Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

Theme: all

Warning: all

Chapter word count: 560

General summary: string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

Chapter summary: just wait

bittersweet

VIII

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…o0o…o0o…o0o…

Ichigo dislikes Ishida's antics. Those glasses and pompous attitude that annoys him to no end -yet he managed to put up with him for years during Med School. Ishida made Rukia's dress, and she thinks it's a lifelong debt to him so Ichigo has no choice but to put up with Ishida and his shit -every time. And she really likes his creations.

Ishida is a doctor, a designer and a moron. And seeing him sit beside him quietly -but oozing with icy silent authority- like he usually does reminds him of their internship hours when Ishida would, like a real pompous brat, brutally correct his answers every time and in front everybody.

Ichigo is so used to hearing his smug voice that he wonders why he hasn't heard a word from him since he arrived eight hours ago.

There's Inoue, the girl that likes him -still. Inoue, who alternates between crying and smiling at the thought of him, confuses him -still- to no end. But he appreciates her effort and -to some degree- her feelings for him, but it's not her.

Chad went home hours ago. Ichigo sat with him all night. They have a silent understanding.

Then there's Rukia. She's ushering the delivery boys where to put the flowers. She occasionally looks in his direction, he looks back at her directly, then she looks away again. He thinks she's still mad because just a week before, he carelessly slip the tiny Kurosaki's arrival to their family and friends -without her. Because he's fucking excited to be a father. He understands why she's mad and she's pretty fucking stoked herself when they got the news. They would become parents.

Then Ichigo hears his father gleefully laugh. "Yes! It's his new name!" Isshin booms, pointing to a paper that has a name written in kanji.

He should beat his father. He should really beat his father. Who the fuck buys an obsolete name for 2 million yen?

But still. It's a new name.

Rukia sits beside him. He does not hold her hand because really, what comfort would that do?

-ah fuck! He forgot! He forgot to shut the window to their bedroom or throw away the used coffee filters and water their lone stupid real plant inside the house. When they got married, he and Rukia divided stuff to do, he got the easier ones. She'd be fucking pissed if once she sees it.

Then like shit hitting the fan continuously, he suddenly remembers the dinner he reserved days ago got canceled, and he forgot to tell Rukia. But then, she probably figured it out.

Rukia looks around them, to the pretty arrangement for him, her head tilting side to side and her eyebrows in constant frown, he knows she's trying to catch one out of place detail. But he thinks, what fucking waste of time.

Rukia finally stops looking around and he looks at his wife, she is fighting back her emotions -like she always does. So he sat there, quiet as well. What can he do? He couldn't tell her comforting words -she'll scoff at him for even attempting to be romantic, he isn't.

But he badly wants to hold her hand but he couldn't. It fucking sucks. He just has to wait.

They will burn him, and he won't feel anything.

He realizes -with so much annoyance- that he does not like watching his own funeral.

…o0O0o…

the end

Author's note

what a 15-minute morning coffee break resulted in. but i don't think i'm fully awake yet. 10:17 am.

thanks for reading.

-appleschan