Genre: Romance
Paring: Ichigo/Rukia
Notes: AU
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine.
Summary: He does not have crush on his tiny neighbor. Nope. Not at all. (Age difference)
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Meet me halfway
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She's been his neighbor for two years, but their first conversation happens in a little supermarket on the off-side of town Ichigo had managed to snatch a job at in early spring. Dad had nagged andpunched on him that sophomores are well fledged to pick up part time jobs, and because Ichigo couldn't stand hearing the old man speak for more than five minutes—his dad had taken it upon himself to speak for at least four times that limit about jobs and be a real man, Ichigo and really, how many times does Ichigo need to kick his old man's ass before the fool understands that he's no match for his son; Ichigo took on a job. Nothing embarrassing, and just in case: way out of Bleach High's vicinity.
Gotta take care of the reputation.
It's pure coincidence of course that the little chick Ichigo may or may not have been spying on through his bedroom window for two years, ends up walking through his wasteland store. Ichigo's been working at Food 'N All for almost three months, but he's never crossed his neighbor here before. So, like any thoroughly fucked up guy peeping on a cute as fuck and short as a twig girl, Ichigo's face heats up.
Fuck no, he's not blushing.
He runs a hand through his unruly orange hair and shakes his head, tugging the collar of his pristine blue-green button down and shit for shirt up. The store's small and almost forsaken of life except for two lumbering women in mid-forty and another inching at hundred, his peculiar old boss Mr. Urahara and his little neighbor. He can't see her walking around the shelves. She's that fucking short.
He starts sweating at the prospect of her sneaking up at him at the cash register. He starts twitching at the prospect of her actually talking to him; a little more than the brief glances she would throw his way in their neighborhood, and maybe she'll actually start greeting him instead of his old man after this encounter and holy fuck! Ichigo may actually find out her name.
''Um.''
He staggers back with a yelp, arms thrown about as if they're trying to wield gravity into breaking Ichigo's fall. His hands snatch the counter just before his landing and Ichigo pulls himself upright. He's sure to look like a fucking fool, but that's Keigo's style, not his.
His neighbor has an amused little smile on her face and Ichigo averts his eyes to prevent any more… foolish antics like staring for too long.
''Sorry,'' he mutters and he looks at the conveyor belt. Red wine. He stares down at her with a hiked eyebrow, grabbing the neck of the bottle.
His neighbor matches his inquiry with her own raised eyebrows.
''Aren't you a little young for alcohol?''
He doesn't mean to offend, but his neighbor huffs indignantly and places one hand on top of her right hip, the other digging into her purse for what Ichigo presumes to be an ID of some sort, which is so not going for what he had in mind. Ichigo was thinking a little along the lines of bribery; the alcohol in exchange for a night out.
Hey, no one said he had to play fair.
His neighbor whips out an ID and he stares at it. Rukia Kuchiki, it says, freaking four-foot-eight and a half, but Ichigo can definitely work around it and birthday January fourteenth ninety-ninety-one.
Fuck.
''Twenty one!'' He screeches, his voice dragging down the store as he looks down at her face. ''You look like you're fucking twelve!''
''What you say to me?'' Rukia narrows her eyes and Ichigo winces. Shit. Out loud. But really, can he be blamed? She looks a hell of a lot younger than twenty one. Shit.
''I just mean…'' He pauses, wracks his mind and ends up saying, ''you look like twelve,'' but this time he shrugs with every intention to elevate his otherwise harsh words.
Rukia turns pink and she stomps her foot. Cute. She huffs hard, causing the long strand of midnight hair dangling down the middle of her face to blow an inch off its surface. ''Well, you look like… a giant!''
He snickers. Thanks. ''Better off closer to the sky than missing an inch to go on the Ferris wheel.''
Whoops. Maybe he's enjoying this too much, but damn… Pink fits her real nice. Yeah.
''You fucking asshole!'' Rukia seethes. ''You little piece of shit. I'll have you know that I'm just below average.'' She's actually indulging him. Wow. Ichigo had expected her to demand for his boss or threaten to fire him on spot, to put it on thick… Maybe Ichigo can milk this one out.
''Is that so? You probably call yourself petite to ease the sting, too.''
Rukia slams her hand down on the conveyor belt, leaning in, but with their major height difference—which only makes him hard, fuck, blowjob height much?—she needs to lean on top of her tiptoes just to reach a little under his collarbone. That homicidal look on her face? So, worth it.
''At least I don't have to worry that I'll bump my head against the main attraction if I stand a little off.''
He grins, chuckles a little bit and moves close enough so that there's only a sliver of air passing between their noses. She smells like paint and raspberries, but probably tastes as sweet as the latter.
''Yeah? Want to test that theory out?''
Rukia frowns unintelligible. ''You're what? Five-foot-eleven? I know how easy it is for you to hit the ceiling, you little shit.''
''Yeah, and how would you know, short stick?''
''Because I've seen—'' her eyes expand twice their size.
His eyebrows are touching his hairline by now.
Interesting.
Suddenly, Rukia jerks back and lifts her head. She digs through her purse and wrings out a paper bill, jutting her chin to the red bottle of wine.
Is she going to drink this alone or does she have company? A woman like Rukia will definitely not spend an evening alone. He feels his chest constrict.
''I'd like to pay now.''
The words are out of his mouth before he knows what he's saying, but he feels the pressure on his chest ease like clipped rope and Ichigo breathes a little easier. ''How about a date?''
Her royal purple colored eyes expand and her sweet little mouth falls open. ''You—I—what—did you just—but we—what?''
He rolls his eyes. ''A date. You know, when two people go on a… date.''
He winces. Smooth, totally cool, Ichigo, definitely deserve a couple of shoulder claps; points for trying.
Rukia blinks over and over, clasping her mouth close just for it to fall open again. He feels the familiar prickle in his armpits and it's taking a lot out of Ichigo to pretend not to care. He doesn't of course; doesn't care at all. She's just an older woman, just the center of his wet dreams and just his little twenty-one year old neighbor. He's gone through worst shit than this. Everyone sweats; the store's freaking hot. He needs to consult Mr. Urahara about this air-conditioning problem. Not because they're a tiny store rarely frequented by the population, means that boss man should let his employees waste away. Yeah.
Totally.
''Oh—okay.''
''Yeah.''
''Sure.''
Rukia smiles and he grins a little too goofy. Whatever. He scans her bottle and she stretches her hand to pay him. Their fingers glide over each other and Rukia feels as soft as the surface of a rose petal. Her cheeks tinge pink again and Ichigo tries his hardest not to stare too fucking long. Jeez. He's acting like a boy with a crush.
Which he doesn't have.
He packs the red bottle of wine, handing it over.
''So, I'll see you at nine, Friday?''
''Okay.''
''Yeah,'' he winces.
''Sure,'' she says, grinning.
They're acting like two fools, really, but he likes it.
Rukia walks out of the store and he leans on top of his elbows as he watches her go. Every few seconds she looks back, catching his eye. Ichigo pretends to read the screen of his cash register, then, but he's well aware just how futile his attempts are.
''Ichigo.''
He grumbles in response to Mr. Urahara. The old geezer leans against the little door that allows Ichigo to escape his cramped booth and looks his employee over; Urahara's cap shielding half of his eyes. ''What are you doing?''
''Nothing,'' Ichigo mutters.
''Exactly.''
The tall boy turns around to look at his boss, but at his boss fretted stare passed Ichigo's side, Ichigo turns around to look at the blank space.
Only, the space is not blank. He has customers; apparently lady hundred and miss mid-forties. Fuck.
''How long have you guys been standing here,'' he asks stupidly and Mr. Urahara actually groans.
''Not long,'' miss mid-forty says.
''Wasn't she a little young for you, fella?'' Lady hundred asks.
Ichigo scrunches his nose.
Not even close.
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End