The first time she sees him cry, she doesn't quite know how to react. His tears were quiet, breathless and devastatingly, emotionally pure. From her place in the closet, it tugged at her and she sat up with wide eyes and words caught in her throat.
'Come on...' She heard him mutter, half angry, half desperate. 'Come on...pull it together.'
She can almost see the scrunch at his brow, the thin of his lips pressing together tightly, the hand pulling and tugging lightly at his hair in annoyance. It sounded like those shoulders, so strong and fearless and beautifully reckless, had collapsed for a moment under the weight of the world he had propped up on them with little hesitation. Atlas, for a brief moment, fell.
When she slides the closet open and peers out at him with soft, gentle eyes, she still doesn't know what she should do. Only that loneliness would not help, would make the sky heavier and more burdensome, make it harder for him to go from his knees to his feet. She hears his breath catch, the vulnerable sobs stop for a moment as he quickly wipes his eyes and looks at her. His eyes are red and tired and weary. They are old eyes, in a young body and it makes her ache.
'Ichigo...'
Again, she doesn't know what to say. He just shakes his head, more at himself than anything.
'I'm sorry for waking you Rukia. You can go back to sleep now.' His voice mirrors his eyes. Old. Weary. Again, it hurts her, seeing him this vulnerable.
As he turns his body to slide back into bed, she slides out of the closet, bare feet gently padding across the floor to him. From his sitting position, they are almost, almost the same height.
'If you need to-want to talk...I'm here. I've got your back.' She says with a hand on his shoulder. She does her best to emulate the calmness of her brother, the quiet comfort Renji could offer at rare moments. The rest, she thinks, goes without saying.
Hollows aren't the only demons we fight. But we can fight all demons together.
She knows where solitary battle with one's nightmares and demons can lead. She does not like the idea of such a thing breaking down a soul such as Ichigo. She knows that these battles, the quiet ones at the dead of night where no weapon, no armour can help are some of the most crucial and dangerous ones. Just one's soul against one's demons and it is a brutal fight when the guilt and horror and terror and nightmares set in.
He considers her, his eyes softer than she's seen them before. In battle they are fierce and bright, irises dancing like the flame of a candle as he fights and protects. Outside of battle, in day to day life, they are just as bright, full of life as he argues or shouts or brashly acts out for his friends and family. Here, they are muted. Bare and exposed and she gets a glimpse of his soul in this quiet moment, and it is vulnerable, hurting and wounded, but standing stronger and higher than most other souls she has caught glimpses of.
She is impressed. She has seen lesser souls in greater stations of power. He will be fine, she decides.
She also decides that he will not have to be fine alone. Someone must protect the protector, even if he is strong and brash and reckless. Quietly, something inside her sighs as she consigns herself to a few more scratches and bruises. She can cope.
'Thank you.' He says after a time. His voice now is even, soft and quiet much like his eyes. For a moment they stay there, weighing the other up in this quiet moment outside of the heat of battle or the bustle of school. In this quiet moment, they breathe in tandem and prop one another up.
'Anytime.' She takes her hand away and ignores the coldness of the space under her fingers that have replaced his warmth, ignores the way it slowly retreats, like she is dragging it away unwillingly.
Something changes then. She knows, somehow, that this...vulnerability (she refuses to call it weakness – letting oneself feel, hurt, be exposed, it is not something to be ashamed of, rather something she thinks takes a different sort of strength – of mental strength, a test of character rather than ability) is something very few see.
There is no awkwardness as she goes back to her place in the closet. She keeps it slightly ajar, turns so she can see the slight rise and fall of Ichigo's body as he slips back to slumber. There is no awkwardness in the morning as they resume their usual banter and go about their daily routine.
Yet in the quiet moments, the stolen glances where both their eyes meet without the other meaning it, there is a thankfulness in his eyes that she understood, she cared and reached out.
She ignores how those stolen glances, those hidden looks they inadvertently share, make her heart flutter, her eyes avert themselves with haste, her face heat up. She does not linger on the shape of his lips, the way they curve when he smirks or grins, does not linger on those kind, fierce eyes that seem to pierce straight through her.
That's what she tells herself anyway. It's worked out pretty shitty for her so far but she remains optimistic.
The first time he sees her cry, he doesn't quite know how to react. Rukia, strong, smart, immovable Rukia crying? He'd be lying if he said he thought it was possible. His second instinct, after the confusion of registering those heartbreakingly gently sniffles and sobs is anger. Who hurt her? Who would he need to hurt to pay them back?
At that, he thinks he feels a rumble of approval at the back of his mind, a rumble of pride from something he should know the name of but can't quite place his finger on. He brushes it aside.
Yes, when he slowly opens that closet door, sees her with her arms around her knees, tucked into the smallest corner of her closet (and it was her closet now. Her sanctuary, her place – if he could offer more, he would in a heartbeat), he doesn't know how to react.
Regardless, she raises her eyes to him, and while the sniffles continue, the shaking goes on, he mirrors her first reaction to his tears, letting her know he was there, she could rely on him.
'Rukia...' His words trail off and even Ichigo is a bit surprised at his voice. He didn't quite realise he could be that quiet, that soft.
'Nightmare.' She croaked out, short and sharp and he senses it wasn't just a one off, not just a dream of a fight gone awry but he doesn't pry. He senses he is too late to protect so he does the next best thing. He tries to comfort, to give her a hand up again as she had done for him.
'What are you doing?'
'Climbing in the damn closet, what does it look like?'
There's no bite to his words and he garners a quiet, short-lived snort from her at his awkward, gangly limbs moving about in the confined space to sit next to her.
'Damn it's small in here. Good job you're a midget, I dunno where else you'd fit if you were sized like a normal person.'
Again, it lacks any real bite and she snorts once more.
'You're an idiot, Kurosaki.'
'Ah, but I'm an idiot with legs, Kuchiki.' He finally, finally settles back against the wall facing her, his feet resting next to hers – honestly, how on earth did she like it here?
There's a comfortable silence after that. The shaking stops yet the tears continue, the sobs receeding into sighs and swallows for a few seconds.
'Do you want to talk about it?'
'No.'
'...Fair enough then.' It hurts that he can do little outside of just being there, more than he thought it would, but he knows sometimes just being there is help enough. There's another period of silence and the tears stop altogether as she wipes her eyes, takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly, almost as if she'd gathered her dreams and blown them out in a single breath.
'I've got your back if you want to talk. I'll listen.' He parrots her own words back at her with a gentle half-smile that she returns. He bumps his foot against hers in solidarity, wants to do more but damnit he's an awkward ass teenager with a girl in his absurdly small closet. It's about all he's got.
It's enough, that familiar yet unnamed voice rumbles in his head. Again, he brushes it aside.
'Thank you.' Her words and smile are sincere and he brutally shuts down the flutter in his heart before it manifests itself on his – ah shit, too late, he had flushed. Thankfully, it was dark,
Much like when their situations where reversed, there was no awkwardness after that. Ichigo clambered out of the closet, leaned his head back in and told her again, if she wanted to talk about anything, just to wake him up and he got back in bed. He took a bit of extra pleasure in stretching his legs fully. He slept facing the closet, rather than the wall like usual and was glad she had left the door open this night. The slow rise and fall of her body was comforting.
The next day was business as usual. He wakes, she wakes. They banter, he sneaks food up, they banter some more. School is its usual chore.
He ignores the fact that it takes Chad saying his name three times to draw his eyes from the back of her head, ignores those heart-stopping moments when their eyes connect by accident and linger between conversations or lessons. He refuses to linger on her frankly fucking gorgeous eyes, or the way her lips shape the smirks and smiles she gives him.
Yeah. Business as usual.
A/N - This has been crossposted on AO3 under a different name - AnotherAspiringAuthor - I have some fics on there for different fandoms that aren't on here. This is a planned drabble series of the quiet moments, the intimate moments between characters; namely Rukia and Ichigo because they own my ass. By planned I mean I have no idea what the drabbles will actually be, just that there will be more. Hopefully. Please leave a review, even if you didn't enjoy and be as constructive as possible!
