Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. The fabulous Kubo Taito does.
Author's Notes: Ichigo/Rukia. Just recently started watching the anime. No, I haven't read the manga. If they are out of character, I apologize in advance but do realize THIS is fan fiction. Do you scream at the doushinji artist because they don't draw EXACTLY like the artist? No. Besides, this is all about getting creative.
And yes, this will be a multi-chaptered story. Yes, this will be I/R. Yes, it will have angst and romance as appropriate for a 15 year old boy and a death spirit. It's a shame. There should be more Bleach fanfics out there. But perhaps, those are just the feverish imaginings of this particular author.
SxStrngSamurai13 and Corchan : Yes, if you could tell me where I can get some Bleach manga, hit me up with an email. My budget doesn't allow me to actually buy at the moment, but somewhere where I can get an idea of plot would be good. And no, I haven't even read a single one of the manga. Most of my inspiration comes from the anime.
SxStrngSamurai13: What is up with all the yaoi pairings when its obvious it isn't about boy/boy romance? Bah.
Chapter 2: Seeing in the Darkness
Ichigo looked at the closed closet door. It was past midnight, he was tired and yet he couldn't sleep. He wished he could just go back to sleep but half of his person was anticipating Rukia throwing open the closet door and hustling him to another mission against a Hollow. It was strange to think of how quickly he had become a light sleeper. Not that he'd ever been a deep sleeper, his father would have taken advantage of his unguarded state and given him a severe beatdown.
But even then, it wasn't like this. Before, he had gotten rest. Now, he seemed to hover between consciousness and unconsciousness, the line distinguishing them blurry. First it had been the ghosts, now it was his honoring of Rukia's duty.
Little witch. She had forced him into it. She had saved his life and his family, struck a devil's bargain with him and now he was responsible for dispatching Hollows and making sure that the restless found their way to Heaven.
There were days he wished he was just like any other guy. Any other guy who had to go to school, deal with a crazy family and do homework. Any other guy whose most important extracurricular activities were girls. Live ones.
But no. His life had to be different. Seeing and dealing with ghosts was one thing. Dealing with a Shinigami that either ignored him or gave him shit every day that just happened to live in his closet was another.
He didn't get it. How did such a little girl become a death dealer, a silent, fierce determined killer. Oh, she could kick ass alright. She just shouldn't have to fucking brag about it all the time. Fine, she was a lean, mean killing machine but she was still a girl.
She was so small and delicate. She fit inside his closet! Comfortably! Normally he would think of girls like that as fragile. But Rukia was far from fragile. She was tough. Ichigo wondered if centuries of killing did that to you. Made you tougher than steel and unfeeling as metal. Not that she was evil, she was obviously on the good side. But she fulfilled her duties with blind obedience, an unwavering faith in her role in the world.
Ichigo wondered what sort of people let a girl become a cold blooded killer.
But she proved she could be more than that. In school, she was polite, courteous, smiling. She never acted like she was anything else but a classmate of his. If the guys knew that she spent a good time of amount in his room, he would never live it down. He knew his friends thought she was cute. And she was. In the small, package of deadly cute. Psychotic coldblooded Shinigami girl kind of way.
This was the time of night that Ichigo hated. When he was tired but his mind was awake and there was nothing to do but think and think and think some more. And he would turn his thoughts inside and out and get nowhere, except more confused and frustrated.
When did his life become such a mess?
Ever since she walked into his life. Ever since he caught a glimpse of her, ferocious and silent, fluttering through life like a black butterfly. He had caught her by surprise that one night, kicking her.
Since then, nothing had been the same.
He knew he had always been different. Ever since he started to be able to see ghosts. But that didn't mean anything. Not like being a Shinigami meant something. It was just temporary. One day, Rukia would recuperate, take all her power back and leave his life. The little brat would probably not tell him. She would simply leave, without even a goodbye note. He would be tossed aside, forgotten and then he would have to get on with the rest of his life.
Why the hell was he the only one that lost sleep over it? There she was, covered in blankets, sleeping the sleep of the just and righteous.
What was he to her? A temporary replacement? A partner? Someone she failed to protect and is now paying the consequences of? Were they even friends? Did he want to be friends with her? I mean, who goes around being friends with a goddamn Death dealer?
A death dealer with serious eyes and a faint smile. A death dealer that looked like a porcelain doll. A death dealer that made him scowl and made him think and made him want to touch her face.
Rukia.
Oh, he admired her dedication and conviction, even when it made him want to throw up. He admired her guts. He had respect for the fact that she was constantly kicking his ass.
But Ichigo didn't like it. Didn't like how she had barged into his life. Didn't like how she had taken over his closet and his room. Didn't like how she still made little cute pictures with bunnies. Didn't like how she was hauling him off to fight Hollows at any hour of the day. Didn't like how she was constantly lecturing him. Didn't like how she kicked his ass whenever she felt like it. Didn't like how shiny her eyes got when her expression would soften. Didn't like how she had taken over his life, even in school. Didn't like how she ignored him. Didn't like how he was just another classmate to her in school and an annoying partner at best and a nuisance at worst the rest of the time.
Sometimes, he just wanted to shake her hard. Knock some sense into her. Tell her she wasn't a Shinigami anymore. Tell her it was all her fault. Tell her it was okay to feel. Tell her he didn't hate her. Tell her she was a girl and she had to take care of herself because it was a big bad world out there. Tell her he was able to take care of it. Tell her, he'd be okay without her.
Because he'd be okay without her. He'd survive without the pint-sized Shinigami fairy that had landed into his life and turned it around. Because he had to. Because she would leave him. Because she was a Shinigami. Because he was just a mortal, despite his obvious spiritual powers. Because that was life and there was nothing he could do about it.
Everyone leaves. And someone always gets left behind. Why would this time be any different?
Ichigo stared at the closet door one last time before he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
Author's Notes: May rewrite this chapter. Trying to capture the insomniac thoughts of a 15 year old hormonal teenage boy with extraordinary powers is tricky. I'm pleased with it, but I don't know if I did Ichigo justice.
