my heart was wrapped up in clover

[unburden]

It's been a couple of days since a sizable group of people slipped off the map. Slipped out of sight, out of mind, out of reach. In the amount of time that Rukia's been in Darrow, she's noticed that there are some non-natives who manage to escape. Can't be much more than what she can count on a single hand, but she hasn't yet been able to figure out how it happens, or catch a trail to chase after. This time, it's much of the same. No amount of sifting through the corners seems to unearth any answers — all she knows is that there are a great many people who disappeared at once.

And losing sleep over it probably won't do much good.

The guilt remains, of course. Nestled in her chest as she sits in front of the television in the apartment, fingers tightly gripping a controller as she stares at the pixelated screen. Training digital bunnies shouldn't really be high on her list of priorities, but in some ways, it helps her unwind. It's not a big deal if they disappear or she loses track of them. It's okay to lose herself in the routine of it, to smile when their ears turn or their noses twitch. Hair still damp from a shower, Rukia shivers a little from her lack of foresight, glancing about for a throw, but the level's almost over and it's unlikely that she'll catch a cold, anyway.

So she wraps her arms more tightly around her knees and continues besting the odd blue monster with her Buneary, hardly looking up when she hears footsteps trailing into the room.

"If you block my view, I might kick you."

Comments

[unburden]

It isn't uncommon to find a great deal of nuance in everything that Ichigo says; this moment is no exception. That they should find themselves like this is only because the world has stopped around them. Slowed, miraculously, allowing for the gentle press and pry of hands, allowing for time to memorize the details, Rukia's gaze constantly brushing over Ichigo's face — his lashes, his nose, the bow of his lips. While it may be years before the overall familiarity stops stirring that deeply buried ache in her heart, the differences are what she focuses on now.

And from them comes another kind of ache entirely.

In that moment, she feels old. Weathered. Perhaps the both of them are, rough edges worn down until the both of them simply fit. There are words that she could share, and every one of them would be true. That she loves him. That she loves him, to the point where it's still better to see him at all, even if he can't see her in return. But there's something about the words that feels... beyond her place. Beyond her station. He's the one who's living; it's up to him to throw that sentiment out there, address it if he needs.

She'll wait.

"I want to stay with you, too," she replies instead. No caveat. No ifs or buts based on their situation. Instead, she shifts on the couch, legs thrown over the side and hand pressing a little more insistently against the heavy beat of his heart, and when her gaze drops down to the line of his collarbone, it's not without a small smile on her lips, taking from the moment whatever she can.

[unbridle]

Something in the way that she looks down at him, cataloging him with a fond care that he's seldom seen directed his way since the memory of being pulled close by his mother, puts him at a soul-deep ease, complete comfort, blocking his consideration for the rest of the world out. It might seem empty and cliche to him in the light of afternoon, the context of a different place, but for now, Rukia's the only one in the world with him.

"You wouldn't have been able to argue with me about it anyway," he says, warm humor entering his voice, though it remains soft in a way that it often isn't. Soft, and without pretense or hurry. Drawing closer even against the press of her hand, he presses a curious kiss to the warm skin just in front of Rukia's ear, pulling away with reconsideration when her damp hair falls, cool, across his nose. Instead, he takes her free hand, squeezing it once in his, before pressing it to his face, holding it there more than kissing it. She smells clean, the sweetness of soap.

[unburden]

What digs at her is the desire to be impulsive. The little thrum of energy that keeps her intensely aware of every detail, even when they all seem to suggest that she should settle, relax into the warmth of Ichigo's hold. Gradually, she unfurls herself, her legs sneaking out to drape over Ichigo's lap, pink tongue dragging her lower lip between her teeth before she leans forward, tracing the line of Ichigo's jaw with the bridge of her nose. It's been hours since he was out, but there's still a scent that lingers about him, smelling of the outdoors. Brisk. Winter's bound to be upon them soon.

"I'm a lot faster than you give me credit for," Rukia points out, lifting her hand from his chest and letting it trace along the side of Ichigo's cheek. It's softer than she expects. Strange now, she thinks — how often they're together, and yet how many of these facts have slipped her entirely until now. Carefully, she nudges herself further under the shadow of Ichigo's jaw, kisses ghosting down his neck. "I could run. But I don't want to."

[unbridle]

Her gentle, soft nuzzle opens something in him, so that when he breathes in, it feels like it will go on forever, an impossibly lengthy sigh of unsettled contentment. He's happy with this, but his entire body seems to be telling him -- it could be more.

But he's not sure it should be yet, despite the liquid warmth in his belly at the sight of her as he looks at her, really takes her in. Not to check if she's okay, not to read the nuance of her expression, just to appreciate her like he's seldom allowed himself to do before. With her, with anyone.

Everything about her is telling him it's okay to stare, though

"I know I said I wanted to go. Can we stay here instead?" Like this, his eyes ask, as his face finally pulls into a smile over where her lips leave tickling warmth down the column of his neck.

[unburden]

When Rukia leans back, her gaze first fixes itself on his smile. It starts at the lips, a slight curve in the direction that Ichigo rarely allows himself, one that Rukia runs lightly over with the pad of her thumb in either direction until she meets with the slight dips at the corners, running over them with ghosted touches, as though she might smooth them out. But the smile goes beyond that curve, softens his entire expression and makes him look younger, somehow, in the face. Older in the eyes. More than anything, it makes Rukia think, and she draws slightly into herself in the process, almost shy. Certainly wanting.

"You're sure that I won't bore you?" she teases, casting a glance out the window. "The city out there is still pretty big and bustling. If you're feeling restless, I don't know." Shy again, with a flush dusting her cheeks, Rukia's gaze drops down the center of his chest as her fingers graze against the fabric of his shirt, pressing soft shadows there.