This is not my usual writing style. I wanted to experiment, and I found I actually liked writing comedy. This story will be based off of my own life. So, while Noblesse Oblige will take a more fantasy approach, this will follow a very relatable [hopefully] path. Many events will be what happened between me and my ex, so I hope I'll be able to connect these emotions to Ichigo and Rukia!

1

It was trigonometry. It was insane. If someone was to walk in precisely at this moment, they would look at the board and have an aneurism.

Perhaps even a hernia.

Maybe both—at the same time.

At any rate, this math defied any concept of reality or normalcy known to mankind…it really should be medically unsafe to take this course.

I slumped against the wall, thankful for my seat against the white cinderblock. There were rather uncivilized messages scrawled onto the dimpled surface, things about certain body parts and dirty jokes that made you wish brain bleach existed. However, it was a much better pastime to read the scrawled lead than to attempt to decipher the hieroglyphics on the board.

I bumbled along happily, eyes scrolling down the scraggly words until I encountered, "Your an idoit."

Oh, high school student, I hail thee for your golden words of wisdom.

Decidedly bored once more, I turned to face forward in my seat, staring wistfully out the window into the hallway. Like a deer at a stream, a student that had managed to escape from our class was watering at the nearby water fountain. My gut clenched with envy.

Focus. Focus.

Ukitake-san said something that sounded like, "This will be on the test Friday," and my brain short-circuited.

Desperate for a distraction, I twisted my mechanical pencil, wondering if it was the type you could pull out the eraser and insert the lead, or the type you could twist the entire top half off and insert the lead. It was trivial and stupid, but it was still a worthwhile distraction.

Bravely, I glanced up. In retrospect, I should've been awarded a Purple Heart for that action.

I quickly dropped my gaze, regretting that I had laid eyes on the unholy equations clouding the blackboard. There was a clunk as Ukitake-san threw away another stub of chalk. I threw up in my mouth a little.

A quick look at the clock—don't look at the blackboard, don't look at the blackboard... It was precisely 12:00 p.m.

My inner child died.

Another hour of unit circles and cosinesinetangent whatchamacallits and various other theorems intended to mindfuck the unsuspecting high school student.

I sank lower in my chair, pouting in my misery.

"Rukia, would you like to answer that question?"

Shit.

I straightened, doing my best to look attentive, although I must have just ended up like I had swallowed something vile because Ukitake lips curled softly in amusement.

Damn that man.

Normally, he was the nicest guy around—someone you could take out for coffee and expect to hear stories about his cats. Something about a new sofa the color of Copenhagen on a rainy day.

"I'm waiting, Rukia."

He must be schizophrenic…how could he be so nice outside of school but absolutely cruel in the math classroom?

"Uh."

There was a low chuckle from the other students. Good, good. Very intelligent, Rukia.

I cleared my throat, trying again, "Uhh…no?"

Ukitake slapped the end of his ruler onto the board, raising a cloud of dust. He indicated a math equation that looked something like Javascript and asked, with raised eyebrow, "The answer to this equation is 'no?'"

The math classroom burst into laughter.

I smiled weakly; it was pretty funny that I had guessed something so completely idiotic and off the radar. But the stare that Ukitake was sending, no, searing me with, could have baked a cookie. Okay, maybe that's not the best analogy in the book…ah, but how can you think properly when you're being speared and roasted by Ukitake Junshiro's dagger eyes?

My face flushed bright red; I could've been an inspiration to lipstick companies all over. Lancome's new cover-girl wearing Trigonometry Sucks. Yeah, that would have a nice ring to it.

I bit my lip.

This was going to be a long period.

We had a supposedly pleasant surprise waiting for us in History.

"I'm pleased to announce the arrival of a new student!" Kyoraku-san announced, his tangy voice peppering the air with words like orange zest.

Speaking of orange…the boy that walked into the classroom had an unruly mop of hair that was of that color. It wasn't an obnoxious orange…it really was more of a I-bleached-my-hair-at-home-and-now-I-fucking-regret-it orange. So maybe not obnoxious, but a little on the disgusting side. A great first impression, I would say.

"This is Kurosaki Ichigo."

Everyone stared. He stared back.

Kyoraku-san gave an exasperated sigh, tugging Ichigo aside so that he could address the class, "I said, this is Kurosaki Ichigo."

A few heads bobbed, something suspiciously along the lines of, "Hello, Kurosaki-san," was muttered.

"Is that really it?" Kyoraku's eyebrows darted up, his mouth a tight line.

"Hello, Kurosaki-san!" A chorus of voices, twenty strong, rang out.

"Good!" Our history teacher gave us a smug smile and clapped his hands, spinning around and walking back around to his desk. Ichigo hovered near him, unsure of what to do. I knew what he should do. Dye his hair back to its original color. Or was that his natural hair? What tragic combination of X and Y alleles could have led to this hair? It was the color of a dead fox, God have mercy on his poor mother's soul.

My musings about the new student's hair color were interrupted when Kyoraku called, "Kurosaki-san, please take a seat behind Kuchiki-san."

Ichigo stalked over, his book bag slung across his shoulder, scowl etched into his face like woodwork.

He sat down, the chair legs scraping against the floor as his long legs settled into a comfortable position.

I contemplated scooting my own desk forward discreetly, maybe sitting on the edge of my seat, or callously paying someone to switch seats with me; anything to get away from the orange-haired freak. There was something about him I didn't like. And it wasn't just the hair…although that did account for 99% of the atrocities I had already attributed to him.

Maybe a better tactic to keep him away could be to just call him, "You." You know, like how people get attached to things they name? That lady in Switzerland marrying a rollercoaster, who knows what she had named the thing. Yeah, this kid didn't even need to have a name, now he was just a "You" to me.

I turned my attention back on the map Kyoraku was jabbing with a pencil. Somehow, it was already halfway through the history period. Then again, everything after my math period seemed to fly by at a fair pace. Something with a small point poked me between the shoulder blades.

I turned around, finding myself face to face with the new kid.

"Where's the pencil sharpener?"

I looked around, never having used said pencil sharpener because I provided myself with mechanical pencils. Actually, the majority of my mechanical pencils were stolen. But that was beside the point.

I pointed my index finger next to the doorway.

He nodded.

I turned around again, slightly peeved he hadn't thanked me for pointing out his object of interest. Really, kids these days…

The desk behind me scraped against the linoleum as the orange-haired boy stood up and stalked past me up to the front of the classroom. He had crossed approximately three columns of students when Kyoraku-san turned around and fixed him with a firm stare.

"Where are you going?"

Ichigo regarded Kyoraku with a glance that was almost bored, his shoulders still moving his body forward in a strange drawling walk.

"To sharpen my pencil."

"Not in the middle of my lesson, you're not."

Ichigo stopped. He faced Kyoraku, eyes questioning, daring, challenging.

"Then how am I going to take notes?"

"Use another pencil."

"What if I don't have one?"

Kyoraku had been standing so he was looking over his shoulder at Ichigo. He now turned fully, his arms crossing over his chest in an intimidating gesture. The tension was horrid.

"And why," the footsteps echoed hollowly on the ground as Kyoraku-san approached Ichigo, "Kurosaki-san," he was now standing in front of Ichigo, "would you not have another pencil?"

Although Ichigo was quite tall [I admitted this begrudgingly, silently bemoaning my own height], Kyoraku was taller.

He fixed the lanky teen with an iron stare from his high vantage point.

I would have been wilting faster than a sunflower splashed with acid if I were in Ichigo's shoes.

Again, horrible analogies.

"I just don't. Is there really something wrong with sharpening my pencil in the middle of the lesson?"

There was collective gasp from the class.

"Kurosaki-san…" Kyoraku gazed at Ichigo with a quiet menace, "are you talking back to me?"

The boy in question shrugged. "Maybe."

More sharp intake of breaths. I think I started to choke a little from the air tension.

"So." Kyoraku turned swiftly on his heels, going to his desk and rummaging about the papers and various history paraphernalia he kept on his desk.

There were several minutes of silence before he spoke again, his voice quiet but deadly.

"A.M. or P.M?"

"Excuse me?" it was Ichigo's turn to arch his brow, his arms crossing in strict bilateral angles that would have made Ukitake-san proud. Wait, what? I felt a sudden compulsion to slam my head onto my desk.

"Detention time. Which one do you prefer?"

I looked around me; everyone's jaw hung unhinged, their mouths agape like drowning fish, their eyes saucer-wide. Strange, that I was the only person taking this rebellious act in stride, although I couldn't blame them. Disrespect was unheard of in Karakura High—any unfortunate fool to step out of line was usually strung up by his/her thumbs by their parents/principal.

"A.M. That cool with you?"

The smile on Kyoraku's face was sickeningly sweet, I could tell he just wanted to throttle the boy.

The bell clanged, announcing the would-be end of their confrontation and the end of the period. I swept everything into my book-bag, as anxious as everyone to get out of the stifling room.

I glanced backward as I left the room, noting that Ichigo and Kyoraku had not moved from their positions.

I really did not like this kid.

That night, I contemplated the happenings of the day, from the melting of my brain in Trigonometry to the arrival of the mysterious boy.

In the midst of it all, I drifted off to sleep.

I dreamed of throwing a glinting Frisbee, running in a meadow that was endless; laughing until I fell into the night.

I dreamed of his smile, laying down with him in the meadow, the smell of flowers around me and in his hair, the sweet tangle of our limbs.

Something in me broke, and I guess I must've cried in my sleep, because I woke up and my eyes were blurry and I couldn't see.