Reunion

by M.Y.Ame

Ichigo never thought he'd see the Quincy in such a way. Ishida would have never thought the Shinigami- no. Visored, in such a manner. Well, they thought wrong after the reunion. IchiIshi, mature themes with an equal amount of fluff.

[/giggles] Wow. Ok, so this is defiantly the longest one-shot I've written and actually posted.
I wrote this for my best friend- Ironically Yours- because she won a quiz I posted on my DeviantArt account and requested a IchiIshi fic.
I finally finished it after.... A week? xD; Sorry dear- it's probably been longer than that... And YourOctober beta'd for me.
Soooo~ YourOctober, thank you again for probably the eighth time- this fic would be a mess of past and present tense without you.
`Tou-chan/Ironic/Indu/Dearly, Thank you for introducing me to our new Prince of Tennis sister. And for just generally being there.

Enjoy!

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"Hi-high… School… Reunion?"

Rukia sighed over the inter-dimensional phone, wondering if the years Ichigo chose to live out in the mortal world damaged his thought process. "Yes, you fool. High School Reunion. The Hell butterflies that bring me the mail from our P.U.—"

"PO, Post Office, Rukia—"

"The mail from our P.U. Box had a about a High School Reunion. It says since there were so many transfer students from our year, they decided it would be a nice addition to school traditions."

On the other end, Ichigo had his hands hovering over the keyboard he had been typing on before a butterfly that looked oddly familiar fluttered through the wall and floated near his jaw. The orange-head sighed, resisting the urge to send the butterfly back before Rukia said anything else.

"And I'm guessing you want me to go?"

Rukia snorted and picked at her nails with an almost regal air; a hollow hunt had just ended and the shorter girl felt a right to preening. After all, she had taken down almost a third by herself.

"You can't expect me to remember all the names of the students, can you? Rukia-sama is not a—" She was interrupted by a snort and the sound of stifled laughter.

"You are so full of yourself!"

"Oh, like you aren't, Mister 'I'll be fine in the mortal world, if you guys ever need help. Oh. But you won't. Because I'll keep the outside world spotless!'"

Ichigo had the decency to blush at the memory of his arrogance. "Hey, a lot has changed since then and you know it."

Rukia waved to herself dismissively, and replied in a nonchalant tone, "I know. I honestly just want to see your face when Ishida walks in." The call buzzed out of focus and Ichigo could tell by the fading bitch-laugh that Rukia knew she had caught his interest.

The Shinigami brushed a callused finger against the antenna of the deep purple butterfly--the signal for it to return--and muttered unkind words about a certain short

Shinigami while getting back to work. Soon enough, however, he found himself thinking of a certain Quincy, and the sound clips he moved back and forth held no meaning. Growling to himself, Ichigo savagely slid the tuning knobs out of whack, saved his work, and left a bewildered secretary with a stack of papers five inches high.

His apartment was quiet, per usual. He turned the lights on, set up his stereo with an American guitar player's work, and went about making himself dinner while Rukia ran circles around his head and froze all thoughts other than the reunion with a comical version of Shirayuki.

On one hand, Ichigo supposed the reunion would be fun. Chado would probably be there, and Ichigo hadn't seen his friend in a while. The Hispanic-Japanese man had started a band not long after returning to Karakura and hit it big: currently he was on his second trans-Atlantic tour. Apparently almost half of his fan-base was in America.

A small sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he remembered that it had been Rukia who had phoned him about it, and Ichigo realized that if Rukia knew, then so did all of the other Shinigami who had participated in the "exchange".

Which meant Toushiro, Matsumoto, Renji, Ikkaku, Yumichika, and a certain pink-haired vice-captain. Who hadn't really grown any in the past five years.

Ichigo barely missed his fingers with the knife he was using to slice vegetables and chicken. Setting it down, he leaned heavily on the countertop, knowing he was caught. Damn Rukia and her knowledge of his thought process. She knew he would think about the whole damn ordeal later and realize he needed to be there to keep everyone in line.

Especially now that Ikkaku and Yumichika were together, and the damn duo couldn't keep their hands off each other. Ichigo paled at the thought of the bald and beauty-obsessed Shinigami doing who-knows-what on top of the refreshment table.

The rice cooker he had set up first dinged softly, accenting the music playing humorously, and Ichigo sighed in resignation as he scooped everything into a large bowl. He would have to go, because even if there was a chance he was wrong, Rukia would probably tease him to the ends of Soul Society saying he was scared of going.

An eyebrow twitched as his mind latched onto 'Either that, or she'll say you were so nervous about seeing Ishida, that you ran away.'

Gathering the newspaper he had snatched from his mailbox on the way up and a pair of chopsticks, the orange-head settled at his coffee table in the area behind his kitchen and dug into his dinner while scanning the paper spread before him.

This was his evening habit. Ever since moving out, Ichigo had felt the silence almost too much. What with his father constantly trying to fight him, Yuzu yelling at them to stop, and Karin blasting music from her room once she started high school, suddenly all the quiet unnerved him.

The orange-head turned on unnecessary lights, played music softly, and sat on the floor to read every night while eating his dinner.

The cell phone he had discarded onto the counter in the kitchen crooned softly from around the corner, and Ichigo recognized the incoming text tone. Getting up, he padded into the other room and flicked it open, rolling his eyes when he realized it was from Rukia.

r u gunna go?

Ichigo snorted and typed back a reply quickly.

No one types like that anymore. Yes, I'll go. You would probably cheer Ikkaku and Yumichika on if they did something like a pole dance on a table.

He snorts a laugh to himself as it takes Rukia the period of time it takes him to get back to the living room, sit down, and eat a few more bites of his now cooled food.

That I would. See u in 3 days.

Ichigo eats the rest of his dinner and shoves off to an early sleep.

At ten in the morning three days later, Ichigo was tugging at the crisp polo and black slacks Orihime forced him into. He peered around the old gym as if the walls were painted by Michelangelo himself. It was all the same, even the cracked plaster Chado had accidentally caused while playing volleyball with Orihime one year.

Everyone was in their own group already, save for the orange-head who was currently waiting for the aforementioned Hispanic-Japanese to be relinquished from a group of fawning females. Flustered and silently annoyed, the tall man finally disentangled himself from his former classmates and approached Ichigo.

"It's been a while…"

He had to laugh: even after high school was over and gone and his career had started, Chado was still a man of little words. He offered a hand, and a small smile cracked Chado's face as he grabbed it and they embraced.

"I'm surprised you got the time to come to this thing," Ichigo murmured, tugging at his collar again. He couldn't remember the last time he had been forced into a collared shirt, and damn if the thing didn't itch like mad.

"Seichi wanted a break anyways."

Genko Seichi, age twenty-three, drummer for Dias De los Muertes, Chado's band. Frequent procrastinator, but genius at drumming, which made him hard to work with but an asset all the same.

"It's good to see you, anyway. Will you play while you're in town?"

Ichigo was playing the game, just like old times. He liked to see if he could make Chado talk more than a short sentence.

"Ah. At the old place."

Ichigo fumed, and Chado grinned, knowing he'd won yet again. The table behind them wiggled as someone jumped up onto it, and Ichigo spun around in alarm before letting out a breath and glaring at the woman sitting on the table in a knee-length black dress.

"Rukia!"

She threw up the victory sign and grinned. "Yo, Ichigo~"

The orange-head glared at her for a moment. "You told me everyone would be here, but I get a call from Ikkaku earlier saying no one but you will be able to make it!"

"Eh?" she said theatrically. "Really? That's odd, everyone was saying how excited they were to come!" Rubbing his face in annoyance, Ichigo groaned.

"You theatrical woman, you tricked me!"

The short Shinigami raised a sage-like finger, grinning. "Ah, but I never specifically told you everyone would be coming to the reunion. I just asked if you would go."

Thoroughly tricked, Ichigo sat at the table in resignation, leaning his head against the cool top. Soon enough, Rukia was poking at the back of his neck rhythmically. "Hey, have you seen Ishida? Has he arrived yet? Have you made him mad already and he left? Hm?"

Ichigo whacked her hand away, grumbling into the fake wood, "I haven't seen him. He probably won't come. You tricked me." Rukia rolled her eyes and huffed.

"That's impossible, Orihime herself called Ishida and she said he was going to come!"

Ichigo's eyebrow twitches, "Well, I don't see Ishida, and it's been almost an hour. Orihime already came and left, so why can't I?"

Chado stood there, watching the exchange with internal amusement. It had been two years since Rukia ventured from Soul Society, yet the two bickered just like they had when they first met.

"I'll show you the venue," he offered shortly, and Ichigo snatched up the offer, while Rukia pouted but agreed. She had never gotten to see one of these 'venues'.

'The old place' was a spacious café called Karakura Underground, with a side room that looked like a gymnasium. Chado and Ichigo had come across the place once by accident when running from a person hard-set on dyeing the Shinigami's hair black for their third year. The orange-haired man chuckled to himself at the memory.

The café was the same as his memory of that day, and the barista nodded familiarly at Chado, waving at them to go ahead. Nothing was set up yet in the Music Hall, save for the stage and the lights, speakers and a keyboard, but there were boxes and, as they rounded the stage, storage crates behind the speakers.

Ichigo blinked at them in surprise. "Hey, when are you guys playing?"

Chado thought for a moment, and received a whack on the head when he figured out that saying "ten." was shorter than saying "tonight."

"Hey! Maybe Ishida will show up!" Rukia chimed from her place on top of a pair of speakers. Ichigo stared up at her position and muttered something about monkey Shinigami while pondering her statement. It was true, Ishida had been in the café when the other two teens came skidding in.

But he wasn't, Ichigo found out later. Everyone was there, Orihime, Rukia, many of the Shinigami who hadn't shown up at the Reunion--"Partying is a better kind of Reunion, Ichigo~" Matsumoto chimed--and even Tatsuki, who had gotten the night off from the private Karate lessons she taught at a dojo near the old high school.

But there was a significant lack of prissy pristine Quincy. There wasn't even a trace of his reiatsu in the café. Ichigo would know, since he had made quite a lot of progress since the first time he and the black haired man met.

Eventually he forgot, cheering on Chado's band with the rest of the crowd, getting rowdy like most only saw at American punk-rock band concerts on TV. In the back of his mind, however, even though it was highly unlikely Ishida of all people would go to an underground concert, there was a nagging. Especially because it was Orihime who had talked to Ishida.

By the time he stumbled home--having to turn back twice because he forgot he drove his car to the school and walked to the café--it was well past five AM. Ichigo was in a stupor, pleasantly floating along on a music-induced and awake-for-almost-twenty-hours high. Ichigo lazily popped the button on his jeans, pulled the zip with his eyes already shut, and kicked them off while simultaneously falling onto his bed. He was asleep before the waistband even hit the floor.

The cell phone at his bedside rang, once, twice--the obnoxious tone was shut off on the third as Ichigo realized what phone was ringing. He was up in a split second, palm pilot in his hand and a pair of jeans already jerked halfway up his hips. Time slipping away rapidly in Ichigo's mind, he grabbed the jacket at the back of his closet and pulled it on, the zip tucked neatly under his chin and equally unused keys in his pocket jingling.

It only took five minutes to get to his car, turn the keys and another ten to get through one AM traffic to a dull looking and nondescript office building , where he exited his car and accessed a hidden garage. Motorcycles of varying colors lined the walls, but in the crisp night air, and with energy crackling around his body, Ichigo could only see the single soft grey bike with odd-looking plates.

It took twenty minutes to get to the address on his palm pilot, an apartment building at the end of town. It was an open apartment, each one lined up next to the other with a public staircase. One of these, located on the bottom floor, had all of its lights on and someone was inside. Shadows danced against the door, and as Ichigo idled, he could vaguely hear arguing. It was loud, even over the engine. The orange-haired man was surprised the other occupants weren't awake.

He narrowed his eyes: if they weren't awake, then this was normal. Or they were threatened by one of the couple to keep silent.

Ichigo's eyes didn't stay narrow for long, as someone came stumbling out of the apartment, clothing in tatters. The light had faded from the person's features, but the face was engraved into his mind, and he felt his heart drop. He knew who it was, and damned be his soul if he wouldn't save the man.

"Ishida!" The running person stumbled and looked up at him in wild fear, head jerking between his form and the apartment. Another person came running out, and Ichigo held out a hand. "I'll get you out of here! Grab my hand!"

He had to shout over the sound of the engine, and the welling need to leave made him impatient as Ishida didn't move. The second person was gaining on their position.

"Uryuu!"

The name seemed to snap him out of it. Ishida stood hastily, stumbling over his own feet as he tried to run to the bike. The second person was fast, and he almost grabbed Ishida in time.

Ichigo was faster though. He grabbed Ishida roughly around the waist and slung him into his lap, side saddle. There was a loud cry as he fed the motorcycle gas and shot just out of reach, just in time. It was only a twenty minute drive to the studio building, but as Ichigo arched his body over Ishida's to keep the wind off of him, it felt so much longer because of his racing thoughts.

What had happened? Who had that been? Why was he picking up Ishida The Last Quincy on an abuse call?

He didn't drop the motorcycle back off at the building, afraid that if he stopped driving, the other person would either be able to follow him, or he wouldn't be able to start again after looking at Ishida.

The man beneath him had been engrained into his mind as a prideful arrogant prick who could put his money where his mouth was, but the tangible man was quivering noticeably.

Ichigo knew everything was wrong when Ishida didn't protest to being carried into the private apartments. It was a little difficult to unlock the door, but the anxiety didn't let him put Ishida down until he entered number 403 and walked down the hallway and settled the smaller man into the guest room.

Ishida rolled over on the pristine sheets and curled into a ball. Ichigo felt his jaw set, and pulled off his helmet, let his hair fall over his eyes, telling himself the sting was because a few of the longer hairs got into his eyes.

Ichigo told himself that he wasn't crying because the person he fought alongside was now hurt in a way he couldn't fix with salve from the fourth division.

He paused at the door and squeezed his eyes shut. "It'll be ok now. I swear to you, Ishida. It'll be ok."

As the door closed Ichigo missed the relieved sob that escaped Uryuu's bitten lips, and the way the black-haired man clung to the pillow under his head.

Calling in sick was ok: Ichigo had built up the time off, and Mizuno was back from vacation. There was ice cream in the freezer, soup on the stove, a home made cake being kept warm in the oven and a fresh pot of coffee brewing behind him.

The darkest roast by a local company, low acid and low caffeine, with an earthy smell and a bitter taste you could end up craving.

Dark Soul roast, Karakura Underground. The same café from third year, the same coffee Ishida had been drinking.

Ishida wasn't awake yet, and Ichigo ended up baking cookies. He felt like a damned housewife, waiting and looking anxiously at the portal every few minutes.

Ishida wasn't sure whether to laugh or be alarmed when he blinked up at the ceiling above his head, because there weren't any webs, the light fixture was different, and it smelled like a bakery. His stomach rumbled, and he peered around the room, flexing experimentally. Legs, arms, torso, shoulders, back, neck. Everything was in place. Sore, but unbound and intact.

The sunlight that peeked through the window of the room glinted off of something shiny, and Ishida turned his head to see a black helmet. The night before flashed behind his eyes, and he realized he was…. safe.

The black-haired man sat up slowly, feeling his head and vision swim with each sway, clutching the pillow he pulled up with him unconsciously. It was a nice room, a western style one, with a pretty cream-colored bamboo floor that accented the coffee colored walls. There was a thick blanket gathered at the end of the bed he was sitting on. It had a flannel pattern of light blue and white, and the sheets on the bed itself were heather grey.

There was a dresser, made of pine, Ishida guessed, and a matching nightstand with a clock that glowed deep blue against a silver background. The door was to the left of the dresser, and it was slightly ajar. Normally, the black-haired man would have felt incredibly insecure, but in an unfamiliar place it was a comfort. It meant he was free to leave.

His stomach rumbled again, and as he slowly stood, something moved out of the corner of his eye. Ishida jerked back, losing his balance for a moment and falling back onto the bed, but found it was his reflection that had startled him. There was a mirror, small and round--probably a foot in diameter--hung above the headboard. He stared for a moment, noted his tattered clothing and dishevelled hair, and croaked his first words of the morning with a scratchy voice.

"I look like an Arrancar tried to eat my head."

There was a soft snort, and another voice spoke from the direction of the door. It was male, slightly rough, but oddly soothing and comforting. "Nice to know your sense of humor grew in the years, Ishida."

For some reason, the Quincy wasn't surprised very much by the fact that he was looking at Kurosaki, more specifically that it was that Shinigami leaning in the doorway with his head cocked to the side and studying him. No, most of the surprise came from the mixed look of pain, humor, and caring in his eyes that flew away quickly.

Ishida found he couldn't say anything and stared at his scratched up fingers, made himself busy lining up fingertips to fingertips. They were like that for what felt like an hour--it had only been five minutes, Ichigo noted--and the orange-haired man tapped lightly at the dresser next to him. "There's some clothing in here. Bathroom's across the hall. There's no rush, just come out when you feel like it."

The black-haired man crumpled when the door didn't shut all the way but he could hear Kurosaki's footsteps down the hall, because it was comforting.

He picked himself up after twenty minutes of deep breathing and crossed to the dresser. The clothing was organized, pants with pants, shirts with shirts, socks, tank tops and a few worn looking sweatshirts. There was nothing fashionable, but everything had a few of each size. Ishida tried to convince himself that he wasn't picking out a pair of loose pants and a shirt he had seen Ichigo wear himself years ago, but when he touched the fabric that fact doesn't seem to matter anymore. Because they were comfortable.

The bathroom was huge, Ishida noted. The bathtub could fit two people, or at least three Ishidas, and there was a separate shower in the corner with frosted doors made of cool teal tiles. He closed the door behind him and appreciated the lock on the door, only to pause when he saw a small blue box sitting on the wooden stool next to the bath.

His name was written on it, almost with care. There was a small smirk that threatened his blank expression when the back of the note caught his eye.

You were always a fruity smelling bastard. Figured you like bath salts and girly stuff like that.

There were small bottles of a rainbow of salts, oils, and even a few bars of organic soap. Even though it was from Kurosaki, it was appreciated. It was a comfort.

He took as long as he pleased in the bath, but it wasn't that long once his stomach started to pang, and he drained the water with some remorse. There was a pair of scissors in the cabinet behind the mirror. Ishida took them to the ragged ends of his tattered hair and when he was finished, he found he almost looked like his high school self again. He supposed it was suiting to the fact that he was currently in his 'most hated enemy's house'.

There was a paper with a silly arrow drawn on it, pointing up the hallway in the direction of most of the bakery smells from earlier. He followed it past what he assumed must be the front door, through what looked like a living room and around the corner to the left. A kitchen.

With Kurosaki wearing an absurd looking apron while drinking coffee, the countertop lined with a cake, cookies, and a strawberry tart. The taller man looked slightly surprised, but nonplussed at the fact that Ishida was staring at him quite openly, and slurped at his coffee. The smell woke the black-haired man up, and he sniffed again. Ichigo suddenly looked pleased with himself.

"I remembered third year, when you and I got into an argument about coffee and tea," he said, opening an overhead cabinet and handing Ishida a dark blue cup with 'Black' written on it. Ishida snorted, and Ichigo looked affronted. "It's part of a set! They were a housewarming gift from Orihime!" He just raised an eyebrow and fixed a cup of coffee, sipping it slowly and then blinking in surprise.

"Is this…?" The other man shrugged, turning back to the stove and pulling a small skillet from the overhead rack. "Coffee is for mornings, tea is for night," he offered, glancing off the conversation from back then. Ishida went silent, contemplating why it was just so comfortable in Kurosaki's apartment, Kurosaki's guest room, Kurosaki's bathroom, Kurosaki's kitchen where the Shinigami was cooking grilled cheese in a frilly blue apron of all things with a dancing strawberry on it.

"You do realize you look ridiculous?" he finally said, as Ichigo transferred the sandwich to a plate. Chocolate eyes glared at him, but not without humor, and Ichigo jabbed the plate into his chest softly. "Eat, housewife. Then I hope you don't mind, but I need to check you into headquarters." He was already mid-chew, because damnit even though cheese on bread was disgusting he was hungry as a hollow, and the statement made him pause and swallow thickly.

"Headquarters?"

Ichigo was already setting up a sandwich for himself when Ishida spoke, but he turned all the same and faced the black-haired man with furrowed brows. "Yeah. Don't worry about it, you don't even have to come in if you want, but I'm not leaving you here by yourself."

Ishida stared at the other man warily. "I can't take care of myself—" He was stopped by the completely unguarded emotions on Ichigo's face.

Ishida found himself feeling odd. Kurosaki was so plainly emotive--open like an easy to read book. He didn't skirt around things, but bluntly stated them without hidden intentions. When had he gotten like that? Suddenly, Ishida wondered if it was not Kurosaki who had changed, but himself.

"I just don't want to leave you by yourself yet. It would be a good idea to go in, though. I know you're plenty capable of cleaning your own wounds, but there's a special doc at headquarters who might be able to do a little better than just anti-bac gel and bandages."

There was silence as he turned back, but the soft sound of Ishida thanking him for the food told him the Quincy would comply.

Headquarters was thirty minutes out. Ichigo drove his non-descript Camry, and Ishida sat in the passenger seat silently, looking as if he were about to throw up even though they were only five minutes in.

"There's a CD case under your seat, if you'd like," the driving man offered quietly.

Ishida complied, almost mechanically flipping through the disks without really reading them until the words on one caught his eye.

"What in the world is a Bucket Head?"

To his surprise, Kurosaki laughed. "He's a guitar player. Really good though, I like his stuff. His name comes from the fact that he plays his concerts with a KFC bucket over his head. Put it on; I think you'd like that CD."

Curiosity piqued, Ishida pressed the CD into the slot and listened.

When he opened his eyes again, Ichigo was sitting back in the drivers seat, AC running. The car was in park. He looked around, rubbing the sleep from his eyes while sitting up. Deep brown eyes cracked open, and Ichigo grinned slightly. "You sleep well?" He was met with a light blush and a frown, and Ishida muttered, "Are we going in or not?"

The secretary was a bubbly girl with lime green hair named Mashiro. Ishida vaguely wondered if he had met her somewhere before. She greeted them with a huge smile and led them down the hall to a station with more vaguely familiar-looking people. Ichigo greeted them, and one man with wavy blond locks handed him a stack of paper and directed them to a clear desk.

There was a man who walked down the hallway and greeted them next who sparked his memory. Ishida looked around again and realized that two of the people in the large station were Shinigami. The one who handed Kurosaki the papers and the man that passed them in the hall were Visoreds. "K-Kurosaki…"

The man next to him looked slightly amused as he wrote a few things down, signed it, and slid it over to Ishida for his signature. "Wait until you meet the doc."

The woman down the hall in the examination room was none other than Nemu. But she was different since Soul Society, and Ichigo even offered to stay in the room. Ishida declined, and Nemu smiled softly at him when the door shut. "We will only speak of what you are comfortable with, Ishida-kun. Is there anything you'd like me to help you with?"

Ishida finally allowed himself to shift uncomfortably, and sighed. "Tatsuo… My boy… Ex. My ex-boyfriend raped me quite a few times." Nemu looked surprised, and asked if he'd at least like some pain killers. Ishida declined. He replied that the pain told him if he was healing or not. Instead, the black-haired man pulled the tape and tissue from his hand, where a particularly deep cut resided.

"He had a knife… I finally got it away but, I had blocked first and…" Nemu didn't ask questions. She cleaned it out with solution, something he hadn't been able to do, and rewrapped it with gauze and soft but highly adherent tape. A few minor cuts and scrapes later, Nemu asked him to wait as she stepped into the hall. He saw a flash of orange and found himself silently praying the woman didn't tell Kurosaki anything.

A door on the other side of the room opened slowly, and curiously, Ishida watched until it opened all the way. The figure behind made him gasp: he remembered this person. The teal-haired man blinked in surprise and reached for the doorknob. "Sorry, I was expecting Nemu-san. Hope I didn't scare you." Grimmjaw closed the door, and Ishida heard the footsteps fade away.

"Ishida? You look like you saw a ghost."

Ichigo winced when the black-haired man turned his head so fast his neck cracked. The sound woke him up, however, and Ishida swallowed. "I could have sworn I just saw…"

However, the notion that there was an Espada walking around seemed so absurd he couldn't say it.

"A-ah…I was expecting a stack of reports from Grimm-san. Now I'll have to go find him." Ishida was dumbstruck when Kurosaki smiled.

"Candy-head's back? Damn, if I had known…."

"Kurosaki, you two aren't speaking of an Espada, are you?" Ichigo had the decency to grin sheepishly. "Jaggerjaques isn't a bad guy, Ish—"

"He's an Espada, you stupid Shinigami!"

Ichigo smiled apologetically at Nemu, who just nodded and walked out, assumedly in search of the subject of conversation. "An Espada who was under the influence of some psycho drug Aizen's zanpakutou could produce. He asked Urahara himself to place a limiter on his gigai, and he's really not so bad once you talk to him, Ishida."

"He's a fucking Espada!"

Ichigo stared at him oddly for a moment, tilting his head to one side before letting out a deep breath and turning back to the door. "If it's about that, then I'm not a Shinigami, Ishida. I wanted to introduce you to everyone, but since you're against it, put your shoes back on. I'll be outside."

The Quincy found that as Ichigo left, he wished the door would slam, instead of slide quietly. Compassion was never something he related to the orange-haired man; he had always been brash, loud, and confrontational.

Ichigo walked down the hallway, brushing a hand through his hair in frustration. Ishida and he had worked together, Quincy and Shinigami, but now that the wars were over he had been hoping…Well, Ichigo wasn't sure what he had been hoping anymore.

That the stuck up prick would accept the few Espada that had been under Aizen's control were actually really nice guys? That Grimmjaw had evolved in the first place because he was independent and had an overwhelming thirst to survive and escape? That it was perfectly ok to be friends with someone who had shoved their arm through your chest?

Ok, so the last one was understandable.

Lost in his thoughts, he crashed into the subject of them. Grimmjaw snorted in laughter at the look on his face and pulled Ichigo upright.

"What's up Berry-head? Lots on your mind?"

Sheepishly, Ichigo grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just frustrated with the new case. You saw who it was." The teal-haired man scratched at the scar on his chin--he opted to have Urahara place it on his gigai to remind him of all that had happened--and frowned. "Ishida. I remember the smell of his reiatsu. Tough luck, Berry-head."

Shrugging slightly, the orange-haired man was at a loss for what to say. "Yeah. Hey, I got a guy asking for something different on a slow song. D'you mind dropping by and helping out? I was thinking of traditional work." Light blue eyes danced to life in childish anticipation, and Grimmjaw crowed, "Hell yeah!" It echoed through the hall and made Ichigo laugh.

Ishida's eyes narrowed as the sound reached his ears while he exited the exam room. Nemu had come back in shortly with a stack of papers and a few rolls of tape and gauze for his hands, and had sent him to find Ichigo. Following the sound of two male voices, Ichida paused around the corner of the hall they stood in and listened.

He felt a bit like a peeping-tom for some reason.

"Great, awesome. Hey, I can't thank you enough for the last time either."

Last time?

"Hey, you got me the job here, Berry-head. And the whole detox thing, and… Awe hell, don't make me get mushy." There was a rustling of cloth and the sound of Kurosaki laughing, and suddenly Ishida realized he hadn't heard the other man laugh. Sure, it hadn't been even four hours since he spoke to the man after five years, but the stupid Shinigami usually had something to laugh at.

The thought made him frown even more. Shinigami. Kurosaki wasn't a Shinigami, he was a Visored. He sat comfortably on the fence of prejudice sipping tea with the blond and silver-haired men from before, while sharing biscuits and chocolate fondue with Grimmjaw and Renji. He probably played twister with Mashiro and Yachiru in his fucking spare time!

He stood there with a frown playing on his lips as Ichigo and Grimmjaw rounded the corner, and the orange-head paused just in time. He stared down at Ishida, not sure what to say. Grimmjaw broke the silence with a soft question, which Ichigo answered and the teal-haired man left.

"Is there anything you wanna do before we go back?" Ichigo finally asked as they passed an energetically waving Mashiro and exited the building. It had only been an hour, but the end of summer heat had settled thickly outside. He didn't speak until Ichigo had started the car, and the AC was blasting. "I would appreciate my own clothing, however…"

The car in drive, Ichigo navigated his way back to the highway and nodded. "We'll buy you some then." Ishida blushed in embarrassment.

"I have no money…" he mumbled. His ex-boyfriend, Tatsuo, had been taking all his pay and withholding it, making sure he couldn't run away.

"I've got a job besides this one, don't worry. I'll pay."

The man in the passenger seat frowned again. "I don't take charity."

Ichigo just arched an eyebrow, exited the highway and arrived at a department store. "Then it's credit. Tomorrow you're coming to work with me, and I'll be making you work the equalizer in exchange." Not quite sure what the driver was talking about, Ishida waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn't Ishida tentatively asked, "Equalizer?"

Ichigo hummed in confirmation and got out of the car, rounding to open the door for Ishida and receiving an annoyed look. "At the studio, Audiophile Recording. You'll be helping me mash a song and Grimmjaw's playing together, and keeping their pitch aligned."

Grimmjaw, music, and pitch were all that carried through Ishida's brain, before he gawked openly. "Studio?"

The other shoppers apparently were quite used to Ichigo, and a half ruffled but very dazed looking person trailing after him.

"Oi, Ishida." There was a hand poking his foot repeatedly. He froze, startled until his mind made the connection that it smelled incredibly clean where he was laying, and that it was soft. Picking himself up sleepily, he rubbed at his glazed eyes and blinked stiffly at the man standing at the foot of his bed. "Get up, we're meeting Grimm at eleven and the studio is an hour away."

And then the soft presence at the foot of his bed was gone, and Ishida blinked a few times, looked at his clock, and fell back. Ishida sat up again, grabbed the clock, and wondered how in the world he had managed to sleep until nine. The clothing in the dresser had been replaced with articles that fit, and for some reason, putting on a pair of slacks and a white button up shirt with blue cross cufflinks after a shower make him feel a little bit like a high school kid again.

When he walked out, he felt an incredibly large urge to whack Kurosaki in the head. The orange-haired man was sitting at the glass coffee table in the middle of his living room, eating what looked like chocolate chip cookies, and drinking coffee. The urge struck him oddly, and he walked stiffly into the kitchen, nearly dropping his cup after filling it when the man just sitting in the living room was suddenly reaching over his head for something in the cabinet.

Ichigo paused, mentally hitting himself. Ishida hadn't offered any information whatsoever on the reason why he was even under his care. What if his boyfriend had been attacking him regularly? He took a step back with the plate he had needed, turned his back openly, and walked back to the living room.

Ishida finally took a breath.

Ten minutes later, Ishida appeared in the portal and surveyed the room. Ichigo was reading a newspaper, sitting on the floor again with his back against a perfectly good western-style tan couch. There was an over-stuffed black leather chair in the corner of the room next to a surprisingly over-filled bookshelf with things that did not look like manga or magazines.

There was a clock ticking away on the mantle, along with the main body of a stereo, and upon looking around Ishida found speakers mounted to the walls. Soft American Pop/Rock echoed throughout the apartment. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to translate the music, but he couldn't remember much of anything; his boyfriend had forbidden him from taking English again in high school.

The thought made him frown deeply. Had it really been that long since Tatsuo had been trying to control him? Or a better question, when had it started working? Sure, cookies for breakfast wasn't great, but before Tatsuo he had snuck a sweet every now and then for breakfast to spite his father. It had always been humorous to see the doctor's eyebrows twitch in annoyance.

With resolution, he snatched one from the plate, feeling childish, and settled into the large black chair with relish.

"Since you're coming with me, you should know we speak English a lot in the studio," Ichigo suddenly said. Ishida swallowed the coffee he had just drawn from the cup with some difficulty. He had to remind himself that Visoreds were not telepathic. And he wouldn't admit to Kurosaki that he didn't remember much English.

"Of course, for a Quincy, it'll be no problem, eh?" That damn half grin made him feel guilty for some reason, and all of a sudden it wasn't so comfortable in the stupid Strawberry's home.

Instead of answering, he bit into the cookie, chewed and swallowed, and stared. What the hell did he just eat?!

Ichigo apparently knew the look on his face and his grin turned to a smile. "It's my mom's recipe. When I moved out, Yuzu copied the entire book for me since she did most of the cooking."

The sweet was gone in three more bites, and Ishida fiddled with his coffee cup, debating on another. The spice of cinnamon and nutmeg and the smoothness of vanilla and almond danced at the back of his tongue, and he finally got out of the chair, sitting across from his host, and grabbed another. It couldn't hurt, right? It was just a couple of cookies for breakfast.

But then that one was gone, and it was warm too--the first bite had been a burst of melted bittersweet chocolate chips--and Ishida wanted another. Ichigo could tell, and laughed, pushing the plate forward. "Go for it, really. I made too many yesterday, and you have no clue how skinny you are compared to five years ago."

Ishida was already licking chocolate from his fingers like a child, and he paused mid-lick at the skinny comment. "My skinny body is insulted," he mumbles around his thumb. Idon'tjustwanthimtolaughIdon'tjustwanthimtolaughIdon'tjus- Ichigo laughed. Damn.

It was getting harder to lie to himself.

The drive really was an hour long. Ichigo kept the CD from yesterday in, and Ishida fell asleep as well. The Visored chuckled to himself, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he drove, looking over at Ishida every now and then in case he woke up from a nightmare. He set the CD to repeat.

Ishida woke forty minutes later, but kept his breathing deep and even. Ten minutes and Ichigo started talking to himself in English, and Ishida mentally frowned when he could only pick out a handful of words. The sound of his voice was pleasant though, his words flowed easily and his accent was light.

Ishida couldn't help but feel envious. The car stopped, but the music still played and he heard Kurosaki sigh quietly. His sight burned holes into the black-haired man's chest where he stared, and Ishida was about to 'wake up' when he felt a hand hovering over his shoulder.

Idon'twanthimtotouchmeIdon'twantIdon'tIdon'tI… It was a soft touch, vague and possibly not even real, and the thought of it didn't even alarm him.

Soon enough, Ishida told himself, he wouldn't even be able to lie to himself about enjoying his supposedly 'eternal enemy's' company and easygoing attitude.

"Oi, Ishida…?" He cracked an eye open too soon for his own liking, but Kurosaki didn't seem to notice. "We're here. Ya ready?" It was that stupid soft 'only if you're ok' tone that Ishida wanted to hate but couldn't figure out why it made him warm and fuzzy.

When they entered the large building, everyone spoke Japanese. Ishida wasn't sure where these 'English Speakers' that were so abundant in Ichigo's mind were until they entered the elevator and arrived at the sixth floor. As they exited the metal room, someone immediately called out something that made Ichigo do a double take and laugh in surprise.

"Mikiel!"

The man who had called out sprinted from down the hallway, almost jumping on the orange-haired man, hugging him tightly and talking with a thick accent that sounded vaguely… Spanish? No, Italian. He had deep brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, a square face, and a relaxed air.

They gestured a few times, laughed, and the man said something towards Ishida that he couldn't even catch even if the man didn't have such an incredible accent. He was relieved when Ichigo answered for him. The man repeated his name, which was apparently what he had been asking, and gestured to himself. "Mikiel Tibutillo." He bowed deeply in a surprisingly Japanese gesture, which Ishida returned.

Mikiel said something to Ichigo again, which made the man--surprisingly enough--blush and whack Mikiel on the arm softly. The brunette dodged and grinned, waving at them just as the doors of the elevator closed.

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly at the look Ishida sent him, and as he continued down the hall, he explained. "That was Mikiel, I actually met him when I first started working here. He's a Maltese artist, although I think the last time we actually had a chance to talk he said he was living somewhere in Rome…Nice guy, anyways. Funny as hell too, if he accidentally drinks too much wine, but that isn't often."

The room they entered had a flashing red light beside the door, and Ishida wondered if they weren't supposed to wait for it to turn green. There was a technician behind the consol already, and a few men behind soundproof glass apparently recording lyrics. The room was silent, Ishida supposed, because the technician was wearing a large pair of headphones.

The man at the consol suddenly spoke into the microphone before him, and the trio nodded. Ishida realized he had zoned out while waiting to find out their purpose in the room. They exited to the left of the consol, and the first man smiled brightly at Ichigo.

"Kurosaki-san, hey! It's great to see you!" Ishida was surprised at his Japanese, and the trio shook hands with the orange-haired man. "Matt, Keith, Ryan, it's great to see you guys. Hey, sorry I couldn't record for you yesterday." The first man, Matt, just shrugged easily. "No worries. When you've got stuff to do, you got stuff to do."

The second, Keith, nodded in agreement. "Besides, we're just goofing around, pretty much. We're done now, though."

Ichigo looked disappointed. "Really? Man, I'm sorry guys."

The last man, Ryan, smiled. "Hey, don't sweat it, we'll drop back in again in a couple months. You can go nuts with us then for the real album, yeah?"

Ichigo agreed and waved them goodbye before turning to the man at the consol. His bright blue hair reminded Ishida of Grimmjaw, sans scar but plus a pair of slim glasses and, surprisingly enough, a shirt and pair of pants much like his own. "Yoh… Mizuno, uh… Thanks. er, for yesterday, I mean."

The stern look on Mizuno's face melted away, and he looked vaguely amused. "You took up my shift last year when my wife went into labor, Ichigo," he bluntly stated. "I think even after this I still owe you." Even though his name was Japanese, Ishida wondered if the man was raised somewhere else. There was an odd lilt to the way he spoke.

"I'll make you pay for lunch one day then." Ichigo laughed. "For now, I've got some recording of my own. See ya." Mizuno waved and Ishida followed the orange-haired man down the hallway to another room. The light to the side was blinking red, but he didn't say anything as Ichigo nonchalantly opened the door and stepped in.

Instead of being silent, the sound of singing was floating through the room openly, and when Ishida looked after closing the door behind him, he was surprised to see Grimmjaw standing in the recording room portion. To his even greater surprise, the man was singing, and singing well.

Ichigo didn't stand back respectfully like in the other room, but walked directly up to the microphone and leaned over to speak into it, grinning up at Grimmjaw as his eyes shot open in surprise. He switched over from the fluent English he had been singing in to his normal rough Japanese, startled and blushing.

"Shut up, ya' stupid Visored. Are we doing this or not?"

Ichigo nodded to the glass, in what Ishida figured was a motion for him to approach. Grimmjaw's surprised look toned down and he grinned lazily. "Hey, Quincy boy's here. What's up, Ishida-san?"

He was thrown off by the polite address after something that seemed like an insult, and didn't say anything. Ichigo rolled his eyes and told Ishida to sit and Grimmjaw to get ready. The black-haired man did sit, and noticed the instrument the teal-haired man in the booth turned to grab. He sat on the floor cross legged and cradled the pipa in his lap.

"I'll filter in the lyrics. You got the e-mail I sent you last night though, right Grimm?"

I'mnotjealousI'mnotjealousI'mnotjealousI'mno-

"Of course, Ichi. Hit it anyways, baby."

Ok, so maybe I'm jealous, but it's perfectly normal because I've spent two nights at Kurosaki's house after not seeing him for almost more than five yea… Ok. I'm jealous, and I don't know why, over an Espada of all things- and now I'm rambling to myself.

Ishida wondered if it was the coffee.

Soon enough, he was wondering how many times Grimmjaw would suddenly stop playing, ask for a new tape, ask for advice, ask something. His stomach growled after a while, and Ishida blushed when it was loud enough for the strawberry next to him to notice. Ichigo laughed because right when he heard it, Grimmjaw stood up abruptly and exited the recording booth after setting the pipa back onto its stand.

"That's it. I call lunch break, because I can hear the Quincy's stomach over the mic and damn if I'm not hungry too!"

And just as abruptly, Ishida found himself being dragged down the street to a hole-in-the-wall sushi shop with a friendly old man behind the counter. Ichigo and Grimmjaw were talking about the band Grimmjaw was apparently recording the pipa music for, until the ex-Espada looked up suddenly, and an odd smile pulled itself across his face.

Ichigo turned around and smiled too, but it was a sort of pleased one that made Ishida feel like squirming. The teal-haired man actually stood when whoever they were smiling at walked over, and when a head of white hair entered his vision, he was surprised. "Toushiro. H-hey, hi. I wasn't--make--um…"

Dumbstruck, Ishida turned to Ichigo at a loss. Was the Espada stuttering and staring fondly at the 10th division captain? Hitsugaya blatantly paid everyone no mind as he grabbed the front of Grimmjaw's shirt and pulled him down for a kiss before taking a seat. "Ishida, good to see you. How's work, Kurosaki?"

Ishida felt like whacking that shit-eating grin off of the face of the man next to him, but he was still trying to process the information of Hitsugaya Toushiro + Jaggerjaques Grimmjaw = Shinigami + Espada = What the Hell just happened?

But as he watched, the nervous energy that seemed to crackle around Grimmjaw and the way he seemed unsure of how to handle the shorter man was almost….sweet. Like he wanted to show affection for the tiny captain, but wondered if he actually did hold his hand under the table or ask him how his day is, it might chase the other off.

Ichigo, apparently accustomed to the odd relationship before him, was completely unfazed and even took a few moments to jab fun at the skittish former-Espada.

Wait, now he's a former Espada?

Grimmjaw was now a former Espada, because Ishida couldn't seem to get his head around being furious with the man, now that he had seen someone who had earned his utter respect had accepted the teal-haired man as a lover.

The nightmares started that night. Ishida hated the fact that he woke up sobbing, and Kurosaki burst into the room with a wild look, and actually hugged him. What was worse was that he didn't want to push the other man away. He tried to lie and convince himself it was just because the other man was tenderly familiar, but the damn part of his brain that was gullible enough to accept lies from himself was learning.

The dream was scrubbed away in the bathroom, and Ichigo asked no questions when the black-haired man emerged two full hours later. He just cooked, and pushed a plate of omurice and toast at the man before picking up his own and settling in the living room like the day before. But there was something playful in the way that he slurped at his coffee cup, and Ishida found that it wasn't coffee, but tea.

"I thought you said tea was for the evening?" Ishida asked, taking the bait.

The other man smiled cheekily. "Tea is better. It has a more refreshing taste."

Another hour later, and Ishida realized he and Ichigo were in a coffee ground and tea leaves fight, throwing said foodstuffs at each other and turning the kitchen into a mess of green and brown. How they had gotten into that position, he wasn't quite sure, and as he was trying to get residual grounds out of his hair he quietly muttered, "Stupid Shinigami…"

He knew something was wrong when Kurosaki paused from brushing leaves from his own hair from 'round the island in the kitchen--where he had taken cover--and a look of utterly unbearable sadness crossed his features.

"Ishida, do you still have an aversion of anyone but a normal human?" The man frowned, and for a fleeting moment Ichigo felt his chest swell--it was finally a physical manifestation of emotion on the other man's face--before Ishida spoke and his excitement was quickly deflated.

"Humans are still easier to deal with."

"That doesn't answer my question in the least," Ichigo replied easily. Although it was anything but--to be honest, all the orange-head wanted to reply with was a kick in the ass like old times.

"Then learn to ask better ones." In other words, 'Fuck off, Shinigami. I don't have to answer to you.'

The taller man's eyebrows knit together, and Ichigo was trying to decide if he should just approach Ishida like Ishida or like a case, like he had been. He had been nice, he had been considerate, he had left the man his space and his room, and had let him lock away his pain and thoughts. But the nagging in the back of his heart was starting to ache.

"I'm not a Shinigami, Ishida. I'm Ichigo. Let me be specific, do you have an aversion to me?"

And that made the Quincy freeze. Suddenly Kurosaki wasn't playing, and he sounded like the frustrated teenager trying to cover things up like the Science Class Gone Wrong when Rukia decided to come back to the mortal world for a year to keep tabs on the Substitute Shinigami and thought Na was the same as Ca.

"Fine. Visored. Kurosaki is a Visored. I do not feel a particular aversion to Visoreds," Ishida spit out. He hated that he sounded nervous. It was not comfortable in Kurosaki's house anymore. The black-haired man felt skittish and on-the-spot, and he was having trouble keeping his thoughts in a line and his host circled the island and leaned against the side of it--in the way of his exit--and stared him down.

Ishida felt like a cornered animal on display, because suddenly he couldn't hide his fear. He knew Kurosaki could see it too, because he let his arms down from their crossed position and they hung limp at his sides. It was a surrender, physically meaning 'I have nothing, I will not harm.'

He couldn't lie when his fear backed down, but he was still nervous.

"Ishida, all I ask of you is to trust me. We've picked fights with each other ever since we met, we fought together, I even thought for a while you were considering calling me an acquaintance instead of a damn classmate—" Ishida made a move to ask the difference and Ichigo just shot him a look.

"We both know there's a difference in your dictionary, smart ass."

He knew. Because they had fought together, and if it had been any other, he would have walked on.

If it hadn't been Kurosaki he would have walked on.

Ishida couldn't lie to himself, he had no aversion to Kurosaki Ichigo, no matter his Shinigami/Visored/Hollow/Arrancar/Whatever title.

Because the man was an anomaly in his eyes, he was just so damn strange he made Ishida want to study him, which was a lie. Ishida wanted to get to know him, to talk to him, to learn him.

"He raped me," the black-haired man suddenly blurted out. "Multiple times. I-I have scars on my back where he'd tie me to the bed with ropes, then they'd dig, and I could never reach far enough to wrap bandages even though I was--am so damn skinny, an-a-and…" Ishida was rambling. He realized he was broken. The dam he had built to keep Tatsuo from his mind was rapidly cracking, and the cause was right in front of him.

The stupid damn man who was the first reason he had even gotten a boyfriend in high school. He had been so enraptured by the orange-haired boy--he who dared to stand out in the crowd--that he had gotten a boyfriend who was so plain he turned out to be dangerous and abusive.

Ishida didn't find the emotions to spare to even care that Kurosaki was hugging him, and he pressed his face into the dirtied tan polo shirt that smelled like green tea, coffee, and shaving cream until he didn't remember what room he was in because he couldn't see.

Waking up really sucked after crying, Ishida realized, when it hurt to crack an eyelid and look at the softly glowing lights before his face. The skin under his eyes felt taut and his sinuses felt like someone had taken a sand-blaster to them. The clock told him it had either been a few hours, or he had slept through the day, night, and into the afternoon.

As Ishida felt the stickiness of dried tears on his eyelashes, he groaned and rolled over, content now with the thought of falling asleep again and not finding out if it was the same day or not.

But then there was a soft knock on the door, and Ichigo opened it, calling his name softly. It sent the delicate hairs on the back of his neck straight up.

"Uryuu? You awake?"

Fuck, that was one way to get a guy's attention.

"M'awake," he managed to mumble, finding his vocal cords somewhat uncooperative. The bed dipped by his side and something cool and round pressed against his cheek.

"Drink. Sip it, or you'll shock your throat." Comically enough, Ishida found the man had put a straw into it, and not just a regular one but one of those ridiculous curly monstrosities that were probably made up of three feet of plastic.

Ichigo didn't leave until the glass was half empty, and even then it was only to retrieve something triangular and humorously enough, vaguely strawberry-shaped. Ishida sat up and placed the glass on the nightstand, watching as Ichigo toyed with the object in the doorway. There were two green felt leaves and a stem at the fatter end, and Ishida could just make out Ichigo's hand rubbing the leaves in a circular motion.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, and wondered how he hadn't noticed his glasses missing until now.

"I know it's kind of dorky, but when I moved out, Yuzu made me this stupid pillow," Ichigo finally said, throwing the pillow up into the air briefly and catching it with a soft rush of air. "Most of the time I don't show it to…Well, cases," he stated bluntly. Ishida looked slightly disgruntled, but waited for him to continue. Having expected a rebuttal, Ichigo wasn't quite sure how to continue, and just tossed the pillow to Ishida.

It landed in his lap just as softly as Ichigo had caught it, and he poked at the shape, feeling the plush velvet and fuzzy felt graze his fingertips. "Does that mean I'm a special case?" Ishida asked, slightly amused. A Strawberry for a Strawberry, hm? Yuzu was a funny fruit. Hah, what about Karin? Was she really a sweet quince?

Mentally frowning at his internal ramble, Ishida couldn't help but add one last thing. A quince was a snappy fruit, no?

The thought made him snort, and all of a sudden, Ichigo was looking at him oddly.

"Sorry. I was thinking," the black-haired man explained.

Now the orange-haired man shifted uncomfortably, and averted his gaze to the curtain-covered window near the corner of the almost-bare room. "Can I…. Can I not think of you as a case, Ishida?"

'Am I not Uryuu anymore?'

"What would I be then, Kurosaki?" he inquired, tugging on a felt leaf and entertaining the brief wonder of how many people had been able to commit the same action.

"My friend. Whom I'd like to help, if he'd let me."

Ishida didn't really mind anymore, if he could trade his first name for a friendship. Because it was more comfortable, at the moment.

They made it through the next morning without making too much of a mess--Ichigo had left the coffee grounds and tea leaves on the floor--and Ishida being a former clean freak got to work sweeping. Of course, while you clean, it's impossible not to make a bit of a mess along the way. That's why Ichigo had to go change his shirt again, because the poor white garment now had coffee grounds engrained into the weaving of the left shoulder.

Ishida was snickering to himself, feeling oddly refreshed and for once in his life mischievous as he sat in the large plush black leather chair. There was a platter of cookies on the glass table again, and he snatched one while Ichigo was changing in his room.

Mid-bite, he heard an odd knocking down the hall. The black-haired man got up, curious, and found it coming from the bathroom door. Perplexed, he opened it, and found a slender red-haired girl wearing a bright yellow tank top and paint splattered jeans standing behind it.

Ishida blinked a few times, closed the door and opened it again, not quite sure if a girl had actually suddenly appeared in Ichigo's bathroom and knocked on it from the inside as if it were the front door. She stared at him, blinking in the same way as he, before brightening and bounding around him to tackle Ichigo, who had just exited his room not six feet away.

"Ichi-nii!"

The taller man had only a few seconds to stutter "Akemi" before the red-head jumped and latched onto his torso, nuzzling his shoulder like a cat. "I can't believe it, Ichi-nii is really home this time!" Ishida raised an eyebrow as Ichigo laughed and hugged the girl back.

He silently wondered if she was his girlfriend, and tried to convince himself that he was more upset that they were being mushy in front of him than being mushy at all.

Akemi lessened her grip on the man and grinned like a kitten with cream as she jumped down, twisting and turning on the spot innocently as Ichigo's grin turned to a stern look of slight amusement and annoyance.

"What have I told you about sneaking into the apartment through the bathroom window?" Ishida convinced himself again that the urge to gawk was not there. The bathroom window was tiny--a privacy window barely three feet by two--and although this red-head standing before Ichigo was undeniably tiny, she looked like her shoulders surely wouldn't fit. That, and they were on the fourth floor.

"That I'll probably get stuck one day?" she replied cutely, eyes sparkling as she added quickly, "I'm sure Ichi-nii will be able to help be get un-stuck though, if that would happen!"

Ishida decided that if they wouldn't take their relationship elsewhere, he would return to the living room, where his coffee and that plate of cookies still rested. An eyebrow twitched when Akemi and Ichigo followed him, the man taking his customary seat on the floor, and the girl stealing his chair before he had a chance to sit down.

Scowling, he sat on the couch behind Ichigo, surveying the remaining goods on the large glass table. His cup was low, only about an eighth of the dark brew left, so while Akemi kept Ichigo's attention with her talk of squeezing through windows he snatched the orange-head's cup and drank deeply.

That was exactly what he got for not bringing the carafe to the table. He should know better than to deprive a man from his coffee. Snagging a couple of the heaven-sent cookies next, Ishida bit into a particularly large pool of bitter-sweet chocolate when the word 'relationship' grabbed at his ears like a piercing with a locked stud.

Ichigo sighed and locked his fingers together on top of the table loosely, staring at them for a moment. "Akemi, look. I know you and Ken love each other, and I know you love him, but you need to let him know where the line is."

Love advice? Ishida thought curiously.

The girl sighed and curled up tighter in the chair. "I don't want to lose him though, Ichi-nii…He was the first one to really accept me after everything, and I'm afraid to lose him…"

"Akemi, if you aren't comfortable with what he wants, you need to make that clear. I know you don't want to lose him, I know. But if he doesn't accept all of you, every last bit, then he isn't worth it. Explain it to him all over again if you have to, but don't do things you don't want to until you're good and ready, ok?"

The redhead looked downcast for a moment, before smiling softly and nodding. "You're right as always, Ichi-nii. I should probably leave you guys now. Recuperation and all that," she said, nodding to Ishida and hopping up, dusting imaginary lint from her speckled jeans.

Ichigo got up and walked her to the door, hugging briefly as she opened it. "Is he gunna be ok?" she asked quietly, eyes darting to the room beyond the short hallway they had just walked down. Ichigo grinned in confidence. "Ishida's made of some pretty strong stuff. He just needs a few days to get his head back together and he'll be back to kickin' ass."

Akemi laughed, having never heard Ichigo actually say that about someone. "Did you know him before you got him out?"

The taller man made to reply before narrowing his eyes at her, "Aht! No stalling, you! Out!" he said, whacking her in the butt. The redhead threw him a victory sign and scampered down the hallway giggling.

Sitting back down on the floor, Ichigo found Ishida had reclaimed his chair, and was sipping thoughtfully from the cup in his hands. "So you offer relationship advice, as well as a safe house?"

Ichigo breathed deeply and ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Akemi was a special case. Well, my first case, actually. I essentially had to kidnap her too, so she's a little attached I guess."

The black-haired man snorted and took another drink, rolling the flavours over his tongue before swallowing. "By attached, I am assuming you mean climbing through your bathroom window is normal behaviour."

Ichigo just shrugged and let the subject be swallowed by silence, before he finally noticed his cup was gone. His vision jerked to the coffee thief sitting perfectly in the morning light, nestled sleepily into the plush black chair in the corner of the room.

"Coffee Thief…" Ichigo muttered to himself, resigning to the fact that he would need to get another cup now.

"It's your fault for not bringing the carafe in here in the first place, One-Two Strawberry."

Ishida was well aware that even though he couldn't see the older man at the moment he could practically feel the heat of his blush raise the temperature of the apartment.

Amusingly enough, Ishida felt perfectly normal, teasing Ichigo.

The orange-haired man needed to go to the studio, and Ishida entertained himself during the drive with a book he had snatched from the case in the living room. Sleep did not elude him, however he found it lacked the solace being awake now provided.

They met Grimmjaw in same the recording room from before, and Ishida wasn't too surprised when the man was singing again, but it was that he was singing in Japanese that threw him. The song was just reaching a crescendo, with the teal-haired man belting out the lyrics with incredible sustain of pitch, when Ichigo plugged the headphones hanging beside the consol.

"Grimm, I'm sorry, but if you don't stop using the recording studios as your personal space to moonlight as a falsetto singer, I'll tell Hitsugaya about your Chappy boxers."

Ishida felt a grin twitch as the man stopped singing and flipped the orange-haired man off. He exited the room, blushing furiously. "Rukia gave me those as a gift and you know it, Ichii."

He grinned in an 'I-know-I'm-just-pulling-your-leg' sort of way before holding out his hand. The smile melted into something more befitting of the aforementioned girl suddenly, and a shiver ran up the spines of the other two men.

"Hand over my wallet, and I won't throw you to Urahara."

Instantaneously, there was a fold of tan colored cloth with a black stripe around it, and Grimmjaw was rapidly making his escape. "Yo-you're just joking, right Ichii? Y-you wouldn't throw me to that-that-that—"

But his voice was fading, and there was a yelp down the hallway as the fleeing gigai wearing man voiced his fear before leaping into the open elevator in an effort to distance himself as far as possible from Ichigo before he changed his mind.

Slightly confused, Ishida looked over at Ichigo, who was making sure nothing was displaced in the swatch, and voiced his curiosity. "Jaggerjaques is afraid of Urahara-san?"

With an almost perplexed expression, Ichigo replied, "Are you kidding? That guy is still weird." He added as almost an afterthought, "Even after… What…? Eight years?"

Suddenly, he looked thoughtful, even a little deflated. Ishida internally squirmed at the lack of energy around the other man, and finally blurted, "What?"

Blinking a few times, Ichigo shrugged and pocketed his wallet, finding nothing amiss. "It's just kind of weird, thinking it's actually been eight years since we met, and I haven't seen you pretty much at all for most of those years."

Ichigo knew that Ishida was silent on the way back this time, not because he chose so, but because he was furiously fighting the blush on his face--which he obviously didn't know extended to the tips of his ears. He also thought it was incredibly cute, but he didn't think he would tell the black-haired man so for quite a while.

There was a song on repeat. When they had gotten back, it was well past eight pm, and the orange-haired man had asked if Ishida wouldn't mind him playing music over the sound system while he did paperwork, but he hadn't been expecting a personalized CD. Ishida had to admit, that even though it had been playing over and over again anyway, he really didn't mind all that much. It was American, there was a lack of accent in the singer's voice, noticeable because in the beginning of the song he spoke rather than sang.

He was surprised when the fourth time around, Ichigo started humming along with it. The frown that had played over his lips the day before in the Audiophile building came back as he tried to remember what he had been taught again.

"What is he saying?"

Ichigo looked up from his papers to look at Ishida, who sat in the large plush chair in the corner of the room, with a thick paperback held open in his lap. His furrowed eyebrows made Ichigo grin. "Sorry, am I annoying you?"

Ishida shook his head for a moment, trying to catch the meaning of the words. "It's just bothering me that I can't remember…" He narrowed his eyes in thought, concentrating. But each time he remembered the root of a word, the meaning escaped his memory.

For a moment, Ichigo looked surprised, before the look transferred to Ishida when the taller man started singing softly, first in English and then translating the words when the song started over again.

I dig my toes into the sand
The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds
Strewn across a blue plain
I lean against the wind
Pretend that I am weightless
And in this moment I am happy...happy

I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here

I lay my head onto the sand
The sky resembles a back lit canopy
With holes punched in it
I'm counting…

Ishida almost asked him to continue when he realized the other man had stopped singing for a reason. The look of confusion and concentration on his face was almost… Cute.

"He says an American term, UFO, Unidentified Flying Object. A, uh….Alien Space Craft."

Ishida laughed suddenly, not quite sure what to make of the song anymore. "He's talking about Space Men? What?"

He realized it was quiet. Ichigo wasn't laughing with him, but staring at him with an almost fond look. "You're laughing again." The grin that split his face made the black-haired man cough into his hand and hide behind his book. He realized it was the first time he had laughed since Ichigo pulled him onto the front of his motorcycle almost a week ago.

"Aw, come on! Laugh with me, make fun of my music. Don't be a grump, Ishida."

He felt like he was being mean, but the emotion was quickly squashed by the uneasiness welling up in his stomach. It was too soon to be happy. Although he admitted that being happy was easy with the stupid man across the living room, he suddenly realized that that man, Tatsuo, was around still. He was somewhere in town, possibly searching for what he thought he rightfully owned, and it was a sickening feeling.

But it was tempting when Ichigo sighed that sigh to try to forget about Tatsuo possibly looking for him, and the scribbling almost sounded dejected.

But Ishida knew he had been forgiven when the other man started singing along with the song again under his breath, in Japanese.

Ishida felt somewhat fond of the fact that Ichigo woke him up that morning with the same song as the night before. It was on repeat again, and it took him a while to pick out the word 'UFO' while he laid in bed, but when he listened hard enough, the word popped up and he smiled. The clock glowed 8:24, and he felt incredibly lazy and content for an unknown but unquestioned reason.

His door quietly opened, and Ichigo popped his head in before smiling. "Hey. 'Mornin'." Ishida just grinned lazily and yawned, before sitting up and swinging his pyjama-pant covered legs over the side of the bed. He didn't bother getting dressed, merely following Ichigo into the kitchen. They took breakfast to the living room table, the orange-head carrying two plates of eggs and toast and Ishida with two mugs and the coffee carafe.

"Would you mind it if I stayed here today?" The black-haired man asked as Ichigo finished off his toast. He thought for a moment and finally shrugged. "You look like you're feeling better today…"

Ishida snorted, "Now who's being evasive with their answers, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo laughed and picked up his plate and coffee cup. "Fine then, you can stay. I'll leave work early though, and if you need anything I'm leaving my personal phone with you. My work phone is in the address book, so just hit speed dial two."

Ishida sipped his coffee, finding the sound of clicking dishes in the kitchen and the feeling of the morning sun washing over his back the most relaxing things in the world. He left his cup on the table and stretched out onto his stomach, digging his fingers into the plush carpet with a sigh.

Ichigo laughed as he walked back into the living room, and walked over to Ishida to nudge his thigh with a socked toe. "What are you doing?"

"'S really warm." The black-haired man mumbled into the carpet. Laughing again, Ichigo set his personal cell phone onto the table and searched behind the couch for his shoes. "What are you, a cat, Ishida?" He hummed the affirmative as Ichigo pulled on his shoes and collected his keys.

"I'll see you later, Ishida." He called as he opened the front door. "Later, Ichigo." The Quincy's voice called back, and Ichigo could practically feel the splitting grin on Ishida's face through his voice, just like Ishida feels even warmer when he thinks of Ichigo's blushing face.

Orihime picked up the phone and dialled, humming happily to herself, eyes darting from the cake to the address book in her hand and back again. The phone picked up after the customary two rings, and she giggled in delight at the muttered greeting. "Ichigo~! Ne, ne, what time are we all meeting at your place ne—" The dial tone suddenly chimed in her ear, and the girl removed the phone from her ear to stare at it in confusion.

"Eh? That's not very nice, Ichigo…" she pouted. Turning the pages in her address book with vigor, she found the private line to his office, the one that went directly past his secretary and rang in the studio that Ichigo picked up no matter what. That would show him, hanging up on her so rudely when she only had a simple little question to ask.

He picked up after one ring, and Orihime completely missed the fact that his greeting was significantly much more cheerful that the one before. "Kurosaki Ichigo, that was very rude! Why did you hang up on me?"

Ichigo took the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and placed it back against his head. "Hang up on you? Orihime, I just picked up the phone," he said with a laugh, wondering if the girl was daydreaming again.

Orihime pursed her lips. "I just called your cell phone and as soon as I started talking to you, you hung up on me! I'll have you know that hurts a lot, Ichigo!"

Bewildered, Ichigo patted his pockets for the aforementioned device, and only found his work cell phone like he should have. "I left it back at the apartment, Orihime, how could I have picked up? Are you sure it wasn't Ishida?"

Slightly sedated, Orihime thought after deciding her friend could be telling the truth and not just trying to placate her. "No, Ishida-kun's voice is different from yours. The voice that picked up sounded like you when you're sleepy."

The hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck raised, shoulders going stiff. "Are you sure, Orihime?"

Cake completely forgotten now, Orihime nodded to herself and wondered about the tone of Ichigo's voice. "Positive. Is something wrong, Ichi?"

Ichigo signalled a twenty minute break for the men in the booth, who took the chance gladly, and all but shot out of the room and down the hall. "I'm not sure, but something might have happened. I'll call you later, Orihime."

"E-eh…" she could all but mutter before the dial tone hummed through once again.

Eyebrows drawn in confusion, the brown-eyed girl turned with a shrug, and smacked herself in the forehead as her cake came into view. "Moh! I forgot to ask Ichigo about his birthday!"

The lights didn't change fast enough as Ichigo roared down the streets on his bike, cutting between cars and other cyclists when needed, and he couldn't get his keys out to the main door soon enough either when he realized a foreign car was in the lot as well.

But Ichigo had to laugh when he skidded to a stop in front of his apartment door, and Ishida came into view, putting the last few extra knots to his ex-boyfriend's hog-tied form. There was a cut on his cheek, and his clothing was pretty ripped, but the dark-eyed man looked incredibly pleased with himself until he heard Ichigo's laughing.

The orange-head laughed all the harder when Ishida realized it was just him, and looked like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Ichigo collapsed against the doorframe, sliding down slowly and burying his face into his knees.

"Ishida…" He laughed, but his voice cracked as he muttered a quiet "Fuck…"

Ishida stood and looked around, realizing the scuffle with the man at his feet caused many things to get broken, although the biggest was the glass coffee table they had shared most mornings and meals at. It now sat shattered in the middle of the room, scattering the plush white carpet that Ishida knew Ichigo liked so much with shards that sparkled in the dimming light.

Guilt tinged his triumphant swell, and Ishida stepped around Tatsuo, approaching Ichigo stiffly when the initial movement made him aware of a blossoming bruise somewhere on the back of his left leg. He was surprised when the orange-haired man's arm shot out though, and tugged him down into his lap. Ishida couldn't open his eyes any wider when Ichigo buried his face into the younger man's neck and held him tightly.

"Don't you ever stray from my sight, ever, again," Ichigo finally choked out, voice muffled against the smooth skin of Ishida's neck. Bewildered and amused, the captive didn't bother to point out that they would eventually have to separate and return to their respective rooms, nor the fact that now that Tatsuo had been 'caught' Ishida would be free to return to his own home as well as his classes.

Suddenly, Ishida found his position much more pleasing than the thought of going home, and let Ichigo indulge himself until the sounds of feet pounding down the hallway made them spring apart. A few seconds later, four policemen skidded to a stop outside the door--much like Ichigo had, Ishida noted mentally--and a few chuckled after taking in the scene.

Three walked in, hauled a coming-to and dazed Tatsuo to his feet, and dragged him out, reading him his rights of course when he started shouting vulgarities halfway down the hall. The officer then stayed behind and looked between the two men; he was probably trying to pinpoint who had hog-tied the man, and finally his eyes rested on Ishida.

The Quincy had to admit, Ichigo looked like the more likely of the two. He was taller than Ishida by a good five inches, with much broader shoulders and a form akin to a soccer player. He looked like he could handle someone almost twice his size. Ishida, on the other hand, was 5'7" and skinny as a plank of wood, with almost female-like shoulders.

Orihime once told him he looked more like a runner than anything else. A runner with zero upper-body strength.

"Since you look like the one who caught that guy, I'll have to ask you to come to the station with me." The blue-eyed man surmised the officer had finally decided on him because of the state of his clothing. Ishida sniffed and nodded. That last punch must have burst a vessel in his nose: it was starting to tingle. Since his shirt was already ruined--Tatsuo had been wielding a knife when he first came in and there were many gashes in the back--he pressed the sleeve to his nose.

Only to find his arm wouldn't move, because Ichigo had a firm grip on the material of his sleeve. "This is my apartment. I'm coming with you guys, because right now this man is under my protection." Ishida opened his mouth to make an objection, but watched at the officer suddenly looked at Ichigo and pulled a PDA from his pocket.

Pressing on the screen a few times, he obviously found what he needed and bowed deeply to the orange-head. "Of course. It will be an honor to work with you, Kurosaki-san. Follow me, please. I'll give you a ride to and back." Ichigo laughed, tugging Ishida along beside him--the black haired man was obviously confused--and followed to the cruiser parked in the lot.

"Please, I work with your station so much, call me Ichigo." The officer unlocked the doors, and Ichigo unabashedly pulled Ishida into his lap in the passenger seat and locked the belt into place. The officer didn't complain, Ishida fumed to himself. Ichigo smirked, knowing he had gotten his way.

The secretary seemed to recognise Ichigo when they walked in, and coffee was provided. Dark Soul roast, Karakura Underground, half cube of sugar per cup cut by an officer with a plastic knife, and everyone laughed when he gave up and stabbed the small sweet with a pocket knife.

Ishida found being in a police station was a much more pleasant experience with the orange-haired man sitting next to him. Everyone joked, laughed, and spoke easily. The questioning went quickly and smoothly once Ichigo was handed paperwork, which he filled out and the office workers filed away. Not even an hour later, they were back in a cruiser--Ishida managed to wrestle himself away from the taller man's grip and sat in the back seat while Ichigo sulked up front--and driving back to the apartment.

Or so he thought, because it was ten minutes before he realized they were going in the opposite direction of the apartment at the edge of town. "Hey, where are we going?" The conversation that was going on up front stopped, and Ichigo craned his neck back to look at Ishida from the corner of his eyes.

"I have another apartment near the middle of town. We're going there since I don't know the extent of the damage to the other one."

Ishida swallowed and forced down his embarrassed blush, "Oh, right…Sorry." But to his surprise Ichigo laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Ishida. I can pay for repairs, and that table wasn't one of a kind." A small frown played on his lips for a moment, and for just that second, Ishida's breath hitched.

"You guys didn't wreck my speakers though, did you? I didn't look at the walls, but doing the hidden wiring was a bitch, you know."

Even the policeman driving laughed.

Adrenaline has worn off by now, especially since arriving at Ichigo's penthouse apartment. Ishida was, it's incredibly safe to say, flabbergasted once the elevator operator asked the orange-haired man how his stay away from the penthouse had been and then continued to have an animated conversation about second homes.

Apparently, the elevator operator made good enough money to own a second home on the Na'pali Coast.

And Ichigo really had no room to complain about personalized hidden wiring, because the penthouse had a fucking intercom in the master bedroom, a personal chef option, and a living room with a personal entertainment center the size of only something in the movies.

Apparently, Ichigo made pretty damn good money too.

The personal chef, of course, wasn't called in, because Ichigo would rather cook. Ishida got to pick from three different guest bedrooms, too. It felt off, sleeping in a traditional-style bed, with a room painted in deep sunset reds, and a clock that glowed orange.

He convinced himself it was the clock's fault, but it soon gave way to the fact that he was still in shock from earlier, not quite believing he had the strength to overpower Tatsuo.

Ishida all but jerked up and shrieked when he realized the door has been opened silently, and there was someone standing at his bedside. His sharp intake of breath made the person aware that he was awake though, and he spoke. "Hey, hey, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"K-Kurosaki!"

He swallowed harshly, trying to get his breathing back in order. Ichigo smiled apologetically, stepping into the dim moonlight--and consequently closer to the bed.

"Hey. I uh…I wanted to see if you were still awake. If you were ok," he explained, feeling quite awkward once it had been vocalized. It probably sounded better in his mind, Ishida thought in brief amusement.

Instead of putting up a front, the black-haired man found himself plainly stating, "I think I'm in shock still. It's pretty frightening, you know. Being assaulted, and then finding the power to tie the one assaulting you up."

"Hog-tie," Ichigo corrected, grinning foolishly. Ishida felt his face twist oddly, and realized he was grinning back dumbly. The black-haired man realized it was awfully cold in the room, and after looking at Ichigo he realized he was wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt, as well as a pair of thick socks. There was even a chill beneath the thick blankets on his bed.

"It's freezing," he blurted.

"This stupid place has a thermostat that automatically adjusts to 'optimal' comfort temperatures at weird times of the day. Right now it's probably set to something like seventy-two degrees."

Ishida remembered the other apartment, wondering what the thermostat there had been set on. It was more comfortable to sleep in just a pair of pants than a winter set.

He burrowed deeper into the blankets with a shiver. "It's fucking cold. How do you not get hypothermic just standing there?"

Raising an amused brow, Ichigo shrugged. "Can you spare a blanket? The more you talk about it, the more the air gets to me."

Blushing slightly, Ishida was aware he was breaching his own bubble of personal space when he lifted the blanket up. He didn't look at Ichigo's face, and missed the look of fondness and surprise that crossed the man's features.

The bed dipped, and he rolled over before he could look at Ichigo's face. Suddenly, it wasn't so cold anymore.

Ichigo tried not to stare at the back of Ishida's head, or put an arm around the smaller man's waist, because he was just too far away.

Just as the warmth finally sunk the deepest it could into Ishida's bones, the strawberry spoke softly. "Hey, Ishida… Are you ok with this?"

The thought only took a beat to process itself, and he hummed an affirmation.

"Is it ok if I'm a little closer? I might fall off the bed…"

A small smile threatened Ishida's lips when Ichigo pulled closer, draped his arm around his waist, and settled on his pillow. Somehow he was even warmer now, and he felt secure with the orange-haired man's chest against his shoulders.

There was one last whisper, which he barely caught as sleep tugged him away.

"Ne… Ishida… Is it ok if I love you?"

---

Awwe~ Isn't Ichi just a cuddle bug? xD

Anyways, feedback is appreciated, but flames are better off just kept to yourself.

Notes:
Visoreds/Vizards: Vizards is like the before-literal translation spelling. Honestly, I thought about keeping everything as Vizard, but it's not the proper spelling, and it kept nagging at me until I fix'd it.
Ichi-nii : I always laugh when I hear this, because I automatically think "Ichi, ni, san..." Therefore, I always imagine someone calling Ichigo "One-Two Strawberry".

If any of you have questions, I'd be happy to answer if you leave it in a review!

Deuces~,
M.