Under the Rubble

by ToulouseD

Summary:

Ichigo and Ishida are in a relationship, have been for a while, but they've never gotten around to telling anybody. While Ichigo tries to figure out what to do about his life after high school, whether or not this thing with Ishida will continue after that, Isshin tries to figure out what's wrong; and in doing so causes enough trouble to last a life-time.

Notes:

This was a commission for IsameKuroda. It was first posted on ff.net, now it's here and it's queer.

Chapter 1

The rooftop was completely barren of people. The sun was high in the sky, an ominous third eye above them. Ichigo and Keigo was standing at the railing, Keigo leaning back, holding his weight with his hands and tipping back and forth. Ichigo was watching the schoolyard under them, the people milling around down there.

“Have you given it any thought?” Keigo asked, looking at his friend.

He shook his head, “You?”

“Mizuiro and I are gonna scout Tokyo for apartments within our price-range and then find a college that don’t care too much about grades. I don’t know; priority’s getting away from here - too much weird shit going on, eh?” Keigo smiled and nudged Ichigo’s shoulder with his elbow.

“Yeah,” Ichigo mused. He had been thinking hard about this for some time now. Ishida was meant to enter some fancy-ass college after they graduated high school. He was going to move to Tokyo, question was if Ichigo was going to join him.

They had been going out for almost a year at this point and Ichigo had still not had time to muster enough courage to ask Ishida if they should call it quits after graduation and adult-life began; partially because he was afraid of the answer.

A murder of crows flew overhead, taking out the sunrays for a few milliseconds. Keigo stood and put his weight on his elbows instead, following Ichigo’s gaze.

“What about Chad or Inoue? What’re they gonna do?”

Ichigo watched his two friends sitting with Tatsuki and Mizuiro in the shade of the bleachers. The sun was doing its best to try and burn them all before night fell upon them again. They were laughing, talking animatedly. At times like these, Ichigo could forget that there was a world beyond and that world contained a spectrum of monsters waiting to devour them at every turn.

“I think Chad’s going to Tokyo as well, he talked about studying literature. Inoue - I don’t know. I think she’s going to Kyoto with Tatsuki and study medicine,” Ichigo answered.

It was odd how much of a mood the conversation put on both of them. It was a solemn feeling that rested on his brow, talking about the future on the school rooftop with Keigo.

“Doesn’t she have the grades for Tokyo?” Keigo inquired skeptically. Ichigo nodded, a half-smile on his face, one that actually reached his eyes.

“It’s gonna be weird, huh?” Keigo followed up, quieter than before. He did not need to specify. It was a strange, but it came with the relief of finishing high school soon. It felt final, definitive. It felt so very much like the goodbye he had shared with Rukia. He swallowed and looked to Keigo who was back to playing around on the railing.

“Well, all we’re gonna have to do is convince the girls to come to Tokyo as well,” Keigo said it with such conviction, like getting them to move to Tokyo was going to be a piece of cake, “and get you off your lazy ass and haul you down there too,” he added, looking directly to Ichigo who could not help but smile and nod.

Moving to Tokyo with the others did not seem half-bad.

Maybe he could convince Ishida to move in with him. They had not discussed any plans for the future besides them going to the movies next Wednesday, Ishida’s choice, since Ichigo’s taste was not to be trusted.

It was strange how easily they had fallen into the whole relationship. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ishida’s father had not presented himself as that great of an obstacle as they had both feared he would. Oddly enough, he had not been remotely as terrible as Ishida had made him out to be.

They had kept it to themselves. Ryuuken had told Ishida he knew a mere week after their first kiss and had prompted Ishida to bring Ichigo over.

They had been sitting across Ryuuken looking anywhere but at each other or Ishida’s father. The air was stinging with tension and the only noise was Ryuuken’s foot and the clock on the wall tapping in unison.

The office was spacious but severely organized, bookcases lining the walls, a wooden desk a little off to the side and windows behind it, allowing Karakura to share her nightlight and skyline with whoever was inside. The harsh light from the two lamps hanging over the desk lit the scene as if they expected battle.

The entire apartment screamed money and resources and knowing that Ryuuken owned a decent amount of private hospitals in the country, it came as no surprise that the place was decorated more like one of those as opposed to a real home. It was white, clean and looking like a spread from a home decorating-magazine.

“What were the conditions of the return of your powers, Uryuu?”

Ichigo felt he was in the wrong place. He was staring at a pile of journals, almost counting the sheets of paper in the folders, his leg suffering from restless leg syndrome, his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers absentmindedly.

Ishida had looked up at his father and set his shoulders almost invisibly, “I was not to associate with Soul Reapers.”

“And what would you call this?” Ryuuken continued, looking to Ichigo with the same sort of disdain he had come to expect from Ishida, except Ishida’s had slowly grown into something warmer, like the sun waking up from the winter and stretching, feeling the light permeate what was left of the season before it.

“A relationship built on peace, love and understanding?” Ishida deadpanned. The tinge of sarcasm was not lost on Ichigo and that made him look to him, a slightly worried frown on his face. He kept quiet and returned to inspecting the stack of journals on Ryuuken’s desk.

“And what loophole do you have to excuse this?” Ryuuken had asked, looking at his son over the rim of his glasses.

“He’s neither Soul Reaper nor Hollow anymore, so the conditions don’t really apply.”

“That sounds suspiciously much like the excuse from last time,” Ryuuken raised an eyebrow and considered his son, looking at him carefully.

Ishida shrugged, “The terms were rather vague.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go into medicine, Uryuu. Become a lawyer instead, you might make a fortune.”

Ryuuken folded his hands and turned towards Ichigo and gave him the same piercing once over Ishida himself would do at times, “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Ichigo replied without fear. He met his scrutiny head on, squaring his jaw and stopping his leg from shaking up and down.

“What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t think I need one,” he challenged, not backing down from the authority presented before him.

Ryuuken’s eyebrows climbed in surprise, then folded the lines back into place.

“Uryuu, would you excuse yourself?” the older Quincy inquired, making it crystal-clear that Ishida did not have a choice but to leave the room. He did so quietly, but not without exchanging a quick look with Ichigo who smiled a little and winked, assuring him it would be fine.

That Ichigo was not totally convinced himself was another matter.

Ryuuken cleared his throat and leant forward and rose to Ichigo’s challenge and his attention, “So you believe you have the right to drag my son to your level?”

“You mean up from yours?” Ichigo retorted.

“A sharp tongue and a witty reply will insure this elevation of rank?”

“He wouldn’t need me for that,” Ichigo straightened up, “he’s quite capable of that himself.”

Ryuuken snorted once and cast his eyes down, “He always has been.”

He leant back and watched Ichigo carefully. It was like being opened by a brain-surgeon, except Ryuuken seemed to have the same eerie ability as Ishida to see through his mind and into his thoughts. Ichigo refused to squirm and watched back instead.

“Uryuu thinks rebellion means independence; I have no idea how he’s gotten this idea stuck in his head.”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes slightly, unsure of where the conversation was headed. Ryuuken stood and walked over to the windows where Karakura was illuminating the night softly, the October-chill in the air and in the lights.

“I only want him to lead a good life. Get an education, get a good job. Having him running around town shooting Hollows without regard for the time of day or his own safety, was not what I intended for my son, especially if he is to achieve anything in life,” Ryuuken disclosed.

Ichigo looked back at the door, wondering what Ishida was actually doing right now. Was he worried about Ichigo’s safety? Ichigo was worried about his own safety and honestly, Ishida knew the man in front of him far better than he.

“Kurosaki-kun, you are the direct reason why he has taken up responsibility for protecting this town and for that I dislike you. Being the cause of him going into Hueco Mundo with powers he barely just had regained makes me abhor you. But if you hurt him again, I would feel inclined to detest you. Are you following, Kurosaki-kun?”

Ichigo nodded once, keeping his usual frown in place, trying to keep up the façade of not being intimidated. He had faced some of the most psychotic people this world and the one beyond had to offer, but Ishida Ryuuken was an entirely different animal since there was absolutely nothing psychotic about him, only cool precision found in a man who had frozen his heart years ago.

At the same time, Ichigo probably would not have been nervous if he had had his powers still. Ryuuken could not possibly be stronger than Aizen. Or maybe he was. Ichigo had not actually seen what Ishida was capable of and his father might just be worse than him.

“I hope you realize I take no pleasure in letting a Soul Reaper - former, substitute or Hollowfied alike - into my home. I also hope you realize I’m far from thrilled to leaving my only son in the care of a such, but Uryuu is headstrong and probably wouldn’t bother with what I told him anyways. So in lieu of this, I suggest we make a truce,” Ryuuken turned to Ichigo, slowly and menacingly, the same glint in his glasses Ishida would get when he was being threatening or scathing. The melodrama was strong in this family.

Ichigo kept his eyes trained on his apparent father-in-law and nodded carefully.

“I assume you will treat him well and not affect his studies. I assume you will respect him and not put him in harm’s way, should you ever be in a position again where that could possibly happen. And I sincerely hope you have no intention of regarding this as a place you’re not allowed to be. Sneaking around is unbecoming for a Quincy and I know you have no capability,”

His frown turned a little more puzzled than his usual scowl would have adorned, but Ichigo nodded again as Ryuuken turned around again and sat back down.

“Uryuu may in many ways not be the son I thought he would be, but I’m still immensely proud of him. I know he thinks I do not approve of his choices and his wishes, but I respect him enough to let him make his own mistakes and I will be there to pick up the pieces. This leads to you, Kurosaki-kun. I have no idea why my son has deemed it wise to engage in a relationship with a former Soul Reaper and Hollow, but if this makes him happy I will not stand in his way, and in extension to this, I will not stand in your way either,” he said, making it perfectly clear that Ichigo did not live up to any kind of standard prerequisite for dating Ishida.

Ichigo licked his lips and looked down, nodding a few times again.

“Do we have an agreement?” Ryuuken inquired.

“I think so, sir,” Ichigo replied, his throat dry as sand and his voice quietly respectful. Ichigo rarely respected authority like this, but Ryuuken had this strange air of aloof cooperation.

“Good,” he said and took a journal from the stack of 16, that Ichigo had counted earlier, and opened it.

“You can leave now,” he added and flipped a page.

Ichigo stood and turned towards the door, leaving the office and Ryuuken behind.

Ishida was sitting in the couch, watching TV while fidgeting with a thread in his pants. He turned his head the minute he heard the door close and straightened his back.

“What did he say?” he asked without any preamble.

Ichigo dropped down next to him and put his arm on the backrest behind Ishida’s shoulders and ran the other hand through his hair, “I think I got his blessing, but I can’t be sure; there were a lot of words,”

Ishida made himself comfortable and inched closer to Ichigo and the couch. Ichigo felt himself relish the warmth he was receiving from the other and snuggled a little closer himself until they were touching from shoulder to knee.

“That’s weird,” Ishida finally said. The show on the TV was a rerun of the Don Kanonji episode in which he had sought out Karakura’s ghosts and ghouls and subsequently the one Ichigo had starred in.

“Why?” Ichigo requested and watched himself make a complete fool of himself.

“He never seems to approve of anything I do,”

Ishida chuckled as Ichigo was tackled to the ground, “This my favorite part.”

Ichigo was dragged away from the scene and Rukia was following. Ichigo felt his heart freeze for a minute, his body going stiff and so did Ishida.

“What’re you thinking about?” Keigo slapped his back and silently motioned for him to come with him down and rejoin the others. Ichigo walked after Keigo, his mind still a few months behind.

He had been thinking less and less about Rukia. Ishida had encouraged him to speak of her whenever he felt like he had to and so they had had a few evenings where Ichigo did nothing but talk about a person he was never going to see again and how much that actually affected him. Ishida would sit and listen, sometimes sewing on a new jacket in Prussian blue or another piece of clothing while Ichigo chatted and talked, to and fro, about a girl with black hair, violet-shaded eyes and a place in Ichigo’s heart she would not be leaving anytime soon. She was his best friend.

Ichigo had noticed how Ishida seemed to withdraw into himself whenever they started talking about her, and honestly, Ichigo did not blame him. Hearing him talk about Rukia at length, in detail and without mirth would not be his preferred way of spending a Saturday night either.

He had not thought anything of it until Ishida had asked, “Were you ever in love with her?”

Ichigo had stopped completely; his heart, his breathing, his thoughts. He stared back at Ishida, mouth slightly open and not been able to say a word. Ishida frowned and shook his head, “Never mind.”

“Why would you think I was in love with Rukia?” Ichigo had finally managed and inched a little closer. Ishida was sitting on his bed, elevated from Ichigo’s position on the floor. The other put his sewing in his lap and shook his head again.

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter,” he had deflected, looking decidedly down at the needle between his fingers.

“It matters, Ishida,” Ichigo insisted and asked again, “Why would you think I was in love with Rukia?”

Ishida had his hands still, raised his eyes to Ichigo and said, “Were you or weren’t you?”

“No. No, I wasn’t,” Ichigo answered truthfully and saw Ishida give a defeated nod. Ichigo reached out and pried his hands from his sewing, wrapping his fingers around Ishida’s, feeling the needle rest against his index finger.

“You’re doing it again,” Ichigo said, watching Ishida carefully for any tells. The other sighed and looked away.

“What?”

“Are you afraid that if I ever get to see her again, I’ll ditch your skinny ass and move on?” Ichigo went ahead and assumed, “Well, tough luck, Ishida, chances of that happening are pretty slim.”

Ishida shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, closing it again, but finally deciding upon what he wanted to say, “I hate it when you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Call me out.”

“You mean seeing through your bullshit and demanding proper talk?” Ichigo clarified for the sake of argument. He could feel Ishida getting a rise out of this and he took this as his cue to let go of his hand, stand and go sit down next to him.

“Exactly that.”

Ichigo put his arm around him and kissed his hair, breathing in the strange, yet insanely attractive smell of male pheromone, shampoo and Ishida. He felt Ishida lean into him and make himself comfortable.

“Why?” Ichigo prodded and rubbed his shoulder.

He let Ishida think. Sometimes he needed a few minutes to gather his thoughts, especially when it was about his something as tricky as feelings. Ichigo suspected he had greater emotional intelligence than Ishida and that was honestly the discovery of the century if anybody asked him.

“It makes me feel naked.”

“I’ve seen you naked before, no worries,” Ichigo joked and received a fist in his ribs, albeit one that did not have any bite. He chuckled a little as Ishida turned his head and closed his eyes, hoping to hide away from Ichigo in Ichigo.

“You know what I mean,” he complained.

Ichigo kissed his hair again. “I do, sorry.”

Keigo had apparently been talking to him because he was snapping his fingers in front of his eyes and looking at him with his most hurt expression. “I ain’t feeling the love, Kurosaki-san!”

In that moment they bumped into Ishida. Ichigo apologized, receiving an eye-roll, “Watch where you’re going instead.”

He then curved around them and disappeared into the library, carrying several information-packages from different colleges in the country. It only made the whole conversation he had just had with Keigo so much more real. The time until they left Karakura, flew from their family nests, was getting shorter and shorter by the day and Ichigo had no idea where to go.

“Wow. I know Inoue-chan says he’s nice and all, but he’s still got a fucking stick up his ass,” he concluded. Ichigo could not help but negate the statement in his mind; Ishida did not have a stick up his ass per se.

“But as I was saying: I think you could easily get a job in a kindergarten or at Denny’s or something like that, y’know, to keep afloat in the economy we’ve landed ourselves in,” Keigo continued. Ichigo liked when Keigo started his political rants. He was actually quite knowledgeable in the geo-political arena and knew a lot about economy and sociology. It was odd when the idiot friend in the group owned every other person in a societal debate.

It also meant that Ichigo was free to zone out again, once Keigo got started on the state of the once great Japan and the collapse the world economy had brought upon her, he was unstoppable.

He had found out Ishida had been slightly jealous of his relationship with Rukia. After a rather intimate round of reassurance, he had gotten Ishida to talk about the general insecurities he felt being in a romantic relationship with Ichigo, another guy admittedly, and how he at times felt inadequate in that.

To this Ichigo made sure Ishida understood that Ichigo was not in this relationship because of his sex nor despite it. It did not matter to Ichigo whether or not Ishida was male or female, he told him honestly that he probably was attracted to both sexes and had suspected such for quite sometimes and Ishida simply nodded.

“Besides, if I suddenly went ahead and dumped you, your father would probably kill me.”

“I still don’t believe it. Ryuuken would probably congratulate you in teaching me a valuable lesson and then spend the remainder of the night lecturing me on the finer points of listening a little closer to his advice the next time.”

Ichigo chuckled a little, feeling Ishida ghost his fingers across his stomach, tracing invisible lines and shapes on his abdomen, “I think you give your father very little credit.”

“Why is he even meddling in the first place?” Ishida groaned and put a hand over his eye and turned to lie on his back, “It’s not normal.”

Ichigo did not point out the very not-normal circumstances they themselves were in, he chose to turn to his side and smile into Ishida’s damp, slick hair, “He might just actually care about you.”

“That would be the plot-twist of centuries,” Ishida snorted and returned to melting into Ichigo’s side.

Keigo opened the door out to the schoolyard and headed straight to their little group of friends. Ichigo followed, still smiling to himself, thinking about Ishida. It had become quite the pastime really.

“Why’re you smiling? Why’s he smiling?” Mizuiro asked Keigo who shrugged and sat down next to him. Inoue smiled back at him, Tatsuki followed suit but hers was colored more as a smirk. Chad nodded to him in greeting when he sat down.

“Maybe I’m just happy to see you,” said Ichigo and inclined his head, looking at him almost sweetly. His friends still found him suspicious when he tried being outwardly solicitous; a word he had picked up from Ishida. He had said it after Ichigo had asked him why he bothered asking him whether or not he wanted to stay over, even if he knew Ichigo had to go home.

“Yeah, no. I don’t trust you, Strawberry.”

He did not miss that nickname and his displeasure showed, at least he thought it did, seeing as Mizuiro snickered and Keigo smiled with him.

“Since we’re all here, let’s eat,” Tatsuki declared and dug out her lunch.

“You didn’t need to wait for us, Tatsuki,” Ichigo kept still, watching Tatsuki as she unwrapped the box delicately.

She shook her head, “It’s nicer if we all eat together.”

“What took you so long, anyway?” Mizuiro looked between the two of them, “Better not be some funky business.”

“Ichigo and I were having a serious discussion about our joint future,” Keigo answered with authority.

Ichigo shook his head, knowing nobody would believe whatever Keigo said. He started unpacking his own lunch.

“That’s nice, Asano-san, what did you actually do?” Mizuiro had shifted, closer to Keigo’s face now.

“That’s what we were doing, tell them, Ichigo!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ichigo supplied unhelpfully, knowing it would be Keigo getting in the frying pan for this. It gave him a terribly inappropriate measure of happiness watching everybody grill Keigo as he did not hold up well under torture.

Aforementioned looked at him with betrayal written all over his face, staring at Ichigo disbelievingly. His eyes then dropped to his lap where he too was unpacking his bento.

Ishida had made Ichigo lunch this morning. It consisted of rice, pork shogayaki, pickled plums, rolled egg, a slice of broiled salmon and some battered shrimps. There was also a little package of soy in the box for the rice, because he knew Ichigo did not like it without. Ichigo would need to remember to thank him later, preferably without using his words.

“You’re a cruel human being,” Keigo stated.

What had instigated the whole rooftop conversation was Keigo forgetting his own lunch and Ichigo telling him that he had too; and so he went to the roof in sympathy so Keigo would not have to endure everybody else eating homemade lunches in front of him; except they seemed to have waited for the perfect moment to eat it in front of him anyways.

Ichigo shrugged, he did not really think he had been a terrible human being for trying to cheer his friend up and forgoing his own lunch. Apparently Keigo was of another opinion.

“I thought we were through with the lying now that we know you are, well, were a Soul Reaper,” Keigo sighed with grandeur and took the proffered piece of meat from Mizuiro’s chopsticks.

Ichigo looked down, pressing his lips together, and broke his chopsticks apart. He eased the soy open and poured it over the rice, drawing thick furrows through it with the aid of his chopsticks. He sighed and picked up a plum, eating it absentmindedly.

He absolutely hated whenever one of them would play that card. No, he did not regret lying to them, but it was not his finest moment either. Ichigo had never wanted to do it in the first place and having it be treated as if it was nothing but a game to him and not something that actually grew heavier and heavier every time he did it, was not humoring him.

“Hey, Ichigo. I didn’t mean it like that, I was just playing around,” Keigo reached out and poked Ichigo’s shoulder. Ichigo knew that already, but that did not stop it from being true. He was still lying to them, albeit not as intensely or as badly as previously.

The others looked between them, Inoue biting her lower lip and Chad observing them intensely. Ichigo let out a little laugh and looked up. Ishida hated the kind smile he wore.

“It’s fine, Keigo.”

“If you’re sure,” he tried and sat back, snapping another piece of meat before Mizuiro noticed. He did of course and smacked him over the hands with his chopsticks.

At Keigo’s yelp of surprise, the mood lifted.

They all ended up taking pity on Keigo and shared some of their bento with him. They sat outside, enjoying the sun, relaxing into its warmth. It reminded Ichigo of Ishida and he found himself missing the other, even though they had spent the entire evening before together.

Ichigo was slowly but surely realizing he was falling in love with the guy he was dating. And at that thought he allowed a smile to grow on his lips, one that shone almost as much as the sun above them.

 

The weather had cooled from the afternoon. The night was sighing into the dark that was only freckled with stars, the only thing keeping the density from crushing the earth. The vastness and the emptiness of the abyss above them was almost swallowing them whole, had it not been for the light spilling from Ishida’s room out onto the balcony where they lay.

They were wrapped around each other, Ishida’s head resting on Ichigo’s shoulder, listening to the radio on Ichigo’s phone, talking only when it felt right and not paying attention to when it felt wrong.

The table was spilling over with plates, cups and cutlery they had not yet bothered to put inside. A hammock was lying at their feet; taken down in favor of the mattresses as they could not both be in hammock without it falling to the tiles.

Ishida hummed into Ichigo’s shoulder and Ichigo moved his hand to Ishida’s hair, gliding his fingers through it, the softness always surprising him.

“Keep doing that and I’ll fall asleep,” Ishida mumbled and breathed in languidly.

“What’re you gonna do after we graduate?” he asked instead. Ishida opened his eyes and got up, resting his chin on Ichigo’s shoulder.

“Why’re you asking?” Ishida countered and lifted a brow. His hair was sticking out at an odd angle, prompting Ichigo to comb it with his fingers, smiling lazily while he did so. Ishida leant into his hand and returned the gesture.

“Keigo and I were talking about it today.”

Ishida straightened up, leaning on his elbows. He tilted his head slightly, leaving Ichigo’s hand to fall to its destiny, “And now you’re doing a survey?”

He sounded wholly unimpressed. Ichigo was not really surprised at this reaction.

In the previous year he had learned Ishida was prone to fall asleep everywhere as long as he was comfortable, oftentimes when Ichigo was not; he did not mind living in a mess, could just as easily navigate it and secretly thought it would dissuade Ryuuken from going in there; being mistrustful at things Ichigo would deem completely inane; and he would close himself off and pretend to be cool and snarky when he felt he was being put on the spot, especially in regards to anything that involved feelings and emotional disturbances.

“No,” Ichigo shook his head. “I’m curious because I’m dating you and I would like to know what you’d be up to after we graduate.”

Ishida sighed and laid back down again, “Tokyo. I’m applying for the Faculty of Medicine.”

“Surgeon?” Ichigo asked, his hand winding around Ishida’s waist. He loved placing his hand there; it made him feel powerful in an odd way.

Ishida shrugged into his body and put his leg over Ichigo’s, “You?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

Ishida looked up at him, through his eyelashes. Ichigo could not help thinking about the look Ishida would get when he was close to coming; it was much like this, hooded, dark.

“Kurosaki, applications are due in less than a month,” he admonished and took off his glasses. Ichigo kept watching him and licked his lips.

“Do you need to be inspired?” Ishida asked cockily, sitting up and straddling Ichigo, lifting an eyebrow.

A shiver ran down Ichigo’s spine. Ishida did not mind primarily being the bottom. They had switched a few times, but Ichigo found he enjoyed giving more than he enjoyed taking and Ishida preferred receiving as opposed to providing.

Ishida never went quiet though. He fought Ichigo all the way, demanded and insisted. It was seldom he just laid back and took whatever Ichigo gave him; that he ever just surrendered himself and let Ichigo take control.

They would still switch now and again.

Ishida rolled his hips slowly, Ichigo swallowing, out of his daze and already feeling the inspiration churning in his veins. The other laughed a little and leant forward, connecting them by the mouth.

It was not the first time they had let the stars voyeur them while they were getting hot and heavy; that was how they had found out the hammock could not carry the both of them in the first place.

Their first time had been in Ichigo’s bed. His dad and sisters had been out, but Karin had done nothing but shoot them suspicious glances time and time again when Ishida had been to their house, “helping Ichigo with his homework”. It was very helpful, just not amazingly fast.

It had been seven different kinds of awkward, neither of them knowing what they were doing and what they could expect. Ishida had explained the basics, penetration in the rectum aided by lubrication and then friction would be doing the hard work. That explanation had not really turned Ichigo on in any way.

Ishida had rolled his eyes and fixated his eyes on the ceiling. Ichigo had kept watching him, thinking back as to how he had lain where Ishida was now, wondering why the other was having the gravitational pull on him, like the moon had to the Earth.

And then the moon had been right beside him and he could not help sliding his arm across Ishida’s chest and clutch at his waist. Ishida himself looked to him shortly and then he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

They had not done anything remotely pornographic until they had been snuggling up under the cover, meaning to sleep and get out of bed before noon the next day.

Ichigo had been spooning Ishida, hugging his middle. He had been tiptoeing over his abdomen, Ishida humming his approval, his hand on Ichigo’s thigh.

And then Ichigo had begun exploring Ishida’s body, shifting, running his hands over his muscles, skimming them over his warm skin. Ishida had gone quiet. His breathing was becoming lighter, Ichigo’s becoming arrhythmic. He let his hands go further and further from Ishida’s middle, slowly reaching his hips, letting himself enjoy the feel of the defined bones underneath his palms.

Ishida had started squirming, gripping Ichigo’s thigh.

The room had been completely dark, the night seeping in from the open window. It had suddenly become unbearably hot.

Ishida had sighed and Ichigo felt it go South immediately. And Ishida had felt it too.

Ichigo had bitten his lower lip and kept his breathing steady. It had felt like he had crossed into the shadows, like he had done something ambiguous and had no idea of whether or not it was okay.

He had paused long enough for Ishida to turn around and put his hand on his shoulder, passing his moral dilemma off while he kissed him. He had done so lazily, licking his lips and stroking his cheek with his chilled fingers.

Ichigo let himself place his hands on Ishida’s middle, feeling the other shuffle closer. And subsequently that Ishida was much in the same state as himself.

Ishida had withdrawn and looked into his eyes and slowly let his hand slide lower and lower. Ichigo had almost been shivering with anticipation and the cold fingertips glided along the contours and outline of his torso, going lower and lower.

Ichigo kept staring into Ishida’s eyes, swallowing hard and mouth slightly open.

There was a surety in Ishida’s touch and it comforted Ichigo in a way he had not thought it would. While he was being consumed by the wildfire in his abdomen and in Ishida’s eyes, the other was placing an almost careful kiss on his mouth.

It was a strangely wonderful sensation to have another lather him with attention and it was better, far better than to do it on his own. Ichigo let his hands wander to his backside and grabbed the flesh there.

The warmth in his room, between their bodies, in Ishida’s hand was becoming a heavenly hellfire as Ichigo was jerked off, slowly, with steady, firm movements. There was no faltering; whatever Ishida was going to do, Ichigo could see in his eyes and he was completely at the other’s mercy. A careful dance neither had tried until now.

But Ishida did not abuse this, nor did he take advantage of it. It seemed as if he was getting just as much out of this as Ichigo was. He was watching him with eyes blown dark and mouth reassuring him whenever he looked too unsure. Ichigo had felt wary of the idea, letting someone overtake you and your senses as well as all your barriers, taking you apart with every piece of clothing you were going to lose. It had felt like a huge thing; something that he was not sure he would ever feel comfortable planning.

However, the way it was just happening, the way Ishida did neither guide nor follow, the way that they were both testing every inch of this made him lean into Ishida’s mouth and let his own hand go down to join Ishida’s.

It was strange how different it was, suddenly. Ishida became almost foggy and Ichigo watched him like he had watched Ichigo.

The minutes turned to hours, the hours to millennia and the millennia to seconds. They breathed each other’s air, did not listen to the world outside the room, did not close their eyes more than they had to. It was one of the tensest and most fragile things Ichigo had ever tried, but somehow he did not feel imposed on, he felt whole in a way that he could not explain, only that he knew that was how he felt.

When they came they only kept their eyes open for another second before retracting. Ishida rested his head on Ichigo’s shoulder and Ichigo breathed into his hair, his black, black hair and thought of how pretty Ishida would be on the night-sky, a bright light in the middle of an inky sea.

They had grown in confidence since then, going further and further for every encounter and then they had struck a chord that made melodies possible and they had since then only refined the song over and over again; danced with practiced feet.

Ishida grinded his hips into Ichigo’s while smirking knowingly. Ichigo knew it would not be full-out sex tonight. They were both lazy and they were both without supplies. They had run out yesterday, both of lube and of condoms and since neither had had time to buy any today it was going to be pretty vanilla. Because that had been the one condition Ryuuken had put before them, buying them their first and making it quite clear that there would be no interspecies shenanigans without.

Ishida had looked like someone wanting to know what kind of shenanigans Ryuuken was worried would prove fatal to his future so much so that they needed condoms and lube.

Ishida had no intentions of being impregnated by Ichigo, he had said later that evening while they were studying the merchandise and Ichigo had been incapable of continuing the somber mood. Ishida had watched him without scorn, a quiet mirth in his eyes at having Ichigo at his wits end on his floor.

“I don’t want to be a single-mother in this economy, so it’s the latex way or the no sex way. I won’t have you deflowering my rose without proper preventive measures,” he added and studied the condoms further, Ichigo not helping much in either regard, but certainly not now that he was clutching his sides for air.

Ichigo had wondered how it would feel without it, though, but he also knew that when they were ready, they would know and then they would take it from there. Plans were still not his strong-suit.

Ishida left his mouth empty and went down, unbuttoning his pants and swiftly grasping his dick. It was practiced, but not rehearsed. He put his lips and tongue to it, let them work that certain kind of magic Ishida worked and took Ichigo to the stars.

Ishida gave Ichigo a messy and filthily verbal blowjob. Ichigo liked it messy, liked it when he could see Ishida’s lips glisten with saliva, and the curving string from his cock to Ishida’s mouth. And he loved it when he would talk to him.

And maybe that was the heat behind it. Ishida was normally so well-spoken and mannered, when he got his mouth on Ichigo, it was like he short-circuited and rebooted with an entirely new operating system.

Sex with Ishida was both fun and extremely hot. Ichigo had, when he still had had his doubts and dreams, wondered and thought Ishida would be tense and stiff, awkward and distant almost. Instead he was languid, demanding and most definitely there.

He had found one of the best ways of distracting Ishida was with this very remedy.

It was not necessarily getting off that would be the point, but the intimacy and the closeness and the warmth and the way they would disappear from the world. Sometimes it did not even have to be sex, sometimes cuddling was just as effective, but it was not as satisfying.

When Ichigo had found out, he had vowed to himself that he would never use it to make Ishida forget a fight that they were having or make him push away other things he needed done. He would do it when Ishida was sitting staring into the math book, massaging his neck one-handed while he was chewing his bottom-lip. Usually, this meant Ishida was well on his way to overheating and usually when he did that, his fuse was short and he could be so scathing and precise with his comments it would lead to more drama than was really needed.

So Ichigo would catch it while it was surfacing. If Ishida had figured out what he was doing, which he probably had, Ichigo was not dating an idiot; he had not said anything about it.

When Ishida had let Ichigo take care of him as thanks for the inspiration, they both lay back down and Ishida snuggled in closer. If he had been a cat, he would be purring now.

He had washed his mouth with a mouthful of lukewarm water that they had brought out hours ago and Ichigo has wiped his hand in his t-shirt, having a spare in Ishida’s room for the night.

“You should come to Tokyo,” Ishida stated and sighed into Ichigo, while the other put his arm back around him. He hummed and he could feel Ishida smile.

“What should I do in Tokyo?” he asked and played with Ishida’s shirt.

“Law enforcement, medicine, journalism, take your pick. Just do it fast,” he listed and curled his hand on Ichigo’s chest.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

When he woke the next morning, Ishida had already gotten up, looking through his room for his uniform. Ichigo sat up and watched him scouting the premises for the elusive shirt and wondered how someone who appeared so put together could be such a scatterbrain.

“Have you seen my shirt?” he asked when Ichigo made to move. The sun caught him and shone right by his cheekbone, obscuring the rest of his face. He was standing half-naked, a t-shirt on and then boxers.

Ichigo shook his head and kept watching the other as he began growing more and more panicked in his search.

“Have you tried to balcony?” he suggested and Ishida turned to him again, this time to walk to him and kiss his forehead.

“You’re a genius.” Ishida walked out of his room onto the balcony and returned triumphant. Ichigo could not help looking a little smug.

Ishida put on his shirt, but he kept his eyes trained on Ichigo, “Don’t let it get to you head.”

Ichigo simply nodded, “Where’s your pants?”

He could not help the smile that grew across his face as Ishida had the decency to look stricken. Ichigo stood and went to his swivel chair and pulled out the missing piece of clothing. He threw them to Ishida who caught them one-handed.

“Can I borrow your shower?” Ichigo asked as Ishida tugged his shirt into his pants and started looking puzzled again.

“You don’t have to ask,” he turned his head, “Have you seen my tie?”

Ichigo chuckled and went to kiss Ishida’s temple as he picked up his own clothes from the floor, “On the lamp.”

He left Ishida to pack his bag and do some last minute homework and went to take a shower.

He had to get home and pick up another uniform and his books. His father had almost had an intervention when he had first snuck in one morning. He had been convinced Ichigo was out making a criminal out of himself, but Karin had luckily been nearby refuting the statement and suggested Ichigo might have stayed at a friend’s house and forgotten to call home.

Isshin had looked several kinds of suspicious but did not say anything, simply took down the intervention-banner again and mumbled quietly to himself.

Ichigo turned on the shower and let the hot water soothe his back. Ishida’s bed was not exactly big enough for two, but they had given up trying to fit another mattress in the second time Ichigo slept over and Ishida himself had been incredibly adamant that they could and would fit.

He picked up the shampoo from the floor and started washing his hair, rubbing his scalp while he did it. He should ask Ishida if they should shower together again soon. It was much nicer having the other massage the shampoo into his hair and seeing Ishida naked was never a draw-back.

The first time it had happened, Ishida had kind of just invited himself inside. Ichigo had almost closed his eyes and pressed himself so tightly against the wall that he could have been swallowed by it. Ishida had asked if it had been okay and then turned his back hurrying while washing himself off, saying that, “It won’t take long and I’ll be out of here again. It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before, what’s the big deal? Are you okay? You look pale.”

Ichigo had had to keep himself in check while Ishida was rambling; something he was prone to do when he knew he might have upset Ichigo and wanted to let him know it was not on purpose or with a malicious intent.

He just did not think Ishida knew how incredibly nice he looked when he was dripping wet and bubbles and foam clung to his skin.

Ichigo did not waste any time telling him and immediately went for the more physical way of communicating his thoughts. Ishida responded in kind and it ended up taking them half an hour before either of them was even remotely clean.

He had to will the memory away lest he wanted to have a similar problem on his hands.

And Ishida generally preferred showering in the evening as he was most definitely not a morning person; so any help was out of the question as he was probably fully dressed, looking impeccable and eating breakfast.

Ichigo finished and dried himself off, putting on his clothes and went out in the kitchen where Ishida and his father were sitting, talking quietly about something.

Ryuuken turned to Ichigo and stood himself, making room at the kitchen island that had somehow become their dinner-table. Ishida was eating cereal of the intensely sugary kind and toast with peanut-butter. Ichigo just had toast.

“So what are your plans after high school, Kurosaki-kun?” Ryuuken asked. His voice was cool and balanced, but Ichigo had grown used to the distance and it did not seem to be as far as it once was.

Ishida made a face that signaled to Ichigo that he had already been asked, but Ichigo answered none the less. “I think I’ll apply for something in Tokyo.”

“What a coincidence, so is Uryuu.” Ryuuken took a sip of his coffee and kept looking at Ichigo much like the first time they had met.

“And so are the rest of my friends,” Ichigo supplemented, watching Ishida carefully as the other picked a piece of his toast and ate it, a small frown-line between his brows.

“It’s nice to know you’re not planning on dawdling your life away,” he commented dryly and picked up the newspaper skimming the headlines.

Ishida kept quiet like he would most times the three of them were in the same room together. Ichigo did not think Ishida actually understood how cool Ryuuken and he were with each other. Not that they exchanged called or texted each other regularly, but they had no bones to pick with one another. At least not until Ichigo hurt Ishida, then he would be in a heap of trouble and there would be no Hail Mary powerful enough to save him.

That was how Ryuuken had put it, anyways.

Aforementioned folded the paper and picked up his briefcase, heading out.

“Uryuu, would it be too much to ask that you clean up after your breakfast? I would prefer to not be greeted by warm milk when I come home.”

Ryuuken was out the door before he could get an answer. Ishida just kept looking at the door and then got up, getting the milk out again and demonstratively putting it back on the countertop.

“Is that really necessary?” Ichigo asked with a hint of a smile.

“Small rebellions, Kurosaki. It’s all I have,” he answered and took another bite out of his cereal. “Want me to make you lunch?”

“Haven’t you already?”

Ishida rolled his eyes and stirred his by now soggy breakfast, “I was trying not to be pushy about it.”

Ichigo took another bite out of his toast and smiled like an idiot. He loved when Ishida was being domestic and at the same time trying not to seem like it, as if Ichigo would have a problem with it.

“How could I say no to a lunch you’ve toiled and troubled yourself to make?”

“Was that a Shakespeare reference?”

“What isn’t?”

Ishida kept watching him and shook his head, a small smile on his mouth.

“You should go if you want to make it home on time,” he opted to say instead. Ichigo nodded, stood and went to kiss Ishida on the mouth. He picked up his lunch from the fridge, putting it in his bag.

When he entered this he had no idea that he would end up liking kissing Ishida so much, but also that they would do it all the time. It was a little gesture to remind them that even though they were not as verbally kind to each other as they should, it did not matter to either of them. They had found out they had trouble going for five minutes without being a little too harsh, but when they stopped trying to restrict themselves, it seemed to grow easier not to. And the kissing definitely helped.

Ichigo picked up his jacket and waved over his shoulder, looking back, again something he was not want to do and was rewarded with Ishida resting his head on the heel of his hand and a sweet smile.

“See you at school,” Ichigo waved and toed on his shoes.

“You should be so lucky.”

Ichigo grinned to himself, leaving the apartment that had become almost a second home to him by now and kept smiling all the way down the stairs as the elevator was broken and even if it had not been, he would have needed to run off some energy, some of those bubbles that threatened to spill out into an even wider a more permanent smile.

He walked with brisk steps through the still-grey morning of Karakura. The pastels of the sun was slowly dripping onto the clouds, the cats making their way home much like he was. The sky was sprouting veins of blue and purple, flooding the heaven in concentrated strokes.

Ichigo kept his hands in his pockets, listened to the wires hum above him, watched the empty glass-bottle on the ground, one that now held the withered remains of a little handful of flowers.

It was with a heavy sigh that he kept walking. Everything was coming to an end and that was not a thought that he could say pleased him. Saying goodbye had always been the worst part of any story, the end to the journey and the final paragraph always the most difficult to read.

Ichigo worried his lower lip. Saying goodbye to his friends, Chad and Inoue and Ishida, especially Ishida was terrifying. It was that final punctuation mark that would mark the end. They would all be leaving Karakura, their genesis and their center. Maybe to rejoin in Tokyo, but Tokyo was huge; so was the decision to start the next chapter after you had decided you were not going to read anymore, it was something both needed and dreaded.

But much of the uncertainty hinged upon Ishida. If Ichigo by some sort of miracle would get in anywhere in Tokyo, then what? Ichigo was all for moving in with Ishida, but the other had yet to express more than a basic desire for him to be in the same city, much less the same apartment.

He worried for the decision though.

Ichigo would not mind having another year or five with Ishida. They worked, somehow. It was safe to assume that neither had thought so, but reality had proved them wrong.

They had learned to tolerate each other’s quirks, but also their shortcomings. Ichigo was still working on Ishida’s attitude towards his friends, as Ishida was working on Ichigo’s brashness. Ichigo would tell Ishida when he was being unjustly scathing and Ishida would tell Ichigo to calm down, oftentimes by putting his hand on his arm.

They had begun to cherish the other’s company even though they would not be doing anything together, Ishida might be reading and Ichigo might be playing videogames, but knowing that Ishida was right there in the room with him, looking over his shoulder every once in a while to make a dry observation or remind Ichigo of the quest-objective, was not something he could see himself without in the nearest future.

Just the very quietude they could enjoy together. It was not with others besides Chad that Ichigo found he did not have to talk to be interesting company. Ishida was slowly speaking more and more about his thoughts, his concerns and also making more harmless jokes, jokes that were not on another’s expense.

And Ichigo would loathe to give that up. He would hate to go back, back to where they were and not be what they were now.

The streets were beginning to revive, shrugging the night of them, a few cars making their way down the road, the sun catching in the windshield. The sound of people milling and bustling to work was overcoming the morning-trance. The only trace left was the aura of color on the paling blue sky.

Ichigo rounded the corner and started down the street where he lived.

Tall, white fences was guarding their gardens and residents with a certain imposing presence, the streetlights breaking the walls every other house, making sure the night was not to dark for the travelers there.

Karin was waiting for him at the gate to their house, arms crossed and leaning on their own sturdy picket-wall.

“Were you at Ishida-san’s?” she greeted him.

“Morning, Karin, how did you sleep?” he countered and continued inside.

Karin stood her ground, only turning around to watch him go towards the front-door, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Ichigo turned and watched her, waiting for her to elaborate. They kept staring at each other, neither moving, both assessing the situation.

“Do what?” he caved and saw her give way for a little smirk that send chills down his spine.

“Dad’s on the warpath. He’s starting to think you’re seeing someone,” she held his eyes, “romantically, y’know?”

Ichigo swallowed and opened his mouth to say something, though he had no idea what. It was not that he had intended to keep his relationship a secret from his family, he had nothing to be ashamed of, he knew, but he had never gotten around to it. And of course, there was the nagging doubt that it might not go down as well as it had with Ryuuken.

“I’ll keep your secret, don’t worry,” she finally said and stepped forward, clapping him twice on the shoulder on her way inside.

“Karin?” Ichigo called and turned in time to see her do the same, “Thanks.”

“You’re my brother. And I know how dad can be,” she said, smiling almost embarrassedly.

She went inside and held the door for Ichigo, who followed her through.

Inside the smell of breakfast and family was sifting through the rooms, Yuzu in the kitchen, humming along with the radio as she was frying eggs for Karin and making an omelet for Isshin. The sun was snaking its way inside through the windows and bathing the house in a warm golden light. Ichigo sighed and breathed in. Home always smelled better he found, it smelled safe.

He hung his jacket on the rack and stepped out of his shoes, hearing the heavy footsteps of his father upstairs. Karin had crossed her arms again, facing him once more.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Are you afraid we’ll kick you out or something because you’re homo?”

Ichigo frowned and shook his head automatically, not even bristling at her choice of words, knowing she tried to come off as collected and cool, trying to hide her insecurity. Karin was just as protective of her family as Ichigo was; a common trait it would seem and Ichigo smiled at her reluctance to show it, knowing how it felt.

“How long have you known?”

“Since dad’s first intervention?” she answered and looked down, playing with her feet, a frown on her forehead, one that Ichigo would like to brush off with an insistent hand and scolding smile. He began to understand why Ishida would always press a kiss to his forehead when he thought he was frowning too much.

“How did you find out?” he asked and walked with her into the kitchen, waving at Yuzu and silently declining her offer for breakfast. She was busy, wiping her hands in her apron, smiling brightly as she saw him sit down.

“Good morning, Ichi-nii,” she said as the toaster went off, bread popping off, one stuck as was the usual, but Isshin refused to purchase another.

“The first time you brought him over,” she shrugged and poured herself a glass of orange-juice.

A thundering noise from above came charging downstairs and soon Isshin made his appearance in the kitchen, not hiding his surprise at seeing Ichigo sitting there already.

“The lost son returns to his family’s bosom,” he said, smiling and sitting down. Yuzu handed him his omelet and Karin scooted the orange-juice his way.

Ichigo sighed and shook his head when Yuzu offered him a glass.

“Is everything alright, Ichi-nii?” she inquired, a little worry lacing her voice. Karin shot him a single glance but returned to smearing egg-yolk onto her toast.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll just go and pack and then I’ll head out again.”

“But you just came back,” Yuzu protested, looking sad with her frying-pan and spatula held tightly in her hands.

Ichigo stood and went to her, hugging her with one arm, kissing the top of her head.

“I’ll have breakfast tomorrow,” he promised and let go of her, squeezing her shoulder gently as he headed towards the upstairs. Isshin stood as well and followed Ichigo out.

“You sure everything’s alright?” he tried again and stopped at the foot of the staircase. Ichigo halted as well, kept his one hand on the railing. He knew the part that was coming up now.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You seem distracted,” Isshin explained, leaving his hand in the air, silently adding other symptoms.

Ichigo thought about Ishida again and how the impending end of their relationship was nearing. He sighed deeply again and swallowed. Reading him could be so difficult sometimes.

But Ishida had not mentioned anything yet, it was unsafe to assume anything. Ishida would chastise him for trying.

“Is this about Kuchiki-san?” Isshin finally asked, breaking Ichigo’s train of thoughts. His frown remained though and the heaviness at the mention of Rukia did not lighten it.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he hesitated, “it’s still weird not having her here.”

Isshin nodded, “I understand. I’ll stop poking at the bruises.”

Ichigo gave his father a grateful smile, but also fairly genuine. He had not had to make something up; he missed Rukia, and her departure was part of what was fueling these thoughts of his future.

He retrieved his schoolbag and went to school. The sun was starting to heat up the pavement, making the air crumble above it, but the warmth would not find Ichigo.

Another question had begun gnawing at his bones. Why had they not told anybody?

 

Ichigo had all intentions of finding Ishida at school, but only saw him after they kicked collective ass against a group of – Ichigo was not sure what to call them – losers, Ishida had sneered and went back to the library.

He had given Ichigo a strange look after he had passed him. Ichigo had bristled at that; it made him feel as if he was being showcased at a freakshow, something he thought Ishida was through with.

He did not manage to catch the other again, not until he got a call from Inoue later that night, saying Ishida had been in surgery.

Ichigo had felt his heart drop. The blood in his veins had frozen, the ice biting through his flesh and he felt insides turn into a void, a vast nothingness that ate him from the blackest of black. He could not breathe for a few seconds, not until Karin called his name.

She had visited Urahara earlier that day, Ichigo having a mild version of the feeling he was having now when he saw her there. The card Ginjo had given him was weighing heavily in his pockets and he started nodding, though not knowing to what.

He rushed to the hospital, wishing he still had Flash Step, his own mortal running simply not fast enough. Ishida had been hurt, apparently bad enough for him to land his skinny ass in surgery. Ichigo felt the slimy, dark hand clutching even tighter around his heart as his breathing was beginning to hurt his throat and cold sweat sliding down his back and his cheekbones.

He ran as fast as his feet would allow him, trying to ignore the fatigue and the acid that was bubbling in his legs. The white-lit hospital building was towering in front of him, almost like a menacing obelisk waiting for him and his doubtful future.

The automated doors were not opening fast enough, he crammed himself through the minute he could and hurried to the desk, looking wildly at the lady behind the counter.

“Ishida Uryuu?” he asked, breathless and ravaged by shudders. She seemed to take pity on him and told him the room number fairly quickly, considering the usual amount of bureaucracy the health-system entailed.

He knew running was frowned upon, so he settled for walking briskly and taking the elevator as his legs could barely carry him any further. The ride gave him time to straighten out and catch his breath, pulling the shirt from his chest where sweat was clinging on to it, insisting it stayed where it was.

When the elevator pinged at Ishida’s floor, he tried walking there as casually as he possibly could, but when he reached Ishida’s door, he could practically feel the buzz of nervous energy in his fingers. He almost threw the door open, not sure if he should worry about property damage or not.

“Ishida?!” Ichigo practically shouted, wanting nothing more than to go and smack Ishida for being a big enough idiot as to get hurt and not having the decency to tell Ichigo first. Or kiss him for not dying. He was still considering the verdict.

Inoue looked up at him, eyes huge and a little shocked at his entrance properly, “Kurosaki-kun?”

“Inoue?” his initial worry had not vanished one bit, the curtain drawn between him and Ishida.

“And Chad?”

“He didn’t pick up,” she told him. He had to admit he had not heard much else besides Ishida had been hurt. Likewise, remembering the sound of sirens in his neighborhood only made his stomach turn on itself even further.

“Kurosaki? That seems a little severe considering the circumstances,” Ishida’s voice sounded from behind the curtain. Ichigo felt an entire ocean fall from his shoulders. Ishiad was awake, rude, but awake.

“Considering the circumstances?” a cold drawl came up behind him. Ichigo turned his head sharply, seeing Ryuuken in the doorway, “At least your mouth is still working in peak condition.”

Ichigo could almost feel the temperature in the room drop several degrees, but a look from Ryuuken assured him he was not on the receiving end of his icy demeanor.

Ishida sighed and sounded like he turned his head, “Am I allowed visitors?”

Ryuuken had a journal in his hand started writing with a nonchalant look on his face, something Ichigo had learned to decode as worry, as well as relief and anger. One could not say the Ishida family was poor in emotions, even though they only let them show half the time.

“My wounds could be aggravated by this, what happens then?” Ishida inquired, sounding sluggish and tired. Ichigo wanted to rip the curtain away and shout at him face to face and hope he would get the message and stop the martyr-act.

“I’m taking offense to the insinuation that your surgeon would be underqualified,” Ryuuken said and put his hands behind his back, “As if something minor like this would aggravate you injuries.”

Inoue and Ichigo looked between the father and the curtain separating his son.

“You were injured like a child.”

Ichigo felt his heart stop again and then burst with anger. Where his blood had felt like ice, it felt like fire now and he had to keep himself from flinging the curtain aside, now for totally different reasons.

“Ishida?!” he began, looking to see if maybe he could burn a whole in the goddamn fabric that walled Ishida in so he could see what face he was making.

“What does he mean, Ishida?”

“It’s nothing,” Ishida stated numbly. Ichigo felt a firestorm incase his heart. Ishida was almost disregarding, no he was disregarding him as if his lack of power had him off the need-to-know list.

“The hell it isn’t!” Ichigo neigh shouted, “You got your ass kicked, why didn’t you call for help?”

And that was really the heart of the matter, was it not? Ichigo knew he could not help nor protect Ishida and now he was lying in a hospital bed, bandaged and stitched up. Ichigo could remember when they had fought back to back the first time. He had told Ishida he wanted to protect a mountain of people and now he could not even protect one.

“Well?” he demanded, his hands fisted trying to contain himself.

Ryuuken leaned against the wall and looked between the two of them, eyebrows lifted slightly, “You owe it to them, unless you want to–“

“Shut the fuck up!” Ishida yelled and cutting Ryuuken off.

His father looked thoroughly unimpressed and shook his head, smirking, “Oh dear.”

Ichigo looked back at him, watching as the smile that would not reach the eyes fight to keep itself in place.

“Raise your voice again and you might tear your stitches.”

Ichigo almost felt sick at the thought of more damage done to Ishida’s body. He already felt terrible when he noticed the slender white scars on his hands and the blue Quincy star on his chest that had faded to a mute, dusty blue by now, but still shone with determination and sacrifice.

“Ishida-kun,” Inoue said quietly and looked sadly at Ishida’s silhouette.

“I’m sorry, Inoue-san,” Ishida said in a voice that was two degrees from broken, “I’m not sure what to tell you.”

Ichigo felt every ounce of fiery anger die down.

“Could you leave?” he tried, tired it seemed, so tired, that Ichigo wanted to stroke his hair and kiss his forehead to soothe him.

He felt as broken as Ishida sounded. Inoue said something to him, he was not sure what, but asked if he should follow her home, none the less. Ryuuken refuted and send him home instead.

Ichigo felt all the anger and all the acid from earlier return and he started running again. He barely heard Inoue’s goodbye. He could not even keep Ishida from getting hurt in his own neighborhood, what could he possibly offer him afterwards? It became more and more painstakingly clear that Ryuuken’s first assessment of him was proving not only true but dangerous as well.

His heart was punching his ribcage, his lungs were swallowing themselves and however much air he dragged into his lungs, it was never enough.

That’s when he stopped and decided to fish the card from his pocket up again.

He dialed the number and was greeted with a voice, welcoming him to Xcution.

Chapter 2

In hindsight, calling Xcution was probably one of the most self-destructive things he had ever done. Ichigo knew that, despite reviving his Soul Reaper powers, he had been thrown into a world where he was to be the champion of Soul Society when their time came upon them. Again.

Ichigo was not going to back down from this responsibility – his responsibility, as it had turned into – but it had taken him one minute to understand the new level of his burden, the depth of it.

Ichigo was once more directly responsible for the safety of his friends and also a certain Quincy, who he had done an admirable job of protecting the last time he had something to fight for.

When Ichigo had emerged from the battleground on which he, Ginjo and Ishida had been trapped and fought, everybody had come to greet him, an old friend back to the dead. Rukia had flung herself at him and he at her. He smiled and grinned as Renji clapped him on the back, as Hitsugaya nodded to him and Ukitake explained the full extent of the Substitute Soul Reapers Badge, though that of course sobered the mood a little.

But Ishida had not lied when he told him it was like being whole again, like regaining a limb once lost or being bound to a wheelchair and suddenly regaining your footing. It was almost as if he could see colors again, not knowing how unsaturated the world had been and how tuneless, how deaf to the sounds of it he had become.

Ichigo looked around after the one person he wanted to share it with, only to realize that Ishida had already left. He stood there, struck dumb for a moment, until Rukia asked him how everyone had been and how he had been and how his family was doing and if Kon was still around or what had happened while she had been out of his life.

Talking to her again was every ounce as familiar and nostalgic as he thought it would be. It was odd how much warmth he could already feel inside him, watching her talk and explain animatedly about when she made vice-captain and how wonderful it had been for Byakuya to finally recognize her potential and let her grow into it.

Renji joined in, speaking loudly but fondly of how dull life in Soul Society had been without Ichigo and his friends.

“Where’s Ishida?” he had asked, looking around. Both had already greeted Chad and Inoue as if they were all family that had been separated by an iron wall through their hearth, finally together after several winters apart.

“Dunno,” Ichigo shrugged and pretended it did not matter as much as it did. Rukia watched him closely but did not say anything, instead opting to show him her newest drawings. They had not improved one bit, but the feel of old days was seeping though them and was enough to cheer Ichigo up and let him indulge her.

They promised they would return the next week under more relaxed circumstances and waved at them as they crossed back into Soul Society.

Ichigo felt at rest.

So as he started home, joined by Inoue and Chad, it was as if everything was back to the way it used to be. Except he knew very well that it was not. That would entail leaving Ishida out and he was not sure the way his heart hammered at the thought that he would be able to go through with it.

But he did not understand why Ishida had left him there.

Inoue and Chad, mostly Inoue really, was talking vividly about the previous week and how much she had missed being together with the three of them like this. Chad had nodded and Ichigo kept his peace. He agreed with her, wholeheartedly, but he would like the fourth person here so their quartet could be completed.

Inoue swung around a lamp pole, effectively turning herself around the corner and down the street she lived. She smiled and almost skipped home, waving at them and calling out that she would see them again tomorrow.

Ichigo and Chad kept walking without speaking. The mood was still light, but they knew they did not have to fill it with idle chatter to make either one comfortable.

“Where did Ishida go, you think?” Chad inquired. His hands were planted firmly in his pockets, back straight but his posture completely at ease. The very essence of Chad seemed to be calm and peaceful and that was usually what people found near him. He was a rock to stand on in a storm, and one that would move mountains if asked.

Ichigo opted for shrugging and kept his eyes down, “How would I know?”

“You seem to be getting along better now,” Chad admitted.

“How so? We can’t go two minutes into a conversation before he starts picking a fight,” Ichigo tried, but the lie seemed half-dead to him as well.

And he caught himself in grabbing the lie as his first way out and frowned at that. He really needed to talk to Ishida about the secrecy of their relationship and why it had to be that way. Ichigo was tired of pretending he did not like him, he was tired of not being able to talk to him at school, not being able to look at him without feeling bad and he was utterly tired of constantly lying to his friends whenever they asked him about why he could not come with them to the arcade or the movies or why he was smiling so stupidly.

“You just seemed like you were getting better,” Chad almost sighed, catching Ichigo off-guard.

He must have looked sufficiently stricken, because Chad chose to elaborate.

“It wears everybody down when the two of you are at each other’s throats.”

Ichigo looked down again, nodding. If Chad thought it was exhausting standing on the sidelines, he should try being in the firefight itself. Ishida could be malicious if he so chose and more often than not it was when he proved exactly how observant he was.

Ichigo hated fighting with him, because it had become so much more veiled, and at the same time so much clearer what they were actually saying to each other. It was mostly in public Ishida would be at his worst. He disliked having an audience for his downfall and so he fought for the upper hand with tooth and nail to get it, oftentimes burning Ichigo in the process.

And at the same time he loved it, every bit of it. He loved the pushing and the shoving, the pulling and the heaving. He always felt they orbited a little closer after a fight, because they usually ended with one or the other spilling their guts and their heart. It always started as a hurricane and ended in a drizzle, the rain metaphorical kissing their foreheads as they would keep their peace and their quiet.

It was like a rainstorm, lightning and thunder breaking the heaven and the rain pouring onto the Earth, flooding everything, hurting the ground. But afterwards the rain would nourish and the heavens fit itself back together. Nothing was more captivating than the night after a storm.

“Yeah, I know,” Ichigo agreed after a while, thinking that Chad must have been waiting for an answer, because his shoulders relaxed minutely and Ichigo felt bad for putting the tension there in the first place.

He just wanted to tell Chad that he and Ishida had been going out for about a year now and that he wanted Chad’s advice on what he should do when high school had come to an end. Because he sure as hell did not know what was going to happen.

He had not had time to write any applications because of the whole Xcution-mess he had found himself in the middle of and he had less than a week to write them. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes.

“Something wrong?” Chad asked. Ichigo was grateful for Chad’s way of phrasing things at times, giving him the option of shaking his head and claiming to be fine; to lie to him again.

“No – well, yeah. I still haven’t sent a single application for any kind university yet. And I have no idea what to apply to,” he admitted, giving him at least half the truth. It was better than much else he could give him at this point.

Even when he had gotten his Soul Reaper powers back, even though he literally had the power to eviscerate the entire city, he still had to worry about what college to apply for. How on Earth Ishida managed to keep the two things separated was beyond him. It felt ridiculous.

He could not write very much on his application, since much of his high school years had been spent chasing Hollows and, well, saving the world, but he could not very well write that on there and expect to be taken seriously.

“Need any help?” Chad offered and Ichigo nodded. He needed it very much.

“How about Monday, then? After school?” Chad suggested.

Ichigo smiled slowly, and looked to his friend, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said and gave one of his own.

Ichigo looked at the time and decided that visiting Ishida probably would not be a bad idea, seeing as he had a few bones to pick with him. Not that he would be able to surprise him anymore, now that he once again emitted Spirit Pressure.

He was going to miss Ishida not quite knowing where he was and actually being able to keep a secret or two from him. Such as buying him a birthday present or picking up tickets for the movies when Ishida had holed himself up in his room, being antisocial and intend on the future.

Ichigo said goodbye to Chad at the corner of Main and 22nd and plucked out his phone, sending a quick text asking Ishida to meet him at the park. The reply came two minutes later with an affirmative.

Ichigo decided to walk the long way around, listening to the mosquitoes and flies buzzing insistently around the mercury streetlights, as if they were all courting the light itself – Ichigo felt their plight.

The moon was deigning herself to step out upon the midnight-floor and be appraised by the stars, winking at her, trying to get her attention. She did not care much as she simply continued to waltz on her own, shining softly down on the world, leaving a ghostly light in her wake.

The trees too seemed enamored and tried to touch her, stretching their hands towards the sky, despite the sun almost burning their fingers earlier today.

It was strange how it felt as if the moon was waiting for the sun to come and join her on the skyward ballroom floor.

Ichigo sighed and sat down on the bench in the pavilion, waiting for Ishida to appear. He picked at his fingers, scoffed his shoes and tapped out rhythms for the moon to follow.

The water next to him was still as the dead of night, reflecting only the moon and not her suitors. Ichigo looked down into the water seeing himself mirrored there. He looked tired, worn but most of all, he looked content. Strangely enough, considering how much he felt he had on his mind, but everything seemed to finally have fallen into place.

He had had his powers returned to him, he had seen Rukia again, he had his friends and his family. And Ishida still.

“What are we doing in the park?” Ishida’s voice was behind him, not sounding jaded, not sounding scathing, simply Ishida, though maybe a little curiosity flavored his words.

“I got my powers back, everyone will know I’m at your place,” Ichigo tried, hoping he was not sounding too baiting. Ishida sat down and drew his legs to his chest.

“Why would anybody be monitoring where you go?” he asked.

Ichigo swallowed and leant back, “You always seemed to know where I was.”

“You always made it obvious where you were,” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Was there a reason for this midnight rendezvous? Not that I’m not happy to spend time with you, but –“

“Why did you leave today?” Ichigo interrupted, looking straight at him.

“Because I did not want to ruin your reunion with Kuchiki-san.” Ishida stared right back, refusing to give, “And maybe because I did not want to be there in the first place.”

Ichigo studied him, giving Ishida the chance to add anything else, but he was met with a wall of silence and blue eyes looking right into his thoughts, it felt like.

“Why didn’t you wanna be there in the first place?”

Ishida sighed and broke the only contact they had, turning away from him and letting his bangs fall into his face, obscuring it from Ichigo.

“Because I’m not sure of how I feel about you getting you powers back,” Ishida bit out the last part, turning his head on the last word, something dangerous bleeding in his eyes.

Ichigo frowned and moved closer to him. The other remained where he was.

“Why don’t you know if it’s a good thing? Ishida, I’m whole again. I’m back to what I used to be, I feel as if I’ve found something I’ve been looking for, for a really long time and it still fits within me. You yourself said, that regaining your powers made you feel like you were worth something again, well, so do I. Ishida, I feel like I’m me again,” he said, trying to get Ishida’s eyes on him, but the other refused to even look his way. “What the matter with you? I thought you of all people would understand how great this is, how fantastic it– “

“I don’t understand how putting yourself right back, smack in the middle of the danger-zone is any variety of great, Kurosaki. I don’t understand where this leaves you and to that effect, where it leaves me with you. When we started going out, you were, if I’m interpreting this correctly, not normal. What’s that supposed to mean? That now that your normal, you’d like everything to go back to the way it was or just your connections with the Spirit World.”

“Is this about Rukia?”

Ishida turned to him sharply, “Yes, it’s about Kuchiki-san!”

Thunder was starting to roll in between the clouds that had gathered above them. The moon had been whisked away and hidden behind the huge, dark-grey dunes that were slowly crawling over the sky. A chill had caught in the air and made Ichigo’s hair stand.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Ichigo asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

“I never thought it would be relevant,” he admitted quietly.

Ichigo kept quiet, waited for Ishida to say something more, to move, to stand up and scream at him, but the other stayed still, leaving Ichigo to pick up the pieces.

“You never thought I would be getting my powers back,” he ended up saying, the same volume as Ishida had used. Ishida turned his head a little, peering out from his hair, his black, black hair.

“I hoped you wouldn’t.”

Ichigo felt his ribs give and his lungs and his heart and his throat and his stomach were just falling down inside him. He saw Ishida breathe heavily and felt himself do much the same, feeling betrayed almost, though not quite knowing how.

“I didn’t want you to get your powers back because you always end up where the fighting is worst. It’s like I’m sending you out on the frontline in the worst war known to man, but it’s even worse because you have to go.” Ishida shifted, but kept his eyes on the ground.

“And when you ended up fighting Ginjo today and I saw you get cut down, I could practically feel my breath catch in my throat and my hands screaming for his blood on my arrows. I’ve never wanted to kill someone like that, and it frightened me that you could bring that out in me.”

Another thunderclap resounds across the sky, leaving the silence even more pronounced than before. Ichigo licks his lips and reaches out, touching Ishida’s shoulder and gently stroking it with his thumb.

“Kuchiki-san’s just the cherry on top. What worries me the most is you going to battle and one day not making it back. It scares the shit out of me, knowing that there is no going back from here.”

Ichigo leant in and rested his head on Ishida’s shoulder.

“I’m not going to die,” he mumbled softly, “I promise you that, Ishida.”

He felt a pair of lips on his hair and Ishida’s breath moving it rhythmically, “It’s not a promise you can make, Kurosaki.”

“I intend to try, at least,” Ichigo said and lifted his head, catching Ishida’s mouth as he did, giving him a short, but decisive kiss, an emphasis he wanted Ishida to understand. The other sighed and nodded.

“There’s not really much else you can do, I suppose.”

Ichigo stroked his hair, combing it with his fingers. “It’s not like it isn’t the same the other way around, y’know.”

Ishida closed his eyes, enjoying the hands in his hair or listening to the thunder threatening the Earth. “I don’t think you can really compare the two.”

“I don’t think you realize of shit-scared I was when you’d gotten your sorry ass in the hospital. Do you have any idea how fast I ran to get there? And that’s not mentioning whenever you run out of class to chase Hollows or when you don’t use a fucking helmet when you bike. Not forgetting the times before that where we went to Soul Society and Hueco Mundo.”

“I’m never in any real danger against the Hollows here, I don’t have a bike and he took me by surprise. And in Soul Society and Hueco Mundo I only fought the minions, you went after almost every single Espada they had.”

“I think this argument is futile, Ishida. The point is, I was worried sick about you then and I sometimes am now. We’re just going to have to live with that and as you said, if I don’t go, who knows what will actually happen.”

“You love being the hero, shut up,” he said, but without any bite, only that edge of affection, Ichigo had grown so very used to hear, but had never been happier to receive.

“And regarding Rukia, you don’t have to worry. She’s nice and all, but she’s more like a sister than potential girlfriend material to me.”

Ishida snorted and nodded, almost reluctantly. They sat in silence for a while, Ichigo’s hand the only thing moving, still pulling the strands of Ishida’s hair.

The weather did not seem to get either better or worse, but Ishida got up and stretched his hand out for Ichigo to take.

“Come on, hero. I still haven’t congratulated you on your victory and Ryuuken’s in Osaka, if you know where I’m going with this.”

Ichigo hurried to his feet and caught Ishida’s hand, “If this is the system we’re going to use every time I win, losing is not even gonna be an option, y’know.”

Ishida laughed and squeezed his hand.

The thunder was still drumming loudly, but the warmth of Ishida’s hand seemed to keep the worst of it away, leaving them to smile softly at one another.

 

They were lying on their backs, looking up into the ceiling, breathing heavily, rapidly. The radio was still on, Simple Minds’ “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” floating into the apartment space. Ishida chuckled and Ichigo joined him. The couch did not share the sentiment as they had felt something give during one round of passionate lovemaking. Ichigo’s smile widened at the thought.

They had fucked each other six ways from Sunday, Ishida keeping true to his word that no place was off limits. They did not tend to be picky with their choice of location, but they had never done a tour de chambre like they had tonight.

Ishida turned and looked at him, keeping the smile in his eyes, a ghost of it around his lips. Ichigo reciprocated, taking in the vision of Ishida naked, both physically but also psychologically.

“Are we sleeping on the couch?” he asked tiredly, not sounding like he was truly asking, merely stating.

Ichigo turned to his side and put his arm around Ishida, pulling him closer and thus agreeing to his question. Ishida turned as well so they were spooning, Ichigo so spent he could not even get excited when Ishida pressed himself up against him.

“I’m so happy it’s Saturday tomorrow,” Ishida announced, dragging every word out of his mouth, exhausted after a rather intense night. The clock on the stereo showed 3:42 am and Ichigo could only agree with him, though he suspected it was not only the time he was thinking about.

Ichigo hummed and asked why, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Ishida’s back against his stomach, the skin that soon would become cold, but that he would keep warm for as long as he could.

“I’m going to be walking like an imbecile tomorrow, and thus I’ll be staying within the four walls of this apartment.” Ishida rolled his shoulders, knocking Ichigo’s sternum in the process. Ichigo leant forward and kissed his hair.

“We’ll stay in then,” he mumbled.

Ishida huffed and yawned. Ichigo watched the slope of his neck, the steep climb to his shoulder and then the soft fall down his arm and then to his waist. He sat up and grabbed a blanket and threw it over them both. Ishida made a sound a trained ear might not have perceived as the whine it was, but it did not escape Ichigo.

He lay back down and cuddled up to Ishida again.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” he said with as much melodrama he could muster, only to have Ishida smack his shoulder with the back of his hand. Ichigo smiled and shuffled back into position.

Ishida was out within seconds and his breath was slowly gravitating towards becoming heavy. Ichigo listened to the steady rhythm next to him, relaxing more and more for every inhale, every exhale.

He still had to talk with Ishida about their relationship and its present status as non-existent to the public. Also about their future. It made him both hot and cold at the same time, calling it that.

He would have to call home tomorrow and explain to his father that he was not out committing heinous crimes in the dark of the night. And that he would not be coming home until Sunday it seemed.

It was not the first time Ishida had been rather worn out after nights such as these, but it was the first time he was able to say so within minutes after they finished. It was going to be hilarious watching him go about in the morning for breakfast. Ichigo was going to have to film it, if anything then to have the opportunity to pull it out on a rainy day and cheer himself up.

They had done it a Sunday once. Ishida had cursed himself since he forgot there was P.E. the next day.

Ichigo smiled at the memory as the radio faded in the background, lulling him into a deep sleep, tired to the bones in a way you could only be when you had fought for your life and you loved ones. One stirred slightly in his arms and he fell asleep with a rare smile on his lips.

 

The next morning consisted mostly of orange-juice, toast, cuddling on the couch and re-runs of American soap operas. They had both scoffed at them when they had first had one of these weekends, but it had almost become a ritual of sorts.

They would have breakfast, usually Ichigo would make it as Ishida was adamantly refusing to leave the bed or the couch of the floor or wherever they had fallen asleep and would only be roused by the smell of breakfast. They would eat, Ishida eating most and Ichigo still marveling at how skinny he was considering how much he would devour. After that, they would move to the couch and watch Days of Our Lives or some other cheesy series.

At first they had laughed at it, but it had become somewhat of a sanctuary now, watching a show that was obviously terrible but without having to constantly express this; they both knew it was, however; it gave them a much needed break from the seriousness around them. And it was actually quite thrilling, now that they could tell the different characters apart.

When they were done letting the couch call the shots, they would usually make some lunch and then Ichigo would play some videogames or he would watch Ishida under the pretense of reading a magazine and Ishida would sew or read a book. Sometimes, Ishida would read aloud to him. But the unspoken rule was that no one was allowed to mention school or Hollows or the outside world. Neither of them had ever felt the need, so the rule was more of a guideline anyways.

This morning had been no exception, except Ishida had truly been walking ridiculously, wobbling and waddling to the island, remaining upright in favor of sitting down. Ichigo had giggled through most of the meal, letting Ishida give him withering looks and eat his toast with a frown that Ichigo’s had nothing on.

Ichigo had kissed Ishida’s hair and picked him up and dumped him in the couch, the other yelping at first, then rolling his eyes. Then Ichigo had brought him is scrambled eggs and his orange juice and turned on the television, sitting down and letting Ishida rest his head on his shoulder as he ate his second serving.

They ended up watching three episodes, Ichigo picking up the game controller and turning on the gaming station. Ishida nestled himself into a cocoon of blankets and picked up a fashion-magazine, reading it carefully.

“Don’t you need to call your family?” Ishida asked after an hour, as Ichigo was finally getting the upper hand in a boss-battle he had been having trouble with for several weeks now, causing him to misstep and get messily killed. Ichigo watched bleakly as the Game Over flashed across the screen, slowly turning to Ishida.

“Your timing, as always, is impeccable.”

“You wouldn’t have won anyways.” Ishida flipped a page in the magazine, because Ishida had completed every single game in the apartment on hard or expert; but he still would not come with Ichigo to the arcade so he could beat Keigo or Mizuiro into a pulp, because Ishida was selfish like that and Ichigo slightly envious of his hand-eye-coordination.

Ichigo sighed, knowing Ishida was most likely right and fished out his phone, moving to the kitchen. He saw Ishida move across the couch and pick up the controls, knowing that when he got back he would be able to continue the level. He smiled.

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. “Kurosaki household, it’s Karin.”

“Hey, Karin,” he greeted, hoping she would not be in too bad of a mood after having to deal with both Yuzu and Isshin’s questions.

“You got some nerve, my friend,” she said, her tone annoyed but with that strange edge of fondness only Karin could produce. Ishida was a little bit softer in his annoyance, but that was probably because he was a generally calm person.

Ichigo laughed a little nervously, not quite knowing why he felt he had done something wrong, “I’m sorry, has he been weird?”

“Not more than usual, I hope you’re having a good time, because I have Yuzu looking at me right now, and I think she wants to talk to you.”

He knew Yuzu’s looks and what they could do to a person. Before he had a chance of doing or saying anything, the phone had changed hands.

“Ichi-nii?” Yuzu’s voice came through tinnily.

“Yeah?”

“Are you coming home for dinner?” she asked him, sounding like she was asking if he would ever be coming home again. Ichigo swallowed.

“Not tonight, but tomorrow.”

“Goat Chin’s looking suspiciously at me.” Karin’s voice was back again, Yuzu apparently having given up the phone. Ichigo wondered if he had upset her and once again reminded himself that he had to speak to Ishida about this secrecy-business.

“What do you want me to tell him?” her voice hushed and conspiratorial.

He looked to Ishida and saw him land the finishing blow on the boss, the boon flying up and landing in cascades all around him. He turned his head and met Ichigo’s eyes. They exchanged a quiet smile.

“Tell him I need some time alone to process getting my powers back, having my reality shifting under me, needing friends to cheer me up. He can reach me on my phone if he needs me badly,” Ichigo listed and rubbed his forehead.

Karin hummed in the other end, “Got it.”

“Alright, thanks. I love you.”

“Yeah, you better, you worm.” She retorted, but the smile was evident in her tone, “See you tomorrow, say hi to Ishida-kun from me.”

She hung up and Ichigo pocketed his phone, returning to Ishida who was once again back to his magazine and the victory screen paused on the TV.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ichigo announced as he picked up the controller again, un-pausing it and moving to pick up the spoils.

“We both know I did,” Ishida said. He did not have the decency to sound gloating or anything, simply stating a fact. He skipped a few pages ahead and began a new article as Ichigo ventured further into the game than he had been before.

“Karin says hi,” he passed on, defeating a few minions and collecting the loot. He kept his eyes pointed to the screen. He felt the other prop his head on his shoulder, hugging him from behind and kissing his nape.

They sat like that for a while, Ichigo rampaging through the level and Ishida watching and warming his back and smiling slightly as Ichigo commented on the game.

He reached another boss fairly quickly, tried and failed and immediately handed the controls over to Ishida who tried, succeeded and handed it back.

They sat almost the entire afternoon like that, passing the controller back and forth. Ichigo ended up leaning back on Ishida who gladly serviced as a chair. He would kiss Ichigo’s hair and have his hands form a necklace hanging loosely around his neck, ending on his chest.

It was in these moments that Ichigo would revel at his own luck and proceed to be slain by a vicious monster. This time, he gave it another try before relinquishing the controls, and found that if he simply sidestepped in the second the monster attacked, he could avoid it. He won and looked up at Ishida, who looked back and smiled a smile that could melt Ichigo’s heart like wax.

 

Sunday had passed quickly, Monday likewise, even though the hours in the library with Chad had felt like years. Tuesday he had gone home with Keigo and Mizuiro to study for the next final they were to take. Needless to say, not much studying was done. They primarily spent their time chatting back and forth about everything from here to Soul Society.

Keigo had wondered for a while how the societal structure of the place was and Ichigo tried filling him in as best he could, though not completely sure himself. Mizuiro kept smiling at Keigo every time he asked a pointed question about the social conduct and how they were still maintaining the Japanese feudal system and how they could transition into modern day life without much trouble.

They ended up playing videogames, Ichigo winning despite the two of them teaming up and silently he thanked Ishida for being a hawk at boss-battle strategies.

Wednesday work called again. Urahara had called the four of them to his store under the pretense of wanting to debrief them, but it quickly turned into a training session in the underground facility.

Tea had been served first though, getting everybody used to sitting at Urahara’s once again, together.

The cavern was dim and moist, cool breaths from the earth they were engulfed by tickling their necks, heightening their sense of alarm. Few lights were scattered throughout, but the corners were completely shrouded in blackness and ran as deep as the ocean it seemed.

The chilled air turned his skin to gooseflesh, but also the anticipation of the fights ahead. He did not want to admit it to Ishida, feeling it might upset him, he had missed being the fray though, being the eye of the hurricane.

“Welcome back, everyone.” Urahara appeared on one of the rocks and stood firm, despite his sandals and his rather flamboyant pose. They all turned towards him, a certain readiness in the air, almost as if they had become a special force that would be called upon in dire times. A Spiritual S.W.A.T.-team, Ichigo supplied to himself.

“As you all know, Kurosaki-san had his powers returned only a few days ago. I’ve called you all here to retrain you, seeing as you’ve had almost a year of not working together as a team. Ishida-san, you’re skills should be the most ready, yes?”

Ishida looked as if he considered it, “I’ve been the most active hunter between us.”

His voice was calm, detached. Ichigo kept his eyes on him a little longer than most would have deemed friendly, but he turned again when Urahara spoke again.

“And that’s why you will be the antagonist in our little game,” he declared and Ishida nodded, stepping towards him, separating them into two uneven groups.

“Kurosaki-san, Inoue-san, Sado-san, I wish you good luck,” Urahara declared before he disappeared.

Ishida stood quietly in front of them, waiting for a signal it seemed. It came in the shape of the cave going completely dark, no light to even give the slightest hint of the surroundings. Then, as suddenly as it had disappeared, it came back.

Ishida was gone and that left Ichigo, Inoue and Chad alone.

“What did he mean by antagonist?” Inoue asked carefully, looking over her shoulder. Ichigo followed her example and scanned the environment.

“It means we’ll be fighting Ishida.” Chad seemed unaffected, stoic as always. He stood tall and unmoving, no doubt looking for Ishida in the only way Ichigo could not.

Ichigo nodded and unsheathed Zangetsu from his back, Chad summoned his Brazo Deracha de Gigante and Inoue gently touched her hairpins, but did not call forth her Shun Shun Rikka.

He could already feel himself hating the premise of this “game”.

They stood like this for several minutes, waiting for Ishida to attack, to make a move, to do anything. After fifteen minutes of no activity, Ichigo sighed and lowered Zangetsu, relaxing his pose.

“Maybe we should move. We’re sitting ducks here and who says Ishida isn’t doing the same thing as we are?” Ichigo suggested and moved to start walking. Chad agreed soundlessly, Inoue mirrored him and they both followed him.

They began making their way through the labyrinth-like cavern.

The air above them was deadly quiet the cave seemingly holding its breath on their behalf, as if it knew what they were up against. The ceiling was high enough that Ichigo could use Flash Step to get up there and get an actual vantage point of the cave.

“Wait here.“ He looked up and stepped forward. He stood on nothing, scouting for any movement that would betray Ishida’s position to him.

It took exactly ten seconds before the first arrow was fired his way.

He dodged it but only just. The arrow disintegrated into thin air, but he had no time to look closer, as another was fired from a different direction, then another and another again. He decided to hurry back down to Chad and Inoue.

“You’ve done many dumb things, but this is spectacularly stupid,” Ishida’s voice sounded behind him and he found they were stepping besides each other. Time itself was stretching, both of them in the flux where they controlled the speed of their steps. Ishida leaned over and pecked his cheek and then turned sharply to the right and disappeared again.

“Kurosaki-kun!” Inoue shouted when he landed, obviously having seen him barely avoid turning into a pincushion.

“I’m okay, he didn’t get me.”

“At least now we know to stay away from the high-ground.” Chad commented. Ichigo nodded, wondering what they should do to capture Ishida. He was fast, he was ranged and he knew where they were at all times, because Ichigo could not control his Spirit Pressure.

“I think we should split up,” Ichigo turned to his friends, lowering his voice, “Ishida can sense my Spirit Pressure from miles away. We should use me as bait to lure him out and you ambush him.”

Inoue frowned slightly, never one for self-sacrificial plans. She did not like seeing anybody hurt, especially her friends. Ichigo smiled at her, trying to get her attention, showing her that he was not worried for himself and neither should she be.

Chad nodded, “Ishida would want to take out you first.”

“It’s decided then,” Ichigo announced and turned to walk a different direction, “Keep close though.”

Ichigo continued through the maze, leaving only dust and nothingness in his wake. The darkness was pressing closer, calling to be recognized. He stepped around the puddles of light, hoping the darkness might give him a cloak of some sort, knowing that to be neigh impossible with Ishida’s honed sense of Spirit Pressure and his own pulsating beacon.

The cave seemed peaceful. The anticipation had slithered away, sand between his fingers. His heart maintained a steady rhythm, his blood remained calm.

It felt like hours of walking, not meeting neither Ishida nor hearing anything from Chad or Inoue. Ichigo took a few breaths, then carried on, trying not to think too much about how difficult it was going to be to fight Ishida.

Urahara had chosen the only one who had not turned on him in favor of Tsukishima, simultaneously also the one he would have the most trouble fighting. Ichigo could already feel his skin crawl at the thought of raising Zangetsu towards Ishida. But he also knew Ishida would have no such qualms.

Or at least he did not think Ishida would let himself be overcome with sentimentality. The last time he had, he lost his powers as a Quincy. There was a lot to be said about Ishida, but he rarely did anything by halves.

Ichigo smiled a little and bit his cheek to keep it down a notch. He was going to be insufferable the moment they were official, he thought. It would ruin his image, and he had fought a lot of idiots for that.

The air was eerily quiet now, almost void of life. It seemed to reflect the shadows that were standing stoic under Ichigo’s feet. His heart was still beating normally, nothing alarming had caused his pulse to quicken. And that was what made the hair in the back of his neck stand.

Something was wrong and he had not heard what it was. Either they were all avoiding each other, which was possible but very unlikely; or a third party had been brought into the game, which he would not put above Urahara. Ichigo swallowed, but kept his head level, simply continued walking forward, one step at a time.

It was not until he saw a white silhouette on the ground that he felt his pulse speed up again. He hurried to him, feeling himself panic all over again.

“Ishida?” he called and knelt down next to him. He could not see any injuries and that was almost worse than having him lying in a pool of his own blood.

Ichigo’s imagination supplied a vivid image and he immediately scratched that thought. “Inoue!” he shouted instead, hoping she would hear him and come to his aid. He looked over his shoulder, but caught a sliver of movement in the corner of his eye.

He whipped his head back and found Ishida sitting with his bow drawn, kneeling just like he was. The other looked very much unharmed and very smug.

“Down,” Ishida commanded and nodded to the ground. Ichigo gaped at him, put Zangetsu down and sat raising his arms slowly.

“Do you surrender?” Ishida inquired, getting up and kicking Zangetsu out of his reach. Ichigo was faced with an arrow right in front of his nose. He could hear the spirit particles fluctuate and sizzle.

Ishida stepped back, “Do you surrender?”

Ichigo nodded and Ishida lowered his bow. He reached out his hand and offered it to Ichigo. The other took it with bad grace. He could feel his blood start boiling and his nails dig into his palm, because he had to fist his hands to keep himself in check.

When he got to his feet, he gave himself two steps and a count to ten. He did not want to do anything rash, not when their friends were around. When he reached eight, he heard Ishida drawl, “Are you pissed because you lost?”

Ichigo turned immediately, meeting Ishida head on. “No, I’m pissed because you thought it was okay to pretend you were hurt to get me close.”

“Why would I fight you, when I know I can get you to surrender?”

Inoue and Chad made their way from the shadows to the two of them, Inoue squeezing her hands, Chad’s shoulders tense. They looked like they had just walked into an even more dangerous fight than they had just been in.

Ichigo gestured to them, “Did you pretend to be injured with them too or was I just lucky?”

They looked between each other and Chad shook his head. “Ishida-kun ambushed us, one at the time,” Inoue supplied, her eyes big and brow slightly crinkled.

Ichigo slowly turned towards Ishida, “I can’t believe you would do that.” He stopped himself before he added a few details they had yet to discuss.

“Why’re you so angry about it?” Ishida retorted, folding his arms over his chest, his legs planted firm on the ground. Neither of them was backing down, then.

“Do you not remember when you got slashed so hard you needed surgery? And do you not remember exactly how worried both Inoue and I were?” he pressed and threw his hand up in the air. The tension between them was palpable, a physical wire almost, from one to the other.

Ishida shook his head, “I think you’re pissed that I beat you without having to fire a single shot.”

“You think this is about my ego? Ishida, the only reason you were able to pull this off was because I trust you and care about you. You manipulated me into surrendering,” Ichigo said, containing every single fraction of superfluous emotion, so as not to give them away.

“Yes, he did. And he will not be the first,” Urahara appeared behind him, his fan out and slowly wafting air towards his face, “Kurosaki-san, you already have been in a situation where you lost your allies. That left you almost completely powerless.”

Ichigo swallowed and looked down, “Trusting my friends is not a weakness.”

“Not being able to fight because of them is,“ Urahara replied quickly. “Being on your own is not easy, Kurosaki-san, but it’s something we all have to face one time or another.”

Ishida shifted his weight and Ichigo could practically feel his eyes on him. He refused to take the bait and look up. They were not through with this.

“Fighting alongside friends is easy compared to standing without. You tried that yourself and you failed. You can’t keep thinking your friends will come to your aid. Much like your Hollow, Kuraosaki-san, you couldn’t afford to fall back on him. Same applies here.”

Urahara turned to Ishida, “Ishida-san, you had several possibilities to take them all out. Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think it would be fair if I shot them from the other end of the cave without giving them a chance,” he answered, somewhat reserved.

“But it was alright to play dead to lure me in?” Ichigo barked and Ishida bristled.

“That’s your greatest flaw, Ishida-san,” Urahara remarked, ignoring Ichigo, “You expect fairness in war, even though you know very well that there is none. You did the same in Hueco Mundo. We need you to fight dirty, should it ever be necessary again. The age of chivalry is dead.

“In general, all of you have become dull around each other. In a fight you cannot trust your opponent, and so we shouldn’t trust to fight fair either. We’ll go again, Inoue-san, you’re the antagonist this time.”

They kept playing this “game” as Urahara insisted it was, Ichigo growing more and more agitated with Ishida as the other took to heart what their supposed mentor had said, shooting almost as soon as the lights were out.

Ichigo could barely recognize him when they were playing the final round, everybody the antagonist and no one your ally. Ishida shot Inoue before she even made it away from their start-position. Chad got a little further, but he too was shot, in the back. Ichigo managed to evade him, but only because he was apt in using Flash Step.

Ichigo ended up deflecting the arrows Ishida fired towards him, getting closer and closer to him, cornering him. He had Ishida pressed up against a wall, Zangetsu in his hand, but he could not bring himself to lift it. Ishida’s breathing was hard but slow, his eyes frozen and his gaze fire.

They separated when Urahara applauded them for finally understanding his point.

“You became much more decisive, Ishida-san, and you much more independent, Kurosaki-san. When faced with a friend, we lose the will to fight, afraid of hurting them; we need you to keep going, even if this means without your friends. Kurosaki-san, we cannot have you falter as you did when Sado-san and Inoue-san turned against you. You’re lucky Kuchiki-san was there to restore you.”

Ichigo nodded, a ghost of a smile, knowing Urahara was right. Had Rukia not been there, he probably would not have made it. Both he and Ishida were down, he had been paralyzed with fear and regret, with complete an utter hopelessness. And he had wept because of it. If Rukia had not been there, he would not be standing here now. And neither would Ishida.

“I know,” he said softly. He did not dare look at the Quincy.

They had gone home after that, Ichigo only shortly because he found himself too restless to sleep and too aggravated with Ishida to simply let it pass. He would rather they fought it out immediately as opposed to walking around simmering for days and then saying something unforgivable to each other.

So he walked, stomped, marched, to Ishida’s apartment, knocking at the door, the other opening almost immediately as if he had been expecting him.

“I’m really fucking angry with you,” Ichigo stated as he entered the apartment. Ishida rolled his eyes and walked away from him.

“Hello,” he said and flopped down on the couch, his needles and threads out, a piece of white fabric sprawled on the couch. Another mantle it seemed. Ishida was obsessed with those.

Ichigo followed but did not sit. “Ishida, do you understand why this pisses me off?”

“I really don’t, no!” he rose and faced him squarely. “Why is it such a big deal to you?”

Ichigo rubbed his forehead, hoping he would not get a headache from this. “We talked about this five days ago! I’m worried about you and you practically toyed with that, well-knowing how much I fucking care!”

Ishida shook his head and looked away. Ichigo could feel his heart beating fast; his hands shaking ever so slightly. His mind was racing and he was constantly distracted by the way Ishida’s mouth, in offense and scorn, silently uttered snippets of thoughts he was never going to voice.

“Ishida, you used our relationship to your advantage,” Ichigo concluded, challenging the other to meet his eyes, but Ishida kept averting them, crossed his arms in front of his chest, “You shot Inoue and Chad in the back–“

“And you should’ve done the same!” he finally barked.

Ichigo’s frown deepened, “I can’t turn on my friends like that,”

“I didn’t turn on you, what –“

“What would you call it then? From where I was standing, it looked a lot like backstabbing,” Ichigo countered, his voice growing louder as he grew more enraged.

Ishida’s eyes turned icy, “Are you saying I betrayed you by complying with the rules?”

“I’m saying you didn’t seem to have any issues with the rules in the first place.”

“We can’t all be heroes,” Ishida’s voice was steaming with acid. Ichigo bristled and gritted his teeth. He hated when Ishida put him on a pedestal during their fights, especially because he always made it seem like Ichigo was not deserving of it at all.

Ichigo shook his head, “You make it sound as if I try to be one.”

“You don’t? Could’ve fooled me.”

“It’s not my fault Soul Society needs me, Ishida. I can’t just tell them I’m busy, it’s my responsibility –“

“Your responsibility?”

“– my responsibility to keep everyone safe!”

Ishida scoffed, “And this puts you above the rest of us, poor humans.”

“I never said that,” shouted Ichigo, Ishida turning his head away.

“But that’s how it is, isn’t it?” Ishida spat, “You’re Kurosaki Ichigo, you are Soul Society’s chosen one.”

Ichigo could feel himself growing hot and kept himself in check by clenching his fist. He needed something to hold onto, lest he got himself lost in the storm.

“I didn’t ask to be!”

“But it’s your responsibility, no?” Ishida cocked his head to the side, molding his voice into stupidity and Ichigo hated when he belittled him like this, playing dumb to “get on his level”.

“But what puzzles me the most is how you berate me for participating in a fucking game, when you are the only one who has done any actual stabbing.”

Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks. Ishida stood in front of him, frostbite in his eyes and winter in his air. He felt his stomach churning at the memory, at the feel, at the sight, the sound, the smell.

He would frequently wake up, in the middle of sleep, dreaming of dark skies and white sand, red blood and black blade. And Ishida knew.

“That was uncalled for,” Ichigo growled, his voice boiling.

Ishida remained like ice, “As Urahara said there’s nothing sacred about fighting.”

Ichigo kept staring at him, hoping the heat would compel Ishida to talk, but also knowing that he would need time to sort through his thoughts. When he used something like that for ammunition, he felt cornered and needed time to find his way out from it. Ichigo had learned to give him time.

“If I’m lying on the ground bleeding into it, and you have to either move on or help me, what would you choose?” Ishida finally said.

“I would save you,” Ichigo answered immediately, overflowing, wavering.

Ishida shook his head. “You really shouldn’t.”

Ichigo started protesting, but Ishida silenced him with a hand. “While I appreciate the sentiment that you would stay with me, you have to think about the bigger picture. Kurosaki, you’re the champion of Soul Society – however I may resent that –you can never stop pushing forward. If you look back, everything’s lost. We will have to be the ones who lay down on the barbed wire so you can cross safely.”

Ishida had become impossibly quiet, “And as much as I didn’t want you to walk this path again, I don’t want you to suffer more than you have already. So I’ll gladly let you stab me, gladly give up the ideal about justice in a fight, if that means you can crawl over the barbed wire safely.”

Ichigo watched him, feeling his blood and heart quiet.

“So I manipulated you, and I’m sorry, but I don’t regret it. Not if it saves your life later on.”

Ishida had unlocked his arms, leaning on the couch, looking to the floor. Ichigo reached out, collected and hugged him. They stood together, breathing, Ichigo simply holding Ishida, feeling the other blink against his chest.

“You can’t make decision like that on your own, Ishida. Even if you lay yourself down for me to walk over, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna pick you up afterwards. If you lose the thought of a fair fight, you’ll lose yourself to that. It’s a thing I admire about you, that you can be sacred in an unsacred place,” Ichigo spoke gently into Ishida’s hair, loud enough so Ishida could not do much else but hear it.

The other sighed, “I’m glad someone doesn’t think I’m weak for not killing my opponents.”

“I think it’s sign of strength, showing mercy towards enemies is difficult.”

Ishida turned his head a little, “Goodness, Kurosaki that was actually wise.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled without any heat. It had evaporated quickly enough. That was usually the tendency with their fights. They would explode, collide and shatter in each other’s arms because they got to say everything they had been thinking and all the things they had been keeping in.

It was a strange development from their usual banter, the scathing remarks, the thinly veiled insults. They had become far more direct and with that, also better at reaching ground zero of the other and thus finding and understanding between them.

While they rarely agreed, seldom saw eye to eye, they understood why and thus it was not as fatal when they would part ways as it might seem. And because their fights were an explosion, the aftermath was usually dusty, brushing off the rubble that had drizzled down, but they would be standing on equal ground and their eyes would meet, seeing what they could not before.

It was almost like a comet, burning through the galaxies but always leaving a trail of ice.

“Why can’t our fights ever end in angry make-up sex?” Ichigo muttered into Ishida’s hair, the other chuckling a little in response.

“Because you never think to take advantage of the moment when it’s presented to you,” Ishida sighed and retracted himself, meeting Ichigo’s eyes, “You never kiss me to make me shut up.”

“We could arrange that,” Ichigo smirked. Ishida laughed and looked to his left.

“You sure, you don’t have to go home?”

“If you’re offering angry make-up sex, how could I?”

Ishida’s smile grew and he pushed himself of the couch, standing toe to toe with Ichigo.

“When’s the next training-session, do you know?” he inquired, a little tired. Ichigo shook his head. He was a little sad that the angry sex would have to wait until next week.

Ichigo was already half-dreading to go back, if it meant another round of “games” involving friends turning on friends. He had hated seeing Ishida complying so readily with the rules, so readily taking down his allies.

“Well then,” he said, “next time I’ll remember to let Inoue-san and Sado-kun get a little further away before shooting them.”

Ichigo turned sharply to him, his eyes narrowing, “What?”

“I suppose I’ll have to give them a chance before shooting them in the back.”

Ichigo could feel raw indignation being refined in his veins, felt it thick and hot like burning oil and jaw tensed, his shoulders squaring. They had just talked about why this was a problem and Ishida did not seem to find any errors with this line of thinking still. Ichigo could practically feel himself growing tense.

“Ishida, did we not just have this–“

Ishida kissed him, putting his hands on either side of Ichigo’s head and keeping him there while he licked the corner of his mouth. Ichigo grabbed one of the bony wrists, the other he placed on his waist and pushed Ishida onto the back of the couch.

Ishida complied though not without a tuck at Ichigo’s hair, letting him know manhandling him was not going unnoticed. He wrapped his legs around Ichigo’s hips, rolling his own and receiving a low moan from Ichigo as he drove Ishida further into the couch.

They kept their hands on each other, Ichigo always marveling at how Ishida’s managed to sneak his clothes off him without him helping the slightest. Ishida bit Ichigo’s shoulders, hard enough to leave a mark. It was not the first he had ever put on him, but it was the first that would not fade right away.

Ichigo repaid the favor and sucked a blood-bruise into Ishida’s neck where everybody could see it. Ishida breathed out, shuddering as Ichigo bit into it for good measure.

Their hips were grinding down on each other, moving to a silent rhythm, a beat that was not there. Ichigo could feel his blood burn as Ishida looked at him, his eyes stormy and intense, the blue clearer than day. Ichigo could feel his dick swelling and the mutual response in Ishida, made it feel as if his entire back was on fire and Ishida was only safe because he was glaziers and snowstorms.

Ishida scratched his back as Ichigo let his hand run down his side, leaving small wildfires in his stride. He felt the red appear on his skin, the lines claiming him and almost pooling with molten metal, glowing orange. He attacked Ishida’s mouth again, grabbing his ass, claiming his body with his other hand, letting it skim Ishida’s back almost afraid of getting frozen.

Because Ichigo burned with fire and Ishida burned with ice.

But Ishida clutched his neck and his hurried, unsure breath in his ear, made Ichigo press him closer, aligning them from hips to chest, mouths meeting in teeth and tongue.

“Come on, Kurosaki, take me apart,” Ishida whispered, still coherent and still eloquent.

Ichigo did as he was bidden and swung Ishida around, planting him against a wall, giving Ichigo different leverage to hold him with. Ishida moaned as Ichigo pressed him further up. He rolled his hips, wanting friction and not getting any because Ichigo enjoyed seeing Ishida flushed and needy, his teeth biting into his bottom lip, already red from Ichigo’s own.

Ishida let Ichigo run his teeth over his chest, as he had been raised high enough for it to be possible. Ichigo’s breath reached out across his white skin, making Ishida’s body crawl and his mouth start spouting filth.

They met each other’s eyes, Ichigo searching Ishida’s for any limits, finding none. His head once again cupped by Ishida’s hands, who brought his mouth close, so close they shared their breath and for a second they only breathed together.

“Tear me a-fucking-part,” Ishida whispered and Ichigo mashed their mouths together, their tongues meeting again, their lips glistening with saliva from the messy attempts at kissing.

Neither minded, both too far into the other to look back.

Ichigo let Ishida down the wall, but only so he could unfasten his belt and push his jeans down his hips, Ishida allowing him to undress him, the second he was out, he was against the wall once more, his cock riding against the denim of Ichigo’s pants and his skin flushed. Ichigo let his teeth sink into his shoulder, tasting the sweat and the desperation on his skin.

Ishida rolled his hips, moaning and pushing himself against Ichigo, trusting him to hold him up. Ichigo did so without problems, hoisted him a little further up, enough so he could get his hands underneath Ishida’s bottom. Ishida’s breath came out short and staggered as Ichigo began feeling him up.

The feel was far from unfamiliar, but it never failed to arouse Ichigo. He let his hands monopolize the other, let them make it clear to them both that they belonged to one another.

His fingers started prodding and pushing against Ishida’s entrance, the other holding his breath, letting it out along with a string of obscenities that made Ichigo’s dick throb and ache.

He pressed one finger inside and forced Ishida to look him in the eye. It was always the most mindblowing to him, keeping their eyes locked as they fucked, because he, at that moment, felt he could see into every single corner of Ishida’s soul, that he could see the bottom of an endless ocean.

Ichigo saw a tinge of discomfort in his eyes, realizing they had neither lube nor condom. He cursed every single deity in the entire universe, but remembered the spare-package from last Friday he had shoved in his pocket.

“I don’t have a condom,” Ichigo mumbled against Ishida’s lips, the other licking them.

“Fuck the condom,” Ishida decided and kissed him. Sometimes he fucking loved Ishida and his single-mindedness regarding sex.

He removed one of his hands from Ishida’s ass and dug into his pocket, hoping to any god out there that he had not changed pants.

And God smiled upon him. He tore it open with his teeth, after Ishida leant his head against the wall, closing his eyes as Ichigo slicked his fingers.

He drove the first finger in, finding it far easier now that he was properly prepared. He had not had a chance yet to think about the fact that he was going to be fucking Ishida bareback and the thought made him shudder.

Ishida watched him through hooded lashes, massaging his neck as Ichigo fucked him with his fingers. The other moaned and sighed, while peppering every breath with words unsuitable for public situations.

His right hand’s middle-finger was going deeper and deeper for every movement, his left keeping Ishida in place. Ichigo added the middle-finger from his left hand, both working on honoring Ishida’s request.

“Are you using both hands?” he breathed mouth slightly open as Ichigo twisted his finger, knowing what Ishida liked and did not like.

“Is that a problem?” Ichigo answered, smug and smirking. Ishida bit his bottom-lip, Ichigo was not sure if it was a reward or a punishment, but he chased after Ishida none the less when the other withdrew.

Ichigo began stretching him with all the practice and skill he had gathered in the past year. He knew Ishida’s body almost as well as his own, knew what keys would unlock what doors, what doors would jam and what doors would open wide.

But most importantly, he knew when to use the keys Ishida had allowed him to find.

He removed his right hand again, this time to unfasten his own belt and kick his pants away. He felt Ishida gasp as he grazed him, feeling the heat.

“Kurosaki,” he gasped as Ichigo sucked his collarbone, leaving another identifiable mark on his body. Ichigo smiled and licked it for good measure.

He grabbed his dick and ran it along Ishida’s ass, the other trying to wring his hips, but not succeeding.

“Patience,“ Ichigo purred, Ishida looking a mix between murderous and desperate. Ichigo loved when Ishida was debating whether or not a fight would get him what he wanted. He wanted him to fight him, it was not nearly as much fun if he just surrendered himself.

“You dicklicking piece of shit,” Ishida hissed but remained still as Ichigo continued to tease him with the head of his cock, gently gliding it past Ishida’s hole, every time slowing down slightly so Ishida might think the moment had come. Ichigo was waiting for the other to grow impatient again, something wound to happen very soon.

“Put your fucking cock in my ass, Kurosaki, or so help me,” Ishida demanded, eyes a raging tempest, lightning threatening to crack the deep-blue of his iris.

Ichigo slid in swiftly, in one movement. Ishida went still and bit down on his lower lip. The heat was tangible and the feeling of being inside Ishida with nothing between them at all, the mere thought of that was almost enough to make him come. Every fraction of every movement seemed enhanced, almost larger than life. He had to stop and suppress himself, contain himself. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply.

Neither of them said anything, both getting used to the raw feeling of how everything suddenly was right there, everything was so close. Ishida put his arms on Ichigo’s shoulders and put his forehead to his, and somehow that felt even more intimate than being slotted together without any barrier between them.

Ichigo licked his lips and spread Ishida’s ass with his hands, shifting his weight, “Ready?”

Ishida nodded, planting a quiet kiss on his brow and framed his face again, keeping their faces close.

When Ichigo moved, he did it thinking it would be the same as always. But it was hotter, he was harder and Ishida was far more intricate than he remembered him. He felt the most miniscule changes in their position, stroking him, licking him, enveloping him. Ishida moaned loudly, Ichigo watching him with apt attention, meeting his eyes as he drove back in again.

The air seemed charged between them, the universe orbiting around them. They held gravity within their grasp and forced the heavens to comply.

They kept their eyes locked together as Ichigo moved, faster and faster. And every time Ishida was tightening, every time his eyes fluttered, Ichigo would slow down and force Ishida back down.

Ishida let out an irritated moan when Ichigo did it for the third time. Sweat was emerging on Ichigo’s back and on Ishida’s brow, leaving starlight to illuminate the beaded crown upon his head. Ichigo watched Ishida as the moon hit his face, catching his eyes and the few pearl-like drops on his forehead and felt his heart stutter, though it was already stumbling.

“Ishida,” he whispered, seeing the other close his eyes again. This time he did not slow, nor did he hurry. He let them to the midnight without more or less than he was already doing. Ishida came, untouched, and hit Ichigo’s chest. Ichigo himself gave up when Ishida had let his head fall back on the wall and pressed himself close, kissing the other with both bravado and shyness.

He came inside Ishida and let his head fall against the wall as well as he slowly let his legs give. They slid down, both too consumed to do much else than lower themselves unto the floor.

“Holy shit,” Ishida commented, still catching his breath. Ichigo nodded, agreeing fully with the statement. He let his head fall unto Ishida’s shoulder, feeling the other’s hand come to his nape and gently stroke it.

They sat there until the sweat had dried off their bodies and Ishida declared it unsanitary to remain covered in come and that he may or may not have felt Ichigo’s leak out of his ass.

After having washed up, they sat down on the couch, turning on the TV, the news taking them through the events of the week and the present day. Ichigo was resting his head in Ishida’s lap, the other playing absentmindedly with his hair.

“You said that to piss me off, didn’t you?” he asked after the weather report.

Ishida smiled and took a sip out of water from his bottle, not bothering to answer the obvious question.

Ichigo turned and faced him, wearing a petulant expression “You manipulated me. Again.”

“Get used to it, Strawberry.” Ishida smiled and leant down to kiss him.

Ichigo decided that maybe it was not too bad to be manipulated into great sex and hair-carding.

 

“He is what?” Isshin asked Karin for what seemed like the thirtieth time. She sighed and repeated what Ichigo had told her to say. Isshin got a strange light in his eyes, the same sheen as when they would visit Masaki’s grave and he would be caught up in his thoughts.

Karin had seen that specific shine a few times lately, almost every time Ichigo would be staying at Ishida’s. Both he and Yuzu would look a little sad, but it was only Isshin who would look like he was thinking further about it.

At first Karin had thought he might have figured it out, but when she had brought Ishida up in passing at the dinner-table, she had gotten no response besides a remark about his father, who Isshin apparently knew from way back.

Karin had figured it out the first time Ishida had come over. The way Ichigo had looked at him, his tone of voice, the constant accidental touching. Ishida had been a little better at keeping it hidden, but his eyes had shined with this deep sort of blue and admiration and fondness. Karin had waited for Ichigo to tell her, tell them.

She had waited almost seven months before she finally decided to let him know she knew already. When they had talked about it later on, she had found out the two of them had been going steady for almost a year and she had smacked him on the head.

Karin had asked him why they were keeping it a secret and why he had not told any of them. He had looked forlorn, almost, and then said he did not know.

She had known not to ask any more questions, so she kept her mouth shut and simply listened to him talk about his boyfriend. It was weird having her older brother, the one who had stood like a beacon of strength through her entire childhood, sit before her now, almost smiling his jaws off because he was going out with another person who he obviously cared very much for.

Seeing him like that after so many years of scowling and seriousness, she could not help but feel gratitude towards Ishida.

She smiled as he told her about his afternoons, how they could be together without being together and how they could talk about literally everything. He told her about a conversation they had had, a three hour long conversation about chicken nuggets and that was the primary reason why Ichigo was never having chicken nuggets again.

Isshin looked sternly past her, putting a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly with his thumb, “He can’t keep this up.”

“What do you mean?” Karin asked, almost dreading the answer, but she had not seen Isshin this serious in a long time, and his expression made her a little nervous of Ichigo’s behalf.

He shook his head and turned to the coat rack and grabbed a jacket.

“I’ll be out for dinner, remember to do your homework,” he said and hurried out the door. Karin turned and found Yuzu standing in the door, looking ten different shades of unimpressed.

“Is anybody gonna be eating dinner tonight?” her tone made Karin absolutely sure she had no other choice but to remain, at least if she wanted legs to walk on in the morning. She went and hugged her sister, it seemed like they both needed it.

 

Isshin was a man of action, much like his son. He almost marched the entire way to Urahara’s store and knocked nicely, but sternly on the door.

He knew Ichigo was not alright and having his oldest son look like that every day made his heart burn and miss Masaki. He had a feeling she would have known how to help their son.

Isshin was becoming surer and surer that the reason Ichigo was so distant was much the same reason he had been, when he had first met Masaki. Having history repeat itself was bone-crushing in a way few would be able to understand. Isshin and Masaki both had to sacrifice so very much in order to have it work out and even then it had ended in tragedy.

And every day Ichigo would not smile, it was like Masaki withered a bit in Isshin’s heart. He was ashamed that Ichigo not only had to shoulder a burden he was much too young to even pick up, but also that his brow was always crowned with a scowl.

And so, he felt he had a duty to help his son. He knew the key to this was Ichigo having his powers returned to him. When they were still locked away within him, he had had a chance of moving on, of getting over this want past the borders of life and death.

Now that they had been regained, Ichigo had to face something better left behind if he could not grow from it.

The door was opened by a red-headed boy who looked thoroughly unimpressed at him. He stuck a finger in his nose and gave him a lifted eyebrow. “Whaddya want?”

“Is Urahara-san here?” he countered and folded his arms.

The boy shrugged and shouted into the store. Tessai and Urahara appeared shortly after, both looking rather inquisitive and surprised at his visit.

“Kurosaki-san, what an hour you have chosen to visit. Tessai was just making tea,” Urahara greeted. Isshin nodded and stepped inside. The shop was small and crowded. Even in the dark the amount of goods was astounding for a place that never really received customers.

Isshin took off his shoes and crossed over into the heart of the Urahara Store. He sat down at the round table in the middle of the room, the tatami mat creaking under him as he lowered himself down.

Tessai poured the tea and Urahara sat down opposite him. “What can I do for you, Kurosaki-san?”

“It’s about Ichigo.” Isshin took a sip from the tea and look into the cup, as if it held the answers to every riddle ever asked. The steam rose slowly, carrying the smell of tea with it, but it seemed bleak to Isshin.

Urahara sat up and straightened his back. “He was here earlier.”

Isshin nodded, finding it the simplest answer and sighed.

“Do you remember what you did for Masaki and I?”

Urahara sipped his tea and narrowed his eyes, putting down his teacup calmly. Isshin watched carefully as the other found his fan and flicked it out, waving it in front of his face, thinking.

Isshin took another drink of his cup, finding it bitter and tasteless. He preferred a little salt or sugar in his tea, but the heart of this matter was not tea and that was enough reason to not ask for any additives.

“What do you have in mind?” he inquired finally, meeting Isshin’s eyes. The other took a deep breath and gave.

“Ichigo is in love. With Rukia-chan, I suspect. But a relationship between a Soul Reaper and a human is essentially impossible, unless you tie the Soul Reaper to the human. You did it for Masaki and I before, I was hoping you could do it for Ichigo and Rukia-chan as well.”

“It’s not quite the same situation, you were tied together to prevent Masaki-san’s death.”

Isshin nodded and bowed his head, feeling the weight of decision on his back. “Listen, I see Ichigo in pain every day. I see him looking distant, I see him looking sad. Seeing your child like that would break any heart and I am no different. He suffers and I know a way to help him. What kind of a father am I if I don’t?”

Urahara frowned and put his eyes on the table, hiding them in the shadows of his hat. He let the fan flap back and forth, slowly, considering.

A mosquito was singing contently to itself, the pale light from the one lamp in the ceiling luring it closer. Having to insert an artificial sun into Ichigo’s life to give him something to sing about as well, was not something Isshin had ever thought he would do. He had tried preparing Ichigo for the world, having wrestling matches with him, trying to teach him family values and most importantly, never give him reason to worry about Isshin himself.

Ichigo already had too much of that.

“I know this is a grave request, but my son is . . . he is never home. When he finally is, he’s not there. He smiles and laughs with the rest of us, but the moment you ask anything personal, he shuts up and looks away. Kisuke, he is unhappy and he cannot tell anybody because he thinks nothing can be done about it. But we know different,” Isshin spoke softly, regret searing every word, “I’m not asking this favor as a Soul Reaper, I am asking it as a father for his son.”

Urahara sat quietly for a moment, then pushed himself from the table, disappearing into the back. Tessai took a long sip from his tea, exhaling loudly when finished. The silence was only broken by that one mosquito. Isshin took a steadying breath. It was the second time he dealt with something like this, but he and Masaki had been happy, surely Ichigo and Rukia could be as well.

The shopkeeper returned a few minutes later with a round pill he put on the table.

It was white, almost glowing softly in the light. It looked more like pearl, Isshin thought after he had looked a little closer.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for,” Urahara told him, hiding his hands in his sleeves, “This will tie their souls together and bind Kuchiki-san and Kurosaki-san together.”

Isshin looked at the little pill, wondering how so little a thing could do something that grand.

“It’s still on the testing stage, mind you, but so far there seems to be no problems with it.”

“How does it work?” Isshin picked up the pearl, turning it between his fingers. It was odd having his son’s happiness between his fingers like this.

“I will administer this to Kuchiki-san when she comes again, it will be infused with a Spirit Binder that’ll check her to Kurosaki-kun. There isn’t much to do but tie the knot and that’s what this pill does.” Urahara reached out his palm, leaving Isshin to put it back in his outstretched hand.

“And you’re sure you want to go through with this?”

Isshin did not need to think any further. He had spent the last month thinking about whether or not he should meddle or not and he had already given himself an answer.

He gave Urahara the pill and stood. “Do what you have to do.”

 

Ishida stirred and lifted his head, effectively waking Ichigo as well.

“Something wrong?” Ichigo croaked, opening his eyes minimally.

Ishida shook his head, “Nothing important, I think. Your Spirit Pressure just did something funky. Probably getting used to you again.”

Ichigo hummed. He fell asleep without a second thought about his Spirit Pressure, about being woken up and also about whatever his father might be doing then.

Chapter 3

The hollow thump of his last application pack sounded as it hit the bottom of the postbox. Ichigo breathed out and wiped his hands clean of the next step in the procedure known as his future. It had taken him the better part of Thursday to get the different packages ready and done for the postage deadline here Friday.

He and Chad had been awake most of the night, trying to finish everything with a somewhat tolerable level of decency in the paperwork. The characters had started blurring, so much so that he had to find his much hated reading glasses. They were not necessary unless the font was incredibly small or he was too tired like he had been then.

Chad was one of the few people who actually knew he had them. The first time he had whipped them out, he had given Ichigo a slightly lifted eyebrow and left it at that. And that was why Chad was one of his favorite people on the planet. He had never brought them to school, even when the whole hipster-glasses fad had been raving through, he had left them at home.

Karin had once rolled her eyes when he had asked if he could not just let his eyes become so bad he would need contacts instead of the glasses.

But now the sleepless night had paid off and his future was now in the hands of total strangers who had to make up their mind about his character from the little essay he had to write; did not seem questionable at all.

He breathed out and started the walk back to his house, the sun shining on the back of his neck, forcing some color unto the skin. It was in the late summer and the sun had to give the last of its strength so the poor earthbound humans could go for another bleak winter without his light.

Ichigo licked his lips and put his hands in his pockets. Ishida had given him a few worried looks this morning in response to him being late and having purple shadows underneath his eyes. He had shaken his head, trying to come off reassuringly, but Ishida had only looked more puzzled than before.

School had become a new shade of normal as he once again had to rush from class to fight Hollows, Urahara had given him a phone much like Ishida’s and it would go off in his pocket from time to time. Not that there had been an overwhelming number since the Friday he had gotten his powers returned, but it had vibrated a few times.

He had shared a look with Ishida who had smiled nodded to him and then he had been off, alone.

Ishida had joined him once, but only because there had been a smaller pack roaming in a parking lot. Otherwise, he had taken to remaining in class, trying to catch up on some of the things he had missed during his absence.

Ishida had told Ichigo that he had gone down several points on his last test, thus only ranking number 2. Ichigo had laughed and shook his head. “You’ll get it back before October’s over.”

Ishida had rolled his eyes, but Ichigo had seen genuine worry there.

So Ishida would remain in class and take in every single piece of information he could, Ochi-sensei giving him the homework packages he had missed and the chapters he had yet to read, and Ishida would shut himself away in the library during lunch or any free-periods they might have and study until his brain was practically humming with information and trivia.

Ichigo was eating lunch with the others, wondering if Ishida got anything to eat during the hour and thinking how much of a travesty it would be if he did not.

He had made Ichigo lunch again. This time a little container of miso and some eggs, ham and rice, a few leaks and eggplants, and of course some soya. Ichigo split the chopsticks apart and dug in, mentally hugging Ishida for the sheer fact that he bothered.

Yuzu had stopped making his lunch altogether, even when he had been home the night before and it had started feeling as a punishment of sort. Karin had shared hers with him and he had also been offered some of Inoue’s but had declined the offer politely. Ishida had taken one look at him later in the afternoon and had raised an eyebrow in question. And here Friday, he had brought an extra lunch and passed it to him discreetly.

As if he needed anymore reason to be falling in love with Ishida.

Because this had developed into something more than a crush, an impulse of a relationship. Ishida had become far more important to him than he thought he would be. He loved all his friends to abandon and having someone move beyond that was strange. It was two different kinds of feelings and even so, Ishida was in a strange territory were Ichigo was not really sure what words he could use to describe it.

He licked his lips and ate a piece of ham. He should probably have the talk about their relationship with him soon.

The severity of the conversation should honestly only serve as encouragement. If Ichigo continued where he was headed and they let this run its course, only to have Ishida break it off at graduation, he would only be more susceptible to falling apart.

He swallowed his food, his mouth suddenly dry. It was not a pleasant thought, having Ishida out of his life, not when they had become this close, not when Ishida had become the glue that would keep him from losing pieces of himself. It would almost be like losing his powers all over again.

Sometimes he wanted to scream at Ishida at sheer frustration of this maze they had gotten themselves caught in, but he half feared, half wanted Ishida to scream back so they could howl at the walls together.

But first he would need to talk to Ishida about the entire thing.

So it was during this lunch that he decided that they should talk the coming Sunday.

It was also during this lunch he felt something tug at his insides, something akin to his soul being gently pulled towards somewhere far away.

 

“Surprise!” Rukia exclaimed when he opened the door. She punched Ichigo’s shoulder, a genuine smile on his face and a huge grin on hers.

Renji stood behind her looking thoroughly unimpressed, “Touching.”

Ishida appeared behind Ichigo, peering out. He waved and smiled at them both. They had just been about to have the long awaited Sunday talk when there had been a knocking on the door. They were home alone, Karin having a soccer match this afternoon and Yuzu and Isshin had gone to support her. The banner Isshin had made was standing in the hallway still, since Yuzu had forbidden Isshin to bring it.

They had been sitting on the couch, the sun spilling in through the open window and warming the living room, the poster of Masaki doing much of the work too. The day had been too hot to venture outside, so they had stayed inside, opting to watch a movie and drinking ice tea, sometimes distracted by each other and heated make out sessions.

Needless to say, they had both been rather surprised when Tokyo Godfathers had finished and they had only caught the first 30 minutes and the last ten.

“I hope it wasn’t a rental,” Ishida remarked dryly, lips still shining with saliva and gave Ichigo a sidelong glance. Ichigo shrugged and took out the DVD.

“You wanted to talk?”

Ichigo turned his head, watching Ishida casually lounge around, looking as if they were about to talk about the baseball league or what to do next Thursday. Ichigo smiled a half-smile, swallowing heavily and returning to the couch.

Ishida watched him with those blue, blue eyes lit with something Ichigo would dare call happiness. Ichigo took a mental run-up, gathering whatever courage there always seemed to be aplenty when he faced S.S. Psychopath and its merry crew, but vanished when Ishida would look at him like he did now, completely unguarded, none of the usual barriers and shields between him and the rest of the world. And Ichigo reveled in the fact that he did that.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask for a while,” he started and Ishida immediately frowned, a few wall erected again already.

“That sounds ominous,” remarked Ishida and folded his arms closer, tugging his legs towards himself.

“I’m sorry, that was a bad way to say it, what I wanted to ask was–“ Ichigo began, but was interrupted by the rather determined knocking on the door that let it be known whoever was there was not going away.

“You should probably get that,” Ishida said.

They shared a short look before Ichigo jumped over the back of the couch and opened the door to the two Soul Reapers.

Renji reached out his hand to Ishida who took it, intending to shake, but Renji dragged him in for a hug, the Quincy stiffening but quickly relaxing into the friendly gesture. Rukia hugged him as well, standing on her tiptoes to reach properly.

“Ishida? What’re you doing here?” Renji asked when Rukia had let him go. Ishida shrugged and turned to Ichigo.

“My guess is as good as yours. I’ll leave you with them, don’t get caught doing something stupid.” He slipped into his shoes and put on a pair of sunglasses instead of his regular glasses and made his way through the door.

Ichigo did not even get to say goodbye before Renji complained, “You’re leaving already?”

“Homework,” he called back and almost glided down the streets. Ichigo think he could spend an entire day watching Ishida move and not feel remotely bored. There was a natural ease and grace about him and the way he carried himself. Rukia said something, but he was still occupied otherwise, so he hummed to make her repeat herself.

“Homework?” She had shortened her question he suspected and nodded.

“He’s behind in a few courses because he took over for me,” he answered, a little distant. He clapped the doorframe and brought himself back to the present where two of his very good, non-human friends had come to visit him from the world beyond. The least he could do was invite them inside.

“Come inside,“ he gestured.

Rukia went first, “Never thought you’d ask.”

She grinned and Renji followed her, watching in apt attention as they ventured further inside his home. Rukia went around as if she still lived there, taking in every detail.

“It hasn’t changed one bit,” she marveled and her eyes shone fondly, a great many memories floating within them. Renji shook his head as she started rambling about the family dinners she attended with Ichigo and his family, how she lived in his closet and how many nights they had sat up and talked about everything and nothing, wrapped in blankets eating popcorn and peaches, Rukia drawing her chappies and Ichigo reading manga. He, too, smiled at that.

Ichigo shrugged and took the glasses he and Ishida had used out into the kitchen and put them in the sink. When he returned, Renji and Rukia were sitting in the couch talking animatedly for themselves. He joined them but chose the chair instead.

“How long’re you gonna be here for?” he asked, settling in.

“Only for today. We lieutenants are busy,” Renji said proudly, crossing his arms and straightening his back. Rukia rolled her eyes, but Ichigo knew that was because Renji was not proud on his own behalf.

“Shame. The others would’ve loved to see you again, too.”

Rukia smiled, thinking about the group of friends she had left behind here as Ichigo had been cut from her life too. He sometimes wondered if someone from Soul Society had actually visited Karakura in the past months, if they had seen Ichigo or talked to Ishida, Inoue or Chad. None of them had mentioned anything of the sorts.

Ishida had told him the Soul Reaper that used to protect Karakura had been given leave as he himself had started hunting Hollows after Ichigo lost his powers, but if there had been anything else, he had not mentioned it.

“Have you been back here before this? Before you came to give me back my powers?” asked Ichigo, looking down, fiddling a little with the frayed seam of his pants. He kept a little smile on his face, but it did not cause any brightening of the room, the way Masaki’s did behind him. Rukia shifted and Renji shook his head.

“Seemed a little pointless,” Rukia admitted quietly. He knew what she meant. Not that she did not want to talk to any of the others, but she had been his friend first and foremost. It would be the same if Ichigo went to Soul Society to talk to anybody but her or Renji. They were many others he considered friends, but without seeing the two in front of him, he was not sure what the point of it all would be, as Rukia had said.

Ichigo nodded, both agreeing and accepting the answer.

“What’re you gonna do now?” Rukia inquired, meeting his eyes, “School ends for you this year, no?”

And there was the damn question again, the one he had been about to ask Ishida before the two Soul Reapers had knocked on the door.

It was almost as if it haunted him, taunting him every time it was being asked. But he was going to move to Tokyo regardless, but if it happened to be with Ishida, he had a feeling it would be considerably nicer, safer, warmer.

The smell of their home, it was one of the things Ichigo had wondered about the most. What accents would be in the air, what notes and what disharmonies. What shampoo would they have, what fabric softener? It had gotten him hard a few times thinking about the smell of Ishida mixed with his own, how he would only have to breathe in to be close to him. He felt his arms prickle and the telltale goosebumps ran down his arms.

“I’ve applied to the Faculty of Medicine in three different schools, but I’ll be moving to Tokyo regardless. The others are going too, well, I don’t know if Keigo has convinced Inoue and Tatsuki to come along yet, but he won’t rest until they’ve agreed.” Ichigo grinned a little at the thought of Keigo trailing after the two of them listing the different reasons why they should move to Tokyo as opposed to Kyoto, heavy tones of sociology and general economics being his strong selling points.

“Tokyo, huh?” she said softly, her eyes getting a wistful shine to them. He nodded again, answering the question that was never really posed.

Renji clapped her back, “He can’t stay here his entire life, Rukia.”

“It’s not like I’ll be wiped off the face of the Earth, I’ll just be a little harder to find.”

“You could never be hard to find, Ichigo! If not for the Spirit Pressure, then your hair would be a dead give-away.”

The two almost choked laughing. Ichigo rolled his eyes, but could not make himself begrudge them their merriment. He watched them as they kept making jokes about his visibility issues and stealth complications until they were both redfaced and breathless. The Ichigo allowed himself to do a happy smile, never feeling more content at being teased so mercilessly.

 

Ichigo had said goodbye to Renji and Rukia that evening, promising that he would hang around Karakura a little longer, so they could visit him again. They gave him the number for their Denreishinki also known as their Soul Reaper Cellphone. Ichigo listed them in his own and closed the door after them, letting them find their own way back to Urahara’s Store and retreating upstairs.

He was thinking if he should ask Ishida to meet him somewhere, maybe the park so they could talk about the whole future question but ultimately decided against it – it was late and he still had chapters to read.

He sat down at his desk and pulled out his History homework that he had put off for as long as possible. Ichigo licked his lips and found the chapter they needed for tomorrow.

The words were blurring in front of him, almost gliding down the page. He sighed and found his glasses from his desk drawer. They were every hipster’s wet dream and he hated himself for being so ahead of the fashion-trends. He had only wanted the most anonymous and least remarkable frames and the thickframed, black glasses had struck him as fantastic for the job.

He sighed and capitulated, put them on his nose and the words suddenly got their shit together and got back in line and order. He sat at his desk for half an hour, reading and re-reading seeing as the book was both boring and his thoughts kept wandering, and because he could understand half the sentences since they were worded as if the writer had intended the students reading it to feel dumber than they were.

When he spun his chair around for the third time, book and glasses left on the table, there was a knock on the door. He had gotten a message from Isshin a few hours ago, stating Karin’s team had won and she had scored the victory-goal, so they were going to dine out and celebrate her success. Of course, it had been far more excitedly written, but Ichigo was not one for repeating emoticons and absurd grammar. He had not eaten dinner yet and the clock was nearing the time were it would be more correct to call it a nighttime snack as opposed to dinner.

The doorbell was next and Ichigo could almost feel the franticness of the gesture. He hauled himself out of his chair and went downstairs.

It was pushed three times in rapid succession and he could feel his curiosity stir. People usually did not abuse their front door summoning devices and most of them went on in anyways because they knew that the Kurosaki household was open to almost everybody any time of day.

Keigo misused this more than he should, but he had ceased slightly and started pestering Mizuiro instead. Ichigo smirked at the thought of that relationship.

He opened the door without the haste the people outside demanded. Rukia and Renji was outside, Rukia still in her Faux Body and Renji out of his. “Ichigo!”

“Rukia? Renji?”

“We need your help,” Rukia said, looking inside, “Is your family back yet?”

He shook his head, “What’s wrong?”

“We tried crossing back into Soul Society, but the Senkaimon wouldn’t let Rukia through,” Renji explained, “We went to Urahara-san, but he couldn’t tell us what was wrong. Can she stay here until we figure out what’s going on?”

Ichigo could feel her watching him, half expecting him to turn her down it seemed. The look in her eyes stated that she was beyond worried. The last time she had been stuck on Earth she had lost her powers too. He opened door a little wider, removing his hand from the door, letting the hall stand completely free for her.

“Of course, anytime.”

“I’ll go back to Soul Society and see if I can find out what’s happening. The Kido Corps might have had a hiccup or something.” Renji turned around and hurried away. “Don’t worry, Rukia, I’ll get you home.”

Rukia stared after Renji for a moment then she turned to Ichigo, and went inside. He closed the door after her.

“Are you sure we don’t have to talk to your dad about this? I don’t want to impose,” she questioned, but Ichigo waved his hand dismissively.

He went out in the kitchen, finding some leftover ramen Ishida had brought over for lunch that they never got around to eat because they got visitors. He poured it into a pot and put it over the stove. While their dinner heated, Rukia joined him and jumped up on the kitchen table, dangling her bare feet.

“Seems like you’re going to meet everyone anyways,” he said, trying to sound as careless as possible, stirring the ramen lightly.

She nodded slowly, “Seems that way.”

Ichigo tried not to worry too much about it. The Kido Corps would figure something out or Kurotsuchi would or Urahara would. Rukia would not have to be trapped here again, kept away from her home and her friends. Ichigo was not sure how he would feel if he was stuck in Soul Society for an indefinite amount of time.

“What happened?” Ichigo was frowning a little, dishing out the food, rummaging around for two glasses and the ice tea he knew he had earlier. He set the table, balancing the two bowls or steaming ramen, two glasses and the cutlery they would need. The fridge hid the ice tea well behind the watermelon and strawberrymilk, but Ichigo had become quite savvy in the spying game, thanks to Ishida’s scatterbrain, and found it quickly despite that.

Rukia was poking around her food, a little absentminded.

“We went to the Senkaimon, Urahara giving us the Soul Candy to force our spirits from our Faux Bodies, and when we tried crossing through it, it was like I was being held back by ropes or something. I don’t know. It was like I was tied back here.”

Ichigo took a mouthful, burning his tongue and breathing through his mouth to cool down it down. Rukia took a smaller bite, blowing on it first.

“That’s weird,” he said and took another spoonful of broth. Considering it was re-heated and two days old, it was surprisingly good. Rukia nodded.

The food seemed to pick her up a little. They put the bowls in the kitchen sink, and sat down in the couch. Ichigo turned on the TV, letting Rukia choose the show they would watch.

Despite his initial worry, a little part of him was happy that she had to stay with him for a few days. He had missed her so much during her absence and having her back in the vicinity of his life was comforting and reassuring. They sat in silence, watching the cartoons she had found, a few giggles escaping her, a few snorts him.

When Isshin, Karin and Yuzu came home, that’s how they found them. All three of them were rather excited to see Rukia again and Ichigo could not really blame them for bombarding her with questions of her well-being. She indulged them easy enough, answering with good humor and smiles.

Ichigo pulled Isshin aside and explained the situation to him, asking if it was okay for Rukia to stay for a few days. The answer was, as predicted, yes, but during the entire conversation, Ichigo got the distinct feeling that Isshin was neither really surprised, nor worried one bit for Rukia.

Ichigo decided to take it as a sign that this was probably a minor mishap.

They ended up making space for Rukia in his closet again. She looked so comfortable in there, so at home. And it had been for a while. Yuzu looked rather mortified at the thought of having a guest sleep in Ichigo’s closet, but they both insisted it was fine.

Rukia kept the closet door slightly open, when Ichigo was finally settling in after having beaten the stupid history book into submission and getting through the entire chapter.

“It feels scarily familiar,” Rukia remarked and pushed the door open a little further. Ichigo turned his head to her, meeting her eyes through the darkness.

“We’ll get you home, don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” she lied and nestled deeper into her pillows, “see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” he agreed and closed his eyes.

The last thought he had before falling asleep, was that he would have to tell Ishida about this tomorrow. He would also have to talk about their future plans. And he would have to just see him and kiss him goodbye, because he did not get to do that today and that somewhat plagued him now.

 

Ichigo had talked Ishida into eating lunch with them. It had taken quite a bit of persuasion, but he had finally relented when he found out Ichigo was not going to give up.

They were sitting on the ground, jackets under them and lunchboxes in their laps. They were laughing loudly at Rukia’s retelling of the Don Kanonji-farce. Ichigo felt himself being the blunt of the joke again, but the irritation was dulled by the look of amusement in Ishida’s eyes and the general guffaw of his friends. Keigo had tumbled backwards laughing so hard, Mizuiro having grabbed his lunch from him lest it fall to the ground.

“Oh my God, someone tell me they got this on tape!” Keigo sounded asthmatic as he was trying to breath, talk and laugh at the same time.

“I don’t think that’s very likely,” said Ichigo with stilted regret.

“They do re-runs every Thursday,” Ishida informed them, Ichigo whipped his head towards him.

Ishida met his eyes, “What?”

“You fucking traitor,” Ichigo deadpanned.

Keigo was once again downed by his own laughter and Mizuiro had a hard time keeping both lunches safe. Tatsuki and Inoue were giggling behind their hands, but ended up breaking out in a full, hearty laughter. Rukia was sending him funny looks and snorted at his face. Chad was his only friend.

“I told you, Kurosaki, that episode is my lifeblood,” Ishida continued, a little smirk around his mouth. Ichigo wanted to make that go away, preferably with his kissing.

He punched Ishida arm lightly, but it was apparently still hard enough for Ishida to drop the battered shrimp he was holding between his chopsticks onto his white shirt. He sighed as the soy stained the fabric and picked it up with chopsticks and ease, eating it anyways.

“I’m sorry, Ishida,” Ichigo hurried to say, but getting a dismissive wave instead.

“Had it been my entire lunch we would’ve had to duel over my drycleaning and my pride as a Quincy,” he shrugged and continued eating. Ichigo just smiled fondly at that reply and got a funny look from Mizuiro who looked at him with interest and questions brimming.

Ichigo took another bite out of the lunch Yuzu had prepared for him and somehow wondered how Ishida knew not to make one for him today.

He had grabbed the other during the break between 3rd and 4th period, dragging him into a corner and kissed him before moving along with the agenda.

“Subtle, Kurosaki, very subtle.” Ishida had looked slightly dazed and surprised, but had still managed a sarcastic remark. Ichigo kissed him again for good measure and took his hand.

“Is something wrong?” Ishida frowned and played a little with Ichigo’s thumb, stroking the tip of it with his index finger.

“Rukia can’t cross through the Senkaimon, so she’ll be staying with me until they figure out what’s wrong, if that’s okay,” Ichigo told him, watching him carefully for a response. Ishida remained completely blank and unreadable. He lifted their conjoined hands and kissed Ichigo’s knuckles.

“You don’t have to ask me if it’s okay you hang out with her, y’know.”

“I just don’t want you to feel bad or anything like that.” Ichigo kept them connected through their eyes, feeling the world become infinitely smaller.

Ishida shook his head, “Am I 100 percent comfortable with it, no. I trust you and that’s really all I need. I’m not going to dictate who you spend your time with, that’s for you to decide.”

Ichigo kept his eyes to himself a little while longer out of nothing but greed for their blue hue. He leant forward and put their foreheads together. “Let me know if it bothers you too much, yeah?”

Ishida smiled and chuckled, “I’ll miss spending time with you, but we should be able to go a week.”

“Good. That’s why we’ll have to spend extra much time together in school.” Ichigo withdrew from the moment and gave him a conspiratorial smile.

“I’m not eating lunch with you.”

“Come on, Ishida. Half of them are your friends too,” Ichigo argued, still without a clue as to why Ishida never joined them. He had invited him several times, but he had always gotten a vague excuse about him needing to do some last minute homework, a Hollow appearing or just a plain no.

“I don’t want to monopolize you,” he admitted and looked away, “we already spend every weekend and most of the remaining weekdays together. It just doesn’t seem fair that I do a hostile take-over of your lunch-hour as well.”

“Shut up, Ishida.” Ichigo put his hand on his cheek and forced him to meet him face on. “It’s fine.”

They had argued a bit back and forth until the bell called them back into class and they returned, both a little breathless, because Ichigo had taken Ishida’s advice on kissing him to make him shut up to heart and was happy to see how well that worked.

“What about you, Ishida? What’re you doing after high school?” Rukia asked. She had made a round, asking them what they were doing in Tokyo. Keigo was going to study Sociology and Political Science, Mizuiro wanted in journalism, Chad was set on reading Spanish Literature, Inoue and Tatsuki had been talked into joining them in Tokyo, Inoue applying for medical school as a nurse and Tatsuki wanted to read Chemistry.

Everybody had turned to Ishida who kept chewing his food, almost as if he was contemplating the answer. He took a sip of his water and swallowed. “Psychiatry.”

Ichigo frowned, “I thought you wanted to be a surgeon.”

“Ryuuken wants me to be a surgeon,” he corrected, “I want to study psychiatry, hopefully get a doctorate, so I could do research.”

Ichigo opened his mouth, but he could not find any words that fit the thoughts that were racing through his heart, the feelings that were stumbling in his head. “That’s not what you told me,” he decided upon finally.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I’d sent the applications.”

So nobody could stop me, hung unspoken between them. Ichigo nodded, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of this than necessary. It was not a big deal, Ishida was still going to Tokyo, and that’s what mattered most.

“Why psychiatry?” Tatsuki asked, head inclined and rice on her lips, another bite ready on her chopsticks.

Ishida shrugged, “Not all wounds are visible and we have a tendency to dismiss what we can’t see.”

Ichigo felt himself surrender to the smile that was overtaking his lips. Keigo, who had reclaimed his lunch from Mizuiro after getting up again, tapped his mouth thoughtfully, Ichigo already worrying about his safety. Ishida was looking at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“Would ya be able to diagnose Ichigo? He has climbed the ranking another five steps and we’re beginning to worry for him,” Keigo started dramatically, grabbing Mizuiro’s arm and dragged him into it. Mizuiro nodded, a teary look in his eyes. Ishida watched them with a single raised eyebrow.

“Illusions of grandeur,” he deadpanned and took another bite. Keigo looked at him with eyes as big a saucers and Mizuiro started laughing, smacking Ichigo with the back of his hand.

Ichigo turned to look at Ishida, “Et tu, Brute?”

“Et ego, Cesare.”

Mizuiro leant back on his hands and watched them argue a bit back and forth about the likeliness of that being Brutus’ response, “You’re so different from the first time you ate lunch with us.”

Ishida looked at him and said, “For the better, I hope.”

Mizuiro nodded and cracked his back, lying down on the grass. Keigo watched him over his shoulder, talking quietly with him, both laughing a little from time to time.

“Hey, Ichigo are you coming to the party Friday?” Mizuiro sat up quickly, almost headbutting Keigo in the process. The other made a loud noise of surprise. Chad looked expectantly at Ichigo and so did Inoue.

Rukia looked between them, “Party?”

“The third years are throwing a going-away party for the sun in the park this Friday,” Ishida explained, taking another bite from his lunch, which unsurprisingly was huge.

“Can we go?” she asked Ichigo, eyes big and pleading. Everybody had now turned their attention to him, waiting for an answer, as if he was deciding whether or not the entire group was going or not.

“Are you going?” he turned to Ishida, who was now eating an apple.

“I am,” he agreed and licked the juice running down the rosy skin, sending Ichigo’s mind in the gutter.

He nodded instead and turned to the group, “Why not?”

They all cheered and erupted in talk about when they should met up, what they should bring and what they thought was going to happen. Ichigo met Rukia’s gleeful smile and felt something tuck at the back of his mind, something that brought him closer to her, almost.

She looked quite fetching in the sunlight that was still falling down from the sky, the gold striking her black hair, rendering it like obsidian; her eyes that strange shade of violet and her smile a cool breeze on a hot summerday.

He shook his head violently; frowning puzzled at nothing in particular.

When he looked up again, he found Ishida watching him with worry hidden in the corners of his face and Ichigo began feeling something like cold climbing through his bones.

 

Lights were strung between the trees, keeping the dark at bay. The slender birchtrees and the taller elms were all glowing with the yellow lights from the bulbs woven through them, and the leaves were dancing shakily along with the heavy bass tracks. Two enormous speakers had been placed in the pavilion and a mixer and a turntable were standing between the two towers of sound and was right now at a guy with bleached hair’s mercy.

The weather was warm, the sun not quite down yet, the last wisps of color still threading through the sky leaving strands of orange, blue and pink in the ceiling above them. The moon had started peeking out from the darker corners of the night and looked for permission to join them.

People were already dancing, some a little tipsy others already halfway into completely shitfaced. Laughter was easily heard over the music, beer-cans and plastic-cups the accessory for the night, their discarded cousins already peppering the trampled grass.

People were shouting and singing along with the music in broken English, trying to make up for the terrible quality of their song with enthusiasm.

Ichigo and Rukia walked into the mass of people talking, chatting and drinking, looking for anybody they knew. The party seemed to encompass every single 3rd year in Karakura, thus leaving many of the faces new and even more familiar.

A few people waved at him and he returned the favor, remembering them from junior high, but not completely sure, his ability to recognize and remember names and faces as piss poor as ever.

A girl bumped into him, her drink sloshing over and spilling onto her dress. She apologized profusely, even though she was the only victim of the encounter. Ichigo smiled at her, shaking his head and continued through the mob of dancing and stomping people.

“Can you see them?” Rukia asked from his right. She was wearing a blue and white summer-dress, the floral pattern along the hem and the straps very lacy and shaped like vines. She had put a few pins in her hair, but kept her face clean of make-up. She looked positively lovely.

“No,” he responded, looking over the throng that seemed to be still moving rhythmically. He saw a tall figure with dark-brown curls, changed his response and began cutting his way through the people to get to him.

“Chad!” he called out and the other turned, giving them a nod in greeting.

Ichigo took the beer he offered him and passed one to Rukia as well, “Have you seen any of the others?”

“Keigo and Mizuiro are over by the bar, Inoue and Tatsuki hasn’t arrived yet and I haven’t talked to Ishida yet, but I think I saw him a few minutes ago with a few people from the Student Council.”

Rukia took a sip of her beer and made a face, “What is this?”

“Beer. You just have to drink it to get used to it,” Ichigo answered, clanking his can together with Chad’s.

The lights colors were bleeding from the sky, slowly draining it of color, readying it for the star-freckled night. Ichigo spotted Keigo and Mizuiro making their way over, talking animatedly with Inoue and Tatsuki.

“Ichigo! Tell’em!” Keigo demanded loudly, more than necessary because of the music. Ichigo lifted his brow, waving at the two girls who both had donned dresses, much like Rukia, but not with the same magic attached to it, it seemed. Inoue’s was a bright red with a few splotches of blue, Tatsuki’s was in a black, with a pencil skirt and her hair had been pushed into a bun of sorts.

“Tell them what?” he indulged Keigo and took a sip from his beer.

“That there’s a difference between Tekken and Mortal Kombat!”

“Firstly you can’t block in Tekken, which it ridiculous; but it’s like comparing karate and jiu jitsu, it’s essentially the same for people who do neither and to people who do either it’s worlds apart.” A drawl sounded from Ichigo’s right and he was treated to the vision of Ishida in a striped t-shirt, canvas runners, tight black pants and that brought out the saturation of his eyes.

Ichigo took another sip to keep himself from smiling too much, “What he said.”

“Like Quincies and Soul Reapers,” Tatsuki mused.

Ichigo watched Ishida give a deadpan look, “If we broaden the perimeters enough, yes. But now we’re venturing into territory where a strawberry and a pineapple is the same.”

“Renji and Ichigo,” Rukia piped up and everybody except Ichigo and Ishida laughed at that terrible joke. Ichigo was starting to think Ishida was keeping his peace in solidarity until he saw the bastard snickering into his cup with white wine.

“When did I become the punchline in every collective jokes?” Ichigo asked, a frown inching its way across his forehead. For the past week, Rukia had joined him for school every day and Ishida had taken to eating lunch with them after he realized how much fun they were poking at Ichigo.

He had even joined in, quite the wizard with puns and witty remarks, and that’s why Ichigo was suspecting him for setting up this, the most recent of the jokes.

In truth, he did not mind terribly, he was used to worse, but it was becoming a little boring doing the mock offense every time. But he loved to see the way Ishida’s eyes would be teeming with light every time they got one of his more subtle marks and every time Ichigo himself would let out a small laugh, even though it was on his own expense.

But the week had been rather uneventful. A few Hollows had presented themselves, but it had not been any match against the reunited team he and Rukia posed, but there had been no news or progress reports from Soul Society. Renji had visited shortly, only to tell them that they had not found out anything yet, but at least she still had her powers and Rukia texted him constantly, always getting answers on the negative. Urahara had not been able to come up with anything either.

Ishida gave him a quick look and took a sip.

“How about we play a game?” Inoue asked. Everybody looked around, feeling the mood and nodded. They began weaving through the mass of dancing bodies again to find a place where they could sit down and talk in moderate volumes.

They found a spot near the lake, underneath the willow that looked like it was being overcome by its own weight, the slim leaves touching the water and poking through the surface. They settled down in a circle, everybody slightly apprehensive. They had brought a couple of six-packs, a few bottles of wine and stolen a bowl of cherries from one of the tables left unguarded.

“Alright, truth or dare?” Tatsuki inquired and looked around. Nobody had any objections or anything they would rather play, so they settled for a round of truth-telling and dare-doing.

The alcohol was slowly burning its way through their blood, the beer and wine making them a little looser and more relaxed. Mizuiro was leaning against Keigo and giggling every so often and Inoue was wide-eyed, looking at everything as if it was the first time she had seen it.

Ichigo felt himself smiling more, his brow smooth and his words freer. Rukia’s cheeks were dusted pink and contrasted the whiteness of her skin and the black of her hair. Chad remained completely stoic, but Ichigo had a feeling he could withstand impossible amounts of booze.

Ishida remained completely neutral, as if the wine did not do anything for him, but Ichigo saw the glint in his eyes that betrayed him. Keigo was becoming increasingly louder and sillier, but nobody seemed to mind, all getting giddier and less quiet by the minute.

After a few rounds where the highlights had been Inoue and Tatsuki making out, Mizuiro admitting to a fetish for older women and Chad changing the music on the speaker-system to Sukiyaki by Kyo Sakamoto though few protests was heard over the happy melody, the bottle landed on Ishida who looked thoroughly unsurprised.

“Truth or dare?” Keigo asked, having spun the bottle as the last victim, bullied into revealing his favorite wanking fantasy was a teacher seducing a student. Mizuiro had lifted an eyebrow in question and then gotten a calculating shine in his eyes.

Ishida looked around the shook his head, “Dare.”

A collective “ooooh” went around. Ichigo leant forward and took out a beer, opening it with a reluctant hiss from the can and then proceeded to take a large mouthful. He had been dared to kiss Rukia and had backed out, choosing to finish his drink instead, not looking in Ishida’s direction.

Keigo positively cackled at the opportunity and furrowed his brow, looking for a good dare. Mizuiro leant forward and plucked a cherry from the bowl, spitting out the pit behind them, Tatsuki took a handful and shared with Inoue.

“You sure that was smart?” Ichigo asked him, sitting next to him.

The other shrugged, “I live on the edge.”

And apparently so did Ichigo. The reason he had not taken the dare, was that he felt his insides simmer, he felt his heart beating faster and not because he was afraid of doing it, but afraid he might actually like it. Weird stuff had been happening in his brain lately and he did not dare to explore them further under the influence of alcohol. But there was also the matter of Ishida being right next to him, and maybe that was what was confusing his senses. They had not been alone together for a while.

“Alright!” Keigo exclaimed, the circle quieting. “You jump in the lake.”

“With or without clothes?”

Ichigo almost choked on his beer. He had to be a little drunker than he thought, because Ishida had not just suggested he went in naked. Had he no compassion for Ichigo’s nerves? They had not as much as made out for an agonizing five days and now he was going to unwrap himself like that and expect Ichigo to remain completely flaccid? Sometimes he thought the Quincy underestimated exactly how appealing Ichigo found him.

“You decide,” Keigo said, “consider me a merciful God.”

Ishida met Ichigo’s eyes and a certain devious smile was creeping around the lines of his mouth and the corners of his eyes.

He stood and went to the edge of the water, toeing off his shoes. He removed his glasses and placed them on the discarded items. Then he walked until he was waist-deep.

“All the way!” Keigo shouted.

Ishida turned and looked at him, then fell backwards. Ichigo let himself watch in rapt attention as Ishida appeared a little further out, his hair drenched and little diamonds falling from their tips, the light of the moon caught in their facets. He pushed it out of his face and began making his way back to shore. He did not even look like he was struggling, managing the return with a natural sort of grace.

But it was not necessarily the way he moved that caught Ichigo’s attention, more over definitely not what kept it. Ishida was looking directly at him, a glint of a challenge in his eyes and it was not until Ishida bent down to put his shoes back on that Ichigo noticed just how much Ishida’s clothes was clinging to his body.

There was not a single curve hidden, not one muscle not visible, but at the same time teasingly obscured by creases and stripes. It was almost like lingerie, it showed everything and absolutely nothing and Ichigo immediately downed his beer.

Ishida sat back down and smirked.

“Drink,” he commanded, “consider me a merciful God.”

Keigo did and did not stop until the cup was empty. Ishida spun the bottle and it landed on Rukia. She almost jumped up with excitement, the beer getting to her.

“Truth or dare?” Ishida asked languidly, the bastard leaning back on both hands, displaying his abdomen and hints of his hipbones. Ichigo loved leaving bruises on them, loved the protrusion, the feel of strength there. He licked his lips and opened the last beer in the pile.

Rukia looked indecisive, but finally made up her mind, “Truth.”

Ishida declined his head a little, letting his throat show, a shadow of the mark Ichigo left on him barely visible. It ignited a quiet, but searing flame in his gut; he wanted to redraw his teeth-marks and rewrite his signature on Ishida’s body. And with the way the other was practically challenging him to find an excuse for them to leave the gathering, he had a feeling Ishida would not mind him doing it. Yeah, it was definitely because Ishida was right next to him, flirting mercilessly with him under the radar of everybody else. Bastard.

“Would you rather give a blowjob to a friend or have sex with a complete stranger?”

“Sex with a stranger.” Rukia was quick and pointed to Ishida, begging him to drink. He did but kept her eyes.

“Why?”

Rukia took a little longer considering than she had answering. Ichigo could not put a finger on it, but having Rukia and Ishida talk about sex was weirding him out. He felt conflicted, but had no idea why. As mentioned, his feelings had been a mess this past week.

He thought about Ishida when he was wanking (one could only go for so long) but he would catch himself watching Rukia and catch her watching him. It was strange, but it felt like they were orbiting around the same thing, gravity hooking them and pulling them closer. And he felt weird having that feeling about Rukia, it reminded him about when he started crushing on Ishida.

Ichigo was not sure what was going on, but at the moment, the beer had fogged up the edges of his thoughts and he could not feel his fingertips, his vision swimming when he turned his head too fast and he was happy. Happier than he had been in a few months.

Rukia was back in his life, she was right there next to him and it was just so nice having her there. It was like they were back, nothing more to be added. He sighed and took another gulp of his beer.

“I don’t think I’d be able to look them in the eyes afterwards,” she finally responded and took a sip of her beer. Ishida nodded and drank too, downing his wine and refilling it.

“Your turn, Kuchiki-san,” Inoue informed her, her dimples showing even in the last lingering light from the sun. Rukia twisted the bottle and it landed once again on Ishida.

To his credit, he did not flinch when it happened, simply answering before the ceremonial question was even posed. “Truth.”

“Tell us two things about yourself no one knows.”

“I can tie the stem of a cherry with my tongue,” he retorted almost as fast as Rukia, “and I give amazing blowjobs.”

She narrowed her eyes, “We’ll need to see that.”

Ichigo coughed and Ishida knocked on his back. Hopefully, Ishida would show it on him, behind a tree, in a few minutes or hours. He was not picky, but sooner rather than later.

“Which one?” Ishida asked, the fucker having the nerve to even ask the question.

Rukia chuckled darkly, “You choose, consider me a merciful God.”

Ichigo did not consider her a merciful God. Nobody was being very merciful right now, firstly drenching Ishida so he looked even more like he was trying to seduce the fuck out of him and now daring him to give a blowjob. Ichigo was beginning to suspect he might perish from sexual frustration if this continued.

Luckily for Ichigo, Ishida plucked one of the few remaining cherries from the bowl and pulled the stem from it, eating the cherry and spitting out the stone. He held up the stem dramatically and put it in his mouth. It took him about a minute, but he produced the stem, a knot tied on it.

Ichigo almost felt his dick twitch at that, because that explained some of the things Ishida could do with his tongue and he was not sure if his heart could take much more of this teasing and maybe he would die of a heart attack, but he would die knowing Ishida could use his tongue, not only to tie cherry-stems, but also to give stellar head, which he already kind knew. In short, Ichigo would die a happy man. Not that anyone would know that, because he and Ishida were still not official.

He half-hoped the bottle would land on him, he would pick truth or maybe dare and then have Ishida ask him to reveal something unknown about himself or dare him to kiss him, and Ichigo would kiss the daylights out of him, and then move back and announce with nonchalance that yeah, he and Ishida were kind of a thing. Christ, that would be nice. Just having Ishida melt in front of everybody and then excusing themselves to go have sex in the park.

“Ichigo?” Tatsuki snapped her fingers in front of him. “Bottle.”

Ichigo had to admit he did not exactly understand what she said to him, until he realized the bottle had landed on him. He felt his heart skip a beat. He looked at Ishida who was watching him carefully.

“Truth or dare?” It sounded terribly ominous when Ishida said it, like he was about to hand him the prophecy of the world’s future and Ichigo would be the only one who could save it. Again. No, Ishida hated it when he did that whole saving-the-world-was-not-really-a-big-deal thing.

“Truth,” Ichigo pronounced the word carefully, already feeling his tongue tying itself into knots and hoping Ishida would do that instead. He tried keeping his heartbeat down, tried not to let the jitter show too much.

Ishida looked over to the party, Ichigo following his look. A lamppost had been turned into a make-shift pole for the enthusiastic but very ungraceful and rather drunk girl trying to poledance.

“Would you have rather have sex with Ochi-sensei or Urahara-san?” he inquired, looking to him.

Ichigo’s answer was fast, “I’d rather have sex with you.”

Maybe not as smooth as he had hoped, but he was now just waiting for Ishida to smirk at him and then grab him by the collar and drag him into the nearby shrubbery, cheekily saying, “Come on then.”

“That was not the question,” Ishida deadpanned, making Ichigo frown. This was not how he had planned this was going to work out.

“Jesus Christ, Ichigo,” Keigo exclaimed and smacked his own forehead.

Ichigo just sat there and wondered where his plan had failed. And then came to the conclusion that this was why he did not do plans more often.

Tatsuki and Inoue stood, leaving to go to the bathroom. The line was stretched for what seemed like miles, so they were not coming back anytime soon. Keigo and Mizuiro dragged Chad with them to go get some more beverages as they had completely drained what they had already nicked. Rukia offered to join them, leaving Ichigo alone with Ishida, still wondering where exactly his plan had taken a wrong turn.

“Subtle,” Ishida said, looking at him expectantly.

Ichigo turned his head towards him, the world following a little belated and raised an eyebrow.

“Says you. Ishida-san, are you trying to seduce me?” Ichigo drunkenly mimicked Benjamin Braddock.

Ishida smiled and leant forward, inches away from Ichigo. It seemed incredibly far, even though it was closer than they had been all week. He put his hands on the nape of his neck and pulled himself forward, Ichigo greeting him with want. He could already feel his pants tightening, just from a little kissing and that spoke volumes of how much he had missed Ishida and his sexy ways.

“I’m hard,” Ichigo stated into Ishida’s mouth. The other burst out laughing, ran his tangled and damp hair, getting his fingers caught in it and pulling them free. Ichigo breathed deeply and tried not to throttle the other and his obvious lack of understanding.

Ishida smiled and leant forward and mumbled, “What d’you want me,” in between kisses, “to do about that?” Because Ishida was torturous and gorgeous like that and licked into Ichigo’s mouth, the other feeling the deftness as was proved to him mere minutes ago.

“Help me?” Ichigo asked in a small voice. Ishida smiled against his mouth and the felt his heart throb harder at the feeling. Ishida stood and looked around, helped Ichigo to his feet and took his hand and led him into the bushes.

“Classy,” Ichigo remarked and received a smoldering gaze from Ishida and knew the other was onto him and his slight exhibitionist tendencies. Ishida pushed Ichigo down and placed himself above him, once again connecting their mouths.

The kisses grew long and messy, any elegance on Ichigo’s part completely watered down by the amount of alcohol he had ingested. And Ishida was just picking him apart slowly and with expertise. He sucked on his lower lip, bit his own as he looked at Ichigo through hooded eyes and let his hand glide down his torso.

The grass was cool under them, the bushed providing good cover as long as they did not stand up. Above them the moon seemed to blush and look away, Ichigo smiling at her silliness.

Ichigo himself raked over Ishida’s body, feeling the fabric of his clothes cling to his flesh still and how chilly Ishida’s skin had turned under it. His dick was pushing against his pants and begging for anything Ishida was willing to give him. He could feel his breath grow more and more strained but that was because Ishida kept stealing it away with little gestures and filthy kisses and looks.

They heard laughter come closer and Ishida popped open Ichigo’s pants, keeping his eyes on his and challenging him to stay quiet and put.

“Where’d they go?” they heard Keigo ask and Ichigo’s eyes widened. This was not how he had thought the plan would turn out, they were not supposed to find them having heated sexy times in a bush, that was not the smooth approach Ichigo had planned for.

Ishida smirked at him, pushed his pants apart and dug out his cock. He gave Ichigo a smile – he could not describe it any other way than devilish – and took him into his mouth. Ichigo’s hand flew to his mouth and bit down to keep himself from moaning and relaying their position to Keigo and whoever was with him and then have this, one of his favorite things in the world ruined – and subsequently getting busted in having public sex, but his greatest concern was the blowjob stopping.

And Ishida did his best to take Ichigo far enough out to drown him. He swirled his tongue, swallowed, constantly licked and traced and trailed his tongue on his head and took him deeper and deeper. Ichigo was seven different shades of impressed that Ishida did not gag when he did any of this, but he most likely had his gag-reflex surgically removed. Ichigo was not the one to ask questions, not right now anyways.

“Seriously, we’re gone for five minutes and they’re just fucking gone.” Keigo was loud, Ichigo almost choked, thinking the sentence stopped before “gone”. Ichigo disagreed though. They were fucking each other, not some other idiot with a dumb na– oh. Yeah, they were gone.

“Maybe there was a Hollow?” Mizuiro suggested. Ishida splayed his hands on Ichigo’s abdomen and kept his fingers there, gently keeping Ichigo from thrusting into his mouth and overtake the control of the act. They had discussed a long time ago that Ishida was only going to give Ichigo blowjobs if they were on his terms and when Ichigo found out that meant that Ishida controlled the pace, the rhythm, the length and the intensity of it, he gladly relented control to him.

“I didn’t sense anything,” Rukia supplied and sounded a little worried.

He almost did not hear it for his own breathing coming in more and more desperate, his lungs demanding air, and all he could do was obey.

Ichigo could practically feel his senses explode in time with his orgasm. He left indentations in his hands, he clenched his eyes shut and heard nothing beyond his own breathing. The only thing he felt was Ishida swallowing and then the blue fire from his eyes almost in his soul and he had to fight every single urge to simply lunge forward and kiss the living daylights out of him.

Ishida instead crawled over him, and placed a searing kiss on his mouth, his own tasting like Ichigo and the other wanting nothing more than to repay the favor to see Ishida look at him with that naked reverence, the vulnerability of absolute trust he only unmasked when he was completely relaxed. So Ichigo pushed Ishida’s pants down his hips, with difficulty as they were still damp, and palmed his erection.

“Maybe they went to the bathroom,” Mizuiro tried and Keigo exclaimed something entirely unintelligible. The sounds of their friends disappeared, their voices fading and Ichigo caught Ishida’s eyes.

The other held it only for a second before he let his head drop. Ishida might be amazing at giving head, but Ichigo knew how to give a great handjob. He twisted his hands, kept his pace even, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down, thumbed the head, prodded and played. Ishida’s hair clung to his forehead and with his other hand, Ichigo pushed it away and watched the other as he too made his way to the shore, the waves crashing over him with sensations, looking like a siren while doing it.

Ichigo could feel the other heating up as well, and felt himself breathe with him, their chests almost bumping together. Before Ichigo got to push Ishida over the edge, the other batted his hand away and finished him himself off and came over his own hand, spilling only onto that. Ichigo was almost damning their public location, else he would have to pin Ishida down and have so much rough sex with him for doing that. It was both insanely hot and insanely impolite to hijack a handjob like that.

But Ishida, as if sensing his conflicted emotions, leant forward and while he wiped off his hand in the grass, kissed Ichigo with as much fervor that Ichigo was afraid he might just catch on fire and finally match his hair. The other put his hands on both sides of his face, dragging him upwards, the other following. Ishida sat in his lap and Ichigo encircled his waist, while the other kept his hands on his jaw and kept doing that thing with his tongue that now made so much sense seeing as Ishida could tie cherry stems with it.

“We should get back,” Ishida all but whispered into his mouth, sighed, breathed, mused. Ichigo led out a less than dignified sound at that and held Ishida closer. Now he finally had him, no way in Hell he was letting go already. He had gone a week, he should get a week in return.

“They’re coming back, Kurosaki.” Ishida disentangled himself and stood, pulling his pants up again. Ichigo pouted and did not take Ishida’s offered hand to get up. It took him a few tries, but he stood on his own and received a kiss on his cheek for his troubles. Ichigo could not help but smile and that in turn made Ishida smile and he was just so pretty when he smiled.

And suddenly he felt a little hollow inside, felt a little wrong and he had no idea why. He decided to ignore it, probably the alcohol that did it and considering how much of a lightweight he actually was, it explained more than it actually had to.

Ichigo did his own pants and tugged himself back in, he had almost forgot and that would have been a little South of embarrassing.

They sat back down, Ishida downing the last of his wine, rushing it around his mouth, probably to get the taste of Ichigo off his tongue. He simply took another sip of his beer and listened to the now heavy pop-songs and the people screaming along. He looked up and saw the stars blinking down at him and smiled lazily back.

“Where were you guys?” Keigo shouted and pointed accusatory at them.

Ishida shrugged and took a sip, “Taking a piss.”

“I know for a fact that’s bullshit, we didn’t see you there!” Keigo kept his voice loud and Ichigo could not help feeling his stomach turn on itself. He still felt a little off from that sudden surge of wrongness, and now where they were practically busted he felt his heart begin hammering again.

“Because we used those bushes probably,” Ishida brushed him off easily.

Keigo looked slightly suspicious still but lowered his voice a little, “As long as you weren’t out being nerdy friends, then it’s fine.”

Ishida looked confused and looked to Chad for answers, since Ichigo was still sitting with the can to his lips, albeit not drinking anything.

“Don’t ask,” he answered and Ishida nodded slowly.

They ended up going back to the main event and started mingling. Ichigo still felt a little dizzy, but had shaken Ishida’s worried look off and instead gone to find Rukia. He somehow felt instantly better the moment he saw her standing and talking to Inoue and Tatsuki who were still in line for the bathroom. He decided to join them and ended up chatting with them until they finally could go in and pee.

He and Rukia promised to wait outside, but got distracted when someone came over and asked about the episode of Don Kanonji, and Ichigo was going to have to do a one-man invasion at the TV-station and steal those damn tapes, but they both laughed and recounted the episode.

They were offered beer from a group of 3rd years from another district as they retold the story, drawing more and more people in. People kept passing them beers or chips or shots, everybody wanting to hear the story of how they crashed the biggest TV-phenomenon in the history of Karakura and the trouble they got in afterwards, how Rukia broke them out from the principal’s office by crying fake tears and how their escape had panned out.

Inoue and Tatsuki joined in and told their version of the story and suddenly they were also handed shots and drinks, guys asking them to dance and them agreeing. Chad and Ichigo exchanged a look, both keeping an eye on them as they were enjoying themselves and twirled and swayed their hips with these two other guys.

Rukia looked at Ichigo and stood on her tiptoes, “Wanna dance?”

“Do you?” he asked and held out his hand, taking hers and twirling her around.

The night had become dense now, the colors dulled by the dark and the lights in the trees casting a golden glow instead of the sun. The music was loud, but not so much so that you could not talk to each other. They were playing another American hit-single of sorts, everybody around him knowing the lyrics and shouting along, the text completely gnashed by the Japanese accent.

He caught Ishida’s laugh and saw him standing with Keigo and Mizuiro, apparently in discussion with Keigo, Ichigo could barely hear him over the music, but it sounded like, “That’s not how it is, it’s not!”

The other caught his eyes and smiled at him, but turned back to the two other, Chad joining them and Ishida pointed to him, drawing him into the conversation, that no doubt was about the recline of the American economy and how China was going to thwart them, if Ichigo knew Keigo right. But they were all laughing, even Chad smiling and looking even more at ease than normally.

Rukia called his name and he realized he had been staring at Ishida as he argued and laughed with the others. He smiled to her and took her hand again, following the beat of the music, letting his body call the shots as they danced to the heavy beats. He twirled her around, her skirt flowing around her, showing her legs and her petite feet. He smiled as they stood in front of each other, their eyes connected, something pulling them together.

The drums and the bass pounded into the ground as they too punished it for being underneath them. Rukia closed her eyes, a smile on her lips and Ichigo could not help but return it. Something made him want to lose himself tonight and he did not care whether or not it was a trap, it was probably happening anyways.

They were pushed together by other couples, a rather tall guy almost tripping Rukia. She turned to him and he apologized, but she shook her head, declining his offer to dance with her as a penance. Instead, she moved closer to Ichigo, almost blushing as she did.

They were inches apart all of a sudden. Their hips would bump into each other, their chests would brush up against the other, their breath would tangle. He found himself approaching a bridge, crossing it and standing with a match and a can of gasoline in his hands while considering whether or not to drop both upon the bridge and let the fire consume it.

Ichigo felt his body move before his thoughts. And suddenly he was kissing Rukia. She was standing on her toes, he was bent down. It felt weird having to lower himself like this, and the kiss felt … he was not sure he could describe it with one word at all.

The music almost disappeared behind them, the lights went out and the people around them vanished.

He deepened out of reflex and Rukia followed suit, Ichigo’s heart hammering and his hands almost shaking. She licked her lips, tentatively kissing back and adding her own fingerprints on it. Ichigo let his hands fall to her waist and was surprised at how high up on her torso it was, how tiny. He almost felt like he could break her, she was so soft and so little.

There was something inside him that broke, something very close to his heart, and at the same time there was something that was finally mended. His fingers simmered as his almost hovered over Rukia’s hips, his fingertips buzzing and his mouth dry despite the exchange between them.

In the back of his mind he could not help but feel fantastic, right, whole and the other, the one connected more closely to his heart, where there seemed to be a chaos of red lights and traffic jams, accidents and nothing but complete chaos, that was the part of him that almost wept and began curling in on itself, wanting to hide in shame.

The kiss tasted like roses and light, of black glass and ashes, of absolute Heaven and absolute Purgatory.

When they broke apart, Ichigo let out a breath he did not know he had held. He felt something on the side of his neck and turned his head to find Ishida looking at him, his face completely blank and unreadable, the only trace of emotion was the lingering light of absolute distance in his eyes. Ichigo felt his heart crack the same time Ishida’s did.

He took a step forward and Ishida responded by taking a step back. Ichigo called his name, Rukia grabbed his hand, following her own needs or Ishida’s, he did not know.

Ichigo meant to follow him, he really did, but he could not tell if he actually managed, because that was the moment where all the alcohol that he had consumed during the night caught up to him and he blacked out.

Chapter 4

Ichigo awoke hating the light that came through his windows, hating his bed for being so warm, hating the world for being so there in the first fucking place. His head was determined to self-destruct and his mouth felt terrible and tasted foul. He almost wanted to cut it off. Who needed to talk to people when you had sign-language?

“You’re awake?” a gentle someone said beside him and he cracked open his eyes, almost feeling the Sandman’s private beach crusted in between his lashes. He rubbed them with a tired and slurred motion, feeling so very beside himself, wanting nothing more than to stay where he was and not go anywhere for the rest of the day. Maybe get a pizza. Maybe get a pizza with Ishida and have the other pet his hair and watch bad television with him. He could do that too.

Ishida’s name unlocked another word in quick succession.

Ichigo sat up much too quickly for his body and found Rukia sitting at his desk, reading a book Ichigo had never seen before. His head was killing him. He groaned and found himself naked except for his underwear, looking towards Rukia, far slower than he sat up having learnt from experience.

“Where’s my clothes?”

“You puked all over yourself, Sado and Ishida, so Ishida got you out of them,” Rukia answered. Ichigo felt his cheeks heat up and swallowed. He could taste something like that in the corners of his mouth. He gingerly touched it, retrieving one of the last things he could remember.

“We kissed yesterday, yeah?” He rubbed his neck and moved his eyes, through much difficulty, to look at Rukia who simply nodded, a little redness to her cheeks and she closed the book, hugging her knees close.

They both sat looking at the other for a short while before Ichigo nodded and forced himself not to exclaim a curse. He would have to talk to Ishida about this and real fucking fast. He knew the other had a tendency to make mountains out of molehills if it was something he was insecure about. Ichigo would have to explain to him, tell him that … Ichigo had no idea what to tell him.

The kiss had happened without thought, without intent and Ichigo was not even sure who of them initiated it. It did not feel like choice, more of something you had to do, like breathing or eating.

“How did you feel?” Ichigo inquired, trying not to sound as pushy as he wanted to.

“It was … nice, it felt good, natural, like something I had to do.” Rukia met his eyes, her own letting him know how insecure she was about this as well. “It’s not something I ever thought I’d do.”

“Me neither!” he exclaimed quickly and stopped himself before he said anymore. Letting her know she had been partial to a minor cheating-incident with someone who already was doubtful of their relationship and thus might be inclined to terminate their own affair was not a priority and Ichigo thought he might be sick.

Silence fell over them and he let his forehead rest on his hands, cooling his forehead.

“Do you regret it?” she asked quietly, muffled by her knees. He did not move, besides shaking his head. Regret was not a currency he dealt in and he would be loath to do so now, but was he proud of it? Far from it.

“I don’t think you can regret something you didn’t choose.”

Rukia kept herself still and licked her lips. They remained still after that. Ichigo was lost in his own thoughts to even notice the sun being blocked out by a patch of dark-grey leaden clouds that looked heavy with rain. It was not long before the rain started pounding down on the ground, heavy drumbeats on the glass.

He pushed the duvet aside and went to the bottom part of his closet where all his clothes had been relocated to. Ichigo leafed through three t-shirt before he found one that was comfortable enough to wear when you felt like shit and did not mind looking like it either and dug out a pair of pants as well, forgoing socks and lastly picked up some boxer-briefs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he announced, Rukia nodding and picking up the book again.

He went to the bathroom and turned on the water, letting it be neither hot nor cold. He stepped out of his remaining piece of clothing, but found a pair of aspirins in the medicine cabinet and dry swallowed before stepping into the shower, letting it soak his hair and his pounding head and cool his feverish skin.

He rubbed his eyes and leant his head on the tile, staring down at his feet. He wriggled his toes.

He had had sex with Ishida in the middle of the park yesterday. He had kissed Rukia yesterday. He had almost told everybody about him and Ishida, and now considering one of those events, he was glad he had not.

He had not lied to Rukia, he did not think either of them should have to regret it, seeing as none felt like they had a choice in the matter, which to Ichigo seemed more than a bit odd. He knew he was pretty head over heels with Ishida and he had not had any sentiment of the sort towards Rukia, so why had he decided he did when he had been drunk off his ass yesterday?

Ishida had moved away from him. Not just literally, figuratively as well. Ichigo had seen it in his eyes, had seen the space he had put between them the minute Ichigo’s lips left Rukia’s. And he found himself almost incapable of breathing.

He took the shampoo with weak fingers, squeezed out an appropriate amount into his hand and moved them to his hair, hoping his headache would not get any worse from washing his hair. If it had been Ishida, it would not even have been a concern.

Ichigo swallowed heavily. Ishida’s eyes had spoken volumes in their neutral and masked state, because that was the only state Ishida seemed to be capable of controlling in regards to his expressions. He knew how to become ice and venom, to become coal and crystal, but he had little to no power of his expressions when he put away that mask, something that had endeared him very much to Ichigo, since he himself had no idea how to untie his own mask.

So when Ishida was expressionless, it was because he chose to. And having him shut him out like that was enough to make Ichigo want to slide down the tile and sit there while the water kept him somewhat warm and the tiles kept blaming him underneath him.

He did might not regret kissing Rukia, because it meant very little to him in the grand scheme of things – he had kissed Keigo once when drunk – but he regretted the light that had gone out of Ishida’s eyes. He regretted hurting the other so much that he felt like he had to physically move away from him, despite being more than 50 feet away in the first place. And Ichigo regretted not remembering what happened after that.

He gently massaged his head, hoping he would be able to prod out all of the mist and the uncertainty and have them evaporate into the shower, so he would not have to call Ishida with a headache, a hangover and a conscience that wanted to offer itself on a silver platter with a side of fucking stupid.

Turning off the shower took more effort than he wanted to admit. He dried himself off and pulled on his clothes, and headed downstairs to find Isshin and Yuzu watching TV, laughing and teasing each other. Karin was there as well, but she was reading a magazine instead, occasionally looking over the pages to see what the hysterics was about this time.

She caught Ichigo watching them and raised an eyebrow in question. Ichigo shook his head and went into the kitchen. With bad grace, he put together something that by any standards might be considered an abomination among health food enthusiasts.

He dreaded calling Ishida.

He had no idea what to expect and it made his insides clench and he did not even know why he ended up in this situation. Ichigo did not do anything unless he wanted to, and so it puzzled him so much that he had kissed Rukia. Thinking back on it, he did not remember the details of it. He could almost describe every single push and pull, every tuck and every shove Ishida had provided earlier that evening, so the kiss he had shared with Rukia obviously did not carry the same importance to him as the kisses he shared with Ishida.

He took another bite of his sandwich and could not taste any of the copious amounts of sugar that was between the two pieces of white bread. He was stalling and it was like the sandwich knew and wanted to guilt-trip him. He ended up throwing it out and put his weight on the counter and crossed his arms.

His phone was in his room and he would have to get that before he could call Ishida, because he sure as hell was not going to call him from the phone in the living room. So he pushed himself off and trotted back upstairs, found Rukia where he had left her.

His room smelt terrible. It smelt closed and stuffed, slightly sour and also sweet, but he suspected that was Rukia. He opened a window and even though a little water came in and sprayed the windowsill and the floor directly below it, the air was clean and he felt like he could breathe again. Now he just needed to get his heart working regularly again, and that was probably Ishida that would have the answer to that.

With a deep breath he picked up his phone, his hand followed by Rukia who watched him cautiously.

“It hasn’t made a sound all morning,” she told him, moving her eyes to his face. Ichigo nodded.

“I have to make a call. I’ll be back in an hour maybe.”

Rukia frowned but did not question the length of the call, nor his absence when making it. She moved to his bed instead and wrapped the duvet around her and sat cross-legged with the book in her lap. “Be safe.”

“I can handle it,” he said, though not believing it much.

“Tell Inoue I said hi,” Rukia smiled, but it seemed to crumble at the edges of it.

Ichigo turned to her, frowning a little, had he done something to her as well? He would have to make an apologetic crusade when he had retraced his steps and he direly hoped Ishida would help him with that. He simply nodded and went downstairs again. Karin looking after him as he almost ran to the hall and put on his shoes and a jacket.

He was already dialing Ishida’s number when he crossed out into the rain.

It rang, which was always a good sign. Ichigo turned left and threw the hood up over his head, and bending his head forward, watching the asphalt, shining like glass in the rain. Small puddles had already formed and mirrored the heavy metallic sky, the rain whispering secrets as it came down from Heaven itself.

“Hello?”

“Ishida? Shit, I’m so sorry!” Ichigo hurried to say, blurting it out without any of the tact he might have stowed away, dusty in the back of his mind. At least his voice did not sound rough or wavering.

“It’s fine, it washes off.” Ishida sounded resigned and tired. Ichigo could see him sitting on the balcony, having opened the sunshade that had been stashed out there for sunny days, but doubled also for when it rained. He had no idea why, but Ishida always looked amazing when it rained.

“I wasn’t talking about your clothes.”

“Oh,” was the reply, and Ichigo knew he was treading thin, thin ice.

“How are you?” he inquired. He could almost see him curl his legs closer to his chest and twiddle with his fingers, guiding his fringe behind his ear. Ishida rarely responded well to half-assed explanations and babbling when he was in this mood, Ichigo had found that it was better to let him talk instead, to let him air his thoughts before the explanations.

A quiet huff, “I’m tired. I was wondering if you were going to call.”

Ichigo sat down on a bench and felt his pants soak. Thunder cracked in the distance and Ichigo began wondering if the weather knew when their relationship was roughing up, because it always seemed accompanied by rain and thunder.

Apparently, Ishida had not slept and considering he could sleep everywhere, anytime, it made Ichigo aware of how much he had been tossing this about already.

“Of course I was going to call,” Ichigo retorted, equally as soundless. The water was almost coming through his jacket, his shoulder beginning to feel damp.

“What happened?” Ishida demanded, his voice was not very loud, but it was firm and did not allow any argument or any deflections.

“I have no idea. It felt like it was something I didn’t have a choice in,” Ichigo responded, “Rukia felt the same,” he added for good measure.

He put his hand in his pocket, his fingertips started to freeze a little, feeling the cold nip at his nose as well.

“You didn’t have a choice?” The disbelief was thick in his voice, fat pearls rolling off the words. Ichigo felt himself bristle at his tone. His head-ache had yet to disappear completely, still lurking in the corners of his mind, making him press his hand to his face, covering his eye.

“No, I didn’t have a choice!”

“That’s convenient,” Ishida remarked and spoke with the same aloofness he had used when they had first started hanging out. Ichigo swallowed, needing to relax his jaw so as not to crush his teeth in frustration.

“Ishida, I was drunk yesterday, in case the vomit on your clothes isn’t evidence enough. I’m not going to blame this on the alcohol, because that’s a piss-poor excuse, I’m aware, but none the less, I kissed Rukia, not meaning to, not wanting to, not the same way I want to kiss you.”

The line went quiet. The rain had let up a little, now only a constant drizzle. The air was still loaded with humidity and thunder; the autumn showers would be coming in more and more frequent, hopefully drowning this statistic that it always seemed to rain when they were fighting.

“I just don’t understand why then.”

Ichigo licked his lips, knowing his answer would not make anything much better, “Neither do I.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Ichigo began, “I woke up with a headache and no recollection of what happened yesterday after that, so if I did anything stupid beyond that, I don’t want the credit,” he tried to go for something akin to humor, but he only sounded broken.

Ishida made a sound that made Ichigo smile. It was a fond sort of snort, one that did not speak of complete heartbreak.

“You had quite a lot to drink for your standards, yeah.” He sounded more like he was recalling a fond memory, than last night.

“You followed me around most of the night, apologizing profusely and offering to help me with my math homework the next semester or buying me a bike helmet, when you weren’t in the bushes puking. Sado-kun and I took you home an hour after that, where you puked on the both of us. Kuchiki-san was not much better than you, Sado-kun carried her home, left me to drag your apologetic ass all the way.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Ichigo stated, letting his head sink into his knees and kept his phone to his ear. A car drove by, sending a minor tidal wave over his shoes, “Or wearing tennisshoes in the rain.”

“Why are you outside?” Ishida asked, his voice calm, still wary and still with a hint of sad there.

“I wanted to talk to you alone.”

None of them spoke for minutes. Ichigo had sat up again, looking out over the town, a few headlights making the rain gold as opposed to silver, and leaving a hissing from the ground as it passed over. His fingers and toes were pretty cold and nose was also feeling a little chilly.

He sighed and swallowed, gathering that courage that always seemed to fail around Ishida.

“You’re not angry?” Ichigo did not dare sighing in relief yet, just because he heard Ishida smile at the last part, was not exactly the same as forgiveness.

“At first I was ready to shoot your dick off.”

Ichigo swallowed and hissed, “And now?”

“Hurt and unsure of whether or not trusting you with this was wise, but I’m not angry,” he sounded like he had been up the most of the night thinking himself into a corner, setting his thoughts after the issue like Italian Greyhounds, “It fucking hurts, Kurosaki.”

“Let me know if you want me to come over or something,” he said, “or if you just need me to leave you alone.”

“I wouldn’t want that, I like you too much for that,” he responded heavily. Then he was gone.

Ichigo had felt the rain pick up again, but he did not feel the drops padding his head and trying to go through his clothes. All he could feel was his heart seemingly trying to break his ribs.

He knew he had broken Ishida’s trust when he had seen the look in his eyes.

Maybe a little rain was not the worst that could happen.

 

Rukia had written Renji every day and anything to solve this had yet to come up. Inoue had come over Sunday along with Chad for tea and cookies. Yuzu had been cheerful as she had put them on the tray, happy that Ichigo had some friends over for once, even though it seemed to Ichigo his house had become a train-station as of late.

They talked about this and that, generally just chatting and forgoing the usual doom and gloom as the world they knew it might come toppling down any minute. The topic had eventually landed on Friday night’s party and both of them had the good grace of not mentioning the kiss. Instead, they talked about how silly Ichigo had been, trailing after Ishida and practically tackling him at some point.

They were sitting in the living room, Rukia and Ichigo on one couch and Chad and Inoue on the other. Ichigo was sitting was on the floor, Rukia right behind him and sitting cross-legged.

“I think he allowed it because you were as drunk as you were,” Chad said, something knowing in his eyes, and Ichigo hated when he went into oracle mode and decided that leading you on was the best option over outright telling you.

“Was I that bad?”

He was not given an answer; instead, his friends had shared a look and then simply kept their peace. That was answer enough.

“Did I do anything else?”Just as stupid was not a necessary add-on. Inoue bit her lower lip and took a sip of her tea and Chad mirrored her. He looked to Rukia who shrugged, “I was just as shitfaced as you.”

“I wouldn’t say it was that bad, but-“ Inoue looked to Chad who nodded, whether in agreement or negation or simple encouragement, Ichigo did not know, “you punched Asano-kun in the face.”

Ichigo’s brow furrowed, “I do that a lot, though.”

“He usually isn’t making out with Mizuiro while you do it.” Chad explained and Ichigo’s eyes widened.

Sensing both his confusion and his sense of panic, Inoue leant forward and put her hand on his arm, begging him to look into her huge, grey eyes, “You apologized immediately,”

“But you scolded Mizuiro for looking like her,“ Chad nodded towards Rukia who looked as stricken as Ichigo, “And you were shouting at Ichigo for even making that mistake in the first place.”

“Thank you for protecting my chastity, Ichigo,” Rukia winked, but he could see the underlying proposition to talk after the others had left. Ichigo silently agreed and took a sip.

Yuzu came with a fresh pot of tea, Rukia and Inoue thanking her profusely and Chad already pouring more into everybody’s cups. Ichigo stirred some more sugar into his and took a sip of the steaming tea. Yuzu made delicious tea.

“Then you turned on you heel and grabbed Ishida and dragged him into the bushes,” Inoue continued, blowing the steam from her cup and putting her rosebud lips to it.

“You called it elopement,” Chad supplied. Ichigo slammed his head down on the table and felt a hand on his back, small and reassuring.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Rukia said, rubbing soothing circles onto Ichigo’s back. And he did not remember a time before this, even one where he was not just suffering of simple mortification, where she had done this. Their relationship had had its tender moments, but it was mostly colored by devotion and a sibling-like mockery and love.

“You returned with a bloody nose, because, as Ishida-kun said, “He couldn’t keep his stupid-ass mouth shut.” Apparently you’d run into the group of 3rd year homophobes from East and you thought advocating gay rights was necessary.”

“Ishida had to kick their asses because you were too drunk to coordinate anything besides your mouth.” Chad was slowly joining Ishida on the list of people who appeared all nice and friendly, but would stab you in the back when they got the chance. Turncoat. “According to Ishida.”

They had left the topic as it apparently only made Ichigo want to eat the table in frustration with his drunken self and his stupidity. He would have to talk to Ishida again. God, he hoped Ishida had not lied to cover up something else, that maybe he had given him the bloody nose because he went too far.

He was never touching alcohol again.

“I’m never touching alcohol again,” he grumbled into the table.

“We’ll remember that,” Chad agreed and the conversation had moved on from there.

It was not even Tuesday before Urahara had them back in the underground training facility. He had insisted Rukia came along and practice being a part of the team seeing as she was going to be here indefinitely. Ichigo saw her cringe at that, knowing she did not exactly revel in the fact.

This time there had been no tea or sitting on the tatami mats. They had been led straight downstairs and gathered before a rocky formation that looked much like anything else down here, except Urahara was perched on top of this one, once again impressing Ichigo with his balance.

Ichigo had yet to talk to Ishida, the other still buried deep in homework, now only behind in Biology and Chemistry if his bookbag was any indication. And no, Ichigo was not a stalker who looked through other people’s bags, he just so happened to catch Ishida reading the biology textbook outside the store while waiting for the others. Sometimes Ichigo wondered whether or not the other had an eidetic memory or something like it, he never saw him take notes or reread anything.

Rukia bumped him with her elbow, her Lieutenant’s Badge on her left arm as the only thing setting them apart. “What sort of training does Urahara-san usually do with you?”

“The sort that gets you either killed or conned,” Ichigo replied, looking to Ishida who was standing a little ways away from the others. He let his eyes stay on him, let himself appreciate him and the fact that he had the privilege to do it.

The fan was whipped out and Urahara began cooling himself, though the temperature was rather chilly down here. He had had their attention for a while, but the movement got their interest, everybody sensing they were about to begin.

“The point of the game will be to adapt, stay on your feet, and defeat your target, all means necessary.” Urahara smiled at them, “Everyone has a specific person to fight, and it will go in a circle so no one will be paired up and left to themselves. You will all get a restriction of your powers, something essential to your fighting style so far.

“None of you will know who is targeting you, no one will know what restriction you’ve gotten. Essentially, you won’t know your enemy and you shouldn’t be able to predict the fight from your previous knowledge of them.”

They nodded in understanding and everybody was called up one by one, receiving their limitations and their target. The air filled again with that quiet sense of anticipation and tension, the hair already standing on Ichigo’s neck.

He did not even know who he wanted to fight. Not Ishida, though. He still felt a little tug at his heart when he thought about last time and how close he had been to raising Zangetsu to him and he swallowed.

“Kurosaki-san,” Urahara called him up, the last one it seemed.

Ichigo went with a calm stride, but he had a hard time not being a little excited about training again. He had forgotten how good it felt having Zangetsu in his hands, the sound of it slashing the air, the weight on his back. There were so many things he seemed to have forgotten that had only been reawakened in the previous week with him and Rukia slaying Hollows when the need arose.

He licked his lips, and took a deep breath.

“You will not be allowed to use Getsuga Tensho or Flash Step.” Urahara leant in close and said quietly, so the others would not be able to hear them. “Your target will be Kuchiki-san.”

He swallowed, but at least it was not Ishida.

Ichigo nodded and followed Urahara’s instructions about finding a start-position where he felt comfortable. He weaved through the hills and the strange formations Urahara had had constructed under his store, trying to find a place where he would not be too exposed, nor too limited in his movements.

Since he was to go after Rukia, he would need to keep a tight ship. She was a lieutenant after all with decades of experience. And he was not permitted to use Flash Step. That would hinder his movements a great deal. His Spirit Pressure would be but a huge flag telling everybody where he was, so he was pretty screwed in that respect. He would have to hunt her down then, use Guerilla warfare or whatever it was they had used in the American Civil War. Maybe his history book was not as ridiculous as he thought.

Regardless, he would have to bring the fight close. He did not have any ranged attacks besides Getsuga Tensho and he did not know any Kido either, so he was forced to be quick and precise with his attacks, because he doubted Rukia had been given the same prohibition as he had.

The lights went out above him, and turned on again. So they had started. Since he had no idea where any of the others were, and he was the only one who was still a complete novice on sensing Spirit Pressure, he would have to use the old fashioned way and find them using his eyes. But that meant going to a rise and then giving whoever was after him a chance to get him then and there.

He could not just wait it out and hide until he could go after Rukia.

But doing nothing was really not his thing.

In the end he decided to find a vantage point and take a quick look about. He really wished he was a little better at the whole Spirit Pressure feeler-thing. Ishida had tried teaching him, but had given up after an hour of Ichigo trying and ending with nothing that even remotely resembled success. Ishida seemed to have reached the conclusion that Ichigo probably would not be able to feel anything, lest he learned to control his own Spirit Pressure.

Ichigo looked around him, crouched down. Zangetsu was still sheathed on his back, but his hand was ready to fly back and grab the handle. Instead he kept low.

He spotted something white out of the corner of his eye. He immediately assumed it was Ishida coming to finish him, but when he turned there was nothing. Ichigo sighed and returned the sword to his back, having drawn it in pure reflex, not even noticing himself.

The dirt beneath his fingers was dry and sandy. It made little sound when he stepped in it, keeping his footfalls relatively muted. He decided to keep moving and maybe find another place to watch from.

He almost strolled between the heaps and piles, hoping to calm his heart a little by pretending there was nothing to be worried about. Slowly but surely, calmly but steadily, he made his way around.

His skin was getting itchy. It felt like ants were crawling underneath it and his fingers simmered a little. Nothing too distracting, but the way he sometimes felt a slight pull in the back of his neck was enough to make him slap it, trying to get whatever felt like a bug off him. Ichigo shook his hands, trying to get some blood running again, the feeling of lost circulation was in all his extremities.

There was something consuming about the feeling and it felt non-physical, like phantom pain but insects or ghostlike needles underneath his skin instead. He decided to press forward and ignore it.

“Kurosaki-kun?” Inoue said behind him. He turned to her, seeing her standing in front of him, looking down and clutching her hands in front of his heart.

“Inoue?” he shot back, and took a step towards her. It was not until she put her hands to her hairpins he thought to duck and thus avoid Koten Zanshun as it came flying past his head.

“I’m sorry!” she said and the solitary shield attacked Ichigo again.

He dove out of the way again. Tsubaki flew towards him, shouting obscenities at Inoue while he did. Ichigo was starting to understand that Inoue might be targeting him, but he was not sure if he should actually counterattack.

Ishida had once told him that the strength of Inoue’s attacks relied on her intention and will to harm and hurt her opponent. Ichigo regarded her as she ran to cover and Tsubaki followed her. She generally disliked fighting and whenever he and Ishida had gone at it in public, she had always been the one to pull them apart. It was a shame it had to bleed into the power of her one offensive technique.

He was glad he was not the one who had to target her, only protect himself against her. He had tried fighting her once and found it difficult, more so because of his friendship with her and the way she looked at him now, he remembered that determined fire in her eyes and he remembered the way she had apologized to him afterwards. He was glad she too felt a little hesitant about this, because he was not sure if he actually would be able to strike.

At least he would not have to be worried about looking over his shoulder, Inoue did not have the same determination to willfully injure someone, he should be relatively safe. So he turned around and started walking away.

“Big mistake, Strawberry!” a voice screamed and Ichigo was hit squarely between his shoulder-blades. He fell to the ground and felt the biting pain on his back, blood starting to trickle down his ribs.

Inoue ran to him, but stopped herself before she got too close. “I’m sorry, Kurosaki-kun!”

A golden light began coming down around him, and he pushed himself off the ground to his back and managed to see Tsubaki in the triangular shield before it exploded and he lost consciousness.

He could not have been out for long, because he heard Inoue’s voice and felt the dirt underneath him still.

“Kurosaki-kun?” Inoue was called, gently stroking his forehead and hair.

He opened his eyes and the gold around him evaporated and shot back into her hairpins. He sat up gingerly and saw Chad there as well. Inoue reached out to help, but stopped herself as Ichigo managed by himself.

“What happened?” he inquired.

“What always seems to happen. You underestimated your opponent because you know them and then you lose.” Urahara stood over him and shook his head.

He gestured to them to follow him and they did, arriving on a small plateau with a view over the entire cavern. A pot of tea was on the table and Tessai arrived with a tray of sandwiches and a few more cups. Ichigo looked around and frowned.

“So while we train, you …”

“Observe you from a safe distance and have a nice cup of tea,” Urahara finished and picked up a cup. Inoue took one as well, Chad following suit. They both had a sandwich, Ichigo wearily following suit.

“So Kuchiki-san and Ishida-san remain.”

“Who’s targeting who?” Ichigo asked, a cup of tea being put in his hands by Tessai. He moved his shoulders a little, trying to dislocate some of the ants that seemed to have taken up residence there. It was starting to feel as if they were biting through his skin and he moved again.

“Ishida got me the second after I got Inoue,” Chad offered, answering Ichigo’s following questions. Ichigo nodded and took a sip, stirred in some sugar and drank again. It was not as good as Yuzu’s but it was far from the worst tea he had had. He picked up another sandwich and ate it close to one bite. Lunch had been interrupted by a Hollow.

“This is going to be entertaining,“ Urahara announced from his position, a pair of binoculars in front of his eyes and a cup of tea in his hand, Ichigo could not help but frown at the sight. Ichigo stood and walked to the edge of the safezone and looked out.

A pillar of ice was already standing protruding from the wall. The two combatants not easy to spot, but then he saw them.

They were almost dancing in the air. Rukia had Sode no Shirayuki in Shikai, the white sash billowing behind her, twisting and turning, and Ishida was fending her off with Seele Schneider, glowing softly but almost snarling. They were a flurry of movements at best. Ishida was definitely on the defensive, only landing a blow once or twice, but spent most of his time dodging and moving away from Rukia’s attacks.

She on the other hand was focused on attacking, matching Ishida’s steps, following his every move. It was almost like watching a pair of fencers who knew each other well fight one another other, none could find a hole in the other’s defense and one could not break the other’s offense.

They sidestepped and kept pace even though they were both Flash Stepping and Ishida was wielding Seele Schneider quite expertly. Ichigo had not thought he would be that apt with a blade, but Ishida was a Quincy-genius, even though he did not seem to believe that himself even on his better days, so it did not exactly surprise him. He knew Ishida was kick-ass.

He managed to get far enough away that he could have used his bow, but instead, used it to block the flurry of ice Rukia sent his way. His bow froze and shattered, but Ishida simply kept moving as if this had happened a few times already.

He pulled out another Seele Schneider and used them both to parry Rukia’s third dance.

Ichigo swallowed hard. The crawling feeling on his arms and back spread and he felt himself getting restless, the buzzing beginning to make its way into his spine.

That was when Rukia caught Ishida in the rubble of the shattering pillar, causing him to fall to the ground. Ichigo held his breath, Inoue sat up immediately, gasping Ishida’s name. Chad remained where he was, but Ichigo could almost sense the worry drizzle from him.

They all knew that Rukia’s ice froze the very bones of whoever it touched and so it seemed strangely unfair to have Ishida fight her. Ichigo was beginning to understand what restriction Urahara had put on the Quincy and one look at the battle should have told him instantly.

Light began to shine, reflecting through the ice, diverting it through the frozen water and in new directions. Ishida rose, wrapped in thin strings of light, brushed his arm clear of ice and picked up the dropped Seele Schneiders he hurried into the air, using Rukia’s confusion to strike. He was like a viper, waiting his opportune moment to strike.

Ichigo could not see if she managed to parry or if Ishida got her, but he felt his stomach clench in response. Rukia created another pillar, the moment Ishida’s foot touched the dirt hill, it shot up from beneath him, but Ishida only seemed to need a fraction of a second to react, because the pillar did not shatter and that usually meant it had not caught the target.

Ishida ran across the cave, using the hills to get himself back in the air and into position to attack Rukia again. They clashed and fell to the ground.

“This is exciting,” Urahara commented, sipping his tea and keeping his binoculars in place, “I didn’t think Ishida-san actually knew how to use Ransotengai, much less that he would use it so carelessly.”

“What?” Ichigo asked, another loud rumble and another pillar tumbling down, this time Ishida was far away, fencing with Rukia, wielding one Seele Schneider, the other one lost in the rubble.

Urahara did not even remove the binoculars, “The Quincy has a technique, they call it Heavenly Wild Puppet Suit. It allows the user to control limbs otherwise broken or useless. Kurotsuchi-san mentioned, Ishida-san had used it after being poisoned by Ashisogi Jizo. It’s a technique thought to be dead.”

He removed his visual aids and turned to Ichigo, a serious look in his eyes, “Have you ever seen Ishida-san fight, Kurosaki-san?”

Ichigo shook his head. He had seen him fight, but he had not seen him fight not the way where you threw yourself into the fray, where you did not care for one little cut, nor a broken arm because the reason you fought was so much more than a wound or an injury. When you fought it was not for your own life, it was not for yourself. Ichigo had never seen Ishida throw away self-preservation in a fight. He had woken up to it. Seen his left hand torn from his wrists, seen him impaled on his own Soul Slayer. He swallowed. No, he had not seen Ishida fight and he was not so sure he wanted to.

Urahara nodded, then put the binoculars back on, “Will you look at that?”

Ichigo turned and saw Ishida with Rukia at his throat, holding an arm up in the air, “I surrender!”

To be honest, Ichigo had a hard time believing what he had heard, Ishida rarely if ever surrendered and especially not during training. But Urahara had seen him use a technique that transcended normalcy, maybe today was the day for abnormal.

Rukia lowered Sode no Shirayuki before putting her hand on Ishida’s arm and talking to him. Inoue was up and running towards the hill they were standing on before Ichigo even saw her move. He rose as well and followed Urahara and Chad there in a more tempered pace, though he wanted to run there as well, if anything then just to relieve some of all the nervous energy in his body.

When they reached the hill, Inoue was healing Ishida and Rukia, both had managed to land some serious blows on each other. Ishida’s arm seemed broken and he rested on his right leg, despite always doing so on his left, and Rukia’s right hand was covered in blood and her hakama was clinging to her body in places, wet and damp.

“Well, well,” Urahara began looking between the Quincy and the lieutenant, “That was quite the game, yes?”

Ishida looked to Rukia, who returned the gesture, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“To summarize: Kurosaki-san was targeted by Inoue-san, who was targeted by Sado-san, who in turn was targeted by Ishida-san, targeted by Kuchiki-san who was targeted by Kurosaki-san,” he let his eyes glide over them all, making sure they were all listening, “Why?”

There was no answer, it seemed. Everybody looked to be thinking, except Ichigo, he knew he had no idea and he could barely remember the circle. He did notice how the itching had eased up and it seemed like he had been able to shake it off.

“We were targeted by the ones we, in theory, should have had no trouble defeating,” Ishida answered, looking directly at Urahara who looked slightly impressed.

“Why didn’t you?”

“The restrictions.” Ishida flexed his right hand, the bone mended. “I wasn’t allowed to shoot any arrows and that was the one thing I needed to defeat Kuchiki-san.”

Urahara applauded. It sounded almost sarcastic, a little too slow to be truly appreciative, but none the less, he seemed impressed.

“And what of you, Sado-san?” He turned to Chad and lifted an eyebrow.

“I couldn’t use anything but my left arm,” he states, “I had no defense, which meant I could only attack. And while my left arm has the power to shatter Inoue’s Santen Kesshun, I needed my right arm to shield myself against Ishida.”

Urahara nodded, looking to Inoue, “Inoue-san?”

“I was only allowed to use Tsubaki-san’s formations.” She picked at her fingers, but looked straight ahead, “I would’ve been able to block Sado-kun attacks and then use Tsubaki-san, but because of the restriction, I had to attack firstly.”

Ichigo was beginning to see a pattern. Whatever any of them had been wanting to do on instinct had been forbidden, forcing them to think outside the box. Of course Ishida had managed, the bastard being all clever and pretty and talented at being a Quincy. Ichigo needed to stop the fanboying. He was embarrassing himself. Then he remembered he got to kiss and love that and smiled at his own luck.

“Kurosaki-san?” Urahara said, after smiling at Inoue and giving Ichigo his attention.

Ichigo sighed, “I should’ve been able to win easily, but I underestimated Inoue and didn’t think she could hurt me.”

Ichigo looked at Inoue, letting her know he was in no way upset with her, more likely impressed that she had managed something he could not.

“You’re too sure of your own abilities, Kurosaki. While we all agree you are the strongest here, you are also the most careless and the most easily tricked by your peers. Your trust in them is admirable, but it could cost you your life. We all thought Aizen was an ally and he turned out to be an enemy. You thought Ginjo was a friend and he turned out to be a foe. It has happened enough that we need to take precaution against it. Kurosaki-san, if you don’t want your enemies to stab you in the back with a friendly smile, I suggest you start thinking before you turn your back to your enemies.”

Ichigo clenched his jaw, knowing he was right, but the feeling of being put on the spot as the only one was not a welcome one. He knew he needed the training, had an inkling that these sessions were as much for him as it was for the group, but that did not mean he liked the singling out. He felt Ishida’s eyes on him.

But he got the job done, no? He defeated Aizen, he defeated Ginjo. Ichigo had walked away from every single battle there had been and yes, there had been close calls, but he was starting to feel like the only one who did terribly, while he was the one who did most of the world-saving. That sounded conceited even to himself. He huffed. But Urahara had a point, loathe as he was to admit it.

If he wanted to keep Rukia safe he needed to improve.

He stopped himself.

Ishida. He needed to keep Ishida safe. He frowned at his own mind and wondered if it was possible to think something wrong. He shook his head and that warranted him a look from both Ishida and Rukia.

“And Kuchiki-san?”

Urahara had moved on and turned his back on the group, leaning forward on his cane. Rukia took a breath and looked to Ichigo who shrugged, knowing it was going to be about his inability to control his Spirit Pressure and so on.

“If I had been allowed to use Kido, I would’ve been able to bind Ichigo and use his own Spirit Pressure against him, luring him into close combat and then freezing him. But, without Kido I couldn’t catch Ishida either, so I had to bring the fight close.”

Urahara turned and looked them all over. “In this little game, who won?”

They all looked to each other, though Ishida staying out and looking down. They all ended up pointing to Rukia, a little hesitant and awfully slow. Ichigo looked to Ishida to see him with a furrowed brow and hand down.

“Kuchiki-san won?” Urahara questioned, but with a completely neutral tone.

“She won the fight, but that’s not what you’re asking is it?” Chad tried, his brow furrowed and calm

“I’m asking who won the game, not the fight,” Urahara agreed, or at least that was how it sounded to Ichigo. He looked around again, thinking about the so-called game and what rules Urahara had determined from the start.

“Ishida won,” Ichigo stated.

The other smiled, “Why?”

“You said the point of the game was to adapt, stay on your feet and beat your target. Ishida used his Quincy swords,”

“Seele Schneider,” Ishida corrected quietly.

Ichigo ignored him, “Used that Quincy puppet-technique and defeated Chad. Ishida was the only one who did all three.”

Urahara considered Ichigo for a moment then clapped again, he saw Ishida look a little suspicious as the shopkeeper turned towards him.

“Why did you give up, Ishida-san? You were getting the upper hand,”

Ishida looked to Rukia then, something in his eyes Ichigo could not put his finger on. It was not malicious, it was not endearing, it was a look that spoke volumes of pages or in a language Ichigo could not understand.

“I was performing three different techniques simultaneously, I was beginning to have difficulty retaining all three and I would not be able to fight without any of them. So I cut the losses and gave up.” There was a strange sort of resignation in his voice.

“Well, Ishida-san, I believe it was– “ Urahara was interrupted by a high-pitched ringing. Everybody looked at each other and then to Ishida, the only one reaching down in his pocket and fishing out his phone. It died before he got to answer the call.

“As I was saying, I believe it was premature of you to forfeit the fight.”

Inoue touched his arm and Ishida looked at her. Ichigo had no idea what passed between them, but if he and Rukia looked anything like it when they were together, he might understand why Ishida was bothered. Ishida pocketed his phone and looked to Urahara, Inoue still next to him.

“I didn’t think it was necessary to continue. We both knew who was going to win and so keeping up the fight seemed pointless. As I said, cutting losses, not only for me, but for Kuchiki-san as well. Had we continued, we would’ve only injured each other further and then Kuchiki-san would’ve bested me, because all the weapons at my disposal froze whenever they touched her.

“The only reason I didn’t surrender earlier, was because Seele Schneider’s rate of vibration was not slowed enough to render it useless immediately, but the longer we fought, the slower it got and ultimately it too would’ve frozen solid. So while I might’ve had the upper-hand, I would’ve lost eventually and that’s why I forfeited when I did.”

Urahara considered him and then chuckled, flipping open his fan and lifting it to obscure his face, “Spoken like a true pragmatist.”

Ishida kept his gaze, but did not retort. Urahara nodded to them, “Dismissed.”

Inoue turned to Ishida again, who tried restarting his phone, only to learn of its permanent demise. Inoue looked at him and then shook her head at him, “Why did you have it in your pants during training?”

“I forgot it was there,” Ishida muttered and Ichigo could not help but snort. Ishida whipped his head to him, daring him to say something. He lifted his hands in mock-surrender and saw Ishida relax, then turning to the phone again. Inoue and Chad watched him as he tried pressing the buttons without any luck.

Ichigo walked to him and took it from his hands, “Let me see.” Ishida let him and Ichigo turned it over. It had been frozen and melted a few times it seemed and the fact that it had been able to ring at all was pretty impressive, much less get service down here.

“Yeah, it’s busted.” Ichigo handed it back without much ceremony.

Ishida raised his eyebrows, “How do you figure?”

“Are you going by the library?” Ichigo asked instead. Ishida looked slightly taken aback and then nodded.

“Can I join you?”

Ishida shrugged, leaving that as his only answer.

Rukia poked his arm and held out her hand, wanting the key to his house. She had not stuck around for soccer-practice yesterday and he had sent her home without keys. To say she had been dismayed would be an understatement and truth be told, he did not blame her.

“I’ll need my body for that,” he said and started for the ladder along with the others. Rukia went in stride with him.

“So you were supposed to go for me, yes? How did that work out for you?” she grinned and blinked mischievously at him, he rolled his eyes at her, but kept the smile.

“Maybe I knew you didn’t stand a chance against me.”

“Or because you got floored by Inoue!”

“I still maintain the ground provoked me,” he defended himself solemnly. Rukia laughed and Ichigo could not help following suit.

Ishida was walking in front of them, talking to Inoue and Sado, listening was more like it, but it offered a nice view, Ichigo found.

Rukia sobered up, her spirit quieting down, “Do you think Ishida could’ve beaten me?”

“If he had his arrows?”

“If he had to?” Rukia sounded a slightly intimidated.

Ichigo looked at her and saw a line of worry on her face, “Why would he have to?”

To say he had not wondered about this himself would be a lie. He had been thinking about that a lot after Tsukishima had turned both Inoue and Chad against him. He had wondered if it could happen again and if it could happen with Ishida and exactly how much shit he would be in if that happened. The other looked over his shoulder, meeting Ichigo’s eye, his own bluer than the sky or ocean and Ichigo felt himself smile a satisfied smile, Ishida repaying on his own scale.

“I’m just wondering if he could. When we were fighting, I don’t know, his eyes were so cold and calculating. Every time I went for a softer move, he would force me into striking harder. He constantly baited me until I would misstep and then he would strike. I was thinking, that if he can be that severe during training, then I’d like to see him fight for real,” Rukia said, breaking his reverie. She was looking at her feet as she walked, her brow etched with fine lines.

“Ishida’s used to pushing himself. Before we went after you, when they’d taken you to Soul Society, Inoue told me Ishida, in order to master his new bow, had to summon his bow and keep it from dissipating while firing arrows for an entire week,” Ichigo said, “He was willing to let his father shoot him through the chest to regain his Quincy powers, he knows extinct techniques, so having him push you into fighting him doesn’t really surprise me. He’s dedicated, you have to give him that.”

They climbed the ladder, closed the hatch behind them and found their bodies on the floor next to the other’s backpacks. Ichigo returned to his body, Rukia sliding into hers and rolling her shoulder, getting used to it again. Ichigo stretched and caught Ishida’s eye. The other had already picked up his book bag and was waiting for him by the door.

Ichigo fished out his keys and threw them to Rukia who caught them easily enough and waved to him, a little smile on her face. Ichigo returned the gesture and followed Ishida out the store. The other went to a bike and secured his bag on the carrier, pushed aside the kick stand and looked expectantly at Ichigo.

“You liar,” Ichigo said and nodded to the bike. Ishida raised his eyebrows and started pulling the bike along next to him. Ichigo took the other side, noticing how Ishida had not put the bike between them.

“You wanted?”

“Can’t I just want to walk with you?” Ichigo asked and heaved his own backpack over his shoulder.

Ishida smiled and shook his head, “You’ve never offered to come with me to the library.”

“If you don’t try, you’ll just wonder why.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe the stuff that comes out of your mouth,” Ishida mumbled.

Ichigo regarded him then rubbed his nose and swallowed. He hoped to whatever deity worked his district that nothing terrible had happened when he had dragged Ishida away.

“Did I do anything weird to you after I “eloped” with you?” inquired Ichigo, using his hands to make a quotation-mark. Ishida watched him and slowly started smirking.

“You mean besides me having to save your ass because you told a group of notorious homophobes “our love was pure”?” he mimicked Ichigo’s hand gesture and received a groan of embarrassment. His smile grew soft and he leaned forward to meet Ichigo’s eyes, catching them in that impossibly saturated, oily blue.

“You didn’t do anything that would warrant me to be the one punching you, if that’s what you meant.”

They turned onto the main road, the cars rushing past them kicking up the plastic bags on the road and leaving exhaustion in their wake. The sky was drawing closer, another rainstorm was coming and they would be drenched if they did not make it inside a minute after it began.

“You sure?” Ichigo preferred being direct, but Ishida was smart and probably figured out what he meant anyways. The other nodded.

“I talked to Kojima after you let me go, in favor of swaying Asano to steal beer with you, and he told me you become rather affectionate when you were drunk. Apparently, you’ve made out with both him and Asano, Arisawa-san once and a girl from another class.”

“I don’t remember any of this,” Ichigo deadpanned.

Ishida scoffed, “It doesn’t bode well, but I realize that we were both rather intoxicated and Kuchiki-san likewise. And you did spend the remainder of the night running after me trying to apologize.”

Ichigo somehow did not feel much better, even though it sounded like Ishida had forgiven him.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Ichigo made sure to make a point out of Ishida’s well-being in this.

“Initially, no. But it’s not like you’ve made out since then, right?” The question was quiet, not determined, not fierce, but insecure yet incredibly forceful. Ichigo leaned over and kissed the top of Ishida’s head.

“She’s not you.”

“You’d be so lucky,” Ishida replied easily and they spent the rest of the walk to the library in the same easy conversation that they usually did.

Ishida teased him for being overpowered by Inoue, who was apologizing while she knocked him down, leaving the strength of her attack very low. Ichigo huffed, but found himself firing his own shots at Ishida’s prowess at these games and how Urahara seemed to be loving having someone who could keep up with his more far-fetched ideas. Ishida denied this and swatted Ichigo’s arm when he suggested Urahara might be crushing on him.

“Too bad I’m spoken for, then.”

And Ichigo felt his heart flutter and his lips smile on their own accord. He also felt the weird itching returning.

They reached the library just before the shower started and sat down inside, reading for the duration. Ichigo’s skin did not stop pulling and twirling, but it let up when Ishida dragged him to one of the more abandoned sections and initiated a heated make-out session that ended up with Ichigo’s hands under his shirt and Ishida gasping into his mouth.

“God, we’re behaving like horny teenagers,” Ishida complained and kissed Ichigo again, twisting his hips and biting his own lip.

“We are horny teenagers, Ishida,” Ichigo chuckled and forced Ishida’s teeth from his lips.

“That’s not an excuse.”

They had to break apart when an aging librarian was summoned by their heavy breathing, but when she arrived, Ishida was leafing through a weathered copy some ancient textbook or whatever, and Ichigo was scanning the rows, looking like someone who was actually there for a reason. The minute she had left with a nod to Ishida, he put down the book and gave Ichigo a last peck on the cheek and returned to his seat and his biology book.

Thanks to the effort, Ichigo had no homework that night. He did have an immense need to masturbate, but that was hardly anything new these past few days.

 

“Are you avoiding me?” Ishida had cornered him by the soccerfield by the bleachers after school and looked at him with great suspicion. Ichigo’s first instinct was to either run or deny the accusation.

He had no idea why he always became so uncharacteristically cowardly when dealing with Ishida. Probably because of what brought him to avoid him the first time around.

Truth was he had.

It had been a week now after the training session. They had had a new one and Ichigo actually managed not to be the first one cut down in either of the games, which he saw as vast improvement, considering he was supposed to strike down Inoue and Chad. He knew it was just training, but he kept thinking back to the Tsukishima-incident and how it had felt to fight them seriously, and that let him to falter a little, mistime his attacks, and make rather fatal mistakes.

He had come to realize that his friends were far from helpless, something he had to guiltily admit he might have forgotten in the midst of having lost his powers and regaining them again.

He never saw them as weak, no, far from it, but he also had this nagging feeling when he brought them along. He disliked putting them in danger like this and he disliked seeing them hurt. But he had never truly seen them fight. Ichigo had always been let through, letting the others deal with the minions and then he would go after the stronger, only seeing bits of their battles.

And he had forgotten how often, had it not been for them, that he would not have made even halfway there.

But something had happened a week ago, nothing too serious, nothing completely unforgivable, but enough so Ichigo felt that the better option was simply not telling Ishida, because he knew he would take It the wrong way.

It had been Wednesday night; neither he nor Rukia could sleep for the humidity and the heat. They had opened the window, but not a wind moved. Ichigo had kicked off his duvet and Rukia had thrown the closet door open in irritation.

They had been lying there for a long time. Ichigo was wondering what Ishida was doing in this heat, but then remembered that his apartment was air-conditioned, so he would not even know the struggle. He began to grow restless again, constantly checking the clock, subtracting the time from his alarm, counting the hours of sleep he had left if he fell asleep right then and there. It proved no help at all.

And then the insects began crawling over his skin, mild tickling. It was not as bad as it had been the previous day down in Urahara’s underground cavern, but it had him turning and shifting.

“Ichigo?” she whispered. Ichigo stopped his tossing and looked at her, keeping still. She was probably annoyed with his rustling, he would be too.

He hummed, seeing as she seemed to wait for a response of sorts.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” she asked, almost impossibly quiet. He lay there for a second, wondering if he had heard correctly.

“I mean, I get if you say no, but I don’t know, I just … I feel like I could need it,” she explained, and sat up, looking carefully at him. Even though the explanation had been patchy at best, he somehow understood exactly what she meant. Sometimes, he just needed to cuddle Ishida. Not talk to him, not have sex with him, not even be awake with him. He just needed to feel the others warmth and that was a comfort in and of itself.

He nodded and then he scooted over towards the wall and let her crawl into bed with him.

He did not know why he had done it, but he did not see any harm in it. They were not even touching. He could smell her shampoo though, lilies and lavender, and he could almost count the eyelashes as they rested on her cheek.

Ichigo thought about whether or not he should tell Ishida about this development, even though you could hardly call it that. His last thought before drifting to sleep was how nicely Rukia fit in his bed, and the cool breath of air she seemed to bring with her.

And now here, seven days later, it had become an actual development. Rukia would join him in his bed in the evening and they would fall asleep. At first Ichigo had made a conscious decision to stay as far on his side of the bed as possible, but had fallen prey to comfort and habit and ended up enveloping Rukia in his arms when they slept. She in turn would snuggle a little closer and they would wake up like that next morning.

Slowly opening their eyes and then a small smile on each of their faces, Ichigo only felt his heart stutter when he was in the shower and remembered that he was already in a committed relationship. At least that was what he had thought the first few days.

But as they had become more used to sharing a bed, Ichigo began thinking about why that was so bad. He had shared his bed with plenty of his friends and it was only with one he had been intimate. When they had their sleepovers or parties, it was not unheard of him to wake up cuddling Tatsuki or spooned by Mizuiro. He did that with all of his friends, it seemed, so why would it be a big deal with Rukia?

He knew they had kissed, but that had not happened again and it was not like they were doing anything remotely perverted in his bed. They slept, because they had found they did that better together than apart. And like with the kiss, he could not bring himself to regret it.

That did not mean he reveled in the lie that he had to tell Ishida, “No. Why’re you asking?”

“Because you haven’t answered any of my calls or texts, nor do you talk to me at school,” Ishida listed, his eyebrows showing his disbelief. Ichigo had thought simply not talking to Ishida was going to solve his problems. He did not want Ishida to be another person he lied to; he had so many of those already. He felt that maybe this was how he could set him apart from the others.

Ichigo swallowed and licked his lips. His throat had become dry and tight and ants had started crawling down his spine again, biting and chewing his flesh and bones. It was almost like the sun, a seldom visitor now, did not warm his skin or light his eyes, the same way Ishida’s eyes looked unnaturally transparent, like the color had seeped out into the world over night.

“I‘ve only gotten calls from unknown numbers this week,” he tried, shrugging, hoping his play of this not being a big deal would convince Ishida. He just did not want the other to worry about this, there was nothing in it. But telling him would result in exactly that, so better keep quiet, tell him when Rukia had left again and he would be mad for a few days, but then they would laugh about it years from now.

If Ishida even decided to stick with him after high school, which was becoming more and more unlikely, should Ichigo choose to keep up the lie. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was starting to respect Hannah Montana and her double-life-living skills.

Ishida eyes him wearily, “My number’s still the same.”

Because Ishida had gotten a new phone and Ichigo had hoped he might have changed his number too, but of course he would have made sure Ichigo had his new number as well.

“Must be something off with the company then,” Ichigo continued the light tone of voice and cracked his back, trying to shake some of the ants and caterpillars off his shoulders.

“Did I do something to –“ Ishida never got around to finish his sentence, because someone called out to them before he had a chance. Rukia was running towards them and looked between them, before settling on Ichigo.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” she inquired, watching them both for an answer.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind–“

“No, not at all. It wasn’t that important,” Ichigo finished, catching an incredulous look from Ishida. The other crossed his arms slowly and lifted his eyebrow, leaning back against the bleacher.

“Apparently not.”

Ichigo stared at Ishida, keeping their eyes locked for a brief second. His brow spoke of unfinished business and narrowed eyes in puzzlement. Ichigo found himself breaking contact, the look Ishida was sending him too intense for his liking.

“What’s up?” he turned to Rukia instead, letting her be his savior.

She grinned and shook her head, “The others wanted to know if we were gonna join them for a round of baseball.”

Ichigo looked to Ishida who had turned his face away from them, the mask of careful indifference back in place. Rukia saw his eyeline and added, “Of course you’re invited too, Ishida.”

“I have better things to do. So do you,” he added the last sentence as an afterthought, but his voice had regained the aloof quality Ichigo had gotten so used to not hearing anymore.

Ichigo was just about to ask what Ishida meant, when both Rukia and Ichigo’s ringtones went off. They looked to their phones, then back at each other and then to Ishida.

“Can you watch our bodies?” Ichigo asked, trying to make Ishida meet his eyes. The other made a long suffering sigh and sat down on the bleachers, finding his biology textbook. Ichigo nodded to Rukia and they both pushed out of their bodies.

Rukia turned around and thanked Ishida, but received no reply, before they Flash Stepped to the coordinates on the phone and found three Hollows rampaging through the street.

Rukia released Sode no Shirayuki and Ichigo unraveled Zangetsu from his back and they went off in different directions. It proved an easy task, neither of them getting injured and taking care of the Hollows with less than three strikes each. Rukia seemed to wonder why she even decided to release her Shikai in the first place.

Ichigo did not even break a sweat and neither had she, it appeared. He wondered why Ishida had gotten so behind on his schoolwork doing this. He had been in his place as well, and his grades had not dropped at all.

Rukia gave him a small nod of approval and they hurried back to the school and their bodies. They found them sitting on the bleachers, leaning against one another, looking as if they were in deep conversation. A note had been put in Ichigo’s hand, making it look as if they were talking about whatever was on the paper.

They returned to their bodies and Ichigo read the note quickly before crumbling it and swallowing hard, shoving it in his pants.

“What did it say?” Rukia asked, lifting her head from his shoulder and putting her hand on his arm. He caught a glimpse of Ishida inside the school, walking down the hallway along.

“We need to talk.”

Chapter 5

Ichigo stirred his coffee, waiting for the others to come. Ishida was placed opposite him, reading his Chemistry book, taking a sip of his tea once in a while. He was having no milk or sugar in it.

They were sitting in tense silence, the quietude disguising itself as something necessary, when they both knew it wasn’t. It was a fat, slow kind of silence, the one that was between two people keeping quiet because neither wanted to be the first to break it.

They were sitting in the coffee shop Ishida had brought Ichigo to the first time they talked after Ichigo stalked him home. It was almost empty, despite the grey weather and the promise of rain. The winds had picked up, the temperature falling and cooling, the sun turning white as opposed to golden and the world prepared to put on its wintercloak to keep it warm.

Ichigo’s skin was crawling, leading him to shift every two minutes, a pull almost on his skin, wanting him to move forward, it seemed. He tapped the spoon on the porcelain, but received a glare from Ishida.

Ishida stared resolutely down in his book, frowning a little after finishing every paragraph as if rearranging it to make sense in his head. Ichigo bit his lower lip. He really wanted to reach over and take Ishida’s hand or gently kick him under the table to get his attention, but he knew he deserved this.

They had gone for another week without talking and without any progress in regard to Rukia’s troubles. Ichigo’s own was only multiplying though. Every time Ishida caught him, they would be interrupted – Keigo wanting them to join the others for lunch, Inoue asking Ishida if they should meet up today, but most frequently Rukia, who sought Ichigo for almost every possible reason in the world.

And Ichigo could not bring himself to be annoyed; he was more relieved at the fact that he would not have to explain the situation to Ishida. Because as the days dragged on, he realized it would be impossible. He just knew he had to be close to Rukia, feeling at ease in her company, greedily needing her, much like she seemed to be needing him.

After five attempts from Ishida’s side, he gave up and seemingly decided to let Ichigo be the one to come to him.

And Ichigo had not. He avoided him so he would not have to lie to him. He knew it was far from the best solution to the problem, but he needed to clear his head and then prepare to express himself better than he usually would. But when he was off school, he would have soccer practice, and Rukia had begun staying for that and so he would just walk with her home, falling into conversation with her, laughing and joking, feeling like he was finally the teenager he should be.

She proved a distraction from talking to Ishida, he almost forgot time and time again. But Rukia was so easy to talk with, so ready to relax into, so willing to laze around and just chat about ridiculous people or stupid episodes in school. The feeling of unease evaporated when she was near him, and the stress of everyday life disappeared with it.

And Ichigo would sometimes lie in bed at night, arms around her sleeping body, and feel his heart almost trying to claw itself out, trying to swallow itself in absolute agony for the way he could not bring himself to talk to Ishida, the one person who ought to know what was going on.

But Ichigo would always convince himself it was better this way. Ishida might hate him for a week following, but instead of instilling unnecessary fears and doubts in him, he would rather risk that week as opposed to have Ishida turn on himself and mentally dig a hole so deep there would be no way of getting him out before he drowned in self-doubt.

So they had spoken little or not at all. Ishida had only joined them for lunch a few times the passing week, but only because Keigo and Inoue practically forced him, Keigo having taken a fancy to Ishida and Inoue being Inoue, did not want him sitting alone. Ichigo could tell from the way he was poised, the way he kept quiet even though openings were left for him, the way he did not look up, that he would rather they had let him be. He watched him from the opposite side of the circle, Rukia next to him, shooting him worried glances.

They had begun eating lunch inside again, the weather becoming too cold and the ground too unwelcoming.

So when he and Rukia had talked about planning for how they should protect Karakura from Hollows, they had been aware they should not be planning on sitting outside anywhere. Instead, they took to the coffee shop.

Upon arrival, he had found out Ishida came there regularly after school now, reading and doing homework, taking the table in the back, sometimes looking up and out the window at the passersby, not seeing them though. The girl behind the counter pointed and spoke rather loudly about the quiet guy who would come here to study.

The door-bell jingled, announcing Inoue and Rukia’s arrival. Chad was close behind them and shook his brown curls from the drizzle that had started coming down. They took off their coats, smiling and talking between themselves. Ichigo stopped stirring his coffee, Ishida not moving. He hoped their arrival would take the worst off the mood.

Rukia sat down next to him, rubbing her hands together, blowing on them, trying to get some warmth in them. It was odd having her do that, considering her Soul Slayer froze people to death as a basic ability. Inoue slid in next to Ishida and Chad followed suit. Ishida dog-eared the book and closed it, moving it to the side and taking a sip of his tea.

“Alright, we’re all here,” Rukia announced after giving her order to the barista. The tip of her nose was stained red and her ears matched.

The girl came with their drinks and handed out an ice-coffee to Rukia, a Macchiato, and a Cappucino for Inoue and Chad. Ishida cradled his tea and shook his head when the barista asked if he needed anything. Ichigo also declined her offer, but with infinitely more grace than Ishida had.

“Ichigo and I were talking,” Rukia began, Ichigo watching Ishida, the other watching the world outside with disinterest, “Until now we’ve been taking care of all the Hollows that have appeared and we were thinking maybe we should all begin going. We’ve handled it so far, but Renji told me something funky is going on in Hueco Mundo and we might get some problems handling them alone soon.”

Inoue nodded and Chad gave an approving hum.

“What sort of disturbances in Hueco Mundo?” Chad asked. Ichigo looked to Rukia who found a piece of paper and a pen.

“We took away the regency when we defeated Aizen and his Espada, but the Arrancar, left to live after their demise, have been fighting for dominance since then,” Rukia drew Chappies and whatever animals she used to represent Hollows on the paper, looking to see if they were following her. No one understood the drawing, but what she was saying in itself was easy enough.

“At the same time, Ichigo’s Spirit Pressure has always been a reason for the Hollows to come here, but considering how few Hollows there’s been after he got his powers back, it doesn’t make sense. Karakura should be teeming with them, but we’ve had nothing.

“What Soul Society thinks is that they’re going to come all at once maybe. And since we don’t know when that is or how it’s going to happen, we’d like for you to be ready to come with us,” Rukia added while Ichigo tried getting Ishida to participate, “We can’t be more than two places at once.”

“Of course,” Chad agreed. Inoue nodded, a fierce look in her eyes.

“Let me see if I understood you correctly,” Ishida slowly turned his head back to them, “A Soul Reaper lieutenant and the Savior of the 13 Divisions cannot take care of a measly group of Hollows that may or may not be coming within the week?”

Ichigo could feel his gaze harden in response. Ishida was looking at them with complete apathy and Ichigo could not see any of the tells that usually indicated where the seams in his mask were located, the ones that would tell you his true thoughts.

“Ishida, we’re not saying we won’t be able to handle it, we just want–“

“Then why do you want us there? You can handle it yourself, then by all means you should do it by yourself.”

“Ishida,” Ichigo said, the warning clear in his tone.

Ishida rolled his eyes and put his book in his bag, “Fine. It’ll be a complete waste of time, but fine.”

He stood and made his way around the table, handing the barista some cash on his way out. The bell jingled far too merrily considering both the mood inside and the weather outside. Ishida was drenched within seconds, but he did not seem to mind too much, only swung his legs over the bike and rode off.

Ichigo was left looking after him, disbelief written all over his face.

“What the hell?” he asked no one in particular.

Inoue opened her mouth, but closed it again, simply taking a sip of her Macchiato instead.

“Inoue?” Rukia asked her, leaning forward a bit, trying to tell her it was alright for her to speak her mind.

“Ishida-kun has a lot on his mi–“

“Bullshit!” Ichigo interrupted, “He’s being a self-righteous asshole, that’s what he is.”

Chad’s brow furrowed and watched Ichigo for a moment, and that was almost worse than having him actually say something to negate his statement.

“Did something happen between you?” Rukia inquired, frowning a little. Ichigo shook his head, disregarding the eleven months of steady dating they had been through.

Ichigo sighed, “He’ll come around.”

He had to come around.

Ichigo was not sure what to do if he did not.

 

The next training session was short a certain Quincy, Urahara looking confused between the four who had shown, but continued their lesson none the less.

It was considerably more difficult, it seemed. It was almost as if Urahara counted on Ishida to be the one who actually understood lesson and through him the rest of them would come to understand as well. Without him, Inoue was the one who picked up on the point of them constantly having to choose who to attack and who not to attack when they ran into each other, seeing as the one you spared could not attack you next time, but the one you did could only attack you the following round.

It had been about making your odds better come the final round where everybody was forced to fight each other in an everybody against everybody based on who you chose not to attack and who you had chosen to hit.

Inoue had done the best, finding that she had been able to manipulate her odds in the end, effectively making her the winner this time. Urahara looked around and shook his head with a sigh.

“Tell Ishida-san to come see me when he has time,” he requested and dismissed them without the usual discussion of what they did right and wrong.

Ichigo almost felt like it was his fault, but in the end pushed the thought away. Ishida was the one who wanted to talk, and the fact that they had been interrupted a few times should not be a definitive reason to simply give up. He sighed.

When they stepped outside, the sky had cleared enough so only a few drops were falling, but it was the closest thing to the rain stopping they would be until November. Ichigo opened the umbrella he and Rukia had brought none the less, she joined him underneath it and they began walking home.

“Have you gotten a reply from your universities?” asked Rukia and put her arm in his, placing herself almost directly under the rain-shield.

“January,” he responded. The rain picked up again and began drumming on the plastic. A rivulet of water ran down Ichigo’s arm, but his jacket made sure he did not get soaked.

Rukia nodded and stepped around a puddle, “Are you excited?”

Ichigo shrugged. He would be more excited if this whole mess would work out and he could get to focus on it. He would be a lot more excited if he could keep his friends close to him, if he would get to keep Ishida close as well.

Tomorrow night they had arranged a group-night, where the guys would go to the Arcade and play a few games, have some fun and drink a beer maybe and then they would meet up with the girls, who were going to the movies to see the new Hollywood romantic comedy with Owen Wilson and Ichigo would rather have a piano dropped on top of him than watch that.

Keigo had invited Ishida as well and bullied him into actually going; quite a feat really. Ichigo had never managed to do anything like that. Ishida only did what he wanted to do, he was not going to waste time doing something he did not want to do or something he did not learn anything from.

Their phones suddenly went off, the wailing loud and unmistakable. Rukia pulled hers out the fastest, a certain habit to it and her eyes widened.

“Ichigo,” she said and showed him the screen. At least twenty dots were all forming around one area, a little North of Karakura. They shared a brief look and Ichigo closed the umbrella, running after Rukia towards the area. She kept checking her phone, making sure they were on the right track.

Ichigo’s fingers were already itching to get his hands on Zangetsu, there was so much frustration simmering in his bones, he realized and clenched his fists, so much energy that wanted out.

They turned sharply down a street, almost skidding in the puddles, the thousands of small lakes spread out over Karakura.

“Kurosaki-kun! Kuchiki-san!” Inoue called after them and they turned their heads, seeing her and Chad catch up to them. They continued through the streets together, water splashing under their feet when they hit them and drenched their shoes and pants.

Rukia looked to Inoue and Chad, “Where’s Ishida?”

“As far as I can tell, he’s already there,” Chad panted and kept pace.

It would make sense, considering Ishida was the only one among them who could move at superhuman speed without leaving his mortal form and his ability to sense the Hollows were amazing. Ichigo looked to Rukia who nodded.

They reached the end of the city and starting running through the forest-like area, the dark-green hues keeping out the rays of sun that had broken through the cloudscape, like fingers stretching down from heaven itself to stroke the Earth, drying away the tears.

“We should be here now,” Rukia announced and stopped.

A roar ripped through the air, tearing the forest-silence to pieces. They all tore through the trees and branches, a clearing in front of them.

And Ichigo had to swallow. Because he had forgotten exactly how graceful Ishida could look, how serene, how stunningly unearthly. He stood in the middle of a stream, a waterfall behind him, surrounded by black Hollows with their pristine white masks, he himself shining like the winter sun. The rays were caressing him, giving his hair a halo of darkness, his body the glow of a thousand moons.

Then Ichigo saw the earplugs, the closed eyes. Ichigo called his name, but went unheard.

Ishida left the ground, bow drawn, flitting through the air, using the Hollows themselves as leverage to climb higher. They attacked the patch where he had been seconds previously, only hitting thin air or one another. When Ishida reached the top, he turned and shot three arrows, piercing the first three masks directly between the eyes.

The Hollows shattered and the stardust they left behind only served to make Ishida look like an avenging angel sent from the depths of Hell itself, his black halo billowing in the air. He moved with grace, falling in and out between the Hollows, not giving them a single chance to even touch him.

He turned and let himself fall, his back towards the ground as a Hollow chased him to it. He fired another arrow, and the Hollow never stood a chance. He Flash Stepped, or the Quincy version of it anyways, before he hit the water, only a ripple was left a witness.

“Ishida-kun!” Inoue shouted in warning, but the other could not hear her, did not even turn as he shot the Hollow that came towards him from his right.

He appeared on another one, steering it towards the ground and shooting those who remained airborne. The Hollow crashed into the water, an arrow through its mask. Ishida was in the middle of the shattering Spirit Particles, breathed out and remained still.

A scream resounded and he fired and arrow before Ichigo even had time to turn his head back to him. Another swarm of blue lights rose to the clouds and Ishida openeds his eyes and took out the headphones, his bow vanishing into thin air, breathing out.

“Ishida-kun!” Inoue shouted again, this time far more relieved.

Ichigo started towards him, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Ishida looking straight at him and snorted.

“Don’t tell me you thought this was the so-called invasion.” His posture had become lax and his eyes shone with disbelief and sarcasm. Ichigo had forgotten that had been Ishida’s default look for most of their friendship.

“What was that?” Rukia practically stomped towards him. Ichigo would have been a little scared he might get his ass kicked when she decided to use that tone, but Ishida seemed unfazed.

He met her eyes squarely, “Just because I don’t train with you, doesn’t mean I don’t train at all.”

Chad put a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder, almost steadying him. Ichigo did not understand why until he saw the smirk in Ishida’s eyes and he felt the pieces snap in place. He shook off Chad’s hand and marched up to him, thunder in his eyes, he was sure. Ishida veered away minutely when he saw him, but only for a second then his eyes were glazed over with the usual arrogance, a cold sheen to his eyes, suddenly.

“Did you use Hollow Bait?” Ichigo demanded, looking straight into Ishida’s eyes.

“Are you kidding me?” he countered, almost begging Ichigo to rise to the challenge, taunting him to ignore him and walk away. Ichigo had never been a quick learner in that aspect and fell in willingly and soundly, all Urahara’s lessons taught in vain.

“Have you forgotten how you summoned a fucking Menos Grande last time?”

“I thought we’d concluded I had nothing to do with that,” Ishida brushed him off, raising his eyebrows.

Ichigo took a deep breath and decided on a different approach, “Why didn’t you show up today?”

“Why should I? The lessons are practically catered to you. We’re only stage hands. Why? Did you miss me or just the way I practically hand you the point of the lesson every time? Can you actually function by yourself or do you need someone to hold your hand through everything that requires a little thinking? Or do you prefer just using people until they’ve served their purpose and then dumping them like trash?” Ishida practically spat at him, his every word measured and dosed with exact amounts of poison and precision.

Ichigo was stricken, his brow furrowed, but not angrily so; his mouth slightly open, but without indignation.

Rukia took a step forward, “Enough, Ishida.”

Ishida smiled a smile without any mirth, “Oh look. You can’t even fight your own fights anymore, huh?”

Ishida was not talking about the current situation, he sounded too bitter for that. He looked into the eyes of immense azure and found a mirror staring back, Ishida was completely unreadable, his mask crafted too carefully for Ichigo to find anything that could whisper Ishida’s thoughts into his eyes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t start them, then,” Rukia said and stepped back. Ishida followed her, his eyes frosted with rime.

The other scoffed, rolled his eyes and shook his head, “And let you and Kurosaki to walk all over the rest of us?”

Ichigo had no idea when his fist connected with Ishida’s jaw, but the tidal wave falling over him, crushing him and forcing him to his knees came only a second after. Ishida looked shocked, overcome with disbelief, tenderly feeling his jaw. Inoue stepped forward and reached out to Ishida, but stopped herself. Chad said his name, but he was too far away for Ichigo to hear it.

Ishida slowly lifted his eyes to him and swallowed. Ichigo wanted to kiss him, apologize and hug him until the world ended, as long as it meant Ishida would stop looking at him like that. He reached out to him, worry falling off him in thick waves.

“Ishida, I–“

“Don’t touch me,” was the curt reply as he straightened himself out.

“Ishida, I’m sorry, I have no idea how–“

Ishida silenced him with a single look, one of those that needed a thousand pages to even vaguely describe their meaning.

“You owe me an explanation, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo swallowed but nodded none the less.

“Tomorrow night, then,” Ishida said, a slight waver in his voice and a bruise blooming on his cheek. Ichigo’s heart was collapsing in of itself, he felt. There was no denying it. He would have to tell Ishida tomorrow and he would have to do a fantastic job of it.

Ichigo stared after him as he and Inoue left the clearing, Inoue looking towards him and Rukia with a sort of sadness that seemed to be on their behalf. Ishida was resolutely keeping his eyes on the way ahead, not bothering with what was behind him.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes fiercely. Rukia put her hand on his arm, but he shook it off and trudged away from the clearing, needing some time alone to think this through.

He had hit Ishida. He had not meant to, he really had not, but he had not meant to kiss Rukia either, nor end up sleeping beside her every night, nor lying to Ishida and avoid him. He would have to come clean and then pray to anything out there that Ishida would be willing to listen to him.

The rain was fitting for his mood and the way the cold water tempered his embarrassed cheeks only helped to mask his shivers as shivers of cold.

 

Ishida did not show up at the Arcade with the boys. Ichigo only participated when absolutely forced. His entire body felt like it was being teased by needles and his heart had yet to make a decisive beat.

Keigo would send him looks, but would otherwise only try to get him to play a round of Tekken with him. Mizuiro would cock his head, but would receive no answer and Chad would sometimes put his hand on his shoulder, a reassuring weight that kept him connected to Earth.

The two hours were both the slowest and the fastest in Ichigo’s life. He hoped Ishida would be there for the dinner, but also dreaded his presence. He clenched and unclenched his hands as he watched Mizuiro and Chad go at it in a racing game.

The sounds that usually invigorated him, letting him know he was on safe turf, was a pale imitation of what they used to be. His eyes would wander and find a couple playing a shooting game, high fiving when they had beat the level, the guy throwing in more coins to keep playing, his date laughing at something he said and then striking a pose for the start screen.

Ichigo swallowed and tried to refrain from texting or calling Rukia. Even though he was surrounded by friends, by noise and by blinking lights and videogames, he felt alone to his very core and that feeling had only let up when Rukia was nearby. Besides, the itching had begun turning into headaches if left long enough and he could already feel his skull shrinking in around his brain.

“Ichigo?” Keigo would ask him, not getting a reply besides a little shake with his head and a half-smile.

Mizuiro would challenge Keigo to another round of Mortal Kombat and Ichigo decided a little fresh air might help his throbbing head. He made no protest when Chad followed him,

The air outside was cool, nibbling already at his ears and his nose, a shyness to the wind and a brashness to the clouds that once again gathered around to let the rain fall. Yesterday there had not been any showers, so the sky needed to compensate. It brought a sense of heaviness with it, the grey being so full and so saturated it almost looked black.

“You gonna talk to Ishida tonight?” Chad inquired after they had sat outside on the bench for a while, cars slowly passing and the lights from the shop trying to fight off the gloom from above. No one had mentioned the incident all day, but Ichigo had felt them wanting to, their gazes fed with curiosity and worry. Rukia was the only one who had not seemed too conflicted about it.

Ichigo nodded, “I need to apologize.”

“Which part?”

Ichigo must have looked a little taken aback, because Chad elaborated, “There seems to be a lot of tension between you.”

Ichigo took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching a girl open her umbrella, even though the sky had not opened yet and the downpour was still to come.

Because Chad was better than Ichigo presently deserved, he did not push the issue, but kept his peace. They remained on the bench until Keigo and Mizuiro came out to announce the girls had finished their movie and they should be heading towards Pizza Hut, lest they wanted to be late.

“Ishida’ll meet us there too,” Keigo added as an afterthought, flipping through his phone, getting a raised eyebrow from Mizuiro, “Some people don’t tire of in-depth social debates, thank you.”

And Ichigo realized just how close to bene- or malediction he actually was and felt his heart splutter and cough at the thought.

A few drops started coming down upon them, the sky rehearsing for the main event. By the time they reached Pizza Hut the drops had become fat and full, but still fell without much support from above. They used their jackets as makeshift umbrellas and half-ran, half-walked to the restaurant.

The inside was warm and smelt like tomato-sauce and basil. The girls were already waiting around a table for eight, drinks already ordered and bread sticks on the table. Outside, the rain started coming down, as if it had waited for the four of them to get inside.

“Lucky,” Keigo sighed as he scooted down next to Mizuiro and an empty seat. Ichigo took the seat next to Rukia, and could immediately feel his shoulders relax and the head-ache dulling.

Inoue greeted them and gave Ichigo somewhat of a hesitant smile as he sat in between her and Rukia. Chad took the seat next to Tatsuki and Rukia, leaving Ishida an opening between Inoue and Keigo.

The waitress came down, a bored flair to her movements, and a slow glide of her eyes, made it abundantly clear that their drinks would be served with bad grace.

“Should we wait for Ishida or just order already?” Rukia asked, the waitress waiting for them to make up their minds. She sighed and tapped the block.

“We’ll just order right away,” Ichigo said, knowing Ishida’s order anyways. He ordered a starter, a pizza and a side and took a side himself, knowing Ishida would not be above eating his leftovers. The waitress took down their order and left them, her eyelids heavy with condescend.

They fell into easy conversation from there, the topics varying and flittering down the table. Keigo checked his phone a few times, leaning over to ask Inoue a mumbled question or two, receiving a shake on the head in response. The words were spoken so softly, so unlike Keigo, that Ichigo did not catch them, but he knew it was about Ishida and what was keeping him.

It was not until five minutes later that the door opened and Ishida entered, wearing a raincoat and hair plastered to his face, dripping as he went. He stopped the waitress, presumably to order a drink and received a nod and a withering look in return. He pushed his bangs –bangs that shone like strands of black glass – out of his face, his glasses fogging up.

He steered towards their table, dropped his coat and went to the bathroom without any greeting. Inoue took his jacket and straightened it out over the back of his chair and nodded to the waitress as she came with his drink.

Ishida appeared a few moments later, infinitely more presentable. He sat down, smiled to Inoue when he saw his jacket and sighed, “Sorry, I’m late.” He looked around, “When you said dinner extravaganza this was not exactly what I imagined.”

“Is it raining a lot?” Rukia asked, looking him down.

He kept looking at her, his eyebrow slowly lifting, “Yes?”

Ichigo had been on the receiving end of that look a few times himself and knew how incredibly stupid you felt there. He took a sip of his coke, hoping nobody would expect him to do anything. Ishida had brought attitude to the table and Ichigo knew he would bristle at some point.

Chad, Mizuiro and Tatsuki had fallen back into their conversation about music and what merited a good album, a conversation they had had a million times before, but never seemed to tire off, all of them being fans of very different genres but all loving music none the less.

Rukia fell into the conversation as well, leaving Ichigo to listen to Inoue talking quietly with Ishida about the upcoming ranking-tests and how prepared they were for it. Keigo caught his eyes over the table and lifted an eyebrow. Ichigo shook his head.

“Why weren’t you at the Arcade?” Keigo probed, nudging Ishida with his shoulder, distracting him from his conversation with Inoue. He almost sounded petulant.

“You didn’t go to the Arcade?” Inoue joined in and tilted her head. Ichigo leaned on his elbow, head in his hand, looking between them, he could almost feel a smile curling. Ishida had told him why a few weeks back and Ichigo had been too surprised to do much else but laugh at him.

Ishida took a sip of his iced tea and shrugged, “I’m not allowed there.”

“What?!” Keigo cried and got Mizuiro’s attention and with his, Chad’s. Tatsuki looked to Inoue and Rukia to Ichigo, who shook his head.

“You’re banned from the Arcade?”

Ishida took the last breadstick and a bite of it, not contradicting Keigo, nor confirming it. The other blinked and took the breadstick from Ishida’s hands, getting a disgruntled look in return.

“Back up, what?!” Keigo demanded and held on to the breadstick, apparently holding it hostage until he had gotten his answers. Ishida, to his credit, accepted the condition of the exchange with little protest, weighing his breadstick against his pride, his hunger winning out eventually. Ishida was essentially very easy to maintain, food, sex, and archery, and he was set.

Ishida rolled his eyes,” You remember when the Arcade had that Rank First and get a free game?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I might’ve been the reason why it was taken down,” Ishida admitted, sounding entirely too unashamed that Ichigo would barely call it admitting. He did laugh at Keigo’s expression, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Wait, what was your ranking name?”

“M.O.D.,” Ishida answered easily.

Mizuiro leaned forward and shared a brief look with Keigo, “You got a fucking million in Mortal Kombat? How the fuck did you do that?”

“I have great hand-eye coordination,” Ishida shrugged, “and I’m not even on the soccer team.”

Ichigo felt Ishida’s eyes meet his for the briefest of seconds, but it still sent his stomach sprawling and his heart scurrying. They were so blue when it rained.

The waitress came down with the starters, Keigo and Chad also ordered a salad each and Ishida received a steaming bowl of onion-soup. He dug in without question, but glanced up at Ichigo once as if acknowledging that he had probably ordered for him.

“What’s the initials stand for, though?” Mizuiro inquired. He had almost snaked his way around Keigo, invading two different spaces at once. Keigo’s spoon almost flew out of his hands at Mizuiro’s less than graceful maneuvering.

“Quincy,” Ishida explained, “literally means Monk of Destruction. And the fact it said Mod was also kind of funny to me.”

He reached over and took his breadstick from Keigo, dipping it in the soup and taking the last of it into his mouth. And Ichigo really should not be jealous of breadsticks, but his life had reached a new low, so honestly he was not that surprised.

“What am I getting by the way?” Ishida blew on his spoon, “Something good?”

“Onion soup as a starter, pizza with minced meat and eggplant and a side order of Cesar-salad,” Ichigo answered easily, realizing it was the first thing he had said to Ishida all night. The other gave him a long look and then nodded. Mizuiro, too, looked at him, albeit more thoughtful than Ishida had seemed.

“How was your movie?” Ishida inquired the girls and the conversation turned to the table again, Inoue retelling the movie with big eyes and a soft smile, Tatsuki cutting in once in a while and Rukia repeating some of the wittier lines. Ichigo watched them talk, a certain glow to them when they spoke.

The waitress, whose mood had not lightened since the last time she was with them, took out their plates and brought them refills for their drinks, their pizzas arriving a moment later. The eight different orders all served on wooden trays, the cheese almost bubbling still and clinging to the crust when you cut out a piece to eat.

The silence was short-lived, but when everybody took their first bite, chewing and tasting, not a single sound made it from the table.

“I can’t believe you can eat anchovies on your pizza, Asano-san,” Mizuiro mused, wrinkled his nose and shook his head, his own tomato, basil and mozzarella steaming in front of him. He took two pieces, folded them together and ate it almost in one bite.

“And I can’t believe your manners,” Keigo replied, taking a single slice and a normal sized-bite.

Ichigo’s own was a mismatch of vegetables and meats, but he had after a year of sampling pizza flavors come to the conclusion that this was the best taste-combination out there. Ishida watched him with barely contained amusement as he took his first bite, half the toppings falling off.

Ishida laughed and Ichigo looked up, “What?”

“Wow, okay. You’re worse than Mizuiro.” Keigo looked almost appalled and threw him a napkin. Ichigo complied and wiped his face, feeling tomato-sauce smearing onto his napkin as opposed to his skin. Ishida still considered him with a fond sort of smile that quickly vanished, returning to his salad. Ichigo almost felt as if a cloud had moved in front of a sun, feeling bereft of the warmth and the light of it.

A string of cheese curved from Rukia’s pizza to her mouth, her tongue struggling valiantly but in vain as she tried to coax it into her mouth. Ichigo looked at her, then to Keigo, a deadpan and a definite statement that maybe he should revise his previous one.

“How long’re you gonna be here for?” Keigo asked Rukia, who had now switched tactics, using her fingers to get the melted cheese. She took another bite and shrugged, her jaw clenched.

“How’s living with Ichigo?” Mizuiro tried instead, his smile bright as if a private joke had just been shared and considering the smiles he got, it would seem so. Ichigo had by now gotten used to being the driving point of many of their jokes, beginning to understand that was their way to deal with his secrecy and his connections to the supernatural, they reminded themselves that despite all this, he was still human and still the same person. And if that meant a few laughs on his behalf, he too would grin and bear it.

He caught Ishida’s eyes for a moment, his eyebrow lifted slightly, as if he too would like an answer to this, despite having spent more time with him than anybody there the previous year, waking up to one another, falling asleep too. Sharing space and bed, food and drink, it was a game they had become accustomed to, one they played very well.

“Wildly entertaining,” she answered, looks from the table begging her to elaborate, “Yesterday we ate together, all of us, and Kurosaki-san and Ichigo began bickering, I think it started with Ichigo not pouring me some juice, and then he was berated for that, ultimately leading to him almost being cast out of the family for shaming them.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant,” Ishida remarked, pouring soy and vinegar on his pizza, licking his finger free from both, wincing a little from the vinegar.

“It is when you’re there. I’ve rarely seen that much drama around one table. Karin-chan tries to keep them apart, but she’s only one girl, Yuzu-chan apologizes on behalf of them and then, when Kurosaki-san wants to “teach Ichigo a lesson” Yuzu-chan stands up and stops them like she’s stopping a pair of four-year olds. Yesterday, Kurosaki-san almost went up and got an intervention banner from a while back because of Ichigo’s knuckles …” then died out, her eyes landing on Ishida, who, to his credit, did not even glance up from eating a forkful of salad.

Mizuiro looked between them, “Did something happen?”

Ishida shook his head and wiped his hands clean in a napkin, reaching over to take a piece of Ichigo’s pizza, “Kurosaki punched me in the face.”

Tatsuki turned to Ichigo, her eyes hard and demanding explanations and reasons.

“I don’t see nothing,” Keigo examined Ishida’s face, going very close and Ishida gave him a sidelong glance. Ichigo waited for him to force him out of his personal space, but Ishida remained completely calm and took another bite of Ichigo’s pizza.

Inoue looked down and took a sip of her ice-tea.

“Inoue healed it for me.”

 

“What the fuck happened?” Tatsuki inquired, mostly turned to Ichigo, as if berating him for hitting him too soon after he had been initiated. Not that Ichigo thought something like that would scare Ishida off, he had done worse, so much worse than that.

Ichigo looked to Ishida, the other drinking, but meeting his eyes square on.

“We were both out of line,” said Ichigo, probably the most diplomatic answer he could possibly give and saw Ishida’s eyes lift a little, as if he was surprised about this development.

“But that was why Kurosaki-san thought Ichigo was out running with the Yakuza, doing thug-work in the middle of the night,” Rukia picked up the story again, defusing the weird mood that had lowered itself unto the table.

Tatsuki still looked a little unconvinced at Ichigo. Ichigo did not blame her. Mizuiro and Tatsuki were some of the most emotionally intelligent people he knew, and if anybody would pick up on how edged both he and Ishida were, it would be those two. He had seen them exchange a few glances whenever Ishida had spoken to him or remained quiet in turn.

Ichigo dared himself to move his eyes to Ishida who was talking to Inoue about the food or something like that. He seemed a lot duller, a lot more tired than usual, a few shadows under his eyes, a glassy quality to them as well. Ichigo swallowed heavily and took a bite of his pizza, his mouth entirely too dry to perform as it should.

“So how’s the Hollow situation?” Tatsuki asked and forked a piece of her vegetarian pizza, a bell pepper looking particularly keen on escaping. The four of them, Ishida looked resolutely down on his salad, exchanged quick glances.

“We thought it was going to happen yesterday,” Rukia answered carefully, “but turned out the situation was under control.”

Ishida rolled his eyes and forked a piece of chicken, almost aggressively so and herded the remaining bits and pieces together to scoop them up with his fork.

“What was going to happen?” Mizuiro picked up, Tatsuki busy chewing a bite of her pizza.

“Soul Society expects a minor invasion; we’re ready to go when it happens.” Chad took a bite of his pizza, almost bleeding red with Tabasco, tomatoes, salsa and chili. Ichigo admired him more than he would ever be capable of expressing.

“If.”

“Sorry?” Rukia turned to Ishida who was eating a piece of Inoue’s onion, chicken, paprika, corn pizza, an expression of complete neutrality on his face.

“If,” he articulated the word with the same kind of attitude he had begun donning every time Rukia or Ichigo said something he disagreed with.

“What Ishida-kun is saying is that Soul Society’s been wrong before,” Inoue tried, but Ishida shook his head with a chuckle, finished chewing the last bit of his pizza.

“What I’m saying is that you’re overreacting. Granted this so-called invasion takes place, you’ve faced worse – you can’t actually worry about a group of twenty Hollows.”

Ichigo looked at him, “So you’re saying we should just text Soul Society: “Sorry, we’re busy, take care of it yourself”?”

“Would be a first.”

“What?”

“Them doing their jobs,” Ishida said, a tinge of bitterness edging into his words. Rukia stood, the chair screeching against the floor and stared him down, Ishida remained calm and took another bite of pizza, eating it nonchalantly.

A weird sort of silence had draped itself over the restaurant, people turning to see what might very well be a lover’s bout, but quickly turned their heads when they saw the girl standing was not on the verge of tears, nor about to storm out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rukia was positively seething, “Without Soul Society, you would–“

“I would still be sitting here eating pizza. Had Soul Society done their job, the Hogyoku would have been destroyed before it ever matured in you; had Soul Society done their job, Inoue would not have been coerced into going to Hueco Mundo; had Soul Society done their job, lunatics like Ginjo would not have been a liability in the first place; had Soul Society done their job, they would not have any need of us; and had Soul Society done their job, my grandfather would still be alive.

“I’m hate to break it to you, but Soul Society is far from a perfect institution; but you’ve been lead to believe that it is and that’s why shit keeps happening to you and then in extension to Kurosaki and then the rest of us, because you’re stuck in a system that’s outdated and ineffective even at the best of times. The fact that you did not make lieutenant until a few months ago is a fantastic example. You have ranking officers because of their family’s influence, not their own merit and then you’re surprised when they fail to protect anything.

“And still, with people training for centuries, they still rely on teenagers to do their dirty work. And don’t even get me started on Kurosaki alone. Did nobody think to change anything when a 15 year old human barged in and defeated captain after captain? That just speaks of an institution so lazy and full of itself that it can’t even be bothered to correct it’s mistakes.

“So no, if Soul Society did what they were supposed to do, we’d still be sitting here, because we’d be out of a job. As it should be. The fate of the worlds should not be resting on the shoulders of a group of high school seniors.”

Rukia clenched her hand, slowly sitting down, knowing that trying to refute him would be pointless; Ishida was stubborn as a mule when it came to his opinions, especially when he was three shades of right. Ichigo felt his hand go to hers and hold it, letting her use him as an anchor. Ishida finished his pizza and wiped his hands.

“Ishida,” Ichigo said and watched the other stand and drain his glass. He put on his coat and dug out his wallet, throwing a few 1000 yen bills on the table and zipped his jacket.

“I’ll be there when they come, but it shouldn’t be necessary in the first place. Congratulations, by the way.” He was out the door before anyone could say anything. The rain was still falling from the sky and Ichigo found himself looking after Ishida with his name still on his lips.

It was only then Ichigo realized he was still holding Rukia’s hand and that they had intertwined their fingers.

 

Ichigo kicked off his shoes, soggy feet and socks fighting him all the way. He groaned and rested his head on the wall. Rukia clapped his back, right between the shoulder-blades. She announced she was going to take a long, hot shower and wash the coldness from her body and then crawl into bed and read a chapter in the book Ichigo still had no idea where had come from.

Karin was leaning against the wall, watching her brother with pursed lips. The television was running behind them, Isshin watching the news and Yuzu doing her homework. She had been getting the highest marks in her class and Ichigo could not help but feel immensely proud of her.

“Ichi-nii?” Karin’s eyes was on the ground, her arms crossed. Ichigo straightened out and wincing at the coldness of the floor, his bare toes curling in response. He tucked on a pair of slippers and went to the kitchen. Karin followed him without a sound, kept her eyes on him as he made a cup of tea, waiting for him to take the first sip before pouncing.

“Are you and Ishida-san fighting?” she asked him, bluntness a family trait it seemed. Ichigo swallowed, the hot tea warming him from the inside, but not reaching his bone or marrow. He leaned back on the counter, trying to suck the heat from the tea out into his hands.

“Why would you think that?”

“You haven’t been to his place for three weeks. How bad is it?” she asked, coming closer and leaning next to him, saving him from having this conversation while facing his own reflection in her eyes.

Ichigo shook his head, “It’s complicated.”

“Because of Rukia-san?”

Ichigo only nodded, though he knew that was only half of the problem.

Karin took the cup from him and took a sip, scrunching her nose and adding a spoonful of sugar. She gave it back to him and let her head fall on his arm.

“Are you still in love with Ishida-san?” she asked carefully, almost lost in the noises from the TV, the slurping of him drinking tea. Ichigo was infinitely grateful for her not asking whether or not they were going to break up. He could already feel his insides crumbling at the mere thought. He knew this was not a great situation, but they had worked for a year, surely they could work through this as well.

He swallowed and nodded.

Because if all else failed, that he was still sure off. He missed Ishida, he missed him so very much, but between his rather dicky attitude and his own headaches and school and training and studying and his friends and generally trying to piece his life and future together, it did not feel as if he had had time to actually date him. And of course the whole Rukia issue.

“Maybe you should talk to him.”

Ichigo turned to her, kissed her hair and lifted his arm, putting it around her. They stood like that for a while, listening to the TV, Ichigo drinking his tea and Karin leaning on him, letting him know she was still there.

“I love you, Karin.” There was a need to say those words, to let her know. He knew he did not say it nearly enough and he caught her blush a little and then push away from him.

“Don’t be stupid,” she grumbled and left the kitchen, her hands in her pockets. Ichigo looked after her, smiling a little as she went. He put his cup in the sink and cracked his back.

As soundlessly as possible, he tried making it out of the house. Rukia met him in the hall, watching him with raised eyebrows.

“Where’re you going?”

“I need to talk to Ishida,” Ichigo explained, receiving a small nod for his troubles. She handed him a dry pair of socks and his jacket. He put on his trainers and hoped the rain would have let up by now.

“Be safe,” she said as he went outside. He smiled at her, but it was something they both knew meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Instead, she closed the door behind him and turned on the porch-light, leaving him a light to follow when he came back.

The walk there was done with practiced steps, he almost knew how many it took to carry him there. And he almost knew nothing about what to expect and it was that uncertainty that was gnawing at him, irking him to slow his pace until he noticed he had been passed by an old lady with a stroller.

He swallowed and regretted landing them both in this situation in the first place, but why Ishida had to act like a pompous ass was beyond him. He was treating both him and Rukia unfairly, but he was beginning to suspect Ishida was lashing out because he was frustrated at not understanding.

Ishida was used to understanding everything the first time around, which was also why Ichigo suspected him of being so reluctant to talk about his feelings and his insecurities. There was this fragility to him when he finally did, a crack in the glass he usually had in front of him.

The walk up the stairs was almost solemn in nature, his steps measured and distracted, but also completely focused at what lay beyond them.

Ichigo knocked on the door, his heart shaking, tremors running through his hand. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

He remembered the first time he had been here with pizza and ice tea hoping Ishida would come out with him that had been extremely unpleasant as well, feeling put on the spot without anywhere to run or hide. Back then he had not given it any thought how long this thing with Ishida was going to continue, nor how well they would do. Looking back he had been stupid.

The door creaked open and Ishida peeked out, then opening the door all the way and letting Ichigo pass. Ichigo went inside and took off his shoes, his hand idly tugging at his hair. Ishida closed the door and went to the living room, turning the TV off and folding his arms over his chest.

The apartment was eerily quiet, the light fused with shadows and unspoken truths, giving the room a severity that only matched the distance between them.

To say the atmosphere was tense would be an understatement. Ichigo could practically feel it pressing on his shoulders, weighing him down. Ishida’s eyes were heavy with defiance and something akin to defeat. He had seen this look exactly once, at that was when he had looked into his eyes upon seeing Zangetsu firmly planted in his abdomen.

The shivers that ran down his spine were far from benign, they felt more like frayed nails digging into his bones and marrow, sucking his bone clean; like the scream of a Hollow from afar. He buried his hands in his pockets to stop them from fidgeting. Ishida watched him like a snake watched a mongoose.

Their eyes locked. It felt like fire meeting ice, as was custom, but this time the fire was wild and the ice was bound. It was almost as if all the words they had to say passed between them physically. The air almost cracked and shattered until Ishida blinked, looked away, severing the contact.

“Where’s your dad?” Ichigo asked, opening up the conversation, opening the wound, red blood and yellow inflammation pouring out, staining the ground.

“Hiroshima.” Ishida was curt and precise, arms tightly wound around his chest.

Ichigo considered him, licked his lips and continued, “Wasn’t he just in Osaka?”

“That was a month ago.” Ishida’s arms fell to his side with an irritated huff, turning his back on Ichigo, impatience being the one thing he could discern from the air around him, “What do you want Kurosaki?”

Ichigo took a step further into the dragon’s den, watching Ishida for tells that he should stay where he was. He had never seen Ishida be this avoidant and at the same time this confrontational, it was a strange mix that only Ishida could pull off. How he always managed to be everything and nothing, to be the most emotional person he knew, but also the most cold and unfeeling, the most severe.

“I want to apologize”

Ishida turned around, the same aura of defeat and desolation he had glimpsed previously. He swallowed.

“No need, I was out of line, I should be the one apologizing.” Ishida sighed, his eyes cast down, though his words bordered on sarcastic. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, the light catching but only for a second. Ichigo felt his bones growing cold, his fingers itching to scratch something that was not there.

“Ishida, we’re dating, you’re not supposed to hit somebody you … you’re dating.”

The silence Ishida offered made Ichigo’s back crawl and his stomach sink. Ishida met his eyes, only for a moment, enough for Ichigo to catch the flash of a sigh, but not long enough for him to see what came after.

Ishida arms crossed his chest again, almost hugging himself, “Are we though?”

Ichigo’s stomach fell, fell into blackness and took his heart with him. He almost could not understand what Ishida had asked him and at the same time it was so painfully obvious it physically hurt him. His heart was beating as if it was leading an army to war, his breath shaky, “What?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year and we’ve never had dinner with your family or held hands in public.”

The crescendo in his voice was unmistakable; growing in surety and indignation. The eye of the hurricane was closing, taking the safety and the silence with it.

“Ishida …” Ichigo tried, his brow crumbling, his frown falling.

“Are you in love with her?”

The question was harshly spoken, spat out as if the very words disgusted and pained him. Ichigo only then saw the rift in Ishida’s mask, the rip that uncovered his eyes and the maelstrom within them. His fingers jittered and his mouth became dry, his tongue heavy and useless it seemed.

The kitchen appliances were humming, Karakura buzzing and those far off sounds were the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. Answering the question was almost impossible, the very idea preposterous in itself. But was that not the entire essence of this conversation, Ichigo deeming something impossible and then proving to the world and himself that it could happen all the same?

Finding his voice proved more difficult than he had ever thought, choosing his words was easy, because they sounded alike in both his mind and his mouth. They came out with calm and solemn conviction he had not thought he would ever be able to convey. The melody sounded more like something that should be whispered after a kiss in the hair, a secret from the world, but not to the one who received the kiss. It sounded like sun coming through after the rain, like the words mumbled in the morning when you woke up next to another, one you could never see yourself parted from.

“No. No, Ishida, I’m not.”

“I’d rather you just broke up with me instead of pretending you owe me something.” It was almost impossibly quiet. If Ichigo had not seen his mouth move he would have doubted Ishida even said anything. It only spoke of how far down the maelstrom had sucked him, how far below the surface, how dark the water, how deep the sea.

Ichigo felt his knees weaken. He came closer, slowly, one step at the time, not pretending he was doing this for anybody’s sake but his own. Ishida remained unmoving.

“Ishida, I need to talk to you,” he said, no music in the sentence because no matter how quiet or how loud, the words would never be anything but a bad omen.

Ishida raised his eyebrows and shook his head, “That’s new.”

“Why do you always have to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Make it so hard to talk with you.”

Ichigo was almost close enough to touch him, taking the last few steps in anger. He took a deep breath and cooled down. Ishida knew he would have won if he lost his temper.

And Ichigo stopped himself immediately, wondering how their relationship had become a contest of who won and who lost. He swallowed the thought away, not liking the answer he would come with.

“Would it be better if I simply didn’t speak?” Ishida asked, almost making a curtsy, looking entirely too arrogant for it to be a submissive gesture and Ichigo could recognize that, the defiance and he felt himself taking the bait, hook, line and sinker.

“Yeah, for the moment it might just be better,”

Ishida’s eyes froze over and he pursed his lips, of only for a short moment letting Ichigo wanting to feel if they were as delectable as he remembered, but Ishida’s word cut him short of his musings.

“Fine.”

Ichigo waited, waited to see if Ishida had anything to ask, but the other only raised his eyebrows in impatience and curiosity. He could feel his heart gathering momentum again, almost shaking with nerves.

“I admit I’ve been avoiding talking to you,” Ishida snorted at him, “but that’s because I knew you’d make a bigger deal out of it than it actually is. But Rukia and I have been sleeping together, not having sex, but sleeping next to each other in my bed for about two weeks now.”

Ishida’s eyes were big, his mouth open the slightest bit and his forehead completely smoothed. His eyes however looked at Ichigo much like Cesar looked upon Brutus when he too stabbed him. A little light in Ishida’s eyes flickered and dimmed.

Ichigo hands flew up, wanting to touch him, but reigning himself in, a hint of desperation in his voice, “We sleep together, but that’s all.”

Without any bravado, Ishida’s eyes fell again, looking away at anything, everything but Ichigo it seemed.

“That’s nice to know.”

“Ishida …”

He interrupted without any grace, “No, I understand. You just come to me for sex then, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“But that’s how it is, isn’t it!?” Ishida almost shouted, despite his voice never growing louder, “We haven’t spoken in nine fucking days and now you decide to tell me it’s because you’ve been sleeping with Kuchiki-san? Why don’t you just be a fucking man and end the mis-“

Ichigo hurriedly stopped him before he could finish his sentence. The kiss was every bit as desperate as Ishida’s tone became and his fingers quickly went for his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer, kissing him trying to make him forget what he had just said.

They barely broke apart for air, Ishida reciprocating with as much despondency as Ichigo himself did. It tasted like rain and the color black, like moonless nights and cloudy days. He could almost smell the salt in Ishida’s eyes and broke them apart, to look at him, forcing him to do the same.

“Don’t say that,”

Ishida smiled, a hollow, empty kind of smile, “Then what should I say? It won’t change anything.”

Ichigo clenched at his neck, hair getting caught between his fingers. If it hurt Ishida, he did not show it, “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make assumptions about me that aren’t true,” he almost bit the words into Ishida’s lips, the other breathing his air and meeting his eyes without fear as he said, “We both know I’ve been right so far.”

And Ichigo could only kiss him half-heartedly, as he tried to convince Ishida he was wrong.

But Ishida kissed him back, a certain coldness seeping into his gesture, making it all too real how very wrong it was for Ichigo to be doing this. He had promised himself he would not, and here he was, kissing and grinding slowly, trying to physically make Ishida forget whatever line of thought he was having, trying to convince him not to voice his thoughts, as if that would make them untrue and unnecessary.

Ishida began walking backwards, Ichigo already knowing where to and followed without stumbling, used to navigating through this space attached to the other by the mouth, almost deeming breathing unimportant in the face of letting go and tonight it felt even more urgent that they did not take off their attention from the other.

They fell into Ishida’s bed, Ichigo still pushing down, Ishida pushing up. They broke apart, staring at each other, a moment of breathlessness before Ishida simply laid back and lead Ichigo down to take him. Ishida did not struggle, did not oppose, did not breathe a single breath against Ichigo as he removed their clothes, his eyes constantly on the other.

When Ichigo removed Ishida’s glasses, the other closed his eyes, but only briefly. When he opened them everything he was and felt came crashing over Ichigo and he felt his breath catch at the profound vulnerability and the capitulation he saw. He had stripped Ishida for all of his barriers now and knew the only reason it was so was because Ishida let him, because Ishida had surrendered.

He did not move unless Ichigo bade him to, only kept watching him, kept those amazing, petrifying blue eyes in direct contact with his. Ichigo could feel his breath catch in his throat as he realized Ishida would not be fighting him this time, would not do anything but offer himself to him and hope Ichigo would take whatever he needed.

There was something finite over the way Ishida agreed to roll onto his stomach so Ichigo would not have to keep judging himself in those eyes and as he slid in, Ishida gasped, but no other sound came.

It was the slowest, the quietest and the most distant sex they had ever had.

None of the fervor, none of the fights, none of the warmth.

They came, Ishida with a muffled sigh and Ichigo with a silent groan.

Ichigo pulled out and tied the condom, Ishida rolled onto his side, staring into the wall.

Ichigo pretended he did not see the wet marks on the pillowcase.

Ishida pretended Ichigo was not leaving him to find Rukia.

In the end, Ichigo leaned over and kissed Ishida’s temple, noticing how cold his shoulder was and how chilled his cheek. He swallowed and let himself out of the apartment, walking the entire way home, feeling the world was blurring, the colors slowly leaving, the rain kidnapping them and leading them away.

Ichigo had not even noticed how his head hurt until it did not, until Rukia took his hand and smiled at him. He smiled back, but could not bring himself to mean it.

They were alone, the living room dark and the night having conquered the world, did not need them dividing his armies with their light.

Rukia sensed his mood and let him upstairs. She threw back the covers and Ichigo sat down, toeing off his socks, removing his shirt and unfastening his belt.

He laid down without further complain, only let Rukia hug him from behind as he fell asleep thinking of the one who slept alone and how he himself did not.

One thing had become scarily clear. Ishida had not forgiven him for anything he had done, but he had decided that pretending he had was the better option. Ichigo swallowed at the implications.

And just how deep the waters he was treading had become.

Chapter 6

To say school was pleasant would be lying and Ichigo was starting to feel tired of doing that. He and Ishida had shared a few looks, but besides that it was like Thursday night had never happened.

Ishida had withdrawn himself completely now, retreating to the library to read up on the last missing chapters and eating lunch somewhere else entirely. Not even Inoue knew where he went off to and Ichigo found himself eating and not tasting anything, waiting for Ishida to come back into the classroom, only to feel the icy miasma he would bring along.

He would have wordless conversations with Rukia whenever Ishida appeared or when he rolled his eyes as their phones signaled a Hollow’s rampage. More often than not he would get up slowly, not running after the others and simply go to the roof and shoot them from there, almost the second they would arrive on scene.

But he did not seem smug as he did it, more like he was proving a necessary point and hoping they would understand before it was too late. Ichigo would be frustrated with him, until he saw his eyes and the way they were not boasting of his feats but rather showing him instead of telling him.

Rukia had asked Ishida to provide air-support, he in turn had asked someone to cover his back. If he was surrounded or a Hollow got too close, he would not be able to do much, being a long-ranged attacker. Inoue had suggested Scheele Schneider, which Ishida refuted, saying he could not carry them around all the time. He done so once and lost them at a worrying rate, which Ichigo believed.

“Better if one of the close-ranged fighters have my back so I can focus on having yours,” he had ended the discussion. His eyes were distant and indifferent, as if whether or not they did, he would not mind. Or that he did not think they would. So Ichigo had taken it upon himself to be the one protecting Ishida. It should be the least he could do.

But it seemed as if he had started taking the threat seriously, which helped a little when they were training together. Ishida did not show for the actual session, but would join them afterwards and listen to whatever Urahara had to say and then attend the meeting where they discussed their strategies.

It was Tuesday again, another weekend gone in passing and the next round of tests coming up. Ichigo knew Ishida was busy studying, wanting to reclaim his ranking and thus he needed time to sit and read alone. So Ichigo did not approach him. And since he was probably busy for the most of the day, he did not call him either. Or text him. Or talk to him in general. And when he had made enough excuses for himself he would bury his head in his arms, creating a barrier between his thoughts and the world, the darkness soothing his eyes.

Ichigo sighed heavily as Ochi-sensei was explaining the finer points of applied mathematics. He was sitting two seats back diagonally from Ishida, the other paying attention, but not with the same sort of focus he would usually have. Rukia was next to him, a little ball of paper in her hands, surreptitiously thrown to Ichigo’s desk.

He looked at her as she too began taking notes, unfolded the paper and read the missive, “Soccer after school?”

He wrote a reply in the negative and returned to attempting to take notes. He could not form any words though, his brain completely empty for whatever he ought to write down, his thoughts all going in one direction.

Ishida was sitting with his back to him, his shoulders drawn and an air unreadable to any mortal. Whatever doors Ichigo had managed to open, he had effectively succeeded in shutting them again. He put his head in his hands and swallowed.

His throat was dry and his eyes felt tired. He had not been able to sleep this weekend, constantly thinking over what he had said, what he had done and then felt terrible for doing so, saying so. When he thought back, and the more he mulled it over, the more he became sure of the wrongness of what he had said, how he had phrased things.

And then a paper-ball would land on his table again, this time almost timidly. He opened it and read, “He’ll come around.”

That’s what Ichigo had said last Wednesday and Ishida had yet to arrive anywhere. Ichigo was waiting for him, because he felt that was all he had left to offer him. It seemed whenever he had tried being the actor, Ishida had only ended up getting more hurt, pushed farther away. So he had resigned to being the reactor and even though the very nature of this was against everything he had ever thought about himself, he found himself marveling at the power Ishida had over him.

Friday had rolled around, the week passing in a blur of wanting to do everything right and knowing it would only go wrong, settling for the chaotic neutral they were floating in. The rankings were due next Monday, the results would be proudly displayed in the hall for everybody to see.

And it was because of this Ishida had not managed to avoid eating lunch with them. Inoue had been adamant, insistent and completely impossible to deny, but Ichigo was still surprised to see Ishida there.

He was sitting cross-legged on his chair, a red apple in his hands and a vacant look in his eye like he was searching for something he already knew he would not find. Keigo slapped his back and he attempted a half-smile but failed miserably.

Ichigo had turned his chair around and used the backrest as a shield between his torso and the rest of them. Ishida had not even glanced his way and he suspected it was because he still wanted Ichigo to be the initiator.

“Cheer up, Ishida. You’ll be in first again, you’ll see,” Keigo tried, but soon stopped his jovial bouts, seeing how they fell like water on feathers. Ishida turned the apple around his hands, fingers almost smoothing out the rosy flesh and the crimson skin. In that moment he reminded him of Snow White and Christ! – Ichigo wanted to be the one waking him.

Inoue’s brow was creased and folded when she asked, “Is that all you’re having, Ishida-kun?”

Ishida smiled this time and looked to her, “I’m not very hungry.”

And that was what made Ichigo’s skin crawl.

Suddenly Ishida’s eyes came into pinpoint focus and his mouth became slack. Ichigo watched him, slowly realizing he was counting.

“Ishida?” Rukia asked him, his phone suddenly going off, beeping and squeaking. Ichigo’s followed suit.

“52 Hollows?!” Ichigo exclaimed, standing quickly.

Ishida shook his head, “76,” a second, “91,” a blink, “124,” a look, “159.”

“159?!” Rukia repeated, already popping out a piece of Soul Candy. Inoue was tying her hair back and Chad was catching Ichigo’s body as it fell to the ground.

“214,” he corrected himself, “253.”

“How is that even possible?” Tatsuki asked, a worried glance to Inoue. Their friends had yet to see them actually do any of the life-threatening things they had been told about. Mizuiro watched Keigo, taking his arm as he almost threw himself at Ichigo’s body, looking between him and his shell as if trying to figure everything out.

“This is surreal,” he mumbled and looked to Rukia, standing in her black hakama and her Soul Slayer by her side.

Ishida finally stood, “We shouldn’t waste time. There’re almost 300 Hollows and more coming by the second.”

“We’ll meet you there,” Chad said, nodding to Inoue and they both hurried out the door.

Ishida nodded as well and vanished in front of them, using his Hirenkyaku. Ichigo looked to Rukia, then to his friends who watched him with huge eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” he reassured them and then both he and Rukia Flash Stepped away to the huge construction site in the Eastern part of town, to the coordinates given by the Denreishinki. The lot was supposed to become a huge mall, but because the firm had gone bankrupt and no one had the finances to finish such a large scale building, construction had stalled and then stopped completely.

The sky was heavy with grays and rain, a certain cold to the air, a bite of autumn and crisp leaves. Large steel beams and concrete tubes, ochre wire and rubble were spread all over the grounds. Skeletons of half-finished buildings were pushing themselves off the ground, orange with rust and black with disuse. Containers and trucks were still littering the premises, making it look like the workers had only just left their jobs, returning after lunch, but something dead hung in the air, like the place knew it was never going to be done and would stand like this until someone decided to tear it down.

A Western wind carried and few leaves and dust-particles with it.

The beams were crawling with Hollows, their colorless forms almost blackening the entire structure, their masks dotting the landscape.

And there were far more than 300 like Ishida had said. It looked more like a 1000.

“Still think we could handle it ourselves?” Rukia asked, knowing Ishida was already there.

“I’d say there’s a difference between twenty and a thousand,” he replied, summoning his bow, the throng all facing the archer, looking hungry and interested, “Call Abarai-kun.”

Rukia nodded and flipped open her phone, dialing Renji and getting through immediately.

“You have my back?” Ishida turned to Ichigo, looking at him, something piercing in his eyes, something unforgiving and severe. Ichigo nodded and drew Zangetsu from his sheath.

Inoue and Chad reached them, Chad’s arms both clad in the red, white and black armor and Inoue’s hairpins glowing.

“Holy shit,” Chad said, conveying the emotions of everyone there. The Hollows might not be strong, but they were numerous, and Ichigo realized he would have his job cut out from him, guarding Ishida’s back. He could only swing his sword so many times and Ishida only fire so many arrows. When they had taken care of one another would be there to take its place and they would run out of stamina before they were even halfway.

"Sucks you got a new bow, huh?” he tried jokingly and received a wry smile.

“I regret that decision now."

Ichigo remembered very well the duel he and Ishida had had the first time they had met. His arms had been like led, his feet dragging and his muscles burning from exhaustion. His blood had been on fire and his brow had been drenched. But what he remembered the best was the absolute despondence he had felt when he looked upon the sky and seen that despite their collective efforts, it did not matter.

He had felt like he was being crushed, his stomach falling and his shoulders sagging when he had realized that they would not be able to save Karakura.

But it was different now. They would only have to hold out for Soul Society to get here, they were four and they had all gotten so much stronger.

Ishida prepared an arrow, staring down the entire army before them, waiting for one of them to make a move. One lifted its tail and that was the last thing it ever got to do, Ishida firing before Ichigo could even blink.

“What are they waiting for?” Chad inquired.

Rukia flipped her phone shut and looked to them, “Renji says they can’t come through. The Hollows are blocking the way. We’ll have to take down as many as possible ourselves and hope it’s enough for them to open the Senkaimon.”

Ishida snorted and shook his head, “Typical.”

Rukia shot him a look that could kill, but then a scream shot through the air and the Hollows moved. It was almost like having a black avalanche approach, the numbers astounding and the shiver running down his spine, the dryness of his palms, the best indication that he was more ready than he would ever be proud to admit.

Ishida’s arrows sung through the air, cutting through the blackness, spreading the darkness only to have another Hollow overtake the previous’ position. Ichigo remembered how his hands had been torn because he saved him, faint lines still on his fingers and palms as proof, and he would be loathe to have something similar happen.

“Dance, Sode no Shirayuki,” Rukia commanded softly, her Soul Slayer releasing its Shikai, the white ribbon flying in the wind. She used the first dance, a pillar of ice appearing in front of them, but only taking a few Hollows with it. It shattered almost immediately, the shards catching the few drops of sunlight left and the light from Ishida’s arrows.

Neither got to release any more attacks before they reached them.

The Hollows hit hard. It was like being breached by a tsunami. They were encircling them and limiting their movements, making it almost impossible to attack without hurting one another.

Claws, tails, teeth were fighting to get to them, injuring each other in the process, all of them pushing to get through to the only sliver of life and souls in the area. Ichigo’s calf was scraped, his ribs punched and his elbow fizzing.

“Kurosaki! Use Getsuga Tensho!” Ishida howled and flung out, ducked to avoid a tail, shooting it the moment it had passed him.

“You would be hit!” he denied him, slashing and hacking, swinging and stabbing. Rukia was dancing too, the Soul Slayer catching the Hollows, freezing and killing.

“We need out!”

“Ichigo! Do as he says!” Rukia shouted, her hakama tearing as a Hollow just barely missed her. Another’s tongue caught on her badge and ripped it off.

Chad covered Inoue and nodded to Ichigo, Ishida almost took a direct his to his shoulder and landing back to back with Rukia. Ichigo fastened his grip on Zangetsu and released the biting half-moon, clearing a stack of Hollows. The light tore through the charcoaled bodies, opening a path, though it was quickly closing in.

Ishida grabbed Inoue and disappeared, Rukia and Ichigo both reaching Chad and making it out of the inferno.

“Everybody okay?” Rukia asked.

They were crouched down behind a pillar almost bubbling with rust and the paint peeling off in huge chunks. Inoue already had her healing shield out, Ishida’s sleeve bloody and Chad’s jeans stained with red. The Hollows seemed to be unaware of their escape, all still attacking whatever was left of them in there.

“We’ll live,” Ishida answered. He stood, Inoue protesting, but not forcing him back down.

“Any ideas?” Ichigo asked him, watching him frown in thought, the look of someone weighing all their options.

Ishida summoned his bow again, and stepped out. “Sado-kun, could I persuade you to come with me?”

Chad nodded easily and got up, Inoue sighing and shaking her head at the idiocy she would never put a name to.

“Where’re you going?” Ichigo found himself asking, wanting to reach out to Ishida and go with him instead of Chad. Not that he did not trust Chad to take care of them both, but he was sending Ishida out without any other kind of assistance and the want to keep him safe was almost suffocating. And he understood what Ishida had meant when he had spoken about this, Ichigo himself almost wishing he had not gotten his powers back either.

“Fishing,” Ishida said, pouring every ounce of stupidity into that single word.

“Fish– Ishida!” Ichigo repeated, but the other had already vanished when he had figured out what exactly he was planning on doing.

And suddenly the swarm of Hollows split into two and Rukia took her chance, sprinting out. She began performing the second dance, the flurry of ice already forming and creating a white cut in the middle of the blackness. She disappeared in all the Hollows, Ichigo soon to follow as his own hakama blended in as well, only the white sash around his middle standing out.

An arrow flew past him, killing a Hollow about to bite into him, one he had not seen. Ishida fired another four, clearing Ichigo’s path and was lost in the white of the moving mass. They had never been more different than in that moment, one lost in darkness and one claimed by the light.

Ichigo allowed himself to swing Zangetsu as broadly as he so chose, as swiftly, as messily. Every single grain, every single ounce of frustration from the past weeks came welling up in him. He ran his Soul Slayer through a Hollow, stabbing the one behind it too, driving Zangetsu so deep he stood in the middle of the dissipating Spirit Particles.

He twisted the blade and swung it through another four, the light blue reminding him of Ishida, which in turn only gave him more fervor, more power to use. He thrusted, he parried, he rarely stepped back, but oh! how he killed and cleansed.

There was a shout to his left, and he saw Inoue and Chad back to back, her barriers out and Chad using that almost ungodly strength to crush the Hollows in front of him, leaving them both in a shimmering stream of dust-like particles. The heavy clouds sucked the light from the Earth, became more alive and vivid with every flicker it consumed.

Rukia was almost flying, dancing like her sword. She would turn, spin and use her Soul Slayer as if they had been birthed together, as if they were cut from the same piece of steel. They glinted fiercely in the storm of light that mingled with the snow around her, the pieces of ice that had broken and fallen.

And Ishida was nowhere to be seen. Ichigo began noticing that none of them had any Hollows too close to them. They vanished before they closed in from a blind angle, before they got to use their teeth or claws. Before any blood was spilled.

Ishida was flashes of light, slivers of sun and moon, visible only for a second before he was gone again.

It was not until Ichigo felt someone collide with his back that he realized Ishida had returned from the air, a grounded angel, his hair covering his right eye, a slight shiver in his left hand.

“You okay?”

“You’re job to make sure I am,” Ishida panted and fired another arrow, Chad’s right side safe again.

Ichigo slashed the Hollows before they even reached Ishida. He demanded their screams in return for their attempts to attack him, who stood solidly planted, letting arrow after arrow fly through the masses, hitting the greatest threats to their friends before they even realized they were in trouble. And Ichigo tried doing the same, tried to protect Ishida before he was in danger.

His hands were beginning to burn, his forehead melting, his legs on fire, his shoulders sloshing with acid and the sensation of energy fleeting from his body, but he knew could not give up because it would mean the end.

It reminded him so much of the first time they fought, where they started as rivals and ended up fighting back to back. It had been one of the things in Ichigo’s life that had proved most influential in regards to his powers, knowing that it did not matter whatever power was possessed, but the heart behind it that counted. That was one of the reasons why he continued bringing Inoue and Chad with him into the fray. He needed to be reminded of the good in the world sometimes.

And Ishida had helped him do that.

Ishida who fought with the ideal of a fair fight, of chivalry not being a medieval notion and with enough respect for death that he chose mercy as opposed to execution. Ishida who would be white instead of black like Ichigo, who would fight with light itself and mercy, with arrows and cunning instead of brute force and no regard of the losses.

Ichigo knew Ishida did not see his ability to choose life over death as a strength, but Ichigo would sometimes wake, remembering the feeling of taking the life of a person, of someone instead of something, and that left him sweating and trembling.

In those moments he would look at Ishida sleeping next to him, Rukia sleeping next to him and remember why he had done what he had done. Having a reason did not ease the memories, but they helped him fall back asleep, a hand over Rukia’s waist.

And that was when he saw a Hollow opening its mouth, about to bite into her, her attention on the three in front of her, all forcing her to avoid them, to pay full attention to them.

Ichigo moved quicker than he had ever thought possible. He put his arm around her shoulders before the Hollow could, releasing Getsuga Tensho into its gaping mouth instead, obliterating the Hollows behind it and even farther. The orange, contorted pillars of steel behind them crumbled to the ground, receiving the last of the attack.

“Kurosaki!” Ishida shouted.

Ichigo turned, seeing him completely surrounded, a look of anger and frustration on his face, the most vivacious Ichigo had seen all week. Because Ishida was beautiful when he was angry.

And that was when a Hollow pierced his stomach with its stinger, impaling Ishida, blood – so, so red –dripping from the wound excessively already. The Hollow flung him off his scorpion-like tail, discarding Ishida now he was no longer a threat.

Ichigo watched, breathless as Ishida’s body hit an excavator, blood smearing the vehicle, landing lifeless and limp on the ground. A little cloud of dust rose as he fell.

The air in his lungs turned to alkali, his knees weak and useless. He lost his breath, screaming Ishida’s name, screamed until he was hoarse, Hollows coming closer, their tongues out and ready to eat whatever they could. Ichigo’s eyes stung, but he could not move. He was completely rooted to the spot, the concrete having replaced his bones and the image of Ishida lying unmoving on the ground branded on his hands.

There was no sound, no tastes, no flavors. The world had gone dumb and he had gone deaf, leaving whatever was in between mute and soundless. His heart had beaten once.

Rukia called his name, covering his back, shoving him out of the way. He landed on the gravel, scraping his hands. There was dirt in his eyes, the dust kicked up was making its way into his mouth, the Hollows threatening to trample him. He got up, pushing himself off.

Ishida was completely covered in Hollows. Ichigo moved with the ocean on his back, with the clouds weighing him down and his own feet working against him.

A golden projectile shot through the Hollows, eviscerating them, powdering whatever remained of them. Ichigo stopped dead in his tracks as Inoue’s Koten Zanshun returning to her. She ran to Ishida and immediately called forth the healing barrier, Chad close behind her, protecting her from whatever Hollows were foolish enough to try and stop her.

Ichigo felt a breeze past his ear and turned around.

The 13 Divisions had arrived, Unohana, Byakuya, Hitsugaya and Kenpachi of the Captains, Renji, Hisagi, Isane, Matsumoto and Yachiru of the Lieutenants and Ikkaku and Yumichika tagged along as they always did.

They were only gathered for about two seconds before they vanished, engaging in the battle.

Unohana immediately went to Ishida, pushing Inoue away, apologizing and smiling. Inoue let her, sat back and watched her as she almost stitched Ishida’s soul back together, the Hollows having managed to eat portions of it before Inoue got there.

Renji landed next to him, Zabimaru already released. If Hollows had blood, the blade would be burning red.

“Captain Hitsugaya and Matsumoto are closing the tear,” he stated, watching Ichigo staring at Ishida, the wound in his stomach so very familiar and this one also his fault. He could almost feel his own organs wanting to crawl up his throat, to spill onto the ground in penance.

Renji gave him a side-long glance and put a hand on his shoulder, “Captain Unohana knows what she’s doing.” He removed his hand and went to rejoin the other lieutenants.

Ichigo sheathed Zangetsu, figuring it mattered very little now. He could practically feel the battle dissipating, Ikkaku shouting in glee and Yachiru laughing and Kenpachi used his sword the best way he knew. Yumichika was likewise slaying Hollows, back to back with Rukia, Hisagi and Renji, the four of them guarding Hitsugaya and Matsumoto as they forced the now visible rift in the sky to mend.

Byakuya was keeping his eyes on Rukia while he took care of an indecent amount of Hollows without so much as lifting a hand. Isane was by her captain, tending the wounds of Ishida, his blood almost turning black as it touched upon the ground.

Inoue was cradling his head, stroking his hair soothingly while Unohana and Isane worked.

Ichigo slowly walked to Ishida and sat down next to him, waiting for him to open his eyes, move a finger, take a fucking breath!

He and Inoue shared a look and he knew she understood how much this hurt him, how much he knew it was his fault, but she did not look upon him with judgment or scorn, only eyes as grey as the sky above them, brimming with worry and overflowing with tears.

Ishida’s face was stained with blood, the corner of his mouth the source of a vermillion river, his clothes torn and red. Ichigo swallowed and dared putting a hand on his collarbone, hoping some of him would flow into Ishida, waking him up.

However long he sat there for felt like the length of the Winter War, every minute of not knowing when the final moment was to be; never knowing when the end would come, but knowing it would no matter what. His heart only seemed to beat every once in a while, refusing to do much more before Ishida too began living.

Rukia put her hand on his shoulder, he stood and followed her, not even knowing why. She looked at him, took him in and her eyes softened.

“He’ll make it,” she said seriously, a color to her voice that fitted the entire scenery.

The battle was still ongoing, but far fewer Hollows, far more Soul Reapers and far better odds. The sun had broken through the gray, casting an orange glow over the construction site, the ground torn and wretched, deeply wounded from the fighting. The almost white lights kept flowing freely from the defeated Hollows, kept pushing their way into heaven and the few holes in the clouds that were there. Soul Slayers still met white masks, black hakamas still moved in the wind, dust still rose when they landed.

The only thing that did not move was Ishida Uryuu, who remained still even though the rest of the world was a flurry of motions.

Rukia stepped closer and hugged him, clung to him and Ichigo grabbed onto her, as if she was a piece of a flotsam in a roaring sea, and he a castaway gasping for air. He needed her so much in that moment, needed someone to understand exactly how important Ishida was to him and exactly how hard it was to breathe, how much his heart was threatening to give out.

How long they stood there, he had no answer if somebody asked. All he knew was that as he and Rukia stood there, he could feel something calm within him, the waves soothing from frothing madness to gentle rolls.

When they broke apart, Ichigo allowed himself a small smile in gratitude, Rukia reciprocating easily. He turned to see if Ishida had woken up.

He had.

And judging from the look in his eyes, he seemed to wish he had not.

 

Ichigo spent the entire weekend at Urahara’s, sitting next to Ishida as he recovered. The Quincy floated in and out of consciousness. Whenever he was awake, he was incoherent and confused, not understanding where he was or remembering what had happened.

But most of the time he slept, rested and for every hour that passed, the better his color got, the healthier his Spirit Threads looked, Urahara told him. Ichigo only nodded.

He had fallen asleep next to Ishida, his hand a fraction of an inch away from his, always hoping he would wake because Ishida was kissing his fingers and smiling softly at him. His dreams would be dark and murky, the only solace was when he woke and reminded himself that Ishida was next to him and Unohana had done everything she possibly could to mend his soul and his body.

Inoue, Chad and Rukia had come to check on him a few times, bringing food and water. Ichigo almost could not bring himself to eat, but his stomach was protesting loudly in response so he ate the rice and chicken teriyaki his friends had brought him.

He had brought a transistor radio into the room to keep it from getting too quiet. He would have conversations with Ishida in his mind, trying to find the best way to tell him that what he saw was not what he thought.

It was when Ryuuken had arrived Ichigo had wanted to hide the most. He had been so sure in his promise to him and here he was, sitting next to his comatose son who almost had his soul eaten by low-ranking Hollows because Ichigo thought he would be faster than Ishida’s arrows.

Ryuuken had entered the building with purpose, with destination in his strides and calm but fierce movements as he almost aggressively opened the sliding door into Ishida’s room where Ichigo was perched on the floor.

Ichigo received a glare so cold he felt his fingers getting frostbite. He stood, wanting to give Ryuuken some space, but he bade him stay with a single gesture of his hand. Ichigo slowly sat back down. He glimpsed Inoue shutting the door behind them.

“Kurosaki-kun, how exactly do you explain this?” his voice was freezing, calculating and quiet.

Ichigo swallowed and looked to Ishida’s face, “I can’t.”

“You’re damn right, you can’t,” Ryuuken spat, still calm, but like Ishida sounding like a storm that was about to hit and destroy whatever was in its path.

“I believe we had an agreement, Kurosaki-kun.”

“We did.”

“Good. You can leave,” Ryuuken brushed him off and sat down on Ishida’s right.

Ichigo hurried to his feet and almost scrambled out the room.

“Kurosaki-kun?” Ryuuken called and Ichigo turned, “turn off the radio.”

The music died and Ichigo left the room, opting to go outside, continuing further than he had originally wanted and then simply keeping it up, running and running until his lungs were pushing against his heart and threatened to explode with every breath he heaved in.

He collapsed down on the grass, the park eventually his final destination. The ground was cold, the October chill settling in the air and the dirt. He looked up into the white sky, dusted with grey. It felt like porcelain bruised and battered but still without cracks in the glazing. The trees had not yet lost all their color to the fall, red, yellow and purple still dusting the black branches.

He stayed there, trying to breathe, trying to soothe his increasingly malicious headache.

Leaves were falling from the trees, landing in his hair. Last time he had done this, Ishida had been next to him and he would move over and pluck the yellow from his orange locks, twirling in between his fingers and then shyly turn his eyes to him, a secret smile playing on his lips. Ichigo would lift up his head and kiss him and it was still the sweetest poison he had ever ingested.

“Ichigo?” Rukia’s voice broke the memory, leaving him with a bitter replica in his mouth. He opened his eyes, his headache having retracted a little. She stood above him a frown on her forehead, worry lacing it like a crown.

“Hey.” Even to himself he sounded dejected.

“Are you alright?” she asked, crouching down next to him.

Ichigo sat up, feeling frustration and resentment and most importantly absolute rage well up, “Yeah, I’m fucking perfect. Ishida on the other hand almost died because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fau– “

“Don’t you dare say it wasn’t my fault! I was supposed to protect him and I just left him. And this time I can’t even blame my Hollow and trick myself into believing that wasn’t just as much my fault too, this time I’m the only one to blame. If I’d had his back like I was supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened,” Ichigo bit, feeling his fingers itch and his jaw clench hard. The emotion had died out on his last sentence, leaving it bleak and stark against the October skies.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” he did not accuse her as much as genuinely asking her if she could, “Because right now I starting to wish neither of us had ever gotten our powers back, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Rukia considered him, took him in and then leaned her head on his shoulder. He kept his breathing shallow, trying not to disturb her too much.

They remained silent after that, kept sitting on the ground, their hands suddenly intertwined and Ichigo unable to regret it as it gave him strength and warmth. Rukia sat with him until the afternoon became too cold and they decided to get up. She did not even need to ask him if he was coming back home with her, she already knew he was not.

So instead he made his way back to Urahara’s and did not as much as receive a glance when he reentered. Ryuuken had left and Inoue looked up when he opened the door.

She stood and went to leave the room, “He woke a little after his father left, asked where his mother was and if we could find his grandfather. He was really sad when we told him we couldn’t find either and insisted we kept trying,” she told him, “I think he misses them,” was added as an afterthought, letting Ichigo enter with a sort of solemnity to the act.

He sat down, and dared to take Ishida’s hand, stroking it with his thumb, happy to feel it was warm. He had taken it the minute everybody had left the room to feel the flutter of his pulse to himself and had been surprised when not just his fingertips, but his entire hand had been cold.

He did not hear when she left, he just sat there, wondering when Ishida would wake again and if Rukia was fine by herself back home.

 

Social norms and attendance that already bordered on detention required him to return to school Monday. Rukia met him at the front gates, his bag slung over her shoulder and a resigned look to her eyes. He must have looked twenty different kinds of awful, because all his friends kept shooting him worried glances.

When he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he could understand why. He was pale and his hair matted, deep smudges of purplish black under his eyes and yellowing bruises along his jaw. His eyelids were drooping, his shoulders sagging and his entire aura tired.

He dumped down in his seat, Keigo leaning forward, putting a hand on his arm, meeting his eye. Ichigo felt lifted the moment he did, knowing his friends had his back. Keigo retreated when Ochi-sensei entered and looked around, noting who was absent.

The day passed in a blur, all Ichigo wanted was to get back to Ishida. Rukia kept shooting him glances, wanting to know if he was okay, but not asking because she already knew.

The minute the bell rung, Ichigo flew out of his seat, but Rukia stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“Give me your bag,” she said, “and tell Ishida hi.”

Ichigo nodded and unhanded his bag, smiling at her, “I will.”

“Yeah, you better,” Keigo interrupted and stuck out his tongue at him, Mizuiro rolling his eyes at him fondly and then grabbing his arm and leading him away. Inoue and Chad gave him quick, but meaningful looks as they said goodbye, also passing on a greeting for Ishida.

And Ichigo took off almost running through town as if that those few seconds he was saving would mean the world between him and Ishida. He hurried down the streets, letting people jump out of his way.

There was a strange feeling in the back of his head, like some part of him could feel a change in the situation, like Ishida had woken or something, but this time he would remember what was going on and where he was.

It had been painful seeing him wake, confused and completely blindsided.

He had opened his eyes sometime Sunday night and had looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Ichigo had put a hand on his shoulder, but Ishida had looked at it with something very close to fear and he had quickly removed it again.

“Where am I?” he had asked, looking nowhere but at Ichigo and the feeling of being the sole focus in Ishida’s world had felt like honey and summer, it had been almost breathtakingly painful when Ichigo remembered he was not in his right mind. He had asked this every time, gotten the same answer every time and had yet to react positively to that information.

Urahara had said it was normal, someone whose soul had been fractured would oftentimes need time to filter and restructure. The Spirit Pressure would align itself, but until then it would be better if the victim would remain calm and undisturbed. Ichigo had flinched when Urahara had called Ishida a victim.

So every single time, without fail, Ishida would wake and remember fractions, but usually from a time long passed. He would ask questions they could not answer and wanted to know where he was and what had happened, if his grandfather was alright, if they knew if his mother had woken up yet or if Ryuuken was going to come home this weekend.

And since their answers were either incorrect or unsatisfying, Ishida would become almost frenzied with panic and suspicion. He would look so scared and so vulnerable, Ichigo had never seen him look so much like a child on a stormy night before. He would thrash and lash out at them, until fatigue would overtake him and he would fall back into Morpheus’ arms.

“At Urahara’s.” They had learned to keep their answers short. When they tried to explain the situation to him, he would only grow more panicked and more disconnected.

“I don’t know anybody by that name,” responded Ishida, suspicion lining his forehead. There was something uncanny about facing that stare. He would fix him something so unearthly, so searching and questioning. In those moments it felt like they could learn to walk again, because Ishida believed he had all the answers.

Ishida swallowed and looked down, “Who’re you?”

“If you don’t remember I haven’t left much of an impression,” he jested, knowing when he did answer, the bubble would burst and the tranquility would come undone.

Ishida rolled his eyes and shook his head, “An idiot is the only thing that comes to mind.”

And it felt so natural, the way Ishida would counter his words with something sharp, but it was from a time before they had been anything even remotely close to friends and Ichigo sometimes wondered what Ishida’s childhood had been like, how he had ended up with an almost bitter view of other people.

“We’re dating,” Ichigo said, “have been for a year now.”

“Why don’t I remember that?” He saw Ishida’s eyes grow weary and defensive.

“There’s a lot you don’t remember,” Ichigo would answer, trying to calm the slight panic beginning to rise in Ishida. He was clutching the sheets, his eyes darting around, but constantly returning to Ichigo.

“Who are you?”

“Ishida, listen– “

“Who are you?!” he almost shouted and began shuffling out of bed.

Ichigo gently grabbed his shoulder, getting a firmer and firmer grip as Ishida struggled against him. Considering he was bedridden and very feeble, he put up a hell of a fight. He tried to wring himself free from Ichigo’s hand, as if being touched by Ichigo was pure poison.

Their breathing was heavy, and Ichigo realized this was as close to Ishida as he had been in weeks. And he missed the warmth of him, the sureness he would bring, the sturdiness.

Ichigo could feel Ishida’s movements weakening and slowing and it did not take long before he had exhausted himself completely and fell back onto the futon, breath still labored and his eyelids heavy. Ishida went back to sleep minutes later, leaving Ichigo next to him, his arm still around his shoulders. He did not bother to remove it. He could feel Ishida’s heartbeat and the steady beat of it reassured him that he was alive.

Urahara had woken him the next morning, telling him school was starting in twenty minutes, if he was still interested in pursuing his academic career.

Ichigo had bolted upright. His arm had fallen off Ishida’s chest during the night, but the other had turned his head to face him and Ichigo took a moment to watch him breathe before he stood.

“We’ll take good care of him,” Urahara assured him, waving his fan, the jovial hint in his tone doing much more to soothe Ichigo’s nerves than all the assurances in the world.

Now he was returning, his feet carrying him quickly down the streets, pushing him back to Ishida.

He turned down the alley, skidding a little in the gravel but picking himself back up. He rounded the last corner, Jinta and Ururu standing in front of the store, Jinta bullying Ururu into sweeping the grounds.

Ichigo flew past them, Jinta swearing at him as he did. He saw no one else inside, the store completely empty, but it did not matter. Instead he threw open the door, trying to be quiet in his impatience.

Inside, Ishida was sitting up, reading a book, looking up and meeting Ichigo’s eyes.

And Ichigo could do nothing else but go to him, sink to his knees and wrap his arms around him. Ishida leaned his head on his shoulders, but did not move to return the embrace. Ichigo did not care, for everything he needed was to know Ishida was safe and alive and not dying because of him. He let out a shaky sigh and Ishida almost snuggled into the crook of his neck, inhaling.

“Kurosaki,” he said and Ichigo held on a little tighter, trying to keep the moment a little longer. “We need to talk.”

Ichigo sat back, hating the sound of those words, the way they tasted and how they always flavored the mood bitter and acrid. He let his hand glide to Ishida’s and played with their fingers. Ishida let him, did not say anything for what seemed too short a time, but at the same time an eternity.

“We should break up.”

Ichigo froze along with the universe. He swallowed, the lump painful in his throat, feeling spiky and sharp. His eyes were still on their hands. Slowly, he lifted them and met Ishida’s. The other looked sad but determined and that was what broke his heart. It had been underway for a while now, but now he could finally hear it shatter, could feel the shards fall to his stomach.

“I don’t unde–“ he started, but stopped himself, seeing the look on Ishida’s face. They both knew why, it was insulting to the both of them, feigning ignorance.

“Is it because of what happened after the fight? Because that wasn’t what it looked like, I swear,” Ichigo tried again, but seeing Ishida shaking his head and move his eyes down. He removed his hand and closed the book, leaving Ichigo’s cold and useless.

He got to his feet and stepped out of the bed and to the window, looking out on the drops that fell from the roof, capturing little specs of the world within their spheres.

Ishida shook his head again, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Ichigo rose as well and went to stand next to him, leaning on the windowsill, his head and attention turned to Ishida instead of the remnants of the shower that Ishida was watching. He was not sure what to do or say. He usually had no qualms fighting for something he was about to lose, but something in the air suggested that the fight would be futile.

“I can’t keep pretending, Kurosaki. If I was a better person I would’ve ended it weeks ago, but because I … because you’re you and you’re important to me ... I can’t keep this up,” he sighed, exhausted and worn, something that ran infinitely deeper than mere sleep-deprivation.

“Ishida,” Ichigo could not find anything more appropriate to say, instead he kept his peace and waited for the other to continue.

Ishida turned to him, slowly, excruciatingly so, “I need you, Kurosaki. I need you to be there and when you’re not … I would rather not expect you to at all then.”

Ichigo watched him, his breath feeling like broken glass and his fingers feeling cold and dead. Ants were biting into his spine, jaws tearing tiny pieces of him away.

“As you said, it didn’t have to last forever, and it seems like it won’t,” Ishida said, turning away and watching another raindrop land on the gravel.

“Why can’t we try and make it work?” Ichigo was glad his voice was not as affected as his insides, all eating each other and clawing not to be the one devoured. Ishida shook his head, a small, but teary and dry smile forming on his lips.

“What is there to salvage? Kurosaki, I don’t trust you anymore and you obviously care a great deal less for me than you used to,” Ishida almost laughed, but it was soaked in despondency, “I don’t think there’s anything left for us to do.”

“So we give up?” Ichigo’s disbelief was watered down by the sheer amount of pain and itching his body was being drenched in.

“We cut our losses.”

“Ishida, our relationship is not a piece of dead meat we can just discard.”

“Funny, that’s not the feeling I’ve been getting for the past weeks.”

“What do you want from me?”Ichigo demanded loudly, gesturing angrily, “I can’t just fucking turn my back on my friends!”

“We’re not talking if you’re going to shout at me,” Ishida bit, the same measured freezing in his voice as in Ryuuken’s.

Ichigo clenched his hands and his jaw tightened, “All I’m saying is you haven’t made it easy.”

“I was trying to make you angry so you would be forced to acknowledge my existence! The last weeks have been somewhere close to the worst in my life and I hate myself for being so weak as to needing your attention to get by,” Ishida practically spat, “And while I was sitting at home, wondering if you still gave a shit, you were sleeping with Kuchiki-san, holding her hand and having nice family dinners.”

Ichigo recoiled as he saw the sheer venom in Ishida’s eyes, the snakes writhing and slithering in every word, ready to strike and poison.

“Maybe if you would step outside your own world for a second and remember that Rukia is stuck here with us – against her will, mind you – you would understand why I might have been a little preoccupied,”

“You kissed her.”

Ichigo stopped and looked at Ishida, looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time ever.

“You kissed her … and for some reason, you thought I wouldn’t mind?”

“I told you I was sorry, what more do you want from me?”

“I want you to mean it!” Ishida rubbed his eyes and sighed. “And you don’t, we both know that.”

“Of course I do, but you should’ve said something, I thought you’d gotten ov –“

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that it’s wrong kissing other people!”

Ichigo clenched his jaw, opened his mouth, but closed it again. He had nothing to say to that. He knew he had made a mistake of epic proportions, but he had genuinely thought Ishida understood him when he said he had not meant to do it, still did not mean to do it.

“I just … I can’t keep pretending everything is fine anymore,” Ishida swallowed and folded his arms over his chest, putting distance and matter between them. “I can’t keep this up.”

Ichigo felt his fingers tremble and go cold, “Ishida.”

“I’ve known we were headed this way, but I was too much of a coward to do anything about it.” Ishida let out a choked laugh, “I can’t believe I had to have my soul eaten by Hollows before I was willing to admit to it.”

They remained quiet, none of them moved, not a sound passed between them. Ichigo could almost feel his throat closing in on itself and his eyes wanting to close and stay that way.

“Now you are free to help Kuchiki-san all you want.”

Something in the way it was said made it clear what Ishida thought Ichigo was going to do after they finished their conversation. Ichigo huffed and turned away, taking two steps before moving to face Ishida again, who had followed him and leaned against the windowsill with his arms folded over his chest.

“That was uncalled for.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true,” Ishida sounded tired again, like he had gone over this in his head a million times.

And that was when it was made abundantly clear that he might have won the battle, but he had lost the war. Ishida refused to meet his eyes, he kept them down on his bare feet and stood unmovable.

“So this is it?” Ichigo had gone quiet, his tone of voice forcing Ishida to look at him.

The other nodded, “One day we’ll be happy that we broke up.”

“Don’t say that,” Ichigo asked, smiling, but never, ever touching his eyes.

With a voice a fraction from a whisper Ishida asked, “Why do you make it so hard?”

Ichigo considered him, the second drawn out and stretched, about to burst, almost tearing. There was something incredibly fragile in the air between them, something to easily broken and impossible to mend and the more they spoke the closer they were to breaking that. But Ichigo knew he would need to speak another eight words before he could close his eyes to the world and walk away.

“Because I don’t want to give you up.”

Ishida looked him straight in the eye and sighed, “You’ll find it’s not your choice.”

And Ichigo knew. He stood in front of him, finally feeling the entire world cave in on his bruised and beaten body and soul. Ishida bit his lower lip.

They stood, doing nothing but avoiding the other’s eyes, drowning in the presence of the other. Ichigo could name a million places he would rather be at the moment, but none he would rather be with. And that was to be his tragedy.

He had to breathe, he could not breathe and he could not stay here. He could not look at Ishida without feeling that surge of void going through his hollowed bones, leaving them frozen and empty. He began running, following whatever was left of his heart to give him a rhythm.

He was at a loss for everything, needing warmth but feeling hot; needing purpose but feeling unbound without it; needing comfort but feeling the need to be alone. He ended up walking the streets until night fell and the moon began peering out from the clouds, silently walking with him, showing him the city veiled in her light.

Ichigo felt numb. Maybe that was what bodies did, when they could not deal with the pain, they would shut off whatever felt it. His head felt like it was full of nothing but white noise. He saw the cars driving by, but did not hear them. Same with the people around them, he saw them but they made no sound.

He had no idea what to do with himself.

Ishida and he had actually broken up.

They were no longer a they.

Ichigo was back to being Ichigo, singular and alone. He sat down on a bench only to get up again, pacing the pavement and kicking at the leaves on the ground.

When the streetlights had become necessary to see, he decided to walk back home. His feet were sore, his chest was hollow and aching and his headache was fiercer than a million suns, but it paled in comparison to the shards left of his heart that was stuck in his stomach and lungs, his intestines and his throat.

The walk home was a lot faster than he had thought it would be, but he found himself on the front porch, the light on. He could not bring himself to smile. He opened the door and trudged in, Yuzu coming to meet him, a dishtowel in her hands.

“Ichi-nii, where’ve you been all day?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket.

Yuzu pushed her hair behind her ear, “Ichi-nii, are you okay?”

He smiled, shook his head and hugged her without meaning. He kissed her hair and let her go.

“Ichigo?” Rukia was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, looking almost distraught at him, “What’s wrong?”

Ichigo walked past her and directly into his room where he just stood, not knowing what to do with himself. He looked at his bed, wanting it not to be empty and cold and lonely. Rukia closed the door behind him and gently touched his arm.

At least the headache had withdrawn a little, leaving even more attention to his heart’s attempt at restarting. It coughed and spluttered, but nothing else seemed to happen.

Rukia guided him down onto the bed and put her hand on his back. He covered his eyes with his hands, not feeling like seeing anything.

“I didn’t get to pass on your greeting,” he finally told her.

“What happened, Ichigo?”

And that’s when Ichigo’s eyes had to close and stay so forcibly, when his throat felt sore and the corners of his eyes began wetting and dripping. His shoulders started shaking and Rukia immediately hugged him, mumbling soothing nothings into his hair.

“Is Ishida okay?” she asked.

“We broke up,” he muttered so soundlessly he almost could not hear it himself. Rukia withdrew a little, taking the warmth with her. Ichigo felt so cold, so very cold.

“What?” she inquired, stroking his back.

“Ishida and I broke up,” he repeated, lifeless but louder. He looked up to see the look in her eyes. It spoke of slight surprise, but no judgment whatsoever. And then she got exactly what he had said and her eyes widened fractionally, sudden understanding welling up in her eyes and she hugged him again, this time not mumbling anything into his hair.

“For how long?”

“A year.”

Rukia kept still for a moment, barely moving, breathing with Ichigo. He had no idea he needed that, but it seemed so difficult to do, all of a sudden.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

He shrugged. Truth was he had not even realized they were a secret, not for a long while. It had not felt that way. Sure, he might not have been upfront to his friends about what he did every afternoon, but the lying really started this summer. On a brighter note, he would not have to lie to his friends every now, because he would not have anything to lie about anymore, not a secret that would make his heart swell at the mere thought of it.

He sighed. Rukia lowered her head on his shoulders.

“Ichigo, are you in love with Ishida?” she asked him, seriously.

He swallowed and nodded. No matter how many pieces he had crumbled to, that much was still clear.

“You’re an idiot.”

He nodded again, feeling the tears prickle in his eyes, clenching his jaw to keep them from falling. Rukia thumbed one away and stood, pulling him down in bed.

“We’re going to lie down in bed, you’re going to let me draw Chappies and listen to me rambling about my book and I’ll pretend you’re not crying your eyes out. Deal?”

And in that moment, Ichigo wondered if he was maybe a little bit platonically in love with Rukia too.

Chapter 7

When Ishida Ryuuken came home to his apartment after a rather exhausting trip to Yokohama, he was surprised to find his son at home. His Spirit Pressure anyways. He hung his jacket on the coat rack, untied his shoes and put them beneath. He rolled his eyes and pushed Uryuu’s off to the side as well; sometimes he wondered if he really was this messy or if it was just an act.

The apartment was eerily quiet. Usually Uryuu would be out on the couch, sewing and watching TV, reading either books or magazines or playing one of those ridiculous videogames. Usually Kurosaki would be over as well. Then they would both be there, sometimes in his room and then he did not tempt fate.

Ryuuken went to his office and put down his briefcase, too tired to even open it and look at the documents he had been given to review. Having hospitals in every corner of the country did come with the wonderful perk of having to travel to inspect them. And by God, he was starting to believe his father when he said he had invested himself too much in the job.

He cracked his back and removed his suit-jacket, loosening his tie.

He walked to the kitchen that for once looked clean and tidy. Why Uryuu had made it his personal crusade to have all their dairy product go bad before time was beyond him, but he assumed it was in silent protest of being told what to do.

He filled the kettle and stared at it, waiting for the water to heat.

Uryuu was probably in his room studying to improve his ranking. They had had the test the previous week, but knowing his own flesh, he knew it was beyond the want to have the highest ranking. It was a matter of pride.

The water was boiling and he took some instant-coffee, not in the mood to start up the actual coffee-machine and wait for that to finish.

When Ryuuken had found out his son had applied for the Psychiatric program, he had been rather exasperated. And he had told Uryuu in precise terms what he thought about it. And Uryuu had shrugged, reading on in The Parliament of Fowls, a favorite of his.

“The application is sent,” he simply stated, obviously forgetting that Ryuuken had friends and connections well into the world of medical education. Ambition was something people both admired and feared, and in Ryuuken’s case, either worked wonders. If he had the inclination, he could withdraw the application. But he was not a tyrant, however Uryuu seemed convinced of this.

“Just tell me why you felt the need to go around my back.”

He was not going to pull any strings on this. Ryuuken knew his son was as good as accepted. He had read through his application and found it so be very much in the spirit of what they usually sought after, his grades excellent and his extra-curricular activities speaking highly of his character. But he did not appreciate being played like a fool, especially when he knew Uryuu did it for one reason and one reason only.

“Because you never approve of anything I do anyways.”

And it would have been funny if only Uryuu had not been so serious. Ryuuken had been utterly honest when he had told Kurosaki that he was so very proud of Uryuu and that he would never let any avoidable harm come to him, but he practiced a dying sort of parenting. No, he did not shower Uryuu with compliments or reassurances, nor did he berate him unless he was behaving too recklessly, too much like an idiot, too much like Kurosaki really. He generally let him be his own person, tried to let him make his own mistakes, because experience was always the better, the harsher teacher.

But Ryuuken loved him fiercely and that was why he saw no reason to be more emerged in his life than he already was. Uryuu clearly had some parental issues. He knew much of this was because he could not understand why Ryuuken had given up being a Quincy, something that was such a grand part of his own identity.

He took a sip of the coffee, leaned on the counter and breathed out.

When Inoue had called him to tell him of Uryuu’s injuries, his heart had frozen and he had gently put down his cup, lest it should fall to the ground and shatter. He hurried from Yokohama to Karakura as fast as money could take him and took a taxi, paying extra for reckless driving and then stepping out, almost marching up to the storefront.

And to say he was happily surprised to see Kurosaki next to his unconscious blood would be lying from start to finished. Was he surprised? No, Kurosaki was stupidly attached to all of his friends and more so to Uryuu, neither being a good influence on the other in regards to their obvious distaste for personal safety when the other was involved. Was he happy? Far from it, because Kurosaki looked a particular shade of guilty and it took few seconds for Ryuuken to figure out what had happened.

Loathing Kurosaki would be difficult, seeing as he actually liked the boy. Uryuu could have done much, much worse. Funny, how the Ishida-Kurosaki union had had to wait a generation to happen.

He finished his coffee, deciding he should probably check up on his son, seeing how he almost died and had his soul eaten by Hollows of the weakest standing. Ryuuken put the mug in the sink, filling it with water to prevent any smudges of coffee remaining there.

He knocked on the door and entered before getting a reply. The lights were off, and he wondered if Uryuu was sleeping. Instead, he saw a figure out on the balcony, sitting cross-legged in the hammock, which had been down for a year to make more room.

Ryuuken turned on the lights and went outside. Uryuu sat looking into the darkness, his face left to the black. He did not move upon his entrance, only remained still and quiet.

“You can say it.”

“Say what?” Ryuuken inquired, not used to Uryuu actually permitting him to do anything.

Uryuu’s head fell a little, his fingers twining with each other, “That you told me so.”

And Ryuuken dared putting his hand on his night-like hair, smoothing it out.

“I’ve told you many things.”

“Kurosaki and I broke up.”

It was said so quietly, so very, very hushed and weak. The words were swallowed by the notes of melancholy at the core of them. Ryuuken took a step closer and Uryuu swallowed, breathing steadily but lightly.

“So go ahead, tell me again how stupid I was for doing this.”

And Ryuuken felt his heart cramp as he watched his only son come apart under his hand.

How long he stood there, combing his fingers through Uryuu’s hair, he did not know and he could not say. All he knew was that the moon stayed out for just as long, and he almost felt like Kanae was there with them, kissing Uryuu’s shoulder, sitting with him and stroking his back and that made the entire scene a little more bearable.

For once he had nothing to say to Uryuu, nothing that would soothe his thoughts or dry his eyes.

So he remained quiet and hoped no one would need either of them for another hour or two.

 

“What was it like?” Rukia asked him, absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders. They were sitting on the couch, boxes of take-out in front of them, a rental DVD on the TV-screen. They had chosen the dumbest action-movie they could possibly find so they would not need to pay too much attention to the plot.

Ichigo was lying with his head on her thigh. It was not as nice as Ishida’s, but it would have to do. She plucked a noodle and stuck out her tongue to catch it. Something exploded on-screen.

It was Tuesday around noon. They had decided to skip school, Ichigo feeling a little queasy and Rukia having the flu, it seemed. And it was a perfectly good excuse to not look Ishida in the eyes as well, but that was more of a drawback, really, when he thought about it.

“What was what like?” he countered, rubbing his eye and searching the screen for anything to divert his attention. Someone said a classic stupid-supposed-to-be-witty-and-cool line, making Ichigo think of how much better Ishida was at that, how he sometimes wondered if he thought about cool comebacks when he was lying in bed at night.

“You know. Dating Ishida.”

Ichigo sighed, “Pretty fucking great, actually.”

“How so?” Rukia looked down at him, a glassy sheen to her eyes. He reached up and touched her forehead. She had a slight fever, but it was not anything deadly.

“I don’t know. It just kinda worked, I s’pose,” he mumbled, lowering his arm back down, “It was like, when we stopped pretending that we didn’t give a shit … I don’t know.”

It had been a perfect storm. It had been red wine and windy moors, it had been peaches and saltwater. It had been so many things, so many things he could not name or explain, but he had felt like Ishida understood everything he was, accepted him for it, all his imperfections and good sides and had still chosen to push him to be better, to be more, to be himself before anything else.

“Ishida,” he ended up adding, “is not the type of person to let people walk all over him, and that’s why he made me feel a lot better about losing my powers. I came to realize through him that losing my powers didn’t make me weak; it just meant I’d had something important enough that I was willing to risk them for. That it was a sign of strength, y’know.”

Ichigo sighed. It sucked talking about this. It only made it more evident what exactly he had lost.

“Are you gonna get back together?”

“I hope so.”

Rukia waited him out, eyes flickering to the screen when yet another explosion had taken place. Ichigo groaned and covered his eyes with his hands.

“I’m angry that he didn’t think we could fix this, but I get that he needs time to figure it out. I’m mostly pissed at myself for letting it happen.”

“You didn’t let anything happen, Ichigo,” Rukia interrupted him.

Ichigo did not miss a beat, “I could’ve grown a pair and talked to him, hung out with him more, I could have told you all and most of our problems would be solved then and there.”

The American actor swept away his hair, not bothering to check his still-bleeding wound, and blinked to his rather busty female companion who was the token strong female character who mostly just kicked ass and swooned over the hero. Which apparently was what strong women did – though he’d never seen either Rukia or Inoue do that sort of thing.

“This one is almost as bad as the one Ishida and I watched for one of our first dates,” Ichigo commented and clenched his jaws. Rukia chuckled, smiling at him, but faltering when she noticed the slope of his eyebrows.

“He’ll come around,” she tried and took a dumpling out of one of the boxes and ate it in one bite. Had Ishida been here there would not be anything left to snack on afterwards.

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Ichigo mumbled and sat up. He rose, leaving Rukia on the couch. She knew better than to follow him, just turned and watched him go out in the kitchen. Karin had given him a look this morning, followed by a note pushed into his hand. It had been a reassurance that everything was going to be fine, but Ichigo had taken one look at the paper and crumbled it in his hand.

Apparently he had gotten some sort of stomach bug or something. Probably from lying on the ground all day Saturday and not thinking to bring a jacket.

It had taken approximately two minutes before he had to sprint to the bathroom and throw up, heaving as the acids drenched his esophagus, making it sting. His eyes hurt as well, his lungs too. Puking was never pleasant and definitely not when you had eaten very little. He could feel tears on the edges of his eyes and he let them go, hoping he would not have to repeat last night’s episode.

He had cried as if he had been whipped, he had done so quietly as not to disturb Rukia’s tale. He was not listening, not really. He was constantly thinking about Ishida and exactly what had gone wrong. When Rukia had fallen asleep around 2am, her arms wrapped around him from behind, he had not been tired in the least. The sun had begun crawling in the windows before he had dozed off into an uneasy sleep.

He had spent most of the night thinking through the past two weeks and reached the conclusion that from Ishida’s perspective, it looked pretty hopeless. He’d been avoidant, distant, temperamental, constantly hanging with Rukia, never having enough time for Ishida, always enough for her.

But understanding and agreeing were two different things. He had no idea how three weeks had passed without him noticing the distinct lack of Ishida. He had once gone two days, but he had been busy with the annual visit to his mother’s grave and acting as a mediator between Karin and Yuzu, who had had an extremely rare disagreement that had left the entire household in frenzy.

He could not remember any other times where spending time with Ishida had not been a priority.

And how he had managed moving all that attention to Rukia was equally as strange. He had not seen her in a year, true, but usually catching up did not take a month and they had not exactly been doing that whenever they had spent time together.

There was something odd about it, but he had no idea what. And whatever it was had ruined his relationship with Ishida.

Ichigo took a glass of water and a few Advils, trying to diminish the headache that had been permanent for almost three days now. Isshin had looked them over this morning, frowning, but agreeing they should stay home and hope it would go away on its own.

It had been a quiet morning. They had moved their duvets downstairs and slept a few hours on the couch. Afterwards they had ordered take-out and eaten only half of it. Ichigo still did not really feel like eating.

Their phones had beeped around 11am, but they had ignored them, hoping someone (Ishida) would take care of it. And he had. It stopped a few seconds later and then nothing had disturbed them.

He returned to the couch and flopped down, hoping to get a few hours of sleep again. His back was sore and his eyes heavy. Rukia had scooted over and was reading the last few chapters in her book. He found out where it had come from. Ishida had forgotten it when he had been over the last time and told Ichigo he should read it instead, when he had tried giving it back the next day.

“What’s it about?” he asked, nodding to the novel, sitting back down and taking one of the take-out boxes into his lap and started picking the noodles from the chicken.

Rukia gave him a quick look of reproach, knowing he had not listened to a word she had said yesterday, “It’s about this group of rabbits–“

“Rabbits?”

“I’m not gonna tell you if you’re gonna be this way.”

“Fine, okay. Rabbits?”

“Yeah, the rabbits need to find another place to live, because one of them has a vision that their warren is going to be destroyed. He convinces his brother that they have to leave … “

Rukia retold the story to him again, explosions from the movie peppering the tale.

He fell asleep halfway, the box still in his lap and the credits rolling on the screen. Rukia removed the take-out and turned off the TV, placing a blanket over him and petting his hair.

He had no idea for how long he had been dozing off, but the next thing he knew, there was a knocking on the door. Rukia stirred on the other couch, Ichigo himself wanted the pounding to stop, but it seemed patient and willing to continue for most of the afternoon, so he flung the blanket off and went for the door.

On second thought, he grabbed the blanket and put it around his shoulders. It was cold and he could almost feel the shivers already.

The door was struck again, but in no way urgent. Ichigo ran a hand through his hair, feeling it tangle in the wake of it. He hitched the make-shift cape a little closer, bracing himself for whatever was outside and opened the door.

Seeing Ishida did things to his heart and head and it made no difference if he had a fleece cape or not, he still felt himself shiver. For a moment, his heart sped up and maybe the thought of reconciliation pushed its way to the front of his mind. He could almost feel his hand shake.

It was gray outside, the weather was cold and Ishida was wearing a Prussian blue coat, fitting so nicely Ichigo was sure he had made it himself, once again evident by the lack of buttons. And the fact it was completely tailored to fit him and show off every single attribute he had. Ichigo wondered if wearing the coat was a conscious choice or a matter of necessity.

A few raindrops were caught on his shoulders, making him look like a fairytale, stars clinging to the pan of the midnight sky that walked the Earth. Ichigo swallowed. He was wearing a blanket in washed-out circus colors, sickness clinging to his brow and sporting sleep-deprivation as if it was the newest fashion trend.

Ishida’s hair seemed a little messier, but Ichigo had always loved it like that; his posture straight, but a slight slump to his shoulders that Ichigo knew spoke of tiredness and exhaustion; and finally, his eyes had a certain light to them, but maybe that was because they had to fight away the shadows around them.

Ishida looked well on the surface, but the tiny devil in all the details told Ichigo all he needed to know about his current state of mind. He felt his face heating up, felt put on the spot. He shifted from foot to foot.

“Ishida,” Ichigo muttered, sounding carefully happy and hopeful.

Ichigo watched him, waited for something to happen. It felt like the longest minute he would ever have to live through. It felt like he was being soaked in sparkling water or champagne, the bubbled prickling his skin and giving him goose-bumps.

Ishida did not meet his eyes, “I came to give you this.”

He held out a bag. Ichigo took it hesitantly and opened the zipper.

“It’s what you left at my place,” Ishida explained.

“Oh.” Ichigo could find nothing else to say, no other syllable making this more sense. His heart plummeted to his feet, breaking a little more from the fall.

Ishida pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through the tousled hair. Ichigo found himself thinking back on the feel of it between his fingers, how it felt tugging it when they were kissing, how they had barely touched each other in weeks.

And Ichigo wanted nothing more than to reach out and just let his fingers run over the lightly dusted cheek, wanted to feel the warmth of it. His fingers almost itched with it, almost ready to disregard him and do what they felt they needed to.

“Could I get my copy of Watership Down?”

Ichigo looked over his shoulder, seeing Rukia still sleeping on the couch, the book next to her. She was on the last chapter now, it seemed.

“The rabbit book?”

Ishida nodded, not even rolling his eyes as he would have mere weeks ago. Ichigo was slowly beginning to realize the damage done.

“Rukia’s on the last chapter,” Ichigo tried, wishing Ishida would meet his eyes. The air seemed almost physical, like you could cut it with a knife.

“Oh,” Ishida sounded a little surprised, but almost like this was simply another knife to his heart among many.

They stood there for a moment, two, three, neither saying anything, neither moving. Until Ishida suddenly met his eyes and Ichigo felt the universe catch its breath, he could see every fraction of starlight in Ishida’s eyes, the color of the sky, the darkness of the still undiscovered universe around them.

“I’ll see you at school,” he choked out and turned on his heel, walking away. He pocketed his hands and hunched his shoulders. Ichigo could not do anything but watch him go and hating every step he took.

He shut the door and threw the bag down, not even bothering to check the contents. If he knew Ishida, either every fleck of dust he ever brought over would be in that backpack, or half the socks would be missing, a shirt or two would still be there because he had not been able to find them among all his things. And considering the situation, Ichigo was fairly sure it was the first option. When Ishida put his mind to something, he went through with it, even if it meant going through every pair of socks he owned to see if they were his or not.

Ichigo sighed and went back into the living room. Rukia sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Who was it?”

“Nobody,” Ichigo murmured, feeling the headache returning with a vengeance. He made a detour to the kitchen, pouring the remaining two Advils into his hand and dry-swallowing them.

Rukia picked up the book and began reading the last chapter, as Ichigo had proved unsociable.

The rain was starting to tap on the windows, running down the glass and distorting the world outside. Ichigo was surprised there was even anymore water left in the sky to spare, considering how much rain they had gotten lately.

He picked at a thread in the couch, eyes on the ceiling.

“Ishida came by with my things,” he muttered, staring into the white above. He could feel his own heartbeat subsiding, slowing back down. His head was still pounding, his skull pushing into his brain. And thinking about how he and Ishida now had to go be indifferent about one another only made for another layer of pain.

Rukia did not say anything, only looked at him, and then turning a page in the book, pausing.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said almost mechanically. She had apologized a few times already, Ichigo brushing her off every time. This time, however, he felt the words ring hollow and untrue, and he was sure she felt the same.

 

When Ichigo woke the next day, it was noon. Rukia was lying with her back turned towards him, breathing deeply. He swung his legs out of the bed, his head almost killing him. He wanted to drive it through a wall and hoped it would lessen the pain.

He got out of bed, picked a random t-shirt from the pile and pulled it over his head, and fucking hell it was like sledgehammers were mining for silver in there.

He trudged downstairs, finding his father there. He was sitting with a cup of coffee, reading the newspaper, occasionally looking to the TV, seeing the headlines.

“You’re awake,” he greeted him. Ichigo nodded, but almost felt his head roll off his shoulders when he did, which would be nice; no head, no headache. It was hot inside as well, his skin felt itchy and annoyed, almost like it was on fire, and not the kind of fire it would have when he and Ishida had sex, but like the fire would actually burn his flesh and char his bones.

“How’re you feeling?” Isshin asked him, looking worried.

“I’m considering beheading myself to get rid of this headache.”

Isshin stood and put his hand to Ichigo’s forehead, considering him. When he removed his hand it was clammy with sweat.

“You have a fever and you’re cold sweating,” Isshin stated with an air of professionalism. He looked at Ichigo for a long while, “Go lie down on the couch, I’ll find some breakfast for you.”

Ichigo did as he was told and snuggled into the cushions, pulling two blankets over himself. He turned and watched the TV as another earthquake had wrecked havoc in the Southern part of Japan. The news anchor seemed pretty formal when she read the little paragraph about 500 or more presumed dead and 200.000 people losing their houses and homes.

He found the remote and switched channel, not interested in the disinterest. He would have to go to the support website later and make a donation or something.

A talk-show host was interviewing his guest, begging the American actor to do his funky signature dance. If Ichigo disliked the too formal and impersonal news anchors, he absolutely loathed the energy the hosts in the different game- and talk-shows would exhibit. Was it necessary? No, not in Ichigo’s world. He had talked with Ishida about this at length, often bringing the other to laughter because of his rather strong opinions about something so inane, as Ishida said.

The house was quiet, besides the TV-host acting like a fucking idiot, only making his headache worse, if that was even possible, with all his ridiculous antics. It was like silence and heartache made it worse. And there was not really anything to do about the last part.

Isshin came in with a plate with buttered toast and a glass of juice.

“It’s not anything like Yuzu’s, but I doubt you’ll be able to keep it in anyways.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You might have a stomach virus, I’m not expecting the impossible.”

Ichigo took a bite of the toast, his mouth dry and sticky, making the toast feel like sand and sawdust. It did not taste much better.

It was with great determination he crammed the toast down his mouth and into his throat, though he met resistance all the way. The juice tasted like shit and mixed with the sawdust toast, it made for probably the least recommendable meal he had ever eaten, and he was not excited to have more left on his plate.

Isshin watched him from the door to the kitchen and was just about to say something when Rukia came down the stairs, looking equally terrible. Her eyes were shining with fever, but she had wrapped the duvet tight around herself, shivering and clattering her teeth. She moved slowly, as if it pained her.

She walked to Ichigo and put a hand to his forehead and the hammering seized a little, but only a fraction of what he needed.

“This usually works,” Rukia rasped, looking desperately down at Ichigo. He knew what she was talking about, he had noticed the correlation as well, had noticed how Rukia had seemed to relieve him of the itchings and the slighter headaches.

He had thought it was something Soul Reaper related, that they could seek comfort or something with each other when in human form or something, but Ichigo was as a general rule in human form so that was probably not it. If Ishida had been here, he would have known; he was the smart one after all.

Rukia rubbed her eyes tiredly and sighed. Isshin came over and put a hand on her shoulder, “Rukia-chan, come with me. You need to eat something.”

She shuffled along without a word, looking incredibly human as she did. He had seen her covered in her own and enemy blood, seen her broken and bright, but he had never seen her look so humanly fragile as she was herded to the kitchen.

He had no concept of time. Only that his head felt like a nuclear test-site and the TV kept annoying him. The only channel that did not bother him, was showing Days of Our Lives which in turn only made him think of Ishida and how shitty that situation was.

He had to be looking like a coward, not showing up for school and staying home with Rukia.

Ichigo finished the last piece of toast. It had taken him an hour to eat breakfast. He turned his head and watched Amber cry her eyes out while the camera slowly, trying to be sneaky, zoomed in on her. He swallowed, his heart doing that thing again where it both stopped and leaped, but he continued watching. There was a closeness in it, something familiar.

What he would not give to have Ishida sitting behind him, massaging his scalp, kissing it once in a while, his hands sliding down his shoulders, down his collarbones, spreading across his chest and stilling, his chin resting on his head while he theorized about the culprit behind the latest misery. Ichigo could feel the telltale burn of crying, and angrily swiped the half-formed tears away.

Isshin opened the door, Rukia in tow, balancing the plate with toast and juice. He placed her on the other couched and looked worriedly between them.

He left them without a word though, turning off the light and pulling the curtains shut.

The room was dimmed and the darkness worked as a caress on his cheek, soothing his eyes and pushing back the very peak of the headache. It was only minimal, the needle had become blunt, but it was still pounding through his skull.

He managed to doze off though, his head not allowing him to, but he went in and out of consciousness, never sleeping never fully awake.

At least until a knocking was at the door. Ichigo shifted and sat up slowly. He looked to the other couch, seeing Rukia was not there and put a hand to his head, as if it would contain the blundering pain.

Nobody went to answer the door. Ichigo sighed and hauled himself off the couch, trying to walk in a straight line but falling short. He put his hand to the wall, hoping the support would help his buckling knees and weak thighs. His feet were dragging over the floor, Ichigo not having enough energy to properly lift them.

He reached the door after what seemed like minutes, only to have it open just as he was about to do the same. Keigo, Mizuiro and Chad were outside, though not for long. They all hurried inside, crowding around Ichigo as he lost his balance and swayed.

“Ichigo,” Keigo said, alarm flavoring his name. Mizuiro looked to Chad who nodded to the couch.

Ichigo shrugged them off, and took to the wall again, “Is everything alright?”

“We should be asking you,” Keigo retorted almost accusingly, but Mizuiro put a hand on his wrist and made him back down.

“Ichigo, are you okay?” Chad asked instead, putting a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder, a disguised attempt to keep him from slipping. Ichigo recognized it, but also knew it was better than the wall.

He nodded in answer and tried taking another step, “Just a stomach-flu.”

“How about Kuchiki-san?”

“Who?”

“Kuchiki-san?”

On cue Rukia opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out into the hallway. She was not doing much better, wobbling with every step. And then she fell. Ichigo felt Chad’s hand leave him and he suddenly felt the headache overtake him and he could not stay on his feet, he needed to push it back, needed to control it like he had tried to with his Hollow and miserably failed, letting it stab Ishida – oh God, Ishida, where was he? Was he okay?

Keigo caught him before he made full-contact with the floor, grabbing his arm and holding his upper body upright. Chad was by Rukia, carefully picking her up.

“Call Inoue!” Chad barked, Mizuiro already flipping his phone open and dialing.

“Where’s Ishida?” Ichigo mumbled, worried, his heart was hammering in time with his head. It was almost like he was being bombarded.

“He’s drenched,” Keigo ignored him and wiped some hair away from his forehead, “and he’s burning up.”

“Kuchiki too.”

“Where’s Ishida?” Ichigo was relentless, he needed to know, he needed to know if he had hurt him again, if he had failed him again. He felt his lungs crave, demand, order they got air, but he was too busy trying to keep the headache from bursting into flames and incinerate his entire world to pay much attention.

“Breathe, Ichigo!”¨

“Where’s Ishida? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Keigo answered him, making Ichigo relax minutely, taking a shaky breath.

“Where is he?”

“At home. He’s at home. Ichigo what’s wrong?”

And Ichigo breathed, focused on that, even though his headache was spilling into his neck and chest. He could hear Mizuiro in the background talking to someone, talking very loudly, everything was so loud and it hurt. But at least Ishida was safe and not nearby, that would be horrible if he was. Except it would not, Ishida would know what to do, he would know how to stop the pain.

His spine felt like it was collapsing, a tower falling apart, burning and smoking. He choked on his breath at the feeling, his shoulders tensing and his chest constricting and caving in on itself. His breathing became ragged and hurried.

“We need to get them to Urahara’s,” Chad said somewhere. Who was the other? Was Ishida there? Oh shit, he was hurt or needing help. Ishida, Ishida needed help. They needed to go to Urahara and have Inoue be there so she could save Ishida again, because it always seemed to be her that was there to pick up the pieces while Ichigo was the one breaking him.

He felt Keigo and Mizuiro on either side of him, pushing him up and walking with him, carrying, dragging, helping him. His shoes, how did he get shoes on, how did he get anything on, was Ishida okay? His feet were scraping the pavement. He could hear their breaths, short and harsh, their steps, arrhythmic but precisely matched, and then Chad behind him.

It was cold outside, but he could feel the fire that was clawing at him, scorching his insides fight back the cold, laying claim on his bones in return. He groaned as magma flooded his veins. And Ichigo was willing to give the fire anything as long as Ishida was okay, as long as Chad had him and would carry him safely to Urahara, he would gladly let himself perish within the flames.

And the minute he had thought that, he blacked out.

 

Inoue was walking home with Tatsuki when she got the phone-call from Mizuiro. She answered it, but could feel her hands tremble the more he spoke and told her. The chill in the air was suddenly nothing in comparison to the words flooding her brain.

“I’ll hurry,” she finished, hanging up, as Mizuiro had done so before she could answer.

“What was that?” Tatsuki asked her, watching her carefully, noting the look of worry on her features.

“Kurosaki-kun and Kuchiki-san …” she could not finish the sentence before she started running, “I’m sorry, Tatsuki-chan!”

Her hair was whipping furiously behind her, her fringe constantly going in front of her eyes. Kurosaki and Kuchiki were ill and needed her help immediately. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, damning her shoes in her mind. She should have worn her trainers this morning.

Running had never been an activity Inoue had pursued, her breasts always making it difficult for her, seeing as they pained her when she did. Tatsuki had suggested she got a breast-reduction, her back starting to ache in the evening as well.

She could not feel her chest, she could feel her heart freezing and clattering. Her breath was hot, but invisible, so the weather was not as chilly yet as they all made it out to be.

Winds were picking up, forcing the leaves to waltz and curtsy, the sky pushing down upon them, the colors reminiscent of coal and steel. Inoue could almost smell the rain in the air, feel the sky drawing together to unleash a shower.

Her breath was coming in short, her hair was in her eyes and she did not see who she ran into until she was already on the ground. Ishida stood above her, hand outstretched. She took it and was about to run off again, but Ishida grabbed her arm and held her back.

“Inoue-san, where’re you going?”

“I don’t have time …”

“What’s wrong?”

She saw the frown on his face, knowing he would want and deserved to know what was going on. He cared more for Kurosaki than he let on and Inoue suspected it was bordering on love.

“Kurosaki-kun and Kuchiki-san …”

His shoulders fell and slumped ever so slightly, his eyes following suit. He let go of her and hit back the kick stand on his bike. Inoue watched him as he swung his leg over the bike.

“Ishida-san,” she felt her voice more than she heard it.

“You better go. Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san needs you,” he sounded so detached when he said that Inoue almost could not believe it was the same person who had come to her yesterday, telling her so quietly she would have to strain her ears, that he had been dating Kurosaki for a year and he was sorry he had not told her, knowing how she felt about him.

She had shaken her head and smiled, knowing Kurosaki had been happier than he had been in a long time. Inoue had thought it was something to do with everybody finally knowing so he would not have to lie, because she knew he hated that, lying to his friends.

Instead, she had gathered Ishida in her arms and let him use her shoulder in any way he saw fit. She always marveled at how much she knew about him and how little he still made sense. She had come to consider him one of her best friends, and she knew she carried a title similar to him. Surprised as she had been, she could not begrudged him that he had dated her longtime crush, because she understood better than anybody how you fell in love with that.

“They’re sick, Ishida-san,” she said sternly as he was about to ride away, hoping it would still have an impact.

He stopped in his tracks, but did not look over his shoulder, did not move. It was as if the words had frozen him in time, leaving his thoughts to run wild.

“If you have the smallest amount of care left for him, you come with me to Urahara-san’s now.” She knew it was unfair, using his emotions against him, but she also knew that biking was faster than running. And a lot less painful.

“Hop on,” he said and started biking before she was securely seated.

The metal was cold to her legs, but she secured her arms around his waist and wondered if Kurosaki had ever done the same and in turn thought about how Kurosaki’s waist felt. She felt herself blush at that, immediately ashamed of her thoughts. If Ishida knew she … Inoue had no idea what Ishida would do. She had never thought he would end up dating Kurosaki, but here they were.

She could feel his muscles working underneath his Prussian blue jacket and swore she could feel his heart beating.

They flew through town, Ishida never seeming to break a sweat, but they were fast. She could feel Spirit Particles around them, figuring that maybe Ishida was using a variation of Hirenkyaku to increase their speed. He had made a platform for them to reach Kurosaki in Hueco Mundo, maybe he could do the same here.

She held on tight, clinging to his middle and resting her head on his back.

Inoue saw glimpses of the city float by, a mess of colors and contours, but the people blurs and the cars invisible. The wind was raking invisible fingers through her hair, leaving it tangles and unruly. She could feel her heart tremble, but she was sure Ishida’s was pounding and screaming.

The bike skidded in the gravel, kicking up dust as Ishida pushed down the brakes and retracted the Spirit Particles, letting them go.

Inoue jumped off, leaving Ishida who almost nonchalantly parked the bike, taking down the kick stand. Sado, Mizuiro and Keigo turned to see them arrive. Urahara was standing in the doorway, looking both confused and slightly anxious.

Between them Kurosaki was hanging limply, eyes closed and face deadly pale. Kuchiki was still in Sado’s arms, hanging like a ragdoll, her brow shining with sweat and illness.

“What on Earth is this?” Urahara asked. Kuchiki and Kurosaki were both put down carefully on the porch, the boys looking tired and exhausted, obviously having run and pushed themselves to get them down here as fast as possible. Ishida made his way down there in a pace Inoue knew was forced.

“Ichigo and Kuchiki col–“ Sado started, but was cut short at the light that burst out between them.

Inoue gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shot, the light hurting them initially. When they had gotten used to the brightness, she dared cracking one open to see what was going on.

Their Spirit Threads were completely gnarled together, the knot looking much like a cancerous mess. A few threads were still free and they were curled protectively around either Kurosaki or Kuchiki. The red threads seemed to be at the heart of the tumor-like tangle, beating like a broken heart.

And the Spirit Pressure was crushing. It was Kurosaki’s running amuck and Kuchiki’s chasing it. Keigo and Mizuiro were forced to step back, Sado and Inoue both holding their ground, but with difficulty. Ishida moved like he always did, seemingly unaffected by the amounts of spiritual pressure eloping from the knot.

The pressure was so great it held back the rain that had started falling from the sky, leaving them dry, but forced to their knees.

Suddenly Kuchiki screamed and Kurosaki mirrored her. Their eyes flew open, thrown so wide they looked like skulls. Inoue tried summoning Soten Kisshun, but Shun’o and Ayame were forced back into the hairpins, the Spirit Pressure too violent and frenzied for them to act.

Inoue felt her own heart cry out to them, taking in their pain, wishing she could call forth Soten Kisshun and reject all the suffering in front of her.

Because their screams invoked blood-curling memories. It sounded like hopelessness and utter misery, like glass-shards raining down from the sky and ashes mingling with it. A burning home with people still inside, the news brought to a mother, the silence after an execution, all these things were nothing compared to the guttural roars they emitted.

She glanced at Ishida who looked to be in as much pain as Kurosaki sounded to be, but he let the black veil of insensitivity fall back over his eyes after a mere second of slipping the mask.

“Ishida-san!” Urahara called, holding on to his hat, “We’re going to be needing your arrows!”

Ishida’s eyes narrowed, but he quickly summoned his bow, already aiming, an arrow ready to fly. But then Inoue saw it. The hesitation in his eyes at shooting at something that could cause either of them to lose their life or their powers for good. A single bead of sweat ran from his temple as he readjusted his aim a fraction of an inch.

And he let it go. It snapped a few of the threads, the Spirit Pressure already subsiding.

He readied another, slowly standing to gain better leverage and better view of the knot, the intricate swirling of the Spirit Threads, writhing and wriggling in time. Inoue wanted to shout to him, but she felt like he needed to do this on his own. Besides, she doubted he would hear her from the look of fierce concentration on his face.

The howls of pain from either of the two did not seem to affect Ishida in the slightest, but Inoue saw the twitch every time Kurosaki shouted out, the little tightening of his jaw. She knew.

It was with surgical precision the arrows hit the knot, only severing the ones that were tying up others, releasing more than he was shooting. Ishida was taking his time with every arrow, making it as sharp as he needed, training it with a diligent eye and releasing it with an even gentler heart.

Inoue saw every arrow for what they were, pure, simple and careful ways of saying all the things they never said enough, every arrow that pierced the threads an apology and a quiet kiss on the cheek, atonement for past wrongs and appreciation for future rights. And she felt her eyes well up, knowing it was a song to a deaf man.

The seventh arrow hit the remaining two red threads and the Spirit Pressure vanished completely. Instead, the rain it had held back came plummeting down to Earth. Inoue was drenched immediately. Her hair clung to her neck and forehead, to her clothes and her back.

Keigo and Mizuiro came closer, joining her and Sado. Ishida stood completely still, letting the water cleanse him. Inoue could feel him let go of all the Spirit Particles he had absorbed from the knot, leaving him naked and bare. She looked away, giving him the privacy he needed.

The rain hissing and hitting the ground were all there was to be heard.

Urahara repositioned his hat a little, “Well, well, that was not supposed to happen.”

“Not supposed to happen?” Ishida immediately repeated, and looked at him.

Urahara held up two hands, trying to placate Ishida, but Inoue knew from his very posture that that was a lost cause. Ishida looked positively livid.

“What was supposed to happen?”

Urahara considered him for a moment and then took a step forward, “Ishida-san, what is the nature of your relationship with Kurosaki-san?”

Inoue saw him wither right before her. All the fire was replaced by embers and smoke, the water poured on a fire rendering nothing much left. He looked to Kurosaki and then away, as if looking for too long would cause him actual pain. Inoue knew what that felt like, she would have done the same.

“Non-existent,” Ishida said, the void in his choice of word revealing all the little things to Inoue, disclosing all the secrets.

Urahara lifted his eyebrow, keeping his eyes on Ishida, “Is that all?”

“All I want to tell you.”

“Were you in a relationship with him?”

“What does it matter?” Ishida sighed.

Urahara considered him, weighed him in his mind. Inoue hoped Ishida could feel her supporting him, from here. Kurosaki groaned and Kuchiki whined. Urahara looked to them and then to Inoue and Sado.

“Get them inside and tend to them, if you please,” he said, the same pleasant tone he usually used. Inoue nodded and Sado followed her. Keigo and Mizuiro went along, sending Ishida a confused look as they passed him.

Ishida stayed where he was and Inoue had a feeling he was not coming with them. He looked at Kurosaki like his heart was breaking all over again, but then he steeled himself and faced Urahara.

“We have something to discuss,” Urahara informed him, and wordlessly begged him to enter the store with him. Ishida only followed. Inoue grabbed his hand and squeezed it when he past her. The light of gratitude in his eyes lit a quiet candle in her heart.

Maybe her own heart would survive, as long as she knew Ishida’s did too.

When Kurosaki was down on the futon, the same Ishida had lain on only three days ago, she pushed his fringe out of his hair.

Sometimes, she wished she could do this for all eternity. But then she remembered the look in Ishida’s eyes when he would look at him, and felt content to take a step back and watch him be happy instead.

Chapter 8

He could smell the sea before he could hear it. There was this saltiness in the air, the smell of winds from far away, of sand rolling with the waves. When he heard the sea, there was the well-known crashing of waves, but also a clinking, a light scrambling. There were no seagulls in the air, no clouds either. It was blue and endless, uninterrupted and spanning for forever.

Ichigo did not know how he had gotten here in the first place or where he had come from, but he knew he had to keep moving forward. He climbed the last hill of nothing and saw the ocean span in front of him. It was much grander than he remembered, vast and unyielding.

The sea and the heavens met at the horizon, embracing like old friends, kissing like lovers.

He took a step and winced in pain. His foot was bare and perforated with glass-shards. There was no blood, no redness to spread the blue and greens, the white and the translucence. The entire shore was made up entirely of broken glass. All of them blue, green, frosted or clear gems.

Ichigo did not bother brushing off the sole of his foot, knowing he had to cross the field of shards. He took another step, hissing, but continuing. The pain did not lessen, but it became easier to tolerate.

He kept wading through, the glass starting to swallow his feet if he stayed too long. It began cutting into his legs too, the light-blue jeans surrendering to the sharpness, but his blood still refused to flow. He kept going though.

There was something in that ocean, something he needed to see. It looked deep and forgetful, a shade of blue he could not help but recognize and instantly be enamored by. There was this almost cerulean quality to it, then changed to azure, to Persian, cobalt, to duke and finally sapphire.

And that’s when all his lifeblood chose to flow and trace every movement he made, coloring, polluting the cool and gentle hues already there.

The shards began gnawing at him, forcing him to sink further and further down, greedily trying to devour him, but a single ribbon in white came flying down in front of him, slowly billowing in foreign winds. He grabbed hold and clutched the fabric, the soft and strong band not giving an inch, almost pulling him free.

He ran to the shore then, ran into the midnight blue water and immediately treaded water. He looked back, the shore suddenly miles away and the ocean starting to roll and move.

The sky and sea alike darkened, mirroring each other and suddenly stilling. Stars started sprouting upon the brow of the heavens and subsequently the collarbone of the ocean.

Ichigo did not need to swim, he did not need to breathe as the water seemed decided to pull him down into the weightless but heavy depths of the ocean.

Light started appearing all around him, stars lighting under the water as well. And the two huge, white eyes tainted with black opened in front of him, and he gasped for air that was not there.

 

When Ichigo woke, his chest was heavy and his brow wet. He could not open his eyes yet, hoping the ones from his dream would not have followed him, but unsure of what to do if they had. His heart was beating soundly, but fast and most importantly, it felt whole. Not lined with gold or mended, it was not divided, it felt focused, and so very much more painful now.

His chest was not only heavy; it was crushing him, his lungs already troubling him. If he had been standing, his knees would give out in response. His hands felt numb, but that was probably for the better.

He cracked his eyes open and believed he had yet to wake.

Ishida was sitting next to him, reading a book all too familiar to Ichigo. The other looked up, closed Watership Down and put it away.

“Ishida?” Ichigo croaked, his voice raw and rusty.

“Hey,” he sounded tired, but relieved.

“What happened?”

He only shook his head, explanations apparently too lengthy for him, because instead he gently ran, almost ghosted the tips of his fingers across Ichigo’s hand.

“All that matters is that you’re fine,” he said as recompense.

Ichigo did not manage to ask anything else before he fell asleep again.

 

He tasted the ocean before he felt it. The millions of different shades of blue surrounded him, glittering and shifting. He was completely engulfed by the color of bachelor buttons, rushed by nuances of blue flower.

Ichigo began running again, breathing in the salt and the sea. The saltwater purged him, mingled in his veins, turning itself into blood and bile before another heartbeat sounded. It was rhythmic, as if the sea itself has a heart that needed to breathe as well.

The night had all but vanished from the water, daylight penetrating the mirror-like surface.

Something broke through the water, everywhere, all around him. Pieces of silver and gold were raining down from the water’s crust, catching the sunlight, shining like stars. Ichigo held out his hand and a piece of silver landed in it. He ate it, nothing else to do with it.

And he felt the silver dive into his veins, dancing with the blood and the salt and the water.

Suddenly, he started sinking, the silver weighing him down, despite it being a piece the size of a regular coin. He fell and fell, fell far into another world, landing on a building that was turned sideways, a city turned sideways.

Ichigo knew this place, he knew his inner world. He looked for Zangetsu, looked for the spirit of his sword, but instead found a mirrored version of himself.

His hollowfied self cackled but did not say anything, only turned from him and ran. And Ichigo followed. He suddenly felt like he was the one chasing and wanting nothing more than to draw his sword, but found himself naked and in the middle of the air, nothing underneath him.

But he kept his standing, remained airborne. He swallowed and heard himself laugh again and sprinted off in the direction from which it came. There was something in the air, a faint smell of rain or salt.

It started raining then, pouring and thundering. Ichigo stepped down in a window, breaking it with the heel of his foot, but carried on, the shards remaking themselves into a whole glass-pane again. He was not sweating, was not exhausted, he was not out of breath. Ichigo was focused on getting his hands on his hollowed self and kept pace.

There was a shift in the air around him and he suddenly held Zangetsu, dripping with blood and Ichigo knew immediately whose blood, because he had dreamt this before, he had done this before, wiping the life off his blade as if it mattered little or none at all.

And he saw himself drying off the blood before he could stop himself, feeling the redness burn into his jeans, branding them and branding him. It hurt.

But then the ocean came rushing in, swallowing him whole and while Ichigo had had this dream many times, he did not remember it ever ending like this.

 

“Kurosaki-kun?” Inoue’s voice was quiet, but he recognized it instantly and opened his eyes.

Daylight was breaking in through the windows, stealing away the left-overs of night. The futon was placed in the middle of the room, almost like a shrine, a lamp in the ceiling above him was the only thing that gave away the modern era’s existence. Ichigo had studied the room in detail when Ishida had been in his place, even Ishida was sometimes not entertaining enough to simply look at for eight hours straight.

Besides Inoue, there was one other thing that was not as it usually was. Isshin was leaning against the wall opposite Ichigo.

But it was more the lack of a certain Quincy – really the only Quincy left on Earth – that had him sitting up, gingerly touching his head. The cramping was gone, leaving his head blissfully calm. There was a sort of serenity over not wanting to decapitate yourself at every given moment. He breathed out in relief.

“How do you feel, Kurosaki-kun?” Inoue was looking him over, looking for any signs of pain, any flinching.

“I’m feeling fine,” he answered. It was the most truthful he could say, great would entail he was still dating Ishida, “How’s Rukia? And Ishida?”

“Kuchiki-san woke up a few hours ago. Abarai-kun is with her,” Inoue reported dutyfully, a little smile gracing her features. It withered away though, “Ishida-kun left when she came to.”

Ichigo swallowed and nodded slowly. The sunray that had fallen through the glass, slithered away from the floor and disappeared completely, leaving the room dully lit with grays. Ichigo met Inoue’s eyes, warm like a day in May, and smiled a little, “I see.”

Isshin pushed himself of the wall, “Inoue-chan, could you give us a few minutes?”

Inoue turned, looking at Isshin’s uncharacteristically serious demeanor and gave a single nod. She stood and left the room, but not without looking over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips as she once again confirmed Ichigo was fine.

Isshin folded his arms across his chest and sighed heavily, and Ichigo could feel him preparing to talk and explain himself.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Ichigo cut in before Isshin got started.

Isshin shook his head, “Ichigo, I put your life in danger.”

“I hope that wasn’t the intention.”

Isshin clenched his jaw, “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

Well, no, Ichigo wanted to say, but he did not have the energy to play the sass-mouth. He had an idea of what had happened, a few glimpses surviving in his head. He remembered excruciating pain, screaming until his throat felt like it had clawed itself raw and glass had been forced down his throat.

And he remembered the arrows. He remembered something that had him tied, bound and chained together with Rukia. He felt her pain in addition to his own, and it was like acid and flames were igniting his veins and his blood, like zounds of Hollows were attacking his entire being without mercy or compassion.

But it was the arrows he remembered the most, because every one of them brought relief and soothed the pain. It was like a cool piece of cloth on a feverish brow, and Ichigo had caught a flash of the malignant tangle above him, the knot that seemed to be his very soul, intertwined with Rukia’s.

Ichigo had an inkling of what had happened, why or how were still factors unknown.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” Isshin sighed, sitting down by Ichigo’s feet, furrowed brow and folded hands speaking volumes about his thoughts and shames. Ichigo took it in, he did not want to do his father the dishonor of not letting him say what he needed to be say, “And I thought the key to that was Rukia-chan.”

Ichigo watched him carefully, “I was. Happy that is.”

“Not anymore?”

“Ishida and I broke up,” he deadpanned, no bitterness, no tears. He looked away though and chose that to be the only manifestation of how much the words were choking him. Isshin looked up quickly; Ichigo waiting for a response he had never dared think of. The approval of Isshin, Karin and Yuzu meant the world to him, so the mere thought of one third of his family rejecting him was unbearable.

And by the looks of Isshin’s face, it might not be an all too favorable response he was going to receive. Ichigo swallowed and closed his eyes.

“Ishida Uryuu?” Isshin repeated, making sure he had the right one. Ichigo hummed in agreement.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us? We’re your family, Ichigo, were you afraid I would be angry with you for dating a boy or that I would disown you? You think I would do that to you? That I would disgrace your mother’s memory like that?” He got louder and more expressive with every word.

“Of course not!” Ichigo denied and almost forgot he had worried about the very thing minutes ago, but when his father was sitting in front of him like this; it was hard to imagine him even trying. Isshin took a deep breath, calming himself.

“What then?”

“I don’t know.” Ichigo bowed and shook his head, fiddled with his fingers and wanting others in-between them, “I don’t know.”

Isshin considered his son. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Ichigo shrugged, “It was my own fault.”

His father raised his brow, a look of intense disapproval dawning on his face, “That’s it? It was your own fault?”

Ichigo looked up, catching Isshin calming himself before he continued, “Ichigo, if you never talk to Ishida-san again, would you regret it when you’re on your deathbed?”

It was not even a question. Ichigo nodded fiercely.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re still lying here feeling sorry for yourself.”

Isshin stood and opened the door, something completely unceremoniously about it like he had not just given Ichigo the most reviving piece of insight ever. Ichigo watched his father turn his back to him and take the first step over the threshold, “Yuzu’s expecting you for dinner tonight. Don’t be late.”

The fondness in his tone and the missive itself had Ichigo breathing out contentedly.

He removed the blanket and went to the window, looking out. This room had been the scene for both the death and the resuscitation of his relationship with Ishida. Or at least Ichigo’s spirit in regards to it.

Whatever it was Isshin had done to him and Rukia, it was over now. Which left Ichigo back on square one except he was there alone. He licked his lips and leant on the window-frame. There was a chill in the breeze, not unwelcome but renewing it seemed.

Ishida had been there with him, had watched over him as he was sleeping. That had to count for something, did it not? If Ishida had no care for him, he would not have bothered to stay. Or maybe Ichigo just woke at an opportune moment where Ishida was making sure he had not hit his Soul Sleep or something like that, though Ichigo knew he was a good enough marksman to not do it purposely.

They would need to talk about this. About what went wrong and maybe how it was insanely unfair that they had broken up because Ichigo had been slotted together with Rukia on a metaphysical plane, and thus had been inclined otherwise than he should and would have.

Ichigo looked around, finding a clean set of clothes on the floor next to him and recognized it as something he definitely had left at Ishida’s. He picked it up and smelled it. It was like breathing in Ishida. It was the same laundry detergent, the smell of the apartment and the aura from the Quincy himself. Ichigo pulled his other rather clammy and by now days-old t-shirt over his head, replacing it with the clean one. Same with the pants, out with the old in with the new. He felt infinitely healthier in a fresh pair of pants.

A jacket had been left on floor as well and his shoes. He still did not remember how he had gotten those on.

He opened the door and found Inoue outside, leaning on the wall, bobbing up and down on her feet. She turned and burst into a huge sun-like smile. Ichigo replied in kind and ran a hand through his hair.

“Kurosaki-kun.” Her dimples were dotting her cheeks, little pieces of physical happiness.

“Inoue,” he said and started heading out, “Wanna get outta here?”

She nodded and almost skipped to his side, but there was a certain dancer’s grace to her movements. She and Ishida were starting to rub off on each other.

They left the store and started towards Inoue’s, Ichigo walking her home. The sky was a light grey, dusty as if it had not been used in years. The wind was gentle and the temperature likewise. Despite it being October, the winter had yet to catch a firm hold in the weather. Ichigo would not mind having a scarf though, his throat still felt abused and a little heat might not be amiss.

“You can ask me, y’know,” Inoue suddenly said and put her hands behind her back, looking down. Ichigo watched her carefully as they avoided colliding with another person and a lamppost respectively.

“Ask about what?” Ichigo steered around a sign and closer to Inoue, hoping they would not have to constantly part for the rest of Karakura.

Inoue smiled a strange sort of smile, “Ishida-kun.”

“Oh.”

Ichigo let that float between them for a moment, wanting to gather the right amount of courage. He had not had any idea of how Ishida had been doing for almost a month and the thought made him a little queasy. How on Earth could he have been that distracted?

“How is he?” He let the words go after he had swallowed once and blinked twice. Inoue looked to him and her smiled faded, quietly retreating.

“He’s okay,” Inoue answered and Ichigo wondered if she had set him up, baiting him with the promise of information on Ishida’s well-being, but then he remembered Inoue was not capable of malice and waited her out.

“He’s uhm … he’s trying to move on, but I don’t think he really wants to. He still … He sat with you the whole time, skipped school and … I’m sorry, I’m not sure how much I should say,” Inoue stopped herself, looking apologetically at Ichigo who only nodded. Her reluctance and silence was worth infinitely more than a thousand words on Ishida’s feelings.

A few brown leaves were cluttering the sidewalk, Ichigo kicked through them and Inoue laughed a little but quickly sobered herself. He liked her best when she was smiling, he generally liked people when they were smiling; it let him forget why he was not himself.

And he missed Ishida’s the most. It felt like ages since he had seen it last and he found himself trying to imagine it. It was not too hard, but it was still but a pale imitation of the real thing.

Why he had not sought it out more was still so odd to him, there was literally no reason for him not to. Except there had been, something that had taken the form of a huge bundle of Spirit Threads, and what sort of end they had tried to achieve with that was beyond Ichigo. Ishida probably knew, figured it out before Ichigo even knew something was wrong. Maybe he had told Inoue.

“What happened?” Ichigo burst out then, adding, “With Rukia and me, I mean.”

“Urahara-san said your Spirit Threads had been tied together.” Inoue looked down and turned a corner, almost abruptly enough for Ichigo to miss it and keep walking. Ichigo had a growing suspicion that Urahara was involved with this.

“Why?! What was the … ?!” he asked. She withdrew a little and put her hands up in front of her chest.

Ichigo backed off and swallowed, “I’m sorry, Inoue.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Inoue smiled, a forgiving quality to it, something that made Ichigo relax again. “Urahara-san said it should have resulted in the two of you … that Kuchiki-san eventually would want to stay here with you … you would be together forever.”

Ichigo watched her for a long time, then turned away, keeping his eyes on the pavement under his feet. He had not felt even marginally the same for Rukia as he had when he had started crushing on Ishida, and here as of late, really starting to fall in love with him. Maybe he had been in love with him longer, he had honestly been too distracted by Ishida to really think that thought through. “Well, shit.”

“Ishida-kun ... Ishida-kun took it a lot better than I thought he would.”

“You knew?”

“He told me last Monday.”

Ichigo paused, “What day is it today?”

“Saturday. You’ve been out for three days.”

Ichigo stopped with her in front of her house and watched her find her keys in her pockets and halting before she opened the gates, “Kurosaki-kun?”

“Hm?”

“Ishida-kun is pretty mad at you, but he still likes you. He wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Just … just give him some time.” Inoue met his eyes squarely and Ichigo saw the plains of gray there, the turmoil of unknown origin. “And if you hurt him again, I’ll be very upset with you.”

She slipped inside, leaving Ichigo standing before her house, hands empty and eyes hollow. He started walking back to his own house, thankfully not that far away. He could almost feel his heart reawaken, taking a few beats, testing the waters.

Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, golden, not white, and Ichigo could not help but soak up every last drop of it, taking it as a sign. He spread his arms wide and embraced the last sight of the light he would probably see in a while.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Keigo all but shouted at him. Ichigo wanted to smack him for being so loud, but he needed to stay on his good side, so he had to settle for a glare imbued with centuries of malice. “When you came out as a Soul Reaper I thought all secrets were over and now you come out as gay and in a relationship with none other than Four-Eyes and I have to wonder how nobody saw the knives you drove in our backs!”

“Asano-san, calm down.” Mizuiro put a hand on Keigo’s arm and gently guided him down. He kept it there, smiling a little. Ichigo swallowed, he had a point though.

They had decided on eating lunch in the Art Room and were sprawled all over the desks and tables. It smelled like work and paint, a little wooden and used. The girls were sitting, as the only ones, on the chairs, while the boys occupied the floor and the tables themselves. Their circle was shoddy, but cozy.

Ichigo had decided he was going to tell them yesterday after dinner with his family and Rukia. She had chosen to stay a little while longer until the mess she had been part of was resolved. Dinner had been nice, awkward at first, but then Isshin started interrogating Yuzu and Karin, asking them if either one of them had gotten a boyfriend – or girlfriend – because he was through with playing matchmaker and smiled apologetically at Rukia and Ichigo.

“I should’ve known,” Tatsuki sighed and looked to Mizuiro, “Thinking back it was so obvious. How did we miss this?”

Rukia shook her head and took a bite of her sandwich, “They fooled everybody.”

“Mostly everybody,” Chad commented dryly from his seat on the floor and kept eating his quesadillas. He had recently begun experimenting with Spanish food and was getting pretty decent at cooking it. Apparently, he had found his grandfather’s old recipe-book.

“You knew?” Keigo almost stood up again, Mizuiro’s hand the only thing keeping him in his seat.

“Before Ichigo himself, I think.”

Ichigo only pushed around his sandwich and felt a tentative hand on his shoulder, just as he was about to sigh. Inoue had leaned forward and offered him a little comfort in the middle of the shitstorm he felt himself trapped in, although they had reacted better than he thought they would.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner? You think we’d abandon you or something?” Tatsuki peered over Inoue’s shoulder, the other letting her hand slip back to her own lunch.

Ichigo shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Mizuiro knew, because Mizuiro always knew when to move the subject elsewhere and did so with practiced ease. He leaned back on his hands and dangled his legs, feigning complete ignorance. “Where’s Ishida anyways?”

“I wouldn’t know. We broke up, remember?” Ichigo sounded jaded even to himself and swallowed hard, trying to keep everything in place. Just saying the words made it even more real and even more terrible. Mizuiro gave him a short look.

The sun was completely gone today, only the white light of a distant star. It left the room as bleak as Ichigo’s mood and made him want to forgo lunch. He would have to throw it out later, Yuzu would only be worried if he came back home with it.

“He’s talking to Ochi-sensei about last week,” Inoue answered instead and picked at her fingers, almost as if she was a traitor for knowing and telling.

“Oh,” was the general reaction. Ichigo felt bad for putting Ishida in that situation. He had seen that the other had reclaimed his ranking and now he might lose it again because of this incident. Wow. Ichigo really did not do him any favors at the moment.

“Turn that frown upside down, Ichigo.” Keigo flicked his forehead and had Ichigo look up at him, “At least we know he still got the hots for you.”

And honestly, that was one of the few things that kept Ichigo afloat. Had Ishida not stayed and had Inoue not talked with him, he would probably have skipped school a couple of days to sort his shit out, but as of now it was the only way he could see Ishida. Hollow-hunting was paused until they had regained their strength.

Both he and Rukia had been asked not to leave their body and Faux Body respectively, their spirit forms not yet strong enough to be without an anchor. Ichigo knew this was part of the reason Rukia was still living in his closet, but he appreciated her presence either way.

“It’s not about whether or not Ishida still likes him, Keigo,” Tatsuki said and ate an egg roll, “It’s about whether or not he’s going to hold Ichigo accountable for his actions and act on that.”

Keigo did not look like he followed completely, “What?”

Mizuiro took over, “Ichigo basically cheated on Ishida with Kuchiki-san, and even though he was under outside influence, that is still the core of the matter. So what Arisawa is saying is that Ishida might ignore the fact that Ichigo couldn’t really control himself and not forgive him or he might forgive him because of it, right Arisawa?”

Tatsuki nodded and Ichigo felt like he might have his lunch make a reappearance. They talked about it so casually, like it was not a hole in Ichigo’s heart that only kept collapsing in on itself every time they mentioned what he no longer had. The chopsticks snapped between his fingers and he could not find it in himself to do anything else but sigh and put them down.

“Ichigo,” Rukia said his name carefully, as if it had become precious over night and rose from her chair and sat down next to Ichigo. She put an arm over his shoulder and he swallowed.

“It’s nothing,” He bit his lips to keep himself grounded. “I just need to talk to him alone.”

Rukia petted his back, letting some of her warmth seep into him and calming him through that simple gesture.

Conversation slowly reemerged among their friends, the discussion turning to what mind control could have people doing and how governments and commercials already did that, everybody calling Keigo an idiot for believing such conspiracies. Keigo then floored them all with simple arguments that hailed from depth-psychology to subconscious messages in commercials to a book that caused mass-suicides in Europe a few hundred years back.

Needless to say, it took Ichigo’s mind off the whole situation, but the dull ache that now resided in his bones would throb once in a while, reminding him that he did not deserve to be happy or smiling at his friends, not when he himself had caused so much unhappiness.

Inoue was the only one who would look to him once in a while with nothing but quiet consideration; as if he was doing things she could not at all understand. Considering she was the closest link he had to Ishida, it made him feel as if she was watching him with Ishida’s eyes.

And somehow, that look gave him a little bit of confidence.

 

Finding Ishida was not as difficult as he had first anticipated. Mostly because he was afraid Ishida might actively try and avoid him and since Ichigo was still a beacon of righteous fury and Spirit Pressure, it would not have been too difficult at all.

But Ishida remained on the floor or the library, deeply engrossed in a book. His nose was almost touching the paper, his eyes flying over the pages, whatever it was, it was good. Ichigo kept his peace and did not interrupt until Ishida looked up at him, something so open and quiet in his eyes.

“Can we talk?” Ichigo asked, not giving up the eye contact, the feeling of being close to Ishida almost soothing him. He was starting to think he was an addict forced away from his favorite drug.

“Can I finish this chapter?”

“Sure,“ Ichigo simply nodded, “I’ll just wait here.”

Ishida was already reading again, worrying his lower lip. Ichigo wanted to do that, but considering he was not even sure if he was allowed to touch Ishida, maybe kissing and abusing his mouth was not the best way to rekindle the flame.

He sat down next to him, a few feet between them. He could reach out and touch Ishida, but he knew the other would probably frown at him.

Ichigo really tried not staring, but he failed in every single aspect. Ishida’s fingers were clutching the book, his legs curled in front of him and his hair fell into his eyes, down on the page. He gently led it behind his ears, only to have a few strands fall back. And every movement was like a sextet of things he knew and wanted to know and it was a bittersweet melody.

He was fidgeting, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at each other. He scratched his hair and looked to Ishida again, licking his lips and looking forward again. He began counting the books in front of him to keep himself from perishing from nerves. He did not even need to wonder about what could go wrong or what stakes were in place, he was entirely too prone to let that fuel himself into making a too aggressive move and if there was anything this required it was finesse. Which never had been Ichigo’s strong suit.

Ishida dog-eared the page and closed the book, turning to him and waiting him out. Ichigo had only noticed in the way he always noticed when Ishida did something, but he had to finish counting the last shelf, needing the extra seconds. He had planned on talking when he was done, because then Ishida would probably be done as well.

The other did not say anything. He waited Ichigo out and stretched his legs and back, while Ichigo reached 164 books and wondered if maybe he had miscounted, because there seemed to be too many, but recounting was not an option. Ishida kept watching him.

“You wanted to talk?” Ishida said when it became clear Ichigo did not have the mental capacity after again turning and being ensnared in that bluest of blue where he could easily drown.

He nodded and opened his mouth, closed it again, rearranging his words, trying to make them better.

“I – first off I wanted to say I’m sorry about all this – I don’t think it’s fair though. I don’t think it’s okay breaking up with me over something I literally have no control over.” Ichigo clenched his hand in his jacket, turning so Ishida could not see. The words had been hurried and stumbling over each other, trying to be the one that came out first. The other’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to retort, but Ichigo beat him to it.

“So I would ask you to reconsider your decision.”

Ishida turned to look straight ahead and leaned his head back on the shelf behind him. “I’ll think about it.”

And Ichigo had not expected anything different, but it still made his heart clench at Ishida not immediately saying yes and jumping into his arms. He nodded. “How long do you need?”

“I don’t know Kurosaki, this isn’t fucking noodles I’m making!” Ishida snapped and immediately quieted himself, remembering they were in the library. Their voices had been hushed so far. Ichigo felt that spark of something and hurried to squash it, fighting was probably not going to win Ishida over.

“My old man’s sorry too,” he said instead and Ishida slowly turned to look at him, What the actual fuck written all over his face.

“Good for him.” Ishida sounded far too bitter for that statement to carry any gentle meaning.

Ichigo wanted to reach out and take his hand and just hold it, wanted to diffuse this situation that had him wanting to turn back time. He looked down and picked at his nails. Ishida rubbed his face.

“You understand why I’m not just jumping back in your arms, right?” he almost groaned.

Ichigo nodded.

“Good.”

And with that he stood and walked off, leaving Ichigo on the library floor, trying to swallow a lump the size of a fist.

 

Surprisingly, Ishida joined them for lunch the following day. There was a reluctance in his pose, but he sat down next to Inoue and asked a quick question about last week’s math. Okay, maybe he was not eating lunch with them per se, he had sat down for a minute to ask Inoue about differentials and integrals, but Ichigo saw him linger a little.

And so did Keigo. He slung his arm around his neck and bodily forced him to stay seated. Considering how uncomfortable Ishida looked, however shortly, Ichigo was surprised he did not pry himself from Keigo’s death-grip.

“Why’re you not eating lunch with us anymore? Have you grown to dislike us, Ishida-kun?” Keigo bit his lower lip and put a hand to his forehead, tipping his head back in agony.

“He just wants someone to monologue at,” Tatsuki said calmly and rolled her eyes. Mizuiro only nodded next to her. Rukia chuckled and took another piece of shrimp from her lunchbox, Ichigo mirroring her, a quiet and careful smile on his lips.

Ishida looked to Inoue for help, but she only blushed a little and laughed softly. Keigo had yet to release him. Chad rose to get some paper-towel, patting Ishida’s head as he passed.

In turn Ishida hung his head and sighed.

“No seriously, why’re you not eating with us anymore? I know you and Ichigo are weird right now, but we’re still friends, right?”

The usual smile diffused when Keigo took a closer look at Ishida, who kept his eyes down, “Right?”

“I’ve been busy.” It’s vague, but Ichigo knows it’s the truth in its purest form. Ishida does not deal in embellishments, in adjectives and florals, not if he can avoid it. Keigo let him go.

“Too busy to eat lunch?”

“To make one,” Ishida complained, tipping his head back and Ichigo did not think he had seen pain like that before. He picked up a few shrimps and passed his lunch. Ishida looked up as the bento was held out in front of him.

The air suddenly grew blazing, their eyes locking, Ichigo drowning in saltwater and Ishida swallowed in amber. Their friends almost held their breaths along with them, everyone present knowing exactly what kind of repercussions a simple offer of rice and fish could have.

Ishida reached out, his fingers brushing Ichigo’s, a smile only addressed to him, only there if you knew how to find it. Inoue looked between them, a moment of time stopping and shushing them.

“I know it’s not even half of what you normally eat, but it’s a start,” Ichigo said, watching Ishida eat some rice, scooping it up with his fingers. A few grains clung to his fingers and he licked them off with that weird sort of gluttony that had him look so very endearing to Ichigo.

Ishida did not answer, too busy eating. Ichigo put his head on his hand, simply observing, feeling himself breathe more freely, his blood flow smoother.

“Seriously, how did we miss this?” Tatsuki complained again, looking distraught as Mizuiro just shook his head and shrugged in turn.

“The real question is how he’s not fatter,” Keigo remarked, his eyes on Ishida.

To his chopstick-less credit, he ate efficiently and fast, he was polite and clean, but insanely hungry. Ishida made no sounds when he ate, he would however make these faces that would make Ichigo want to kiss him, something incredibly sensual about it. He would also have the feel of a surgeon, precise and goal-oriented.

Ishida ate to stay alive.

And right now he was staying alive on Ichigo’s lunchbox and the feeling it gave him was a wave of regret. Because this is what they would have been doing had they still been dating. They would share food, they already did most of the time, but it would be in front of people, it would be allowed to smile at Ishida’s appetite and roll his eyes when he would steal his rolled eggs. It would have been easy, Ichigo thought.

Ishida put down the lunchbox, empty, not a single grain of rice left. He handed it back and leaned back, sighing contentedly.

“I’m starting to think it’s a medical condition.”

“Last month it was genetically inherited trait,” Ichigo countered, raising his eyebrow. It was too easy falling back into their usual patterns, it was hard not pushing harder, wanting Ishida to make a decision.

It was an old joke that had started after their first rather disastrous pizza-date and then simply remained in the back of their minds. Ichigo had not thought about it for a few weeks now.

Ishida shrugged, “Two months, but I wouldn’t expect you to know.”

That stung more than Ichigo thought it would. He smiled and scoffed, but it had a few characteristics of a sob. He could almost feel Ishida process his reaction. He let his eyes slide down to his hands. He rubbed his forearms, putting a barrier between himself and Ishida.

He heard shuffling and the pushing of a chair. “I need to get back to the library. Unlike you I still have the biology report from Wednesday and the Chemistry work sheet from Thursday to do.”

“Keigo’s also behind.”

“Shut up!”

Ichigo looked up and caught Ishida’s eyes moving away from him, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Keigo said in much the same tone Ichigo felt was reverberating through his ribs and marrow.

Ishida left the room, leaving Ichigo with an empty lunchbox. He rubbed his eyes. He was going to savor that smile until time itself began falling apart.

The rest of the day passed like tar.

 

Ichigo would lie in bed at night and wonder if he could go around this any better. A week had gone by, a week and a few days now. His hands were behind his head, the window closed to keep the October chill at bay.

It was funny how October had not seemed this cold last year.

Rukia was lying in the closet, reading a manga, her legs crossed and her foot jumping up and down. Ichigo would glance her way once in a while, but would go back to watching the ceiling in seconds.

“What were you expecting, Ichigo?” she asked and flipped a page.

Ichigo shrugged and breathed out.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.” Rukia adjusted her head and shoulder, stretching her back.

The bedside lamp was lit and was the only thing that kept the autumn black in check. Ichigo turned his head away and kept it there, clenching his jaw.

There was that possibility too.

 

Wednesday always meant group study in Literature. They had been reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and were now to analyze and write an essay about the different themes of love and how those are represented in the play. Ichigo had always enjoyed Shakespeare, even though this particular play was not one of his favorites. To say he had been thrilled when they began the English Literature Course and disappointed then when they had not chosen Othello would have been very true.

They were sitting in the library, Ishida joining them for once, seeing as Ochi-sensei did not tolerate anybody working alone. And as Ishida was already in trouble, he seemed to have picked the lesser of two evils.

The others had welcomed him with enthusiasm, Keigo especially because he hoped Ishida’s presence might improve his own essay. Ichigo and Rukia were sitting opposite each other, Ichigo flanked by Tatsuki and Mizuiro, Keigo and Inoue on either side of Ishida and Chad sitting next to Rukia. Their copies were cluttering the table and their notes likewise. Ishida was the only one who did not have any notes anywhere, neither in the margins or his notebooks.

There was idle chatter at the other tables, few students actually talking about the assignment and most choosing to share weekend plans instead. Ichigo’s table was a little more work-oriented and reread notes from class and passages from the play before they started discussing it in the first place.

Keigo tried sneaking glances at Ishida’s non-existent notes, aforementioned watching him every time he tried. It was not before long Keigo huffed in exasperation and crossed his arms at the blank pages before him.

“Asano-san, what’s the matter?” Mizuiro asked and put down his own pencil.

“I thought Four Eyes would have stellar notes on this shit,” Keigo grumbled and shuffled further down in his chair. Ishida turned to look at him and considered him for a moment and then pointed to whatever passage Keigo was at.

“If you characterize Hippolyta as a feminist and put that in relation with her arranged marriage for peace with Theseus, you’ll have a good starting point. Lysander and Hermia is boringly easy, where Helena and Demetrius is the one you’ll get points for analyzing. Demetrius only falls in love with Helena after being enchanted, so discussion about whether or not it’s true love is almost mandatory.”

Keigo looked at Ishida with eyes as big as saucers and grabbed his pencil. “Can you repeat that?”

“But Demetrius was in love with Hermia first, she couldn’t love him because she loved Lysander, so the fact that he ends up with Helena is the best for all the characters,” Mizuiro interjects and taps his pencil on the paper, Keigo scribbling furiously.

Ishida looked like he was about to say something, but Tatsuki beat him to it, “But are Demetrius’ feelings for Helena as real as those Helena has for him?”

Ichigo kept his eyes on Ishida, the other’s shoulders tensing.

“I think we should focus on Lysander, if we want to answer that,” Ichigo said and the others turned to watch him. His heart was hammering. His shoulders already felt a little heavier, with Ishida’s eyes on him. “Lysander, who’s truly in love with Hermia, was enchanted into falling in love with Helena. As readers we know he loves Hermia, but him loving Helena does not make anybody happy, that’s why Demetrius’ is forced into loving Helena, because Lysander and Hermia must end up together.”

“That’s true, but is it fair?” Tatsuki argues and writes a few notes.

Mizuiro gestures with his pencil, “Of course it isn’t, but we know it’s a mistake when Lysander loves Helena, it’s dramatic irony. So when he scorns and hates Hermia, we know he’s not supposed to mean it. Lysander was enchanted into loving Helena, so really, it’s an argument about whether or not he can be held … accountable.”

Ichigo saw it in Mizuiro’s eyes the second he realized. And he noticed Ishida seeing it too, the other swallowing hard. Ichigo could feel his heart falter a little at the expression Ishida made, cornered and about to face a firing squad it seemed. It only lasted a second then it was iced over.

“He can’t. When Titania’s spell is broken, she thinks she’s dreamed it all up, it can’t be much different with Lysander.” Tatsuki pointed out and looked around.

Ishida’s shoulders were set and tense, an air of absolute containment, of cages and of hail. Ichigo breathed in and met Ishida’s eyes for a fragment of a second, but somehow managing to get lost within them anyways. They both looked down, both threw their glances away, not bothering to be delicate.

Ichigo could feel the weight on his back getting heavier, as if his bones were slowly filling up with metal.

“I don’t think the enchanted ones are the victims,” Tatsuki continued, “I can’t imagine how Hermia must’ve felt.”

Ishida dropped his pencil onto the floor and immediately dived for it. When he reemerged, he brushed off his clothes as if nothing. He kept his eyes down, pretending to read, but only so nobody would expect his input. Ichigo could only watch and regretted it so much that he had ever opened his mouth. Rukia shared a brief look with him.

Tatsuki’s mouth suddenly fell open, shooting Ichigo and then Inoue a quick look. And she knew too then.

“I think Hermia should get over herself, it’s not like it’s Lysander’s fault that Puck mistook him for Demetrius, he was collateral. I mean, I get how terrible it must have been for her, but seriously, what could Lysander have done?” Keigo shrugged so casually it was painstakingly clear he had no idea. Keigo might be fantastic at arguing about the usefulness of the Maslov Pyramid or how Habermas’ theories still influenced our thinking today, but multilayer conversations had never been his forte.

Ishida smacked his notebook shut, shoved it down his bag and stood, the chair screeching. Inoue reached out after him, but he ripped his arm away before she could grab his shirt. She let her arm fall down kept watching him walk away. Rukia grabbed her things, stood as well and walked after him.

Ichigo clenched his jaw and picked up his pencil, his hand shaking slightly. Fuck.

“Was it something I said?” Keigo asked surprised and looked to Mizuiro who huffed.

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well shit.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Mizuiro picked up his pencil again and wrote a few characters. He turned his head slightly to Ichigo and put his hand over his arm, feeling every little tremor in his hand.

Ichigo took a steadying breath and started writing. His essay ended up focusing on Hermia and Lysander and how unrealistic it was for Lysander to be forgiven so quickly. He got top-marks, but could not really find it in himself to jubilate.

 

He was walking back from soccer-practice on the last Friday in October, the wind picking up and the rain becoming more insistent and cold with every drop. The streets were soaked and the streetlight could barely keep away the winter that was moving slowly through the city. There was a certain stillness in the air, like Karakura was preparing to settle itself into slumber and let the citizens fend for themselves.

He pulled his jacket closer and twisted his head so his breath would not moisturize the scarf and make it bitterly cold.

The last few days had left Ichigo exhausted. Their anniversary had been last Tuesday and Ishida had looked at him a few times, looked at him like he wanted Ichigo to come over and talk to him or acknowledge him or place a chaste hand in his hair and a smile on his lips. And whenever Ichigo had been about to stand up and go to him, the other had thrown his eyes away and planted them in the book in front of him.

They had not really talked since the group-study incident. They had said hi when they met in the hallway, Ishida trying to be civil and Ichigo trying not to grab him by the hand and walk somewhere, anywhere. Ichigo had wanted to talk to Ishida in private, but they had had amazing luck with always being surrounded by others or simply being interrupted time and time again.

Ichigo would look over his shoulder in class sometimes. They had had their seats reassigned, Ichigo now sitting in front of Ishida, center stage and away from the window. Mizuiro had laughed the first time Ichigo had been told to look ahead, but after the 43rd time, apparently it was not funny anymore.

More often than not, he would find Ishida watching him in turn. The other would drop his eyes to the notebook in front of him that Ichigo knew he did not use. A month or two into their relationship, Ichigo had asked to borrow Ishida’s history notes and was sorely disappointed when the other shrugged and said he did not do notes.

The clouds were dragging themselves across the sky, an ominous density to them. Ichigo shivered and turned left down a little street and found the café he and Ishida had initiated everything in. He stepped inside and shook his head, the first rainfall already staining his hair.

The coffee-shop was toasty and warm in lighting and mood. Today’s specialty was coffee jelly and sata andagi. Ichigo looked the selection over and decided on the specialties and a cup of double shot Americano.

He sat down and found his English homework. They had moved on from Shakespeare to George Orwell and Animal Farm. Ichigo was not sure how he felt about pigs becoming fascists and taking advantage of all the other animals, but the imagery worked nicely for the theme.

The waitress came down with a smile and his order. Ichigo thanked her with a nod and a lift of his mouth.

He had no idea for how long he sat there reading, the chapters were melting away while he sipped his coffee and ate his deep-fried sata andagi, no longer sizzling like when they were first served, and the coffee jelly. Ichigo had become quite addicted to the taste of coffee these last few days.

Secluding himself in the little café served a higher purpose. Few of his friends knew about it and he desperately needed something that was not them tip-toeing around him and his oh so fragile emotions. He was starting to feel smothered by their laughter and their good-natured jokes that were all lined and laced with careful planning and looks.

When he read, he had to focus on the story and the characters. He had brought his hipster-glasses along; he would need them for the torturously small font that Animal Farm was written in. And when he needed his glasses, he needed to concentrate on the page, and then he could ignore the sap-story that was his life.

Another perk was the probability of seeing Ishida there. He had taken to studying here the waitress had told him and Rukia the last time they were here.

He took a sip of the lukewarm coffee. The waitress came down and gave him a refill, shaking her head when he was about to pay for it. Without saying a single word, she had given him more comfort than anybody had managed this past week.

The bell over the door jingled and Ichigo looked up on reflex, seeing a couple entering, taking their coats off and talking about work.

Without trying to hide it, he stared at them as they ordered, holding hands and ordering one pastry intended for sharing. He put his head on his hand and took off his glasses with the other, massaging the bridge of his nose. Ichigo turned away and drank a mouthful of coffee, feeling his heart catching its breath.

“What’re you doing here?”

Ichigo looked up and saw Ishida in front of him, arms crossed and glasses fogged from the rain. His hair was dripping and his jacket was dusted with rain. “Uhm.”

“Are you following me?”

The waves of tension rolling and roaring between them tore at Ichigo’s throat and chest, forcing him to deepen his frown and square his shoulders.

“I’m reading,” Ichigo said.

Ishida’s shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed. He scoffed and looked out in the rain, “I’m sure.”

Ichigo folded his hand, curling and unfurling. The clinking of cups and the soft murmur of music was breaking the only peace between them, because Ichigo had invaded something Ishida thought of as his territory.

“Well, I’m sorry.” Objectively speaking, he did not sound sorry at all. If anything, he sounded annoyed and ready to pick a fight. And Ishida seemed to have caught onto that, because he unfolded his arms, baring his chest and showing his neck.

“What do you want?”

Ichigo snapped his book shut, “What makes you think I want anything?”

Ishida lifted his eyebrow, leaning on his left leg, and Ichigo could almost physically feel the disbelief and superiority slap him across his face.

“I told you, I was going to need time,” he hissed, louder than he intended probably, because the waitress cleared her throat and gave him a stern look.

Ishida clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, “Is there anybody who’s not on your side?”

“Are you serious?”

Ichigo had not thought the eyebrow could be lifted higher, but Ishida proved him wrong and added another level of oh please to his look.

“Ishida, there isn’t any sides?”

“You’re right, because everybody seems to be on yours.”

“Ishida!”

“What?” The other rolled his eyes, throwing his head into it for emphasis and pressed his mouth into a thin line. He forced out his breath and went for the door. Ichigo was up in moments, forgoing his bag, but remembering his jacket, the downpour outside demanding that you did or one could not be allowed into the hallowed halls of the falling water.

Ishida was almost gone, but Ichigo caught up, his stride more determined and faster. Ishida managed to round a corner before Ichigo grabbed his arm and turned him around.

“What is the matter with you?”

“With me? I had to sit and listen to your friends – “

“Our friends –“

“Your friends judging me! Do you have any idea how humiliating it was? It was one of the most degrading things I’ve ever experienced!”

“Have you thought maybe they had a point?” Ichigo shouted back. Their words were almost drowned by the rain, forced to fall with it to the ground. He was breathing hard, hissing through his teeth, the water running down his cheeks and dripping from his nose and chin.

“What point would that be?”

“That maybe forgive and forget is the shit to do!”

“And maybe you should stop lording over me!”

“What’s that supposed to mean.” Ichigo could feel his heart racing and water trickle down his spine, his shoulders damp and his shoes soaked.

“That neither you, your friends or Kuchiki-san get to decide when I “get over” myself and forgive you!” Ishida shouted, “God, do you even know how many of them have approached me asking to get back together with you because you’re miserable? Nobody give a shit about how I feel! Have you even considered that this is nothing compared to watching you kiss Kuchiki-san?”

“I told you, I didn’t want to!”

“You didn’t exactly push her away either, though!” Ishida screamed and bared his teeth.

In all their time together, in any and all of their fights, Ichigo could count on one hand when Ishida had raised his voice. He usually let Ichigo do the dirty work. Hearing Ishida shout at him as if Ichigo was deaf and tuneless made him stop and stare, his heart flinching in surprise.

“I hate it when you pretend to be the victim.” Ishida looked away, lowering his voice to a mumble.

“I pretend to be the victim?”

Ishida looked stricken and began shaken his head, “Don’t even think for a second –“

“That what? That you can’t admit it’s not my fault for once?”

“For once?”

“Yeah!” Ichigo had to restrain himself from holding tighter onto Ishida. The other was so close, closer than he had been in weeks and the adrenaline was sprinting through his veins, making every drop stand out, the light break in every one of them, creating a crystalline galaxy around them. Ishida looked fierce and beautiful and took Ichigo’s breath away.

“Do you even know why?” Ishida spat the words as if he hated every one of them, as if they tasted foul and wrong in his mouth. “I asked you and you said yes, but do you actually know why?”

Ichigo did not even get to open his mouth before Ishida was answering his own question.

“Soul Bonding isn’t some kind of brainwashing or enchantment or mind control! Soul Bonding is an urge, not a command! You have every choice to make, but you’re compelled to make a certain one. So when you chose Kuchiki-san over me,” his voice broke and his breathing was fast and angry, “that was on you.”

Ishida struggled against Ichigo’s grip, the other letting him go.

“You made a choice.”

“And it was wrong, Ishida.”

“Does Kuchiki-san agree with you?”

“What?” Ichigo felt his tongue work against him. He wanted every word he said to come out without a struggle, but they fought him all the way, numbing his tongue, clattering his teeth. He could not phrase any good arguments in his head. His heart was racing.

Ishida huffed, “Does. Kuchiki-san. Agree. With. You?”

“Of course she does, neither of us wanted this, Ishida.”

“Then why did Kurosaki-san think so?” Ishida folded his arms over his chest, his coat soaked and black as the midnight.

The sky above them crackled and the rain intensified, almost deafening them. Ichigo felt himself shake a little, but it had nothing to do with the cold or the rain.

Ichigo clenched his jaw, “Because he didn’t know about us!”

Ishida stopped, his eyes losing all their brilliant blue, their color drowning with the world, seeping into the ground. Ichigo wanted to cup his hands and catch the hues that were bleeding into the rain, wanted to hand it back to Ishida, a peace offering too late to even matter.

“You hadn’t told him?” Ishida’s voice was almost lost in the water along with his most precious color. Ichigo could hear it break, could hear that tears were coming to join the blue.

Ichigo shook his head, “I never got a chance to …”

“Shut up.” Out of surprise he did. Ishida looked at him with eyes grey as the concrete around them, metallic and unforgiving. “Just … stop talking.”

“Ishida, I told you I was sorry, why is it so hard for you to forgive me?” Ichigo growled, irritation beginning to powder the words and the tone.

“Because the more you say, the more I realize you don’t deserve that!”

Ichigo groaned and covered his face, his fingers cold against his reddening cheeks.

“What does it take for you to believe me?”

Ishida stepped closer to him, they were a foot apart at most.

“There’s nothing you can say,” Ishida shook his head, “Nothing at all.”

Ichigo felt the heaven fall along with the rain. Time held its breath and the world jerked. Ichigo kept Ishida’s eyes in his, the air breaking apart between them. He felt his body move a fraction forwards, saw Ishida’s do the same and he hoped Ishida would be braver and dumber and crazier than he was and close the distance, but he withheld himself. Ichigo swallowed and licked his lips, eyes darting to Ishida’s.

Ishida moved a little again, an inch, then stopped himself in his tracks, pausing and watching Ichigo for any movements, any clues as to what to do next. Ichigo wanted to go through with the movement, wanted to place that damn kiss on Ishida’s mouth, but everything he had ever been was screaming at him not to.

“I’m sorry then,” Ichigo said at last, finality hitting every syllable.

He forced himself to turn around and walk away, not to turn his head and let himself get his last fix. He shuddered and pressed his arms in front of his chest as if trying to contain himself. And he was. It felt as if he was going to spill out over his body if he did not. Ichigo could feel his knees wobble but could not feel his fingers clutch around his collar.

The coffee shop bell jingled, but Ichigo only came to get his book, his bag and those Goddamned glasses. The waitress did not make eye contact with him and maybe that was for the best. He gathered his things and was out the door before a minute had passed.

His hands clenched around the strap, in his pocket.

The way home was lonely, it was bitter and cold. He sniffed and still felt his nose running. Ichigo chose to ignore the thumping in his chest, the way his airways seemed to tie themselves together. Because he would have to.

 

Karin sat down on his bed next to him. He was lying down, reading although nothing Orwell wrote made any sense to him. If there was a price for epically scaled fuck-ups, Ichigo would have won, hands down. He had no idea when he had become this person who, in order to further his own goals, was willing to sacrifice other people’s happiness. And he was disgusted with it. He was not surprised Ishida was as well.

Rukia had left earlier that evening. She had hugged him tightly and said the one thing Ichigo had simultaneously wanted and loathed to hear, “He’ll come around.”

How she could continue to believe that was beyond Ichigo. He had told her about this afternoon and she in turn had told him that she would have to leave him, as if Ichigo’s situation could not get any worse anyways.

Her soul was finally strong enough to move through the Senkaimon and she needed the 4th Division to look her over and patch up what Unohana could not do in the field. Rukia had looked torn between going and staying, but Ichigo had reassured her that he would be fine without her. Which she did not express any doubts about, but in case he was not, he was always welcome to call her.

Renji came and got her around 8pm. She had a backpack with all her new drawings and a copy of Watership Down and some new clothes she had gotten during her stay. There had been this heavy silence, no one breaking it, the three of them standing in the hallways, Rukia and Renji halfway out the door and Ichigo holding it for them.

“Call if you need anything,” was the last that Rukia said to him before squeezing his arm and turning around.

Ichigo closed the door when he could not see them anymore, closed it slowly and lifelessly. Then he went straight to his room and threw himself down on his bed, picking up Animal Farm and tried to get through chapter 14.

He had read the same page thirteen times when Karin came in and sat down on his bed. The mattress dipped under her weight, bringing some sort of comfort to him, even though she had not said anything yet. And she remained quiet for a while, just sat in his room, on his bed, looking around. Her eyes stayed on the open closet but she did not comment.

Ichigo was beginning to wonder why she had come in the first place when she turned her body and looked at him, “Are you okay?”

He let the book fall to his lap and sighed, shaking his head. His throat was beginning to tighten and his eyes felt like needles. He pressed his mouth into a flat line and swallowed it all away.

“And Ishida-san?”

“Pretty shitty too, I think.”

She laid down next to him, folding her hands across her stomach. They watched the ceiling together, Karin looking at it like it was a map she had never seen and Ichigo like he was looking at the back of his hand. A cat was whining in the distance, a dog yelling at it for trespassing. The street-lights were lit and gave the streets a ghost-like quality. Ichigo knew all this because he had spent many nights by his window watching the world unfold after dusk. It was an old game, one that nobody ever thought to change it seemed.

He was wondering what Ishida was doing now. The other did not have any siblings that would lie down next to him and just be a presence. But Ishida was probably with Inoue, talking about everything but Ichigo. Somehow that thought sent a wave through his body. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. At least someone was there with him. Ichigo knew he did not deserve that privilege.

“Do you think …” Ichigo began, but could not finish the sentence. Karin gave him a sidelong glance and turned towards the ceiling again.

“In his own time, maybe.”

Ichigo did not answer, did not ask for an explanation, because he knew what she meant.

“Give him some space, Ichi-nii, and don’t blame yourself if you don’t end up together, you did your best.” She sat up and patted his arm gently and got up. Because Karin knew when she was welcome and when it would be better she took her leave.

It was strange hearing someone voice the maybe that constantly flowed through his own consciousness. Ishida might not come around and that was the essence of why everybody’s reassurances did little to help him, because he had seen the fringe where Ishida was standing and the fall was not easily chosen, blackness and doubt waiting underneath. Forgiving Ichigo was going to be a leap of faith and he knew Ishida had very little left of that by now.

He turned to his side and looked into the wall.

How long he lay there, looking into the white plaster, he had no idea. He tossed and turned, could not get comfortable, could not calm himself down enough to actually let sleep overtake him. He stood and went to the window, the moon had already taken her leave and left the stars in charge of the night sky, sentinels watching over the sleeping Earth.

He draped the blanket around himself and sat down in front of it.

His phone beeped a few times, but he did not bother checked, assuming it was Rukia wanting to know whether or not he was still fine or if she could come back. He leaned against the windowpane and rested his chin on his hands.

There was something about sitting up at night watching the world sleep that provided this odd sensation of serenity. It used to anyways. Ichigo could feel himself grow restless, but did not want to get up, his restlessness settling in his head instead and made his thoughts go to and fro, chasing whatever string it found until another corner of his mind had been turned.

Around four, snow began dawdling down from the sky. The clouds marched in from the West and took the stars with them. Ichigo watched the first snowfall of the year, fragile little flakes of ice gathering on the ground, melting the minute they touched upon it.

It began claiming more and more land, a film of white covering what he could see from his window. It began piling on top of each other.

It was weird, because rain made Ishida look like watercolor come to life, snow made him look ethereal. Winter was the time of year where Ishida became irresistible because everything around him brought out his best features. Ishida was a child of winter and Ichigo of the fall.

He swallowed. It was going to be strange, breaking every single habit he had grown these past months.

Ichigo slid his head down his hands, closing off the world and leaving him within the confinements his hands provided. It was almost staggering how painful breathing became when he thought about it.

A blackbird landed on the streetlight outside, chirping, testing out his voice. Ichigo looked up and saw the first lights come on in the house across the streets. Just because his heart had stopped did not mean the world around him did.

He got out of bed, and changed his clothes. When he had lain down, he had not bothered with taking off his clothes. They had become clammy and smelt like misery, so he threw them in his laundry basket and out on something else. He grabbed his phone and put it in his pocket.

Ichigo opened his door carefully, trying not to make a sound as he snuck down the carpeted hallway thanking his parents’ choices of interior decorating. He put on a pair of boots, hoped the two pairs of socks he was wearing would be enough. His black winter jacket was stashed inmost, having been out of use for a year.

He found a pair of gloves, Ishida had given them to him when he had forgotten his own and he had never gotten around to bringing them back. They were white with a dark blue hem. Ichigo smiled a ghost of a genuine smile when he put them on. Their hands had always fit together so nicely and apparently they were roughly the same size. Ishida’s palm was slimmer and Ichigo’s rounder, Ishida’s fingers bonier and Ichigo’s longer, Ishida’s colder, always colder.

The scarf was thrown around his neck with practices hands and the casual ushanka was put over his ears. He eased the door open, putting his house key in his pocket, locking the door again when he was outside.

He had not underestimated the cold and was glad his hat had earflaps. The snow was streaming down now, white rain and soundless. Ichigo began walking, put his hands in his pockets out of habit and breathed the mint-like morning air. It was not more than 6am, but the commuters were already getting out of bed and ready for work.

There was a secrecy in the air at this time of day. You shared these dark mornings with strangers, Ichigo had always found a strange comfort in this and watched a middle-aged man pouring a cup of coffee through the kitchen window. He began walking again before the man spotted him.

The snow creaked under him. It was coming down like the rain had earlier today or yesterday or whatever. Ichigo had taken a warm bath the minute he came home, not wanting to gamble with his health. It had almost been painful, the hot water burning his cold and red skin.

Ichigo was not surprised when he entered the park. He decided to walk the path City Hall had lain out, rounding the lake, climbing the hill where they had had their first kiss. It was going to be difficult not associating places and things with Ishida. Quite of lot of places had become theirs in his mind and even more were guilty by association.

A few leaves were still fighting to stay with the trees, clung to them even as the snow weighed them down and crusted their edges with frost. Most of the branches were bare, but a resilient few were still clothed. The lake remained black in the middle of the whitening ground.

Ichigo could feel his nose grow cold. He wondered if his lips had turned blue yet. Ishida’s lips had looked fantastic when they had been cold enough to turn purplish.

He rounded the naked willow that guarded the pavilion.

Ishida sat inside, legs crossed and arms hugging his torso. He looked as tired as Ichigo felt and completely distracted by the snow outside, but Ichigo did not think he had not noticed him. It felt like the last time where he had gone up to him while he was reading Tom Sawyer and explained himself.

With tentative steps he walked inside and took his hat off, shaking off the snow and sat down, hat in his hands.

They sat beside each other the falling snow the only thing moving around them. Ishida sighed and closed his eyes but did not say anything. Ichigo kept his eyes on the weather outside, despite wanting nothing more than look at Ishida. It was snowing after all.

“I’ll back off, don’t worry.” Ichigo pulled at a loose thread in his hat, twirling it between his fingers. Ishida looked at him, a little of the color had returned to his eyes, which made Ichigo happy.

He shook his head, laughing a little even though it sounded mirthless. “Y’know, I wanted to ask you whether or not you wanted to move in together.”

Ishida remained quiet, but Ichigo knew he was listening, Ishida was always listening. His heart was hammering in his chest, heat flooding his face.

“And then Rukia knocked on the door before I ever got to ask. I also wanted to know why we had kept our relationship a secret, but apparently, I was the only one keeping it that way. Not to mention, I never got to tell you properly, that I love you. That’s pretty sad, isn’t it?”

Ichigo sobered himself, took a deep breath and exhaled. “How long before you know whether or not you forgive me?”

Ishida opened his mouth, but was cut off before he got the chance, “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.”

“Kurosaki … “

“You have my number.” Ichigo got up and shoved his hat back on his head. He could feel his ears press against his head, freezing cold they were, it provided good distraction for the way his throat was constricting itself.

He hurried towards the edge of the park, his knees was asking him to take it slower, but Ichigo needed out.

His phone rang. He fumbled with his pocket but withdrew it from his pants and answered it. “Yeah?”

“Ichigo, stop walking.”

He stopped immediately and turned around. He could see Ishida standing outside the pavilion, phone to his ear. But Ichigo could almost only feel his pulse fluttering. He had no idea how his given name would sound when they passed through Ishida’s mouth, colored by his voice, but he loved it. Loved it like a blind man loved the light and a dying man loved his memories. It was almost cruel of Ishida to use it.

“You love me?” If words could bite their lips, could frown in regret and exhale with a plea, Ishida’s words transcended that. Ichigo’s heart was stampeding in his chest almost painfully so.

“Yeah.”

Ishida did not say anything. Ichigo waited him out like so many times before.

“You’re sure?”

“It’s not a choice, Ishida.”

Ichigo watched him as he stood in the middle of the snowfall, the sun beginning to rise behind him and Ichigo had never seen anything more breathtakingly beautiful and his heart gasped for breath as Ishida lifted his eyes towards him.

“Meet you halfway?” Ishida’s voice was colored with a tone Ichigo had not thought he would hear for another long time.

And it was not a question Ichigo needed to answer, because the minute Ishida started walking, Ichigo did the same. They stopped three feet from each other.

Ichigo had not realized it, but he had not hung up yet. It was not until Ishida did that he even thought about his phone.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Ishida stated. Ichigo shook his head, “Me neither.”

“This doesn’t mean everything’s fine, you know.”

Ichigo nodded quickly. “I know.”

Ishida closed the distance and rested his head on his shoulder, breathing deeply. Ichigo dared lifting his arms and slowly, gently, giving Ishida every single opportunity to say no, hugged Ishida closer, the other snaking his arms around Ichigo’s waist and Ichigo could almost feel his knees wanting to give in sheer relief.

It was like his entire body, his entire being, let out a breath he did not know it had been holding.

“You’re a fucking idiot, y’know,” Ishida mumbled into his jacket, “but the feeling’s mutual.”

Ichigo hugged him closer and breathed in Ishida and the oncoming winter in the air. He had to swallow again, but for entirely different reasons this time.

They stood like that while the sun made its entrance upon the sky, casting the first, rimed rays of light on the fresh snow and the two people standing in the middle of it. The sun warmed little if at all, but Ichigo was not cold.

“Come on,” Ishida mumbled and slid his hand into Ichigo’s. Ichigo followed, walked next to him and was happy to feel that weight in his hand again. Ishida did not speak and neither did Ichigo. The snow was still trembling in the air as it continued to fall from the sky. It crunched under their feet as they walked hand in hand towards Ishida’s apartment-building.

They took the elevator up, never letting go of each other’s hands. There was a strange sort of peace negotiated between them; one they both knew had no need to be broken with redundant words or unnecessary statements. Ishida unlocked the front door and let go of Ichigo’s hand in favor of taking off his coat.

Ichigo removed his outerwear as well, trying to be as quiet about it as possible. Ryuuken might be home and even though this was not the first time they had snuck in at one ungodly hour or another, it was the prospect of facing the man himself that made Ichigo a lot more careful when he removed his boots.

Ishida waited for him, leaned against the wall looking absolutely haggard. The bone-deep exhaustion both of them felt from forgoing sleep and the emotional turbulence between them were finally taking its toll. Ichigo reached out for Ishida’s hand the moment he was out of his shoes and the other took it immediately.

With practiced stealth they moved through the apartment until they reached Ishida’s room and again, as quietly as possible, Ishida opened the door and guided Ichigo inside, despite the other knowing the way by heart. But it was like they both knew Ichigo needed Ishida to draw up the lines again, redefine the right and wrong. Ishida moved a pair of pants and books from his bed along with his tie. He threw it on the chair and Ichigo automatically filed that away to when Ishida would need it again.

The bed was messy even without the books and clothes on it. Ishida had been tossing and turning kicking off the blanket, throwing it over himself time and time again if the creases and the lines was anything to go by.

Ishida removed his hand again and took off his shirt and pants until he was left with his underwear. Ichigo swallowed and felt his heart tighten when Ishida turned towards him. The other stepped up close, so close Ichigo could count his eyelashes if he would ever want to do that again, and began unbuttoning his shirt, pushed it off his shoulders and doing the same with his pants. It was nothing sexual in the way his clothes were removed, it served a purpose and that was all.

Ishida took his hand when Ichigo had stepped out of his pants and toed off his socks. His toes were cold and his nose was red and freezing like every other extremity. Except his hand. His right hand, the one that Ishida was holding was warm. Ishida laid down on the bed and Ichigo stood for a moment before Ishida tucked at his hand, asking him to join him. And Ichigo had honestly always been terrible at denying Ishida anything, so he did as he was asked and laid down next to him.

Ishida turned his back to him and pulled Ichigo’s arm around his middle. He met little to no resistance, Ichigo only wanted to know what he was allowed to do and what he was not. Ishida settled in, tangling their legs together and Ichigo had to swallow hard to keep his eyes from tearing up, because it was almost too much.

“Did you do more than this with Kuchiki-san?” Ishida murmured, completely limp in his arms.

Ichigo took a deep breath, calming himself, “No, I didn’t even mean to do this.” He hoped Ishida would understand he meant lying this close, this entangled, this intimate.

“The first time it happened, we couldn’t sleep. And then we kept doing it to keep the headaches and these weird itches off,” Ichigo added. He had no idea why, it just seemed like something Ishida ought to know.

“What?” Ishida turned around looking far more alert than Ichigo felt. “You had headaches?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo nodded, brows furrowed a little because that really was beside any kind of point they had been talking about so far. Unless of course that meant something worse was going on. It probably did. Karma had it out for Ichigo these days.

But the look of absolute relief that flooded Ishida’s face made him calm down and smooth his brow. Ishida closed his eyes, his left hand slowly placing itself on Ichigo’s neck, a tender caress really. Ichigo had to close his eyes as well lest he started crying of pure alleviation.

“Sleep, Kurosaki.”

And because Ichigo could rarely if ever deny Ishida anything, he did.

 

Ichigo woke before Ishida. He always did, it was scarily familiar waking with Ishida curled around him because he had turned in their sleep, feeling Ishida’s breath skim his shoulder-blade, the other nuzzling into his neck. Ichigo opened his eyes groggily, only remembering then that the last few months were not a nightmare produced by too much caffeine intake. He turned his head slowly, seeing Ishida sleeping soundly.

The clock on the wall showed 3:09pm, which did not surprise Ichigo at all. He felt hungry though and he knew Ishida would as well when he woke. He disentangled himself, Ishida groaning a little in his sleep, but throwing his arm over the duvet instead, hugging it tightly in his sleep. Ichigo smiled at that and stood over him for minute or five, just watching him, worrying his lower lip a little.

Then, after much consideration, he leaned down and kissed his temple.

He put on his clothes again, cold from the floor. He did not bother with socks, instead he found one of his t-shirts among Ishida’s laundry and smiled a little, wondering how much more of his clothes was hiding in the room and how much more Ishida had forgotten about. It made him happy that Ishida had not purged him from his life.

Ichigo closed the door behind him as quietly as he could manage and went to the kitchen, opening the fridge and found a few eggs, deciding upon scrambled eggs and toast.

It felt strange being able to make breakfast as if nothing had happened. Everything was where it always had been, and why would it not be? It was not like they would move everything around because Ichigo might not come back to make Ishida breakfast while he was sleeping. Or brunch or lunner or whatever meals at 3 o’clock in the afternoon were called.

He waited for the pan to be hot enough for the eggs and sliced the toast while he waited.

“Fancy seeing you here, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo froze and turned around slowly. Ishida Ryuuken was sitting at the kitchen island, newspaper in hand and an ashtray in front of him.

“Ishida-san.” He inclined his head a little, and leaned back on the counter, his hands cushioning his lower back.

Ryuuken flipped a page of the financial section looking utterly disinterested in Ichigo’s presence. “Don’t bother. I was only wondering when I would find you in my home again.”

“Excuse me?”

“It was never a question of whether or not Uryuu was going to forgive you, rather when he was going to do it.”

Ichigo could hear the butter in the pan begin sizzling and looked to it quickly.

“Do continue. Uryuu hasn’t had a proper meal in days.”

Ichigo turned around quickly and poured the eggs onto the pan and put the bread in the toaster, scraping the eggs to a side making room for the bacon. When the eggs became stiff and the bacon crisp he put it on two different plates and found the orange juice in the fridge. He buttered the toast and laid it on the plate as well, digging out some cutlery for them as well.

Through the entire process, he could feel Ryuuken watching him. It made him fumble and drop both knives and spatulas. His hands were shaking. Ichigo had to steel himself as to not look over his shoulder.

“Have Uryuu tell you about the Soul Bond when he wakes up,” Ryuuken said when Ichigo had piled food and plates and glasses and juice into his arms and started towards Ishida’s room.

Ichigo did look over his shoulder this time. He met Ryuuken’s eyes square on, the other nodding almost imperceptibly. He opened the door to Ishida’s room and found the other wide awake, sitting with his back towards the wall, watching the snow outside. He looked positively surprised to see Ichigo enter his room.

“I thought you’d left,” he stated and suddenly the look in his eyes made sense and hurt Ichigo a little, but he supposed he deserved it.

“I made breakfast.” He handed Ishida his plate and glass, putting the juice of the chair next to his bed. He crawled under the duvet, sidling up to Ishida who wore a small smile. Without thinking about it, he kissed Ishida’s temple.

He pulled back at once, “I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for?” Ishida began eating, using his fork deftly and wielded it almost like a sword. Ichigo mirrored him and started with a mouthful of toast. They sat in quietude for a moment, before Ichigo swallowed and licked his lips.

“Your dad said I should ask you about the Soul Bond.”

“He’s in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry for whatever you had to endure,” Ishida said and took a sip of orange juice. Ichigo watched him, then shook his head. “It was better than I expected.”

They continued eating, Ishida finishing first despite having the bigger portion. He plucked the remaining piece of toast from Ichigo’s plate, completely unrepentant. Not that Ichigo minded, not in the slightest. Instead, he poured another glass of orange juice and downed half.

“The Soul Bond is a Quincy-technique used to ensure the success of arranged marriages,” Ishida began.

Ichigo looked at him, emptying the glass and putting both plate and glass on the chair where Ishida had already dumped his. The other ran a hand through his hair.

“Arranged marriages?” Ichigo inquired.

“The Quincy goes to great lengths to insure the bloodline. The Echt Quincy have the Gemischt Quincy protecting them and the arranged marriages keep the blood pure. Because of the importance of our blood, the arranged marriages couldn’t fail.”

“So they were Soul Bonded?”

Ishida nodded, “The bonded would be tied for all eternity and secure the prevalence of the Echt Quincy. Except when the bond was rejected.”

Ishida grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers, stroking his hand with his thumb.

“The distress of the soul would carry over into the body, resulting in physical discomfort, like headaches and itches and such. Usually, the bond would be untied then and the participants would be married to the next best match.”

“Rukia and I rejected the bond,” Ichigo echoed and turned to watch Ishida who was looking out the window, watching the fat snowflakes tumble down outside. He nodded.

“Your bond got out of control. Quincies used to cut the ties at the first sign of trouble, yours was allowed to grow and fester until you almost were overcome with it. You’re lucky that there was a Quincy nearby to undo it.”

“I’m lucky that there’s a Quincy nearby regardless, “Ichigo smiled and nudged Ishida’s shoulder, the other rolling his eyes, but the smile on his face was neither dimming nor disappearing. He squeezed Ichigo’s hand instead.

“You haven’t asked how the bond can be rejected.” By the tone of his voice, he wanted Ichigo to ask, even though Ichigo had a pretty good idea of what the answer might be.

“How can the bond be rejected?” he obliged instead, watching Ishida give him a look that made it clear he knew he was being indulged.

“If either of the two participants is already otherwise inclined, their souls will resist the merging with another,” he answered and looked down on their hands.

Ichigo smiled, “That’s what I thought.”

“Well, I’m not dating an idiot, Kurosaki. You’re ranking 14th after all.”

Ichigo squeezed his hand a little and looked to him. “Just because I rejected the bond doesn’t make what I did okay.”

“No, but at least it makes sense now,” Ishida sighed and rubbed his eye, “I was beginning to think you’d lied to me when you said you had never been in love with Kuchiki-san and that you wouldn’t leave me the minute she became available.”

Ichigo swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about that.”

Ishida met his eyes, warm at first but then dropping to his lap again.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve realized what it was sooner, but it’s a non-offensive technique that’s out of use now. I didn’t even know non-Quincies could perform it. Ryuuken was supposed to receive it, but his betrothed … I don’t know what happened to her, but they were never bonded. Instead he married my mother.”

And that was the first time Ishida had ever mentioned his mother. He felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly. Ichigo turned to him, “What was her name?”

“Kanae. Katagiri Kanae.”

He nodded and leaned his head on the wall. They remained quiet, keeping their hands together. Ishida pulled them into his lap and forced Ichigo to come closer. The other snuggled a little closer and sighed. Ichigo licked his lips, “How did Urahara get his hands on something like that in the first place?”

“I have no idea. And as long as he keeps it four fucking leagues away from you, I don’t give a shit.”

Ichigo laughed, and for the first time in weeks he felt like he was allowed to do so.

 

Ichigo spent the entire weekend at Ishida’s, working out what they were going to do now. They both knew they had to redefine everything that their relationship had been and would be and that it was going to take a lot of time.

At least that’s what they started out thinking it would.

The minute they were not talking about Rukia or the Soul Bond or anything to do with the past few months, it was like it had never happened. It came natural to them, to be together again. Ichigo would touch and kiss Ishida almost on instinct and Ishida would reciprocate, smiling in turn and sometimes laughing into those that landed on his mouth.

When Ishida was going to take a shower, he looked at Ichigo, not saying anything, but the invitation hanging in the air. Ichigo graciously accepted the offer.

They ended up spending fifteen minutes showering and 45 minutes standing and enjoying themselves. Ishida would massage shampoo into Ichigo’s hair and the other was almost weeping with relief, wishing Ishida would have been there to do the same when he was having the splitting headaches that came from rejecting a Soul Bond.

Ichigo in turn would kiss Ishida while he ran his hands down his sides and back, pressing his fingers into the knots and tensions he could find in his back. Ishida would sigh into his mouth and Ichigo would open his eyes and kiss Ishida’s forehead.

They ordered pizza and spent the evening watching reruns of Oprah and Dr. Phil, talking over the guests in favor of discussing what they had been doing the past month. If they fell asleep tangled up in each other while Oprah was giving out one gift after another, neither of them minded because they were on Ishida’s couch and neither of them wanted to be anywhere else.

They lay in bed at night, Ishida almost on top of Ichigo, listening to his heartbeat, Ichigo counting Ishida’s breaths. It was almost strange how none of them had engaged in anything sexual, but Ichigo had found his priorities had shifted a little. To be close to Ishida was more than enough for the time being, it was a privilege he had forgotten he had had and he was loathe to surrender even the tiniest bit of it now when he had finally gotten it back.

When they woke the next morning, Ishida had done so first, and was watching Ichigo through hooded eyes. Ichigo smiled a little and ran his hand over his arm, too sleepy to do more than simply move his hand back and forth.

“Shouldn’t you call your family?” Ishida asked him and placed a hand over his heart, toying with his collarbone. Ichigo groaned because of course Ishida was right, but it was so nice not using phones.

Ishida seemed adamant though and reached over him, leaving his jaw wonderfully exposed, which Ichigo decided to take full advantage off. Ishida rolled his eyes but there was that fondness to it that made it all alright. He pressed the phone into his chest and settled back into the duvets and Ichigo as he dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi Karin, it’s me,” he greeted and petted Ishida’s hair.

“Where the fuck are you? Yuzu’s called you like a million times and dad is about to put up flyers all over town.”

Ichigo winced at that. He had not even bothered to check his phone while he had been here and subsequently it had run out of power. And one of the few things Ichigo had never thought to leave at Ishida’s place was a charger.

“I’m fine. I’m at Ishida’s.”

There was a shouting, muffled by the fact that Karin was not speaking into the phone and suddenly a new voice was on the phone, “Ichigo? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s great.”

Ishida was warm against him and he was loving the way he could feel him breathe.

“Is Ishida-kun with you?”

“Yes, he is.” Ichigo watched him as he opened his eyes and lifted his eyebrow.

Isshin cleared his throat, “Can you put him on the phone?”

Ichigo handed the phone to Ishida who took it without question and greeted Isshin as if he had no idea who was on the line. Ishida did not speak much, answered in affirmatives or negatives, assurances and pleasantries. He furrowed his brow once or twice, fidgeted with Ichigo’s hair the entire time but gave no clue whatsoever what the conversation was about.

He gave the phone back and Ichigo was informed that he and Ishida were invited to dinner tomorrow. Ichigo felt a lump in his throat as he hung up and put the phone back on the chair next to the bed, wrapping his arm around Ishida again.

“You sure it’s okay?” Ichigo asked when he no longer could hold himself back.

“Your father explained the situation and apologized profusely and some weirdo I know once told me that forgive and forget was the shit to do, so I’m giving that a chance.”

Ichigo kissed his hair and hugged him a little tighter, “You’re the best.”

“Hardly, but I give it a try once in a while.”

 

Monday passed relatively quickly. They had walked to school together, bickering about the best place to live in Tokyo when you were a student in financial trouble. Ishida argued Shibuya and Ichigo insisted on Toshima. They made no headway in the discussion, but Ichigo enjoyed the small-scale fighting as much as the kissing and touching, because their relationship was built so soundly on that very interaction.

The snow had turned into murky slush overnight and the hem of their pants were soaked and dirty before they were halfway there.

Keigo had gaped and pointed at them when they entered the classroom, still arguing about the merits of their respective district. Mizuiro had lowered Keigo’s arm and patted it twice.

Breaking the news to their friends, Ichigo insisted that they were their friends despite knowing Ishida did not, had been a lot less turbulent than the first time around. They had all congratulated them, Ishida rolling his eyes a little, but accepting the cheers in good grace otherwise.

“Keigo can you settle this for us?” Ichigo asked after the initial wave of congratulations had died down, “Shibuya or Toshima?”

Keigo frowned, “What?”

“If you’re students, where is it best to live?” Ishida elaborated.

“Shibuya,” Keigo answered.

“Told you.”

“But Setagaya is better yet. At least if you’re piss-poor like we are,” Keigo added, looking like a puppy and leaned closer to Mizuiro. “Not to forget the crime-rates in Shibuya and Toshima are higher than those in Setagaya.”

“What Keigo’s trying to say is that we’re all thinking about moving to Setagaya,” Tatsuki said as Keigo’s lip-quivering ended up mashing most of the words together to the point where they were almost impossible to understand.

Ishida looked to Ichigo and shrugged. Ichigo smiled a little, “We’ll consider your offer.”

“We? As in you’re moving in together?”

Ishida did not answer, but gave that trademark look that made anyone on the receiving end feel like an imbecile. Ichigo patted his shoulder. Mizuiro gave him a secret look as if he had just solved the greatest riddle in the universe. But Ichigo could not bring himself to care, not when Ishida would look at him every once in a while and smile at him, not when he himself did not have to lie and scowl through the day when he suddenly had no reason to.

But what he loved the most was when he caught Ishida laughing with the others and he would turn to Ichigo, unmasked and completely open. And that made Ichigo’s heart beat faster and his pulse rush, because Ishida would look at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to him and seeing that without any traces of scorn or suspicion was almost enough to melt his heart.

When they walked home from school, they had clasped their hands together, Ichigo stroking Ishida’s hand absentmindedly while the other spoke about a dress he was making for Inoue’s birthday. Ichigo listened despite not knowing the first thing about either fashion or Inoue’s preferences regarding clothes, but seeing Ishida speak so absorbed made him lean over and kiss his temple.

Ishida stopped then and turned to Ichigo, waiting. Ichigo took a step before he realized Ishida was not following. “Is something wrong?”

Ishida looked from side to side and then pulled Ichigo into a little alley. The building were blocking out whatever drops of light the sun could afford to let the Earth drink, so the shadows were deep and practically impenetrable.

Ichigo swallowed as he saw the look in Ishida’s eyes before they closed and he kissed him. His hand was on the nape of his neck, the other on his jaw. The kiss was sweeter than honey and warm like a summer day in June. It was like lying in the grass, letting the sun seep into your skin while holding hands with the one you loved.

It tasted familiar and new, like spring. Ichigo’s hands settled on Ishida’s waist, the perfect height and size, his thumbs stroking his sides. Ishida opened his mouth and with practiced feet, Ichigo danced along, following him every step of the way.

It was not until Ishida gasped because Ichigo’s hands had snuck under his jacket and exposed his skin to the chilly November air that they broke apart. Ishida shook his head and smiled. Ichigo reciprocated easily, it felt good. It felt right.

Ishida fixed Ichigo’s hair and took his hand again, leading him out of the alley. And if being official meant that he was going to be dragged into dark alleys at unspecified times of the day, he was going to regret it even more than ever that he did not come clean earlier.

As they walked towards Ichigo’s home, Ishida grew more and more restless. When they were standing in front of the door, Ishida looked positively nervous. Ichigo looked at him, raising a brow, “You okay?”

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Ishida, it’s not like they haven’t met you before,” Ichigo said, unsure of where this was going.

Ishida swallowed and clenched his jaw, “I know, but what if they don’t.”

“They will, don’t worry. They like Keigo, they’ll like you too.”

Ishida sent him a withering look, but did not say anything else. Ichigo took that as his cue to open the front door and step inside, holding the hand of his boyfriend. There was something akin to warmth blooming in his chest as he looked back and met Ishida’s quiet eyes and even quieter smile.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this, the main part of the story. Thank you for reading, it was nice of you to do so.
There's an epilogue that I'll be posting soon, but until then.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Under the Rubble