If I can't find you,
I'll just remember you instead.
Karakura Town, Karakura Old Town
7:00 p.m.
The boy was bleeding in the alleyway, alone. His middle school uniform was darkening, a warm and wet patch slowly growing on his side. The crimson was staining his bright orange hair as he gasped silently, every breath a struggle. He had been lying there for quite a while, an hour conscious, two not. His splitting headache was a throbbing reminder of the rocks that had been ground into his head, and as shallow as the cut on his chest was, it bled profusely. The boy was too dizzy and weak to think, much less move, much less clean the wound. He would lie there limply as twelve years of life bled right out of him. He was going to die alone in an abandoned alleyway. No one would save him this time.
"Wow."
The boy lifted his head at the sound of a voice. The sudden movement made his pounding brain go fuzzy from effort.
"You shouldn't move too much, mon cher. You might die!" The voice had a bit of a cheerful hum to it.
Foggy brown eyes opened, blinked, but they couldn't slide into focus, couldn't identify the speaker. A... girl...? he thought hazily.
Soft, warm hands probed his face, turned his head from side to side. Had he the control of his jaws, he might have bitten the fingers that skimmed over his mouth. But as he couldn't, he settled with a "Wh-Who the hell are you?" His voice was weak and trembling. He hated that.
"That's not a very nice thing to say." The voice chastised.
The boy's head snapped sideways suddenly, his cheek hot and stinging from the slap the girl delivered. As though it had brought him back from some sort of slumber, the world slid into focus. He jerked his head in the girl's general direction, his lips already curled into a feral snarl... but then he froze, eyes wide.
She was gorgeous. Around his age, with chestnut-colored hair that cascaded in graceful waves about her small but full-figured frame, the curled ends gently skimming the pool of crimson blood she crouched in. Her eyes - almond-shaped and exotic green - met his own brown gaze, and her lips curled up slightly when she saw the blush creep across the boy's battered face.
"Très bien! Better, isn't it?" she asked. While the boy had expected an angel's voice, sweet and soft and smooth like honey to match her serene features, the girl's tone had a bit of a hard edge to it. Kind of like his. "Didn't want you to go dying on me." She grinned, flashing incredibly white teeth at him, before her face grew serious again. "You look like you got jumped, le pauvre. Was it Weasel? What did you do to upset them so much?"
The boy blinked several times. How the hell does she know about Weasel? he thought. This girl didn't look like the type to be slumming around with the local gangs. "Hell if I know," he said aloud. "The seniors don't like me because of my hair. If they hadn't pulled a knife on me, I would've kicked their asses for sure. Wasn't Weasel though." He moved slightly, jostled his wounds, and gritted his teeth hard.
"Ah." The girl clicked her tongue. "I'm losing my touch. By the way you're talking, you know Weasel?"
"We're acquainted," the boy grunted.
"So how many of them were there?" the girl asked, her hand skimming over his bloodstained clothes.
The boy gazed at her as she inspected his injuries. He had grown dizzy and was having trouble remembering what they were talking about.
Making an exasperated sound at the back of her throat, the girl started to unbutton his uniform.
"H-Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" the boy snapped, his face going crimson. He tried to squirm away from her, but she held him firmly in place. She was stronger than she looked.
"Chut! I'm helping you, d'idiot!" she growled. She slipped off his shirt and jacket, baring his chest to the cold April afternoon. The girl traced an area by his side with light fingers, sending electric chills down the boy's spine. He craned his neck to see what she was so interested in: his knife wound. It was longer than he had thought, stretching from just below his heart to well near his hip. The boy had a sudden and fervent hope that she wouldn't try taking his pants off too.
The girl let out a low whistle. "You've bled a bit. And you've been lying here for a while." She looked at his dirty jacket with a frown.
"What?" the boy asked, becoming steadily more light-headed as he bled.
"I need to bind your wound, but I'd rather not tear your uniform. It's très beau. Besides," she added, giving him an amused glance, "I think that you'd rather bleed out in an alleyway before you walk home half-naked for all the pretty girls like me to see you, hm?"
His face heated. "Shut up."
The girl gave him a sweet smile before reaching up and jerking her shirt over her head.
"H-H-Hey! What-?!" The boy's voice rose into a squeak.
"Don't get so excited," she told him, tearing her tee into long, thick strips. "I have a tank on."
"Like that's an excuse to strip in a deserted alley!" the boy shouted.
"C'est certainement." The girl began tying the strips around his abdomen, wiping the blood from his skin with the few scraps she had leftover. "By the way," she added mischievously without looking up. "I don't think it's healthy for you to blush that much, mon chaton. Save some blood for the rest of your body."
The boy gave her a dirty look. She smiled at him and knotted the bindings tight around his chest. "There we go. It's not perfect, but at least you won't die anytime soon," she told him as-a-matter-of-factly. "Do you know how to get to the Kurosaki Clinic?"
The boy was looking everywhere except at the girl's chest; the tank top was too small for her. "Yeah, it's my family's clinic. My dad runs it."
The girl's eyes widened in mild surprise. "Ah, you're a Kurosaki then?"
"Yeah. I'm Ichigo. Ichigo Kurosaki."
"Ichigo. That's a nice name." She bent down and gave him a quick and light peck on both cheeks. The boy's eyes grew huge and round, his face warming around where her lips had touched him. He quickly sat up and turned around, the question "What's yours?" on his lips, but the girl was gone.
Ichigo Kurosaki was alone again.
French to English
Mon cher- My dear.
Très bien- Very good!
Le pauvre- Poor thing.
Chut- Hush!
D'idiot- Idiot!
Très beau- Very handsome.
C'est certainement- It certainly is.
Mon chaton- My kitten.
Mon cher- My dear.
Très bien- Very good!
Le pauvre- Poor thing.
Chut- Hush!
D'idiot- Idiot!
Très beau- Very handsome.
C'est certainement- It certainly is.
Mon chaton- My kitten.
I had fun writing this. <3 This was the first piece of work I did for Monochrome, even before I wrote the first chapter. Kinkajou still remembers Ichigo from this time, but Ichigo sort of forgot. x3 He's a silly boy. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed~! <3