A/N: Hello. Enjoy. Goodbye.

This bud of love by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. -Romeo & Juliet – Act 2, Scene 2, by William Shakespeare.

Ichigo Kurosaki slouched in his chair, closing his eyes against the amber sunlight leaking through the classroom blinds left open, which casted vertically striped shadows across his face as he lazed at his desk. It was summertime, and being on one of the top tiers of the school block around midday was practically suicide; the heat wave shrouding Karakura was simply ridiculous, reaching temperatures as high as 30°C, causing the typically idle students feeling all the more lazier than usual under the blistering heat rising into their environments. He breathed softly, surrounded by his classmates as they congregated under the air-con, top buttons undone, shirts untucked, ties unstrung, as his burnt orange hair billowed softly under the enticing cool breeze, wisping its way through the classroom. The desks had been shifted around into a square shape, with a large table covered with a white cloth positioned central to the desks, which only supported the rumours spreading like a wildfire across the school: the second and third graders were having a life model come in for them to draw.

Anyone with a brain could easily guess it wouldn't be anyone attractive. These life models never were. Keigo had literally burst into tears, scrunching his face in an repugnant manner, clenching his fists as he bounced on the spot, broadcasting his hopes on a young, sexy woman; Mizuiro on the other hand, simply sat, pouting his lips, praying silently for a fairly mature woman, but not too old so that she'd scar minds with her elderly figure. Even the females were showing signs of anticipation, as he heard Chizuru Honshō, the resident lesbian-in-denial, squirm in her seat, the exhilaration running to her very bones. Ichigo shrugged the thoughts away, raising his head to the air-con as he blanked out his absurd classmates, wondering how the hell he'd ever became friends with the lunatics in the first place. Whoever the model was, he didn't care; even if it turned out to be an elderly man, or a grotesque woman with the same girth as a sumo wrestler, a grade was a grade; by his standards, he'd never been outstandingat art, but he knew deep down he'd increased vastly since he started middle school. The feminine skill of art clashed with his chilled rebel reputation, so he kept it hidden, only claiming his work to be good so he could pass high school with decent grades, and not because it was one of his deepest passions.

The tutor walked through the classroom door left ajar, clapping to silence the escalating blathering resounding throughout the room, as the tension grew amongst the students. She brushed a strand of coffee stained hair from her face, pushing her studious glasses against her eyes, forming a stern expression before she began the lesson.
"Right, class. As you know, this is a life modelling class, and it is required as part of your portfolios, and will take up a quarter of your grade. You are all here because you are all mature, responsible adults. Any silliness and you will be thrown off the course, immediately. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Ochi-sensei."

She narrowed her eyes, scowling specifically at Keigo, as if to say he was her prime suspect.
"That especially counts for you, Asano-san. Now, the woman-" Ichigo rolled his eyes at the male section of the class cheering at the announcement, folding his arms over his chest as he fixed his main focus on the tutor before him. "The woman who has kindly come in is new to this area; this is her first nude modelling, so show your respect and be kind to her." A heavy silence filled the air, as she left the room, the tension building as all 30 students awaited the model's entrance, holding their breaths as they mentally prepared themselves for the worst case scenarios. Ichigo turned his body away from the door, scoffing at their superficial natures, assembling his tools, as he held the HB in his tight clutch.

"Everyone, this is Orihime Inoue."

He felt a cool breeze sweep across the room, the scent of a thousand sakura blossoms scattering across him, as the silked petals fluttered into his mind. The air was thick and heavy, as he caught the eye of Keigo, who was staring with awe in the model's direction. He glanced over to Mizuiro, finding him weep with distraught, making it obvious she was a young one, who wasn't classed under his age range. His Mexican friend Chad merely huffed under his breath, as rose tinted blushes flared in his cheeks, clashing against his Hispanic complexion. Ichigo felt his hand shaking under the pressure, desperate to turn around, to gaze at the woman exuding this ambrosial presence. He shook his head, chanting his morals mentally in the form of a mantra, steadying his grasp on the pencil in a slick, clammy palm. He heard footsteps sound from around him, sounding louder and louder the closer they came, the muffled paddings of the delicate flesh pacing across the soft, royal blue carpet burying deep into his mind.

He soon found there wasn't a need to strain himself, or to lose dignity in turning to gawp at the beauty along with the other moronic, dim-witted men, as she stepped gracefully onto the table positioned directly in front of him, her torso wrapped in a short kimono. The midnight silk gleamed under the lights of the classroom, flickering similarly to a million candles, setting the room ablaze with a simple touch. The pink lining of the colour matched the petals imprinted on the kimono, as well as the blush flaring in her cheeks, the naïvety and innocence leaking from her ambience veiling her at that exact moment. His gaze drifted upwards, studying the woman before him; the fiery cascades fell from her tensed shoulders, in a smooth, sleek cut, the bangs from her face swept aside with two cyan hairpins in the shape of a six-petalled flower. Her doe eyes were deep-set, glinting what seemed to be a thousand shades of silver, each pixel adorning a new glimpse of life. Her thick lashes definitely looked natural, volumized to perfection, as they casted a split seconds worth of shadows over her cheeks whenever she blinked.

"As soon as we began, you will have 15 minutes to draw the model, and the pose will change after every interval. It's 12.15 now, so we will finish at 1.00." The tutor smiled at the model's valour, merely nodding as she took her place behind the desk stacked with marking. "Whenever you're ready, Inoue-san."

The model smiled in return, taking a deep breath, tugging at her sash, letting the robe drop to the ground. Ichigo's heart stopped, as her breasts came into view, watching her take on her position; she stood tall, confident even, with her legs spread apart in a dominant stance. Her shoulders relaxed, as her hips tilted to the right, her dainty hands placing themselves at her pelvis. He cursed silently, feeling himself strain against his uniform at the sight of the model's strident courage, considering the nerve it must take for someone with a body as beautiful as hers to stand in front of a group of 17-18 year old, severely hormonal males. Her breasts were full and firm, large beyond compare to any he'd ever seen; his mind felt perverted scrutinizing her physical traits, but his heart raced, his hand unable to remain still, as though volt after volt were ricocheting throughout his veins.

Her waist was slim, her hourglass figure protruding outwards, curving over her hips, returning to her slim thighs, her smooth legs running flawlessly. The hue of her skin was that of a goddess; impossibly clear from impurities, as the creamy skin almost gleamed as though it was skin stolen from an angel. The halo circling her head had the similar effect of a diamond sincere from illusions, as the lights reflected a mass of shades colouring her auburn hair; there were traits of copper, gold, bronze, and so much more, each strand of silk a new hue. He felt warm and flustered, tugging at his collar to undo yet another button, loosening his tie around his neck, relieving the pain coursing through him as he struggled to breathe. His eyes trailed down over the flat plane of her stomach, locking on to the trimmed tuft of auburn hair streaking down the centre of her pelvic mound, the vertical stripe stealing his breath in a swift motion. He became locked in a trance, enchanted by her sinless charm, certain he'd captured an angel right in front of his very eyes.

Her body was completely frozen, not a single muscle shifting a mere millimetre from her original position, as though she'd become a statue for the entire 15 minutes, the only sign of life in her being her occasional blink. Ichigo breathed out a sigh, bracing his hand as he began sketching. He began with her skull, drafting the contours of her neck, imagining his lips trace the smooth curves instead of his pencil. He followed on to her shoulders, pausing to look back up, using his pencil and thumb to determine proportions before carrying on.
"Asano." He raised his head to their tutor's stern voice calling out his friend's name, watching her shadow over them, taking his phone from his hands, placing it in her drawer, much to his dismay. Ichigo rolled his eyes at his friend, who whined and whimpered into his arms, pressed against the table, as he gave him a face reading "what can you do?"

14 minutes or so had passed, as Ichigo came to the end of his drawing, just beginning to shade the delicate flares of her cheeks, capturing every precise detail of her body in the graphite imposter. The tutor stalked around them, making sounds of approval as she made her way around the desks. Ichigo gulped, knowing in his mind he'd shown too much enthusiasm in capturing the intricate details of this woman's body, certain he'd be scorned by his teacher for the vulgarity of his piece. He braced himself for her distempered criticisms, smudging the blush with his forefinger, trying to block out her presence lingering behind him.

"Kurosaki, this is wonderful. Well done." His eyes grew, cursing silently at the triggered attention coming his way, raising his eyes to find dozens of eyes staring at him, each in a different way. He nodded, muttering a word of thanks, burying his head deep in a sandpit on some far distant beach somewhere.

"15 minutes is up, class; take a break for a moment, get a quick refreshment, etcetera." She retired to her marking, which had considerably decreased in size from when they started, the silent environment clearly helping her mark quicker than normal. Ichigo glanced up for a fraction of a second, finding the warm, platinum eyes gazing softly at him, silently thanking him for reasons he was quite unsure about. He tore his gaze away, studying the clock, counting his breaths in time with the seconds ticking away, hoping to speed the class up, desperate to escape this Hell; through spite, the class passed even slower, as what felt to be a minute was in fact a split second ticking by. For this pose, she turned 90 degrees counter-clockwise, sitting on the table as she drew her legs in, embracing her knees.

Ichigo saw the inner pixie, chaste and pure, reaching out from her soul, brooding over the moon lurking high in the sky. He sketched wings protruding from her back, adding a hollow moon, complete with craters and shadows, casting lunar rays over the young fairy, au naturel under Mother Nature's cherishing spotlight. This time, he breathed a silent sigh of relief, upon noticing their tutor too fixated on her marking to wander about the classroom, as she merely acknowledged when the second interval was up. Ichigo covered his work, as though ashamed of how his imagination had got the better of him; he had to admit having a live model helped him out greatly, but the embarrassment of his inner deviant distorting her image into all sorts of mythical creatures was too much to take. He shook his cramped wrist, allowing the blood to pulse through into his ashen hand, stretching his arms high as he checked the clock once more.

The final pose she lay in was the worse. She stood with her back to him, revealing her smooth flesh with her sleek cascades falling over her shoulders. Her pert derriere was perfectly round, as he imagined running his palms over her body, worshipping every inch of flesh, sweeping her hair from down her back, trailing kisses down her spine as he held her in a passionate embrace. He shook his head, grumbling under his breath, taunting himself for getting carried away. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Keigo working on something hard, forming a paper airplane, aiming for the opposite side of the room.

"Asano." Keigo sighed, scrunching the paper up, throwing it backwards skilfully into the bin behind him, muttering silent profanities that went unheard towards their tutor. The model's arms lay by her side, her palms facing inwards, as he sketched away, shading and smudging as he went along. His hand became possessed by his inner degenerate, as his mind fed visions onto the paper; he began to draw her ablazed hair blowing in the soft wind, donning a halo hovering inches above her scalp, burning brighter than a million stars in nightfall. Her wings stretched out, each feather drawn with the finest detail; he became sucked into the environment of his fantasy, filled with images so vivid he believed they were real, as he relentlessly clutched on to the heart of the goddess, unwilling to let another soul merely lay eyes upon her.

He became drawn out of the trance by the sound of the lunch bell sending shrills down each and every students' ears, as they lay down their pencils, etching their names swiftly across the top of the papers. He held his disorientated gaze on her, watching her step down from the table gracefully, covering herself with the kimono, much to the students' dismay. The tutor rose from her desk, shaking the model's hand.
"Thank you, Inoue-san. You've helped the students out a lot." She nodded, beaming a smile, as she glanced over at the young man's drawings of her, sensing something abnormal about them. She caught a glimpse of a ring of some sort circling her skull, gasping silently as she realized it was a halo. "Does anyone have any questions for Inoue-san?"
"How old are you?" Mizuiro voiced the one question echoing throughout practically every students' minds, male or female; the model had a sense of youth to her, but she was no way the same age as them.

"Kojima, that is in no way appropriate! Apol-"
"I'm 19," She swept in, her sweet voice chirping as she announced her age proudly. "I'm a student at Karakura University." She beamed a smile, forming her eyes into a curved shape as she grinned. The male counterparts of the class, (bar Ichigo), erupted into a frenzy of gasps and pleads, as each man took their method of wooing the model stood before them.

"Marry me!"
"I need a date to prom! Please go with me!"
"Do you have any friends or sisters?"

Ichigo kept his gaze low, hovering just above the table as he studied the fine grains laid before him; watching the wood desk was a lot more tolerable than listening to these idiots blabber on, sacrificing their self-respect through risk of humiliation, just for a beautiful woman. He gulped, hiding his blushed face behind the thick strands of hair. He was still hard, but it was easily concealed, just simply bothersome to carry for the rest of the day. Images flashed through his mind, as his subconscious imagined pinning her down against the table, and nailing her senseless against the desks; he strained against the fabric yet again, groaning silently at the surge of pain running through him.

Okay, that was a bad idea.

He took a deep breath rising slowly as he slung his bag over his shoulder, piling the art into a slim black folder, taking his exit with his hands tucked into his pockets. Morons... As if any of them have a chance with her... As if any of us do...

Orihime watched the man leave, a glum expression shielding her face for a split second. She would have liked to have spoken to him for a bit, to have had a closer look at his drawings. She felt embarrassed to admit it, but... He was pretty good at drawing her bare body. She'd never seen talent like his before; upon first glimpse, she thought it was a photo, the quality was that impressive. She watched the sea of students leave, thanking each of them as they left, feeling awkward asking her questions towards the tutor.

"That boy... What was his name again?"
"Keigo Asano?"
"No..."
"Mizuiro Kojima?"
"The boy whose drawings were excellent."

A smile cracked across the tutor's lips, as she answered her question.
"Ichigo Kurosaki. Art has always been his strong point, but for whatever reason, he doesn't seem to show any will to follow it."
"I... Is it okay if I asked for a copy of his drawings? I mean, I'd pay for them of course! But, I... Uh..." She paused, playing with the silk sleeves of her kimono. "He's so talented."
"Of course, I understand. There's no need for you to pay for them though, Inoue-san. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give you a copy. I'll ask him about it after lunch."
"Thank you, Ochi-san." She bowed once, taking her leave from the classroom as she slipped next door, ready for a déjà vu for her second contract of the day.

"She wants to WHAT?!"
"Have a copy of your drawings."
"Wha- WHAT?! Dammit, NO!"

"Kurosaki, you're overreacting."
"Like hell I am! There's no way she's ever getting a copy of the freaking drawings!" His tutor crossed her arms over her barely existent chest, a veil of authority masking her face.
"Kurosaki, people are going to have to see them at some point. And I'd really like to put them up in the Art gallery the school is holding."
"God dammit, I said NO!"

She narrowed her eyes, giving him a cold, scornful glare. His emotions melted against him, as a tenderer look shrouded over his face. "Gomen, Sensei. I... The drawings are a little embarrassing, I feel uncomfortable sharing them."
"Can you share them with me at least?"
"I... Guess..." He retrieved his folder, taking out the 3 A3 pieces of paper holsted inside. He spun the paper around, swallowing his fears as she absorbed the stories depicted in the drawings; a lifetime's worth of angst and emotion burned strongly through the sketches, the innocence and naïvety of her soul gleaming in the puppy dog irises, the reflections of her eyes casting a glimpse of her life, clear for them to see.

The detail in the moon flaring in the midnight sky, the ivory blossoms scattering across the nightfall canvas shimmering like a thousand blades, settling around her tender body, not an inch of flesh disrupted or distained by the incoming metallic slivers, as though an orb of golden lights protruding from her halo clouded her body, refracting any imminent danger heading her way. He felt the heat rising inside of his stomach, as he flicked through the sketches, his palms becoming moist as his hands shook slightly with a nervous trait.
"Kurosaki, I strongly advise that you let me display these in the gallery. It's only natural to feel somewhat uncomfortable showing these, as it was your first time in a life drawing class; but you have to trust me, these are remarkable. It would benefit you and the rest of the class greatly to use your work as exemplar pieces."

"I just don't want her seeing them..."
"Why is that? She's been doing life modelling all day after your lesson, Kurosaki; you're the first and only person she's asked to have a copy of the drawings." He felt flusters rise in his cheeks, embarrassed at his special treatment. "Please let me give her copies." He blew out a sigh, sensing he wasn't set for winning the battle, surrendering with a stubborn folding of his arms. "Good." The start of the class began leaking in through the door, peering curiously through the glass panel of the door, ponderous as to why their classmate was yelling.

Ichigo glowered, taking his seat at the desks now back in their typical layout, in solitary rows and columns; his seat lay next to the window, as he began muttering under his breath, complaining incoherently about being closest to the exterior heat source leaking through the glass panels, and furthest away from the air-con blasting the cold air directly into the middle columns of students. He took a brief glance over to the clock, tapping his pencil in time to the ticking sounding from the second hand. Lunch had lasted an hour, leaving them at 2.00 PM, which meant there was still and hour and half of school left; he cursed silently, tearing his gaze out of the window, praying for some sort of distraction. He was pissed off. All he wanted was to go home and relax for the rest of the evening, but the thought of his cool, consoling bed was simply something out of his reach.

The last remaining lesson of the day was English, which from past experience had often enough passed fleetingly, as though the lesson itself had lasted a few minutes, at least. But in the heat sweeping over them, causing the already hot and bothered students to whine and bleat over the searing fever, he knew it would stretch out to an absurd degree, consuming their lives with a monotonous mind-numbing, as the futile words blabbered from their tutor's incessant lips. Her back remained to them at all times, scrawling indecipherable sentences across the blackboard. For the some, the incomprehension came from the lack of ability to pick up on the English language, for others, it was merely the heat snuffing their ears and minds, as the verbal words dodged their lobes, the written characters jumping about on their canvas, as though alive and animated, tormenting the wearied students for their perplexed state. He shifted his gaze outside, finding his sisters' class sat in a circle on the grass, the cool breeze cruising through their hair, as they lay reading, hosting their lessons outside, sparking somewhat of an irritation in his mind. Behind them, the second graders jogged around the paved track, some trudging with their clique as they conversed, moving slowly against the heated atmosphere, as if to attempt gaining a tan. The seconds lugged, rupturing their souls, carting their sanity to the deepest pits of Hell, where Ichigo was certain it'd be a whole lot more refreshing there than it would be in this greenhouse of a classroom. He definitely wanted to get home and rest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his sisters' class rise from the grass, heading back inside as he glimpsed up at the clock. The middle school built into the secondary school he attended always finished at 3.00 PM, whereas he had an extra half an hour of lessons. He frowned, double checking the clock, certain that a whole hour couldn't possibly have passed in such a short amount of time; he shook his head, scowling and pouting at the irrepressible way in which the lesson had hastened. He reclined in his seat, resting his head in his arms against his desk, as he began tapping his hand against the table, droning a faint hum to himself, hoping to accelerate the lesson with a de rigueur distraction. His ears pinned up, like a canine being called by its owner, upon hearing his tutor call his name in an unyieldingly stern tone. He brought his head up, flustering as he looked up confused, his eyes glazed over with lassitude. The somnolence in his disjointed stutters triggered the class to laugh and snicker at his fragmented state; he raised his eyebrows, skimming his gaze across the clock face, his eyes growing wide with his abashed state, the numb feeling surging at an electrifying rate, clusters of scarlet rising in his tanned skin, blushing as he saw the abnormal time-skip; it was 3.20 PM, as he realized he'd fallen asleep in the middle of class.

"I hope I'm not boring you, Kurosaki."

"Uh, no, Ochi-sensei; gomen, I fell ill…" She scowled at his languished state, as he rested his head back on his arms, negating the existence of the environment shrouding him, hoping to return to his unconscious state.

"Kurosaki, do you need to visit the nurse's office?" He shook his head, his voice muffled under the heat of his flesh. "Well, then there's only 10 minutes left of the lesson; if you're going to rest, then do it quietly." She turned, continuing her lecture, as he looked up, finding three strips of writing sketched across the blackboard. The first was performed in Kanji, the second phonetically, the final in English characters; he recognised it instantly to be of Shakespeare's work, as he squinted his eyes, reading through the different rows:

夏の熟成息によってこの愛のつぼみは、我々は次会う麗しい花を証明するかもしれない。

Natsu no jukusei iki ni yotte kono ai no tsubomi wa, wareware wa tsugi au uruwashī hana o shōmei suru kamo shirenai.

This bud of love by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

His gaze held on the words for a moment, his inner philosopher reading deep into the meaning of its occurrence, his mind thinking of her as he read each word separately. This bud of love… the beautiful woman, fresh in her field… summer's ripening breath… the heat wave passing over the town, shielding them in a feverent embrace… may prove a beauteous flower when we next meet… something breathtakingly angelic would happen the next time they met… He held his breath, counting the seconds of the last remaining minutes of the day, a part of his mind in deep fear of the uncanny warnings traced across the events of that day; when the bell finally rang, the class rose simultaneously, emitting groans as the tutor ordered them to return to their seats.

"Homework for tonight, read the next Scene of Romeo and Juliet, and then write up the meanings using the techniques we discussed today. Class dismissed." She began wiping the blackboard, sweeping the dust from her hands as she took her seat at her desk, delving into the pile of work on her desk, which had built up vastly since she'd last looked at it. Ichigo slung his bag over his shoulder, as he made a dash for the door, blanking his classmates in an attempt to escape the superfluous pleasantries that stemmed at the start and end of every fruitless school day.

A/N: Sorry if you're getting square blocks across the page, it's only the kanji to the words. Also, I think it's Kanji, if it's Katakana or Hiragana, I'm sorry! Just lemme know if I got it wrong.