chrome
title. the black cat with white boots
prompt. chrome
pairing. Ichigo, Orihime
rating. K
disclaimer. applied - Bleach, Ichigo, Orihime belong to Kubo Tite.
for. Hali Challenge 2010 here
The clock on the wall says it is seven twenty. The ticking sounds are loud in the stillness of the square room. They echo, terribly so.
Tick. It is seven twenty one.
She is bending over a dining table. There is a cup of coffee on her right. It is probably cold now, muddy and tasteless, but every now and then, she would lift it up to her lips, she’d sip, a wrinkle would appear between her brows but she would continue to drink.
She is working on a thesis - something about nuclear reactors and biophysics stuffs. Her pen, a complimentary pen from a grocery store where she frequently shops for groceries, scratches the paper. She writes slowly, but the pen never stops. Words flow from her cerebral cortex to her spine, to her arm, her forearm, thin fingers and finally to the paper.
The room she has lived in for nearly three years since she started college in Tokyo is small, but clean, with chrome-colored walls and a window with a view of a train track. She has a stray black cat with white paws and curly-tipped tail as a pet; it comes every dinner and leaves after its meal, but tonight, for some strange reason, the cat has decided to stay and it is watching the girl, yawning every three seconds, its eyes half-lidded. After its twelfth yawn, the cat lowers its head on the floor and closes its eyes.
Tick. It is seven twenty five.
Her cell-phone rings.
She is startled, and the cat lifts its head, alert and grumpy. The cell-phone continues to ring, filling the silence, drowning out the sound of the ticking clock. With a dull thump, she set her pen on the table and reaches for the ringing device.
Carefully, she flips the top open.
“Tatsuki-chan,”
“Orihime,”
She glances at the clock. Seven twenty nine. “Hi,” The cat springs up to her lap. She scratches it behind its ear; it meows softly, closes its eyes and lays its head on its front paws. “Is there something wrong?”
The reply is a quick, “Nothing,”
Her lips thin. There is a brief silence. The caller sighs.
“Alright,” Her best friend says, “I have something I need to tell you.”
Her fingers stop scratching the cat, and the cat, curious, lifts its head to look up to the girl.
“What is it?”
Another sigh, and then, “It’s about…” A hesitant pause. “Ichigo.”
She stiffens, honey eyes suddenly bright - glowing oceans of thoughts, of emotions, of memories. The cat could tell there is an earthquake inside this girl - or woman - how interesting. Her pulse is rapid, it vibrates, the cat feels.
It continues to watch and listen.
“What about him?” She speaks several moments later.
Tatsuki tells her.
The leaves in Karakura have turned golden red, and they scatter everywhere, almost concealing the concrete ground. The wind is cool; fortunately, she has foresight to wear a jacket, an old rose cashmere jacket with long sleeves which are long enough to conceal her small hands and thin, long fingers, but leave the nails exposed.
He is already there, standing with his strong shoulders hunched, big hands inside his pockets, his bright hair - thick, vivid, his usual haircut. He wears jeans - old jeans, she could tell - red Chuck Taylors and windbreaker.
She steps closer and the leaves crunch under her shoes. The sound breaks the silence. She sees him rotate his head slightly to the side in a listening gesture. She takes another step, another step, three… four… five, pauses at sixth, seven, eight until the distance becomes acceptable for a conversation.
But she does not know what to say. Five years, it is such a long time, isn’t it? For her, it is. However, she perfectly knows what to do but she thinks it’s too bold for her to throw her arms around him and smell his familiar, comforting scent. So, she keeps quiet, her arms remain immobile.
She hopes he’ll speak first.
But first, he has to turn around and face her.
The ride from Tokyo to Karakura is unremarkable. The train is not full, but she insists on standing near the doors, holding on a metal pole. It is so shiny that she can see a tiny reflection of her cheek in it. Wide-eyed, she watches the scenery go by. She watches but in reality, she does not see the passing colors and shapes, the slopes and the curves. But she can hear the familiar clack-clack of the wheels. It comforts her, strangely.
There is an announcement, the train slows down and eventually stops. The electronic doors before her slide open.
People flow in, people flow out. An endless cycle. A sad, endless cycle.
The train moves again.
The dining room returns to its previous state after the phone call. The cat is now sleeping on her lap peacefully, the coffee colder, her thesis forgotten, and the pen stationary. She is staring at the chrome wall before her, and the chrome wall is staring back at her.
There is a distant sound of a train passing, momentarily disrupting the silence. The quietness returns, the sound of the clock ticking reigns once again, and the chrome walls keep staring at her.
They are mocking her, she thinks vaguely.
He must have heard or read her thoughts because he turns around and faces her. A smile automatically appears on her face. But she knows that he knows that while it is real - she is always honest, her smiles are always honest - it is also forced. How ironic.
He hasn’t changed a bit. Oh, he is taller, his shoulders broader. He is more handsome now, but there is a certain tiredness etched on his features, making him look older, rougher. But he still has the same frightening intense eyes, strong nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. When he smiles slightly, his features change a bit. The hard lines soften, the wrinkles relax. She smiles in return, this time, more natural. It feels good to be smiled at.
“Hey,”
His voice, it is deeper now. Her reaction, however, is the same: she shivers, her heart responds.
She says, “Kurosaki-kun.”
There is a look in his eyes, fleeting, and it is gone in a second. “You still call me Kurosaki-kun.”
“It’s a habit, I think.” His gaze on her makes her heart tremble, like a twig about to be broken in halves by a cruel wind. So, she averts her gaze.
There is a moment of silence, punctured occasionally by birds flying off and of leaves scuffing the ground, dancing in the wind. There is a distant roar of a train passing. Then, there is silence, a complete, heavy silence.
She heaves a deep sigh, lifts her eyes and looks straight into his. Her heart, it flutters more, it pounds and it feels like it is expanding inside her ribcage, contracting, spreading out, and reforming before calming. He always has this weird and unbelievably strong influence on her heartbeat. Sometimes, she thinks it is pathological.
“I came to say goodbye.” Sounds of chirping birds follow her statement. Then, another silence falls.
His look, it does not change. He does not even blink.
“I know.” The words roll off his tongue. It is uncharacteristically soft, but everybody knows that he is softer to her, gentler. This knowledge comforts her when all she has are the black cat with white paws and the chrome walls.
“I heard,” Her voice cracks a little; she continues. “I heard about your… promotion.” She is not sure about the term, but she uses it anyway. He does not reply; his gaze becomes heavier, though.
“It’s an order.”
“It’s… It’s great, isn’t it?”
The look changes a bit. The corners of his mouth harden. “Is it?”
No, it isn’t. Being dead at twenty one is as sad as the winter rain, as sad as watching sunset while it rains. He has a family here, a father who needs someone to tackle, two sisters he’d like to see grow up, and friends he’d like to hang out with every now and then. His life is here. He has so many things he could do; he has so many chances, opportunities and choices.
She is here.
But she does not voice these things. She is older now, but she, she is still a coward. But really, she is trying, oh she is trying.
“Well,” She knows what to say but she does not know how to say them. “I… I don’t know.” She looks straight into his eyes.
He steps closer; she does not step away. There is a seven inch distance between them. He bends slightly so his mouth hovers before her ear.
“Stop me.”
Honey brown eyes widen, flare and brighten.
“You, you can stop me.”
The sliding doors leading to Soul Society appears several feet behind him. As usual, it opens with a chime, a dull thud, and flurry of black butterflies. Familiar faces appear: two captains, a vice captain, several foot soldiers.
“Kurosaki Ichigo,” the shinigami captain’s voice breaks the silence. “Please cooperate. We are instructed to use force if necessary.”
“He’s leaving. No, they are forcing him to go to whatever-it-is. They want him sequestered.” Tatsuki is saying. “You have to go back here. Talk to him.”
“Say goodbye, you mean.” She says softly. The cat on her lap is now sitting up, looking up to the auburn-haired girl with its golden eyes.
Tatsuki sighs. “Orihime,” She sounds tired, not exasperated, just really tired. “Yes. It would be a goodbye if you do nothing.”
She does not reply, Tatsuki continues.
“Do something. Say something. Anything.”
“Run.”
He frowns. Their heads turn to each other. Their gazes meet and lock. He is frowning visibly now, lips in straight line, jaw tensed, eyes dark as dark as the coffee she has sipped and abandoned two nights ago.
Blushing timidly but staring back at those brown eyes determinedly, she licks her lips; her heartbeat is a drum roll.
“Run away with me.”
Time pauses for a second.
Then the corner of his lips curves in a slow, honest smile; even his eyes smile. Startling her, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her towards his chest. She blushes brightly, her skin suddenly hot. Their lips are few centimeters apart and they are so close that she feels like she is drowning in his scent.
“Hold on tight.” He whispers against her trembling lips.
The door opens after three knocks.
It is Yuzu who opens the door. “Orihime-nee?”
“Hi, Yuzu-chan,” She lowers the wicket basket on the ground and cradles the black cat with white paws and curly-tipped tail. “It is odd, but he does not like fish.” She says after a few minutes, stroking the cat who gazes at her unblinkingly. “He eats fish cakes, though. But he prefers rice cakes, pickles and bread.” She tickles the cat’s chin, lifts it and hugs it in between her cheek and shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.” She whispers very quietly. For five years, the black cat has been her sole companion. True, it appears only when it’s hungry and leaves after gobbling his meal. But the cat, it is always there when she needs something tangible to touch and hold.
Yuzu is watching her.
“I’m sorry but I have to ask. Can you please look after him? Don’t worry. He’s… toilet-trained.” She smiles gently. Slowly, Yuzu reaches for the cat; it frowns, sizing up the blonde girl with sharp, golden eyes. Yuzu stares back innocently, hands spread before her. Carefully, Yuzu stretches her hands forward, the tips of her fingers touching black fur. The cat does not complain. It lets Yuzu hold him against her chest.
“Thank you, Yuzu-chan. I’ll…” The cat is staring at her knowingly. She bites her lips.
The cat does not like to be lied to, so she shakes her head and says, “Thank you, Yuzu-chan, for everything. There is a two months worth of food in the basket.”
“Okay.” Yuzu smiles, her small hand strokes the cat’s head. “See you in two months.”
The cat meows.
It is goodbye.
“Let’s go.”
And they run.
prompt. chrome
pairing. Ichigo, Orihime
rating. K
disclaimer. applied - Bleach, Ichigo, Orihime belong to Kubo Tite.
for. Hali Challenge 2010 here
The clock on the wall says it is seven twenty. The ticking sounds are loud in the stillness of the square room. They echo, terribly so.
Tick. It is seven twenty one.
She is bending over a dining table. There is a cup of coffee on her right. It is probably cold now, muddy and tasteless, but every now and then, she would lift it up to her lips, she’d sip, a wrinkle would appear between her brows but she would continue to drink.
She is working on a thesis - something about nuclear reactors and biophysics stuffs. Her pen, a complimentary pen from a grocery store where she frequently shops for groceries, scratches the paper. She writes slowly, but the pen never stops. Words flow from her cerebral cortex to her spine, to her arm, her forearm, thin fingers and finally to the paper.
The room she has lived in for nearly three years since she started college in Tokyo is small, but clean, with chrome-colored walls and a window with a view of a train track. She has a stray black cat with white paws and curly-tipped tail as a pet; it comes every dinner and leaves after its meal, but tonight, for some strange reason, the cat has decided to stay and it is watching the girl, yawning every three seconds, its eyes half-lidded. After its twelfth yawn, the cat lowers its head on the floor and closes its eyes.
Tick. It is seven twenty five.
Her cell-phone rings.
She is startled, and the cat lifts its head, alert and grumpy. The cell-phone continues to ring, filling the silence, drowning out the sound of the ticking clock. With a dull thump, she set her pen on the table and reaches for the ringing device.
Carefully, she flips the top open.
“Tatsuki-chan,”
“Orihime,”
She glances at the clock. Seven twenty nine. “Hi,” The cat springs up to her lap. She scratches it behind its ear; it meows softly, closes its eyes and lays its head on its front paws. “Is there something wrong?”
The reply is a quick, “Nothing,”
Her lips thin. There is a brief silence. The caller sighs.
“Alright,” Her best friend says, “I have something I need to tell you.”
Her fingers stop scratching the cat, and the cat, curious, lifts its head to look up to the girl.
“What is it?”
Another sigh, and then, “It’s about…” A hesitant pause. “Ichigo.”
She stiffens, honey eyes suddenly bright - glowing oceans of thoughts, of emotions, of memories. The cat could tell there is an earthquake inside this girl - or woman - how interesting. Her pulse is rapid, it vibrates, the cat feels.
It continues to watch and listen.
“What about him?” She speaks several moments later.
Tatsuki tells her.
The leaves in Karakura have turned golden red, and they scatter everywhere, almost concealing the concrete ground. The wind is cool; fortunately, she has foresight to wear a jacket, an old rose cashmere jacket with long sleeves which are long enough to conceal her small hands and thin, long fingers, but leave the nails exposed.
He is already there, standing with his strong shoulders hunched, big hands inside his pockets, his bright hair - thick, vivid, his usual haircut. He wears jeans - old jeans, she could tell - red Chuck Taylors and windbreaker.
She steps closer and the leaves crunch under her shoes. The sound breaks the silence. She sees him rotate his head slightly to the side in a listening gesture. She takes another step, another step, three… four… five, pauses at sixth, seven, eight until the distance becomes acceptable for a conversation.
But she does not know what to say. Five years, it is such a long time, isn’t it? For her, it is. However, she perfectly knows what to do but she thinks it’s too bold for her to throw her arms around him and smell his familiar, comforting scent. So, she keeps quiet, her arms remain immobile.
She hopes he’ll speak first.
But first, he has to turn around and face her.
The ride from Tokyo to Karakura is unremarkable. The train is not full, but she insists on standing near the doors, holding on a metal pole. It is so shiny that she can see a tiny reflection of her cheek in it. Wide-eyed, she watches the scenery go by. She watches but in reality, she does not see the passing colors and shapes, the slopes and the curves. But she can hear the familiar clack-clack of the wheels. It comforts her, strangely.
There is an announcement, the train slows down and eventually stops. The electronic doors before her slide open.
People flow in, people flow out. An endless cycle. A sad, endless cycle.
The train moves again.
The dining room returns to its previous state after the phone call. The cat is now sleeping on her lap peacefully, the coffee colder, her thesis forgotten, and the pen stationary. She is staring at the chrome wall before her, and the chrome wall is staring back at her.
There is a distant sound of a train passing, momentarily disrupting the silence. The quietness returns, the sound of the clock ticking reigns once again, and the chrome walls keep staring at her.
They are mocking her, she thinks vaguely.
He must have heard or read her thoughts because he turns around and faces her. A smile automatically appears on her face. But she knows that he knows that while it is real - she is always honest, her smiles are always honest - it is also forced. How ironic.
He hasn’t changed a bit. Oh, he is taller, his shoulders broader. He is more handsome now, but there is a certain tiredness etched on his features, making him look older, rougher. But he still has the same frightening intense eyes, strong nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. When he smiles slightly, his features change a bit. The hard lines soften, the wrinkles relax. She smiles in return, this time, more natural. It feels good to be smiled at.
“Hey,”
His voice, it is deeper now. Her reaction, however, is the same: she shivers, her heart responds.
She says, “Kurosaki-kun.”
There is a look in his eyes, fleeting, and it is gone in a second. “You still call me Kurosaki-kun.”
“It’s a habit, I think.” His gaze on her makes her heart tremble, like a twig about to be broken in halves by a cruel wind. So, she averts her gaze.
There is a moment of silence, punctured occasionally by birds flying off and of leaves scuffing the ground, dancing in the wind. There is a distant roar of a train passing. Then, there is silence, a complete, heavy silence.
She heaves a deep sigh, lifts her eyes and looks straight into his. Her heart, it flutters more, it pounds and it feels like it is expanding inside her ribcage, contracting, spreading out, and reforming before calming. He always has this weird and unbelievably strong influence on her heartbeat. Sometimes, she thinks it is pathological.
“I came to say goodbye.” Sounds of chirping birds follow her statement. Then, another silence falls.
His look, it does not change. He does not even blink.
“I know.” The words roll off his tongue. It is uncharacteristically soft, but everybody knows that he is softer to her, gentler. This knowledge comforts her when all she has are the black cat with white paws and the chrome walls.
“I heard,” Her voice cracks a little; she continues. “I heard about your… promotion.” She is not sure about the term, but she uses it anyway. He does not reply; his gaze becomes heavier, though.
“It’s an order.”
“It’s… It’s great, isn’t it?”
The look changes a bit. The corners of his mouth harden. “Is it?”
No, it isn’t. Being dead at twenty one is as sad as the winter rain, as sad as watching sunset while it rains. He has a family here, a father who needs someone to tackle, two sisters he’d like to see grow up, and friends he’d like to hang out with every now and then. His life is here. He has so many things he could do; he has so many chances, opportunities and choices.
She is here.
But she does not voice these things. She is older now, but she, she is still a coward. But really, she is trying, oh she is trying.
“Well,” She knows what to say but she does not know how to say them. “I… I don’t know.” She looks straight into his eyes.
He steps closer; she does not step away. There is a seven inch distance between them. He bends slightly so his mouth hovers before her ear.
“Stop me.”
Honey brown eyes widen, flare and brighten.
“You, you can stop me.”
The sliding doors leading to Soul Society appears several feet behind him. As usual, it opens with a chime, a dull thud, and flurry of black butterflies. Familiar faces appear: two captains, a vice captain, several foot soldiers.
“Kurosaki Ichigo,” the shinigami captain’s voice breaks the silence. “Please cooperate. We are instructed to use force if necessary.”
“He’s leaving. No, they are forcing him to go to whatever-it-is. They want him sequestered.” Tatsuki is saying. “You have to go back here. Talk to him.”
“Say goodbye, you mean.” She says softly. The cat on her lap is now sitting up, looking up to the auburn-haired girl with its golden eyes.
Tatsuki sighs. “Orihime,” She sounds tired, not exasperated, just really tired. “Yes. It would be a goodbye if you do nothing.”
She does not reply, Tatsuki continues.
“Do something. Say something. Anything.”
“Run.”
He frowns. Their heads turn to each other. Their gazes meet and lock. He is frowning visibly now, lips in straight line, jaw tensed, eyes dark as dark as the coffee she has sipped and abandoned two nights ago.
Blushing timidly but staring back at those brown eyes determinedly, she licks her lips; her heartbeat is a drum roll.
“Run away with me.”
Time pauses for a second.
Then the corner of his lips curves in a slow, honest smile; even his eyes smile. Startling her, he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her towards his chest. She blushes brightly, her skin suddenly hot. Their lips are few centimeters apart and they are so close that she feels like she is drowning in his scent.
“Hold on tight.” He whispers against her trembling lips.
The door opens after three knocks.
It is Yuzu who opens the door. “Orihime-nee?”
“Hi, Yuzu-chan,” She lowers the wicket basket on the ground and cradles the black cat with white paws and curly-tipped tail. “It is odd, but he does not like fish.” She says after a few minutes, stroking the cat who gazes at her unblinkingly. “He eats fish cakes, though. But he prefers rice cakes, pickles and bread.” She tickles the cat’s chin, lifts it and hugs it in between her cheek and shoulder. “I’m going to miss you.” She whispers very quietly. For five years, the black cat has been her sole companion. True, it appears only when it’s hungry and leaves after gobbling his meal. But the cat, it is always there when she needs something tangible to touch and hold.
Yuzu is watching her.
“I’m sorry but I have to ask. Can you please look after him? Don’t worry. He’s… toilet-trained.” She smiles gently. Slowly, Yuzu reaches for the cat; it frowns, sizing up the blonde girl with sharp, golden eyes. Yuzu stares back innocently, hands spread before her. Carefully, Yuzu stretches her hands forward, the tips of her fingers touching black fur. The cat does not complain. It lets Yuzu hold him against her chest.
“Thank you, Yuzu-chan. I’ll…” The cat is staring at her knowingly. She bites her lips.
The cat does not like to be lied to, so she shakes her head and says, “Thank you, Yuzu-chan, for everything. There is a two months worth of food in the basket.”
“Okay.” Yuzu smiles, her small hand strokes the cat’s head. “See you in two months.”
The cat meows.
It is goodbye.
“Let’s go.”
And they run.