All written works displayed are (C) K.E. Wright (includes poem).
Ichigo: Color me strange, but if dealing with those obnoxious fan-girls brought me one of these hugs, I was willing to deal with them every day. He was still wrapped quite tightly around me, but I didn't mind it. In fact, I quite enjoyed it. The particular person that I'd been attracted to for some time now had wrapped himself around me and he wasn't crying or doing anything else that I was utterly horrible at dealing with. What wasn't to be enjoyed in that scenario? As I held on to him, I tried to work out which parts he had overheard. I couldn't recall when, exactly, I'd raised my voice against the girls, so there was quite a bounty of statements to choose from. Still, this was an incredibly favorable reaction, and I couldn't come up with any statement that had come out of my mouth that should have produced something like this. My thoughts skittered back around toward my conversation with Rukia. Finding out that Uryū had been talking about me –obviously in a favorable way, since she wished our association to continue– had warmed some lonely and forgotten corners of my heart. I wondered if it was a sign of deeper interest from him, but I quickly shoved the notion aside. What we have now is more than enough. Be happy with that and stop wishing for more, or you will lose what you have. I wouldn't stand aside and let myself lose out on our friendship, even if I didn't get a chance to hold him in the way that I longed to. Releasing a soft sigh, I inhaled the scent of his shampoo and fought back my desire to nuzzle against his sweet-scented hair. Down boy, I told myself wryly. Finally, I began to withdraw from the embrace. Seriously, we'd spent a solid five minutes hugging each other. If his scent clung to my clothes, I'd be fighting a losing battle against a hard-on for the rest of the day and I really didn't want to have to explain that to Keigo. He seemed a little reluctant to let go, too, but I gave him my softest smile as I worked myself free. Casually, I ruffled his hair and mused the silky stands. "How's your day been so far?" I inquired politely. He shrugged. Surprisingly enough, he didn't seem that worried about his always-perfect hair. "Well enough, I suppose. Aside from the rumors, I guess. No one seems to dare bring a single one to me, though." That's because they all think you're made out of porcelain. "I wish they had such issues with me. I've been confronted with the most vulgar of the rumors." "Have you now." One perfect brow arched. "Care to share? I'm always amused by whatever the rumor mill manages to churn out." Here's hoping I don't blush. "The school favorite is that I'm blackmailing you for sex. I know: the blackmail material piles up better the other way around. Some of them say that you seduced me, others that I seduced you. Yet another group seems to think we've had some sort of illicit relationship going on for years now. My personal favorite of the lot was the one that involved sex on Miss Souma's desk." I laughed a little. "One good thing I can say about all of our classmates: they all have terrific imaginations. Other than that, I'm really worried about the way information travels in this school." He blushed enough for the both of us. Ah, I knew that my blatant wording wasn't the best idea. Still, it surprised me when he asked, "What was so amusing about that rumor?" "The rumor said we'd gone at it on that desk during AP English, in front of God and everybody." I shook my head. "I have no idea where they get these things! Honestly, the few times I've dated, I've kept it really quiet, so why would I go from 'private person' to 'exhibitionist'?" Uryū shook his head. "They entertain themselves at our expense. I haven't even dated. How am I to go from that to 'exhibitionist'?" Oh, let me teach you, the darker voice in my head purred out. I worked hard on burying it. "Like I said, I'm really worried about the way information travels in this school." I smiled wryly at him and reach for the messenger bag slung over my shoulder. After a few minutes of awkward maneuvering, I came up with a slim volume –hard-back, well-loved, notes in the margins– and handed it to him. "I promised to lone you this. Are you still interested in it, or are the rumors too intimidating?" He accepted the volume with a small smile. "The rumors don't bother me all that much –no one but you really has the courage to tell them to me, anyway, which is a shame because they are really amusing. Besides, this is only between us, on a personal level that they shouldn't even catch wind of." I ruffled his hair again. "Take good care of it, yeah?" When he nodded, I smiled. I glanced down at my watch. I still had enough time to catch a smoke and talk to Uryū some more before I had to get to class. I wandered away to light my cigarette so the smoke wouldn't bother him. As I sat down and lit up, my thoughts drifted a bit. Absently, I wondered if he'd like the two sonnets I'd penning on some of the blank pages in the back. He'd been right: once I'd chosen something I was very passionate about –probably more like "obsessed with" –the words had flowed out easily, and they'd even fit the pattern well! I'd written a third one, as well –the one I would be turning in later this week. They were all about him, though, and I was somewhere between frightened and exited to have him reading two of my poems. I supposed I was frightened because he might realize that they were about him. Then again, I was also frightened that he might not. I wasn't sure which reaction to hope for. Still, I was excited that my poems would actually be read and pondered by their intended audience, and that excitement seemed to override the doubt and the fear. I supposed I had faith that things would all turn out for the best.
Uryū: Chemistry class had been incredibly boring. Then again, I wasn't paying much attention, for once in my life. Hell, I wasn't even sure what we had covered in class: I'd only taken the time to scribble down the assignment before I'd hurried from the classroom. My mind was still dwelling on what had happened at lunch. I never expected him to have such a favorable reaction to my embrace. He'd barely hesitated before sliding his arms around me and had never once complained that I was too close or too clingy. His voice had been so warm and gentle in my ear. I shivered just remembering the way his breath had felt as it brushed against my ear and fanned out against my neck. His arms had felt so strong and so warm. That impressive body, with mine wrapped so tightly around it… it seemed like something out of a daydream… Shaking my head, I tried to contain my rueful laughter. Truly, it was a wonder he'd reacted so well to such an embrace –especially because I had most certainly been behaving like a love-sick fool. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, I tried to focus so I could prepare the correct notebooks for my AP Biology II course. I really hadn't wanted to take it, but eventually, I'd given into the pressure when I'd needed another class to fill out my schedule. Actually, what I had wanted was a study hall, but unfortunately for me, they had all been full for that hour. The man who taught the Anatomy and Physiology class was… well, he was creepy. I swear to Shiva, they made 'creepy' a prerequisite when hiring the staff in the science department. That's not to say that Doctor Kurotsuchi –our over-qualified chemistry instructor– and Doctor Granz –our over-qualified biology instructor– were creepy in the same manner. Kurotsuchi was more likely to kidnap you and perform illegal experiments on you. Granz was more likely to abduct you, keep you in his basement, and sexually torture you until you either got used to it or died. Or maybe that was just how they stuck me. I really didn't want to go to biology. That man was more than just a little worrisome, and had been observed sexually harassing female and male students. But I was Uryū Ishida, Class President, so no matter how much I wanted out of this class, cutting it in the bathroom wasn't an option. I had to attend –to "set a good example for the other students". It was hard to hide my grimace, but I managed somehow. Taking a deep breath to steel myself against the inevitable, I walked into the classroom and found my seat. Orihime, the girl who sat beside me, gave me a soft smile and a gentle half-wave. When I returned her smile, happiness danced in her big brown eyes. I liked Orihime. She was one of the few people at this school who treated me like a normal human being. She always had one of those gentle, shy smiles for me. it was those smiles that I found to be most appealing about her. When we had partner work in class, she not only partnered with me, she willingly sought me out –and not because I had a great memory for various body parts and bones. The only problem? Orihime was a part of Ichigo's normal group of friends. That didn't make her a delinquent, per say, but my… obsessive entourage would not take well to me hanging out with her outside of class. And by "would not take well", I mean "would make her life a living hell". So really, I stayed away for her protection, though knowing that I had to sacrifice a good friendship with a sweet, remarkable girl had really made me angry. At the familiar shrill screech of Granz dragging his long fingernails down the chalkboard, everyone cringed and faced forward. Doctor Szayelaporro Granz was perched on his desk, his chin-length pink hair perfectly straight and perfectly styled. The lenses of his glasses were spotless and smear free and his eerie golden amber eyes gleamed behind them with an almost lecherous light. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Let's talk about sex," he began. I choked on the tonsils my own father had removed when I was twelve. However, I was far from alone in my reaction: the topic de jour had left most of my classmates faint, pale, gaping, and/or completely frazzled. Granz just grinned with genuine amusement. "Today, we shall focus on the female participant and participation. Tomorrow, we'll get to the male. Anyway! For those of you who are more visual learners, I have some short clips queued up for your viewing pleasure." I have to admit, I really wasn't all that surprised in the least when those 'clips' turned out to be porn. I was just surprised that he'd managed to bring them in and use them without the administration becoming aware. Averting my gaze, I pondered the pros and cons of informing them about his practices. After all, there had to be someone better suited to teaching biology to a bunch of teenagers somewhere in Katakura Town. But I figured that if they hadn't done anything about the verbally abusive "Mad Scientist" Kurotsuchi, it was highly unlikely that they would do anything about the perverted and lecherous biology teacher. For once, I was glad that my teacher had succeeded in keeping the attention of everyone in the classroom –himself included. Now, granted, some of them were staring at the screen with faces full of horror, but that was neither here nor there. As I ignored the overly loud, fake sex noises, my thoughts drifted to the book that Ichigo was loaning to me. Carefully, I pulled it out and flipped through the pages. A flicker of rough handwriting caught my attention, so I turned to the page quickly. To my surprise, I discovered a sonnet he'd written in the back of the book himself. I couldn't help myself: I had to read it.
"For years, I thought that others spoke of things in manner, fashion, more eloquent than I; I would embrace the joy each word brings, writing myself off as simply a fan. Yet now I bring to question all the years that I hid my desire to speak and share, and every word that fell upon deaf ears. It seems that all I needed was to care. When I first saw you, new breath filled my lungs; I knew that I'd found the greatest of the muse: Each day beckoned new songs that must be sung, That I should not the gift I had misuse. My pen shall n'er cease scratching paper til I be old and my muse but vapor."
The bottom of the page bore his signature and a date –by my calculations, not more than a week ago. I stared at the words for a moment. The poem itself was very straight-forward –much like he was. I couldn't help but wonder who was this muse he'd written this poem for. And I could help but wish that it was me.