FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood took over my life for a few weeks, so sorry for the absence! I'm planning on writing some Edward x Winry fanfics now, puahaha. Sorry for the small update…I figured I might as well do each chapter from a different POV. Next week is going to be Rukia's POV.

I think the reason why I keep running out of motivation to write IchiRuki is because I've fallen out of love with Bleach. And we haven't heard from Rukia for what…like…a hundred chapters? An exaggeration, sure, but still…the IchiRuki flames have started dying down for me. What to do, what to do :[ I guess that's why I'm so inspired to write EdWin…because FMA was such a wonderful plot and there are so many interesting things to go off of. Anyway, you'll be hearing from me again in a few days with the first chapter of my FMA story!

10

I found my way back to the classroom. All the tumultuous feelings in my head made me feel like I was swimming; drowning even. But it's not like I needed air to breathe…my lungs heaved within my chest tiredly to no avail.

Rukia was already there.

I stepped inside, my skin prickling as I felt the tension in the air. The walls were festooned with shredded bits of black paper mache and sequins. I knew I shouldn't have left Keigo to do the decorating. It looked like a bizarre cross between a Mardi Gras party and a funeral.

In my body, it felt as if there was not an ounce of courage left. My fighting heart was at a standstill; but still. I wanted to talk to Rukia. I took a step to her, then another. At this point, my mind was screaming at me to stop, but I didn't slow down. I knew if I paused even for one second, I would stop completely.

Her seat was awfully close to the door, so I reached it in the matter of seconds. Her back was turned towards me; I considered clearing my throat or something. But I didn't—I just stood there standing like a moron, watching her petite form, which was curled over in indecision. She had the costume in her hands, kept creasing the damn cardboard and making an awful cracking sound.

"Are you going to put it on or not?"

She turned around quickly, her face flushing. She looked up at me, her eyes all wide and startled like she was seeing a ghost. I almost smiled; I towered over her. Our height differences were so big. I had to remind myself now was not the time to fuel her Napoleonic complex.

"A-ah, Ichigo! Don't scare me like that!"

"I'll scare you however I want," I argued, knowing it sounded childish. Her fingers were tracing patterns on the cardboard, all these sympathetic shapes. She always thought with her hands. What I mean is that she always had to be doing something with her hands whenever she was in deep thought. If she didn't have anything to hold, she'd have them fluttering against each other like birds. Snow-white birds.

"Ichigo…what happened back there was…"

"Don't worry about it." My lie had a sour taste to it—it settled like acid, dissolving on my tongue like morphine. Wonderful, wonderful poison.

Rukia shook her head, this damn lock of hair falling out across her forehead. Those strands of hair always did that. Every time, I was tempted to sweep it away, back behind her ear.

"Is it really…are you okay with it?

I shrugged, "If I'm not, I'll be fine. Besides, when have you ever worried about me, Rukia?"

She flushed, slapping me with the cardboard. It made a hollow sound, I smiled, stopping it with a hand. Then, I guess she didn't have anything better to do, so she bowed.

Rukia bowed. It was almost a ninety-degree thing. How old-fashioned.

"I really am sorry, Ichigo!" she stammered, staring up at me with a piercing look. It was like she was trying to convey all of her feelings of sincerity. Part of me didn't want to believe her; I'd learned enough from my previous girlfriends. But another part felt light-hearted. It was refreshing seeing a girl like her make so much effort to get her point across…someone who was as sincere as her…

My hand raised of its own accord, landing on the crown of her head. I felt like I was petting a cat; her head kept bobbing as I stroked her hair. "It's okay. It really is."

I decided I was being stupid; it wasn't as if she was my girlfriend or anything like that—she had no obligation to keep my feelings close to her heart.

It was infatuation; it had been infatuation all along.

And was it so wrong that I was losing myself in those rapturous feelings?

"Ichigo?"

I looked down at her. Her eyes were shut tight, as if to suppress some type of emotion. There was finely-wound tension in her small frame. I let my hand fall from her head.

There was an awkward silence before I grabbed the cardboard from her hands [why the hell was she still holding it?] and popped it open, creasing it into shape. I stared at the strange contraption in my hands, the slimy trails of glitter and…Chappy stickers lining the surface.

"Holy shit."

"Shut up!"

She snatched it back before I could scrutinize it and make any more unholy remarks.

"The glitter is pretty gag-worthy, but Chappy brings it up a notch." she admitted, studying her creation, eyes all pensive like she was critiquing it or some shit like that.

I rolled my eyes, "Idiot."

Inwardly, I was exhaling in relief. In this way, she was showing me her white flag.

I slapped her hand, making her drop a corner. Ignoring her protests, I tugged the box open, grabbing her by her waist. She was so delicate, like an ice princess. All that was missing was a tiara.

I shoved the costume down on her, hoping I hadn't gouged her eyes out in the process. That would be quite unfortunate.

"Ichigo! What the hell, let me out!"

"You're the one who agreed to do it!"

"But I don't want to anymore!"

She slumped onto her knees, pouting at me through the unevenly-cut opening, "Why don't you do it instead of me? You'd just fail at working in the café…if someone pissed you off, you'd pour coffee on them or something."

I went down on my knees as well, frowning at her, "That may be true, but the bastard would've been really asking for it. Anyways, I haven't even changed into my waiter outfit yet, so shut up. You want to see me in it, don't you?"

"It's 'anyway.'"

I groaned at her quiet remark, "What the hell is wrong with people these days?"

She laughed at me, the sound soft and silvery.

"It's not my fault you suck at grammar."

I latched my hands onto the arms of the chair behind her, boxing her in. Well, not that she wasn't already boxed in. Ha ha.

"Stop trying to get off topic! This whole thing is for a good cause, isn't it? So stop being so goddamn ashamed of yourself…at least you're doing something." I huffed, barely believing the words coming out of my own mouth. I sounded like a motivational speaker. Be the pilot of your own life.

"Besides, would you rather hear Keigo singing?"

Her eyes widened in horror, and I smirked, allowed a chuckle to slip past my lips. "Thought not. Now get out there, princess."

She wriggled about in the box, trying to cross her arms over her chest. The movement made her wobble from side to side, like some cardboard penguin. I fought the urge to laugh.

"Not until I see you in yours."

That urge was gone.

"What?"

"You know…your waiter costume."

I released the chair, certain that I would have snapped it in half otherwise.

"Why?"

"Because I'm wearing t-this…thing! There should be some type of compensation, right?"
Right. Compensation…I leaned in, pressing my lips to her forehead. I really don't think I knew what I was doing. When I did know, I realized I didn't care.

I rested my head against hers, looking into those shocked eyes, velvety orbs that I could lose myself in.

"There. Is that good enough?" I murmured. My voice was strangely soft—I couldn't speak any louder. Besides, any louder might have scared her off. It was strange, that I realized I was okay with how soft I acted around Rukia.

Her lips trembled, trying to form syllables. I let my heated gaze fall on the rest of her face, admiring the delicate arch of her eyebrows, her flushed, milky skin. Her scent was warm; familiar. It filled me with an insatiable feeling; filled me to the bones and took me over. I was on a wave, and it was swelling magnificently, crests of creamy foam combing me forward with their movement. Drawing, pulling, dragging—all passionate movements. That's what I felt from within myself; passionate movement.

I exhaled slowly, counting to three before backing away and somehow managing to stand upright. Idly, I wondered if I should offer her a hand. But it would have seem useless anyhow, seeing as Rukia was still on the ground in some sort of a daze. I didn't blame her. I could barely catch my breath; my own audacity had shocked me.

"Be right back," I winked, an arrogant smirk playing on my lips. I turned to Keigo, who had just rushed into the room. His voice was a screech, a thin, nasal scream, "Ichigo! Where have you been? I've been trying to look for you…whatever, you need to get changed right now! It starts in half an hour, for Chrissake, you dumbass!"

I smiled at him good-naturedly, shoving my hands into my pockets, "Don't be calling me a dumbass when you're a dumbass yourself, dumbass."

"Shut up, let's go, let's go!" He grabbed me hand and literally towed me out the door. I almost smacked into the door post on the way.