dance with you;
You got inside through a hole in my defenses
and how you fit I'll never understand
but you got into me, and I got into you
and now, I wanna do it again
_
Ikkaku doesn't know when he started expecting Yumichika to pop out of nowhere and fall into step beside him. He doesn't know when Yumichika integrated himself into every aspect of his life, when Yumichika became the person he'd go to for information, or supplies, or just for a bit of company.
He doesn't know how it happened, or why Yumichika had taken such a vested interest in him of all people, but he's decided not to question it too much. Yumichika's judgement always was a little bit strange.
He doesn't like the idea of depending on anyone, but if there's anyone Ikkaku depends on, however minutely, one person he trusts to get the job done and know exactly what he means when he says, Do it, it's Yumichika. There is exactly one being who understands Ikkaku more deeply than Yumichika does, and his name is Hoozukimaru. And technically, Hoozukimaru is part of his soul and therefore doesn't count at all.
He wonders if there's an alternate dimension, somewhere, where an Ikkaku never met his Yumichika, and Ikkaku thinks that that guy must be a sad, sorry sort of bastard.
where to begin;
I've been saving up to buy more time with you
You've been living it up with someone else
And that's okay with me
Because I know it and you know it too
_
Ikkaku may or may not be bleeding out. Yumichika doesn't fret, because Ikkaku isn't going to die, because even though Captain Zaraki had gone even more all-out than usual, Ikkaku's still breathing.
Kenpachi flicks his sword before he sheathes it, watches droplets of (not his) blood hit the dust in front of Ikkaku's face and the side of his head and runs the tips of his fingers along the edge of a stab wound on his chest. He had a couple more cuts on his arms and side, but Ikkaku's best hit was when he had ducked under Captain's guard and released Hoozukimaru into his shoulder.
"Not bad."
Ikkaku silently, gingerly pushes himself back onto his feet and sways there until Yumichika grabs his arm and slings it over his own shoulder. Kenpachi nods once, tilts his head in the direction of the quad and starts back. Yachiru dashes by Yumichika so fast he can feel his hakama flutter and attaches herself to Kenpachi's back.
Ikkaku mutters his thanks into the top of Yumichika's head, but his eyes are on their captain.
harder, better, faster, stronger;
Work It Harder Make It Better
Do It Faster, Makes Us stronger
_
Thrust, slash, turn, repeat. Left jab, right cross, left kick, right step.
Hoozukimaru's sections snap together and he spins across Ikkaku's shoulders, under his arm. Splits to wrap around a bicep, snaps together again when he brings the spear around his waist. He catches Hoozukimaru by the handle end in his right hand, holds onto the middle with his left, feels the wood slide under his fingers as he drives the tip deep into the wall of the training quad.
Hoozukimaru keeps cadence in his head as he returns to the center of the room and starts again.
Drills are the foundation on which everything else is built, so you better have a solid one, partner.
Of course, Ikkaku's the one doing all the work here. He pauses for a second, lets what little wind makes it through the half-open sliding door wick away about two hours of sweat off his back. The men would be eating lunch, probably, and it was Yumichika's day to drill them into the ground. Captain was off taking his nap, Yachiru would be at the Kuchiki mansion.
Ikkaku wonders if he shouldn't be off relaxing somewhere, but he prefers to while away the hours with Hoozukimaru.
the prime time of your life;
(Do it)
Now
(And)
Live it
(Today)
The prime time of your life
_
Yumichika has never felt better.
Sometimes he wishes Kujaku didn't get so excited, so cooperative when he chose to use his true shikai. He likes the sound of Ruriiro Kujaku's elated Yes, yes, yes! more than anything, really, except for his position in the 11th. For all the ways they clamor and argue and bitch at each other, when Ruriiro Kujaku wants Yumichika to win, Yumichika does it in style.
There's the same euphoric high, the same rush of power and Yumichika aches, deliciously, down to the bones where his broken arm is mending itself. A flicker of worry -- if he had to use Ruriiro Kujaku against the arrancar, and Ikkaku couldn't even handle that fracción without going bankai, then...
Relax, Kujaku says in a sleepy, sated drawl. That idiot won't die.
Yumichika's tempted to listen. He's on top of the world, he's seeing spots, he's thinking about his division and these are the times he's always felt that it might be alright to just forget them and move on. The 3rd is still missing a captain; 5th and 9th, too --
Cuulhuorne's question pulls him back into present, and the last thing Yumichika hears from Ruriiro Kujaku is a resigned sigh; he'd been so close, that time.
'til i collapse;
Till the roof comes off, till the lights go out
Till my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.
Till the smoke clears out and my high burn out
I'ma rip this shit till my bone collapse.
_
He's lightheaded, his vision is blurry, his legs are ready to buckle and he's got some ugly son of a bitch hiked up by the front of his clothes up against the wall. Ikkaku's knuckles -- among other things -- are bleeding freely but there's something to be said for tunnel vision if it keeps him on his feet.
He spits out a mouthful of blood while in the middle of deciding what to do with this fucker that tried to mug him. Well, him and Yumichika. Yumichika's clothes were so fucking loud, no wonder they got stopped as often as they did. He's not even really traveling with the bastard --
Yumichika steps over two unconscious thugs (his own handiwork) to get a better look at the one Ikkaku's about to knock out. The leader of the bunch. He reaches into the crook's gi and pulls out a small pouch of coins, hefts it in his hands with a dismissive little sigh and meets Ikkaku's impassive glare with his own. "Dinner, though it's not much. Oh relax, Ikkaku. I'll share."
There's a moment where Ikkaku's trying to think up a smart comeback, but he's got a headache now, no thanks to that sword hilt to the back of his head, and gives Yumichika a pointed look. Yumichika turns to address thug number one like he knows exactly what Ikkaku had meant by that and says, airily, "He's not bald."
There's blood on Ikkaku's teeth when he grins.
beautiful;
Feel your pain, you feel mine
Go inside each other's mind
Just to see what we find
Look at shit through each other's eyes
But don't let 'em say you ain't beautiful oh
They can all get fucked, just stay true to you
_
"Yumichika. Yumichika. Shit, Yumichika, it's not a big deal."
Yumichika deals one more sharp kick to the ribs of the heap on the ground. He lets Ikkaku drag him away by the back of his gi into a side alley before he very indignantly draws himself up and puffs out his chest. It doesn't work very well -- Ikkaku's half a head taller and supremely unintimidated, but he knows that a placated Yumichika is a useful Yumichika and asks anyway.
"The hell's got you so pissed off?"
Yumichika takes the deep breath of one who is trying very hard not to sputter. "He called you ugly."
Ikkaku cocks his head to the side, spreads his arms and Yumichika isn't sure if that gesture says 'Well what do you call this, then?' or 'Do these biceps look like they need validation to you?' though he assumes the latter because Ikkaku is as egotistical as they come.
"Because you're not," he feels the need to clarify. "I don't hang around ugly people."
Ikkaku takes a second to be oddly touched before Yumichika says, "It hurts my reputation!"
remember the name;
This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name
_
Ikkaku's blood drips down his face, over his half-parted lips, staining clenched teeth and dripping off his chin. His hand leaves a bloody print on the wall, fingers curling against the grain of unpolished wood while he takes a deep, steady breath. He wipes his mouth on his forearm and it leaves the bottom of his face still streaked with red. His lip curls in a vicious sneer as he turns back around and the guy he's facing down -- (or, more accurately, up) who's nearly twice his size in bulk and muscle, well-fed and well-rested --
takes a step back.
Takes a step away from a man who's been on his feet for no less than thirty straight hours, hasn't eaten in nearly three days, who's only standing because of his sheer bloody-minded determination to trash a guy who bumped him on the shoulder and tried to knock him down.
Ikkaku ducks the next punch, slaps away a grab for his neck as if he were swatting a fly. The next strike scores his shoulder but he twists with the momentum and ends the fight with an elbow to the other man's temple.
Ikkaku kicks him on the way down, spits on his face and mockingly snarls his name.
Then, "Madarame Ikkaku, fucker. Come back for me when ya learn to fight."
the hard way;
Deafening voices
That frequency inside my head that says
I'm going at it the hard way I focus
Get everything inside out of my brain that claims
I'm going at it the hard way
_
Kujaku's voice pounds against the inside of his skull, bouncing around like the annoying, whiny, vain bastard he is. He tells Yumichika to forget Ikkaku, forget Kenpachi, forget the division. There's only the two of them and the rest of the world; beautiful and shining and ripe for the taking.
Yumichika ignores him.
Kujaku doesn't shut up, though. He hates being ignored and disrespected and Yumichika does both on a regular enough basis that when they get a moment alone, he'll hear about it. It could be so easy, Kujaku says. Haven't you ever thought, ever wondered what it would be like? I have.
Yumichika shakes his head once to clear it, shifts his grip on Kujaku's hilt and and brings the blade down in a casual, determined practice swing. If he got strong enough, then he'd never need to release his true shikai. Like Captain.
What about bankai? You could shape it, make it a direct combat type, somehow -- and he sounds almost wistful now, sad and disappointed and exactly the sort of tone Yumichika doesn't want to hear.
Sorry, he mutters back, aloud to the empty room, this is where I belong.
pound of flesh;
Asked me if I've, uh, read his own
And whether I could spare a pound
Of flesh To cover his bare bones
I said "Man, take a pound, take two.
What's a pound of flesh between friends like me
and you?"
_
Ikkaku has an almost pathological need for balance. Every step taken with his left foot must have a corresponding step from the right; for every hour he spends with Hoozukimaru in his left hand, he switches over to the right. Every hit parried or countered from one direction must have another parry or counter from the opposite direction. Every rock kicked must have the same number of kicks from each foot.
Every time Yachiru chews on one side of his head, he keeps her on the other side until she has gnawed on it from that direction.
Ikkaku himself isn't always aware that he does it, but Yumichika wonders if the only reason he's so eager for another fight with Ichigo is so he can add a scar to the other side of his chest.
music box;
Feel mortality surround me
I close my eyes and think that I have found me
But life inside the music box ain't easy
The mallets hit the gears are always turning
And everyone inside the mechanism
Is yearning to get out
_
Yumichika likes to imagine that Captain Zaraki's spiritual pressure tastes like a mouthful of blood. That Yachiru's tastes like candy dipped in blood. He knows Hisagi -- like a warm bowl of clear soup. Yumichika knows from a taste of his reiatsu that Hisagi is reliable, steady, loyal. He's a good man, and Yumichika almost regrets having had to leave him panting, as it were.
He thinks all the girls would be a little sweet. Matsumoto Rangiku would be tangy, Kuchiki Rukia minty. He can't imagine a flavor for himself -- too many aspects to take into account, too many combinations of personality and skill and history to sum up in a simple taste.
Yumichika likes to imagine that Ikkaku's spiritual pressure is delicious. Bitter and spicy, heady and strong. He can't imagine matching it to anything he's tasted yet, but he thinks that he'll know when he tries it, someday.
blue;
Never seen a bluer sky
Yeah I can feel it reaching out
And moving closer
There's something about blue
Asked myself what it's all for
You know the funny thing about it
I couldn't answer
No I couldn't answer
_
Ikkaku sometimes wonders if he can't get his fingers knuckles-deep into the scar Ichigo had left on his chest. He'd peel back the skin, let it split back along the seams it had healed along, feel the fibers of his muscles against his knuckles and his nails scrape along the cartilage of his ribs. (He thinks it might look a bit like peeling an orange even if intellectually he knows he'd be bleeding everywhere.)
Yumichika never wonders why he picks at the scar -- it's just something he does and maybe it itches or it hurts (and it sort of does, when it's cold as fuck outside) or maybe he just does it compulsively because it took a hell of a lot of wheedling and compromising to convince Captain Unohana to let it scar. Scars are scars are scars, and if Ikkaku picks at them it's because he's fucking insane and Yumichika accepts that about him.
Yumichika probably realizes that he picks at minor cuts, too. The ones he deems too unimportant and not life-threatening enough to bring to the attention of 4th Division healers. Dragging out the healing time, relishing the way blood wells up in the reopened wound. Captain Unohana would scold. Iemura would bitch. (Yumichika doesn't complain, though. He thinks scars look great -- on other people. Not least of all on Ikkaku. Ikkaku thinks Yumichika has great taste.)
words that we couldn't say;
Funny ain't it
Games people play
Scratch it paint it
One in the same
We couldn't find them
So we tried to hide them
Words that we couldn't say
_
When Ikkaku and Yumichika clash, the entire division gets restless. And noisier, and more annoying, and more obnoxious, and all of Seireitei feels it down to its bones. Yumichika and Ikkaku were always on the same wavelength. It was one of those constants; like Captains Kyouraku and Ukitake. Like Kenpachi and Yachiru. They don't seriously argue very often -- once every couple decades or so, and people rarely ever know why -- but whatever it is, it doesn't surprise anyone that Ikkaku usually gets his way.
The entire Division's barracks gets inundated with agitated spiritual pressure, and the only ones immune are Captain Zaraki and Yachiru. Everyone else walks on eggshells, because Ikkaku's gonna be in a foul mood and Yumichika gets even higher-strung than usual.
And then, most of the time, after a few days, without a word to each other, everything goes back to normal. Sort of. Ikkaku's considerate and thoughtful, judiciously keeps his mouth shut when appropriate. Yumichika keeps his complaints centered on things Ikkaku also likes to bitch about, and his usually sharp mocking to gentle ribbing.
They tiptoe around each other for a week or so, but neither says what more or less boils down to, This is stupid and I miss you.
riot;
You're not the only one
Refusing to back down
You're not the only one
So get up
Let's start a riot, a riot
Let's start a riot
_
"Name's Abarai Renji," Ikkaku says with a smirk, shifts Hoozukimaru across his shoulders and cracks his neck. "Weak as shit. Asked me to train him."
Yumichika knows that name -- remembers the transfer, remembers the Inuzuri stray that came with it. Abarai had wild eyes, those tattoos -- and he sneaks a look at Ikkaku. "Are you going to?"
Ikkaku spends most of the next day trashing Renji. He arrives back to the quad with a thoughtful expression, without a scratch. "Wants to beat Kuchiki Byakuya," he said, then nodded once, decisively. "Like to see where he goes."
Renji is a stubborn hothead who survived the pits of Rukongai, who has a goal and the determination to stop at nothing to reach it. Ikkaku doesn't train him so much as fight him until he can't move and then spend the next few minutes dissing his technique. Yumichika's there when Renji learns his soul cutter's name. He's on the ground, fingers twitching, trying to push himself upright while Ikkaku steps on his back and presses him back down.
When Renji finally lets out a triumphant roar of, Howl, Zabimaru! Ikkaku releases Hoozukimaru and grins.
life starts now;
You've done all the things that could kill you somehow
And you're so far down
But you will survive it somehow because life starts now.
_
He whispers in his ear, promises great things in the future, tells him that he's got nothing to lose, that he could become a lieutenant, a captain, anything he wants. He's resplendent in greens and blues, head held high, eyes sharp as the edge of a soul cutter blade.
Say my name, Yumichika.
Yumichika finally understands, smiles and breathes, Ruriiro Kujaku -- and his first reaction is to jump up and down and cheer because his shikai is so fucking powerful and he could do great things, win against anyone; he's never seen a soul cutter like this, and Yumichika thinks that he could maybe even beat Ikkaku with it --
and then he remembers the rest of the division and requests very politely (because he's still not sure how to address a soul cutter, and Ruriiro Kujaku is at once both alien and so utterly familiar) that he change into something more suited to melee combat.
Kujaku gives him a long, bored look and (almost flippantly, the bastard) refuses.
headstrong;
Back off I'll take you on
Headstrong to take on anyone
I know that you are wrong
Headstrong we're headstrong
_
Ikkaku stands in a patch of broad-leafed plants that reach his waist, hollow little flowers dangling like lanterns off nearly every stem. The patch is as wide as he is tall, long enough to line three guys of his height head-to-toe in; shaped like a lizard's claw. And he can see the shape of a serpent in the valley-- in the way the grass bends, as if pressed flat by some enormous, twisting burst of wind.
There's a distant roar, the leaves in a thick cluster of bamboo shudder violently and Ikkaku starts forward again.
He wakes up to Yumichika shaking him by the shoulder, eyes wide in the dark. "You'll give us away," Yumichika says flatly. "We're in hollow country. You're like a beacon for anyone who wants to find us."
It takes a moment to remember: there are no deep, grassy valleys in Soul Society. No fields of grass that stretch beyond a horizon, no lone temple atop high foggy mountains. No thick clusters of bamboo growing around a speeding river. It's strange, though. Ikkaku hasn't felt so calm in a long time.
The next time he has this dream, it's in a relatively safe place and Yumichika sleeps through it.
He didn't expect to be facing an enormous dragon breathing on his face, but such is his life.
Ikkaku runs his tongue over his teeth, draws his sword and sneers at the oversized lizard like it isn't even worth his attention. It bares its teeth and Ikkaku hears You're an interesting one, before the dragon opens its mouth and roars.
cover up;
Put the mask back on, put the mask back on
Don't take it off till everbody's gone
Put the mask back on, put the mask back on
No disguise has ever lasted so long
_
Yumichika is a terrible liar. He's never outright lied about Ruriiro Kujaku, but he thinks that if Ikkaku asked the right questions, he'd snap like a twig.
He doesn't, though. Ask questions. Ikkaku doesn't ask questions because he knows that if Yumichika wanted to tell him something, Yumichika would make damn sure he hears it whether or not he really wanted to in the first place.
He can't even quite lie to himself, Yumichika thinks, or else his true shikai would be Fuji Kujaku, and he'd be a scarred, bulky bastard with an eyebrow piercing and zero skill at kidou. He'd crop his hair short (or shave it off completely), skip accessories and decorations, ignore the blisters and calluses on his hands, ignore the people who talk down to his division 'cause the Zaraki Division is the best and the strongest and if other people just don't get it, then fuck 'em.
He told this to Yachiru, once. Nothing about Kujaku, just -- Maybe if I were more like the rest of the division -- and she'd punched him so hard on the shoulder she almost dislocated the rest of his arm. She'd said, "But then are ya gonna turn stupid like the rest'a the guys, too?"