rent

9. it takes three suns and two moons

by appleschan


Ichigo recalled having caught Rukia sneaking into his doorless library three times.

First:

They were in the middle of exam week, and the stress surely had caught on to everyone including Kuchiki. Ichigo wondered about her studying habits while in the bus, in the bus stop, sitting on the bench near the university field where they meet before coming home, on the dining table, while caring for her dying flowers and setting up a small makeshift greenhouse. She had this quiet, enduring determination that belonged only to chipper and bright-eyed freshmen before they sell their souls to get to the next semester.

Ichigo knew her to be intelligent, a few glances while in class before he truly met her told him enough, she was articulate on discussions and very, very diligent. But she studied everywhere, Ichigo thought she was over-reacting, that it somewhat bordered on amusement for him while watching her cartwheel everywhere with a book on her face.

(Ichigo never had the need to share, but he can usually breeze an exam in minutes, and he can study quietly, in one place, in one sitting, calmly, and with extremely favorable results, too)

Ichigo swore to never eat packed ramen noodles inside his library while studying – not that he actually studied inside his library, it was always down on the circular living/sun room where the ceiling is two-storey high and the windows are as large as the walls. Ramen noodles ran stains and burn unpleasant tinges on his books. In one of the worst cases, his oldest book and chili sauce became inseparable. He banned them from coming into contact with any of his books.

One evening, the night before her last and major exam, Ichigo found her camped inside his library sitting cross-legged on the floor with her reviewers around her. His library was circular, with bookshelves pushed against the wall, lining everything with books, at the center was his old reading chair. She opted to sit behind his chair, where she was obscured from view.

Ichigo just came home from his nightly jogs, and had to walk past his chair to peek on her. But Kuchiki was, as expected, so focused and furiously scribbling fast that she did not notice him looming behind her. She wore headphones, and Ichigo could hear a quiet hint of – most likely – Adagio for Strings.

There was, of course, that spicy and strong smell of chili and ginger – steamy ramen in a bowl, just there, casually put on his library wooden floor boards with a very thin piece of paper as the floor's only barrier, a meter from the closest pile of his books. He huffed, as if breathing out his frustration.

But whatever disapproval Ichigo felt had to be delayed until the next morning. He could not exactly reprimand Kuchiki on her choice of study area and the food she brought with her (he knew, packed ramen noodles is a staple food among college students) because he never really cleared any of his house rules to her. So Ichigo quietly retreated, stewing in his own disapproval, but letting her study throughout the night uninterrupted.

Second:

Ichigo brought home a portrait puzzle: 500 pieces, of Van Gogh's Starry Night, one warm afternoon and finished the entire puzzle under an hour, just before the last sip of his cold orange juice. He decided to keep the puzzle in a frame and hang it on the awkwardly empty wall of his library where the decade-old wallpaper is peeling.

There, instead, he saw Rukia sleeping, propped and curled like a cat on the floor at the back of his old reading chair. An opened book, Manyoshu, opened and covering the side of her face as she slept and snored lightly. There was that afternoon sunlight, warm and cozy on her sleeping form. Ichigo would let it that way, if not for the skinniness of her ankles and wrists, and the bony prominence that stuck out. Rukia had always been a bit okay-looking, as in kind of healthy-looking. He didn't think she was on the pink of her health, but she was okay, she was not sick, even with all those convenience store-produced food they consumed (and that hateful packed ramen noodles and its stains). He wasn't worried, he told himself, a little bit concerned – the tiniest of concerns, maybe.

Ichigo considered waking her from her uncomfortable position and ask her to rest on his old, admittedly softer chair (a recliner, actually) instead, but after noticing that she wore a shirt and shorts (and he just noticed it now – and he didn't want her thinking strange things), an odd sensation recoiled in his stomach, and he dismissed the thought and left immediately.

Ichigo didn't know what to be more annoyed about: her choice of sleeping position, or that she was a kind of, maybe a little bit, tiny bit not okay, or that she wore shorts and it made him embarrassed, or that she slept while a revered book of Japanese poetry lay haphazardly on her face.

Third:

Ichigo never thought Kuchiki was that kind of girl, how could she, there was slight constricting in his throat as he thought of those things. Ichigo felt obliged to be offended on behalf of the classical books stacked primly in his library. Just that, Ichigo had to dissect his disapproval.

It's sacrilege, Ichigo thought a little bit darkly, letting romance manga and romance pocketbooks find their way on his library: graphic, and may be indecent. He sighed out of disappointment, a long-drawn out one, as if it pained his lungs to know what's near his collection – and it's been a long time since sighed over something.

It was a Sunday mid-morning, and the exams results – after a week – had been released. On the departmental level, Ichigo had everything marked near perfect to perfect. Kuchiki, in her own department, managed a ranked fourth position. Kuchiki told him she'll be gone the day before – Saturday – for an important errand, only to come back with "research materials" and "books for light reading." She was high-spirited and brighter and amused about something, Ichigo remembered looking at her suspiciously behind his glasses. But it dissipated when she mentioned these books were her rewards for taking a fourth position. It seemed harmless for a diligent Kuchiki to buy books and read as a reward, he let it go and went back to his codes.

There were laughs, of course, light giggles and the softest of chuckles, and it reminded of the time when they were in a café beside the university. Ichigo held a sigh at bay, they were becoming unhealthy.

He was standing outside his library, leaning on the wall beside the archway. She was, as always, hidden from view, sitting behind his reading chair, slumped on the floor, her curled form leaning to the left, to where the sunrays were.

But she's enjoying herself, Ichigo thought. He did not know what to make of it. For all his assumptions on her, the very diligent and classy Kuchiki liked romance mangas. His prejudice against those not listed as classic was being challenged by a girl barely reaching his neck, but it wasn't like there's anything he could do about it, and if he could, it wasn't like he will do something about it. Did she, Ichigo barely skirted the question, like stolen kisses and heartfelt confessions and elopements and – Ichigo stopped right then. He really had no right to question that.

Shaking his head, he decided on doing something he put out far too long (and to forget that she liked romance mangas). Ichigo went out to get something.

.

Ichigo recalled having caught Rukia sneaking into his doorless library three times. And so:

He bought her a reading chair, and placed it back to back against his old reading chair inside his library.

.

"I didn't take you for any pink bullshit, so deal with the color." He tells her.

On very rare occasions, there is smugness in him, detectable in his voice and he couldn't do anything to mask it. He bought her chair from a thrift antique store and had it reupholstered and it's huge and colored lilac.

Rukia just looks at him, bright-eyed. Lilac, certainly, is perfect. She thinks gratefully.

They are in his library. Rukia, just discovering her new chair, and Ichigo, while his codes compile, follows her upstairs and stands by the archway.

Her lilac chair is facing the window, facing the same tulips and vase she put in there, while his chair faces the doorway. A good amount of light filters from the window to a specific spot on the left arm of her chair, good for reading – the way she always does.

Ichigo remembers it's her customary way of reading, head tilted to the left, and book propped open on the left armrest while the rest of her body curled in a way he could not place just exactly how comfortable.

She had been there when the delivery stopped by his front porch where he sat idle waiting for it (delivery was late for days, though, it only came yesterday). She was on the deck, transplanting her daffodils and saving her tomatoes. He received a curious look from her, a peeking, questioning but noninvasive arch of one eyebrow in which he answered by briefly glancing in her direction and saying, "chair." She nodded casually and went back to saving her dying daffodils. She had no idea.

"Ichigo, I-" Rukia pauses and thinks of something to say, thinks of what to thank him for first. It isn't just about the chair (though she thought sitting on his and using his library would be too much so she never used it). There are many things she wants to say, more than what she could think of at the moment. Admittedly too hard – right now – for her, when she learned all her life to bottle emotions. Instead, she settles on a playful quip, hoping it will convey her gratitude in some way (while she slowly picks up the words to thank him properly).

She smiles genuinely and tells Ichigo, "I thought you'd buy a door and lock me out."

Ichigo snorts, loud and a bit brash and playful in his own way. He considers her words for a long moment. How could he when she already claimed a part of his home.

"Believe me," Ichigo looks at her dead straight. Folding his arms over his chest, he tells her seriously, "I thought of it."

.

.

.

Later that day, while they are having their customary dinner at the bus stop in front of the convenience store, Rukia asks Ichigo how he could afford the reading chair and its repairs:

"I told the guy who…" Ichigo's face bunches up, like the times he's trying to remember names to match faces, but he has always been bad about it. "…whatever, the guy who pays me to play soccer. You know him-?"

"No-" Rukia answers.

"Yeah, well. I told him he'll pay me for listing and practicing in his team, and if we have a game, I'll charge double because then I'll have to give more time practicing. And if I can make the team win, I'll charge triple…because…well, I want to."

"Oh," chuckles Rukia, "your talent is way too very expensive. I will never hire you."

"Heh," responds Ichigo, relaxing onto the cold bench and finding some warmth on it.


thequeenindisguise: ahh, ikaw talaga, hindi naman. salamat. :p

hopelessromantic and hirako shinji and angie: you have my sincerest thanks.