Disclaimer: If I did own Bleach, there would obviously be alot more smut and a lot less swordfighting. So be thankful I don't.
Everyone else knew it long before they did.
Urahara predicted it, watching from the shadows as one shinigami died and a greater one was born, as two names were exchanged in a moment far more significant than either would ever realize, and he grinned to himself.
Inoue guessed it from the way her heart inexplicably sank when she first saw them together in the park.
Chad felt there was something to be said for the way they continued to ignore the growing sexual tension between them.
Ishida assumed, in his self-righteous Quincy way, that there was only one reason a guy like him would risk his life for a girl like her, even if both of them refused to admit it.
Yuzu and Karin both wondered what kind of girl this was, that she could make their brother open up in ways he hasn't for years.
Isshin noticed the look in his son's eye one day, saw the slight strut in his walk, and cried his heart out to his wife's picture that their precious baby had finally grown up.
Ichigo himself is fairly sure there is probably something fairly significant about the way he feels whenever she leaves him, and how it is nothing as intense as the way he feels when she comes back to him.
And Rukia, for her part, isn't sure when she first looked at him and saw a man instead of a scrawny fifteen-year-old kid.
And neither is entirely sure what "it" is until the climax is reached, the peak of tension breached and broken wide; a sudden wide-eyed look, a skipped heartbeat, the realization finally striking home and the spark of attraction flaring into brilliant passion...
—two bodies tumbling down on a bed, clothing eagerly tossed aside, one dark warm moist mouth meeting another with an almost bruising force, bodies slick with sweat as skin glides over skin—
But that slowly gives way to a smoldering ember buried deep in their hearts that surfaces only when the time is right...
—a quiet look, meaning exchanged without words; fingers brush softly, intimately across the inside of a wrist, the curve of a neck; smiles that speak volumes and eyes that hold wonder—
And burns steadily, becoming such a natural part of life that both are surprised when they realize what it's called and what it means...
—it hurts to be apart, to see the other hurt, to imagine existing without the other; hearts ache, stomachs clench in fear, blood suddenly runs cold, time seems to stop completely—
They call it love.
Hmm...a little too cliche for my taste. I don't like it nearly as much as I did when I first wrote it. It's pretty much thanks to my Beta de resistance, Esbee, that it doesn't completely suck. Well, leave your thoughts at the button, I'm happy to hear them.