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Shi-gatsu.
“Are you busy?”
“Did you need something, Ichigo?” Rukia looked up from her desk to where Ichigo stood in the doorway to her office. She didn’t seem annoyed at being interrupted.
“Would you go for a walk with me?” Ichigo resisted the urge to fidget.
“Is there something you need to show me?”
“Yes,” Ichigo said simply, because it was more or less true. And if she didn’t stop asking questions soon, he was just going to toss her over his shoulder and carry her outside so they could talk, and that would not end well for either of them.
“All right,” Rukia smiled slightly. She pushed her chair back and stood. “Where is this thing that you want to show me?”
“In the gardens, in the cherry orchard.”
Rukia gave Ichigo a skeptical look, but walked alongside him amiably enough as they headed outside.
The late spring afternoon was shading into evening and the cherry trees in the orchard were wrapped in a veil of scent, their blossoms every color of pink from fuchsia to translucent. The petals spun in the breeze to the ground, creating a thick carpet, looking like small blizzards as they fell.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why I decided to stay here instead of in the Living World?” Ichigo started, and saw Rukia’s gaze snap over to his face. He ignored it. “I thought you’d at least be curious.”
“I assumed you had your reasons, although your decision not to join the Gotei was a surprise.” Rukia said. “But teaching seems to be a good avenue for you pursue.”
“Did you ever think it was because I wanted to be able to stay close to you?” Ichigo absolutely could not look at Rukia right now because he was completely terrified. His chest felt constricted and he had to fight to keep from wiping his sweaty palms off on the legs of his hakama.
Rukia didn’t say anything, but her gaze became very watchful.
“No…” she finally said. “It never occurred to me.”
Ichigo ducked under a branch, knocking it with his shoulder and raining petals down on the both of them.
“Oh, come on, Rukia,” Ichigo said, finally looking over at her, smiling slightly. “Do you really think that I needed as much help as I was asking for?”
“No,” said Rukia. “I did wonder about that, and why you couldn’t ask Renji for assistance.”
The petals in her hair reminded Ichigo of pearls on a wedding veil and where had that thought come from all of a sudden?
“Is it possible for you to believe that I could feel something other than friendship for you, and that’s why?” Ichigo shook his head to dislodge flower petals, not looking at Rukia. He’d learned that it was easier for her to talk about touchy subjects if he wasn’t watching her face.
They’d never had a problem talking, but communication was frequently an issue.
“To say I didn’t would be insulting to you,” Rukia said. “I know the kind of man you are, and I would never devalue your intelligence or intentions.”
“But you don’t feel the same,” Ichigo said, trying to sound neutral, even though the sentence came out sounding more like a question.
“No, that’s not it at all,” Rukia said quickly, then realized what had just come out of her mouth in her haste to correct Ichigo.
“So you do feel the same,” Ichigo turned to Rukia, grinning down at her furious, blushing face. Her little fist shot out towards his solar plexus and he blocked it easily. “Don’t try to distract me. I heard what you said.”
He didn’t release her hand, instead unfolding her fist until he could interlace his fingers with hers. Rukia frowned.
“I just don’t understand. There are so many other women, less complicated, more beautiful. Less difficult than I am. More feminine. You could have any one of them.” Rukia’s hand lay quietly in Ichigo’s.
“Less interesting, less challenging, less rewarding,” Ichigo said, pulling Rukia towards him. She didn’t resist. “I’m flattered you think I could have anyone I want, since I don't think of myself that way. But I don’t see other women. There are no other women, Rukia. Not for me. Not for a long time.”
Ichigo bent down and kissed Rukia, his hands cradling her face, and she let him. More than let him, the kiss got pretty interesting and heated, and then Rukia swept Ichigo’s legs out from under him and flash-stepped away in a fluster.
Ichigo lay on his back, smiling stupidly up at the storm of petals falling on him. Rukia’s reaction was exactly what he expected. He was surprised she’d kissed him as long and enthusiastically as she had before knocking him down and running away.
He didn’t follow her. He wanted her to come to him on her own, now that she knew a little of how he felt, or it would be meaningless.
But she only knew a little. Ichigo knew he loved Rukia. Now all he had to do was convince her of it.
**
Ichigo straightened up his quarters, which didn’t take very long. The room was so small that any amount of clutter made it look messy, so Ichigo was meticulous about keeping things in order. He had a sink in an alcove, a low table with a couple of cushions, and a futon. A rack on the wall held Zangetsu, and a small closet held his uniforms and some miscellaneous outfits for the Living World. A set of shelves held his school materials and other ephemera. He shared a bathroom with other student teachers in the compound, and they all ate in the same dining hall as the Soul Academy students.
When the war had ended, Ichigo had the choice of joining one of the 13 Court Squad Guards, but he discovered that he didn’t really want to. He wasn’t interested in being a lower ranking member, and all the upper ranks were held by friends. He didn’t want to be put in a position of having to fight them to get up the ladder. He also couldn't see himself gracefully and unquestioningly taking orders from anybody. In the military, that was a definite drawback.
He still had his passion to protect, however, and wanted to keep people safe. This translated into an interest in teaching. If he could somehow keep people from being killed by what he learned and passed on, Ichigo felt that he was contributing something just as important as being in the Gotei.
He enrolled in a program that would make him an instructor at the Soul Academy, and even managed not to disagree with his teachers over the way things were “traditionally” done more than two or three times a week. He was still called upon to do Soul Reaper work, when needed, and he didn’t have to wear a student’s uniform, which mattered to him. He felt he had earned the right to wear the shihakusho of a Shinigami, and no one seemed to want to argue with him.
Ichigo was dressed casually in a pair of loose cotton pants and a faded t-shirt when there was a knock on his door. He expected it to be Renji, his only visitor so far even after a year, and usually accompanied by a jug of sake. But he just wasn’t in the mood tonight. He had homework to do.
Ichigo slid his door open, prepared to kick Renji off his doorstep -- and saw Rukia standing there, looking nervous and annoyed.
“Rukia,” he said, surprised. “Can you give me a second?”
She nodded and he shut his door. He quickly stripped and put his fundoshi (grimacing as he usually did when he had to wear it), juban, and hakama back on, tossing his pajamas into a corner. He opened the door again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“Um, hi. Is everything okay?”
“May I come in?” Rukia asked, and Ichigo nodded. He stepped aside and let her pass, indicating that she could sit at the low table.
“I’d offer you tea, but I don’t have a way to make it,” Ichigo said, smiling. Rukia smiled faintly.
“That’s all right,” she replied, looking around. “Your room here is as neat as your room at your father’s.”
“I can’t work if my environment is messy,” Ichigo sat across from Rukia.
“I remember,” she said.
“You’ve never come to see me before, what’s the occasion?” Ichigo asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. His stomach was full of butterflies.
“I...” Rukia looked at her hands, clasped together on the tabletop. She looked back up at Ichigo. “I’m sorry I knocked you down earlier. I feel like I gave you the wrong impression.”
“Wrong impression about..?”
“That I disapproved of your actions,” Rukia said.
“You didn’t like me kissing you,” Ichigo said, feeling hollow.
“No, I did like it,” Rukia gave Ichigo a slightly rueful smile. “I just -- I wasn’t expecting it.”
“The kiss? Me kissing you? Or you liking it?” Ichigo teased. Rukia glared at him.
“Yes,” she said.
“Maybe we should practice. Just to make sure that you like the way I’m kissing you,” Ichigo suggested, eyebrow raised in challenge.
Rukia tilted her head, resting a cheek on her hand, giving him a challenging look. “Maybe we should.”
Ichigo reached over to Rukia’s cushion, grabbing the side of it in both hands and dragging it across the floor to him. She looked startled as he pulled her into his lap.
Ichigo was surprised at his own assertiveness. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t imagined, oh, a dozen scenarios of how things might turn out when he told Rukia how he felt. Most of them involved some version (usually violent) of her telling him he was stupid for even entertaining the notion. But while he hoped for something else, he hadn’t ever thought of afterwards. How that was going to go.
He had never imagined the sweetness, the rightness, of holding Rukia to him, close to his heart.
“I did not want you to think I was merely grateful to you for saving me,” Rukia said, voice vibrating against Ichigo’s sternum.
“And I didn’t want you to think I was merely grateful toyou for saving me,” Ichigo said. Rukia looked up at him, her quirked lips acknowledging his point. “After all these years, all the times we’ve saved each other, do you actually think that’s why I feel this way? Or you feel -- however you feel?”
Rukia shook her head.
“I know you’re worthy of the feelings I have for you,” she said. “Whether I am worthy of however you feel, of that I am less certain.”
“I’m not. Uncertain, I mean,” Ichigo replied. “I can’t know your feelings, but I do know mine and have for a very long time.”
Ichigo wondered how vulnerable Rukia would let herself be with him right now. He could lay out his soul to her and she might respect how he felt, but not be able to return his feelings. Still, he had to tell her. If he wasn’t honest with her right now, there would be no point to any of this. She needed to know his heart, and she needed to know that she would be safe with him if she chose to let him know hers.
“Rukia,” Ichigo said, and his heart pounded. He was about to throw himself off an emotional cliff. “Rukia, I love you. And you don’t have to say anything or do anything, no matter how you feel. But I will spend the rest of my life showing you how worthy I think you are, and trying to be worthy of you, if you let me.”
He looked down, seeing only the top of Rukia’s head, since she had buried her face in his chest, fists bunching up the fabric of his juban.
Then she looked up at him and her eyes were deep and luminous with tears, but she was smiling at him, and suddenly Ichigo was laughing and crying, too. He kissed her, and tasted salt as their tears mingled together.
There was a lot more kissing, but neither of them seemed inclined to hurry beyond it. Ichigo was just so amazed and grateful that Rukia was there in his arms, in his lap, kissing him. He didn’t dare ask for more from the universe.
Which is when a heretofore unknown drawback of the fundoshi made itself known to Ichigo.
He felt himself getting hard, and shifted Rukia away from that portion of his anatomy, not wanting to embarrass either of them. His cock caught, then bent, in the fundoshi. Cocks generally didn’t have painful right angles, and his was no exception, but he had no idea how to remedy the situation with Rukia there.
She noticed his distraction and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No...but maybe we should take a break for now?”
Rukia looked chagrined. “I suppose you have homework to do,” she said.
“There’s that.”
“I know how unforgiving the instructors can be,” Rukia stood, smoothing down her uniform and running her fingers through her hair. Ichigo got up and realized that his juban and hakama did nothing at all to hide his arousal. His face and ears burned with embarrassment as he crossed his hands in front of himself in a vain effort to conceal the tent he was pitching. Rukia looked him up and down, a tiny wicked smile on her face.
“Homework? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He scowled at her.
“I do have class work I need to do, but...” Ichigo shifted his feet, acutely uncomfortable. “I really think we should stop for the night, too.”
“All right,” Rukia agreed, still with that smile. Ichigo walked her to the door, then leaned down and kissed her chastely on the forehead, holding her hands.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” he said.
“Spar with me tomorrow?” she asked, cupping a hand around his cheekbone.
“Okay,” Ichigo agreed, leaning into her touch. Rukia stroked his face and left, sliding the door shut behind her.
“Nngh,” Ichigo groaned, untying his hakama and letting it drop so he could kick it across the room, along with the fundoshi. He swore his dick had a crease in it from the goddamned thing. He dragged his hands through his hair, leaning his forehead against the doorframe, trying to catch his breath. What an evening.
He collected himself and pulled on his pajama pants and t-shirt. Going to the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, never so happy to have his cock go limp in his entire life.
It was only later, when he had gone to bed after finishing his homework, that Ichigo allowed himself to fully feel the jubilation he had been holding back. He grinned foolishly at the ceiling. He loved Rukia. And she seemed to love him back. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy.
He fell asleep with a big smile on his face.