Bleach : Untitled : Chad/Karin
Title: Untitled
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13/T
Genre: General, romance
Characters: Chad, Karin
Pairings: Chad/Karin
Summary: Sado knows what day it is when Karin appears on his doorstep in a dress. A excerpt from their fledging relationship.
Sado knows what day it is when Karin appears on his doorstep in a dress. In high school she began wearing one on the anniversary of her mother’s death, a gesture that always surprised him-judging by what Ichigo told him about her, he thinks Kurosaki Masaki probably knows, and doesn’t care, that her daughter is a tomboy. Even now, a university student, accustomed to this once-yearly concession to traditional femininity, she looks uncomfortable and disconcerted, as though expecting him to make some sort of comment on the modest black coatdress, the light touches of makeup on her face. He doesn’t. He stands aside to let her into the house, and she steps forward after only the slightest beat of hesitation.
Sado doesn’t ask about the memorial ritual, or how Ichigo is doing, or about Yuzu’s studies in nursing school or whether Isshin has decided to retire yet. Those are the questions he’ll ask Ichigo later. This moment is Karin’s moment.
“How are you?” he asks simply instead.
She considers, hovering in the foyer with the door still open behind her. “Hungry,” she says at last.
Sado silently reaches over her head to push the door shut, and then he takes her into the kitchen and sits her down at the table and begins to cook for her. Enchiladas with celery, onion, and zucchini topped with spicy chili-tomato sauce and cheese, gorditas stuffed with refried beans mixed with chili powder, tomatoes and sour cream, chalupa cupping shredded chicken and green salsa, thick rajas con crema made with poblano peppers and chicken broth, long-grain rice browned with onion and garlic-Karin eats everything he puts in front of her like she never means to stop, so quickly he wonders if she even tastes it, relieving the bite of the spicy dishes with tall glasses of milk and thick chunks of bread.
He runs out of ingredients and ideas eventually and has to stop, but Karin sighs after she finishes the last enchilada as though satisfied.
“Better?”
She pushes her hair out of her eyes. It’s longer now than it was when she was a child, brushing her shoulders, but only when she doesn’t tie it back in a ponytail. “Yeah.”
He sits down at the table and watches her shred a chunk of bread into thin leavings. Her nails have been bitten nearly to the quick. One thing she’ll never do, he knows, is paint them. He thinks about reaching across the table to cover her hands with his, to stroke her palms and compare the lengths of their fingers. He likes the contrast-her small, white hands in his huge brown ones, as large as catcher’s mitts.
“It was okay,” she says abruptly, as though continuing a conversation they’d been having. “I mean, it’s fine and all, usually. Dad tries to make things lighthearted.” She rolls her eyes. “Moronic though he is.”
He nods and waits.
“I hate it though,” she says after a beat. “I wouldn’t tell any of them, but I really do. I’d rather remember Mom some other way.” She raises her eyes to his. “Alone, I guess.”
He nods again. The coin around his neck lays heavily against his chest.
She gets to her feet abruptly and comes around the table, to him. Their eyes are nearly level like this, her standing and him sitting; she’s grown, of course, but the top of her head is barely level with the middle of his chest when they’re both on their feet.
“Chad?” The tiniest lift in pitch makes his name a question. She’s in the habit of calling him by her brother’s nickname-nearly all of his friends are, by this point-but he doesn’t mind.
He curls one hand around the back of her neck and pulls her closer, brings her mouth down to his. She leans into him and kisses fiercely, deeply, her mouth tasting of chili powder and tomatoes. It’s an addicting flavor. Every kiss has been like this, since the first time nearly three months ago-secrets behind closed doors, heady and dangerous. It nearly knocked him off his feet, the first time she wrapped her arms around his neck with all the strength in her lithe body and pressed her lips against his and made him realize he didn’t see her as a sister, and perhaps never had.
Karin pulls away first and straightens, taking a breath and blowing it out sharply. “I hate this dress.”
She turns and walks out of the kitchen, discarding the garment as she goes, and the unveiling of her pale back is too tempting not to follow.
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13/T
Genre: General, romance
Characters: Chad, Karin
Pairings: Chad/Karin
Summary: Sado knows what day it is when Karin appears on his doorstep in a dress. A excerpt from their fledging relationship.
Sado knows what day it is when Karin appears on his doorstep in a dress. In high school she began wearing one on the anniversary of her mother’s death, a gesture that always surprised him-judging by what Ichigo told him about her, he thinks Kurosaki Masaki probably knows, and doesn’t care, that her daughter is a tomboy. Even now, a university student, accustomed to this once-yearly concession to traditional femininity, she looks uncomfortable and disconcerted, as though expecting him to make some sort of comment on the modest black coatdress, the light touches of makeup on her face. He doesn’t. He stands aside to let her into the house, and she steps forward after only the slightest beat of hesitation.
Sado doesn’t ask about the memorial ritual, or how Ichigo is doing, or about Yuzu’s studies in nursing school or whether Isshin has decided to retire yet. Those are the questions he’ll ask Ichigo later. This moment is Karin’s moment.
“How are you?” he asks simply instead.
She considers, hovering in the foyer with the door still open behind her. “Hungry,” she says at last.
Sado silently reaches over her head to push the door shut, and then he takes her into the kitchen and sits her down at the table and begins to cook for her. Enchiladas with celery, onion, and zucchini topped with spicy chili-tomato sauce and cheese, gorditas stuffed with refried beans mixed with chili powder, tomatoes and sour cream, chalupa cupping shredded chicken and green salsa, thick rajas con crema made with poblano peppers and chicken broth, long-grain rice browned with onion and garlic-Karin eats everything he puts in front of her like she never means to stop, so quickly he wonders if she even tastes it, relieving the bite of the spicy dishes with tall glasses of milk and thick chunks of bread.
He runs out of ingredients and ideas eventually and has to stop, but Karin sighs after she finishes the last enchilada as though satisfied.
“Better?”
She pushes her hair out of her eyes. It’s longer now than it was when she was a child, brushing her shoulders, but only when she doesn’t tie it back in a ponytail. “Yeah.”
He sits down at the table and watches her shred a chunk of bread into thin leavings. Her nails have been bitten nearly to the quick. One thing she’ll never do, he knows, is paint them. He thinks about reaching across the table to cover her hands with his, to stroke her palms and compare the lengths of their fingers. He likes the contrast-her small, white hands in his huge brown ones, as large as catcher’s mitts.
“It was okay,” she says abruptly, as though continuing a conversation they’d been having. “I mean, it’s fine and all, usually. Dad tries to make things lighthearted.” She rolls her eyes. “Moronic though he is.”
He nods and waits.
“I hate it though,” she says after a beat. “I wouldn’t tell any of them, but I really do. I’d rather remember Mom some other way.” She raises her eyes to his. “Alone, I guess.”
He nods again. The coin around his neck lays heavily against his chest.
She gets to her feet abruptly and comes around the table, to him. Their eyes are nearly level like this, her standing and him sitting; she’s grown, of course, but the top of her head is barely level with the middle of his chest when they’re both on their feet.
“Chad?” The tiniest lift in pitch makes his name a question. She’s in the habit of calling him by her brother’s nickname-nearly all of his friends are, by this point-but he doesn’t mind.
He curls one hand around the back of her neck and pulls her closer, brings her mouth down to his. She leans into him and kisses fiercely, deeply, her mouth tasting of chili powder and tomatoes. It’s an addicting flavor. Every kiss has been like this, since the first time nearly three months ago-secrets behind closed doors, heady and dangerous. It nearly knocked him off his feet, the first time she wrapped her arms around his neck with all the strength in her lithe body and pressed her lips against his and made him realize he didn’t see her as a sister, and perhaps never had.
Karin pulls away first and straightens, taking a breath and blowing it out sharply. “I hate this dress.”
She turns and walks out of the kitchen, discarding the garment as she goes, and the unveiling of her pale back is too tempting not to follow.