The weeks after his meeting with Rukia were strange. At first, he couldn't put his finger on it. After all, the work scarcely changed. Ichigo showed up to Aizen's meetings, carried out his orders, observed quietly as gun shipments began rolling in from Osaka and Tokyo.
He simply noted things he never had before. Dates of shipments, names of suppliers. When guarding crates of ammo, Ichigo tuned in to the conversations around him. He was attentive to the proxy bank accounts exchanged between the dealers, the aliases they used when calling Aizen's offices. The information was abundant, and each piece of it brought him closer to freedom. Closer to the kind of life he'd never dared dream for himself. For the first time Ichigo felt light. His shoulders held no tension, his sleep was instant and effortless.
Rukia met him every few days, and he kept her up to date on any developments. She liked to meet in the early mornings before Ichigo went to school. He would be walking to class in his uniform only to find her on a public bench, looking uncharacteristically casual in a hoodie and jeans. Ichigo would grab a coffee from the nearest kiosk, sit with his back to her on the opposite bench, and pretend to look over his homework while she asked him pointed, efficient questions.
"There are three main weapons suppliers." He'd told her the last time they had spoken. "Aizen's secretary makes out the checks to three different accounts. They don't use their real names or affiliations, but at least one is Yakuza, I heard him talking to his boss on the phone the other day. If that's the case, Aizen has good reason to be on edge. I'm almost certain he's going into major debt to coordinate this deal. They're reluctant to give him the merchandise. If it doesn't pay off, he'll have some of the world's best hitmen on his tail."
Rukia seemed pleased with the information he provided, the way he could rattle of names and figures and make connections.
"You ever thought about detective work kid?" She'd asked, which had made Ichigo laugh out loud. It was strange, the implication that he was good for more than brute physical force. It felt good to give his mind something to chew on. It felt good to think about getting a real job someday, getting his sisters into college, building a real future.
Best of all, his hours with Orihime were now nearly delirious. After telling her about his father Ichigo felt in tune with her like never before. It was a relief to conceal a little less, allow her warmth and sweetness into the cracks of his life. Moreso, planning his escape made it feel safer to bring her in more and more. This change brought with it more time together, more visits to his house.
Tonight was one such visit, Ichigo had suggested Orihime come study for final exams with him. Well, she would study, diligent and clever as she was. His plan had been to tuck her against his chest while she flipped through the books, enjoy the newfound ease she had with him. However, the moment Orihime arrived the girls swooped in and did not release her. Ichigo would have rescued her, but Orihime's delight was too obvious. Instead, he hung back as the three of them sat in the living room, Orihime sketching with Karin and helping Yuzu with her homework.
As much as he wanted Orihime to himself, the contentment she shared with the girls was too perfect to spoil. So, he spent the evening placing cups of tea and scones on the coffee table for them, opening jars of honey or jam when asked. He had never seen his sisters so enthralled with someone before, and he was happy to be a bystander.
When the time came for bed, the girls reluctantly returned to their rooms, leaving Ichigo to watch as Orihime flipped through their drawings.
"You know," He said, snapping her attention fully to him for the first time that night, "I never thought two tweens would be enough to steal my girlfriend away."
It had been nerve-wracking saying it – girlfriend – which was ridiculous. He shared more with her than any human being on earth. He knew her favorite foods (tahini on toast, cotton-candy ice cream, spicy seaweed chips), her study playlists (Funk, vaporwave, and Disney soundtracks), and her favorite books (Anne of Green Gables, The Shining, Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea). He knew that her breath hitched when he gently bit her earlobe. He knew the dreamy, blown out look her eyes got after exchanging achingly slow, mellow kisses on her couch. These were things only her boyfriend could know. Still, the word was new, and implied a claim he was not certain he possessed.
So when she cocked her head to the side and grinned at him, he almost exhaled in audible relief.
"Well, they had a pretty tight hold on me Ichi, I couldn't get away."
He returned her grin, approached her on the couch.
"Oh yeah? I bet I could get a much tighter hold on you."
In one swift, silent movement, he pinned her to the couch. One small, slender wrist in each hand. A laugh escaped her, and she quickly snapped her mouth shut, likely worried that the sound would carry throughout the house.
"Shh" He bent down to kiss her throat, the pulse fluttering beneath his touch. Orihime laughed again very quietly, a half-whimper.
"You were saying something about getting away?" He tightened his hands, just a little, to punctuate the sentence.
Orihime tried briefly to flex against his grip, the small muscles of her forearm twitching beneath creamy skin. He was exerting barely a fraction of his strength, but it was clear to both of them how easily he could keep her still against the cushions. Her eyes scanned his face and she grinned again.
"I can get away." Her voice was teasing, confident.
"Oh?"
She was lovely, fiery hair fanned out beneath her, cheeks pink and flushed. She hummed a little in contemplation before widening her eyes, pouting her lower lip slightly.
"Ichi…" her voice was honey sweet. "Can I have a kiss?"
"I know a trap when I see one." He murmured, but obediently bent his head down to meet her.
The kiss was slow, searing. Her lips parted for him and her tongue slipped into his mouth. She melted against him, letting the slightest, breathiest sound escape her.
"More please." She said, and he allowed his body to settle on top of hers, hands still pinning her wrists as he kissed down to her throat. This earned him a hum of approval.
"More please." And though her plan was now very obvious, Ichigo was powerless to stop himself. Stubbornly, he moved her arms together above her head, securing both in a single gripped fist so that he could trail one hand down her collarbone, her breast, her stomach.
She wriggled underneath his touch, and he squeezed her upper thigh. She looked almost too delicious today – the white skirt she was wearing was his favorite – and he wanted desperately to pull her close.
"You must think you're very clever." He growled into her ear.
This time her laugh was half moan and she arched her back, pressing herself into him torturously. "Kiss please."
He obliged, this time biting her full lower lip in between breaths. She gasped a little, and Ichigo tried to ignore the way their movements were making her skirt bunch high against her hips.
"Oh." Orihime said, eyes widening as she looked down to see the sudden exposure of her thighs. "My skirt. Could you?"
Ichigo immediately pulled back and allowed her to readjust, smoothing the crumpled fabric back over her thighs.
"Better?" He asked.
"Oh much." She smiled, sweet and happy. "I win!"
"I- what?" But he had – of course – released her hands in his concern. "Fuck."
"Work smarter." She shrugged, but her expression was soft. "Can I still request kisses?"
He leaned back in, all too ready to bend to her demands. As if on cue, a door creaked from somewhere in the house. Likely one of the girl's rooms. Orihime sprang back up, adjusting her tousled hair sheepishly.
"I should probably go home." She said, "It's getting pretty late."
Ichigo nodded, trying not to sound too disappointed. "Sorry you didn't get much studying done."
"Oh that's ok! I love being here." She responded quickly. And then, a little shyly. "I mean, it's nice. My place is always so quiet."
She said this lightly, but Ichigo wondered just how true it was. His own moments of quiet were rare and far between. After-school hours dominated juggling Aizen and his family. What were her nights like? Alone in the apartment where her brother had been killed?
"I could stay over." He said, impulsively.
She blinked. "Stay over?"
"At your place," And then, worried he had over-reached. "If you want. Would you mind?"
"No… I mean yes! Of course, I wouldn't mind." She shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. "Um, when?"
His heart clenched, a strange mixture of elation and nerves. "The girls have a sleepover on Friday. A classmate, I think. I could drop them off and swing by?"
She nodded and perked up. "I could cook dinner! And maybe bake something? I have a few cake ideas I've been meaning to test out…you like figs, don't you? And rosewater? And maybe clementine?"
He laughed, so completely in love with the childish excitement on her face. "Sounds great sweetheart. It's a date."
"Yep!" She repeated. "A date."