Bleach fic, Serendipity
title: Serendipity
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Ichigo/Orihime
rating: K+
summary: AU. She wasn't something he was seeking. But he found her anyway.
status: complete
words: 2098
Hollow Rock took over the underground indie music. It was an offshoot of visual kei, and the most definitive look for it was the mask. Most bands wore a white uniform customized to their own designs, very stark against the only embellishment allowed: black trimming. The music was visceral, pounding almost straight to the bloodstream of its fans, with lyrics and songtitles that were almost indecipherable.
Ichigo's hands and upper torso were painted white, with parallel black markings raying out of a black circle in the middle of his chest, tuffs of red fur glued to his wrists and the base of his neck. Aside from the mask and the wig, he wore only a black hakama-quite the contrast with his bandmates who all wore white. He was only a substitute guitarist, their own having gone MIA somewhere. To sleep, was the speculation; it wasn't the first time Starrk pulled a no-show.
He breathed briskly beneath the mask, heavy with the weight of horns, as he strummed his black guitar, Tensa Zangetsu, in rhythm with Di Roy's drums, Shawlong's bass, and the raging vocals of the blue-haired frontman of Arrancar, Grimmjow. Ichigo's orange wig clung to his back with sweat under the hot stage lights; he could feel his body paint melting in the heat. But still, he lost himself to the music.
The king gallops
Shaking free from the shadow,
Beating the armor,
Kicking about the bones,
Slurping the flesh and blood,
The creaking increases.
Smashing the heart
He walks in alone
Toward the faraway other side
Grimmjow threw his head back and forth in beat to the closing chords of the guitar and the hard, harsh pounding of the drums, the long blue wig flipping madly. He flourished the end with a scream, and the crowd went wild.
"Yo, bitches! Give a hand to Kurosaki on guitar! Whooo!"
Panting, Ichigo gave a nod and a wave to the crowd.
"That bastard Starrk didn't show up today, so we'll all give him hell next time, huh?"
There were catcalls and screams from the crowd.
"I can't hear you, bitches."
The crowd gave a deafening roar.
"YEAH! That's it! Okay. One last song. The classic 'Hado 91'."
Ichigo shook his head vigorously, droplets of water from a quick shower at the dressing room bathroom scattering in the air.
"Yo, you coming with us?" asked Shawlong as he pulled a shirt over his head.
"Nah, man, sorry. Gotta meet up with Shinji about the upcoming gig."
"Why don't you join with us fulltime? Subbing as a guitarist for a few other bands must suck."
"You already got Starrk."
"We can fire his ass for not showing up, that bastard."
Ichigo chuckled as he donned his sweater and shouldered his guitar case. "Gotta go. Thanks for letting me play with you guys. Later."
Heat from the hallway greeted him as he stepped out. The bouncer on guard gave him a nod and a "Great show!" as he passed by. He gave a small smile in turn that turned into a grimace as he realized how parched he was. Maybe a stop at the bar wouldn't hurt, he thought. Turning the corner into the darkened club, something soft bumped into his chest and out of reflex he took hold of its arms to balance it.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking at where I was going," came a soft voice, and he found himself mesmerized by a pair of grey eyes on an oval face, framed by locks of auburn hair, his thirst forgotten.
He blinked, loosening his hold and lifting one hand to scratch the back of his head, thankful that the dim lights of the club hid his flaming cheeks (whose heat he could totally feel all the way through to his ears). He'd never had this kind of reaction to anyone before, and there was something about her that was familiar.
"No big deal," he replied with a shrug, appearing nonchalant.
She gasped. "You're Kurosaki. You were great up there with the Arrancar. I heard they called you at short notice because Starrk was nowhere to be found."
An Arrancar groupie? he thought, almost unnerved by the sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest. He should be happy he was recognized, right?
"Uh, thanks."
"I've been to all your shows with other bands. You are so amazing with all of them-oh." She covered her mouth with her hands, looking mortified and shy at her outburst.
While he, well, an uncontrollable grin stretched one side of his lips, the disappointment suddenly dissipated.
"Thanks, uh...?"
"Inoue," she answered primly, lowering her hands.
"Inoue," he sounded out, tasting the texture of her name on his tongue. "I feel like I've seen you somewhere before."
"Oh, um, I used to play in a band."
"Oh? Used to?"
"Yeah, I played bass for Loly and Menoly."
Ichigo snapped his fingers. "You were the one with the ripped sleeves."
She giggled, her eyes alighting. "Yeah, that was me."
"Was that a wardrobe malfunction? I seem to remember you didn't have your sleeves ripped in a show before that."
She blinked up at him, wonder evident at his observation. "I didn't know you watched our shows."
He shrugged. "You played a mean bass."
She bit her lip in an effort to curb the giddy smile that threatened to stretch her face at his compliment. Her heart-which had been beating ferociously since she bumped into him-suddenly felt like it was going on overdrive.
"So how come they fired you?"
She winced. "It's because my mask kept falling off."
He took a step back in surprise. "Are you serious?"
She nodded. "They got so mad at me that they started ripping my clothes just before the gig and told me that was the last time I could play with them."
He could only shake his head, partly in disbelief, and mostly to dispel the image of her clothes getting ripped off in a way that was far from what she had meant. "Well, you're better off without them." He almost slugged himself at the unintentional entendre. "The band, I mean. Not the clothes." He clarified, wincing. Smooth, Ichigo. Very smooth.
"FIGHT!" bellowed someone from behind them, and the crowd surged. He pinned her against the wall to protect her from the rush, arms on either side of her head, while she held on to the guitarcase that had slipped from his shoulder. Almost forehead to forehead with her, he grimaced from the pressure of the throng at his back. "Sorry about this," he murmured, and she just shook her head in reply, her nose bumping against his, and all they could seem to do short of kissing was to breathe in each other.
Close. Too close. But strangely, it was comfortable. Although they'd only just met, they felt as though they've known each other longer, known each other beyond watching on the stage. It was all he could do not to press his body flush against hers, at the back of his mind wondering if she wouldn't mind it at all.
If anyone else cared to turn their eyes away from the fight on the dance floor, they would have figured the two at the corner to have been making out.
"Hey, hey, break it up!" yelled one of the bouncers, making way through the crowd and dispersing them, and Ichigo felt the pressure at his back ease off. Holding out his hand and nodding to the exit, he sent her a question in his gaze, and she nodded and took his hand. He slung the strap of the case back up his shoulder and led her from the hot, sweltering club and into the cool air outside. Inhaling, he almost choked when the cool air touched his throat, reminding him of his earlier thirst.
"Are you alright, Kurosaki-kun?" Immediately, she was at his side, patting his back.
He pointed to his throat. "Just a bit thirsty."
"Oh, here." She reached inside her purse for a bottled water. "It's only three-quarters full, but you're welcome to drink it all." At his arched eyebrow, she continued, almost shyly, "It's my way of saying 'thank you' for saving me back there."
A wry grin spreading on his lips, he took the proffered bottle with a nod and drank, closing his eyes with contentment (and tried to keep his blush at a minimum when he realized the indirect kiss).
"Ara, are you wearing a Quincy Archer sweater?"
Retracting the bottle from his lips, he looked down at his brown top, and then towards her own brown matching hoodie.
"Yeah...how weird is that?"
"We're wearing the same." She giggled, clasping her hands.
Seeing Inoue's eyes dancing with delight, he was of two minds to curb the urge to kiss her senseless. It was all too strange-he'd never felt this pull, this strong an attraction before. He felt as though he was a magnet, drawn inexorably to her force, and he only glimpsed a slight flash of apprehension in her eyes, that in a quick blink was replaced by welcoming ardour, when he lowered his head and gave in to the urge.
Her lips were soft, and he swallowed the gasp that escaped her. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise, electrified, and he couldn't help but deepen the pressure, relishing in her moans and the hitching of her breathing. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting, and he couldn't help but smile, flicking his tongue out teasingly against her lips before pulling away.
Her head moved as though to pull him back, her half-mast eyes immediately widening, and she stepped back, flushed and biting her lips.
His heart thrummed, and he reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek, and she couldn't veil the want, the more, please from her expression, her gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips, and he couldn't help but succumb to the pull once more.
Head lowering, he was surprised by the heavy weight of her hand on his shoulder.
"Mwah. Mwah, mwah, mwah."
Disturbed, Inoue and Ichigo broke away from each other to find the culprit making absurd kissing noises-and to whom the hand belonged to.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the blond frontman of the Vizards teased with a click of his tongue. "Out in public, eh? I always thought you were a prude, Ichigo." The blond shook his head, removing his hand from the orange-haired's shoulder to take Orihime's hand. "Inoue-san," he greeted as he kissed her fingers, which she quickly took back to cover her face with.
"Shinji!" exclaimed Ichigo, his gaze sharp, and the blond backed away, his hands held up.
"Sorry, sorry. I was just on my way to the meet-up and was just passin' by. I figured you'd be there by now. Didn't fancy catchin' you doing something private out in public. There's a love hotel nearby, y'know?"
"Fuck off!"
"Ara, I should tell you that instead."
"I really should be going," interjected Orihime as she began to back away, feeling as though her face was steaming from mortification.
"Inoue-"
"Inoue-san, I was just teasin'. I know you're not the kinda gal that sleeps around like your former bandmates."
Ichigo couldn't help turning to him. "How would you know something like that?"
Shinji just smirked at him before turning back to Orihime. "How's about joining us, Inoue-san? We're off to a karaoke party with the rest of my band for a meeting."
Orihime shook her head. "I couldn't possibly impose, Hirako-kun."
"Nonsense! We'd love to have ya join, and I'm sure Ichigo here would love it even more."
Ichigo clenched his fist, barely able to hold himself back from hitting Shinji. But a glance at Orihime swiftly stifled the urge, and he had to admit he couldn't deny the truth of his words. He didn't really want her to go after just having met her.
"Is it really okay?"
Ichigo cleared his throat, settling instead for a nod in assent. He could feel that this was the beginning of something, something that he knew deep in his gut was important, something that might be wonderful, and that to let her leave now would be something that he knew he would regret, possibly for the rest of his life. Feeling bold, he held out his hand.
Beside him, he could see in his periphery that Shinji was hiding his cackling of utter glee as Orihime shyly took his hand, and he bopped his friend at the back of the head-hard-as he led her away.
author: caledon (the_tower_room)
pairing: Ichigo/Orihime
rating: K+
summary: AU. She wasn't something he was seeking. But he found her anyway.
status: complete
words: 2098
Hollow Rock took over the underground indie music. It was an offshoot of visual kei, and the most definitive look for it was the mask. Most bands wore a white uniform customized to their own designs, very stark against the only embellishment allowed: black trimming. The music was visceral, pounding almost straight to the bloodstream of its fans, with lyrics and songtitles that were almost indecipherable.
Ichigo's hands and upper torso were painted white, with parallel black markings raying out of a black circle in the middle of his chest, tuffs of red fur glued to his wrists and the base of his neck. Aside from the mask and the wig, he wore only a black hakama-quite the contrast with his bandmates who all wore white. He was only a substitute guitarist, their own having gone MIA somewhere. To sleep, was the speculation; it wasn't the first time Starrk pulled a no-show.
He breathed briskly beneath the mask, heavy with the weight of horns, as he strummed his black guitar, Tensa Zangetsu, in rhythm with Di Roy's drums, Shawlong's bass, and the raging vocals of the blue-haired frontman of Arrancar, Grimmjow. Ichigo's orange wig clung to his back with sweat under the hot stage lights; he could feel his body paint melting in the heat. But still, he lost himself to the music.
The king gallops
Shaking free from the shadow,
Beating the armor,
Kicking about the bones,
Slurping the flesh and blood,
The creaking increases.
Smashing the heart
He walks in alone
Toward the faraway other side
Grimmjow threw his head back and forth in beat to the closing chords of the guitar and the hard, harsh pounding of the drums, the long blue wig flipping madly. He flourished the end with a scream, and the crowd went wild.
"Yo, bitches! Give a hand to Kurosaki on guitar! Whooo!"
Panting, Ichigo gave a nod and a wave to the crowd.
"That bastard Starrk didn't show up today, so we'll all give him hell next time, huh?"
There were catcalls and screams from the crowd.
"I can't hear you, bitches."
The crowd gave a deafening roar.
"YEAH! That's it! Okay. One last song. The classic 'Hado 91'."
Ichigo shook his head vigorously, droplets of water from a quick shower at the dressing room bathroom scattering in the air.
"Yo, you coming with us?" asked Shawlong as he pulled a shirt over his head.
"Nah, man, sorry. Gotta meet up with Shinji about the upcoming gig."
"Why don't you join with us fulltime? Subbing as a guitarist for a few other bands must suck."
"You already got Starrk."
"We can fire his ass for not showing up, that bastard."
Ichigo chuckled as he donned his sweater and shouldered his guitar case. "Gotta go. Thanks for letting me play with you guys. Later."
Heat from the hallway greeted him as he stepped out. The bouncer on guard gave him a nod and a "Great show!" as he passed by. He gave a small smile in turn that turned into a grimace as he realized how parched he was. Maybe a stop at the bar wouldn't hurt, he thought. Turning the corner into the darkened club, something soft bumped into his chest and out of reflex he took hold of its arms to balance it.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking at where I was going," came a soft voice, and he found himself mesmerized by a pair of grey eyes on an oval face, framed by locks of auburn hair, his thirst forgotten.
He blinked, loosening his hold and lifting one hand to scratch the back of his head, thankful that the dim lights of the club hid his flaming cheeks (whose heat he could totally feel all the way through to his ears). He'd never had this kind of reaction to anyone before, and there was something about her that was familiar.
"No big deal," he replied with a shrug, appearing nonchalant.
She gasped. "You're Kurosaki. You were great up there with the Arrancar. I heard they called you at short notice because Starrk was nowhere to be found."
An Arrancar groupie? he thought, almost unnerved by the sinking feeling of disappointment in his chest. He should be happy he was recognized, right?
"Uh, thanks."
"I've been to all your shows with other bands. You are so amazing with all of them-oh." She covered her mouth with her hands, looking mortified and shy at her outburst.
While he, well, an uncontrollable grin stretched one side of his lips, the disappointment suddenly dissipated.
"Thanks, uh...?"
"Inoue," she answered primly, lowering her hands.
"Inoue," he sounded out, tasting the texture of her name on his tongue. "I feel like I've seen you somewhere before."
"Oh, um, I used to play in a band."
"Oh? Used to?"
"Yeah, I played bass for Loly and Menoly."
Ichigo snapped his fingers. "You were the one with the ripped sleeves."
She giggled, her eyes alighting. "Yeah, that was me."
"Was that a wardrobe malfunction? I seem to remember you didn't have your sleeves ripped in a show before that."
She blinked up at him, wonder evident at his observation. "I didn't know you watched our shows."
He shrugged. "You played a mean bass."
She bit her lip in an effort to curb the giddy smile that threatened to stretch her face at his compliment. Her heart-which had been beating ferociously since she bumped into him-suddenly felt like it was going on overdrive.
"So how come they fired you?"
She winced. "It's because my mask kept falling off."
He took a step back in surprise. "Are you serious?"
She nodded. "They got so mad at me that they started ripping my clothes just before the gig and told me that was the last time I could play with them."
He could only shake his head, partly in disbelief, and mostly to dispel the image of her clothes getting ripped off in a way that was far from what she had meant. "Well, you're better off without them." He almost slugged himself at the unintentional entendre. "The band, I mean. Not the clothes." He clarified, wincing. Smooth, Ichigo. Very smooth.
"FIGHT!" bellowed someone from behind them, and the crowd surged. He pinned her against the wall to protect her from the rush, arms on either side of her head, while she held on to the guitarcase that had slipped from his shoulder. Almost forehead to forehead with her, he grimaced from the pressure of the throng at his back. "Sorry about this," he murmured, and she just shook her head in reply, her nose bumping against his, and all they could seem to do short of kissing was to breathe in each other.
Close. Too close. But strangely, it was comfortable. Although they'd only just met, they felt as though they've known each other longer, known each other beyond watching on the stage. It was all he could do not to press his body flush against hers, at the back of his mind wondering if she wouldn't mind it at all.
If anyone else cared to turn their eyes away from the fight on the dance floor, they would have figured the two at the corner to have been making out.
"Hey, hey, break it up!" yelled one of the bouncers, making way through the crowd and dispersing them, and Ichigo felt the pressure at his back ease off. Holding out his hand and nodding to the exit, he sent her a question in his gaze, and she nodded and took his hand. He slung the strap of the case back up his shoulder and led her from the hot, sweltering club and into the cool air outside. Inhaling, he almost choked when the cool air touched his throat, reminding him of his earlier thirst.
"Are you alright, Kurosaki-kun?" Immediately, she was at his side, patting his back.
He pointed to his throat. "Just a bit thirsty."
"Oh, here." She reached inside her purse for a bottled water. "It's only three-quarters full, but you're welcome to drink it all." At his arched eyebrow, she continued, almost shyly, "It's my way of saying 'thank you' for saving me back there."
A wry grin spreading on his lips, he took the proffered bottle with a nod and drank, closing his eyes with contentment (and tried to keep his blush at a minimum when he realized the indirect kiss).
"Ara, are you wearing a Quincy Archer sweater?"
Retracting the bottle from his lips, he looked down at his brown top, and then towards her own brown matching hoodie.
"Yeah...how weird is that?"
"We're wearing the same." She giggled, clasping her hands.
Seeing Inoue's eyes dancing with delight, he was of two minds to curb the urge to kiss her senseless. It was all too strange-he'd never felt this pull, this strong an attraction before. He felt as though he was a magnet, drawn inexorably to her force, and he only glimpsed a slight flash of apprehension in her eyes, that in a quick blink was replaced by welcoming ardour, when he lowered his head and gave in to the urge.
Her lips were soft, and he swallowed the gasp that escaped her. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise, electrified, and he couldn't help but deepen the pressure, relishing in her moans and the hitching of her breathing. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting, and he couldn't help but smile, flicking his tongue out teasingly against her lips before pulling away.
Her head moved as though to pull him back, her half-mast eyes immediately widening, and she stepped back, flushed and biting her lips.
His heart thrummed, and he reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear and stroking her cheek, and she couldn't veil the want, the more, please from her expression, her gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips, and he couldn't help but succumb to the pull once more.
Head lowering, he was surprised by the heavy weight of her hand on his shoulder.
"Mwah. Mwah, mwah, mwah."
Disturbed, Inoue and Ichigo broke away from each other to find the culprit making absurd kissing noises-and to whom the hand belonged to.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the blond frontman of the Vizards teased with a click of his tongue. "Out in public, eh? I always thought you were a prude, Ichigo." The blond shook his head, removing his hand from the orange-haired's shoulder to take Orihime's hand. "Inoue-san," he greeted as he kissed her fingers, which she quickly took back to cover her face with.
"Shinji!" exclaimed Ichigo, his gaze sharp, and the blond backed away, his hands held up.
"Sorry, sorry. I was just on my way to the meet-up and was just passin' by. I figured you'd be there by now. Didn't fancy catchin' you doing something private out in public. There's a love hotel nearby, y'know?"
"Fuck off!"
"Ara, I should tell you that instead."
"I really should be going," interjected Orihime as she began to back away, feeling as though her face was steaming from mortification.
"Inoue-"
"Inoue-san, I was just teasin'. I know you're not the kinda gal that sleeps around like your former bandmates."
Ichigo couldn't help turning to him. "How would you know something like that?"
Shinji just smirked at him before turning back to Orihime. "How's about joining us, Inoue-san? We're off to a karaoke party with the rest of my band for a meeting."
Orihime shook her head. "I couldn't possibly impose, Hirako-kun."
"Nonsense! We'd love to have ya join, and I'm sure Ichigo here would love it even more."
Ichigo clenched his fist, barely able to hold himself back from hitting Shinji. But a glance at Orihime swiftly stifled the urge, and he had to admit he couldn't deny the truth of his words. He didn't really want her to go after just having met her.
"Is it really okay?"
Ichigo cleared his throat, settling instead for a nod in assent. He could feel that this was the beginning of something, something that he knew deep in his gut was important, something that might be wonderful, and that to let her leave now would be something that he knew he would regret, possibly for the rest of his life. Feeling bold, he held out his hand.
Beside him, he could see in his periphery that Shinji was hiding his cackling of utter glee as Orihime shyly took his hand, and he bopped his friend at the back of the head-hard-as he led her away.