Cold eyes stared across its rim, tracking Ichigo's every move. He noticed her watching and grinned.
"See, Rukia? Not everyone hates me. Chappy here still loves me, isn't that right?" He gestured to the cat, which was curled up in Ichigo's lap. Chappy looked at Rukia, flicking the tip of her tail too and fro. Rukia scowled.
"Of course she loves you; Chappy loves everyone, which unfortunately encompasses you." Rukia took a gulp of tea, making a point of staring out the huge window instead of the man sitting three feet away from her. And not looking at the food. That was key. She couldn't acknowledge it's existence. Even if it did smell heavenly. Ichigo noticed her intentional ignorance of the food and sighed.
"Will you just eat the damn food, Rukia? It's probably freezing by now." She didn't look at him, choosing instead to run her fingers over the pendant around her neck. Ichigo rolled his eyes in exasperation. "The food was the reason you let me in here, ya know. You could at least eat it; make it look like it was your actual reason for letting me in here."
That did it. Rukia sprang up, slamming the coffee mug onto the table. Her eyes were blazing with lilac fire. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell do you keep showing up here every Sunday! I told you to leave me alone! I don't want too see you again in my life!" She screamed.
Ichigo remained silent, inwardly shrinking back from her tirade. This was necessary. He had to let her ride out her anger, had to let her have her say, before she would listen to him again.
Rukia ran a trembling hand through her mussed up hair, tears threatening too spill down her face. She shook her head before speaking again. "I don't know why the hell I let you in here, Kurosaki, but you sure as hell won't be coming back."
Ichigo continued to wait, trying too look impassive. In reality her words were ripping him too shreds, tearing his soul into pieces too small to ever stitch back together.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, amber eyes hooded and downward cast, staring intently at the floor. Ichigo lifted his head a little, looking at her in a forlorn manner.
Rukia shook her head rapidly, fingers tracing over the delicate silver of her pendant. It was a nervous habit of hers. "No," she spat, lavender eyes narrowed to cat-like slits. "You don't get too say you're sorry. You don't get the chance too try and justify yourself, you revolting bastard!"
Screw it. Acting humble never seemed too work with Rukia; she was far too proud for that routine too ever work. He should know this: Ichigo had both been the giver of this act, as well as the observer of others acting this part in their earlier years. It had never worked. Ichigo bolted up, brown eyes flashing with an inner fire that more than matched hers. "You know what? I don't even know why the fuck I've been bothering with you all this time. I come by here every Sunday for the past six weeks, with fresh Chinese food for you, and you don't even give me a chance to explain what happened!"
"I don't want too hear you're excuses!" Rukia fired back. She marched right up too him, screaming in his face. "I know what happened and I know why! I'm not blind!"
"No, but you sure seem too be deaf!" Ichigo retorted. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her just the littlest bit. "I'm trying to tell you what really happened, but you're so fuckin' mad that you won't listen. You've already decided what happened, so you don't want to listen to me." He stepped back, shaking his head slowly. "Do you actually think I would do that too you? After all that's happened?"
Rukia drew her arms around herself, tears starting too pull free of her eyes. She shook her head slightly. Ichigo let out a long sigh. He walked over and wrapped his arms about her trembling frame.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, running his hand through her hair. "I'm so sorry, Rukia. You know I didn't mean for that to happen." Rukia nodded fitfully against his chest, tears bleeding into the thick fabric of his sweater.
"I know," she stuttered "but I couldn't help it. It made me think of what's going too happen eventually, Ichigo." Rukia looked up at him shaking her head. "I don't want to have to think about it yet."
They had found out about it years ago, when they were both fifteen. Rukia had been living with her adoptive older brother, Byakuya, when they were told. Rukia's entire family had been riddled with cancer; the average age of death was thirty-two. Both of Rukia's parents had succumbed in their twenties, leaving behind their two young daughters. Hisana had not lived much longer then her parents, expiring at age twenty-five. She had developed breast cancer at age twenty-three, leaving behind nothing more than a wish to her husband too look after her younger sister.
Rukia had gone for testing once a year, always coming back with hazy results. The last test she went to came back with signs of pancreatic cancer. That was three years ago. Three years later, she was still alive, but declining slowly, so slowly it was hard to notice until another disaster struck.
Ichigo hugged her tighter. "I'm sorry," he repeated, not sure just what he was apologizing for. He reached down, gently taking hold of her necklace. He smirked a little bit. "Are you ever going to take this off?"
Rukia laughed, pushing away from him and wiping her eyes. "Of course not, idiot. It's my good luck charm, remember? If I take it off I'll get sick again. I believe you were the one who said that." She flopped onto the couch, pulling Chappy onto her lap. After a moment Rukia raised an eyebrow. "Well? Aren't you going too dish out the food?"
Ichigo rolled his eyes and smiled as he went too find the plates. No matter what would happen, or what had happened, she always understood eventually. Hopefully, she would always be around to understand.