|Puel, Wrongsexual (puella_nerdii) wrote in kinkfest,|
@ 2007-09-26 01:42:00
|Entry tags:||a: puella_nerdii, f: bleach, p: orihime/rukia, september 15|
Sleepover (Bleach, Orihime/Rukia)
Warnings: none; very early series
Prompt: Loneliness, gentle responses at unexpected moments - “But I’m so glad you’re here.”
A/N: Hi. This is really late. Sorry. >> I hope it still pleases.
Rukia isn’t quite sure what to expect when she knocks on Orihime’s door. Life on Earth has its own set of customs, and by now, she’s settled into most of them. But there’s still a niggling tickle in the back of her mind that tells her you’re doing it wrong when she sits in the cool grass at lunchtime or chews on her pencil during a test or buys chocolate mint chip ice cream from the shop down the street. And the voice’s carping is getting more insistent now as she shifts from foot to foot waiting for Orihime to answer the door. A sleepover? What do you know about sleepovers?
She hears a fast sequence of thuds from behind the door; it flies open to reveal Orihime in a stained apron, beaming at her. “Sorry!” she says. “I was busy fixing dinner, so I didn’t realize you were knocking until later.”
“That’s fine,” Rukia says. “What’s for dinner?”
Orihime rocks forward and balances on the tips of her toes. “It’s really good. Crab legs in plum sauce over boiled eggs, and I can put garlic on the side for extra flavor.”
Rukia stares. Orihime’s smile falters a little. “That’s okay, right?” she asks. “Tatsuki tells me my taste buds are weird…”
“It’ll taste fine,” Rukia reassures her as she mentally crosses her fingers.
Orihime’s apartment is a fraction of the size of Rukia’s apartments at the Kuchiki compound, but patches of emptiness eat away at her walls and floors and make her rooms seem vacant in a way Rukia’s never were. She has few enough belongings at home, but Byakuya’s spiritual pressure—and her own, to a lesser extent—fills the house and eliminates any traces of bareness.
Orihime sings something tuneless under her breath as she tosses the crab legs into a bright red pot with cheerful flowers painted on the side.
“What are we doing after dinner?” Rukia asks.
“Oh, lots of things,” Orihime says, waving her hand in the air and narrowly avoiding a collision with one of the pans hanging from a rack above the sink. “I have a lot of movies we can watch, and I’m not very good at video games, but we can play them if you want to. Or we can tell stories. There’s supposed to be a thunderstorm later tonight. That’s the best weather for telling stories, I think.”
“What kind of stories?”
“The best kind,” Orihime says, which isn’t quite an answer. She removes a wooden spoon from the plum sauce and sucks on it thoughtfully.
Orihime takes the spoon out of her mouth with a wet pop. “The ones about ghosts, I think. Ghosts and spirits and gods. Because it means there’s more than—” She sweeps her hand around in a vague circle. “You know? There are lots of things to believe in.”
“I understand,” Rukia says.
“Do you want to know a secret?”
She hesitates before replying, “All right.”
Orihime leans in, and Rukia can smell the plums on her breath, rich and heavy and sweet. “I can see them,” she whispers. “I had a dream a while ago, and I can see them now. I never thought they’d be in so many places.”
“You can see ghosts?” Rukia asks, once her brain’s been kick started back into operation.
“Uh-huh.” She nods vigorously. “I think it’s kind of nice. Because it means someone’s always floating over you and watching you, right? Even if it’s a creepy old man. But if it was,” she says, growing even more animated, “then the other ghosts would get together and shout at him and use their team combo attack to bring him down but then he might know the secret move to block it—”
Orihime scratches behind her head and laughs. “I don’t know. It’s just something that I thought.”
“But really,” she says, “I’m glad you’re here.” Her cheeks have flushed almost the same shade of red as the pot, and they only get brighter when she leans forward and kisses Rukia softly on the mouth. It’s a light brush of lips, a chaste thing, but the kitchen grows several degrees warmer.
The stove dings.
“Dinner’s ready,” Orihime says.
“Good,” Rukia replies. “I’m starving.”