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bleachnessAaahhh the last-minute-ness! Unbetaed, unedited, as I started writing about five hours before it turned November 6th...
And I've watched about five Honey and Clover episodes in that time as well...*giggles nervously*. It's justified, though, since it was during one of them that I actually *finally* got the idea for this...
Title: All I Can Be
Author:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
baby_werewolf
Rating: PG. Alcohol and kissing, nothing worse.
And I've watched about five Honey and Clover episodes in that time as well...*giggles nervously*. It's justified, though, since it was during one of them that I actually *finally* got the idea for this...
Title: All I Can Be
Author:
baby_werewolf Rating: PG. Alcohol and kissing, nothing worse.
Ishida leant on the kitchen doorframe and looked around the room, wondering yet again what exactly he was doing here.
He supposed he ought to be having fun. Everyone else seemed to be, after all. And they weren't being quiet about it.
Rukia was jumping on the sofa, glass in hand, shouting something incomprehensible at Ichigo. Mizuiro was sitting in a corner nearby, apparently trying to eat the face of some girl who Ishida couldn't identify. A half-empty bottle stood on the carpet beside them.
Keigo was dancing enthusiastically with a slightly unsteady Tatsuki to the painfully loud music throbbing from the stereo. A few other people were also dancing, including, to Ishida's slight surprise, Chad, and several pieces of furniture had been knocked over.
A loose circle of girls were gathered by the wall near where Ishida stood. Surrounded by several empty beer bottles and one half-empty bottle of vodka (Ishida wasn't sure where the vodka had appeared from, but he rather suspected Keigo was responsible), a flushed Orihime was announcing in a rather slurred voice: "...No, they must have legs. Long ones, like, like…daddylonglegs. How else would they back away like that whenever you try and come up to them?"
Ryō, sitting against the wall next to Orihime, was nodding along as if she completely understood what Orihime was going on about, although that in itself suggested she'd had quite a lot to drink.
Apparently more than half asleep, Chizuru was ignoring the monologue entirely. Her glasses crooked and her eyes half-closed, her head was resting on Orihime's shoulder and she was playing lazily with a strand of the other girl's hair.
There was a loud crash from the other side of the room as Rukia's increasingly wild bouncing capsized the sofa. Her drink splashed across the carpet as she leapt clumsily clear, crashing into Ichigo. The two of them landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, a giggling Rukia sprawled across Ichigo's chest.
Mizuiro and the girl looked up as the sofa back slammed into the floor next to them, then went back to kissing and groping each other.
Ishida sighed and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with rather more force than necessary.
Was there something wrong with him, that he wasn't enjoying himself? Or was it just that he really didn't belong here, that he was as out-of-place as he felt, as unwanted?
"Flapping around like a butterfly. Moth. Something like that," Orihime's slurring voice came from his left. He looked around. She was struggling to her feet, supporting herself against the wall with one hand. Chizuru, dislodged from her resting place, gave a protesting whimper and clutched at Orihime, who staggered wildly.
Ishida stepped forwards swiftly and managed to catch her as she stumbled and fell towards him. She collapsed against his body, mumbling something incoherent into the front of his shirt.
Uncomfortably aware of her breasts pressing suddenly against him, of her face against his chest and his own arms around her, he felt a blush rising in his cheeks.
She lifted her arms and draped them round his neck, and now he was completely lost as to what to do next. He just stood there awkwardly, as she raised herself to her toes and kissed him, wet and sloppy and unexpected, full on the mouth.
Her eyes were closed, long brown eyelashes lying on her pink, flushed cheeks. Her lips were soft and warm, and he could taste the alcohol on her breath. Her tongue slid into his mouth, exploring.
He lost himself in the sensation of it, his conscious brain sliding out of gear, his mind filled with her: the feel of her warm body, the taste of her mouth, her scent in his nostrils. Only one small cynical voice remained to whisper, She's only doing this because she's drunk…
And then for one perfect moment even that disappeared, and he was lost in her…
Until she murmured hot into his mouth, "nnn…K'rosaki-kun..." and he was brought back to earth with a sickening crash.
He broke the kiss, trying not to let his voice crack as he told her carefully, "Sorry, Inoue, I'm not Kurosaki.."
I'm not Kurosaki. I'll never be Kurosaki.
I suppose that means I'll never be good enough.
Biting down his bitter disappointment, he arranged his arm around her and helped her towards the door. "'m sorry, Ishida-kun," she mumbled as she stumbled along, leaning against him heavily.
They reached the porch, and he released his hold on her as he rummaged for their coats. She began to slump, and he caught her again.
Giving up on finding her coat, he draped his own jacket around her shoulders. She snuggled into it, and leant closer to him. "'m sleepy, Ish'da…" she mumbled. He tried to walk her through the door, but she went limp as a rag doll against him and refused to move.
He had to get her home, somehow.
He managed to manoeuvre her onto his back, though her skirt rode up her legs far more than he was comfortable with. The complex exercise of getting the door open, then closed behind them, without dropping her, distracted him temporarily, but after that it was hard not to think about her arms around his neck, her long legs resting on his arms, her warm breath on the back of his neck…
He bit his lip and carried on down the street.
She doesn't want you. She doesn't want you. he reminded himself, over and over, but it couldn't stop him wanting her.
"Mmmm…" she mumbled sleepily in his ear. "You're nice and warm…"
The sky was clear and the air cold. He looked up at the distant stars as he walked on down the street, with the weight of the sleeping girl on his back.
She snored softly, mumbling without words.
Was she drooling on his neck?
It was torture to be this close, and know that it meant next to nothing to her. It hurt. But still…he'd do what he could for her, even if it meant nothing.
I'm not Kurosaki Ichigo.
I can't ever be Kurosaki Ichigo for you.
All I can be is Ishida Uryuu.
I just hope, one day, maybe, that will be enough.
He supposed he ought to be having fun. Everyone else seemed to be, after all. And they weren't being quiet about it.
Rukia was jumping on the sofa, glass in hand, shouting something incomprehensible at Ichigo. Mizuiro was sitting in a corner nearby, apparently trying to eat the face of some girl who Ishida couldn't identify. A half-empty bottle stood on the carpet beside them.
Keigo was dancing enthusiastically with a slightly unsteady Tatsuki to the painfully loud music throbbing from the stereo. A few other people were also dancing, including, to Ishida's slight surprise, Chad, and several pieces of furniture had been knocked over.
A loose circle of girls were gathered by the wall near where Ishida stood. Surrounded by several empty beer bottles and one half-empty bottle of vodka (Ishida wasn't sure where the vodka had appeared from, but he rather suspected Keigo was responsible), a flushed Orihime was announcing in a rather slurred voice: "...No, they must have legs. Long ones, like, like…daddylonglegs. How else would they back away like that whenever you try and come up to them?"
Ryō, sitting against the wall next to Orihime, was nodding along as if she completely understood what Orihime was going on about, although that in itself suggested she'd had quite a lot to drink.
Apparently more than half asleep, Chizuru was ignoring the monologue entirely. Her glasses crooked and her eyes half-closed, her head was resting on Orihime's shoulder and she was playing lazily with a strand of the other girl's hair.
There was a loud crash from the other side of the room as Rukia's increasingly wild bouncing capsized the sofa. Her drink splashed across the carpet as she leapt clumsily clear, crashing into Ichigo. The two of them landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, a giggling Rukia sprawled across Ichigo's chest.
Mizuiro and the girl looked up as the sofa back slammed into the floor next to them, then went back to kissing and groping each other.
Ishida sighed and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with rather more force than necessary.
Was there something wrong with him, that he wasn't enjoying himself? Or was it just that he really didn't belong here, that he was as out-of-place as he felt, as unwanted?
"Flapping around like a butterfly. Moth. Something like that," Orihime's slurring voice came from his left. He looked around. She was struggling to her feet, supporting herself against the wall with one hand. Chizuru, dislodged from her resting place, gave a protesting whimper and clutched at Orihime, who staggered wildly.
Ishida stepped forwards swiftly and managed to catch her as she stumbled and fell towards him. She collapsed against his body, mumbling something incoherent into the front of his shirt.
Uncomfortably aware of her breasts pressing suddenly against him, of her face against his chest and his own arms around her, he felt a blush rising in his cheeks.
She lifted her arms and draped them round his neck, and now he was completely lost as to what to do next. He just stood there awkwardly, as she raised herself to her toes and kissed him, wet and sloppy and unexpected, full on the mouth.
Her eyes were closed, long brown eyelashes lying on her pink, flushed cheeks. Her lips were soft and warm, and he could taste the alcohol on her breath. Her tongue slid into his mouth, exploring.
He lost himself in the sensation of it, his conscious brain sliding out of gear, his mind filled with her: the feel of her warm body, the taste of her mouth, her scent in his nostrils. Only one small cynical voice remained to whisper, She's only doing this because she's drunk…
And then for one perfect moment even that disappeared, and he was lost in her…
Until she murmured hot into his mouth, "nnn…K'rosaki-kun..." and he was brought back to earth with a sickening crash.
He broke the kiss, trying not to let his voice crack as he told her carefully, "Sorry, Inoue, I'm not Kurosaki.."
I'm not Kurosaki. I'll never be Kurosaki.
I suppose that means I'll never be good enough.
Biting down his bitter disappointment, he arranged his arm around her and helped her towards the door. "'m sorry, Ishida-kun," she mumbled as she stumbled along, leaning against him heavily.
They reached the porch, and he released his hold on her as he rummaged for their coats. She began to slump, and he caught her again.
Giving up on finding her coat, he draped his own jacket around her shoulders. She snuggled into it, and leant closer to him. "'m sleepy, Ish'da…" she mumbled. He tried to walk her through the door, but she went limp as a rag doll against him and refused to move.
He had to get her home, somehow.
He managed to manoeuvre her onto his back, though her skirt rode up her legs far more than he was comfortable with. The complex exercise of getting the door open, then closed behind them, without dropping her, distracted him temporarily, but after that it was hard not to think about her arms around his neck, her long legs resting on his arms, her warm breath on the back of his neck…
He bit his lip and carried on down the street.
She doesn't want you. She doesn't want you. he reminded himself, over and over, but it couldn't stop him wanting her.
"Mmmm…" she mumbled sleepily in his ear. "You're nice and warm…"
The sky was clear and the air cold. He looked up at the distant stars as he walked on down the street, with the weight of the sleeping girl on his back.
She snored softly, mumbling without words.
Was she drooling on his neck?
It was torture to be this close, and know that it meant next to nothing to her. It hurt. But still…he'd do what he could for her, even if it meant nothing.
I'm not Kurosaki Ichigo.
I can't ever be Kurosaki Ichigo for you.
All I can be is Ishida Uryuu.
I just hope, one day, maybe, that will be enough.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 06:17 am (UTC)The last lines were gorgeous. I think this is my favourite contest entry so far.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 02:28 pm (UTC)thanks for this sentence ^_____^ *crazy TatsuKei-shipper*
fic is nice. Ishida carying Inoue is what I always wanted to see ^^
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 05:52 pm (UTC)Ohhhhhhhhh. So well-done and so poignant. Drunk Rukia cracked me up.
I'm a sucker for IshiHime unrequieted tenderness. Thank you so much for posting this.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-07 12:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-07 05:15 am (UTC)sorry, that was my first reaction ^^;;; curse her for not loving dear uryuu-kun! but bah, other than that, this was perfectly wonderful. i laughed insanely at the descriptions of all the drunken peepz at the party-- especially mizuiro and his unwillingness to unstick his face from that girl's even though the world, or the couch, was collapsing around him-- though i do hope chado wasn't drunk. that'd be weird.
i absolutely adored that he felt the need to take hime home even when the room was FULL of other drunken morons. EVEN after she did what she did. that's ishida to a tee.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-07 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-07 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-13 02:23 am (UTC)