Work Text:
There were sp many better ways to meet Prince Charming.
Not in your pajamas for one thing, and certainly not at two in morning in the kitchen of the commune you live in, stuffing your face with Rocky Road while he lurked around like a serial killer.
Though, honestly, if that weren't the case, Rukia would probably be very very very dead.
College was a chore that overwhelmed her life to the point where the last time she had a proper good night’s rest had been October when she was seventeen and applying to be sleep deprived. Of course being a walking zombie didn’t just mean she lacked sleep, she lacked food too, and during a bout of insomnia – because Rukia could never have nice things – she trudged down for ice-cream.
She’d heard noises in the foyer, but she assumed it was one of her housemates coming back from a night out.
Vaguely, in her stupor, she recalled that Inoue – class president, pre-med, part-time model, real-life princess and would-be-sorority queen if there ever was one – was going on about how she was going to get her ex-boyfriend back during breakfast.
Her busty housemate had declared she was going to call him from some party, in distress, and he’d come running.
Tatsuki begrudgingly agreed that it would work, “Ichigo’s got a hero complex.”
Which apparently also translated to his appearance; tall, broad-shouldered with clearly defined muscles even through his Henley, Rukia mused that he looked like Inoue’s perfect match, right down to the same shade of orange hair crowning his head. Of course, that didn’t stop her from almost dropping the carton of ice-cream she was cradling like a newborn baby. “God, can you not?”
He raised his hands in defense. “Sorry, just – looking for water.”
Squinting at him, she flicked her spoon in the direction of the fridge in the corner before resuming her eating.
Her brother would have died if he found out that she was being an ungracious host, but also – two in the morning – not enough shits to give. Byakuya-nii-sama didn’t need to know. It would be a one-time thing, probably.
If Inoue wasn’t able to entice this Ichigo guy back into a relationship with her tonight (this morning?), there was no doubt in Rukia’s mind that she’d try again, but Rukia highly doubted she’d be part of any future visits. This was just a coincidence.
“Do I…know you?”
“Just your girlfriend’s housemate,” she replied. They’d never met, though Rukia felt like she knew all about him from Inoue.
Pre-med with a minor in literature, former boxing champ and a six-pack you could grate cheese on.
Inoue and he hadn’t been dating for long, though according to Tatsuki the other girl had been crushing on Ichigo since high school, and had even followed him to university. No one could ever accuse Inoue of being anything other than dedicated. And crazy, but that was just Rukia’s take. And Tatsuki’s. And Nanao’s.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Ichigo corrects with a grimace.
Rukia shrugged, waving her spoon. “Poh-tah-to tom-ah-to.”
“She called me saying she needed help.”
Rukia nodded her head in understanding because I was there when she was scheming. “And you’re bringing her water for the hangover tomorrow, that’s sweet.”
There was a slight reddening of his cheeks as he ducked his head and while filling the glass with water, he asked, “Painkillers?”
“Bottom drawer,” she said around her spoon.
He bent over and Rukia found herself focusing very hard on her ice-cream.
Who knew guys could have asses that perky? Could probably flick quarters off that. She coughed on the thought. God, I’m running on too little sleep to be around other people.
“So, how long have you lived here?”
Her reply was muffled by the spoon in her mouth, a preemptive move to prevent verbal diarrhea, as she answered, “Moved in this year.”
“Going to the university?”
“Un,” she tacked on a nod for added measure. “We’re on the same campus.”
Ichigo raised his brows. “What?”
“Oh, Inoue doesn’t stop talking about you,” Rukia explained with a shrug. Considering he dated her housemate for like a month, he’d know how intense she was, Rukia told herself that was why she was exposing Inoue's crazy, and not because Rukia was still salty at having all her shows interrupted with verbal dissertations about how amazing Ichigo was. “But I think we have a class together? I don’t know; it’s the first time I’m actually seeing you, and also I'm sleep deprived, I could be having this conversation with myself for all I know.”
He snorted, doesn't touch her sleep deprivation comment, and says, “I’m pretty sure I would have noticed you.”
“Hey, it’s not like I walk around campus in a onesie,” she defended, even if her Chappy one was the very definition of adorable.
“No,” Ichigo chuckled shaking his head. “That’s not – I mean – I would’ve noticed you.”
She squinted at him. “That sounds vaguely like a compliment, and you’re cute and all, but I’m going to have to pass. Inoue’s got dibs.”
“Technically she had her turn,” he defended, not perturbed, though clearly amused.
“What, so you want to be passed around the commune?” Not that anyone else would be willing to – you know – Nanao was in a long-term relationship with some hippy from her political sciences class and Rukia was pretty solid on Tatsuki being a lesbian.
“Besides,” Rukia added with a self-deprecating smile, “I don’t think I’m your type.”
Ichigo had already set aside the glass and painkillers and leaned against the counter in front of her. “Try me.”
She snorted. “Please, you have eyes.”
Rukia wasn’t ugly or anything; she just wasn’t pre-med, part-time model, real-life princess Inoue Orihime. He hummed, seemingly hearing what she wasn’t saying, before he decided, “You look like the moon.”
Her brow popped in question. “How so?”
His expression stilled then, the hard line of his mouth softening while his amber eyes pierced with laser focus, taking her all in. And if she were a lesser person, she would have fiddled and squirmed, instead, she met his gaze with a tilted head of curiosity.
“You’re pale on the inside," he gestured at her skin, "and dark everywhere else."
“You’re a piece of shit," Rukia deadpans. He snickered, even as she retorted, “Well, you look like the sun.”
“Sounds flattering –”
“No one wants to look at you.”
To which he burst out laughing, and she couldn’t resist the way her own lips twitched at the corners because Okay fine, I see where Inoue can get a bit crazy about him.
“For the record,” Ichigo said, “you look like infinity.”
“That meme eludes me,” she informed, but still he smiled, his eyes golden, and yeah, I can definitely see it –
“You’ve got eyes the color of space,” he replied, “seems pretty infinite to me.” Aaaaand, this was a bad idea.
“Inoue’s got dibs,” she said, more to remind herself than to him.
“I’m not Inoue’s.”
“You’re not mine, either,” she retorted.
“I could be.”
She made a hissing sound through her teeth. “See, I’m pretty sure that goes against girl code.”
“Does it?”
“Stealing someone’s boyfriend seems pretty shitty,” she pointed out, though she sure as hell wasn’t moving away from him. She can be forgiven. She's sleep deprived. This could all just be a dream.
“Ex," he corrects.
“Still on the no-fly list, Ichigo.”
He smirked, a corner of his lips twitching at the sound of his name. “What’s it going to take?”
Maybe if you could be less fucking hot, I’d know, she thought, though outwardly, Rukia shrugged. “How long were you and Inoue dating for?”
“Less than a month.”
“And would you say you love her?”
“No.”
She made a considering face, and decided, “One year because she’s in love with you.” Not that I can blame her.
“Fine.”
Rukia raised her brows. “You’re cool with waiting a year?”
And yes, she did notice despite her brains malfunctions to the contrary that their noses are brushing, and she’s getting an air full of his faded cologne, and she can count his freckles, and if he said a damn thing now, their lips would touch so of course he fucking does, “Are you?”
“I’ve got pretty good self-control,” she murmured, and yes fine, every fucking brush of his lips feels like electricity’s going up and down her arms and – Great, just fucking great. I’m so screwed.