I woke up in the middle of the night last night to start writing this. I love the way it turned out. Even though I feel that an author should not love any of his or her own stories more than one another, I think this one may be my new favorite (sorry Starlight). I hope you enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, or any of its associations.
It was such a long time ago, yet I can remember it so clearly. I have no idea why, I just do. Does it even do one any good to dwell on such past thoughts? I do not think so, but I still cannot forget any of it. He was my first…everything. Of all the useless things to keep in one's mind, taking up precious space….
He was the first man to ever take notice of me; or at least the first man to let me know that he took notice of me. He was the first man to approach me in a coffee shop, just as I was about to leave. He used the cheesiest pick-up lines too. "Hey, aren't you forgetting something?"
I turned around. "What?"
He grinned one of the most seductive grins I have seen to date, and replied, "Me." I really should have seen that one coming. I tried hard not to laugh, because once you laugh, they feel as if it is okay to keep coming onto you. Needless to say, a giggle escaped me. He was the first man to take such a split-second opportunity, and use it to move closer to me. He was also the first man that ever said to me, "Don't worry about it. Nothing you've ever done before counts. All that matters is that we're together." That one earned a true laugh from me as I turned and pushed on the door. He grabbed the handle, holding it shut. That one was actually not a first. I could not tell if he was actually looking at me, because of the way his blonde hair fell into his eyes, but his head was angled in my direction. "Okay, seriously now. Can I at least get your number before you go?" I thought to myself for a bit, but after telling myself that my coffee was getting cold, I decided that giving him my number would be the quickest way to rid myself of him. I found a pen in my pocket, and scribbled down my cell phone number on a napkin he had provided. His eyes sparkled with glee and I made my way through the door. I would just have to make sure I never answered when he called.
When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sun nearly blinded me, and my cell phone began to ring. I figured that it was one of my friends, asking if I had finally got their hourly dose of caffeine, and what was taking so long, so I answered with a standard, "Hello?" The first man to call me, just two minutes after I gave him my number.
"Hey. This is the guy you just met in the coffee shop. If you turn around you can probably still see me." I peeked backwards, and sure enough he was standing at the door, looking right at me. He gave a little wave. I turned back to the street.
"Is there a reason why you're calling me?"
"You just gave me your number! You should have been expecting a call, even if there was no good reason."
"I didn't expect you to call so soon is all," I stated.
"Well, I was going to let you go, but then I realized that I never got your name!"
"That matters?"
"Of course it does. Well?"
I was a bit confused. "Well what?"
"Well what's your name?" He said that as if it were obvious, which it probably was.
"Uh…my full name?"
He made some sort of noise into the phone. "It doesn't matter."
"It's Yoruichi."
"And my name is Kisuke. Nice to meet you. I would shake your hand, but I don't feel like going all the way out there."
"Uh…that's okay.
"Great! Well then, I'll call you later Yoruichi."
"Um…o-okay," I stuttered. I heard the other line click: he had hung up. I did the same, wondering if the entire thing had happened or not. Realizing that the coffee was definitely not hot anymore, I hurriedly began to head towards the place where my friends and I were supposed to meet.
Kisuke did call me back; it was the next day I think. We talked for a bit, and he succeeded in making me laugh, which probably made him think it was okay to ask me out. He was not the first one to do so, but he was the one I said yes to. I have no idea what it was about him that made me so comfortable around him, so at ease, so giddy—at times.
He was the one that first took me to a movie that I actually wanted to see, and the first to pay for my ticket. He talked all through the movie, something that I was well experienced with, but while driving me home he was surprisingly quiet. He was the first to ask me out on a second date, and then a third; he was my very first official kiss. My first boyfriend, my first playmate, my first best friend. He was the first man to ever make love to me. Feeling his flesh against mine supplied a thrilling, tingling sensation that I would never experience with anyone else. The first man to kiss me on the nose, the first man to hold me when I was cold, the first man to tell me that I was truly beautiful, the first man to let me fall asleep in his arms, the first man to lie in the grass and watch the stars with me.
The first man to break my heart.
The first man to lose interest in me, the first man to grow distant from me, the first man to turn cold towards me, the first man to stop showing affection to me, the first man to start to pick fights with me, the first man to tell me he was leaving me. He was the first man to make me cry as he told me he did not love me anymore, that he had found someone else, that he had not had the heart to tell me so until now, that he hoped I would find someone else just as he had. The first man that caused me to beg him to stay, and turn away while saying that the love just was not there anymore.
I cried over him for weeks on end. Sometimes, I would just be walking down the street, minding my own business. Something would catch my eye, and if I stared at it long enough, it would somehow remind me of him. I would just start crying—unprovoked—sobbing away on the curb as everyone that walked by stared me down.
I do not really remember what had made me get over him, but I did. I was nowhere near happy, but I was at peace with myself and the world. I started to date again, but it was not the same. The men I went out with were dull, boring; they never managed to make me genuinely laugh. I gave up after my fifth first date.
My life passed by relatively uneventful—or at least two years of it. It was filled with meaningless work, friends' weddings, nights spent alone: that kind of stuff. In fact, I hardly remember any of it. Most of it was just a big blur. That is not really an effective way to live your life. One day I do remember involves me in that same coffee shop, picking up the hourly dose of caffeine for one of my friends, who was a brand new mother then. Feeling generous, I had gotten her a double-shot of espresso. I was heading for the door when someone called out to me, "Hey, aren't you forgetting something?" The feeling those words gave me was so familiar, I wondered to myself if there had already been an instance like this, or if this was the first time.
I turned around slowly. "What?"
And there it was. The seductive grin that I had not seen in years, plastered to the face of the man I did not really want to see again—ever. He moved closer to me, and I surprised myself by not taking a step backwards. "My apology." I was extremely confused, and my face must have shown it, for he then began to explain. "What I did to you…was just plain wrong. And I'm really sorry. I know that's not enough…but I am really and truly sorry."
"Okay," I mumbled. "I guess you want me to say that I forgive you…."
"No," he shook his head. "Not at all. I just to make sure you heard my apology."
"Oh…well I do forgive you. Just because."
"Because what?" It seemed as if he could not stop himself from asking that one.
"Well because…. Just because."
"Oh." He was crestfallen. "I guess this is goodbye then."
"Sure," was my uneasy reply. I left, glad to escape the awkward tension that was between us. It was as if a cloud distinctly labeled "inconvenient" had settled among the two of us, choking us with discomfort. My cell phone rang at that moment, and I—expecting it to be my cranky friend trying to get me to reassure her that the caffeine was on its way—answered it. "Hello?" I more or less grunted, shielding my eyes from the sun with my arm. I should have been smart and changed my number ages ago.
"Hey. This is the guy you just met in the coffee shop. If you turn around you can probably still see me." I peered backwards toward the door, and there he was. The wave he gave me was less enthusiastic this time.
While turning to face the street again, I said, "Is there a reason why you're calling me?"
He gave somewhat of an emotionless chuckle. "You gave me your number. You should have been expecting a call, whether there was a good reason or not."
"I just wasn't expecting it to come so late is all," was my apathetic response.
"Well, I was going to let you go, but then I realized something."
"And what was that?" I asked the question nonchalantly, checking my watch for the time.
"That I miss you." That was definitely a first.
"That matters?" My heart rate rose considerably.
"Of course it does," he sighed. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well, do you miss me too?" He said it as if it were obvious, which it probably was.
"Now is definitely not the time for this, Kisuke. I have other things—better things—to be doing than playing phone games with you—"
"Just answer the question," he pleaded.
"After you left me, I wasted so much time crying over you, and wishing you would come back. It was all so pointless—missing you. You never bothered to use a second to think about me, and there I was, devoting my entire days to praying for a miracle that would just whisk you back to me. When I was finally past that stage, I decided that I would hate each and every moment wasted on you with every fiber of my being, and that I would never let such a thing happen again." The other end was silent. It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep me from crying. "Yes, I miss you."
After a few minutes, the quiet was finally disturbed. "Can we try again?"
I quickly hung up and spun around to face him. I paused to wipe a few rogue tears before I called to him, "Get out here." He obeyed. "We'll talk about it on the way home."
In the end, he became a lot more firsts for me. My first re-instated boyfriend, my first fiancé, my first husband, the first father to my children, the first man to live the rest of his life with me, and the first man that I have lived the rest of my life with. There were no seconds, or thirds to most of the things mentioned before, but even if there had been, he still would have been the only man I have ever loved, just as he is now.
A/N: Good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know in a review.