Life Lessons Chapter 2: In Which Ichigo Realizes His Weekend Is Cursed

This chapter PG-13. (Next chapter will have a much higher rating.) ^_^


Daylight was streaming in through the slatted window shade when the pressure of Ichigo's bladder finally dragged him out of unconsciousness. He rolled off his mattress with a groan, rubbing sleep from his eyes and stumbling to the bathroom doorway only to be brought up short by the sight of Ishida in rubber gloves and rolled up shirt-sleeves, scrubbing away at the splattered mirror.

Everything that had happened the night before came steam-rolling back through Ichigo's brain as he stood transfixed in horror: Nisa/Misa naked in his bed, the empty box of condoms in his nightstand, the fruitless search that had led him to Ishida's door where he'd seen and learned things about his roommate that he'd never wanted to see or know, the explosive effect those 'things' had had on his body, his embarrassment at Nisa/Misa's reaction, and yes, even his intent to clean up the mess he had made of the bathroom sink and mirror.

An intention he had not carried out before falling asleep. And now, there was Ishida, a bottle of glass-cleaner in one hand and a wad of newspapers in the other, assailing the dried-on evidence of Ichigo's shame with the vigor of an angry housewife. Ichigo tried to poke his flattened brain into action, tried to think of something – anything – he could say to explain or excuse himself, but absolutely nothing came to mind. He was sure that, in the same situation, his old classmate Mizuiro could have come up with an extravagant yet believable lie – something that would have even Ishida saying 'Ah, that's understandable' and probably feeling sorry for the guy – but Ichigo had always been terrible at that sort of thing. Just as Ichigo tried to pry his lips apart to stammer some sort of apology, Ishida noticed his presence, stopped cleaning and turned to scowl at him.

"Honestly, Kurosaki," Ishida huffed, pushing his glasses up with the back of one yellow-gloved wrist, "do you have to be such a barbarian? Were you raised to spit toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror, or is this a hobby you've taken up just for my benefit?"

Ichigo, who had just decided that his only options were to fall down in a fake epileptic seizure or flee the apartment and join a far-off Buddhist monastery, felt the muscles in his face go lax in disbelief. Ishida thought—it was toothpaste? That he'd made that mess by brushing his teeth?

"Gwah?" Ichigo had no idea what he'd meant to say – the sound came out unbidden when his jaw went slack and his mouth fell open – but Ishida seemed to find it telling.

"I should have known it's useless to speak to you before noon," he snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned back to finish off the mirror and start polishing the sink fixtures.

His bladder momentarily forgotten, Ichigo gawked at his roommate. The fact that Ishida hadn't caught him out in what could have been one of the most embarrassing incidents of his life was almost unreal. Frankly, he was having trouble believing it.

Another thing he was having trouble believing? That the Ishida standing before him could possibly be the same guy he had watched though the bedroom door last night. This Ishida – the one wearing an apron and a pinched expression; the one who got up to do housework on a Saturday morning and put on slacks and a proper shirt to do it in; the one who acted like Ichigo had been raised in a farmyard and he was doing him some sort of reluctant favor by agreeing to live with him and bring him the light of civilization and proper home hygiene – this was the Ishida he knew; the one he'd known since they were both fifteen. And the more Ichigo stared at this Ishida, the less real everything from night before began to seem.

Maybe none of it had happened the way Ichigo thought it had? Maybe he'd dreamed it all? Maybe the barista at the coffee shop had drugged his latte with something that made him have unnatural sexual fantasies about his gay roommate, because, honestly? There was no way that the Ishida cleaning the faucet with a determined look on his face was the same one Ichigo had seen moaning and thrashing as he got his ass nailed by Buff the Impaler the night before. He had almost managed to convince himself that the whole thing was just a bizarre hallucination when Ishida did something that turned Ichigo's reality inside-out once again.

He leaned forward.

He leaned forward to turn on the tap and when he did, Ichigo saw the front of Ishida's hair come loose from behind his ears and swing down to veil his face, saw his thin fingers grip the knob the same way they had clutched the rumpled covers, saw his back flex and his shoulder blades move beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and his slacks pull taut across his rear and everything Ichigo had almost convinced himself he hadn't really seen all came flooding back. His stomach turned a somersault, his mouth went dry as old leaves, and he grabbed the edge of the bathroom door to keep himself upright.

Ishida must have heard him because he straightened up and turned to give him a sharp look.

"Kurosaki, you—are you all right?" Ishida's expression changed from irritated to mildly concerned. "You look terrible. Did you—?"

"I just need to take a piss, okay?" Ichigo grunted, shoving off the door and pushing past Ishida toward the toilet. Ishida continued to stare at him as he tipped up the lid and seat. "Do you mind?" Ichigo said pointedly as he started to undo his shorts. "Or did you want to stay and watch?"

Ichigo took a perverse pleasure in the way Ishida's cheeks flushed at his words right before his roommate made a face, turned on his heel, and stalked out the door. Anyone else would probably have slammed the door, but Ishida closed it with a very precise click, and Ichigo sighed in relief as he dropped his shorts and took aim. The sense of ease that filled him as his bladder emptied was broken when Ishida's voice came through the door.

"Did you go out drinking last night, Kurosaki? Are you hung over? You are, aren't you?"

"For fuck's sake, Ishida, do you mind?" Ichigo shouted. "Could I have some freaking privacy, or do you get off on listening to me piss?"

The irony of his accusation wasn't lost on Ichigo, but at least it got the desired result. He could practically sense Ishida pursing his lips on the other side of the door, but there were no further attempts at communication. Grumbling to himself, Ichigo shook, flushed, kicked his shorts into the corner, and then leaned over the tub to put the shower on. He waited until steam was filling the small bathroom and the water was almost too hot to stand before stepping into it, where he soaped, scrubbed and rinsed three times instead of his usual two. It still didn't banish the troublesome memories of the night before, but it made his body feel better, if not his brain.

The apartment was quiet when Ichigo stepped out of the bathroom, and when he dressed and made his way to the kitchen, a towel over his damp hair, Ishida seemed to be gone. A bowl and cup were on the drain board by the sink, but the teapot was on the table along with an empty cup, a lidded bowl and spoon. Ichigo lifted the top to find the bowl full of warm, fragrant rice porridge centered with a shiny umeboshi.

Ishida had made him breakfast? Sure, both of them helped themselves to whatever was in the rice cooker, and more often than not it was Ishida who kept it going, but this was a lot more formal than just dumping rice and water in the cooker. He was starting to feel bad for yelling at Ishida earlier when he saw the note under the tea cup.

Kurosaki –

Rice porridge is good for hangovers.

Or so they say. I wouldn't know, actually. Tell me if it works.

– Ishida

P.S. – I'll be at the library all day.

"Bastard," Ichigo muttered, crumpling the note and leaving it on the table, but he sat down anyway and poured a cup of tea. Hung over or not, he hadn't eaten anything since last night, and the aroma from the bowl was making his stomach rumble. He picked up the spoon and prepared to dig in, but as he looked down at the bowl, the dark pink plum in the middle of the creamy pudding reminded him of a nipple in the center of a breast – Nisa/Misa's breast – and he lost his appetite.

"Fuck," Ichigo said, dropping the spoon and slumping back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. The whole morning seemed determined to mess with his brain, to remind him of Ishida, or Nisa/Misa, or… Ishida.

With a grumbled curse, Ichigo got up, grabbed an energy drink out of the fridge, his book bag from the sitting room, stuck his feet into his unlaced shoes and was out the door before he realized he still had a damp towel around his neck. Biting back another curse – he seemed to be swearing a lot these days – Ichigo yanked it off, tossed it inside the apartment, flipped the lock and slammed the door behind him as he headed down the stairs. Let Ishida yell at him about it – the guy was already going to have something to say about the dishes and the food left sitting out – but Ichigo didn't care. He had to get out of the apartment and away from anything that made him think about the night before.

The problem was, once he got down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, Ichigo had no idea where to go.

The university library was out of the question. Ishida was there, and for all he knew, Nisa/Misa might be, too. The neighborhood coffee house was off limits too, for much the same reason. In fact, anywhere on or near the campus was probably just asking for trouble, so Ichigo slung his backpack over his shoulder, put his head down and started walking in the opposite direction.

The energy drink he'd chugged hadn't filled his stomach, so he got a candy bar from a vending machine, then found a video arcade where he managed to kill a few hours shooting down random monsters. The only problem was that after fighting real monsters – Hollows, Arrancar, Espada, even some Shinigami – there wasn't much thrill in obliterating pixels.

Really, at that point, Ichigo would have welcomed the distraction of a Hollow showing up. Maybe even a whole herd of them. He felt in his back pocket for his deputy Shinigami badge as he left the arcade and pulled it out to look at it. Since he'd started at the university, the thing had only gone off two, maybe three times. He supposed he should be thankful – the last thing he needed was to miss an important lecture or, worse, an exam because of a Hollow alert – but honestly, Ichigo was starting to miss it. Maybe there were some other things he was starting to miss, too?

While he stood there pondering his badge, Ichigo's stomach began to complain again. He decided to get some real food, and as he sat down over a bowl of noodles and a tamarind soda at a nearby café, he did something he hadn't done in ages. He pulled a phone out of his jeans and another out of his backpack and put them both on the table. Ichigo eyed the two phones as he shoveled noodles into his mouth, and after he'd polished off half his meal and taken a long swig of soda, he picked up the nearest phone, flipped it open and clicked for his list of contacts.

For a phone belonging to a university student, it was an unusually short list; but then, this wasn't a typical phone. There were only three entries: Abarai Renji, Kuchiki Rukia, and Seireitei General Directory.

He wasn't sure why he was thinking of calling anyone in Soul Society. It wasn't like he missed them or anything. Heck, he'd barely had time to miss his little sisters and his idiot father – actually, he wasn't sure he'd ever miss Goat-Chin; or at least not the way he clobbered him awake every morning – so why should he miss Rukia and Renji? And what would he say to them if he did call? Yo, what's up? Waste any interesting Hollows lately? Ever find out what dimension Aizen scuttled off to after that last battle? Ever watched one of your best friends having sex and gotten so hot and bothered you forgot about the naked girl in your bed?

"Yeah, right," Ichigo groaned, flipping the phone closed and putting his face in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking? Rukia would laugh at him. She'd probably drop her phone, she'd think it was so hilarious. Then he'd start yelling at her, Rukia would start yelling back, and they'd get in an argument and hang up on each other. Thirty seconds later, she'd realize she hadn't asked who he'd seen having sex and call him back to find out. 'Ishida and another guy?' Rukia would say once she'd pried out all the lurid details. 'Damn it, Ichigo! Next time they do it, call me so I can come watch, too!'

Renji? That call would be even more frustrating. 'Wait,' Renji would say halfway through the story. 'Why were you hanging around Ishida's room in the first place?' And Ichigo would have to explain the whole thing about Why Condoms Are Important, which Renji wouldn't understand because apparently they didn't have STDs in Soul Society and birth control was something the woman was supposed to take care of, and… Renji would just miss the whole point. 'So you saw Ishida bonking another guy?' he'd grunt. 'What's weird about that? If you'd seen him doing a girl, now that would be weird. Why are you even calling me about this, anyway?'

Sighing in frustration, Ichigo stowed the Soul Society communicator in his bag, then finished off his noodles before opening his regular cell phone. The contact list on that one was much longer, but despite the wider range of possibilities, the problem was the same. Even if he figured out someone to call, what would he say? Worse, what would they say back?

Tatsuki? That might be slightly less embarrassing than telling Rukia, but not by much.

Keigo? Ichigo winced at the very thought.

Inoue? Last he'd heard, she was working 18 hour days at that culinary institute in Kyoto, and assuming she could even answer her phone, she'd be just as confused as Renji. Bubbly and understanding, but confused. So confused she might blurt out to someone 'I had the oddest call from Kurosaki-kun the other day….' Uh, no.

Urahara? Right. The shopkeeper would make sympathetic sounds while Ichigo talked, then say he'd like to help him but he would need more information, and if he sent Ichigo this very special camera, perhaps he could get some 'documentation' the next time this happened…

"Pervert," Ichigo muttered as he scrolled past the renegade Shinigami's name, then felt his face heat up in embarrassment. It hadn't been Urahara Kisuke spying and eavesdropping on Ishida, now, had it?

Disgusted – with himself, with life, with everything – Ichigo was about to give up when the phone buzzed in his hand and Sado Yasutora appeared on the screen.

"Chad!" Ichigo gasped, and if he'd ever been happier to see his friend's name, he couldn't remember when. He was about to hit the button when a text message came across.

In town tonight. Band's playing at The Blood Rose Club. Free tickets. Want to come?

Ichigo grinned at his phone. Hell yes! he typed in.

8:00 pm. Opening for Beruga Fix.

He was about to respond, again in the affirmative, when another line of text came up.

1 more thing….

Ichigo waited.

Bring Ishida 2 OK?

Ichigo let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and closed his eyes. Great. Just great.

NP. Cya tonight. he texted back, then shook his head when a tiny 'thumbs up' graphic came on the screen.

Ichigo closed his phone, slid it onto his back pocket, then put his head in his hands and stared down at the dregs of broth and noodles in his bowl.

Cursed. His weekend was obviously cursed.

There was no getting away from Ishida.