12. Pride
There was a cold defiance around her whenever she was fighting. It was only natural, only Rukia. All the butterflies in the world could not lead him to her heart when she was fighting. She was the elusive dancer, spinning out of his hands, dealing deadly touches to her enemies and scattering the butterflies. She could snare them with a slash, she could break them with a tap. She had the pale accuracy of a moonbeam and the hard mercy of a decapitation. Ichigo always felt unspoken awe when he watched the beauty of her battles - she never failed to grace her foes with a last iced kiss of steeled death.
Gently, she would spin back to him, and they could hold hands once more. He let her fight. He knew better than to shatter her fighter's pride - the foundation of their fateful crossing.