SLTM update, yeah, I know, you want to stab me and then watch me rot.
But yeah, here I am updating, and the lateness is because (as I'm sure you know) I'm horrible and I keep procrastinating/deciding to work on other projects, the latter of which is not exactly something you can blame me for, because when inspiration hits, I've gotta go with it, it's hard to explain. She's Like the Moon and Violetta (Code Geass) are the only two projects I'm working on atm, so you should see updates more frequently now, not every year or so :'D I'm working on being un-horrible and un-annoying.
Also, my writing has gotten about a thousand times better since the last time I updated, I dunno how to explain it. Maybe I've just grown as a person, or just a writer, or both. Both, I think maybe, because in the past few months I've been through quite a bit, especially pertaining to my love life. I'm a lot less idealistic, more realistic, but don't worry, I still believe in love. I just kindasortamaybe have a love-hate relationship with it. Don't we all.
It's been difficult to make the transition back into writing SLTM, because I've been writing a story with characters so blatantly different, I had to read through the story again to get back into the minds of Ichigo and Rukia.
I'm going to stop yammering on about shit you don't care about. Just read the chapter. I hope you like this one and think it was worth the (regrettably) long wait. :)
she's like the moon
24
. . .
Darling, you can be so unforgiving, you can be so unloving, you can be misunderstanding, but I don't know how, to feel without your love
It's another night, with the moon in the sky; it's another night, with that look in your eye
Is it me and you,
or is it me and the moon?
. . .
"What the hell is this?" Toshiro said sourly, casting a disdainful look down at his pretzel. "It can't possibly be a pretzel." Nonetheless, he takes another bite of it and locks eyes with Rukia. "Why are you convulsing?"
"It's cold," she reminded him quickly, locking her arms around herself. He continued to bite into the pretzel he so hated as he skulked away, probably looking for Senna and Tasuko, his favorite group in which to act as the third wheel. Rukia, on the other hand, remained huddled underneath the tree, staring at her snow-dampened boots and wondering where the hell Ichigo was. He was supposed to meet her here twenty minutes ago (after a bit of a tussle over how stupid school functions were, she'd finally convinced him to show up for just a little while). And now she was alone, without even her pessimistic, love struck cousin for company.
Her solitude was relatively short-lived, however, because Orihime arrived not fifteen seconds later, holding a tray of covered drinks. "Hot chocolate, Rukia?" she was truly a sight to behold, in her glittery angel outfit the Student Council had undoubtedly slaved over. Her eye makeup teetered precariously on the line between avant-garde and just plain overdone. "It's sugar free!~"
"I'm fine," Rukia breathed, smiling and directing her gaze toward her lap. "Have you seen Ichigo?"
Orihime shook her halo-encrusted head. "No, I haven't... I'm sorry." But her attention span, as short as it always had been, had fizzled out already, and she was now engrossed in the crowd. "Oh, there's Uryu!" and she was gone as quickly as she had come. Rukia got to her feet, a tad irritated, with a mind to find her orange-haired boyfriend on her own.
She was quickly enveloped by her classmates, shouting hellos and, in Keigo's case, asking her to dance. She wouldn't. In her opinion, it was a stupid idea to hold the Winter Bash outside when it was a maximum of nine degrees. Still, everyone else seemed to be having a much better time than she did; then again, everyone else wasn''t looking for Ichigo, were they.
At last she caught sight of him, and that inevitable Ichigo-smile crept across his lips when amber met beryl. He was, surprisingly, with the happy couple and Toshiro, the white rain on their parade. "Hey, it's the midget," he said, readjusting his hat so less of his forehead was covered.
"She isn't that short," remarked Tasuko, but it fell upon deaf ears. Rukia hadn't seen Ichigo since the day they started dating, and the swelling in her chest at their reunion could overshadow the most brazen of remarks.
As if a switch had been flipped, he broke away from their friends and walked beside her. "So, are you tired of this place yet?" he asked in that breezy voice, casting a wary gaze at the crowds of students.
"Sort of." Not now that you're here. "I was looking for you."
"Kinda got caught up with Mr. and Mrs. Kouji," he explained, jerking his head back toward the pair, "and Hitsugaya," he added as an afterthought. "Sorry about that." A normal boy would've tried to manipulate her into forgiveness with an apologetic look; but Ichigo wasn't a normal boy. He seemed laissez-faire as always.
Take me or leave me, he seemed to say, in every action and word that came from him. She liked that.
"I understand. Keigo was trying to get me to dance with him."
"God help us," he sighed. Orihime came through the throng, still balancing her heavy tray.
"Hot chocolate?" she asked sweetly, hopefully. It didn't seem like anyone wanted the drink, and she wasn't being paid to serve them, so what was her deal? Did she honestly enjoy parading around in a too-tight, glittery white polyester getup that would take hours to get out of? To Ichigo, that seemed like the only feasible possibility. He humored her and took one. "You're the first person tonight!" she said excitedly, prancing off with a new spring in her step.
"So little to make her happy," he said, and Rukia smiled. "Anyway, where do you get off on coming here, anyway? Just to see me?" though if the cocky smile on his face was any indication, he already knew the answer.
Rukia smirked. "You? Oh, please. I'm still holding out for my knight in shining armor."
"Would an idiot in tin foil be good enough?" he asked in mock-disappointment.
"Why not." The smile they exchanged nearly knocked her off her feet; she felt like the girly-girl she never quite was, and this feeling was so powerful it bordered on tangible. "Hey, isn't that Mizuiro?"
"Hm?" Ichigo looked over, and sure enough, it was their dark-haired friend, dressed in complete Rudolph costume. He didn't quite understand why the party was Christmas-themed, with the New Year already among them. "Jesus Christ, him too?"
"At least they have something to work at, you didn't even want to come tonight."
"I didn't have anything better to do, other than stay home and watch Cops." But truth be told, Ichigo had been keening to see Rukia all day long, his nerve endings twitching with excitement with the very idea of bickering with her, or berating her for her height, or kissing her. All three were equally rewarding in his eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, voice relatively quiet. Within Rukia's gaze was a consternation, strong enough to jarr him, scare him a little.
"No reason." She tried to lose her mind in the music that was warbling through the crowd: I'm gonna give all my secrets away...
However, like Orihime's attention, the span of time she could spend looking away from Ichigo when he was around was painfully short. When he was back in her line of sight, he was peeling a piece of bark off a nearby tree. Now, Ichigo wasn't easily distracted, so he was either thinking hard or trying to avoid an awkward moment. Or perhaps he liked peeling bark off trees. "What are you doing?"
"Hm? This tree's dying," Ichigo said absentmindedly, scowling a bit. "The landscapers need to take better care of this place." Ichigo was only making small talk because frankly, he wasn't sure how to go about speaking to Rukia as her boyfriend, rather than the skyscraper that seemed to be joined to her hip. "So, how's your sister been holding up?"
"I haven't talked to her." Akamori and Renji, however selfish it may sound, were the least of Rukia's problems. Her sister had always been moody, she should be fine before long. "How are Karin and Yuzu?"
"The same. Karin's starting on the junior soccer team." He thought of his dark-haired sister and her vigor when it came to sports, and smiled. She had been vying to wear some kind of jersey for as long as he could remember, and now she finally could. "Dad seriously cried when I told him. Said his little girl was leaving him forever, or something."
He honestly worried about his father's maturity levels and if they could be the result of a pituitary imbalance.
Orihime bounded through the trees, noticeably hindered by her complicated costume as she hurried toward them. "Did I lose him?"
"Mm? Lose who?" Ichigo asked, only vaguely interested.
"Tasuko!" she said in a breath. "He was trying to pull my wings off!" she pointed toward the fake wings and continued taking those greedy breaths; evidently she'd run a long way.
"Sounds like something he'd do." Ichigo didn't know the heir to the Kouji fortune very well, but was aware of his desire to cause mischief. "Just tell him to go after Mizuiro. He'd have a field day with that."
"Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear," said Rukia, and indeed, the brunet rounded the tree to Orihime's left, a feral gleam in his jade eyes.
"Gotcha!" with one swift move he yanked off Orihime's wings; she made a noise like a wounded animal. "What? You'd never be able to use them again, anyway."
"Might I ask why you want to ruin everyone's costumes?" Rukia raised her eyebrows at her fellow student.
Tasuko thought it over. "Why not?" he asked finally, a dimple popping out as he smiled. "Come on, Kuchiki, have a little bit of fun."
She shook her head; Tasuko Kouji was a mix between charming and tedious, a mix she didn't want to mess with. He was such a child, and she knew already that she wouldn't fulfill Byakuya's wish of becoming his friend.
"Whatever makes you happy," she said sagely, turning her back to him. Ichigo followed her and so did Orihime - a tiny part of her deflated at the realization that her desire to be alone with him was again impeded.
"He's such an asshole," Orihime said, and the cussword from her mouth was awkward and painful to Rukia's ears. Her best friend was the poster child for the stereotypical good girl and hearing such language from her was sure to shake anyone up. "I don't see how Senna puts up with him."
"I'm sure he doesn't treat Senna that way." From what Ichigo's seen, the man in question treated Senna with the respect one would extend to a real angel, rather than one in plastic wings. He's struck with the sudden and potent need to show Rukia he can do just the same, probably better, as soon as possible.
The middle Kuchiki child brushed her hair out of her eyes, twisting her lips. She loved Orihime to death and enjoyed her company, but now, of all times? It was as if the fates didn't want her to be alone with Ichigo for longer than a hot minute, and she despised the fates at that moment more than she ever had.
The three of them walked together, an angel, a midget, and an orange-head, through the din of the trees, silent for a myriad of reasons.
Snow fell, nothing more than barely-visible baby flakes, upon the trees and already blanketed ground. Rukia felt a twinge of regret in her stomach; should she have even come here tonight? Inside she felt - maybe - she should've stayed home and just called Ichigo, because then she could have him all to herself, to talk to and belittle and blush over and anything else she fancied.
Not trudge through crunchy snow and listen to Orihime blather over her Tasuko problem, which she could easily mollify with a good 'fuck you'.
Eventually her orange-haired friend told them how tired she was and took a detour through the trees, wandering off toward whomsoever she had suddenly decided she wanted to see. The weight on Rukia's chest lessened as she and Ichigo wordlessly gazed at one another, elated to finally be alone in the atmosphere that only graced the air whenever they were united – one of good friends, lovely smells (Ichigo's cologne, Rukia's hair) and that nonverbal understanding that they were to be completely at ease, in that unbelievable reality of the other's company.
But she didn't jump on him as originally planned. She simply stared, a quiet happiness resonating within her as her brain reiterated that yes, he was finally hers and she was finally his. She could finally put her name on him and call him her boyfriend, and not be unsure and stutter-shook inside with the what are you to me mentality. "It's a new moon."
Brown eyes flicked skyward. "So it is," he said, giving her that grimace/smile he always did when he was feeling messy inside, when he didn't know what to do or what to say. She obliged his nervousness and broke their gaze, taking his gloved hand in her own and watching him relax in earnest, standing a little taller, looking a little more sound.
She was hit by the urge to lay in the grass with him like she did that night in summer, but the snow on the ground posed a problem, so she stood, her mittened hand enveloped in his, the other in the pocket of the overlarge coat that fell to her knees. Rukia felt entirely at ease and yet disoriented at the same time; perhaps the latter was because she isn't used to being this happy, happy at all, really. She thought it was almost comical that it was a new moon when she herself felt new, refreshed in a way that was so cliché it almost made her sick.
But it didn't. It just made her feel that much better.
. . .
...And that good feeling was entirely too fleeting.
Maybe it was because her hair was stuck to her face because she had no time to brush it, or because she was cooking another meal in Home Ec. that Yoruichi would inevitably inhale before the end of the class period. Or maybe it was just because she was in school, the one place she was starting to hate more and more. Or it could be because Tatsuki was her partner, and they weren't on speaking terms.
Why is it so hot in here, anyway? It's January.
She pushed open the cookbook and looked at the recipe; some complicated egg recipe with a foreign name she didn't understand. A low, pulsing pain took up residence in her temple as her eyes coasted over to Orihime and Senna, who were scribbling on the blackboard (Save the Whales! and S.S. + T.K. respectively). They had finished their annoyingly easy project (pancakes) thirty minutes earlier, leaving the rest of the class to slowly asphyxiate in the heady fumes of cooking as they wrote their idiotic messages.
Rukia sighed. She had to figure out a way to coax her inner self to less venomous thoughts.
Tatsuki neglected to ask her questions, merely looked into the cookbook and followed the directions. She seemed content to do all the work as long as she didn't have to talk to Rukia, which the blackette found to be painfully immature but also deeply upsetting. She could think of a thousand ways to go about apologizing but it just didn't seem right; after all, Tatsuki had been the one to get jealous of Ichigo and throw it in her face. She could do the damn project by herself.
"I DID IT~" a voice that sounded suspiciously like Keigo's carried throughout the classroom, rousing Yoruichi from her hour-long slumber. The dark-skinned woman gave an irritated harrumph and lapsed back into dreamland in record time. "I CAN NOW SAUTE ONIONS!"
"And it only took me an hour to teach you," said Ichigo tiredly, his brown eyes bleary as they shifted up to look at the clock. He really hated block scheduling. "Now, I already cut the lettuce for you. Make sure you season it all."
"Gotcha, Ichigo! You're a great partner!" he said, a bit hoarse; he probably had a cold from scouting around town for girls.
"Am I, now." Ichigo smiled not because he was truly flattered but because it was all he could really do at that point. Anything more boisterous would excite Keigo to the point of catastrophe.
He looked round to see Rukia sitting at the table, sweating buckets. He approached her, and his heart thumped lowly in his chest as it always did whenever he indulged himself with such proximity. She looked up with eyes rimmed by sweat, darkened by fatigue.
"Whatever happened to the air conditioning? It's fine in every other classroom."
"I don't know." And Rukia dropped her head back to the table.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, his scowl intensifying. "You don't look so good."
"It's hot and Tatsuki won't talk to me."
"Why not?"
"She hates me."
He vaguely remembered Rukia telling him something about Tatsuki getting angry over her so-called betrayal, and blackballing her from trying to rekindle their friendship. "She'll be okay," he says, looking over at the short-haired combatant.
"No." Rukia's hair was stuck to her forehead. "It won't be okay. Nothing's okay."
"You sure you don't have heat stroke?" Ginger eyebrows rose.
She deadpanned in response. "Ichigo."
"Fine… you'll feel better up in the dorm. I'll crank up the AC." He tried to be a good, compliant boyfriend to her over the past few days, but she had reacted with indifference, treating him the same as she always had – gruff, honest, and painfully nonphysical. Still, he did not throw in the towel; because Rukia had always been very stubborn.
"Nnn…" she acknowledged as she pressed her cheek against the hard surface of the table.
"You could say thank you," he said, in a bludgeoning attempt to be playful. She replied with nonchalance.
"Thank you, Ichigo."
They were quiet for a little while, the orange-head watched his girlfriend in her near-catatonic state, and said girlfriend pondered on what would be the quickest way to suicide in this classroom. He thought fleetingly of comforting her, but she'd probably slap him, and he'd never been good at that, anyway. "What did Senna and Orihime have to make?"
"Pancakes," Rukia replies flatly, looking up with a new determination in her eyes. "They got to spend fifteen minutes over their project while everyone else gets to slave in the heat."
"Yeah, but what's done is done," Ichigo says easily. "They won't learn anything from it." Though he did envy them for getting to cavort about mindlessly, writing their stupid proclamations of love and charity phrases all over the place. Orihime really should have been learning about cooking as much as she could. "Anyway, whatever happened with your mom? Did she have it yet?"
"No, she's two days late," Rukia's brow furrowed. "They'll have to induce her if it takes much longer."
"Hell." Ichigo blinked. "Is there some kind of problem? Since she's been sick and everything."
"I hope not." She propped her head in her hand, gazing across the table. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing." Except I've been having this little problem where I don't know how to talk to you as a girlfriend. It feels weird. "I just hate the cold." As if to emphasize this point, Ichigo pushed back the yellow sleeves of his sweater and mimicked Rukia, propping head in hand, and mirrored her dead expression. "Am I dating a zombie, or what?"
She sighed. "I'm just tired of this class."
"Everyone is. Yoruichi eats everything." His gaze flicked over to said teacher, who in her slumber was surrounded by copious plates and utensils - her seventh eight-course meal of the day. He scoffed. "She's just as lazy as Urahara. They're perfect for each other."
Rukia fully opened her eyes this time around, blinking away the haze of tiredness. "Speaking of perfect for each other, why haven't I seen Toshiro with Senna lately?"
"I think he finally woke up and smelled the roses. She doesn't like him." The purple-haired acrobat was giggling with Orihime in the corner as they passed a sheet of manila paper - presumably a note - back and forth across the table. "I kind of felt bad for the guy, chasing her like that."
"But that's love," Rukia said. "He'd chase her no matter what."
Ichigo stared at her, the resonance of that statement taking a bit longer to sink in than it should've. He wouldn't admit it, but since he loved Rukia, that law would probably apply to him as well as any white-haired midget with a God complex. "Guess he doesn't love her then, if he gave up."
"No," she pressed, "He just acknowledged the truth and got realistic. He can admire her from afar."
"You're contradicting yourself."
"Human nature," she explained.
Senna took that opportunity to skip over to them, the piece of Manila paper clutched in her jittery hands. "Rukia~ hi! You look sad."
"I'm overheated." She swept thick blackness off her forehead and continued, "What've you got there?"
"A list of people I'm nominating for Prom queen and king."
"You're not old enough for Prom," Ichigo reminded her with an annoyed look. "Isn't that only juniors and seniors?"
"I can dream, can't I?" she said with her signature pout, ochre eyes alight. "Besides, what are you two doing? Aren't you supposed to be cooking instead of flirting? Hey, are you guys dating?"
Shortly dazed by Senna's perilous jump from question to question, Rukia got her wits about her and answered "yeah".
"Wowwww," she looked from one to the other. "Tasuko said you were. I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. Because you're just do different looking! Not that that's a bad thing, I mean me and Tasuko are different looking, but not nearly as different as you two - wait, how long have you been dating? And who asked who?" she grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she regarded them with those unusual eyes, subtly bouncing from one foot to the other. The entire effect of her was overwhelming.
"I asked her a week ago," Ichigo replied, exasperated. He isn't annoyed by the questions so much as the girl asking them; while she was a gentle soul, Senna was verbally a force to be reckoned with; eloquent, but endlessly irritating. "Now go play nominator."
She stomped her foot. "Why are you so mean, Ichigo!" but hurried off to titter with Orihime without missing a beat, leaving the Strawberry to his girlfriend and his (relative) peace. He turned his head and looked once again at Rukia, who was smiling. "What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing." And she wasn't entirely sure why that sunny grin had suddenly cropped up on her face; then again, that always seemed to happen in Ichigo's presence, so she left it alone.
.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,
"Nngh," she said pleasurably as she collapsed onto her bed, which seemed much softer than usual. Ichigo leaned against the doorjamb. "Finally."
"Taking a nap?" he asked, disappointed but not about to show it. "You look dead on two feet."
"I love you too." She turned over and faced the wall, the delightful heaviness of her eyelids convincing her that a nap wasn't such a bad idea after all. "You can come over here with me, you know. I'm not going to rip your head off."
An awkward look crossed his face, but only for a millisecond. "You sure?" he asked, and when there was no answer, he obliged, climbing behind her and settling onto his back. His heart thrummed when she sidled over against his chest, which suddenly rose and fell more rapidly than before. Despite the fact that Rukia had been sweating for the last hour, she still managed to smell nice, and he let himself falter for a moment, dropping into the pleasure zone that he was always permitted to enter when he was close to her. The rest of the time, that zone was just out of reach.
Ichigo exhaled, his brow relaxing. Rukia's breaths were slowing and he knew that before long she'd be dead to the world, so he said, "Good night, midget."
"It's 3:00," she said, voice surprisingly clear for someone a moment away from sleep. "Good afternoon would work."
"You're going to sleep."
"So?"
"Never mind. You ruined it." They fall into silence again, her cheek pressed against his sternum and his arm bent around the small of her back. He ignored the fact that they were still both in complete school uniform, even down to Rukia's knee-highs and Mary Jane shoes, because he was dead against the idea of asking her to move. Any cerebral flutter of offense was promptly dismissed; he could not be annoyed, vexed or even plagued by sour memories with her so close to him, she the midget, she his girlfriend.
That fact still hadn't totally sunken in yet; great things always take a while to.
Rukia sighed softly and turned over. "I can't sleep," she said irritably.
"I have pills for that," he offered. "In the nightstand." Because at night he usually couldn't quite get regrets and mistakes off his brain; a nervous bleeding of mean things he'd said, and of course the memory of his mother. Ambien usually did a wonderful job of slapping his mind silly and tucking away those laments for later use.
"No." Blue eyes opened. "I can't sleep because you're here." She said it with a mixture of dismay and excitement; a strange cocktail for someone complaining.
He huffed. "You asked me to be here."
"I know."
"So what gives?" He pushed a hand through her black hair - tangly, at that moment - and guided it off her pale face, cool from the wintry air they'd escaped when entering the dorm building. She crinkled her nose. "Why are you looking at me like I'm nuts?" Not that she hadn't spent the vast majority of their friendship giving him that particular look, it's just that it's inappropriate at such a time.
"I'm saying I want to lie here and talk to you," her voice faltered at the declaration of a tender feeling, and this resulted in her adding a clipped "idiot" to the end of the sentence.
He looks at her and asks bluntly, "Why couldn't you have just said it?"
"I guess forthrightness is beyond me," she said sarcastically, burying her face again in his chest. "I'm not like you."
After getting over the initial jolt of sensation her contact caused, he countered, "There's a difference between being forthright and being a jackass."
"The two go hand in hand." Rukia's voice was a low rumble against his ribcage. "What's wrong with you, Ichigo? You're about to have a heart attack."
"Yeah. Wonder why." He looked at her pointedly and she raised her eyebrows in what might have been a challenge, but what also might have been just a muscle jolt. He wagged his eyebrows.
"Oh, so it's because of me." Her voice was rougher, haughty.
"Obviously." He rolled his eyes but caught himself smiling in response to hers; it was just that easy to fall back onto her, and he liked that.
Until she had to go ahead and ruin it with her talking. "Do you have homework?"
"An asston." Ichigo kicked off his shoes, letting them clunk unceremoniously to the floor. Rukia, however, left her Mary Janes on, and this irritated him. "Come on, midget, do we have to that right now?"
She said matter-of-factly, "It is important, you know. If you don't get a 3.0 or higher they'll throw you out of the dorm and force you to commute." As predicted, she had actually researched what would happen to the students who would inevitably flunk out, with the irrational fear she would become one of them. "So yes, we do have to do it right now, Ichigo."
After removing himself from the train of thought that the phrase we have to do it right now evoked, Ichigo grumbled something like '' and got up, trudging into the foyer to get his bag. "I can't believe you want to do homework," he muttered. "Is the heat getting to you that much?"
"No, I'm just learning to prioritize," Rukia replied staunchly, as she zipped open her bookbag and unearthed a hefty binder. "You should learn from me. Your grades aren't the best."
"I'm in the top twenty in our grade," he reminded with a hint of pride; but immediately Rukia brought him back to earth, as she always did. She had always been good at keeping his ego in check.
"But you should make top ten," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "You're very smart, Ichigo."
"Whatever." He flipped open his Chinese textbook and, instantly irritated by the hodgepodge of symbols, closed it again, having decided to work on his vocabulary instead. This consisted of copying from the book. "Since when do you care so much about this stuff? Prioritizing?"
"I don't want to be like Akamori," she said bluntly. "Now, define parsimonious."
.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.
Toshiro was tired of being in second place.
He didn't usually ponder about the Senna situation on such a powerful level; but while he sat there with the two of them, under the orangish lights of the school cafeteria, he began to dive deeper into the recesses of his predicament. Tasuko was clearly detached from her, while she saw him on par with something like a god, something he would never be. After all, Tasuko Kouji was a stuck-up princy boy who'd worked for nothing – and for that he was adored?
C'est la vie, he thought bitterly as Senna laughed at some stupid joke she'd probably heard Tasuko tell a million times. He looked over at Momo, sitting next to him, and she granted him a sympathetic look; and his heart lightened. Without her fey grace and understanding he'd probably be chasing skirts full time, rather than focusing on schoolwork as she constantly chided him to do.
He propped his face in his hand, cool green eyes flicking up to the ceiling. If he got so worked up over Senna and her quiet rejection, why did he put himself in situations in which he'd constantly be reminded of her?
But why not? Why not sit here and bask in the little bit of Senna that was reserved for him, the smiles she'd shoot his way, and when she'd laugh at one of his jokes (much more tasteful than Tasuko's) or agree with something he said? He knew he could always find a reason to put himself on the receiving end of her selective attention; after all, it satisfies him like nothing else. And behind all of it, there are those words: I like you. He'd been good enough to warrant liking from her, and he'd given it his all. He was more than a friend, but something much less than a love interest. Regardless of status, the implication that she had feelings for him was still there, the pulse beating beneath his efforts, the driving force behind this madness that was his affection for Senna.
Because that's what it had been since day one: madness.
He didn't know her very well at all, and that's what made him feel so ridiculous. They had talked at length only once or twice, and about trivial things like sports and family, and while he could feel himself skirting around a connection with her, there had never really been one, as a result of little time together or her refusal to get close to anyone other than Tasuko, perhaps both –
"Toshiro," Momo repeated a bit louder as she poked her entranced friend in the shoulder. "What do you think you want to eat?"
"Ah-mm," he replied intelligently, cursing himself inwardly, "I'm not sure yet." He hadn't even laid eyes on his menu, internal turmoil having taken precedence over food.
Senna was engrossed in her menu, and Tasuko busied himself with his Blackberry. They were together all the time, but he rarely saw them touch or exhibit any body language that would even imply they were in love. Maybe that was what happened once you'd been with someone for a while. The young Hitsugaya really wouldn't know. Maybe they just weren't very touchy-feely.
(but he would like to believe they just don't like each other anymore)
"I think I'm having scallops," he said sharply, and slid his menu into the middle of the table where it joined Senna's. Her dayglow eyes came up to meet his, then jutted away after half a second. "I've always liked seafood."
"Do you know how much toxic waste they dump in the ocean?" Tasuko asks, his green eyes aflicker. "My father was in the Navy, and –" he was cut off by the waitress, who took their orders with an affable smile on her pudgy face. When she left them, Senna and Momo were chattering about Home Ec. - which was by no means a thrilling subject, but to girls everything was worth making a mountain out of a molehill. This left Toshiro to look up at Tasuko, who was watching him with a feral look in his eyes.
The shorter male shot him a look of mock-confusion, then turned his gaze to Senna, who was all laughter, dimples, and eyes, and forgot all about establishing rivalry. With the flick of a wrist or a sway of hair, Senna could make him forget his own name.
How'd he ever get in so deep?
.,.,,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.
I think I like this more than studying.
Ichigo held Rukia's foot in his hand, and looked up into her expectant eyes. She had told him rather grumpily that if he didn't want to do homework he could massage her feet instead – something he hadn't exactly jumped for joy at, but hell, it was better than looking up thirty-something words in that monster of a textbook. But the kicker was he didn't exactly know how to do this; though it seems fairly straightforward, he was convinced there was some magical technique she hoped he would possess.
He rubs experimentally, pulling her short toes between his fingers. Her eyes slipped closed in relaxation, and she said, "I think we should go out and do something later."
"Izumi's?" he asks.
"Let's go somewhere we haven't been yet," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe to an American restaurant." For a while she had been craving the loaded hamburgers and other Western concoctions, and opportunities for dining out while staying with her family were few and far between.
"Fine." Ichigo thumbed her heel. "Just don't sit by the window again. It brings unwanted eye contact."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Keep rubbing."
He did just that; but as things went, he wasn't too good at it. He'd always rub the wrong toe, or, he'd rub too hard, then Rukia would yell at him. However, he enjoyed nothing more – because when it came down to it Ichigo figured he would take yelling, hitting, berating – everything short of attempted murder would only intensify his feelings for the spritely blackette. Because his sense of what love is, would be her. Her round face, sharp words, and gentle intentions. Her prim –
"Didn't you hear me?" she said again, and lobbed a pillow at his orange head. It missed and knocked her alarm clock off the bedside table. "There's someone pounding on the door."
Jerked from his reverie Ichigo willed himself away from Rukia and shuffled to the door, opening it to see none other than Orihime. "What is it?" he asked, a bit more gruffly than was necessary.
Her grey eyes flashed. "You have to let me in, Ichigo!"
"…why?" he asked, lowering his voice a bit.
"Because I found a scrapbook me and Rukia made in sixth grade!" she beamed, holding up the tattered pink photo book with as much pride as one would hold their firstborn son. She leaned over him to call, "Rukiaaaaa!"
Light footfalls alerted him of Rukia's presence; she appeared over his shoulder. "I can't believe you found that. Does it still have me in my Chappy outfit?"
Ichigo sighed as Orihime nodded enthusiastically. Before he knew it they were prone on the living room floor, chattering as he prepared the tea Rukia somehow swindled him into making (though he was sure it had something to do with that authoritative blue gaze telling him to). When he re-entered the living room, they were whispering; quickly, he dodged around the corner.
But Rukia spotted him. "Ichigo!" she said, a bit annoyed. "Quit trying to listen in."
Nearly dropping the tea, he just settled on bringing it in and putting it on the hardwood in front of them. Admiring Rukia's behind he thought languidly of his homework back in the bedroom, and was the teacher actually going to check those definitions? Probably not. He scratched through his orange hair and sighed; Orihime always found a way to infringe on his solitary-Rukia time. But Rukia didn't have a problem with it, so he'd just have to suck it up.
Because it was an unspoken rule, that Rukia always got what she wanted.
"Oooh, look at this!" Orihime jabbed at a photo and then she and Rukia erupted into laughter; ginger eyebrows creased, Ichigo wondered what girls found so funny about drawing on peoples' faces when they were asleep. If anyone did that to him, he'd tear them a new one.
He wasn't sure exactly how much time passed; an hour, maybe. Ichigo didn't typically wear a watch. But after a while, the taller girl got up and stretched, yawned in her soprano way, and told them she was going to turn in.
Upon shutting the door behind her he said, "Turn in? It's 5:00."
Rukia shrugged. "Turning in to Orihime probably means making something inedible and then taking a three hour bath." She remained on the floor, sipping her tea and looking at the photo book. "Hey."
He looked up. "Hm?"
"If we live together here, how come you haven't jumped me by now?"
Ichigo's face spasmed and reddened, quite possibly at the same time. "What the hell kind of question is that?" Apparently the kind that painted a devilish smile across his girlfriend's face, and turned his nerves into putty.
Her smile intensified. "Never mind then," she said, suddenly nonplussed. "Clearly you don't have the guts to do anything like that, anyway."
"I do so!" he said raucously. "It's called respect!"
Through lidded eyes, she looked up at him again. "Who needs respect when you have a girlfriend?"
"I—why would you say something like that?" he demanded. "What reason would I have not to respect you, you know—you know I always—"
Watching him stumble over an emotional declaration, she smiled. "Relax. I was testing you. You pass." With that, she emptied her teacup, picked up the book and walked into the kitchen, looking at him sideways as she went, from the other room she called, "I think it's cute that you want to be respectful. You don't see that much nowadays."
He followed her. "Come off it; don't bring 'cute' into this. How about 'Ichigo, you're a good guy, end of story?'"
Rukia thought it over. "That could work too," she finally decided, starting the sink and dumping a liberal amount of dish soap into it. "You don't have to be a good guy all the time, though. There's room for error."
Ichigo leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms. "What kind of error?" bubbles floated up from the sink and into the air. He watched her pop them with her small fingers, and a wistful smile crept across his usually terse lips.
Content that the last bubble was vanquished, Rukia answered, "Well. Like I said earlier. Good boys don't jump their girlfriends. And good girlfriends want to be jumped, right?" she scrubbed at a dish that was at least a week old; lasagna sauce could be a bitch after long periods.
"Are you saying you want me to jump you?"
She looked up into playful amber eyes. "Logic would dictate that, yes." With that, she picked up the hand nozzle and sprayed hot water over the blue dish, her brow crinkling as the sauce was not diminished even in the slightest. "But not at any random second. When it's time, you'll know."
"Mixed signals," he grunted, and she laughed. Bubbles coasted up again and this time he waved them away; she glared and continued to scrub the stubborn china. "I don't get why they put us in this dorm together. That's really stupid."
"Are you unhappy about it?" she asked flatly, as if he could ever be.
"No, I just wonder why they'd give high schoolers co-ed dorms," Ichigo rationalized, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. "I mean, there are people who jump each other all the time. Like, daily."
"Are you saying that's what we should do?" delicate black eyebrows rose and Rukia flicked water at him.
It would be nice. "Nah, it's just different with us. Like you said. The right time." A moment passed. "When is that, exactly?"
Rukia chuckles. "Oh, Ichigo. So simple. You'll just know. And if for some reason you're too stupid to pick up the signal, I'll tell you." She nearly threw the blue dish onto the counter, leaving it there to sit. Hopefully the sauce would migrate somewhere else. "It can't be like that because of—well, look at Tasuko and Senna."
"They're happy."
"They look happy. But they're so tired of each other I think they're both just dying for a way out. Which is why Toshiro is involved in the whole thing." Rukia shakes her dark head, thinking of her cousin's predicament and trying to generate a way to get him out of it. But he'd gone for the girl, and he would reap what he sowed, as would Ichigo. She smiled a bit at that. "Dry those off. They're going to get spotty." She threw a paper towel at him.
"Jeez. Is this what it would be like being married?" he groaned, wiping at a cup that already seemed dry, for the most part.
"Being married doesn't necessarily mean you have to do anything. But if you don't stuff falls apart pretty fast. Just look at my sister."
"They're not married."
"Come on. They basically are."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," he grumbled, staring at the annoyingly resilient blue plate. "Can't we just be quiet for a little while?"
Rukia turned the sink on, her hair falling over her eyes as she bent. "Sure, why not," she said in a breath, seeming rather harried as she continued her work. From watching her Ichigo deduced that she did dishes a lot, which to some degree was surprising, since he figured she had hired help to do things of that nature. However, it did seem kind of unlike Byakuya to hire servants to do things when he had his own kids. He had the air of someone who could be pretty tyrannical if they put their mind to it.
Eventually, though, he found himself piping up. "Hey, what were you saying earlier? About dinner?"
She wiped her face with a clean paper towel. "We look pretty disgusting," she reminded him, gesturing to her soapy shirtfront and his wet slacks. Still he stared at her. "Where did I want to go?" because Rukia, bless her soul, was rather forgetful.
"American food," he supplied, having remembered her rather stony proclamation of that particular craving while he was rubbing her feet. "And we do have a shower, you know."
"Mm." Rukia began to put away the now-cleansed dishes. "I know that. I'll get ready. Give me a few minutes to get this done."
That he did; sidling into the living room, he found the forgotten photo book. Curiosity getting the best of him he flipped open to a random page, and struggled to repress a snort when he saw Orihime, Tatsuki and Rukia dressed as rabbits. It was an old photo; they appeared to be about nine or ten, all the same height for probably the only instance in recorded history.
"Ahhh, yes, the Child's Day Festival," said a very suddenly-there Rukia, whose new aroma of dish soap should've given her away but didn't. "It wasn't my idea. Orihime really got into that stuff."
"Doesn't surprise me." He closed the album, sitting it down on an already-precarious stack of books decorating a nearby end table. "Now go take your damn shower. I don't have all day."
"This 'conflicted-but-well-intentioned' thing of yours is only charming about fifty percent of the time," said Rukia rather distantly as she sauntered past him into their bedroom. "Besides, it'll take me way longer to get better than you. Why don't you go first?"
Ichigo thought that over. "Fine. But don't get into any crap while I'm gone."
"Don't worry. I'll leave your porn alone."
"—No, I—"
"Your face is clashing with your hair. Now go." Rukia winked and threw herself down onto her own bed, opening a book she'd checked out from the library in a fit of boredom. She'd whipped a chintzy romance novel off the shelf last minute, after waiting through Toshiro's thirty minutes of perusing. He'd tirelessly searched for some creepy book on the Third Reich, which equally terrified and amused her. Nowadays he was a lot darker-minded.
Regardless of what she'd teased him about, Ichigo didn't have any porn; in fact everything he owned was in plain sight, from the Shakespeare books to the endless pairs of jeans, ignoring the rather substantial closet-space he'd been allotted. With a crooked smile she surveyed his belongings, wondering if he really was as innocent and well-intentioned as was projected. Probably not.
He came back, toweling wet ginger hair. "Your turn." He started to dig through piles of clothes as her petite silhouette passed him by, fully intending to be casual for dinner. Rukia sure as hell didn't dress up for anything other than government holidays, so why should he?
Ichigo slumped on the floor, legs crossed, looking idly through his cell phone. Nothing in there other than boring when are you going to get here my son texts from Isshin (a relic of last week's visit home) and Rukia's snippy little messages that he'd anticipated far more than kind ones from anyone else.
Sometimes he worried. He really was in deep.
She drifted back in, wearing dark pants and a gray turtleneck. Oddly enough she didn't seem bothered by his seeing her without makeup; but Rukia never seemed self-conscious, not in front of him anyway. Not that there was any reason why she should be, but it wasn't often that girls broke the shy-and-modest mold. More than that, Rukia had transcended a lot of expected perimeters even so early on in their relationship. She really was something. "Now, where exactly are we going?"
Dumbly, he replied, "No idea." And got up. "Where do you want to go?"
Rukia cocked an eyebrow. "Hey, what happened to you? You look doped up."
"I was just thinking."
"About what?"
He shook his head. "Go dry your hair or something, Jesus. It creeps me out when it's flat."
Eyes roll, "Your hair creeps me out all the time. And don't worry, it'll be poofy soon enough." She reassumed her position on her bed and stretched out like a cat, thumbing through some book to find a page. Her ass looked nice in those pants, he thought idly. Okay, maybe not so idly. "What're you staring at, Strawberry?"
He didn't answer. He just sat next to her.
"Oi, what gives?" she asked, looking irritated now. Rukia lobbed the book at him. "Do something, anything?"
Ichigo kissed her.Well, it was something. Really, really something. Rukia's mind buzzed with delicious nothingness as her mouth moved against his, his snarky tongue sliding against hers. Peeping open an eye her heart palpitated at his face; so happy, unencumbered and blissful; so when she closed her eyes again thin arms closed up around his back, feeling his pleased breath against her mouth. It was strange, really, that his barriers could be broken down with something as simple as a mesh-of-tongues and cementing of chests. Then again he was a teenage boy, complex but still barbarically simple.
She smiled into the kiss and responded with enthusiasm, enthusiasm then doubled by her boyfriend. They bonked heads and laughed fleetingly into their shared cavern, long-fingered hands thumbing at the bottom of her shirt before slipping underneath it—
Until another knock on the door interrupted him.
What. The. Fuck.
A rather flushed Rukia cleared her throat, "Aren't you going to get that?"
Annoyance slithering heavily up his spine, Ichigo got roughly to his feet and grudgingly left her, yanking open the door and preparing himself to spit venom at whoever dared to interrupt—
Byakuya Kuchiki's heather-gray eyes wiped away any offensive intentions he may have been harboring. "Where is my daughter?" he asked rather lowly, his eyes flickering judgmentally about their dormitory.
Rukia came into the room, her back straighter than usual. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her color still rather high.
He pursed his lips. "Your mother wanted me to come and tell you in person that you have a younger brother. He was born last evening at seven fifty-six."
Her eyes wider than what seemed humanly possible, Rukia spluttered, "B-But I thought it was supposed to be a girl."
"Modern medicine is… often faulty," Byakuya reminded, a tiny sliver of pride seeping through his façade. He finally had the son he'd always wanted, the man who'd ensure the survival of the Kuchiki name. Rukia found his pleasure quite endearing; it was so rare to see any warm feelings touch down on her father. "Well, that was all she wanted me to do. Good night, Rukia." With that, he pulled a string of lint off his black suit and walked stiffly away.
Ichigo closed the door behind him. "That's crazy," he said. "Byakuya Kuchiki junior." He snorted. "Imagine that."
"Let's hope he's not a hardass," Rukia replied, scratching idly at her right side.
He stood awkwardly, watching her contemplate the newest addition to her family, and wondered if she still wanted to continue their—activities. If she did, she made no indication of it, just sauntered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.
"You know," is the phrase she used to break the rather heavy din that's settled upon them once she returns, "I don't really feel like going out tonight." As if on cue a yawn escaped her and she saw that Ichigo wasn't really affected by this news; in fact he seemed almost catatonic. "Ichigo."
He looked over. "Sorry. I was just thinking about…never mind. It's nothing."
"About how you didn't get to stick your hand up my blouse?" she said the words with an almost charming languor. "Patience, Strawberry."
His amber eyes thinned a bit. "If it weren't for Byakuya, I would've gotten to."
She pursed her lips, teasing with her fathomless blue eyes. "Maybe tomorrow."
And then Ichigo was alone again, cursing uptight fathers and snarky girlfriends.
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.
It was a good thing he was so pessimistic; that way he didn't expect anything. This, however, was a double-edged sword; as he watched Rukia in class and walked with her in the hallway, she teased him to small glimmers of hope that would all too soon be extinguished.
He loved her, and therefore loved spending time with her; but he often interpreted her winsome smiles as more meaningful than they actually were, in the erotic sense, of course. Perhaps that was just the curse of all teenage boys. It was strange, the sudden onset of physical ardor. Before he'd always known Rukia was attractive, admiring her in a detached sort of way, like looking at pictures of scenery. Now, however, that she'd confirmed her feelings for him as well, it was as if a switch had been flipped.
Gym class was the most difficult, for reasons I'm sure the reader can predict.
Insanely, he wondered if she'd forgotten about him, not even looking at him for the majority of the day. Then again she was intensely focused on her schoolwork, and could be seen taking detailed notes at any given moment. He just wished he had ambitions like that.
At lunch, they spoke. "Hi," he said.
She smiled. "I was wondering when you'd talk to me. You really are bad at this boyfriend thing."
"I—"
"I'm kidding." She took a bite out of her sandwich. They sit alone at one of the round tables, unbothered by scores of their annoying peers. He liked it this way, just the two of them. No annoying Keigo or bitchy Hitsugaya to put a damper on the mood. "Anyways, isn't it strange that my dad showed up in person? He could've called."
"I don't think it's strange at all," Ichigo groused, his mind a whir with the thousands of reasons why Byakuya Kuchiki would want to barge into their dorm. Come to think of it, why hadn't he called the school and demanded Rukia be moved out of there already? He shook his head and moved the unappetizing slop on his plate around with a plastic fork, watching peripherally as Rukia ate her sandwich with much more enthusiasm. "I'll be back."
Halfway back from dumping the offending mess he nearly collided, who glared cool grey daggers at him before returning to his own seat (next to Orihime, across from Tatsuki). Without time to slip in a snide remark Ichigo just skulked back to his table, where Rukia was looking through a book.
"Did you know that with enough power, sound could puncture a hole in a steel wall?"
"I didn't." He looked at his hands, frowning at the red sauce left behind from his unappetizing meal. His girlfriend looked over at him, that probing look in her much too blue eyes, and he sighed. "Sorry. I just feel like shit today."
She blinked. "Why?"
"I dunno. A whole bunch of things I guess." Like the worry about grades that's cemented itself to his psyche; like his sexual frustration, further exacerbated by last night's unwelcome visitor; and at last his newfound dislike for Ishida, who was still subtly glowering at him from across the cafeteria. "Sorry."
"You don't have to apologize. I'm used to you acting like this," she reminded inconsequentially, and closed her book to pay him full attention. "Let me make it up to you. We can go out tonight, just the two of us. Without distractions."
Amber flicked up to cerulean. "None?"
"None," Rukia promised with a winsome smile, rising to take her own tray up. He watched her walk over there, unbothered by any antisocial nerds (his eyes flickered to Ishida momentarily) until she was almost back, her tracks promptly crossed by Senna Shuurin. To his surprise, Rukia seemed interested in whatever the bouncy young woman was talking about; and he looked away, thumbing open the book she had been looking at, finding it an anthology of world records. Just the sort of thing she'd read. "Yeah," she said when she sat, rather breathlessly, "Just us. Once our homework's done."
"Of course," he grumbled, but inwardly, warmth was slinking through Ichigo. Just him and Rukia... "Whatever you want."
A satisfied smile; she opened her book again. "Now stop sulking and go buy me a candy bar."
.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,
She looked beautiful, of course. Her hair pulled back, showing ears decorated with shining studs, her small frame clad in a blue dress shirt and black slacks. Of course she wouldn't wear a skirt unless it was absolutely necessary, and since her mother wasn't around, that wasn't the case; still her appearance did not fail to entice him, draw him near her as they walked together into the small restaurant, one she'd chosen out of the phone book and convinced him to go to without much effort. Nowadays he was much more compliant; something she equally liked and disliked about him, as it was always nice to see the same stubborn Ichigo she'd met all those months ago.
That was the Ichigo she saw when amber eyes roved over the simple menu. "None of this stuff's gonna fill me up."
"Then get an appetizer," she supplied, watching him shrug and put the menu down. "I'm glad you came out with me tonight."
"You're acting like I would've said no." He ignored his straw and tipped the glass down his throat, gulping down water at record speed. "Or are you just trying to start a conversation?"
"I don't know you would've said yes," Rukia countered. "I thought you'd be mad at me after last night."
It took a minute for his brain to discombobulate that. "Wh—No, I—I mean, I would've liked to, but I wasn't mad at you." Heat sprawled up his neck and cheeks and he hoped she didn't notice in such dim light. "I was mad at Byakuya."
"Aren't we all." Blue eyes rolled. "I still think it's a little odd they had a boy though. I thought for certain I'd have another sister."
"I don't think the world could handle a third Kuchiki chick," Ichigo remarked offhandedly, and she smiled.
"Probably not."
Rukia recognized the waitress as her neighbor, Mashiro, who she had never really expected to get a job let alone have the attention span to wait tables. Nonetheless, she smiled effervescently and pulled a tiny notebook from her maroon apron. "Hi, what can I get for you tonight?"
She watched as Ichigo ordered his appetizer as well as the largest steak the restaurant offered, feeling rather mousy as she asked for her small pasta. The green-haired waitress scribbled on her pad then took the menus away, walking off with her bubbly step not unlike Senna's and disappearing from view.
Once she did, the orange-haired teen surprised her: "I've met her before. She came to Dad's clinic."
"What was wrong with her?"
"Never said. Confidentiality." He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder how Dad's even smart enough to tell people what's wrong with them, he's off his rocker."
Rukia looked into her drink; perhaps Ichigo didn't understand how his mother's death must've affected Isshin, but now wasn't the best time to bring it up in any case. She cleared her throat, finding it rough. "So, are you ready for exams?"
Exams? Really? Weren't a boyfriend and girlfriend supposed to talk about more interesting things? Ichigo fought the grimace that threatened to crop up and replied, "Fine. I just don't wanna fail."
"No one does." For a while sat there, feeling a bit unsettled, as she was progressively more often. How was she to go about initiating romantic conversation? Why was playful banter so much easier? And worst of all, why was Ichigo having such a hard time with it as well? "So… we've been dating a week and a half now."
He looked up. "Yeah," and then looked away, off to his left, an awkward look passing over his visage. "Everybody already knows."
"How?"
"Senna," he said flatly.
"Of course."
Another long silence; soft music played in the background, and her gaze jutted to another young couple, giggling with entwined hands. Teeth came down on her lip; looking at herself and the boy opposite her, would anyone even think they were together? "Ichigo."
"Hn?"
"Kiss me."
A stutter-shook glance, "Rukia?"
So she made the first move, pulling his considerable height down to her and connecting their lips, her eyes slipping closed. Amber alight with surprise soon dimmed to gratification and then disappeared completely behind lids. His tongue poked between her lips but was instantly rejected; but everyone had limits and of course Rukia was no exception. This was fine for him, the hypnotizing scent in his face and small hands firm on his shoulders, his problems shortly forgotten and his mind freewheeling into that easy chasm that was—well, bliss.
When she pulled away, his lips were a bit tender; surprised, he looked at her with a crooked smile. "Midget," as she was trying to look away from him, her cheeks stained, "You really are something."
"Thanks," Rukia breathed, enjoying the way his temperature had so clearly climbed, if his inflamed ears were any indication. "You are too." And they sit down, the air around a bit headier than before, Ichigo's lips stuck in a perpetual grin as he pushed a hand through his hair. At the image, she smiled too, sucking greedily at her water to qualm the heat in her throat.
A few minutes later, he spoke again. "Where did that come from?" with a breathless laugh.
Rukia smiled wryly. "Are you complaining?"
"Ha. I guess not." And Mashiro arrived with his appetizer, a platter of many different things, sitting it on the table with a flourish and chatting softly with Rukia (who evidently was difficult for her to recognize) about the state of affairs within the Kuchiki household, and did Hisana have her baby yet and oh my, Akamori moved out? Ichigo ate, listening to his girlfriend's short answers, and still trying to decipher her sudden urge to kiss him in the middle of dinner. As she'd implied, no, he wasn't complaining – but had it been a product of her problem (one they shared) when it came to communicating like a couple was supposed to?
Probably.
Not that it really mattered. Like their friendship had been rocky at first, he supposed their relationship would be, too, and there was no avoiding or transcending it. Slowly he guessed it'd be like second nature to them after a while, just like the snarky little arguments and well-directed punches sans Rukia. Or, rather, he hoped it would be. "What're we going to do after this?"
"We could watch a movie?"
"At the theater?"
"At home." He liked that she referred to their tiny little dormitory in such a way; as if it was a place she enjoyed inhabiting, though for him it was not the same. No, his favorite place to spend time with Rukia was his own bedroom, thirty miles away. At his 'okay', she promptly stole some of his food.
Joking and teasing like they always had, Rukia found that the dinner passed with much more ease after that point. She didn't feel pressured or annoyed by her own persistent awkwardness; in fact said awkwardness had been thrown to the wind, replaced with the brazen confidence that had for some reason been beyond her for the majority of the day. Mashiro returned to burden her with more of her tittering conversation but it was not as painful as before; in fact, she found she almost liked chattering with her estranged neighbor, as if she weren't an annoyance.
After paying they retreated to Ichigo's car. "So," he said. "Good date?"
"I've had better," she said with a teasing condescension, tipping her nose in the air. He rolled his eyes and started the car, smiling lightly despite himself. Rukia turned on some bopping song he didn't find particularly listen-worthy but had no trouble with, opening the window the slightest bit and letting the harsh winter air into the car. He thanked the gods for his parka.
Back at the dorm building, he saw Tasuko Kouji flirting shamelessly with the receptionist (as oblivious Senna stood a few feet away, texting rampantly) and sighed, however forgetting about it when a small hand clasped his own. He looked down at Rukia, whose hair had nearly fallen out of its clip, and remembered their movie-watching intentions.
She picked a movie she said he'd like; Inception, the glorious mindfuck with that DiCaprio guy, who Ichigo had always found a little fruity but bearable. With a bowl of orange popcorn at her side, Rukia shamelessly ruined each part for him just before its happening, but then he really wasn't paying as much attention to the movie as he was to Rukia, who really looked nice in the blue light of the TV screen.
Whenever the film ended, she looked bleary, worn-out, and his suspicions were voiced when with a yawn, she declared: "I'm tired. Let's go to sleep."
And so he followed her; she made him look away when she changed into her thick Chappy-covered pajamas, tugging him into bed with her and telling him about her favorite parts of the movie, her voice strained as she struggled to keep her eyes open. However there was one tired phrase he remembered:
"I love you, Ichigo."
.,.,.,.,.,.,
Ichigo decided that if he ever met the man who invented exams, he'd tear him a new one.
Two and a half hours in a tiny little classroom with Soifon, wracking his brains to remember only the tiniest bits of Chinese he'd managed to retain throughout the semester. Rukia sat five seats away, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked easily through the thick exam packet, the first one to turn it in (after Ishida, of course). Afterward she watched Ichigo, who shot her a desperate look every handful of minutes, only to receive apologetic shrugs.
With ten minutes left, and he being the only person who still had a paper, our orange-haired friend guessed on every single answer.
He yawned as he placed the packet on the instructor's desk. She glared at him.
"Ichigo!" a voice hissed. His brow furrowing he looked back to see Orihime, who had a rather hefty basket sitting on the corner of her desk. "I'm collecting donations for the Winter Formal! Do you have any extra—"
"No, I don't." He fiddled with his pencil, turning away from her and through the corner of his eye watching her deflate. He could only see Rukia, whose petite legs stretched out in front of her as she made an attempt to fall asleep at her desk, an attempt unsuccessful thanks to the painfully loud voices of Senna and Tasuko, conveniently seated directly in front of Hitsugaya, who looked about ready to blow his own brains out.
Soifon dryly informed them that she was 'stepping out' for a minute, presumably to go stalk Yoruichi or complain to the office about some nonexistent problem. The classroom erupted into conversation, turning their desks toward each other. He just looked at Rukia, who was looking through the notes for her next exam. Ichigo got up and kneeled next to her. "Hey."
She smiled easily. "Hi." And shut her binder. "How did you sleep?"
"All right, I guess." After he'd laid awake for hours. "You?"
"Fine." He liked the way she flicked her hair out of her eyes only for more of it to fall back down. "I kept waking up."
"Me too."
For a while he simply sat there, his amber eyes moving about her face. There was just so much he could do; question her, taunt her, flirt with her—and the opportunity to do it all made his head spin. It was still so hard for him to get it through his head that she'd wanted to be with him, as stupid as it sounded. "Can we stay up tonight?"
"And do what?" Rukia organized her books, largest to smallest from the bottom-up, as she always did before going to her next class.
"What we always do."
"And what's that?" she smiled crookedly, since they really had no actual routine. On nights where nothing else happened they would spend a little while on homework, then talk themselves to sleep. Not exactly the most exciting things in the world, but they were fine with Ichigo.
He shrugged. "Forget I said anything."
A hand came down to mess with shocking-orange hair; his eyelids lowered a bit, as it relaxed him. "You know I'll probably just pass out, right?"
A wry smile. "Yeah. Probably."
And later that night, she was true to her word.
.,.,.,.,.,.,.
Rukia visited home for the weekend, on Byakuya's insistence. It was dark out, six or seven thirty, whenever Ichigo dropped her off.
"You gonna be okay?" he asked, with genuine concern.
"I'll be fine." She reassured him with a smile that came out rather crooked, but had the desired effect all the same. He eased up a bit in the eyes. "You can come pick me up in the morning, if you want."
A somber nod; Ichigo restarted the car. She pecked him on the cheek and got out, her boots sloshing in the snow as the made her way up the stony path. Her house was lit up, its orange luminosity painting the snow in front of it.
She knocked uncertainly, once, and then twice. Her mother was probably busy with a roast or some other concoction that had probably taken her hours to make.
It was her father, in his suit as always. "Come in, Rukia."
The house smelled like vanilla, probably thanks to the candles in golden stands flanking the walls of the foyer. She breathed in and felt her unease melt away. "Hi, Dad," she said.
He smiled tightly. "Your mother's in the kitchen."
A bit confused by the muted imperative to go and talk to Hisana, Rukia made her way through the sweet-smelling rooms until she reached the sweetest, explained by the pie sitting fresh out of the oven. Her mother, (who she wasn't used to seeing with a flat stomach) flew up to hug her, asking cursory questions about school, Ichigo, and things like that. Rukia's breath was short as she replied, stunted by the disbelief she felt, realizing just how much she had missed her mother.
Byakuya stood in the doorway, watching Rukia interact so eagerly with his wife. He'd been wondering what she was up to at that school (a nice enough place, but seriously lacking in order considering the fact they had allowed boys to room with girls). It was always beyond her to call, though it was somewhat clear that much was his own fault. After all it doesn't take a rocket scientist to conclude that neither of his daughters were particularly fond of him.
He wanted to fix it; that was part of the reason she was here.
"Rukia," he inquired, and their nearly identical faces turned to him, "How are your grades?"
"They're fine," she answered promptly. "I have nothing below a B. We've started exams and I've been exempted from most of them, so I don't have school for about a week."
"I don't have school ever," remarked a voice. Rukia turned to see her sister in the doorway, in a wool pullover and jeans. It's more conservative than her usual ensemble. "Hey, kid."
The shorter girl grinned on impulse; it's been a while since she's seen Akamori. "Where's Renji?"
The eldest Kuchiki child jerked her thumb back toward the living room. "He's with your little brother. Who you haven't met yet, by the way."
And with that Rukia almost wanted to slap herself; how the hell had she forgotten about the baby? She sidestepped Akamori and walked through the rooms with uncharacteristic speed, her heart racing. Finally she reached the room aglow with the blue light of the television, where Renji sat on the couch near a crib.
"Rukia," he said, looking tired and wan. "How's everything going?" And it was strange just how much he seemed to have aged within the month or so they hadn't seen each other, the lines of his mouth and eyes intensifying.
"Fine." She stands over the crib and marvels at the newest member of their family; a little boy with a thatch of jet-black hair. She couldn't quite tell who he looked like yet. "How's it going?"
"It goes." He switched off the television and moved to join her in front of the crib. There was a strange look in his eyes as he surveyed the infant; one of remorse. "Isn't it crazy how a couple of old people can have kids so easily?"
With a rather painful jolt she remembered her sister's miscarriage. "I'm sorry."
"Wasn't anyone's fault," Renji replied, with forced nonchalance. "Just happens. How's Ichigo?"
Idly she thought about Ichigo, who was probably dealing with Isshin's antics at that moment. "He's fine."
"Jeez, whatever happened to you never shutting up? Say something other than 'fine'," Renji groused, but he wore a good-natured smile as he picked up the child and carried it back to the kitchen; Rukia had no choice but to follow, or be left alone to wonder what happened to her never shutting up.
When they returned Akamori was telling Hisana a rather animated tale of something that happened at work; evidently she'd gotten a job as a waitress downtown. Rukia couldn't help but feel a small guilt monster gnaw at her intestines; after all, she'd always promised her sister she'd keep in touch. Byakuya had disappeared, as he tended to do. She sat at the table and looked more closely at them. Hisana of course looked rather exhausted, having given birth a few days before; she had on her favorite apron over a black dress, and tiny pearl earrings. The overall effect was quite nice.
Her sister looked thin; malnourished would probably be a better word for it. Rukia could see planes and angles on her face she never had before, and Renji—well, Renji seemed slimmer as well, but not to the same extent. "Hey, Rukia, whatever happened to Hitsugaya? I told him to get his little ass back here for the night but of course he didn't show up."
"He's probably busy. There's a girl he really likes," she blurted, and nearly clapped a hand over her mouth. Because whenever that phrase escaped she wound up telling them all the complete story of Toshiro, Senna, and Tasuko (what she knew of it, anyway). Whenever it was over Hisana smiled.
"He'll be okay. The first love is always the most difficult," her mother murmured sentimentally. Akamori rolled her eyes. "Speaking of which, you never did tell me much about how Ichigo's doing."
"Mom." She looked at her hands. "He's fine." Because no matter how much she loved Ichigo it was still difficult to talk about him for long periods, for fear that Byakuya would come in and turn harmless comments into lectures. He had a way of doing that. "You still haven't told me anything about the baby. When did you have him?"
And that uncontrollable happiness broke out over Hisana's visage; bless her. "Wednesday. I had to wake your father at three-thirty in the morning! It's really a simple story…"
Rukia listened to her mother's tale, mostly because she was so clearly brimming with delight over it, but also because she really was curious and remorseful she hadn't been around to see any of this as her sister probably had.
Nevertheless, she went to school. She was going to have a future, and Akamori was not.
Somehow, that thought didn't make her feel any better.
The pie was cut and pieces were passed around; Hisana held the baby and played with his tiny fingers, whilst Renji and Akamori chatted amongst themselves, bantering over some TV show they'd watched the day before. As she watched them she realized that they really weren't that different from she and Ichigo; they fought over stupid little things, but it seemed like nothing was wrong in the end. However, she imagined their relationship was probably a thousand times more complex, because they'd fought and made up a thousand more times, and knew each other much better.
And that made her feel worse.
Later, she drifted upstairs, her eyes taking in the family portraits lining the walls. The one of her, Byakuya and Akamori—taken some time when she was a preteen—held particular resonance with her in that she realized just how much things had changed since the camera had flashed on them. Now she was growing up, and her sister had run out already, only to be welcomed back. Her father had grown cold—or maybe he always had been, and she had never noticed it.
Her room was a bit neater than she remembered leaving it, but her rabbits were still lined up neatly on the navy blue coverlet. She sank into it, kicking off her boots and socks, and took a deep breath. If Ichigo were here, he'd make some remark about her being lazy, then throw one of the plushies at her, or something like that.
God, she missed him.
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.
I hope you at least sort of liked the chapter and you don't still want to kill me violently, but there it is, probably one of the longest chapters I've ever written for SLTM. Violetta's chapters round out to about 20,000 words minimum, so you can count on these being much higher from now on as well, whenever I do get around to finishing them. I do promise, however, that I will work diligently on SLTM now that I've reeled you all back in (or, at least I think I tried to). I've been thinking about it for a while and I really do get upset sometimes as I feel stuck when it comes to formulating the plot. I often delete the plans I've made for it, all the way up to the end, and revise them completely. That is to say, I'm very much up in the air about all of this. I hope you understand.
Regarding the chapter itself, I feel like I did quite well in the beginning, but that it grew weaker toward the end as I was rushing to get it finished. The one-year mark since my last update was January 18, and passing that was actually depressing, because I remember vowing to never take too long between updates. Then I broke my promise. I'm sorry.
But, regardless. I sincerely hope that you liked this chapter, and that you'll review it. :D Thank you, by the way, for the emails and messages concerning the story. They were very inspiring and they helped me get motivated. ~
Now, thoughts?