Chapter Text
Rukia’s favourite hobby was people watching likely a result of being born and raised in the country, a quaint shire just a day’s travel by carriage. It was not a populous neighborhood. Indeed, the landed gentry amounted to fifteen families at most, with two of them only in the area for shooting season.
They were occasionally graced with the presence of the militia, but neither Rukia nor Hisana could claim a preference for red coats beyond Rukia’s interest in their stories, and the stories she could make up for them.
If she and her sister had traveled to town more, Rukia would have had her pick of them.
Hisana teased that while she were the amicable of the two – by Rukia’s own insistence – Rukia was easier to talk to.
“Because you have no manners at all,” their governess would often cluck. “Young ladies of your station should not be playing with servants. Not even that Ishida boy, do you hear me? He may not be the help, but he’s new money!”
“His father is a doctor,” Rukia had mulishly replied. “He’s sawed off an arm!” A claim that only made their mother faint.
Though their father claimed indifference to any of their potential suitors (and really, Ishida shouldn’t count, he was more interested in their dresses than either of them), their mother did not.
Not a week went by after Hisana turned fifteen that their mother didn’t petition their father to town for want of a more marriageable market.
However, her father despised town on principle, and hadn’t allowed them hither until their mother's passing. Her last wish, as it were, for her daughters to experience the season, and be happily rid of them.
While their mother meant in marriage to someone suitable, Hisana was simply pleased to receive proper instruction with masters in music, and Rukia was similarly diverted with long-winded walks through the square and the many parks nearby her uncle’s home – to whom they imposed upon every season hence.
The myriad of parties, however, was Rukia’s main source of entertainment.
People behaved so differently at balls and garden parties.
She’d observed enough of those in her sphere – sons and daughters of a certain social circle and class – outside of such events compared to when they were thus embroiled.
They’d be louder, or brighter, more animated or more demure. They’d hold themselves differently to when they would walk about town – excuse me, promenade. They would even treat their friends differently, the intimate spaces of camaraderie adjusted just so to invite attention that wasn’t always given or accepted when on the hunt, as it were, for a spouse.
It was not an amusement looked upon well when there were things like dance cards to fill and husbands to secure, of course.
Nonetheless, Rukia had neither the temperament nor countenance for either activities, and so she contented herself with observing the social intricacies of such occasions as they played out.
For the amount of effort and theatre on display, she thought that there should be someone to appreciate it, why not her?
Her mother would be most upset with her, had she still been alive to witness it.
As it is, Rukia thinks her mother would have been firmly in the throes of her infamous nerves that her father deigned to attend a season at all. That they've attended one let alone four shocks Rukia still.
There would be no need for their yearly attendance had Rukia and Hisana been fortunate enough to be wed the first year of their joint debut. It hadn't shocked Rukia that she hadn't, but Hisana was all that was beautiful and good, and even their father was dismayed that she remained unattached.
Hisana's presentation had been two years late, granted, and they didn't have a large fortune to claim, but she was everything a lady ought to be: gentle and kind and lovely altogether.
It was any wonder why gentlemen clamoured for her hand every season, though the acquaintances never deepened to further intimacies.
There were a few thoughtful notes, certainly. A visit a few days after to thank Hisana for her graciousness. Tea, even. A romantic stroll, if the weather permitted it. But come the end of the season so too would the correspondence, the special attention.
Four-and-twenty was hardly old, but they’d heard enough from the twittering of society mamas to know that Hisana was soon to be placed on the shelf, and only being asked after out of pity.
Rukia thought it ridiculous, Hisana was much kinder.
“They are only repeating what they know.”
“What they know is wrong.”
“Come, sister, you mustn’t be so inflexible. They’ll think you bitter.”
“Why would I be? According to them, I’m not due to be a spinster for another two years,” she snorted, watching couples gather for the first set.
Most of them were friendly, but only politely so. The season was newly bloomed, and favourites among them were not yet chosen.
“You’ve survived four seasons,” Hisana said in kind, “and you’ve yet to marry. Or been close to it, in fact.”
“Despite Mama’s best wishes, god rest her, I have no intention of a loveless union however advantageous.”
At that, her sister laughed. “We aren’t to be the target of fortune hunters, at the very least. Our happiness is ensured in that regard.”
“Come, there must be unambitious fortune hunters, we're not entirely penniless” Rukia returned with a grin. “Never mind that a marriage can still be unhappy even when there’s love in it.”
“Oh?” Hisana raised her brows. “Pray tell, what word on the grapevine?”
“No grapevine, just my own amusements, as you know.”
“Do share, I fear the gentlemen have discovered the news of my increasing ill-suitability, and I find myself without a partner.” Hisana pouted.
“Then, by all means.”
It wasn’t uncommon for young ladies to dance a set together when partners were few. Still, there was a notable shuffle amongst the assembled line of dancers as if they hoped that the bad fortune of the sisters wouldn’t catch.
To Hisana, Rukia winked.
The music began, and the opening steps were executed. They swapped partners briefly before uniting once more.
“Urahara,” she began in a whisper.
“Oh my!” Hisana gasped, barely heard over the strings. “But he -”
“You know how he is.” Urahara’s reputation was that of a determined bachelor, had he and Yoruichi not been caught in the act. Though neither of them were interested in marriage, their respective families refused to live with the disgrace, and so they were hastily wed. The ink on the banns not even dry yet.
HIsana mused aloud, “Well, no wonder she is displeased, she had no reason to marry at all if not for that.”
“If only we could all be so lucky.” Then, parting again, Rukia noted, “Theirs is not a loveless union, at least.”
Over the shoulder of her newest partner, Hisana raised her brows.
When they rejoined, “I suppose the label of husband and wife chafes to a pair so opposed to matrimony. They knew each other as friends, wonderful friends at that. Now, they are expected to be something else.”
The physical distance between them was a chasm Rukia had never seen of them before. More than that, they looked far away from one another too – out of sync when you could once set a clock to a witty comment made by one with the small smile of the other.
Whatever they had wasn’t broken.
They still sought the others’ gaze, even if they immediately avoided it after. They wanted to be closer, they just didn’t know how.
“They’ll adjust, I’m sure,” was her confident conclusion.
“So then...?”
“Well,” she amended, “they’ll adjust after they actually talk to one another about it instead of per chance happening upon me on my ramblings as if I had any power at all to right the dilemma they writ themselves.”
“You’ll be due for a scandal with that behaviour,” her sister warned.
“The scandal is that people as intelligent as they could be so terribly stupid,” Rukia snorted, adding before they were separated again, “They’d have been happier if they loved each other less.”
“How so?”
Rukia startled, only just missing stomping on her new partner’s foot. She flushed, meeting a pair of amused brown eyes beneath a fringe of bright hair. “Pardon?”
The gentleman raised his brows, a picture of innocence that looked out of place on his angular features. Somehow he still retained a boyish charm, to him. “How can a marriage be happier with less love?”
Overheard conversations were part and parcel of social events, dancing, especially. Rukia’s come away with less than a thread of a story more times than she can count, but the potential of what the tapestry displayed was endlessly amusing to her. She always fancied that one day she would approach someone for the full story of a half-told tale, and so she couldn’t fault the gentleman for acting where she hadn’t.
“It depends on the union.”
His gaze was prompting, his arched brow disbelieving.
“Some people would be content to simply like their partner, but even then, that might be too much. Expectation is the death of happiness.”
“Rather fatalistic, don’t you think?”
“If you liked your partner less, you could forgive them for worse,” she pointed out. “You wouldn’t have expected better after all.”
He bowed his head in acquiescence. “And if you did, you’d be disappointed.”
“Exactly so.”
“Ergo, the death of happiness,” he added, amused.
“I’m aware you can experience more than one emotion at a time,” she remarked. “But when you’ve already decided to marry for convenience, you’ve already accepted that happiness in your marriage won’t hinge on love.”
“Marriage should be built on more than love, in any case. Respect for one another, at the very least.”
“You would hope for basic decency,” Rukia allowed, “but not everyone is fortunate enough to know they will receive it regardless of the circumstances. Therein lies the opportunity to be disappointed, as is every other expectation one might hold their spouse to. Justified or otherwise.”
“You sound slighted.”
“Bitter, you could say,” Rukia sighed dramatically, a twinkle in her eye.
It roused an almost reluctant huff of laughter. “Have you experience in these sorts of matters?”
“Not at all,” was her cheerful reply. “I’m merely practicing for when my turn inevitably comes to cast warnings upon the young ladies of the ton as the spinster I’m destined to be.”
“I assume that means you’ll impress upon them your particular opinions on marriageable qualities, etc.?”
Graciously, she inclined her head, “Of course, like the wise society matrons before me.”
Just then, the furious fussing of one such society matron caught their eye, and they looked to one another knowingly.
“You must frown upon love matches,” he mused as they moved to part.
At that, she laughed. “On the contrary, I’d enter into matrimony for nothing less.”
“Curious.”
Though the steps of the dance indicated a change of partners once more, the gentleman ignored the notion, and stepped back into place.
There was a moment of confusion, a temporary flare of temper from the partners they’d slighted, but the gentleman either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Rukia raised a brow.
“I’ve always disliked dances like these," he remarked, "Hard to maintain a conversation with your partner when they always change.”
“Does this apply to your original partner, sir?”
He smirked. “My sister would’ve much preferred to dance with just about anyone else, I assure you.”
“Pity,” she teased, “you’re certainly light on your feet, you barely even tripped just then.”
A flush dusted the top of his cheeks, charming despite his incoherent embarrassed grumble.
“You wished to continue our conversation, sir?”
“Ichigo.”
“Pardon?”
He met her gaze, expression serious. “My name. We haven’t been introduced.”
“Not yet,” Rukia allowed, “but the season’s still young. I’m sure someone would have done the honours.”
“If they hadn’t?” challenged he.
His defiance urged her on, “Would that be a problem, sir?”
“Only in speaking to you outside of this wretched dance.” he replied, side-stepping another change in partners. “Who would I ask for? How would I find you except to describe you to all and sundry like some love lorn poet?”
“Love lorn,” Rukia repeated, snickering.
“Yes,” Ichigo affirmed, nodding seriously. “The lady has dark hair, you see, and the bluest eyes. And she smiles, right here, whenever she’s trying not to,” he said poking at the left corner of his lip in demonstration.
She laughed, bashful, ducking her head to hide the movement she hadn’t known she’d ever done. “Hardly poetry, sir.”
“If you wished for something more stimulating, madam, you need only ask," he drawled, mischief clear in the curl of his lip.
Rukia blushed hotly.
Almost as an afterthought, he mused, “Sir, sir, sir. Do you wish not to use my name because you won’t tell me yours?”
“Nothing of the sort.” It was her turn to avoid changing partners. “Only that it isn’t done to call one another by first name,” she repeats as many ladies have since her introduction to formal society. “It indicates intimacy.”
“Does it?”
Stepping closer than intended so that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze, she drawled, “You tell me, Ichigo.”
His exhale was warm and slow. His eyes were very brown. His voice low. “Your name, Miss.”
“Rukia,” she answered, taking a half step back to rejoin the other dancers in formation. “My name is Rukia.”
“It suits you.”
She ducked her head, and tried to shake off how pleasantly unsettled she felt. “Was this the conversation you wished to continue?”
“No.” They dodged another change of partners. “For your decree that love in a marriage would be less happy, you desire love regardless.”
“I do.” With a sigh, “Love is not a pretty thing, to care about anything is to risk a certain level of destruction.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Her smile was wan. “Of a sort.” Then, “My mother and father did not have a love match, but they liked each other. Loved each other, even. He must. He hates town yet because she asked for us to be here, he goes.” She shrugs. “It could just be because she died, and he felt he had to honour her last wish, but if he cared less, he wouldn’t suffer it at all.”
For a moment, Ichigo was quiet.
“How long does he intend to take you to town?”
Sardonic, she said, “Until my sister and I are wed, I think.” Shaking her head. “That’s not entirely fair. He makes the trip to town because he knows she was right, and he wants what is best for us. But he’d also stop if we asked him. We haven’t asked for the same reason he hasn’t stopped. It may makes us miserable on some days more than others, but we bear it because we love her still. This was what she wanted, and she wanted it because she loved us.”
“A little bit of sugar to go down with the poison.”
“Now who’s fatalistic?"
His returning smile was crooked. “My parents were a love match.” Ichigo admitted, “Ill-fated, their families didn’t get along until my mother died.” Rukia squeezed his hand in hers, but didn’t interrupt. “My father was never the same. None of us were. You’re right. Love brings with it destruction. Yet you would bear it again?”
“I like people watching,” she said, apropos of nothing. “I like to guess at the reasons they do the things they do, whether based on context or pure whimsy. Sometimes they do what I think, but often, they surprise me. What I’ve learned is that when they choose, people can change. They're resilient like that. Adaption, you see, is the most important tool in survival.”
“Happiness, on the other hand," Rukia decided, "is a feeling. It will come and it will go, but when it relies on only you, is that freedom, or loneliness?” His gaze was steady, wide-eyed. The kind of exposure one experienced when they were least expecting it. A truth forced to be confronted. She smiled a little sadly. "Love is meant to be given and received, we cannot love in isolation. Even grief is just love with nowhere to go."
The song ended, and the beat of silence was replaced by thunderous applause for the performance of the musicians, the chatter of the dancers around them.
They stood close enough that she didn’t need to raise her voice to be heard by him. “Love is many things. It can break and destroy, but it also makes everything else worth it. You could lose so much to it, but never more than what you gained in choosing it."
"How do you know?" he asked in a whisper she felt more than heard.
"Because I would take a moment with my mother than never have known her at all. Wouldn't you?"
Ichigo was silent, at a loss. Politely, she curtsied, and mechanically he returned the exchange with a bow.
He lost her to the crowd.
Once Rukia made her way back to her sister, the elder teased, “You seemed to have that gentleman riveted. What on earth were you talking about?”
“Whether one could have a happy marriage without love.”
“Oh dear,” Hisana snorted. “Was that a proposition?”
At that, Rukia laughed.