Thought of this after seeing a clip from this video (the sunset on a Ferris wheel) That does not necessarily make it an IchiRuki. The narrator is for you to decide.
w ww .youtube watch?v=bZNsuayb7LY (remove spaces)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
Warning: Vague descriptions, romantic clichés and a little cursing. Read at your own discretion.
It was entrancing, really, that unique shade. He was native to the area sure, but that hair of his was always what people first saw of him. It was what first drew me, so attracting, that all I could do was be a moth and follow the light. I remember teasing him countless times, trying to get a rise out of him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But either way, it was still that amazing shade. I could imagine burying my face in it, and confusing it for the sunset. The best kind, the one that makes me forget whatever has happened before or what will happen after. In it, I exist as I am at that moment, and not as who I've been or who I'll be. I can't stand that others might try to steal that special sunset.
What they saw next, after they managed to get past that hair, was his lips. No, they weren't full or plump or perfect. They weren't what one would see in any sort of fantasy or dream. In fact, they seemed to be drawn perpetually in a scowl or yelling some thing or other at someone. No one wants to see an angry face, and this is where a lot of people stop. But, every once in a while, those lips lift up, just the tiniest bit, and I feel myself, secretly, responding in turn. From time to time, a laugh will escape. And I have to hold myself back from answering it. It's truly dumbfounding how much control those lips have over me. I suppose those rare instances are what allow some people to continue.
Continuing down their searching path, they would come to his shoulders. Yeah. What can I say…? They aren't broad or super muscular; they're lithe and slim, especially for a male. They sag a little, only stiffening when in some sort of fight. Honestly, they don't look impressive to some stranger that might have managed to make it this far. They're pretty disappointing.
But I know the truth.
Those shoulders, slim and lithe and tan and androgynous, have carried the weight of the world for as long as I've known them. And boy, have I seen them a lot. Bare from the clothing being torn, or bare from him changing, I've seen them, probably, more than own his father.
His sheer height would be next. Any gaze would travel down his lean torso, then his waist, and then wonder at how long it was taking them to reach the next stop. They would then take this time to step back and evaluate exactly how tall he was. Those spikes of his would only heighten the illusion.
…Pardon the horrid pun…
More than likely, at this point the target has noticed the staring, and is probably doing something about it. He was always big on gestures, subtle or obvious, so the next thing one would notice would be his hands.
They're big, and strong, and every bit as manly as the big man himself. They've held a sword, and people, and the entire world, encompassed within them. Maybe not always safely, but what person, what single person in the entire world, could ensure the safety of said entire world. These hands that they were staring at have done their damndest, and done a hell of a job about it, too.
They're able, and capable, and maybe just a bit scarred. They've got calluses from having to wield a sword too many times. They've held me, too, warm and hopeful, giving me a security that I don't think I've ever had before.
His legs are strong too, and they've got a good base. His feet are flat, and have kept him stable through out his life; I suspect that they'll continue to do so long into the future. Were those bases to ever lose their stability, the earthquakes that never touch us would come, quickly, to destroy us. But I don't believe we'll have to worry about that.
It's a shame really. We're known for judging people, though most people say 'don't judge a book by its cover.' I wonder how many people really take that into consideration. Once they've finished their once-over, the viewer will do one of two things. They will continue with their lives, and miss out on the greatest decision I've ever made, or they take a second look.
God, his eyes. I'd seen them once before, on my way down. They'd seemed to be a regular old brown, and I'd always remember how I'd immediately dismiss them, during our first ever meeting. But, they weren't just a regular old brown. They'll NEVER be just a regular old brown. His eyes… they're made of burnt wood, and chocolate that's been in the sun too long, and the earth, fresh and healthy and dark and exactly as it should be. I'll never forget how that double take really changed everything for me.
Beyond that, because eyes are the deepest things in existence, fuck whatever those scientists think they know, is the soul. Its cliché and ironic and describes perfectly everything that he is. Kurosaki is the savior of the Soul Society, of the Living Realm, of the entire goddamn universe. He's the greatest war hero there ever was, and is treated like it. However…
… It's Ichigo's eyes that I'm interested in. They show more than the man that saved us all. They are not what anyone normal person would tell you; they aren't any sort of fancy tissue. They are power, raw and simple.
They are mirrors. I can look into them and see myself, my life, my struggles, my burdens, and my secrets. They're all there, in that man.
They are pain. What else could they be? They are the burden that he took on for us all.
They are the sky. My sky, and the one above you, blue or cloudy, as it is right now.
Though they are the last thing I noticed, I think they were the first step to me falling in love.
They are truth. They have never lied to me, and have always been honest about his thoughts.
They are justice and loyalty and all that cheesy super hero shit. But it works for him, and he pulls it off, so I guess it's okay.
They were Ichigo Kurosaki, whole and in one spot, maybe two, and they are the first thing I see when I look at him.
They are also the last.
I swear, the best inspiration hits me right as I'm falling asleep. I'm starting to become an insomniac. Oneshot. Vague lover, you decide who. BTW, did I lay it on too thick?