Hey, I'm Silent-Vociferation, but call me Sivo. Welcome to my first fic. I've become a little obsessed with looking up lesser known words and using them, so today the word is Acquiesce. Enjoy.

Disclaimer - I do not own Bleach.

No one was brave enough to tell Rukia her art sucked. A silent agreement had been unknowingly made at the party celebrating her adoption into the Kuchiki family when she eagerly revealed those cartoon-like scrawls and demented doodles of Shinigami bunnies. At the time, they simply hadn't said anything because Rukia had been a child. No one was expecting Picasso, after all.

But then came the party celebrating her graduation from the Shinigami Academy. New uniform snug against her body, moonlight tracing her collar bone and the edge of the paper she worked on in the windowsill, Rukia Kuchiki had the appearance of one of the muses from mythology, the one that spoke of masterpieces sketched late in the night. Then again, appearances were deceiving, as Soul Society soon came to realize. Matsumoto and Ikkaku approached the new Shinigami eagerly to congratulate her, but after they had spotted the childish drawings on Rukia's sketchpad the only thing they could think of doing was mocking her. At least until Byakuya appeared in the blink of an eye, a dark threat in his shadowed expression as he glanced at the two Shinigami. Then, as if put under a spell, his cold gaze melted away as he turned to appraise his adopted sister's creation, and his critique was an impossibly generous and fantastical one if Matsumoto and Ikkaku had anything to say about it.

"I didn't realize cave drawings could be 'elegant' and 'insightful'," Matsumoto had snickered as she downed her sake.

"More booze. It helps destroy the image," Ikkaku had insisted, grabbing a second bottle to split between them.

After she had swallowed several mouthfuls, Matsumoto had proceeded to lean against the wall and groan out something along the lines of, "No. I can't do it. The bunnies are still there. What if they're burned in my brain... forever?"

Others soon faced the same fate, encountering Rukia's drawings and realizing there was no way around the deadly agreement Byakuya forced them into. He knew who they were, their positions, their stories, and in which barracks each resided, and he had the power to do something with that knowledge.

Lucky for Mr. Walters, the Drawing I teacher at Karakura High, Byakuya had no idea that he lived in a fourth-floor studio apartment on the north side of town with a fairly middle class life as a half Japanese and half American with a bright and pleasant wife and a single child who had gone to college back in the states. If Byakuya had known these things, something likely would have been done about "the incident" that occurred December 2.

"He gave me a twenty-three percent on my drawing! A twenty-three! Do you know what that means?"

"Your artwork sucks?" Ichigo suggested callously, adjusting his school bag over his shoulder.

Besides Mr. Walters, Ichigo was the only one who ever got away with telling Rukia her creations were... well... lacking. Byakuya, of course, knew all that was necessary to stop Ichigo's harsh criticism, but being one of the most powerful shinigami and holding residence in the human world made it a bit difficult to threaten the boy, and Byakuya liked to think it wasn't worth his time to deal with such a commoner as Ichigo Kurosaki.

"You don't understand! You're not an artist," Rukia insisted childishly, shoving her pale hands in her purple coat and puffing out a foggy breath, which she proceeded to glare at as if it had been the one to insult her.

Ichigo coughed for a few moments after inhaling the chill air before looking down at her. "No, I guess not, but I've always heard Mr. Walters was pretty fair. Didn't he used to work for Studio-"

"Ghibli, yeah, what of it? Back in his golden days or something when he helped draw the characters for Spirited Away and whatever he used to be a great artist. Clearly his midlife crisis wasn't nice to him because he is nuts now."

Ichigo narrowed his amber eyes as he stared down at Rukia's face, watching it slowly turn red the longer they walked in the cold weather. "Because he doesn't think crappy Chappy and all its furry buddies are up to par with his old work? Because he's not wrong."

Rukia was seething by now, gritting her teeth as they continued heading for his house. "Chappy is not crappy," she finally growled, skillfully aiming and then kicking Ichigo just beneath his left kneecap so that he stumbled forward and had to catch his balance by gripping a light pole.

"Could've fooled me. Now can we shut up about the art thing. If it really bothers you and you really think you didn't deserve the twenty-one-"

"Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three, whatever. If you think you deserved something better, you should go talk to him about it. Maybe he'll let you redo the... whatever it is you had to do," Ichigo reasoned with a shrug.

"Draw a model." Ichigo froze in his tracks, stiffly turning to look at the midget in confusion. "Draw a model," Rukia repeated, confused herself as to why he was looking at her like that. For several tense seconds they simply stared at each other, and then Ichigo could no longer take it. The flood gates opened and he started laughing until his sides ached. "What's so funny?" He shook his head, leaning against yet another light pole in an attempt to support himself. Thank goodness Karakura was so well lit, otherwise Ichigo would not be so upright. "Come on. Ichigo, spit it out!"

A few seconds later Ichigo was forced to collect himself as he ended up coughing again, and she almost felt bad for being frustrated with him. Maybe he was sick? "You drew Chappy for your assignment, which was to draw a model? As in a real live person that they brought into class?"

Rukia rolled her eyes. "No. I drew the model. I simply drew them as a bunny, and for whatever dumb reason Mr. Walters decided it was worth taking off seventy-seven points and now I have a shitty grade in my Drawing One class. Drawing One," Rukia complained as Ichigo finally regained his composure completely and began to walk ahead of her.

"Well, now I know that you are both a sucky artist and an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot... idiot! And I'll show you! I'm not a sucky artist! I'll go talk to Mr. Walters tomorrow and get him to change my stupid grade! Just you watch!" Rukia shouted before realizing she was getting behind. She took off to catch up with her long-legged counterpart, who laughed at her all the way.

"Sure, sure, I'm watching eagerly, midget," Ichigo insisted with a grin, earning yet another kick that he almost managed to dodge. She had almost not been fast enough, which was something that had never happened before. She hated to admit that for whatever reason Ichigo was the only one who could really get under her skin. How he did it or why he could was completely beyond her.

"Just tell me who it is."

Ichigo scowled into his notebook, attempting to ignore the persistent whispering of his neighbor. He was not about to fail the quiz on Friday because he was discussing with Rukia something as utterly stupid as-

"Telllllll meeeeeeeeeee," she hissed eerily, her breath caressing his ear. To hide his blush at the sensation, Ichigo settled his arm to form a pillow that he could bury his face in while taking notes. Though Rukia assumed it was because he was tired. He'd had that exhausted look in his eyes since they'd gotten home the day before, and it had only gotten worse upon arriving to school. Maybe he was sick?

"Why do you care?" he muttered back, angry and anxious at the same time as she moved closer - too close, too tantalizingly close, close enough for him to turn around and... well... Ichigo swallowed and wrote down a definition to the next word, a definition that probably was incorrect because he honestly could not recall what the woman had just said.

"Well there must be something interesting about knowing who other people like because it's all the girls talk about in the locker room."

It clicked at that moment why she was suddenly asking this. "Wait," he began, inching his face up so his amber eyes could look at her over his arm, "which girls?"

"Well, all of them, but especially Kaoru, Anzu, and Chiori."

Yup, he was right, regrettably so. "Well they're a bunch of airheads anyway. They live and breathe lipstick. You can't take their word on anything intelligent," he reminded Rukia, hoping that by insulting her sources she would doubt them and shut up so he could learn the damned English language.

"Well luckily boys aren't so I highly doubt they got their facts wrong. And they were spouting so many good ones today."

"Great," Ichigo grumbled as she continued.

"And you know who's crush is the big question in the school right now?" He said nothing. Of course he did. "It's your's. And you wanna know why?"

Ichigo sighed. "I rejected Chiori and she instantly assumed I was in love with some mysterious fema-"

"Ah, but see I heard she didn't have to assume anything. Actually, I heard you told her that you had someone you liked."

Ichigo bit his lip and groaned into the lined paper beneath him. Damn him to hell for getting so pissed off earlier that day. It wasn't like he'd never been confessed to. Chiori was just doing what thirty other girls had done before her.

Except, if he remembered correctly - and it was hard to be sure because he'd nearly seen red - she had done something very different from the thirty other girls before her.

Upon politely rejecting her, Chiori managed to explode... in a sense. Her eyes were on fire and she was pushing him against the wall and when he'd rejected her again (after lifting her up and holding her a safe distance from the rest of his body) she'd said a few things he would never be able to forgive.

"You've never gotten laid, hell you've probably never even kissed someone! And yet you think you're too good for all of us who confess to you? What makes you so much better than me? Your freakish hair and your shitty personality?"

Except that wasn't the part that had pissed him off. Ichigo gave an involuntary shudder as he replayed what happened next in his mind.

"You might like one of those attention whores, like that ugly ass midget who follows you around, but no one's that dumb. Maybe one day you'll stop being a dumbass and pick the right girl." The sway of the hips had completed the rant and had sealed the deal. He was going to yell at her.

He could take insults about himself, but the stabs at Rukia were unacceptable.

He doubted Rukia had heard about those particular things Chiori had said.

"I have someone I like, Chiori, and it will never be you. You may not think so, but I know I've picked the right girl, and that's all that matters. I dare you to figure out who it is. Maybe she'll teach you how to not be a terrible person," he'd said.

He never should have challenged her.

"Chiori says you even called this girl the 'right girl'. Pretty big talk, strawberry."

"Rukia, shut up!" he finally snapped, blushing profusely.

All went quiet as Ichigo froze. The distinctive clicking of heels could be heard.

"Mr. Kurosaki, as it seems you have no problem with the vocabulary words, perhaps you could define acquiesce for me?" If Ichigo didn't know better he'd say Ms. Shizuka had an amused and possible, knowing expression on her face - like she was in on a funny secret. Though he had no idea what the secret could possibly be.

Eager to get out of the embarrassing situation he was now in, Ichigo glanced down at his notebook.

Kiss her.

He paled in realization as the teacher's blue eyes flickered from his page of notes to his terrified face. Rukia had been leaning towards him right when Ms. Lei had announced the definition for that word.

He couldn't believe he'd written that down of all things.

A blush creeping up his cheeks once more, a burning crimson on his heated face to stand proudly beside his orange hair, Ichigo bowed his head. "I-I don't know." For some reason this answer seemed to please her for the briefest of seconds.

"To accept reluctantly without protest. Next time I'm sure you'll find it wiser to actually listen in my class, yes?" Ms. Shizuka asked as she headed back to the front of the room.

And he accepted her words reluctantly.

"I'm going to find out sooner or later."

"I'm sure," Ichigo replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he walked beside the midget.

"I will! I'm very good at figuring out these sorts of things!"

He arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't claim to be good at anything if I were you. No one fails Drawing One. Except for you, obviously," he reminded her as they approached the class in question.

"Idiot strawberry! Just you wait! I'll get a one-hundred percent! Then you'll be sorry! Screw whoever you like! I'll draw something so amazing you'll forget who she even is, because all you'll be able to think about is me and my awesome drawing skills!"

"You're the one obsessing over my crush," Ichigo pointed out as she determinedly stomped into her art class.

Besides, her plan isn't going to work. How can I forget who she is if she makes me think about her more?

Not that Rukia needed to know that. Especially not if the rumors about her and Renji were true.

"That's not true."

Mr. Walters quirked a black eyebrow at her insistence. "Oh? How about I pull out submissions from last year for this assignment, then?" And before she could respond with something incredibly witty, Rukia was witnessing her art teacher standing up and heading into the storage room, shuffling through canvases and sheets. "Here, I'll give you three examples. These are all between ninety and ninety-seven, grade wise. I want you to compare your own submission to these and tell me again that your's was worthy of an A."

And then they were splayed across his desk, and the sheer talent within them seemed to blind the Kuchiki.

All of them were drawings of the same girl, a student of last year's third-year class. One had especially beautiful value changes, allowing numerous instances of strong contrast between stark white and pitch black to occur, along with varying shades of gray. It gave the girl a three-dimensional feel and allowed Rukia to distinctly see each effortless fold in the girl's kimono which she had been allowed to wear for the modeling session.

The second was highly detailed, showing the subtle designs in the hemming of the kimono and the lightly curled locks of ebony hair that escaped the model's artfully crafted bun. It was more than real in a strange way.

The third expressed a lot of sheer passion and character. The girl's posture was perfectly captured from the delicate arch of her spine to the gentle crossing of her ankles and the relaxed position of her arms, crossed lazily over her raised knee. Her face was utterly serene and at peace with where she was, while her dark eyes sparkled as they glanced out into the distance.

"Tell me about this girl," Mr. Walters insisted.

Normally, Rukia would have scoffed at such an impossible demand. How could she tell anything from just a few pictures? And yet, she felt she knew the girl already. "She's smart. The way she's focused on what she's looking at tells me that much. She's also been raised a respectful and responsible girl, perhaps from an inn or formal business where that sort of posture is required. She's laid back and effortlessly enjoys life. The way she crosses her ankles tells me she can do it often, and she leans forward to engage you, not back to be lost in her own self doubt. She also has wonderful feminine taste. That kimono is no cheap thing, and her hair was easily made to look beautiful."

And it struck her then why the drawings were four times better than her own.

"Oh."

"So you understand."

She swallowed. Acquiesce, that word from earlier, was coming into play as she reluctantly nodded. "Please let me try this assignment again," she insisted with a bow.

Mr. Walters smiled, and a sparkle appeared in his brown eyes at her enthusiasm. "Alright. I'll give you one week to find another model and sketch them for me."

Eager to prove her worth, Rukia straightened her back and nodded, turning on her heel to leave.

Upon reaching the door, she paused. "Oh, and Mr. Walters?" He turned to look at her from the door to his storage room. "Why did none of those get over a ninety-seven?" she finally inquired. Her question was met with another, softer smile.

"Ninety-eights and ninety-nines are near perfect renderings of emotions. One-hundreds? I have rarely seen a high school student perfectly connect to their own emotions for that grade. I, personally, just don't give it."

"I wonder who I should draw?" Rukia pondered out loud, absently kicking a small pile of snow.

"I'm sure Yuzu or Goat face would love to be your muse or whatever," Ichigo offered.

Rukia beamed at the idea. "Yuzu has such a wonderful smile! She'd be so much fun to draw. You know, Shinigamis don't give you humans enough credit. You're not all dense," Rukia noted teasingly.

"Gee thanks," Ichigo replied in kind before suddenly feeling the urge to cough up one of his lungs.

Rukia froze, turning to stare at the substitute Shinigami as he doubled over, rushing an arm over his mouth so he could cough into it. Once he was done, he straightened and strode forward once more, though Rukia now noted the dazed look in his eyes with deep concern. She'd been right. He was sick. "Ichigo," she started softly, running forward and grabbing his hand, which he promptly ripped out of her grasp. She gasped as he held the hand she'd touched close to his chest and continued, hunched forward. "Ichigo... are you...?"

"I'm fine," he muttered roughly. "I haven't been sick in nine years. I'm not going to now."

"Nobody's wants to be sick but it doesn't mean you can dumbly deny it. Acquiesce, Ichigo," she insisted, referencing the word they'd learned in English. "You remember what it means, right, idiot strawberry?"

"No need. There's nothing to accept," he shot back, still bent forward slightly. She furrowed her brow in disbelief. Luckily they reached the Kurosaki house within the next few minutes, and his condition was soon revealed when he fell to the floor.

"Ichigo!"

...

He'd had a fever for several days now. Rukia had spent more time refilling his cup of water and changing out the wash cloth on his blanket then she had on school work that entire week.

"Ru..." he mumble, dull amber eyes looking at her through a haze created by his high body temperature. "Rukia... school work..." His murmured reminders fell on unwilling ears.

"I already finished it," she lied gently, thinking back to Orihime promising she could copy her own homework so long as she taste tested a new recipe. She felt she would be ill just at the thought of it, but it was reassuring to know she could commit her time to looking out for Ichigo, who slowly started to sit up with a groan. Rukia's right eye twitched at his insistence. "And I'll finish you next if you don't lay the fuck down," she growled.

Ichigo sighed before reaching a trembling hand over to his glass of water, which he quickly drank with a pointed stare at Rukia before placing it down and crumpling into the bed once more. The way he shifted constantly in his bed illustrated how absolutely alien the idea of vulnerability was to him. If he kept turning and adjusting and sitting up to steal glances out of the confines of his room, maybe he'd avoid a fit of coughs or scare the sickness away entirely. Alas, Rukia knew it didn't work that way, and she slowly pulled the blankets to cover his shoulders again. They were bare, a fact that had gotten her when she got home from school during his first sick day. For a boy who silently insisted he was freezing with the hunching of his shoulders and the way he shut his eyes tightly, he was awfully at ease with the idea of giving up an extra layer of warmth... not that Rukia was complaining. Ill Ichigo had the same abs as healthy Ichigo, and they were sexy abs. Rukia had already developed the habit of drawing his blankets painstakingly slow over his tanned body, absorbing his powerful muscles resting underneath his skin, hiding the power to protect and to save. She didn't do it in that moment, afraid he hadn't lost consciousness yet, but she allowed herself a quick trace of his clavicle protruding beneath his skin, slick and gleaming with sweat.

"You're a natural. Usually he's stubborn every step of the way." Drawn out of her observations, Rukia cast her amethyst eyes over to the door way, where Yuzu stood with a basket full of brightly colored clothes.

"It's because I don't take his sh-I mean..." Rukia sought a different word, which only seemed to amuse Yuzu.

"You put up with his shit in a much more effective way than I do," Yuzu agreed with a knowing smile tugging at her pink lips. Rukia grinned at her, proud of how grown up Yuzu was becoming, even if it was only evident in the fact that she unflinchingly cursed when necessary. She had already grown up in most other ways. "But you know Karin and I can look after him for a bit. You've still got your proje-"

"No. You two have exams."

"Dad can-"

"Iss... Dad has enough to deal with. More people have the flu now than any other month of the year, after all."

The discussion ended with a turn of Rukia's body to check the cloth placed on Ichigo's forehead. Yuzu said nothing, and the shinigami heard her footsteps fade into the depths of the house. It was true, six days had passed. Tomorrow her drawing would be due and she had nothing to show. So intent on taking care of the boy who had given up everything to help her, Rukia had sacrificed her art grade. It wasn't much of a trade. He had a million career options ahead of him and he'd put them all on the line for a girl he'd barely known, whereas she would never be an artist. She was a shinigami, not a high school student. Once she remembered that, it was easy to sacrifice the hobby for the boy she lov... liked a lot. "You have a real knack for getting into people's heads," she informed his unconscious form bitterly, standing to change the wash cloth. "First Orihime... am I next? Another victim of your sincerity and sarcasm and honesty and tough-guy attitude hiding your sweet side and your damned..." With a frustrated huff the midget exited the room to wet the cloth again.

"So you are in love with him?"

Rukia nearly jumped into the air as the black-haired Kurosaki daughter appeared from the bathroom she had been about to enter, a knowing smirk on her face. A whole house to explore and both Kurosaki girls had shown up at Ichigo's door within five minutes of each other.

This is their chance to watch over their older brother, Rukia realized. The boy who turned spirit at a moment's notice to fight off hollows was now confined to his room, and it was now Karin and Yuzu's chance to finally check on him, look to see if he was okay.

Instantly a mask was put in place, one with a broad smile and laughing eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Karin," she started to assure the teen, who skeptically shoved her gangly limbs into the large pockets of her oversized, gray and yellow hoodie.

"You were just talking about how you're falling in love with him," Karin observed with a thin, arched eyebrow.

"No, no, no," Rukia began, waving her hand flippantly at the girl, "more of a falling in friendship sort of thing. Orihime and him are such good friends after all and what if-"

"If by friendship you mean 'love' than yeah," Karin interrupted, grinning again with a confident flick of her ponytail before striding down the hall. For a moment, the shinigami thought she was free. "I hope there's still time to finish your art project, wherever you're falling!"

With a scowl Rukia blew a puff of air upwards, lifting her single black bang. "How do they have time to mess with my head if they have so many exams?" she wondered aloud as she finally entered the bathroom.

...

It was painfully obvious Karin had been implying that Rukia was falling 'in love'. Rukia was sure that Karin had thought it a clever play on words. She wanted to deny what Karin had said, but it was an undeniable fact that she was indeed falling somewhere. It was just a lot more similar to 'hellish torment and doom' than it was 'in love', and in such a dark place Rukia was beyond positive she wouldn't have anything decent to turn in to Mr. Walters.

To be fair, she'd been sketching for an hour. Anything would be better than Chappy after all. Anything was higher than a twenty-three. Well, besides twenty-two down.

Giving up on her current endeavor to draw her beloved Nii-sama from memory, Rukia quietly rested her head against the plain walls of the closet, casting her purple gaze over to where Ichigo's sleeping form was highlighted by the moon peaking in through his window. The human form was difficult to capture if you hadn't drawn it a thousand times or were looking at it directly. Unfortunately, the only thing Rukia had drawn enough times was a cartoon rabbit.

"And who am I supposed to ask to model for me at two in the morning?" she groaned. The clock ticked by, irritatingly loud in the shinigami's opinion, an obnoxious reminder there wasn't much time left. "No one," she finally conceded, reaching to shut the closet door.

"-kia."

Silence. Rukia withdrew her hand, quietly turning in her cramped bed to look at her ill partner.

He had turned towards her again, one arm bent beneath his pillow, the other partially dangling over the edge of his simple bed. Over the week Rukia had been given many opportunities to look at Ichigo as he slept. It was a common thing in poetry; talking about how angelic a lover looked in their sleep. It was said to be the moment where they were most vulnerable and innocent, utterly beautiful and flawed. Personally, Rukia had looked into it and had quickly discovered it was a load of bull shit. Renji, for one, had not looked vulnerable so much as he did a slobbery dog ruining every pillow she'd ever loaned him, Matsumoto appeared to be more of a voluptuous venus fly trap with her mouth opened roughly half a foot, Hisagi resembled a beaten animal curled in on himself with a despairing look on his face, and Hinamori had taken on the form of a mummy with a calm face and a straight body and a blanket tightly wrapped around her.

No one ever compared a sleeping person to those sorts of things in the romance novels and the poems.

What could she compare Ichigo to?

Curious, Rukia slid out of her bed and approached his, side stepping the floorboard that always creaked before situating herself in his desk chair so she could get a better look. His brow was furrowed, eyes squeezed tight like earlier. He was still cold, still struggling, still feeling utterly powerless, but he was clinging to what little he knew was there.

A weed. She giggled at how well it fit her observation. He could be a stubborn strawberry plant struggling to grow in the middle of winter where all others had already given up.

Knowing that wasn't quite what she was looking for, Rukia continued her observation.

It was interesting to note that perhaps he looked a little angelic in the moonlight with a tint of silver on his lips and a thin, hazy glow on part of his figure, and that he was most certainly vulnerable with the way his chest rose and fell with the occasional shudder and the way his tanned skin appeared ghostly in his condition. Maybe all the poets were observing sick people. Yes, that was it. When the people were too sick to wake up and protest to the observer's intrusion, the poet would take the opportunity to stare intently at them. Some people might suggest it was because the poets were so utterly in love with their subjects that even their flaws looked beautiful in sleep, but that was a completely ridiculous idea.

Satisfied with this conclusion, Rukia returned to tracing his strong jaw line and his adam's apple with her eyes. He slowly moved his head away from her, curving his neck before her so she could run her gaze along the tendons to his clavicle, then up to his broad right shoulder, down his arm hanging limply over the edge of his mattress, and to his hand weakly curled into a fist. She realized that even in uncomfortable sleep with legs to be warmer, Ichigo looked poised to sit up and lunge out of bed at the sound of a scream or cry.

Even in sickness he was prepared at a moment's notice to protect and to sacrifice, to bleed his potential dry for a complete stranger.

She'd made him that way.

She'd built him up so he'd be willing to break himself down.

She'd brought him into her life and expected him to be willing to give up his own.

And yet, despite all this, she had the audacity to think for the briefest moment that she could... well, it wasn't important. She didn't love him. Not like that.

A few more seconds of looking allowed her to realize what he was in sleep.

A wall.

At one point, he'd been a simple wooden one, barely taller than her, just enough to discourage the dangerous people from invading the life he treasured so much. So long as his sisters were happy and he wasn't drowning in the sorrow of his mother's death, he had done his job well. But then she came and tore down the simple life he knew and built him up anew, a seventy-foot wall made of stone, complete with towers and iron gates. She'd awakened a monster in him, a gate keeper that bore a mask and laughed maniacally. She'd expanded his territory from a house to a dimension he barely knew.

"I've done awful things to you, Ichigo," Rukia whispered to his sleeping form. The dimension had many enemies, many problems, many ill-wishing neighbors, and with his power now obvious to everyone, the wall found himself under siege for days on end in ways that would have brought another wall to ruins.

She was giving herself too much credit. He'd always been strong, powerful, willing, selfless, and unimaginably kind. He had always had the strength of a stone wall encircling a kingdom.

But she had given people reason to attack him.

The attackers didn't know they were laying siege to an abnormally strong wooden wall protecting a house, and those who did know had long forgotten, for she had disguised him as something else so well.

But he went along with it. Somehow it made him happy, allowed him to feel fulfilled and useful and strong. But he was still a wooden wall responsible for a house beneath all the mortar, and at times the mortar and the stone blocks chipped away to remind her of that.

"But you don't even realize it," Rukia observed softly. "If you ever do, will you hate me?'

And a silly thought occurred to her then as she leaned against his desk, head in her right hand. Maybe, if she could draw it - her conflicting feelings and his inexplicable strength and courage and kindness even in vulnerability - he'd forgive her.

Could she do it though? Could she show the details and the values and the character in the pose - in Ichigo?

As the clock announced that it was now three in the morning, she set her pencil to paper.

Her cartoons usually started with shapes... could she do the same here? A circle for the head, a triangle for the jaw, a cylinder for the neck. She kept going, sloppily sketching out the rectangular blanket, going back in for the triangular folds. Every time she made a stray mark she ignored it and continued, passionately tearing across the page everything she saw before diving in for the detail.

The clock told her it was now three thirty in the morning. She'd never done anything like what was on the paper, and it scared her, because she'd never been able to do it when drawing anyone else.

All that was left was his eyes. Once she captured those... well, she hoped it was enough. She hoped this... friendship, she had with Ichigo would come through.

And then, as all artists usually do, she looked up at her model's face.

She was greeted by amber eyes. The clock stopped ticking, her pencil stopped moving, and her heart stopped beating all because of one look.

She'd been caught.

His eyes were dark, intense to the point that she felt there was a great secret he was hiding just behind his irises, begging to be revealed to her. Rukia risked inhaling as she took in the light of the moon catching in his gaze, the light shadows of his eyelashes and the bags beneath and how weak and broken and piercing his eyes were despite all of it. Something passionate looked to be bubbling up, the windows to his soul about to be opened.

"Rukia."

The spell broke with his tired murmur, and his eyelids slid closed once more, as if the moment never happened, as if she hadn't just been captured by such a powerful stare, as if she hadn't almost caught a glimpse of the inner workings of his mind.

"Ichigo," she whispered in return, eyes narrowing in thought.

It was burned into her mind, and in seconds his entire face had changed on her paper. The eyes in her drawing had to be open. It wouldn't be right if those warm eyes weren't breaking down the viewer's barriers.

So she sketched and erased and sketched until the clock struck five in the morning. Rukia was breathless and weary as she finally turned the paper over and wrote the title she knew the picture had to have, because if this drawing was anything to her, it was a reluctant acceptance... of many things. This was her time to... acquiesce.

Her limbs like awkward bundles of sticks and stones, she stretched forward to place a hand to Ichigo's forehead.

His fever had broken, and she wanted to celebrate the discovery by kissing him senseless - she'd found the reason for why she never stayed up until five in the morning in that crazy idea - but all she could allow in response was a faint smile. "Good... safe," she breathed before passing out on his desk.

At six her alarm went off to get ready for school, but she remained sleeping. At seven Isshin walked by and, recognizing a scene meant to remain untouched, proceeded to call in to the school. Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki were going to be absent. At eight, Yuzu and Karin muttered their 'I knew it's as they were leaving.

And at one, dark and intense amber eyes fluttered, opened, and surveyed the room in shock.

The first thing he spotted was raven hair graced by golden sunlight, petite shoulders turned yellow by the warm rays, and a piece of paper turned blindingly white for a split second as his eyes adjusted.

Rukia was asleep at his desk, and school was almost over.

Slowly he eased out of bed, flinching at the cool texture of the wooden floor beneath his feet. Then, experimentally stretching forth his heavy arm, Ichigo slid the paper out from underneath Rukia.

Acquiesce

Because I won't be the girl who denies her own feelings

Even if my feelings are stupid

His heart beat got louder and louder in his ears, changing from a steady drum beat to the clashing of swords and shields, and curiosity got the better of him, as it did most people. Ichigo turned the paper over.

...

"Ichigo? Where are you going?" Isshin was not one to greet his son normally, but today he opted out of the usual kick to the face as he saw his son, the color of a strawberry, panting and rushing down the stairs in sweats and a stained t-shirt with a large folder in his hand.

"School!" was all he got as the teenager slid, regained his balance with the wall, and then stumbled out of the house. "Ah, shit! Cold! December! Fucking-" And then the door was slammed shut by a frosty wind.

Isshin stood there a moment longer, expecting Ichigo to return for the hoodie on the kitchen chair.

A few more seconds later the redhead had yet to return. "Oh good, it's safe," Isshin remarked with a grin.

Forever the one to put his nose in somebody else's business, he crept upstairs and into his son's room. The paper Rukia had been resting on that morning was gone, and it dawned on him what his only son might have discovered. The older man cracked a grin as he exited. "You'll be my third daughter by law soon enough," he mused, the last dignified thing he allowed himself to say before fleeing to his poster of Misaki. He couldn't wait to tell her all about the big wedding he had planned.

...

"Mr... Mr. Wal-... Mr. Walters!"

The teacher in question froze, partially in his small car trying to wedge a large canvas into the back seat. He barely recognized the voice, and only because one particular student always walked with the person to Drawing I. Usually they were bickering, so this panicked tone was new to him. He dismantled himself from the inner workings of the mess that was his car and looked out to see a bright flash of orange rushing towards, occasionally sliding on the snow-slicked parking lot of the school.

"Ah, to what do I owe this... unusual visit, Mr. Strawberry?" the art teacher inquired.

Upon arriving in front of the bemused teacher, Ichigo hurried into a bow, panting and coughing. "Sorry... it's, K-Kurosaki, sir. Kurosaki Ichigo."

Mr. Walters frowned as the boy remained doubled over, hacking into his bare arm. Quick to realize that Ichigo must have still been absent because of his sickness that day (a sickness that the shortest student in his class often talked about over the past week), Mr. Walters flailed his arms in a panic before retrieving a spare coat from his car and throwing it over the child. "The way Ms. Kuchiki refers to you, I never would have guessed," he explained awkwardly, referencing her sometimes rude nicknames for the tall teenager.

"Didn't expect the crazy midget to refer to me any other way," Ichigo managed to cough out with a strained smile before sneezing into his free arm.

Mr. Walters ran a gloved hand through his already disheveled black hair and cringed at the young man's obvious sickness. "Should you really be out here? Why don't you come see me a different time? I'll drop you off wherever you-"

"No," Ichigo wheezed, "no, her project was due today."

The teacher froze. "Her project?"

Ichigo nodded, shoving the folder into Mr. Walters' direction while placing his free hand on one of his knees, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "Rukia's... model project... redo... because... of her twenty-one percent."

And then Mr. Walters felt mental puzzle pieces fall into place. Many teachers had their suspicions about student relationships. Rukia and Ichigo, or 'Idiot Strawberry' as the teachers in the art wing knew him, were a rather popular pair to talk about - out of student ear shot, of course. No one wanted girls such as Chiori to find out, not when the staff favorite was so close to actually happening.

Perhaps Mr. Walters was the lucky one to witness the final act of the awkward dance Ichigo and Rukia had been performing around their potential relationship.

"How do I know you aren't trying to cover for her by submitting your own artwork?" Mr. Walters felt obligated to ask, even though the boy's almost desperate and insistent eyes told him he had no reason to suspect foul play.

"Impossible!" Ichigo practically shouted, and the art teacher took a surprised step back. "I-I mean... just... please look at it. She hasn't worked on a lot of things as hard as she has on this... sir. I know it-" He stopped, face reddening at the foggy memories he had of briefly waking up and seeing her face, blurred but still somehow beautiful in the dim lighting, late in the night. He knew for a fact it had taken hours, but how could he tell Mr. Walters without revealing their odd living situation?

As Mr. Walters opened the folder, Ichigo paled in realization of what the drawing actually was.

Oh God, he'd just given Mr. Walters a drawing of him sleeping. And shirtless! Shit! But it was too late. Rukia hadn't drawn anything else. Ichigo had fucked up, though. Now their odd situation was doomed to come out.

But instead of horror in realization, Ichigo saw a very different expression take over Mr. Walters' face. For the briefest moment he looked stunned, but it soon melted into a cross between understanding and admiration and... pride? Then it was gone, hidden beneath a professional mask of neutrality.

He cleared his throat, tucking the piece back into the folder and sliding it into his car. "Yes, well, tell Rukia I've reviewed it. Tell her I will be adding seventy-seven percent points to her former submission, next you see her." Ichigo's worry fell away, and Mr. Walters' stunned face returned when he saw how absolutely happy the boy looked at that news.

A ninety-eight percent... wow, that's the highest grade Mr. Walters has ever given, Ichigo remembered, thinking back to all the ninety-sevens Rukia mentioned being given in the class.

As Ichigo ran off, coughing and panting, Mr. Walters sighed and reopened the folder again. "But her original grade was actually a twenty-three, Mr. Kurosaki," he murmured to the drawing, a pleased smile on his face. Then he pulled out his phone. A call needed to be made.

...

"Ichigo? And you're sure Rukia drew it?"

"Ms. Shizuka, if I wasn't so familiar with Rukia's style I could tell you it had to be her. You should have seen his eyes. You think I looked even half as in love when I asked for my father-in-law's permission to marry Sasone?"

Ms. Shizuka smiled as she uncapped her red pen, the infamous grading pen that doomed many a teenager's English grade. "You'll have to ask Sasone. Your in-laws gave her the whole thing on tape, didn't they?" she said into the phone wedged between her shoulder and cheek.

Mr. Walters laughed as he rammed the canvas into his car with one last shove. "Don't talk about it," he insisted. "But still... you'll have to come to my office and see the drawing. I haven't seen anything like it in a while."

"Can't you just hang it in the hall like everything else?" she inquired, pausing in her grading.

"Nope. It would raise too many questions."

"How exactly did she draw him?"

Mr. Walters shut his car door with a click and shook his head as he slid into the driver's seat. "I'll give you a hint. According to poets, most people look angelic when they are..."

"She drew him sleeping?" Ms. Shizuka dropped her pen entirely. "Give me more. Was he shirtless?"

"It's perfectly understandable why all the girls in my art class are mad that Ms. Kuchiki is so close to him."

Ms. Shizuka practically squealed on her end of the call. "I didn't think the school rules would allow such a submission."

"Well they don't check my storage closet," Mr. Walters reminded her. "And you should have seen what she titled the thing."

"Don't tell me..."

"Acquiesce."

Grading was thrown out the window as Ms. Shizuka was overcome with uncontrollable laughter. "No! That's too perfect!"

Mr. Walters smiled. "I thought you'd appreciate the vocabulary."

"Oh you don't even know. Rukia distracted Ichigo from writing down the correct definition and got him embarrassed in front of the whole class. Did you know he'd written down 'kiss her'? The romance writes itself!"

"Well it is reality, Ms. Shizuka. No one else is going to do it for them."

Ms. Shizuka's laughter subsided as she finally picked up her pen again with a twirl. "You're right, of course, Mr. Walters. Now if you'll excuse me, the faster I can grade these vocabulary quizzes the faster I can spread the gossip."

"You're still a high schooler, Ms. Shizuka."

"Nonsense. No one's too old for an OTP."

...

"Is she awake yet, Dad?"

Isshin glanced over to the front door where the raspy voice had come from, spotting his bedraggled and exhausted son leaning against the wall. He smiled. "Why no. Surely a kiss from her prince charming will cure her of such a-"

"Shut up, goat face."

Then the teenager, somehow happy despite his annoyance, stumbled up the stairs to his room while Isshin hurried to close the front door behind him. Just as he had suspected. Or was it? Isshin was beginning to wonder if it would prove efficient for him to sn-

"Dad."

"Stop."

He froze, one hand reaching for the railing of the stairs.

"Sit."

Tears in his eyes, the older man slowly lowered himself onto the stairs.

"Stay."

It didn't even matter which daughter was saying what. Both their voices were equally cold and firm. How had he raised such heartless children that wouldn't even let him spy on his only son's potential sex life?

"You gave him condoms."

"And porn."

"And a presentation."

"And a textbook."

"And secretly sound proofed his walls while he was gone on the school trip."

"If anything does or doesn't happen."

"It isn't your business."

And then, as if rehearsed, the girls cocked their heads to the side in perfect synchronization, heavenly smiles on their once innocent faces. "Okay?"

...

Breathing raspy and painful - maybe running after just losing the whole fever thing about twelve hours earlier in twenty degree weather hadn't been his greatest idea after all - Ichigo practically dragged himself into his room via the walls and door. Luckily he'd snagged the hoodie from the kitchen chair and was quick to put it on. "Still fucking cold," he grumbled miserably, shuffling quietly over to his bed before ripping the sheets off in one fell swoop and rapping it around himself. Now with the appearance of a professional cocoon, Ichigo seated himself on his bed, amber eyes falling to a raven-haired midget asleep at his desk.

"How late were you up?" he murmured to her pale complexion and the soft line of her jaw, watching the way her breaths slipped between her partially opened lips and slowly rolled her remaining drawing pencil further along his desk. A quick glance to the floor showed that the first five had already met their doom. It was only a matter of time before the 2B joined its companions.

He sat there a bit longer, torn between the desire to kiss her awake - now that he knew - and signing himself up for a nap as well. He was waiting for something - anything really - to wake her up for him. If nothing happened, he'd stay silent and let her figure it out for herself. He'd lay down on the bed and drift back into sleep and she'd wake up and check to see if she'd drooled on the desk and the game would end when she realized her drawing was gone.

But nothing happened. The clock didn't tick obnoxiously loud, his dad never broke down the door, and so he laid down and rolled away from her petite form, eyes boring into the wall. He still couldn't do it. Sleep wouldn't claim him.

"I'm not sure why you would think your feelings are stupid, Rukia," Ichigo finally whispered, "but... I... well, maybe I feel the same? Well, I know we feel the same but I mean... oh who cares, you're asleep. Look, sleeping midget, I thought it was ridiculous... this idea that I could love you. I mean, you're a whole other world over. This... I thought of what we had as temporary. You can't live in my closet forever and pretend to be human... but, that's just a situation. It doesn't mean that I don't... dammit, you're sleeping, why is this hard? Look, I..." He cast his gaze around frantically in search of something to give him inspiration before realizing he was facing a wall. "Right... Look, there was this shirt that I used to have that-no, that's a bad story. Look, I find Kon dumb, and I don't usually need him anymore and he's obnoxious and I don't get what the hell his problem is most of the time and he's perverted and needy but I still want to protect him and I still keep him and I mean I guess that's kind of like my feelings for you because they don't make sense and I'm not necessarily sure how I got myself into this situation or when exactly I fell in love with you and I don't necessarily want these feelings because that must be breaking some Soul Society law just like every other damn thing I do but..." He stopped and furrowed his brows, not sure where he was going with that terrible example.

From behind him came a soft exhale, and then a very slow string of light clicking sounds as if something was rolling and then, after half a second of silence, there was a very special clatter. At least, Ichigo assumed it was special, because the first five pencils falling off the desk most certainly didn't wake Rukia up.

"Are you comparing me to a defective stuffed lion?"

Yup, something must have been special about the last pencil.

"Yes? No, no wait..." He started to roll over when it occurred to him that if she'd heard the lion part she'd heard the 'love' part. Oh shit. Well, it was too late now, not that that stopped his face from heating up to the point where the blankets and the hoodie were starting to be uncomfortable for him. He finished rolling over to face her. "But I don't regret them."

"Them? Did you make multiple comparisons of me to your toys?"

"Oh come on, don't play dumb now. You know-" And he paused. This was his moment to distract her. "You know I'd never compare you to any of my other old toys. All my good memories are connected to them," Ichigo teased, a sarcastic smirk on his face.

Her purple eyes, practically slits as she struggled to fully wake up, softened momentarily. And then a mischievous glint came into them. "I don't see how your humiliating childhood could possibly be good. Memory problems at your age, strawberry?"

"And when exactly did you graduate from the Shinigami Academy. I think you're forgetting that out of that shikai you're just an old lady yourself, midget," he fired back, smile broadening.

She grinned in return. "And yet I'm in such great shape compared to this strapping young man before me."

"At least this strapping young man isn't failing the easiest class in the school."

"Drawing I is not easy! Mr. Walters used to work for Studio Ghibli, you know! He's got high expectations! What if he doesn't like the drawing I- Dammit, the drawing! It's due today! Did I drool on it? Shit, shit, shit!" Rukia flew out of the chair, knocking it over with a large thud, a suspiciously loud one if anyone on the first floor had something to say about it. But upon looking at the desk Rukia realized her drawing was gone, and her mind started to fall into panic mode.

Ichigo was in similar shape as he stared at her in brief. Well, now the cat was really out of the bag. "Rukia-"

"Where is it?!" She was frantically tearing apart his - well, sort of their? - closet without regard for either of their belongings, creating more suspicious bangs and thuds for the people below.

"Ru-"

"Ichigo, shut up, my grade is at stake and apparently the drawing I spent two hours on just up and ran out of the room and-"

"Two hours?"

"Yes, two hours. Look, I know some people can make master pieces in one but if you'd cut me some slack, I'm not exactly the drawing type if my chappy sketches have anything to say about-"

"How could that have only taken you two hours?"

Rukia paused in her panicked search, stiffly turning to stare questioningly at her roommate. "What?" she whispered, sound absolutely confused as to what he was suggesting and yet completely terrified of what he was suggesting. "Did you...?"

Ichigo stood, allowing the sheets to fall away as he took a few slow steps towards her. "I guess now you know why I find... acquiescing... so hard," he began slowly. She opened and closed her mouth multiple times, struck dumb by the fact that now he knew. "But if it means anything, I love you."

She crossed her arms and closed her eyes with a pompous 'hmph'. "Where on that picture did I ever say that..." She stopped and opened her eyes, meeting Ichigo's suddenly heated and vulnerable gaze, the unbearably intense and passionate one she'd seen the night before, and her resolve to play off the feelings behind the drawing broke. "Damn you to hell, you impossible-" Rukia stopped again and shook her head, closing the gap between them and pulling his face to hers.

First kisses aren't necessarily a magical thing. There weren't fire works going off as she moved her lips against his or as he brought a warm hand to the small of her back. No magic spell was broken and no battle had been won, at least not according to the history text books. No hallelujah chorus was singing, but it was only a matter of time. Soul Society and Karakura High were going to find out sooner or later, after all. But they were happy, happy because they were finally acknowledging something that had been there for a long time, happy because their relationship now made the most and the least amount of sense it had ever made, happy because there was something permanent about the way he brought her closer to him and how she ran her fingers through his wild hair.

Ichigo and her had already taken several pauses for breath, but this time to her dismay he pulled away entirely. "So I guess I'll take that as a-"

"I love you too. Jeez, what do you want, a Valentines card and a stack of chocolate?" Rukia teased, just as breathless as he was, before crashing her lips back into his.

He pulled away again, grinning madly. "Chocolate doesn't sound so bad if-"

"You're way sexier quiet. Now shut up," Rukia interrupted, silencing him again with a kiss.

"HOW ARE THE GRANDBABIES COMING ALO-oh, you're not there yet. Whoops. Well, while I'm here remember that the condoms are in the top drawer of yo-" Suddenly Isshin's booming voice was muffled and the sound of a tall person being dragged out of the room could be heard before the door clicked shut again.

Ichigo pulled away for the third time, this time irritated. "I need a lock. Soon. otherwise I'll just have to kill that old man. How can we be related?"

"Ichigo."

"I know, I know, shut up," he amended with a roll of his eyes, going in to continue their make-out session.

"I was going to say acquiesce, but you know, shut up works too."

...

The bed with two was a little cramped. For all the times Isshin had encouraged... suggestive activities, he really hadn't equipped Ichigo for it. It was technically fine. Rukia and him weren't going that far on day one of their relationship, that much was clear even if everything else wasn't. But the idea of changing up the whole closet-sleeping-arrangement business had been appealing until Rukia actually slid under the sheets next to him.

"I need to get a bigger bed."

"Your dad's going to think he's getting grandchildren if you do that."

"He's going to think that anyway."

"True."

Satisfied with the comfortable silence they had reached, Rukia inched backwards until she felt the hint of his muscled chest behind her, and his arms tightened around her waist. How other couples in high school could handle not sleeping next to each other was beyond the two, and they'd only been dating in an implied sort of fashion for roughly five hours. And then Ichigo suddenly withdrew his arms from her to cough into his elbow, shuddering as he did so.

Rukia groaned. "Dammit, forgot you had germs." She sent a quick smile his way to show she didn't hold it against him before starting to shift away from him. Quick as a blink his arms were back around her.

"Too bad, you'll just have to-"

"Not again, Ichigo. It was funny the first time I used it about a week ago. The effect is now dead. Trust me."

"I still haven't taken my English quiz," Ichigo pointed out, burying his head into the crook of her neck. "The least you could do is help me study."

"There are twenty words. You're going to fail if you only know one."

"Well maybe she'll let me retake it and while staring at you across the classroom I'll have some English epiphany and it'll all click into place."

"You're so lucky I don't hit sick people."

The cheeky grin was also contributing to the 'don't hit Ichigo' movement, but she wouldn't tell him that. "You never asked what happened to your drawing, by the way."

She turned in his grasp, looking up at him suspiciously. "That's right. You never did say."

"Well, I ran all the way to school without a hoodie, froze my ass off, gave it to Mr. Walters, who called me strawberry by the way. Very strange wouldn't you say? But anyway, then he told me you got a ninety-eight and I came back here to tell you and you were still passed out," Ichigo explained.

"A ninety-eight?" Rukia exclaimed in obvious surprise.

He nodded. "Yeah. Specifically he said you earned seventy-seven more percent. Don't know why he can't just say your grade like a normal person."

So... that wouldn't be a ninety-eight, that'd be a... Rukia said nothing, simply laid there with her hands running up and down his chest.

He chuckled at her awed silence. "Can I say it now?"

She gave a sigh of surrender before glancing at him over her shoulder. "Falling in love with an idiot human is not nearly as great as it seems."

Ichigo smiled. "You'll just have to acquiesce."

He drifted off to sleep soon after. Rukia had every intention of joining him, but the loss of personal boundaries was keeping her from succumbing to her dreams. Instead she laid there, dwelling over her new grade in Drawing I.

"One-hundreds? I have rarely seen a high school student perfectly connect to their own emotions for that grade."

She glanced up at Ichigo's sleeping face, a smile once again appearing on her lips. Perfectly connected to my emotions, huh?

There was a hint of her name on his next exhale, and her new smile softened as she traced the muscles of his chest.

Well, I've had them long enough.

Please understand that this one-shot was intended to be roughly two-thousand words. Where this slow, monstrous thing came from I have no idea. But thanks for making it through to the end. I'm glad you were dedicated enough to actually read the entire thing.

See what I mean about the new words? I particularly like acquiesce, so I suppose I may have overused it.

Reviews, favorites, alerts, thoughts and tips are greatly appreciated. Thank you so much.

Sivo