Wicked Games (I)
.
.
They return to Ichigo's place after dinner despite Rukia's reluctance. The two women walk side by side, casting long, looming shadows in the hallway lit by torches.
The dress that Rukia has on her is on loan from the dressmaker and still a bit large on her, but it is a much better fit than Ichigo's shirt. It makes her feel a bit more of a person, more in control of herself and the situation than she was before. She grits her teeth and holds her head up high, unwilling to even let Masaki glimpse at her moment of weakness.
Masaki looks at her worryingly. The fur capelet draped across Rukia's shoulder is warm enough to shield her from Silbern's cold for now, but there is still a niggling worry at the back of her mind that a strong gust of wind would send the girl flying.
"You're too thin, Rukia," she grumbles, her hand resting protectively on Rukia's shoulders, "You need to eat more. We need to get you to put on some weight."
After hearing the ordeal that she has been put through, Masaki's maternal instincts flare and she is fully prepared to take up arms on Rukia's behalf. Her idiot son needs to stop being a bully and start taking better care of her. What is the use of claiming her as his own if he wouldn't even step up to the role and provide for her?
She taught him better than that! Rukia needs to be loved and cared for. Better-fitting and warmer clothes against the cold would be a good start but also a bit more weight on her wouldn't hurt.
Masaki adds it to the mental list of things she needs to talk to Ichigo about as they approach the doors to his living quarters. Next to her, she can feel Rukia's discomfort and the heart-breaking way the Shinigami is trying to swallow her fears and appear unfazed. Masaki's heart squeezes painfully, wishing that there was more that she could do for the young woman instead.
Ichigo leaps to his feet as soon as they pass the threshold. He is dressed casually in a loose-fitting shirt and grey lounge pants. He crosses the room to them in three quick strides.
"Took you long enough!" he growls. His first instinct is to reach for Rukia, to reassure himself of her presence and warmth. Masaki may be his mother and trustworthy by all accounts, but Rukia is his and he doesn't like it if she is separated from him for too long.
He is surprised to see Masaki's hand on his shoulder. Her grip is firm and her glare fierce enough to make him flinch. She shields Rukia behind her, keeping her out of Ichigo's reach.
"Rukia," she calls out gently. The smile she flashes at the Shinigami is kind and motherly as she explains, "I need to have a word with my idiot son. Can you go and wait in the bedroom instead?"
Rukia nods. She is careful to keep her expression schooled and neutral as she takes off the fur capelet but Masaki's voice stills her movements.
"Keep it," she tells her, "you will need it tomorrow when you visit me. Ichigo will take you to my apartment before he leaves to attend to his princely duties."
As soon as the door to the bedroom shuts, Masaki focuses the full extent of her wrath on her wayward son. Her displeasure is evident in the glare she directs at him and the fierce scowl on her face, mirroring that of Ichigo's.
"Ichigo," she says sternly, her hands at her waist, "you have some explaining to do."
.
Ichigo's bedroom doesn't boast much of furniture- at least nothing that she can see herself using to barricade the doors. The mahogany armoire looks heavy and sturdy by the wall while the gilded full-length mirror is mounted on the wall. The two night stands on the other hand are much too light to make any difference. The bed is naturally king-size and dominates the room. Rukia doesn't even waste her time on it. It is much too big for her to move by herself.
She flops onto the bed with a loud sigh, glaring at the pale grey walls. The mattress is springy and comfortable, and covered by bed sheets that feel silky soft against bare skin. Pale moonlight streams from the window, shining down on her as she sits at the foot of the bed, quiet and sullen. The absence of Shirayuki cuts her deep and she curls into a ball, hugging her knees.
She can hear bits of the conversation outside even if she couldn't make out the words fully. Masaki's voice seems to ring with righteous fury, growing louder and stronger with every passing moment while Ichigo's gradually quietens and his replies become monosyllabic. Rukia tries to follow the conversation but ultimately gives up. Her mind is too fuzzy, still whirling from the implications as she is left to her own devices inside the room.
She doesn't know what to do with this new information: Ichigo is the Crown Prince of the Wandenreich Empire and she has been captured by him. She feels powerless. Never in her wildest dream has she ever imagined herself landing in such a predicament- a captured Shinigami, brought to the stronghold of the Quincy Empire to be their crown prince's pet. It can't get any worse than this, she thinks. She wonders if Ukitake and the others made it through the senkaimon safely, hoping against all odds, that everyone made it through safely and that her sacrifice hasn't been meaningless.
Outside, the conversation seems to draw to a close with the sound of a door slamming shut. Masaki must have left. Rukia's body thrums with nervousness. She hears the sound of approaching footsteps and adrenaline surges through her veins. Her fight or flight responses are triggered, her hand itching for the reassuring weight of her missing zanpakutou now more than ever.
Violet eyes whip to the door as it swings open.
Behind it, Ichigo emerges. His eyes find hers unaided in the dark and the weight of his stare on her is heavy enough to make her gulp. He keeps his eyes on her as he shuts the door behind him. The tension in the air is thick and heady now that it's just the two of them alone in his bedroom- him standing by the entrance of the bedroom and her on the giant bed.
Rukia fists at the ends of her borrowed dress. Her heart hammers. Her body and mind wouldn't let her forget about what transpired between them earlier. She remembers the coil of Ichigo's body against hers as he keeps her pinned under him. If she closes her eyes, she can feel the phantom weight of his fingers pressing down on her skin, the way his hands caress and brush at her naked body indolently, the warmth of his breath fanning her cheeks as he whispers those obscene words into her ears. All of the memories come flooding back to her at the worst timing possible, making her body squirm with heat and unease.
Ichigo takes his first step, making his way towards the bed. Rukia sits up a little straighter at his approach. With the faint light, she can just barely make out the outline of the object that he keeps behind him, shielded from view. But Shirayuki is more than just a sword or a weapon; it is a part of her- the truest reflection of her soul. She doesn't need sight or touch to tell her that it's her zanpakutou that Ichigo is holding behind him. Shirayuki calls to her. She would recognize it by the pull of her soul and instincts alone.
Rukia nearly trips over her own feet in her haste. She snatches it away from Ichigo's hands with a fierce snarl, gripping the hilt of the blade tightly and cradling it close to her chest. The sight of Shirayuki fills her heart with warmth and hope. The relief she feels flooding her lungs as she wraps both hands around the hilt fully is indescribable. Rukia keeps her eyes and sword pointed at Ichigo- watching him, watching her. She readies herself into a battle stance, poised to attack at the slightest hint of provocation. Shirayuki's ire and resentment at being separated from her fuels her indignation. He would take Shirayuki away from her again over her cold, dead body!
"Relax," he coaxes at her, wryly grinning at the way she hugs the sword to her chest. She really is too cute for her own good, staunchly defending her zanpakutou when she knows how easy it would be for him to reach out and snatch it away from her again. Not that he would of course, though he does enjoy riling her up if only to feel the weight of her stare on him.
"It's yours. You can keep Shirayuki. I won't take her away from you as long as it stays within the confines of the apartment. You have my word. I can't let you walk around with it outside I'm afraid or the others are going to kick up a fuss and complain about this to the All Father."
Ichigo may have proven his loyalty and strength time and time again, be hailed as the heir apparent to the throne and find the All Father to be of a more indulgent and forgiving disposition than the others, but there are still limits to His benevolence and tolerance. The Crown Prince is still only just a prince- held accountable and kept in check by the hands that laid the crown on him. As Jugram and Lille are particularly fond of reminding him, he is not King… yet.
"The All Father has given His permission to your presence within Silbern. But you shouldn't let your guard down. Don't trust anyone who comes up to you and stay away from the Sternritters, especially Lille- he's the bald man from earlier. The others aren't stupid or suicidal enough to lay a finger on a Crown Prince's pet. Not openly anyway, but there's still no telling what they might do. "
Rukia furrows her brows, scowling fiercely. Again with the 'pet' nonsense!
"I am not a pet! I am a Shinigami. I am a person and I have a name! And why are you being so nice to me? Is this some sort of trick?"
She is naturally wary. The last time she believed him, he played her like a fool. He kidnapped her and took Shirayuki away. She is adamant not to fall for the same trick again.
Ichigo sighs, inching his way towards her, uncaring of the press of the sword against his skin. Rukia scowls, but she has no choice but to retreat at his approach. She doesn't really want to kill him. His death would further complicate her situation and she is still very much in favour of staying alive. She intends to honour her promise to Ukitake and make it out alive to regroup with Nii-sama and the others.
The back of her calves hits the mattress and Rukia realizes belatedly that he is herding her towards the bed. She grips her sword tight. Ichigo is devious. Give him an inch and he will take a mile and then some, just because he can. She must never forget that.
The tip of Shirayuki bites into Ichigo's clothes, cutting through the material and blood blossoms, readily staining the white. Rukia stiffens. Her eyes are sharp and focused, waiting for Ichigo to hit back at her in response to the quick draw of blood. But he doesn't. He shrugs off the attack, treating the cut like a pin prick and closes in on her.
He huddles close, tackling her on to the bed and keeping her caged. He grips at her sword arm and pins the wrist above her head. The spill of moonlight from overhead illuminates her and her delicate features. Ignoring her glare, he uses his other hand to tuck her stray bang behind her ear, tracing at the softness of her apple cheeks, the curve of her red lips with his finger while he hovers on top of her, planting his knees firmly on the side of her hips.
His gaze and touch lowers, breathing out hot air over her skin as he stares transfixed at the sharpness of the jut of her collarbones, paying rapt attention to the rise and fall of her chest, savouring the warmth of her body underneath him. He nuzzles his face into the crook of her shoulders, resisting the urge to mark her throat as he inhales her scent greedily. She is intoxicating and his tongue darts out to lick at the jaunty pulse by the side of her neck. Everything about her is mesmerizing to him. The moonlight makes her already pale skin glow in the dark and her eyes- her eyes are pools of ice and cobalt blue that he will gladly drown in. He craves her attention and wants to be nothing more than the centre of her world.
"Look at me," he husks, lightly kissing the underside of her jaw. Her violet eyes snap to his and he growls approvingly. In her eyes, he sees only himself reflected. Good, he thinks. She should only ever have her eyes on him. There is no one else that she should be looking at or focused on when he is near. Blood rushes through his veins, pooling low into his groin. He wants to bury himself deep inside of her, to meld himself to her until he is a part of her, his essence seared into the very fibre of her being.
There is nothing in this world- no force powerful enough to keep him away from Rukia now that he has found her. He will cut down anyone who dares to come in between them and he will gladly gouge out the eyes of anyone who stares too long at her.
His love is a dark and twisted thing- possessive, marked by the trail of kisses stolen in the dark, harsh, noisy breathing as fingers rake and claw at his back, rings of dark-blue bite marks, bruises in the shape of his hand left in the morning light, but it doesn't mean that he is anything less than devoted to her pleasure and care. Rukia is so small and needy underneath him.
He will protect her and tend to her every whim until she realizes that he is the only one she will ever need.
.
"What I did was unnecessarily cruel and I apologize for not realizing it earlier, for not realizing how painful it would be for you to be separated from Shirayuki. It's… different for me. You must have been so scared. Also, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by this but my mother is very taken with you. She told me that she is ashamed at the prospect of raising a brute and is apparently one step away from disowning me unless I step up and do better."
The smirk that he flashes at that is a little wistful. "I want you to trust me, Rukia. I also don't want to lose the only parent I have left, so I promise. I won't do anything that you don't want me to. I want you to be happy here."
Rukia stares a little incredulously, trying to even her breathing, to show that she is unaffected by their proximity. "And just like that you're going to let me keep Shirayuki? Aren't you afraid that I'll kill you in your sleep? I might just slit your throat in the middle of the night."
Ichigo scoffs. "You can try. I guarantee you won't make it far though. Even with the All Father's explicit permission, the Sternritters still aren't happy with your existence here. They won't hesitate to attack. Death would be a dream compared to the tortures they can come up with. Think it through very carefully."
"Hey!"
Rukia squirms and yelps loudly when he snakes his arms around her. The sudden movement takes her by surprise as he rolls on to his side, taking her with him. He spoons her from behind, tucking himself around her and presses a kiss to the back of her neck. Rukia stiffens at the strange sense of déjà vu.
How is it that merely hours later, they are back in the same position that she woke up in?
She should have known better, she thinks. She holds on to Shirayuki, rolling her eyes as she chides, "You're unbelievable! What happened to stepping up and doing better? Masaki—"
"I know what my mother said. I was there, you know," he says dryly, "But I also have a very dangerous Shinigami, sharing my living space with me."
He gives a wry grin, tightening his hold on her— "I have to make sure she doesn't try anything dangerous like slit my throat during the night. I'm sure that Mom will understand. She wouldn't want any harm to come to her only son after all."
Rukia's face colours. How dare he use her words against her like this!
"Why you—"
Ichigo chuckles, his face dipping low to muffle her protests with a kiss.
"I won't apologize for what I did. I won't make you a hypocrite by making it seem as though the attraction between us is all one-sided from me. Face it, Rukia. You and I? We're connected to each other. You can deny it all you want but you want me. You are mine! The sooner you accept that, the better it'll be for all of us."
A dark look passes in his eyes but he tampers down the urge to do more to her. Patience and control— he reminds himself. He needs them in spades. He gently pries the blade away from her hands and places it by the night stand on her side.
"There!" he says, "Sleep now. I promise you it'll still be there in the morning when you wake up."
He hugs her tight, sneaking in another kiss before tucking her head under his chin. She is nestled a little too comfortably against his warm skin. His body heat making her eyelids droop despite her best efforts. Cradled so tightly to him, Rukia hears his heart beating loudly and finds herself easily lulled to sleep by it. She does her best to stay awake, stifling yawns with the back of her palm.
"What if I feel safer sleeping with Shirayuki under my pillow?" she challenges.
Ichigo's response to that is a derisive snort. Her obliviousness that she is in bed and tucked in the arms of one of the deadliest creature to ever roam Silbern is adorable.
"You're sleeping with me, Rukia. Trust me, you're safe."
"What if—"
He hushes her with a light nip at the side of her neck, telling her somewhat gruffly, "no more questions and no more 'what-if's. Nothing will happen to you. I'll kill the bastard who so much as looks at you. Now sleep!"
Ichigo knows himself and his flaws well. He is a weapon, his edges are too sharp and wicked to be handled by anyone and he won't stop attacking once he has been unsheathed. The list of people he cherishes to rein in on his more destructive rampages is woefully short. Rukia is his- his to hold and his to protect. Pity the fool who dares to try him or test the limits of his control.
There won't be enough body parts left behind to identify it by or give it a proper burial by the time he is done with it.
.
It is much too cold to be asleep.
Violet eyes snap open. She finds herself standing in the middle of a winter wonderland. This world is blanketed in thick, fluffy snow that muffles her footsteps. Snowflakes kiss at her face and cover her hair, making her shiver at the chill as they fall. A quiet sense of tranquillity settles within her.
She is in her inner world but there is something different about it. The air feels different, warmer somehow and the skies are paler, woven with wispy clouds of dusky pink and indigo blue. Maybe if she finds Shirayuki the zanpakutou spirit would be able to shed more light on the recent changes in her inner world.
Fairy lights- effervescent and glowing guide her way. They light the path to the small and humble cottage that Shirayuki keeps nestled deep in the evergreen forest. The smell of pine- fresh, sharp and sweet, is always a sign that she is getting closer to her destination.
Shirayuki is expecting her. When she pushes the cottage doors open, she expects to see the yuki-onna sitting primly on the tatami mat. The low table should be set for two. A warm cup of tea with steam rising being set aside for her as Rukia dusts off the excess snow that manages to accumulate on her during the short journey.
Rukia stops dead in her tracks. The clean smell of pine is still coming on strong and refreshing but the cottage that was Shirayuki's humble abode is nowhere to be found. There is instead a gleaming glacial palace that seems to be carved entirely out of ice. It is a fortress that belongs to days of feudal old- traditional in the arch of the sloping roofs and intricate gables, majestic with towers that soar so high they seem to touch the sky and reflective curved walls surround the complex, easily towering over the pine trees nearby. The main keep is five-tiered and gleams with a distinctive hue of white to it even from afar. The gates that guard the entrance to the palace loom impressively and they creak open with a loud groan when she steps closer to investigate.
Rukia feels the pull of Shirayuki. Her presence pulses inside the palace and so she wanders in deeper. She passes through a courtyard on her way in and in it; there are signs of life thriving, vibrant in the bloom of the evergreen trees and perhaps stranger still, flowers- snowdrops blooming in clutches of wet earth left uncovered by the snow. She has never seen them before. She wants to creep in for a closer look but her meeting with Shirayuki takes precedence.
Tearing her eyes reluctantly from the white flowers, she passes through yet another gate, a red wooden bridge built over a running stream before she finally sets foot inside the main keep. Inside, the hallways are well-lit with rows of torches, cold marble slabs lined with the warm red carpet that rolls underneath her feet, muffling her footsteps.
It is a throne room she finds herself in at the end of her journey through the maze of passageways, with walls decorated by hanging tapestries woven of silk and gold. They tell the story of her, she realizes, told in chronological sequence with lifelike etchings and colourful embroideries so delicate and intricate that they would put even the most priceless of Kuchiki heirlooms to shame.
Rukia recognizes the scenes depicted, brushing a finger against the colourful threads as she is brought back to her earlier days of running in the backwater town of Inuzuri, of the ragtag group of friends she keeps- her finger traces the outline of a red-haired child. Renji, she thinks, remembering fondly of their escapades and adventures in outsmarting street vendors and cruel men who wear sneers for smiles. It continues in that sequence- chronicling her days in the Academy, being accepted by Nii-sama into the Kuchiki clan, her growing apart from Renji as he moves onto greener pastures- there is a tear that runs along the seam there and Rukia tries not to let her sadness show- and she eventually finds her niche in the company of the Thirteenth Division. She finds herself surrounded by Kiyone, Sentarou, Ukitake-Taichou and Kaien-dono, and she is reminded of much happier times.
She stops in front of one tapestry in particular. It is the only one that is still unfinished. In it, she sees herself going toe-to-toe with Ichigo. Shirayuki's white clashing with his black katana, shadow chains binding her to him and then, them- naked and wet in a bath tub. She can feel her cheeks burning the longer that she stares, but the weaver does much justice to the sharp lines of Ichigo's face and—
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Rukia jumps at the sudden interruption. It's Shirayuki of course, she realizes –who else could it be in her inner world?— but as she turns to face her zanpakutou spirit, she finds herself rendered speechless and her eyes widen.
It is not a tatami mat that Shirayuki is seated on. In its place, there is a throne- plush and velvety. A curious crown- a diadem of blooming flowers made of ice crystals is perched upon her head. It gleams in the low light and Rukia fights the urge to kneel the closer she gets. Her zanpakutou spirit has always been a woman of peerless beauty- cold and haunting but right now it seems that she has finally lived up to her name.
She is a snow queen, crowned and made to be worshipped and adored by the masses. It is her birth right and Shirayuki wears her crown well. She commands respect and at Rukia's approach, she rises.
"Rukia," she greets. She stands tall and proud, queenly in her manners and regal in the way she carries herself. She belongs in this throne room, born to be Queen. Her lavender-hued eyes are bright and beautiful and she seems to be glowing faintly. The ends of her furisode billow softly as she makes her way down from her throne.
"What's going on?" asks Rukia. The changes in her inner world are much too drastic and too well-timed to be a coincidence. She needs to know how it happened.
Shirayuki gives a sheepish smile at her wielder, her eyes sweeping at the grandeur of the palace as she begins, "When that man touched the blade- I can't explain it but something happened. The landscape began to change. I thought- I thought you wouldn't make it. But then I woke up to find this—" The yuki-onna presses a hand to the wreath of ice flowers— "on my head. I have a crown and the cottage became a palace."
.
The torrent of blizzard and snowstorms that assailed the inner world lasted for what seemed like an eternity and an age. Avalanches- snowballs the size of a house steamrolled the cottage, destroying all that she once knew, while earthquakes rumbled threateningly, tilting the world on its axis with every heave of the shaky earth.
But Shirayuki lived through it. She survived the ordeal. She held onto hope and clung onto the rocky edges of the mountain face until her fingers bled. She didn't let go until the world stilled. And at the end of it, the flat earth gave way to the rise of jagged mountains and low-lying valleys. She earned her icy crown- for surviving the tumultuous heave, and the castle is her keep. She for one, did not take kindly to Zangetsu's arrival.
The stranger who invaded her world came to her with a smile on his lips, wearing a tattered cloak and leather armour that has seen better days. The gleam in his mismatched eyes- one blue and the other, golden yellow was mad and dangerous; the maniacal grin that stretches across his face from ear to ear had her reaching for her blade the second he appeared, wary that he was going to steal it all away from her. But he has power. Every step he took towards her radiated it and it felt intoxicating to her senses. She readied her blade, ready to defend her crown and castle, but to her surprise, the cackling man bent his knee to her.
He called her Queen, pressing his lips to the back of her palm to swear fealty and honour, and the world- the new world order fell into place. Life, she realizes. For a man who seems shrouded in the stench and gloom of death, the stranger instead brought with him the promise of spring. He promised to come later, to tell her more in the future. Shirayuki doesn't know what he and his master's plans are but she needs her mistress to be on the same page as her.
"That man- Ichigo has a zanpakutou, Rukia. His name is Zangetsu and he- he made me his queen."
.
.
By the time Rukia opens her eyes again, it is the dawn of the next morning that she sees. She is used to getting up early for her daily Shinigami training, but Ichigo keeps an even earlier schedule. His side of the bed is empty. She shivers, drawing the covers up to her chin. When she turns, Shirayuki is exactly where it was left from last night, perched on the night stand.
Ichigo, it seems, has kept his word.
She shuts her eyes, reminiscing about the strange and beautiful things she has seen in her inner world. There is a palace made of ice and a crown for Shirayuki, a throne room fit for a queen and rich tapestries woven to tell her story. He made flowers grow in her barren world of ice and snow. Shirayuki is adamant that there is more to Ichigo- more to him and his strange zanpakutou that meets the eye. He is powerful and if he can be persuaded to side with the Shinigamis instead, the tides could turn. The outcome to this thousand year blood war could end up being dramatically different.
It is with that thought that Rukia reluctantly rouses herself, picking herself up from the comforts of the bed. The floorboards are cold under her feet and she grimaces, keeping the blanket wrapped around her body tighter as she makes her way to the kitchen.
The door swings open at the slightest push from her. Ichigo is already there- seated and waiting for her in the kitchen. He greets her with a slight twitch of his lips. His morning gruffness shows in his husky voice and the faint trail of stubble. The clothes he has on are the same he slept in. Rukia can still see speckles of dried blood on them from the cut she made yesterday.
He gestures to the table laden with food and tells her to eat. She eyes it with much suspicion, part of her trepidation stemming from her inexperience and unfamiliarity with Western cuisine. It smells amazing of course. Eggs are always good. There is still a delicious smell of smoked meat lingering in the air from the wafer-thin strips of fatty pork. Sentarou called it bacon, raving about how delicious and crispy they are, showing them pictures after he returned from his exchange in Reverse London. It prompted a scolding from Kiyone about his lack of foresight as he could have brought some back for their captain instead if he were truly as devoted to Ukitake as he said he was. Silly banter ensued only to be broken up by the timely intervention of said Captain.
The distant memory sobers her, suddenly reminded yet again of her loss and absence of her companions. She pushes her plate back, having already lost some of her appetite. Ichigo seems to notice her silence and prods her gently.
"What's the matter?" he asks, looking up from his own plate, "is there anything that you don't like on your plate? I can make you something else? Would you like an omelette instead?"
He gets up, pushing his chair back noisily and Rukia's hand shoots out to stop him.
"I-It's fine. I'm just not familiar with your food. I don't think I've tried any of them before, well aside from the eggs, of course," she explains, "b-but they look delicious. T-Thank you for making breakfast!"
"Ah, it's no problem at all. It makes me happy to see you fed."
He takes the time to introduce to her the different pieces of food on her plate- the sausages, the bacon rashers, the sautéed mushrooms and grilled tomatoes. He watches as she cuts up her food into smaller pieces and smiles at the way her eyes seem to sparkle and glimmer at the taste and burst of new flavours in her mouth.
"It's delicious," she tells him quietly when she finishes sampling all of them. Ichigo remembers how little she weighed in his arms and the way her skin stretches over her ribcage, her ribs showing and clearly visible. He frowns at the thought and plies more strips of bacon from his plate onto hers instead. Give him time and he will introduce more variations of flavours- spices and herbs from all corners of the world to her and broaden her limited palate. He wants to see her well-fed and healthy.
"You need a bit more weight on you. You're too thin. Eat up!"
Rukia is about to protest about it being too much for her but swallows her words at the sharp look Ichigo sends her and nods instead. She picks up her new cutleries and chews at her food slowly. She is appalled at the idea of all this food going to waste. Want not, waste not! As a street orphan, she used to dig through scrap heaps to hunt for edible food and she remembers the cold gnawing feel of hunger well. Even now, after so many years of living as a Kuchiki instead, old habits die hard.
"I can try to make you traditional Japanese breakfast next time. But I don't think I'll be very good at it. Mom might know. She used to live in Japan. Or maybe you can show me? What do you normally have for breakfast?"
The conversation about food flows naturally between them and Rukia goes into much detail about a childhood she remembers of cooking freshly-caught fishes over camp fire, a childhood spent foraging for fruits and berries in the wild and sleeping under the stars during hot summer nights. She doesn't tell him about the sleepless nights when she goes to bed hungry and cold, about the hot summer days when she would contemplate murder just to have a sip of cool water, about how when she becomes a Shinigami there are nights when she would be so busy with paperwork that she sometimes forgets to eat. Food is wonderful and breakfast is undeniably the most important meal of the day, but she can't think of the last time someone made her breakfast willingly.
When every last morsel of her plate has been licked clean, Ichigo clears the table and gathers up their dirty dishes for washing. Rukia insists on helping and he easily steps aside, offering her space to stand by his left.
They stand side by side at the sink in silence. Ichigo is elbow-deep in soap suds, sponging at the dishes and pans before handing them over to Rukia to be rinsed and dried. They make a good team and the washing up was done before they knew it.
"I'll take you to Mom later. While you're out, people are going to come over to fix up a new wardrobe for you to put your clothes in. Shirayuki will get her own stand. Does that sound good to you?"
Rukia gives a slight nod. She is looking forward to her meeting with Masaki again if nothing else. She also remembers Shirayuki's advice and takes it to heart. She needs to befriend Ichigo. She needs him to be on her side.
"That sounds nice."
.
.
.
Author's note:
Ok, hear me out- Rukia is 144cm and 33kg. That's a BMI of 15.9. She's underweight y'all. That's why Masaki and Ichigo are very adamant that she needs to eat more. Not to mention, I headcanon due to her earlier days as an orphan and growing up on the streets, she has a difficult relationship with food.
(There's a very interesting headcanon offered by rukia-kuchiki-divided and I will offer the link on the ao3 site.)
So like Rukia might unintentionally starve herself because she's used to going hungry for long periods of time or just flat out not eating at times because she doesn't want her to be 'dependent' on it or worse use starvation to punish herself. T.T
Ichigo! Fix this!
Song inspo: Wicked Games (The Weeknd)
There is an E-rated Spotify playlist for it. Again, please see ao3 for link.