In a small two-bedroom apartment on 54th street, a male voice chatted in low tones through the open windowsill.  The college town was hushed, still drowsy with typical weekend morning slumber.  The tattered curtains across the window billowed, and the voice from the figure just behind it quieted.  The figure leaned back in his chair.  He closed his cell phone with a click and slid it into his pant pocket.  Yawning, he stretched his muscular, bare arms and chest toward the ceiling.  He had intended to get up earlier so he could go on a short run and shower, but the morning’s overcast skies had made him too drowsy to wake.  “Why is it near impossible to wake up in the morning?”  He arched his back a little, trying to stretch away the sleep that made his limbs feel heavy.  He flicked his eyes over to his alarm clock.  9:26 glimmered in red digital numbers across its face.  “I guess I should get my stuff together,” he grumbled.  Reaching over to his bedside, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, threading his arms through the light fabric.  He’d checked the weather earlier, and it was supposed to be quite nice, unlike the bitter cold it had been previously.  

His feet padded against the carpet on his floor as he walked over to the window and pushed the billowing curtains away to reveal the streaming sunlight outdoors, dissipating the grey clouds from earlier.  His apartment faced the east, making each morning a bath in yellow and orange hued light.   He was typically an early riser, that sort of responsible guy who wakes up to get work done despite the opportunity to sleep in.  He was a college student completely devoted to his academics, pushing friend networking aside for meeting better study groups.   He wanted to be a doctor, after all, and enjoying the social scene too often was not going to get him any closer to med school.  His father would disagree though.  The middle-aged, roundhouse-kicking, emotionally unpredictable old man had always harped on him for not getting out enough.  He had his friends, and he did get out.  Yet somehow, that annoying voice resonating in his head (at seemingly the worst times) to ‘go find some wild party’ never quite left.  He chuckled.  His dad even refused to give up on trying to play matchmaker, especially with his current roommate, whom he was about to go nag to hurry up for the hundredth time.

“Damn, she better be out of the shower,” he said, petting the furry orange tabby cat that had leaped onto his desk.  “I don’t want to skip my coffee again because she’s late.  I need the caffeine today...”

Grabbing his book bag and a couple pencils drowsily, he walked out of the room, cat in tow, purring for more attention.  As he walked up to his roommate’s closed door, he furrowed his brow.  “Never know what to expect from her at all,” he thought, “despite the fact that I’ve known her unpredictability since I was fifteen.”  Sighing, he reached for the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

                                                               -x-

       The steam rose around her body as the water came pouring down over her neck and shoulders, trickling its way down her small frame.  The temperature was hot enough where most people wouldn’t like it, but for her, it was perfect.  The steam and the spray misted her cheeks that had pieces of wet hair stuck to them, tinged pink from the hot air around her.  She sighed, turning off the water to step into the cold air outside the shower.   She tensed a little when the coolness bit her skin, but she was much more relaxed now than she had been before her shower.  Hot water seemed to loosen her muscles wonderfully.  She desperately needed this luxury after all the stress she’d been getting from that damned roommate of hers.  He’d been making her study some unfathomable amount this week for her upcoming test.  As she dried herself off, she frowned.  She’d wanted to go see that music group at the local bar, “But nooo… he had to make me to study with him again.  I swear, after all that studying, the only skill he’s developed is in being an obnoxious and overzealous workaholic.”   Sighing, she opened the door of the bathroom where her feet met the wooden floor of the hallway.

She reached her own room, which was only slightly messy in her opinion.  It only looked like a sty when compared to the other bedroom down the hallway which was almost too pristine and organized.  Her roommate turned up an eyebrow at her once when he’d seen the way she kept her room.  She’d always defended the piles of random objects as “organized clutter,” even if he thought the phrase as a giant oxymoron.  Throwing the towel aside, she searched her armoire for underwear and a pair of jeans.  Unsatisfied with the jeans in one drawer, she spotted her favorite comfy jeans tossed by the corner of her bed.  “Perfect,”  she thought, scooping up the jeans and slipping them over her panties.  She grabbed a graphic t-shirt that had a picture of a muffin yelling “AH MUNNA EAT CHOO!” on it.  The muffin had a furrowed brow, which reminded her quite a bit of that stubborn idiot she had for a roommate.  She loved that shirt.  “Now,”  she thought, eyes scanning the room, “where is my beige bra?”   Dangling on the doorknob, it hung staring at her.  She trudged over to the door, removing the strap of the bra from the door handle just before it swung open and smacked her forehead with a large CRACK!

“Oh shit, Rukia, I’m sorry.”

Standing on the other side of the door was a rather embarrassed, tall, orange haired guy.  Yep, her roommate was being an idiot again.  Rukia was sprawled on the floor, t-shirt held up to her chest, a large red mark and veins popping out of her agitated forehead.

“ICHIGO!  HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING?!  GET OUT!  I’M NOT DRESSED YET!”

Ichigo instantly spun around with a tinge of red in his cheeks and shut the door.  As Rukia put on her bra and t-shirt, he yelled through the door.

“I’m sorry… I … had no idea!”

“That’s why you knock, dumbass.”  She grabbed a belt from her closet rather harshly.

“Okay, I’m sorry.  I’ve said that three times now.  Are you ready for coffee yet?  I told everyone we’d hit the library by about 10 that way we could get some studying in before lunch.”

“Ugh, not even my brother hounded on me for studying as much as you do.”  She threaded the belt through the loops in her jeans, staring at the talking doorframe.  “…and he is insane.”  Annoyed, Ichigo tapped his finger against the door.

“Do you want coffee or not?”  Rukia swung open the door to find Ichigo leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, a furrowed brow above his golden eyes.  He had on a black shirt with a neck that plunged down to his chest, black strings crisscrossing over the open area.  His faded jeans had a couple of chains on the side, clipped to his belt loops where a simple black belt ran through and buckled at the front.  “How the hell does he get to look so good in the morning?  It’s not fair,”  Rukia thought.  He looked cool, but slightly ticked.  He had that tone of voice like the muffin on her shirt.  He looked like he would eat her if she didn’t answer.  At least she knew how to handle him.

“Yes, pretty, pretty please.”  She batted her eyelashes at him in a way that she knew would make his eyes roll.  Skipping past him, she grabbed her shoes by the front door and plopped on the couch, the agitated roommate trudging behind.  

“Okay.  Then I’ll buy your coffee.”  Ichigo sat beside her, and Rukia smiled.  Things were turning out alright, even if she did get a nasty bruise.  She got some free coffee out of the deal, and she would guilt trip him later if the door smack left a mark.  She glanced down at her shoes and laced them up.  The orange tabby cat sulked over to her unlaced shoes and meowed at her loudly.

“Ichigo, why does your damn cat Orihime never leave me alone?  She meows and meows and meows- when I’m eating, sleeping, studying… she practically sang for me while I showered.”

“She doesn’t do anything bad though.  She’s just a kitten you know.”

“She adores you, so she chooses to annoy me.”

“Aww come on.  You have to love adorable small creatures.  You’re obsessed with a cute furry bunny, this is just my cute furry kitten.  Look at her.”  Ichigo hoisted up the cat and held her at eye level.

“She makes me sneeze.”  Batting away the kitten’s paws that were eagerly trying to claw her hair, Rukia rose from her chair to grab her book bag.

“Ready?”  Ichigo threw a light jacket at her.  

“You could have handed it to me.”  Rukia threw an icy glare as she slipped her arms through the sleeves of the jacket, passing through the front door Ichigo had swung open for her.  He pushed down on the top of her head with his free palm.  “Midget,” he said, smirking.  Rukia rolled her eyes.  That was Ichigo’s favorite name for her, and she loathed it.  She began to pull her wet hair into a messy bun behind her, bits of her bangs spilling out and sweeping across her face.  When she glanced down at her wrist to reach for her hair tie, she realized she had left it on the sink from when she showered.

“Damnit!”  She stomped the concrete, agitated at herself.  Ichigo flicked an annoyed gaze at her.

“What did you forget this time?”

“My hair tie!”

“You left it on the sink again, didn’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“I’ll go get your stupid hair thingy, you forgetful little shrimp.”  He jogged back in the apartment, disappearing only for a moment until he returned with her hair tie dangling from his finger.  “Here.  Put it in your hair before you lose it again.”  Rukia puffed air out of her nose.  He seemed to care, but the tone of his voice was grinding her gears.

“You know, for someone who thinks himself a gentleman, you are being extremely chivalrous… with the air of an asshole.”

“What did you say?”

“I honestly don’t think you could possibly be a gentleman to me for an entire day or lose all your biting remarks without going insane.”

“You just think I’m a big prick, don’t you?”

Rukia smiled.  “Yeah, that’s right, I-chi-go.”  She put emphasis on each syllable of his name while poking him in the ribs.

“I don’t think you could be gracious enough to accept any sort of gesture from me, little miss better-than-thou.  Hell, when have you ever acted like a lady?”  Ichigo folded his arms, shoving away her poking finger with his hand.

“I come from one of the most respected families!  I was raised being taught how to be a lady.  You should see the formality of my stupid family.  You think you can beat me in the etiquette department?”

“Easily.”

“Are you challenging me?”  Rukia laughed at him.  

He snarled back.  “I wasn’t raised like an animal on tree bark and testosterone, you know.  My dad taught me about becoming the man of the house.  You know how much I’ve always fought for those I care about.  Of course I can be one of your prim and proper gentlemen.  I’ll just plug my nose and be a royal snot and I’ll be you’ll feel right at home.  You think you can challenge me?  Are you challenging me?”

“I believe I am, sir.”  Rukia’s grin erupted into a giant smile.  “Good, because I challenge you too, ma’am.”  Ichigo returned a playful smirk.  


For a single moment, their thoughts were the same:  “This is going to be fun.”