Exchange - IchiRuki
Yosh! I have finally started writing something for my IchiRuki claim over at 
30_nights. I haven't written for a while so believe me, I think this fanfic sucks. .____. (Whatta way to encourage yourself!!!)
Title: Exchange
Author/Artist:
chained_angel13
Theme(s): Theme 6: Stolen Heart
Pairing/Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite.
Summary: He gave her some coloring materials and she gave him the finished product.
It was a normal evening routine of yours.
You once again invaded his sanctuary, by occupying his once empty study table, as you attempted to connect the crooked lines in your paper, hoping to come up with a new masterpiece of Chappy the Bunny. He, then, crept his way to his table, which you again “borrowed” without permission (not that he cared anyway), and snatched the paper away from your hands with a creased face.
You knew that it was his way to cover his hysterics, so you kicked his shin in the process, which soon ensued to a bunch of profanities being thrown at your face.
You glared at him and he glared back.
He called you a bitch and you called him a bastard.
And those were enough.
Everything was normal for both of you, at least, for now. You hoped that nothing would ever change. But that was more of a defense mechanism, rather than optimism.
You knew that everything would change, if not now, perhaps in the future.
You could feel yourself falling, and you saw him falling with you.
-----
The next day, after dinner, it was still a normal routine.
You sat on his study table, immersed with a slightly crumpled piece of paper, as your hand (with a colored pen) travelled along the crooked lines of your drawing from yesterday’s work.
His presence then alarmed your senses, making you pause for a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, you shifted your attention back to your masterpiece, assuring yourself that the orange-haired lad only needed a short and silent time of his own. In a few seconds, you presumed, he would be back in insulting your oh-so-great of an artwork and then you would start kicking his shin for doing so.
You would glare at him and he would glare back.
He would call you a bitch and you would call him a bastard.
And those were enough.
A few more minutes passed, and you could feel the sudden tension surged in the atmosphere. You felt suddenly naked under his gaze, and your throat had gone dry. Though it was only your back facing his penetrating gaze, every shred of hope you have, was suddenly taken away.
But you weren’t listening to the sudden rush of your gigai’s heartbeat, so you continued tracing the black lines of Chappy the Bunny with a shaking hand.
Everything was still all right.
It was more of a defense mechanism, rather than optimism.
Because, it was not a normal evening routine anymore.
“Rukia,” he began, his voice laden with a haunting tone - the tone he uses to imply that something is wrong, “can we, you and I, be together?”
You accidentally made a tight scratch in your paper, which resulted to a small hole.
You felt the urge to cry. You worked hard on your drawing, by trying to connect the lines together, no matter how crooked and oblique they were. You tried so hard to come up with a whole drawing, intact and unharmed.
Yes, the damage was small, but irrevocable. So irrevocable.
“Ichigo,” you tried to come up with something decent to say without facing him, though your mind persisted to stay silent and unmoved. For the first time, you found his name so foreign to your lips.
“ONEE-SANNNNNNNN!!!!!!!”
A booming sound fortunately erupted from the closet.
For the first time, you found Kon as a hero, not as a perverted stuff toy.
You heard him sigh behind you. You heard him break a little. You even heard his heart drop.
And so did yours.
You decided to retreat for the night, so with small steps, you gathered yourself, leaving the damage to your drawing, neglected and mistreated. It would probably patch up the next day. Just a simple evening routine, with both of you exchanging glares and curses, would be enough to mend it.
A day had passed and neither of you decided to bring the conversation last night. However, you appreciated his occasional attempts to speak to you, only to be interrupted by either the soft cackling sound of the wind or the footsteps coming your way.
But it was better that way.
At least, though in painful denial, everything was still all right.
---
That night, it still wasn’t a normal evening for both of you. When you walked up to his study table and saw your ruined artwork still on top, the high hopes you have to get it fixed gradually diminished with each burning second.
You could not find your coloring materials anywhere. They were stolen, perhaps, but you wanted them back.
“You‘re being unfair Rukia.” His voice rang through your ears like cymbals, loud and clear. “I gave you those colored pens, didn‘t I? I have the right to take them back, if I want too.”
You whirled around to see him standing a meter away from you, with that ever so present scowl of his. On his right hand were your coloring materials; you sighed in relief.
“You are being unreasonable, idiot. You should have told me that you took it and I wouldn‘t have to suffer thinking where they went!” You snapped at him.
He grunted at your words, “Why should I give them back to you when you don‘t even know how to take care of them?!!”
You knew what he was talking about. It was not about those damn colors you received as a birthday present, neither those pencils nor pens he gave you out of annoyance.
It was his heart. Untouched and unloved.
‘He wants his heart back.’ Your conscience calmly reminded.
He walked past you in a grouchy manner, slamming the box of color pencils on top of your drawing. You hated him when he acts this way, but you hated yourself more when the need to touch him becomes too much to ignore.
You are dead and he is alive. Therefore, you could never touch him, no matter how close he always has.
He is innocent. Still too innocent for you.
Your hands were stained with blood from a number of hollows you forgot to keep track of. You took away his life. You came barging into his life offhandedly without any second thoughts of the consequences and risks you might cause him and his family.
You are too selfish. Too selfish for him.
He became a philanthropist by giving his heart to you, and you became a misanthropist by rejecting it.
“Don‘t be so immature.” You said, out of the blue. “I never asked you to give it in the first place.”
“What-”
You interrupted him; you planned to get straight to the point. “We are worlds apart. I am dead, you are alive.”
He turned his back away from you and walked towards the door. You hurt him, but that pain was still not enough to keep him away.
He paused for a moment and surprisingly, he grinned at her, yet sadly, as expected. “You being dead make me realize that when I die, I will surely find you. Being alive assures me that I can give you the life you never had before. It‘s as simple as that.”
You were caught off guard by his words. Piercing, yet sincere to your ears.
He continued, with his back now facing you, “You can have those freaking coloring materials for as long as you want. If you get tired of them, don‘t give it back to me, its yours.”
And he walked outside his room.
You stood there, stiff and rigid, your jaw slightly hung open, yet your eyes hold everything you held so dear and close.
It was a start.
You were touched by his words and believed them.
You felt him.
----
It was a normal evening routine.
You rushed off to his bedroom right after school without any second glances towards the other members of the Kurosaki family. Tonight, you have decided to fix your Chappy the Bunny drawing, in hopes of making everything back to normal.
You ignored the ruined part of your drawing and continued tracing the contours of Chappy with the appropriate colors.
Tonight, you have decided to end any form of misunderstanding.
Tonight, you have decided to feel.
Tonight, you will let your heart get stolen.
By no one else, but him.
So when you finished your Chappy artwork, you called his name, louder than before, more demanding than before until he finally appeared right beside you, giving you a confused and well-hidden pained look (but not to you, though).
You shoved your drawing in front of his face with a very silly expression, just like before.
He gave you a smug look and you kicked his shin for doing so. He called you a bitch and you called him a bastard. He glared at you and you glared back.
But your eyes soften in the end.
“Next time, I promise to make a drawing free of scratches and unnecessary marks. But hey, Ichigo, you will accept it still, right?” You smiled cockily at him.
He widened his eyes at what you said.
But you knew his answer just from the way he looked.
“If it gets torn apart, I cannot promise that I can make another one.” You scoffed at him and turned around.
“I know.” And you missed the small smile on his lips.
END.
The characters are a tad bit OOC, but I can't help it. *squeesquee* I finished it in almost an hour and a half, and you got that right, I didn't even check it for errors. Now I wouldn't have to worry of dropping my claim over at
30_nights. Nishishishi! I should probably make a drabble for my SasuSaku claim over at
30_angsts later this day. *nods*
And, btw, I might post my icons later this week. Ohohohoho!!! Yes, I have to post it, before the FIFa fever ends. *surprisesurprise*
30_nights. I haven't written for a while so believe me, I think this fanfic sucks. .____. (Whatta way to encourage yourself!!!)
Title: Exchange
Author/Artist:
chained_angel13
Theme(s): Theme 6: Stolen Heart
Pairing/Characters: Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Rukia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite.
Summary: He gave her some coloring materials and she gave him the finished product.
It was a normal evening routine of yours.
You once again invaded his sanctuary, by occupying his once empty study table, as you attempted to connect the crooked lines in your paper, hoping to come up with a new masterpiece of Chappy the Bunny. He, then, crept his way to his table, which you again “borrowed” without permission (not that he cared anyway), and snatched the paper away from your hands with a creased face.
You knew that it was his way to cover his hysterics, so you kicked his shin in the process, which soon ensued to a bunch of profanities being thrown at your face.
You glared at him and he glared back.
He called you a bitch and you called him a bastard.
And those were enough.
Everything was normal for both of you, at least, for now. You hoped that nothing would ever change. But that was more of a defense mechanism, rather than optimism.
You knew that everything would change, if not now, perhaps in the future.
You could feel yourself falling, and you saw him falling with you.
-----
The next day, after dinner, it was still a normal routine.
You sat on his study table, immersed with a slightly crumpled piece of paper, as your hand (with a colored pen) travelled along the crooked lines of your drawing from yesterday’s work.
His presence then alarmed your senses, making you pause for a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, you shifted your attention back to your masterpiece, assuring yourself that the orange-haired lad only needed a short and silent time of his own. In a few seconds, you presumed, he would be back in insulting your oh-so-great of an artwork and then you would start kicking his shin for doing so.
You would glare at him and he would glare back.
He would call you a bitch and you would call him a bastard.
And those were enough.
A few more minutes passed, and you could feel the sudden tension surged in the atmosphere. You felt suddenly naked under his gaze, and your throat had gone dry. Though it was only your back facing his penetrating gaze, every shred of hope you have, was suddenly taken away.
But you weren’t listening to the sudden rush of your gigai’s heartbeat, so you continued tracing the black lines of Chappy the Bunny with a shaking hand.
Everything was still all right.
It was more of a defense mechanism, rather than optimism.
Because, it was not a normal evening routine anymore.
“Rukia,” he began, his voice laden with a haunting tone - the tone he uses to imply that something is wrong, “can we, you and I, be together?”
You accidentally made a tight scratch in your paper, which resulted to a small hole.
You felt the urge to cry. You worked hard on your drawing, by trying to connect the lines together, no matter how crooked and oblique they were. You tried so hard to come up with a whole drawing, intact and unharmed.
Yes, the damage was small, but irrevocable. So irrevocable.
“Ichigo,” you tried to come up with something decent to say without facing him, though your mind persisted to stay silent and unmoved. For the first time, you found his name so foreign to your lips.
“ONEE-SANNNNNNNN!!!!!!!”
A booming sound fortunately erupted from the closet.
For the first time, you found Kon as a hero, not as a perverted stuff toy.
You heard him sigh behind you. You heard him break a little. You even heard his heart drop.
And so did yours.
You decided to retreat for the night, so with small steps, you gathered yourself, leaving the damage to your drawing, neglected and mistreated. It would probably patch up the next day. Just a simple evening routine, with both of you exchanging glares and curses, would be enough to mend it.
A day had passed and neither of you decided to bring the conversation last night. However, you appreciated his occasional attempts to speak to you, only to be interrupted by either the soft cackling sound of the wind or the footsteps coming your way.
But it was better that way.
At least, though in painful denial, everything was still all right.
---
That night, it still wasn’t a normal evening for both of you. When you walked up to his study table and saw your ruined artwork still on top, the high hopes you have to get it fixed gradually diminished with each burning second.
You could not find your coloring materials anywhere. They were stolen, perhaps, but you wanted them back.
“You‘re being unfair Rukia.” His voice rang through your ears like cymbals, loud and clear. “I gave you those colored pens, didn‘t I? I have the right to take them back, if I want too.”
You whirled around to see him standing a meter away from you, with that ever so present scowl of his. On his right hand were your coloring materials; you sighed in relief.
“You are being unreasonable, idiot. You should have told me that you took it and I wouldn‘t have to suffer thinking where they went!” You snapped at him.
He grunted at your words, “Why should I give them back to you when you don‘t even know how to take care of them?!!”
You knew what he was talking about. It was not about those damn colors you received as a birthday present, neither those pencils nor pens he gave you out of annoyance.
It was his heart. Untouched and unloved.
‘He wants his heart back.’ Your conscience calmly reminded.
He walked past you in a grouchy manner, slamming the box of color pencils on top of your drawing. You hated him when he acts this way, but you hated yourself more when the need to touch him becomes too much to ignore.
You are dead and he is alive. Therefore, you could never touch him, no matter how close he always has.
He is innocent. Still too innocent for you.
Your hands were stained with blood from a number of hollows you forgot to keep track of. You took away his life. You came barging into his life offhandedly without any second thoughts of the consequences and risks you might cause him and his family.
You are too selfish. Too selfish for him.
He became a philanthropist by giving his heart to you, and you became a misanthropist by rejecting it.
“Don‘t be so immature.” You said, out of the blue. “I never asked you to give it in the first place.”
“What-”
You interrupted him; you planned to get straight to the point. “We are worlds apart. I am dead, you are alive.”
He turned his back away from you and walked towards the door. You hurt him, but that pain was still not enough to keep him away.
He paused for a moment and surprisingly, he grinned at her, yet sadly, as expected. “You being dead make me realize that when I die, I will surely find you. Being alive assures me that I can give you the life you never had before. It‘s as simple as that.”
You were caught off guard by his words. Piercing, yet sincere to your ears.
He continued, with his back now facing you, “You can have those freaking coloring materials for as long as you want. If you get tired of them, don‘t give it back to me, its yours.”
And he walked outside his room.
You stood there, stiff and rigid, your jaw slightly hung open, yet your eyes hold everything you held so dear and close.
It was a start.
You were touched by his words and believed them.
You felt him.
----
It was a normal evening routine.
You rushed off to his bedroom right after school without any second glances towards the other members of the Kurosaki family. Tonight, you have decided to fix your Chappy the Bunny drawing, in hopes of making everything back to normal.
You ignored the ruined part of your drawing and continued tracing the contours of Chappy with the appropriate colors.
Tonight, you have decided to end any form of misunderstanding.
Tonight, you have decided to feel.
Tonight, you will let your heart get stolen.
By no one else, but him.
So when you finished your Chappy artwork, you called his name, louder than before, more demanding than before until he finally appeared right beside you, giving you a confused and well-hidden pained look (but not to you, though).
You shoved your drawing in front of his face with a very silly expression, just like before.
He gave you a smug look and you kicked his shin for doing so. He called you a bitch and you called him a bastard. He glared at you and you glared back.
But your eyes soften in the end.
“Next time, I promise to make a drawing free of scratches and unnecessary marks. But hey, Ichigo, you will accept it still, right?” You smiled cockily at him.
He widened his eyes at what you said.
But you knew his answer just from the way he looked.
“If it gets torn apart, I cannot promise that I can make another one.” You scoffed at him and turned around.
“I know.” And you missed the small smile on his lips.
END.
The characters are a tad bit OOC, but I can't help it. *squeesquee* I finished it in almost an hour and a half, and you got that right, I didn't even check it for errors. Now I wouldn't have to worry of dropping my claim over at
30_nights. Nishishishi! I should probably make a drabble for my SasuSaku claim over at
30_angsts later this day. *nods*
And, btw, I might post my icons later this week. Ohohohoho!!! Yes, I have to post it, before the FIFa fever ends. *surprisesurprise*