Rukia's suitcase rocks back and forth unsteadily as she hurries past the checkpoint and toward the baggage claim. It's now 10:42, and if she doesn't manage to get a cab in the next few minutes there's pretty much no chance she'll make the ceremony. But she's not thinking about that yet. She's thinking only of him, of Ichigo, and when she emerges into the baggage area—a sea of people, all crowded behind a black rope, holding signs and waiting for friends and family—her heart sinks.
Rukia wheels in a circle, her bags feeling like they weigh a thousand pounds, her shirt sticking to her back, her hair falling across her eyes. There are children and grandparents, limo drivers and airport officials, a guy with a Starbucks apron and three monks in red robes. A million people, it seems, and none of them is Ichigo.
She backs up against a wall and sets down her things, forgetting even to worry about the crush of people. Her mind is too busy with the possibilities. It could have been anything, really. His line could have taken longer. He could have been held up at customs. He might have emerged earlier and assumed that she'd gone ahead. They could have crossed paths and not even noticed.
He might simply have left.
But still, she waits.
The giant clock above the flight board stares down at her accusingly, and she tries to ignore the mounting sense of panic that's ballooning inside her. How could he not have said good-bye? Or was that what he'd meant by the kiss? Still, after all those hours, all those moments between them, how could that just be it?
She realizes she doesn't even know his last name.
The very last place she wants to go right now is to a wedding. She can almost feel the last of her energy receding. But as the minutes tick by, it's becoming harder to ignore the fact that she's going to miss the ceremony. With some amount of effort, she peels herself away from the wall to make one last sweep of the place, her feet heavy as she paces the enormous the place, her feet heavy as she paces the enormous terminal, but Ichigo, with his blue shirt and untidy orange hair, is nowhere to be found.
And so, with nothing more to be done, Rukia finally makes her way out through the sliding door. The line for taxis is almost comically long, and Rukia drags her suitcase to the end of it with a groan, she waits numbly as the line creeps forward, the lack of sleep finally beginning to catch up to her. Everything seems to blur as her gaze moves from the queue ahead of her to the departing buses to the line of taxis waiting their turn, as solemn and silent as a funeral procession.
He's gone, she tells herself again. It's just as simple as that. But even so, she keeps her back to the terminal, resisting the urge to turn around and look for him one more time. Someone once told her there's a formula for how long it takes to get over someone, that it's half as long as the time you've been together. Rukia has her doubts about how accurate this could possibly be, a calculation so simple for something as complicated as heartbreak. After all, her parents had been married almost twenty years, and it took Dad only a few short months to fall for someone else. And when her ex-boyfriend dumped her after a whole semester, it took her only about ten days to feel done with him entirely. Still, she takes comfort in the knowledge that she's known Ichigo for only a matter of hours, meaning this knot in her chest should be gone by the end of the day, at the very latest.
When it's finally her turn at the front of the line, she digs through her bag for the address of the church while the cabbie—tosses her suitcase roughly into the trunk without so much as a pause in conversation as he jabbers away into his hands-free phone. She hands over the address and the cabbie climbs back into the car without any sort of acknowledgment of his new passenger.
"How long will it take?" she asks as she slips into the backseat, and he halts his steady chatter just long enough to let out a sharp bark of a laugh.
"Long time," he says, then pulls out into the slow crawl of traffic.
"Super," Rukia says under her breath.
-x-
On the plane Ichigo told her about trips with his family and Rukia had folded her arms as she listened, wishing she were on her way to somewhere like that. It wasn't such a leap, from where she was sitting.
There on the plane, it wasn't so very hard to imagine they could be headed somewhere together.
"Which was your favorite?" she'd asked. "Of all the places you've been?"
He seemed to consider this for a moment before that striking smile appeared on his face.
"Karakura."
Rukia laughed. "Really?,"
He nods. "What about you?"
"Alaska, probably. Or Hawaii."
Ichigo looked impressed. "Not bad. The two most far-flung states."
"I've been to all but one, actually."
"You're kidding."
Rukia shook her head. "Nope, we used to take a lot of family road trips when I was younger."
"So you drove to Hawaii? How was that?"
She grinned. "We thought it made more sense to fly to that one, actually."
"So which one have you missed?"
"North Dakota."
"How come?"
She shrugged. "Just haven't made it there yet, I guess"
"I wonder how long it would take to drive there from Karakura Town."
Rukia laughed. "Can you even drive on the right side of the road?"
"Yes," Ichigo said, flashing her a look of mock anger. "I know it's shocking to think that I might be able to operate a vehicle on the wrong side of the road, but I'm actually quite good. You'll see when we take our big road trip to North Dakota one day."
"I can't wait," Rukia said, reminding herself that it was only a joke. Still, the idea of the two of them crossing the country together, listening to music as the horizon rolled past, had been enough to make her smile.
"If you could go anywhere else in the world, where would it be?" he asked.
Rukia thought about this for a moment. "Maybe Australia. Or Paris. How about you?"
Ichigo had looked at her as if it were obvious, the faintest hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth. "North Dakota," he'd said.
Now Rukia presses her forehead against the window of the taxi and once again finds herself smiling at the thought of him. He's like a song she can't get out of her head. Hard as she tries, the melody of their meeting runs through her mind on an endless loop, each time as surprisingly sweet as the last, like a lullaby, like a hymn, and she doesn't think she could ever get tired of hearing it.
-x-
At exactly 11:46, they pull up to an enormous church with a red roof and a steeple so high the very top of it is lost to the mist. The front doors are open, and two round-faced men in tuxes hover in the doorway.
Rukia steps out into the rain to heave her suitcase from the trunk, the driver pulls away in the taxi, and she simply stands there for a moment, peering up at the church.
From inside she can hear the deep peals of an organ, and in the doorway the two ushers shuffle their stacks of programs and smile at her expectantly. But she spots another door along the brick wall out front and sets off in that direction instead.
The door leads to a small garden with a stone statue of a saint, currently occupied by three pigeons. She wheels her suitcase along the side of the building until she comes across another door, and when she shoves it open with her shoulder the sound of the music fills the garden. She looks right and then left down the hallway before taking off toward the back of the church, where she runs into a small woman wearing a little hat with feathers.
"Sorry," Rukia says, half whispering. "I'm looking for… the groom?"
"Ah, you must be Rukia!" the woman says. "I'm so glad you made it. Don't worry, dear. The girls are waiting for you downstairs." She says girls as if it rhymes with carols, and Rukia realizes this must be the bride's mother. Now that Dad is getting married, Rukia wonders if she's supposed to consider this woman—this total stranger—a grandmother of sorts. She's struck a bit speechless by the idea of it, wondering what other new family members she might be acquiring once the day's events are set in motion. But before she has a chance to say anything, the woman makes a little flapping motion with her hands.
"Better hurry," she says, and Rukia finds her voice again, thanking her quickly before heading toward the stairwell.
As she bumps her suitcase down one step at a time, she can hear a flurry of voices, and by the time he hits the bottom, she's completely surrounded.
"There she is," one of the women says, putting an arm around her shoulders to shepherd her into a dressing room. Another grabs her suitcase, and a third guides her into a folding chair, which is set up in front of the mirror.
All four women are already wearing their lavender bridesmaid dresses, and their hair is sprayed, their eyebrows plucked, their makeup done. Rukia tries to keep them straight as they introduce themselves, but it's clear that there's very little time for pleasantries; these women are all business.
"We thought you might miss it," says ,Rangiku, the maid of honor. She flits around Rukia's head, taking a clip from her mouth. Another, Nanao, grabs a makeup brush and then squints for a moment before getting to work. In the mirror, Rukia can see that the other two have opened her suitcase and are attempting to smooth out the dress, which is as hopelessly wrinkled as she feared.
"Don't worry, don't worry," says Senna, disappearing into the bathroom with it. "It's the kind of dress where the creases just give it a little life."
By the time they're done with her a mere ten minutes later, Rukia has to admit they've pulled off some sort of miracle. The dress, while still a bit squashed, looks better than it ever did when she tried it on back home. The spaghetti straps are the perfect length and the lavender silk hangs just right, ending at her knees. The shoes are Mom's, strappy sandals as shiny as two coins, and Rukia wiggles her painted toes as she studies them. Her raven hair is pulled back into an elegant bun, and between that and the makeup, she feels completely unlike herself.
"You look like a ballerina," says, momo, clasping her hands together delightedly, and Rukia smiles, a bit shy amid so many fairy godmothers. But even she has to admit that it's true.
"We better go," Rangiku says, glancing up at the clock, which reads 12:08.
-x-
By the time the ceremony is over, the rain has mostly stopped. Even so, there's an impressive flock of black umbrellas outside, guarding against the lingering mist and making the churchyard look more like a funeral gathering than a wedding.
She goes way back to the church and found Dad and now his wife talking to their friends,
"Rukia,"
Dad calls her as he guides her over to an older couple, "I want you to meet some very good friend of ours. Ukitake Jushiro "
Rukia shakes each of their hands, nodding politely. "Nice to meet you."
"So this is Rukia," says . "We've heard so much about you."
It's difficult to hide her surprise. "Really?"
"Of course," Dad says, squeezing her shoulder. "How many daughters do you think I have.."
"We just wanted to say congratulations before we go," says Mrs. Ukitake "We've got a funeral, of all things, but we'll be back for the reception later."
"I'm so sorry." Dad says. "Whose is it?"
"A very close friend of mine, ."
"That's terrible," Dad says. "Is it far?"
"Shinjuku," Mr. Ukitake says, and Rukia whips her head to look at him.
"Shinjuku?"
He nods, looking at her a little uncertainly, then turns back to Dad. "It starts at two, so we'd better be off. But congrats again," he says.
"We're looking forward to tonight."
As they leave, Rukia stares after them, her mind racing. The thinnest sliver of a thought is threading its way through her. One of the other bridesmaids hands her a small mirror, and she holds it gingerly, blinking back at herself, her mind a million miles away.
Rukia has no idea whether Shinjuku is a town or a neighborhood or even just a street. All she knows is that it's where Ichigo lives, and she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to think back to what he said on the plane.
Had he ever actually said he was going to a wedding?
"I'ts him", she thinks. "It's Ichigo's father"
She knows nothing for sure, of course, but as soon as she attaches the words to it, gives name to the shapeless thoughts in her head, she's suddenly certain it must be true.
"Dad," she says quietly, and from where he's standing beside her, he moves his head just the tiniest bit, his smile unchanging.
"Yeah?"
"I have to go."
"Go where?"
Everyone is looking at her now, but Rukia doesn't care.
Because the possibility that Ichigo—who spent half the flight listening to her complain about this wedding like it was a tragedy of epic proportions—might be preparing for his father's funeral at this very moment is almost too much to bear.
She has to go to him. Now.
A/N:
I'm glad you guys like this story! as much as I did..:)
Enjoy reading!..