not your typical annihilatrix (furiosity) wrote,
not your typical annihilatrix

Fic: [Bleach] Mislaid Abandoned Simple Life (Ichigo/Ishida; light R)

Title: Mislaid Abandoned Simple Life
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: Light R
Pairing: Ichigo/Ishida
Disclaimer: Kubo owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Summary: Dr. Ishida Uryuu returns to his hometown to start a new job and try not to get himself into any trouble with ghosts from the past. The ghosts win.
Length: ~5300
Note: Written for Short Precarious Anecdote Month.

Mislaid Abandoned Simple Life

Ishida steps off the train at Karakura Station and just stands there for a minute, suitcase in hand.

Six years of medical school, two years' residency at a teaching hospital. He's called Akita City home for eight years. His father's condition: study there, and you can take over the hospital ten years after residency; study elsewhere, and you'll have to wait for me to die of old age. Ryuuken has never met a blackmail strategy he didn't like.

Karakura's a tiny station; everything's at hand. Ishida listens to its sounds -- the chatter, the bells and chimes from ticket gates, the early afternoon traffic from outside. Somewhere in one of the platform kiosks, some vapid boy band of the day croons about never letting a chance pass them by.

If he closes his eyes, he's sure time will roll back off his shoulders, straightening the mild professorial hunch he's developed, lengthening his hair and turning his outfit pure white with blue cross accents. In his hand, the Quincy cross, sparkling in the late spring sunlight through the glass-tiled roof.

Small town, big city. Despite everything, it's still home. He's had the best times here and the worst: he's found friends, fought monsters, fell in love. The friends have scattered, the monsters are someone else's business, and his love is a stale, brittle thing, like a stick of incense at a home altar that might snap in half if you light it, so throw it away and put a new one up, child.

"Excuse me, sir, would you mind moving?" a station attendant asks him. "There's a train arriving and you're not at the designated waiting area."

"My apologies," Ishida says, and for a second his voice sounds to him like the younger version, belonging to the bespectacled teenager who fell in love in this town.

The bespectacled adult -- dressed in a proper grey suit, not Quincy whites -- picks up his suitcase and heads for the escalator.

After the final war, all of their powers were sealed by the Soul King. Ishida, Kurosaki, Inoue, Sado, all the scattered Fullbringers and Vizards who were still alive: all of them were told that they would be welcomed in Seireitei after they died. They would be allowed to retain their previous memories and have a choice: rebirth, or serving on the Gotei 13. But before that, they must live, and life in possession of supernatural powers is no life at all.

Ishida has no interest in eternal servitude to the Soul King, but the Vandenreich has perished, and once his father died, he really would be the last Quincy. If he chose rebirth, he would not retain the powers. So he has already decided that he will become a Shinigami dog if that means keeping the Quincy power alive. Shinigami souls could live for thousands of years, untouched by age, longer if they spent time in the dangai.

But before that, he must live.

Same old street, same old stairs, same old place, same old key ring. The room is empty but for pillowcase-covered furniture and his useless Quincy cross in the windowsill dust. Ishida peers out through the somewhat grimy glass and remembers watching for Kurosaki, back when he was very young and very naive and thought he was in love with Inoue.

Since the first high school test results were posted and Kurosaki's name topped his, Ishida became obsessed with beating Kurosaki. He hated that a do-nothing delinquent with a reputation that preceded him could so easily dominate every subject, including all the sports. He hated that a do-nothing delinquent had massive reiatsu that he didn't even know how to use. He hated that the most beautiful girl in school had eyes only for that delinquent.

But as he grew closer to Kurosaki -- or, rather, was dragged kicking and screaming to Kurosaki's side because Kurosaki decided they were friends and wouldn't leave him alone -- he grew to understand something about himself.

He was never watching Inoue Orihime: he simply followed her gaze. He wasn't jealous because Kurosaki had Inoue's regard. He was jealous because Inoue stood a better chance with Kurosaki than he ever would. Kurosaki was dazzling, gorgeous, intense -- but most of all, he was kind. It was his kindness, the gentle soul behind the perpetual frown and the absence of manners, that won Ishida's heart.

Ishida acknowledged it, accepted it, buried it. It has never gone away, but it isn't a torment: he doesn't spend all his days mooning over Kurosaki and counting the minutes until they meet again. He had no illusions then and he has none now. If anything, his doomed feelings for Kurosaki were a blessing: they meant he didn't fall for anyone else. No daydreams messing up his schedule, no dates cutting into his study time. Some people might think it strange, but Ishida didn't care what people thought when he took up sewing as a hobby. He cares about what people thought even less now.

The four of them drifted apart faster than anyone could have expected -- Inoue went to Indonesia, Chad to Mexico, and Ishida to Akita City. Only Kurosaki stayed behind. They were in touch, more or less, but it was mostly obligatory stuff like New Year's greeting cards and birthday mails.

Inoue is with Doctors Without Borders now, travelling the world. She writes to Ishida, so he assumes she writes to the other two as well -- long, rambling accounts of her daily misadventures with frequent segues into inedible recipes and terrible puns. Nothing else in Ishida's life comes even close to making him smile. How much simpler would life be if he could love her?

He goes down to the shoutengai a few blocks down and purchases a futon, bedding, some paper cups and plates to start. He's back for good; the apartment will fill up with useless crap soon enough, no point starting early. Grabs some pre-made rice balls at the supermarket, goes back to the apartment, reconnects the fridge. Eats. Back to the supermarket for orange juice, soy sauce, bag of rice, frozen natto, sturdy pot, handful of free disposable chopsticks. The rice cooker will have to wait. He'll be eating most of his meals at the hospital anyway; he doesn't expect he'll be home much.

Then it's to the hospital -- all the paperwork's done, so he gets a tour of the new burn unit where he's assigned for a year until Goro in pediatrics goes on maternity leave. That's unexpected -- he thought he would start in pediatrics right off, but the burn unit is short staffed and he's done a year on the trauma ward. It makes sense.

That night, he walks home -- the weather is wonderful, and he needs to get whatever exercise he can. Eighty-hour weeks aren't conducive to a healthy lifestyle. His feet take him to the Kurosaki Clinic, not quite on purpose but not quite by accident either. He wants to see Kurosaki and he dreads it. He wants to see him because he loves that smile. He dreads that the sight of him might change what he feels, for better or worse. Ishida doesn't like changes.

He knocks on the door.

He expects Karin or Yuzu, but it's Kurosaki Ichigo standing before him -- broader-shouldered and a bit taller than Ishida remembers. The same warm brown eyes and perfect curve of mouth. Faded jeans a bit tight across thighs, open black workshirt over a white tank top.

The stale incense that Ishida calls love flares and burns as brightly as a candle instead of smouldering as it should, as it always did when a New Year's greeting or a mail arrived from Kurosaki. It turns out Inoue's letters aren't the only thing that can make him smile, after all.

"Ishida!" Kurosaki says finally, and here comes his smile, the one Ishida really came for. "Come in! Don't you look important?" His voice is the same, but the tone is softer -- delinquent no more.

"You, however, are as slovenly as usual," Ishida remarks. "Excuse me for intruding." He steps across the threshold and pulls off his shoes, follows Kurosaki into a living room that's changed so little that he could almost pretend they're high school students again, about to grab some chow and go upstairs to discuss new and exciting ways of destroying Hollows. All right, so they didn't exactly have the typical Japanese growing-up, so what?

Kurosaki brings tea and cookies. They catch up. Kurosaki did his residency right here in Karakura, at Ishida's current workplace, and now he's co-managing the clinic with his old man and helps Arisawa tumble rugrats at the dojo on slow days.

"Slow days," Ishida says after a sip of tea. "Those must be nice."

"I take it you've been to work already."

"Not yet," Ishida says. "I just came back today."

"You could've called, you know," Kurosaki says, biting into a cookie. "We could've gone for proper drinks."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Kurosaki, it's unsightly."

Kurosaki grins, starts to retort, but his cell phone rings. He makes the tiniest apologetic bow and picks it up. "This is Kurosaki," he says, with faint irritation. "Oh, yes. No, the blue ones. With the silver. Yeah. How many? Yeah, that should be fine. All right, thanks, I appreciate your time."

"Sorry," Kurosaki says after hanging up. "Wedding preparations."

Ishida feels as though the warm tea in his belly has suddenly vanished, replaced by ice cubes. "You're getting married? Congratulations--" he begins to say, but Kurosaki waves him off.

"Not mine, Karin's. I'm gay."

"You never mentioned that in your postcards," Ishida says with perfect equanimity, though his heart has begun a baboon's mating dance.

Kurosaki just looks at him for a good fifteen seconds before breaking into a grin. "I think that's the best reaction yet."

"Oh, do you spring it on everyone like that to see what they'll say?"

"No, just you."


Kurosaki laughs. "But really, it makes you think, doesn't it? I remember being a kid and moaning about how much I just wanted to be a regular person, how I desperately wanted a simple life where I didn't have to strap on a goddamned sword to protect people."

"I remember that too. Well, not your moaning. I used to tune that out."

"Jerk. Well, it's funny how life turned out to be a pretty fucking complicated thing, isn't it? Sometimes I wish I could just whip out my zanpakutou and start cutting through all the bullshit."

"I don't believe the zanpakutou are suited for slicing the faecal matter of male bovines, though I really wouldn't know, never having had one."

Kurosaki snorted and slapped his back lightly. "Damn, I'm glad you're back," he said.

His easy smiles are beginning to hurt; too much of a good thing. Too much new information. Ishida needs to be alone so he can think without being distracted by everything Kurosaki does and says. He never thought he had a chance before, and now he's as excited as a twelve-year-old at an amusement park about to go on the grown-up ride for the first time. Not the best circumstances for decisions.

He smiles back mechanically, sets his empty tea cup on the table and rises. "Thank you for letting me stop by."

"You're leaving already? At least stay for dinner -- I made nikujaga. Yuzu will be home any minute, too, I'm sure she'd want to say hi."

"I've got to get back," Ishida lies. "But thank you. I might take you up on that some other time. Please pass my regards on to Yuzu-chan."


For the first time in his life, Ishida is going with his gut. He never goes with his gut. He always thinks about things, and even if the results of his thoughts aren't always workable, at least they aren't plucked out of thin air.

This is all thin air, all the time. Forget flying by the seat of your pants; he's flying bare-assed through a blizzard, and if he crashes, there will be pain.

They've stopped for some vending machine coffee after spending the evening at an izakaya near Ishida's place, just a couple of guys and a couple of beer pitchers and a few dozen skewers of fried stuff. The coffee's gone, the conversation has died down, and any minute now, Kurosaki will tell him he's gotta get going.

Ishida heads into the blizzard. "By the way, are you seeing anyone right now?"

"Now? No. Been in a dry spell for the past year or so. Small town, you know."

Small town, big city. "I see. In that case, would you go out with me?"

Kurosaki frowns so deeply that it's almost like he's a teenager again. "Ishida, what the hell are you saying?"

"I'm very fond of you and I would like it if you went out with me," Ishida clarifies. In his mind, the wind howls, and ice pellets stab through his heart.

"I'm happy that you told me, but I can't return your feelings," Kurosaki says. His tone is brusque, and the expression on his face is the opposite of happy.

Ishida's heart sinks, but he has to accept how things are. He certainly isn't about to try and convince Kurosaki to give him a chance. So that's that, then. Bare ass in the snow. Never go with your gut. "Thank you for hearing my request, anyway."

Kurosaki turns to him. "That was really uncalled for, Ishida."

Ishida takes a step back at the fury in his eyes. "I don't understand."

"Do you have any idea how many times straight guys told me they liked me because they wanted to try having sex? They think it helps me save face, though I've never been able to understand why I'm the one who needs to save face in that situation."

But I'm like you, Ishida wants to say. But how can he? If he tells Kurosaki that he's gay, Kurosaki might ask about his past relationships. He's never been with anyone. He's never had eyes for anyone else -- sure, he has felt attracted to others, but none he bothered pursuing.

"Why would I do such a thing to you? You know me," he says instead. What he wants to do is run away from this town and never return.

"People change, Ishida. We're not kids any more, we haven't seen each other in years; we're practically strangers. Yeah, we've hit it off, but I don't know you. I don't know what you would or wouldn't do."

"I see." So would you have accepted if you could be sure that I'm not like the others? He doesn't ask, though. It's easier to walk away, because he doesn't want to know the answer.

It's not just a chapter in his life -- what he feels for Kurosaki has become such a part of him that he doesn't know how to shut it off. It's not an ending -- it's the end. Until just last week, he never hoped he and Kurosaki could be together, not seriously, but it was a nice possibility to think about. True hope soared so very brightly after Kurosaki's casual remark, and its death is an ugly, wretched thing that's going to fester in Ishida's heart for a long time.

He has never cried easily, but then again, he's never before experienced the absence of hope. For the first time in his life, Ishida Uryuu spends the whole night hugging a too-thin pillow and trying not to sob outright. He sees Kurosaki's smile fading, juxtaposes their banter at the izakaya and Kurosaki's harsh tone out in the street, and mourns the death of something that was never alive in the first place. He knows he's pathetic -- a grown man curled around his broken heart -- but that just makes him cry harder.

He crawls out of the futon at four in the morning, takes a shower, feels a little better, gets into his suit, grabs his briefcase, and heads out. Might as well catch up on paperwork; he can take a nap in the sleeping quarters on the third floor, later -- his rounds don't start until eleven.

Just past the shoutengai, Ishida looks both ways before crossing -- habit; the street is empty this early in the morning -- and sees Kurosaki pedalling along the road. To think that there would come a day that he would be upset to see that face.

Kurosaki brings his bike to a halt and half-dismounts, leaning on the pavement with one foot. "Hey, Ishida, you're up early."

"Yes, I thought I would go in earlier today."

"What happened to your face?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Were you crying?"

"Of course not," Ishida says with a casual, well-rehearsed laugh. "If you mean my eyes, I'm allergic to just about everything; this kind of look is normal for me. Excuse me, I've really got to go."

He sidesteps Kurosaki and crosses the road. His chest is too tight to breathe; it's as though someone slid a knife right into his aortic arch. How could he be so cold? He knows he owes Kurosaki an apology for yesterday, at least for walking off without saying good-bye, but he can't just now. He'll apologise later when the sight of Kurosaki doesn't put a frog-sized lump in his throat.

Ishida knows it won't be like this forever. He's never had his heart broken before, but all non-lethal injuries can be healed. If he didn't believe that, he wouldn't have become a doctor. Tears spill down his face; it's hard to see.

He ducks into a side street and behind the side of a vending machine. He puts his bag down on the ground between his legs and pulls out his handkerchief. First, while it's still clean, the glasses. Ishida wipes them carefully and sets them on top of his head, then mops at his eyes and blows his nose, trumpeting harshly in the silence of a town about to wake.

He'll get through this. It won't always be this hard. Besides, it's not the end of the world. People have their hopes dashed all the time; things like romance and passion really only happen in stories. There are so many stories about them that people think happy endings are normal, but they're not, are they? Not for people like him.


Ishida recoils. He looks up into Kurosaki's face, reads the concern and worry there, and the tears start again, though he wishes they would dry up forever. He can't even run away; he can't see worth a damn without his glasses. Should've gotten laser surgery years ago.

"Why are you crying?"

"I've always loved you," Ishida chokes. "So please leave me alone."

He clenches his fists and bites his lip and looks away and hopes that Kurosaki hasn't changed as much as he thinks Ishida might have; he hopes Kurosaki is still a kind man. It would be unkind to stand there and watch Ishida's embarrassment so casually.

"I've got it," Kurosaki mutters. "My bad." The bike wheels whir into motion, and he's gone.

Ishida almost laughs at his instant disappointment. What was he expecting? He asked Kurosaki to leave him alone, so Kurosaki did exactly what he asked. What did he think, that Kurosaki would gather him up in his arms and tell him he feels the same way but was too afraid of getting hurt, that he didn't think Ishida returned his feelings? How pathetic.

Was this what love did to everyone -- reduce them to dull fantasies straight out of a terrible romance movie? Maybe Ishida's just defective, like his father always says. A normal person should be able to experience strong emotions without falling apart like this.

He gives his nose one last swipe to make sure he didn't miss anything potentially unsightly, puts his glasses back on, picks his bag up and walks out of the side street to continue on his way.


His phone ringing startles him out of a nap -- his third one of the afternoon. The cold tea bags Kurako-san, the burn unit head nurse, suggested he put on his eyes to lessen the "allergy puffiness" fall into his lap as he picks it up, belatedly realising he didn't check the call display. Not that checking it would do him much good without glasses. Maybe he should schedule that surgery.

"This is Ishida Uryuu," he mutters, stifling a yawn.

"I feel bad," Kurosaki says. "About the things I said to you. I was a real asshole. You didn't deserve any of that."

"Don't worry about it," Ishida says, and hates that just the sound of Kurosaki's voice is making his lower lip quiver. "It was my mistake."

"Let's have a drink together. Talk."

"It's better if we don't."

"All right. Maybe later."


"Ishida, wait. I-- I'm really sorry. I never meant to cause you pain."

"Don't worry about me. Good-bye, Kurosaki."


He finds the invitation to Kurosaki Karin's wedding reception in a pile of mail he hasn't touched in several weeks. The date on the response card is three days away. If he mails it today, it will still get there in time, but does he really want to be there? He and Karin-chan were never close. Kurosaki will be there, and Ishida has been doing so well on that front over the last four months -- he hasn't even thought of Kurosaki in three hours, for example. Last week he went a whole day without thinking about Kurosaki after that awful fire in Minamikawase that would have claimed nine lives instead of two if the burn unit didn't exist.

Then he thinks of Ryuuken lecturing him about responsibility and keeping up appearances and social visibility, and doctors these days don't just treat patients you know, and how can you run a hospital if you can't sort out your own life, you're pathetic.

He sighs and sits down to write the letter of congratulations, duly checks the "will attend" box on the response card, runs downstairs to mail it.

The following week, he buys a fancy money envelope, slips crisp ten-thousand yen bills into it and puts it on his recently purchased desk.

Another month later, he hands the envelope over while signing the guest book at the banquet hall and walks right into Inoue's arms.

"Ishida-kun!" she cries, hugging him enthusiastically. "How have you been? You look so handsome! Did you cut your hair? You look very pale; have you been sleeping well? Lack of sleep is the number one killer, you know."

Ishida doesn't quite know what to make of the hug -- such things were certainly not in Inoue's repertoire when they were teenagers. She did do a lot of travelling with her organisation, so it was logical that she picked up some strange customs along the way. Besides, her hug feels nice and warm and very soft. He hugs her back. Why can't I love her?


Ishida's watching Inoue twirl Yuzu on the dance floor when a deep, pleasant male voice startles him.

"You must be Ishida-san."

Ishida glances at him: close to his age, very tall, conventionally handsome face, close-cropped blond hair and eyes so dark they're almost black.

"Toudou Akihiko," he says, extending a hand.

Ishida shakes it and fights the urge to search for Kurosaki in the crowd. He's been doing that all night. They exchanged stiff nods earlier in the evening, and Ishida felt small and pathetic before that unsmiling face. Kurosaki's smile was ready for everyone else but not for him. At least he knows now that he's done crying over it.

"I've heard a lot about you," Toudou says, offering to pour Ishida's wine.

"Thank you," Ishida says. "Not all terrible things, I hope."

"Me and Ichigo dated for a while when we were in university," Toudou explains. "He used to talk about you a lot. You and the bombshell over there and the Mexican guy."

Where is this seething resentment coming from? Obviously Kurosaki has been with other people. What did Ishida expect? "It's so nice that you can stay on good terms with an ex," he remarks.

"I wouldn't call us on good terms," Toudou says. His grin is infectious, shark-like. "We're friendly, after a fashion -- but the truth is that his sisters like me, so I'm invited to everything whether Ichigo likes it or not."

"I see," Ishida says. Why does he feel relieved? This information should be of no consequence.

"Look, I know this is completely cliche, hooking up at a wedding, but are you seeing anyone?"

"H-How can you possibly tell that I'm-- ah, of that sort?" Ishida splutters.

"Gay. It's not a bad word. And I can tell," Toudou says with a wink. "Don't feel bad, though -- you're not the only one with a terrible gaydar. Ichigo's is awful too. No wonder he hasn't snapped you up yet; he probably has no idea."

You're the one with no idea, Ishida thinks, but of course he can't say that. And he can't deny that it feels nice to have a pretty man look at him with such naked interest. He's never considered himself particularly handsome or charming, but Inoue said he was, so maybe he was, a little.

He notices a shock of orange hair out of the corner of his eye. Kurosaki's watching them; Ishida can't discern the expression on his face, but it certainly isn't friendly. Mortified, he shakes his head. "I'm deeply flattered, but I don't think it would be appropriate."

"How stingy. At least let's exchange numbers. Maybe touch base later and find a place that's more appropriate."

Ishida decides it's easier to just give him what he wants instead of trying to explain that he's in love with Toudou's ex and that's why it's not appropriate.

Toudou snaps his phone shut and leans close to Ishida's ear. "I think you're really beautiful. I hope you remember that next time we talk."

"T-Thank you?" Ishida half-whispers, but Toudou's already gone.

The exchange has left him flustered, and the air in the room is growing warmer thanks to the dancers. Ishida steps out onto the vast balcony and gazes at the city lights beyond the park that stretches out on the banquet hall grounds.

"Ishida." Kurosaki's voice.

He whirls around, swallows panic. "Yes?"

"What were you and Aki talking about?"

Aki. Ishida's heart twinges. "Nothing in particular, just self-introduction, that kind of thing."

"He didn't say anything weird to you, did he?" He can't see Kurosaki's face clearly due to the bright light from inside the hall.

"Not that I recall."

Kurosaki shifts from foot to foot. "Did you give him your number?"

"I did. Look, if you don't want me to be in contact with him, I understand."

"Would it be callous of me if I didn't want you to contact him?" A softer voice. Trying to be kind.

Ishida shakes his head. "Not at all, quite the opposite: you'd be doing me a favour by telling me. I wouldn't want to get in the way."

"No, you've got it wrong." Kurosaki shakes his head. Then he shrugs. "You know what, never mind. Forget I asked. I don't care if you contact him."

"All right," Ishida says. "Well, thank you for the invitation; it was a wonderful reception. I'll just go and congratulate the couple again--"

"No, goddamn it, it's not fucking all right, why the hell am I acting like a grade schooler?" Kurosaki explodes. "I don't want you contacting him. I don't want you looking at him."

Ishida has never thought it was possible for a heart to break twice over the same person, but he's pretty sure his heart just did.

"Excuse me," he says, looking down on the ground as he manoeuvres past Kurosaki. "I really need to be going."

His voice trembles and his chest is constricted; he fights tears as he mumbles his congratulations to Karin-chan and her new husband, fights and wins. He almost loses again when Inoue hugs him and tells him she'll call him tomorrow. If anyone noticed his quavering voice, they'll hopefully write it off to him being a sensitive sort who cries at weddings.

He breathes deeply as he gets outside and tries to figure out how to get to the station.

"Ishida, wait!"

Kurosaki runs out of the banquet hall entrance. "Why'd you run out? What did I say? Do you-- have your feelings changed? Is it too late?"

"Fuck off, Kurosaki," Ishida snaps. Now that the tears are gone, all he has left is rage. "You just fucking told me to stay away from your ex like I'm some kind of stain threatening a precious possession. Why don't you stay away from me, and we'll call it even."

"That isn't what I meant at all," Kurosaki says, grabbing Ishida's wrist to keep him from leaving. "Look, I'm really bad at this kind of stuff. I said I don't want you with Aki because I want you with me."

"I don't want your pity," Ishida says, bristling. That's what this is all about?

"It's not pity," Kurosaki replies.

"What else could it be? Your old friend tearfully confesses that he's always loved you -- of course you're not just going to leave him out in the cold. You're Kurosaki Ichigo. You always save the day, even if you lose every limb and have to rip into the enemy with your teeth. You might even think that whatever you feel is real."

"It is real," Kurosaki says.

"I don't need you to wipe my tears, Kurosaki. I never did."

"I know, that's why I waited for you to calm down before I told you, but I guess I either waited too long or didn't wait long enough."

Ishida doesn't know what to say. He should just leave so he can think about this -- the last time he went with his gut, he ended up feeling more miserable than he ever has in his life. He tugs his wrist out of Kurosaki's grasp, but Kurosaki steps closer and takes Ishida's face in both hands.

"You understand me," he says. "Better than anyone outside my family. I was damned stupid not to see it from the start, but you're everything I waited for. So please be with me, Ishida."

No pants in a blizzard, take two.

Ishida puts his arms around Kurosaki's neck and lets this be his first kiss.


"So, how was that?" Kurosaki asks. He's pressed tightly against Ishida's side, all muscle and heat, and Ishida's having trouble breathing right, even though he just came a few minutes ago. His second experiment at going with his gut has worked out incredibly well.

"I, uh, well, I haven't actually done this kind of thing before," he mumbles, barely audible. "So, um."

Kurosaki presses his face into the crook of Ishida's neck. "Man, now I feel like the frog from the fairy tale. Except no amount of kissing will turn me into a prince. If I'd known it was your first time--"

"Luckily for you, I'm not a princess," Ishida says dryly. "Nor am I particularly sentimental. It's not like I was saving myself for you or anything."

"Good, because I don't think I could take the pressure if you were, and then all you got was a blowjob."

"Oh, in that case, I was totally saving myself for you."


Tags: fic:character:bleach:ishida, fic:fandom:bleach, fic:genre:angst, fic:genre:romance, fic:length:short, fic:pairing:ichigo/ishida, fic:pov:ishida, fic:type:slash

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