Title: Converse
Word count: 1120
Pairing: Ichigo/Hichigo
Author's notes: A God-awful one-shot I came up with late one night after reading a whole lot of Ichigo/Hichigo. The whole problem with writing 1st person P.O.V. is that everyone starts to sound the same in your head. Some help with the characterization here would have been nice. Unfortunately we've seen so little of Hichigo that Red's and my only real contribution to discussions of him has been that he's hot and is even more so when paired with Ichigo. If someone knows a good write-up on Hichigo's character, please send it to me. Then Red and I can start writing some Bleach slash.
Blue
Converse
Your breath is warm in my ear, spicy in its scent, tangy, like blood. I squirm because it tickles and the way your arms tighten around me feel so good it should be wrong.
"S'matter King?"
Your lips are dry, powdery almost, as though they're covered in powdered bone. Maybe they are… wouldn't put it past you to do something like that, Though where'd you'd get the bone from I'm not sure I'd want to know.
"Where do you get the mask from?"
"Our mask?" You sound amused and maybe a bit irritated. Go ahead; I'm still not talking about something else until you at least answer my question. "it's made of spirit particles, like ya shinigami form."
"Where do you get the particles from? You must have formed hundreds of masks by now."
"S' no effort." You're smirking, I can tell. 'I can spare the energy ter make 'em. S'ides, it's a bit like a by-product of the energy released when we transform."
"Could you make one now? In here?"
"Tired of my face 'ready?" You still sound bemused, even as you suddenly get to your feet, dumping me unceremoniously on the ground.
"I didn't mean-"
"Course ya didn'." You wave a hand carelessly and a mask forms between your fingers, the material bone-white as your skin. You hold it out to me but as I reach for it, you twitch your arm back so that I have to move to get it. I lower my arm but you keep your outstretched, the mask dangling between us from your forefinger in the eyehole. "Ya don't mean a lot of what your actions do. But that's the perk of being the King."
"I can't help the mistakes I've made. But I've always done my best to put them right."
:Never said I was talkin' 'bout mistakes now, did 1?" You smirk. "Guilty conscience, oh King?"
"Stop calling me that." My voice comes out as a growl, surprising me. I shouldn't be this affected but then, you've always known what my buttons to push are.
"As you command." You bow, the gesture even more mocking than your form of address and before I can think, I'm on my feet and rushing at you. It's a pathetic attack, unbalanced, unplanned, unsophisticated. You catch me easily, spin me into your arms and with my fists pinned between our chests, you slide the hollow mask over my face. There's no rush of power, no hints of darkness this time though. Here, in my inner world, with you real and tangible, the mask is just a mask.
"Let me go," I grate out with some difficulty; the bottom of the mask cuts into my jaw when I speak. I've never had that problem before but then , this mask is empty.
"Yer gonna leave if I do?"
"…no. Not yet."
"Fair 'nuff." You let go and abruptly drop to the floor to squat on your haunches. "Now you gonna tell me whassup?"
Since when did you get perceptive? Or rather, since when did you care? This isn't supposed to be about mushy feelings or anything more than simple teenage, hormonally-driven lust and a perverted yearning for a living soul. I come, we fuck and sometimes we cuddle because it feels good. But there's little talking, no sweet nothings, not even a perfunctory "how was your day." Not like either of us would have a worthwhile answer for the other…
"Oi, no spacing out. I'm waitin' for an answer here."
"Why should you care?" Like hell I'm pouring out my thoughts to you just because you ask. We're not like that.
'Because," you roll your eyes like I'm some stupid a child and I want to smack you. "We're sharing a body. If you die, so do I. And your little emotional road trips tend to make you kinda suck." You wriggle your eyebrows suggestively but I ignore the double-entendre. Self-preservation, I might have known.
"You can relax, I'm not getting myself- and hence you- killed."
"Now where have I heard that before," you drawl, and I spin around, temper flaring.
"Well if you're so worried, why don't you just beat me and take over my body? Or can't you?" The last part is a sneer and I'm just about to leave when your next words stop me.
"I could." It's not so much the words as how they're said. Softly, a little sadly, a little bitterly.
"Why don't you?" I ask, curious in spite of myself.
"Wouldn't like it if I did, now would ya?" You smile at me but it's more lopsided than usual and your eyes don't crinkle the right way at the edges.
"…you're being bothered by something to."
"Oh very good m'lord. Any other gems of wisdom for us today?"
"You can't expect me to confide in you if you won't do the same."
"Works both ways."
"You're being an idiot."
"I asked first." You're practically sulking and suddenly I want to laugh. I plonk myself down on the ground beside you and stretch out.
"Fine. Fine. I'll go first then. It's just that time of year again. You weren't…here yet this time last year. It's her anniversary, tomorrow."
"Your mother." It's a statement, not a question.
"Yeah."
You squint at me, incredulous.
"You're not still feeling guilty are you?"
"No, but I miss her. It gets stronger for awhile. But it'll go away in a day or two so you don't have to worry. I have no intentions of getting killed." I've never told anyone this before even though I'm sure most of my friends have figured it out by now. It was unexpectedly easy telling you and I'm somehow unsurprised that you don't scoff at the foolishness of human emotions. We sit for a while in silence, watching clouds scud against the pale blue sky the wrong way. At least it's not raining.
"This gets real borin' when it's just one preson."
"Huh?" I'd started to doze off and I'd almost forgotten you had a half of a deal to fulfill.
"The clouds. They even look the same after some time."
"Don't you talk to Zangetsu?"
"He's a small part of me now. Feels strange hangin' with him, like it's me and myself."
"But I'm not like you?"
"You're real."
"So are you."
"Only as long as you are. But you were here before and if I were to' disappear, you'd still be."
I watch a small white cloud chase a larger one across the sky. They look a bit like strawberries.
"I could visit more often."
Your fingers seek out mine, the texture of old ivory but warm to the touch, and twine them together.
"You'd better."
End