Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. I own some washing detergent, but that's not the same thing.
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A day hadn't gone by for weeks when one of them hadn't asked her. Every day, sometimes more than once a day, some boy, nervously flattening his hair, would draw her away from the crowd and stutter the all-important question, all the while attempting to keep his eyes from dipping lower than her face.
And every time, after moment of blank surprise and a flustered, extended apology, Inoue Orihime would tell him that she had already promised to go with someone else.
Damn.
-
The night of the dance had finally arrived. The cheesy decorations were hung haphazardly on the walls. The equally cheesy music was playing at full volume over the inadequate sound system. Most of the attendees had already arrived, the glitzy colors of the girls' dresses shining bright against the sober colors of their partners' clothes.
And the unofficial queen of this dance, Orihime , was slightly more than fashionably late.
All the boys who had asked her, and some of the more curious girls, too, kept a weather eye upon the main entrance for her pretty orange head. After all, Inoue had never actually said who she had agreed to go with. A few of the bolder people had approached Arisawa Tatsuki about the matter, but after being threatened with multiple broken limbs for "attempting to sabotage Orihime's happiness," no one else had had the guts to ask. And so, instead, the speculation ran wild.
For most of the past few weeks, the money (yes, there was a running bet) had been on Saito Shou, the classically-handsome third-year star of the kendo team who, nearly a month ago, had very publically pulled Inoue aside for a very private conversation. Unfortunately for all those who had bet on him, it had been discovered just days ago that Saito-sempai had had the distinct honor of being the first person Inoue had turned down.
Conjecture had then turned to the rather menacing Kurosaki Ichigo. Weren't those two good friends? Weren't they always seen together? It seemed likely to many that, come the start of the music, it would be the punkish boy the Princess of Karakura High would take to the dance floor with. But no, Kurosaki was skulking off in the corner with that weird transfer student, Kuchiki Rukia, and therefore clearly out of the running.
There had also been a rumor that Inoue-san would be attending the dance with one Asano Keigo. But since that rumor was probably made up by Asano himself, no one really paid it any mind.
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The front doors slid open. More than fifty pairs of eyes turned toward the noise, blazing with curiosity. Here was the moment they'd been waiting for, the moment when the identity of the Princess's mystery date would finally be revealed. The boys all braced themselves for feelings of deep inadequacy. The girls all pulled up their mental lists of available males, preparing to mark off some drooled-after studmuffin as "unavailable." Arisawa just grinned, anticipating the crowd's reaction.
Clothed in a flowing gown of white silk and lace and blue ribbons, the Princess of Karakura High swept in, one snowy glove resting gently on the skinny arm of—
The boy so unathletic, he'd been picked last for teams in PE for sixty-three days running.
The boy so lifelessly studious, he'd never once placed below first place on the semester exams.
The boy so geeky, he didn't even have normal geeky hobbies, like watching anime or playing video games. He sewed for fun, for heaven's sake.
Ishida Uryuu.
To say it was a blow to the watching boys' egos would be an understatement. Long after Ishida and Inoue had vanished into the crowd, their collective mouths still hung open wide enough to devour the few flies left in the room a hundred times over. They'd all been expecting someone on the same level as Inoue herself—someone cool, strong, a pillar of masculinity. Someone they could feel justified in losing Inoue to. Not…him.
The girls all took it much better. Now that their star baseball-players and student council presidents and bad-boy crushes were all safe from the clutches of the orange-haired girl, they could afford to warm up to her a little. Still…If Inoue had had her pick of every boy in the school, why had she chosen Ishida? Perhaps there was something about him that they just hadn't seen?
As the girls swirled past with their dance partners, narrowed eyes stared at the four-eyed boy intensely. He did have a sort of a nice face. And even though he appeared to be made of sticks, he could dance fairly well…Very gracefully, actually. And his father did run a whole hospital…
Their fourth dance coming to a close, Ishida bowed his leave from his Princess and voyaged off through the crowd on a quest for drinks, blissfully unaware that he was quietly being upgraded in the minds of his watchers from "I'd never date him in a million years" to the status of "a vague possibility." As soon as his narrow back was lost from sight, more than a half-dozen girls converged on Inoue, intent on discussing something else that had come to their collective attention during their close scrutiny. Namely, her dress.
It was a fantastic affair of white lace and silk, cut into a beautiful, tastefully old-fashioned design. Clinging to her in all the right places, it somehow showed off her form while still maintaining a deep sense of propriety. Everything about it, from the flowing, layered skirt to the tiny crosses of blue ribbon that ornamented the fabric was absolutely and utterly stunning. Naturally, the encircling girls were entranced.
And so they bombarded poor Inoue with questions. Where did you buy it? What store? What brand? How much did it cost? Wait…is this tailor made? Who designed it? Who fitted you for it? Do you have a name, an address, a phone number? Come on, tell us! Tell us!
Slightly dazed by the sudden barrage, Inoue finally managed to stutter out that it had been Ishida-kun who had sewn it for her. Heads snapped around to regard the subject in question, who was busy filling a pair of glasses with non-alcoholic punch on the other side of the room. Ishida had made Inoue's dress? Not just bought, but made? And it was so gorgeous, too!
Quite against their will, the girls began to feel the slightest twinges of envy. The only hand-made gifts any of them had ever received from their respective boyfriends had been a solitary paper cards on White Day full of awkward poetry. Ishida had made his date a whole dress!
You could almost hear the clicks as the four-eyed boy rose a few more notches on the dating index.
For the unfortunate boys who happened to overhear the conversation, the result was a mortifying mental image that swam before their eyes every time they caught sight of the mismatched pair for the rest of the night.
The image of Inoue being fitted for her dress by Ishida.
The image of Inoue with a delighted smile on her face, possibly in a state of partial undress, as Ishida knelt beside her, pinning and smoothing the thin fabric over the curves of her body as he stitched up the dress.
And they were jealous. Of Ishida Uryuu.
Ishida Uryuu, the nerd of nerds, who had somehow claimed the attention of the Princess of Karakura High.
They were jealous of Ishida Uryuu.
Damn.
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fin
Well, I hope you liked it! Comments and/or criticism will be much appreciated! To say it bluntly…Feed me reviews, foolish mortal, or I'll sic the plotbunny that spawned this fic on you. He has fangs. Rawr.