ii.
But of course, affection starts in glances, in physical appearances, in the smallest of gestures and the quietest of sighs and the softest of mornings. A quiet, mellow tug in the heart as if to say: oh.
She's confused by this, in an imprecise and broad way of sorts. She is an academic at heart and at mind, but it is nothing foreign: Kuchikis are raised rationally and intellectually and expected to be academic. There's stability in knowing what logic to apply in different situations and problems – she had been taught, from the hardest math problem to five synonymous words for snow, she won't miss it. After all, the answers are always found in books and memos and observation and analysis; are merely a string of algorithm and calculations; are binary - either right or wrong. There is hardly room for confusion.
So: how could it be? How could the affection be? She knows how Kurosaki-sensei is (but does not entirely know who). And: how does one clearly differentiate dedicated highschool admiration from heartsick pining (unfortunately, her books did not tell her).
The first of her memories: it is six am and the sun is barely peeking, but there are swirls of light gold and butter yellow in the sky - this is the prettiest of the day. And Rukia, smart and reliable and reserved and diligent Rukia-chan, goes to school early and decides to get ahead in classes before everyone else is sitting on their breakfast table. She stops by the bench a bit far from the gates and directly facing the school fields, her notes propped around her.
She catches a glimpse of Kurosaki-sensei dressed in all black early in the morning by the school fields, running. Rukia thinks he is angry by the way his feet pounded on the ground, heavy and forceful. He goes fast, in sharp turns without changing his speed, until exhaustion, and then a short rest, and goes again maintaining his form. Rukia goes back to her notes.
"Morning," he says hoarsely, bent on his knees, a few meters from her, heaving. Surprised, Rukia looks up and automatically returns the greeting as well as she could, he nods in return, and there is a slight curving on his mouth. But it ends like that and he walks away and it's nothing more than a casual greeting, and Rukia reads her notes again.
Sometimes, she asks herself: how much easier could it possibly be for a young teacher with no high social status background to enter an exclusive school.