Ichigo leans down and he's not sure he's ever seen anything more beautiful.

And look, he's seen ones before… WELL. Not up close like this–but he hasn't been above being blinded by a picture of one suddenly pushed in his face by Keigo, but like… Those were… This one is so cute.

It's pink. It's flowery. It's so disgustingly shoujo pretty but Ichigo doesn't mind, nope, not one bit. He swears there might be sparkles surrounding it and he's going to confess that honestly if it was a shoujo manga protagonist he would be that jackass to die for it versus any rival sempai vying for its love and really he's not usually that guy, everyone.

"Ichigo…"

And? He shouldn't be surprised, but he is? He's heard love poems, sonnets and monologues about lovers' beauty and yeah maybe he's read Romeo's monologues about Juliet so many times he has them memorized but that's neither here nor there it's just that he guesses he's never really understood it until now, not really how men can go falling over themselves like that one Elton John lyric about kings and vagabonds or whatever an this has him thinking about war and terrible things that have gone on in history and he thinks maybe Yhwach or Aizen would've reconsidered a lot of their evil life choices and chilled the fuck out if only they saw Rukia's–

"Ichigo!"

Her whispered hiss shakes out of his life altering moment of not knowing whether time or life is even real. He looks slowly, dumbly up the flat valley of her stomach, the lace clad mounds of her breasts (holy shit he hasn't even gotten started on her breasts), the graceful length of her neck to see Rukia staring impatiently back.

"…What?" He very intelligently responds. She shifts, gets up on her elbows to glare down at him better. Ichigo clutches tighter at the thighs sandwiching his head in an almost defensive reflex.

"Is everything… Do you…" She struggles for words as her frown gains a sense of unease. "I mean. Goodness, Ichigo, you've been down there and silent for minutes."

He looks down again–nope, bad idea, he'll be rendered incoherent and incapable of proper conversation with every glance he takes and he's just going to have to get used to it.

"… I can't stop staring." He finally answers, and it's the truth.

She huffs and wriggles. He notices that–very uncharacteristic of Rukia Kuchiki–she's focused on a point over his head.

"Well… Okay. Is something wrong with it–"

"NO YOUR VAGINA IS PERFECT," Ichigo near bellows without thought, and Rukia shushes him with a hit of her knee against his head to remind him that his sisters and father are very much asleep down the hall.

She's smiling, though, and while he's about as conservative about their romantic life–perhaps even moreso– Ichigo can't help but smile back because yeah, it is.

She is.

Before he has the chance to contemplate the workings of that, about red strings of fate and destiny and how lucky he was to meet his soul mate across dimensions of life and death– he ducks his head back down and tastes it and well goddamn.

This is it. This is how Ichigo (happily) dies.