Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Corona de la Fresa ❯ Corona De La Fresa ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: DannilovesInu 
Alternate Universe: Byakuya Kuchiki takes the time to recount how Rukia met Ichigo. Getting the color right just might let Rukia meet the love of her life.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 03.31.2008 | Updated On: 03.31.2008 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Completed
Alternate Universe: Byakuya Kuchiki takes the time to recount how Rukia met Ichigo. Getting the color right just might let Rukia meet the love of her life.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 03.31.2008 | Updated On: 03.31.2008 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Completed
I do not own Bleach. Kubo Tite does. Lucky chump- I mean genius.
“Corona de la Fresa”
(Crown of the Strawberry)
Author’s Notes: My unending thanks goes to BleachedBee, who helped me finish the very end of this one-shot. This is a really long one-shot (well by, my standards). I didn’t want to post this in chapters, as I knew that posting updates for this would distract me from When Secrets Collide. The writing of it has already taken me away from it long enough. It’s semi-plotless, but I had to get the idea out of my head and onto paper-well, my word processor. Enjoy.
~Danni.
[Corona de la Fresa]
Byakuya Kuchiki waited with distant eyes as the crowd around him began to quiet down. They were waiting for him, and he knew it. Tonight was like any other Opening night that the Shiro-Sakura Gallery had had in the past, except this one was slightly different. This was the one that would begin a brand new life for his little sister. As much as it killed him to admit it, he’d never seen his sister as happy or as radiant as she was tonight. His pride swelled as he glanced over at her, elegantly dressed in a silk black and cream cocktail dress, her arms bare and her hair swept back with a diamond studded comb he’d given her for her last birthday.
He watched as her violet eyes scanned the crowd before them, searching for her special someone. Someone Byakuya wanted to strangle every time he saw him. And as much as he loathed the man who’d captured his sister’s heart, it pleased him to know that he would be the one with the honor to share the news with the press and the patrons of the gallery. Several of her friends were scattered through the gather, including the animated boy who’d knocked over a vase that was insured for five million yen. The sandy haired boy had caught it seconds before it shattered on the marble floor. Lucky for him. Byakuya bleakly tried to remember the boy’s name, but failed. The fact that he couldn’t remember the names of his sister’s friends didn’t surprise him. He’d only invited them tonight for her sake.
Well, hers and her red-headed friend, Orihime. The girl’s name was the only one he ever remembered, and for good reason. Rukia and Orihime had been the best of friends before the brat had began to show exclusive interest in his sister. It didn’t take to much thought to figure out that the other girl had had her own infatuation in the boy and the tension and awkwardness was pliable between the two girls. They’d even gotten into an heated argument, in which they’d both decided to find out who the idiot had more feelings for.
Byakuya rolled his eyes in disgust at the thought. It was a wonder that both of these grown, mature woman could resort to such childish tactics. But they had, and in the end his sister had been victorious. She and Orihime hadn’t talked for days and the strain had gotten intense, enough so that Byakuya had felt the need to step in before they ruined a perfectly good friendship. He watched silently as the orange hair girl glanced around the crowd with searching eyes. Or maybe he’d felt the need to show the girl that she didn’t have a chance to come between the two. The thought was something that Byakuya refused to probe too deeply.
He slowly became aware of the small hand digging slightly into the sleeve of his jacket.
“Where is he?” Rukia murmured anxiously to herself. Byakuya glanced down and noticed that she was balanced precariously on the toes of her Jimmy Choos, trying to extend herself to catch a glimpse over the heads in the crowd.
“He’ll be here.” Or I’ll kill him, Byakuya thought as he tried to reassure his sister. He gently pulled her down off of her tiptoes and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. Byakuya realized that if he didn’t comfort her now he’d have to watch her shatter into a million pieces later. Like she’d done several times before over someone else. But he didn’t want her to do that for this man. Boy, he corrected himself mentally. There was no way that he even possessed one ounce of maturity. If he did he would have had the common sense to show up before the gallery opened its doors to the public. But Byakuya would not get mad over that little mistake. Tonight was not about that. They were putting the immaturity behind them.
“Kuchiki, it’s nearly time.” Byakuya’s business partner, Juushiro Ukitake, reminded him as he coughed his handkerchief.
“You should be at home resting, Ukitake. You’ve got to take better care of yourself.” Byakuya scolded fondly. Juushiro and Byakuya had been a close friend since college and together they’d opened several exclusive galleries across the globe. Recently, Juushiro had fallen ill while inspecting their Canadian gallery.
“You know I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I’ve always considered Rukia my own little sister, and tonight is her big night for several reasons. It does me good to see so many people her just to see her work.” Ukitake said. “But speaking of missing, where’s her Romeo? He’s a little late isn’t he?”
Byakuya snarled lowly in the back of his throat. “I noticed.”
Juushiro nudged him, and nodded his head toward the front entrance. “Well, wait no more. The knight has arrived.” Byakuya spotted a head of orange spikes at once and prayed briefly that the idiot had at least worn something decent and appropriate for the evening.
“It’s time, brother.” Rukia said on a little anxious breath. She slid her hand in his and motioned for Juushiro to stand on her other side.
Byakuya cleared his throat slightly and raised his voice enough for every one on the gallery floor to be able to hear him. “I want to thank you all for coming. Tonight is a especially special night for us here at Shiro-Sakura. It has been a night, many years in the making, for a very talented artist, Rukia Kuchiki. She has spent many months assembling her collection, that spreads into many different mediums, subjects and materials. As you can see from what is gather around the room, my sister has painstakingly made every piece unique.”
Juushiro picked up his thread of the speech. “It has been a privilege to work along side Miss Rukia as she’s poured the love and support of her dear friends into her creations and it is a personal pleasure to be able to relate to you the intriguing- and lovely story that comes with tonight’s main attraction. Several years ago, the younger Kuchiki here…”
[+]
Rukia swore sharply as she dug around her big canvas purse for her map of the campus. It was one of those times that she feverously wished she’d taken her brother’s advice and transferred a college closer to their home in Tokyo. But she’d felt compelled to leave the city, to get away from the dread and grief that seemed to encompass her every waking moment. Leaving Toudai had been the right choice, she believed. It had been best for her own sanity to leave the granite plaque that marked Kaien Shiba’s memorial behind her.
“All I need is the art department. Art. Department.” She told herself as she shoved her morbid thoughts to the side and sank to her knees to search her bag more thoroughly. “Damnit, where is it?!” she demanded of her purse, pulling out everything to hunt of the elusive piece of paper.
“…Um, do you need some help?” A deep, male voice asked from above her. “You look like you demolishing your bag.” the voice added, this time it held a bit of amusement in it.
“I’m fine.” Rukia said in a tone that clearly said go the hell away.
“That’s some bark you’ve got there.” the voice commented. “But all I’m trying to be is chivalrous. It’s one of the many things my useless Pop taught me. That along with gardening, although I don’t ever know when that little skill will be of any use.”
Rukia snorted with laughter as she continued to shuffle through her things. “Oh yeah, exactly what I need right now, a bloody comedian.”
“Not professionally. But I have been having some serious discussions with a friend of mine who wants to form a Kansai comedy duo with me.” he said matter of fact.
Rukia chuckled again finally lifting her face up towards the man. The sight sent her senses and creativity reeling. How he was bent over her, blocking the sun and casting a shadow across her, she couldn’t make out a single feature of his face or tell if he was smiling like she suspected he was. The only thing that wasn’t silhouetted was his absolutely bright orange hair. Rukia couldn’t even bring herself to label him a redhead, because there was no red or auburn tints to his locks. Just shockingly carroty orange hair. “Oh.” the tiny sound escaped her as she thought of something that sent a tiny thrill of delight down her spine. It would be such a pleasure to capture him-exactly as he was now- on a canvas. And not a portrait sized one either. One nearly the size of her small living room wall in her apartment. She could just imagine the ginger color in marriage with a completely monochrome background, the only color in the piece.
“Speechless, huh? Well so was I when Keigo asked me to join up with him.” the boy laughed himself.
“Uh, no, I’m not.” Rukia said as she quickly looked down, hoping to trap the image in her mind permanently. She contemplated nixing her plan to meet up with her advisor and go home to start working on the painting now. It was really tempting. But it wouldn’t be in her best interest to do so. “Just lost. I‘m new in town.” she mumbled as she shifted half-heartedly through her things again.
“What are you looking for? I can probably point you in the right direction.” he offered politely.
“The art department. And Assistant Professor Momo Hinamori.” she recited from memory. She unconsciously looked toward him again and watched him rub the back of his neck with the flat of his hand.
“Well, I don’t know who Hinamori is, but I do know where the art building is.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “Second building on your right. The doors are always open on the blasted thing. Like no one knows how to go home or something.” He snorted at the incredulity of the thought.
“Art’s like that.” Rukia told him, shoving her crap back into her bag. “Sometimes you get so consumed in what you’re working on, you don’t know what going on, when you last ate or the last time you fell asleep. It’s enthralling. You never stand a chance once a idea takes a hold of you.”
He squatted down next to her to look her in the eye. His features were in sharp contrast now and she could make out the intensity of his russet-colored eyes. “Captivating, is it?”
“Yeah it is.” Rukia affirmed. She’d paint his eyes next. They were a matchless copper brown, and like he’d said, they were absolutely captivating.
“It sounds like it is. A friend of mine designs women’s clothing. You should see the intense look he gets when he’s sketching.” He said.
Making women’s clothes? She didn’t even think the two things could compare. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about clothes. But with painting and sculpting, most definitely.” she stated. Giving her stuff a last heavy pat she gathered the handles of her canvas purse and slowly began to rise. He placed a steadying hand on her arm and helped her to her feet. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“No problem.” He shrugged. “Well, just in case you need me again, would you mind telling me your name?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.” she replied. She waited patiently to find out the name of the man with the fascinating coloring. He was like a living paint palette, dressed in blue jeans, black sneakers and a mud brown hooded sweatshirt. Around his neck rested a pair of silver headphones and wrapped warmly under them, a bulky burgundy scarf.
He struck out a hand. “I’m Ichigo Kurosaki.” He said a bit gruffly. “Don’t forget it okay? You never know when you’ll get lost again and I happen to be around.” Ichigo shook her hand and before she knew it, he was off at a slight trot, in the opposite direction.
Rukia watched as he disappeared from sight a small smile playing at her lips. “Ichigo, huh?” she whispered to herself as she hefted her bag to her shoulder and headed off in the direction of the art building.
^_^
What a mess. Rukia thought to herself in disgust as she set her paint brush down and studied her work. Something…wasn’t right. The background, the shading, those were perfect. But he wasn’t. The orange. She just couldn’t get it right. She sighed in agony as she took the canvas off of her easel and placed in against the wall. It was her fourth attempt. And try as she might, she just couldn’t get it right. It was frustratingly vague in her memory, and she couldn’t see it with clarity, no matter how hard she tried.
And no matter how hard she’d looked, she’d never seen Ichigo again. No matter how many times she’d frequented the little courtyard where she’d met him, he’d never showed up. She knew she should have been pissed off at herself because she kept searching for him, especially when he hadn’t even given her correct directions to the Art Department, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. All she need was another glimpse of his hair, just enough to refresh her memory. That was it. Enough to finish the painting and get it off her mind. She place a frame and began to prepare the new canvas. Since she’d decide to use a irregular canvas size, she had to set up a new one, tacking the taunt fabric to the wood and applying the compounds to harden it. Rukia knew it was time constraining, but she felt that no other size would be right.
She left the new canvas to dry, grabbed her coat and headed at the door in search of nourishment. It was nearly nine in the evening and she couldn’t remember when the last time she had eaten. Rukia skipped down the stairs while shrugging into her coat, not looking where she was going. She slammed into a hard chest as she hit the bottom step. The impact was enough to send her reeling back, her behind landing hard on the step above her.
“I’m so sorry, Miss!-Rukia?” Ichigo exclaimed in surprise. He held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” he added.
“Same to you.” Rukia groused as she brushed off the seat of her pants. Part of her wanted to chew him out for knocking her down, but the bigger part of her-the ecstatic part - was just so damn happy to see him and his orange hair. “How’ve you been?”
“Great. Well- I’ve felt terrible about giving you the wrong directions. Didn’t realize that until I’d left and when I went back you’d disappeared.” Ichigo said dryly.
“It was no problem. I found it, eventually.” Rukia laughed. She watched as Ichigo flushed red, and smiled broadly.
“Well, let me make it up to you with a cup of coffee.” He bartered. He glanced up at the sky, taking note of the gray clouds gathering. “Preferably somewhere we won’t get rained on.”
No way was she passing up the chance to scrutinize his hair color. “Sure. I was looking for sustenance now anyway.” Rukia agreed. She fell into step beside him, and noticed how much taller he was than she. He nearly had a foot on her. It was no wonder he’d nearly eclipsed the sun last time she’d seen him. By the time they entered Kanaka’s- a little dive with horridly cracked Formica tables- she knew all about his friends, family and the weird candy shop owner who kept showing up at his family’s house for dinner. She also know that he tried to keep a scowl permanently affixed to his face, but it rarely stayed in place when he was talking about things that interested him-especially European Literature.
“So…you want to be a writer.” Rukia tipped her head and consider him carefully. “You don’t look the type.” she commented.
Ichigo snorted through his nose. “That’s the billionth time I’ve heard that. What do I need to wear my glasses full time? Or maybe look more pensive? I can’t look like a writer the way I am now?”
“Well, you already look brooding, so you’re fine on that end. But both times I’ve seen you, you’ve been scowling. And not a little marring of the brows, but a full-on unapproachable glare. When we first met, I thought you were going to rob me blind. You should work on that.” Rukia advised.
Ichigo chuckled. “Yeah right. All I was trying to do was help you.”
“Well, you looked quite menacing when you stooped down. I thought you were going to snatch my stuff and run.” Rukia chuckled.
“No you didn’t. You were enamored of me. You were ogling me.” Ichigo said proudly.
“Ogling? You? No, I was just wondering why you were dressed in miss-match colors.”
“I was matching. Brown, blue and black matches.”
“Well those might’ve went together, but with the silver headphones and the burgundy scarf-and not to mention your own crop of orange hair- you certainly were not matching.” Rukia told him matter-of-factly.
Ichigo stared back at her incredulously. “You remember all of the colors I was wearing?”
Rukia stiffened, ready to go on the defensive. “I always remember the colors around me. I’m an artist. I like to think that I see things-colors- differently. Colors highlight, contrast, dim, overshadow, compliment. Not just match.”
He tilted his head slightly as if to study her. “So what threw off my colors?”
“Your hair.” Rukia said simply.
“It does that at times.” Ichigo retorted gruffly. “But wearing black all the time implies that I’m either depressed or color-blind.”
She realized immediately that he’d taken it the wrong way. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.” she apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that your hair seemed to be your main color, and the rest should have followed suit. And they did for the most part, but the scarf threw it off.” Rukia paused as she tried to remember his attire in her mind’s eye. “It was a stiff color. It didn’t flow in the rest of you.”
“My scarf didn’t flow.” He repeated, pondering the words. Rukia sat, wondering if he would except that. It was the truth, but it sound stupid when the words themselves where actually voiced. “My scarf will always match anything I wear.” Ichigo decided as he took a hefty drink of his black coffee.
Confusion swarmed Rukia’s expression. “What do you mean?”
“My little sister Yuzu knitted me that scarf. It goes with everything, because of that.” Ichigo said firmly, his eyes softening at the mention of his sister. Rukia hid her smile behind the rim of her cup as she watched him recall the day his sister had presented the scarf to him. His entire face seem to glow golden, and it wasn’t from the light in Kanaka’s or the shadows of his hair. It was just the feelings of an brother making its presence known. Ichigo Kurosaki was a loving older brother. It was perfect.
“You’re right.” Rukia said suddenly.
“I’m right?” Ichigo repeated, perplexed.
“Your scarf flows perfectly.” Rukia told him, her smile widening as her mind began to rearrange her portrait of him. The artist in her would have left him abruptly, giving him a lame excuse and headed straight for her apartment and his painting. But she-the woman- was curious about him. Her heart began to beat a little faster as she watched him watch her through puzzled eyes. It was a tiny, insignificant thing, but still her face began to warm. Why did he effect her the way he did.
“Now it’s perfect?” Ichigo asked. “Why?”
“It just is.”
They stared at one another intensely waiting for the other to speak, but neither did as the waitress came over and sat the check between them. “It’s closing time, you two. Unless you want to help clean up for the night, pay and get out.” she called over her shoulder as she began to wipe down the tables around them. Ichigo reached behind him and pulled out his wallet from one of the back pockets of his jeans. When he noticed that Rukia was doing the same-or a least he assumed the tiny bunny rabbit covered purse carried money-he scowled at her.
“I’m paying.” he growled, pulling out the necessary bills to cover their check.
“I’ll pay for my own, thanks.” Rukia said, unzipping the coin purse.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman, Rukia. I’ll pay for yours too.” Ichigo slapped the money down on the check.
“Well, I’m trying to be a modern, independent woman, Ichigo. I can pay for my own meals.” Rukia said patiently, sliding back half of his money and replacing it with her own.
“I asked you out for coffee.” Ichigo reminded her.
“Yes you did.” Rukia conceded. “But what does that have to do anything?”
“This is a date, obviously.” Ichigo said flatly, but the look in his eyes was a little wary. “It is right? And since it is, I’m the guy, I pay.”
“Oh.” Rukia huffed, brushing an errant strand out of her face so that she could see him properly. Ichigo stared back hard, his eyes carefully guarded. A date, huh? Rukia thought to herself. She glanced around the shabby interior of the diner and smiled. It wasn’t the best of places, but it wouldn’t do any harm to say that this was their first date. Not only did it mean the awkwardness of a first date was over, but it had all passed without her knowledge. Nice. She pulled her few bills off the table and stuffed them back into her purse with a shrug. “If you say so.” she said airily as she shoved the purse back into her pocket.
Ichigo looked triumphant. “I do.”
The overcast sky had turned violent outside of Kanaka’s. Torrents of rain fell heavily, only to be scattered by the gusting wind. Ichigo and Rukia stood under the diner’s patio cover and looked out in horror at the turn in weather.
“It was only suppose to drizzle tonight.” Rukia said, wishing for an umbrella. Or at least for a jacket would a hood.
Ichigo snorted. “Yeah, somebody needs to tell the weatherman that his ass is fired.” he shrugged off his coat at dropped it over Rukia’s head.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she tried to shove his coat back at him. “you need this.”
“No, you do. You’ll catch a cold. I’ll be fine. I’ve never been sick a day in my life.” he said, securing the coat back over her. “Make sure you keep a good hold on this. We’re going to have to make a run for it. Who’s place is closer?” He asked.
“Don’t you live in the same complex?”
“Nope, I was walking a friend home.” Ichigo said. “I live in the house above my father’s clinic. That’s about two miles that way.” he said pointing in the opposite direction the wind was blowing.
“And my apartment is six blocks away. Well, at least we know where we’re going.” Rukia
said as she gripped the sides of his coat.
“Alright let’s head out.” Ichigo said as he stepped from under the protection to the patio and set off at a trot. Rukia did her best to keep up, but her shorter legs kept her behind him. The run back to her place was to taking longer than she had thought, if her burning calves had anything to say about it. But the real effort was trying to keep her heart from exploding out of her chest. Ichigo-bless his heart-noticed and slowed down. Clasping her hand in his, he set them off in a gentle jog.
“You okay?” he asked, wiping water off his face.
“Just fine.” Rukia assured him as well as she could while panting her lungs out. She just knew she look like a wet little dog with a tomato red face. Just how she’d always wanted to look in front of a guy.
“Nearly there.” Ichigo said, squeezing her hand tightly.
Rukia tried her best to keep the water out of her mouth as she huffed and wheezed her way up her complex’s stairs and to her front door. Within seconds she inside and pulling thick, fluffy towels out of her linen closet and shrugging out of his coat and hers. Ichigo accepted one of the them gratefully and began to rub at his head vigorously.
“I think I may have something for you to pull on so you won’t catch your death in those wet clothes.” Rukia called over her shoulder as she headed to her bedroom to change out of her own sopping clothes. Quickly, she pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and moved over to her dresser. If she remembered correctly she’d brought along her brother’s old sweat suit that she’d borrowed from him and never returned. Pulling them out Rukia headed back to the living room. “This is all I have. It was my brother, Byaku-”
“What’s this?” Ichigo interrupted her. Rukia looked up and her recently recovered heart nearly stopped altogether. He was holding up one of her discarded canvases. His portrait.
“An unfinished painting.” she replied, feeling heat flush over her face.
“Oh, that’s nice. And who is it of?” he asked in a patient voice.
Rukia stared at him for a full twenty seconds, hoping he’d back down. Ichigo held firm. “You.” she said bluntly.
“Me.” Ichigo repeated slowly, looking back at the painting. He studied it quietly. “My hair’s wrong.” he said suddenly.
Rukia groaned. “I know, you don’t have to tell me. The color’s not right.” She moved over to him and took the canvas from him and shoved the dry clothes at him. “Here. Go change.” she said. “The bathroom’s down the hall, second door.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Ichigo said gratefully, but he stared at her curiously nonetheless. He left the room quietly. As soon as he was out of sight, Rukia whimpered loudly. He was the last person she’d ever wanted to see this thing. It was an embarrassing, stalker-like thing to do, painting someone without their permission. Trying in vain to shove the thoughts of the awkward conversation to come, Rukia moved over to where she’d left her cell phone and dialed up her voicemail. After setting in on speaker and leaving it on the counter, she headed into the kitchen to put water on to boil. Her mood brightened slightly at the voice of her newest friend, Orihime Inoue, who was prattling on to her voicemail service.
“…I really want you to go out with me next weekend, Rukia! You’ve been in Karakura for nearly two months now, and you haven’t had any kind of social interaction, except with me-and I really don’t count because I live in the same complex-but anyway, just come with me! I want you to meet this guy and his friends! He’s a riot! Keigo seems to always be in his own little world, but that’s okay, just wait until you meet him. And don’t call me back and say, ‘I’ll think about it-that’s what you always say. You can’t be stuck in your place painting all the time. Just come on and come with us….”
“You know Orihime?” Ichigo asked from the archway.
Rukia sat the kettle down on the stove abruptly, startled. “Oh…um yeah. I met her in the tenant Laundromat when I moved in. She’s been trying to get me to go out more. How do you know her?”
“She’s the friend I walked home earlier. We went to high school together.” Ichigo elaborated.
“That’s nice.” Rukia replied lamely as she felt her face flush red once again, luckily her back was to him this time. She was still mortified that he’d actually seen his portrait. No one ever seen one of her unfinished pieces, especially ones she‘d done in secret. Even her brother hadn’t heard a word about the ‘Ichigo’ one, and he always inquired about her new paintings. A new thought sent her into a panic. What if he was angry with her for painting him without his permission? She knew really knew nothing about this man-except for the basics, and yet she’d invited him in her home, with no knowledge of what he was capable of. If she was back in Tokyo she’d-
“It’s alright, Rukia.” Ichigo said suddenly, startling her badly because his voice much closer than it had been before. He was so close to her now that she could smell the rainwater combined with his own sweat from running to her apartment. “I don’t mind.”
Rukia risked a peek over her shoulder. “Don’t mind what?” she asked inanely.
“That you’re painting me.” Ichigo retorted smoothly, moving the whistling kettle off of the pilot and onto the cutting board on the counter. “In fact, I think it’s kind of sweet.” he added as he moved away from her to look for cups in her cabinets.
That snapped Rukia quickly out of her stupor. “You think it’s sweet that I’m painting you.” she repeated slowly. “Why?”
“Because you have a crush on me.” Ichigo replied confidently.
“I do not have a crush on you!” Rukia exclaimed, flustered. “I’m too old to have crushes on anyone or anybody, especially you!”
“Aw, too old for crushes, huh?” Ichigo said sarcastically. “Well then, why are you painting me?” he asked.
“Because you have an interesting face.” Rukia answered immediately.
Ichigo considered her reply for a few lengthy seconds before smiling. “You know, I do believe I’ve been told that before, and by Orihime, no less. Give me another one.”
“Another what?”
“Stop stalling, Rukia.” he tsked. “What’s the real reason why you’re painting me.”
Rukia closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She could hear him moving around the kitchen behind her and decided to be honest. “The first time we met, when you’d stooped over me, I couldn’t make out any of your features, not even the shape of your mouth or nose. Your hair was the only thing that had color, or definition, to it. When I saw you-just like that-I felt certain that I was suppose to paint you like that. I could see you clearly on my easel, the monotone background, the silhouetted face, and that sunburst hair of yours. And after you told me your name, I was even more driven to paint you, or at least the crown of a strawberry.” she chuckled slightly. “Corona de la Fresa”
“My name doesn’t mean strawberry.” Ichigo told her.
“It doesn’t have to.” Rukia said.
Ichigo placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her slowly around to face him. “Corona de la Fresa? What’s that.” he asked, smiling calmly.
“What I’m naming your portrait. If I ever finish it.” Rukia said dryly.
“Why wouldn’t you finish it?”
Rukia gave a unladylike snort. “Well a couple of things could keep me from finishing it. One, of course, being you. You say to burn it and I will. And two, I keep messing up your hair color. I’ve wasted four canvases and hours of my life I’ll never get back-”
“How ‘bout a live model?” Ichigo offered, his smile brightening.
Rukia stared at him stunned. That’s when she realized how really live Ichigo was. He hadn’t put on the sweat shirt she’d given him. How was she suppose to concentrate on painting his hair when all of his tempting, well-defined torso would be staring back at her? Rukia let her eyes drop lower down his chest, noting that the trail of hair leading into the low slung sweats was only a shade or two darker than the hair atop of his hair. She swallowed thickly as she looked back up into his cooper eyes. It was about time she took up a serious challenge, even if it was just matching the shade of his hair color. She watched as his smile turned devilish, sparking a shiver down her spine. Oh yeah, it just might be her lucky day.
“Why not?” She said flippantly, feigning nonchalance. “I’m willing if you are.”
[+]
Byakuya inclined his head slightly out of the way as Juushiro pulled the white cloth off of Rukia’s final piece. “I gives me great pleasure to present to you, Corona de la Fresa, a Rukia Kuchiki original.” The gallery patrons clapped boisterously as cameras captured the petite woman and her pride and joy. Byakuya forced a smile for the cameras, but kept an eye on the orange mop of hair that was steadily shouldering its way to the front of the crowd. “And now for an announcement that my sister has been eagerly waiting for me to make, I’d like you all to meet, Ichigo Kurosaki, the man who modeled for Corona de la Fresa.”
The man in question froze at the edge of the crowd as all eyes fell on him. Rukia smiled tenderly at him, grabbed his hand and pulled him up next to her. “Smile.” she said through her own beaming lips while her eyes glancing around the crowd.
Ichigo scowled fiercely under the hot lights of the gallery and the glare of the camera flashes.
Byakuya curbed the urge to roll his eyes. “Mr. Kurosaki and my sister have remained close ever since the creation of Corona de la Fresa and to this day their relationship has ripened just like the sweet fruit the painting is named for…it pleases me to announce that Ichigo Kurosaki has asked for my sister’s hand in marriage.” Byakuya lied easily. Ichigo hadn’t asked. Rukia had just shown up at the Kuchiki Manor and gushed that she was getting married. “And I have given him my approval to do so.” Grudgingly, Byakuya thought. They’d do it with or without his consent. “As long as…” he trailed off, waiting for the younger man to take the bait.
He didn’t disappoint. “As long as what?” Ichigo pressed.
Byakuya smiled severely. “As long as you promise to make her happy.”
Ichigo relaxed instantly, wrapping his arm around Rukia’s shoulders. “I’ll keep her and our baby happy, always.” he vowed loudly enough to carry across the room.
Byakuya felt his aloof demeanor evaporate as he stared at his horrified little sister in shock. “Baby? You’re having a baby?” he demanded.
Rukia nodded numbly at him as she rammed her elbow sharply in her fiancé’s ribs.
“Ouch, damnit Rukia, that hurt! What was that for?” Ichigo exclaimed, impervious to the crowd of on-lookers.
“Not the place to tell him that.” she hissed, her eyes trained on her older brother to catch his next move.
All Byakuya did was close his eyes in agony as he listened to them squabble. He was pretty sure that he would despised his future brother-in-law one day. He already knew for a fact that he hated his sister’s deplorable taste in men. Juushiro nudged him again and put his mouth close enough so only Byakuya could hear.
“So, the next generation of Kuchikis is upon us. Can you image it, Byakuya? Little strawberries totting after you, with all that bright hair. ’Uncle Bya! Uncle Bya!’ “ Juushiro snickered.
“Shut up, Juushiro.” Byakuya said lightly, for some reason the thought of holding his little niece or nephew lessening his anger. A little baby with bright orange hair. Byakuya shuddered at the thought. And then began praying reverently for black hair.
~El fin.
“Corona de la Fresa”
(Crown of the Strawberry)
Author’s Notes: My unending thanks goes to BleachedBee, who helped me finish the very end of this one-shot. This is a really long one-shot (well by, my standards). I didn’t want to post this in chapters, as I knew that posting updates for this would distract me from When Secrets Collide. The writing of it has already taken me away from it long enough. It’s semi-plotless, but I had to get the idea out of my head and onto paper-well, my word processor. Enjoy.
~Danni.
[Corona de la Fresa]
Byakuya Kuchiki waited with distant eyes as the crowd around him began to quiet down. They were waiting for him, and he knew it. Tonight was like any other Opening night that the Shiro-Sakura Gallery had had in the past, except this one was slightly different. This was the one that would begin a brand new life for his little sister. As much as it killed him to admit it, he’d never seen his sister as happy or as radiant as she was tonight. His pride swelled as he glanced over at her, elegantly dressed in a silk black and cream cocktail dress, her arms bare and her hair swept back with a diamond studded comb he’d given her for her last birthday.
He watched as her violet eyes scanned the crowd before them, searching for her special someone. Someone Byakuya wanted to strangle every time he saw him. And as much as he loathed the man who’d captured his sister’s heart, it pleased him to know that he would be the one with the honor to share the news with the press and the patrons of the gallery. Several of her friends were scattered through the gather, including the animated boy who’d knocked over a vase that was insured for five million yen. The sandy haired boy had caught it seconds before it shattered on the marble floor. Lucky for him. Byakuya bleakly tried to remember the boy’s name, but failed. The fact that he couldn’t remember the names of his sister’s friends didn’t surprise him. He’d only invited them tonight for her sake.
Well, hers and her red-headed friend, Orihime. The girl’s name was the only one he ever remembered, and for good reason. Rukia and Orihime had been the best of friends before the brat had began to show exclusive interest in his sister. It didn’t take to much thought to figure out that the other girl had had her own infatuation in the boy and the tension and awkwardness was pliable between the two girls. They’d even gotten into an heated argument, in which they’d both decided to find out who the idiot had more feelings for.
Byakuya rolled his eyes in disgust at the thought. It was a wonder that both of these grown, mature woman could resort to such childish tactics. But they had, and in the end his sister had been victorious. She and Orihime hadn’t talked for days and the strain had gotten intense, enough so that Byakuya had felt the need to step in before they ruined a perfectly good friendship. He watched silently as the orange hair girl glanced around the crowd with searching eyes. Or maybe he’d felt the need to show the girl that she didn’t have a chance to come between the two. The thought was something that Byakuya refused to probe too deeply.
He slowly became aware of the small hand digging slightly into the sleeve of his jacket.
“Where is he?” Rukia murmured anxiously to herself. Byakuya glanced down and noticed that she was balanced precariously on the toes of her Jimmy Choos, trying to extend herself to catch a glimpse over the heads in the crowd.
“He’ll be here.” Or I’ll kill him, Byakuya thought as he tried to reassure his sister. He gently pulled her down off of her tiptoes and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. Byakuya realized that if he didn’t comfort her now he’d have to watch her shatter into a million pieces later. Like she’d done several times before over someone else. But he didn’t want her to do that for this man. Boy, he corrected himself mentally. There was no way that he even possessed one ounce of maturity. If he did he would have had the common sense to show up before the gallery opened its doors to the public. But Byakuya would not get mad over that little mistake. Tonight was not about that. They were putting the immaturity behind them.
“Kuchiki, it’s nearly time.” Byakuya’s business partner, Juushiro Ukitake, reminded him as he coughed his handkerchief.
“You should be at home resting, Ukitake. You’ve got to take better care of yourself.” Byakuya scolded fondly. Juushiro and Byakuya had been a close friend since college and together they’d opened several exclusive galleries across the globe. Recently, Juushiro had fallen ill while inspecting their Canadian gallery.
“You know I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I’ve always considered Rukia my own little sister, and tonight is her big night for several reasons. It does me good to see so many people her just to see her work.” Ukitake said. “But speaking of missing, where’s her Romeo? He’s a little late isn’t he?”
Byakuya snarled lowly in the back of his throat. “I noticed.”
Juushiro nudged him, and nodded his head toward the front entrance. “Well, wait no more. The knight has arrived.” Byakuya spotted a head of orange spikes at once and prayed briefly that the idiot had at least worn something decent and appropriate for the evening.
“It’s time, brother.” Rukia said on a little anxious breath. She slid her hand in his and motioned for Juushiro to stand on her other side.
Byakuya cleared his throat slightly and raised his voice enough for every one on the gallery floor to be able to hear him. “I want to thank you all for coming. Tonight is a especially special night for us here at Shiro-Sakura. It has been a night, many years in the making, for a very talented artist, Rukia Kuchiki. She has spent many months assembling her collection, that spreads into many different mediums, subjects and materials. As you can see from what is gather around the room, my sister has painstakingly made every piece unique.”
Juushiro picked up his thread of the speech. “It has been a privilege to work along side Miss Rukia as she’s poured the love and support of her dear friends into her creations and it is a personal pleasure to be able to relate to you the intriguing- and lovely story that comes with tonight’s main attraction. Several years ago, the younger Kuchiki here…”
[+]
Rukia swore sharply as she dug around her big canvas purse for her map of the campus. It was one of those times that she feverously wished she’d taken her brother’s advice and transferred a college closer to their home in Tokyo. But she’d felt compelled to leave the city, to get away from the dread and grief that seemed to encompass her every waking moment. Leaving Toudai had been the right choice, she believed. It had been best for her own sanity to leave the granite plaque that marked Kaien Shiba’s memorial behind her.
“All I need is the art department. Art. Department.” She told herself as she shoved her morbid thoughts to the side and sank to her knees to search her bag more thoroughly. “Damnit, where is it?!” she demanded of her purse, pulling out everything to hunt of the elusive piece of paper.
“…Um, do you need some help?” A deep, male voice asked from above her. “You look like you demolishing your bag.” the voice added, this time it held a bit of amusement in it.
“I’m fine.” Rukia said in a tone that clearly said go the hell away.
“That’s some bark you’ve got there.” the voice commented. “But all I’m trying to be is chivalrous. It’s one of the many things my useless Pop taught me. That along with gardening, although I don’t ever know when that little skill will be of any use.”
Rukia snorted with laughter as she continued to shuffle through her things. “Oh yeah, exactly what I need right now, a bloody comedian.”
“Not professionally. But I have been having some serious discussions with a friend of mine who wants to form a Kansai comedy duo with me.” he said matter of fact.
Rukia chuckled again finally lifting her face up towards the man. The sight sent her senses and creativity reeling. How he was bent over her, blocking the sun and casting a shadow across her, she couldn’t make out a single feature of his face or tell if he was smiling like she suspected he was. The only thing that wasn’t silhouetted was his absolutely bright orange hair. Rukia couldn’t even bring herself to label him a redhead, because there was no red or auburn tints to his locks. Just shockingly carroty orange hair. “Oh.” the tiny sound escaped her as she thought of something that sent a tiny thrill of delight down her spine. It would be such a pleasure to capture him-exactly as he was now- on a canvas. And not a portrait sized one either. One nearly the size of her small living room wall in her apartment. She could just imagine the ginger color in marriage with a completely monochrome background, the only color in the piece.
“Speechless, huh? Well so was I when Keigo asked me to join up with him.” the boy laughed himself.
“Uh, no, I’m not.” Rukia said as she quickly looked down, hoping to trap the image in her mind permanently. She contemplated nixing her plan to meet up with her advisor and go home to start working on the painting now. It was really tempting. But it wouldn’t be in her best interest to do so. “Just lost. I‘m new in town.” she mumbled as she shifted half-heartedly through her things again.
“What are you looking for? I can probably point you in the right direction.” he offered politely.
“The art department. And Assistant Professor Momo Hinamori.” she recited from memory. She unconsciously looked toward him again and watched him rub the back of his neck with the flat of his hand.
“Well, I don’t know who Hinamori is, but I do know where the art building is.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “Second building on your right. The doors are always open on the blasted thing. Like no one knows how to go home or something.” He snorted at the incredulity of the thought.
“Art’s like that.” Rukia told him, shoving her crap back into her bag. “Sometimes you get so consumed in what you’re working on, you don’t know what going on, when you last ate or the last time you fell asleep. It’s enthralling. You never stand a chance once a idea takes a hold of you.”
He squatted down next to her to look her in the eye. His features were in sharp contrast now and she could make out the intensity of his russet-colored eyes. “Captivating, is it?”
“Yeah it is.” Rukia affirmed. She’d paint his eyes next. They were a matchless copper brown, and like he’d said, they were absolutely captivating.
“It sounds like it is. A friend of mine designs women’s clothing. You should see the intense look he gets when he’s sketching.” He said.
Making women’s clothes? She didn’t even think the two things could compare. “Oh, I wouldn’t know about clothes. But with painting and sculpting, most definitely.” she stated. Giving her stuff a last heavy pat she gathered the handles of her canvas purse and slowly began to rise. He placed a steadying hand on her arm and helped her to her feet. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“No problem.” He shrugged. “Well, just in case you need me again, would you mind telling me your name?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.” she replied. She waited patiently to find out the name of the man with the fascinating coloring. He was like a living paint palette, dressed in blue jeans, black sneakers and a mud brown hooded sweatshirt. Around his neck rested a pair of silver headphones and wrapped warmly under them, a bulky burgundy scarf.
He struck out a hand. “I’m Ichigo Kurosaki.” He said a bit gruffly. “Don’t forget it okay? You never know when you’ll get lost again and I happen to be around.” Ichigo shook her hand and before she knew it, he was off at a slight trot, in the opposite direction.
Rukia watched as he disappeared from sight a small smile playing at her lips. “Ichigo, huh?” she whispered to herself as she hefted her bag to her shoulder and headed off in the direction of the art building.
^_^
What a mess. Rukia thought to herself in disgust as she set her paint brush down and studied her work. Something…wasn’t right. The background, the shading, those were perfect. But he wasn’t. The orange. She just couldn’t get it right. She sighed in agony as she took the canvas off of her easel and placed in against the wall. It was her fourth attempt. And try as she might, she just couldn’t get it right. It was frustratingly vague in her memory, and she couldn’t see it with clarity, no matter how hard she tried.
And no matter how hard she’d looked, she’d never seen Ichigo again. No matter how many times she’d frequented the little courtyard where she’d met him, he’d never showed up. She knew she should have been pissed off at herself because she kept searching for him, especially when he hadn’t even given her correct directions to the Art Department, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. All she need was another glimpse of his hair, just enough to refresh her memory. That was it. Enough to finish the painting and get it off her mind. She place a frame and began to prepare the new canvas. Since she’d decide to use a irregular canvas size, she had to set up a new one, tacking the taunt fabric to the wood and applying the compounds to harden it. Rukia knew it was time constraining, but she felt that no other size would be right.
She left the new canvas to dry, grabbed her coat and headed at the door in search of nourishment. It was nearly nine in the evening and she couldn’t remember when the last time she had eaten. Rukia skipped down the stairs while shrugging into her coat, not looking where she was going. She slammed into a hard chest as she hit the bottom step. The impact was enough to send her reeling back, her behind landing hard on the step above her.
“I’m so sorry, Miss!-Rukia?” Ichigo exclaimed in surprise. He held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” he added.
“Same to you.” Rukia groused as she brushed off the seat of her pants. Part of her wanted to chew him out for knocking her down, but the bigger part of her-the ecstatic part - was just so damn happy to see him and his orange hair. “How’ve you been?”
“Great. Well- I’ve felt terrible about giving you the wrong directions. Didn’t realize that until I’d left and when I went back you’d disappeared.” Ichigo said dryly.
“It was no problem. I found it, eventually.” Rukia laughed. She watched as Ichigo flushed red, and smiled broadly.
“Well, let me make it up to you with a cup of coffee.” He bartered. He glanced up at the sky, taking note of the gray clouds gathering. “Preferably somewhere we won’t get rained on.”
No way was she passing up the chance to scrutinize his hair color. “Sure. I was looking for sustenance now anyway.” Rukia agreed. She fell into step beside him, and noticed how much taller he was than she. He nearly had a foot on her. It was no wonder he’d nearly eclipsed the sun last time she’d seen him. By the time they entered Kanaka’s- a little dive with horridly cracked Formica tables- she knew all about his friends, family and the weird candy shop owner who kept showing up at his family’s house for dinner. She also know that he tried to keep a scowl permanently affixed to his face, but it rarely stayed in place when he was talking about things that interested him-especially European Literature.
“So…you want to be a writer.” Rukia tipped her head and consider him carefully. “You don’t look the type.” she commented.
Ichigo snorted through his nose. “That’s the billionth time I’ve heard that. What do I need to wear my glasses full time? Or maybe look more pensive? I can’t look like a writer the way I am now?”
“Well, you already look brooding, so you’re fine on that end. But both times I’ve seen you, you’ve been scowling. And not a little marring of the brows, but a full-on unapproachable glare. When we first met, I thought you were going to rob me blind. You should work on that.” Rukia advised.
Ichigo chuckled. “Yeah right. All I was trying to do was help you.”
“Well, you looked quite menacing when you stooped down. I thought you were going to snatch my stuff and run.” Rukia chuckled.
“No you didn’t. You were enamored of me. You were ogling me.” Ichigo said proudly.
“Ogling? You? No, I was just wondering why you were dressed in miss-match colors.”
“I was matching. Brown, blue and black matches.”
“Well those might’ve went together, but with the silver headphones and the burgundy scarf-and not to mention your own crop of orange hair- you certainly were not matching.” Rukia told him matter-of-factly.
Ichigo stared back at her incredulously. “You remember all of the colors I was wearing?”
Rukia stiffened, ready to go on the defensive. “I always remember the colors around me. I’m an artist. I like to think that I see things-colors- differently. Colors highlight, contrast, dim, overshadow, compliment. Not just match.”
He tilted his head slightly as if to study her. “So what threw off my colors?”
“Your hair.” Rukia said simply.
“It does that at times.” Ichigo retorted gruffly. “But wearing black all the time implies that I’m either depressed or color-blind.”
She realized immediately that he’d taken it the wrong way. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.” she apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that your hair seemed to be your main color, and the rest should have followed suit. And they did for the most part, but the scarf threw it off.” Rukia paused as she tried to remember his attire in her mind’s eye. “It was a stiff color. It didn’t flow in the rest of you.”
“My scarf didn’t flow.” He repeated, pondering the words. Rukia sat, wondering if he would except that. It was the truth, but it sound stupid when the words themselves where actually voiced. “My scarf will always match anything I wear.” Ichigo decided as he took a hefty drink of his black coffee.
Confusion swarmed Rukia’s expression. “What do you mean?”
“My little sister Yuzu knitted me that scarf. It goes with everything, because of that.” Ichigo said firmly, his eyes softening at the mention of his sister. Rukia hid her smile behind the rim of her cup as she watched him recall the day his sister had presented the scarf to him. His entire face seem to glow golden, and it wasn’t from the light in Kanaka’s or the shadows of his hair. It was just the feelings of an brother making its presence known. Ichigo Kurosaki was a loving older brother. It was perfect.
“You’re right.” Rukia said suddenly.
“I’m right?” Ichigo repeated, perplexed.
“Your scarf flows perfectly.” Rukia told him, her smile widening as her mind began to rearrange her portrait of him. The artist in her would have left him abruptly, giving him a lame excuse and headed straight for her apartment and his painting. But she-the woman- was curious about him. Her heart began to beat a little faster as she watched him watch her through puzzled eyes. It was a tiny, insignificant thing, but still her face began to warm. Why did he effect her the way he did.
“Now it’s perfect?” Ichigo asked. “Why?”
“It just is.”
They stared at one another intensely waiting for the other to speak, but neither did as the waitress came over and sat the check between them. “It’s closing time, you two. Unless you want to help clean up for the night, pay and get out.” she called over her shoulder as she began to wipe down the tables around them. Ichigo reached behind him and pulled out his wallet from one of the back pockets of his jeans. When he noticed that Rukia was doing the same-or a least he assumed the tiny bunny rabbit covered purse carried money-he scowled at her.
“I’m paying.” he growled, pulling out the necessary bills to cover their check.
“I’ll pay for my own, thanks.” Rukia said, unzipping the coin purse.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman, Rukia. I’ll pay for yours too.” Ichigo slapped the money down on the check.
“Well, I’m trying to be a modern, independent woman, Ichigo. I can pay for my own meals.” Rukia said patiently, sliding back half of his money and replacing it with her own.
“I asked you out for coffee.” Ichigo reminded her.
“Yes you did.” Rukia conceded. “But what does that have to do anything?”
“This is a date, obviously.” Ichigo said flatly, but the look in his eyes was a little wary. “It is right? And since it is, I’m the guy, I pay.”
“Oh.” Rukia huffed, brushing an errant strand out of her face so that she could see him properly. Ichigo stared back hard, his eyes carefully guarded. A date, huh? Rukia thought to herself. She glanced around the shabby interior of the diner and smiled. It wasn’t the best of places, but it wouldn’t do any harm to say that this was their first date. Not only did it mean the awkwardness of a first date was over, but it had all passed without her knowledge. Nice. She pulled her few bills off the table and stuffed them back into her purse with a shrug. “If you say so.” she said airily as she shoved the purse back into her pocket.
Ichigo looked triumphant. “I do.”
The overcast sky had turned violent outside of Kanaka’s. Torrents of rain fell heavily, only to be scattered by the gusting wind. Ichigo and Rukia stood under the diner’s patio cover and looked out in horror at the turn in weather.
“It was only suppose to drizzle tonight.” Rukia said, wishing for an umbrella. Or at least for a jacket would a hood.
Ichigo snorted. “Yeah, somebody needs to tell the weatherman that his ass is fired.” he shrugged off his coat at dropped it over Rukia’s head.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she tried to shove his coat back at him. “you need this.”
“No, you do. You’ll catch a cold. I’ll be fine. I’ve never been sick a day in my life.” he said, securing the coat back over her. “Make sure you keep a good hold on this. We’re going to have to make a run for it. Who’s place is closer?” He asked.
“Don’t you live in the same complex?”
“Nope, I was walking a friend home.” Ichigo said. “I live in the house above my father’s clinic. That’s about two miles that way.” he said pointing in the opposite direction the wind was blowing.
“And my apartment is six blocks away. Well, at least we know where we’re going.” Rukia
said as she gripped the sides of his coat.
“Alright let’s head out.” Ichigo said as he stepped from under the protection to the patio and set off at a trot. Rukia did her best to keep up, but her shorter legs kept her behind him. The run back to her place was to taking longer than she had thought, if her burning calves had anything to say about it. But the real effort was trying to keep her heart from exploding out of her chest. Ichigo-bless his heart-noticed and slowed down. Clasping her hand in his, he set them off in a gentle jog.
“You okay?” he asked, wiping water off his face.
“Just fine.” Rukia assured him as well as she could while panting her lungs out. She just knew she look like a wet little dog with a tomato red face. Just how she’d always wanted to look in front of a guy.
“Nearly there.” Ichigo said, squeezing her hand tightly.
Rukia tried her best to keep the water out of her mouth as she huffed and wheezed her way up her complex’s stairs and to her front door. Within seconds she inside and pulling thick, fluffy towels out of her linen closet and shrugging out of his coat and hers. Ichigo accepted one of the them gratefully and began to rub at his head vigorously.
“I think I may have something for you to pull on so you won’t catch your death in those wet clothes.” Rukia called over her shoulder as she headed to her bedroom to change out of her own sopping clothes. Quickly, she pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and moved over to her dresser. If she remembered correctly she’d brought along her brother’s old sweat suit that she’d borrowed from him and never returned. Pulling them out Rukia headed back to the living room. “This is all I have. It was my brother, Byaku-”
“What’s this?” Ichigo interrupted her. Rukia looked up and her recently recovered heart nearly stopped altogether. He was holding up one of her discarded canvases. His portrait.
“An unfinished painting.” she replied, feeling heat flush over her face.
“Oh, that’s nice. And who is it of?” he asked in a patient voice.
Rukia stared at him for a full twenty seconds, hoping he’d back down. Ichigo held firm. “You.” she said bluntly.
“Me.” Ichigo repeated slowly, looking back at the painting. He studied it quietly. “My hair’s wrong.” he said suddenly.
Rukia groaned. “I know, you don’t have to tell me. The color’s not right.” She moved over to him and took the canvas from him and shoved the dry clothes at him. “Here. Go change.” she said. “The bathroom’s down the hall, second door.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Ichigo said gratefully, but he stared at her curiously nonetheless. He left the room quietly. As soon as he was out of sight, Rukia whimpered loudly. He was the last person she’d ever wanted to see this thing. It was an embarrassing, stalker-like thing to do, painting someone without their permission. Trying in vain to shove the thoughts of the awkward conversation to come, Rukia moved over to where she’d left her cell phone and dialed up her voicemail. After setting in on speaker and leaving it on the counter, she headed into the kitchen to put water on to boil. Her mood brightened slightly at the voice of her newest friend, Orihime Inoue, who was prattling on to her voicemail service.
“…I really want you to go out with me next weekend, Rukia! You’ve been in Karakura for nearly two months now, and you haven’t had any kind of social interaction, except with me-and I really don’t count because I live in the same complex-but anyway, just come with me! I want you to meet this guy and his friends! He’s a riot! Keigo seems to always be in his own little world, but that’s okay, just wait until you meet him. And don’t call me back and say, ‘I’ll think about it-that’s what you always say. You can’t be stuck in your place painting all the time. Just come on and come with us….”
“You know Orihime?” Ichigo asked from the archway.
Rukia sat the kettle down on the stove abruptly, startled. “Oh…um yeah. I met her in the tenant Laundromat when I moved in. She’s been trying to get me to go out more. How do you know her?”
“She’s the friend I walked home earlier. We went to high school together.” Ichigo elaborated.
“That’s nice.” Rukia replied lamely as she felt her face flush red once again, luckily her back was to him this time. She was still mortified that he’d actually seen his portrait. No one ever seen one of her unfinished pieces, especially ones she‘d done in secret. Even her brother hadn’t heard a word about the ‘Ichigo’ one, and he always inquired about her new paintings. A new thought sent her into a panic. What if he was angry with her for painting him without his permission? She knew really knew nothing about this man-except for the basics, and yet she’d invited him in her home, with no knowledge of what he was capable of. If she was back in Tokyo she’d-
“It’s alright, Rukia.” Ichigo said suddenly, startling her badly because his voice much closer than it had been before. He was so close to her now that she could smell the rainwater combined with his own sweat from running to her apartment. “I don’t mind.”
Rukia risked a peek over her shoulder. “Don’t mind what?” she asked inanely.
“That you’re painting me.” Ichigo retorted smoothly, moving the whistling kettle off of the pilot and onto the cutting board on the counter. “In fact, I think it’s kind of sweet.” he added as he moved away from her to look for cups in her cabinets.
That snapped Rukia quickly out of her stupor. “You think it’s sweet that I’m painting you.” she repeated slowly. “Why?”
“Because you have a crush on me.” Ichigo replied confidently.
“I do not have a crush on you!” Rukia exclaimed, flustered. “I’m too old to have crushes on anyone or anybody, especially you!”
“Aw, too old for crushes, huh?” Ichigo said sarcastically. “Well then, why are you painting me?” he asked.
“Because you have an interesting face.” Rukia answered immediately.
Ichigo considered her reply for a few lengthy seconds before smiling. “You know, I do believe I’ve been told that before, and by Orihime, no less. Give me another one.”
“Another what?”
“Stop stalling, Rukia.” he tsked. “What’s the real reason why you’re painting me.”
Rukia closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She could hear him moving around the kitchen behind her and decided to be honest. “The first time we met, when you’d stooped over me, I couldn’t make out any of your features, not even the shape of your mouth or nose. Your hair was the only thing that had color, or definition, to it. When I saw you-just like that-I felt certain that I was suppose to paint you like that. I could see you clearly on my easel, the monotone background, the silhouetted face, and that sunburst hair of yours. And after you told me your name, I was even more driven to paint you, or at least the crown of a strawberry.” she chuckled slightly. “Corona de la Fresa”
“My name doesn’t mean strawberry.” Ichigo told her.
“It doesn’t have to.” Rukia said.
Ichigo placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her slowly around to face him. “Corona de la Fresa? What’s that.” he asked, smiling calmly.
“What I’m naming your portrait. If I ever finish it.” Rukia said dryly.
“Why wouldn’t you finish it?”
Rukia gave a unladylike snort. “Well a couple of things could keep me from finishing it. One, of course, being you. You say to burn it and I will. And two, I keep messing up your hair color. I’ve wasted four canvases and hours of my life I’ll never get back-”
“How ‘bout a live model?” Ichigo offered, his smile brightening.
Rukia stared at him stunned. That’s when she realized how really live Ichigo was. He hadn’t put on the sweat shirt she’d given him. How was she suppose to concentrate on painting his hair when all of his tempting, well-defined torso would be staring back at her? Rukia let her eyes drop lower down his chest, noting that the trail of hair leading into the low slung sweats was only a shade or two darker than the hair atop of his hair. She swallowed thickly as she looked back up into his cooper eyes. It was about time she took up a serious challenge, even if it was just matching the shade of his hair color. She watched as his smile turned devilish, sparking a shiver down her spine. Oh yeah, it just might be her lucky day.
“Why not?” She said flippantly, feigning nonchalance. “I’m willing if you are.”
[+]
Byakuya inclined his head slightly out of the way as Juushiro pulled the white cloth off of Rukia’s final piece. “I gives me great pleasure to present to you, Corona de la Fresa, a Rukia Kuchiki original.” The gallery patrons clapped boisterously as cameras captured the petite woman and her pride and joy. Byakuya forced a smile for the cameras, but kept an eye on the orange mop of hair that was steadily shouldering its way to the front of the crowd. “And now for an announcement that my sister has been eagerly waiting for me to make, I’d like you all to meet, Ichigo Kurosaki, the man who modeled for Corona de la Fresa.”
The man in question froze at the edge of the crowd as all eyes fell on him. Rukia smiled tenderly at him, grabbed his hand and pulled him up next to her. “Smile.” she said through her own beaming lips while her eyes glancing around the crowd.
Ichigo scowled fiercely under the hot lights of the gallery and the glare of the camera flashes.
Byakuya curbed the urge to roll his eyes. “Mr. Kurosaki and my sister have remained close ever since the creation of Corona de la Fresa and to this day their relationship has ripened just like the sweet fruit the painting is named for…it pleases me to announce that Ichigo Kurosaki has asked for my sister’s hand in marriage.” Byakuya lied easily. Ichigo hadn’t asked. Rukia had just shown up at the Kuchiki Manor and gushed that she was getting married. “And I have given him my approval to do so.” Grudgingly, Byakuya thought. They’d do it with or without his consent. “As long as…” he trailed off, waiting for the younger man to take the bait.
He didn’t disappoint. “As long as what?” Ichigo pressed.
Byakuya smiled severely. “As long as you promise to make her happy.”
Ichigo relaxed instantly, wrapping his arm around Rukia’s shoulders. “I’ll keep her and our baby happy, always.” he vowed loudly enough to carry across the room.
Byakuya felt his aloof demeanor evaporate as he stared at his horrified little sister in shock. “Baby? You’re having a baby?” he demanded.
Rukia nodded numbly at him as she rammed her elbow sharply in her fiancé’s ribs.
“Ouch, damnit Rukia, that hurt! What was that for?” Ichigo exclaimed, impervious to the crowd of on-lookers.
“Not the place to tell him that.” she hissed, her eyes trained on her older brother to catch his next move.
All Byakuya did was close his eyes in agony as he listened to them squabble. He was pretty sure that he would despised his future brother-in-law one day. He already knew for a fact that he hated his sister’s deplorable taste in men. Juushiro nudged him again and put his mouth close enough so only Byakuya could hear.
“So, the next generation of Kuchikis is upon us. Can you image it, Byakuya? Little strawberries totting after you, with all that bright hair. ’Uncle Bya! Uncle Bya!’ “ Juushiro snickered.
“Shut up, Juushiro.” Byakuya said lightly, for some reason the thought of holding his little niece or nephew lessening his anger. A little baby with bright orange hair. Byakuya shuddered at the thought. And then began praying reverently for black hair.
~El fin.