1
"Ichigo!" Rukia swung the closet door open with a bang, throwing it off its tracks for the third time that day. The first two times had been for hollows.
Ichigo was in his final week of high school, as was Rukia and all the rest of their class. Rukia would be going back to Soul Society once he entered college, aside from the occasional visit. For nostalgia's sake, she was back in the closet, just like old times, just for this final week before she said goodbye to living at the Kurosaki residence for good.
White paint chipped from the wall where it had impacted. In her hand was a magazine, her index finger marking her place. In her other hand was a flashlight, still brightly lit. Her face was washed in panic.
"Dammit! I told you to stop being so rough! You're gonna break it in half one of these days! Be more gentle!" He meant she was going to break the door in half, but that's not what it sounded like to Yuzu at all. She wandered past outside her brother's bedroom door with a basket of laundry and smirked. The conversation sounded very dirty to her.
"It doesn't matter, now's not the time for that!" Her voice was nothing but pure panic.
"Hollow again?" He gripped the mug he was holding a little tighter in his hand.
"No! You won't believe what I just read!"
If it was something she read, it couldn't be that urgent. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he took a sip of hot cocoa. "Is it about hollows?"
"Ichigo! Did you know? You don't masturbate enough!"
A huge stream of cocoa went sputtering across the room from Ichigo's mouth. "Pfffffffttt—WHAAA? What the hell?" His face was so shocked it was stupid.
"I just read that evidently guys your age masturbate up to two hundred times a day on average! And I've never seen you do it once!"
"L—like I'd do it in front of you?" His voice rose to a shriek at the end of that sentence, arms flying back in complete surprise. Wait, two hundred?
"Oh, so you do it then? Good, because if you don't, your balls will fall off!"
". . . What." It wasn't even a question.
"Yeah, they'll definitely turn blue, then swell, then fall off! It says so right here!"
"What the fuck are you reading?" He ripped the magazine from her fingers and looked at the cover. "Hustler? You're reading an article in Hustler and taking it to heart?"
"Well, shouldn't I?" God, she was still so naïve when it came to the modern human world. He felt his eyebrows crease inward even further, if that was possible.
"What the hell are you reading Hustler for anyways?"
"I got it from Chizuru! It was her parting gift, along with some scented oils!"
"Dear god, throw it away! Burn it!"
"But it's interesting! I like the articles!"
And then a brilliant idea occurred to him. He was so gonna get back at her with this one. "Ohhhh, I see. So you swing that way?"
"Swing?" Of course, she pictured a playground swing. Rukia wasn't good with modern colloquialisms.
"You like girls."
"Yes." Her face was deadpan.
"AAAAHHH! You're not supposed to admit it! Go back in the closet!"
"Closet? But I just came out!"
"I know! Now go back in, you lesbian!"
"Lesbian? W-what?"
"You said you liked girls!"
"I didn't mean like that!"
"Then what're you doing reading that magazine?"
"I like the articles!"
"Nobody reads that magazine for the articles!"
"I do!"
"Whatever."
"Anyways, Ichigo." She put the magazine down. "You don't get nearly enough!" Her finger pointed at him like a judge handing down a guilty verdict, except in this case, it was a 'you're way too innocent' verdict.
"'Get enough?'" An eyebrow actually bothered to lift itself from the gloom of his typical expression. "Get enough of what?"
"Sex."
"AAAAHHHH! What are you talking about?"
"Sex."
"Like I said, what are you talking about?"
"W—wait. Are you serious? Nobody ever explained it to you?" Her mouth formed a small triangle of horror, fingers gently going to it. Her eyes were quite, quite wide. Before he could answer she'd grabbed her doodle pad, and was flashing him a confident smile. Her fist shot out in the air and a thumb went straight up, giving him a nice guy pose, an OK sign. Ichigo blinked. "Never fear! Rukia-sensei shall tell you about the birds and the bees!"
His eye gently twitched. "Rukia, of course I already know—" But she wasn't listening to him—her hand was busily coursing marker lines across the page.
"—First of all, sex is how babies are made, provided it's between a man and a woman, although sometimes two men or two women have sex, and sometimes huge groups of people have sex, and sometimes people have sex with random objects." Then she flipped the pad, revealing a laughably drawn orgy.
Unfortunately, Ichigo had taken another sip right before she showed him that picture, so a cocoa tsunami once again burst from his lips. This time, it hit Rukia right in the face. "Don't tell me sex is how babies are made and then just draw a bunch of crappy naked men!"
"You fool! How dare you spit at me!" Her foot landed in his chest, knocking him back on his bed. She grabbed the towel which served as her pillow and cleaned herself off, looking indignant. "I was just trying to help you!"
"Rukia, I already know about all that! What idiot my age wouldn't? Keep your damn perverted drawings to yourself!" With that he slumped on the bed, laying on his stomach with a pillow over his head. It was a sulking pillow, and he was sulking. Everything about his position said, 'Do not disturb,' but it was too late to ask not to be disturbed. He was quite disturbed already, his face puckered into a ridiculous frown.
". . . Wait, did you just call yourself an idiot?" No answer. She sighed. "Alright, so I lied." The pillow lifted a fraction of an inch, and a single deep brown eye peeked out.
"Huh?"
"I didn't get that magazine from Chizuru. I bought it. I've been conducting research."
". . . Research . . . ?"
"On human relationships. But it's still all so confusing, and there isn't much time left. I don't think I'll figure it out before I leave. So I'll just flat out tell you."
"Tell me . . . ?" He said it casually, but in his mind he was repeating a hopeful mantra, his mouth contracted in a slash of disgust: Please don't be in love with me. Please don't be in love with me. His eyes narrowed at the dramatic pause. She stared blankly in his direction, communicating nothing but an ellipsis.
"Orihime loves you!" She finally blurted. A finger pointed at him in accusation, like it was his fault.
"What? D—did she say that?"
"Yes! About two weeks ago, she told me! So I've been trying to figure out since then if she's pretty, and also whether you seem gay or asexual!"
"WHAT? Don't say it like those are the only two options!"
"And I still can't tell," she continued, ignoring him. A finger rested innocently on her lip before delivering the fatal blow. "So I'll just ask. Are you gay, or asexual?"
"Teme! Don't just give me those two options!" The pillow got launched at Rukia's head. She swerved, and it missed.
"Don't be such a baby, just answer!"
"No!" He actually meant, 'No, I won't answer your question,' but she didn't catch it. So she went to the next part of his interrogation. "Alright, then I'll ask this: are her feelings mutual?"
He breathed steadily in, steadily out, and rolled over. His hands clasped behind his head, while he participated in a staring contest with the ceiling. It was a good ceiling. Large. White. Flat. His eyelids slipped closed, and the ceiling as victorious. ". . . No."
". . . Oh, that poor girl." She genuinely looked sad at his answer. "So, I mean, have you ever thought about it? Is it maybe just that you never considered—"
"No. It's not that."
"Or maybe you're scared it won't work out?"
"No, Rukia."
"Or are you just shy?"
"No! For god's sake, I'm in love with someone!" As soon as those words escaped their cage his pupils contracted, eyes pinned wide in shock at what he'd just confessed. A hand went to his mouth, but too late.
He was eternally grateful that she didn't ask who it was. "I see." It didn't spark her interest in the least, or so her cool exterior told him, with its blank eyes and crossed arms.
They went to bed, and Ichigo couldn't sleep. He stared at the bright smudge of clock on the wall. It was the only thing which stood out in an otherwise pitch-black room. The time was one a.m.. Shit. Finals tomorrow. He needed to get some sleep, but here he was, anxiety consuming him while he turned ideas over and over in his mind. I'm moving in a week. Ichigo bolted upright, staring out his window at the moon. He bore that classic scowl before its rays landed on his skin.
It hung low in the sky, seeming to taunt him, brilliant as a diamond in the darkness around it. Despite its mystery, its secrets, the moon seemed to have a spark of humor to it as it danced its lit gaze across his skin. Ichigo had always loved the moon. And if there was anyone meant for him, he had always known their eyes would be just like it—just as bright against the dark, just as unreadable, just as playful.
He'd already met someone with eyes exactly like that.
And he would be moving away and leaving that person behind in one week.