Characters: Uryuu, Ryuuken, Ichigo, Orihime
Summary: Life to him becomes three different things in the company of three different people.
A/N: Maybe not my best work, but I still like it.
Word Count: 1390
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

When he stops to think about it, Ishida Uryuu comes to the conclusion that his entire life has come down to the way he responds to three different people. Maybe it's more complicated than that; yes, it probably is more complicated than that and it doesn't just come down to the straight line of three people.

Uryuu knows he's not good with people. He never has been; most who don't know Uryuu have a conversation with him come away with thoughts along the line of "So very polite and so very awkward; can't he at least look me in the eye?" What he's good at is discerning the motivations of others (most of the time, anyway); Uryuu's never had much trouble at telling what makes people tick. What Uryuu's starting to be good at (maybe) is seeing how others have effected him.

It's coming to him over sewing, which is pretty funny, all things considered. When Uryuu first took up sewing, he did so in the hope that it would let him be able not to think. It was always meant to be so he wouldn't have to think, wouldn't have to feel those burning thoughts racing through his mind. Now, after so many years, it's just the opposite. Uryuu's gotten better at this; he no longer has to focus all concentration on every little stitch. Needle flies across cloth, hand works nearly of its own accord, and Uryuu feels his mind start to wander in earnest.

That's how it comes down… Yes, that's right…

Even without being near him, even having not lived under the same roof as him for so long, Ishida Ryuuken casts a long shadow and his continued presence in his son's life means he's still trying and failing to scrabble out of it. No matter how hard Uryuu tries, he can't quite escape that shadow.

Life is nothing but a long night in unknown lands where he is left blind. Uryuu keeps bumping into things and breaking skin and bone. He hasn't the slightest idea of where he is or where he's going, and the path just keeps taking him around in circles. An eternity passes and not once does the sun ever show its face.

Ryuuken is that within Uryuu that still drives him to keep his eyes low even though he expects to hear a sharp "Look me in the eye when you talk to me" at any second. That stiff, stubborn, self-destructive urge to be defiant still lingers even though it coexists with fear or what defiance might provoke.

The closest Ryuuken ever came to seeming human to his son was in the rare moments of grief (remembering someone who was no longer there and never would be again) and the even rarer spikes of fear (seeing a child covered on blood near the body of a dead man and checking for cuts and broken bones). Lapses, that was all they were, proof that even he could feel, and as he got older Uryuu saw less and less of these lapses.

There was something else that proved Ryuuken could feel, but he never seemed less human than when he was angry—and still doesn't; that much hasn't changed.

Uryuu isn't sure what it says about him that after all this time, there's still a part of him that wants his father's approval. Or maybe just some trace of human warmth, but Ryuuken probably doesn't know what the words "human warmth" mean, let alone how they are supposed to be applied.

At any rate, he went from taking it to not being able to anymore and that's how he gets to be here. Life where everything's still too narrow, too close, too far inside. Uryuu can't say he liked feeling as though he was being choked every moment of the day. Feelings of claustrophobia creeping over him were never pleasant. It still isn't.

The stitching gets a little crooked and, sighing, Uryuu reaches forward and starts to pull the dark blue thread out until stopping where it started to slant. It might just be a matter of pride or perfectionism, but Uryuu can't stand needlework that breathes even a hint of sloppiness. All the stitching has to be straight and even.

Those thoughts of getting the seams just right brings to mind all the times Kurosaki's mocked him for being an "incurable perfectionist". Uryuu snorts. What an utter twit…

No one who has had the, ahem, joy of seeing them together has ever had to guess what their dynamic is; they've only had to pull out earplugs. Nor has anyone ever had to guess that Ishida Uryuu finds Kurosaki Ichigo to be possibly the most aggravating person on the face of the planet (A position Kurosaki currently shares with Uryuu's father).

Kurosaki is a constant thorn in Uryuu's side, digging into flesh and ribs without remorse. He doesn't let up, he doesn't just relent and go away. The infuriating boy insists on driving Uryuu crazy. He's one of only two people who can say that they are consistently capable of making Uryuu angry to the point of losing his composure, and…

…And Uryuu's not entirely sure when or how they became friends, but they are. They haven't strangled each other yet, and they are, somehow, almost unbelievably, friends.

What life has become for Uryuu with Kurosaki in it is the sort of life that, for some reason Uryuu has half-fathomed, is infinitely easier on him than it used to be. Okay, so in life you can get angry without the response being coldness or puncturing words. Uryuu's not sure if he's ever been able to argue with someone before and not have that all-too-familiar feeling of choking claustrophobia over him. The sensation of arguing without his throat feeling like it's about to swell shut is an interesting one, Uryuu has to admit.

Somehow, Kurosaki's a friend. A good one, despite the fact that he's the source of most of Uryuu's headaches. Life's had a bit of fresh air breathed on it thanks to Kurosaki Ichigo and Uryuu's finally getting around to cleaning off all the dust. The grime and dust, the saline build-up from things Uryuu doesn't like to admit to, expunged a little bit, wiped away.

Almost done, nearly there. The stitching just has to be done over the last side, and he'll be done. Uryuu would be doing this with the sewing machine—quicker, more efficient, which is good since this is something for work and not purely personal—but the contraption's stopped working again. It won't start and Uryuu's starting to get afraid that he's going to have to replace it.

Oh well. There's something to be said for working with the hands as a calming measure. At least so Inoue-san has told him.

Inoue Orihime… Sweet girl, charming girl, and sometimes a very confusing one as well. Okay, maybe not 'sometimes'; more like 'almost always'. Uryuu only claims to be good with discerning motivations; as far as daily behavior goes, he's gotten to the point of identifying patterns and, well, Inoue-san doesn't go by "patterns". She doesn't have a set schedule, or daily rituals, or any of that. She is the very soul of spontaneity.

Living life becomes significantly easier, somehow. Breathing is easier; the urge to smile is actually existent.

Life in the presence of Orihime is something distinctly bittersweet (and he knows exactly why but isn't willing to talk about that, even to himself), something bewildering, something completely out of this world perplexing, but definitely worth living. That much Uryuu's sure of even when the rest of this morass of memories he calls his life does nothing but confuse.

So life has some purpose beyond just breathing and doing the same thing, over and over again. What a novel concept. I kind of like it, actually.

Uryuu puts down the needle. Done, finally. Life is significantly better when his employer isn't jumping down his throat, so naturally this is a relief.

It was such a nice thing to discover that life was not just the sum of claustrophobia, labored breathing and the same thing, over and over again every single day. It's such a very sweet thing to learn. Uryuu doesn't want to lose that. Ever.

He's not entirely sure how he ever managed to live before.