disclaimer: i do not own bleach. i make no profit.
warning: ooc. segmented. slice of life.
rent
7. wonderland is a jump away
appleschan
He's aware, from every drop of rain to the growing chill in the air to the flickering post lamp to the fluttering in his chest to the bright glass-like appearance of her eyes in the dark and to the arching of both of her eyebrows, he sounds like a worried boyfriend.
So he steps back a little, severely embarrassed, looks away and runs a hand in his damp hair.
"Yes…" Rukia answers, and then changes her tone upon he has more to say, "yes…?"
(he hopes she does not catch the awkward tone in his tone)
"I mean," He starts but loses the words immediately, "I mean…" He stares down and finds an interesting piece of rock beside her shoes, so so interesting, he thinks.
Rukia interrupts, "sorry, is there a problem? Should I be somewhere else?"
Rukia puts down the book, and –for the first time in months- really looked at him up close.
He stands in front of her, beside the post lamp. And the light catches him, and he stands out in the dark. She catches the brightness of his hair and liquid color in his eyes –they are really not brown, not like common brown, not like brown-brown, and she remembers how she thinks they are like caramel and amber and how true that was. (And he continues to run his hand in his hair like a bashful boy and does not look at her straight, his shoulders hunching, very contradictory to the –so it would seem- athletic uniform he wears.)
She asks again, "Is there a problem?"
"Nothing," he says exasperatedly and opts to sit beside her, moving his bags down. She probably had not seen the note. Or ignored it or forgot about it or whatever. (and that it should not bother him)
"Are you sure?" She asks again, he glances at her, briefly, and tells her, "nothing really, I meant to give you a duplicate of my house keys -he digs out a key from the pocket of his bag and tosses it to her, she catches it- but it isn't done so I have to wait for it around this lunch."
-that she could not reply anything other than, "I'm sorry, that I really-"
Ah, Rukia thinks, he really does care for other's well being. She already knows this, but the actual experience of it is really something else.
"It's fine. I'll be attending soccer practice from now on, you can go home by yourself."
"Oh? Soccer?" She asks, genuinely interested.
"Somebody paid me to play." But he doesn't seem interested, so she pushes no more.
"How long were you waiting?" He looks at her and she sees how tired he is.
"An hour or so, but it's nothing."
"I left you a note, under the muffin," he doesn't say 'I left for you this morning,' Rukia thinks-
-then, "What, you did?!" Rukia rummages her bag for a note. And indeed, she finds a small note taped beneath her muffin: meet me in the field. 7 pm.
"Oh?" She doesn't comment on how strangely vague and familiar and embarrassing the way he phrased it.
Looking at the small muffin, and how tired he is, she hands it back to him, "here."
"What? No."
He looks at it as if she's offering him some grime filled, used soccer shoes, and she, the sweat-filled, stinky, tousled purple-eyed soccer player.
"Kurosaki-san, I'll treat you to dinner tonight," she stands up then bows at him, "I am really sorry about missing your note and all the inconveniences that came with it."
Then she pulls her umbrella and runs to the convenience store before he could protest, leaving him surprised.
.
.
.
"Oh?" she says, pleasantly shocked, looking at him tying his shoes outside in the front steps of his house.
It's 7 am, and he should be sleeping.
"Uh, did not sleep ?" she inquires softly as she hops down and skips the first two steps and lands soundlessly on the ground, almost expecting no answer or a simple grunt from him.
"Hmnn," he grunts. And Rukia smiles to herself.
It's quite sunshine-y today (even at that early time) with no dimming, so she does not see the need to bundle herself in her blue coat and scarf or carry her rain boots with her, she wears an egg-yolk-yellow strap dress and a hat that she consciously chose to reflect her mood.
Ichigo (curiously) is not wearing a black hoodie today, she notes, looking at his simple denim, scuba-blue t-shirt and the boat shoes he's tying.
"Hmn," she says, "you are not wearing black today," this comes as a statement and meant it as that only, so she doesn't know where: "No hoodie?" came from.
"Why would I wear a hoodie under this sun?" he stands up and scowls at her –surprising her, rendering her open-mouthed for a second, because he's so tall and he actually said something not brooding. (He seems to mock her but she thinks it's a good-natured one.)
"Really, who does that?" He says then slings his bag (now larger) and walks past her and goes out of the gate, but he leaves it open for her, after covering a distance worth ten steps, he stops and looks back at her.
"Oi, you coming or not?"
Rukia hurries and closes the gate behind her, thinking how pleasantly surprising to see Ichigo under the sun.
(she does not, however, ask why he's up early or why he's going with her)
.
.
.
5 minutes later and they are back on the bus stop.
The bus arrives and before boarding, he turns around and faces her, his face grim, Rukia stays still, wondering what he's going to say.
"Did you buy flowers again?"
Oh. "No," Rukia answers, "why?"
"Of you did not, then why are there daffodils in the garden?" He tilts his head to her. (Behind him, she catches the bus driver frown at them) As if daring her to lie barefaced about her evident lack of green thumb.
"Surely, you did not plant those."
Rukia's eyes narrowed, "Hey, I grew them myself!"
He snorts and steps inside the bus.
"I grew them myself!" she hisses after him. He does not react other than a slight curving of his mouth (is that a smile?) and arching of both his eyebrows.
(Rukia finds herself light hearted during the entire bus ride, like seeing the sun stripes in pastel colors, like appreciating how birds belong to the sky and how trees belong to Earth, like how the wind blows on her gently and how nature tells her, I'm here . They don't sit beside each other. She sits behind him, a book propped open on her lap, a dried orange tulip as a bookmark; he sits by the window quietly listening to music.)
.
.
.
She never takes him as a morning person, and so breakfast and him do not match. No coffees. No teas. No sandwich. No traditional breakfast. And that, she realizes, she never knew his morning routines past 5 am, or if he has one, she thinks he sleeps until 10 am or 12 am.
Curious, she follows him to a small and cramped coffee shop, and minutes later, finds herself seated in a table opposite him. He doesn't say anything, and she thinks that's a positive sign that he isn't shooing her away.
He has his black-rimmed glasses on and is typing at the laptop he uses for coding and programming, untouched bagel and cream cheese and coffee beside him. She did not order anything for herself, having eaten two muffins, one from last night and one this morning.
"You can leave if you're late," he says, slightly nodding to the door.
"No, I have an hour to go," she answers casually, her purple eyes looking at the vintage inspired place, the typewriters and china teacups and teapots, carnation and lacework tablecloths, frames and paint-peeling wooden chairs, drapes and candelabras. What an odd choice for him. She thinks it's probably the half-part of his heritage, the German-Japanese power family rumor and that it's probably true-
"Then why do you leave so freakishly early?" he stops typing and sips his coffee and looks at her.
Rukia pauses and looks back at him –who is so close at the moment- she doesn't exactly know how to feel about him freely starting conversations.
to be continued
