Crossposted from kurosaki Clinic
Title: Honestly.
Length: 775 Words
Setting: Post present point in canon by two years.
Characters: Ichigo, Tatsuki.
Notes: Written in response to a request for IchiTatsu.
Tatsuki knew she was in for it when she saw Ichigo stomp towards her hiding place in the library, an angrier than usual expression on his face. The high school senior threw an opened envelope onto the private study desk where she was sitting, the cubicle failing to prevent him from finding her. Damn his ability to track reiatsu.
Ichigo tapped his index finger against the folded stationary loudly. “Care to explain this?”
The unrest that had settled in her chest since morning doubled in intensity. She masked the turmoil by responding to him in kind: narrowed eyes, chin raised high, and a chip on her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t give me that. I’ve known you too long to recognize your choppy handwriting anywhere. And who do I find when I go to the lab room at noon? Inoue, waiting for me, with ‘something important to tell me.’”
“Did you hear her out?”
He scrounged his forehead and lowered his gaze to the desk; it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, and deep down she knows she doesn’t want to hear it, wants to cover her ears because her resolve might break if she does. “Yeah.”
“And?”
It was like waiting for the dentist’s whirring drill to connect. “I told her I appreciated her feelings but I can’t go out with her.”
She’s furious; she’s gone over this scene in her head so many times in the past week her hands seize his collar before her mind can register the explosion of emotions that’s far more complex than just rage; guilt and relief and confusion and more guilt. This is her cover, her excuse for herself: Orihime’s Best Friend. As long as she’s acting as Orihime’s Best Friend she doesn’t have to face him as Tatsuki. “Why? How could you?”
But it’s no use, he wouldn't let her hide. “Why you’re always trying to set me up with her?”
Her hands fisted tighter into his shirt, he remained unflinching. She ground her teeth as tears threatened to well up. “Because Hime loves you.”
It was the final answer, the end all be all reason for which she left her own feelings out of everything, but the calm which the man standing before her displayed-like a snub to her sacrifice-did nothing to assuage her agitation.
“It doesn’t give you the right to play with my life.”
“What am I supposed to do then? You’re so damn selfless all the time that some one has to be selfish for you or you’re never going to be happy!”
As soon as she saw the darkened look on his face she wished she could take the words back. Ichigo-who shouldered more burdens than any eighteen year old should bear, who had stood by her through life and school and growing up’s sunny and dreary stretches--was hurt. And now people in the library were starting to stare and whisper and she couldn’t blink back the tears that began to roll down her face so she wiped at them furiously with her wrist band. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; this wasn’t what she envisioned at all.
She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him and Hime to be together and keep change between them to a minimum so she could stay a part of his life and keep her place by his side, even if that place was small and shrinking and going away.
“… If you’re so concerned about my future, why don’t you show some responsibility and do it yourself?”
“Eh?” Before she could look up, she found herself pulled into a strong embrace. Her face, still a wet mess with tears and other fluids, was pressed tight against his white summer uniform shirt that was firm and warm beneath.
“You’re a blockhead, you know?” She felt large hands smooth tentatively against her hair-hands used to gripping sword hilts and fighting that were now learning a new way to protect-and was startled by how comfortably her head nestled between his jaw and his neck. “I’ve been told plenty of times that I was bad at self honesty, but you’re even worse.”
Her attempt at a glare fails before it begins, the curve at the corner of her still shaking lips undermining the effort. When his face moves closer, she ignores the burn on her cheeks, closes her eyes, and gives in to the moment of weakness that she imagined giving into a hundred times before, the realization that he was her first kiss equally frustrating and liberating until she remembered that she was his first too.
http://michikusa.chu.jp/diary/gomi.2.JPG
*The link points to an image by a Japanese fan artist, whose art I found to be fitting to the story's image. Thanks for reading!*
Length: 775 Words
Setting: Post present point in canon by two years.
Characters: Ichigo, Tatsuki.
Notes: Written in response to a request for IchiTatsu.
Tatsuki knew she was in for it when she saw Ichigo stomp towards her hiding place in the library, an angrier than usual expression on his face. The high school senior threw an opened envelope onto the private study desk where she was sitting, the cubicle failing to prevent him from finding her. Damn his ability to track reiatsu.
Ichigo tapped his index finger against the folded stationary loudly. “Care to explain this?”
The unrest that had settled in her chest since morning doubled in intensity. She masked the turmoil by responding to him in kind: narrowed eyes, chin raised high, and a chip on her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t give me that. I’ve known you too long to recognize your choppy handwriting anywhere. And who do I find when I go to the lab room at noon? Inoue, waiting for me, with ‘something important to tell me.’”
“Did you hear her out?”
He scrounged his forehead and lowered his gaze to the desk; it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, and deep down she knows she doesn’t want to hear it, wants to cover her ears because her resolve might break if she does. “Yeah.”
“And?”
It was like waiting for the dentist’s whirring drill to connect. “I told her I appreciated her feelings but I can’t go out with her.”
She’s furious; she’s gone over this scene in her head so many times in the past week her hands seize his collar before her mind can register the explosion of emotions that’s far more complex than just rage; guilt and relief and confusion and more guilt. This is her cover, her excuse for herself: Orihime’s Best Friend. As long as she’s acting as Orihime’s Best Friend she doesn’t have to face him as Tatsuki. “Why? How could you?”
But it’s no use, he wouldn't let her hide. “Why you’re always trying to set me up with her?”
Her hands fisted tighter into his shirt, he remained unflinching. She ground her teeth as tears threatened to well up. “Because Hime loves you.”
It was the final answer, the end all be all reason for which she left her own feelings out of everything, but the calm which the man standing before her displayed-like a snub to her sacrifice-did nothing to assuage her agitation.
“It doesn’t give you the right to play with my life.”
“What am I supposed to do then? You’re so damn selfless all the time that some one has to be selfish for you or you’re never going to be happy!”
As soon as she saw the darkened look on his face she wished she could take the words back. Ichigo-who shouldered more burdens than any eighteen year old should bear, who had stood by her through life and school and growing up’s sunny and dreary stretches--was hurt. And now people in the library were starting to stare and whisper and she couldn’t blink back the tears that began to roll down her face so she wiped at them furiously with her wrist band. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; this wasn’t what she envisioned at all.
She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him and Hime to be together and keep change between them to a minimum so she could stay a part of his life and keep her place by his side, even if that place was small and shrinking and going away.
“… If you’re so concerned about my future, why don’t you show some responsibility and do it yourself?”
“Eh?” Before she could look up, she found herself pulled into a strong embrace. Her face, still a wet mess with tears and other fluids, was pressed tight against his white summer uniform shirt that was firm and warm beneath.
“You’re a blockhead, you know?” She felt large hands smooth tentatively against her hair-hands used to gripping sword hilts and fighting that were now learning a new way to protect-and was startled by how comfortably her head nestled between his jaw and his neck. “I’ve been told plenty of times that I was bad at self honesty, but you’re even worse.”
Her attempt at a glare fails before it begins, the curve at the corner of her still shaking lips undermining the effort. When his face moves closer, she ignores the burn on her cheeks, closes her eyes, and gives in to the moment of weakness that she imagined giving into a hundred times before, the realization that he was her first kiss equally frustrating and liberating until she remembered that she was his first too.
http://michikusa.chu.jp/diary/gomi.2.JPG
*The link points to an image by a Japanese fan artist, whose art I found to be fitting to the story's image. Thanks for reading!*