Written for the "If you were..." Challenge for 5 Prompts on LJ.
Prompt: #12 - If I was a book, I know you'd read me every night.
Books
Uryu Ishida was every bit an avid reader. There was naught a book in the school library that he hadn't touched, not a piece of good literature that had escaped his eyes. He had seen them all from the worst of prose to the best of what he'd like to call his personal classics collection. He indulged in books to escape the emptiness of his home, to ignore the words of his nonsensical father. Literature was what kept him grounded and out of trouble, namely out of his father's grimy hands.
Often, whenever he was alone, Ishida would take a book and go up to the roof of the school. He'd sit against the railings and, as the breeze caught his dark hair, teasing the strands about his face, he would settle down and read. It didn't bother him much that his hair got in the way. Almost as if in a trance, every now and again a hand would brush the strands back and tuck them behind an ear. After a few moments, the action was repeated, and so on until he was ready to go home.
This habit of his was well-known amongst his close friends, but they never really dwelled upon the subject. They all knew that Ishida preferred not having his private space intruded, and so they kept well out of his way.
The only person who wouldn't leave him alone to his own private musings was a certain orange-haired teen.
During one particular day, when school was done and evening had settled in, Ichigo stole away from his friends and made his way up to the roof. Just as he had thought, Ishida was there, leaning against the railing with his nose buried in a leather-bound book. It was pretty thick, but Ichigo was already used to seeing him carrying large tomes around.
Ichigo couldn't have been bothered less about books. In truth, he never really had an affinity for them. The only pieces of literature that he possessed were his textbooks and the large pile of comics scattered about his room. If he were to be handed a tome of that size, Ichigo would rather jump straight into a nest of hollows.
"Hey, Ishida!" Ichigo called, marching up to him with a grimace. The other didn't even bother to look up from his book as he nodded in greeting.
"Aren't you supposed to be home by now?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Kurosaki." Ishida pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his indifferent tone suggesting that he'd rather be alone than entertain his friend's questions.
"What's so damn interesting about a book, anyway?" Ichigo peered over the top to have a look, but Ishida turned away from him. "You selfish bastard," he muttered.
"I'm not the one who appeared out of the blue and intruded a friend's quiet time alone without permission," Ishida countered. "You should really learn some manners, Kurosaki."
"Shut up, Ishida," Ichigo snapped, trying to yank the book away. "You're the one who needs to learn how to socialize!"
"Well, excuse me for being such a bookworm." With the back of his hand, Ishida smacked Ichigo's abdomen, causing him to stumble away a few steps. He packed his bag, swung it over his shoulder and snapped the book shut. "Now, if you've got nothing else to say, I'm going home."
Ichigo coughed a curse, still holding his aching belly. Without waiting for a response, Ishida strode away and down the stairs. Ichigo was left to swear at the other teen, spitting words that contained no affection whatsoever.
Sometimes Ichigo wished that he was a book so that Ishida would turn to him more often.