What're you thinking?
Chapter 2
Ichigo was not terribly good at strategy.
He could clearly recall the look that Ishida had given him when he offered the method of slicing the menos into pieces like a game of daruma otoshi until the head reached the appropriate level for piercing through.
So he had successfully manipulated Ishida into the deal (a deal that he had quite ingeniously conjured up on the spot) –but making sure that he got the most out of it was another matter.
Ishida was a Quincy.
Ishida was a diligent over-achiever.
Ishida seemed to have no family apart from his beloved, deceased grandfather and a father whom he never spoke about.
Ishida hated Shinigami.
That was all he really knew about his classmate –the quiet, no-nonsense Ishida who was so unrevealing of his personal life that his pristine ivory garbs alone gave off an unapproachable air.
That ebony hair and white skin, the delicate features and almost wiry frame –combined with his slight arrogance, these qualities always made Ishida's opponents underestimate his abilities, much to their own misfortune.
Ishida's fighting form had a grace and strength that no other man or woman Ichigo knew possessed. When his pale form glided through the air like rain, Ichigo often forgot that Ishida was not in spirit form like him, but he was a human with the beautiful weightlessness of a cat-god.
That first time they fought together –or fought against one another, as the Quincy might maintain –Ishida had put everyone else's lives at risk, only to risk his own to save him in the end.
And when Ishida fell to his knees, looking toward heaven as if in prayer with the torn flesh of his arms weeping a thick crimson, Ichigo could do nothing but lay there and look at him and think,
If only I could stand behind him, and hold his shoulders.
Ichigo blinked stupidly at his warped reflection in the buckle of his weather-beaten school bag.
He knew he had forgotten something.
Last night he had been doing his math homework at the last minute when a Hollow showed up –and by the time he had taken care of that and gone home, he was so tired that he went straight to bed.
Mizuiro and Keigo were standing by his desk, arguing about a video game rating.
And Ichigo was worrying about how he could copy his homework off somebody before second period.
Mysteriously, Ishida was nowhere to be seen. Usually he came in unnecessarily early, and when Ichigo arrived he would always find Ishida tackling a new sewing project or reading a book with yet another uninspiring title.
Then with less than a minute to go before homeroom, Ishida briskly walked in, sat down at his desk, and started to arrange his books and stationery.
The two rows of tables between Ishida and himself were empty since the girls who occupied them were gossiping in a corner. So Ichigo, with his head propped upon his arm and his homework forgotten, curiously and silently watched his classmate.
It was a cloudy day; the flaking paint and the decades' worth of scratches and pen marks on the tables blurred into some old, anonymous color under the struggling sunlight.
Ishida's profile was outlined by a fuzzy edge of white as he looked out the window.
From the distance, he seemed so slight and transient, and his skin was perhaps dry and cold like frosted glass.
As he turned away again, his downcast gaze was a dusty blue; as if his eyes had taken a snapshot of the sky and the reflection of its slightly melancholic gray remained reflected there.
The raven shifted, and for a terrifying moment Ichigo thought that those eyes were turning in his direction –but Ishida was merely watching the teacher walk through the door.
"All right, that's enough of the chatter. Back to your seats, everybody."
"Psst, Ichigo!" Keigo quickly whispered, "Remember, come on chat at eight!"
Ichigo frowned. "Huh? What was that?"
He was then aware of a shadow looming over him, and an ostensibly cheery voice that said, "Kurosaki-kun, it appears that you have not properly processed my request. Allow me to refresh your brain cells."
And then, with a rolled up textbook-cum-baton, the teacher gave the top of his head a swift whack.
By lunchtime, it had started to pour.
Since sitting on the rooftop was out of the question, Ichigo and the others decided to stay inside the classroom.
"Why do Americans say 'peanut butter and jelly' sandwiches?" Keigo was saying, "Because they're actually peanut butter and jam sandwiches, right?"
"I know!" Orihime chirped, "It's because someone invented peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but when he tried to eat it all the jelly fell out and got really messy, so he thought that jam would be a better idea. But the 'jelly' term had already stuck!"
"Oh, an adorably outlandish answer from an equally adorable girl! Could my Orihime-chan get any cuter?" crooned Keigo while clasping his hands before his breast.
He shrieked as Tatsuki calmly picked up his chopsticks, pinned his earlobes between them, and twisted.
Over the racket, Chad bowed his head in contemplation and said, "Westerners also call Kurage 'jellyfish' even though it doesn't actually excrete jelly, like it does in that cartoon with the sponge character that I watched…"
Tatsuki paused to look at him.
"When I was young," he added, as if in afterthought.
Mizuiro swallowed a bite of his curry bun before suggesting, "While we're on the topic of jelly, has anybody ever wondered why they call mint jelly 'jelly' even though it's a meat sauce?"
"Ugh, I can never understand Western cuisine," Tatsuki scoffed. "Sounds gross to me. Jelly's jelly, and meat's meat. Oughta keep them separate."
"But we eat konnyaku in sweet and savory dishes, and it's kinda like a jelly –
"Konnyaku's made from potatoes, you idiot!"
"Potatoes!? You're the idiot –ARGHHHH, MIZUIRO, SAVE MEEEE!"
"Oh, Tatsuki-chan, you shouldn't!"
"Asano-san, you're going to spill your lunch."
Ichigo was getting quite wary of the conversation, as much as he enjoyed watching Tatsuki threaten Keigo with a pair of chopsticks poised at his nostrils.
"I'm going for a walk," he said as he stood up.
Chad, who was impassively observing the spectacle, gave him a small wave as he left.
Out in the corridor, Ichigo stared at a spot on the wall as he tried to pick out Ishida's reiatsu. If he was right, then Ishida was somewhere near the staircase two floors down.
At the bottom of the stairs he nearly crashed into a first year, a tiny little thing with pigtails.
"I –I'm so sorry, sempai!" she exclaimed as she gave him a deep bow.
"Uh –no, it was me, really…"
She looked at him, made a noise that sounded like a petrified gasp, rapidly bowed again, and dashed off.
Huh, thought Ichigo as he rubbed at the spot between his brows absent-mindedly, I guess I really do need to work on my facial expressions.
Anyway, Ishida. That's what he was here for.
He couldn't see Ishida.
"Geez, what the hell?" he muttered, and he tried again.
He went to the pool.
He went to the music room.
He almost went into the principal's office.
Then, in the library, he plunked himself into a chair and unintentionally scared off some boys who were sniggering over a questionable magazine at the table.
Ishida, that twit! He must be using that Quincy version of shunpo to run away just before he arrived! And damn him for knowing that he sucked at this sensing reiatsu business.
"Bastard," he grumbled, earning himself an icy glare from the passing librarian.
Well, two could play this game.
And fifteen minutes later, out of breath and his head hurting from excessive concentration, Ichigo found himself in front of a locked cubicle in the boy's toilet beside the gymnasium.
"I –shi –da! I know you're in there!"
The shinigami narrowed his eyes.
"Don't pretend you can't hear me!"
"I bet you're thinking that you can just –
"Oh give it a rest, Kurosaki," came Ishida's irritated voice.
Ichigo crossed his arms. "I knew you'd pull dirty tricks like this."
"You should really give a guy some space when he's on the toilet."
"Yeah, as if you're on the toilet!"
"Now you're just being rude –
Ichigo climbed onto the sink, planted his hands on the adjacent wall for support and leaned over.
Ishida's eyes went comically wide. "Kurosaki! What do you think you're doing? Get down from there!"
"Tell me what you're thinking," Ichigo demanded.
"I think you're acting like a child."
"Well, since I'm not yet twenty I am legally still a child, so 'like a child' would technically be an accurate description –
"Oh shut up."
"Well give me a proper answer then."
"I think a guy who chases me around the school and peeks into a cubicle must be pretty desperate, not to mention delusional."
Ichigo growled. "Not good enough."
"I think it would be great if the force of gravity suddenly increased so that you would lose your balance and fall head first into the toilet."
"Agh! Ishida, you're such a cheapskate!"
"And you're such an idiot!"
"Um… ex-excuse me, sempai?"
Ichigo turned to scowl in the direction of the small voice that had just spoken. "What?"
There was an underclassman standing rigidly at the entrance, and he looked positively terrified.
"W-well, um…" he swallowed, and then puffed out his chest. "As a class representative, I must ask you to not climb onto the sink! It is very dangerous, not to mention…"
The boy's words withered away, and he seemed to shrink under Ichigo's incredulous stare.
At that point the first bell rang, signaling the end of the break. Ishida came out of the cubicle and dragged Ichigo off the basin.
"You're going to scare the boy to death with your permanent scowl, Kurosaki," the raven said flatly. "Get back to class."
Ichigo scoffed. "Don't order me around –you need to get back to class, too."
"You go first. There's no way I'm going with you," Ishida snapped.
"Oh, don't be such a girl –OW! You ass!"
"Well I'm not a girl, you jerk!"
They both scrambled for a head start as the second bell sounded.
In the end, even the stubborn Ishida looked like he had gotten tired of the bickering; when Ichigo demanded that they went home together, he only gave him a half-hearted glare.
Finally the rain had eased off, and the sun was setting at a leisurely pace. The begrudgingly dissipating clouds with their aged orange sheen looked like mandarin peels that have been left in the heat for too long.
Ishida was a few feet ahead of him, his across-the-shoulder bag bumping rhythmically against his hip as he walked.
Ichigo imagined that Ishida read, sewed, and cleaned a lot when he was at home. He didn't seem like the type to spend time on the computer or in front of the TV. Perhaps he had some peculiar little habit alike everybody else, like not being able to stand still when brushing his teeth.
Just as he wondered if Ishida sung in the shower, there was an almost inaudible chuckle. The Quincy was leaning casually against the rails at the side of the bridge, looking toward the riverbank with a soft smile.
"What's so funny?" Ichigo asked in what he hoped was a conversational manner.
Ishida gave him a guarded glance. "Just something stupid."
The red-head rolled his eyes. "Let me guess –it's me?"
To his surprise, Ishida chuckled again. "Actually, no."
Hesitating, he gave him a somewhat mistrustful look before continuing, "The other day there was a terrier here, barking away like mad while chasing a cat. The dog fell into the river and its owner was in such a panic that she jumped in after it. I think the dog ended up dragging her back onto dry ground instead."
"Oh god, are you talking about that lady with really fake blond curls? All my neighbors complain about her! She plays this crazy New Age music until 2am, and her dog indiscriminately pees on everyone's front gate…"
At some point, Ichigo realized that Ishida was laughing, with him, and that was a small miracle in itself. Ishida seemed to realize it too, and he stopped, his cheeks dusted with a little pink as he turned away.
Ishida cleared his throat. "Anyway, my apartment block is down in that direction, so…"
Ichigo gave him a very eloquent reply in the form of a few syllables pronounced as a confused grunt.
The other boy sent him a look that read, 'really, Kurosaki?'
"I've got to get going," he clarified as he adjusted his glasses.
Ichigo opened his mouth, wondering if he should push his luck.
Oh, to hell with it.
"Um, Ishida, one more question," he blurted out.
"Make it quick."
"What were you thinking about when you were looking out the window?"
Immediately those piercing eyes seemed to harden into a glassy blue. "Daydreaming, like regular people do when they look out of windows. Do you expect me to remember the details?"
"I've never seen you look outside so repeatedly, and for so long –
Ichigo stopped with a brilliant flush coloring his face. "I mean, not that I've gone and watched you or anything –
"The sky," interrupted the grim quietness of Ishida's voice. "The sky was the same gray on the day that my grandfather died."
Before he could process the words in his brain, Ichigo felt his mouth say with unwavering certainty, "But it's not the same sky."
He instantly felt like punching himself –hell, could he act any more like an insensitive asshole, after how tolerant Ishida had been?
But Ishida was merely looking at him, his face blank and eyes devoid of the expected hostility, and maybe a little searching instead.
"No, you're right. It's not." The mouth that said those words so lightly curved most imperceptibly upwards. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kurosaki."
Not trusting his ability to give rational replies Ichigo only nodded vaguely, and watched Ishida's shadow drag out along the wet concrete like a thin rubbery membrane as he left.
He let out a breath that he hadn't noticed he was holding.
God, what the hell was that?
To be continued
A/N: I guess the tone is going to stay pretty inconsistent throughout the different chapters. It always ends up happening! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! I really liked getting feedback from the last chapter, so please keep them coming!