Bleach 1. 1: In Which Ichigo Runs Out of Condoms

"Crap," Ichigo sighed, dropping his head against the edge of his nightstand. Half the contents of the top drawer were now either on the table top or strewn beside his bed, but he hadn't found what he was looking for; what he so very desperately needed.

"What's wrong?" chirped the girl sprawled on the bed beside him. Misa—no, wait, maybe it was Nisa – pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking in the green light from his clock radio. She was naked except for the lacy panties still encircling one knee, and her pert nipples glistened where Ichigo had been tonguing them.

"I'm out of condoms," Ichigo groaned, rolling back onto the bed and blinking up at the ceiling, the same direction his dick was pointing.

"Shit," Nisa – or maybe it was Misa – pronounced. She didn't sound pleased. "Only a real bastard would show me something like this," she said, prodding his erection, "and not let me have it. That's cruel, Kurosaki."

"You think I'm happy about it?" he asked, probably not as gently as he should have. Nisa – yes, it was definitely Nisa – was in his freshman biology study group. They'd shared notes a couple of times and griped together about the trick questions the instructor put on the first test, but that had been the extent of their relationship until that evening when they were the only two students to show up at the review session. Really, who schedules a review on a Friday night, anyway? They had started chatting while waiting for the others to show, and when no one else did, decided to continue the conversation over coffee.

First it was just about the class, then about adjusting to university life and being away from home, and finally, after two lattes each and a plate of biscotti, they'd started griping about their love lives. Or rather, their lack of same. How they knew it wasn't smart to get involved with someone during your first year at university because you needed to focus on classes, but how it still sucked not having someone to get off with.

At that, there had been an uncomfortable moment of silence while they stared at each other, then looked down at their plates, then started to laugh. After a brief discussion of whose apartment was closer and who had fewer roommates, they walked back to Ichigo's place and let things take their natural course.

A course which had now reached an unfortunate impasse: both of them aroused and wanting to sample what the other had to offer, but unable to do so.

"Hang on," Ichigo said, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed. He grabbed his shorts off the floor and wrestled them on over his erection, told Misa – iNisa/i, damn it – to stay right there and slipped out his bedroom door to the bathroom.

After rifling the medicine cabinet and pawing through every drawer without finding anything, Ichigo leaned against the sink, contemplating the insistent bulge in his shorts and debating the possibilities. Sex without a condom wasn't an option. He grimaced at the idea of running down to the all-night convenience store. It would be just his luck to endure the looks and eyebrow-wagging he'd be sure to get from the clerks and other customers – especially considering his current state of arousal – only to return and find his erstwhile bed-partner no longer in the mood. That left only one alternative. With a sigh of resignation, Ichigo steeled himself and went to see if he could snag a condom from his roommate.

It shouldn't have been that big a deal. Most people he knew borrowed stuff from their roommates all the time – shampoo, towels, money for the soda machine, and yeah, even condoms. Most people, however, didn't have Ishida Uryuu for a roommate.

"He'll probably make me fill out a requisition form," Ichigo grumbled as he padded across the living area toward Uryuu's room at the other end of their apartment. "It's gonna be like that damn granola bar all over again." He'd been in a rush one day and grabbed one of Ishida's energy bars for lunch. He'd replaced it right away, too, but it hadn't been the right ikind/i of energy bar, and he'd had to listen to Ishida go on about how his had been green tea flavored, not chai flavored, and it had five amino acids, not three, blah blah blah ad nauseum. Ichigo could only imagine how much worse borrowing a condom was going to be.

"Probably be some weird, hard to find brand," Ichigo muttered to himself. "Specially formulated for Quincy dicks, or some shit like that." Of course, replacing the borrowed item properly might be the least of Ichigo's worries. He'd also have to put with Ishida's eye-rolling, the inevitable teasing, or maybe worse. Hell, knowing Ishida, he'd probably want to give him a lecture on proper condom use and safety before even handing one over. It was enough to make Ichigo rethink the whole idea. Trotting down to the store with an obvious hard-on wagging in his shorts was starting to sound preferable to dealing with Ishida.

_Maybe he's not even here,_ Ichigo considered as he crept up to Ishida's door. _Maybe he's out. _While that wasn't going to net Ichigo what he needed, at least he wouldn't have to embarrass himself in front of Ishida. He felt a brief flush of hope that was immediately quenched when he heard music coming from Ishida's room.

"Fuck," Ichigo muttered. Ishida never left even a radio going when he wasn't home, so he was definitely there. Ichigo would have figured his roommate was studying – except for running out to fight Hollows with him, studying seemed to be all Ishida ever did – but Ishida always played classical music when he was buried in his books, and this stuff wasn't classical. Ichigo didn't recognize the song. It was some kind of alternative stuff: melodic, but weird and deep and sort of trance-like, as if someone had taken a Gregorian chant and put it to a dance beat. Ichigo wondered if Ishida was into mediation or something, and when he saw that the bedroom door wasn't quite closed he nudged it open a bit further, just enough to look in and make sure he wouldn't be disturbing the guy.

Ichigo froze with his hand still on the door. Ishida was definitely not meditating. Or studying. And he wasn't alone, either.

Ishida's desk lamp must have been on, because there was just enough light for Ichigo to see the two bodies moving together on Ishida's narrow bed. Enough light to see the sheen of sweat on Ishida's pale skin and the silver refraction off the dark hair swaying around his face as the guy behind Ishida fucked him with a slow, rolling motion. They were facing away from Ichigo so he couldn't see the other guy's face, but Ichigo could tell he was big, tanned and muscular. His hands looked dark against Ishida's pale skin as they roved over his back and sides, sliding down to curl around his hips and then under his belly. The guy must have done something there because Ishida, who was on his knees and elbows with his head hanging down, arched his back and made a sound like Ichigo had never heard him make before: a brief, shuddering groan that reached right into Ichigo's gut, grabbed and twisted.

Ichigo knew he shouldn't be watching this; that he should have backed off and hot-footed it back to his room the minute he saw what was going on, but he couldn't. He stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to move or look away.

It wasn't that Ishida was screwing a guy – hell, he'd known Ishida was gay since back in high school, everyone had – it was the way they were screwing. Ichigo had always figured two guys going at it would be rough and crazy, more like a fight than a fuck. But this—he'd never imagined it would look like this.

Or that Ishida Uryuu could look like that.

Even as he tried to wrap his brain around the idea that the sleek, sweating body bent under that buffed up jock was his dorky, uptight roommate, Ishida's partner leaned over and murmured something. Ichigo couldn't hear Ishida's groaned response, but he saw one slim hand grip the edge of the bed and heard his soft grunt as the other guy picked up the pace, holding onto Ishida's hips as his strokes got longer and faster.

Ichigo felt his mouth go dry, felt the pressure in his groin ratchet up at least three notches because the guy was really starting to pound Ishida, and it seemed like that was just what Ishida wanted. Ichigo knew he needed to get the hell away from the door and stop watching this because it was wrong, wrong, wrong. The air felt hot and close around his head, and it was getting harder to breathe, but still Ichigo didn't move. He didn't move because Ishida had started making these small, rough sounds – part grunt, part groan – at every thrust, and just the idea that Ishida would allow himself to make such noises kept Ichigo transfixed, listening and waiting for more.

He didn't have long to wait. With an impatient grunt, the other guy hoisted up Ishida's hips and started thrusting into him at a different angle. If Ichigo had been surprised at the sounds Ishida was making before, it was nothing compared to this as Ishida threw his head back, cried out "Ah! Fuck, yes! There!" and then collapsed onto his chest with a long, wild moan, clutching the covers and whimpering as his partner slammed into him.

Ichigo grabbed the doorframe to hold himself up. He couldn't believe what he was hearing or seeing. It couldn't be real, could it? Ishida with his back arched like a cat in heat, moaning and saying words like 'Fuck' in a voice that sounded like Ishida's, only lower, darker, needier?

That same voice was still groaning and murmuring when Ichigo refocused, and the other guy was panting out something, too, but Ichigo couldn't hear what they were saying. It must have been good, though, because Ishida moaned what sounded like 'ohgodfuckyes' and the next thing Ichigo knew, the guy pulled out of Ishida and flipped him over like he didn't weigh anything at all. The sight of Ishida sprawled across the foot of his bed – hair tousled, stomach heaving, cock stiff and straining – took Ichigo's breath away. When his partner lifted Ishida's hips with a growl, thrust into him again, then closed his fist on Ishida's dick and started jerking him off while he fucked him, Ichigo thought he was going to pass out. His head swam, his vision grayed, and something wrenched deep inside him, right behind his balls, threatening to send Ichigo to his knees.

That was the moment Ishida lifted his head from the mattress, the moment he would have seen his roommate gawking at him through the half-open door, except that Ichigo's reflexes took over where his brain was failing him utterly. Just as he registered the look of desperate abandon on Ishida's face, Ichigo's body broke from its stupor. Pushing away from the doorway, he flattened himself against the wall, only then realizing he was breathing like he'd just run a 5 minute mile and that his heart was banging against his chest like something that wanted out. There was another, equally insistent throbbing between his legs, but Ichigo didn't dare think about that. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, trying to banish the images of Ishida—god, _Ishida_—wild and panting and hard, but even if he couldn't see what was happening any longer, Ichigo could still hear it.

_Go!_, his sputtering brain told him. _Now! Go! Get back to your room before he hears you, before he finds out!_ but Ichigo stood rooted to that spot. The sounds coming through the door over the music hypnotized him: the creak of the bed, the slap of flesh on flesh, the rhythmic grunts of Ishida's partner, and most compelling of all, Ishida's escalating gasps and moans.

_Oh god, he's coming,_ Ichigo realized, eyes widening, fingernails gouging the drywall. _Ishida's about to fucking lose it, and I'm standing here listening to it happen! What the hell is wrong with me?_ Obviously, somewhere between the bathroom and Ishida's door, Ichigo had turned into some kind of creepy pervert, but even that realization didn't make him leave. Hell, nothing short of an Arrancar invasion or Aizen showing up for tea and cookies could have driven him away; not while he could hear Ishida's breathless moans reaching a frantic crescendo.

"Oh! Oh! Ohh!"

Three rising syllables, the last one a keening whimper before it turned into a wrenching groan of release. The sound of it washed through Ichigo like water that was so hot it seemed cold at first, like something that stole his senses or turned them inside out.

"Fuck, look at you," a different, deeper voice panted, no igrowled/i through the other noises. "Look at you—gorgeous—coming all over yourself."

_Look at you._

It was too much. Ichigo tore himself away and fled down the hall, not even caring if they heard him. His legs were shaky, his every breath sounded like ripping cloth, and his head was clogged with images he didn't want – no, fuck no, he'd swear he didn't – because even though he hadn't looked, all he could see was Ishida's head lashing against the mattress, his body arching up, and his cock shooting white streams over his stomach and chest, again and again. Which was exactly what his own cock was just about to do.

He wasn't going to make it. Ichigo clenched his teeth and willed every muscle in his body to hold it back, but he wasn't going to make it. Not back to his room, maybe not even out of the hallway.

"Bathroom!" he gasped as he came to the door and hurled himself through, grabbing the edge of the sink for support as he fumbled with his zipper. _Wet,_ his mind groaned. The front of his shorts was _wet_ and his fingers felt too thick and clumsy to deal with buttons and zipper. With a sound that was too much like a sob, he shoved his shorts down without unfastening them and grabbed his rigid cock when it popped free.

"Fuck!" Ichigo grunted when he took himself in hand because his dick was so swollen it was like touching a bruise. Just tugging at his foreskin was a kind of agony, but it didn't matter, it couldn't. Nothing mattered but pumping his fist up and down on his cock as fast, as hard as he could because it felt like there was a demon crawling inside his balls, inside his head, and he had to _get it out_.

He came so suddenly it was like a gun going off, like a trigger clicked in the back of his brain and semen exploded from his cock. The pleasure, no, the irelief/i of it struck him like a recoil and when he opened his eyes, he was staring at himself – gasping, red-faced and wild-haired – through a wide splatter of white fluid on the mirror. Ichigo saw his own eyes widen, amazed at the sheer amount of what had burst out of him.

"What. The hell. Are you doing?"

For one horrifying moment, Ichigo thought that Ishida had followed him to the bathroom to confront him for his perverted behavior, but when he swung his head around, he saw the petite figure of Nisa standing in the doorway. She had put her bra and panties back on, but it was the look on her face that told Ichigo those articles of clothing were not coming off again. Not in his presence, at least. To say she looked offended didn't go nearly far enough.

"N—Nisa!" he stuttered, too stunned to even take his hand off his dick.

"I thought you went to look for a condom!" the fuming girl reminded him, jamming her fists onto her hips. "I _thought_ you were coming right back. So I wait like an idiot, and now I find you _jerking yourself off_? You really are an asshole, Kurosaki!"

"Nisa, wait!" Ichigo stammered as she turned and marched back to his bedroom. He started to follow her but was hobbled by his own shorts. He tried to yank them up, but they were still zipped and buttoned, and by the time he'd made himself decent and hurried into his room, the girl was already dressed and shoving her delicate feet into her sandals.

"Nisa, don't go!" Ichigo begged. "I—I can explain!"

She paused, eyeing him coolly. "Oh? Fine. Let's hear it."

Ichigo opened his mouth. What the hell was he going to say? That he'd been spying on his gay roommate? That what he'd seen had gotten him so hot and bothered he had completely forgotten there was a naked girl waiting for him in his bed?

"Okay," he sighed, "I can't explain. But I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that, I just—!"

"Couldn't wait?" his classmate snorted. "Well, guess what? Neither can I." With that, she slung her purse over her shoulder and pushed past Ichigo and out of his bedroom.

"Nisa! Nisa, hold on!"

"What?" she snapped, stopping and looking at him like he was the lowest, most disgusting insect in creation. Which was exactly what he felt like at the moment.

"Look," he sighed, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I'm really, really sorry about this, Nisa. At least let me call you a cab, okay?"

"Kurosaki?" The icy timbre of her voice surprised him so much that he pulled his hands off his eyes. When he saw her expression, he took a step back. "My name," she growled at him, "is MISA!"

With that, she turned and stalked out the front door, slamming it so hard that the sound was still reverberating even after her footsteps were gone.

Ichigo stood there in the living room, staring at the front door. When the echoes faded, the only sound he could hear was the low, sinuous beat of the music still coming from Ishida's bedroom. The memory made Ichigo want to cringe. He looked down at himself and saw that the front of his shorts was still damp and that somehow, his cock was still hard.

"Crap," Ichigo muttered, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. He went back to his room and threw himself face down on his rumpled, empty bed, ignoring his wet shorts, his hard cock, and the bathroom mirror that needed to be cleaned. He tried to remember what the girl had looked like when she wasn't glaring at him like he was a worm, but the only image that rose behind his eyelids was of Ishida, gasping through parted lips and writhing in pleasure.

"Crap," he whimpered into his pillow, then flopped over onto his back and threw his arm across his forehead. He lay like that, staring at the ceiling and straining to hear the faint notes of music from Ishida's room until he fell asleep.


	2. 2: In Which Ichigo's Weekend Is Cursed

Life Lessons Chapter 2: In Which Ichigo Realizes His Weekend Is Cursed

This chapter PG-13. (Next chapter will have a much higher rating.) ^_^

* * *

Daylight was streaming in through the slatted window shade when the pressure of Ichigo's bladder finally dragged him out of unconsciousness. He rolled off his mattress with a groan, rubbing sleep from his eyes and stumbling to the bathroom doorway only to be brought up short by the sight of Ishida in rubber gloves and rolled up shirt-sleeves, scrubbing away at the splattered mirror.

Everything that had happened the night before came steam-rolling back through Ichigo's brain as he stood transfixed in horror: Nisa/Misa naked in his bed, the empty box of condoms in his nightstand, the fruitless search that had led him to Ishida's door where he'd seen and learned things about his roommate that he'd never wanted to see or know, the explosive effect those 'things' had had on his body, his embarrassment at Nisa/Misa's reaction, and yes, even his intent to clean up the mess he had made of the bathroom sink and mirror.

An intention he had not carried out before falling asleep. And now, there was Ishida, a bottle of glass-cleaner in one hand and a wad of newspapers in the other, assailing the dried-on evidence of Ichigo's shame with the vigor of an angry housewife. Ichigo tried to poke his flattened brain into action, tried to think of something – anything – he could say to explain or excuse himself, but absolutely nothing came to mind. He was sure that, in the same situation, his old classmate Mizuiro could have come up with an extravagant yet believable lie – something that would have even Ishida saying 'Ah, that's understandable' and probably feeling sorry for the guy – but Ichigo had always been terrible at that sort of thing. Just as Ichigo tried to pry his lips apart to stammer some sort of apology, Ishida noticed his presence, stopped cleaning and turned to scowl at him.

"Honestly, Kurosaki," Ishida huffed, pushing his glasses up with the back of one yellow-gloved wrist, "do you have to be such a barbarian? Were you _raised_ to spit toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror, or is this a hobby you've taken up just for my benefit?"

Ichigo, who had just decided that his only options were to fall down in a fake epileptic seizure or flee the apartment and join a far-off Buddhist monastery, felt the muscles in his face go lax in disbelief. Ishida thought—it was toothpaste? That he'd made that mess by brushing his teeth?

"Gwah?" Ichigo had no idea what he'd meant to say – the sound came out unbidden when his jaw went slack and his mouth fell open – but Ishida seemed to find it telling.

"I should have known it's useless to speak to you before noon," he snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned back to finish off the mirror and start polishing the sink fixtures.

His bladder momentarily forgotten, Ichigo gawked at his roommate. The fact that Ishida hadn't caught him out in what could have been one of the most embarrassing incidents of his life was almost unreal. Frankly, he was having trouble believing it.

Another thing he was having trouble believing? That the Ishida standing before him could possibly be the same guy he had watched though the bedroom door last night. This Ishida – the one wearing an apron and a pinched expression; the one who got up to do housework on a Saturday morning and put on slacks and a proper shirt to do it in; the one who acted like Ichigo had been raised in a farmyard and he was doing him some sort of reluctant favor by agreeing to live with him and bring him the light of civilization and proper home hygiene – this was the Ishida he knew; the one he'd known since they were both fifteen. And the more Ichigo stared at this Ishida, the less real everything from night before began to seem.

Maybe none of it had happened the way Ichigo thought it had? Maybe he'd dreamed it all? Maybe the barista at the coffee shop had drugged his latte with something that made him have unnatural sexual fantasies about his gay roommate, because, honestly? There was no way that the Ishida cleaning the faucet with a determined look on his face was the same one Ichigo had seen moaning and thrashing as he got his ass nailed by Buff the Impaler the night before. He had almost managed to convince himself that the whole thing was just a bizarre hallucination when Ishida did something that turned Ichigo's reality inside-out once again.

He leaned forward.

He leaned forward to turn on the tap and when he did, Ichigo saw the front of Ishida's hair come loose from behind his ears and swing down to veil his face, saw his thin fingers grip the knob the same way they had clutched the rumpled covers, saw his back flex and his shoulder blades move beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and his slacks pull taut across his rear and everything Ichigo had almost convinced himself he hadn't really seen all came flooding back. His stomach turned a somersault, his mouth went dry as old leaves, and he grabbed the edge of the bathroom door to keep himself upright.

Ishida must have heard him because he straightened up and turned to give him a sharp look.

"Kurosaki, you—are you all right?" Ishida's expression changed from irritated to mildly concerned. "You look terrible. Did you—?"

"I just need to take a piss, okay?" Ichigo grunted, shoving off the door and pushing past Ishida toward the toilet. Ishida continued to stare at him as he tipped up the lid and seat. "Do you mind?" Ichigo said pointedly as he started to undo his shorts. "Or did you want to stay and watch?"

Ichigo took a perverse pleasure in the way Ishida's cheeks flushed at his words right before his roommate made a face, turned on his heel, and stalked out the door. Anyone else would probably have slammed the door, but Ishida closed it with a very precise click, and Ichigo sighed in relief as he dropped his shorts and took aim. The sense of ease that filled him as his bladder emptied was broken when Ishida's voice came through the door.

"Did you go out drinking last night, Kurosaki? Are you hung over? You are, aren't you?"

"For fuck's sake, Ishida, do you _mind_?" Ichigo shouted. "Could I have some freaking privacy, or do you get off on listening to me piss?"

The irony of his accusation wasn't lost on Ichigo, but at least it got the desired result. He could practically sense Ishida pursing his lips on the other side of the door, but there were no further attempts at communication. Grumbling to himself, Ichigo shook, flushed, kicked his shorts into the corner, and then leaned over the tub to put the shower on. He waited until steam was filling the small bathroom and the water was almost too hot to stand before stepping into it, where he soaped, scrubbed and rinsed three times instead of his usual two. It still didn't banish the troublesome memories of the night before, but it made his body feel better, if not his brain.

The apartment was quiet when Ichigo stepped out of the bathroom, and when he dressed and made his way to the kitchen, a towel over his damp hair, Ishida seemed to be gone. A bowl and cup were on the drain board by the sink, but the teapot was on the table along with an empty cup, a lidded bowl and spoon. Ichigo lifted the top to find the bowl full of warm, fragrant rice porridge centered with a shiny umeboshi.

Ishida had made him breakfast? Sure, both of them helped themselves to whatever was in the rice cooker, and more often than not it was Ishida who kept it going, but this was a lot more formal than just dumping rice and water in the cooker. He was starting to feel bad for yelling at Ishida earlier when he saw the note under the tea cup.

_Kurosaki –_

_Rice porridge is good for hangovers._

_Or so they say. I wouldn't know, actually. Tell me if it works._

_– Ishida_

_P.S. – I'll be at the library all day._

"Bastard," Ichigo muttered, crumpling the note and leaving it on the table, but he sat down anyway and poured a cup of tea. Hung over or not, he hadn't eaten anything since last night, and the aroma from the bowl was making his stomach rumble. He picked up the spoon and prepared to dig in, but as he looked down at the bowl, the dark pink plum in the middle of the creamy pudding reminded him of a nipple in the center of a breast – Nisa/Misa's breast – and he lost his appetite.

"Fuck," Ichigo said, dropping the spoon and slumping back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. The whole morning seemed determined to mess with his brain, to remind him of Ishida, or Nisa/Misa, or… Ishida.

With a grumbled curse, Ichigo got up, grabbed an energy drink out of the fridge, his book bag from the sitting room, stuck his feet into his unlaced shoes and was out the door before he realized he still had a damp towel around his neck. Biting back another curse – he seemed to be swearing a lot these days – Ichigo yanked it off, tossed it inside the apartment, flipped the lock and slammed the door behind him as he headed down the stairs. Let Ishida yell at him about it – the guy was already going to have something to say about the dishes and the food left sitting out – but Ichigo didn't care. He had to get out of the apartment and away from anything that made him think about the night before.

The problem was, once he got down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, Ichigo had no idea where to go.

The university library was out of the question. Ishida was there, and for all he knew, Nisa/Misa might be, too. The neighborhood coffee house was off limits too, for much the same reason. In fact, anywhere on or near the campus was probably just asking for trouble, so Ichigo slung his backpack over his shoulder, put his head down and started walking in the opposite direction.

The energy drink he'd chugged hadn't filled his stomach, so he got a candy bar from a vending machine, then found a video arcade where he managed to kill a few hours shooting down random monsters. The only problem was that after fighting real monsters – Hollows, Arrancar, Espada, even some Shinigami – there wasn't much thrill in obliterating pixels.

Really, at that point, Ichigo would have welcomed the distraction of a Hollow showing up. Maybe even a whole herd of them. He felt in his back pocket for his deputy Shinigami badge as he left the arcade and pulled it out to look at it. Since he'd started at the university, the thing had only gone off two, maybe three times. He supposed he should be thankful – the last thing he needed was to miss an important lecture or, worse, an exam because of a Hollow alert – but honestly, Ichigo was starting to miss it. Maybe there were some other things he was starting to miss, too?

While he stood there pondering his badge, Ichigo's stomach began to complain again. He decided to get some real food, and as he sat down over a bowl of noodles and a tamarind soda at a nearby café, he did something he hadn't done in ages. He pulled a phone out of his jeans and another out of his backpack and put them both on the table. Ichigo eyed the two phones as he shoveled noodles into his mouth, and after he'd polished off half his meal and taken a long swig of soda, he picked up the nearest phone, flipped it open and clicked for his list of contacts.

For a phone belonging to a university student, it was an unusually short list; but then, this wasn't a typical phone. There were only three entries: _Abarai Renji, Kuchiki Rukia,_ and _Seireitei General Directory_.

He wasn't sure why he was thinking of calling anyone in Soul Society. It wasn't like he _missed_ them or anything. Heck, he'd barely had time to miss his little sisters and his idiot father – actually, he wasn't sure he'd ever miss Goat-Chin; or at least not the way he clobbered him awake every morning – so why should he miss Rukia and Renji? And what would he say to them if he did call? Yo, what's up? Waste any interesting Hollows lately? Ever find out what dimension Aizen scuttled off to after that last battle? Ever watched one of your best friends having sex and gotten so hot and bothered you forgot about the naked girl in your bed?

"Yeah, right," Ichigo groaned, flipping the phone closed and putting his face in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking? Rukia would laugh at him. She'd probably drop her phone, she'd think it was so hilarious. Then he'd start yelling at her, Rukia would start yelling back, and they'd get in an argument and hang up on each other. Thirty seconds later, she'd realize she hadn't asked who he'd seen having sex and call him back to find out. 'Ishida and another guy?' Rukia would say once she'd pried out all the lurid details. 'Damn it, Ichigo! Next time they do it, call me so I can come watch, too!'

Renji? That call would be even more frustrating. 'Wait,' Renji would say halfway through the story. 'Why were you hanging around Ishida's room in the first place?' And Ichigo would have to explain the whole thing about Why Condoms Are Important, which Renji wouldn't understand because apparently they didn't have STDs in Soul Society and birth control was something the woman was supposed to take care of, and… Renji would just miss the whole point. 'So you saw Ishida bonking another guy?' he'd grunt. 'What's weird about that? If you'd seen him doing a girl, now _that_ would be weird. Why are you even calling me about this, anyway?'

Sighing in frustration, Ichigo stowed the Soul Society communicator in his bag, then finished off his noodles before opening his regular cell phone. The contact list on that one was much longer, but despite the wider range of possibilities, the problem was the same. Even if he figured out someone to call, what would he say? Worse, what would they say back?

Tatsuki? That might be slightly less embarrassing than telling Rukia, but not by much.

Keigo? Ichigo winced at the very thought.

Inoue? Last he'd heard, she was working 18 hour days at that culinary institute in Kyoto, and assuming she could even answer her phone, she'd be just as confused as Renji. Bubbly and understanding, but confused. So confused she might blurt out to someone 'I had the oddest call from Kurosaki-kun the other day….' Uh, no.

Urahara? Right. The shopkeeper would make sympathetic sounds while Ichigo talked, then say he'd like to help him but he would need more information, and if he sent Ichigo this very special camera, perhaps he could get some 'documentation' the next time this happened…

"Pervert," Ichigo muttered as he scrolled past the renegade Shinigami's name, then felt his face heat up in embarrassment. It hadn't been Urahara Kisuke spying and eavesdropping on Ishida, now, had it?

Disgusted – with himself, with life, with everything – Ichigo was about to give up when the phone buzzed in his hand and _Sado Yasutora_ appeared on the screen.

"Chad!" Ichigo gasped, and if he'd ever been happier to see his friend's name, he couldn't remember when. He was about to hit the button when a text message came across.

_In town tonight. Band's playing at The Blood Rose Club. Free tickets. Want to come?_

Ichigo grinned at his phone. _Hell yes!_ he typed in.

_8:00 pm. Opening for Beruga Fix._

He was about to respond, again in the affirmative, when another line of text came up.

_1 more thing…._

Ichigo waited.

_Bring Ishida 2 OK?_

Ichigo let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and closed his eyes. Great. Just great.

_NP. Cya tonight._ he texted back, then shook his head when a tiny 'thumbs up' graphic came on the screen.

Ichigo closed his phone, slid it onto his back pocket, then put his head in his hands and stared down at the dregs of broth and noodles in his bowl.

Cursed. His weekend was obviously cursed.

There was no getting away from Ishida.


	3. 3: In Which Ichigo Rationalizes

All he had to do, Ichigo reasoned, was to knock on Ishida's door and tell him. Tell him Chad's band was in town, where they were playing and what time. That was it. That was all he'd promised, and all that could be expected from him. It wasn't that big a deal. It wouldn't take more than two minutes of his life.

Except that he'd already been standing in the hallway outside Ishida's bedroom for two minutes as it was, and he still hadn't done it.

The problem wasn't so much the telling as it was the knocking. Because for the second time in as many days, Ichigo found himself staring at Ishida's door and wondering what was going on behind it; which made him think about what had been going on behind it last night, which made him feel even more uncomfortable, which made him reluctant to knock on the door. It was a vicious cycle, and he knew the only way to end it was to grit his teeth and just _do it_.

Ichigo took a breath, loosened the fist he had clenched and rapped on Ishida's door. "Hey, you in there?"

"Hold on," came Ishida's muffled voice. A moment later he pulled the door open, and Ichigo felt a strange little lurch in the pit of his stomach because Ishida was obviously in the process of getting dressed; meaning that he was half-naked. Well, maybe half-naked was unfair considering Ishida _was_ wearing both a shirt and pants, but Ichigo thought they were doing a pretty piss-poor job of actually covering anything.

The white, flare-leg jeans Ishida had on were slung so low that his hip bones were in full view, and the top of the cleft between his thigh and groin was just visible above the waistband. His shirt – if you could call it that – was a weird sleeveless, high-collared affair; a geometric mix of dark and lighter blues with a contrasting white zipper down the front. A zipper which was completely undone so that every bit of Ishida's lean torso was displayed, from the five-pointed scar on his chest, to the navel that was barely an indentation in his toned stomach, to the faint trail of fine hair that disappeared into those might-fall-off-at-any-moment jeans.

"Did you need something, Kurosaki?" Ishida asked, stepping back from the door so Ichigo could come in. He was holding a belt in one hand and started threading it through the loops on his pants while waiting for Ichigo to answer.

"Uhm," Ichigo drawled, momentarily unable to either pull his eyes away from the sight of Ishida's long fingers deftly buckling his belt or remember what he had wanted to say. "Chad," he finally managed to blurt out.

"Chad?" Ishida repeated, raising an encouraging eyebrow. "What about Chad?"

"Ahhhh," Ichigo stalled, trying to pull his thoughts into some kind of order. "Chad—he's in town. His band is playing the Blood Rose tonight. He's got free tickets for us if you want to go but," he paused to swallow, "it sort of looks like—you've already got plans?"

"I do, actually," Ishida sighed. "I wish I'd known sooner. I'd definitely have gone, but…" He was fiddling with the collar of his shirt now, and Ichigo had another moment of confusion when Ishida started to close his shirt by pulling the zipper down from the top.

"Yeah, sorry about the late notice," Ichigo said, "but he just sent me a text this afternoon. Pretty last minute, I guess, and… wait a second." He narrowed his eyes at Ishida's shirt. "Is that zipper in upside down?"

"I'm shocked you'd notice something like that, Kurosaki," Ishida said, one corner of his mouth twitching in what would have been a grin on anyone else's face.

"Okay, but… why?" Ichigo asked, nonplussed. Normally Ishida would have snorted and acted like he'd just asked an incredibly stupid question, but this time he almost looked pleased.

"Because I don't want to show this," he said, tapping the center of his chest where his scar resided, "but I do want to show this." He stopped the zipper just above his navel and left the rest of his shirt open. The effect of the almost prim high collar with Ishida's exposed stomach was—well, Ichigo wasn't sure what it was, but he was starting to feel damned uncomfortable once again.

"Uh, right," he said, blinking and forcibly tearing his eyes away from Ishida's belly. "So, you're definitely not going tonight?"

"I don't see how," Ishida said, looking disappointed. "It's really too late to change plans for anything but a true emergency."

"I guess a friend you haven't seen in four months doesn't qualify, huh?" Ichigo hadn't meant for those words to sound mean – hell, he didn't know why he even said it in the first place – but that's how it came out, and he could see Ishida's expression shutter immediately.

"As surprising as you might find it, Kurosaki," he glared, "canceling a Saturday night date _on_ Saturday night is considered extremely rude. Now if you'll excuse me…."

"Hey, I didn't mean it to sound that way, okay?" Ichigo soothed. "I get it, all right? I'll tell Chad you'll catch him next time around."

"It's not like I don't want to see him, you know." Ishida still looked disgruntled.

"Yeah, I know," Ichigo said, trying to sound apologetic. "Late notice, bad timing. Chad'll understand." Ishida was standing there with his arms at his side, frowning at the floor and looking unhappy. Feeling uncomfortable, Ichigo looked away only to have his eyes light on Ishida's bed. It was neatly made, the sheets and bedspread pulled smooth and tight, but Ichigo's brain automatically flashed to the way it had looked last night, rumpled and messy, with Ishida's fingers clutching at the covers.

"Uhh, look," he said, turning away and rubbing his head as if that could banish the memory. "I'll get out of your hair so you can finish… doing whatever you're doing, I guess."

"It's called 'getting ready to go out', Kurosaki," Ishida rolled his eyes. "To some people, that means more than brushing your teeth and putting on deodorant. And yes, if you wouldn't mind?"

"All right, I'm going," Ichigo said as he turned and slouched toward the door. He thought about telling Ishida to have a good time on his date, just to show he really _didn't_ mind Ishida ditching an old friend for the evening, but his mouth seemed reluctant to form the words. He started to wonder just who Ishida was going out with, anyway? 'Buff' from the night before? Or some other guy? He stopped and glanced back to see Ishida frowning into his full-length mirror and messing with his hair, scraping it back, then letting it fall back around his face. Whoever he was going out with, Ishida seemed to be putting a lot of effort into 'getting ready'. But maybe he always did this before going out? Hell, Ichigo didn't know what went on in 'Gay World'; maybe this was what all gay guys did and it wasn't anything to worry about.

Not that Ichigo was worried, of course. It didn't matter to him what guy Ishida went out with, or how many of them there were. For all Ichigo cared, Ishida could date a different one every weekend and be as casual or as serious about it as he liked. It sure wasn't any of his business.

Then again, if it didn't matter, why did Ichigo's stomach feel like it was snagged on something when he thought about Ishida having a 'serious relationship'? A steady fuck would be better than Ishida bending over for a bunch of different guys, right? It might be fun – for Ishida, that is – but it didn't sound very safe. Frankly, both scenarios bothered Ichigo, and the idea that he wasn't sure _why_ bothered him even more.

It was the whole roommate thing, wasn't it? Yeah, that had to be it. What if something bad happened to Ishida because he was out tramping around with a whole stable of Buffs? Casual sex was risky, and if something went down, Ichigo would probably end up getting involved. If Ishida got hurt or sick, he might even have to take care of the moron, and that would be troublesome. And if Ishida was serious about 'Buff' or anyone else, wouldn't he eventually want to live with the guy? That would leave Ichigo having to find a new roommate, which would suck. For as much as he and Ishida clashed – usually over stupid shit like Ichigo loading the dishwasher 'wrong' or drinking all but one swallow in a carton of juice – at least they were used to each other. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty damn sure that no one _else_ would have cleaned up the come-splattered bathroom mirror; even if the dork had thought it was just toothpaste.

"Kurosaki, is there some reason you're standing there blocking my doorway? Did all your synapses stop firing at once? Do you need a push?"

Ichigo looked up, momentarily surprised that he _was_ still standing on Ishida's threshold. Ishida had his hands on his hips and his head tilted to one side, which made Ichigo feel even more out of kilter.

"Eh, no, sorry. Just… lost my train of thought," Ichigo stammered. "So, uhm… see you later, I guess."

"Yes," Ishida agreed, moving forward to herd Ichigo out the door. "_Much_ later. Now goodbye, Kurosaki."

"Uh, yeah," was Ichigo's weak response as the door clicked shut in his face. He stood there a moment longer, listening to Ishida moving around on the other side, then let out a breath and headed back down the hall to his room.

So he wouldn't have to deal with Ishida with at the club tonight, after all. He should have felt pleased. He at least should have felt relieved. Ichigo wasn't quite sure why he didn't.


	4. 4: In Which Ichigo is Not In Control

Author's Note: My deepest apologies for the lateness of this update. RL and writer's block combined to really kick my ass in this part. The next updates will be far more timely than this one.

Chapter 4: In Which Ichigo Realizes He Is Not In Control... (if he ever was.)

Calling the Blood Rose a 'club' was probably pushing the limits of that definition. It was more like an alley with a roof, a stage and a very loud sound system. The beer came from a vending machine, the drinks were served in paper cups, and from the way Ichigo had to peel his shoes off the floor with each step, he figured a lot of those drinks got spilled and never mopped up.

_Love & Death _was already playing by the time Ichigo got inside, and the music was loud enough to make the air throb. Conversation was impossible, so instead of trying to hand-signal an order to the guy pouring drinks at a small table, Ichigo stood in line to get a beer from the machine, then pushed into the crowd to make his way toward the stage. He didn't need to get up to the stage itself, just close enough to give Chad a wave and let him know he was there. The problem was that even getting _near_ the stage was a hell of a lot harder than the last time Ichigo went to one of Chad's gigs.

At first he thought it was just the long, narrow set up of the club that made the place seem more crowded than usual, but as he wove through the club-goers, he noticed something odd: the crowd seemed a lot _shorter_ than the last time he'd come to the Blood Rose. A closer inspection revealed that the crowd was largely made up of girls. He hadn't noticed it initially – probably because both sexes favored the same ripped jeans/band t-shirt/leather jacket look – but the closer he got to the stage, the more one-sided the female to male ratio became. Fifteen to twenty feet from the stage, his progress was stopped outright by an impenetrable wall of femininity.

"What the fuck?" Ichigo muttered, wondering what they were all doing there. As many as could squeeze their way in were hugging the stage and gazing up adoringly at the band. Fortunately, Ichigo was at least a head taller than any of them, so they didn't block his view, and he tried to figure out what had all of them so fascinated.

The front man, a guy who squalled the lyrics with a raw, scratchy voice, wasn't an ogre or anything, but his slicked-down Mohawk comb-over and constellation of facial piercings really didn't do him any favors. Ichigo wondered if the guy's lip rings ever caught on the microphone. The bassist was a non-descript guy with stringy yellow hair that Ichigo thought he'd met before: Shibari? Shigella? No, Shigeo, that was it. The guy played well enough and had that intense look that some girls seemed to like – but not this many. Ichigo immediately wrote off the keyboardist and drummer. The first was a burly, bald guy with enough tattoos to pass for an AWOL Yakuza, and the second was a petite, hyperactive girl with spiky turquoise hair who reminded Ichigo uncomfortably of a trial-sized Grimmjow.

Which left Chad. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered Chad, who still hid his eyes behind his shaggy hair and wore his usual bright Hawaiian shirt – except now it was unbuttoned and hanging open to show a sweat-damp chest and lean, muscular abs that glowed in the stage lights. His thick hair was curling around his face as he concentrated on his long, brown fingers flying over the guitar strings. When Chad hit his solo and played so hard and fast he had to sling his curls out of his face, drops of sweat rained down on the girls hugging the stage, and they shrieked so loudly that they actually drowned out the music for a good thirty seconds. After that, Ichigo had a pretty good idea just which band member they they were there to see.

Somehow, since the last time Ichigo had seen the band perform at a hole-in-the-wall live house back in Karakura, Ichigo's best friend had become an honest-to-Buddha rock star with a serious female fan-base. Ichigo's initial surprise at this made him feel vaguely guilty – a sensation that was becoming more and more familiar, he noted darkly. After all, Chad's band was good, and they definitely deserved more of a following – even if it seemed odd to him that a techno-thrash-metal band had more female fans than male. Watching his friend playing, Ichigo wondered if Chad even realized that he was the focus of so much attention.

Ichigo resigned himself to remaining behind the deep barrier of hypnotized women and stood sipping his beer as they finished up a song he recognized as 'Pale Sands' before launching into a triple set of 'Five Towers', 'Calaveras' and 'Rialgo'. Chad, at least, had gotten something positive out of their adventures in Hueco Mundo, channeling their dark experiences into his music. Ichigo hadn't quite known how to react when he'd first heard the songs Chad started writing a few months after they'd returned. He couldn't deny they were good, but they had reminded him of some things he'd rather forget. Now, a few years later, he was glad to find that he could divorce his memories from the music and lyrics and simply enjoy the performance.

The band extended the final grinding notes of 'Rialgo' and ended with a huge drum clash to screams of approval and wild applause. When the drummer tossed her sticks down and the keyboardist leaned back to grab his drink, Ichigo figured they were taking a short break and this was his best chance to get Chad's attention. Except for the row of fans adhered directly to the edge of the stage, the crowd ahead of him started to loosen up, and he was able to break through.

"Chad! Oi, Chad!" he yelled, waving his free hand over his head as he drew closer. Chad was still fussing with his guitar and hadn't yet looked up, and just as Ichigo prepared to call out again, the sole of his shoe stuck to a gummy spot on the floor, and he stumbled as he pulled himself free. One hand landed on the shoulder of a girl with bright acid-green hair and she squawked as he went to one knee, almost dragging her with him. He managed to keep hold of his beer, but some of it sloshed out and onto the back of another girl, who hunched her shoulders and turned to glare at him.

"Sorry, sorry!" Ichigo panted, red-faced with embarrassment as he pulled himself up. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I? I—uhhm…."

Ichigo faltered, swallowed, and opened his mouth to speak again, except that nothing came out. Not surprising, because what the hell was he supposed to say when the girl he'd spilled beer on, the girl who was now scowling at him with something far more than irritation, was the same girl who'd given him exactly that look less than 24 hours before?

"What the hell do you think you're doing here, Kurosaki?" Misa said, her lip curling to show very white teeth. "Are you following me around, you pathetic bastard!"

"No!" he protested as he got to his feet. "I didn't even know you were here, I swear! I wouldn't do anything like that!"

"Are you all right?" Misa asked the green-haired girl, who was apparently her friend. "The big jerk didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, I'm okay," the other one said, brushing herself off and giving Ichigo a careful look. "You know this guy, Misa?"

"She called him 'Kurosaki'," said a third girl, this one with short cropped hair and a suspicious expression. She glanced at Misa. "Is he the one who …."

"Yeah," Misa snorted. "It's him. Kurosaki Ichigo."

All three girls fixed their eyes on Ichigo and he could feel his face heating up even more. From the looks they were giving him, it was pretty obvious that Misa had told them all about what had happened the night before, probably in lurid detail. His embarrassment was so intense, he felt as if he could melt into the floor – and considering the icky substances all over it, perhaps that was the proper place for him.

"Uh, look," he stammered weakly. "I'm really sorry—about everything, and…."

"If you're not being a crazy stalker," Misa huffed, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes until they looked like pinpricks in her face, "just what _are_ you doing here, Kurosaki?"

"I wasn't following you!" Ichigo insisted. "I came to see my friend's band, that's all."

"Which band?" the suspicious girl asked sharply, her eyes keener than before. "_Love & Death_ or _Beruga Fix_?"

"_Love & Death_," Ichigo responded, nodding at the stage. "They're from my hometown, Karakura. Chado's my…."

"Chado?" gasped Green Hair. "You mean Sado Yasutora?"

"Yeah, Sado," Ichigo acknowledged, "except I've called him 'Chad' since middle school. It's kind of a nickname …."

"YOU KNOW YASU-TAN???" Misa's two friends screamed in unison, so loudly that Ichigo almost took a step back. Misa hadn't joined in, but her expression was changing from annoyed to wary.

"Yasu-tan?" Ichigo squinted at them. "If you mean Chad, then yeah, he's like my best friend from school." Misa just kept staring at him, but her two friends showed no such hesitation. Green Hair immediately began jumping up and down and squealing 'Yasu-tan!' while Suspicious grabbed Misa's upper arm.

"You didn't say this Kurosaki guy knew Sado Yasutora!" she accused.

"I didn't know!" Misa shot back, trying to free her arm. She turned back to Ichigo with a conflicted gaze, half incredulous, half hopeful. "Do you really know Yasu-tan?" she demanded. "You're really friends with him?"

Ichigo was beginning to feel more annoyed than embarrassed – just because he'd made a fool of himself in front of Misa last night didn't mean he was a liar – but before he could say anything, a voice boomed from the stage.

"Ichigo! Yo, Ichigo!"

All four of them looked back at the stage to see Chad smiling and waving at Ichigo. Relieved, Ichigo waved back and got the usual thumbs-up sign from his friend. His sister had always considered that gesture 'totally uncool' but Misa and her friends didn't seem to share Karin's opinion.

"The Sign," Green Hair said breathlessly, placing her hand on her chest. "He—he used The Sign!"

"Fuck," Misa muttered. She exhaled a long breath then turned back to Ichigo. "All right," she told him. "Here's the deal. You introduce us to Yasu-tan, and all is forgiven."

"What do you mean 'all is forgiven'?" Ichigo wanted to know, feeling uneasy about this whole thing.

"I mean," Misa explained, cocking one eyebrow, "that if you take us to meet your friend, then everything that went down last night? Never happened. I'll never mention it again. And neither will they," she added, elbowing Green Hair to get her to stop bouncing. "I won't even complain about you pouring beer down my back, okay?"

Ichigo stared at her while this sank in. He felt a little weird trading on his friendship, but it wasn't like he was committing Chad to anything. He had already been dreading walking into Biology class on Monday morning, wondering what he'd say to Misa, and if a simple introduction would get last night's blunder – or half of it, at least – off his conscience, why should he refuse?

"Yeah, all right," he sighed. "After their set is done, I'll introduce you." Ichigo braced himself for more squealing and bouncing, especially from Green Hair, but apparently she hadn't been listening. He figured she was still fixated on Chad, but when he glanced over, her astonished eyes weren't directed at the stage but back at the club entrance.

"Wow," she said, sounding just as awed as before. "Who is _that_?"

Ichigo was amazed that anything could take the girls' attention away from Chad, but Misa and Suspicious looked over, too, and kept staring. Ichigo had a premonition that he didn't want to know what they suddenly found so fascinating, but he couldn't help turning around to look.

He was right. He hadn't wanted to know.

The Blood Rose was the kind of club where the flavor of the month was always black, and only the accessories ever varied – piercings, hair color, the t-shirts worn under the black leather or denim jackets. The club-goers always looked as dark and gritty as the rough walls of the narrow space. Wearing white to the Blood Rose? It wasn't done. No one would think of it.

No one except Ishida Uryuu, of course: the guy who was standing just inside the dark entryway in his low-slung jeans and his half-open shirt, glowing like a fucking ray of light.

"Whoa," Misa intoned, blinking at Ishida as if he was some sort of mirage. "Is that a guy? Or a girl?"

"Too pretty to be a guy," offered Suspicious but she didn't sound sure of herself.

"Too flat to be a girl," Green Hair countered.

"I hope you're right," Misa said as Ishida started to make his way through the crowd, "because the rest of us do _not_ need that kind of competition."

"I don't believe this!" Ichigo snorted. "He's a guy! How can you not tell he's a guy!"

"Are you sure?" Suspicious demanded.

"Of course I'm sure!" Ichigo said. "He's my freaking roommate, all right?"

"_That_ hot piece is your _roommate_?" Misa gaped.

"Yes," Ichigo snapped, unaccountably irritated by the girl referring to Ishida in that way. Really, how much worse was this evening going to get? "And quit drooling like that. He's not your type, anyway."

"How do you know?" Misa huffed, looking annoyed.

"Because he's _gay_," Ichigo growled.

"How gay?" Green Hair shot back, giving Ishida a calculating look.

"Pretty damn gay," Ichigo grumbled, trying his best not to remember the things he'd seen Ishida doing the night before. "Trust me, the two of you aren't fishing in the same pond."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Misa said, still eyeing Ishida. "Because if I were a guy, I would _seriously_ consider switching teams for him."

Ichigo wasn't sure what made that statement so irritating, but he was about to tell Misa she was crazy when Suspicious gave a low whistle.

"I guess we don't have to worry about it either way," she said. "Seems like he's already caught his prize fish. Check that out."

Sure enough, there was a guy following right behind Ishida; a guy who was tall, tanned and who apparently spent every waking moment at the gym. His too-small t-shirt showed off his built-up chest and ripped abs, and the cropped sleeves could barely contain his biceps. Even though Ichigo had never seen the guy's face, he knew this had to be 'Buff'.

Ichigo hated him immediately. He hated the way the guy's muscles bulged, he hated the expression on that handsome face, and he especially hated how closely he was following behind Ishida, and how he had his big hand pressed to the small of Ishida's back like Ishida was a girl or something.

"Did you know you're crushing your beer can?" Misa asked.

"Huh?" Ichigo jerked his head back, blinked at Misa, then glanced down at his beer. There were dents in the can under his fingers. Swearing under his breath, he drained the rest of it and, finding nowhere to trash the empty, squeezed it flat between his palms and jammed it into his jacket pocket. "What?" he asked, because Misa was giving him a funny look.

"Are you pissed off at your roommate's boyfriend or something?" she queried. "Because you look pissed off. More than usual, that is."

"Why should I be?" Ichigo grumbled. "I don't even know the guy. Besides, how do you know they're boyfriends, anyway?"

"I just assumed they were," Misa shrugged, her eyes now following Ishida's progress. "They sure look pretty chummy."

Ichigo ground his teeth together, forcing himself not to look and see just how 'chummy' the two were being, but then, Chad's voice boomed out again and he looked over anyway.

"Ishida-kun!" Chad waved and strode to the far edge of the stage closest to where Ishida was threading his way through the crowd. Ichigo didn't know whether it was Buff's imposing presence or just general awe at Ishida's pristine, almost angelic appearance, but the girls bunched at the stage actually made way for them. By his gestures, Ichigo could tell that Ishida was making introductions, and he felt another flush of dislike for Buff when the guy smiled and acknowledged Chad with a brief but respectful head bow.

"Suck up," Ichigo muttered.

"I thought you said you were Yasu-tan's best friend," Misa remarked. She was also watching the interaction between Chad and Ishida and didn't appear pleased by it. "Looks like we should have asked your roommate to introduce us."

"Yeah, really," Suspicious complained. "Why can't we meet Yasu-tan right now?"

Ichigo glared at them. "We can go up there," he snapped. "I said I'd introduce you and I will." Initially Ichigo hadn't thought the band's break would last that long, but then he'd seen Ishida – and Buff – and had lost track of everything else.

"Now?" blinked Green Hair, barely managing to tear her eyes off of the assembled glory of Chad, Ishida and Buff. "Really?"

"Yeah, now. C'mon," he signaled, indicating that the girls should follow him. Getting the introductions over with meant he wouldn't have Misa and her friends hanging over him for the rest of the show. Besides, it was the perfect excuse to interrupt Ishida and size up this Buff guy. He hadn't taken two steps toward Chad, however, when the blue-haired drummer danced her sticks against the drum rims and the keyboardist ran a few chords, signaling the start of their second set. Chad straightened up, gave another small bow and headed back to his guitar, and Ichigo saw Ishida stand up on his toes to scan the room. _He's looking for me,_ Ichigo thought, automatically lifting his hand to wave, but then the music started and Ishida gave up searching and turned to watch the band. Ichigo shrugged an apology at the girls, only to have Misa grab him by the collar and yank him toward the stage.

"What the hell!" he squawked. Suspicious, the tallest of the three girls, was shoving, poking and elbowing a way through the re-congealing crowd and Ichigo was being hauled along in her wake.

"You're not getting away until we meet Yasu-tan!" Misa yelled at him over the music, and the dangerous glint in her eye told Ichigo she meant business, too.

Suspicious easily accomplished what Ichigo had been unable to do – if only because he refused to shove women half his size – and before the band was halfway through the first song, they had a small plot of prime stage-front property with an excellent view of Chad. The girls were thrilled, but Ichigo was less than happy. Having such a good view of the band meant having a crappy view of Ishida and Buff at the other end of the stage, and Ichigo had to crane his neck to peer around the drums to keep them in sight.

It didn't occur to Ichigo until much later, when he realized that he had no memory of what songs Chad's band had played for their second set, to wonder why he felt the need to keep watch on Ishida and Buff. At the time, he didn't question it. Once he'd seen them, he simply couldn't look away, even though he found himself gnashing his teeth at everything Buff did. When Buff cheered for the band, Ichigo was certain it was insincere. When he scanned the crowd, Ichigo he was sure Buff was checking out other guys. When he put his hands on Ishida's shoulders and leaned down to say something in his ear after one of the songs finished, Ichigo thought he was being too clingy. And when, during a song with a dark, hypnotic, and – as much as Ichigo didn't want to admit it – _sexual_ rhythm, Buff slid one caramel colored hand over Ishida's bare stomach, Ichigo clenched his teeth so hard that he heard his jaw pop.

By the end of the performance, Ichigo had a stabbing pain in his left temple from grinding his teeth, and yet he still couldn't make himself look away. Fortunately, Misa accomplished that by grabbing the back of his jacket and his attention as well.

"Don't forget!" she yelled at him over the pandemonium of screaming and clapping. "And I don't mean just a stage intro, we wanna actually talk to him!"

"Alright, alright!" Ichigo agreed, trying to pull his jacket out of her grip and failing. Then it didn't matter because Chad was right in front of him on the edge of the stage, reaching down to grasp his wrist.

"Yo, Ichigo!" Chad smiled, and would have pulled him up onstage except that Ichigo realized what he was trying to do and pulled back.

"I've got friends with me," Ichigo shouted, jerking his head at the girls when Chad looked confused. "They want to meet you! Is there somewhere we can go?"

"Ah, yeah," he nodded. "There's a door behind the stage that leads to the alley where our van's parked. We'll be there as soon as we pack our gear. C'mon up."

"Them first," Ichigo insisted when Chad tried to tug him onstage again. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in a tug of war between Chad and Misa, because honestly, he wasn't sure Chad would win. Ichigo wondered if Chad would be hesitant about assisting the girls, but he seemed to have overcome much of his old shyness. He simply nodded, then turned to Misa, gave her a brief head bow, said 'I'm Sado Yasutora, please let me help you up', and then proceeded to do just that.

'Helping' them up was something of a misnomer, because each of the girls was so frozen with awe that Chad had to lift each of them bodily onto the stage.

"Through that door," Chad pointed as he gave Ichigo a hand up. "It won't be too long."

"No problem," Ichigo nodded as he herded the stunned girls toward the indicated door.

"He touched me," Green Hair was saying in a low, reverent voice as Ichigo nudged her over the threshold. "He actually touched me. With his hands!"

"That must be it," Ichigo said, pointing them toward a dented white van with a trailer attached. Green Hair immediately trotted over and peered in the driver's window.

"Oh, I wonder if Yasu-tan drives this!" she cooed, leaving finger and nose prints on the glass. "Do you think this is where he sits?"

Ichigo was about to remark that if she guessed Chad was the driver, the driver's seat was pretty much where he _had_ to sit, but the creak of the alleyway door distracted him. He turned to see Ishida coming through the doorway, followed by Buff.

"Kurosaki, there you are," Ishida said, sounding a bit surprised. "I didn't see you inside." Despite having been in the grungy club, Ishida looked as fresh and perfect as he had when Ichigo had watched him getting ready a few hours before – clothes still clean and mostly unwrinkled, hair still silky. Even his glasses weren't smudged.

"Must not have looked very hard," Ichigo grunted. He felt like getting a rise out of Ishida, for some reason; maybe to get himself back on familiar turf.

"I did, too," Ishida frowned, "but for once you weren't the only idiot with unbelievably colored hair and—ah, s-sorry!" Ishida stammered to a halt when Misa and her friends – especially Green Hair – turned to stare at him. That definitely made Ichigo feel better: Ishida 'I-am-never-wrong-or-improper' Uryuu putting his foot in his mouth. Stifling a smirk, Ichigo jerked his head at the girls.

"Misa, this is Ishida Uryuu. Ishida, this is my classmate, Misa…uhm…"

"Tagawa," Misa supplied, apparently choosing to ignore that Ichigo had forgotten her name yet again. "Tagawa Misato."

"Er, nice to meet you, Tagawa-san," Ishida said, clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure.

"Everyone calls me 'Misa'," she shrugged. "So you don't have to be so formal. These are my friends Amori Saya," she added, indicating Green Hair, "and Ota Tomoko."

"And who's _your_ friend, Ishida-kun?" Suspicious – now Ota Tomoko – asked, eyeing Buff with great interest.

"Ah," Ishida faltered, pushing his glasses up and blushing. "This is my, ah—my friend, Toru Shoichi."

"Pleased to meet you," Toru Shoichi smiled, bowing his head toward the girls. "And you," he added, turning to greet Ichigo, "must be Kurosaki Ichigo."

Now that the big guy was facing him, Ichigo took the opportunity to size him up. Toru Shoichi was tall, all right – Ishida's head only came up to the guy's mouth – but now that Ichigo got a good look at him, he wasn't all that imposing. Ichigo had gone through a growth spurt during his last year in high school, and when old Goat Chin had tearfully embraced his son at the graduation ceremony, Ichigo had been surprised to find he stood nearly eye to eye with his father. Toru Shoichi had a few centimeters on him, if anything. The guy had a thicker build, though, his body sheathed in a heavier layer of muscle, but again, Ichigo didn't think much of it. He was probably a gym rat: good with machines and free weights, and plenty strong, but unless Toru was some kind of Special Forces agent with tons of martial arts training, Ichigo figured he could take him. Even in human form, a body doesn't forget the kind of training it's gotten from blood-thirsty, battle-mad psychos like Zaraki and Ikkaku. And in Shinigami form? Yeah – Ishida's boyfriend wouldn't know what hit him. Literally.

"Kurosaki!" Ishida hissing his name pulled Ichigo out of his reverie, and he realized that Toru Shoichi was still waiting some sort of response.

"Uh, yeah, hey," he coughed, nodding at the guy. "Good to meet you." Ichigo was saved from having to say anything else by Chad coming through the door carrying three guitar cases, followed by the rest of the band members, also carrying gear. All of them looked sweaty and worn out, and when the blue-haired drummer stopped to hitch her cymbal case under her arm, Toru Shoichi took it from her with a 'Here, let me help you', and before Ichigo knew it, everyone was clustered around the van and trailer, helping pack up equipment and trading introductions.

Everyone but Ichigo, that is, who stood in the alleyway simply watching as if it was a performance. They all seemed to be talking at once – Misa and her friends, that Toru guy, the other band members – leaving Ichigo feeling oddly isolated. It occurred to him to simply walk away and head back to his apartment where he felt sure there would be no more unpleasant surprises, but he knew that Chad would be disappointed, and that he'd have to hear from Ishida about his rude behavior.

As if on cue, Chad straightened up from packing the trailer, shook back his hair and looked around. "Ichigo!" he called, waving him over. Ichigo let out a small, resigned sigh, jammed his hands in his jacket and found the crushed beer can he'd stowed in there. Grumbling, he dropped it to the oily, pebbled ground, kicked it toward an overflowing trash bin, and sauntered over to the colorful knot of people just in time to hear Misa say "Great! It's decided then! We're all going to the dance club!"

"What!" Ichigo said, stopping in his tracks.

"Toru-kun knows a club where we can dance all night!" Amori Saya said, wrapping herself around one of Chad's arms.

"It's very exclusive, but Toru-kun says he can get us in!" Ota Tomoko added, hanging onto Chad's other arm.

"Isn't that great, Kurosaki?" Misa smiled. Ichigo wondered if she was going to jump on Chad's back since both arms were taken, but she contented herself with hooking her fingers in one of Chad's belt loops. Chad stared between the three girls, then looked up at Ichigo with an expression of helpless discomfort. There was no escape.

Ichigo was about to protest, wracking his brain for some excuse that would free Chad from their clutches, when the drummer, the heavily-pierced singer and Shigeo spoke up and said they were exhausted and going back to the hotel. Sanjo, the big, tattooed keyboardist, said he wasn't tired and would go along, and before Ichigo could think of a decent objection, the whole crowd was on its way to the nearest subway station. It was only after he was wedged between Ishida and Misa in a crowded railcar that he came up with a reasonable challenge.

"Hey," he nudged Misa. "Just how the heck are we supposed to get home after 'dancing all night'? The trains shut down at midnight."

"What, are you too cheap to pay for a taxi, Kurosaki?" Misa smirked.

"No!" he objected, even though paying the usual exorbitant cab fare would mean he ate nothing but instant noodles for the rest of the week. "But how do you think we're even going to get a taxi when the clubs let out? Maybe you like waiting for a hour with a bunch of drunks at a cab stand, but not me."

"Relax, Kurosaki," Misa waved him off. "We're covered. Saya-chan's brother runs a cab service. One call, and we'll have as many taxis as we need."

Ichigo just grunted in response. _Relax, Kurosaki._ He wished he could, but he couldn't get comfortable. Being stuck beside Misa wasn't so bad, all in all – at least she had enough flesh on her hips and thighs to smooth her angles – but Ishida was another matter. Ichigo wondered how the hell he was supposed to relax with that bony body pressing into his other side? Not only that, but he could smell Ishida. Even now, his skin smelled like the herbal soap he always used – peppermint, or eucalyptus, or something like that – and his hair smelled like he'd been to the beach – coconut, salt-breeze and a hint of sweat. Although both of them were doing their best to give each other space by angling their legs away and trying not to touch shoulders – an impossibility in that subway car – Ichigo found himself leaning closer to Ishida. Worse, he found himself wanting very much to bury his face into Ishida's hair and neck and breathe in his scent, if only because he smelled so much better than the dank, faintly mildewed railcar and the sharp floral and spicy perfumes that Misa and her friends were wearing.

"This is our stop," said Toru Shoichi, interrupting his thoughts. "Once we're top-side, Club Poison is just one block down from this station."

"Club Poison," Ichigo said, gritting his teeth. "Great." The last time he'd been there they'd charged him a 1000 yen for a single beer, and it wasn't even an import. "Big spender boyfriend, you got there, Ishida," he muttered, standing up as the subway car rattled to a stop.

Ishida glared at him and murmured "He's not…" but the doors swung open before he could finish and, as usual, everyone in the car tried to jam themselves through the doorway at once and whatever he was going to say was lost.

As they trooped up the cement stairway to the neon-lit sidewalk, Ichigo walked behind Ishida, idly watching the way his jeans hugged his butt as he walked and wondering what Ishida had meant to say.

He's not 'what'?

Not a big spender?

Not my boyfriend?

There was a line out the door of Club Poison, and Ichigo stood off a bit from the group, arms crossed and scowling, watching Toru talk with the doorman and gesture toward them. He was thinking that if he was lucky, maybe Toru would forget to include him and he'd be denied entrance. He'd have no choice but to shrug and go home. He could pretend to be upset about it. He could even gripe to Ishida and give him hell for it once he got back from his night of dancing with his muscled-up, well-connected boyfriend. In fact, giving Ishida any kind of hell sounded pretty appealing to Ichigo at the moment, but his hopes were dashed when the doorman smiled and bowed to Toru and then motioned all of them through the door. Ichigo hesitated before stepping into the doorway. No one was behind him. He could still ditch and take the subway home, and he was seriously considering it when he heard someone call his name.

"Ichigo?" Chad was standing in the doorway, haloed by the bright, shifting light coming from the club, looking back at him. His expression was grave, even resolute, but the one eye not covered by his hair was frankly beseeching. Misa, Saya-chan and Oto Tomoko were bouncing excitedly and tugging at him, trying to haul him through the door. He looked like a lost soul being dragged through the gates of hell. "Are you coming, Ichigo?" Chad asked, as if he'd known all along what he'd been thinking.

"Yeah," Ichigo groaned. Exhaling in defeat, he shook his head, put on his worst scowl and followed Chad inside.


	5. 5: In Which Everything Goes to Hell

(This chap R-rated for sexual imagery & violence)

As far as Ichigo was concerned, Club Poison might as well have been 'Club Hell'. He didn't much care for dance clubs in the first place, and this one was the epitome of everything he hated about them. The drinks were over-priced, the bar tenders were stuck up, and the club-goers were even worse. The dance floor was so crowded he didn't know how anyone could move without hitting another dancer, the spinning, multi-colored lights were giving him a headache, and all the dj wanted to play was bad j-pop and '80s disco music. This was the kind of crap old Goat Chin listened to when he wanted to 'groove to the beat', and Ichigo had a sudden flash of the time he, Karin and Yuzu had discovered their father gyrating spastically around the living room in his underwear to a BeeGees song. He gave an involuntary shudder at the memory and swore to himself that if the dj played 'Stayin' Alive', he was leaving.

Ichigo sipped his drink – something yellow and mango-flavored with a kick – and leaned on the railing overlooking the dance floor. Everyone had deserted him the moment they'd gotten inside the club. Misa and her friends had immediately hauled Chad onto the dance floor and he hadn't yet escaped. Ishida and his – whatever that guy was – had also disappeared into that surging sea of bodies, but only after Buff – wait, what was the guy's name? Toro? No, Toru – had bought the rest of them a round of drinks. Ichigo hadn't known he was going to do it. He hadn't wanted to accept the drink when the guy handed it to him, but that would have been too rude, even for Ichigo. Besides, it was alcohol, and that was probably the only thing that was going to make the rest of this night bearable.

He'd downed that first drink in record time and gone to get another – he still didn't know what the hell it was, whatever was on special, he guessed – and made it a double so he wouldn't have to deal with the snotty bartender again. He swirled the too-sweet liquid around his mouth as he watched dancers below him. Chad was easy to pick out since he was the tallest person there, but Ichigo tried not to look at him. His three captors had encircled him and were bouncing and shimmying with great abandon. To anyone else, Chad probably looked like the luckiest guy on the dance floor, but to Ichigo, he looked like an exhausted, hunted animal – a stag or a bear, maybe – held at bay by three excited hounds. Hounds that Ichigo had unwittingly set up on his friend.

No, Ichigo definitely did not want to see Chad like that, but he didn't want to see Ishida, either. He especially didn't want to see Ishida dancing with that muscular 'friend' of his. The problem was, it was hard _not_ to see it. Even at Club Poison, where the people who didn't 'know someone' only got in if they looked stunning and followed the latest fashion trends, Ishida had turned heads. Ichigo guessed Buff – no, _Toru_, damn it – did, too, because when they got onto that packed dance floor, people actually made room for them. The closest dancers pulled away, further into the crowd, and even though they kept dancing, Ichigo noticed that most of them turned around to watch the two men. Not that he could blame them. He couldn't stop watching, either.

Questions churned in his brain as Ichigo stared at the lithe figure in white and blue swaying down below. Ishida had been a total geek in high school. He still _was_ a total geek. Even now, didn't he spend every moment studying? When the hell had he learned to dance? When the hell had he learned to dance _like that_? When had Ishida gone from being the skinny geek in glasses to the sleek dancer with the shiny hair and the sinuous moves that no one could look away from? When—when had he gotten so….

"Fucking hot, ain't he?" said a gravelly voice beside him, startling him so much he nearly spilled his drink.

"What?" Ichigo said, staring – probably stupidly – at the guy who seemed to have materialized beside him. He recognized the beefy, tattooed keyboard player from Chad's band – Sanrio? No, something like that; Sanjo. The music wasn't quite as loud up there on the viewing floor, but Ichigo still wondered if he'd missed something. "What did you say?"

"Your friend down there," Sanjo grinned, leaning closer to Ichigo to be heard. "I said he's fucking hot, right?"

"Who're you talking about?" Ichigo demanded. He had a sinking feeling that Sanjo didn't mean Chad.

"Ishida-kun," he replied, nodding down at the dance floor. "The one you've been staring at all night."

Ichigo fish-mouthed for a second, then put on his best scowl. "What the hell? I haven't been staring at him!"

"No? Looked to me like you were," Sanjo shrugged agreeably, scratching his bristly jaw as he diverted his attention back to Ishida. "So are you after his friend, then?"

"I'm not after anyone," Ichigo sputtered. "Especially not that—that Toru guy! Why would I be? I'm not gay."

"You're not?" Sanjo gave Ichigo a frankly puzzled look then raised his eyebrows and said "Huh. My mistake, then. Still," he added, turning back to view the dance floor, "you gotta admit, that friend of yours is pretty fine."

"If you say so," Ichigo muttered, feeling his face heat up with an odd sense of shame, because he knew he _had_ been staring at Ishida, but it didn't mean anything. At least, it didn't mean what this Sanjo guy thought it meant.

"You and Sado-kun and him know each other from back in Karakura, right?" Sanjo asked.

"Yeah," Ichigo grunted. "Ishida's my roommate."

"You must know him pretty well then." Sanjo's eyes lit up at that. "Any idea if he's serious about Muscles down there?" He quirked an eyebrow and jerked his shiny head toward the dance floor. "Think a guy like me's got any chance with Ishida-kun?"

Ichigo stared at the musician. He had three silver earrings in one ear, he was bald on the top of his head and shaved on the sides, and the thick arms braced against the railing were sleeved in colorful tattoos of fish, and demons, and half-naked women from the Edo period with their heads thrown back and their kimonos open. He wanted to tell the guy 'Hell, no!', that Ishida wouldn't have anything to do with his type, but before his mouth could engage, he realized he didn't know, that he didn't have any idea if Ishida would give a guy like Sanjo a chance or not.

Ichigo had never imagined he'd see Ishida with another guy anyway, especially not a guy like Buff/Toru. For all he knew, Ishida liked burly, tattooed guys who looked like gangster goons as much as he liked muscle-bound dumbasses. Unbidden, Ichigo's brain summoned up the images he'd seen the night before of Ishida's pale body moving beneath the tanned one and replaced Buff/Toru with Sanjo. He imagined Ishida writhing under the musician's inked-up bulk as Sanjo fucked him, dripping sweat and panting as he pinned Ishida's knees to his shoulders and pounded away. He saw Ishida tossing his head around, his hair flying across his face, his pale fingers digging into those broad, fleshy shoulders and gouging the eyes of golden carp and geishas, and then he couldn't see anything but red.

"Hey, dude, what's wrong?" Sanjo asked, peering at him with concern. "You just got real flushed all of a sudden. And your eye is twitching. You okay?"

"I've got no fucking idea," Ichigo said as he turned away, unsure of which question he was answering: whether Sanjo had a chance with Ishida, or whether he was okay. Hell, maybe it was the answer to both. "I gotta get out of here," he muttered, pushing away from the railing and wondering what excuse he could use to leave. He didn't have to wonder long. As if on cue, the Shinigami badge in his pocket burst to life, wailing its alarm of _HOLLOW! HOLLOW! HOLLOW! HOLLOW!_ so loudly it completely drowned the dance music.

Ichigo froze then pulled the badge out of his back pocket. All around him, people were dancing and drinking and carrying on as if nothing was happening. None of them could hear the alarm, of course, but for a few it was a different story. Clutching the badge, Ichigo scanned the dance floor and saw Chad looking back at him. He'd heard the badge go off as well, and when their eyes met, Chad gave a firm nod and started to disentangle himself from the mass of dancers.

Ichigo looked around for the one other person who should have heard the alert. Hell, the Quincy should have known about the Hollow even before the alarm went off, what with his reiatsu-detecting ability, but Ishida wasn't even looking up at him. Instead, he was tangled in Buff/Toru's strong, brown arms, the two of them dancing in a close embrace.

"So that's the way it is, huh?" Ichigo growled, immediately snapping his gaze away because he didn't want to see anymore. _No time for fighting Hollows now that you've got a boyfriend, right? _ Ichigo sprinted for the stairs to the main floor and took them two at a time, shouldering through packs of girls swaying on too-high heels and making one guy spill his drink and start cursing him. The front entrance was blocked by people still coming in, so he headed for an emergency exit he'd noticed at the other end of the club. Ichigo ignored the bright orange words 'Do Not Open Except In Emergency' and shoved his way through. The siren that went off when he did was almost as loud as his wailing badge, but probably had a lot more effect on the club goers. Ichigo didn't particularly care, though. He wasn't going to wait around to see.

The door opened into an unlit alley; dank and dirty as it was, to Ichigo it was a relief from the lights, colors and noise of the dance club. A quick survey showed that one end of the alley opened onto the heavily populated street in front of the club. The other end offered a much less crowded sidewalk, so he headed that way.

"Ichigo, hold on!"

He turned back to see Chad pushing through the door only a few paces behind him. The emergency alarm was still going off inside the club and a red light was flashing into the alleyway.

"Chad! This way!" Ichigo shouted, but instead of heading toward him, Chad hesitated and glanced back through the doorway.

"What about Ishida?" he countered.

"He's got better things to do, obviously," Ichigo snapped. "C'mon, we don't need him for this anyway." Chad frowned and threw a worried look over his shoulder, then shook his head and followed Ichigo.

"Do we know where we're going?" Chad asked as they emerged from the alley.

"Hang on." Ichigo pulled up and fished around for his Shinigami communicator. It lit up when he flipped it open, and Chad leaned over his shoulder to squint at the map detailed on the small screen. Three red triangles were hovering in a cluster about five blocks from their current location.

"Three of them," Ichigo grunted. Red triangles meant stronger than average Hollows; nothing Ichigo couldn't handle on his own, but tougher than the usual run. "Shit, what are they doing, traveling in packs now?" He knew they needed to get there fast; there were still people out at this hour, and Hollows like that didn't just hunt lost souls, they went for human prey as well. "C'mon," he said. "Let's move."

Chad gave him a look before they started running again, but Ichigo ignored it, staring at the screen and calling out directions as they dashed down sidewalks and around corners, getting further away from the well-lit and crowded club district. Ichigo knew what Chad wanted to say: that they should have waited for Ishida, that he could have used that Quincy crazy-leg thing that he did to get all of them where they needed to be. But Chad hadn't seen the way Ishida and Toru were stuck together on the dance floor, and Ichigo didn't feel like explaining it, so he said nothing and they kept running until they almost stumbled into a locked park gate.

"They're in there," Chad said, staring into the shadows between the tall bars. "Even I can feel them." Gritting his teeth, Ichigo rattled the gate to see if it was secured, but the chained lock held.

"Nothing for it then," he said, slapping his chest with his Shinigami badge. He didn't even have to ask Chad to catch his body as it fell away from his spirit form. They'd fought together so often in the past few years that these things had become automatic.

"Yeah, that's the stuff," Ichigo exhaled, feeling his energy more keenly as he reached over his shoulder for Zangetsu. When he grasped the hilt, a surge of his own reiatsu washed through him, blowing away all the human confusion that always messed up his brain and his senses. He felt like an open current, glowing with power, and he yelled as he swung his sword, slicing through the wrought iron like it was made of bean paste and blowing the gate open with a wave of pure reiatsu.

Ichigo knew Ishida would have bitched him out for that. He could practically hear the Quincy saying _It's just like you're ringing a dinner bell for them when you do that!_ in that prissy, know-it-all tone of his. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? He didn't want to go poking around looking for them. He wanted the ugly suckers to come out swinging.

"Come and get it, you bastards," he growled as he charged into the park, and the Hollows obliged.

The empty park was illuminated by one tall street lamp that gave an eerie glow to the white gravel paths and pulled the benches and playground equipment into elastic shadows. One of those shadows detached itself and came galloping to meet Ichigo's headlong rush: a bulky, slavering creature with both claws and hooves, like something part bear and part horse. Its huge eyes bulged out of its mask as it attacked with both teeth and claws, rearing up on its hind hooves and trying to grapple Ichigo into a crushing hug. Ichigo took it out in two swings – one forehand and one back cut – and its dying shriek vanished as quickly as it did.

"That was too fucking easy," Ichigo grumbled, swinging his head around to find the next target. His blood was up, his reiatsu was singing, and Zangetsu was thirsting for more. It was the best – the clearest and sharpest – Ichigo had felt in a long time, and he didn't want it to end.

"Ichigo!" Chad yelled from beside the bench where he'd propped his limp body. "Up there, above you!"

Sure enough, when Ichigo whipped his head up there was a black shadow against the stars, plummeting down at him with long wings folded back. For a second, he flashed back to Hueco Mundo, remembering the shock of Ulquiorra's leathery wings slapping him through the sky, and he instinctively lashed a Getsuga at it. It blasted the winged Hollow out of its dive and sent it off into a screaming circle. When it righted itself, flapping wildly, Ichigo could sense Chad just behind him and to the right. He knew it wouldn't take both of them to finish off this Hollow, but it felt good to have Chad at his back. It made things feel right. Almost like they were supposed to be.

Almost.

"It's coming back," Chad pointed out. "It's going to dive again!"

"I see it," Ichigo confirmed, readying Zangetsu. "It looks like it's got claws, so watch out. I'm gonna let it get close!" Chad gave an affirmative grunt, and Ichigo wet his lips in anticipation. He could hear the way the air whistled through the Hollow's feathers as it fell toward them, so close he could taste the kill.

Something seared over the top of his head and sent an electric shock through his hair, so powerful that his vision went fuzzy for a split-second. When his eyes cleared, the winged Hollow was writhing in mid-air, struggling as blue-white lightning crackled over it and gurgling a scream around the shining arrow in its throat. It exploded only a meter or so above Chad and Ichigo, and bone-white feathers fluttered momentarily before evaporating into the air.

Ichigo blinked at the place in the sky where the Hollow had been, then wheeled around, cursing, and shoved Zangetsu point-first into the ground. He knew exactly what he was going to see.

"Why the _fuck_ did you do that?" Ichigo raged. "I hate it when you do that! You _know_ I hate it!"

Standing just inside the open gate, Ishida lowered his spirit bow and pushed his glasses up with one finger. It was such a typical thing for him to do that for a moment, Ichigo felt like they were back in high school, caught up in the old frustrations, the old rivalry that had never really been put to rest. Only now, Ichigo recognized that his anger was charged with something different, something deeper and more troubling, and he tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with the way Ishida was standing there with his hair tousled, and his shirt open, and his pale stomach rising and falling with each quick breath.

"Idiot!" Ishida snapped by way of greeting. "What did you mean by leaving me behind like that?" he demanded. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

"You looked pretty damn busy the last time I checked," Ichigo snorted, folding his arms and standing his ground. He was still looking for something to hit, something to fight, and since Ishida had stolen that last battle right out of his grasp, the Quincy would do fine as a substitute. "Were we supposed to just stand there and wait around while you finished sucking face with your new dance partner?"

"Sucking face?" Ishida repeated, looking appalled. "I never did that!"

"Oh, I guess that was just a goodbye kiss, huh?" Ichigo countered, quickly warming to the argument. Warming? Hell, he was already hot.

"What on earth are you talking about, Kurosaki?" Ishida demanded. "There was no—I wasn't kissing anybody! I was trying to get out of there."

"Yeah? Well, you must have been trying to take that Toru guy with you because the two of you were wrapped up awfully tight."

"You misinterpret everything," Ishida yelled, his face livid. "I told Toru-kun I had to go, it was an emergency, but he couldn't hear me over the music. When I tried to leave the dance floor, he thought I was angry so he grabbed me and held on."

"Didn't look to me like you were trying real hard to get away," Ichigo shot back. When the expected retort didn't come, he narrowed his eyes at Ishida. He was just standing there, staring at Ichigo with an expression of disbelief.

"You're jealous!" Ishida said, sounding like he'd just stumbled onto the answer to some question that had long plagued scientists and philosophers. "That's why you're acting like more of an idiot than usual. You're jealous, aren't you?"

The word hit Ichigo like a bomb. Fear – fear like the kind he hadn't felt since those long ago days of Urahara's training – exploded in his chest, sending its shrapnel into every part of his body.

"Jealous?" Ichigo snorted the word like it was the most ridiculous idea in the universe, but inside his nerves were sputtering with shock and his brain was spinning like a typhoon. Jealous. Fuck, he couldn't be jealous. Ishida was crazy. Jealous people were obsessed, unhappy stalkers, and that wasn't him, no, it wasn't. "What the fuck are you talking about, Ishida?" he yelled. "Why the hell would I be jealous?"

"I don't know," Ishida said in an arch voice. "Maybe because the people I date don't go storming out of the apartment in the middle of the night because I've done something stupid."

Whatever Ichigo had planned to say flew right out of his head, because all he could think of was _He knows! Oh fuck, he knows! He heard everything! Did he hear me, too? Does he know I was there? That I saw him? That I saw him—._

"Ichigo!" Chad yelled, at the same moment Ishida screamed "Kurosaki!" and disappeared from where he was standing at the gate. Ichigo grabbed for Zangetsu, his instincts finally surfacing through the spinning storm of panic and denial, telling him that the third Hollow – the one he knew about, the one he shouldn't have forgotten – was right behind him. That same instant, something struck his chest and he went down hard, slamming into the ground and rolling, the wind knocked out of him.

For a crazy moment he wondered if Ishida had shot him with his bow, then realized, no, he'd done that Quincy flash-step thing of his and tackled him. Struggling to get his breath back, all Ichigo could feel was the gravel crunching into his back, Zangetsu's hilt cutting into his hand, and Ishida's body pressing into his; Ishida's silky hair blinding him, Ishida's panting breath on his cheek, and Ishida's long legs tangled with his own.

"Fuck!" he gasped when he caught his breath, stunned as much by the sensation of Ishida's body against his as by the flying tackle and the oppressive reiatsu just above him. Ishida's hair was still in his eyes, but he heard Chad roaring, felt the crackle of energy, the heat of one of his power blasts, and the ugly sound of Hollow laughter.

"Let me up!" Ichigo panted, grabbing Ishida by the shoulder. "Damn it, Ishida, let me up!"

"Kurosaki—," Ishida coughed. It sounded like he wanted to say more, but then he rolled aside and Ichigo sprang to his feet. Chad was already fighting the Hollow, firing power bursts and trying to slam the thing with his fists, but the creature kept twisting and dodging. This Hollow was different from the first two: vaguely humanoid in shape, all snake below the waist but with skeletal hands that ended in sword-like claws. The other two had only screamed unintelligibly, but this one could talk.

"Nice," the Hollow giggled, coiling its tail and licking something off one of its long talons with a prehensile tongue. "So much power. A real feast tonight," it hissed, clicking the stained tips of its claws together. "And all for me!"

"I don't think so," Ichigo snarled, leaping into the air and swinging Zangetsu up. "Sorry, but you're going to die hungry tonight!" Ichigo and his sword both came down at once, and the Hollow shrieked and thrashed as Zangetsu's edge connected with its back. As Ichigo pulled back for a second strike, he heard Ishida yell his name and looked around in time to see the Hollow's tail about to slap him aside.

"Oh no, you don't!" he growled, twisting around and sweeping Zangetsu across. The blade connected with the tail in a flare of reiatsu, and Ichigo felt the creature's flesh start to give way just before its body bucked and twisted, flinging him aside. The Hollow screeched, its lower half coiling and thrashing in apparent agony as it bled, then whipped around faster than Ichigo had reckoned. It lunged at him with a wail, each claw extended like a blade. Ichigo met the attack with a yell, Zangetsu shooting sparks as it caught the honed claws, but he couldn't push past them.

"What—the—hell?" Ichigo hissed through gritted teeth, both his muscles and spiritual pressure straining against the Hollow's talons. The creature's mask gaped as it laughed at him, snaking out its long tongue to lick at him, but the sound became a howl when Chad hit it with blasts from both his fists.

"No fair!" it shrieked as it flailed around, trying to strike Chad with its tail while attacking Ichigo with its claws. "Two against one is no fair!"

"Two against one?" Ichigo heard Ishida say. There was something odd about his voice, and Ichigo spared a glance away from his opponent. Ishida was where Ichigo had left him, standing with his spirit bow drawn. "It isn't two against one," Ishida told the Hollow, his low voice strained. "It's _three_ against one." With that, he loosed his arrow, striking the creature where its humanoid torso and snake tail joined together. The Hollow screeched and faltered, and as Chad struck it again, cracking its mask, Zangetsu cut past the brandished claws, the long blade carrying through to cleave the Hollow down the middle. It broke apart with a high-pitched squeal and its two halves shimmered and vanished.

With the last Hollow gone, no sounds stirred the air except for the hard breathing of the three men and the buzzing of the single mercury lamp. Ichigo leaned against Zangetsu to catch his breath, then checked on the other two. Ishida was still standing, one hand pressed against a tree, head down as he panted for breath. Chad's Hawaiian shirt was torn, and his hair looked like he'd been through a storm, but Ichigo thought he looked as steady as he always did.

"You okay, Chad?" he asked, just to make sure, but he didn't get an answer. Chad was looking straight at Ishida, the one eye Ichigo could see widening with what was clearly alarm.

"Ishida!" Chad gasped, and when Ichigo looked back, Ishida had sunk to his knees and was falling forward onto his hands. Ichigo felt his mouth go dry, and his own pulse became a drumbeat in his ears. He saw the way Ishida's shirt was hanging around his body, saw the dark stain spreading on one leg of his white jeans, and remembered something dripping from the Hollow's claws, something its long tongue had lapped off and declared _nice_.

"Oh fuck," Ichigo breathed, his heart and stomach clenching. "Oh fuck, Ishida!" He dropped Zangetsu and scrambled over to Ishida just as Chad was kneeling beside him, gripping one shoulder to help support him. The back of his shirt was in shreds, and through the rents in the fabric, Ichigo could see pale skin welling with black blood.

"When—when did this—," Ichigo stammered.

"I think—when he pushed you down," Chad offered, drawing Ishida's tattered shirt up to his shoulders. "The Hollow was about to hit you with both claws. I thought—I wondered if he'd gotten hurt, but he didn't say anything."

"I didn't say anything," Ishida intoned, "because—sss!" He hissed as a piece of the fabric pulled free from the highest claw mark across his back, then went quiet, snapping his lips shut on that single sound of pain. "Because," he exhaled a moment later, "it's not—that bad."

_Liar,_ Ichigo wanted to say to him, because he could see the long wounds carved across his back, could see the way his arms were shaking as he tried to hold himself up. Instead, he bit back his fear and gave in to an emotion with which he was far more comfortable: anger.

"Why," he growled, trying to keep his own muscles from trembling, "why did you _do_ such a dumbass thing?"

"Call me sentimental," Ishida managed to snap, turning his head enough to glare at Ichigo, " but I didn't feel like watching you get your head sliced off. Which is what would have happened if I _hadn't_ used _hirenkyaku_ to tackle you."

"Lie down," Chad instructed Ishida softly, reaching under him to support his chest as he eased him flat onto the ground. Ishida obeyed Chad without any protest, and this fact alone frightened Ichigo more than the wounds themselves. Ishida lay with his head turned to the side, eyes closed and lips slightly apart. He seemed to be breathing very carefully, and when Ichigo noticed the gravel cutting into his cheek, he found himself pulling off the top of his shihakusho and sliding the wadded cloth under Ishida's head. Ishida opened his eyes enough to quirk an eyebrow at Ichigo's action, but again, he didn't argue.

"Shit," Ichigo murmured when he saw the full extent of Ishida's injuries. He'd thought the wounds were only on his back, but there were two separate sets of claw marks: three deep slashes across his back from right shoulder to left hip, and another three across the backs of his thighs from the opposite angle. "That fucker hit with both sets."

"This isn't good," Chad said quietly, looking at Ishida's legs. "There could be tendon damage."

"There isn't," Ishida said, trying to keep his voice steady. "If there was, I wouldn't have been able to stand."

"Stop acting like you're not hurt!" Ichigo barked, gripping his knees with both hands to keep from grabbing Ishida and shaking him. "Those wounds are deep! You need stitches, and there's probably muscle damage, and you're losing blood, you idiot! We need to get you to a doctor now!"

"We can't!" Ishida lifted his head to glare at Ichigo. His eyes were deadly serious. "If we go to a clinic, they'll want to know how I got these wounds. What do you propose we tell them, Kurosaki? That I was attacked by a wild bear? That a giant eagle tried to carry me off? They'll have to file an attack report. They'll call the police. They'll—."

"Ishida, hush," Chad told him, carefully pushing his head back down and resting his brown fingers briefly over Ishida's eyes. If Ichigo hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Chad used some kind of magic on Ishida, because the stupid, stubborn Quincy never obeyed _anyone_ like that. Chad looked down at the mess of bleeding wounds and torn fabric that was their friend, then turned to Ichigo, his dark eyes clearly asking _What do we do?_

Ichigo was asking himself that same question. Every avenue of treatment they could trust – the Urahara Shouten, his father's clinic, even the hospital Ishida's father ran – was back in Karakura, and even using _shunpou_, it would take far too long to get Ishida there.

"Urahara," Ishida said quietly, echoing Ichigo's own thoughts. He was about to tell Ishida to shut up, it was too far, when the blue eyes blinked open and fastened on him. "He gave me a kit. For emergencies. There's stuff to heal wounds and stop bleeding." Ishida stopped, closed his eyes and took a breath. "Please," he said. "Just take me home."

Please. That was a word Ichigo had never imagined he'd hear from Ishida's lips. Not directed toward him, at least.

"Fuck," Ichigo muttered, bowing his head in resignation, then looking up to meet Chad's eyes. There was no question of Ishida being able to use his Quincy _shunpou_ to get them all back to the apartment. That left only Ichigo's more limited flash-steps and normal human transport.

"Use your _shunpou_ to get him home," Chad told him. "I'll follow with your body."

Ichigo knew damn well that after everything he'd put Chad through that evening, he probably deserved to have his body stripped naked, painted purple and tied spread-eagle to one of the large marble dedication plaques on campus. Keigo and Miziuro would have done it without a second thought. Rukia and Renji would have figured out something even worse. Chad, he knew, wouldn't even think of doing it. He also knew there was no way he could express his gratitude for that, so he didn't even try.

"There's money and a credit card in my wallet," Ichigo said, getting to his feet and picking up Zangetsu. "The address is in there, too. Use whatever you need to get to the apartment, okay?"

Chad nodded and reached down to pick Ishida up, but that, apparently, was where the Quincy drew the line, even with Chad.

"I can do it, Sado, I'm not an invalid," Ishida frowned, but Ichigo noticed that he grabbed onto Chad's arm to lever himself up, then allowed Chad to pull him to his feet.

"C'mon," Ichigo told him, and knowing there was no other way to go about this, he leaned down, shoved his shoulder against Ishida's pelvis, grabbed him around the backs of his knees, and slung the Quincy over his shoulder as he straightened up.

"Kurosaki!" Ishida gasped in surprise. He was apparently too injured to kick or thrash around, but he seized the back of Ichigo's yukata in a hard grip. "What—what do you think you're doing!" he demanded.

"Just what you asked me to do," Ichigo told him as he stepped up into the air and flashed back toward the university. "Taking you home."


	6. 6: In Which Ichigo Realizes He's Screwed

Ishida Uryuu bleeding. It was something Ichigo still had nightmares about. Infrequent as they were, nothing could tear Ichigo from his sleep and leave him panting and wakeful like the image of a too-pale Ishida, blood spreading over the center of his tunic, accusing Ichigo with his eyes and the bleeding stump of his arm.

It hadn't happened that way, of course. Ishida had never accused Ichigo of hurting him. He understood from the first that Ichigo hadn't been in control of the horned Hollow-beast that drove Zangetsu through him. He'd certainly never blamed Ichigo for the loss of his hand, which had happened during his fight with Ulquiorra while Ichigo lay there—well, for all practical purposes – dead.

Ichigo had begged Ishida to forgive him. Ishida had looked at him plainly and told him there was nothing to forgive, but when Ichigo had insisted – had, in fact, been as close to tears as he had ever imagined he'd be in front of Ishida – he had relented and given a blanket pardon. _For anything you think you've done, Kurosaki,_ was what he'd said. The expression on Ishida's face had told Ichigo that the incident – both the forgiveness and the reason for it – was never to be spoken of again. And neither of them had.

Ichigo's subconscious, however, was under no such gag order, and it reminded him of this periodically. He was almost used to seeing it in his dreams; enough that he was able to tell himself, even while asleep, that this hadn't happened, that it was only a dream. Ichigo had a feeling, though, that the bleeding Ishida Uryuu now before him would soon be joining his other nightmares, and wouldn't be banished so easily.

Ishida was leaning on the sink in their small apartment bathroom, supporting himself on his elbows with his hands wrapped around the edges. They were nearly as pale as the porcelain, and Ichigo could see small scars all over them; more scars that Ishida had gotten because of him. Of course, they were nothing compared to the ones Ishida was going to have on his back.

What remained of Ishida's torn and bloodied shirt was balled in the corner by the tub, and Ichigo chewed on his lower lip as he surveyed the damage to Ishida's body: three bloody claw marks angled across the slim back, cutting over ribs, a sharp shoulder blade, the knobby vertebrae standing out under his skin, even to the point of a hip. The worst of the bleeding had stopped, but the wounds were still raw and dripping. Ichigo mentally assessed how many stitches Ishida would have been looking at had they taken him to an emergency clinic, and swallowed at the number he came up with.

"Are you just going to stand there, Kurosaki?" Ishida grumbled, turning his head so he wasn't speaking directly into the sink. His usually smooth voice was hoarse and a little breathless, and Ichigo knew it had to be from the pain. Ishida had sounded the same way in Hueco Mundo when the pain-killers he'd taken had worn off.

"Yeah," Ichigo stammered. "I mean, no! Just—hang on a second." Ichigo tore his eyes away from the slight figure sagging against the sink and rummaged through the medical kit that sat open on the toilet lid. Ichigo hadn't even known about the kit, probably because it had been stuck behind the towels in the bathroom cabinet. Ishida was the only one who bothered to fold and put away towels. Ichigo kept his hung up on his door or thrown over his desk chair, like a normal person.

Inside the kit were rolled up bandages and an assortment of bottles and jars. He picked up a medium-sized brown bottle that looked like something disinfectant would come in. The label read 'Reiatsu Neutralizing Wound Cleaner – for All Hollow Attacks' and had a cartoon of Urahara's wide-smiling face on the label 'approving' the stuff. It did nothing to ease Ichigo's suspicions – who knew what that nutty shopkeeper had put in there? – but since it was the only thing they had…

"Kurosaki," Ishida said, sounding a bit worse than before. "You are trying my patience. Give me the damn bottle. I can—do it myself."

"Yeah, right, what are you going to do?" Ichigo snorted, uncapping the bottle and sniffing at it. "Slosh it all over your back?" The stuff in the bottle smelled slightly astringent, with maybe a hint of lemon. Surely the stuff wasn't really disinfectant, right?

"Kuro—saki," Ishida muttered through gritted teeth.

"Hold still, will you?" Ichigo snapped, then took a breath before tilting the open bottle over Ishida's back. "This is probably going to sting."

Ichigo poured a thin stream of the clear liquid onto the uppermost wound and watched it run down the shallow, red furrow. It didn't fizz like hydrogen peroxide, but it surely had some effect because he heard Ishida's catch his breath and saw his shoulders tense up. When he glanced in the mirror, Ishida's eyes were squeezed shut and his nostrils were flaring, but he didn't make a sound.

"Just a bit more," Ichigo told him, if only to fill the silence as he poured the wound cleaner into the middle cut, the one that went from under Ishida's right arm to just below his waist. Ishida hadn't taken a breath since Ichigo started, so he hurried to treat the lowest cut angling from Ishida's ribs across his back to the point of his hip. The liquid ran along the track of this wound until it hit the small of Ishida's back, where it dripped down that slight valley to the waistband of his once-white jeans – the ones Ishida had refused to take off. Ishida flinched when Ichigo hooked a finger into a beltloop and tugged them down to expose the end of the cut, and his head sank even lower toward the sink as Ichigo doused the rest of the wound.

"There," Ichigo said. "It's done. You can breathe now." At that, Ishida let out a long, low breath and opened his eyes. He was still staring down into the sink, so he didn't see Ichigo watching his reflection, noting how pale his lips were and how the blue eyes didn't seem as sharp as usual. He wondered how much blood Ishida had actually lost. He peered at the bottle to see how much was left, then glanced at Ishida's legs. "You want me to take care of those cuts on your legs now?"

"That's unnecessary," Ishida said. "They aren't that bad."

"All the blood on those white jeans of yours says otherwise," Ichigo frowned. "C'mon, Ishida. What's your problem? Take off your stupid pants and let me have a look at those cuts."

"Just. Fix. My. Back." Ishida almost growled, his eyes flashing briefly. "I can handle the rest myself."

"Idiot," Ichigo muttered as he closed the bottle and hunted in the kit for something that would either heal or seal the slashes across Ishida's back. He didn't know why Ishida was being such a prick about taking off his jeans. It wasn't like they hadn't used to change in gym together, or seen each other wearing nothing but a towel. "What the hell, Ishida, don't you trust me or something?"

"Kurosaki," Ishida huffed, "would you just _shut up_?"

Ishida sounded close to the end of his rope, but for some reason, that just made Ichigo angrier. What the hell was the guy thinking? His jeans were practically falling off him as it was. And Ishida sure didn't have any problems taking his jeans off for _Toru-kun_, did he?

"I'm trying to help you, you know," Ichigo snorted, examining a likely looking jar. "I don't know what you're so worried about. Your buddy Toru is the one hot for your ass, not me."

It was out of his mouth before Ichigo even realized he'd said it. Immediately he felt his face heat up in embarrassment, and when he dared to glance up, Ishida had the strangest look on his face: part angry, part insulted, and part something else – hurt, maybe? Ichigo couldn't tell. Ishida's own face flushed, though, as anger quickly won out over any other emotions. Anger? Hell, the Quincy looked totally enraged. Nostrils flaring, Ishida narrowed his eyes and shoved himself up until he was standing nearly upright, only his fingers still touching the sink.

"You—," he snarled, but the instant he said it, the blood drained from his face, his eyes rolled back, and his legs buckled. His fingers slipped and he crashed to his knees, striking his chin against the sink on the way down. His glasses flew off, clattering against the tile.

"Fuck! Ishida!" Ichigo dropped the jar he was holding and grabbed his shoulders, hauling him upright. Ishida's blinked vaguely at him, seemed to focus for a moment, but then his head lolled forward.

"Shit!" Ichigo growled, his fingers digging into Ishida's arms, his heart pounding in pure terror. "Damn it, Ishida! Look at me! What's wrong? Tell me!" He could feel his hands trembling, and he wasn't sure whether it was from panic or from restraining the desire to shake Ishida hard, to try and rattle him back to consciousness. What the hell was going on?

"Ku—saki," Ishida mumbled, eyes fluttering as he tried to lift his head.

"Damn it, Ishida, don't do this to me!" Ichigo demanded as he saw Ishida's expression zoning out again. "Don't you dare fucking die on me! Wake up, damn it! What's wrong? What's—." He froze because Ishida had managed to lift one hand up and weakly grasp Ichigo's wrist.

"Not—dying—idiot," Ishida panted. "Need to—lie down."

Ichigo wasn't sure how it happened – whether Ishida fell against him, or he pulled his friend toward him – but the next moment, Ishida's head was against Ichigo's shoulder, his breath tickling Ichigo's throat, and Ichigo's hand was cradling the back of Ishida's head. Their chests were touching, and in that instant, Ichigo could feel Ishida's heart beating against his own, and his anger and panic dissolved into a different feeling entirely; one that wanted him to keep holding Ishida just like that.

"Down," Ishida gasped softly against his neck. "K'saki—put me down."

The words stung like rejection. Was it really that bad to be held like that? Did Ishida dislike it that much? Ichigo could feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders tightening until Ishida groaned.

"Gonna—faint," he huffed, just before his body went slack, and Ichigo realized what had happened.

"Fuck!" he grunted, pushing himself to his feet and half carrying, half dragging Ishida out of the bathroom. "Stupid," he grumbled as he kicked the door to his bedroom open, only he wasn't talking to Ishida this time. He was the stupid one, forgetting that Ishida had low blood pressure – something he'd known for years. He'd been terrified that Ishida had gone into shock when he'd passed out, that he was about to go into seizures or worse, but Ishida had only lost consciousness after pushing himself upright.

"Positional hypotension," Ichigo muttered, remembering the term from the first aid books his dad had made him read. People with low blood pressure could faint if they stood or sat up too fast, and the best thing to do was to get them horizontal as soon as possible.

Which was just what Ishida had been asking him to do.

Ichigo laid Ishida on his side and then swung his legs up onto the bed. He knew it would be best to position him face up and elevate his legs, but with the wounds on Ishida's back still open, that was impossible. He shifted Ishida onto his stomach and turned his face to the side, but when Ishida didn't immediately come to, Ichigo started to panic again.

"Shit shit shit shit _shit_!" Ichigo cursed as he rushed back to the bathroom, grabbing the medical kit in one hand and fishing his phone out of his jeans with the other. He dropped the kit onto the bed at Ishida's feet as he thumbed down his contact list and hit the button for _Urahara Shouten_. "C'mon, c'mon, answer, damn it!" he muttered as he opened the kit and rooted through the bottles and bandages for something, anything that might help Ishida. He found a bottle marked 'Blood Tonic' just as Urahara's voice came on the line.

"Hello hello! Urahara Shouten! How may we help you, valued customer?" the shopkeeper whinnied.

"Urahara! Thank god," Ichigo started, but the voice cut him off.

"Urahara Shouten is closed at this time. Please call back when we are open, and let us know how we can serve you better."

"You can serve me better by _being_ there when I fucking _call you_, you bastard!" Ichigo bellowed into his phone at the sound of the beep. "Ishida's hurt and this is a fucking _emergency_, you asshole, so stop messing around and _pick up your damn phone_!"

Another beep ended Ichigo's tirade and he threw the phone on the floor in a fit of frustration.

"Do you have to be so loud, Kurosaki?" The voice was weary but clear, and when Ichigo looked around, Ishida had lifted his head a little and was squinting back at him.

"Ishida!" Ichigo quickly moved to kneel beside his bed. "You're awake! Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay," Ishida frowned, closing his eyes and carefully lowering his head. "But I'm not dying, like you seem to think I am."

Ichigo exhaled in relief, then realized he was still holding the bottle he'd picked up. He squinted at the label.

"Here," he said, pulling off the cap. "Can you lift up enough to take some of this?"

"What is it?" Ishida asked, opening one eye.

"It's—well, it's something that'll help." Ichigo didn't know exactly what the stuff was, but he doubted even crazy Urahara would put poison in a first aid kit, and the label did say to drink it. He figured with all the bleeding Ishida had done, anything called 'Blood Tonic' couldn't hurt.

Ishida peered at the bottle. For a moment he looked like he was going to refuse, but then he sighed in resignation and reached out to take it. Ichigo could see his hand was trembling, and when he wrapped his own hand over Ishida's to keep the bottle steady, Ishida didn't try to shake him off.

"How much do I take?" he asked, raising his head to bring the tonic to his mouth.

"Uhm, two swigs," Ichigo guessed, trying to sound far more confident than he actually was. Ishida quirked an eyebrow at him, but took a sip, considered, then took another, longer drink.

"That's—not bad, actually," Ishida allowed, taking one more sip before pushing the stuff away and letting his head fall back down.

"Yeah?" Ichigo sniffed the bottle before stoppering it. Whatever was inside had an aroma so rich it was dizzying. Was there—alcohol in that tonic?

"Kurosaki?" Ishida's eyes were barely open, and though he wasn't slurring his words like before, he sounded sleepier. Ichigo looked more closely at him, and thought he saw some color returning to Ishida's lips. "Where m'glasses?"

"Huh? Oh," Ichigo said. "On the bathroom floor. They came off when you fainted. Do you need 'em?"

"No," he sighed, a small grimace passing over his face. "Need—my back fixed." Ishida paused to moisten his lower lip, then in a weaker voice, added, "Please."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Ishida," Ichigo groaned, reaching over to paw through the open kit again, looking for the jar he'd seen earlier. The shame of ignoring those wounds wrenched his gut a quarter turn – almost as much as Ishida saying 'please'. Telling himself that there'd been too much going on what with Ishida fainting, and him calling to yell at Urahara, and giving Ishida the blood tonic didn't make him feel any better though. The jumble in the medical kit finally yielded up the jar he'd seen earlier. It looked like something that petroleum jelly would come in, but the label – again with the shopkeeper's happy cartoon face – proclaimed it 'Urahara Shouten Number One Blood Stopper & Wound Closer'. Ichigo snorted because the stuff inside looked just like the ointment that Ikkaku carried around with him, which Ichigo knew came from the Fourth Division. Still, as long as it worked, he wasn't going to quibble about where it came from.

"Hang on," he told Ishida as he dug two fingers into the goo and started to dab it on the topmost wound. "Tell me if I hurt you."

Ichigo could feel his heart nearly in his throat as his fingers slid over Ishida's skin, following the cut over his shoulder blade and down to his spine. He told himself it was because the cuts were so deep, because he was afraid he was hurting Ishida, but even he didn't quite believe it. Ishida made a small sound of discomfort when he took his fingers away to scoop out more salve, and he glanced down to see that Ishida's half-open eyes were oddly glazed, his lips parted, and his fingers wound in his bedcovers.

"Ishida? Hey, you okay? I'm not hurting you, right?"

At the sound of Ichigo's voice, Ishida blinked like he was coming out of a daydream. He angled his eyes toward Ichigo, then closed them and shook his head slightly.

"No," he answered in a low voice that did strange things to Ichigo's insides. "You're not hurting me." He paused to lick his lips, and to Ichigo, the tip of his pink tongue seemed to travel along the edge of his lower lip very slowly. "It feels—good." He sounded almost amused at that word, as if it was the last thing he'd expected. "Don't—." Whatever Ishida said was muffled when he turned his face into Ichigo's mattress, and Ichigo had the strange feeling he'd done it out of embarrassment.

"Don't what?" he asked, curious. When Ishida turned his head again, Ichigo saw that his cheeks were pink and his eyes looked strangely moist.

"Don't stop," he whispered, so softly that Ichigo had to lean down to make sure he heard him. "Please—keep going."

Ishida's words – and the way he said them – hit Ichigo in a way he was sure hadn't been intended. His mouth went dry, his insides tightened up like a twisted rubber band, and for a moment, he felt so dizzy he could have fallen over.

"Right," he replied weakly, reaching down to finish applying salve to the first wound. Even though his heart was still drumming just under his throat, he made himself breathe slowly as he finished coating each claw mark with the ointment. Ichigo tried to keep his hand steady, but it trembled in spite of his efforts, and he kept glancing at Ishida's face to see if he noticed. Ishida's eyes remained half-closed and dreamy, and the only acknowledgements he gave were small hums of approval. When Ichigo finished, Ishida let out a long sigh and relaxed so much that his left arm flopped over the edge of the bed.

"Thank you, Kurosaki," he mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed. "That's—so much better."

Ichigo stared at the prone Quincy. Had Ishida just _thanked him_?

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ichigo asked warily.

"Don't be such a worrywart," Ishida said, half his mouth quirking in a smile. He opened one eye and considered Ichigo, then giggled. "Though you do look pretty funny when you're perturbed." He enunciated the last word carefully, the same way a drunk might speak to a police officer.

Ichigo stared at Ishida in consternation. The 'thank you' had been bad enough, but the giggling? That was downright scary.

"Let me see this," he snorted, grabbing the tonic bottle off the bedside table and squinting at the fine print on the label. It read _Normal use may cause drowsiness and uncharacteristic behavior. Do not operate machinery, practice kidou or propose marriage while under the influence._

"Great," Ichigo grunted, rolling his eyes. Now he not only had to deal with an injured Ishida, but a smiling, giggling Ishida who said weird things. Weird things in a weird voice that did made Ichigo's innards feel—weird.

He set the bottle back on the table and half sat, half collapsed on the floor beside the bed. For the past twenty-four hours, Ichigo had been steam-rollered by circumstances and emotions that he would never have chosen to experience, and this last one – seeing Ishida hurt once again for his sake – least of all. He wanted to close his eyes and just have it all go away, if only for a few minutes, but when he did, his own brain wouldn't leave him alone, tossing around images of Toru and Ishida, of Misa, of Chad, of dancing people and Hollows until he grabbed his hair and let out an inarticulate snarl of frustration.

The feel of fingers brushing against his arm stopped him cold, and he opened his eyes to see that Ishida's hand –the one that had been dangling off the bed – was sliding slowly down his arm. The backs of Ishida's fingers grazing his forearm made Ichigo's skin prickle with an uncomfortable pleasure, and when they went over his wrist and found his hand, they unfolded to cover it.

"You're a strange guy, Kurosaki," Ishida sighed, giving his hand a brief squeeze. "But a good friend."

Ichigo didn't know what possessed him to do it – he had thought he was too stunned by this uncharacteristic action of Ishida's to do anything – but he saw his own hand turning over on his knee so that he was palm to palm with Ishida. Their fingers interlaced as easily as two streams of water flowing together, and Ichigo stared at their clasped hands, not comprehending how Ishida's cool palm could fill him with such heat.

"Ishida—," he started, then stopped. He had no idea what he'd meant to say, and besides, the slim fingers were already loosening in his grasp. He opened his hand, and Ishida's slid away to hang limply over the bed as it had before. Ishida's eyes were closed and the deep, even breaths coming through his parted lips told Ichigo that he had fallen asleep. Ichigo wondered whether Ishida would even remember what he'd done or said when he woke up. He wondered whether he wanted him to or not.

Ichigo let his head fall back against the mattress with a defeated groan. Now that Ishida was totally out of it, there was a chance he could get his stupid jeans off and treat his leg wounds without any of the Quincy's protests or back-talk. He tried to make himself get up and do it, but his body seemed reluctant to obey. He decided to close his eyes, only for a second, and then make himself get up and finish tending to Ishida.

The problem was, the moment Ichigo closed his eyes, he could feel Ishida's hand in his once more, and that same strange heat was warming his body the way hot tea does on a winter day. Not only could he feel the thin fingers closing over his knuckles, but the sensation of Ishida's heart beating against his chest, like when he'd fallen against him, and the flutter of Ishida's breath against his neck. When he inhaled, he could smell the eucalyptus soap on Ishida's skin, and the hint of sweat and coconut in his hair, and his hand was pressing the back of Ishida's head, fingers ruffling the short, silky hair.

This Ishida wasn't half-conscious and fainting, though. This Ishida pressed his lips to Ichigo's ear and whispered things like _don't stop_, and _keep going_, and _that feels good_, and even _please_ in a way that made Ichigo breathe faster and deeper, that made him squirm against that imagined body as heat poured through him and pooled in his stomach and further down. He felt like a pot of water just on the verge of boiling, and he wanted to drag those lips away from his ear and seal them with his own mouth, wanted to push this Ishida down and get on top of him and—.

"Ichigo. Oi, Ichigo!"

The voice was familiar but misplaced. He tried to ignore it, tried to hang on to the fading sensations that had been so urgent a moment before, until something hard connected with his head and rocked it back.

"Oww!" he cried as he jerked awake and lurched to his knees, immediately on the defensive. Before him, a pair of long, black-clad legs were planted, and as his eyes traveled up they took in the orange jacket, the arms crossed over imposing breasts, and an even more imposing golden gaze. "Yo—Yoruichi!" he blinked.

"Ah, you're awake," she said. "I thought I'd have to kick you again." She looked disappointed at that, and Ichigo pushed himself to his feet before she could get any ideas.

"What are you doing here?" Ichigo asked, still partly stunned from the rough awakening. "How did you..."

"Kisuke asked me to come here," she interrupted. "He told me he got some call full of yelling and cursing and figured it had to be you. Is this your emergency?" She nodded over his shoulder, and he turned to see Ishida still asleep on his bed. Yoruichi's entrance – through the window, Ichigo guessed, considering that it was open and the curtains were shifting in the night breeze – hadn't disturbed Ishida. He lay just as he had been, face to the side, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, breathing slow and deep. The salve that Ichigo had plastered over the gashes in his back must have helped because the bleeding had stopped and the skin didn't appear to be inflamed.

"Yeah," Ichigo sighed, settling on a corner of his night stand. "We were fighting a bunch of Hollows and one of 'em snagged him. It took three of us to kill it, so maybe it was almost an Arrancar."

"Hmm." Yoruichi leaned over Ishida, surveying the damage with a look of concern. "He must have lost some blood, with wounds like these," she said, running a fingertip along the edge of the topmost gash.

"No kidding," Ichigo snorted. "Why do you think I called Urahara like that? Ishida ipassed out/i, for fuck's sake, and I didn't know what to do. I gave him some of this," he added, picking up the tonic bottle and waving it at Yoruichi. "Since he's not dead, I suppose it helped."

"Ah, good thinking, Ichigo!" she approved when she saw the bottle. "That blood replenisher is just what he needed. How much did he drink?"

"I dunno," Ichigo shrugged. "Three sips or so, I guess."

"Good enough," Yoruichi directed, lifting one of Ishida's eyelids. "That should repair his blood loss, though he might be weak for a day or so. Were you the one who treated these cuts?" she asked, pointing at Ishida's back.

"You see anyone else in here?" Ichigo snorted.

"Then why," she went on, moving her finger to indicate the wounds apparent through the torn fabric of Ishida's blood-stained pants, "didn't you treat those?"

"Because Ishida wouldn't let me!" Ichigo protested, coming to his feet. "He refused to take his stupid pants off even to let me look at the wounds."

"Oh?" Yoruichi smirked. "Then what's stopping you now?" She tipped her head and peered at Ishida's face. His mouth was slightly open, and there was a small, damp spot beneath his face where he'd drooled on Ichigo's bedspread. "If he took three doses of Kisuke's blood tonic, he'll sleep like that for hours. You could do whatever you like to him, and he wouldn't be any wiser," she said, grinning in a way that made Ichigo very uncomfortable. "Treating these leg wounds now will be easy. See?"

Before Ichigo could say anything, Yoruichi had pulled a small blade from one of her leg guards, and in two swift motions, sliced open Ishida's tattered jeans. When she leaned down to peel them away, she began to chuckle.

"What?" Ichigo demanded warily. "What's wrong?"

"Maybe this is why he wouldn't take his pants off for you, hmm?" Yoruichi laughed, tugging off what was left of Ishida's jeans and tossing them to the floor. "Who'd have thought 'Ishida Uryuu, Quincy' would be going commando? Not me!"

Ichigo felt the blood drain from his face as Yoruichi stepped aside to reveal a now completely naked Ishida sprawled on his bed. Ichigo's conscience told him not to look, but his eyes were already locked on Ishida's long, pale legs, and it was impossible not to follow them up to their point of origin.

"Who knew such a skinny guy could have an ass like this, eh, Ichigo?" Yoruichi grinned, reaching down to give one smooth cheek an affectionate pat. "Mmh, nice and firm, too," she went on, adding a pinch.

"Stop that!" Ichigo squawked, feeling the blood rush back to his face, and other places as well. "You can't just touch people like that without their consent!"

"Why not?" she challenged. "We just took his pants off without his consent, didn't we? You said he didn't want these wounds treated, but we're going to do that, too. How is this," she asked, playfully cupping the curve of one cheek, "any different than that?"

"_It just is!_" Ichigo yelled, clenching his fists. "If you're going to treat his wounds, then just do it, and stop—_playing_ with him like that!"

"You're as boring as ever," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine, go get a towel or something so we can clean him up then."

"Don't do anything perverted to him while I'm gone," Ichigo growled, heading back to the bathroom.

"Did you have anything specific in mind?" Yoruichi teased. "Or did you just want me to wait until you get back?"

Ichigo gritted his teeth and restrained himself both from responding the way he'd have liked to and from slamming the door. He rinsed and wrung out two hand towels in the bathroom sink and started back, then saw Ishida's glasses lying on the floor and stooped to retrieve them. He might not be awake now, but Ichigo imagined that when Ishida did come to, they would be the first things he'd look for.

When he got back to his room, Yoruichi was examining the gashes on the backs of Ishida's thighs.

"These aren't as serious as the ones on his back," she said, reaching up to grab a towel from Ichigo. "Good thing, too. If his tendons had been cut, he'd be in for some serious healing. Tessai could do it, but Ishida would have to be in Karakura for a few days." Yoruichi poured some of Urahara's wound cleaner on the towel and ran it over the cuts. "As it is, he'll just have a hard time sitting down for a day or two. Here," she said, tossing Ichigo the jar of healing salve as she moved on to the middle of the three gashes. "You put the salve on. Treat them just like you did the ones on his back."

"Right," Ichigo said weakly, because the topmost wound across Ishida's legs started on the lower curve of his left buttock. He scooped up a large amount of the ointment and closed his eyes as he applied the stuff, but it didn't help. Not staring at Ishida's ass didn't mean not imagining it, and as his fingers slid over firm muscle and smooth skin, tracing the path of the cut, Ichigo found he couldn't think of anything _but_ Ishida's ass.

"Careful," Yoruichi warned. "Better open your eyes or those greasy fingers of yours will end up where they aren't supposed to be."

Ichigo did open his eyes, but only to glare at Yoruichi. "Not everyone's the same kind of pervert you are," he huffed.

"You really are a boring man," she laughed, shaking her purple ponytail off her shoulder as she finished cleaning Ishida's leg wounds and put away the bottle. "How is it a person with no sense of humor has any friends, I wonder?"

"Not everyone shares your sense of humor, either, thank god," Ichigo snapped back, studiously dabbing the salve on Ishida's legs and looking absolutely nowhere else. He was pretty sure Ishida wouldn't have found Yoruichi's antics amusing, either.

"Too bad," Yoruichi grinned, standing up and reaching into her jacket. "Here," she said, pulling out a small bottle of pills. There was a skull and crossbones on the label. "When Ishida wakes up, make him take these till they're gone."

"You want me to give him something with a label like that?" Ichigo said, eyeing the bottle. "What makes you think he'll take them? Ishida isn't stupid, you know."

"You took them when Kisuke told you to," she grinned, "so I guess that makes _you_ stupid. These are the same pills he gave you after Byakuya nearly killed you that time, fool," she advised, bonking him on the head with the bottle. "There are twelve pills in here. One per hour from the time he wakes up. He should be fine after that."

"Yeah, I remember," Ichigo grumbled, wiping his hands on a towel before taking the bottle from her and setting it beside Ishida's folded glasses. Ishida had barely moved during the entire time they had worked on him. In fact, he had started to snore very slightly, and this gave Ichigo a small sense of relief. He knew Ishida would probably have a fit when he woke up and found his jeans gone and his wounds treated, but the less he knew about how it had happened – especially about Yoruichi's part in it – the better.

"So much for your emergency," Yoruichi sighed. "I came because I thought it might be exciting, but it turns out you are all very dull people. Next time," she warned him, "don't scream 'emergency' until someone is spouting blood from an artery or missing a limb."

Ichigo winced involuntarily at that last bit, and his eyes darted to Ishida. His left hand was there at the end of his arm, his curled fingers almost grazing the floor, but it took a moment before Ichigo could banish the image of Ishida lying half-dead in Hueco Mundo with a blood-stained, empty sleeve.

"You should lie down, Ichigo," Yoruichi said, eyeing him critically as she strode to the window to take her leave. "You look nearly as bad as Ishida. Some sleep might improve your sense of humor, you know?" She paused as she stepped onto the windowsill and looked back at Ishida, then at Ichigo. "That bed looks big enough for two," she winked, and then she was gone.

"Asshole," he muttered to the curtains fluttering in her wake, but he couldn't deny her words. He was tired. And the bed was big enough for two. His crazy father had insisted that no one could get a 'proper' university education with only a single bed. Ichigo had told him his old bed was fine, but when this one had been sent over the day Ichigo and Ishida moved into their apartment, he'd given up and accepted delivery. Not that it had done him much good. He remembered Ishida raising his eyebrows at the unwieldy mattress as he'd struggled to get it into his room. "Expecting lots of company, Kurosaki?" he'd asked in an arch tone. Ichigo wondered if Ishida would remember that when he woke up.

Ichigo watched Ishida lying there on that same mattress, the red of his wounds now covered in healing salve, his lashes like tiny black feathers on his cheek, his bare legs slightly spread, his ass—.

Ichigo took a breath and turned away. The mere thought of lying down next to this naked, sleeping Ishida was as terrifying as the prospect of waking up beside him; assuming, of course, that he _did_ wake up. Ichigo strongly suspected that Ishida would open his eyes, figure out what had happened, and fire an arrow right into his snoring mouth.

And he would probably deserve it, too. Ichigo scraped the back of his hand across his face and looked down at himself. He was still in his spirit form wearing Shinigami robes. He wondered what had happened to Chad and to his body. Glancing back at Ishida, he went to his closet, pulled out an extra sheet and used it to cover him from the waist down. Ichigo thought it might make it easier to watch Ishida as he slept, but as the light cotton settled slowly over his body and into the valley between his legs, Ichigo felt his mouth go dry and knew it was a lost cause. He flicked off the light as he left his bedroom and closed the door without looking back.

In the living room, he discovered Chad stretched out full length on the couch with his feet hanging over the edge, dead to the world. Ichigo figured his friend must have arrived sometime between when he'd fallen asleep against the bed and when Yoruichi had come in through the window. He thought about waking Chad, if only to get him into a more comfortable position or send him into Ishida's room, but even fast asleep the guy looked totally exhausted so Ichigo left him alone.

Ichigo found both his wallet and his body in the kitchen, the wallet placed in the middle of the table, his body seated in a chair and slumped over the edge. Normally he didn't hesitate about getting back into his body, but this time he frowned at his limp, angular form.

"You're an idiot," he told himself. "You know that, right?" Predictably, his body didn't answer, and for the briefest of moments, Ichigo actually found himself missing Kon. If Kon had been inside his body, he would certainly have said or done something annoying and Ichigo could have had the satisfaction of smashing his own stupid face in, and then feeling it later. Pummeling an empty body – even if it was his own – just wasn't satisfying. "Idiot," he muttered again before sitting down into himself.

Even if his body had gotten more of a rest than he had, Ichigo still felt incredibly tired. Chad was taking up the whole sofa, and Ishida was in his bed. The chair he was sitting in was uncomfortable, and the floor didn't look particularly inviting. That left only one option. He rose and went to Ishida's room.

Except for two or three shirts and a white belt discarded on the foot of the bed, the room was neat and clean. It looked like the room of a model university student. It certainly didn't look like it could have hosted the scene of wild abandon from the night before.

Ichigo ordered himself to stop thinking about it. He should have been too worn out to think about it, and he pushed it from his mind as he pulled off his jacket, flicked off the light, and stretched himself carefully onto Ishida's bed. He closed his eyes, shifted his head on Ishida's pillow and tried to get comfortable. It wasn't easy. Ishida's pillow was softer than he liked, the coverlet was a satiny cotton instead of his more familiar worn blanket, and the mattress was much firmer than he was used to. Ichigo supposed it would have to be to support the kind of activity it had been subjected to last night.

"Stop it!" he growled at himself, banging a fist against his forehead. "Stop. Thinking. About it." With a dissatisfied grunt, Ichigo turned over onto his stomach, buried his face in the pillow, and begged for sleep to come.

It didn't. The moment he turned his face into the pillow, he was enveloped in Ishida's scent; not just the coconut smell of his shampoo, but everything: the skin that smelled like he'd just stepped out of the ocean, the warmth of that place where his hair met his neck, the mint toothpaste he used, the green tea he drank, even the murky tang of his blood, and threading it all together was the scent of cooling sweat and the faint musk of sex.

"No," Ichigo moaned, unable to stop the rush of images spilling into his brain – Ishida rocking under Buff/Toru with his mouth gasping and his hair swaying, Ishida dancing at the club, Ishida watching _Love & Death_ with his boyfriend's brown hand on his bare, white stomach, Ishida glaring at him in the park, Ishida panting with bloody stripes across his back, Ishida collapsed against him on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, Ishida thrown onto his back and moaning _Oh! Oh! Ohh!_ as Buff/Toru fucked him and worked his cock with his big, tanned fist.

Ichigo whimpered because his blood was pounding in his head and his chest, and pounding even harder between his legs. He didn't _want_ to be hard, but oh god, he was and he couldn't stop himself from lifting his hips to shove his hand down his jeans and into his briefs.

"Oh fuck!" he gasped, because his dick felt like a piece of iron right out of a furnace, and he wondered why the moisture dripping from his slit hadn't turned to steam. He made a fist around the head and pushed into it with a groan, pulled back, and started pumping his hips with a hard, hot urgency.

For once, he didn't try to stop the images, didn't try to deny them as he panted into Ishida's pillow, breathing in his scent, imagining Ishida with his head thrown back and his white throat stretched out like an offering. Only this time, it wasn't Buff/Toru making him thrash and moan, it was him, Ichigo. Ichigo sweating and panting over Ishida's sleek back as he thrust against that perfect ass, Ichigo spreading those long, lean legs and sheathing himself between them, and Ichigo's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking hard and fast until Ishida's stomach muscles clenched, bending him nearly double as he cried out _Ah! Ah, Kurosaki!_ and shot stream after stream of milky come to splatter his quivering belly and drip from Ichigo's fist.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Ichigo screamed into the pillow as his own cock erupted, pouring sticky warmth into his fist as his orgasm shuddered through him, leaving him gasping. He lay like that, face down and breathing hard, until the echoes of his release slowly faded and his hips stopped trembling.

His dick was relaxing and his come was cooling on his hand when he shifted just enough to flop onto his back and stare at the spinning darkness below the ceiling. He had just climaxed while fantasizing about Ishida, and he couldn't remember ever coming harder in his life.

"Fuck," Ichigo whimpered one more time, closing his eyes and turning his face away. "I am so fucked."


	7. 7: In Which Ichigo Figures It Out

Ichigo/Ishida, m/m (NC17 overall, but this chapter's only a PG)

"Ichigo, are you awake?"

He hadn't been, but at the sound of his name, Ichigo opened his eyes, his unremembered dream evaporating from his brain. He blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings, at the light filling the room from a different direction, and then remembered where he was – Ishida's room; Ishida's bed – and why.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting straight up before he was fully conscious and rubbing his palms over his face. His eyes hurt, his hair was stiff and his whole body felt uncomfortably sticky – one specific area more so than anywhere else.

"Ichigo?" Chad had opened the door and poked his head in. When he saw that Ichigo was moving, Chad pushed the door open wider and straightened up. Even though he was wearing the same clothes as the night before and his hair resembled an owl's nest, he didn't look nearly as bad as Ichigo felt.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," Ichigo answered, clearing his throat and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and blinked at his friend. "You okay, Chad?"

"I'm good," Chad nodded. "I didn't want to wake you, but I have to get going. The band's supposed to be heading back to Karakura at noon."

"Crap," Ichigo groaned. "Is it that late?" He squinted at the window. The dusty light was muted by the blue-gray curtains, but it didn't feel like afternoon.

Chad shook his head. "No, but it's almost 10:00 am, and the hotel is back in the club district. I wasn't sure how long it would take me to get there from here."

"It won't take more than twenty minutes if I drive you," Ichigo grunted as he got to his feet. Now that he was standing, his jeans and briefs felt even more uncomfortable, and the awful thought crossed his mind that he might have left stains on Ishida's bed. He turned back, ostensibly to re-tuck the covers and straighten the pillows but actually to check for any sticky or discolored areas. He sighed in relief when he found none.

"You have a car here?" Chad sounded surprised. Everything was so close to the university, and parking was always such a nightmare that except for bicycles and mopeds, most students didn't bother with personal vehicles.

"I don't," Ichigo admitted, "but Ishida does. He didn't really want one, but his dad made him take it. He mostly just keeps it parked in the garage. He won't mind if I use it to drive you back."

"Are you sure?" Chad's tone was uncertain.

"After all the crap I put you through yesterday," Ichigo snorted, "it's the least I can do. Really. Did you have any trouble getting home last night?"

"It was no problem," Chad shrugged, stepping back into the hallway as Ichigo came out. "A few weird looks from people was all."

"Yeah, well, this is a university town. Guys toting their drunk friends home isn't that uncommon a sight," Ichigo explained. Standing in the hallway, he plucked at his t-shirt and sniffed it. He desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes. Of course, to accomplish that, he'd have to go to his room. The room where Ishida was occupying Ichigo's bed, naked except for a sheet. Ichigo gnawed on his lower lip and stared down the hall.

"Did you check on Ishida?" he asked Chad.

"Yeah," his friend nodded. "Not that I meant to, though. I didn't realize you had switched rooms for the night." Something in Chad's voice made Ichigo peer at him. It was hard to tell because of his skin color, but it almost looked like Chad was blushing.

"Is he okay?" Ichigo wanted to know. "Has he woken up?"

Chad shook his head. "He didn't even move when I opened the door. He was so quiet, I had to go in to make sure he was still breathing." Ichigo's expression must have shown alarm, because Chad quickly added "Don't worry, he was. I could see his eyes moving, too. He's just in a deep sleep."

"Must be from that tonic," Ichigo sighed. "Yoruichi said he'd probably be weak for a day or so."

"Yoruichi was here?" Chad's eyes were wide with surprise, and Ichigo remembered that Chad must have already been asleep on the couch when that happened.

"It was more like a 'fly-by'," Ichigo said, "but yeah, she was. She brought some medicine for Ishida. I'll tell you more about it when I drive you back, but let me take a shower first, okay? I'll be fast, I promise."

"No problem," Chad nodded. He looked back toward the kitchen. "Is it all right if I make some tea?"

"Sure, help yourself to anything you find." He considered warning Chad away from Ishida's energy bars, but hell, if Chad wanted one, Ichigo would take the heat for it. After all, it was just Ishida. He could deal with that, right?

If it was 'just Ishida', though, Ichigo wondered why he was still standing in the hallway, reluctant to go to his room for a change of clothes. He flirted with the idea of showering and putting his dirty clothes back on, then scowled at his own trepidation. What the hell was he afraid of? It was only a few paces to his door, but he paused outside it, listening. Hearing nothing, he pushed it open and slipped in, then realized why Chad had probably been blushing.

Ishida was still asleep on Ichigo's bed, just as he'd left him – left arm dangling over the side, hair falling over his face – except for one small matter: he'd kicked off the sheet Ichigo had draped over him and was lying there bare-assed naked.

"Fuck," Ichigo groaned, letting his head thump against the doorframe. Clenching his jaw, he crept into his room as quietly as possible, praying it wouldn't disturb the sleeping Quincy. Seeing Ishida naked was one thing. Ishida _knowing_ that Ichigo had seen him naked was another, especially if the guy woke up right then. He paused at the bedside to make sure Ishida was breathing – he was – and to see if he could pull the sheet back over him. It was tangled around his feet, and Ichigo doubted he could unknot it without waking Ishida. If nothing else, though, it gave him a chance to check the wounds on Ishida's back and legs once more. He was glad to see they weren't bleeding and didn't appear infected.

Moving cautiously, Ichigo went to his closet, slid open the door and grabbed the first shirt and pair of jeans that came to hand. He cracked the top drawer of the built-in just enough to tug out socks and underwear, wadded it all up under one arm, and made for the door. As he turned the knob, he paused to look back at the lithe, pale figure sprawled on his bed.

He imagined for a moment that this sight was not out of the ordinary, that finding Ishida stretched nude on his bed – sleeping or otherwise – was something to be expected. Anticipated. That instead of Ishida lying there because he was wounded and unable to be moved, he was there because he wanted to be. Because he was waiting for Ichigo. Because he belonged there.

Frowning, Ichigo slipped out into the hallway and went immediately to the bathroom. By the time he had stripped off his clothes and climbed into the shower, he was hard. Glaring down at himself, he turned the cold water on full blast and braced for the icy deluge. It spilled over him like a waterfall, so cold it took his breath away, but his erection didn't waver.

"Stupid," Ichigo growled at it, grabbing a scrub cloth and soaping his body. He decided to ignore the situation – both his dick and the thoughts and images that were making it beg for attention – and by the time he shut the shower off and shook the water out of his hair, his erection had slackened enough that he could dry off and get dressed. He was zipping his pants up over the modest bulge that remained as he walked out of the bathroom.

"You ready?" he asked Chad as he came into the kitchen, pulling his t-shirt over his head. Chad, who was sitting at the table in front of a teapot and two cups, nodded and pushed his chair back.

"I poured you some tea," he offered, but Ichigo shook his head, opened their small fridge and pulled out an energy drink.

"Thanks," he said, popping the tab, "but I don't think we've got time if you need to be at the hotel before noon."

Chad grunted in agreement and rose. Ichigo snagged Ishida's car keys from the hook by the door as he slugged back a good third of the drink, hoping it would help clear his head. Once he and Chad had their shoes on, he locked the door and led the way to the street.

"The garage is about a block from here," Ichigo told Chad, stopping in front of a doughnut shop. The aroma coming from the bakery -- yeast, warm dough, and chocolate -- made his stomach rumble, and he eyed the racks of fresh pastries through the glass window. "Hey, Chado, you hungry?"

"I could eat," Chad allowed. Ichigo figured that was an understatement. If he was hungry, Chad was probably starving. "Do we have time?"

"Yeah, this'll be quick," Ichigo nodded. He handed his drink to Chad, ducked inside the shop and ordered two bags of mixed doughnuts. Back on the street, he traded Chad one of the bags for his drink, and they set off down the block. He pulled out a pastry without looking to see what kind it was and bit into it as they walked. Whatever it was had a warm chocolate filling, and he gave a small groan of pleasure as he ate. The taste of the chocolate spreading on his tongue made him feel better than he had all weekend, and when he'd swallowed the last bite, it filled more than his stomach. .

"Ichigo, why so many?" Chad asked, peering into the bag. "Even I can't eat a dozen."

"Well," Ichigo said, poking through his bag for another chocolate doughnut, "I figured you could share them with your band."

"What about you?" Chad asked, pulling out a roll glazed with honey and biting into it. "Are you going to eat all those?"

"If they were all chocolate," Ichigo laughed, biting into his second one, "then I just might. But I figured Uryuu might be hungry, too, right?"

Chad didn't say anything for a moment, and when Ichigo peeked at him, he looked like he was trying to work out a math problem in his head.

"When did you start calling him 'Uryuu'?" Chad wondered.

"I don't," Ichigo frowned. "I never have."

"You just did," Chad pointed out.

"Here's the garage," Ichigo said, changing the subject. Had he really called Ishida 'Uryuu'? Why would he have done that? Ishida had always been 'Ishida' to him. He shoved that troubling thought to the back of his mind as they marched up to the second floor to find the car.

"Is that it?" Chad asked, peering at the tag on the key and then nodding toward a grey sedan in slot 179. Ichigo pressed the keyless entry remote. The car's lights flashed and the doors unlocked.

"That's it," he agreed. "C'mon." It took the two of them a few minutes to get the seats moved back far enough for Ichigo to drive and for Chad to sit without having to rest his chin on his knees, but soon they were pulling out of the garage and onto the street.

"Car's nice," Chad commented, examining the interior. On the outside, the vehicle was unremarkable, resembling any of the millions of practical sedan clones jamming the streets of Japan every day. The inside of the car was a different matter: leather seats with deep, firm upholstery, state of the art instrument panels, and a high-end sound system. "Look, it even has GPS," he said, gliding a fingertip over the screen to the left of the steering wheel.

"Why do you think it stays parked?" Ichigo snorted, flipping on the turn signal to take a right. "That navigation system works as a locator, too. Ishida'd rather walk five miles than let his father know where he goes."

Chad looked thoughtful as he consumed another doughnut, leaning over the open bag so he wouldn't get crumbs in the spotless interior. "Hmm. Ishida doesn't have a very close relationship with his father, does he?"

"That's one way to put it," Ichigo remarked. "My dad may be a nutcase, but Ishida's old man is a real piece of work."

Chad chewed in silence for a moment, then gave Ichigo a considering look.

"What?" Ichigo asked, somewhat disconcerted by Chad's focus.

"I know it's none of my business," he frowned, "but… Ichigo, is there something going on between you and Ishida?"

Ichigo automatically clenched his fingers on the steering wheel at Chad's words. He felt like the cold water he'd endured in the shower was pouring through him instead of over him.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Why would you ask something like that?" If it had been anyone else, Ichigo would have told him to keep his nose out of his business, but this was Chad. He couldn't lie to Chad, and his friend wouldn't have believed him if he'd tried. Answering with another question was the best he could do.

If Chad was perturbed by Ichigo's outburst, though, he didn't show it. "There just seems to be a lot of tension between you two," he offered. "More than usual, that is."

There was certainly no point in denying that. Ichigo forced himself to relax his grip on the wheel and exhaled with a small, rueful laugh. "You really do have a gift for understatement, you know that?"

Chad said nothing as Ichigo stopped the car for a light. He drummed his fingers on the wheel as the people using the crosswalk paraded in front of him: men and women talking on cell phones and carrying shopping bags, mixed groups of teens with bright clothes and even brighter hair, a mother pushing her lolling infant in a stroller. A couple sauntered by, hand in hand, both wearing small, secretive smiles. They were almost past before Ichigo realized with a pang that they were both guys. He couldn't name the feeling that twisted below his heart as they went by, but he was afraid it was something close to envy.

The light changed and Ichigo eased the car forward, a warning to the trailing pedestrians hurrying across the street, then accelerated. They were getting close to the club district, and Ichigo drove slowly, keeping an eye out for the band's hotel. It was a good enough excuse for not looking over at Chad.

"Nothing's going on between me and Ishida," Ichigo finally told him. He paused a moment, took a deep breath and then added "The thing is... what if I wanted there to be?"

Chad was quiet, and Ichigo kept his eyes trained forward, not daring to even glance at his friend. When Chad spoke, though, he didn't sound surprised or troubled. "Do you?" was all he asked.

There was a tightness in Ichigo's chest as he considered that question, daring to confront it head on for the first time.

"Yeah," he confessed, feeling the tension in his heart unwind only to recoil in his stomach. "Yeah, I think I do."

Chad did saying anything for a moment. He crumpled the top of the doughnut bag and folded it down. "What about Ishida?" he finally asked. "Is that what he wants?"

"Fuck if I know," Ichigo snorted. "It's not like I've said anything to him. Hell, I only just admitted it to myself."

"You should talk to him, then," Chad said. He sounded as if it was a perfectly reasonable option.

"Right," Ichigo scoffed. "Little problem there: Ishida's already got a boyfriend. Or did you somehow miss that muscle-bound gym-rat who couldn't keep his paws off him last night?" Just the thought of Buff/Toru/whatever-his-name-was made Ichigo grit his teeth.

"Are you sure about that?" Chad threw him a dubious look. "Ishida didn't introduce him as his boyfriend."

"Trust me," Ichigo grunted, thinking of what he'd seen the two of them doing. "They're pretty damn close."

"I still think you should talk to him," Chad insisted, then straightened in his seat. "Hey, there's the hotel."

"Shit," Ichigo griped, craning his neck around to check the lane beside him. "I can't get over. That jerk in the red Daiwoo is blocking me. I'll have to go around the block and come back." They didn't speak as Ichigo maneuvered through traffic, honking to be let over so he could make the turn. Ichigo sighed as they rounded the block and headed back to the hotel. "You make it sound simple, Chad, but it isn't," he tried to explain. "It's the whole 'roommate/friend' thing, you know? I don't want to screw that up. I don't want to lose what I've got." Even as he said it, Ichigo was frightened to realize just how much he _didn't_ want to lose Ishida; that the idea of him not being there left a hollow feeling in his chest.

"But when you moved down here, didn't you worry that just sharing an apartment with Ishida would hurt your friendship?" Chad pointed out.

"I guess," Ichigo scowled, trying to remember. "The two of us always argued so much anyway, maybe I thought it wouldn't really matter?"

They got to the hotel before Ichigo could say anything more, and he guided the car onto the ramp leading up to the entrance.

"Wow, I was expecting something a lot grungier," Ichigo remarked, shifting the gear to 'Park' and peering through the glass doors into the lobby. "You guys must be doing better than I thought."

"We're only here because Shigeo's uncle is a hotel executive," Chad shrugged, unhitching his seatbelt. "He had some free room vouchers, that's all."

"Still looks pretty sweet," Ichigo opined. "You'd have slept a lot better here than on that awful couch we've got."

"I didn't mind," Chad told him with a smile, and the thing was, Ichigo knew he was telling the truth. It only made Ichigo feel worse, though.

"I've been a crappy friend this weekend," he admitted. "I didn't even tell you how great the show was. Your band—damn, Chado, you know you're a rock star, right? We should have been out celebrating last night and instead…" Ichigo trailed off, thinking of everything his friend had put up with the night before. The image of Misa and her friends tugging at the big guy like dogs fighting over a chew toy was foremost in his mind. "Shit, Chad," he groaned, knocking his forehead on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry. Especially about those girls. And the Hollows. And you having to drag my body across town."

"It's no problem," Chad smiled as he got out and stretched. Even with the seat all the way back, Ichigo figured he'd still been cramped. "I'm happy I got to see you. Ishida, too." He leaned down to grab the bag of doughnuts, looked at Ichigo and his expression sobered.

"Ichigo, what you said about not wanting to mess things up with Ishida?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't you think that _not_ saying anything to Ishida might mess things up, too?"

Ichigo hadn't considered that possibility. His scowl deepened as he remembered how he'd acted and felt the night before, and he looked away.

"Think about it," Chad advised. He offered his right hand and Ichigo automatically caught it. They gripped wrists – brothers in arms, as always – then let go. "Call me if... you know," Chad said as he shut the car door, waved and then strode toward the gleaming glass and metal entrance where a doorman bowed him in. Ichigo sat staring after his friend until one of the cars waiting behind him began to honk.

"Asshole," he grumbled, putting the car in gear and flipping the driver off as he headed back into the street. His bag of doughnuts was between his legs on the floor and when the traffic cleared, he ducked down to haul the bag up into the passenger seat. He groped around inside, searching for another chocolate doughnut – something to fill up that place that hollowed out between his ribs when he thought of not having Ishida around – but it was hard to guess flavor by feel. He pulled out something soft and sugar-dusted and bit into, only to find it filled with jam. Not bad, but not what he needed. He ate it anyway, and then another random pastry – something heavy with cinnamon and fried – hoping it would make him feel better. Instead, they sat like wads of cardboard in his stomach.

Unwilling to be alone with his thoughts, he punched the radio on, but the only stations he could find were talking or playing crappy music. He thumbed a different button every thirty seconds or so, changing stations all the way back to the garage. By the time he parked the car and turned the key, choking off a dj in mid-rant, he was thoroughly annoyed. As he reached over to get what was left of the bag of doughnuts, he noticed that despite their best efforts – or Chad's, at least – there were crumbs all over the seats and floor.

"Shit," he grumbled. Ichigo started to sweep out the flakes of pastry with his hands, but they kept getting caught in the seams of the upholstery. Growling in frustration, he gave up and slammed the door, jamming the keys in his pocket as he strode back to the apartment. Ishida would bitch and yell at him about messing up the car, but so what? Ishida bitching at him was normal. He could deal with that.

It was the idea of Ishida not being there to bitch at him that he couldn't handle.


	8. 8: Ichigo Hits the Learning Curve

Ichigo hadn't really expected Ishida to be up and moving around by the time he got back to the apartment, but the fact that he wasn't was beginning to bother him. There was no sound of movement coming from the bedrooms or bath, and when he dropped the crumpled bag of doughnuts on the kitchen table, the teacups were sitting just as Chad had left them, one empty, one full. No matter how injured he was, if Ishida had been up the teacups would have been washed and put on the draining board by the sink. The dumbass was just that obsessive.

Slumping into the nearest chair, Ichigo pulled out another doughnut and chewed on it while he considered his options. Maybe Ishida was still asleep because that was what he needed? Yoruichi had said something about him being weak for a day or two, so maybe this was normal and Ichigo should just let Ishida wake up on his own? On the other hand, Yoruichi had left that medicine, and the longer Ishida waited to take it, the longer it would take for his wounds to completely heal. Ichigo sighed and dropped the half-eaten doughnut back in the bag.

"Nothing for it," he grumbled, snagging a bottle of water from the fridge before making his way down the hall to wake up Ishida. He paused in front of his bedroom door, listening just to make sure, then turned the knob and peered in. The last time Ichigo had checked, when he'd sneaked in to get his clothes, Ishida had been prone on the bed with the sheet tangled around his feet. Now the sheet was kicked off completely, and Ishida lay on his side facing the door. His arms were drawn close to his chest and his knees were bent, as if he'd gotten cold and tried to curl up but hadn't quite made it.

"Shit," Ichigo groaned, feeling his gut tighten. He took in Ishida's face relaxed in sleep, the scar on his chest, the inward curve of his stomach, and then stopped himself from looking any further. It wasn't like he hadn't already seen Ishida intimately, but that had been an accident – at least at first. Examining Ishida's nakedness now while he was unconscious and Ichigo wasn't treating his wounds – it just seemed wrong. Besides, he could already feel his blood warming and the last thing he needed was to deal with Ishida while fighting off a boner. Frowning, he stepped into his room, set the water on the nightstand, snatched the discarded sheet off the floor and tossed it over his roommate's sleeping form.

"Ishida," Ichigo called as the sheet settled over him. "Hey, Ishida, wake up." When he didn't stir, Ichigo leaned over the Quincy and peered at him. While he didn't exactly glow with health, Ichigo thought his color was better. There were bluish circles under his eyes, but at least his lips were pink instead of bloodless like they'd been last night.

As he stared at Ishida's mouth, Ichigo realized he'd never looked at him this closely before. He'd never noticed how Ishida's upper lip was curved like a bow, or how long his lashes were – how could he with those glasses always in the way? – or how the skin on Ishida's shoulder was as flawless as a new sheet of paper, no freckles or pimples or anything to mar the smooth surface. Ichigo was struck with the desire to reach out and stroke a finger over that perfect skin and he clenched his fist to restrain himself.

"Blast it, Ishida, would you wake the hell up?" Ichigo ordered in a louder voice. He could have shaken him, but for that he'd have to loosen his fist and touch Ishida, and he wasn't sure he trusted himself to do that. "Ishida," he growled again, his patience fraying. He leaned closer, intending to yell in his roommate's ear, but then Ishida shifted slightly and gave a small, muffled grunt. He rocked his head and frowned, drew in a deep breath and released it in a sigh.

"...mmhichigo…" he murmured through lips that barely moved, and Ichigo froze at the sound of his name.

"What—what did you say?" That one sentence did what calling Ishida's name several times had not. Ishida's eyes flew open, staring straight ahead. He blinked twice and turned his head, confused blue irises trying to focus on the face above him.

"Well, finally," Ichigo snorted right before a fist collided with his face and pain blossomed in his nose. The blow shot sparks through his head and sent him reeling back, off balance. When his vision cleared and his head stopped spinning, he found himself sitting on the floor, clutching part of a sheet in one hand and holding his nose with the other. For a split second, Ichigo couldn't figure out what had happened until he saw Ishida crouched on the bed with wild, staring eyes and one balled fist.

"You hit me!" Ichigo accused, noticing his voice now had a disturbing nasal quality. "What the hell, Ishida? You freaking _hit me_!"

"You—," Ishida stammered, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to speak but didn't have any words. His eyes were more than confused; they were outright panicked, and Ichigo wondered how just waking the guy up could have set him off like that. "What were you doing hanging over me like that?" Ishida demanded, finding his voice once more.

"I was trying to wake you up, you idiot!" Ichigo yelled.

"Well, you were too close!" Ishida yelled back.

"You didn't have to hit me, you freak," Ichigo grumbled, gingerly pressing his nose. He was surprised there was no blood when he took his hand away. Hell, he was surprised his nose wasn't broken considering how hard he'd been whacked, and he glared up at Ishida, preparing to tell him so. Ichigo opened his mouth but never got a word out.

Ishida was still kneeling on Ichigo's bed looking angry and bewildered; too angry and bewildered, apparently, to notice that the sheet had fallen and he was completely naked. Ichigo noticed it, though, and this time he couldn't make himself look away. Not when Ishida was crouched there with his tousled hair and his frightened wild animal eyes, with his muscles tensed, and his stomach moving up and down with each breath, and his dick half-hard and practically pointing at Ichigo.

He was staring. He couldn't _stop_ staring. The sudden pressure in his head, his chest, and his groin made it hard to breathe, and his tongue felt thick and clumsy, like a slab of meat too big for his mouth.

"Y—You," Ichigo finally managed to stammer after swallowing the saliva that was filling his mouth. "You're, uhh…."

Ishida narrowed his eyes at Ichigo the way he always did before he let fly with some jibe or insult, but whatever expression Ichigo wore stopped him. The blue eyes went from angry to suspicious and then widened in realization as Ishida glanced down at himself.

"Uwaaahh!" Ishida screamed, grabbing at the trailing sheet and yanking it out of Ichigo's grip as he wrapped it around his body. Ishida's coloring improved dramatically as he blushed bright pink, the flush extending all the way down to his chest. Ichigo saw that Ishida was shaking as he knotted the sheet like a sarong and then fumbled instinctively at the bedside table for his glasses, knocking over the bottle of medicine and a box of tissues in the process. Ishida seemed like he was about to go into a seizure, and Ichigo pushed himself to his knees, the pain in his nose forgotten, ready to grab the guy if he fell over. It was only when Ishida pushed his glasses on and focused his hot gaze back on Ichigo that he realized Ishida wasn't trembling with weakness, but with rage.

"Kurosaki," he growled through gritted teeth, "why the hell am I _naked_?"

"Because we had to treat the wounds on your legs and butt, dumbass," Ichigo retorted. "And we had to take your jeans off to do it. It's not my fault you decided to blow off wearing underwear last night – believe me, if you had been, we'd have left them on."

"I told you those wounds weren't serious!" Ishida protested. "I told you—wait a minute." Ishida paused and gave Ichigo a wary look. "Why did you say _we_?"

Ichigo opened his mouth then closed it. He'd hoped he could get away without telling Ishida all the details from the night before, but it seemed like he wouldn't be that lucky.

"You mean someone else was here? That someone else—saw me…"

"Uhm," Ichigo stalled, vaguely fascinated by how quickly Ishida's attitude was going from wrathful to apprehensive.

"Chad." Ishida grasped the name like a life preserver. "It was Chad, wasn't it? It had to be."

"It wasn't Chad." Ichigo found himself taking an odd sort of pleasure in Ishida's growing discomfort. Busting the Quincy's chops didn't feel good, exactly, but it felt _normal_ and that was something.

"Then—who?" Ishida asked weakly.

Ichigo leaned over and retrieved the bottle of pills from where they'd fallen on the floor. "Yoruichi," he answered, setting the pills back on the little table. "Urahara sent her over with these after I called him."

"You mean, Yoruichi-san—?"

"Cut your jeans off you?" Ichigo offered. "Cleaned all the wounds below your waist? Saw you bare-ass naked? Yeah, she did. But don't worry," Ichigo smirked, pushing himself to his feet. "She was very complimentary."

All the color fled from Ishida's face as quickly as it had appeared. He wavered on the bed as if he might fall over in a faint, but when Ichigo reached a hand to steady him, Ishida knocked it away with a snarl.

"You're the worst, Kurosaki!" Ishida panted, his eyes so crazed that Ichigo almost regretted teasing him like that. "The absolute worst! Why didn't you stop her?"

"Stop Yoruichi? Right, Ishida," Ichigo snorted. "Who do I look like, God?"

"You could have tried!" Ishida raged.

"You know what?" Ichigo said, straightening up and crossing his arms. "I didn't particularly _want_ to stop her. Just because you weren't hamstrung doesn't mean those wounds aren't serious, and you're fooling yourself if you think you could have doctored them on your own. Besides, if you hadn't been so damn stubborn and just let me tend them in the first place, you wouldn't have Yoruichi's handprints all over your ass."

"God, Kurosaki," Ishida moaned, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his ears, "will you just shut up?" He actually looked ill, like he might throw up at any second. When he opened his eyes, he blinked down at the bed then looked up and stared around as if he'd only just realized where he was.

"This isn't—this is _your_ room! Why did you bring me in here?" he demanded.

"Because it's right across from the bathroom, you dork," Ichigo said. "You fainted, remember? Did you think I was going to lug you all the way down the hall when I thought you were dying?"

"I wasn't dying," Ishida sputtered. "I was just a little dizzy."

"You _fainted_," Ichigo insisted. "You _lost consciousness_."

"It's only because I have low blood pressure," Ishida said defensively.

"You had low blood pressure because you barely _had_ any blood left in you after that Hollow attacked you!" Ichigo snorted. "And don't tell me 'it wasn't that bad'," he said when Ishida opened his mouth to protest again. "It _was_ that bad! You freaking scared me half to death! And Chad, too," he amended, suddenly uncomfortable with that admission.

Ishida gave him an odd look, then frowned and said "Well, you can stop acting like I'm some invalid. You may have had a reason to drag me in here, but there's no reason for me to stay. I'm fine now."

"Fine?" Ichigo repeated. "You're not fine! Your back's still a mess, and I can see your hands shaking from here. Besides, Yoruichi said you'd be weak for days." He didn't mention that she'd said only one or two days, because it didn't sound serious enough. "And where do you think you're going?" he demanded as Ishida, still clutching at his sheet-sarong, eased himself off the bed.

"I'm going back to my room, obviously," Ishida replied in an arch tone, gathering up the sheet so he could walk.

"But you're still messed up," Ichigo protested. "And those wounds need to be bandaged. Who's going to help you with that?"

"I think I've had quite enough help from _Shinigami_, thanks," Ishida snorted, and with a parting glare, he slung the trailing end of the sheet over one arm like a toga and headed for the door. Before he'd gone two steps, he trod on the hem of the sheet, stumbled and fell flat on the floor.

"You're doing a damn fine job getting out of here for a guy who isn't an invalid," Ichigo smirked, crossing his arms and feeling smug. Ishida gave him a furious glance and started to push himself up. That was when the sheet slipped and Ichigo saw one of the wounds across his back had reopened and was bleeding sluggishly. "What the hell?" He swooped down, grabbed Ishida by the shoulders and pushed him back down so he could examine the cut.

"Blast it, Kurosaki, let me up!" Ishida demanded, but Ichigo ignored him. Ishida's skin was as smooth as Ichigo had imagined but clammy with cold sweat, and beneath his grip he felt tremors still echoing through his muscles. "Did you hear me, Kurosaki?" Ishida's tone was angrier, but Ichigo could hear the underlying weakness in his voice. "Let me go!" He twisted his upper body, trying to throw Ichigo off, but it was useless.

"Like hell I will," Ichigo grunted, holding Ishida down as he surveyed his back. "Look what you've done, you idiot. You're bleeding again! Damn it, Ishida, why do you have to be this way? Why can't you just accept help when you need it?"

"Explain how you're helping me by pinning me to the floor," Ishida said through gritted teeth. His cheek was pressed to the floor but his one visible eye glared at Ichigo. Ichigo scowled back, then made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat and released him. He reached over to the nightstand as Ishida carefully sat up, gathering the sheet around him like the shreds of his dignity and re-tied the knot. Ichigo didn't know whether Ishida had cooled down a bit or was just too weak to attempt another grand exit, but he was relieved that the moron didn't try to get up and flounce off again.

"Here." Ichigo thrust the pills and the bottle of water at Ishida. "Take one of these every hour until they're gone. "

Ishida regarded both the medicine and Ichigo with suspicion. "You want me to take this without knowing what it is?"

"It's from Urahara," Ichigo explained. "See, his picture's on the front of the bottle."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better, Kurosaki?" Ishida asked. "Because it doesn't."

Scowling, Ichigo pulled the bottle of pills out of Ishida's hand, opened it, shook out one large, green tablet and smacked it into Ishida's open palm.

"Just take it," he directed. "It's the same stuff Urahara gave me when Byakuya stabbed me, back when he and Renji came—."

"I remember," Ishida said quietly. He eyed the pill for a moment, then popped it in his mouth, took a drink of water and swallowed. "Happy now?"

"I'll be happy when you're healed up and not bleeding all over my bedroom," Ichigo grumbled without thinking. He felt Ishida bristle at the comment even before looking up to confirm it and knew the words had come out wrong. His frustration – with Ishida and with his own pent-up emotions – had sharpened each syllable and what he saw in Ishida's eyes when he glanced up made him wince.

"And to think," Ishida observed in a clipped, precise tone, "that barely a minute ago you were holding me to the floor just to keep me here."

"Ishida—," Ichigo started, but the other boy cut him off with a look.

"I think I'll take this opportunity to go bleed all over my own room, thanks," Ishida huffed. "At least there I can pass out without the danger of being _molested_ by idiot Shinigami."

"No," Ichigo snapped, unsure why Ishida's words had stung so much but responding in kind anyway. "You're only in danger of being molested by _Toru-kun_ there, but I'm sure that's all right by you."

Ishida stopped and stared at Ichigo as if he couldn't believe what he'd said. Ichigo couldn't quite believe what he'd said either. He'd simply opened his mouth and the words had leapt out as if he'd been waiting to say them all along. Considering how his weekend had started, Ichigo reflected that maybe he had.

"What is your problem, Kurosaki?" Ishida demanded, his eyes narrowing as if he could peer inside Ichigo. "You've been nothing but rude about Toru-kun, and you only met him last night. What happened? Did the two of you have some secret set-to that I missed?"

"No, of course not," Ichigo said, privately thinking that Buff-Toru hadn't unglued himself from Ishida for long enough to do anything except shake his hand and buy him a drink. "It's just—something about him just rubs me the wrong way, I guess," he offered, scratching at the back of his head and not daring to meet Ishida's eyes.

"Like what?" Ishida wanted to know.

"Like, he's too—muscley," Ichigo scowled. "And that smile of his is so fake! And he's too—I don't know, too _something_."

"Too gay?" Ishida offered in an arch tone.

"What?" Ichigo gaped at Ishida. He wondered if Ishida was trying to be funny, but he didn't look like he was joking. "What are you talking about? Of course not! You know I don't have any problem with that."

"No," Ishida corrected, "I know you don't have a problem with _me_ being gay, but it's starting to seem like you don't want anyone else to be."

"Are you crazy?" Ichigo demanded. "Why would you think something like that?"

"Oh, come one, Kurosaki," Ishida snorted. "He's 'too muscley'? Surely you can think of a better stupid reason to hate someone than that."

"Fine!" Ichigo shouted, losing his temper and whatever was left of his common sense. "How about 'he's not good enough for you'?"

It was Ishida's turn to stare at Ichigo like he was crazy.

"Not 'good enough' for me?" he repeated, then rolled his eyes. "God, that's even worse than—"

"Well, he isn't!" Ichigo insisted. "Don't you know you could have anyone you wanted?" Ichigo thought of all the heads that had turned when Ishida had come into the Blood Rose or when he'd been dancing at Club Poison. He remembered Misa arguing over how pretty he was, and that tattooed guy who was totally hot for him. "You could, and you don't even recognize it, do you?"

Ishida opened his mouth to respond and then stopped, a strange expression coming over his face. He gazed at Ichigo for a moment, then looked away, muttering, "No, Kurosaki. I couldn't have anyone I want. None of us can."

Usually when Ishida didn't make sense, it was because he was using 5000 yen words in a 100 yen sentence, or when he was talking about something boring like sewing. This time his vocabulary was simple enough, but Ichigo honestly didn't know what Ishida was talking about, and his face must have shown it.

"Look," Ishida sighed, sounding tired – not wounded, shocky, or in pain, but just weary. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"What?" Ichigo asked, a cold, sinking feeling developing in his gut. "What are you talking about?"

"This living arrangement," Ishida shrugged, pulling the sheet tighter around him as if he were cold. "You're obviously uncomfortable with this, and if you're going to act like a moron around any guy I go out with…"

"No!" Ichigo yelled, terrified at the turn things had taken. Hadn't he just told Chad that he didn't want to lose Ishida? Not as a friend, or a roommate, or anything? And yet somehow he was doing the last thing he wanted or intended. His own stupidity was driving Ishida away. "Ishida, listen to me: it isn't like that at all. I mean it, it's not what you're thinking!"

"Well then what is it?" Ishida asked, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. "And don't bother lying. You're terrible at it, and I can always tell."

"No you can't," Ichigo snapped. "Otherwise you'd know I'm _not_ lying and you wouldn't be saying stupid stuff like this!"

Ishida bridled at his words, stiffening and lifting his chin. "Are you calling 'stupid', Kurosaki?" It was the way so many of their old fights had started that its familiarity gave Ichigo a pang of hope.

"What if I am?" he goaded. "You're sure acting like it."

Ishida's expression hardened and one fist clenched. Ichigo waited for the comeback, for the back-and-forth of an old-fashioned argument to start – something that could pull the two of them back to common ground – but Ishida didn't respond. Instead, he surveyed Ichigo as if looking for a soft spot to target, then bit his lip and exhaled. The tension left him with his breath and he turned away, bowing his head.

"This is pointless," he said. "I'm leaving."

Leaving. It didn't matter that Ishida probably meant he was only going to his room, the word nearly unhinged Ichigo.

"Wait! Ishida, wait!" He practically tackled Ishida in his haste to stop him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him back around. "Don't go!" he begged. "I—I didn't mean any of that, all right?"

"K—Kurosaki, what's wrong with you?" Ishida was so stunned by this outburst that he barely resisted as Ichigo tugged him away from the door.

"Just listen to me, okay?" Ichigo backed into his bed and sat down, pulling Ishida down beside him. Ishida still looked completely confounded and tried to wrench away from Ichigo. He freed one arm, clutching his sheet to keep it from falling, but Ichigo held on to the other.

"Are you crazy, Kurosaki? Why are you acting this way?"

"Because I'm trying to tell you something, damn it!" Ishida was staring at him like he really had gone nuts, and when he tried to pull away once more, Ichigo ground his teeth in exasperation, reached out and took him by the jaw. Ishida stilled immediately, eyes widening in shock.

"I'm trying to tell you I'm sorry, okay?" Ichigo said, searching Ishida's eyes for any speck of understanding. "And I didn't mean any of that shit I said. That Toru guy—if you like him, if he's what you want, then—he's fine by me, all right?" Ishida wasn't trying to get away now. He sat there as if stupified, speechless, not even trying to shake Ichigo's hand from his face. Ichigo closed his eyes for a moment, then went on.

"I know I've been acting like a dick this weekend, it's just—it's been kind of crazy, all right? All that crap I said, and ditching you at the club last night, that was just me being stupid, and mean, and..." Ichigo trailed off, swallowed, and then continued. "And jealous."

Something sparked in Ishida's eyes at that word – confusion melting into curiosity, doubt, and something that looked a little like hope. Ichigo realized his hand was still cupping Ishida's jaw, and he could feel Ishida's pulse against his fingertips. He felt it when Ishida swallowed, watched him moisten his lips, and open his mouth to speak. There was a strange thrill just beneath his heart because he imagined – no, he somehow knew – that Ishida's lips were going to form his name. Not 'Kurosaki' but _Ichigo_. He leaned forward, wanting to hear, wanting to draw even closer. He was afraid that Ishida would push him back at any moment but he didn't. Instead, Ichigo watched his pupils blossom like the black hearts of blue flowers as he leaned closer, their noses, their lips almost touching. He could feel Ishida's breath against his mouth, could hear the whisper forming in his throat, and then a sharp sound broke the spell.

A fluttering ringtone sounded. It rang twice more before Ishida blinked as if waking from a trance, shook free of Ichigo's fingers and glanced around in confusion. "That's—that's my phone," he murmured, as if only now remembering that such a thing could exist. He pulled back, eyes sweeping first the nightstand and then the floor in search of it.

Ichigo sat a moment longer trying to hold on to the sensation of what had almost happened, then his shoulders slumped as he let out a long, soft sigh. Rubbing the back of his head, he frowned at the floor until he pinpointed the sound. He reached down to pick up the remains of Ishida's blood-stained jeans, and the cell phone tumbled out of a pocket, falling face up on the bed. Ichigo didn't bother looking at the name flashing on it. He knew who it had to be.

"Here," he muttered, handing Ishida the phone. It was still ringing, but oddly, Ishida just sat there holding it, staring at the flashing red light until the ringing stopped. Ichigo stared at the phone, too, wanting to take it out of Ishida's open hand and throw it into the hallway or out the window, but before he could do it, Ishida cleared his throat and straightened. He didn't move from Ichigo's side, yet somehow he could feel Ishida pulling farther away. He rearranged the sheet he was wrapped in, pulling it tighter, and then sighed.

"I should probably…." Ishida's voice trailed off.

"Yeah," Ichigo agreed, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Whatever Ishida thought he should probably do – leave Ichigo's room, call Toru-kun back, try to explain his disappearance and make another date – Ichigo didn't want him to, but the moment to tell him so had vanished.

Ishida stood up carefully and gave Ichigo a sidelong glance. "Thanks—for this, I mean," he said, indicating the sheet. "I'll return it once I wash it, if that's all right. I can probably get the bloodstains out," he mentioned, "but if not, I'll buy you a new one."

"Don't worry about it," Ichigo said. He stood slowly and retrieved the pills and the bottle of water. He was about to tell Ishida not to forget them, but realized he probably couldn't carry them while holding his phone and keeping the sheet around him. "I'll—put these in the kitchen for you, all right?" he offered. "Remember—."

"One per hour, till they're gone," Ishida recited. "I remember." Normally he would have given a snide response to Ichigo trying to give him directions or telling him to remember something, but now his voice, his whole bearing was subdued. He pulled the hem of the sheet up and stepped to the door, then paused at the threshold as if he wanted to say something more. Ichigo waited, expectant, but Ishida only bent his head to shake his hair from his face, then turned down the hall toward his own room.

It was only after he was gone that Ichigo wondered if Ishida had been waiting for him to say something. For him to call him back.

"Crap," Ichigo muttered, putting his head in his hands and closing his eyes.

Author's Note: My deepest apologies for the lateness of this update. (School has been hellishly busy.) Thanks to everyone who's still hanging on and reading. We're finally gettting close to the end!


	9. 9: In Which Ichigo Gets Closer

Author's Note: To those of you who've been waiting a long time for this update, thank you for your patience. Suffice to say that everything that _could_ go wrong _did_ go wrong, including my laptop crashing in Jan when I had all but 500 or so words of this chapter done. I lost all but 1000 words, and recreating the chapter took much longer than writing it in the first place. Apologies for the lengthy wait, but the story is back on track now. This chapter PG-13. Ratings soon to rise significant.

Ichigo had been staring at the same page in his Biology textbook ever since he'd heard the bathroom door close and the shower start running. He knew there would be a quiz tomorrow – it was their sadistic instructor's way of making sure no one skipped class on Monday mornings – but although he'd been studying for two hours, the particulars of blood typing were not sinking in. He didn't have an excuse for the first hour and a half, but for the last twenty-five minutes he'd been too busy listening to Ishida taking a shower to concentrate on anything else.

It wasn't like he could hear anything other than the sound of running water – or that he _wanted_ to hear anything different – it was just that Ishida took maybe fifteen minutes in the shower, tops, and he griped whenever Ichigo took longer, bitching about him using all the hot water and running up the bill.

So why was today different? Why was Ishida still in the shower ten whole minutes – eleven now – after he was usually done?

Ichigo swiveled in his desk chair and scowled toward the bathroom. He'd opened his bedroom door when he'd heard Ishida go in and turn on the tap, hoping to catch him on his way out. Since he'd left Ichigo's room earlier, Ishida had made only one appearance, drifting into the kitchen to get the pills he was supposed to take. He'd frowned at the teacups still on the table and turned up his nose at the remaining doughnuts – a reaction that had made Ichigo feel unaccountably hurt – then gone back to his room after Ichigo assured him he'd wash and dry the teacups. He hadn't, of course. The teacups were still on the kitchen table. Not that Ishida would ever know because as far as Ichigo could tell, the dork was never coming out of the bathroom.

Had he fallen or something? What if Ishida had fainted again and was lying there unconscious with the water pouring down on him, drowning face up? Ichigo was out of his chair and heading for the bathroom before he realized that, no, Ishida couldn't have fallen or he'd have heard it; just dropping the shampoo against that fiberglass tub echoed through the whole apartment.

Ichigo stopped himself with a sigh, then crossed his arms and leaned against his door frame, glaring at the tightly closed bathroom door. Ishida couldn't still be washing. Even with his hair, there wasn't enough of the guy to scrub for more than five or ten minutes. He chewed his lower lip and wondered what Ishida could possibly be doing in there. For as much as Ishida bitched, Ichigo hardly ever took thirty-minute showers, even when he was treating himself to a good, long wank.

Ichigo's face heated up when he realized just what it was that Ishida _had_ to be doing in there. There really couldn't be another explanation for it, could there?

"Stop it," Ichigo muttered, shaking his head to shoo away the sudden image of Ishida, naked and drenched, water spilling over him as he leaned one hand against the shower wall and worked himself with the other, head bowed and eyes closed tight. "I mean it!" he growled, threatening his own imagination. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms to banish that image only to have it replaced with a memory: Ishida kneeling on his bed, panicked and aroused.

Ichigo groaned in frustration. God, Ishida had been _hard_.

It shouldn't have meant anything, really. Every guy their age woke up with morning wood, that was just the way things worked. It was so normal it would have been weird if Ishida _hadn't_ woken up hard. Except…

Right before he had opened his eyes, Ishida had murmured his name – not 'Kurosaki' like Ishida always called him, but _Ichigo_ – in a soft, sleepy voice as if he'd been dreaming when he spoke. As if he'd been dreaming about him.

Ishida waking up hard? That didn't mean anything.

Ishida waking up hard from dreaming about Ichigo? That was different. That could mean a lot of things. Like, maybe Ishida wasn't as into Buff/Toru as Ichigo had thought.

_What are you doing in there, Ishida?_ Ichigo wondered, scowling at the bathroom door as if his eyes could drill a hole and see inside. _And who are you thinking of while you're doing it?_

As if on cue, the water shut off. Ichigo heard the rattle of the shower curtain rings and the _shoof_ of a bath towel unfolding, and then running water again, this time in the sink. Ichigo waited until the door opened and Ishida stepped out in a warm rush of steamy air with a towel around his waist.

"About time, Ishida. I thought you'd drowned in there."

"Kurosaki!" Ishida drew up startled and blinked at Ichigo through his fogged lenses. His face was deep pink, but Ichigo couldn't tell if it was from the steam or something else. "Why are you standing there like that?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay, dumbass," Ichigo huffed. "It isn't like you to spend more than thirty minutes in the shower, you know."

Ishida's face flushed an even deeper pink at that. "It—it took me longer because of the wounds," he snapped. "I just…" Ishida hesitated as if trying to decide on the right words, then went on, "…had to be careful."

"Is that right?" Ichigo wasn't sure he believed the guy, but decided not to press the point. "How is it then? Your back?"

"Fine," Ishida answered, lifting his chin and retreating a step.

"Idiot," Ichigo snorted when Ishida moved away. "I'm going to see it when you go down the hall. You might as well show me."

Ishida glared at Ichigo and then let out a breath. "Fine," he said grudgingly, pushing up his glasses before twisting around to offer a dorsal view. "There. See?"

Ichigo stepped closer to survey the wounds. The Hollow's claw marks had gone from the red, jagged furrows of the night before to uneven, pink seams angling across Ishida's back. Although closed, they still appeared tender, and when Ichigo grazed a knuckle along one, sure enough, Ishida flinched.

"Thought so," Ichigo muttered. "These ought to be bandaged, you know." He saw Ishida stiffen and knew a protest was coming. "You don't want them breaking open and bleeding through your clothes when you're in class tomorrow, do you?"

To be honest, Ichigo knew that was pretty unlikely, and he expected Ishida to call him on it. Instead, Ishida bent his head as if considering Ichigo's words.

"All right," he sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt." He glanced down at that towel that he was still holding around his waist. "But I need to put something on first."

Ichigo stared at him, unable to believe that Ishida had given in that easily, then sprang into action.

"Right. Okay. I'll get the bandages then," Ichigo said before Ishida could recant his agreement. Ishida, however, only gave a brief nod and then headed down the hall toward his room while Ichigo practically dove into the bathroom and began ransacking the linen closet, searching for the rolls of cotton gauze that had so far gone unused.

By the time Ichigo stumbled into Ishida's room with an armful of bandages, Ishida had donned a pair of black knit boxers and was scuffing at his hair with a towel. Ichigo dropped the rolls of gauze on Ishida's bed and then sat on the edge with one leg folded beneath him. He watched as Ishida straightened, draped the towel over a chair and combed his damp hair back with his fingers.

"Do you, uh, want to sit down?" Ichigo asked, indicating the edge of the mattress beside him.

"It'll probably be easier if I stand," Ishida countered, but then made no move to approach.

"Tch. I can't do anything if you're over there, stupid," Ichigo said, reaching out to snag a finger in the waistband of Ishida's shorts and drag him closer.

"Kurosaki!" Ishida sounded scandalized, but he didn't resist.

"Oh, shut up," Ichigo grumbled, taking Ishida by the hips and turning him so that he could see his back. "I'm not going to pants you or anything," he went on, even though feeling Ishida's muscles tensed beneath his palms made him want to do exactly that: slide those black shorts down over Ishida's rear so that his hands could follow. He let go before the temptation became too strong and reached for a roll of bandages.

"Put your arms up," he said, rising on his knee to press one end of the gauze against Ishida's spine and pass the roll around his chest.

"You should start with the shoulder," Ishida directed even as he complied by lifting his elbows. He caught the bandage as Ichigo reached around him and passed it back under his other arm.

"I'm getting there," Ichigo told him, covering the marks on Ishida's shoulder once he had the cloth anchored to his torso. "It's not like I don't know how to do this, you know. I've bandaged more wounds than you have."

"That's because you're reckless." Ishida rolled his arm to make sure the bandage would remain secure and cast a critical glance over his shoulder. "You take too many chances, Kurosaki."

"That's the way I fight," Ichigo shrugged. "Besides I can take a lot of damage."

"It's better if you don't have to take damage in the first place," Ishida sniffed.

"Says the guy who jumped in front of a Hollow for me yesterday."

Ishida didn't seem to have a response to that, and Ichigo didn't feel any need to fill the silence that ensued. As he worked his way down, Ichigo tried to concentrate on the muscle groups he was binding – latissimus dorsi, external obliques – and on keeping the bandages even instead of thinking about the way Ishida's skin felt when he brushed against him, or the way Ishida's muscles tensed when Ichigo pressed the gauze against his flesh. Despite his obvious grace in battle, Ichigo had always written Ishida off as skinny and not particularly athletic -- a guy who'd always rather read than lift weights or something -- but now he couldn't help but notice the sharp definition of the lean frame beneath his hands. He might have been slender, but Ishida was anything but soft.

"Shorts," he said gruffly when he had bandaged as far as he could, waiting for Ishida to inch his boxers down since he still didn't trust himself not to simply yank them off. Ishida hesitated at first, but then hitched his thumbs under the waistband and slid them down as low as his own modesty allowed.

"Good enough," Ichigo muttered, trying to pretend that his mouth hadn't gone dry at the sight of Ishida _almost_ peeling off his underwear. Setting his jaw, he wound the strip of gauze down as far as he could and tied off the end. "Does that feel all right?"

Ishida twisted a little, stared down at his bandaged torso and then felt along his waist with both hands.

"It feels fine," he answered, sounding slightly surprised, but not as surprised as when Ichigo picked up another roll of bandages, took hold of Ishida's knee, and began to bind the wounds on his leg.

"Kurosaki! What are you—!" Ishida automatically tried to jerk away, but Ichigo had a firm hold and didn't let go. Ishida lost his balance and only saved himself from toppling by reaching back to grab Ichigo's shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" he demanded from over his shoulder, still wavering in his awkward position.

"I think I'm bandaging your leg, dumbass," Ichigo snorted. "And if you don't stop trying to twist away from me like that, you're going to wrench your knee."

Ishida made a frustrated sound but managed to realign his body enough that he wouldn't fall or pull any muscles.

"I told you," Ishida said though gritted teeth, "my legs are _fine_. This isn't necessary."

"Yeah, you've been saying that since last night," Ichigo said, "and it's still a load of bullshit. If you'd let me tend these wounds in the first place, you'd be a lot better off, and Yoruichi-san wouldn't have…"

"Would you just shut up about that?" Ishida hissed, his nails gouging into Ichigo's shoulder. Ichigo smirked but didn't complain, his fingers smoothing the gauze as he wound it up Ishida's leg. The skin on Ishida's inner thigh was warm and soft as a girl's, but the muscle was hard and the tendons sharp beneath it. Ichigo felt his face warming as his hands went higher, and was suddenly aware of the lingering scent of soap and water on Ishida's skin, the powdery smell of the bandages, and the heat radiating from just beneath them.

Ishida's grip on his shoulder intensified when he paused, thumb resting in the hollow of Ishida's inner thigh, hand cupping the muscle, knowing that if he moved only an inch or so higher, he would be touching something that was definitely not Ishida's thigh. Ishida must have known it, too, but despite his earlier protests, he wasn't trying to pull away from Ichigo. In fact, he seemed rooted to the spot, his stance so rigid that he was almost trembling.

Ichigo knew he should have pulled his hand away, but he couldn't seem to make himself do it. _I want to touch him there,_ Ichigo realized, the desire too strong to even be surprising. _I want to see what it feels like to touch a guy – no, to touch _him_ there. I want—_

It was only when Ishida sucked in his breath that Ichigo recognized that his thumb was making idle circles against Ishida's inner thigh, that his hand was creeping higher as if of its own accord, and that Ishida had neither moved nor said anything to stop him; that maybe Ishida wanted Ichigo to touch him there as much as Ichigo wanted to do it.

As if admitting that single desire had unlocked a door inside him, other wants came spiraling into Ichigo's head: to lean forward and press his lips against Ishida's warm skin, to open his mouth against his hip and bite, or kiss, or speak his name. To call him _Uryuu_. His head almost spinning with the warmth, the scent, the tension in Ishida's muscles, Ichigo's hand drifted up until his knuckles grazed flesh that was impossibly hot, heavy but yielding, differently textured. He barely repressed the groan that struggled in his throat when he understood that with one move he could be cupping Ishida's balls, rolling their weight in his palm, squeezing, tugging just the way Ichigo liked when he was stiff-backed on his mattress, his other hand sliding up and down his cock.

"Kuro—Kurosaki!" Ishida choked, and the grip of his fingers on Ichigo's shoulder was like a vice, so fierce it was almost cutting off his nerves. Ichigo glanced up, eyes drawn by the strain in Ishida's voice, to see him bent like he was about to double over, his arm across his stomach as if he was in pain. Except it wasn't pain. Ichigo could tell. It was resistance; resistance to a need just as fierce as his.

And one shift of Ichigo's hand would break it. Break both of them and pour them out into something new and different, but out into one puddle or into separate streams, he didn't know. But he wanted to. He needed to find out.

He opened his mouth to say Ishida's name, but before he could utter a word, a sharp rapping on the door froze both of them where they were. Ichigo's breath caught and he whipped his head around, staring out Ishida's bedroom door, hoping against hope that it had been someone at a neighbor's door. But no, the knocking came again, harder than before, and very definitely at their apartment.

"Who the hell could that be!" Ichigo snarled, still holding Ishida's thigh.

There was more insistent tapping, and Ichigo heard Ishida swallow. He looked up to see Ishida's face gone pale, his eyes wide.

"Toru-kun," he said weakly, looking unnerved. "It must be Toru."

"What? What the fuck is he doing here?" Ichigo demanded, completely forgetting that he had vowed to be 'understanding' about Ishida's muscular friend mere hours before. "Did you ask him over?"

"No," Ishida shook his head, finally pulling away from Ichigo, whose hands dropped uselessly to his lap. "But he called a few times and… I never called him back. He must have gotten worried."

Ichigo stared at Ishida as the knocking sounded again, his heart caught between irritation and hope. "You never called him back? Why the hell not?"

"Because I didn't know what to tell him!" Ishida snapped back. The spell between them broken, he hurried to his closet, yanked a shirt from a hanger, and swept it on. "What was I supposed to say, Kurosaki?" he went on, zipping his shirt up before pulling open a drawer to fish around for some pants. "That I ditched him to go slay evil spirits?"

"Don't ask me," Ichigo shrugged, more frustrated than ever, but feeling just a bit smug at Ishida's disquiet, "but I guess you'd better think of something before he breaks the damn door down."

"Well, maybe you should go let him in before he does!" Ishida hissed, glaring at Ichigo as he shook out a pair of loose cargo shorts. It wasn't the sort of thing that Ishida normally wore, but Ichigo guessed that, given the half-healed cut across his ass, tight jeans were out of the question for the moment. Feeling some satisfaction about that, Ichigo gave his roommate a parting scowl before getting up to answer the door.

Ichigo didn't hurry. He didn't really think Buff/Toru would break the door down, but the guy was making enough of a racket that one of the neighbors might call the police, and the thought of Ishida's 'boyfriend' – if that's what he really was – being hauled away from their doorstep gave him a warm, pleasant feeling.

"Tch! Just a second!" he called out, watching the door shake in its frame at the now thunderous knocks. Once the door stopped rattling, Ichigo threw the bolt and pulled it open, and sure enough, there was Buff/Toru in the tanned and bulging flesh, his tall frame filling the doorway.

He was dressed almost exactly like he had been at the club, wearing pressed jeans and a muscle shirt, his only concessions to daytime wear being athletic shoes instead of boots and a pair of sunglasses, which he pulled off to reveal a worried expression.

"Thank god you're here," he burst out by way of greeting. "Kurosaki-san, do you know where Ishida-kun is? I've been calling all day but he never answers. This isn't like him. He left in a rush last night, said there was some emergency, and that he would call me, but…"

"You can chill out, Ishida's fine," Ichigo offered with a sigh. While he'd been amused by Toru's anxiety at first, it was obvious the guy was truly worried, not just pissed off that he'd been ditched. "Things just got, uhm, a little crazy last night."

"Is he here then?" Toru asked, looking only partially relieved. He was staring at Ichigo in a particular way – assessing, but not quite challenging – and Ichigo realized that Toru was expecting him to step aside and allow him in. As if, Ichigo simmered, his feelings of sympathy draining away, he had some right to their apartment. Or to Ishida.

"He's been in his room all day," Ichigo replied, crossing his arms and casually leaning against the doorway. "Hasn't been feeling too well, I guess. Did you want me to give him a message?"

"That won't be necessary, Kurosaki," Ishida's voice came from behind him. "I'm right here."

"Ishida-kun!" Toru called out, gazing over Ichigo's shoulder. Ichigo straightened and turned, which was fortunate, since otherwise he might have been bowled over by Toru pushing through the doorway to get to Ishida.

Ichigo shut the door so the neighbors wouldn't be disturbed any further – a couple had probably already cracked their doors or stuck their heads out to listen – then peered at the two men with unveiled interest. He wondered if they would leap into each other's arms, or if Toru would whirl Ishida around like in a romantic movie – in which case he might have to go lose his lunch in the kitchen sink – but Toru only clasped Ishida by the shoulders like a concerned friend and looked into his eyes. Even that, though, made Ichigo feel like there was a hole in his stomach and everything inside him was falling through it. Until, that is, he saw how quickly Ishida averted his eyes from Toru's gaze.

"I'm all right, Toru-kun," he said, patting his friend's brawny forearms in an appeasing way. "I'm sorry for worrying you. My phone, ah, the battery ran down."

"Liar," Ichigo coughed into his hand, earning him a fierce scowl from Ishida, but Toru, fortunately, seemed not to have heard.

"But what happened last night?" he asked, focused solely on Ishida. "Was someone hurt? The way all of you left so suddenly—you're not in some kind of trouble, are you?"

"No, nothing like that," Ishida told him, pulling Toru's arms down and gently disengaging from his grip. "It's just a bit—difficult to explain." He gave Ichigo another sharp look that both asked and threatened, and Ichigo rolled his eyes and shrugged his understanding. If Ishida wanted some privacy, well, who was Ichigo to deny it? Instead of heading back to his room, however, Ichigo went into the kitchen, congratulating himself on not washing out the teapot and cups until now.

Smirking at the look Ishida had given him when he'd ducked into the kitchen, Ichigo plunked the crockery into the sink and turned the faucet on. He kept the water on low but still had to strain his ears to hear what the two were saying: something about Toru not understanding, Ishida apologizing again, and Toru still wanting to know if Ishida was in trouble. When the voices stopped, Ichigo shut off the water and poked his head around, expecting to find the two in a lip-lock. Instead, he caught Toru stroking fingertips across Ishida's cheekbone and pushing his hair back from his face while Ishida glanced down, not meeting his eyes. When he did look up, it was right into Ichigo's face, and he frowned.

"Toru-kun," Ishida said, clearing his throat as he stepped back, "maybe we should discuss this somewhere with a bit more _privacy_?"

Seeing Toru's neck muscles bunch as he turned his head, Ichigo pulled back into the kitchen before he could be seen.

"A café, maybe?" Toru offered. "There's one down the street."

"That'll be fine."

Ichigo scowled as he listened to Ishida slipping on his shoes and pulling his house keys from the hook by the door. As far as he was concerned, the last thing Ishida needed was to be going out; not when he still had medicine to take and one un-bandaged leg. But then, he also knew what reaction he'd get if he told him so.

"Idiot," he muttered after the door had closed and their footsteps were creaking down the stairs. It was half-hearted at best, though, since Ichigo knew he was the reason Ishida had insisted they leave. Sighing, Ichigo put the teapot and cups on the drain board, wiped his hands on his jeans, and left the kitchen. He stopped in the empty living room and gazed around.

For the most part, the living room was a place the two of them simply passed through on their way to their bedrooms or the kitchen. It looked little different from many other apartment living rooms – a rack on the wall for jackets and keys, a tray by the door for shoes, a few pieces of furniture, floor pillows, a lamp, a TV. Would it really look that different, Ichigo wondered, if Ishida were gone?

"TV'd be on the floor," he muttered to himself, knowing that it rested on an old printer stand of Ishida's. As for the couch, take away the blue canvas slipcover with the navy piping Ishida had made and it would be back to moth-eaten plaid with a rip in one of the cushions. And the navy satin floor pillows with their embroidered medallions – white with blue Quincy crosses, of course – would be gone.

"Too much freaking blue and white around here anyway," Ichigo snorted, but when he looked toward the door again, what he saw was Ishida's pale green rain coat hanging from its hook. He walked over to it, raised a hand to stroke the silky finish of the cloth, and then took it down. The tag at the collar showed that Ishida had purchased the coat rather than made it, but that didn't matter. It was something Ishida had worn nearly every day through the rainy season, which had just come to an end. Closing his eyes, Ichigo pressed the satiny lining to his face and inhaled deeply, surrounding himself with Ishida's scent: not just the mint and coconut smell of his soap and shampoo, but the light musk of his sweat, the scent of rain-wet hair, the ink that stained his fingers after he'd been writing notes all day.

When Ichigo lifted his head, he realized that Ishida's scent wasn't merely in his coat. It was a subtle undercurrent in the apartment itself, as much a part of the air as the smell of steamed rice, ramen seasoning, and muddy shoes. And maybe it went deeper than that. Maybe, after all those years, after everything that had happened – in Soul Society, in Hueco Mundo, and especially on the Dome – it was a part of him, too.

When Ichigo hung Ishida's coat back on its hook, shoved his feet into his shoes, and headed out the door, it wasn't that he had made a conscious decision to spy on Ishida. It wasn't like he had any plan or any specific intentions. It was simply that he had no choice but to follow.


	10. 10: In Which Something Is Broken

Chapter 10: In Which Something Is Broken

The streetlights were already snapping to life when Ichigo got to the sidewalk, even though the summer sky was still a dimly glowing blue. Except for their local konbini, most of the shops had closed, and there was little street traffic on that Sunday evening. That was fine with Ichigo since he wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone he might know, but it made blending into a crowd difficult when there wasn't one. Not that blending in really mattered when Ishida was his quarry: Ishida with his uncanny sensitivity to reiatsu.

"Fuck," Ichigo grumbled, stopping to scowl at the cracks in the concrete walkway. Even if Ishida didn't see Ichigo snooping after him, he'd still be able to sense him. Ishida had mentioned once that the atmosphere inside the apartment was so full of Ichigo's spiritual pressure that it actually dulled Ishida's sensitivity, but outside their apartment was an entirely different matter. "Nothing for it," Ichigo sighed, closing his eyes and concentrating.

Over the years he had learned to control his reiatsu so that it didn't glare like a beacon for roaming Hollows. He'd become good enough at it that he rarely thought about it any longer. Restraining his spiritual pressure so that _Ishida _couldn't detect it, however, was going to take some serious effort, and Ichigo stood there in deep concentration, ignoring the odd looks from infrequent passers-by. Only when he was sure he'd taken it down to its lowest flicker did Ichigo continue walking.

The café was on the corner at the intersection of their street and the main road to the university. Ichigo slowed as he approached it, craning his neck to see if Ishida and Buff/Toru were seated outside, but only two of the metal bistro tables were occupied and those by small groups of students with their textbooks open around them.

Ducking his head and hurrying past, Ichigo made it across the street and to the diagonal corner where he peered around for the best vantage point. The entryway of a closed shop afforded the best view of the café's interior, so Ichigo pulled into the shadows there and settled in to watch. He found Ishida and his friend easily enough; they had taken a booth by the window, and a waitress had just set down two cups before bowing away.

Despite the fact they had left the apartment in order to chat privately, the two men didn't seem to be doing much talking. Ichigo watched as Buff/Toru picked up his spoon and stirred something into his coffee while Ishida lifted his cup, blew on the surface, and then held it in both hands. Buff/Toru, Ichigo noticed, was directing concerned glances at Ishida. Ishida just seemed to be staring into his cup.

Ichigo shifted his weight from one foot to the other and scowled. He hated seeing the two of them sitting there together, close enough to reach across and touch hands. At least they were on opposite sides of the booth instead of snuggling up on the same bench. It was probably a good thing he hadn't thought to change into his Shinigami form, otherwise the temptation to stroll into the café and sit down right beside Ishida – or even better, beside Buff/Toru – would have been overwhelming. He smirked, imagining Ishida's reaction, but only for a moment.

At sixteen, he wouldn't have thought twice about pulling a stunt like that. Now he knew the end result would be a knock-down, drag-out fight after which, depending on who won, Ishida would either lord it over him or refuse to speak to him for days. Last week, knowing all that probably wouldn't have stopped Ichigo. After this weekend, though, Ishida ignoring him was the last thing he wanted or needed. Fortunately, Ichigo wasn't the brash teenager he'd once been. He'd learned to control at least some of his impulses. He knew better now when to push something and when it was best to back off.

_So you consider stalking and spying on your roommate to be 'backing off', do you?_ The snide inner voice that elbowed his conscience sounded far too much like Ishida, and he wondered if he was more put out by the accusation or by the fact that he'd somehow internalized Ishida's snotty tone.

"I'm not stalking anybody," Ichigo grumbled before he could stop himself. He glanced around to see if anyone had heard him, but thankfully, he was alone on his corner. _Great. Now I'm talking to myself like a crazy person._ Just another benefit of having Ishida in his life.

Crazy or not, though, Ichigo refused to believe he was a 'stalker'. Stalkers were weirdos who had to know what the objects of their obsession were doing at each and every moment. Stalkers left creepy messages in your voicemail, cruised by your apartment to see if your lights were on, and kidnapped your pets. Ichigo didn't care about any of that stuff. What he did care about was figuring out just what the hell was going on between his roommate and the big, hunky gym rat seated across from him.

_You could always just ask Ishida, you know._ This time it was Chad's voice gently pointing out the obvious, and Ichigo gritted his teeth in annoyance, wondering just when it had gotten so crowded inside his brain. Ask Ishida? Sure he could ask Ishida, but who said the guy would answer? Worse, who said Ishida wouldn't stare at him like something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe and go 'What business is it of yours, Kurosaki? Why do you want to know?' And what was Ichigo supposed to tell him? The truth? That whatever the hell Buff/Toru was to Ishida, Ichigo wanted to be that and more?

_Yeah, right._

Ichigo hid in the shadows and watched them through two refills of whatever they were drinking. He watched while Buff/Toru talked and gestured, leaning forward as if he wanted into Ishida's space, and while Ishida listened and shook his head, spoke, and frowned, and stared down at the table top. He watched as Buff/Toru leaned back and crossed his arms, as Ishida set his tea down and bent forward, his elegant hands up in a gesture of—what? Appeal? Ichigo wasn't sure.

When the waitress returned and both men shook their heads, Ichigo slipped away from the doorway and made his way back to the apartment. He didn't hurry, knowing that was the best way to draw unwanted attention. Ichigo also reckoned that their wait for the bill along with idle conversation and drawn-out goodbyes would give him ample time to make it back ahead of Ishida.

He was wrong. When he got to the top of the stairs and unlocked the apartment door, Ishida was standing there just inside, arms folded, glaring at him.

"What the—?" Ichigo gaped. "How did you get here? You were just—!"

"At the coffee shop?" Ishida huffed. "Which you would know, of course, because you were there watching us the entire time? Have you no sense of propriety, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo just scowled at Ishida, letting the door shut behind him. "How did you know I was there? I hid my reiatsu."

"Oh please," Ishida snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Not well enough, I guess, huh?" Ichigo muttered. "What did you do, use that Quincy flash-step thing to get here ahead of me? I knew I should have gone in Shinigami form."

"It's not flash-step, it's _hirenkyaku_," Ishida corrected, using the superior tone that always made Ichigo bristle and want to punch him. "And I'd still have beaten you back here."

"You must have ditched ol' Toru pretty fast, then," Ichigo observed, narrowing his eyes at Ishida. "Must not have been much of a goodbye kiss. What's the matter? Trouble in paradise?"

"That's none of your business," Ishida glared.

"Or maybe," Ichigo considered, stepping closer and meeting Ishida's resentful gaze, "you didn't care if he saw you use your fancy Quincy powers. What's the deal, Ishida? Did you finally let your boyfriend in on your little secret?"

"What are you talking about?" Ishida demanded, eyes flashing behind his glasses. "Of course I didn't let him see me! Do you think I would tell a…" He cut himself off abruptly and looked away. Ichigo noticed his fists were clenched.

"A what, Ishida?" Ichigo asked, his voice quiet, no sarcasm now.

The tendons in Ishida's wrists flinched. His nostrils flared and Ichigo heard him take a harsh breath, in and out.

"It doesn't matter," Ishida said, his tone flat. "And he's not my boyfriend,"

Ichigo didn't care that Ishida hadn't really answered his question. He was too busy fighting down the thrill that went through his chest at the words _not my boyfriend_. He wanted to punch the air, to give a victory shout, but then Ishida took a breath and added, "He wants to be, but…"

Ichigo's jaw clenched involuntarily. He swallowed, then asked "So what's stopping you?"

"Don't act like you don't know, Kurosaki," Ishida snapped, turning away and stalking to the glass door that separated their living room from the narrow concrete balcony. He didn't reach for the latch but only shoved the blinds aside and stared out through the darkened glass. "There are too many things I can't tell him. And even if I could, he wouldn't believe me."

"How do you know that?" Ichigo asked, then flinched when Ishida smacked the glass with the flat of his palm and turned to glare at Ichigo.

"Do you know what he thinks about last night, Kurosaki? About why we all went running out of the club and never came back? He thinks we're in some kind of a _gang_."

"What?" Ichigo blinked. For a moment he thought Ishida must be joking, but one glance at his face proved he was serious. "A gang? That's crazy. Why?"

"The stupid bandages," Ishida said, crossing his arms and looking ill at ease. "He tried to put his arm around me as we were walking to the café. I pulled away, but he caught my shirt."

"He saw them?" Ichigo asked.

"He thinks I was injured in a knife fight," Ishida grimaced. "That you and Sado-kun and I are some kind of… yakuza or something."

"Yakuza?" Ichigo repeated, his jaw dropping. "Me and Chad? And _you_?" He scrubbed at his mouth to stifle a giggle but couldn't quite manage it.

"Shut up, Kurosaki," Ishida muttered, giving him a dark glance. "What's he supposed to think? He knows I'm not being truthful with him, and… I hate that."

Ishida appeared distinctly uncomfortable at that admission, and Ichigo found that he rather liked the way that discomfort looked on him. It made him seem off-balance, almost vulnerable. Maybe that's why Ichigo stepped closer and said what he said.

"What is it you hate about it, Ishida?" he asked. "The fact that you're being untruthful? Or the fact that he knows you are?"

Ishida's eyes widened at that, and the blood rose to his cheeks. He didn't look angry so much as perplexed, and every instinct told Ichigo he'd found a weak spot.

"Would you tell him?" Ichigo wanted to know, leaning so close that he crowded Ishida against the glass door.

"Kurosaki!" Ishida gasped, the blinds rustling as he backed into them. He was staring at Ichigo like he'd gone nuts – an expression Ichigo had seen numerous times before – but there was something else behind his eyes, and the hunter deep in Ichigo's heart told him it was fear.

"If you really thought this guy would believe you," he pressed on, "would you tell him the truth? If you thought there was any chance that he'd accept you for what you are – someone who sees ghosts and wears goofy outfits to hunt down evil spirits – would you tell him?"

Ishida's mouth opened but no sound came out. He looked like he was trying to form words, or even just one word – _yes_ – but couldn't manage it.

"I—I don't know," he said in a rush of breath. He seemed surprised by his own response.

"Then maybe," Ichigo went on, his voice rough, "maybe you shouldn't be with him in the first place."

The two men stared at each other, and for a moment, Ichigo had no idea what was going to happen. He didn't have a strategy for what to do after he'd said those words – when had he ever had a strategy? – and he waited to see what Ishida would say. In the next instant, all the breath left his body in a rush as Ishida punched him in the solar plexus.

"My battle costumes," Ishida growled as Ichigo stumbled back, "are not _goofy_!"

Ichigo's chest and stomach burned with the effort to catch his breath, and he braced his legs to keep from going to one knee. Why did he always forget how strong Ishida really was, or that the freaky bastard knew how to put reiatsu into a punch?

"And who do you think you are to lecture me on relationships?" Ishida ranted, outrage burning in his eyes. "You might as well stand in front of a mirror and tell yourself the same thing, Kurosaki! Have you ever told any 'normal human' girl the truth about being a Shinigami? Isn't that the real reason you don't have a girlfriend? Isn't that why you've never had more than three dates with anyone you've gone out with?"

Ichigo gasped his way through Ishida's diatribe, trying to catch his breath, and when Ishida finished yelling and stood there indignantly waiting for an answer, he straightened carefully and took a deep, shaky breath.

"I used to think that was the reason," he admitted, his voice still hitching a bit. "If you'd said all that to me last week, I might have agreed with you. Now," he coughed, "I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?" Ishida asked.

Ichigo took another breath and met Ishida's gaze. "I mean, maybe the problem wasn't that they were normal humans. Maybe the problem was that… they were girls."

Ishida looked baffled for a moment, then his eyes narrowed and he gave Ichigo a hard look.

"Is this some kind of a joke, Kurosaki? If it is, it isn't funny."

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Ichigo asked. "Why would I joke about something like this?"

"Because how would you even know?" Ishida demanded, waving his hands in a burst of annoyance. "I've never seen you interested in a guy before, but suddenly you think you don't like girls? That's crazy, Kurosaki! Where would you get such a crazy idea?"

"From seeing you!" Ichigo yelled.

Ishida's eyes went wide and his face paled with dawning horror. "What?"

Sweat broke out on Ichigo's brow as he stared at Ishida, unable to believe what he had just said. He'd never had any intention of telling Ishida what he'd seen, but now that he'd admitted it, what could he do but lay out the whole truth?

"I saw you and Toru Friday night," Ichigo confessed. "The door to your room wasn't closed, and I just wanted to see if you were there, and when I pushed it open, the two of you were…" Ichigo trailed off as his mouth went dry, remembering what he'd seen. "You were… together."

"Friday night," Ishida repeated weakly. "You mean, when we…? You were watching?"

"I didn't mean to!" Ichigo insisted. "I didn't know you had anyone with you, I just needed to ask you something, and when I saw what was going on—when I realized that was _you_ – I just… couldn't stop looking."

Ishida looked like he was about to faint. He clutched his hair with both hands and cried, "Why—why on earth would you do something like that?"

"Because I'd never seen you like that before!" Ichigo yelled, hating the mix of confusion and horror in Ishida's eyes and wishing he could erase both, turn them into something else. "I'd never imagined you could look that way, that you could be all—desperate and sweaty and, and _hot_ like that! But once I saw it," Ichigo groaned, "I couldn't _stop_ seeing it. I couldn't get you out of my brain, Ishida; not that night, not the next day, not even now."

All the color had drained from Ishida's face. He looked almost as pale as he had the night before, and the sight wrenched Ichigo's gut all over again. "Are you trying to tell me," Ishida ventured, speaking each word carefully, "that because of—what you saw, you honestly think you might be—gay?"

_Gay_. There it was. The word Ichigo's brain had avoided even while it panted over the fantasy of spreading Ishida wide and fucking him, of feeling those long legs wrapped around his waist, of hearing Ishida gasping out his name, of kissing him. Something inside him rebelled against the term. It was a word he associated with Ishida, not himself. But if Ishida was what he wanted, then wasn't that what it came down to?

"I—I don't know," he stammered, then gave Ishida a sidelong glance. "Is there any other option?"

"Gay or crazy, Kurosaki," Ishida huffed, his voice hardening. "Take your pick."

"Well, maybe I'm both!" Ichigo barked, clenching his fists in frustration. "God, Ishida, I told you I don't know! I don't know whether I'm gay or crazy or whether this is some weird-ass Quincy-Shinigami thing, because _believe me_, I have never felt this way about a guy before, and—fuck, Ishida, I don't even know what I'm doing! All I know is that I want you."

"Kurosaki…" Ishida's voice sounded like a ghost of itself. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do know what I'm saying," Ichigo insisted. "The problem is that you're not listening."

"I am listening. I heard you," Ishida answered with a slight frown. "I just don't believe you."

"Then believe this," Ichigo growled, seizing Ishida by his upper arms, yanking him forward, and kissing him.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. Like Ichigo's favorite attacks, it was unplanned, immediate, and exciting, a shock of lips, and staggered breath, and resistant muscle as Ishida tensed in surprise. It was unlike any first kiss Ichigo had ever experienced, not just because the body against his was sharp and angular instead of soft and cushioning, but because of the heat that burned through him as his tongue breached Ishida's protesting mouth, because of the strength in the hands first pushing against and then gripping and holding his shoulders, and because the sound that came from Ishida's throat as he kissed him – a thin, wrenching whine like that of a green branch straining and cracking in a storm – was more arousing than the sexiest moan he had ever conjured from a woman.

It was the sound of something breaking. It was the sound of cracks appearing all over a hard, brittle surface, the sound of a mask fracturing, of pieces falling, and the sound of the anger, desperation, and need that had always been smoldering beneath it. It was the sound of _Ishida_ coming apart, and the wave of arousal that whipped through Ichigo like fire when he realized it made him wild.

Before he knew it, he was clutching Ishida, winding his arms around him, plunging deeper into his mouth and then pulling back to groan against his lips, "Uryuu—oh god, Uryuu!"

That was the moment Ishida broke. His breath hitched sharply, his body went rigid in Ichigo's arms, and his fingers clawed at Ichigo's shirt, twisting and then tearing into the thin fabric. He tore his face away from Ichigo's long enough to grate out "Kurosaki—you bastard!" in an angry sob, then his leg hooked one of Ichigo's and they were falling.

They were kissing again before they slammed against the glass door, rocking it in its frame and breaking the blinds which came crashing down around them. Ichigo barely noticed as he pressed Ishida against the glass, and Ishida didn't seem to care. Their hands grappled, their tongues fought, and their bodies struggled against each other. Ichigo didn't remember getting hard, but he was now, desperately so, and when he twisted his pelvis against Ishida's and felt something hard and hot pressing into his own thigh, he lost it.

"Oh fuck, you do want me!" Ichigo groaned, pulling out of the kiss to seize Ishida's neck in his teeth and bite down hard. Ishida cried out, flinging his head back to bang against the glass and clutching at Ichigo's hair, not to pull his teeth away from his neck, but to keep him there. He bucked and shuddered as Ichigo growled and bit again, and when Ichigo shifted and pressed with his thigh, Ishida caught his breath, parted his legs, and let him in.

It wasn't the shock of their trapped erections rubbing together, or the way Ishida hissed and shook and dug his nails into the back of Ichigo's neck that overwhelmed Ichigo, that made it feel like his brain was turning to steam and the top of his head was about to explode. It was that one action – Ishida moving his legs apart, Ishida _allowing_ Ichigo's knee, Ichigo's thigh to divide his own until they were pressed together, crotch to crotch – that completely undid him, that made him clutch Ishida in his arms, bury a roar in his hair and neck, and thrust until his balls clenched and his cock was spurting in his pants.

The release hit him like a physical blow, leaving Ichigo staggered, sagging against Ishida until his knees gave out and he sat down hard on the floor.

"Fuck," he gasped, head reeling as he pushed himself up on his hands and tried to get to his knees. Ishida was still standing, half-collapsed against the glass door, hair tousled, lips parted, face and neck flushed. His shirt was pulled to one side, showing the red mark of Ichigo's teeth at the place where his neck met his shoulder, and there was a damp stain spreading at the front of his shorts.

"Uryuu," Ichigo groaned, reaching for him, wanting to pull him down into his arms, but Ishida straightened and stepped away, leaving Ichigo to overbalance and fall onto his hands. "What the—Uryuu!"

"Don't call me that," Ishida said, his voice as thin as a child's.

Stunned, Ichigo sat up and gaped at the guy who, for all practical purposes, he'd just had sex with. Ishida's words weren't cold or harsh – more stumbling and unsure – but Ichigo felt his stomach turn to snowmelt just the same.

"Ishida," he called out, feeling as if his friend was already miles away even though he was almost within arms-reach. "Ishida, look at me, damn it!"

He almost wished Ishida hadn't. The color had faded from his face except for a faint red stain on his cheeks, and the deep blue eyes looked haunted and full of regret.

"I—I have to change," Ishida stammered, tugging his shirt back into place, and then he was moving toward his room, one hand against the wall as if he needed support.

"Ishida!" Ichigo yelled after him, panic replacing the chill in his heart. "Ishida, wait! Damn it, don't just walk away from me! Ishida!" He struggled to his feet, but got tangled in the fallen blinds that Ishida had sidestepped, and when he'd managed to extract himself, the door to Ishida's room had already clicked shut. Ichigo made a stumbling run down the hall, cursing all the way, and slammed both fists against the closed door.

"Ishida, open the damn door!" Ichigo shouted, beating on the offending wood until it rattled in its frame. "Come out of there and talk with me!"

There was no answer. Ichigo stood there, breathing hard, seething with confusion and anger, his knuckles already raw from pounding. "You bastard," he growled, slamming a fist on the door just once for emphasis. "Is this the way a Quincy handles things?" he taunted. "Running away from people? Like a _coward_?" It was a hot-button word, one that always brought Ishida out with razor words and ready fists, but not this time. This time there was no answer at all.

Cursing, Ichigo rattled the doorknob and found it unlocked. The door swung in to reveal an empty room – the bed neatly made, the chair pushed up to the desk – and a wide open window, the curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. Ichigo charged over to it and leaned out over the sill, scanning the streets, the rooftops, even the night sky.

"Ishida!" he howled, not caring that the neighbors would hear, that people would think he was rude or crazy. "Ishida, you idiot, come back here!"

Nothing. Ichigo's voice faded in the evening air with no response, and he slumped against the sill with a whimper of frustration, heart aching, pants sticky, miserable all over again.

"You idiot," he muttered, pressing his face against his fists as the night breeze ruffled his hair, unsure if he was cursing Ishida or himself. "You stupid, fucking idiot."


	11. 11: In Which Ichigo Gets Some Advice

Slouching against the wall of the Science building corridor, Ichigo scowled at the stream of chattering students leaving the Wednesday afternoon physics lab. Innumerable sleek dark heads went through the door and down the hallway but none of them was the one Ichigo was looking for.

Not that this was surprising. Ichigo had been stalking – yes, stalking, that was the only word for it this time – Ishida's classes for three days now and had not seen him either enter or leave a classroom. The idiot was either sneaking in and out using his fancy Quincy _hirenky-wacko_ or whatever the hell he called it, or he'd been skipping class all week. While the last option wasn't impossible, Ichigo didn't buy it. End of term exams were coming up, and Ishida was too obsessive about his ranking to give any of his classmates that kind of an advantage. The bastard was still around there somewhere, but he was avoiding Ichigo like the plague, and doing a damn good job of it, too.

"Dumbass," Ichigo muttered, striding out of the building when the last student had left the lab. He pulled his sunglasses down off the top of his head as he pushed through the glass door into the blinding afternoon sun and peered through the dark lenses. Some students were still hurrying to late classes but most had either disappeared into the air-conditioned library or food court, or retreated to shaded benches around the common where they sat adjusting their mp3 players or checking phone messages. Knowing that Ishida wouldn't be hanging out in the open like that, Ichigo gave them only a cursory glance before turning his attention elsewhere.

Since physics lab was Ishida's last class of the day, Ichigo knew the most obvious place to look for him was either the library or back at their apartment. Neither option seemed very promising, though. The library was an imposing four-storey building filled with nooks, crannies, and private study rooms where Ishida could squirrel himself away. Even if Ichigo did manage to isolate and follow one of Ishida's spirit threads, the Quincy would sense him coming before he even got close.

The same went for their apartment. Ichigo knew Ishida had been back there at least once because his toothbrush and some of his toiletries were missing from the bathroom, but the fact that the guy could flash-step faster than Ichigo, who had to switch to spirit form before he could even try to follow, made the chance of catching him unlikely. Even if Ichigo managed to surprise him, Ishida would probably run the minute he heard the key in the lock and be five blocks away by the time Ichigo got the door open. It was a no-win situation, and that fact alone was enough to worsen Ichigo's already foul mood.

Sweat stung the back of his neck, reminding him he shouldn't be standing there in the hot sun like an idiot. His brain was already half-fried from all this crap with Ishida, and the last thing he wanted was for the sun to bake it the rest of the way. Especially not when he needed it to figure out how he was going to find – and, if necessary, trap – Ishida.

Sighting an empty bench, Ichigo made for it and collapsed there, grateful for the shade. His phone trilled with a message alert as he was wiping sweat from his face, and he grabbed it from his pocket so quickly he nearly fumbled it. He had left several messages at Ishida's cell number since 'the incident' of Sunday night but had never received a response. Praying that his roommate had finally relented, he snapped open the phone only to see Chad's name blinking on the screen.

"Son of a bitch," Ichigo muttered. Shaking off his disappointment, he thumbed the button for his inbox and saw that Chad, laconic as ever, had left a five word message:

_Have you talked with him?_

"Bastard," Ichigo grumbled, scowling at the phone. It had been Chad's stupid idea to 'talk' to Ishida in the first place, hadn't it? To tell Ishida how he felt? And look what had happened: Ishida had blown him off like he always did. He'd outright said that Ichigo didn't know what he was talking about. If Ichigo hadn't kissed him, he'd… hell, he didn't know what Ishida would have done.

Ichigo growled in exasperation and dropped his head into his hands. Chad knew Ishida. He knew exactly how stubborn and unreasonable the damn Quincy could be. He also knew that Ishida was a lot better with words than Ichigo, so why would Chad have told him to try _talking_ to Ishida about the way he felt? Surely Chad, the guy who always had Ichigo's back, wouldn't have told him to do something he knew would fail.

Ichigo tried to remember exactly what it was Chad had said when he'd dropped him off at the hotel. Something about how 'not talking' to Ishida might end up being worse in the end. As much as he racked his brain, Ichigo couldn't remember Chad's exact words. What he did remember, though, now that he was thinking back, was the way Chad had looked. There was something in his gaze when he'd told Ichigo that, and again when he'd said goodbye. Too caught up in his own problems, Ichigo hadn't noticed it then, but now it bothered him. He tried to name the emotion in Chad's eyes but couldn't put his finger on it. Troubled? Hopeful? Amused? Maybe all three?

"The hell if I can figure it out," Ichigo muttered, rubbing at his temples. "But this is the last time I take advice from Chado."

Ichigo stopped massaging his head and opened his eyes. When _had_ he ever taken relationship advice from Chad? For that matter, when had Chad ever offered it to him? Never, as far as Ichigo could recall. Chad wasn't the type to butt into other people's business, especially not their love lives. But he'd done it in this case, hadn't he? He'd asked Ichigo outright if there was something between him and Ishida. The Chad that Ichigo knew wouldn't have said that at knifepoint, much less offered guidance. Unless…

"You _know_ something, don't you?" Ichigo growled, staring at his phone.

Feeling a surge of triumph, Ichigo jumped to his feet, shoved his phone in his pocket, and took off running back to the apartment. Some people looked at him like he was crazy to run full-speed, head uncovered, in the heat of the day, but Ichigo didn't care. For the first time in days, he actually knew what he had to do. No dithering. No second-guessing.

He had to talk to Chad.

As he balanced on the ledge outside Chad's apartment window, Ichigo wondered if there was something about the Shinigami spirit form that made them adverse to doors. As far back as he could remember, from the moment that Rukia had appeared right through his bedroom wall, he'd never known a Shinigami outside of a gigai to use one. He never remembered using one himself, maybe because he was usually going in and out through his own window. Back home, it was so the rest of his family wouldn't know what he was doing. Now, it was more habit than anything. In this case, though, Ichigo figured that Chad would be grateful if the neighbors didn't see him open his apartment door and to welcome an invisible friend.

It was cooler there in Karakura, not least because the afternoon was fading into evening, and Chad had one side of his living room window open to catch the breeze. Ichigo rapped the glass with his knuckles and peered in. The place looked much like it had the last time Ichigo visited. There were a few more guitars hanging on the wall, and a stack of colorful letters and cards – fanmail, Ichigo guessed – on the coffee table, but the brown leather couch, big enough for even Chad to sprawl full-length on, still dominated the sparsely furnished living room. The light was on in the adjoining kitchen, and Ichigo could see a canvas grocery sack on the counter with greens sticking out of it.

"Oi, Chado, you there?" Ichigo called, knocking on the glass again.

"Ichigo?" Chad appeared from the bedroom, looking surprised and wearing a half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt. Ichigo couldn't tell whether he'd been taking it off or putting it on.

"Yo," Ichigo waved from the ledge. "Sorry for showing up without calling, but it was kind of a spur of the moment decision. You busy?"

"No. Come on in." Chad eyed Ichigo as he sprang from the window to the floor. "Did something happen? I mean, is anything wrong?"

"Hell if I know," Ichigo sighed, laying Zangetsu on the floor and then flopping down on one end of the couch. "I was kind of hoping you could tell me."

Chad gazed at Ichigo for a moment. "This is about Ishida, isn't it?" Ichigo noted that it didn't sound like much of a question.

"Who else?" Ichigo grunted.

Chad nodded once, almost as if he'd been expecting this, and reached down to do up the last three buttons of his shirt. "Are you thirsty?" he asked, heading into the kitchen. "Do you want a soda or some juice?"

"No, I'm fine," Ichigo said, sitting forward to put is elbows on his knees. "What I really want are some answers."

"So you did talk to him." Chad returned from the kitchen with a can of flavored soy drink and popped the top as he sat down in the middle of the sofa.

"I tried to," Ichigo snorted. "But things didn't go exactly like I expected, okay?"

"What happened?" Chad was looking at him without suspicion or expectation. Anyone else would have probably asked _What did you do?_ and Ichigo would have felt the need to defend his actions. With Chad, though, he simply sighed and laid it out.

"It was like I said," Ichigo started. "That Sunday after I dropped you off, I went back and tried to, well, sort of broach the subject, you know? But for one thing, I'm crap with stuff like that, and for another we kept getting interrupted. That Toru guy? First he called, then he just showed up at our door, and then he and Ishida waltzed off to have coffee together, so… I kind of followed them."

Chad took a sip of his drink and nodded as if he'd already known that part. Considering how long they'd been friends, he probably had.

"Ishida caught me, of course," Ichigo huffed. "We had a showdown over it when we both got back to the apartment. He started ragging on me about how I never had a steady girlfriend, and that's when I told him that… maybe girls weren't what I really wanted. He didn't believe me. He acted like it was some kind of a bad joke, and wanted to know where I'd got that idea. And… it just came out of my mouth. I told him I'd seen him. Him and Toru."

"You… you did? Ishida and Toru-kun?" Chad sounded surprised now. Ichigo couldn't quite tell, but he looked like he might be blushing.

"Oh yeah," Ichigo admitted, leaning back and pressing his hands to his eyes. "Friday night. I saw them in bed together, just… going at it. It was an accident both times: watching them, and then telling Ishida about it. I didn't mean to do either."

"What happened when you told him?" Chad was sitting up and paying close attention now.

"What do you think happened?" Ichigo shrugged. "He freaked the fuck out. Told me I didn't know what I was talking about, that people didn't just turn gay all of a sudden, or something like that. Called me crazy. All the usual Ishida-type shit. I told him I didn't know about any of that stuff, about whether I was really gay or just crazy. I said all I knew was that I wanted him. He didn't believe me, so… I kissed him."

"You kissed him," Chad repeated, staring at Ichigo.

"Yeah," Ichigo agreed, slumping down and staring up at the ceiling. "That's what it started out as, at least. But that wasn't what it ended up being."

"Uhm, Ichigo? How far did it go?"

"As far as two guys can go with their clothes still on," Ichigo groaned. "I didn't mean for that to happen, either, but it did. After that, I thought… hell, I don't know what I thought, but I figured that Ishida would at least believe me. Instead, he just walked away. I ran after him to his room, but he was already gone. He ran, Chad. He flash-stepped out his window and I haven't seen him since."

Chad frowned and set his drink can on the table. "You haven't seen him?" he questioned. "Or he hasn't been back?"

"I haven't seen him," Ichigo grimaced. "Meaning, he hasn't _let_ me see him. I know he's been back, and I've felt traces of his reiatsu around school. He's hiding from me."

"He's probably embarrassed," offered Chad, who looked a bit embarrassed himself.

"And I'm not?" Ichigo snorted. "C'mon, this is Ishida we're talking about. He's never backed down from confronting me." Ichigo straightened and shifted to look at Chad, who was now bent over, arms resting on his knees, staring grimly at his can of soy drink. "Something's going on, Chad, and when I started thinking about it, I got the feeling that you know what it is."

Chad jerked his head up at that, and Ichigo saw something close to guilt flash through his dark eyes. He frowned, lowered his head once more, then stood up and took his can to the kitchen.

"You do know something, don't you?" Ichigo pressed, standing up to follow him. "About why Ishida's acting this way?"

Chad didn't respond for a moment. He set the can on the counter and began to unload the sack of groceries that was sitting there, putting the greens in the sink for washing and setting packages of noodles in a cabinet. Ichigo was about to start pleading with his friend when Chad cleared his throat.

"Back in high school, in eleventh form, there was a guy in the Handicrafts Club who was interested in Ishida. He made advances. Ishida didn't respond at first, but this guy was persistent. After awhile, they became… close."

"How close?" Ichigo asked, feeling a spike of jealousy at this news that made him scowl.

"Close enough that when it ended, it was pretty bad," Chad rumbled, both his tone and expression darkening. "After they'd been seeing each other awhile, this guy, the one who had pursued Ishida, rejected him. He started going out with girls and tried to spread rumors that Ishida had come on to him. That Ishida had tried to 'turn him gay'."

"What!" Ichigo roared, instantly enraged. "Who was this bastard? Why wasn't I told about this? I'd have beaten his face in until he apologized."

"Yeah," Chad agreed with a grim smile. "That's why no one told you. Beating him up would have made it worse, and Ishida was already deeply embarrassed."

"Yeah, but idiots like that, they don't just stop talking for no reason!"

"They do if they don't remember what happened," Chad pointed out.

"But how could that…?" Remembering high school made Ichigo recall other things as well. Like Rukia, trim and tiny and deceptively innocent in her uniform, smiling and brandishing that weird toy that took people's memories away. "Oh god, don't tell me. Rukia?"

Chad nodded. "She managed to get him when he was spreading rumors to his friends. Now, no one remembers he was even with Ishida."

"I'll bet Ishida remembers," Ichigo snorted, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

"Yes, he does." Chad turned on the faucet to rinse the greens, then glanced at Ichigo as he shook them out and laid them in a colander on the drain board. "Does it make more sense now?"

Ichigo frowned, trying to find the relationship between Chad's story and his situation. "You're telling me that Ishida ditched because, what? He thinks the same thing will happen again? That's just crazy," Ichigo glared. "What the hell does that guy have to do with me? It isn't the same thing at all."

"Ichigo," Chad said, his eyes grave. "Ishida is the first guy you've been interested in, isn't he? You've only dated girls before. Try to see things from Ishida's view."

"But I'm not that guy!" Ichigo exclaimed. "And I'm not just trying to, to… satisfy my curiosity or something. I'm not like that! And what's more, Ishida _knows_ I'm not like that! He can't believe I would do something like that to him."

"Sometimes," Chad said carefully, "what we're afraid of is more powerful than what we know or believe. When it's a matter of the heart, even someone like Ishida isn't always rational."

"That's putting it lightly," Ichigo grumbled. "Who runs away from their own apartment for three days when…" Ichigo trailed off as his angry scowl changed to an expression of consternation. "Wait. What do you mean 'matters of the heart'?"

Chad blinked and opened his mouth, but he appeared to be frozen at the sink, his tanned face visibly paling.

"There's something you're not telling me," Ichigo guessed, his pulse suddenly pounding. "Chado, this is important. _Really_ important. If there's more going on here than what you said, then I've got to know. I can't afford to make any more mistakes."

Chad leaned both of his big hands on the sink and chewed his lip, obviously wrestling with some internal matter. He didn't answer until Ichigo reached over to grip his arm.

"Please," he begged. "I don't want to lose him."

At that, Chad let out a long breath and closed his eyes.

"Ishida," he said slowly, as if weighing out each word, "has liked you for a long time."

Ichigo's heart leapt into his throat, and he swallowed hard to try and force it back down.

"How do you know that?"

"I may not talk much," Chad said with a slight smile, "but I do see things. I've known for awhile."

"How long?" he asked, trying to read Chad's eyes.

"Ever since high school."

Ichigo felt the hairs lift at the back of his neck. "No way," he protested. "Ishida hated me in high school."

"At first, maybe," Chad allowed. "But after the Menos battle, something changed. Didn't you notice?"

"I noticed that bastard never missed a chance to insult me or pull that stupid 'Quincy are better than Shinigami' crap," Ichigo snorted.

Chad was right, though. Before Ishida had snapped that bait, he'd hardly known the guy existed. After that battle, after everything they had gone through, it was hard for Ichigo to _not_ notice Ishida's existence. He'd barely been able to take his eyes off him in class the next day, he'd even invited him to lunch. Yeah, he'd admit that something had changed for _him_ after the battle. But for Ishida?

"He sure had enough reason to hate me back then," Ichigo went on. "He lost his powers because he followed me into Soul Society. That's why he made that stupid deal with his bastard father. And then, in Hueco Mundo…" Ichigo trailed off, staring at the floor and feeling that familiar torque in his gut, right in the same place he'd seen Zangetsu driven through Ishida's slight body.

"He never blamed you for that," Chad reminded him. "He never blamed you for any of those things."

"Then why is he running from me now?" Ichigo asked dully.

"Think about it, Ichigo," Chad offered. "What would you think if someone you'd liked for a long time but thought you could never have suddenly did, well … what you did? Especially if you believed that person would never return your feelings?"

"I'd think it was too good to be true," Ichigo admitted, then sighed and let his head flop backward in exasperation. For what felt like the millionth time that week, he said "God, I'm an idiot."

"No," Chad smiled, "you're just 'you', Ichigo. You always rush in headlong. And Ishida…"

"Ishida doesn't," Ichigo agreed, still staring at the ceiling. He turned his head a bit and angled his eyes toward his friend. "Am I being crazy, Chad? Ishida and I are so different. What if we're too different to make this work? Assuming I can even find him and get him to try, that is."

"You are different," Chad acknowledged, sounding thoughtful, "but deep down, you two are more alike than you want to admit. Maybe it's like your powers. Urahara-san explained it to me once, how Quincy and Shinigami powers rely on different sources, but can have similar strength and effect. He said that in spite of the opposition between the two races, their powers were actually complimentary. I think, maybe that's the way it is for you and Ishida."

Ichigo had lifted his head when Chad mentioned Urahara's name and listened intently to his words. Before, he'd been teetering on the edge of despair, but now he felt a frisson of hope at his core.

"Urahara said…?" he repeated, more to himself than to Chad. The next instant, he had pushed away from the counter and was striding back to the living room to grab Zangetsu from the floor.

"Ichigo, what's wrong?" Chad asked as he followed him, wide eyed.

"Nothing's wrong this time," Ichigo grunted as he slung his huge sword across his back and then turned to flash Chad a hopeful grin. "You just gave me an idea. One that might actually work."

"Where are you going?" Chad wondered, still looking bewildered as Ichigo threw a leg over the window sill. "Are you heading back now?"

"I've got one more stop to make," he said, sliding out the window to balance on the ledge once more. He paused before stepping off into the air and bent down to look back through at his friend.

"Thanks, Chado," he said. "If you hadn't told me about Ishida, I'm not sure what I would have done."

Chad gave him a somber look. "Just be careful, Ichigo," he advised. "Ishida is tougher than he looks, but…"

"I won't screw it up," Ichigo promised. "Not this time, all right?" With that, he launched himself into the reishi currents in the air and skimmed away.

"Ichigo!" He was barely a building away when he heard the shout. Looking back, he saw Chad leaning out the window, his thumbs-up signal held high. "Good luck!" he called after Ichigo.

Ichigo grinned and waved, then stepped into the fastest _shunpou_ he knew. _Thanks, Chado_, he thought as he sped away to a different part of his old home town. _I'm going to need every bit of it I can get._


	12. 12: In Which Ichigo Does Some Thinking

Author's note: Nope, I'm not dead and this story is not abandoned. :) Apologies for the short, transitional chapter but there's more in the works.

Ch 12: In Which Ichigo Does Some Thinking

Ichigo scowled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, let out a huff of breath, and forced himself to put on the thing he'd borrowed from Urahara. After staring at himself for several seconds, Ichigo announced to the mirror: "I look like a goddamned idiot."

There was no point in denying it. He _did_ look like an idiot. Urahara had called the item by some long, formal-sounding name like 'Heavenly Cloak of Three Cranes Seeking Diamond Fish' which was pretty stupid considering it wasn't a cloak at all. Ichigo thought a better name for it would have been 'Ugly-Ass Cap of Total Embarrassment' because that was certainly the effect when he put it on.

When Urahara had first plopped it on his head at the store, Yoruichi purred and rubbed against him seductively. "I think it's very fetching."

"Quit that!" Ichigo had snatched the thing off his head to see what looked like a gold and brown aviator's cap adorned with huge, catlike ears. "You bastard! Are you making fun of me again?" Ichigo wadded the cap in his fist.

Urahara had put up his hands in a deflecting gesture. "Careful! There's delicate technology in that, Kurosaki-san. It won't be of any help to you if you damage it."

Ichigo had glared at the man, who giggled nervously and stepped back. When Ichigo uncrumpled the cap to examine it, there seemed to be some sort of wiring in the material. Even as he held it, the large ears appeared to quiver with sensitivity.

"What's it supposed to do, anyway?" Ichigo wanted to know.

"Exactly what you need it to do," Urahara had smiled, a faint gleam in his shadowed eyes. "As long as you are wearing it, you will be able to pinpoint and follow the reiatsu of a specific person while your own spiritual pressure is totally concealed."

Ichigo had raised an eyebrow at the bizarre cap. "Even from someone like Ishida?"

"Even from a Quincy," Urahara had confirmed with an impish smile.

He had wondered just how the shopkeeper knew that particular detail but decided he was probably happier not knowing.

Just like he would have been happier if no one could see him wearing the ridiculous, cat-eared headgear, but that wasn't an option.

"Remember, Kurosaki-san," Urahara had told him, peering slyly over his fan and hiding what Ichigo was sure was an evil grin. "That was made for use with a gigai, so it won't work if you're in spirit form."

"You're kidding, right?" The look on Ichigo's face had sent Yoruichi into a fit of cackling.

"Think of it as an incentive," she'd snickered, peeling the cap out of his hand and fitting it back on his head before pushing him toward the door. "The faster you find him, the fewer people will see you, right?"

"Thanks a lot," he had muttered, not feeling as grateful as he probably should have. Just as he was about to flash step away, however, Urahara caught his sleeve and tucked something inside it.

"A little good luck charm for you," the shopkeeper had simpered. "Free sample of a new product. Happy hunting, Kurosaki-san!"

Ichigo had been half-way home before he thought to feel around in his sleeve to find what Urahara had given him, and he blushed when he saw the renegade Shinigami's trademark grin on the small, square, plastic packets.

"Wonderful," he'd grunted, shoving them back in his sleeve. At least he wasn't out of condoms any longer. As he'd made his way back to his apartment, Ichigo had tried not to think about whether he'd get the chance to use them.

On returning home, Ichigo had stashed the condoms in his nightstand, tossed the cat-eared cap onto his desk, and stood staring at it for a long time. His body was slumped in his desk chair where he'd left it, and, after a while, he sat down into it, stood up, took the cap and marched into the bathroom where he now stood wearing the cap and looking like an utter fool.

Which was exactly what he was.

"Crap," he muttered, pulling off the cap, turning away from the mirror and leaning against the sink.

_Ishida has liked you for a long time._

Chad's words throbbed in the back of his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking back, searching for the truth of those words. Images poured into the darkness behind his eyes: Ishida, stiff and priestly, declaring "I hate you, Kurosaki Ichigo"; Ishida slumped on the ground with his bloody hands and pleading eyes after the Menos battle; arguing with Ishida in the darkness of the Garganta, yelling about his "loopholes" but too focused on the coming battles to wonder why Ishida had looked for them; Ishida standing on the broken floor of the throne room after saving Inoue from the 10th Espada's massive fists. Except that Ishida hadn't been looking at Inoue. Ishida had been looking at him.

"So what?" Ichigo grumbled aloud. Ishida had been as snotty as ever that time. He hadn't said anything that hinted of hidden emotion. But then, Ishida had always been good at hiding things, hadn't he? The loss of his powers? The bargain he'd made with his father? Everything about himself.

Ichigo left the bathroom and wandered down the hall, ending up in front of Ishida's door without even meaning to. He pushed it open and stared inside. It looked just the same as the night Ishida left.

_He has to come back,_ Ichigo told himself. _All his stuff is here._

Even as he said it, Ichigo felt an icy trickle of fear in his gut. The furniture was undisturbed, but what if Ishida had packed up all his clothes and things while Ichigo had been in Karakura? In a panic, Ichigo strode to the closet and yanked the door open. Instead of the empty hangers that he feared, it was full of Ishida's shirts and pants, all arranged by color. His shoes were lined up on the floor, and there was a bin of neatly folded fabric beside his sewing machine case.

Ichigo let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Even if he ditched his clothes, there was no way Ishida would leave his sewing projects behind. Relieved, Ichigo leaned against Ishida's desk and realized he was still holding on to Urahara's cap. Shaking it out, he gazed at the thing, feeling quite sure that Urahara had designed it to be as embarrassing as possible. Ugly or not, though, it was his ticket to finding out where Ishida had gone. All Ichigo had to do was put it on, think about Ishida, and the cap would guide him right to his errant roommate.

So why wasn't he doing it?

_Be honest,_ his inner voice prodded him. _It's because you're afraid you won't like where you find him, isn't that it?_

Suspicion prickled through the worry and frustration Ichigo had harbored for the last three days. The idea that Ishida was staying at Buff/Toru's had occurred to him during Biology class on Monday, and he'd been fighting off thoughts – very detailed thoughts – of what they might be doing together since then. Worse, if Ishida _was _staying there, Ichigo knew he had only himself to blame, that his own stupidity and rashness had driven Ishida right into his rival's arms.

As much as Ichigo tormented himself with these thoughts, there was a small, rational sliver of his brain that didn't quite believe it. Even while he punched his pillow and kicked at his sheets, sleepless, tortured, and aroused by his own imaginings, part of him was aware of just how unlikely it all was. The Ishida he knew would rather sleep on the street than impose on another person, or worse, be indebted to them.

"Prickly bastard," Ichigo muttered. "Wouldn't ask for help if he was bleeding to death."

No, that wasn't quite true, and Ichigo knew it. Ishida had asked for his help the other night, hadn't he? Or at least he'd accepted it, up to a point. He'd asked Ichigo to take him home and allowed him to tend the wounds on his back. Wounds that, as usual, he'd gotten because of Ichigo.

_It's always my fault he gets hurt, isn't it?_ Ichigo berated himself, guilt flowering in the pit of his stomach as he remembered Ishida bleeding, Ishida powerless, Ishida impaled by Tensa Zangetsu. _No wonder he ran away. Why shouldn't he be afraid I'd do something like that again? How does he know I wouldn't do the same thing to his heart?_

Ichigo stared at the weird cap in his hand, then folded it and stuffed it in his back pocket. He moved to the window and parted the curtains to look out. He knew Ishida was out there somewhere in the soft glow of the night-lit city, and he knew he could find him. The thing was – the real reason he was reluctant to go look for him – was that he wanted Ishida to come home on his own. He wanted Ishida to come back to him.

"Friday," Ichigo said, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the window glass. "I'll give him until Friday. If he's not back by then, I'll use it. I'll find him and bring him back myself."


	13. 13: Ichigo Straightens Things Out

_Disclaimer: Bleach and all its characters belong to Kubo Tite. (Any original characters are mine.) This is posted for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made or sought._

As it happened, Ichigo didn't make it until Friday.

His feelings of guilt had faded after a good night's sleep, and Ichigo jogged to class the next morning feeling oddly hopeful. While there was no trace of Ishida's reiatsu on campus, Ichigo's gut told him that his missing roommate was somewhere nearby and everywhere Ichigo looked, he kept expecting to see him. He was always disappointed, though, and by the time his last class rolled around, Ichigo's expectant mood had soured. He brooded through his Trigonometry class when he should have been listening and taking notes.

_That bastard_, Ichigo fumed as he sat there gripping his pen, watching the instructor mark up the white board and seeing nothing. _It's been four days. Four! Does he think he can just disappear like this? What the hell is he trying to pull?_

When the lesson ended and his classmates were standing up and gathering their books, Ichigo realized he hadn't heard a word of the instructor's lecture and had no idea what would be covered on the test next week. Stuffing his notebook into his backpack, Ichigo left the classroom in a bitter frame of mind, knowing that if Ishida didn't turn up soon, he would end up failing at least one class, maybe more.

Returning to a still Ishida-less apartment didn't improve his temper. Without Ishida around to harass him into cleaning up, he'd let the place go to hell, but it wasn't just the bowls and half-empty drink cans on the coffee table that signaled his roommate's absence. Even with the pillows and slip-covered furniture, the apartment was starting to feel like Ishida didn't live there any longer.

"Fuck," Ichigo groaned, dumping his backpack on the floor and sitting down hard on the arm of the sofa. He'd been kidding himself all this time, hadn't he? He'd been denying what he should have realized all along: Ishida wasn't coming back there. Not on his own at any rate.

"Dumbass," Ichigo grumbled, and for once he wasn't talking about himself. "Stupid, prideful, near-sighted, little…" He let his thoughts and words trail off as he rose and stalked down the hall to the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. It was stuffy inside the apartment, but he didn't stop to open the windows or turn on the fans. Instead, he turned on the shower full blast and stepped under the spray. Ichigo shivered and gritted his teeth at the cold rush of water, but he didn't move from under it. It was what he needed to shock him back to reality and out of the haze of worry and self-doubt he'd been tangled in all week.

_What the hell was I thinking?_ he wondered, scrubbing soap over his skin as if he could wash off his hesitation along with the sweat. Yeah, it had made sense that Ishida would eventually come back, and hell, Ishida was nothing if not sensible, right? But somehow Ichigo had forgotten about his stupid pride, his stupid _Quincy_ pride, which as far as he could tell was just a cover story for Ishida being the most stubborn person on earth. And he'd forgotten just how often Ishida's pride trumped his usual caution and common sense. Hell, hadn't Chad told him something like that? That even Ishida couldn't be rational…

"…when it's a matter of the heart," Ichigo repeated. He shut off the water and stood there dripping, remembering Chad's expression, remembering Ishida's face before he stepped away from him so carefully and ran.

Ichigo let out a long sigh and felt most of the anger leave his body along with the breath. Most of it. There was still enough to fuel his own stubborn determination to find Ishida and drag him back, kicking and screaming if necessary, to have it out with him.

_And I can do it, too,_ he thought as he toweled himself off. Urahara had given him the means, and right then, Ichigo didn't care how ugly and embarrassing those particular means were. As long as they let him track down Ishida. As long as he had a chance to talk some sense into him, to make him listen.

To make Ishida see that he was serious about this. About him.

Once mostly dry, Ichigo changed into clean clothes and moved around his room, opening the window, clicking on the ceiling fan, and finally stopping to stare at his bed. He remembered Ishida lying asleep on his rumpled sheets, and it was all too easy to imagine him there again but this time awake, unhurt, wanting to be there. Wanting him.

Ichigo swallowed thickly and turned away before he could take the fantasy further. _ Don't jinx it,_ he told himself, shoving his fingers through his damp hair and walking over to his desk. The borrowed cap – _Urahara's Diamond Cloak of what-the-fuck-ever_ lay where he'd tossed it when he'd undressed the night before. Its appearance hadn't improved in the ensuing hours. It was still the same garish gold and muddy brown it had been when the shopkeeper handed to him, the outlandish cat ears standing out like flags. Setting his jaw, Ichigo picked the cap up and gave it a determined look.

"All right," he addressed the cap. "You and I are going for a little walk." With that, he took a breath, closed his eyes and pulled the thing onto his head.

For a second, nothing happened, but then Ichigo blinked his eyes, turned around, and his glance fell once again on his bed. Immediately the image of Ishida lying there returned, and the next thing Ichigo knew, it felt like the claw of some big, invisible, novelty crane machine had slammed into his chest, latched onto his heart, and was hauling him toward the door.

"Whoa!" Ichigo shouted, digging in his heels against the force that was pulling him out of the apartment. "Hold on!" he yelled, managing to slow down enough to lock the door on his way out. Once at the bottom of the stairs and out onto the street, however, Ichigo let the cap have free rein. All he had to do was think of Ishida – not hard, since Ishida was all he _had_ been thinking about – and the way was clear.

He wasn't running, only walking with a long fast stride, but everything – the daytime crowd of students, office workers, food carts, and traffic – went by him in a blur. Faces turned to stare as he charged across the street, dodging bicycles and wide-eyed pedestrians. Both the noodle cart guy handing off a bowl of soup and the customer offering money gaped as he passed by, but Ichigo didn't care. It was like an invisible line was connecting him to his quarry, and nothing mattered but following that connection to its source.

Urahara had told him the cap wouldn't work in his Shinigami form, but somehow it felt like his heavy human body was moving at the speed of flash step. Sooner than he expected, he was on campus, passing the library, the science building, the fountain at the university's center, the rec center, and then going into unfamiliar territory. He passed buildings whose names he didn't recognize, a sculpture he'd only seen in the university brochure, and then turned down a walkway lined with cherry trees long past their spring bloom. The walkway ended at an ornamental gate which opened onto an unknown street, and Ichigo stood there for a second, unsure of which way to go.

The street was moderately busy, and two suited salary men gave Ichigo a look as they jostled by, probably annoyed that he was simply standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Ichigo barely noticed. He was staring in the direction they'd come from because the line hooked into his heart was throbbing _there, there, there,_ and then he was heading down to the corner, across the street with the light flashing _Don't Walk_ and a car honking as it braked. After that, he ran, dodging women with strollers and shopping bags, almost slamming into a knot of people sorting through a bin outside a 100-yen store, and finally careening around the corner to grab the handle of a smudged glass door as the drum beat in his chest shouted _here!_

The door opened to a small café – quiet, dingy, past its prime. The place was a long, narrow aisle of scuffed linoleum with booths on either side, fronted by a counter with a yellowing paper menu taped to the glass. There was no one behind the counter, though Ichigo could hear voices and pots clanging through the door to the kitchen. Now past 2:00 pm, the place was mostly empty except for a few lingering lunch customers. Ichigo had eyes for only one, and he moved carefully down the aisle until he was standing by the booth where a solitary student was reading.

Ishida's head was bent over his physics textbook while the long fingers of his left hand tumbled a pencil end over end. A glass of iced barley tea was sweating on the formica tabletop, and a half-eaten bowl of soup had been pushed to the side. The long sweep of his hair fell forward, obscuring his face, but even if he hadn't seen the silver cross bracelet dangling from his wrist or the top of the Quincy scar just barely visible down the open collar of his shirt, Ichigo would have known who it was.

The moment he had seen the angle of Ishida's shoulder, the way the bone jutted from his wrist and the edge of his elbow, the sheen of light on his hair, Ichigo's heart had expanded with something too big to be contained and then contracted just as sharply. So many emotions battled inside him – relief, anger, frustration, attraction – that Ichigo couldn't process them all. He wanted to charge forward and demand to know where Ishida had been and why he hadn't answered his calls. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled, and he wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him so tight that he'd never get away again. He wanted to say something smart or sarcastic or cutting enough to make Ishida's face burn and his tongue falter, but he didn't do any of those things. Instead, Ichigo simply stood there and watched him.

Had he ever been able to observe Ishida without his notice before? Ichigo was sure he hadn't. Every time he'd tried to spy on him back in high school, Ishida had known all along and called him out on it. He remembered staring at him across the classroom and how Ishida never looked up, never acknowledged him, but somehow he always seemed to know. And didn't that mean that the only side of Ishida that Ichigo had ever seen – at least until last Friday night – was the one Ishida wanted him to see? Now, after everything that had happened, Ichigo wanted so much more than that.

Watching him silently, Ichigo saw that this Ishida was different from the stiffly formal boy who sat up straight in class and always knew when Ichigo was staring at him. This Ishida wore rumpled, un-ironed clothes – black shirt, gray shorts – and had shadows under his eyes like he hadn't been sleeping well. This Ishida did normal, human things like rub his eyes behind his glasses and prop his chin on his hand as if he was weary, and… well, if it had been anyone but Ishida, Ichigo would have said the guy was actually slouching. He edged closer, wanting to see more, but Ishida chose that moment to lean back from his book with a small groan and stretch, locking his fingers behind his head and arching his back so far that his shirt rode up to reveal his stomach.

Just the sight of Ishida's pale abdomen between the hem of his shirt and the waist of his shorts made Ichigo's pulse leap and his breath go out in a rush. There was barely a sound, but Ishida must have heard it because he froze in the middle of his stretch, opened his eyes, and stared straight at Ichigo.

Shock, confusion, and something close to horror flashed through Ishida's widening eyes. His mouth fell open, he collapsed out of his stretch, and his arms flopped to his side. The pencil fell from his fingers, clicked to the floor, and rolled until Ichigo put his foot on it to stop it. Without taking his eyes off his quarry, Ichigo leaned down, picked the pencil up, and then held it out to Ishida.

"You dropped this," he said, doing his best not to look or sound as pleased as he felt at Ishida's reaction.

Ishida didn't even look at the pencil. His eyes were trained directly on the cat-eared monstrosity on Ichigo's head. They flicked down just long enough to confirm that it was, in fact, Ichigo's face beneath the cap, after which Ishida straightened and glanced around the café before returning his astonished gaze to Ichigo.

"What," he mouthed, still staring as if Ichigo were some revenant ghost, "what on _earth_ are you wearing?"

Ichigo couldn't remember ever seeing Ishida caught so flat-footed before, and the satisfaction he felt at that improved his mood greatly. It was the first time in this whole crazy fiasco that Ichigo felt he was operating from an advantage, and he could see that Ishida felt it too.

"Tell me where you've been since Sunday night," Ichigo replied smoothly, "and I might tell you."

Something flashed through Ishida's eyes, and Ichigo was sure it was guilt. He felt just a twinge of it himself at making Ishida so uncomfortable – even if it was his own damn fault – and sighed.

"Look, can I sit down?"

Ishida eyed the strange cap again and almost winced. "Only if you take that… whatever it is off your head."

Ichigo hesitated. "If I do, you have to swear, swear on your grandfather's shrine, that you won't ditch me here and run away again."

One corner of Ishida's mouth twitched and he looked away, unwilling to meet Ichigo's eyes. "Fine," he said wearily. "I swear."

Without taking his eyes off Ishida, Ichigo removed the cap, stuffed it in his back pocket, and slid onto the seat beside him. Ishida looked surprised and a bit uncomfortable at this but made room for him. Far enough away that their legs didn't touch, but not, Ichigo noticed, too far. Trying to regain his composure, Ishida gave Ichigo a considering look.

"So that… thing you were wearing hides your reiatsu," he assessed. "That's why I didn't sense you until just now. You must have been to visit Urahara-san."

"Never mind where I've been," Ichigo said. "Let's talk about where _you've_ been for the past four nights. And don't tell me "around" or "here and there" or some other lame answer like that." When Ishida didn't respond immediately, Ichigo's suspicions got the best of him and he blurted out: "Were you staying with Toru? Is that where you've been all this time?"

To Ichigo's tremendous relief, Ishida bristled and said: "Of course not! Why would you think something like that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Ichigo tossed back, crossing his arms. "From what I saw, good ol' Toru-kun would have been delighted if you'd shown up at his door."

"Well, I didn't," Ishida frowned, "nor would I have. Besides," he added in a clipped tone, "Toru-kun and I agreed that we weren't … what each other is really looking for."

"Oh. Uhm. Really?" Ichigo stammered, trying to keep his tone sober while his heart did cartwheels of delight at the news.

"Don't act like it doesn't make you happy," Ishida snapped, some of the fire returning to his tone.

"Fine," Ichigo agreed. "I won't. Because you know what? It does make me happy. Happiest I've been since before you jumped out your damn window and ran the hell away."

"I didn't run away!" Ishida challenged, then stopped and peered around when he realized he'd spoken louder than he'd intended. A trio of girls two booths down were obviously straining their ears to hear them, and Ishida sat back, lips thinning, and closed his textbook. "I did not _run away_," he repeated in a stiff whisper. "I was just…giving you some time alone. To…reflect."

"Reflect?" Ichigo said, not moderating his voice in the slightest. "Reflect on what? The fact that you couldn't get out of there fast enough after we humped like a couple of monkeys?"

"Kurosaki!" Ishida hissed as their observers ducked their heads and stifled giggles. "Keep your voice down!"

"You still haven't told me where you've been all this time," Ichigo pointed out. "Though from the looks of you," he added, fingering the sleeve of Ishida's rumpled shirt, "I guess you weren't staying at some fancy hotel."

"I've been sleeping in the car!" Ishida growled, yanking his arm away and glaring at Ichigo. "Sleeping in the car, showering at the rec center, and taking my meals at… places like this. Is that enough of an answer for you?"

It wasn't – not by a long shot – but Ichigo was too busy processing what Ishida had said to pursue it at that moment. "The car?" he repeated. "You mean all this time I've been running all over the place trying to find you, and you've been down the street? In the stupid parking garage?"

He expected Ishida to look smug at that, at his reiatsu detection being so piss-poor that Ishida could hide from him only a city block away, but he only looked tired.

"I slept in the library the first night, but all the private study rooms were booked after that," he grumbled, "so my options were limited."

"So you decided that going into hiding was your best choice? For four days? Damn it, Ishida, why didn't you just come home?"

"I told you before," Ishida said stubbornly. "I wanted to give you some time."

"And I still don't understand what you mean by that," Ichigo insisted, his frustration building.

"God, Kurosaki!" Ishida rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I was giving you a chance to come to your senses. If you were going to wake up the next morning and realize it was all a big mistake, then it would be easier if I wasn't there. We could just ignore it. Pretend it didn't happen."

"What the hell are you even talking about?" Ichigo demanded, moving from frustration to bewilderment. "I don't want to ignore it. I don't want to pretend it didn't happen. It _did_ happen. I _wanted_ it to happen. And I'm not going to "come to my senses", you idiot! Did that Hollow knock part of your brain loose or something? How could you think I'd do any of those things?"

"I don't know, Kurosaki," Ishida retorted, his blue eyes narrow and hard. "I never thought you were the type to spy on me through my bedroom door, either, but apparently you are. How the hell do I know what you're going to do anymore?"

The words stung, but it wasn't the accusation of peeping that truly bothered Ichigo, it was the deeper implication.

"You don't trust me," he accused, searching Ishida's gaze. "That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

For the second time since Ichigo had walked in, Ishida opened his mouth, said nothing, and then shut it. He closed his eyes with a small sigh, and shook his head.

"That's not it. I do trust you, Kurosaki. To be honest," he added in a bemused tone, as if he couldn't quite believe it himself, "I'm not sure there's anyone I trust more. It's just…" he hesitated, "it's this suddenness that I don't trust. I mean, why now? After all the time we've known each other, you can't convince me that just seeing Toru and me… together… is enough to…" Ishida trailed off, looking uncomfortable and twirling one hand in a gesture of frustration. "Kurosaki," he sighed, "you don't just _turn gay_ one day because of something you've seen."

Ichigo took in Ishida's troubled expression then frowned at the table top. This was the heart of the whole fiasco, wasn't it? The reason Ishida had run, the reason he'd stayed away all week. The reason he'd slept in his car and showered at the gym and eaten soup at cheap little cafés like this one. The fear that this was just a "phase", that Ichigo would wake up one day and – just like Ishida had predicted – realize it had all been a terrible mistake.

"Okay," Ichigo said, turning in his seat to face Ishida. "Maybe you're right. People probably don't just turn gay one day out of the blue. But you know, maybe that's not what really happened."

Ishida narrowed his eyes and tilted his head a bit. "If you're about to tell me that you've never really been attracted to girls and have secretly been gay all along, I should probably warn you that I've heard that one before."

"Uh, no," Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head. "Nothing like that. But I think you know that, well, it's never been that big a deal for me."

"What do you mean?" Ishida asked with a suspicious look.

"I mean I'm not like Keigo, all right?" Ichigo said. "Or even like Mizuiro, for that matter. I've never been all about girls and sex and boobs and… stuff like that."

"I'm not sure anyone can be compared to Asano in that respect," Ishida deadpanned, "but I take your point. I still don't see what you're getting at."

"Think about it," Ichigo urged. "I've made a lot of choices in the past few years. I could have gone to Soul Society and been a full-time Shinigami. I could have stayed in Karakura and joined Chad's band. I could have spent a year backpacking around the country from Okinawa to Hokkaido like my old man suggested. But I didn't do any of those things. Instead, I'm here with you, living in the same apartment, attending the same university. Did you ever think that maybe that was something more than just chance and convenience?"

"Not really," Ishida said, but Ichigo could tell by his expression that he was thinking about it now.

"I didn't either," Ichigo admitted. "Not until I went to see Urahara-san and something he said made me _start_ thinking about it. Here." With that, he reached for Ishida's hand and pulled it toward him. Ishida instinctively tried to jerk his hand back, but Ichigo held on until Ishida relaxed and allowed him to turn his palm up to the light.

"There," Ichigo said, pointing at the fine white lines of hair-thin scars traced over Ishida's fingers. "Remember how you got those? And these up your arm?"

"Like I could forget."

"Yeah? Then remind me."

"Idiot," Ishida snorted, tugging his hand away. "You were there. You know what happened. Your reiatsu went crazy. I had to do something."

"But what did you do? And how did you do it?"

"I simply channeled your reiatsu," Ishida frowned, "and dispersed it until you could control it again."

"Simply, huh?" Ichigo repeated. "You act like it was easy, but I remember watching you. How crazy you looked, the way you were gritting your teeth. I thought your arms were going to come apart. It had to hurt, doing that, and now you've got all these scars."

"So?" Ishida challenged, closing his hand to hide the scarring. "What does any of this have to do with Urahara-san anyway?"

"Because," Ichigo said, holding Ishida's gaze, "he thinks that you weren't the only one with scars from that day."

Ishida's expression went from annoyed to wary, and he glanced down at Ichigo's hands as if expecting to see his own scars mirrored there.

"Are you saying you've got scars like these?" Ishida sounded incredulous, but his eyes were sharp with interest.

"Not on the outside," Ichigo said, holding out an open hand. "Inside. Urahara-san said that much power going through someone always leaves a mark, even if you're the source of it. Even if you can't see it. That's why I never knew."

"Never knew what, Kurosaki?" Ishida demanded, losing his patience.

"That we're connected, dumbass! That we have been ever since my reiatsu went crazy, and you took it inside yourself and then shot it all out through your bow—umph!"

"Will you keep your voice down?" Ishida hissed, clapping his hand over Ichigo's mouth and only removing it once he'd scanned the café to see who was listening now. "And did you have to make it sound so... so embarrassing?"

"Sorry," Ichigo offered, trying not to smirk at Ishida's discomfort. "But that's what happened, right? Isn't that what you did?"

Ishida crossed his arms and gave Ichigo an uncomfortable sidelong glance. "Technically, yes."

"And technically," Ichigo repeated, scooting closer to Ishida, who drew back until the wall stopped him, "we've never been able to leave each other alone since then, have we?"

"That's ridiculous," Ishida said automatically, but his eyes looked troubled. Worried, even.

"Like hell it's ridiculous," Ichigo said. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head since that day. I always thought it was just guilt – for getting you involved, for you losing your powers, for… for all the times you got hurt – but it isn't. It's more than that."

"Kurosaki…" Ishida tried to interrupt, but Ichigo cut him off.

"And you, you're just as bad! I didn't ask you to go to Soul Society, or to Hueco Mundo, or anywhere else, but you did. And it was all because of me, wasn't it?"

"You?" Ishida looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel. The tops of his ears were turning red and his eyes could have shot sparks. "You think I did those things for you? I went to Hueco Mundo for Inoue-san!"

"Oh yeah? And you thinking up that logic loophole to get out of the vow to your father? Who was that for?"

"Stop twisting things around," Ishida snapped. The blood was rising in his cheeks now, but behind the flush his face seemed to be growing paler, and his eyes held a desperate glint.

"I'm not twisting things around," Ichigo insisted, sitting up straighter and scooting closer so that his knee pressed against Ishida's leg. "I'm finally trying to straighten them out."

"Are you also trying to push me through the wall?" Ishida glared, his back literally against it. He reached out to shove Ichigo back, but Ichigo caught his hand, palm to palm, and wound their fingers together.

"Stop acting like I'm crazy or you don't believe me," Ichigo demanded. "There's a connection between us, and I know you can feel it. You've known it all along, haven't you? You've _felt_ it all along. I'm the one who couldn't figure it out until it jumped up and slapped me in the face. So yeah, I think you're right after all. Seeing you with Toru, all hot and wild and desperate like that – that didn't make me gay. It made me see. It woke me up to what had been there all along.

"And as for you," he rounded on Ishida, "you're so damn good at lying to yourself, and you've done it for so damn long that you stopped believing in it. You convinced yourself it was just some weird one-sided attraction, didn't you? A feeling I'd never return, right? So you just shoved it down inside you and tried to ignore it. And now that I finally figured out what's going on, you think I'm crazy, that _I'm_ the one who's lying, but I'm not!"

"Shut up!" Ishida growled at him, his tone low and threatening. He had stopped trying to pull his hand from Ichigo's grasp and was now pushing against him, trying to force Ichigo back. Slim as he was, Ishida was strong, and Ichigo had to work to brace against him, to push his arm back. Blood and power were singing through his muscles, his heart felt like a galloping horse, and it was the most alive he'd felt all week.

"I won't shut up," Ichigo growled back, forcing Ishida's hand back toward his shoulder and his shoulder closer to the wall. "Not till you admit it. Not till you stop lying to yourself and admit what's between us, admit that you like me. That you've liked me all this time."

"Like I'd ever do that!" Ishida raged, glaring at Ichigo as he tried to twist out of his grip. "You are out of your mind if you think I'd …"

"I talked to Chad," Ichigo said before Ishida could even finish his outburst. His comment sank into their battle of wills like a depth charge, and its effect was instantaneous. Ishida stopped as if he'd hit a wall. Stopped talking, stopped moving. His hand went loose in Ichigo's grip, and his angry expression drained from his face along with most of his color.

"Chad," Ishida repeated. Maybe it was the changing light in the café, but his eyes had gone from sapphire to a pale blue gray. They looked like there was a desert behind them. "What did Chad tell you?"

"Everything," Ichigo replied. "He told me how you felt about me, and for how long. And he told me about that guy, the one you never let me find out about – and yeah, I _would've_ kicked his ass if I'd known."

"That was… a long time ago, Kurosaki," Ishida said, swallowing hard. "Chad doesn't…"

"Are you about to tell me Chad's lying?" Ichigo cut in. "Because if you are, I might have to knock your fool head through that wall."

Ishida had the grace to look guilty at that. He let out a long sigh, and everything seemed to go out of him with that breath. His hand in Ichigo's felt limp, almost dead, and Ichigo allowed him to pull it free as Ishida turned, propped his elbows on the table and put his forehead against his fists.

"What do you want from me, Kurosaki?" he asked. His voice was dull, and he sounded even more weary than he looked.

Ichigo gazed at Ishida – at his bowed head, at the shoulder blades riding up against his shirt, the defeated line of his body. He took a breath and slid an inch or two closer, to where his thigh pressed against Ishida's thigh and their shoulders touched.

"I want you to believe me," he said. "I want you to believe me when I say that I like you – the same way I think you like me – and that I want you like I've never wanted anyone before."

Ichigo felt more than saw the shiver that went down Ishida's back. He heard the intake of breath and watched Ishida slowly lift his head and fix him with a serious glance. He had the distinct feeling that he was being measured, that Ishida was sizing him up in a way he hadn't since he'd first come out of the darkness and told Ichigo that he hated him. Ichigo felt his heart thump three, then four beats, then Ishida pushed up his glasses and said: "You're saying you want to have sex with me."

Somehow Ichigo fought down the _Dear God, yes!_ that wanted to leap out of his mouth at Ishida's words. He sensed he was on precarious ground and silently prayed to whatever gods were listening that this time he wouldn't fuck things up.

"Yeah, of course I want to," Ichigo said. "But there's something I want more."

Ishida raised his head a little higher, the question in his eyes.

"I want you to come home," Ichigo answered. The words came out in an almost plaintive tone, but really, he didn't care. If pleading would work on Ishida, then he would plead. "The place doesn't feel right without you," he went on. "It feels empty and… wrong. I miss you, okay?"

"You miss me," Ishida repeated.

"I miss you," Ichigo confirmed. "I miss having you there. I miss arguing about stupid shit like who started the rice cooker last time and how I wash the dishes all wrong. I want to come home to a place that smells like you live there, and has stupid embroidered pillows on the floor and too much blue and white crap in it. I want to know you'll bitch me out for leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor, or using all the hot water, or eating those awful green tea breakfast bars of yours, and when Hollows come around, I want you there fighting beside me, and griping at me about being reckless, and I don't want you to get hurt again, ever, but if you do, I want to be the one to bind your wounds and make sure you're okay and give _you_ hell about being careless."

When he paused, Ishida was staring at him with an expression he didn't think he'd ever seen before: not cool, aloof, or frowning, but open, surprised, almost dazed. Eyes wide, lips parted, Ishida looked in that moment like the child he must have been before his grandfather was killed, and Ichigo felt his heart tip over like a full goblet and spill both cold and hot inside him. Staggered, suddenly short of breath, Ichigo reached for Ishida, wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him close. Ishida's hair swept loose from behind his ear, and Ichigo pressed his mouth against the long, silken strands.

"And yeah," he said, in a rough, not-quite whisper, "I want to make love to you. I want to take you home and push you down on my bed and fuck you so hard that you won't be able to see straight. I want to spread those long, white legs of yours and fuck you till we both come screaming, and then I want to get up in the morning and burn the rice and listen to you tell me what an idiot I am until I kiss you just to make you shut up. I want…" Ichigo's breath hitched as his words stumbled. He felt dizzy from confessing all these truths, from holding Ishida so close, and when he found his voice again, it was close to a sob. "Oh god, Uryuu, I just want you so bad."

It was a moment before he realized that there were cool fingers threading through his hair, pushing his head back, tipping it up. Lips, firm and dry, pressed against his own, resting there a moment before softening, parting, kissing. A thrill went through him, electric, at the tip of a tongue skating just inside his lips, and he groaned, one hand stroking over a sharp shoulder blade, the other rising to comb through Ishida's hair.

This kiss was nothing like their first. Ishida had initiated this kiss, and Ichigo let him guide it, shivering as Ishida's lips touched the edge of his mouth, his cheekbone, his jaw, hovering, alighting, and pulling away too soon for Ichigo's satisfaction.

"Uryuu," he whispered again, pulling back, opening his eyes, and smiling at the face before him. Remarkably, Ishida gave a wry half-smile in return, then glanced around the café and blushed.

There were only four other customers in the restaurant – the three girls in one booth and an elderly man reading a paper in another – but every pair of eyes was fixed on them. When Ishida looked around, the girls ducked their heads and tittered, and the old man pretended he'd been looking at something else and returned to his paper.

"Uh, so," Ichigo said quietly, still eyeing the other customers, "you want to stay here and finish your soup, or… do you want to come home?"

In answer, Ishida glanced around once more, slid closer to Ichigo and took him by the wrist. "What do you think?" he whispered, guiding Ichigo's hand onto his thigh and sliding it up to his lap. A jolt of raw arousal shot through Ichigo as he felt the hard bulge beneath the zipper of Ishida's shorts.

"Fuck," he muttered, giving it a soft squeeze and moving his hand over it to feel out its shape. His fingers traced the outline of his shaft, grasping it through the tough material of Ishida's shorts and making Ishida stiffen and draw a sharp breath. Ichigo knew he should let go, that he shouldn't be feeling Ishida up under the table in this all too intimate café, but he couldn't help it, couldn't seem to stop running a finger up and down where he guessed the underside vein lay until Ishida made a small, desperate sound and murmured "Stop."

Ichigo stilled, but it was Ishida who pushed his hand away and poked him in the side with a sharp finger tip. "Let's get out of here," he said, his voice tight.

"Hell yeah," Ichigo agreed. He slid out of the booth and stood, looking around while Ishida pulled some bills from his pocket and set them under the glass of tea. He stooped to grab his backpack from the floor, threw his physics book in, zipped it and slung it over his shoulder. Without another word, he strode down the aisle with Ichigo at his heels. They pushed through the door and into the afternoon heat, and before Ichigo could orient himself to find his way back, Ishida had grabbed him by the shirt and was hauling him around the corner, down the street, and into an alley.

He was about to ask Ishida, in honest confusion, if he really couldn't wait until they got home, but before he could, Ishida had turned his back to him, taken both his hands and set them on his hips.

"What's going on?" Ichigo wondered, perplexed but not displeased to have Ishida's rump so close to his crotch.

"You're about to get a lesson in Quincy superiority," Ishida said, throwing him with a wicked smile over his shoulder.

Before Ichigo could protest or say anything more, blue-white reiatsu bloomed under their feet and rose up scintillating all around them.

"Hang on!" Ishida warned, and Ichigo did just that, clutching Ishida's hips as they rose straight over the tops of the buildings like a triple speed elevator, then sheared off at rocket speed, so fast that Ichigo's yelp of surprise was left far behind.


End file.

Bleach, Humor, Romance