Disclaimer: I don't own bleach. As a matter of fact, I don't even own myself, 'cause thanks to college, I'm forever owned by my parents. (Stupid debt…)
Chapter 2: It All Falls Down…
They're cold. And soft, yet unmistakably loud as they race from one destination to the next, some crashing on top various objects, while others splatter gleefully against rugged concrete. Plus they're wet. They are wet, and cold, and loud. Soft, but every time they touch on his bare arms it feels like needles. Hundreds of impossibly tiny, surprisingly sharp needles. So it's only logical, (at least to him anyway) to hate them. Which is why he can't understand her fascination for them. Doesn't comprehend why sapphire tinted eyes gaze at them when they trail along his windowpane, before turning to stare into his own chocolate coated orbs. It explains why his brain can't seem to grasp the fact, that the owner of those said sapphires, has now leapt from his window and out into the middle of them.
Her arms are spread as far as they can go, with her head tilted upwards and eyes closed. Hair, soft as silk and darker than the night, lies plastered against her face while they continue their erratic dancing; carried along by the wind like tiny ballerinas. For a while, she decides to dance along with them, her body twisting and twirling to the music that their demise creates.
Perhaps they're not as cold as he believes, and he reaches out with his long, tan fingers to catch some on their decent. No. The damnable stuff still makes him shiver, and he wipes them on the front of his shirt before shooting a glare out of his window. First he directs it at her; dancing without a care in the world, making him believe in things that are not possible. Then his piercing gaze darts upward and he curses at the sky. After all, if it weren't for the sky, then there would be no gray clouds, and if there were no gray clouds, then…
Rukia wouldn't be having fun right now. The pure absurdity of that thought make him shift his gaze to her once more, the corners of his mouth lifting along with one of his orange eyebrows. So what if he doesn't like rain? Who cares if the little droplets of water remind him of a time when he was too weak to save her, severely outclassed by a complete pansy (Not that he'll say that to the other man's face, of course)? Or too small to protect his mother. He most certainly doesn't.
"Hey, Ichigo?" She stands on his windowsill now, water running from her hair down to trace along her cheeks and slender neck. "Come dance with me."
And the fact that his heart no longer aches while they spill onto his floor has nothing to do with the twinkle in those oh-so-deep eyes, or the smile that lights up her porcelain features.
Not a damned thing.
End-
And drabble #2 is complete. It probably makes no sense, but I felt that Ichigo would put up with anything that made Rukia happy, so I figured he'd even give the rain a second chance, since it was always around for the low points in his life…