A/N: Yay, I've finally written ahead! A lot of awesome angst for you guys up ahead, [in the distant future, mind you] but it's going to be awesome. I love writing angst, haha.

So, hope you enjoy this chapter! I'll update soon :3 And as always, thank you for reading and reviewing! It really motivates me when I see that people like my story, haha, as stupid as that sounds, but we all have our writing insecurities, right?

11

He looked beautiful. Wonderful. Devastating. It was only way to describe the way his legs seemed to stretch endlessly upward, all black silk, 280 thread count, broken only by the gleaming gold buckle of his belt and crisp white tails of his dress-shirt. His hair remained defiant with lively tufts and spikes of orange. My gaze burned upon meeting his eyes, the blazing color of an autumn storm. I couldn't stop my eyes from roving about his broad shoulders; it was mouth-watering how they tapered into his narrow, streamlined waist. He buttoned the last of the elaborate brass buttons on his wool vest, arguing with Keigo about the fit or something stupid like that. The pattern was argyle, with black and coffee-colored diamonds and cream colored lines. I hated argyle. Hell, why did he have to make it look so good?

I clasped my hands to my face; shit, I was blushing. Kuchiki's didn't blush. [Take Byakuya for an example…I think the only time I'd ever seen him blush was around Hisana.]

Now he was looking at me. God, why was he looking at me? Oh right. I was the one who wanted him to change in the first place.

I felt like running underneath a desk or something, or maybe smacking my head against the wall. At least if I was unconscious, I wouldn't have to pay attention to how insanely attractive he was. I wouldn't have to confront the fact that I was falling for him, for his odd sense of charm, for that soulful look in his eyes as he walked towar—

Shit. He was walking towards me. Run away, my brain screamed as I forced my body to comply. I didn't even know where the hell I was going—it didn't matter where, just somewhere. My feet moved with agonizing imprecision, like noodles, as some might say. I felt like I was a Marionette doll. I couldn't feel my knees, my knee-caps were going numb. Fuck. Who knew knee-caps could do that? Shit, you'd think if I spent all my time in a hospital, I'd know stuff like that. But I didn't, and Ichigo was getting closer and closer with each passing minute.

"What the hell are you—" Ichigo managed to ask before I banged my hip against a desk corner, tripped and collided into his chest. He grunted, rocking backwards from the impact. I was instantly enveloped in his smell, all wild and hot and masculine. It was like standing in the midst of a forest in the early morning, watching the sun rising, slowly dispelling the sleepy fog. If you breathed deep enough, you could smell the damp bark on the trees, the moist soil of some nearby riverbed. And if you stretched your hands far up enough, try to catch that sunlight—you could feel the warmth that would eventually spill over and set the skies blazing with its intense heat. That's what Ichigo smelled like. That's what he felt like, too, his arms strong and secure, his body lean and muscled. I could feel him through our clothes; he was strong. His nose was buried my hair, I realized, when I could feel his breath, hot and damp, against the side of my neck. I shivered, sensitive in that area.

"Ichigo, get off of me," I murmured, trying to push myself off of him. He only clung tighter. The kid was like a limpet. A very hot limpet. [And vaguely, I wondered if limpets were edible…and if they were—if they were delicious.] My mind…was. I was losing myself, dear God. Who in their right minds thought about—

"Rukia, don't be an idiot. You're the one that's leaning on me."

I wriggled, trying to get out of his embrace, but his arms remained strong, caging me in against his chest.

"What are you doing!" I hissed into his shoulder, enjoying his proximity all the same. What a dirty pleasure.

"Rukia, what the hell are you doing?" I heard Hisagi's voice from the door, all strained and angry like he had been watching.

Shit. So that's why…

I stepped on Ichigo's foot sharply, slapping his hands away from me.
"You only touched me because Hisagi was watching, you asshole!" I hissed, glaring up at him in accusation.

"That's not true," he spluttered, hair all mussed as he raked his hands across his head. He did that whenever he was at a loss for words.

Not that I knew his little idiosyncrasies.

It should be illegal how he looked so hot, all bothered and furious as hell. I felt guilty, letting my gaze linger on his form before turning to Hisagi.

"It's not what you think it is, Hisagi, it really is—"

"Stop it, Rukia. I've seen enough already. The way you guys have been acting around each other…I should've known."

My breath caught in my chest.

"W-what?"

"You know, him pulling a fast one on you. What a filthy bastard. He probably just wants to fuck you."

"Hisagi! If you think I'm that easy, then you're wr—"

"I don't know, you seemed to like it, Rukia."

Oh, that boy was going to die.

"Ichigo!"

Before I could placate Hisagi, he had withdrawn, taken several steps backward, tension crackling like electricity through the air around him.

"I thought we were friends, Kurosaki." His grey eyes were dark in anger; an approaching storm that was resting on the horizon. A troubled sea, groaning like an injured beast, tossing and turning tumultuous waves.

"Just forget it. Fucking forget it. You've been playing me all this time, haven't Rukia? You were so amused, you had me like a toy in the palm of your hand." His hands clenched into fists at his side as he walked away from us, strides long and angry.

"Perhaps Kurosaki would be better-suited than me for your games." He was off then, pelting down the hallway. There was the scraping of shoes against hallway tiles, then I heard the door squeal open and close with a loud groan.

Ichigo stared out the way Hisagi had gone. "Well, shit," he murmured, covering his eyes, massaging his temples. There was a long, uncomfortable pause before he turned away from the door. Then, in an infuriatingly calm tone, he concluded, "What a fucking drama queen." I wouldn't have been surprised if he had dusted off his hands or something, the stupid crazy idiot. He killed me, I swear, he killed me.

"You're the one who was being an ass, don't even think of pointing out anything wrong with him!" I snapped, even stamping my foot to punctuate my statement. I was blissfully unaware of the growing crowd outside as the rest of our classmates arrived. Thank God I had taken off the costume before I had begun my tirade. It would've been something of an embarrassment.

He regarded me nonchalantly before speaking, "You're the one who let me touch you."

That was it. That was the line that made me snap.

It made me so fucking angry, the way he talked like he knew me. The way he was so sure of himself, the way he thought he had seen it all and was some fucking king of the world. I strode up to him, quick furious steps, my hand connecting with his face forcefully. There was a gasp from those watching our exchange. It was a surprise, really—Kurosaki Ichigo letting Kuchiki Rukia slap him in the face. Letting this little girl take his throne.

My fist clenched; I didn't give a shit anymore. I was beyond mad he had pointed that out. Pointed out that I was mad at myself…so damn mad. He was right. It was all my fault, wasn't it? I hated that he had struck a nerve; had wound me up so tightly I had lost all control. In front of my peers, no less.

The boy was going to die.

But, he had straightened, not even lifting a hand to trace the red mark spreading across his face.

He looked away from me, his gaze lowered to the ground. It made me nervous when I couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see what he was thinking. I was tense, expecting some sort of retaliation. None came. No divine retribution issued by his hands, no cruel jab at my height or Kuchiki bloodline.

"I'm sorry."

His quiet apology unnerved me completely. I actually took a step back, trying to let his words sink in.

"Why are you sorry?" My question sounded stupid, even to me. But I had a reason to be confused. Why was he bowing down to me so willingly? What made it so that…ever-so-proud Kurosaki Ichigo would relent his control to me?

It couldn't be that…

"I'm sorry. It's my fault." His voice came softly like an ebbing wave. His head hung dejected and low. A few girls pushed through the crowd, appearing to want to comfort him. What the fuck, I almost laughed, did he have some kind of fan-club at school? It was enough that the world adored his music...that the world loved him. Having his moment of weakness as my own made me fiercely protective. It was a moment where all of his defenses were down, a sight hardly anyone ever witnessed, and, naturally, I wanted to be the only one there when it happened. I snapped my head towards them, forcing the famous Kuchiki ice glare upon them. They wilted underneath my pinpoint stare.

He shook his head, regaining my attention, "I'm sorry, Rukia. You shouldn't need to lose a friend because of me."

That sentence just oozed with cheesiness. I crossed my arms over my chest, staring him down, and feeling slightly smug that I felt no pity for him. They didn't call me ice princess for nothing. Well. That's what Kaien had called me. Stupid Kaien…he had known me so well. My lips tightened into a pained grimace. I was going to make sure no-one saw past this façade ever again. No-one would ever know me-whether it be what my laugh sounded like, or what my smile looked like.

Ichigo was still silent, and, I guess, reflecting on his previous actions.

I rolled my eyes. I felt like kicking him…just something to get that pathetic look off of his face. It didn't take a rocket scientist to get the answer, you know?

"If you're sorry, why don't you go after him?"

Ichigo instantly rejected my proposal, snorting and leaning against the chalkboard. He traced his fingers on the black surface. "What is this, a fucking love story? I'm not going after him."

I felt my heart clench, my stomach twisting at his words. Was he really such an insensitive jack-ass? Did he really mean that? Jesus motherfucking Christ, Ichigo...

I narrowed my eyes and turned away. I didn't want to know anymore. The atmosphere between us that had once been filled with warmth was now dying, cooling like embers in a drowned fire.

I stepped out into the hallway, gratified that people took the hint and gave way, clearing a path for me. There was a hushed silence, something that sounded like, "Lover's spat" murmured amidst the body of students. I didn't feel like correcting them. The feeling of disappointment already sat, heavy and dark, within me. That was okay—I was okay, I guess. I had felt so many disappointments over the past year that I really couldn't care about this. But still—was it so much to want someone to love me?

Tears welled in my eyes, but I pushed them back, swallowing thickly. The hallway smelled waxy, lit by squares of reflected sunlight coming through glass windows. Why did this always have to happen to me? Why did everything always fade on me?—not even in a way that was brilliant, even. Everything just died, just gave up on me. I hated that; the worst despair within me revolved around disappointment. Being disappointed, making people disappointed…when did it ever end? Moving towards the doorway, I knew only one thing for certain. I had to bring Hisagi back.

Somehow, I found myself running, hitting the door at full speed, flying out into the open air. The sidewalk grated and scraped against the bottom of my heels. I liked that feeling. It felt like I was ruining something perfect, the smooth sole of the shoe, just so it could be like me. All torn and scraped and ruined. The only problem with a broken shoe was that people saw, and they noticed. They can look at you and ask, "Are you okay?" and you can just smile back and say, "Yeah, I'm bloody perfect." Then, they can take one look at the broken heel and tell you, "Sucks, your shoes are fucked up. They were cute, too."

Sounds stupid, but I wish people did stuff like that...noticed when things were wrong. Acknowledged me for what had happened, what had ruined my life so badly. It's only when you tear off the mask and show them the scars that they get scared and run away. It takes the right person to acknowledge you like that, you know?

I counted the number of times I inhaled and exhaled. A cool breeze lapped at my legs, and I could feel it in languid, cool bursts. The sun was rising, not yet hot enough to disperse the dewy atmosphere of the morning. I wondered where he had gone, if he had taken his car. It would be a bitch to track him down if he had done so. My hand strayed to my apron pocket. Fuck. I had left my phone behind in the classroom. Whatever, it's not like I would go back there with Ichigo probably standing there, smirking to himself. Asshole.

As I stumbled awkwardly across the parking lot, I heard the door open behind me. I didn't look back to affirm who it was. I had decided [quite some time ago] that it was best not knowing a lot of things...that way, nothing could hurt me. After all, ignorance is bliss…or so they say.

I stopped at the curb, toes sinking into the soft grass as I scanned the rows of glinting cars. They were like lazy, metallic beetles, sleeping peacefully in the tranquil silence.

"Hisagi?" I called, disturbing that silence. My heart quickened when I spotted his black car, a sleek black Buick, a silver panther welded onto its front hood. The bumper was dented from some escapade we had had, the band members and I, escaping across a highway somewhere in Arizona, streaking into a star-filled night. Where had those days gone? Those moments, along with their memories?

A wave of nostalgia came upon me; I missed him, and I sensed he had missed me, too. I felt horrible, knowing I had let him down. Shuuhei Hisagi had been so wonderful to me, and I had treated him like a lowly dog. Like he was some personal pet of mine that I could tow around, could abuse to whatever degree I liked. My heels clicked on the pavement as I ventured forward, although distantly, I could hear another pair of footsteps behind me. They were tentative, calculated to fall precisely as mine did. I stopped. My pursuer stopped. Without turning, I closed my eyes, making sure my voice was complete ice. Murderous, even. [I'll have you know that I'm quite good at that.]

"Kurosaki Ichigo, if you take one more step, I will make sure that, in the most vicious way possible, you are not capable of producing offspring in the future."

"Did you really say 'offspring'?" came his lazy answer, echoing through the parking lot, off of cars and the concrete. He walked closer, but I was not willing to let him have his way.

I whipped around, "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Kurosaki?" Each syllable was enunciated with vicious clarity. I tended to do that when I was pissed.

"I'm going to apologize."

For a second I lost my tongue. I could not think of anything to say to that. He had said it in some off-hand manner, as if he was saying something as casual as, "I'm going to go buy cabbage."

Ichigo walked until he was standing close to me, right in front of me. We stared at each other, trying to figure out what we were seeing in each other's eyes.

"What, do you not want me to?" his eyebrow quirked upward in question. His tone was acidic—dripping sarcasm.

"Do you really think you can just walk up to him like this?" I returned with equal fervor, internally raging at his display of arrogance. I would've like to smash his face into the pavement a few times.

"Yes, yes I can."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to argue about, I realized, and I hated that. I hated the feeling that I was somehow wrong and he was somehow right. I hated the feeling that he had started shit, and was now playing hero, trying to fix things. Ichigo always did that—always fucked things up, then managed to make things right. I didn't know how he did it. But it sure as hell was pissing me off right now. It was like he was exempt from all of life's consequences or something. As if nothing had ever gone wrong with his life. Goddamn spoiled brat. I crossed my arms, looking up towards the sun.

After a tense moment, I exhaled heavily, giving in.

"Make it quick, and don't be an asshole about it."

Clouds in the sky were near luminescent, sunlight adorning their soft, pearly, underbellies with gold filigree. If you looked higher, the sky was indigo; traces of the night leaving.

"Okay."

He brushed past me, making a straight bee-line for the car. For a moment, I saw the sun in his eyes.

Oh, and just saw Inception! OH MY GOSH. I was just thinking of the way I could manipulate it into an Ichiruki hotness fest with it...Ichigo as an extractor, Rukia as his architect or something. Something bad-ass like that. Evil Aizen as the guy they're trying to perform Inception on. I might start writing on that...haha, I'm so impulsive.