Back with more, albeit a bit late. First of all, I'd like to thank you all for taking the time to read this story. Also, many many thanks for the review! You don't know how much a few lines of text can lift your mood until you're on the receiving end :D I'll try not to disappoint!
So the chapter today doesn't have anything to do with the first. It'll take a bit to tie the different groups together, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Mostly based off a certain scene in episode 15, introducing the Karakura High gang, and a faint hint of a plot:

2 · The Broomstick and the Frog

People told Asano Keigo way too often that he was bad at reading the atmosphere. He disagreed. It's not that he couldn't read it, he just didn't feel like acting as the situation demanded all the time. That wouldn't be interesting. Besides, was there any nobler task than to fill the class clown position, providing laughter and relief even in the toughest of times? He took pride in his apparent lack of sensibility: it made his friends feel better about themselves, and that, in turn, made him feel fulfilled.

Oh, right, back on track. The atmosphere. It was pretty bad, really. One would usually say that the tension was so thick it could be cut with a butter knife, but at that moment it had reached a point far beyond that. You'd need a damn chainsaw to cut it. Scratch that, cutting it wasn't an option; they'd need a fucking thermonuclear explosion to blow it up. He felt as if they'd all been trapped inside a giant butter block and dumped in the freezer, even though it wasn't a particularly chilly winter day. They wouldn't be having lunch on the rooftop if the weather was too inclement, overenthusiastic PE teachers (preachers?) be damned, catching the flu or pneumonia then dying wasn't what he understood as "making the most of their youth". No, it wasn't cold, it only felt cold, and that guy was the one at fault.

...That guy being, of course, Ishida Uryuu, also known as —only in Keigo's mind, since he didn't want to die at age seventeen— Mr. Broomstick. The reason was pretty simple: he was ninety-nine percent sure the guy had a broomstick shoved up his arse, which ultimately resulted in his impossibly stiff posture and his slightly (slightly being a criminal understatement) assholeish behaviour.

Well, no, to be fair, Ichigo was at fault too. He and his penchant for inviting him to join them for lunch. It wasn't the first time it happened, and he would bet three of his ten toes that it wasn't the last, either. It always went like this: Ichigo would bug Ishida to come, Ishida would refuse, Ichigo'd insist, Ishida'd refuse again, Ichigo'd keep on bugging, Ishida'd keep turning him down, rinse and repeat until he complied just to make him shut up. Then they'd all sit together in a circle, trying to hold an inane conversation and feeling awkward, while their guest would ignore them for the most part and eat his meagre lunch at the speed of light then get the hell away.

Not even Keigo himself could think of a way to salvage the situation, nor could he understand his self-proclaimed best friend's actions. The only explanation that came to his mind was that he got a kick out of seeing Ishida looking like a fish out of water, since by then it was pretty clear that four-eyes enjoyed being around them as much as they enjoyed being around him. Then again, Ichigo wasn't that kind of guy, even if he had a bit of a sadistic streak —he wouldn't hit him so often and so hard if he didn't, right? However, he wasn't the kind of guy that would approach such an irritating fellow for the sake of being nice, he was too impatient. Also really, really stubborn, though. ...Maybe it was some sort of battle of wills between those two. Yup, that must be it.

This time was no different from the others. Ishida was trying to look dignified while chomping down his plain bentou; cooked rice with shredded lettuce. No traces of a main dish, not even a topping. Seriously, he could have at least spared the time to sprinkle it with sesame seeds, or some parsley, something! Even Chad was bothered by it, and Chad was rarely bothered by anything. He saw him picking a piece of tonkatsu with his chopsticks and eyeing it thoughtfully, then glancing sideways at Ishida's lunch. He moved his arm slightly towards his left, debating whether he should deposit the piece of meat on the lanky teen's plate while he was looking the other way. He finally decided against it and dropped it back inside his lunchbox, probably afraid Ishida would feel insulted by it.

He couldn't blame him. Not only was Ishida a prick, he was an extremely touchy prick. The broomstick must make his butt hurt too much. Whenever something could be taken the wrong way, he'd take it the wrong way. Dancing to folk songs in a landmine-infested area and getting out in one piece would be easier than managing to interact with him without offending him at some point. Who in their right mind would feel offended by free tonkatsu? The guy was nuts.

Keigo shot Chad a sympathetic look, Chad nodded in acknowledgement.

The silence was so deep he could hear his own heartbeat. The only noticeable sound was that of Rukia drinking her orange juice through one of those straws that fascinated her so. She and Mizuiro were checking the catalogue of that one boutique they were planning to raid, one that specialised in shrimps—er, small sizes, that is. The shortest and most pampered of his friends would probably invite him and make him carry their bags... again. He sighed and started pouting.

Then he got tired of pouting after five seconds. Man, the lack of action made him antsy. He needed something, anything to happen. At that point, an alien invasion would be most welcome.

He tried nudging Ichigo. Hey, you got us in this predicament, he wanted to convey, do something. But Ichigo didn't react at all. He was too busy staring into space, only their bespectacled guest was sitting right between him and space, effectively blocking the path of his gaze. That's right, his eyes were fixed on Ishida. As far as he could see, the guy hadn't suddenly sprouted a third eye —more like a fifth, he thought, then both mentally congratulated and berated himself for the lame joke—, so there was no reason for Ichigo to look at him like that, or was there?

Then he caught on.

It was Ishida's mouth. Ishida's lips. The upper left corner of Ishida's lips, where two stray rice grains were resting, white and tiny, like two young lambs that had been separated from the herd. In his rush, he probably hadn't noticed them sticking to his upper lip. And if the rice grains were lost sheep, then Ichigo would be the hungry wolf, watching the poor unsuspecting prey and waiting for the right moment to attack.

Why he was so attracted to a couple grains of flavourless rice when he had a fantastic packed lunch made with love by one of his sisters, that, Keigo didn't know, but he supposed it had something to do with that 'the grass is always greener on the other side' thing.

Ah, green grass. The wolf looked ready to invade the peaceful meadow at any time and start feasting on the rice-sheep, mercilessly tearing out their flesh and devouring their insides, while the fluffy creatures could do nothing more than to bleat pitifully.

The gruesome spectacle of blood, flesh and saliva (and wool) occurring in his imagination made Keigo's skin break out in goosebumps. It got even worse when he accidentally translated the scene to the real world, to that very rooftop: his friend went berserk, jumped Ishida and pinned him to the floor, then assaulted the rice grains with such violence that his glasses would instantly be splattered with red... No, Ichigo, stop, please don't become a murderer!

And no, he wasn't so innocent that he'd miss the other implications of jumping someone, but it was better not to think about it. Because if he did, well... his tongue would eventually slip, and then Ichigo would become a murderer anyways, only the victim would be himself.

Yeah, better not to think about wolves.

But Ichigo hadn't moved a bit, and still had the hungry predator look painted all over his face, narrowed eyes and lips pursed in a thin line. Keigo could have sworn he hadn't even seen him blink. Didn't his eyes dry up? That menacing beady-eyed stillness reminded him of a frog. Did frogs blink? Hell if he knew, but frogs were extremely dangerous predators. To insects, at least. So the sheep had turned into a couple mosquitoes dancing near the surface of a shallow pond... well, they weren't actually flying, so mosquito larvae, maybe?

Ichigo the frog was looking intently at his meal, ready for action. At any moment he would open his mouth and flash his metre long tongue; with its long reach and stickiness, he'd catch the two mosquitoes in one swift movement. He'd make them disappear with a single gulp, they'd never be seen again, and no proof would remain of their existence. Such a tragic end for such ephemeral lives!

And so the time had come. Ichigo's sealed lips parted ever so slightly...

"Ribbit."

Suddenly, five pairs of eyes plus one pair of glasses were staring at him, their expressions ranging from mild surprise to utter confusion and reprobation. Hey, he'd just spontaneously added some sound effects, he hadn't done anything that bad! But oh, he must have done something to warrant those looks. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights, so he did what any gentleman would do in that kind of situation: he pointed an accusing finger at Ichigo.

"You think we can't tell your voices apart after knowing you for so long?" Mizuiro remarked, cocking his head. Rukia nodded while sucking her second bottle of orange juice dry, then dislodged the straw from her mouth only to say,

"Idiot."

That was bad, how could he explain himself? He saw it, the frog, Ichigo, he was about to...! "But, but! You don't get it, he was about to unroll it! The tongue!"

"I what?"

"Your fault, man! For staring at Ishida like that, the rice... and you looked so hungry! And thought that you, you know..." Ichigo's frown was deepening as he flailed around, and part of his brain knew that he was digging his own grave with every word, but once he opened his mouth he couldn't stop them from flowing out. "I almost believed that you were gonna—"

Ishida chose that very moment to shoot up like an arrow and pack his belongings as fast as he could. He looked perturbed, the two rice grains still stuck to his lip, and the tips of his ears were red from the cold.

"That's it, I'm leaving," he announced. And he must have heard wrong, because he was pretty sure he'd muttered an almost imperceptible "thanksforthecompany" while walking away.

Keigo made a mental note of asking Ichigo's dad to check his ears the next time he visited.

He was gonna kill Keigo.

He was gonna kill Keigo.

HE WAS GONNA KILL KEIGO.

And he'd make sure it was a slow and painful death. His words had been haunting him all afternoon, and he was so pissed off he'd had to excuse himself right in the middle of karate practice to avoid hitting someone too hard. Who or what in the many levels of hell had possessed the guy to suggest he was looking at Ishida with hungry eyes? HUNGRY? When Ishida was clearly within earshot? Now he must be thinking he was a weirdo, or worse. He'd spent over a year trying to form some kind of bond with him, and now, thanks to Keigo's big mouth, all his efforts had gone down the drain. Nice one, Keigo.

He rested his temple against the cold tiled wall of the cubicle and let out a frustrated groan. Soon after, a swift kick to the door brought him out of his rage-induced trance.

"Ichigo!" Tatsuki called out, "You should've just left early if you had an upset stomach, why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't!" he protested, "And what the hell are you doing here? This is the boys' room!"

"So what? Besides, there's only you in here." She banged on the door some more. "Come ooouuut, Ichigooo! I'm ordering you as your captain!"

Ichigo opened the door. His face was flushed and his scowl was a sight to behold.

"Okay, what's up?" She rested her hand on his shoulder. "You must've had a reason to rush to the toilet in the middle of practice, I presume."

"Nothing. Keigo's an idiot."

She rolled her eyes. "Tell me something I don't know. What did he do this time?"

"Don't wanna talk about it right now."

"Sure, sure." Tatsuki cocked an eyebrow at his reply, but didn't press the issue any further. She must have felt the murderous aura radiating from him. "By the way, I'm leaving early today. Make sure everybody cleans up before going home, will you, vice-captain?" She grinned and playfully slapped him on the back.

"Uh, yeah. Wait, where are you going?"

"I told you, Kanonji's filming near my house today!"

"Huh? Thought you didn't like the guy." Don Kanonji was a flamboyant TV personality who liked spouting random English words while pretending to exorcise ghosts. Ichigo believed Kanonji looked stupid and the whole premise behind his show was stupid. Everybody knew ghosts didn't exist.

"I don't, really, but it's right next to my house! Can't pass up this opportunity, can I? Nothing interesting ever happens in our part of town, anyway." She shrugged, then checked the wall clock. "Ah, crap, it's this late already?"

She flung the door open. Inoue Orihime was waiting for her outside. When the two friends met, they greeted each other crossing their arms over their chest and emulating Don Kanonji's trademark Bohahaha laugh. Inoue noticed him afterwards, and waved.

"Hey there, Kurosaki!"

Tatsuki darted off into the girls' changing room, and Inoue asked him whether he was joining them. Ichigo would swallow a whole live tarantula before having anything to do with either Kanonji or his show, and that's what he told her. He immediately regretted it. He'd usually show more restraint, it was his anger speaking, he swore! To his relief, though, Inoue didn't seem at all taken aback.

"I wonder what tarantulas taste like..."

Ichigo couldn't help but crack a smile. "I heard somewhere spiders taste like chicken," he offered.

"That's right! Many things taste like chicken. I heard frogs do, too!"

...Frog? Did she just say FROG?

Luckily, Tatsuki came back at that moment, effectively saving her from his misplaced rage outburst. After waving the two girls goodbye, he hung his head down in shame.

The first year students sure were a handful. Hadn't anyone told the little fuckers to respect their senpai? It must have been due to his bad mood, but Ichigo had never found his position of authority so tiring. He'd been harbouring hopes of accidentally bumping into Ishida at the school gates so he could blabber some lame excuse he'd think up on the spot (or he'd just tell him Keigo was an idiot, which was an opinion they probably shared, so maybe it would work). Those faint hopes were crushed, however, when he realised the archery grounds where he trained were already empty. The damn kids had made him waste too much time.

Ichigo sighed, feeling completely defeated. He needed to get back home and wash the whole day away with a relaxing shower.

He dragged himself to his locker in order to retrieve his clothes, and opened it only to find it empty. Needless to say, he wasn't in the mood for pranks, and whoever had thought that up would pay dearly. He shot a second look at the empty locker, and —what the hell— his school uniform was back in place, neatly folded, exactly the way he'd left it.

He closed the locker and opened it again. The clothes were still there. He felt around the inside, searching for abnormalities in the structure, to no avail. Okay, was that his mind playing a trick on him?

It was better to get back home and go to bed early.

A/N: Frogs do blink, they do it when they swallow. So says the almighty Google.