Now that we've got to know a little more about the background history of the two main characters, but here in this chapter, the spotlight's focused on our mysterious supermodel! Let's see what will happen!
WARNING: Slight and one-sided IchiRuki, but I promise that it won't last for long - it's after all a IchiHime story!
I Have No Idea You Own Such a "Past".
Ichigo woke up from the house-filled fragrance of food. He blinked, yawned and stretched like a cat. After having shows after shows for nearly a month, even sleeping was a kind of enjoyment. He walked down the stairs to discover Orihime cooking in the kitchen.
"Do you know you're very admirable, Ichigo? You've been sleeping for a day straight! So, have you resigned to the Sun?" She half-joked, dancing in the kitchen with the cooking utensils as batons for tricks.
"I'm afraid I'll starve to death in the bed if I don't get up." He looked around the clean and shiny kitchen. "Now you have a job, how about hiring another part-time housekeeper?"
"No." She answered crisply. "I love doing housework."
"Alright," Ichigo said lazily and found something on the table. "Mm…salt-grilled Pacific saury? Oh, cooked rice too!" He took the fish with his hands directly and munched. "H-Hot ~ ! Yah…everything's honey-sweet when you're hungry…"
"Hey!" Orihime kicked his shin. My saury! "A ghost died of hunger? None can defile my salt-grilled sauries! Don't models go on diets? I've only cooked one! Give it back! Hey! Who's told you to eat rice by grabbing them with your hands?! Oh, God ~ ! You're a freaking supermodel! What of your image?!"
"Diets? I do workouts." He was still gnawing the oily saury with his hands after being shooed out of the kitchen by Orihime. His image? Not a damn to it. "Are there any vegetables? It's pretty unhealthily oily to eat sauries only, you know."
"Excuse me?!" She cried, aching to dump the bowl of steamy rice in her hands onto his head. "There's zero greenery in your fridge! If you don't mind cucumbers or green peas…"
"Ma…there's no use in disliking anything now." He filled another bowl of rice. "Just bring in anything. If only there's miso soup…"
"You want me to squeeze out marrow soup from your skull?" Orihime said through grinding teeth.
A refreshing day-long sleep, a satisfying lunch with delicious food, accompanied with a quick-tempered belle as his cohabitant…it was very rare for Ichigo to be so carefree.
"You can be a bride and compete for the Number One Housewife of Japan, Orihime. Most women nowadays don't even know how to cook rice." He burped, rubbing a satisfied full belly. "Or should I say that you can't even find a boyfriend for yourself when living with a sicko like me?"
"You seem to have an inclination to recall people's unpleasant memories," Orihime puffed out her cheeks. "You'll be the one who'll never get a wife yourself, you idiot who couldn't even cook rice! It's the first time I saw bugs in the grains (1)!"
"…I've decided!" He clapped his hands. "I'll make you unmarried for your whole life! With that, I can always eat the meals you cook—hey! Do you know chopsticks are also assassination tools? You nearly jabbed the acupuncture at my temple!"
"You should be thankful that I'm not making concoctions with your meal." Orihime replied icily. "One thing you should know is that I have a tendency to put strange ingredients in food when you're not aware of—come back, you jerk! Don't you feel ashamed of eating someone's lunch? Get your lazy ass here and dry the dishes for me!"
"I'm your boss!" Setting his usual scowl with his brows, Ichigo grumbled as he put on an apron decorated with a lot of strawberries. "Why should I help to clean up?"
"I'm your make-up artist, not cook!" Orihime showed her tongue at him and laughed as she saw his apron. "Oh, my word, you look so cute! Strawberries really suit you for your namesake!" She supported her shaking laughing form by the counter, neglecting Ichigo's murderous stare.
Out of the blue, the doorbell rang like a clap of thunder in a clear sky. They looked at each other; it was so rare for them to have visitors that Orihime has long forgotten that it could emit sounds.
"Who's it?" She walked to the door as she wiped her hands.
"No. I'll go." In only a second, Ichigo's body tensed up. The relaxed and lively face he wore just now was blazing with alert, making him seemed to be surrounded by tongues of flame. He approached the door cautiously, checked if he got any defensive weapons with him, took a breath and opened the door. A flash of black and white was hurled right into his chest.
"Ichigo!" Raising her head, the petite damsel who reached only to his arms smiled with happy tears glazing those amethysts of deep purple. "I've missed you ~ !"
"R-Rukia?" He was stupefied instead, so was Orihime by this surprising guest.
As she spotted Orihime, Rukia's gleaming smile was replaced with coldness along with her tone, "Who's this?"
"She's my make-up artist, Inoue Orihime. She lives with me in here." Ichigo calmed down after the initial shock. "Why're you here? Does Byakuya know it?"
"Nii-sama allowed it," She has yet let down of her vigilant measuring gaze on Orihime and spoke in French, "I hate her. Call her off! I want to live with you!"
"You can speak Japanese, can't you?" Ichigo said mildly, yet full of authority that allowed no one to retort. "When you're in my country, you should speak Japanese. Besides, you can't live with me. If you want to, then ask Orihime whether she lets you stay in her room. Otherwise, I'll stay in the living room and you can have mine."
"Why is it not her?!" Rukia changed to speak in perfect Japanese with genuine Tokyo ascent (2). "I'm the guest here!"
"You're my guest, not Orihime's." Ichigo kept his tone moderate, but lowered his lashes to conceal his true feelings.
"No! I don't want that!" Rukia pled with whines. "Can't I sleep with you? When we're small…"
"We've never slept together since you're ten." He said. "Don't be unreasonable, Rukia. I was happy to see you, but now you're being an annoying nuisance."
Rukia looked at him with passionate agony; it was a look that can melt the iciest hearts. It was blasphemous to go against any requests from this spirited belle. Finally, she gave in, "Alright, you won. I'll tell them to get my luggage."
When Ichigo properly introduced them to each other, Rukia called it a handshake by merely touching Orihime's fingers. Even the blind could see her hostility.
"I'm sorry," Ichigo said to Orihime when Rukia was out of earshot. "She'll be leaving after a few days."
"Why are you apologizing when you're the master of this place?" Orihime asked with difficulty, "But, who's…"
Ichigo thought for a while, "Her family sheltered me when I was studying abroad in France. She's the proud sister of her elder brother Byakuya, who's been taking care of her since their parents' death, so she's a bit arrogant. Hope you can bear with her."
Ichigo has studied abroad? She gazed at him in awe. After living together for so long—did four months count as long?—she found that she still did not quite understand…no, she knew nothing about his past, his background, everything. But then, why should she know? Her face flushed for a bit. Only one thing was sure, and that was she really disliked Rukia, especially wanting to give her a smart cuff when she jumped into Ichigo's chest.
What was wrong with me? To neglect having such bloody thoughts and messed-up feelings, she tried her best to avoid meeting Rukia and stayed in her room most of the time.
What frustrated her most was that Rukia had some awful habits and toppled the spotless-clean house upside down! She has had enough of it, so when she stuck to Ichigo and they went out together, Orihime began to tidy up wordlessly. Unfortunately, when she was scrubbing the kitchen sink, Rukia returned by herself with a crash on the door.
"Where's Ichigo?" Beauties by the same token, Orihime's hands twitched to smack her; that high-and-mighty tone was really unbearable.
"He's yet home." Was the plain reply, and Orihime continued to clean.
"Hey," Rukia flopped herself onto the soft into a lazy lump. "I'm hungry, so make me a sandwich. Ah, remember that I hate pickled cucumbers, so don't put them in. Do you hear me?"
"I'm not hungry, so I don't want to make anything." She washed the spoons till they were shiny.
"What's with that attitude?! You're only a servant!" Rukia yelled agitatedly. "I'm telling Ichigo to fire you!"
"I'm not Ichigo's servant but his make-up artist." Except the whitening knuckles that showed her emotions, Orihime's face betrayed nothing. "If Ichigo fires me because of you, I won't say a thing against him. But," She placed the spoons into the drawer. "That's until he talks to me directly. You just don't have that qualification."
Before Orihime's mind could register a thing, Rukia was gone and the spoons were in the air. In the next second, she felt a scorch at her neck.
"Tsk, tsk…so you're an 'outsider'? What's it again? A commoner, a plebeian or a pariah? Well, it's all the same…for you." She put a bit force in her hand. Although Orihime could not see it, she sensed a sharp cold draught coursing through her veins from her neck. She was…holding a knife at her?
"…I don't understand." Orihime gulped carefully.
"Ichigo's never told you? Who do you think Ichigo is?"
"Ichigo is Ichigo. As long as it's him, then it's alright; I don't care about his past." Orihime held her head high stubbornly despite her fear.
"Why get yourself into such troubles?" Rukia hit Orihime's cheek with the flat side of the chilly blade, eyes filled with disdain. "A commoner should just live on with your petty days. We, the Triads, are never interested in you to begin with. Does this make senses to you now? Stop sticking around Ichigo; he's not the one you commoners could reach, no matter what."
"What's 'the Triads'?" Orihime felt goose bumps all over her.
"I've forgotten that's for the Chinese—so damn troublesome, these Asian languages! For you, it should be 'Kokudou' (3). Just who do you think Ichigo really is?" Sparks of craze were stricken from her eyes. "He's the honourable Prince of the Dark Path, the man I'm destined to marry to."
The scene of that day was still vivid in her heart, like it was just yesterday. It was a day of light drizzles when an eight-year-old Rukia first met the twelve Ichigo, just arrived at France. Rooted to the ground, she watched as that eminent, handsome Asian boy walked into the mansion with elegance through the rain. Those luminous eyes were flashing ambers among the dark obsidians, so as those bright orange locks, bringing in light in that cloudy cool-gray day.
He must be a Prince. There was no one in the world fairer than him, be them men or women.
"Bon soir, Mademoiselle. I'm Ichigo Kurosaki (4)." His clear voice struck an echo in her heart. "Are you Rukia Kuchiki (5)?"
From that day onwards, Rukia swore to marry to her Asian Prince in the future. Nothing would stand in her way, for any obstruction would only be utterly eliminated. However, as she looked at this outside "plebeian" neither wailing for forgiveness nor being agitated, but glaring at her with cold misty-glass eyes and a white china-doll's face.
Rukia was in a fret. She envied this Eastern woman. She envied her baby-pink soft skin, her delicate proportional torso and that fall of evening-orange silky locks. The appearances of Eastern women never age a lot, but Rukia was now terrified for her future beauty. The Eastern woman could have her looks remained as a child with an eternal baby-soft skin and that china-doll's face. This one before her eyes was especially delicate, able to captivate any men.
She could never allow Ichigo to fall for her! She raised the knife and aimed to slash that dolly face…
Everything seemed too fast for Orihime. She did not even have to time to defend for herself…
A bolt of whiteness and the cold blade was flung to the opposite with a thud. Before Rukia could respond, she was already sent flying to crash into the couch in the living room and landed into an unceremonious heap on the floor. Orihime then realized that she was leaning against Ichigo's chest.
"…Orihime." It was the first time she heard the trembling weakness in his voice and she finally cried. Her legs became jelly and threatened to fall down, but she clutched onto him, balling his clothes into her tight fists. After all, having a knife at the neck and nearly being disfigured was never a pleasant experience which everyone would like to have.
Ichigo was trembling too with another reason. It was initially fear, then it mixed with bubbling rage as he felt the blood on Orihime's neck.
"Go back to France, Rukia." His voice dropped to the arctic chills. "Never appear before me again."
"You're expelling me out for a servant?!" Rukia's eyes widened in disbelief. "I'm only joking with her!"
"Shut up." It was a low and soft voice, but full of potent dangers. "You're hurting my person in my place. Even though I've left 'the Path', I never allowed anyone to bare weapons in my territory. This is my last warning: get lost now, Rukia. You won't make it when I turn around."
"Your person?!" Every single droplet of blood was drained from Rukia's face and she shrilled. "I'm your person! Your destined wife! If you don't marry me, I'll tell Nii-sama and eliminate the Kurosaki House! Do you hear me, you swarm of mere cowering pests under the wings of my family?!"
"I'll explain it to Byakuya myself." His back was still facing Rukia, with a shivering Orihime sobbing in his embrace. "As for the Kurosaki House…you've forgotten that I've long broken away from it. All the things in the Kurosaki House and the Path are none of my business now. Yet for the person under my protection…" His fury rose yet higher as his fingers tightened around Orihime's arms and his face darkened. Gritting his teeth, he sat Orihime down by the dining desk. "I've warned you!" The words were still ringing in Rukia's ears when he was right in front of her.
Rukia tried her greatest attempts to defend herself from the nonstop blows. She was the Champion in the European Taekwondo Tournament, so she was confident in her skills, and being petite had an advantage. She really had no idea that the Ichigo she loved has paid efforts in many folds—nearly over a hundred, as he was assaulted by commanded strange men everyday when he was just a kid of five (6). Even though he has left for the Light, he never rested and let his talents go rusty. After a few blows, Rukia could take it no more and was defeated with her hands locked behind her in a painful twist.
"Lex talionis; you reap what you sowed." A pound on the coffee table and jumped into Ichigo's palm was a peeling knife, which he well-executively used to make the same shallow cut on Rukia's neck as on Orihime's.
"No, Ichigo!" Orihime's cry was shunned.
"Shut up." Staring at her hands with the blood from her neck in shock, Rukia asked Ichigo in French with teary eyes, "How could you hurt me, Issac (7)?"
That dainty and tender form evoked ripples, making a memory fragment of the days in France surface in Ichigo's mind. He saw a petite girl with dusky black hair, always calling in a tender voice, "You're my prince, Issac."
"I'm no longer a prince of anyone." He said pensively. "I'm only a commoner since the day I left the Kurosaki House determinedly. If you love to command and disdain the commoners this much you should marry to Aizen Sousuke. He's got more power than I or the Kurosaki House have. You'll lead a happy life with him."
"I want no one other than you." Rukia surrendered her pride and begged. "What if…I become a commoner too?"
"Then try to influence me?" Ichigo smiled shallowly. "Leave; I won't haggle over it. However, if I spot any wounds on the ones I care…" His smile turned into a gruesome one. "You don't have to courage to try it, do you?"
Rukia stood up miserably and threw herself into his embrace.
"It's a very precarious move. I could stab you out of defence." Many years ago, Ichigo has also hugged an angelic Rukia in his arms under the blooming Sakura trees out of his yearning for his mother. The scents from her little body lingered in his nostrils, even now. He could not bring himself to hurt Rukia. But for Orihime's sake, he could even slay perhaps anyone who showed their fangs…including his father; he had no tolerance for anyone who hurt Orihime. However, Ichigo could not dare to think why.
"I know, my love. I know." She lifted her wretched face. "Please let me be spoiled for a while, Issac. How I wish we could stay as innocent children forever, never to grow up!"
…You are still a naïve child, Rukia. The fact that I had no childhood and was never a child…you never know. Ichigo thought to himself as he applied bandage on the wound for an over-frightened Orihime.
"Does it hurt?" He caught the sharp gasp from Orihime.
"…A little." A thousand words flooded Orihime's throat, but she did not know where to start. "Why did Rukia…?"
"Don't ask. Please, I ask of you, don't ask…" He covered her lips with his hand. Under the remnant rays of the setting sun, his beautiful face became more sorrowfully. He has been trying to leave that summer day sixteen years ago behind…
"Issac…"
"Don't, Ichigo!"
"You caused this…"
"Issac…My Issac…"
"Ichigo…"
Those haunting painful voices pierced through his hazy memories, echoing in his heart again and again. He bit his lip till he tasted blood, trying not to scream at the splitting headache…
"Ichigo? Ichigo!" He snapped back to reality and saw the worry and care in Orihime's eyes. How they resembled those in the fragments… "Why're you crying? I…I promise I won't ask anymore…"
Clear tears trickled down the glacial-beauty face. A moment ago, this man was as savage and agile as a sprinting cheetah, and now he was no more than a confused lost child in suffering, which Orihime could feel all the same. She stroked his cheeks gently to wipe the trails off with her body moving on its own accord. Absentmindedly, she leant forward to plant her lips on his rosy soft ones and she felt doom crashing down on him as she realized her actions. She remembered the fate of the fired make-up artist before her. Am I walking down the same path as she had? As she thought of leaving Ichigo…Ichigo facing her with disdain and loathe…her heart fell into an icy chamber.
"Don't leave me alone." He balled his fists with a handful of her shirt instead. She has never seen him begging, and utterly surprised as he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "A moment is all I ask of you…I beg of you…I-I promise! I've been abandoned…I'm not returning ever again. I won't let you get hurt anymore…don't leave me alone…please…!"
Orihime held her breath. She knew these were the words for neither Rukia nor her. Such heartrending distress was not something she or Rukia could own. Her heart fluttered…she has been building up a wall to avoid such emotions from tainting her. Like a frozen brook under the vernal sun, it thawed, bringing all her persistence away, far beyond her reach…
"…Okay, I promise." She returned his hug. "I won't leave you…I'll stay…"
As for that day's happenings, neither has spoken a thing about it, but they certainly felt a tiny chemical activity between them. Both were embarrassed and bashful by this subtle feeling. Ichigo has reverted back to be the quiet bookworm, indulging himself in the dramatic world Shakespeare created. Not knowing how to deal with this strange emotion, Orihime did the household chores to distract herself.
"Come on, now," Ichigo pushed his glasses to the top of his head, stopped Orihime in her coffee-table-wiping and stared at her straight. "You can use the table as a mirror; stop burying yourself in cleaning and have some rest."
"I…I like doing it." She sat down as told.
"Even though you don't have to pay the rent, you don't need to clean so frequently." His ambers sparkled. "You're already my…m-my personal make-up artist."
She smiled, not knowing why she sensed a kind of tipsy joy rising from her heart.
"Frankly speaking, I've dreamt to have my own house for a long time. All these years, I've been saving up money for this dream." She looked around at the freshly cleaned environment with satisfaction. Compared with the cramped and smelly apartment she used to live in, her face flushed with happiness. "I want to keep my house in a good shape and open the fridge for food to cook freely. I know this isn't my own home, but as long as I live in here…"
"I understand, but you don't have to be this desperate in cleaning." Ichigo put his glasses back in place. "My house is your house, until you get married…well, I'll spoil any possible chances of your marriage, anyway. None could taste your salt-grilled sauries."
"Hey! What do you think of other's eternal happiness to be?!" That is his short-tempered Orihime. A shallow smile appeared on his lips.
"There'll be years for you to clean. The house won't be in rubbles for decades…" He flipped a page and remembered something, "Oh yes, I've heard from Taki that you'd draw with cosmetics? She's even showed me her copied ones. Why aren't you drawing in home?"
Orihime blushed; she would never imagine that someone would discreetly treasure her doodles. She rubbed her neck nervously and glanced to a side, "…All I ever want to draw at home…is you."
Ichigo, with his eyes originally in his book, raised his thick lashes, looking at her with his glittering ambers. Despite being by his side for so long, it still managed to make her breathless.
"Not drawing other things?"
"…No."
He deepened his smile, yet still being so shallow that it was nearly unnoticeable. "What pose should I make? Do I have to take my glasses off?"
"No, don't! Everything's fine!" She was worried that she would anger or upset him by staring like that. It was unexpected that he was willing to do so! She rushed to her room to retrieve her sketchbook and utensils with wild joy.
"It's because of my beauty?" He asked absentmindedly and flipped a page.
"Yes, of course." She sharpened her pencils. "Nevertheless, you've got something beyond beauty. You make artists desire to draw you…and only you…" Every time she put her pencils to draw a line, there might be surprises. It would be aloofness, coldness, agility and strength or frailness that appeared in a blink.
"Draw only you." The peaceful lake in his mindscape rippled because of this sentence. He stared at his book, but not a single word sank deep into his mind.
"…Does it still hurt, your wound on your neck?" He has long forgotten the emotion of fear. However, every time he laid his eyes on the minute wound…his fingers twitched slightly.
"No, not now…not when I'm drawing you…" She replied and gathered herself to lay down the first line.
"Hmm…it seems that you're hot on me." Ichigo stared at the book with a small smirk.
"Only pigs would be hot on you!" Orihime shouted. "Shut up, will you, Model-san? I'm on your lips!"
When she reached to draw his locks of silky hair, she could not help but wonder: did he bleach his hair? She knew most of the models would, especially when they attended fashion shows. One odd thing was that she has never found a single rinse in the house when doing the cleaning. So, could it be his natural colour? She knew her burnt-orange hair colour was odd too, in a sense. However, it was still reasonable: her parents were both brunettes, with her father in a darker shade and her mother a lighter one. With the mixture of genes, it was explainable. What about Ichigo? She wanted to ask, but taking a glance at his absorption in reading, she kept her mouth shut this time.
They remained in silence for some time. When she was laying the finishing touches, she attempted another topic.
"Something's been bugging me for a long time…" She peered at Ichigo over her sketchbook. Seeing that he was open to talk, she continued, "About your name…"
The reaction was simultaneous, for he scowled deeply immediately. "No matter how I've emphasized, I just couldn't correct the mistakes. People keep sending me strawberry-themed gifts, but truth be told, I kinda hate them. If it's not its nutritional values, I'd rather not eat them. As for my 15-themed clothes," He yanked his shirt and continued, "Though I don't like this meaning much, it's still okay, for it sort of reminds me of my fifteenth living year."
Orihime has made a pact with herself not to step in the boundaries that involved Ichigo's past, at least not until he was willing to start it. "If it's not 'strawberry' or '15', then…?"
"You know how to write my name, don't you?" He wriggled a finger in the air to write the words. "It means 'the Number One Guardian'; it's probably the only thing my old man's given me that I'm proud of. Ever since I learnt of it, I've shouldered the responsibility to protect those around me. Take you for example," A glint flashed through his eyes. "I'll guard you and pulverize those who ask for your hand."
A vein popped in Orihime's temple. With a roar, she flung her sketchbook with the finished line drawing at Ichigo.
They tried possibly not to get out of the house unless it was for the sake of keeping them alive. Even though it was a day of rest without shows, Ichigo followed her closely behind; going to the supermarket with her fell into that category. Orihime understood a little that after the incident involving Rukia, Ichigo has been on his full alert. What she could not manifest was that Ichigo preferred being her guard to letting her to be on her own.
But do I want to be on my own? She looked at her reflection in the mirror, combing her hair after a nice bath. Compared to Ichigo's blinding glamour of a diamond, she was only a mere pebble; him a god, she a lowly human. Despite this, she still screamed obscenities and curses at him.
Why does he allow her to? All for the sake of wanting a make-up artist with satisfactory jobs that he does not mind a bit of bad words? To him, I am perhaps only a make-up artist, right? This sudden idea made a pang in her heart, leaving her in pain. What if…if he does not need me anymore?
She lay in bed on her stomach. Moist heat stung her eyes, but nothing came out.
After all, this is not my home. She opened her bankbook and relieved for a moment. Her desire to have her own home grew stronger along with the growing amount of savings in her account. With a house of her own, she could cry freely…taken that Ichigo needed her no more.
Explanations:
(1) It's true; I've seen them even in bags of tightly-vacuumed rice.
(2) Like how the Northern Beijing dialect is the standard pronunciation for Putonghua, the Tokyo ascent is the standard pronunciation for Japanese.
(3) Written as Kanji to be 黒道, it literally means "Dark Path".
(4) In Asian cultures, (mostly) surnames are said before the given name, so I think it's natural for Ichigo to introduce himself in a western way, as he's in France.
(5) As for Rukia, I put her to be from a Japanese family in France that her name calling method goes in this order.
(6) Here I try to make a reference to Ichigo always being attacked by his dad, but it's not just one here.
(7) Well, just want to give Ichigo an English nickname (what Japanese call for Asians with an English name) if he ever has one…and it happened to be a French city/town name.
Author Speaking:
Whoa! Another chapter ends, and now we know who and how grand Ichigo is, and there're still more to come! Just stay in tune!
Kuroi Kokoro 09