so it goes
(and suddenly you're homeless)

.

.

.

"Don't think of me too often,"

she says once, aloud. One too many times, in his head.

She pats him on the chest, sighs with a smile he will remember all too well. It's something he'll keep in his mind when he's had one too many drinks and too much weight of a heartbreak and he's fucking the wrong girl the night he lets the right one leaves.

He should know that she wouldn't stay. He should know that she didn't belong here. He should know that, in the end, they were destined to part—that despite being whole when in the other's presence, they would stay separate. He should have known.

She knows. She has always known. She's known since their first meeting—in the beginning, when it is nothing but an accidental encounter. It had been the very moment she realizes three things. One: she will, at last, feel alive again. Two: this boy will take her heart, and will never return it. Three: this will only end in tragedy.

Though, despite her awareness, her cautious steps into a relationship that, without her control, blossomed by fate's inevitable (mis)fortune, she never would have been prepared for how it had been going to feel like.

Rukia thinks she could have prepared better. They've had their goodbyes before. Plenty, for the matter. She never would have thought that anything would hurt more than their previous. She stands corrected, in front of him, once more. Ignoring the second long flare of hurt in his eyes is a choice she regrets making.

"Don't flatter yourself," the boy scowls, gaze flickering elsewhere. "My life doesn't revolve around you."

And it slips. Smirk intact. Purely accidental. She almost regrets it. (She doesn't.) "Liar."

He retorts back, to wipe that smug expression off that porcelain face. "You're sorely mistaken," for he is Ichigo, and he retaliates instantaneously, and she is Rukia, one whom had always been right.

Moments pass in silence. Neither of them have the heart to move.

he wants to shift the gears: to ask why, why does it have to be this way why can't they be together because they can they can they can do this they can make this work they can happen they were meant to be—

and she wants to explain: you and I have different responsibilities in two different worlds you have yet to experience what life truly is while I have lived hundreds of years there is so much for you here do not waste your potential do not waste it on this on us on me do not be foolish—

he would ask: do you not want what I want—

she would answer: it does not matter what we want what matters is what is best for us—

But because he is Ichigo and she is Rukia, they remain silent. She nods at his minimal, petty aggravation. Almost smiling, but not really. Not at all.

And he wants to touch her, to raise her chin up, to stroke her cheek, to hold her face. He won't, though.

Instead, "Perhaps we were only meant to change one another's lives," she states. "And nothing more."

He deems it bullshit, but tries his best to contain himself. He does not want to make it harder than it already is.

"Seems so."

and it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—

"I would do it a hundred times over, you know," he lets himself say. "Thank you," and ignoring the glassy surface of those violet eyes is a choice he regrets making among many more involving the woman they belonged to.

because he is merely the boy and she is the shinigami—

"That will always be my line," she presses her lips together and swallows their last moment down.

.

.

fin.

_a/n: I don't write for them. Not usually. Never, really. But everything hurts, and they have always been my most favorite pairing. Always. :/