Summary: Before he knew it, his lips were a mere inch from hers, his hand on her neck, tracing the strands of her thick black hair, his warm breath fanning across her cheeks and chin.

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite and whatnot~!

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. : Just Keep Me Updated : .

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"Rukia."

Ichigo squinted his eyes to focus on the black-haired soul reaper a few feet away from him, trying to block out the blazing sunlight that burnt the concrete roof of their school.

It was incredibly hot, and while Karakura had long familiarised itself with this kind of weather, today seemed hotter than ever. Ichigo could already feel beads of sweat starting to ooze from his pores after a mere ten seconds in the open air. Resisting the urge to loosen his red tie from around his neck and pop open the first few buttons of his crisp white blouse, he instead welcomed the light breeze that brushed his scandalously orange bangs across his forehead. He raked his hand through them as if on reflex.

"Why are you skipping class?"

She had her back turned to him. Her fingers were laced through the wired fence that separated her from a ten-story fall to the hard grounds below and her head was lightly pushing against it. Her voice was rough when she answered.

"It's none of your fucking business, Ichigo."

Ichigo's muscles tensed. He hated Rukia when she was like this. Not the swearing and the haughty attitude of course—he had long familiarised himself with those aspects of her personality—not even the hostility. That was just the way they handled each other. The name calling, the swift shin kicking—honest to God, if Ichigo could force himself to disregard his policy of not deliberately hurting anything female and (more or less) innocent, he would have knocked her out numerous times already—the glares of hatred, they were all part of their daily routine. No, he hated it when she closed herself off from him.

More than normal, that was.

He could hear from her tone of voice that she wasn't going to tell him what was bothering her, not unless Ichigo kicked it out of her—which he wouldn't, policy and all.

He raised his arms above his head and stretched out the muscles, trying to get rid of the numbness caused by sitting at a desk for a couple of hours. No Hollows had shown up today and it had been incredibly boring. Ichigo had almost jumped up when he had seen Rukia's hand fly to her pocket to pull out her sleek phone, but once she had eagerly opened it, her face had fallen and her hands had quickly snapped shut the device.

She hadn't excused herself to the bathroom, but she hadn't picked up her pen to continue taking notes—or rather, covering the lined paper with Chappy the rabbit—either. She had simply stared at her desk.

And it hadn't sat well with Ichigo. Especially since it hadn't been the first time she had acted this way. Lately, she'd received more messages—at least, that's what he thought they were—that hadn't been Hollow alerts. He could only assume they were messages from Soul Society.

He hoped they weren't.

He had planned on asking her about it during the upcoming break, but she had quickly stood up and disappeared through the classroom door before Ichigo had the chance to get her attention.

"Fuck that, Rukia. I'm making it my business."

When she didn't reply, Ichigo felt anger raise its ugly head, and it was fuelled when he realised that her unresponsiveness probably wouldn't have angered him a couple of months back. He took a couple of steps towards her, the sun still relentlessly beating down on both of them.

"Look at me, Rukia."

He saw her shoulders stiffen when she reluctantly turned her body a couple of degrees, releasing one hand from its tightened grip on the metal wire. The glare he received wasn't unexpected.

"I told you, Kurosaki—" he flinched inwardly at the use of his last name, "—that it's none of your fucking business. So leave me the hell alone."

The frown on Ichigo's forehead became deeper and he took another step towards her. She always seemed to have that effect on him, and it annoyed him beyond belief; she could make his already permanent frown match the Grand Canyon in depth sometimes—then again, she was also the only one who could smooth it out if she wanted. But that rarely ever happened.

"And I told you, Kuchiki, that I'm making it my fucking business."

Immediately, her eyes flashed a dangerous purple, and Ichigo couldn't help recognising the almost electric shiver that ran through his spine upon feeling her gaze on him. In a different situation, her eyes would emit the same intensity.

That was another thing he probably wouldn't have recognised a couple of months ago—or rather, a thing that he probably wouldn't have wanted to recognise, because deep down in his gut, he had known it all along. He had known that the raised hairs on his arm were caused by her arm brushing his during one of their fights and not by the snow falling down from a midnight sky, or that the tingling in his stomach wasn't a sign of hunger but rather a response to her crawling through his window, over his bed, and into his room when he attempted to do his homework.

It had taken Ichigo months to come to terms with the feelings she evoked within him, and after that he had still tried to ignore them as much as possible. It didn't really help that Rukia too had started sneaking glances at him during classes for no apparent reason. Sometimes—sometimes—he'd catch her eye and stare back at her, both of them too stubborn to be the first to look away, but most of the times he simply pretended he didn't notice.

Secretly—but he never told himself that—he did that to make sure he would be able to sneak his own glance back at her later that day.

Ichigo's gaze slid back into focus when he saw Rukia move. She huffed and turned her back to him once more, blocking him from seeing her emotions.

Which he still could read; he didn't need her face to be able to do that.

"For God's sake, Rukia," he muttered, reaching out to grab her shoulder.

As soon as his tentative fingers made contact, however, she turned around angrily, swinging out her arm in the process and effectively swapping his outstretched limb away. Her brows were crunched together and her eyes narrowed.

"Go away," she hissed dangerously. Ichigo recoiled.

Her usually and previously fierce eyes were glazed over with what seemed like tears. Was she… crying? No. No way. Rukia didn't cry. The great Kuchiki Rukia, certified shinigami, killer of countless of Hollows—kicking him in the shins at every possible occasion—didn't cry. Then what…?

Ichigo kicked his brain into gear and immediately his arms shot forward a second time, this time effectively wrapping around the woman's petite body and pulling her close. She struggled to push him away, wanting to keep him at arms' length, but Ichigo only tightened his grip on her, forcing her to stay within the comforting zone of his arms.

Immediately, her scent assaulted his senses and he breathed in deeply. She had such a distinctive scent. She smelled of a spring shower, slightly tinged with her strawberry shampoo. She smelled of scrubbed skin and crisp linen shirts, drying in a summer breeze.

Her right hand was still tightly gripping the safety fence, as if in addition to keeping her within the boundaries of the roof, it also kept her standing upright. Her voice was muffled against the fabric of his shirt as she spoke.

"Ichigo—"

He pulled her even closer and her free hand found its way across his back, gripping a handful of his shirt and crumpling the fabric in its wake.

"Rukia, just tell me what's bothering you. Don't—" he lowered his head and pressed his nose into her neck, "don't lock me out."

Ichigo couldn't believe how mushy he sounded. Don't lock me out. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Whatever the hell had happened to him to act this way around Rukia, the woman that had stabbed her sword through his chest upon their first meeting, the one that he bickered with the entire time?

"I-Ichigo…" Her voice faltered when his arms tightened around her ribcage even further.

"Ichigo," her voice was now firmer and the hand that had been gripping the wiry contraption to her right had somehow found its way between their bodies, pushing lightly but insistently against Ichigo, "I need to breathe."

Ichigo loosened his grip and leaned back, raising one hand to wipe away some of the wetness that had made its way across her cheek. As if noticing the salty liquid for the first time, Rukia herself followed his actions, appalled, and wiped furiously at her eyes.

"God, if you ever so much as speak a word about this, Ichigo," she narrowed her eyes at him but didn't step out of his embrace, "I'll kill you."

Ichigo chuckled. He was tempted to start the teasing straight away, but thought better of it. "Speak about what?" he asked casually. He dipped his head towards hers and pressed a firm kiss to her lips.

"Good."

Instantaneously, he found himself thinking back on the day they had done this for the first time. It was as fresh and unyielding a memory as the sun now burning on his back.

They had been in the exact same place, having decided for once to leave everyone for what they were on the grass of the school grounds and instead spending their lunch break on the top of the roof. The fact that they had returned from slaying a particularly vicious Hollow just seconds before had weighed out any advantages of spending the time off with their friends as well. They had both needed the tranquillity of the deserted area.

Rukia had been staring out across the town, linking her fingers through the same wiring, flexing them every now and then to shake off the numbing feeling of having gripped her blade too tightly. Ichigo had been leaning against it casually, his body twisted slightly so he could face his fighting partner.

"What are you thinking of?" he had asked, his eyes focussing on her slightly parted lips. His stomach jumped at the sight of her tongue swishing out to wet them before she spoke. Stupid hormones.

"Nothing in particular." She sighed and turned her gaze at him. "Just wondering when I'll have to go back to the Sereitei."

Ichigo averted his eyes and took his turn staring at the distant housetops.

"I mean," she said, "I haven't heard anything from them in a long time. To be honest, I've been expecting a summon for over a month now."

He grinned. "Maybe they've ditched you."

She grumbled and her hand shot out deftly to punch him on the shoulder. The fence rattled at the impact. "You wish, carrot-top."

"No shit, midget."

It was out before he realised it.

As his eyes focussed on a bird flying recklessly through the branches of a tree, the weight of his thoughtless retort pressed down heavily upon him. He had sounded pretty desperate as well, despite his adding of the mocking nickname, despite the fact that the exact same words under completely different circumstances would be considered harmless, innocent, and amusing even. Uncomfortably, he raised his hand to his neck and rubbed it.

He had closed his eyes and sighed. How the hell was he going to talk his way out of this one? Of course he could laugh it off and give her a gentle push, as if to show he was just kidding. But at the same time, he didn't want to—he knew he had to though, for the sake of their currently already awkward relationship, for the sake of their professional relationship, and most of all, for the sake of their… well, for the fact that she was practically dead and about ten times his own age.

But he hadn't wanted to.

Ichigo had wanted to give in to the ridiculously embarrassing fluttering in his stomach. He had wanted to purposefully wrap his arms around her frame, taste her lips, and inhale her tantalising scent. He had wanted to turn around and give in to it all, to her, to devour her mouth and feel her respond. He didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night any more, haunted by the absurd urge to slide open the door to his closet and watch her sleep. God, he felt like such a wuss.

But he couldn't.

So, after an already painfully awkward silence, Ichigo had made up his mind, plastered a lopsided grin on his face, and turned to her once more.

"You'll probably just—"

He couldn't.

Not when she looked at him like that. Not when her face showed a mixture of disbelief and astonishment and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. Not when those alluring lips were still parted. Not when her eyes—oh God, her eyes—shone a more violent shade of violet than ever before. Not when—

Before he knew it, his lips were a mere inch from hers, his hand on her neck, tracing the strands of her thick black hair, his warm breath fanning across her cheeks and chin.

His calloused fingers traced a small circle around her pulse and her eyes slid closed.

Then he had kissed her.

And God, had he liked it. Her lips had been soft as they tentatively moved against his, and her taste—she even tasted of fresh rain, mixed with something that was simply Rukia, something that left him gasping for breath, even though they were sharing nothing more than the simplest of kisses, something that was so her that he wanted to grab it, lock it away in his mouth, so that only he could ever experience it.

Her hands hand gripped his lower arms and then moved up slowly to tangle their digits into his orange locks, gripping them and pulling at them, flexing impatiently.

And now, as they stood on the same spot, Ichigo hugging her, he felt the same sort of contentment that he had felt when he had first kissed her, when he had kissed her countless of times after that.

They still bickered daily. They still yelled at each other, killed with their looks, and ignored each other for longer periods of time, but now it always seemed to end up in a make out session. Neither of them complained. Ichigo thanked God that no one in Soul Society had contacted them yet.

He dipped his head again and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and then her cheek, her jaw, lingering, the corners of his own mouth turning up slightly as he heard her take a shuddering breath.

"I have to go back."

Her voice was no more than a whisper and the words were simple. Her hands grabbed the cotton of his shirt, holding onto him, pulling him closer. Ichigo stilled and the muscles under his shirt tensed as he lifted his head slightly, his eyes staring fixedly at something behind her.

"When?"

A pause.

"Tomorrow." Her hands creased his shirt.

"How long have you known?"

"Four weeks."

He didn't do anything. He didn't know what to do. "For how long?"

"Ichigo, I… I can't say. I don't know. My brother didn't mention—"

He distanced himself from her, her hands slipping from his shoulders, and he raked his hand through his hair. Suddenly, the heat the sun forced through his skin came rushing back at him like a truck at full speed, crashing against his bones and muscles as if to hurt him on purpose. He closed his hand over his eyes.

"Fuck. Rukia. Why the hell didn't you tell me?" He was angry now. She could have fucking told him that they were going to be separated for an indefinite amount of time, especially now that their relationship had taken such drastic turns. He had been going out with for what? Two bloody months! She was supposed to share this kind of information with him, even if they hadn't been dating, especially now that they were.

"Well, I don't like it either!" she snapped at him, anger seeping into her voice as well. "I've held off my brother for weeks now, but I can't any longer! I can't! What do I say to him, huh?" Her eyes shot daggers at him. "Well, sorry, brother, but I can't, for I've established an amorous bond with my substitute shinigami? And yes, that's the reason I haven't showed my face despite your insistent calling? How would that sound to you?"

Rukia scoffed angrily, turned away, and wiped at her eyes again. Ichigo immediately felt guilt clawing at his insides. Fuck her for doing this to him. Fuck her for making his anger melt away in the blink of an eye. Fuck her for making him apologise.

"Rukia," he muttered, "come here."

When she didn't, he pulled her back gently against his chest and circled his arms around her, his hands finding hers.

"I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything, but leaned into him and laced her fingers with his. He turned her head gently upwards and brushed at her cheeks.

"You will come back, right? Eventually." They both knew the answer—how could they not—but they both needed to hear it, needed the affirmation.

"Of course I will," she said and after a moment she added, "stupid."

They grinned half-heartedly at each other, and despite the still clenching of his stomach, he said, "Just keep me updated."

She nodded and raised her lips to his.

. : fin : .