Author's note: for Tamuril2 who asked for translation of this story.
Not intended as slash, as I prefer to see these two as friends
Both Sides of a Mirror
Madarame Ikkaku was sure of one thing: he should have been dead. His bankai had been shattered, and he had been awaiting the decisive blow when…
He had seen light: bluish and iridescent. Undoubtedly. And then there had been… vines?
Ikkaku squeezed his eyelids shut. His memories of what had happened next seemed so unbelievable that he preferred to classify them as hallucinations caused by the blood loss. Actually, while he was at that…
His right arm was okay, surprisingly enough. As for the left one… yeah, it was broken in two — or perhaps even three — places. At least four ribs were broken as well, and the chances of an internal bleeding were high. On top of that, more likely than not, he had a concussion. Quite a list altogether, but he could remember even worse occasions. And, what was the most important thing, he was alive.
He was alive thanks to that glowing… thing.
Ikkaku tried his best to concentrate. Light. Glowing vines. Him being alive…
Kidou?
Impossible. The use of kidou to help someone from the Eleventh Division could be qualified as a refined form of suicide… especially if that someone was Ikkaku Madarame. Still, no other option seemed more convincing at the moment. And, if this was the case, then… who could have used it?
He focused on his surroundings, looking for an answer in the traces of reiatsu, but to no avail. The only person he was able to sense close enough was…
Yumichika?
Nonsense, Yumichika would have never used kidou. After all, they were both in the Eleventh — and members of the Eleventh made a rule of not using kidou, leaving it for the cowards and the weak. Yumichika was neither.
Besides, Madarame had solemnly promised to kill him if Ayasegawa ever meddled in his fight. And so Yumichika consistently didn't interfere, even if Ikkaku's life hung by a thread.
No, Yumichika couldn't possibly be the one to use this kidou.
But he was somewhere close. What was more, he might have been hurt as well. Ikkaku had to check on him. And to help him if there was such need.
If I manage to get up, that is.
Somehow, he succeeded already at the second attempt. True, his legs felt like jelly, and his head was spinning, but he was standing now. So far, so good…
Ikkaku cast a look around without raising his head. Houzukimaru had returned to its sealed form, and seemed to wait for him, its blade conveniently stuck in the ground. He rested himself on the sword, and finally dared to look up. Yumichika…
He didn't have to look for him very long. Ayasegawa was sitting under a nearby tree, his knees drawn close to his chest. It looked like he was wounded too, but nowhere near saying goodbye to the world… or the other world, to be precise.
Madarame felt a surge of relief — soon to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.
Something was wrong. Normally it would be Ayasegawa to start the conversation: he would never waste a chance to offer a witty comment or a sarcastic joke.
And he would be smiling. He would definitely not just be sitting there, moping.
Something was wrong. Ikkaku cursed under his breath. He had better hurry.
So it had happened.
Ayasegawa Yumichika hung his head low, resting it on his knees. He felt really unbeautiful right now. To tell the truth, he just wanted to curl up and die…
Kidou. His shikai. His curse.
Members of the Eleventh Squad don't use kidou! Kidou is a blow to a warrior's pride!
He closed his eyes. In his mind he could already see the faces of others once they would hear about what had just happened, as well as their contemptuous smiles and disdainful looks. He could hear their whispers and mocking laughs, subsiding falsely every time he would be near.
A coward.
A weakling.
Where's your honor?
Ayasegawa Yumichika, the object of ridicule of whole Seireitei.
He bit his lip. He had vivid imagination. It didn't help at all.
"You wouldn't have used it, if you had been seen? Even if it meant losing?"
"Even if it meant dying by your hand."
If only it was his own life at stake…
Yumichika felt like crying, and it didn't matter that tears were not beautiful, not to mention that it was considered shameful for the Eleventh Division's member to cry. He had already broken so many unwritten rules that day that he simply couldn't care less about such a little thing.
Why? Why not him? Why it always had to be Ikkaku?
Ayasegawa Yumichika wasn't afraid of dying; he had found himself at the brink of death many times already, and the only thing he had wished for at such occasions was to have a beautiful end. And yet, even he had one weakness he would never openly admit to: he would rather die a thousand times, even alone and unnoticed, than just helplessly look at one particular man's death.
At Madarame Ikkaku's death.
Of course, Ikkaku would never forgive him, if he knew about it. Years ago, long before they joined the Gotei 13, he had made Yumichika promise him that he would never interfere in Madarame's fight, even if the worst were to happen. And Yumichika understood it — to Ikkaku there was only one way of fighting, and it was one on one. To survive after a lost battle meant a defeat, to be saved by someone else was a sign of weakness and the greatest humiliation. That was why Yumichika had loyally stood aside all this time, only watching and praying to whatever gods had been listening for their mercy. And they had apparently heard his prayers, for Ikkaku had survived his every, even the most difficult fight so far. And Yumichika still hadn't stepped in, even if anxiety had been clutching at his heart.
Karakura had been a turning point.
A loud rumble. The huge stone pillar breaking in a cloud of dust and debris.
A reiatsu, fading rapidly…
I-…
IKKAKU!
He couldn't remember what had happened next. However, when he had finally regained consciousness and felt Ikkaku's weak but steady reiatsu next to him, when, having opened his eyes, he had noticed Kira, looking more gloomy than usual, tending Madarame's wounds, Yumichika had felt more relieved than ever before. And he had understood one thing: that as long as he had something to say in this matter he would not let Madarame Ikkaku die. Even at the price of breaking the promise and exposing himself to his anger.
He hadn't predicted one thing, though: that he would have to use Ruri'iro Kujaku, his accursed shikai that made him unworthy of being in the Eleventh Division, and, to make the matters worse, to do it in front of one of the two people he had wished most to hide his sword's true nature from.
To be honest, he wasn't sure how it had come to that. One moment he had rushed into the battlefield, seeing Ikkaku being struck down by an Arrancar, the next one — iridescent vines had been strangling their enemy, mercilessly draining out his spiritual force.
Yumichika knew he had made it in the very last moment, and yet he couldn't feel happy about it. Strange… he wasn't afraid that he would perhaps die by Ikkaku's hand, but the thought that he would lose his best friend's respect hurt terribly.
He heard footsteps, and his heart skipped a beat. Fear was definitely a low, despicable feeling, unworthy of a proud Eleventh Division's officer, yet right now Yumichika simply couldn't fight it. Here and now, after all what had happened, he lacked courage to look Madarame in the eye.
The sound of footsteps got closer and stopped. Yumichika held his breath, begging — what a humiliation! — whatever gods to just delay what was about to happen.
Apparently, the gods had more interesting things to do.
'Yumichika?'
'Yumichika? Oi, Yumichika, what's wrong?' repeated Ikkaku once again, furrowing his brow. Ayasegawa was wounded, his blood stained the grass where he was sitting, but he seemed conscious. Still, he didn't answer to Ikkaku's calls, and appeared to cower more and more with his every word. It only made Madarame's anxiety rise. Was Yumichika's condition somehow linked to that strange kidou from minutes ago?
Ikkaku felt anger boil up inside him. Whoever had dared to hurt his friend, he would have to deal with the Eleventh Division's third seat. And Houzukimaru.
A soft hiss broke him out of his musings. Madarame looked at his friend more closely, and, cursing inwardly, let go of his shoulder. He was here to help him, not to break his bones!
Still, it seemed that he would be able to reach Yumichika, who, he had to admit, looked quite miserably. He decided to give it another try.
'Oi, Yumichika! You hear me? Cut the crap and look at me!'
Finally. Yumichika raised his head — just a little bit, but enough for one wisteria colored eye to stare at Ikkaku from behind a curtain of dark hair.
Ikkaku barely stifled a sigh of relief.
'At last,' he muttered. The eye was fixed on him, making Madarame feel uncomfortable. 'I was starting to worry you had hit that pretty head of yours… or that you'd been hit by that ridiculous kidou, whoever dared to use it. I'd gladly teach that bastard a lesson for stepping in MY fight!
'I'm sorry, Ikkaku.'
'What?' Madarame, already lost in thought about what he would do to the unfortunate kidou user, didn't understand. 'What're you talking about, Yumichika?'
Ayasegawa did not answer, and Ikkaku suddenly had a feeling that it became colder. A shiver ran down his spine.
'Yumichika,' he began once again, very slowly this time. 'What THE HELL are you talking about?'
Silence. The eye looked away. Ikkaku felt his insides twist.
Damn. He had no other choice.
'Ayasegawa!' he demanded sharply. 'Answer me. That's an order!'
He knew he had to answer even before Ikkaku had turned his request into an order. Why then was it so hard to actually do it?
'You're afraid,' a mean voice at the back of his mind prompted. 'You truly are a coward, Ayasegawa.'
And, indeed, he was afraid, no matter how unbeautiful it was. Not of humiliation, he was aware that it awaited him anyway. Not even of the fact that the Eleventh Division would see him only as a pathetic excuse for a warrior from now on. The only thing that truly terrified him was contempt he was sure to see in Ikkaku's eyes.
However, he still was the fifth seat of the Eleventh Division. He should retain the last of his honor as long as he had a chance.
He lifted his gaze. Ikkaku was looking at him intently, his brows creased. He seemed — Yumichika gulped nervously — really anxious.
Alright. Here's the moment of truth.
I'm sorry…
'It was me, Ikkaku.' Madarame almost jumped, upon hearing Yumichika's voice all of a sudden. His friend was speaking with almost unnatural calm, as if the words that left his mouth referred to somebody else. 'My true shikai, Ruri'iro Kujaku.'
Ikkaku blinked. He still couldn't fully comprehend what Yumichika had just said. Ruri'iro Kujaku? What the hell…
'It is a strange sword,' continued Ayasegawa meanwhile, his voice still calm and even a little amused. 'A really whimsical one… It even has its favorite color. That's why I gave it a name it doesn't like… For it to never fully release.'
Madarame Ikkaku kept listening to this, stunned. A sword that didn't fully release? But why should Yumichika do something so ridiculous? It was pointless… Unless…
Kidou.
Him having been saved in the very last minute.
And Yumichika who was talking bullshit… that wasn't bullshit at all.
The truth suddenly dawned on Madarame.
Oh shit. Fucking shit. And what exactly was he supposed to do now?
'Yumichika…'
He didn't have to finish. Ayasegawa only nodded.
Impossible. It just couldn't be happening, could it? After all, Yumichika… Yumichika had promised him that he would never interfere… What had suddenly come over him to…
And, on top of that, he had used kidou. He had used kidou, making a laughing stock not only of himself, but of Ikkaku as well.
Madarame Ikkaku, the third seat of the Eleventh Division. Saved on the battlefield. By kidou.
Just pathetic.
Ayasegawa, what the hell had you been thinking?
Actually, Ikkaku thought he knew the answer. It was simple. Trivial, even. But still unacceptable for Madarame. It wasn't how the Eleventh Division did things. In the Eleventh Division there was no place for silly sentiments and chivalrous deeds, not to mention some unmanly hocus-pocus like kidou. If someone wasn't able to defeat an opponent using his own strength in a direct attack, then he was unworthy the name of a warrior.
It was a matter of honor.
He cursed. He should be furious, and, actually, he was. And yet… something stopped him from shouting it into Yumichika's face.
Ikkaku looked away. He found it easier to keep his eyes fixed on the bloodied grass, than to withstand this piercing, expectant gaze.
What to do? What should he do?
He had no idea.
Ikkaku was furious. Furious and disappointed. Yumichika could feel it, and it definitely wasn't encouraging. Still, his friend's silence was even harder to bear: not only was Madarame silent, but he even refused to look at him. At the moment Yumichika would rather hear even the worst insults, he would rather see the fury on Ikkaku's face, than remain in uncertainty about the fate that awaited him.
In uncertainty — and in silence.
Yumichika hated silence. Silence was empty, and there could be no beauty in the emptiness. That was why he always felt the need to fill it up somehow — and right now it was no different.
'Ik-…'
'Ayasegawa.' Madarame cut him short suddenly. His gaze was still fixed on the ground, and the voice sounded strangely strangled. 'We've known each other for ages, right?'
He nodded hesitantly, feeling surprised. He wasn't sure what Ikkaku was aiming at with this rather odd question; his friend, however, went on.
'If so… then you know HOW I fight, don't you?'
Yumichika felt a sudden dryness in his throat. So that was what it was about. He swallowed hard.
'Y-yes,' he managed to utter.
'If you know it then…', Ikkaku's voice became really strained, 'If you know it then would you mind explaining me… and better find a good reason… why the hell have you made a laughing stock of both of us?'
Both of us…
That felt like a punch in his stomach. Indeed, why hadn't he thought of it before? It wasn't only his own pride at stake here — but Ikkaku's honor as well. How could he forget about it… was he so blinded by his own humiliation?
He was a fool. A mindless, vain, selfish fool.
Instinctively, he curled up with embarrassment — just to scold himself a moment later. Was that how an officer should behave, even if he were to lose his rank? Neither self-accusation, nor self-pity weren't going to change anything here. He should accept the consequences with dignity, even if it was dignity of a vain fool.
He looked up. Madarame was still sitting with his back turned to him, plucking at the bloodied grass blades; yet, Yumichika knew that his friend — did he still have the right to call himself that? — was waiting for an answer.
Ayasegawa Yumichika hesitated. What should he say? That he didn't know how it had happened? That it had been an accident? That he didn't remember it? Could anyone believe such lame excuses? Could Ikkaku believe them?
Besides, Yumichika despised lying. Lies — no matter how courteous and how exquisite — were never beautiful.
Unlike the truth. It may have been truly ugly, and still it was more beautiful than a lie.
And Ikkaku deserved to know. They were friends — even if only for a few more minutes.
He smiled, though he was far from feeling happy. So easy… who would have thought that…
He gave his answer.
'I don't want you to die, Ikkaku.'
Madarame Ikkaku let out another curse. He had expected something like that, and at the same time he had been afraid of such a reply. It left him with no arguments at all to justify Yumichika's actions before others — and before himself. They were friends, damn it; Ayasegawa was always by his side, and Ikkaku didn't even try to think that it could ever be any different. Still, Yumichika had openly admitted to doing something that was not only against the rules of the Eleventh Division, but a fatal blow to their own honor as well.
It wasn't a matter Ikkaku could dismiss, pretending that nothing had happened. He knew that if it was anyone else but Yumichika, he would never forgive such an insult. To be honest, he wasn't sure if he would let that someone stay alive.
Yumichika he could not kill; not after all they had gone through together. On the other hand, however, Madarame wasn't sure if he was able to forgive him.
He cursed yet another time, more loudly and more angrily. Why, Yumichika? Why?
'Why?'
Somehow, he suddenly found himself leaning over his friend, and pinning Ayasegawa's shoulder to the tree trunk. He wanted to look in these accursed wisteria eyes, and perhaps find some hint that would help him understand. He was ready to shout, threaten, or even beg, just to receive something resembling a satisfying answer.
He took a deep breath — and in the very same moment Yumichika raised his head and look him in the eye, letting Ikkaku see his face for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.
Madarame froze.
Ayasegawa Yumichika, the fifth seat of the Eleventh Division and Soul Society's chief narcissist had blood on his pretty face. His very own blood.
Staggering, Ikkaku abruptly stood up and turned away. He felt he wouldn't be able to stand Yumichika's questioning gaze if his friend noticed anything.
The cut was quite big — it crossed Ayasegawa's left cheek from the outer corner of his eye to the corner of his lips. It was doubtful for it to heal without leaving even a thin scar.
Yumichika treasured his face. And, as far as Madarame remembered, he had never let anyone wound it.
Until now.
Moreover, he hadn't even realized it.
It sent chills down Ikkaku's back. Was Yumichika truly willing to sacrifice not only his honor, but his precious looks as well just to… save him?
He clenched his teeth. He felt rotten about it, and, what was worse, he still didn't know what he should do. To tell the truth, he was more lost than any time before.
Kidou. Broken rules. Broken promises. Honor and humiliation. Blood on a wounded cheek.
For him?
He sighed. Why did it have to be so hard?
Rukongai, he thought all of a sudden. It was so much easier back then.
It was easier in Rukongai, thought Yumichika, his anxious gaze fixed on Ikkaku's back. In Rukongai they had known what to expect from one another, and they had had their own rules. There hadn't been any laws imposed on them, nor patterns of conduct they had needed to abide by. In Rukongai every day had been a fight for survival, and every battle had been a test of strength that only the strongest ones could pass.
In Rukongai everything had been measured by strength and courage. Nobody had cared for something so incomprehensible and impractical as honor.
Honor was Seireitei's invention. Before Ikkaku realized they had both been imbued by clichés about warrior's pride, and finally they had come to believe in them, though — now he remembered it well — they had joined the Gotei 13 for completely different reasons. They were strong, and they had wanted to challenge the strongest, the best warriors in Soul Society. As little as that. As much as that.
They were strong. Both of them. After all, they had survived in the 79th District of Rukongai, fighting side by side — but never together. Ikkaku was sure that Ayasegawa wouldn't have had the slightest problems to survive, even if they hadn't met back then.
Yumichika was strong. Why then had he, Madarame, been so willing to deem him a weak coward mere moments ago?
Oh yeah. Kidou. Damned and laughed at in the Eleventh Division. But… why?
Ikkaku closed his eyes, trying to recall the sight of Yumichika's shikai. It was powerful, undoubtedly. Madarame wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be one of the strongest in whole Seireitei — after all, its one attack was enough to knock down an opponent that he himself hadn't been able to defeat even with Ryuumon Houzukimaru.
Was it truly supposed to be Yumichika's weakness? Was it a weakness at all?
And, if Yumichika were to be considered weak, then what about him, Madarame, whose bankai had been useless this time? Suddenly, he felt deeply ashamed. To think that he had always seen himself as the stronger one…
…while Yumichika, for all these years, had fought his battles using only partly released shikai. And he was still alive, while others had been killed.
Ikkaku furrowed his brows. A weakling? A coward? Rubbish! If THAT was not courage, then Madarame didn't know anymore what was.
That left just one problem to solve: Yumichika had saved his life on the battlefield, and that fact made him, Madarame Ikkaku, a wimp who hadn't even been able to deal with an enemy. It wasn't about honor; this was a rule back from the Rukongai times, when one had either been a winner, or had been killed in a fight. Only the weak ones needed help — and so to be saved by someone else was a greatest dishonor imaginable, especially if one, just like Ikkaku, considered himself strong.
Here and now, however, Ikkaku didn't feel strong at all. He was weak, much weaker than Yumichika, the same Yumichika whom he had earlier accused of making a laughing-stock of both of them — just because his friend had broken one, stupid, unwritten rule.
What utter bullshit. Yumichika — a laughing stock? Madarame couldn't really recall a time when this pretty-faced peacock had done something more admirable. If anyone had ridiculed himself here, it was him, the third seat of the Eleventh, almost defeated by a mere Arrancar.
And because of someone like that Yumichika was to have his face scarred for life?
His eyes stung as he clenched his eyelids tightly.
Yumichika's anxiety was slowly turning into sadness. He didn't have much hope to start with; still some small part of him believed that Ikkaku would understand him, if only to a small degree — for he didn't even dare to dream about being forgiven. Yet, Madarame was just standing there, looking unapproachable, with his back turned on Yumichika — and so Ayasegawa was slowly beginning to understand that this was the end… that the next words he would hear from Ikkaku wouldn't be words of a companion and friend, but of an almost complete stranger.
He rested his head against the tree trunk, feeling something warm and wet on his cheeks. Tears?
He wasn't sure. His eyelids felt heavy — Ruri'iro Kujaku was taking its toll on him.
'Ikkaku…'
Madarame was afraid to turn around. He was afraid to look at this bloodied face once again. Still, hadn't he just promised himself that he wouldn't be a coward?
He cast a wary glance over his shoulder… and the next moment he was beside his half-conscious companion, supporting him awkwardly with his good arm before Yumichika could fall to the ground.
Ayasegawa was clearly growing weaker with every passing moment — perhaps this was the price of using kidou. What was more, the wound on his cheek wasn't the only one — the deep cut on his thigh looked even worse, and it was still bleeding, staining the grass with red.
Ikkaku cursed, frantically checking Yumichika's pulse — weaker than usual, but even, much to his relief — before taking another look at his face.
The wound on his cheek had almost stopped bleeding, but it looked rather nasty. It should be tended, the quicker, the better.
Just where's the Fourth Division where they are most needed, damn it?
Yumichika let out a quiet moan. Madarame shifted a little closer to him, to be able both to support him, and to rest his own back against the tree.
Was it worth it, Yumi? Was it worth to do it all for such a foolish wimp like me?
No, he realized all of a sudden, looking at the slender form next to him. Yumichika hadn't saved his life because he thought him to be weak. He had done it because… because he was his friend. The closest person Yumichika ever had.
Just as Yumichika was the closest person to Ikkaku.
Madarame closed his eyes, once again feeling them sting.
To hell with honor. To hell with rules. Without Yumichika by his side these were all but a pile of crap.
He made his decision.
'Yumichika? Oi, Yumichika!'
Ayasegawa's eyelids fluttered, and after a moment a pair of glazed, pale violet eyes looked up at Ikkaku. Madarame grinned.
'You're okay? You've almost blacked out… luckily, I was here to catch you.'
Yumichika blinked tentatively, before giving him an almost suspicious stare.
'I-Ikkaku…?' he asked warily, his voice resounding with disbelief.
Quite unexpectedly Ikkaku felt his heart clench. He had never considered himself to be particularly emotional, but now…
'It's okay, Yumichika. I'm not going anywhere. At least until these pansies from the Fourth appear.'
A ghost of disappointment that crossed his friend's features made Madarame realize his mistake. He cursed inwardly, and pulled Yumichika even closer.
'Let… let me go, Ikkaku.'
Surprised, he almost complied; there was something in Ayasegawa's voice that he hardly could refuse. Still, he managed to restrain himself.
'Out of the question', he said, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably because of the lump in his throat. 'Whatever nonsense you have on your mind, you are to knock if out of that pretty head of yours… Unless you want ME to do it. Do I make myself clear?'
'But Ik-…'
'No buts', Madarame cut off flatly. 'Don't even think like that, Yumichika. If anyone here is a weak fool, it's definitely not you.'
Ayasegawa looked at him with eyes as big as saucers; a mixture of surprise and disbelief in his gaze. Ikkaku sighed. No use in tarrying any longer…
'I'm sorry, Yumichika,' he whispered seriously, resting his head against the tree. 'I'm sorry for all the stuff I've said before. And for this…', he gave a nod towards Yumichika's face. 'For this I'm sorry as well.'
Yumichika gave him an uncomprehending look, before hesitantly reaching up to touch the wounded cheek… and the next moment he suddenly turned pale at the sight of blood, staining his fingers.
Ikkaku almost smiled — this was the Yumichika he knew. Still, to feel relief while witnessing his best friend's personal tragedy wasn't something he should be proud of.
Ayasegawa tried to look away. Ikkaku didn't let him.
'Don't,' he said with emphasis. 'Don't you even dare to hide it. Or to be ashamed of it. Unless… Unless you regret,' he finished in a strangled voice. Somehow it wasn't a pleasant thought.
'I don't regret it.' Yumichika shook his head, dispelling his fears. 'But…'
'I said no buts,' Ikkaku interrupted, perhaps a bit too sharply. 'You look beautiful, Yumi. If you ask me, you have never looked better. And stop rubbing it, unless you want it infected!'
He couldn't believe he had actually said all this. But he had. Moreover… he felt he was telling the truth.
For a moment Yumichika just stared at him, his eyes open wide — and then he did something Madarame didn't expect at all.
He raised his head and awkwardly kissed Ikkaku's cheek.
Ikkaku looked at him, dumbfounded.
'Yumichika…!'
A faint blush colored Ayasegawa's cheeks, before he buried his face in Madarame's shoulder.
'You're not angry…?' he asked cautiously. 'Ikkaku…?'
No, he was not angry. And it wasn't about just this innocent kiss from moments before — he knew they both realized it.
'I have no reasons to be angry,' he replied.
Yumichika cuddled up even closer; it seemed that once again he was at the brink of passing out.
'Thank you…', he murmured. 'Thank you, Ikkaku…'
No, Yumi, Madarame thought. It's me who should thank you… Thank you for not becoming such a hopeless fool as me…'
For a while they just sat there in silence. Ikkaku was beginning to think that Yumichika had indeed lost consciousness, when suddenly he heard his soft voice.
'Ikkaku…?'
'Mmm?'
'You… you are not weak, Ikkaku.'
Madarame let out a sigh. He would like to believe it, still…
'Don't think too hard of it,' added Yumichika firmly. Ikkaku looked at him, and saw blazing wisteria eyes. 'You are strong, and I'm not saying it to make you feel better. You were just… lucky…'
It was Ikkaku's turn to blink. These were Zaraki's words which he had spoken years ago in a dusty street of Rukongai's 79th District.
If you still live after suffering a defeat — that means luck was on your side.'
Luck, he thought with a lopsided smile. Luck, indeed… to have his life saved by the most narcissistic and irritating pest in whole Seireitei. And his kidou.
But, as it happened, that narcissistic pest was his best friend. And Ikkaku would do exactly the same thing for him — something he himself had just come to understand.
'Ikkaku?'
'Yup?'
'You could be a captain… if you only wanted.'
Madarame gave him a wry smile.
'And you could be a lieutenant… at the very least.'
'I know.' With a quiet sigh Yumichika once again rested his head on Ikkaku's shoulder. 'In any other division…'
He didn't have to say anything more; after all, Ikkaku understood it all too well.
His dream was to fall in battle under Zaraki Kenpachi's orders. That was why he was so carefully hiding his bankai, that was why he didn't even want to hear about possible chances for promotion. His place was in the Eleventh Division, and nowhere else.
Up to this moment he had never wondered what Yumichika's reasons were. But now he thought he knew.
He was lucky. He was definitely lucky that he had met Ayasegawa Yumichika years ago, in the 79th District of Rukongai. And he would never swap it for anything else.
Yumichika shifted nervously by his side. Ikkaku looked at him closely.
'What now?'
Ayasegawa shook his head, but one look on his sullen face was enough to know what bothered him.
Ikkaku stifled an exasperated sigh.
'Don't worry too much,' he said, trying to cheer Yumichika up. 'It will heal, and there won't be even a trace left. And I will personally take you to Captain Unohana to make sure that she tends it first. Alright?'
He was answered with even more piteous look. Ikkaku rolled his eyes, and did the first thing that had come to his mind.
He leaned over, and, without ceremony, placed a kiss on his friend's cheek.
The azure sky was reflected in Yumichika's surprised eyes.