Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.
Warning: ooc. segmented. slice of life.
*re-uploaded.
rent
iii. books about beasts, bees and butterflies
appleschan
She discovers, one of his habits is going to the library to borrow a book -he's cheap, he doesn't like spending on an expensive copy when one is readily available unless of course it's a matter of reading a newer version- then heading straight to one of the university rooftops to read, not that his habit is surprising at all.
But the books he checks out aren't within the last five years nor are they academic, they're well past a hundred years ago and some thousands, the surviving copies of old western novels and some Heian poetry compilations and translations.
Then she thinks, all shoujo heroes must have some sort of endearing habit.
In his house, she sees a large collection of classical books and old poetry books. He said something about not liking (not liking, not hating) the modern ones because they are trying too hard, too superficial, too superfluous but empty. The way he said empty struck something in her, like he means it dearly, like he's looking for something otherwise, she supposes it's because it's hard to find heart nowadays.
Then she makes a mental note, Kurosaki Ichigo likes heart.
Maybe that's why he threw the plastic sunflowers away in the first hour she put them in their places.
Today, they both have no class. So she bought tulips (white and yellow and violet) and a white china vase from a thrift store -oh, vintage and all that, to match his affinity for old books. It's just a short walking trip from his house to the old florist who offered her the tulips in a slashed price. She will put them where most of his battered books are usually placed, because she doesn't give up easily.
Currently, she holds them in a badly-wrapped, badly-concealed paper bag.
It's the second story of his house where he keeps a huge room open (meaning he broke down the door because it's prone for locking itself because of its old and malfunctioning lock) for his old books and he keeps a single cushioned chair in the middle to sit and a circular old rug under it. Rukia thinks, it's wistfully funny and otherworldly familiar because he's so old-fashioned. That a guy like him still exists.
His house is old-fashioned, too. She begins to think rumors about his lineage are true, the different katanas locked in glass cases with a covering of at least 2-inch of dust each and European-styled furniture and books written in German.
But rumors missed something, he lives alone –well, at least, before he took her in. He lives in a manor sort-of house, big, wrought-ironed gates, soot-covered walls and just generally dark, dark, dark.
So he lives alone and buys his food from the convenience store. And she can stay if she helps in cleaning his house.
Admittedly, after 3 weeks, she only about accomplished the front garden –where the dying (and dead) flowers are.
He said, "Stupid, clean the house first." Ahh, he means that after telling her to water the plants, "leave them be after watering them," she almost heard him say last night before they parted ways at the staircase.
She left them. But she bought the tulips and is currently thinking of where she'll place them; this room is huge.
She takes the vase and sits cross-legged behind the large cushioned chair, down at the circular rug, turned away from the door to arrange the flowers. She bought at least a dozen tulips and really, she has no idea how her previous maids and florists do this, she could simply chuck the flowers in and pour water but she didn't want it to look haphazardly done or she might risk him chucking it away again.
She just finished putting the last violet tulip when she hears the cushion chair creaks and she stops mid-pour.
She hears the soft rustling of papers and knows instantly he's probably reading again. She feels his presence behind her, silent and big.
Awkward it is that he catches her sitting behind his chair in his home library. Then he acts like it's nothing.
She's about to mutter an apology –yet he won't really care- then exit quickly until she hears him softly say, "Put that in the desk by the window."
Something falls into place and good thing she knows how to conceal a smile.
There's a large window behind the chair, to where she's sitting pointing to, to where the afternoon sun is shining softly.
And she answers, "That's what I thought, too."
to be continued