225Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.
Warning: ooc.
*it's a distract-ception fic. was writing bs17 then got distracted, shifted to ent3, got distracted, so shifted to nas12, then got distracted again -to this. i think my brain wants to write rukia.
rent
i. days take forever
appleschan
Rukia can dispel rumors if she wants-
One rumor says that the brooding, hot (they say) guy at the far corner of the audi comes from a German-Japanese power family and his father is from the Nobunaga line which is pretty impressive if he actually cares.
-but she doesn't because-
"It's really awesome, he should be in a museum or something. He's like a walking piece of history. Awesome."
-it's a part of her daily entertainment.
Rukia doesn't really care about his lineage, point in fact, she would rather tap her pen against her desk humming a Keiko Abe piece while waiting for the professor than really listen to pointless college gossips.
But the girl who's currently her seatmate for History does. She cares a lot, too, about his hair. "Ooh, that's done by a New York-based hair colorist, you know, so it's kind of sooo natural-looking"
Wrong, Rukia thinks, that's natural.
But gossips like this fill the gap, the dead silence around her in-between classes while waiting for their professor. And she thinks, she can put up with it because it might be a bit of fun –sort of- to hear the guy being made into some sort of impossibly charming real hero.
"Nobody really knows a lot about him, it's kind of hot, I mean it's kind of hot, hot guy with the hot and mysterious background," her seatmate winks at her.
Rukia shrugs. No.
"Oh and he reads books once. Only once. Then he remembers everything."
The boy her seat mate and the rest of the university girls admire continues to sit at the far corner of the audi silently; his hood drawn to cover his hair, his gaze –maybe, because she can't really see- set straight ahead.
The problem with being famous is that there are so many, many, many verbose and bombastic rumors.
"Oh some international actors actually asked for his diet and skin care, you know,"
Oh, Rukia thinks, her seatmate really won't stop. Rukia shifts slightly and takes her book out.
"-and um, producers like, they like, wanna get him into the industry. Something sexy. No, not porn. Absolutely no porn. Because, uhh, you know, the vast family background-"
"I'm sorry, the Nobunaga line?" Rukia asks, opening her book on the page about their current lesson without looking. She knows, oh she knows, because she studies hard.
"Nobunaga," her seat mate confirms, "sucks, right? I know-! Oh yeah! He plays football as brilliantly as Honda Keisuke does! I think he's invited to play for the national team, but he kind of refused them because...oh well, super tight schedule. And I don't know, there's this tradition in his family…so yeah."
For Rukia, the story goes like this, everyone in campus knows, follows and admires Kurosaki Ichigo. He majors in –seriously- she doesn't know. She thinks he has this entire collection of black outfits and poetry books. He doesn't talk much, but he glares a lot. She thinks that's enough human interaction for him. He goes home at approximately 9 pm. He buys take out reheated food for dinner even if he can afford to dine in a Michelin-starred restaurant every night. He eats it while waiting for the last scheduled bus towards his house. There's an emphasis on house. Nobody ever said he's pleasant or kind or approachable or nice.
For everyone else, Kurosaki Ichigo is this some sort of all-rounder hero; bombastic and indestructible.
to be continued