A one-shot that tries to be romantic and might/might not succeed. Hope you enjoy either way.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach - I only wish I did.
Dawnlight
Ishida in running shorts and sneakers is not what she expected to see in the moonlight. He is scrawny and sweating, obviously caught in the middle of some private indulgence she was never meant to see.
Too bad. He's been running past her house for the past two weeks, the sound of his snapping footsteps waking her up at three every morning, and Tatsuki is sick and tired of it.
"What are you doing out here, Ishida?" she grumbles. The air outside her house is sharp and brittle, cold. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to squint the drowsiness from her eyes. "Do you know how freakin' late it is?"
"Early." Something like amusement tugs at the corners of Ishida's mouth when she glares at him in confusion. "It's three o'clock, a.m. Technically it is very early, not late."
She stares at him for a moment, disbelieving. Maybe she's dreaming. Dreaming of snarky Ishida in navy blue running shorts of all things, standing outside her house where she waited for him, knowing he'd come running by, and he did, dammit, and it's way too late — early for this.
"You're an ass," she decides, turning on her heel to go back inside, "and I don't wanna know."
Tatsuki closes the front door behind her as quietly as she can and starts up the stairs, heading for her bedroom. Her feet stop halfway up and take her back down to the living room, to peel a curtain away from a window and watch Ishida stand uncertainly in the cold, like a stray locked out of the house that once gave him food and water. He turns, runs, the moon coating him in silver and it's only when she sees how breakable he looks in the night that she's sure this is not a dream.
X
In daylight, everything about Ishida is too quiet and pale. He reminds Tatsuki of a child's doll she once saw in the gutter, bleached by the sun and rain, as if all its color had leaked into the concrete and never come back. He looks like ice and loneliness and silver breath in the night. When she notices the dark smudges beneath his eyes her stomach clenches, because it's like seeing the bullies gang up on Orihime all over again. Only, this time they're hidden somewhere behind the shadows in Ishida's face, where even her fists cannot reach.
At school, during a break, she seeks him out.
"Hey," Tatsuki says. Ishida does not look surprised to see her; it seems as though nothing surprises him anymore.
"Hello, Arisawa-san. Did you need something?"
Such a jerk, she thinks, but plops herself in the seat next to him. Ah, there: the surprise she was looking for. Even an annoyed little wrinkle between those dark eyes—bonus!
"Just wanted to check up on ya. You don't look like you've been sleeping."
Ishida's face twists like an accordion, caught somewhere between go away and I don't know what you're talking about. "I have a lot on my mind," he says evasively. Behind his skinny-upset lips are these words: please stop talking. Please look away.
"Huh."
Much too quiet.
X
The next time she waits for him, it is two days later and she shifts her weight from foot to foot under the half-moon. Ishida spots her as soon as he turns the corner. His face says he wants to keep on running, wants to sprint right past her and fake a moment of blindness, but his feet slow, smack-smack on the pavement, until he's standing right in front of her, a little too close. A little too cold for comfort.
"Come on." Tatsuki turns and steps back into her house, knowing he'll follow her before he does. There is a certain satisfaction in hearing his soft movements behind her. She will never admit it out loud, but she has something of a weak spot for helping people who need it.
And Ishida needs it. Desperately. She sees it in the shiver running through his thin shoulders, in the endless blue-black of his eyes, in the way he stares at the bowl of soup she drops in his hands. As if he's never been dragged out of the cold and given something warm to cup between his shaking fingers.
"Go on, eat it," Tatsuki says. She gives his shoulder a slight push, motioning him toward the couch. Ishida sits stiffly and takes the spoon she offers, but still makes no move to eat, though she doesn't miss the way he presses his hands close against the warm bowl.
"It's edible, if that's what you're worried about," Tatsuki adds dryly. "I can cook just fine."
"Ah — it's not that, Arisawa-san."
Ishida frowns and looks into his soup, and because she can see the question written in the wrinkle between his eyebrows, she says, "If you're gonna ask why I'm doing this, be ready for a fist in your gut. You wake me up every morning with your little jogs. The least you can do is tell me if my soup's any good."
She can't remember the last time she heard him chuckle. He does, and the sound is rusted and sore with disuse but Tatsuki doesn't mind. It's actually kind of nice.
"I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience," he begins. She shushes him with a wave of her hand and tells him to eat.
Ishida dips the spoon into the soup and brings it to his mouth. Tatsuki stands with her arms folded across her abdomen, watching his cheeks flush with warmth, slowly. Something eases in her chest.
"It's good," he says quietly, and nothing more, but that's all she needed to hear.
X
They stand together, as is often the case nowadays, but today they are doing something different. Today they are watching a hospital.
Tatsuki does not know why. She followed Ishida after school, tailing him in the gold-orange sunlight, mirroring his shadow's steps with her own. Of course, he knew she was there; it wouldn't have made a difference if she walked by his side instead of a short distance away. But something about Ishida requires distance. Something about him is always distant, always far away. Tatsuki thinks it would be this way even if she were pressed flush against him, even if they were so close they could hardly breathe.
(But that's such a stupid, embarrassing thought and she did not just think that, just forget about it — it never happened —)
She follows, close but not too close, until his unhurried pace leads him to a hospital. And here he stands, staring up and up the gleaming windows, while she wonders at him from five feet away.
"What are you running from? At night, when you come by my house?"
Tatsuki knows he's running from something. Everyone is. Deep inside, everyone flees. A regret, a nightmare, a desire.
Ishida shrugs and mutters something under his breath, not meant for her ears, but she catches it anyway and it sounds a lot like everything. She knows. She knows just what that feels like, so she stays with him, watching the hospital from across the street, because she knows who is inside. Tatsuki knows who Ishida's father is, and she knows this is his hospital.
She stays with Ishida until the sun falls over the horizon, and her phone starts to buzz with calls from her parents. "It's getting late," she says. "I should get back." He nods. He hasn't moved from where he is, and as she leaves him behind, walking toward home, she looks back and wonders. She wonders if he's getting cold and lonely, standing there like a lone sentinel, watching the first shadows of night veil the windows glowing from the inside out.
And she stops. Stops walking, stops leaving him. Her parents can wait. She'll text them she's with Orihime, spending the night, something. But she's not leaving him here.
"Hey!" Tatsuki jogs back to Ishida's motionless form, taking in stride the startled look he gives her. She grins back. "What? Thought I was gonna leave you? Come on, Ishida. Cut me some slack."
"That's—" he begins, and shakes his head. "I thought you had to get home."
She rolls her shoulders and stands looking up at the hospital again, her feet apart, her hands clasped behind her back. "Home can wait," she says. And you're here right now. So I might as well be, too.
The look Ishida gives her is one she will never forget; it is the look of someone gazing at something he can't understand, but is thankful for anyway. Slowly, he sidesteps closer to her. She inches closer, reducing distance, and he takes another step. Another. Finally, they stop, and look at each other before dissolving into amused chuckles.
"Oh, just come over here already," says Tatsuki, closing the breach between them. She stands at his side and twines his fingers with hers, and when he looks at her with surprise in those blue-black eyes, she adds, "Just because it's cold."
"Of course," says Ishida. But his cheeks are red.
X
She never asks him why he doesn't go into the hospital; by now she knows him well enough to guess that's something he would prefer to tackle on his own. There are things she can help Ishida with, and then there are things she can't.
For Tatsuki, someone used to barreling her way through any problem until she finds the answer, it isn't an easy thing to accept. Sometimes she catches herself stomping in Ishida's direction, jaw clenched and head full of You're going to tell me what's wrong right now and you are going to like it. Then she stops. Shakes herself. Sighs and plops down next to him, wherever he is sitting at the time, or comes over with more careful steps.
It's almost as if Ishida knows what she is struggling with, and it amuses him. Sometimes she would very much like to punch him in the neck. Sometimes she would very much like to do something else entirely.
It's…very confusing.
Her parents and friends are starting to notice. They slide her sidelong glances they only think she can't see, and ask her if she's alright, if she's eating and sleeping enough. Maybe she's losing sleep over it. Maybe she's not. Maybe she looks up whenever she hears footsteps running in the halls outside her classroom, thinking it's Ishida, running off to do god-knows-what again. And maybe she doesn't.
Maybe she should just go right up to Ishida and find out for herself what this is all about, so maybe she won't have to wake up to the sounds of hurrying footsteps at three in the morning, or so she'll decide whether that smirk of Ishida's is annoying or endearing, and end this confusing mess once and for all.
…Nah.
"Thank you," he says to her one day. Tatsuki looks up in surprise. They are across the street from the hospital again, watching over someone Tatsuki has never met, someone who (frankly) she doesn't care to meet. She stares at Ishida in confusion.
"Thanks for what?"
He turns his head away from the hospital, from the gray-white walls that hide his father from view. Meets her eyes. Her stomach flips.
"For not pretending to understand," says Ishida. Something bitter flickers in his gaze, stony and distant. "You would be surprised how many people do."
Tatsuki's lips twist into a wry gesture that is neither smile nor frown. "Not that surprised."
Ishida blinks. His expression eases. After a moment, he says, "You asked once where I go when I run at night. I come here. Or to his house, even if I don't go in. Sometimes I don't go anywhere."
Running nowhere. Somehow, this isn't such a strange thing.
"You know," she says, taking a step toward him. There is always space between them, distance she's never liked. He doesn't move away, doesn't step aside like he used to, and in a small, barely-there way, this says everything she needs to hear.
"I feel like I should say thank you, too."
"For what?" he asks.
Tatsuki shrugs. "I don't know. Does there have to be a reason?"
And he smiles.
X
Tonight, they go running. Tatsuki steps outside her house, dressed in running shorts and T-shirt, and when Ishida comes by — three A.M. exactly — she goes with him. They run side by side, their silver breath splitting the air, always nearly touching, and Tatsuki doesn't know where they're going, has not the faintest idea, but it doesn't matter.
It never did.
End.
Thanks for reading! Please leave a review.
-Kimsa