AN - These two timelines do not coincide. While they happen in the same year/season, the days do not line up in any sense whatsoever. They seem to at first, but later not so much.
TW: (Themes of child abuse. Sexual themes. Violence against a minor, perpetrated by other minors. Brattiness. Harsh parenting. Homophobia.)
. . .
Ikkaku practically danced around on his friend's porch in excitement as he waited for someone to open the door. Kenpachi had handed him the phone earlier and Yumichika's voice had come through, telling him that he had something really cool to show him. Ikkaku was so excited! He'd waited all day to get done with his homework so he could come play, and he wanted to know so bad what the cool thing was.
Maybe a rocket-ship, maybe a dinosaur, maybe a volcano. Maybe a picture of a dinosaur in a rocket-ship blasting out of a volcano. Or maybe even those ultra-grape flavored pop-rocks in a special-edition package. Oh, Ikkaku couldn't wait anymore, he had to know!
He reigned in his bouncing when the door opened and Yumichika's mother was there. She was a meek, but incredibly beautiful woman, the typical sought-after Asian housewife who was a quiet and serene homemaker who bent to her husband's will. Unfortunately, that also meant that Yumichika was in trouble a lot and was shown no mercy, since his mother had little influence concerning discipline– of course, this also made her the favorite parent. Ikkaku was shy of her because of how pretty she was, but she was really nice to him and always tried to feed him sweets, so he liked her a lot.
He hoped she would let him in right away. He wanted to get to Yumichika as fast as he could. Ikkaku was ready to play! He had to know about Yumichika's surprise!
"Why, Madarame-kun, you're early," his mother said with a sweet smile and gentle eyes. Ikkaku looked at his toes, fidgeting, cheeks pink. He wondered if she'd seen him pacing the porch and peeking in the window. Geez, he always got so tongue-tied and stupid around Yumichika's mom. The only person he was shyer of was Yumichika's sister. Gosh, was Yumichika's family beautiful.
"Sorry... uh, ma'am," he mumbled, before looking up uncertainly, peeking with just one eye. She was still smiling. He tried to look around her, to see if Yumichika was inside waiting, but he didn't seem to be there. He was probably up in his room. Ikkaku bit his lip; he knew he shouldn't have come early, but he just hadn't been able to help it. "Is it okay if I still come in?" he asked hesitantly.
Yumichika's mom moved back and held her arm out to gesture him in, closing the door behind him. Ikkaku beamed at her, scratching at the back of his head. Geez, Yumichika's dad would've probably made him wait outside until it was time, but Yumichika's mom was always so nice to him. Ikkaku said 'thank you' and practically yanked his shoes off, lining them up really nicely for her, vaguely registering that she'd told him that Yumichika was in his room. Nodding and thanking her again, he raced upstairs like lightning, tearing down the hall.
He and Yumichika had known each other for a couple years now, but had only been close friends for a while. Ikkaku was a nice and well-liked boy in his class, despite his tendency to get angry and violent easily. His attitude was both carefree and serious, both easily excited and provoked. He always had something to say, and although he wasn't the most popular kid, he was certainly not an outsider. Yumichika was the opposite.
Yumichika was that quiet kid in the corner that no one really liked or bothered to talk to – people were mean to him, and he was mean right back. Once Ikkaku had first noticed him – the first time he'd seen Yumichika's face without him poking his nose in a book – he'd been instantly smitten and had made it his mission to win his favor. He'd failed, consistently so, since Yumichika was a pretty cruel and bitter person and was sure that Ikkaku was just trying to trick him or was just teasing or something. He'd wanted Ikkaku to go away and had said any and everything to achieve that goal, but Ikkaku wouldn't be swayed.
As soon as Ikkaku had convinced Yumichika that he really meant it and was genuine – which had taken quite a while – Yumichika had opened right up to him. Ikkaku had spent the majority of his time with Yumichika from then on, no matter what people said about it; most people didn't make note of it anymore. His friends sometimes still mentioned that it was weird how he was always hanging out with 'that fruity kid' – whatever that meant – but Ikkaku didn't care at all, which was why Yumichika was so devoted to their friendship.
Ikkaku had been discouraged, of course, because Yumichika had been really mean to him at times, but now they were best friends and were completely sweet on each other. All of the rocks thrown at Ikkaku had been worth it, and it had only taken three months of hanging around Yumichika and refusing to leave him alone! It sounded bad, but they both adored each other. Ikkaku was the happiest eleven year old around. He'd been a pretty happy kid before they'd become friends, but lately, he'd taken to plastering this insane grin on his face no matter what he was doing, and was very playful and upbeat. Even Kenpachi had noticed the change, and liked it when Yumichika was allowed over to their house.
Ikkaku reigned in his enthusiasm when he saw Yuji in the hallway holding his nose dramatically. "Don't go in there," the nine year old said nasally. Ikkaku shrugged, moving past Yumichika's younger brother. That boy wasn't very nice, and was a tattle-tale. Ikkaku didn't even say 'hi' to him more often than not, although Yuji wasn't too bad to play with when they were all forced together.
Ikkaku noticed that Yumichika's rug was out in the hallway, rolled up, and the door was open, which was odder than the rug being outside. Yumichika liked his privacy and never opened the door unless someone was coming or going.
When he made it to the doorway of Yumichika's room, he could hear music coming from an old boombox that one would carry on their shoulder – not that Yumichika's skinny arms could pull that off. It did sort of smell, but like chemicals and cleaning supplies; it stank of cleanness. It must've been chore day.
Yumichika's dad was really strict. Ikkaku didn't understand it, because it was the complete opposite of how things were at his house. They only cleaned when it was unavoidable, like when there were no more dishes or clothes left. Kenpachi loved having Yumichika over – he said that he wished his kids were as clean and polite as him. Ikkaku's room was a 'disaster area', or so Kenpachi claimed, and Yachiru was no better when it came to keeping her clothes clean.
At any rate, it looked like Ikkaku really had come early if Yumichika was still slaving over his germy floor.
Ikkaku smiled as he peeped around the side of the doorframe, immediately seeing his friend. He came inside the room, hopping over to him, chirping, "Hey-hey, beautiful." Yumichika looked up to him with a grin from where he was on his hands and knees on the floor with a toothpick.
"Uh… Whatcha' doin' there?" Ikkaku asked curiously. He didn't see how that toothpick had to do with chores.
"Cleaning," Yumichika replied, a surgical mask dangling around his neck. "Dirt is the enemy. Stay back," he said with a giggle, keeping Ikkaku away with his socked-foot, as if he were contaminated. Ikkaku just grinned adoringly like Yumichika was the funniest thing, and held out his arms like a zombie, taking a swipe for him to try to tease him.
Yumichika just held him away with his foot and threatened to squirt him with straight-bleach. Ikkaku hunched his shoulders, sulking for a few moments, but no more. "I just wanted a hug," he whined, but smiled, unable to keep a frown on his face. He was just so happy to be here and to see him that he couldn't hide it.
Yumichika had these ridiculous goggles on and was wearing rubber gloves and holding a spray-bottle. He was cleaning sand and dirt out from between the floorboards with a bunch of different scraping tools. Broken toothpicks were in a pile next to him. A ton of his stuff was shoved up on top of his desk and his bed to clear the floor. However, now that Ikkaku was here, Yumichika abandoned his cleaning right away, peeling his gloves off and throwing them in the garbage can. He put his stuff back where it was supposed to be as fast as he could, and then fixed his hair, which had gotten messed up in his hurry. Ikkaku winced to see it was still kind of choppy on one side because of that bad haircut.
"Come see this," Yumichika said with a grin, moving over to a small table next to his desk. He knelt down over there and grabbed some popsicle sticks out of a jar, mixing something. Ikkaku stood behind him, leaning down to get a look. Yumichika looked up to him and gestured him down, so Ikkaku squatted next to him.
"What is it?" he asked eagerly, putting his chin on Yumichika's shoulder, excited about what had to be the surprise. Yumichika moved a piece of hair behind his ear, almost poking Ikkaku in the face, but he narrowly dodged. The things Yumichika had set out weren't anything like the things Ikkaku had imagined. It looked like a craft to him. Ikkaku's eyes and mouth were open wide. "Tell me, tell me!"
"Look," Yumichika explained, holding up a couple rocks and showing him all the little nail-polish jars he had open. He'd mixed a bunch of colors together and carefully sealed them in an empty paint by number kit. "Friendship bracelets are dumb and ugly, but this isn't," Yumichika said, handing him one of the rocks. "We can paint our faces on these and then keep them in our pocket, so it's like we're together. Since we're best friends… You know, I just thought that…" Ikkaku listened on in silence to Yumichika's idea and reasoning, which began to break apart and trail off.
When Ikkaku didn't immediately jump in with an exclamation of how good the idea was, Yumichika began to lose confidence, shoulders slumping and causing Ikkaku's chin to dip with it, still resting there. "I dunno', it's stupid," he finally mumbled.
Ikkaku just stared for a minute at the rock in his hand and all the work Yumichika had gone to. "That," he said, "is awesome." Yumichika had looked uncertain at how Ikkaku would react, but when Ikkaku had beamed at the game, he perked right up. "How do I do it?" he asked excitedly, scootching in closer and letting Yumichika show him how to spread the paint.
The kept busy for about an hour, playing around and painting their little rock buddies to look like each other. They did a pretty good job, considering their age, and Yumichika was really careful to keep either of them from making a mess. He'd laid down newspaper and paper-towels all over, and he swore he'd get back to cleaning as soon as they were done.
Another hour later, they had out a half-finished game of Monopoly and they were playing with some action figures and dolls that Ikkaku had left over at his house last time they'd had a sleepover. He stood on top of Yumichika's bed and hurled one of them down into the pile. "Divebomb! Oh no! Get outta' the way, guy!"
Yumichika flung his arm to the side, moving his little man away, making a fake-yelling noise, "Ahhh!"
Ikkaku's fake-yelling was more like real yelling. "Ahhh!"
"Ahhhhh!"
Ikkaku jumped back on the floor, giggling insanely as he rolled onto his stomach. Yumichika smiled too until Ikkaku's laughter finally subsided with a long happy sigh. His dad said they were too old to be playing with dolls, which was why Yumichika no longer had anything of the sort, but Ikkaku disagreed with that and had brought over his own. Yumichika was glad he did so; playing with Ikkaku made him so happy.
"Hey, are those rocks dry now? I wanna' see them."
"I think so, let me check." Yumichika shuffled back over there on his knees, and Ikkaku took the little Yumichika-rock he was handed.
"Oh, it's pretty, just like you," Ikkaku said, to which Yumichika stuck his nose in the air, trying not to smile. "I think you're a better painter though. The one you did looks like, exactly like me."
Yumichika looked at the Ikkaku rock, which had been easier to paint, since it was just coated in skin-toned paint, and then with the face drawn on with a precision brush.
"Here, switch with me for a sec'," he said, smiling widely, still with one of his MMA fighter dolls in hand. Yumichika gave him the Ikkaku-rock and pretended to make his own rock walk across the floor. It was just their faces, but they played with them for a while as Yumichika straightened up his room and put his stuff back where it belonged, leaving their toys out. When he was done, he came back to the floor and laid on his stomach, holding his little rock-face and putting his cleaning tools back in a bag.
"Hey, Yumichika, watch this."
"Hm?"
Ikkaku puckered up his lips and made a kissie face, making his rock kiss Yumichika's rock. "Mmmmmwhmmwha-"
"Uhk, stop it," Yumichika laughed, cheeks glowing. Ikkaku kissed the air a couple times, moving in to tease him as if he was going to kiss his face. There came a sudden knock at the door, and Yumichika freaked out and practically threw his own rock in the air in panic. It clattered to the floor and skittered under his bed. Ikkaku nabbed it and hopped on the bed as Yumichika went to the door and cracked it open.
"I smell alcohol. Did you spill something?" Ikkaku heard from Yumichika's father. Darnit, all that yelling from when they'd played earlier had probably reached Yumichika's dad from his home-office. That, or Yuji had snitched on them for some minor offense out of jealousy. Ikkaku zipped his lips and sat there as still as possible even though he couldn't even see the guy like this. That had been a close call.
No doubt that it would've been a huge issue if Yumichika's dad had seen him puckering up at his son, even if nothing had actually happened. Naomi wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend, even at her age, so if Ikkaku was kissing Yumichika, their parents would be mad. They'd definitely think they weren't old enough, and they'd be separated.
Ikkaku could only imagine being told that they weren't allowed to play together anymore, and he didn't like that idea one bit. He was always on thin ice with Yumichika's dad, playing the how-severe-can-my-disapproval-get-game, but being seen trying to kiss Yumichika when they were only eleven would surely get him thrown out of his life for good.
One could imagine how that had destroyed poor Ikkaku's confidence.
Ikkaku bit his nails a little, anxious about almost having been caught. Yumichika scrambled to his desk and grabbed a bottle of nail polish remover and some wet cotton balls. "It's just this, father," he said, showing him.
"Mm," he heard the flat response.
Ikkaku just sat on the bed, watching Yumichika talk through the crack in the door. The silence went on for a few moments, growing tense, before Ikkaku realized Yumichika's mistake. He remembered with a start that Yumichika had gotten in a lot of trouble for putting nail polish on his fingernails before. Shoot. Shoot, Yumichika was in trouble. He should have shown his dad the bleach-bottle instead, since that was what had caused the smell in the first place, but he could see that Yumichika hadn't thought that far ahead and was panicking now.
"Show me your hands," came the tone that demanded no argument whatsoever. Yumichika set the bottle on the floor and held out his hands, looking at them and then back to his dad's face several times. "You'd best not be painting your nails again, young man." Yumichika ducked his head, one foot going behind the other absently.
"I was just using some polish for crafting. I had the remover in case I spilled." Apparently, his dad's expression had hardened or he'd raised an eyebrow or something, because Yumichika flipped out a little, waving his hands around in assurance. "I laid down newspaper and everything. I won't make a mess, I promise."
There was a moment of silence, before he heard, "Return your sister's fingernail polish when you're done." Yumichika nodded. "And finish cleaning up; you weren't meant to be playing until you were done with your chores..." His voice didn't exactly soften then, but it became less harsh. "It's almost dinnertime. You may eat in your room if you'd like." With that, Yumichika nodded again and shut the door, slumping against it and sighing. Ikkaku heard the footsteps move away down the hall and down the stairs.
Yumichika looked disappointed, touching his bare fingernails, which had been clipped and filed down to the nub at his father's demands. He then glumly brought his supplies back to the desk and sat down there, putting his face on his hand, slouching.
"Hey," Ikkaku said softly, coming over to him and touching his shoulder a little, trying to bring him out of his mood. "Hey, don't do that." He shook him a little to try to make him stop pouting. Yumichika just flopped forward dramatically, head hitting the desk-top. Ikkaku bit his lip, feeling slightly queasy. Oh, he hated it when Yumichika was sad.
Trying to be comforting, Ikkaku rubbed his shoulder, peeping, "When you're older, you can paint your nails all you want and he won't be able to say no."
Yumichika picked his head up at that thought. Then he smiled deviously. "C'mere, look at this," he finally said, and Ikkaku grinned, glad to see that Yumichika was back to normal.
Yumichika pulled off one sock and then the other, showing Ikkaku his feet and his teal toenails. Ikkaku began laughing wildly, noogieing Yumichika and tickling him until they fell to the floor.
Ichigo's little hands hit the pavement, palms scraped and bleeding for what had to be the fiftieth time this year.
He tried to get up, but he just fell on his face when he was kicked in the ribs again. He'd gotten his ear boxed today and could only hear them laughing on one side. The other was dulled, like it was full of water.
He didn't know how long it went on, how long he blindly punched and kicked and clawed before he was knocked to the ground for the final time. He didn't get up then, just lying there on the asphalt with his arms protecting his head, vaguely hearing somebody yelling. Then he watched feet running away from him through blurry vision, hardly registering it.
He focused on the pain of breathing for quite some time, blinking until his swimming eyes came into focus again. He tried wiggling his fingers where they were wrapped around his head, and then tested a tender spot just behind his ear, where he'd been hit. The staticky noise in his left ear began to die down, and he realized that it was sort of quiet.
"Ow," he finally croaked when he saw that he was alone. He wiped gravel from his palms and peeled himself off the pavement, sniffling blood. "Owch," he said again, although there was a numb quality to the word. How long had been lying there? The thought didn't register as alarming as he simply dusted himself off. Ichigo sniffed again, feeling blood running down his face, but he didn't think to wipe it.
He got to his feet, staggering and dropping back to his knees, deciding to just sit there. Oh well.
Ichigo just sat and stared for a minute, arms hanging uselessly, hardly registering anything or even thinking. He really had gotten the snot beaten out of him that time. Oh well again. He gave a passive half-shrug, just staring forward, not focusing on anything as his body tried to rest and rebuild some strength. However, he felt no motivation. In fact, he felt it would be okay to just stay here and sit, and never move again. Yes, that was fine.
Ichigo sat there and breathed and didn't blink for a long long time. It felt like a long time, but it probably wasn't. It didn't really matter, did it? His eyes stared forward at the place where the brick wall of the alley met the cruddy black asphalt. Maybe if he found the energy, he'd go over there and lie down by the trash cans. The garbage men would find him eventually.
He lost the will to breathe eventually, just sitting there completely still until his diaphragm moved on its own again, sucking in the tiniest amounts of air, just enough to stay conscious. Ichigo didn't want to move. He hurt, he hurt so bad, and yet he felt absolutely nothing.
Ichigo could hear footsteps, but they didn't fully register in his brain, not alerting him that someone was coming closer. He didn't care about anything. He didn't notice anything. He just wanted to stare at the ground and not move for a while longer.
"Are you okay?" he heard, feeling a hand on his shoulder. He finally came out of his dazed state and looked to his left, not bothering to lift his chin. What met his eyes were some skinny legs, only two of them. They had some scrapes that were peppered with gravel, and there were smears of blood and dirt. The knees were knobby and the ankles were skinny. It was a kid, just one.
Ichigo blinked, eyes half-lidded. He didn't know if this kid was from that gang, but he didn't care very much. What had they even said to him just now? He didn't remember, and he didn't have to answer, so it didn't even matter anyway. Ichigo kept staring at the legs, not caring enough to turn away again. This kid's clothes were so dirty that they looked like they'd had a dust-bath. Their jean-shorts were truly threadbare.
Ichigo looked at the kid's knees for a minute more before he decided he didn't like this person. He didn't like anybody, and he didn't like this one either. He felt a small flare of upset, enough to make him turn away and frown. He didn't know what the kid had said, but he didn't want to talk to them.
"Go away," he said, finally reaching up to wipe at his bloody nose, only to find that it had crusted over. As his mouth moved at last, he immediately tasted the blood that had filled the back of his throat, and swallowed some sick congealed glop.
"Go away?!" the boy wailed angrily, temper rising alarmingly fast, but Ichigo didn't even flinch at the volume-change, simply licking the scrapes on his palms and arms. The words of the other boy just went in one ear and out the other. He hardly took in anything other than the fact that the voice was angry. Ichigo wanted to be left alone now, but they kept talking.
"Hey, screw you, I just chased them off!" the boy shouted. "Pssh. 'Go away'," he said again in a dark tone, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, leave me alone," Ichigo grumped, truly hoping this kid would just go. Whatever kindness they were trying to do, he didn't want it. They could never truly understand or sympathize with him. Ichigo was all alone, and he wanted the world to just admit that.
"Leave you alone, huh?!" the boy challenged. Ichigo didn't rise to it, not even changing his tone of voice or looking up at them.
"Yeah," he replied, sniffing against a new wave of blood. "You're probably just gonna' make fun of my hair too."
"What's wrong with your hair?" he heard in a flat clueless tone. Ichigo frowned; that wasn't the response he'd expected, and the retort he'd had ready died on his tongue.
He finally looked up to the boy's face, and saw a bright red ponytail. He looked like a rooster, or a pineapple that was the wrong color.
Ichigo knew that the boy could only be about a year older than him. He was a little taller, but pretty skinny, and he was missing some teeth on the sides. He looked tough, and his clothes were absolutely ragged. His eyes were brown. He was…
Ichigo broke out of his staring and scowled instead of saying thank you like his heart had told him to for a second. He didn't like this kid. He was mad now. He was mad at the world. He was mad at everyone. He had been for three years now. "Your hair's even dumber than mine," he said with a bitter frown, turning back away.
"Bu- wh-" he heard the boy sputtering as he stood up. Ichigo's legs wobbled, his thigh muscles quivering, almost sending him crashing back down. Suddenly he felt a hand on his collar, which yanked him around, keeping him from falling. Ichigo hardly even blinked, the violent action not even permeating past his sensory memory. After a moment he mildly noted that he'd been grabbed, but didn't think this was of much concern.
"Hey, I'll beat you up," the boy threatened. "I'm bigger than you, I could make your spit really fly," he warned, even though he was only a little bigger.
"I don't care," Ichigo said in a voice so quiet that the grip on his collar loosened. He didn't look up however, just staring at the ground, not moving, and eventually the kid let him go, demeanor changing back again.
Ichigo looked up at him to see a small frown on his interesting features; his eyebrows looked like red caterpillars that were trying to kiss each other, all scrunched up together. The kid stepped closer to him, but Ichigo didn't feel like moving back, so he didn't.
The boy gently reached out and touched Ichigo's black eye with a concerned frown. Ichigo knew that look. He didn't want pity. The only thing he wanted was to have his mom back, and all the pity in the world couldn't give that to him, so he didn't want it.
"They really wiped you good, didn't they," he mumbled, and Ichigo pushed his hand away. The boy cupped his cheek, rubbing his sore jaw, which was probably swollen and discolored. "Hey, it's okay," he said in a soothing tone, his touch so gentle and kind. Ichigo was ready to scream.
He didn't want to hear that. He didn't want to hear people ask him if he was alright, if he was okay. He heard that all the time, and he'd learned that the people who asked him that didn't really care. They had in the beginning when his mother had first passed, but as time went on and they started to think he should be getting over things, their sympathy and patience waned. They didn't want to the hear the truth. They didn't want to hear that he wasn't okay and never would be now that his momma was gone. They wanted him to just say 'yes' and be done with it. They wanted to hear 'yes, I'm fine, everything's fine,' and if they didn't, all they did was try to make things okay and not understand how he really felt.
It was worse when he actually told the truth, when he admitted that his young heart didn't know how to take so much hurt and loss. When he admitted that he wasn't fine, they became uncomfortable, pitying, reassuring. They didn't know how to handle things, so they told him the biggest and kindest seeming lie. 'It's okay. It'll be okay. It'll all work out. Everything will look better soon. You'll be okay. It's okay.'
He was sick of hearing those words. He was sick of hearing adults tell him that when things weren't okay. They had no idea how he felt, how alone he was without his mom, how… how…
"It's okay, it happens to me too," the boy said, and Ichigo paused, looking back up to his face, seeing the ghost of a bruise on his temple. He… He got beat up sometimes, too? He knew how it was?… Ichigo felt funny all of a sudden, paying more attention, but only marginally so. "It's okay though, cause' I'm learnin' me how ta' fight."
That sentence had made little sense to Ichigo, but already he felt a sense of kinship between them. The numbness began to recede as he opened his eyes a little wider. They were the same, weren't they? Bright hair, messed-up faces, and great big hea-…
Ouch…
Suddenly, the pain came to his attention again. His train of thought cut off as the throbbing aches of his poor bones and skin distracted him. Ow, he hurt all over. Ichigo raised a hand to his face, wiping his eyes, sniffling a little more blood, and immediately the kid backed off, looking around in alarm.
"Hey, hey, woah, are you crying?" he asked uncomfortably, looking nervous and ready to run off.
"No," Ichigo said, and it was true. His eyes were dry. The red-head wiped his forehead in relief, making an exaggerated 'whew' sound.
"Good." Ichigo looked up slightly, listening, feeling bland and mild, but no longer depersonalized. "Cause' I woulda' been in trouble again." The boy reached behind himself and rubbed his lower back, as if remembering something. He pursed his lips out, looking dejected.
"Hm?" Ichigo replied in half-interest, standing up with distant eyes and a flat depressed attitude that a boy of only eight should never have. He didn't understand how this red kid was so animated and lively if he got beat up all the time and was in such ratty clothes. Ichigo had nice clothes and he could never bring himself to be even remotely cheerful.
He just wanted to sit in a dark room on his own. He didn't feel like playing or doing anything anymore. He didn't want to go to school. He didn't want to be faced with his dad, who had turned into a complete goof after his mom had died. He didn't want to swing or run or play. All he wanted was to have his mommy back.
"Oh," the red-haired boy said darkly in reply, causing Ichigo's eyes to focus on him, ceasing their aimless drifting. "I tripped this rich kid into the mud on accident and his parents got me in so much trouble. Man, my butt still hurts," he whined, rubbing his bum some more. Ichigo looked on in slight concern, processing his story and the fact that the boy's bottom hurt as a result.
'Oh,' he thought in mild realization. "You got spanked?" Ichigo concluded.
"Yeah," the red boy said miserably, "A lot, and really hard." He pouted for a minute, looking frustrated and regretful. "It was just an accident too! If Ida' known I'd get in trouble so bad, I woulda' done it on purpose," he said, suddenly grinning widely.
Ichigo stared for a minute, before something bubbled up in his throat and came out, like a hiccup or a sob. It felt like throwing up for a moment, but it happened again, and it hurt less the second time. He realized when it persisted that it was laughter, and his cheeks immediately hurt from smiling as the laughter grew. When was the last time he'd done that?
The boy looked at him strangely for a minute, smile fading, mouth open, before he began laughing too. Soon, Ichigo was flopping over, grabbing onto the boy's shoulder, holding his own stomach and giggling insanely until he had cramps.
He could see the boy swallow, and when he finally calmed down, rubbing his cheeks and his face to get the muscle cramps to stop, he watched as the boy fidgeted madly, playing with his fingers and squirming around on his bare feet.
"So, uh… My name's Renji," he introduced himself, looking to him with a sudden scowl, "What's your name, stupid?"
"Ichigo," Ichigo hesitantly said, waiting for the inevitable teasing, or the fruit jokes, or the gay jokes and comparisons of his name to his hair, whatever any of that meant anyways. Renji just melted when he hadn't been rejected, the scowl leaving to make way for a smile, as he held out his hand.
"Yoroshiku!" Renji chirped, doing a bouncy little bow, his hand still extended.
Ichigo stared for a minute, before realizing this was a handshake. "Be good to me too," he replied mechanically, the traditional greeting just slipping out without him having to really think about it. He stuck his bleeding fingers out too and shook Renji's hand, pulling back when Renji held on for a bit too long. "Hey," he complained, scowling and shoving his hands in his armpits, crossing his arms in a pout. Renji just bit his lip like he'd been caught doing something bad, quickly trying to remedy it.
"You feeling a little better? What hurts the most?" Renji asked, touching Ichigo's back a little bit, and Ichigo let him help him ease to the ground and stretch his legs out.
"Right here," Ichigo pointed to a bad scrape on his shin, scratching at his face where blood was drying from when his nose had bled. Renji rubbed at the spot on his leg a little and wiped it with his dusty shirt. Ichigo suddenly realized when he saw the fruit-of-the-loom logo that the shirt had been white at one point, but was now a greyish-brown that he'd been convinced was the real color.
"Better?" Renji asked with concern, looking at Ichigo's skinny, blood-stippled, bruised legs. Mostly, Ichigo just felt this shaky fatigue. The pain didn't bother him so much.
"A little bit."
"Can you walk now?" Renji asked eagerly, trying to pull him up, pausing when Ichigo didn't let himself be dragged to his feet. He just wanted to sit here for a while. He was okay, it didn't hurt that bad, but he just felt like resting. He didn't wanna' do anything, really, other than sit here. Maybe Renji would stay with him here, or maybe not. Ichigo didn't particularly mind either way, but he didn't want to try standing until this gnawing weakness stopped flaring in his tummy. He didn't think he could make it home; he should just sit and wait for a while longer.
"Try walking," the red boy insisted. Ichigo didn't respond. Renji squatted and put his hands under Ichigo's armpits, trying to tow him up, but he only succeeded in getting him half to his feet. Ichigo knees were bent, legs limp, since he wasn't putting any strength in them, allowing himself to be a dead-weight. Renji was left holding him up, groaning from the effort, struggling not to let him crash back down. "C'mon, Ichigo, stand up!" Renji complained, and Ichigo did out of mere surprise. He wobbled on achey legs, Renji holding him to support him, but Ichigo just stared at him in wonder, surprised at hearing his own name.
Renji had remembered.
He was so tired of adults talking about him like he wasn't in the room, like he couldn't hear them. The ones that did talk to him were patronizing and directed most of what they said towards his father. His bullies didn't care to use his real name unless they were insulting it. Renji had just called him by his first name, and so casually too. Not 'Kurosaki-kun', not 'Hey, you', just 'Ichigo'.
Just hearing that turned his heart muscle right on like a light switch and gave him energy.
Right then, he decided that he liked Renji maybe. Only a little.
Renji let go of Ichigo once he stopped swaying on his feet, and Ichigo stood there, just watching Renji with a mild expression. Renji had this weird look on his face, like he couldn't bear to look at Ichigo, but at the same time, couldn't bear to look away. Why were his cheeks flushing? It wasn't cold out here, so…
"Hey, uh… We should play together," Renji said, suddenly scratching at the back of his neck and looking around, even though there was nothing to see but garbage, graffiti, and Ichigo's school supplies strewn on the ground. "Or… I… Pretend I didn't say that," he mumbled, shoulders slumping. Ichigo shrugged.
"I know a good park where the mean kids don't go," Ichigo said, never mind that he hadn't played there in a few years, even though his dad kept taking him and his sisters there anyways. Suddenly, he felt like playing a little bit. Maybe just for a little while. Renji perked up, but tried to look like he didn't really care that much.
"That might be cool," he said with his arms crossed.
"We could go there now," Ichigo suggested. Renji uncrossed his arms immediately, looking painfully eager, beaming and bouncing in place.
"Okay!" Suddenly, he halted, his caterpillar eyebrows kissing each other again. "But… are you sure your mom won't be upset if you start playing with me?" he asked with trepidation. Ichigo shook his head numbly, ignoring the little explosion that went off inside his body at that name.
"My dad won't be mad. He's been telling me to get out and play more often anyways. I was just trying to walk home from school, and then…" Ichigo looked up as he got an idea suddenly, "Actually, we can play in my backyard. My dad's still waiting for me to get home, probably."
Renji's eyes bugged out, all semblance of trying to act like he didn't care completely gone. "You have a backyard?" Ichigo flinched back at the volume. He wasn't used to people raising their voices in genuine enthusiasm, sans his father, but was that ever really genuine?
"Well, it's small, but…" Ichigo said awkwardly, tugging on his own arm skin. Renji's reactions startled him. It was just a backyard, no big deal.
"That's so cool!" Renji said, pulling down his eyesockets. He was an inner city boy, and any place that had a yard was a step up from dumpsters and stair-rails as play-equipment. The only grass he usually saw was growing out from between the cracks in the sidewalk. "Can we go there right now?" he asked excitedly, smiling so big that he thought his face would break.
"Yeah, let's just-"
"Okay, c'mon, then!" Renji grabbed his arm and started dragging him any which way, until Ichigo got his rear in gear and picked up his backpack, running along with him towards his house.
