It Is My Love That Speaks…
Here's a little plot bunny that started to bother me, and figured it would be good to write about. Still practicing with writing, since I'm still fairly new… but this worked as a good little character study. Special thanks to QuelZune for beta reading!
(I also don't own Bleach, or the works of William Shakespeare.)
How was he going to say it?
He wasn't an entirely tactless person, but he wasn't the best at certain social situations. Areas that involved emotions, thoughts, feelings- he suddenly became awkward and timid, uncomfortable and embarrassed, when it came time to talk about such things. He'd swallow, a lump forming in his throat as he fought the unsettling feeling in his stomach, feeling as nervous as if he was giving a speech in front of the entire world. Though that's what it felt like- millions of people all focused on him, hanging on his every word, watching him. They didn't matter, though. At least, not in his mind.
No. What really mattered was her. What only mattered was what she would think, how she would react. It meant the world to him. That was why, however he said it, he had to put it perfectly. The phrasing had to be perfect. The feeling and emotion he felt had to be expressed through the words. It had to sound just right.
That led him to his previous question; How was he going to say it?
It was something that needed a great deal of thought put into it. The feeling and emotion was there, he knew; otherwise he wouldn't be in that predicament. How could he show through simple words how he felt for her? He wasn't an expert when it came to the 'mushy' feelings. He avoided the soap operas the rest of his family enjoyed like the plague. He scoffed at the girly romance mangas the girls read at school. He rolled his eyes during the cheesy romance scenes in movies.
Now, ironically, he wished he'd paid a bit more attention.
How was he going to say it?
He didn't want to be cheesy, for fear she might not take him seriously and ruin his opportunity forever. He didn't want it to be lacking, either, without truly expressing what he felt.
He settled in his seat, leaning over his desk. The blank notebook page lay there in front of him, void and empty, awaiting him to begin his task. He started with the first line that came to mind.
'Hey there… well, I know we've gotten close over the past year… and I know that we're good friends, but-'
He scowled, quickly scribbling out the sentence. It was too awkward and hesitant, too casual as well.
'Okay, I know really have an easy way to say this, but-'
He shook his head, letting out a frustrated growl as he did so.
'The truth is, I really-'
Wrong… it just sounded wrong.
'Listen. I know this may sound a little hard to believe-'
Wrong! Still wrong! He gave a frustrated sigh, running his hand down his face. He had to focus. It was stupid, really. Declarations of feelings? He never liked all that mushy stuff. It was silly. Dumb. A waste of time.
His mind continued to yell at himself, at the absurditiy of what he was trying to do. What had posessed him to even think about such a thing, anway? Some of his crazy Shinigami friends were rubbing off on him, apparently.
He gave a sigh, leaning back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. His eyes wondered around the room, trying to forget about the task at hand. A collection of books on his shelf caught his attention, with their golden printed titles matching each other, a slight layer of dust covering them. He picked one up, the name reading "Hamlet" on the spine. Shakespear was a man he'd always respected, even if his work was pretty mushy and too dramatic at times. He could never be open about it, though. He could just imagine Mizurio and Keigo laughing viciously at him, continually bringing it up clear past graduation.
Still, something about Shakespeare's work seemed to draw him in, though he could barely admit that to himself.
He flipped through the pages, going through, just because he was curious. He was not, of course, looking for any lines that would help him express his feelings for someone he cared for. Who would do that, anyway?
He flipped through the plays and sonnets, passing fight scenes and dramatic deaths. He went on to see the forbidden love of Romeo and Juliet, then onto the promising, yet forsaken relationship between Hamlet and Ophelia; Lysander and Hermia; Caesar and Calpurnia. All very different, yet there was one thing that seemed to be linking them together.
Outwardly he scoffed at them, writing off their troubles as overexaggereated and unrealistic. They were all high on drama to make a good story. Romances like that don't really exist, where one has to literally fight to protect the one he loves, or keep up a relationship from a distance, with different families that forbid a marriage without concrete reason. Nobles were all but gone, as were their strict ways of life and rules of marriage and relationships.
So, clearly, there was no point in declaring his feelings outloud. No one did that, anyways.
Though, if he did do something as crazy and pointless as that, he would probably take it from Shakespeare, as he seemed to be far better with words and mushy feelings then he was.
He looked back down at his paper, with his previous attempts marring the purity of the sheet. He ripped the page out, took care to crumple it up adequately before tossing it in the trash bin, and gazed down at the fresh page that now lay before him. Because, if he was into declaring his feelings, he would probably say something like…
'Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you shall one
day find it.'
He frowned, realizing it would fit more as a goodbye letter rather then a confession done in person.
'I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.'
It certainly described the way he felt- it was a weight he carried with him everyday, dominating his thoughts and dreams, driving himself to think of her the more time they spent together. But would it work? He didn't think so. That is, if he was the sort of guy to put his feelings in poetry like that. But, since he wasn't, it didn't really matter, of course.
'I love thee, and it is my love that speaks…'
Hey… that wasn't so bad.. those could almost work, really…
Slowly, words began to assemble themselves in his head. He didn't ponder them carefully, didn't plan them out with precision or particularly great care. They flowed out of him directly onto the page, and his hand struggled to keep up with it. Only a moment later he was done, with what would be his confession outlined before him, proudly displayed, ready for his use.
Seconds thoughts invaded his mind. What was he doing, exactly? Was he seriously thinking about saying that, not only outloud, but to her, to declare his feelings, of all things?! Shakespeare- it was outdated, dramatic… cheesy! She'd just laugh at him, or hit him over the head, thinking he was mocking her.
Suddenly, the door to his room opened, the hinges squeaking slightly. He stood quickly from his desk, holding the notebook slightly behind him, appearing to look casual, though hints of panic showed in his posture.
It was then when she entered, her light footsteps bringing her into the room. Her face held the same look as it usually did, with a small frown on her face as she looked at him, authority radiating off of her. He looked at her eyes, getting caught in the stare, as Rukia simply stood there, oblivious to his awkwardness, entirely unaware he was suddenly on stage with a million eyes upon him. His heartbeat grew louder, his stomach was in knots, and he swallowed, readying himself for the main event that could very well change his life in ways he could only imagine. Ichigo cleared his throat, shifting his weight to the other foot, and cast his eyes down at the paper he held before him, and with every ounce of courage he could muster, said:
"I…" She watched him carefully, patiently waiting for him…
"… need to get something to eat." He shuffled quickly past her, heading out the door. He slapped himself lightly on the head, mentally cursing himself all the while.
Oh, well. There was always next week.