Years of perfecting the constant stillness that was the Kuchiki poker face had some advantageous perks; one being that she was able to still her face in a constant state despite the erratic rhythms of her heartbeat. Sitting in Nii-sama's very pristine office felt oppressive to her; the man in front of her sometimes equally oppressed her. It was a cyclical behavior that she once internalized, but she's been flirting with the idea of a mutiny.
Case in point: chewing gum, albeit, inconspicuously, while Nii-sama was present. Baby steps were essential for survival and eventual rebellion, something she should've acted on when she was a teenager.
Shame. Shame. A lot of shame and regrets.
"Rukia," her brother droned, masking a sigh because Kuchikis never gasped audibly.
She stilled the gum, using her tongue to move it to the right side of her cheek to hide the offending pink substance. It was likely going to be the most polite thing she could do at this moment. The high of what she did in the past month was still in her system, but the repercussions were large, costly even. That decision was heavy, burdened by her non-future.
"You're fired."
And yet she felt nothing but a calm lull, as if the weight of her guilt, for deciding to publish her correction pieces against ASS with Espada News, never existed. Maybe she never felt the guilt that was weighing on others when she decided to publish them.
So be it.
"I understand, Nii-sama. Thank you for the opportunity at Kageyoshi Press. If anything, I learned that words have the power to empower and oppress." She stilled her head; she wasn't going to bow down this time; her gratitude was a thinly veiled criticism. There was an art to forced politeness. Under all that formalities were a disgruntled writer who wanted nothing more than to leave and not use words to obliterate people's future. And that her own brother, someone she always respected, perpetuated that very system without considering others' standpoints and livelihoods.
And the result made her bite the inside of her left cheek, seeing her brother widen his eyes like that.
Her brother hummed(?). Kuchiki Byakuya never hummed; she was in for a lecture now. "I see you learned nothing from your mistakes, Rukia. What you did was unethical and went against Kageyoshi Press' code of conduct – "
She didn't want to sit here and listen to her brother mansplain anything to her anymore, especially after being in this field for nearly three years. She wasn't quite an expert in the field since her degrees were drastically different than the dying field of journalism and print culture, but integrity remained – or should have remained intact and without being compromised. "If I may respectfully – no, I'm going to interrupt you dear brother. All this talk about a journalist's code of conduct, is quite, frankly – perhaps even delicately speaking, bulllshit. What about Sōsuke's writing? He may be an award-winning writer here, but what about his blatant slander pieces? His pieces were character assassinations, which most of his recipients didn't deserve, and I have evidence that he's abusing his power and exploiting anyone he has compromising information on. So, please, dear brother, spare me the talk about your press' code of conduct when you can't acknowledge that your most famous writer is comparable to that of a gossip writer, defaming everyone at every given opportunity, and Kageyoshi gave him the platform to do so. Nothing about his pieces include or frame journalistic integrity. Had he been in my position, you and the entire publishing board would have complimented him on boldly taking this risk incessantly."
Byakuya's face never changed and remained unmoved – physically and emotionally so – implying that her controlled soliloquy, as thoughtfully worded as it was, was left unheard.
"I'm not saying what you wrote is wrong, Rukia, but when you decided to publish with our rival, you knew you were going to be placed in this situation."
Maintaining their prolonged eye contact, Rukia shook her head and smiled, almost stretching her face in tired resignation. "And would you have published those pieces, Nii-sama?"
He didn't answer.
She stood up, full of self-assurance, confidence, and self-respect. Even if she was fired from her own brother, she was going to maintain that Kuchiki composure and dignity. That was the least she could do in front of him because he was basically disowning her in the professional world.
"I see. Well, I hope I get to see you around Nii-sama. Tell Hisana-nee I'll contact her later. If that's allowed." Rukia gave her brother that look, eyes filled with disappointment about his need to culturally and societally maintain her into the ideal Kuchiki lady.
"I'm sorry, Rukia. I wish you would have come to me before deciding this on your own. We could have worked something out. Your own immaturity cost you your career here and our family's name. You caused a lot of damage; not to mention, you never apologized to our family. The elders said you shamed them."
She had a lot to say but decided that silence would be best for now. She walked towards the door, exiting from the rigid confinements of Kageyoshi Press. The coffee, if anything, was probably the only thing she would miss. That and maybe her friends, but she could always see them. The coffee blend here was amazing and no one knew which coffee beans they were. Oh, that smell would be sorely missed. She walked out and couldn't wait to freely chew on her bubble gum. If this was the walk of shame, she might as well blow bubbles as a celebratory act of getting fired.
"And Rukia?"
She turned around out of respect. "Yes, Nii-sama?"
"It's unbecoming to keep gum inside your mouth while speaking to your boss."
Sometimes immaturity could lead to great, memorable results. Because after she heard her brother's oak antique door close, separating them, she walked over to ASS' door and placed her 30-minutes thoroughly chewed gum on his door handle.
She giggled. No one told her Kuchikis couldn't be immature once in a while.
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Yumichika almost spat his wine out. "He whaattt?" He could be exaggeratively dramatic at times.
Rukia was carefully using her fork to pick at her tuna tartare with sweet sunroot potato – some things were too pretty to destroy; good lord, she's been watching too many anime horror series these days.
She took a delicate bite of the tartare, savoring the melodic pairing of soy and the acidity. "You heard me, Yumi. My brother fired me. I'm pretty sure the entire Kuchiki family disowned me because I am, quote a disgrace to the Kuchiki family, unquote. Oh, this is delicious, here, try some. You too, Ikkaku."
Both Yumi and Ikkaku gave her a look of horror and glanced at each other, both inwardly thinking that Rukia's firing might have triggered an early case of delirium.
Rubbing his smooth, bald head, Ikkaku broke the silence. "Um, K. Is something wrong with you?"
Rukia swallowed, wanting to demolish the entire plate if her two friends didn't want to. "What? Sharing is caring. At least I thought sharing is caring. Or is caring creepy now?" She smirked.
"You just got fired, Rukia-san," Yumichika began, a bit slowly so that maybe she can process the information again.
"Yes?"
"You got fired."
"Yes, I've heard that multiple times today."
"And your brother, who has a perpetual stick in his ass, financially cut you off."
Okay, if they weren't eating, she was just going to finish the plate. Their loss. "Yes, and Hisana-nee called me to inform me that she would secretly transfer some funds over to me, but I declined. She shouldn't be placed in such a precarious position in our family for someone like me."
Someone like me. Of course, she was always and will remain the outsider of the family. Even if she was born with Kuchiki blood flowing into her arteries, trekking right towards her brain, she couldn't measure up to anyone else. Even though she knew she was more than intellectually capable, but outdated people will remain outmoded. And even if she had good intentions, her words fell deaf in their ears. The day she stopped catering to her family's every whim was the day she realized that autonomy and personhood were more important, allowing her to grow as someone who was an equal.
Or a rival.
Rukia giggled and finished the tartare.
Yumichika's and Ikkaku's eyes remained locked on her, both thinking whether their good friend finally lost it. Why was she giggling and eating? Was the tuna spoiled? Did it poison her brain?
Yumichika cleared his throat. "Rukia-san," he attempted again.
She placed her fork down. "Please, Yumi. I've made my decision. They fired me. I'm not crawling back for my job, especially if ASS is there. I don't regret my pieces." She smiled at him, observing his colorful feathers. "Hey! I thought you said those pieces were well written!" She glared at him and then her eyes focused on Ikkaku. "And you," she pointed at Ikkaku, "read them for content. Unless you lied to me, you said you liked how I wove the facts and narrative together."
Ikkaku raised his hands in mock surrender and laughed out loud. "And you must be very proud of me. Since my reading over them contributed to your firing. Or demise, whichever word you prefer."
She shrugged, but chuckled, all anger resolved quickly; she wasn't even angry at anyone. "Yumi, it's fine. I can find some work. I still have quite a bit of money, so I can temporarily live off of them while I find a new job."
"Rukia-san, we can help. We've been friends since undergrad; you've helped us get jobs at your brother's, let us help. Or Ikkaku and I will quit out of solidarity."
Ikkaku nearly choked this time. "Yumichika! Let's not act rashly. You and I still have rent to pay."
She shook her head. "I know, and I kindly thank you, especially for your friendship." She plainly stared at Ikkaku who wouldn't meet her eyes, but she laughed; everyone needs financial security. "But no one is going to hire the disgraced Kuchiki Rukia. I know the Kuchikis will be doing some damage control, but this war of words has been exhausting for the past few months. ASS didn't leave unscathed either. I'll see what happens once time passes."
Ikkaku mumbled something about Rukia not leaving them any tartare and then responded, "You know that egomaniac will make it harder for you to find a job in any publication houses or presses."
She shrugged and tapped her chin. "Yes, but I also have degrees that might be beneficial in other fields. ASS might be influential, but let it be known that he can't control every single moving minute of my life. He's too overconfident to think about someone who's been fired. If anything, I'm just an ant that has been stepped on, immobile with no prospects." Maybe that imagery was a bit too much since her two good friends' faces froze out of shock. "Let me amend that: according to that ASS. Anyway, this conversation is bumming me out. And don't do anything that could put yourselves in jeopardy. Hanging out with me is already jeopardizing your careers at Kageyoshi."
The trio segued the conversation to something lighter, at times erupting into boisterous laughter that might make Byakuya disown Rukia a second time; and with them revealing that their former mentor was planning to open his own publication house. The laughing stopped once Rukia innocently asked Yumichika and Ikkaku about who was paying for the meal since she was now jobless.
Both their wallets felt lighter since Kuchiki Rukia, as small as she was, could out eat them in a contest.
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Scratching her chin as she played with the handle of her coffee cup, Rukia scrutinized the numbers on her iMac screen, mentally calculating how long she could survive without a long-term or even temporary job. Sure she provided freelance content and editing services for some editors, but they immediately terminated her once they realized she was the writer that Byakuya fired; that and ASS, of course, made it nearly impossible for her to find a new job at anything that was related to the printing world and it's all encompassing culture. Who said print was dead? It was pervasive online; even the online ones were too frightened about Aizen's power to hire her. He was able to crush them somehow with his pinky.
So, okay, she might have predicted this trajectory, but perhaps she might have underestimated his influence. Did that man have compromising information on everyone?
Oh! That might be a new piece to write about. She may have been taken down by that ASS, but she wouldn't be a Kuchiki if she didn't try to drag him to hell with her. Everyone needed a friend in hell. Or an enemy.
She giggled but stopped when she realized that she might survive for another two months. Time passed by quickly; that two-month mark would start tomorrow if she didn't attempt to procure some sort of job.
Desperation was the final result; she ran a search online. A security one of course.
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Rukia thought she was always the early one, but after walking into the glass entrance doors of Shoten, the new yet favorably reviewed startup tech in Karakura, she surmised that people must really want to be Kurosaki Ichigo's secretary. Almost all of the interviewees and hopeful candidates were women.
Some that looked like they were a part of the catwalk.
She shrugged, not caring about how she might be the most petite of the group. She had other interviews later in the week. If this Kurosaki Ichigo, one of the many partners and founders of this startup, had a preference and she didn't meet his criteria – she might be qualified a bit more if anything – then he could go to hell for all she cared. Okay, maybe not. She already decided that Aizen would be dragged to her hell with her; she didn't think she had enough energy and spirit to deal with another egoistical man in hell.
Rukia sat down on one of the unaccompanied chairs – it was soft and so, so comfortable! – and took out the newly released volume of The Space Adventures of Chappy manga out of her Louis Vuitton briefcase and started reading; hearts appearing immediately in both eyes as she repeatedly read over the panels and literary language that was Chappy, allowing herself to drown out all of the passive aggressive exchanges and demonic glares the candidate hopefuls had for each other.
She wasn't going to be a part of any frivolous gossip. Being a recipient of political slander was enough for her to ignore these women being petty.
What she was going to be a part of was with Chappy as she laughed and laughed while the other people in the building stared at her as if she was a lunatic that was accidentally released from wherever she was placed.
Her total concentration remained on the manga until a woman's voice called her. "Um, K. Rukia?"
She looked up, her total concentration dissipating. As she walked, she could see the other candidates smirking at each other and shaking their head.
"As if she's going to get hired. She's not even the type he wants." A lot of snickering could be heard after that rude ass comment.
What's the secretarial type? I'm pretty sure I dress like one already.
As she walked, she bent down to the woman who made that comment. Rukia gave her a pleasant smile, eyes gleaming with mischief yet with purpose. "Excuse me, miss; I'm guessing it's miss, but please correct me if I'm wrong. Common courtesy dictates that you gossip behind someone's back when they're gone. If I can hear you, it means that you're either inexperienced with gossiping and can't time well, or perhaps you don't know what time management is and how it works, or you just – excuse me for this coarse language – simply suck at shit talking. Do you want to have coffee afterwards so we can practice this shit talking together? This could be the beginning of a great friendship."
A pin drop could be heard at this exact moment since all the chattering stopped at this part of the building. Rukia's smile remained on her face, unchanging and unwavering as the woman's face turned bright red. In her peripheral vision, she could see a man, whose head was adorned with a green and white bucket hat, covering his shaggy blonde hair, looking at her with mirth in his eyes as his shoulders were shaking from suppressed laughter, as if he approved of her. She didn't need any validation or approval these days, but it was nice when her humor was appreciated.
The woman mumbled something.
"I'm sorry?" Her smile was still intact.
Before the woman could force an apology out of her mouth, Rukia followed the other employee into Kurosaki's office.
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Rukia sat down, silently observing Kurosaki's office. If she had to compare it to her brother's bland office, this one was perhaps equally bland, but the intended minimalistic décor made this unassuming, though she's been in several offices that created a similar hipster vibe. It was nothing new. This man was nothing new.
At least to her.
But she knew he was quite inquisitive; she was pretty sure he saw what happened out there since his office – this entire architectural structure actually – was all windows, allowing the sunlight to bathe into the white walls. That and he raised an eyebrow when he witnessed her reluctantly putting The Space Adventures of Chappy back into her briefcase. It was a bit too sanitized in here, but it was good enough for her. She didn't need any germs; maybe some photosynthesis would be nice.
Kurosaki Ichigo would be considered good looking, objectively anyway. Tall, lean, maybe toned in muscle judging by his tight clothing, great fashion sense by the way, unruly orange hair – she snickered out loud when she figured his hair was au nautrel, which, in hindsight, might have made her lost some impression points, but sometimes a person couldn't control their laughter.
But she knew Kurosaki Ichigo didn't want to be a part of the hiring process; that much she knew. If he was more organized and prepared, he would not have asked her some of these mundane questions; he was not one to break the ice for the sake of small talk or obligatory conversations.
He mumbled a K. Rukia, almost questioningly as he regarded her with suspicious eyes. She had to fight an eyeroll.
"What's your surname?" he asked.
She wanted to respond with, "It's written there, sir; or could you not read" but opted for something a bit less rude.
Her brother often chided her for her obscure references, but references were made to bridge commonalities between people.
"The name is K. K. Rukia," she responded without missing a beat as she used her best baritone register. It wasn't often a good Bond reference came up, might as well seize the opportunity.
Great ice breakers, by the way.
Never once did she break eye contact with Kurosaki, and he reciprocated with a glare and a frown. He sure looked strange; was he deranged or was he really a part of this brilliant tech group?
She started giggling again. She didn't know why; perhaps it was his face; all she knew was that Byakuya would be severely disappointed in her lack of controlling her emotions. Emotions are useless and for the weak was the Kuchiki mantra.
So, this is what it feels like to be free from familial traditions and requirements.
"So, your family's name is K.?" Ichigo asked, interrupting her thoughts as she ceased her giggling to a minimum.
He probably thinks it's an alias.
She needed to breathe for a bit. Freedom meant breathing. She shrugged, not caring what he thought – or anyone, really, thought – about her. "I choose to deviate my surname however I want to. Right now, I decided to shorten my family name to a simple K., just like several authors do in their books." She should have just stopped there, but didn't and went on, "Anonymity these days are very important. The less letters you give out, the safer you might be, of course, that could be moot since people are peeping toms on and offline." She decided to raise her eyebrow to challenge him; to others here, he might be the authority figure, the boss, but to her, he was just an equal that could be challenged; challenging her meant that she could reciprocate the challenge. It was no longer a one-way system. "Do you have a problem with how I would like to be identified?"
If this was online, of course he wouldn't. But for some reason, people in Karakura didn't know who she was; it wasn't as if she was the most important or notable Kuchiki, and it felt quite nice to not be known and hindered by a family name. Living without the restrictions of a name burdened by choices was also quite nice; a great feeling.
Kurosaki shrugged his shoulders and Rukia knew he was at his limit; the need to know every single detail about a person could be seen in his body language and eyes. He most likely assumed she was a weird person.
Weird, yes, she owned her weirdness, which her family voiced their disapprovals, but how was weirdness measured anyway? Everyone was strange in their own ways.
And it was even stranger to her that they chose to defend and fight for ASS' reputation for well, being an ass.
Hypocrisy runs deep in the Kuchiki family.
"I don't have any authority or power over you right this second." He paused for that dramatic yet thoughtful effect; and again, Rukia attempted to fight that eyeroll. "But at the same time, I may be your potential boss, so if you want me to hire you, then you need to answer my questions honestly."
Maybe she shouldn't work here if he was that controlling. She always suppressed her anger, healthily unleashing it every few intervals in which she allotted, but Kurosaki was a bit grating to her. She just got out of a bad working environment, which was her doing and choice, and she wasn't sure if she could be complacent in this place though she would fit in quite well; all on the basis of her undergrad and grad experiences.
Or maybe she just wasn't the secretarial prototype he was looking for. She was the outlier of the group outside.
Realization hit her.
Oh. I see. He's looking for a type; a submissive secretary or one that he knows won't annoyingly challenge him. Putz.
She stared at him, scrutinizing him until he seemed rather uncomfortable as he looked away and out of his office, staring at the other, many, secretarial hopefuls.
She nodded as he turned his face back to her. "Okay." And she stood up, attempting not to smirk at him.
"Eh?" was what she was gifted with. His language of communication was evident.
"This is where I bid you farewell, Mr. Kurosaki."
"Huh?"
"Farewell."
"Wait? What?" This time she did let her eyeballs go upward; he was tiresome to deal with. "I beg your pardon, er, Miss K.?"
Holding back a sigh she responded, "I see you need more words to compute in that rather minuscule brain of yours, Mr. Kurosaki." Really, she should have read over his profile on the site. She thought Urahara Kisuke was the one who was hiring for secretaries. Not that paradoxically intelligent yet halfwit. "I answered your question, didn't I?"
Confusion remained etched on his face. "You did?"
This time she really did sigh. She repeated her exact answer and question with the same tone and inflection as minutes prior to this moment. The face he made after her repeated speech was worth it.
"Fine. You may go. And might I add, you just lost all of your chances of being in this field."
Good god. He even sounded like Byakuya. That's a disincentive. The only difference was that her brother was absolutely more refined than this Doritos giant. A bag of Doritos actually sounds good; excellent choice of chips to snack on when you know you didn't get hired. Who needs sex when you have a bag of crunchy, cheesy chips?
But she wasn't going to let Doritos get the last word. "I was about to, but you seem to be the type to exert their authority so you can have the lost word. And to be presumptuous about my future in 'this field' is none of your concern, you orange mop." She was going to save the Doritos reference for someone more deserving. He was unoriginal and deserved an unoriginally cliched reference. "Farewell, Kurosaki Ichigo. Long, live, and prosper." For added effect and exit impact, she performed the Vulcan salute; it seemed appropriate.
He must have expected her to slam the door, but she couldn't take it out on the door. If anything, her delicate handling of the door was what confused him.
When she turned around, she saw that the woman who was shit talking her sitting in a different location, forcing her eyes to look at her phone. The man with the bucket hat also looked at her strangely, she saluted him as well; as thanks for laughing with her earlier. He seemed likeable enough; shady but likeable. Too bad he wasn't the one hiring.
She walked quietly, as if her heels barely touched the sleek looking marble tiles. It was time to go and prepare for the second interview. And she needed to make sure to read every CEO's profile.
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She placed Yumi was on speaker as she was reading her newsfeed.
"Yes, I didn't get the job," she responded casually, scrolling her iPad.
"Not because you couldn't, but you refused to submit, Rukia-san." He laughed. "Why am I not surprised? But I must say, you probably made a first impression."
"I guess. It wasn't favorable, though."
"Like you care."
"No, not anymore."
Rukia had to end their conversation, promising Yumichika that she would call him back, because she had an incoming call from an unidentified number. Usually she would ignore the unknown number, but she was interviewed by several places in the last two days and she expected that perhaps someone was interested in experiences enough to call her back.
At least she could hope.
"Hello?" She had to stop herself from including "This is Rukia."
The caller cleared their throat, and it sounded very familiar.
"Hello?" Silence again.
Rukia could feel her elation dropping because she recognized that voice; it belonged to Kurosaki Ichigo.
"Yes, hello?" she answered, her voice significantly dulled down, turning it into a blatantly unimpressed, disinterested tone. Was he calling to argue with her or something?
He cleared his throat. "Is this K. Rukia?"
She wanted this conversation to be over already. "Oh, hello, Mr. Kurosaki. If you didn't remember a second ago, I did follow my greeting with my name as an identifier." She looked at her fingernails; they were getting to the point where she needed to trim them. She wasn't particularly fond of long nails.
Ichigo sighed over the phone. "Miss K.? After reviewing your application and CV, I am – er – Shoten is impressed with your experiences and education, and we would like to offer you the job as my personal secretary."
Rukia paused, took her phone away from her ear and stared at the device, as if she could see the caller who was elsewhere and most likely calling at a distance in his office.
She brought her phone back to ear. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kurosaki," she droned, "As I recall, you weren't exactly impressed with me. Might I remind you, you unprofessionally informed me that I wouldn't have a future in, quote, this field, unquote. More specifically, your field, which you have no ownership of really. It's a broad field, Mr. Kurosaki."
She wanted to cackle darkly when she heard Kurosaki muttering what could be heard as expletives. He really was unprofessionally; not even trying to mask it.
"Full disclosure, Miss K: you were at the bottom list; actually, you weren't even on my bottom list. I didn't want to hire you, but almost everyone at Shoten thinks you're more than qualified to handle the job."
"Hm," Rukia hummed, not caring that he was being quite rude. "How rudely unprofessionally and crass of you." She might not have cared, but she should be free to critique his thoughtlessness. Wasn't he the one essentially begging her? His other partners might have pressured him to hire her. To be fair, though, she did leave out some of her other jobs, only leaving the more appropriate experiences and publications that were more aligned with Shoten's.
He cleared his throat again. Words must be perpetually drowning in that throat of his, mounting since he wasn't that eloquent. "So, what do you say?"
She actually didn't want the job, but she had no other leads. And Kurosaki was too dense to know or even investigate who she is – or was – so why not?
Maybe because she didn't answer immediately, and panic materialized in Ichigo's gut. Shoten really wanted to hire this K. Rukia person. And she was kind of cute, so maybe it wasn't a bad decision. Shoten would most likely be disappointed in him if he couldn't get her hired; her expertise might be beneficial too. Pretty and beneficial; it was a win-win for everyone involved. He started sputtering nonsense, sometimes digressing into something arbitrary, sometimes flattering her.
Rukia placed her phone down, not wanting to hear whatever non-linear nonsense or her soon to be employer was mumbling about, and she certainly didn't need him flattering her with careless words; so, she decided to get a bottle of wine ready to celebrate.
"Hello?!"
She picked her phone back up, raising it to her ear. "Hello, Mr. Kurosaki. I didn't understand the last part."
"Shoten would benefit from your expertise; you did graduate from several top universities in Japan and in the States." He started blabbering again, as if he was flirting.
He had better not be flirting with her. She might as well end his misery. "Yes, I accept and thank you for the opportunity. I just can't wait to be a part of Shoten's team, working with you."
He stopped talking and Rukia was about to open the wine bottle. Drinking alone in celebration was always fun.
"Sorry, what?"
Rukia shook her head, trying hard not to laugh at Kurosaki's sheer stupidity. "I accept."
"Great!" She heard him sighing, and then he mumbled something.
For the next fifteen minutes, Kurosaki Ichigo and Rukia talked about her job duties, as if this was a phone interview.
He talked and she listened; she talked and he listened.
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She could feel his eyes on her. Even if her desk was outside of his office, the hairs on her back told her Kurosaki kept tabs on her, probably wondering if she was working or not.
That creeper.
Working as a secretary was different; it wasn't bad, but the vibe was different than working as one of the many writers at Kageyoshi Press. Though she had to wait for some leads and calls, she always worked against time there; here, at Shoten, she seemed to be waiting for time to pass; for the day to end because she would always complete her tasks before the end of the day, sometimes two or three hours sooner. Like a writer, she remained in a waiting limbo, waiting for Kurosaki's orders as his secretary.
Speaking of him, she felt as if he was attempting to flirt with her; unless her ego has been inflated since working here, but his casual compliments and the occasional accidental touches that might have caused both a friction and unwanted reactions from her were some of the many indicators.
But what did she know about flirtation? Kuchiki Rukia only had one boyfriend during graduate school and that was Kano Ashido; a seven-year relationship that ran its course; nothing dramatic happened; both grew apart and wanted to live in different geographical locations.
And she hasn't thought about relationships in a very long time; a very, very long time. Taking down Aizen consumed too much time, but those were times well spent.
And she knew she wasn't going to start a relationship with anyone in Shoten. Dating a colleague would be awkward and she wouldn't know how to separate the professional and the private.
She could hear his phone ringing and she turned towards his office, chair swiveling in a half circle to see what he wanted.
Staring at Kurosaki's office, she could tell he was in a rather pleasant conversation with the other person. That devilish smirk that sometimes annoyed her reemerged; which was something he offered to mostly women.
Something clicked inside her brain.
[Two Weeks After Being Hired]
Rukia wore oversized sunglasses to avoid being spotted meeting with Hisana earlier. Though she was her sister-in-law, both treated each other like biological sisters. But since this drama between her and the entire Kuchiki clan, Rukia didn't want to place Hisana at the middle where she had to choose one over the other. That wasn't fair; she shouldn't be placed in that situation.
After rejecting Hisana's money for the umpteenth time, the two parted, with Hisana tearing up and with Rukia having to console. She didn't want to take Hisana's money because there was always that risk and she didn't want to be the reason for ruining years of her marital bliss. As much as her brother was also an ass, they both came from the same family. Unfortunately.
It was already 9 at night and the sunglasses was getting a bit too ridiculous; she was sure it was safe to take them off. No one in the Kuchiki family would be caught seen in this proximity; where people scheduled rendezvous at love hotels. While the district was quite commercialized and rather high end in buildings, being near love hotels would soil the Kuchiki name.
It was kind of fun being a Kuchiki and being caught at this district, actually.
"Awwww! Stop it Ichigo!"
Ichigo? As in Kurosaki Ichigo?
"I told you it's not some cheap love hotel. It's quite high end."
Rukia heard Kurosaki laugh and turned around to see him kissing a tall woman with long green pale hair.
Rukia was pretty sure Kurosaki was dating a woman with blonde hair. Rukia thought for a bit, attempting to dig into her memories; the green pale hair reminded her of one of the many files she happened to look over when she was electronically updating Shoten's files. Wasn't she Kurosaki's former secretary?
She could hear Kurosaki say, "Nel."
Right! Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck; didn't she replace Senna, who replaced Inoue Orihime, who replaced –
"Rukia?!"
She was standing right in front of two colorful hairs. She had to fight off a snicker; they matched quite well in height, though clashed in colors; almost terribly so.
"Good evening, Mr. Kurosaki," she breezily greeted him. He even had the audacity to look like a pucker fish, as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Or for doing someone.
"What are you doing here?!"
Rukia observed how Nel possessively held onto Ichigo as they conversed.
"I was meeting someone here hours ago and just walked through here." It wasn't a big deal, but she could tell it was a big deal to Kurosaki.
"With who? Who did you meet?"
Jeez. Shouldn't he be tired by now? Why care about who she was meeting?
"Ichigo, who is this little girl? Is this a friend of your sisters'?"
Judging by how Kurosaki laughed, she guessed that his sisters were young and short. She didn't want to entertain anymore height jokes; once in a while was okay, but she didn't want two titan giants to make fun of her height. Couldn't they be more original?
"Rukia?! Who were with?"
"Ichigo –"
She just wanted to go home and sleep. "It's after hours, Mr. Kurosaki. Might I remind you that what I do after business hours is none of your business." Before he interrupted her, she continued, "And what you do and with who is none of my business."
Both Ichigo and Nel blushed; the latter tightening her hold on his arm.
After saying her farewells, she left the couple, ignoring Ichigo's calls.
It wasn't awkward, but Kurosaki made it awkward as he continuously demanded who she was meeting at that district at work the next day. She kept mum until her cool façade nearly erupted from annoyance and told him that she had a date with a cute bunny named Chappy, who promised to fly her to space.
That shut him up because he gave her a look that could only be described as a derp face. And she had to excuse herself to go laugh her ass off in the restroom. No one needed to see her red face and dying of a lack of oxygen.
Oh, I see. So, the rumors are true. He is a playboy. I don't know why I didn't deduce that earlier. I guess I have an excuse to stab his hand with a pen if he attempts to touch me again. No need to touch anyone else if he's in multiple relationships. Jeez. What a selfish Dorito.
She crossed her legs and began tapping her loafers on the floor as soon as Dorito opened his office door.
"Rukia?" She didn't know when he started addressing her informally. She would like to be called K. and pretend she was the bosses of all Bonds.
She giggled. "Hm?"
"Why aren't you working?" Flirting, or failing to because she was not going to be one of the many secretarial conquests, with her and now attempting to police her work without knowing what she was doing; there were times where she thought he might just want to talk to her; that or he was a masochist and wanted her to verbally challenge him in her own polite way.
She smiled and inflected a friendly voice reserved only for his ears. "What makes you think I didn't work, Mr. Kurosaki?"
"Exhibit A: you're sitting around, clocking in hours, doing nothing. Exhibit B: you've completed nothing since 11am. Need I say more?"
He made things too easy for her. That or he must really like the sound of his voice; or talking to her. "So, the great genius of this startup company also creeps on his colleagues?"
"Employee."
Her ears must have failed her; she smirked. "I'm sorry?"
"You're my employee," was his rough reply.
So much for being treated as equals here. "So, the company's oh so different mission statement about 'not employees, but comrades' was nothing but mere false advertising? Good to know." She wanted to laugh; his smirk immediately transformed into a nasty frown as if he knew he was losing this battle. But she did recognize that he wanted to always maintain that power and control over everything; control to care. She wanted to shudder; that could be scary. It's fine to care, but even that was overwhelmingly suffocating.
"Just answer the goddamn question, Rukia."
Good god. This man just won't quit. He wants an answer; I'll give him a crafted, verbose answer.
"To answer one of your many growing questions that I've mentally listed, the answer is, yes, I have completed all tasks assigned since I walked into the office and clocked in." She looked at her iMac, checking the time. "Since 9:52am, I've responded, forwarded, and composed original emails that you asked me to. I've also read over all reports from all departments and created an iCalendar for this month's and next month's projected deadlines and other incoming projects that may be rife with sci-fi metaphors. As of now, the time being 11:45am, I am waiting for possible responses."
It took him a while to compute, so she settled in staring at her fingernails; they were getting long again. Why do they get long so quickly? Awkward as it may be, Rukia took a chance and stared at her boss' fingernails, noticing that while his fingernails were trimmed down to a reasonable length, his hands were decorated with scars; it might be assuming, but she's pretty positive his hands might be filled with callus. Lotion might be a good Christmas gift for him this year.
"So, you're telling me, in less than two hours, you completed all designated tasks?"
The pen nearly dropped from her fingers. This man certainly loved rhetorical questions. "I am."
If only she could pull her phone out and take a picture of his current face and draw handlebar mustaches on it. Or his face might be a good foundation for a great dart game with Ikkaku.
"What the hell!?"
She smiled, feeling that stretch of superiority on her face. "What can I say? I type 90 words per minute. Did you not read my CV?"
Before she was able to stop herself, she continued, "Oh, or did you hire me for my looks?" She didn't know why she said that; words can't be taken back. Oh jeez.
"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."
Thank goodness he chose to ignore the context of that question. That or he was an obtuse person and didn't have the ability to comprehend.
She was safe, but quite embarrassed with her slip; she might have thought he was attractive, but she wasn't going to be relegated as the many. "I was about to call you a cliché since in several schematic cinematic tropes, big bad bosses often like to bed their secretaries."
"Whatever. Start acting like a secretary and stop your yakking."
Wait, what? She didn't understand what acting like a secretary meant. She dressed the part and did everything else. Did she also have to perform her job in an overly exaggerative, performative manner? This man and his fetish.
"So, instead of being expected to perform my gender, an outdated expectation that was non-scientifically and biologically ingrained and socially constructed to people, I'm expected to perform to fit in within the physical parameters of my employed position? One that might be socially rooted unfairly upon my gender?"
"Whatever. Yeah, do as I say."
He was going to regret his answer tomorrow.
She smiled, eyes closed in a raging yet friendly manner. "Duly noted."
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.
.
Researching in the form of watching movies was fun. She forgot how much she enjoyed the cheesy cartoon iteration of Ghostbusters; was Janine Melnitz the archetype for great secretaries. But the film Secretary – a generic title – with Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader was different and intense. Was this the reason why Kurosaki had a fetish with secretaries? The sexual tension and the violent role play?
Clicking her tongue, she felt a bit mortified and disturbed after the credits started appearing onscreen. Nope. She wasn't going model herself after that; though the movie was fine. But she wasn't going to submit.
Now to look at some fashion magazines for some inspiration. She did budget for new clothes.
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.
.
She always came into the office an hour earlier than everyone else to set the building up. Well, all the secretaries were supposed to come in an hour early and make notes of messages and such.
"Those red Prada glasses look great on you, K.," Lisa complimented. She always wondered how Rukia was able to afford such clothes; that or she took her secretary position a little too seriously than everyone else.
She brightened up. "Thank you, Yadōmaru-san. Though black frames are forever timeless, I thought going for a bolder color wouldn't be so bad."
"Red looks great on you. Going for a new look?"
Shaking her head with a smile. "Not new; just wanted to look like the archetypal secretary we're all familiar with."
"Huh?"
Unwrapping a piece of gum, she handed one to Lisa. "Would you like some gum? Pink gum gives a great aesthetic vibe to our look."
"Do I even want to be a part of this?"
"Probably not, but I can assure you this will be fun," Rukia replied after Lisa took a piece of gum, and Rukia took out a nail filer from her briefcase.
"Is there something going on between you and Kurosaki, K.?" Lisa's tone was even and calm.
The question must have bothered her more than she knew because she nearly filed her two fingers shorter than intended. She was going to mourn her nails in a bit.
That question was straightforward and probably shouldn't have necessitated any surprise on her part, but she was still caught off guard. "I'm sorry?"
"Look, K., I really like you and think you're cool and don't want you to get hurt by any self-important assholes here, but you know, Kurosaki beds most of his secretaries. In a flash." She chuckled as Rukia was trying to process the joke; she still couldn't fathom the joke.
Is he the god of flash or something?
Fine, she did think Kurosaki was quite charming; that much she could admit, but superficial attraction was just that. Superficial with no layered surface to move beyond or forward.
"Yadōmaru-san, I'm just his secretary."
Lisa snorted. "That's what she said. All of them."
Rukia cackled, liking the immature joke. "I may not be any different from Mr. Kurosaki's previous secretaries." She shook her head when Lisa tried to object, knowing that both of them respected each other, and that both of them got more work done than half of the people here, and continued, "But I assure you that the relationship you see between us is strictly professional."
Risa regarded Rukia quietly, hoping that it's true. But she's seen the way Kurosaki looked at her, and for once, it seemed more than a gleam of temporary lust. She liked Kurosaki fine, but his reputation here was quite notorious. For someone who was serious and passionate about this startup and his work, he was seriously passionate about sleeping with nearly all of his secretaries. Would K. be any different? But, she seemed different - if she could say so herself - always putting their boss in place, which he deserved.
"I believe you, K., but things change."
And people, I know.
Seamlessly synchronizing the filer and blowing pink bubbles were rather challenging, but once she found the rhythm, it was quite easy to manage despite the concentration required. Kurosaki was a bit later than usual today, which was odd, because despite his laid-back demeanor and playboy tendencies, he was quite a responsible person; serious with his work, sometimes respectful toward his colleagues, and he could be charming when time calls for it. That is, when he's not attempting to flirt with every secretary in this building.
Maybe she needed to stop observing him.
She stopped filing and pushed the red glasses back up; this was more ill-fitting than her other normal frames.
"What's this?"
His voice seemed a bit different today, a bit more velvety and smoother than normal. It was quite pleasant to listen to, but she wondered if that voice was reserved for certain women. When he wanted something. Physically.
Not today, you fuck boi. Ahem. Please excuse me for the language.
Ignoring his voice and its effects, she continued to file her nails, eyes focused on the easy tempo she established earlier prior to his interruption. If he made her lose a fingernail, she was going to feed him this filer. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question. I'm here, sitting like the great secretary I am. What's not to get with this image?"
"Why are you filing your nails?"
Must he be fascinated with everything she, or everyone for that matter, does? Still not looking at him, she gave him a precise answer, "Oh this? I'm performing as a stereotypical secretary. After watching the entire sets of Ghostbusters, the cartoon series, three seasons of Mad Men because I need to binge the entire series later when life isn't busy, and the film Secretary, staring Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader, I'm attempting to mimic what it means to be your secretary. I just finished reading four entertainment magazines, and this was the next secretarial thing to do."
She smirked when she glanced at him, who looked like he wanted to emulsify in front of her – fine with her.
Putting her filer down somewhere that didn't have any germs, she looked at her nails, quite liking the end result, and continued, "Though I have to say, after watching 500 Days of Summer, I prefer the term personal assistant, but I guess it's too late on what I want, huh?"
Really, personal assistant sounds much better in my ears, but his ears must want something else.
"Rukia! You're doing this to mock me!"
Here comes her Brooklyn voice; the moment she was waiting for; maybe bubble popping would achieve greater results. It never hurt anyone to try. "You're confusing me, Mr. Kurosaki." Smack, smack. "First you tell me how to do my job." Bubble pop. "Then you tell me how to act like a secretary, acting as your secretary. So here I am. Nothing ever satisfies you, huh?" Smack, smack. She wanted to laugh at his expression, but with her bubble popping intervals, she wasn't sure if laughter would inadvertently make the bubble gum pop its residue all over her face. She wanted the last laugh and not to be laughed at.
He was watching her blow and pop bubbles intently, probably waiting for the gum to fall out of her mouth; she was much too careful to let that happen.
"Stop that."
"What?"
"Your smacking. It's rude, very unbecoming of you."
She immediately stopped, all those patronizing comments she received from her brother and their family returning in full force, causing her amusement to change into the familiar confinements of suppressed anger she had. She inwardly breathed, but responded, "Oh good lord. You sound like him." The emphasis on him was unintentional, but it came out, making it unable to ignore. Dorito and her brother sure had something against people chewing bubble gum. She needed to find an unlucky door handle to place her gum on; oh, the likely candidate was in front of her. Or maybe his window might be effective, too.
Rukia didn't understand why Kurosaki's face changed into a dangerous scowl; if looks could kill people. She didn't really say anything too rude, did she? Her eyes went up, attempting to refigure what she said earlier. Nope. Nothing abnormal. Maybe the bubble popping and smacking deterred his brain's function.
His mouth opened as she prepared herself for a lecture on etiquette; she's had several of those in the past twenty years, so it wasn't that much of a big deal, but she wanted to compare how different or similar his lecture would be from her family's. Would she be bored out of her mind?
The phone on her desk rang. Remembering phone etiquette 101, she gracefully took a piece of tissue and turned her face around, spitting her gum in the soft tissue and disposed it in her trash bin.
The phone kept ringing as she cleared her throat softly, washing away Janine Melnitz's voice. "Hello, Shoten's. This is K. Rukia speaking, how may I help you?"
She grabbed her discarded pen lying still on the edge of desk and twirled it as she loosely held the phone near the junction between her neck and ear, thinking it was a potential business partner or something about a possible future collaboration, but the woman on the other end started rambling about Kurosaki this, Kurosaki that, and how she missed him.
Rukia glared at Kurosaki, who seemed surprisingly amused. I do not work here to take sex calls!
She could feel his intense stare lingering on her and before he walked away, she signaled him with her right index finger, asking him to stay a bit; surprisingly, he did, and there was a soft smile on his face.
That smile disappeared instantly when she mouthed Riruka to him. This time she smiled and stifled a laugh. It was a unique name, but she was positively sure it was one of his many secretarial flings, and she probably wanted to schedule some time for intimacy.
She covered the phone and quietly laughed as her boss started to animatedly wave his hand around, baiting her to lie.
Sure. Why not? She was just a secretary; secretaries always covered their boss' bases. What he did on his own time didn't affect her; at least that's what she kept telling herself. "Oh, I sincerely apologize Dokugamine-san, Mr. Kurosaki is not in his office right now. He has several appointments today. Could I take a message for him?"
Still facing him, she gave him a smirk to acknowledge his thank you. But Kurosaki was intentionally walking slower as if he wanted to listen to the remaining conversation. Sometimes his steps would halt, and his head turned a bit, as if he wanted to hear what Rukia was saying.
She thought her voice was pleasant enough, sympathetic even, but no, this Riruka Dokugamine started lecturing her about having flings with a big shot boss, and that she shouldn't dare daydream.
Please if she were to daydream about anything, it would be to hang out up on her and get back to reading Chappy. So, what if she didn't dream big? Chappy was equally important to her.
She stared at Kurosaki's retreating figure, anger building inside of her for unknown reasons. He had the right to have multiple sexual partners, but was it her responsible to deal with them as he ran back into the safe confines of his office with a lack of awareness and accountability?
She hummed, stopping Dokugamine from saying anything further. Still staring at Kurosaki's back, her voice was agreeable, but in a controlled voice responded, "Oh, I'm sorry, Dokugamine-san. Perhaps you're misunderstanding here; never will I be like any other secretary because my livelihood depends on this job and nor do I seek any temporary sexual release."
She wasn't sure if she regretted her choice of words because she witnessed Kurosaki's back slumping. That defeated slump was all it took to diminish her fleeting victory as she felt bad for him.
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.
He observed Rukia and Urahara talking to each other quite well acquainted with each other, not to mention comfortable working together, as they discussed how to re-secure and reconfigure Shoten's security network after there was a breach between information sharing. For hours everyone was attempting to re-code and find the best programming re-language for security until Rukia came in, delivering their lunches.
"Say, K.-san?" Everyone in the room turned to look at her with Ichigo noticing that she didn't like to be called out; if anything, it seemed like she wanted to blend in with the group. Not that she could because she used words as if they were her only weapon. If anything, her grandiose and well-timed speeches made her stand out.
"Yes, Urahara-san?" she replied with a bemused glint in her eyes.
Ichigo wondered why she always seemed so relax with everyone at Shoten.
Except me.
"You're experienced in engineering and programming software, yes?"
"I am, yes."
"Do you think you can offer some suggestions on how to secure our network? Preferably without any other third parties?"
"So, you want Shoten to control their own cybersecurity?" Ichigo could tell she was getting excited with the prospect of working with them; well, more than what her secretarial duties allowed. Both he and Urahara knew that her capabilities were on par with, or even exceeded, everyone sitting in this current room.
"Exactly that."
Before Rukia could answer, someone else voiced their complaint. "But Urahara-san! Isn't she just Ichigo's secretary? What does she know?"
Ichigo gulped as she saw fire coming out of Rukia's eyes, but she gently closed them and politely forced a smile. "Oh, Asano-kun. You're right, I'm just Mr. Kurosaki's secretary, but I do have a background in coding and engineering. And seeing that you've been sitting here looking at more than questionable magazines beneath your notepad, I'm sure I can offer some amateur suggestions that could easily be discarded by everyone here should they be laced with illogical algorithms. And speaking of experiences, may I ask what your credentials in the field are? Your file was quite thin, so I couldn't remember much."
Ichigo had to cough to mask his laugh as Keigo was simmering in anger. The man might be his friend, but Ichigo did hire him because of their friendship, which was probably not prudent, but he could handle some projects under strict supervision.
"Ara ara. K.-san, don't mind Asano-kun. I want to hear your expertise."
And for the past hour and a half, Rukia took control of the meeting and pleasantly showed them who was the boss.
And now she was working closely with Urahara, who treated Rukia as an equal; while she was still his secretary, sometimes Urahara would borrow her genius to rework everything else in Shoten. This included project budgets and whether the robotics and machineries they wanted to improve were feasible.
And what an improvement they were. Ichigo wasn't sure why she chose to be a secretary when she could have aimed higher. He was sure if she asked, Urahara would have given her a higher position or even her own department to manage. But she didn't and Urahara didn't pursue anything. But Rukia did hand deliver Ichigo a resignation letter, asking if she could give in her two weeks' notice.
Shocked and with a shaking hand, he asked, "Why? Are you not happy here?" They were only getting to know each other, even though she was more than once expressed how uninterested and unimpressed she was with him.
"No, Mr. Kurosaki. It's quite comfortable here, but I'm –" If she was being honest with herself, Rukia couldn't acknowledge that she was growing frustrated with herself; she was getting tired of seeing Kurosaki's handsome yet irksome face. That and she was working on other side projects after hours. In a way, she was moonlighting a bit, but she had no allegiance to pledge to, so guilt be gone.
Rukia didn't get to finish her sentence since Urahara burst in Ichigo's office and refused her resignation, asking her to reconsider and that he could offer her a higher salary.
In the end, Rukia stayed, but informed both Ichigo and Urahara that it was temporarily and that she was going to resign.
Her resignation was shot down two more times. She could have just left, but Rukia being the professional she was, stayed, wanting to see how this game would continue. Or maybe the game pieces - Kurosaki and herself - became still, unable to move beyond or be near each other. It was a pattern that she hated to continue.
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.
.
It was rare that Kurosaki and Rukia stayed in the office after hours, but the deadline was looming in, hovering them, and he was the primary leader of this AI program. And he needed Rukia to help him finalize the coding without the product becoming too uncanny for the masses.
"Thanks for staying, Rukia."
"What I'm paid for, especially since your shady partner will not let me leave," Rukia replied, a bit tired, but mirth was evident in her voice. "Either I must be an asset to Shoten or you just didn't want to me to leave at all."
"No one's forcing you to stay." But if Ichigo was honest with himself, he knew his attraction for Rukia was increasing each time they were together in the office. Maybe he really needed help. He wasn't sure if he was attracted to her or because she was simply conveniently his secretary.
"So, I can leave then?"
"And leave me with this? You can't be that cruel, Rukia."
"I take that as a no then." She stretched a bit; even her posture was straight and graceful whenever she did that. Her phone buzzed and she looked excited, and Ichigo wondered if it was him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Kurosaki, I'm going to take this outside."
Ichigo huffed, irritated that she was leaving him behind.
"I'll be back with some freshly brewed coffee so you can keep that scowl off when I come back." She smiled at him and walked out as she answered her phone.
Ichigo stared at her, languidly walking to her desk, knowing that she was just walking towards a non-direction, but her feet settled to a familiar location. Her hair was growing longer, and he observed how she attempted to tuck that lone strand between her eyes behind her right ear, only for it to stubbornly fall in place again.
Even with the artificial lights, there was no denying that she was beautiful, especially when she was standing in front of the windows where the moon, where the juxtaposition between the unnatural and natural rays of light collided with each other, she looked ethereal and regal. It was difficult to explain such simple beauty. Her aura, too.
She turned to look at Ichigo, who immediately looked down, pretending to read the reports and numbers, but they were blurring together and he couldn't make sense of them at the moment; Rukia continued to stare at him until he looked up, and she signaled to the kitchen. He nodded, knowing that she was going to brew him that cup of coffee she promised.
Ichigo knew his track record; sleeping with his secretaries and then refusing to commit to a relationship because he made a lamely concocted excuse that he didn't date his colleagues, only for them to quit and attempt to change his mind. The sex continued, but he still refused to settle down in a monogamous relationship.
But maybe with Rukia, he could reconsider; she has more than proven that she didn't cater to anyone, especially since she refused to respond to his blatant flirtatious displays of affection. That or she was very strong-willed, but it hurt that sometimes she gave him a disgusted look, as if he was the lowest of scum. That or maybe she was in a relationship with him, and that still bothered him. Who was him?
Was it worth breaking his cycle to someone who wanted nothing more than being a mere stranger/colleague?
Maybe she was worth it. To him at least. Maybe he could change for her and show her that he was serious for her.
He could become serious for her.
He didn't realize her presence in the conference room until a cup of aromatic, steaming coffee was placed in front of his face.
"Thank you, Rukia."
She smiled and sat down, blowing in her cup as she waited for the dancing liquid to settle, and looked at her phone once in a while with a hint of a smile.
He wasn't sure what he felt, but that smile, even if it wasn't directed at him, seemed worth it.
"Rukia?"
She hummed and looked at him. "Yes, Mr. Kurosaki?"
"Would you like to grab something to eat." He paused, and eventually finished the fragment, "With me?"
She visibly tensed, setting her cup down, careful to not spill any drops of coffee. She stared at him for a bit and frowned. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Kurosaki, but I thank you for the invitation."
He knew what she meant. Words computed. "No! I mean just tonight. We're working on this project late and we could take a break and get something to eat."
Her face relaxed, which depressed him. "Oh, well, I don't say no to free food."
Tonight could be a chance for them. "Is that a yes?" He mumbled the question.
She rolled her eyes; must he always need validation? "Of course it is."
"Ichigo!" came a familiar wail. And it wasn't Rukia; she's never called him by his birth name, showing the distance she wanted to maintain.
He wasn't sure how Senna entered the office – he needed to speak with security.
"Senna," he said, disinterestedly. He was being an asshole, that much he recognized, but she was very clingy. More so than his usual partners.
She went to hug him, only for him to gently brush her away from him. He took a chance and stared at Rukia, who despite the commotion, sat back down and quietly sipped her coffee, waiting.
"Ichigo! Why didn't you answer any of my calls? Did you lose your phone?" She started saying incomprehensible, irrelevant things and stopped when she saw Rukia sipping her coffee and read over the notes that were spread around the table.
And sneered at her. "Who is this, Ichigo? Your newest bitch?"
"Senna," Ichigo growled. "Don't start."
Rukia stood up, staring at the two, but Ichigo could tell she was attempting to mask her anger. She shook her head. "Miss, please don't assume. I'm not anyone's bitch." She wanted to say more and dissect the term a bit more, but she was tired and frustrated, all hopes of a normal working relationship with Kurosaki went down the drain again. "Mr. Kurosaki, I think we can finish this later. Have a good night."
The Senna woman sneered and started explicitly telling Ichigo – and Rukia – about their escapades.
"Rukia! Please, I can explain –"
She never looked back nor listened to his meaningless words as Ichigo and Senna argued.
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Rukia was getting irritated with Urahara these days. He rejected her resignation letter for the fourth time, promising her that she can leave once they're done with the projects this year. That meant that she had to remain as Kurosaki's secretary until the end of this year. She clicked her tongue; that man and his life were going to be the end of her. Tonight, out of all nights, when she and her senpai from graduate school, were catching up during dinner, she saw Kurosaki and Inoue, she was pretty sure it was Inoue, judging from the picture on her file, making out. She saw tongue and everything, which made her nearly regurgitate her Naporitan.
"Kuchiki, are you alright?" Kaien asked, handing Rukia a glass of iced cold water.
Coughing was a way to attempt to breathe again and she nodded. "I'm fine, Kaien-senpai. Thanks."
Rukia stared at the temp couple again, and shrugged, opting to not care as the cool water went down, burning out the flames. For the rest of the night, all feelings of what Kurosaki said the morning after that Senna ordeal, diminished as she listened to Kaien talking about a potential op-ed piece she could write, which could get her writing aspirations back on track. He was the news editor for an online press and wanted her to write something for him; an op-ed that was politically relevant or something that held an ounce of emotional urgency; it was up to her.
She smiled at her senpai, grateful for his support, as they caught up with each others' lives and Miyako's pregnancy.
.
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.
Ichigo stared in shock when he saw Rukia walk out with another man with black spiky hair; her hand was on him as she laughed, her eyes twinkling as the man whispered something in her ear? But their proximity was temporary as Rukia blushed and bowed, as if apologizing for touching him. That small gesture made Ichigo feel more at ease, even if it was selfish of him to think so. The man shook his head, and tugged at Rukia as he dragged her somewhere, away from the restaurant.
She probably noticed him and Inoue and their full blown PDA. He thought picking a restaurant outside of Karakura would be more discreet and away from familiar prying eyes, but of course, Rukia had to be here. Tonight. Why did he keep fucking up with her? Not that anything had started between them, but had he had more self-control, he probably wouldn't feel like he just disappointed the person he admired and respected the most.
He could feel Inoue's hand on his leg, rubbing him in small, sensual circles. He closed his eyes; whether out of self-disgust or because he knew he was the one who stilled any progress in their potential relationship, he didn't know.
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That night, Rukia sat staring at her iMac, preparing to write her assigned op-ed. She knew Kaien asked her to contribute because of what happened between her and ASS, specifically requesting that she write about the death of journalistic integrity.
Rukia's face darkened, but there was wicked smile on her lips as she mentally outlined how this piece could thinly veil her critiques on that ASS.
Her phone buzz, alerting a text.
Rukia, are you awake?
It was Kurosaki. She rolled her eyes. Wasn't he busy getting hot and bothered with his current partner? Why bother her? She decided to ignore the text as she began typing; that sinister smile that read "I am a mastermind" etched on her knowing yet unreadable face.
Another text.
Rukia?
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.
.
Ichigo sighed, turning on his side; long after Inoue left, he felt – empty? Alone? Miserable? He wasn't sure why. But he really wanted to know how Rukia was. He never got to explain himself with Senna; she never went home with him, but that also didn't mean he didn't call someone else as a replacement for the night.
He actually thought Rukia might have been interested enough that night to maybe come home with him, but he should've known better. He shouldn't expect anything from her. Especially her. She never would let anyone close.
He growled. Except him. He finally knew who him was, and it was someone that Rukia seemed to be comfortable with.
His phone buzzed, feeling elated; maybe it was her.
Mr. Kurosaki, I respectfully request that you don't contact me after business hours. As a reminder, we're just colleagues.
Rejection was something he never understood, but that icy yet professional tone was all it took to bring him back to reality. Maybe he wasn't who he thought he was: self-assured, confident with women, and successful. Rukia might not know it yet, but her words could crush him in a single second.
For the rest of the night, he kept reading her reply, his heart burdened with an ineffable weight. Wordless as the weight may be, he felt suffocated, feeling restless for the remainder of the night.
.
.
.
End notes:
Hello. I'm here sometimes. I wanted to continue this story, corresponding the first part with Rukia's point of view. There will be another chapter that ends this story. I wanted to write something fun and not as heavy.
Cheers.