She doesn't think much of the restaurant a few blocks away from her new apartment.
She always passes it to and from her work commute, of course. Maybe from time to time she glanced over, musing how it looks cute enough-a great place to take a date or some friends...
Before Rukia remembers: 1. She doesn't have the time or capacity to date, and 2. She has no friends here yet… And probably won't for a while, considering her lifelong difficulty making them in the first place.
It's fine by her, honestly. She likes throwing everything she has into her job, loves doing her best to earn a smile or laugh from her patients. That's enough social interaction for her, and at the end of the day she can go home, pour a glass of wine, switch the television on to some silly drama and order takeout without mourning the "loss" of a Friday night.
So for the first few months that she's living in Karakura: no. She doesn't even think about stepping foot in Amore e Morte.
Until she gets a particularly bad case at work.
The fact that it was a foster child case alone makes her heart hurt-but of course, there's always more with these sort of situations.
A little girl named Hina, aged eight but looking so much smaller waiting there in her office. The social worker sitting with her-a woman named Rangiku, who Rukia knows a little and actually quite likes-squeezes Hina's tiny hand before pulling Rukia to the side, quietly explaining the situation.
Physical abuse from her former home where she had been for a year. Her teacher kept noticing bruises in odd places and finally called CPS, who did nothing for two months before the behavior escalated and Hina ended up in the ER.
Her new foster mom is a real nice lady, says she hasn't been acting out or anything but… Rangiku shrugs, flashing a reassuring smile when the little girl looks their way. You know.
She knows.
So Rukia does what she does best: she goes to the little girl, introduces herself by her first name, and focuses on her work until she can sob angrily in her car at lunch break.
And when her workday is done, when her emotions are fried and she'd really like a drink or three anywhere but her lonely apartment-she sees the restaurant's sign, glowing warmly in the dusk light.
Amore e Morte. Love and death. A weird name for a restaurant, she thinks, and wonders if the owners either don't know Italian and thought the name was cool or are just uppity snobs.
If you'd stop being so cynical you might go out and actually enjoy life. She can practically hear Renji's voice scoffing in her ear now.
She parks her car at home before walking back over to the restaurant.
The outside of the restaurant is nice enough, but the inside is… Well. Lovely.
Brick walls painted white make the entire place look minimalist yet cozy. A couple of trendy paintings hanging sparsely through the restaurant makes the environment chic, but not overbearing. A few hanging lanterns bring just enough light to let everyone see where they're going, but otherwise candles are utilized at each of the tables for a romantic touch.
Rukia sees by the sheer number of couples there that it is indeed a good place to bring a date.
And by the looks of one dish smelling deliciously of chicken and bell peppers that passes her by in a waiter's hand, the food isn't too bad either. Rukia's mouth waters.
"A table for one, miss?"
Rukia startles from her musings, feeling rather silly as the bright and cheery hostess smiles patiently back.
"Oh! No, I don't think that's necessary. I wouldn't want to take up one of your tables. Do you have bar seating?"
"Of course! Right this way."
The hostess leads her into an adjacent room that sits tucked away from the main dining room. There's still a couple of tables in this room, and two of the eight bar stools are occupied but it's so much quieter here, the noise of the dining room a mere buzz. She breathes a small sigh of relief as she takes the stool at the far end. She wanted to be out and about, just… Not that out and about.
"Our bartender Kurosaki-kun will be taking care of you. I believe he's just in the back talking to Chef, he should be right back."
Rukia thanks her, taking a glance at the menu.
She quickly finds out Chef Yasutora Sado's menu inspiration is Mexican-Japanese fusion cuisine, which is… Interesting, considering the restaurant's name is Italian. In any case, she's fascinated. Rukia by no account considers herself a foodie, but the thought of blending traditional Japanese dishes with Mexican spices and turning them into something like sukiyaki tacos makes her stomach growl.
"Can I get you something other than water to drink?"
Her gaze flickers from the menu to the well-toned arm extended out toward her, pouring a glass of water. Her eyes move up the arm to the man it's attached to.
A handsome guy, she'll admit: if it wasn't for the obviously bleached orange hair, the sword tattoo on his forearm peeking out from under his rolled sleeve, and the fact that he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.
If she had to pick him out from a crowd, there's no doubt she'd know him as a bartender. What a walking cliche.
"Yes, I'll take-" She didn't even take a glance at the drink menu. She looks down quickly. "Sorry. Can I get a matcha mojito?"
He nods, his hands suddenly flying through liquors and shakers and mixes to make her drink. "You ready for food, too?"
"Any recommendations?"
"Everything."
She snorts. She'd be irritated by the subpar service if it wasn't for his small smirk at her response.
"Seriously, everything's good here. If you get something you don't like, drinks are on me."
"Risky." Rukia lifted an eyebrow. "You place that bet with every customer?"
"Every single one."
She highly doubts that, but she appreciates the trust in his workplace nonetheless. She orders a couple of small plates, and he tends to his other drink orders while she sips her own.
The food, when it comes out, is… Infuriatingly good. Infuriating because she would have loved to have scored a couple free drinks off the arrogant punk bartender, but she'll have to swallow her pride because the sukiyaki taco is absolute divinity. She sips her second drink, already accepting that she's gonna have to admit to him she'll be paying full price for everything she ordered.
Unfortunately, it doesn't look like she'll have a chance to gloat. From what she hears next door, dinner service has picked up and with that: drink orders. He's doing as well as he can-hands expertly flying through the liquors, garnishing the cocktails with an expert flourish before passing them on to a server-but she can tell he's feeling the stress, particularly when he reads his second to last ticket in the rush.
"Fuck," she hears as he rolls his eyes, stalking over to the wine cabinet. A server comes by, concerned.
"You need anything, Ichigo?"
He waves a hand, not turning to look at his coworker. "No, no I'm fine. Just annoying when I don't open a bottle before rush, that's all."
The server scuttles off to tend to her tables while Rukia watches him bang a (very expensive looking) wine bottle on the counter, clumsily ripping into the foil with an opener. At one point he cuts his thumb, and he half-hazardly wraps a paper napkin around it while he tries helplessly to pull the cork up. The wine opener doesn't grip the bottle steadily a couple of times, she waits on baited breath to see if he'll break the bottle. After a few dangerous-looking test runs, he manages to hoist the cork up, cursing out a "fucking finally" at the sound of the cork popping.
The whole thing must have taken ten minutes.
Maybe it's the matcha mojitos finally hitting her, but she can't help it. She laughs.
He shoots her a wild look and she covers her chuckles with the back of her hand.
"Sorry, sorry! I'm not-it's not funny. I just… That was the most atrocious opening of a wine bottle I've ever seen."
Ichigo stares for a moment before scoffing, turning back to his (finally opened) bottle and pours the wine into a glass. "Yeah, well… I don't do wine service here, lady."
"Excuse me? That's ridiculous. You're a bartender."
"Exactly. Bartender. I do cocktails, not fancy wine stuff."
"Let me guess, you consider yourself a mixologist."
"Don't ever call me that. Ever." He's shaking his head as he moves on to his next order, but oddly enough Rukia feels like she knows he's suddenly having a good time. "Like I said, I don't do wine etiquette and all that. That's for the servers."
"I'm just… It's hard to believe you've made it this far in a nicer restaurant's bar without knowing how to open wine."
"Not that far. I've been here for like, six months." He shrugs at her inquisitive stare. "Old buddies with the chef. I bar backed in college where he was a line cook, so… And if he ever got sick of me, my sister is his sous chef. Then again, she's more likely to fire me than he is, the brat."
"Especially with you not knowing how to open a fine vintage."
"Get over it. When it's not busy I get one of the servers to help me." He looks down, having seemingly forgotten about his paper toweled thumb. "Shit. Hang on, I gotta get a bandaid from the back-"
"I have some, if you want." Rukia starts digging through her purse. "If there's not some restaurant code for the kind of bandage you're supposed to use, of course."
"If it looks neater than a shoddy paper towel job, 'should be fine. Thanks."
"You're welcome. Here."
He stares at her outstretched hand. She stares back, getting more irritated as she waits.
"What?"
"... It's a Chappy bandaid."
"So?"
"So why are you a grown ass woman carrying around Chappy bandaids?"
"They're for my patients, for kids." She's telling the truth, technically. To say she also quite enjoys Chappy as a character does not need to be mentioned. "Do you want it or not? Swallow your manly pride or go looking for an ugly beige bandage while your tickets pile up again. Tick tock."
"Fine! All right, already." He takes the bandaid and starts unpeeling the paper adhesive. "You a pediatrician or something?"
"Child psychologist." Suddenly Rukia remembers Hina's sweet face and feels terrible for not thinking about her once this entire dinner.
"Jesus." Ichigo's shaking his head, pressing Chappy to his cut.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the guilt, maybe it's the fact that it's such a weird response to her revealing her profession, but Rukia can't help it. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.
If he's uncomfortable with her sudden hostility, he doesn't show it. He shrugs. "It's just… I can imagine it's a hard job. Sometimes, anyway."
Oh.
"Oh," she exhales. "I'm sorry, I-yes. It can be, yes.I just… That sort of response I've only ever gotten from people that don't believe in the importance of mental health. 'Shrink talk' and what have you."
"Nah, I believe it." He's finished his job of covering his wound and moved on to his next drink order.
She's abashedly stirring the ice in her glass when she barely hears him say: "I had to go to a children's therapist once, as a kid. Helped me a lot."
She raises her head to look at him. He hasn't changed his facial expression, nor is there any change to his body language as he continues to do his job-but as a psychologist, Rukia can't help but wonder whether she's the first person he's ever told this to.
"Me too. When I was a child, I… A therapist had helped me, too." She raises her glass and clears her throat. "To recognizing childhood trauma, I suppose."
He lets out a short laugh at the sudden dark joke, a sound so quick and so… So nice she can't stop the fleeting thought that it's a sound she'd like to hear more of. She shoves it away.
Bartenders are absolutely off limits.
He raises the glass that he's mixing a cocktail in. "Yeah. Cheers."
Later when she finally picks up the check, she pauses.
"Excuse me." She waves Ichigo down, maybe just a tad tipsy. "You got the check wrong."
He frowns, taking the bill from her and scanning it. "What are you…"
"You forgot to put a drink on there. My third one."
It clicks and he rolls his eyes. "Oh my god."
"What? I'm being honest."
"It's on me." He slides the receipt back to her.
"But I didn't dislike any of the dishes!"
"Take some advice, will you Doc? If the restaurant staff didn't put something on your bill and you still got it, chances are: we wanted to give it to you." They lock eyes for an intense moment before he clears his throat, looks down to wipe his (suspiciously clean) bar. "'To childhood trauma,' and all that. Now stop yapping so loud about it. You want everyone in the restaurant to hear about me giving out free stuff?"
She shuts her mouth at that, but one small detail about what he said is bothering her.
"It's not 'Doc,' so you know. I have a name. It's Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki."
"Okay. Whatever, Rukia." He turns around and waves his hand. "And I'm Ichigo. Just pay your damn bill and come back soon or whatever."
And with that: she guesses she has a new spot.
