Title: white lie
Author: autumnsoliloquy
Rating: K
Summary: one-shot drabble of 510 words. Written for the White Day Giveaway at BA Ichiruki Forums.

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo and the quote belongs to The Bard.

white lie

n.

An often trivial, diplomatic or well-intentioned untruth.

The class bell rings. There is a flurry of excited movement as the other students stream back into the classroom, the guys reaching eagerly into their desk drawers hoping to find something there, while the girls returned to their seats quietly with a knowing smirk dancing at the edge of their lips.

Ichigo rests against the wall and looks out of the window. His seat is right next to the window now, and that isn't all that has changed in his life. It's been months since he'd completely lost his shinigami powers and along with it any semblance of supernatural abilities. The teacher drones on and on, oblivious to murmurs of feigned surprise and excessive show of pride coming from his male classmates who are now comparing their received gifts.

He looks away once more. He couldn't observe the absurd spectacle before him for a second longer. Why is everyone making such a big deal over a day that's invented by chocolate companies to make profits anyway? As if Valentine's Day wasn't enough.

It wasn't as if Ichigo detested the concept of romance. They can glorify love for all they want, but to Ichigo the endless pursuit of the other sex through gifts and favours does not equal true love. He abhors the chase and the games men and women play on each other, and he would never partake in it. Such material displays of affection would never amount to anything close to epic romances such as the trials and tribulations overcome by the Condor Heroes, nor surpass the desires of star-crossed lovers to be united even in death in a Shakespearean tragedy. Give him a love worthy of that name and he would glorify it.

He once knew real pride, though not the kind his classmates feel upon receiving presents on this day. Pride was the weight of his sword behind him, its blade stopping fiery wings, the vast blue sky above him seeming to promise all the hope in the world, and the whiteness of the guilt she wore.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Ichigo is in English class and they are reading Shakespeare. Ichigo feels like disagreeing with the quote. Perhaps the rose would still smell as sweet, or however it smelt like before, he muses, but it would never feel like it's sweet-smelling ever again. Say one named the rose shit instead. Ichigo imagines it would probably be hard for the rose to ever think of itself as anything grandiose again.

The bell rings again; the day is over. Ichigo grabs his schoolbag from the drawer and feels something else there. He fishes out what he recognises to be a box of white chocolates, its packaging reminding him of the glint of a pure white sword, of its dancing white ribbon.

It was probably from Inoue, he assumes. Ishida and Chad must have gotten them too. He reminds himself to thank Inoue later then stashes the box into his bag, intending to give it to his sisters when he gets home.

He doesn't think of her, Ichigo thinks to himself as he walks home. Not today.

Concrit is always appreciated.