Ever since Ichigo started medical school, the apartment was much too quiet. Naturally, every morning, before he left to school, the two would bicker over the smallest things because that was how their relationship worked. If the couple didn't have their trivial banters, both would immediately sense something was wrong. However, no matter how productive her day would be, the morning banters just weren't enough.
They had their banters. It also wasn't a matter of lack of quality time because when he'd come home, exhausted and mentally drained, she'd gladly have him fall asleep on her lap. She'd gladly help him study even though she didn't comprehend majority of the content. She'd gladly leave him alone to his devices when it came to reviewing case files of certain patients he was assigned. She'd gladly pull a blanket over him whenever he fell asleep on the couch, leaving her alone in their bedroom.
Perhaps it wasn't the most ideal way to spend time with your partner, but they discussed about the potentiality of this routine occurring. Ichigo had been unsure of attending medical school solely because he wouldn't get to spend time with her as much, which she quickly rebuffed as insignificant.
It still was. She didn't want to let something that can be easily overcome get in the way of his passion. Besides his safety, his happiness was a priority. She'd gladly allow just a bit more loneliness inside of her for the sake of his happiness. It wasn't a discussion.
As she watched some mindless late-night sitcom in the living room, Rukia's eyes glanced over to the clock hanging above the television.
He was thirty minutes late — and without a phone call informing her he'd be late.
Ichigo wasn't punctual, and he certainly was forgetful. However, he did promise her a phone call or at least a text message.
Stop it, she mentally reprimanded herself. He's a medical student. What more when he actually becomes a doctor?
Her worries escalated when thirty minutes turned into almost two hours. She began imagining worst case scenarios such as him getting jumped in the alleyway, but she dismissed the thought because she knew he could handle himself what with his track record with gangsters in high school. She wondered if he fainted because he tended to skip a few meals, but then the hospital he was interning at would call her immediately since she was listed as an emergency contact.
Her hand tightened around her phone.
Unfortunately Rukia cannot call or text him. He'd get in trouble because they'd find out he was keeping his phone in his pocket. Surely he could put the phone on silent, but it was difficult to remember to check for messages since events there could get hectic.
She was debating heading over to the hospital when she heard the sounds of keys falling and a hissed curse outside the apartment door. She threw the blanket to the ground and jumped off the sofa, almost slipping since her feet were clad in fuzzy Chappy socks.
Ichigo's hair was in a disarray, and the handle of his duffle bag was hanging precariously off the edge of his shoulder. The binder he was carrying was filled with stacks of manila folders which were filled with what she assumed were notes and case files.
He was bending at an awkward angle to retrieve his keys, and she sighed, bending down as well to get them.
Her boyfriend's head snapped up at the appearance of another hand, and his frantic eyes softened a tad.
"Shit, Rukia," he muttered. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was gonna call, but I realised I left my phone in the locker. I was trying to finish up my rounds, but then there was an emergency — some asshole jumped a guy and broke his arm. Turns out the patient was also an asshole 'cause he kept — "
Rukia grasped onto his wrist and pulled him upwards. "Ichigo, it's two in the morning, and we shouldn't be talking about this outside our own home," she said softly, smiling amusedly at his panicky state. It was rare to see him lose his cool this way other than when he was angry.
He nodded and mumbled a string of curses underneath his breath, following her inside the apartment. Once he closed the door, he headed straight for the coffee table and all but dumped his belongings on it. He collapsed on the couch and let out breath, exhaustion prevalent on his scowling face.
Rukia stood in front of him, coffee table between them, and asked, "You want me to run you a warm bath?"
His eyes were closed, head resting on the couch. "Nah, gotta study for a bit and aim for three hours of sleep."
She furrowed her eyebrows. "Wait, you're still coming in tomorrow?"
"Today," he corrected. "Same time."
"But … you just got home."
"I know, but it's not like situations like that are going to get in the way of work. 'Sides, we've got a practical exam in three — fuck, two days?" He sighed heavily and rubbed his hands down his face.
Her throat felt clogged, and she tried swallowing to get rid of the feeling.
"Just five minutes in the bath," she hedged, her tone attempting to seem calm. "I'll even join you."
This time, Ichigo slumped over, elbows on his lap, and back hunched. His auburn eyes regarded her tiredly and sadly.
"That's not fair. You know I like baths with you." He smirked slightly.
She smiled in response and held out her hand. "Then c'mon." She almost said "please."
The smirk disappeared, and for some reason, he looked way older than he actually was.
"Next time, Rukia. I've got tons of shit to do, all right?"
Her jaw became taut, and she stared at him for a while silently before nodding once.
"Fine. But you're not sleeping in our bed with me because you reek of work. Sleep on the couch." Bitterly, she added, "It's not like you don't every single night."
As she was walking away, Ichigo sighed. "Rukia, don't be like that. Just — shit, let's talk. I don't wanna sleep like this."
She continued walking, resolutely ignoring him.
After that night, the routine changed slightly.
During breakfast, she cooked her meal and he cooked his. She attempted to spend the day remaining productive and helping out her older brother with any business ventures the family company had going on. She met up with a manga artist to check their progress and set up a date for editing. Whenever Ichigo came home, she left the living room so he could study and work on his case files.
What remained the same was that he slept on the couch, and she had the room all to herself.
It went on for four days. Rukia knew she was the instigator, but she didn't understand why Ichigo was allowing it to happen. Admittedly, her behaviour, although understandable, was unreasonable given the fact that she didn't explain her behavior towards him that night. She knew that she depended on him to read between the lines since he knew her the most out of everyone she loves and cares about, but that wasn't right.
They had discussed the ramifications of him attending medical school. She had promised him that although they wouldn't get to spend time with one another as much as they used to, everything would keep going as planned. He had returned the promise with determination shining in his auburn eyes. They had known what was to come, but she supposed she wasn't ready for it. He was, but she wasn't.
She was ready for the future. That was how she was — she thought about the long run. Ichigo's future was shining so brightly, so vividly, that the decision was so easy, that the sacrifices were so easy to make.
Although the two of them weren't speaking right now, she did not regret helping him achieve his dreams. He deserved it after all the trials and tribulations he faced growing up. He deserved happiness.
As she laid in bed, the rays of light shining through the curtains beckoning her to get up and start the day, she realised that safety and happiness weren't the only things he needed. They needed.
After lamenting in bed, upon arriving in the kitchen, her eyebrows went up in surprise. The table was set with two plates laid out perfectly. Ichigo was devouring the other casually, but she noticed him pause in his chewing when she sat down on her chair.
"You're actually sitting down and eating your food," Rukia mentioned, taking a sip of juice.
She felt his eyes on her when he answered, "There's no rush." When she continued to not return his gaze, he called her, "Rukia."
Setting the glass down, Rukia willed herself to look at him. She almost crumpled at the sight of his sad eyes. They reminded her of that time every year in June, silently standing before a grave.
"I'm sorry, Ichigo," Rukia apologized.
He remained quiet and waited for her to continue. This signified his growth tremendously — he was a far cry from the brash teenager she met years ago.
She licked her lips and continued, "I just … missed you." She looked at him from underneath her lashes. "I just wanted to have at least a few minutes with you. I mean, I know you're busy, and I know we've discussed that this is going to happen and that it's going to be difficult. I've been lecturing myself for acting like such an unreasonable bitch because you don't deserve this. You come home tired, and you've probably seen things you have trouble divulging to me because you don't want to cast such a burden on me, which is foolish, all right? And I was doing fine, but it just got lonelier and lonelier, and — " She paused to wipe the tears flooding her eyes. "Ichigo, I'm sorry because I just missed you so damn much … "
Large, warm calloused hands clutched her right one firmly. His eyes shot straight through her bloodshot ones.
"I missed you, too," he whispered, smiling so handsomely. "And I'm sorry, too. I could've come home earlier, and we could've spent more time together, but the truth is … I've been taking more patients than planned.
"You've sacrificed a lot for me in the past, and you've had to deal with the constant glares your asshole family gives you every time I accompany you to Byakuya's dinner parties. When I got into medical school, you were so happy for me, and you believed in me so much. I just … I didn't want to disappoint you, you know? I'm a competitive little shit, and you've always seen the best in me and that, I dunno, pushed me to take on more than I could handle, I guess."
The pair was silent once again, but this time, it was to soak in the unsaid words that needed to be said.
"We just want each other to be happy, right?" Rukia clarified.
He nodded. "Yeah, definitely. Are you happy?"
She smiled. "Of course. But that's not all we need for this to work. We've been through a lot together, and it took us a while to realise what's been in front of us. We got together knowing that it was going to be difficult but also knowing that we'd be the happiest we could be."
"Just like now, huh?"
"Just like now. We can do it. We're happy, but we just have to believe that we can do this. I trust you, and you trust me."
Ichigo squeezed her hand. "Hell yeah, we got this."
He grabbed the leg of her chair to pull her closer at the same time he scooted his chair over to her. His nose traced the edge of her jaw, and he inhaled her scent. His lips tickled her skin slightly, and she revelled at the feeling.
"And this shit is nothing compared to what your brother did to us."
Rukia scoffed, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. "He apologized, Ichigo. Get over it."
"I am over it. I'm just not gonna forget the time he locked you in your room, and I fucking scaled that big-ass mansion to get to your window."
"Out of all things to remember … Dumbass, it was your fault you mixed up Brother's room with mine."
"I almost fell and died, shorty."
She pinched his side. "Well, you didn't, strawberry."
His hands stroked down from her waist and to her thighs, long fingers teasingly placed at the hem of her pajama shorts.
Rukia recalled every single event that led up to this moment. She remembered how easily Ichigo's family accepted her and how harshly her family didn't. She remembered the pain, rejection, loneliness, and despair, but she mostly remembered how they both overcame that despair individually and together.
"Yeah," she whispered, "this is nothing."
— for this week's Deathberry 100 drabble theme: "Faith"
(This is my very first IchiRuki fanfiction. I deleted the other one, but the past is the past.)
Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.