A/N: This chapter was hell to write. I'm not entirely happy with how it came out, but please respect the efforts I put in it. Also, yes, I was too wordy, for which I'm truly sorry, but I guess you'll be having another chapter before the 'Missing Scenes' one. If there are no spaces between some text in italics, don't blame me, blame fanfiction - it removes the spaces in such texts and I'm forced to put them manually. I'm human, so I might've missed something. This song is 'Make Me Wanna Die' by The Pretty Reckless.
I wonder if anyone listens to the stuff I put here. *frowns*
P.S. Sorry if this doesn't live up to your expectations. T_T
The Colour of Water
Act Seven: Cracking
7.
…Your eyes, your eyes
I can see in your eyes, your eyes
You make me wanna die
I'll never be good enough
You make me wanna die
And everything you love
Will burn up in the light
And every time
I look inside your eyes
You make me wanna die…
Ichimaru woke up to a very peculiar feeling - something ticklish, vaguely resembling the brush of insects' wings that trailed along his skin and caused him to let out a low guttural sound of distress. He stirred restlessly, still somewhat asleep and unable to properly coordinate his movements, and his brows knitted together as he unconsciously tried to pull away from the invading sensation. The filmy shroud of unconsciousness slowly ripped from around his body and pulse after pulse of loud electric music pumped into his system despite the sluggish efforts that he was putting into remaining in the soothing embrace of the dream. A familiar, frighteningly overwhelming scent caressed his nostrils and he groaned, the first filaments of anger permeating his head and blood-vessels and setting them on fire.
"Pet-…" he growled lowly as the distinctive feeling returned, traveling in what appeared to be a haphazard pattern along his forehead. "If tha's ya, I swear, I'm gonna make ya regret this!"
"Calm down, I'm done." Came the strangely muffled and completely unperturbed answer, the slightly devilish undertone making the man snap completely out of his drowsy state. Peaking underneath the pale veil of his slit eyelids at the scene before him, Gin grunted with annoyance when he spotted Toushiro's face hovering very near over his own, the cap of what appeared to be a black marker hanging out between his lips. As the boy withdrew from his victim, a satisfied smirk twisting his mouth, Gin found himself clenching his jaw, his arms that had been folded in front of his chest while he had been slumbering, now untangling with some difficulty to push him in a straighter position in the chair he had obviously been occupying for quite awhile now. You little prankster… His gaze swiped up and down the distracted-looking teen before him (who was now putting the two pieces of his writing tool back together) and a splash of fleeting bewilderment washed over him, before the pieces of the puzzle all came back to him in the form of a large, messy pile. Oh, yeah. Theme night.
"You should be glad I didn't use a scalpel." Hitsugaya murmured matter-of-factly before tucking the marker in the front pocket of his unbuttoned doctor overall right next to something that looked like a very poor imitation of a thermometer. Underneath the white material of the overall the teen was wearing his usual, if a little toned down, style of clothes: a pair of slightly baggy dark-grey pants, the ever-present fingerless leather gloves, thick-soled combat boots and a T-shirt that said 'Let's Play Doctor' with very vivid and curvy caramel-coloured letters. Instead of the customary composition of chains, the stripper had a long stethoscope hanging around his neck and a pair of probably dull scissors sticking out from the side pocket of his trousers, obviously in some weird attempt to make his whole outfit appear more plausible. Behind him numerous girls with different variations of very exposing and very suggestive nurse costumes were wandering around the bar, some of them quite frustrated-looking, others unnecessarily excited about the new idea that Jay had introduced a week or so ago in order to attract more clients…
…Ichimaru was just happy they hadn't forced him to wear any medicine-related shit the way each and every one of the dancers had to do.
"What did ya do, did ya scribble somethin' on mah forehead?" the man enunciated slowly, incredulously, as he reached to brush the aforementioned place with his fingertips. Naturally, there were no traces of ink on his digits when he withdrew them for expectation, but the fact only made him even more uneasy, this time because he had a very good idea of exactly what kind of a marker had consciously, or unconsciously been used on him. This was bound to end not well. "Pet… what did ya do with mah face? Ya better tell me right now, cuz I ain't in no mood fo' childish pranks."
Hitsugaya's mouth twisted to the side at that comment, one brow forming a graceful arch as folded his arms in front of his chest and switched his weight to his left foot.
"That's what you get for sleeping on your workplace."
Ichimaru groaned loudly, lifting one hand to press his thumb and middle finger to either of his suddenly painfully throbbing temples. Unbelievable. Not only did he have to deal with this pathetic excuse of a job, now with absolutely no chances of running away from the sordid life that Fate had laid out for him, but he also had to endure the boy's awful ideas of having fun, and the mood swings that Toushiro had the habit of displaying in the worst of situations. For the past few weeks or so, the two of them had constantly been swaying from not speaking to each other, to tolerating the presence of the other person, to launching into unnecessarily heated fights that irrevocably ended up with the boy being upset, frustrated, or in the most severe of cases – sitting in a heap of silent defeat somewhere away from Gin and other prying eyes. How long this was going to continue – and whether the vicious cycle was going to be broken soon – seemed like a question that no one dared to ask out of fear what the answer was going to turn out to be…
Ichimaru removed his hand from his face and with a thoroughly disgruntled expression made a move to stand, only to halt abruptly when one of the strippers – a tall blonde with incredibly large assets – froze dead in her track just to openly gawk at him. Next thing both males knew, she had burst into an uncontrollable guffaw, slapping Hitsugaya on the shoulder as she held her stomach and tried to say something through the suffocating waves of laughter.
"Sweetheart… You have a spelling mistake." She managed finally and Toushiro's eyes shot wide open in surprise at that comment, a soft gasp escaping his lips before he turned around to survey Ichimaru again, a look of extreme concentration emerging on his face. Gin felt unpleasantly scrutinized and on display as the familiar, now slightly squinted teal eyes, swiped over his face before settling on his forehead. He could almost see the strain that immediately seized the boy's whole frame, the thin streaks of frustration, which the effort irrevocably caused, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care enough. And while Hitsugaya was examining his marker-marred skin, he couldn't help the dull, throbbing sort of emotion that seemed so prone to settling in the center of his chest every second that he was awake. He wasn't entirely certain what it was – he didn't dare call it desperation – albeit it did resemble that trapped, hopeless and so very listless ache that followed those hapless souls that simply hadn't had the luck to not understand how unpromising their future really was. He had valiantly chosen to stay on the ship, yet the ship was still sinking. The dark, threatening clouds were still looming over his head, falling lower and lower, as though awaiting to consume everything that he was in one avid gulp… And the more time went by, the worse things seemed to get, even in such areas of his life that he hadn't previously considered that troublesome.
Ichimaru's grin withered, wrinkling like a burnt piece of paper.
…He had attended Mrs. Mori's funeral the previous day. Yesterday. Just a week ago he had been helping her rearrange her bookshelves so she could reach what she wanted more easily, and now… Now he was futilely trying to bring himself to crawl out of the pit that the event had thrown him into. She was dead. Gone. He had seen it coming, but he hadn't expected it, and now that it had truly happened, acceptance felt like swallowing a chunk of smoldering coal. He just couldn't do it fast enough.
"Are you-" Toushiro's wavering whisper pulled Ichimaru back to reality and once again, he experienced the now painfully familiar sort of longing that tended to latch onto his flesh, muscles, bones, like an infectious and persistent parasite, every time he looked at the white-haired teen. He couldn't remember if he had told the boy about what had happened with his neighbor – the last 24hours were still something of a fog that he had treaded through like a robot with very badly programmed software - but if he had, it kind of made sense that Hitsugaya would be trying to distract him in his own obnoxious ways. Now, how successful those plans were – that was a different story entirely, but it was the thought that counted. "Are you sure?" And again, that pitiful almost pleadingly hopeful sort of tone that could make one laugh out bitterly just as much as it could break a man's heart. Gin honestly didn't know which to choose, or if he even could make up his mind for either of the options, as either seemed unfair. Either appeared too cruel to be applied.
In respond to the question, the blond girl just guffawed twice as hard, the sound obviously startling Hitsugaya as his lips parted ever so slightly and he glanced back at Ichimaru with a look of embarrassment and regret, hands lifting in some undefined gesture before his chest as though he was trying to think of something to say. Without so much as an angry growl, Ichimaru got on his feet and rounded both figures, heading to the bathroom as fast as he could without attracting attention. That proved to be quite a useless effort as by the time he reached his destination, pretty much every dancer in the club had stopped whatever they had been doing to giggle quietly after his retreating form.
"Dammit, pet!" Ichimaru groaned, leaning over the plain white sink and towards the mucky mirror with a look of half shock, half irritation. Under the faint, flickering light that came from the limply hanging bulb above his head, the man could hardly measure the brightness of the ink and how noticeable it really was, but seeing as the letters failed to fade with only water (his suspicion that Toushiro had used a permanent marker proving to be correct), it was probably quite a catchy title that Hitsugaya had given him. And speaking of the title itself… What was probably meant to be an innocent 'Don't tip the barman' had (under the spelling abilities of the dyslexic boy) somehow transformed into a very messy, unevenly written "Don't trip the braman." – a cranky little warning that a lot of people would probably readily follow. Perfect.
Sighing heavily, Ichimaru pushed himself away from the sink and, after one last snort at his reflection, headed towards the exit of the bathroom. He didn't hesitate as he grasped the rickety door handle and pushed it open, but he did grimace a little when the blast of loud techno-music assaulted him full power once again. He hadn't spent much time away from the almost suffocating glamour of the club, but by the time he did choose to leave the confines of his little barricade, a handful of middle-aged people had managed to enter and engage themselves with the company of the bustiest of 'nurses'. Or at least mostly.
The familiar surge of red-hot anger exploded inside Gin's chest and he felt his jaw clench as he watched some guy walk up straight to the side of pole podium and put a possessive hand on Toushiro's ass, cupping it rather crudely through the clothes for a moment before leaning forward to whisper something in the boy's ear. If Hitsugaya disliked the treatment, he definitely didn't show as his game face remained plastered firmly on even when the client bent a little and picked him up bridal style before very ostentatiously striding towards one of the private nooks. Ichimaru's brows arched rather impressively at the sight, the glimpse of a golden watch on the guy's hand making him a little queasy. A rich one, again? Toushiro sure knew how to earn his living…
Trying to ignore the few chuckles (and the recurrent question of 'Who did this to you, man?') that came from the other clients' sides during his valiant journey from the bathroom to the counter, Gin ducked behind the bar and pulled a bottle of cheap vodka out of the many hidden places in his mysterious working place. He wasn't that stupid as to get drunk, no… But at least he could get some of the marker out of his skin with a little alcohol and soap.
It was around six in the morning when the action in the club completely died away, leaving only an exhausted buzz to vibrate vaguely in the now incredibly heated, incredibly stuffy air. All the clients were gone by now, their expensive colognes still clinging unpleasantly to one outfit or the other, and the usual, half-muffled complaints seeped from their respective corners of the club as the dancers talked in groups between themselves about the middle-aged men they had had to cater for. The discussions might've appeared quite trite – cheap, useless gossip about appearance, clothing and intellectual level – had one been forced to listen to those for the first time in their life… but for somebody who had been working at 'Nocturnal' for years now, it irrevocably became clear that such conversations were a necessity for the girls in order for them to maintain their normality. They needed to vent, Ichimaru realized, they needed to let the obscure visages of those leers wear off their skin somehow, and for that to happen, they had to let out whatever emotions had pent up inside of them. All the disgust. All the frustration. All of that spicy, hidden flavor of excitement that bubbled up inside of them when least expected – those feelings had to go.
One way or the other…
A relief or not a relief, though… When it came to those daily discussion that the girls fancied so much, Gin couldn't help it but think that this was the most unbearable part of the job – the moment when the working hours finally came to an end and each stripper consciously or unconsciously got to backpedal mentally to what she (or he) had had to do, and who for. It was the curse of each performer, he had heard Aiko say once, to have to look at yourself from aside and see your own body, your own face, and not recognize it. It killed the alleviation of knowing it was over for the night, and it destroyed the hope that you could somehow feel better once you got home… Life was a roller-coaster as much as it was a stage. A stage that you never got off, that you never descended, changed, left… Things were designed to be difficult.
That much Ichimaru knew.
Glancing briefly at his watch, Gin noted that it was nearly six in the morning, meaning the sun was yet to come out. By now Toushiro had managed to apologize a few times, change in his unusual style of civil clothes, apologize some more, and amiably point out that there was practically no trace of ink left on Ichimaru's forehead after the fox had carefully tended for the misspelt message. While Gin collected every last one of the glasses that had been left on the tables and proceeded to wash them up, Hitsugaya chose to stay behind everybody else, probably to make sure the bartender was alright. The boy didn't say anything about the actual reason he was there, just sitting lazily on the edge of his bar stool and dangling his legs in the air like a child might feel tempted to do on a playground swing, but something in the depths of the now slightly dull teal eyes told enough for the man to be sure that he had mentioned his neighbor's decease to the dyslexic teen. As he was wiping one of the last few (now cleaned) cognac glasses from the excessive moisture, Ichimaru had to admit it to himself that he not only didn't remember such conversation occurring, but was also pretty sure that if it had, he hadn't consciously talked about his personal dramas to the stripper… Which made things just a little bit worse – if he had unconsciously blurted out what had been on his mind while stuck in his personal limbo between self-pitying, self-loathing and misery, then what did that make Hitsugaya? A drainage method for that part of Gin that the fox had been trying to suppress for years?
"Finishing up?" Toushiro asked as he spun fully around along with his seat before stopping just in front of the barman. He looked tired, Gin noticed, very tired, the pallor around his eyes and along his temples just a little bit more intense, a little bit more startling, turning the flesh there into a thin veil of white with a light bluish hue rather than the usual smooth, milky colour. Even the soft smile that was trying to pull on the teen's lips appeared a bit used, like he had maybe worn it one too many times that night to be able to summon it back full force so quickly. Hitsugaya wasn't happy, Ichimaru realized, and a string was struck inside of him all of sudden, the statement now sounding a thousand times heavier than, say, the way it would've been a few days ago. Of course, the fox had always known that the boy was not fond of what he was doing, that he was truly searching for another decently paid job as much as his free time allowed him, but at the same time… He had never fathomed exactly how wretched the white-haired stripper really felt. A part of the man wanted to ask: did Toushiro always look so bad at the end of his work-night? Did he collapse in exhaustion in his lonely, unwelcoming bed upon arriving home, and did he cry? Did he cry, sometimes because of what he knew he had to do, sometimes because of who he was, because of what he couldn't possibly achieve even after a lifetime of trying? Did he cry in the desolating silence of his cold room when he got back after a fight with Ichimaru, or did he just lay there, numb to the world and trying to comprehend what and why Fate had dished out for him?
As he watched Hitsugaya tilt his head to the side in a sort of an impatient gesture, Gin felt his own stomach contract funnily even as he remained completely calm on the outside, mechanically wiping glass after glass and lining them in a perfect row to his left. He noticed the familiar shroud of emotional blindness trying to drape over him again, but he shoved it away, for the first time making the conscious effort to fathom what had been standing before him all along. And what he saw, underneath all the anger, frustration, jealousy, all the hurtful words he had thrown in desperation to shut his eyes to the truth, it could all be summed up pretty easily: I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry I couldn't do the right thing. Now, looking at this boy, sitting here next to the bartender in his own silent attempt to offer comfort and friendship to the same person that had been throwing those back in his face repeatedly, time and time again, Gin felt like crap. He had been trying to blame the very person he couldn't protect for what he, himself, had failed to do. He had accused, and bullied, and tortured someone who could never truly fight back, and he had never wanted to see… See just how much Toushiro was suffering, see how alike they both were. Such knowledge, Ichimaru thought bitterly, his grin stretching inexplicably at the sides as though he was silently mocking the world's wicked idea of an irony, such knowledge he had naturally tried to avoid in order to preserve his own mind and sanity. With Mrs. Mori and Amanda both gone from his life, Gin wasn't sure if he could do this anymore. If he could truly carry on as though nothing had happened, as though nothing was happening.
"I can give ya a ride home." The bartender suggested lightly, but Hitsugaya shook his head, reaching to pinch an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of his jacket and flick it away with his thumb and index finger.
"No need. I'll just catch the bus."
"Well, I'm offerin', which means it ain't no problem fo' me ta drop ya off. Ya can't rely much on traffic at this hour."
"You can't rely on a lot of things at this hour." Hitsugaya pointed out evenly, giving the other male a meaningful, slightly guarded look from underneath his lowered lashes. "Especially not when it comes to people."
Wiping out the last glass and tossing the towel over his shoulder with a sigh, Ichimaru braced both hands on the edge of the counter before leaning over it and towards the boy. The expression of almost startling earnestness had settled upon his features much like a fine layer of paint that coated an already prepared plaster figure, and he spoke up, this time more lowly.
"'m not gonna touch ya, pet. Not if ya dun want me to."
The sound that rolled out of Toushiro's mouth was a spectacular mix between a huff and a laugh, snapping in the air like a little shock of scalding electricity even as the boy leaned back in his stool a little, obviously trying to increase the distance between himself and the other male.
"Well, I don't think I can really trust you when you're upset. Like with Amanda. And to be honest, I'm genuinely scared of what I might do if you push hard enough." Toushiro enunciated quietly and the regret that flashed in his tone burnt Ichimaru similarly to a smoldering ember. This wasn't good.
"I wasn' upset." Gin insisted, slightly immaturely. "'s irrelevant what happened back then. I jus' wanna make sure ya get home in one piece."
"I will, don't worry." Toushiro stated with a tight smile, already sliding off his stool and to the floor. "You still need to figure out some things, Gin. I don't want to get in the way."
"Then what were ya doin' staying behind, huh?" the man inquired, a bit of irritation mixing with the customarily half-mocking tone. Toushiro just smiled sadly at that, nimble fingers already working their way in his fraying leather jacket.
"Being weak." He said quietly before turning around on his heel and walking out of the bar.
Without Toushiro to distract him with his presence, Ichimaru finished up his work in the club over-hastily for about five minutes before fetching his jacket and heading for the exit, a bunch of keys jangling merrily in his hand as he turned off all the lights and ran a mental check over everything that he should've done. He hadn't missed a thing.
Pushing the door open, he walked out and closed it behind himself, turning around to lock up with a small frown on his face. The morning darkness made it a little hard to see whether he'd got the key in the keyhole, and right now the task seemed even harder as the gentle autumn rain that was drizzling over the still empty streets appeared to be intensifying the gloom. Eventually he finished up with a satisfying click and was just preparing to head towards his truck when something caught his attention and made him freeze dead in his track.
To a less observant person the strange black thing that was lying in a forming puddle of water might've seemed unimportant and easily neglectable, but for Gin, who had seen the very same object millions of times before, twirled around in a pair of pale glove-clad hands, this little discovery was more than just unwelcomed. It was alarming.
With one quick glance around, Ichimaru crossed the distance between himself and the gadget, picking it up from the asphalt with a sense of inevitability that only increased when he flipped it over and wiped the moist screen with his thumb in order to take a closer look. The plastic felt rough and uneven under his touch, lacking that fine and exquisite delicacy that the more recent versions of the same model possessed, and probably exactly because of this seeing such device nowadays was turning into an increasing rarity… A fact that made this little discovery all the more worrisome.
"Fuck…" he cursed, a crippling feeling of dread crawling up his spine as the dated device buzzed to life, informing its finder that it was indeed Toushiro's beat up mobile phone, alive and well, yet without its master anywhere in the near vicinity. Somewhere between the fog of anxiety and apprehension that was trying to blur his vision, Ichimaru couldn't help it but once again think that this thing was practically immortal. Like some kind of a super-being, it had survived all sorts of accidents in and outside the club, and was now, too, still functioning, even after what had probably been a perilous fall and a few minutes spent under the assault of the rain. How the water hadn't managed to permeate the core of the cell phone and mess with its system, was beyond Gin, but as he absently pushed several buttons to check the mobile's condition, a large, heavy lump of distress started to accumulate in the pit of his stomach. Underneath the layers of cotton and polyester that were his clothes, he felt his muscles go stiff with tension, and his brows knitted together in an almost painful frown that only deepened when he lifted his gaze from where it had been glued on the gadget just a moment ago to stare unseeingly before him.
This can't be good…
Toushiro might've been many things due to his dyslexia: easily distractible, forgetful, unorganized, etc, but it took quite a lot to drop your (exceptionally bulky) mobile phone and not notice. And judging by his own intuition, his own frantically raising pulse and the cold, suffocating sensation that was trying to choke and immobilize him, Ichimaru was more than certain something wasn't right. He had heard enough about hate crimes, he had seen enough articles in newspapers about victims of violence to know that being a male stripper was not the safest occupation one could come up with. And just thinking about it… just considering the idea that someone could possibly hurt his Toushiro made the man feel queasy; it quaked his whole world to the core like nothing he had ever imagined. No… no,no,no…
This is all wrong. All wrong.
Pushing those thoughts away before they had managed to overwhelm him, Gin turned around, wide, searing red eyes swiping with deranged urgency around the area for a trace of the boy - a trace that naturally wasn't there. His hand clenched tighter around the mobile he was still holding possessively to his chest and he looked back at the sidewalk where he had found the device, the obscure illumination of the street lamps depicting a rather unwelcoming little path before him – one that he was sure Toushiro had never taken before. Not by choice, anyway.
Without another moment to think things through, Gin bolted down the street, silently praying that he wasn't too late, that he could still do something. His legs felt practically nonexistent as he ran, pausing for merely a second or so before the beginning of each allay so he could peek inside, find nothing, yet again, and feel a crazy sort of desperation press down at his chest as though he was breathing lead rather than air. The calm autumn drizzle had transformed into a full-blown rain and it was now falling obnoxiously in his eyes, marring his vision and making the whole situation that much worse, because he had no idea where he was going, and he dared not call out for the boy out of fear that this could make things worse for the teen. There was practically no one out at this time of the day, and so there was nobody to ask, not a soul to seek help from, and even if there was, Ichimaru wasn't sure he would've risked spending a single trice talking to another human being. At this point, as he kept sinking deeper into the street and his own terror, he didn't think he was capable of trusting anyone other than himself. Of blaming anyone other than himself… If he had just gone and stopped Toushiro… and there were so many times he could've, not just tonight, not just this time, this week, this month… If he had just had the courage to go against his own mind, this wouldn't have- …
…And then he heard it.
It was a muffled, barely audible cry, followed by the sound of something crashing against something else, but it was there nonetheless, and Ichimaru halted to a stop, his chest clenching in a deep, terrifying spasm. He was turning right before his brain could even catch up with what his body was doing, and he was moving again, pushing himself even faster as the narrow alley before him opened up and spread like the fingers of a large hand. He felt no ache and no fatigue as he ran, no physical discomfort or unwillingness, and for once, he did not diminish his view of the world to a mere slit of scenery that could filter beneath the protective curtain of his eyelids – instead, he kept his eyes wide open and ready to consume the world as it was… Ready to fight for those tarnished pieces of heart that he still had left, as long as it meant he could protect the one thing that mattered.
He was a miscreant and a sinner, Ichimaru, he knew that. He would never be a hero, or an example for anyone to follow, he would never achieve enough to stand out and be somebody… But right now, did any of that matter? Did it matter who he was, what he had done or what he hadn't been able to do?
No.
All that mattered was the person that wasn't standing beside him this very moment, and like every other selfish, self-centered human being, he realized that just a moment too late…
Something white flashed in the distance and the sight of it nearly made Gin trip as a jolt of electricity shot through his whole being like a lightening. He saw Hitsugaya, back against the side of a car, and he saw the unfamiliar man, standing tall and menacing over the boy, and he saw those long digits clasped around the teen's throat, the look of pain and defeat on Toushiro's face, and the buckling of the smaller male's knees, the flash of gun, the fluttering of the beloved eyes as they attempted to shut the world out … but most of all, Ichimaru saw bright, burning red. Red that bled for a thousand bodies, red that ran prime and hot through him and set his muscles of fire, the kind of red that he could not rein in, even if he tried. He hardly felt like himself when he grasped the man's collar and yanked him away from the boy, grasping the wrist of the hand that held the lethal weapon so he could deviate the path of any potential shot. And a shot there was, but the piercing screech of a bullet as it ripped through the air did not reach him, only the satisfying crack of bone when he finally hit the man in the jaw and sent the stranger reeling backwards. The gun clattered on the ground useless and harmless without the cold-hearted finger of its owner to operate the trigger, and Ichimaru found himself punching again, this man's stomach, his sides, all the places that he knew the guy had hit Toushiro. He was so far gone by the time the stranger collapsed unconscious, that Gin was literally disappointed by having been forced to stop. He was gasping for breath now, aching, nearly soaking wet from the rain, but he couldn't bring himself to care about anything. Anything-…
"Gin-"
Except….
He spun around, eyes automatically sliding into thin slits again as the water from his damp fringe started dripping down into stinging rivulets, and he let out a low growl, frame slumping down wearily when he finally looked at Toushiro. With one trembling arm wrapped around his stomach, still coughing sporadically in attempts to regain his regular breathing, Hitsugaya was barely a pale, half-conscious shadow of himself. His teal orbs, weary and swimming with shock and terror, were now staring straight at the bartender, a bit of puzzlement reflecting in the mind-benumbing mix of emotions that filled those two pools in a way that made the man feel strangely disorientated all of a sudden.
"You came for me." The boy whispered hoarsely and the disbelief he never even tried to hide came to the surface with punishing sincerity that had Ichimaru crossing the distance between himself and the teen with two long strides. Then, as he wrapped his arms around the smaller male's shaking form, Gin found himself clutching this child for dear life. Like a dying man, clinging to the last thing that made sense in the world, to the last sparkle of pure light that meant something, that was worth living for.
"I've got ya." The man uttered softly, struggling to close his jacket around both of them for a moment. "I'm here, I'm here an' I've got ya. An' I'm neva' lettin' go again, okay? Never. Letting go…"
Act Eight: Completion
8.
The police came shortly once they remembered to call, arriving several minutes later along with an ambulance. Whether because the police officer was one of Toushiro's clients, or because the boy looked so wretched and shaken that no one wanted to protract the process, they arrested the man and let the other two go fairly quickly. By that time, it had turned out that the guy had attacked Hitsugaya outside the club and tried to drag him off – probably to his car, judging by the nature of the crime. How the boy had ended up so far away from 'Nocturnal' became clear after a very messy, half-sobbed explanation from the teen's side about how he had attempted to run off only to get confused and end up further away from his job place rather than the other way around. The stranger had apparently caught him there and with a couple of punches in the stomach made sure that Toushiro wouldn't repeat the stunt again.
"I don't even know him!" the boy had cried out when the questions had apparently become a bit too much to bear. Ichimaru had nearly flinched at the underlying shade of pleading in the younger one's tone, but had remained silent, watching from a few meters away as Hitsugaya squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, obviously trying to block out the officer that was jotting down all testimony in a wrinkled notepad. "I-I don't know if he's come to the bar before, I can't possibly remember everybody. But he kept-… He kept saying that I had ruined his marriage. That I had messed with his head, that I had done it on purpose, and that my 'kind' didn't deserve to-... I don't know. He made no sense, and he wouldn't listen when I tried to tell him that I don't even know his name."
The whole situation was absurd, however one tried to look at it. The guy was obviously a psycho (you didn't really need a doctor to see that), something had made him snap, possibly issues at home, and he had ended up looking for a human punch bag – anyone who he could blame his misery on – and had apparently remembered his several months old visit in 'Nocturnal'…
No one would miss a diminutive stripper boy, right?
Gin didn't really need one of the policemen to tell him not to leave Toushiro alone for a while: he had made up his mind to take the white-haired teen home for the night (well, day, actually) a long time ago. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the younger male was on the verge of an emotional breakdown and leaving someone by themselves at such a moment was simply unthinkable. Hitsugaya needed to get away from all the buzz, all the questions, the people, the rain, the smell of moist streets and awaking city… He needed to escape from the world for a couple of hours - just that. And then maybe after they had both had a shower, a cup of tea and lots of sleep, they could finally collect the pieces of their scattered thoughts and get a hold of themselves. Maybe.
A maybe was enough.
Yes. For the first time maybe was enough, Ichimaru realized with a certain hint of surprise as he wrapped his arm around Toushiro's shoulders (his large jacket still draped over the boy's slim frame) and led them both back to the truck. He didn't need a constant, defined path to follow, rules to live by, ideas to pursue without a care about the price… he didn't want that anymore. A chance, as small as it was, was perfect. Real. Enough…
And he was embracing it with opened arms...
They traveled in complete silence, Hitsugaya's small body curled in a ball against the window beside the passenger's seat, knees pulled to his chest and tiny fists twisting the edges of the fox's clothing tighter around him in a way that made the man pretty sure the boy had fallen asleep in his own tiny bundle. But then, just as they were already nearing Gin's street, the teen turned his head a little and spoke up, his voice thick and heavy, shattering just a bit at the end as he forced the words out one after the other.
"Have you ever wished you never met me?"
The bartender's brows formed two high arches as he glanced at Toushiro with the corner of his eye, not trusting himself enough to completely look away from the road. The teen didn't show any other signs of movement, face still half-glued to the window and lips twisted into an expressionless kind of shape that made the boy seem all the more overwhelmed by dolor.
"Why are ya askin' me this?" Gin murmured quietly, already sort of glad that they were reaching their destination. He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was going and as the other male's frame visibly shuddered next to him, that sensation only got worse.
"Just be honest. Please." This time Hitsugaya's voice bent unnaturally, cracking awfully with the last word even through the salient fight the teen was obstinately putting up. Exhaling gingerly through his nose, Ichimaru gripped the steering wheel tighter, harder and gradually began slowing down till he was pulling up in front of a rather tall apartment building. The gravel popped and cracked under the tyres as he maneuvered the truck properly in the not-so-vast space that was provided for parking, and the sound felt like some sort of a mocking cackle that just underlined how quiet everything really was inside the vehicle. Wasting a few more moments to adjust the machine, Gin tried to come up with a good enough answer for the teen's question, a bit of that deep, burning kind of emotion corroding his stomach even before he had started talking. He wasn't going to go an lie to himself by saying he didn't know the answer, but giving that answer felt both too right and too wrong altogether, making him procrastinate his retort till he had completely killed the engine – a decision that he dearly regretted once he finally turned to look at his little passenger.
Toushiro's whole body appeared to had grown even smaller, hiding into itself as the frown on his forehead had smoothened out into an indescribable, trapped sort of furrow that seemed to reach the very corners of his lips and tug them into a trembling resemblance of a bitter smile. A thick layer of unshed moisture had gathered over his eyes, the glaze flickering glossily in the meager, rusty sunrise light even as the teen battled to hold back the tears. The whole sight was so personal, so emotionally saturated, that Ichimaru found himself swallowing hard, praying that the boy didn't look at him now because even without that intense teal gaze directed at him, Gin felt stripped off every ability to lie, every desire to deceive, every part of him that could pull him out of this situation unharmed.
"Yeah… More than once." He admitted lowly, and when Hitsugaya's eyes fluttered shut in defeat, hot, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks, a pang of pain shot through the man's body like a dose of scalding poison. He forced the lump of guilt down his throat and tried again, this time more quietly, more imploringly. "Pet… I wouldn' have if I didn' care so fuckin' much, dun ya get that? If ya hadn' changed so many things fo' me, if yer comin' inta mah life didn' make a difference, I wouldn' have spared ya a moment of thought... But it does, it does matter, you do matter."
"Not enough, though." Toushiro choked out, eyelids still lowered as he refused to look at the man beside him and reached with trembling fingers to wipe the moisture off his cheekbones even as the tears kept coming, silently and pitifully, in a punishing sequence that never seemed to cease. "Not nearly enough."
"Tha's not true."
"It is and you know it." The boy snapped weakly, pursing his lips hard for a moment, harder, harder, harder, till his mouth was a mere white line of tension and anguish. "You're everything, but you are nothing to me. And that's your choice. I just have to learn to respect it."
"Pet-"
"Cuz next time you might not be there when a psychopath decides to start his serial murder career with me." Toushiro finished acidly, the flavor of mockery in his tone not necessarily directed at Gin as he pulled his knees even tighter to his chest and let his chin fall on top of them with a sigh. "I wish we had a beginning so we could have a closure. A real closure, with lots of shouting and name calling and everything... But I guess I don't deserve even that kind of a luxury, do I…?"
Before he could even comprehend what he was doing, Ichimaru was out of the truck, rounding it with stiff, determined strides, and yanking Toushiro's door open with urgency that seemed to make the boy jump back with a hint of anxiety. The pair of startlingly large, if slightly wary jade eyes, widened just a bit and Toushiro's breath hitched as Gin braced his hands on the roof of the truck and leaned inside, slowly, slowly, till Hitsugaya had nowhere to run without it being too obvious. Till there was no personal space in existence that either of them could consider minding, and the tips of their noses were nearly brushing against one another.
"I'll be there every fuckin' time an' I'll beat up as many psychos as I havta. Dun ya eva forget that. Dun ya ever even doubt it."
"I don't want you to give me promises that you'll be trying to forget tomorrow." Hitsugaya whispered in a flat, defeated voice. "I know that I'm no good for you. You could've been so much happier now, with Amanda."
"Happier?" Ichimaru repeated incredulously, his exclamation half a laugh as he let his right hand slip off the roof of the car and reach before him to gently cup one of Toushiro's cheeks. "I'd neva be happy with her. I wanted to believe otherwise, an' I tried tellin' mahself tha' I could do it, but at the end of the day the thought o' marryin' tha' girl terrified me beyond belief. I wouldn' have shown up on mah own wedding, pet, I realize that now… I wouldn' have been able ta get through with the ceremony, with or without meetin' ya at all." Sinking down till he was crouching beside the boy's feet, gaze fixed up at the teen and the place where his own thumb was caressing the pale flesh under the other one's red-rimmed eye, Ichimaru tilted his head to the side before continuing, much more gently than before. "It scared me, from day one, how well ya seemed ta know me, how ya managed to figure out things about mah life, mah problems, mah mistakes, before even I could sort those out. Ya were so certain bout everythin', in your own pure and honest kind of way, tha' I-… I guess I didn' kno' how ta deal with it. Didn' kno' how ta cope with something so young, and innocent, and so, so much smarter than me, in so many ways." He paused, watching intently as the boy's features crumpled with barely contained emotion, features twisting with disbelief as he shook his head, again, and again, and again, a small 'no' occasionally forming on his lips even when Gin's left hand found the teen's other cheek and held him still. Pausing until he was sure Hitsugaya was looking at him, Ichimaru took a deep breath and added shakily. "I'm so, so sorry, Toushiro. For everythin' I've eva done or said ta hurt ya… I am sorry."
Next thing he knew, he was struggling to maintain an armful of Toushiro.
Ichimaru's apartment was consisted of one bedroom, a bathroom, an incredibly small kitchen and a modest living-room. The walls were peeling around the corners, the chipped paint screaming for renovation that it was hardly going to see in the near future, and the lamps seemed somewhat squalid and unclean, spreading wooly artificial light around themselves in a way that only made the whole flat seem all the more unwelcoming. Everything around the place screamed 'bachelor': from the piles of clothes, thrown in peculiar and unfathomable places around the abode, to the wide variety of junk that decorated every surface available and the complete lack of organization that the man failed to notice unless he was in search of something.
Gin had never really cared much about how his apartment looked to the few visitors that he'd ever had there, but now that he opened the door and stepped aside to let Toushiro walk in, he had a moment of vague self-consciousness - a feeling that easily dissipated when the boy turned around and gave the bartender a small smile.
"Looks exactly how I've imagined it." He pointed out quietly, if a little teasingly, and Ichimaru just shrugged, unsure what else to do as the relief washed over him like a soothing tide of lukewarm water.
It took the man about five minutes to remember what he had to do, but once he did, the work itself was executed fairly quickly. Without much ado, Gin produced a pile of towels from the top of his wardrobe, a pair of worn out navy blue slippers and a set of comfortable cotton clothes that were undoubtedly incredibly over-sized for Toushiro's small frame. Once he had fetched everything that was needed, Ichimaru proceeded to usher the boy in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to take a shower and try and relax while he prepared some tea. Hitsugaya appeared slightly baffled by the fuss, but didn't protest, probably both too tired to do so and too tempted to wash the night off his skin to even try to be modest about it.
A minute after he heard the bathroom door close, Ichimaru found himself getting increasingly frustrated with the horror that was his cramped kitchen. Maneuvering between the old fridge and the large, rusty sink proved to be nearly impossible as his tall, lanky body appeared wrongly designed for such environment (even with all the diligence that he had put in learning how to operate in such atmosphere over the years). With some grumbling and lots of efforts, the man eventually managed to get a hold of the small jar at the very end of one of the top shelves and pop its lid open, glancing inside with a sense of victory that quickly vanished once he saw what rested inside the little glass sanctuary.
"Great." The bartender murmured, mildly irritated as he realized that he barely had enough tea for one cup, let alone two. Tea wasn't exactly cheap nowadays, but it was one of the few cravings that Gin allowed himself to indulge, and so he made a mental note to refill his supplies later on, before launching into yet another quest, this time for one of those packaged teabags that he hated so much.
Twenty minutes and some more, half-muffled cursing later, Ichimaru had successfully set a tray with two cups and whatever snacks he had managed to find… which wasn't all that much. Actually, he realized, a bit of gall rising in his throat as he surveyed his sad creation, this was an incredibly pathetic way to greet a guest. No wonder he rarely had any.
The soft sound of the bathroom door being opened and closed somewhere in the apartment snapped him back to reality, and he bit the side of his mouth, deliberately forcing his body to remain still even with the quiet tap of slippers-clad feet patting around the place. He remained in his spot till he was sure Toushiro had retreated to the living room, a deep exhale escaping the man's lips as he glanced at his watch. Leaning lazily against the counter on one arm, he tried to coerce some patience into his system, giving Hitsugaya the time and space he needed to get decent even with Ichimaru's first instincts whimpering to get the fox moving this very moment. In any other circumstances he wouldn't have bothered to be this considerate of whether the boy was properly dressed or not, but he had the feeling that in the light of the recent events he could do at least that much.
When he finally decided it was okay to enter the living-room with his arsenal of tea and whatnot, he was surprised to find Toushiro standing at the far end of the room, hands gripping the edge of the over-sized shirt he was now wearing to pull the thing upwards and bare his stomach. Instantly, Ichimaru felt his whole body go rigid, his scowl deepening considerably as a flash of blue caught his eye for barely a second before the boy noticed him and quickly smoothened down the fabric of his attire.
"Hey." He murmured quietly, a nervous smile tugging on the edges of his lips as he turned to face his host gingerly, somewhat restlessly even. Placing the tray on the nearest surface that he found, Gin slowly made his way towards his diminutive guest, watching Toushiro's face closely, intently, almost as if he was too afraid to look away, lest the boy disappeared in that little particle of time. Like a robot, programmed to be doing just that, Ichimaru found himself standing unnaturally closely to the shorter male, one hand tentatively reaching to take a hold of the edge of Hitsugaya's shirt and tug on it just a bit.
"Ya dun havta hide from me." Gin stated firmly, head lowering as he watched his own fingers twitch uneasily around the garment before carefully, deliberately lifting the fabric up to reveal what was laying underneath. He could literally hear, feel, sense, the boy's breathing as it hitch somewhere near his own shoulder, tension pouring in Toushiro's every muscle despite how hard the man was trying not to pay attention to the reaction, focusing instead on the inches of bruising skin that prickled even without him touching it. "Ya hear me, pet? No hidin'. Neva'. Again…" He brushed his thumb across the purple splotches, caressing them one after the other, in a remorseful gesture that he knew the other one would understand, and felt his own brows knit together with the strain, and guilt, and the desire to make it better. Fix this, in some, any way… Because wasn't it his fault that it had come to this? Wasn't it he who had guided Hitsugaya down the thorny, dangerous road that he was now walking upon? Why did it have to come to this so I'd learn…? Why did I have to be so wrong, about so many things, so many times... Before him, clad in just a pair of grey sweats and this meager, white cotton shirt - over-sized to the point where it bared half of his left shoulder for the world to see - Toushiro looked astoundingly small, frail, untouched… From the tips of his fingers, to the foolishly exposed neck, the sea of damp spikes that fell in such childishly unkempt mess, and the slightly parted plush lips, Hitsugaya was, without a jot of doubt, the most beautiful, the most perfect person that Ichimaru had ever seen.
"I didn't want you to be angry." The boy whispered and Gin felt the suffocating urge to block out that helpless, mellifluous sweetness that was this creature's voice. Angry? How could Toushiro even consider that?
Like a madman, losing himself in a dream-like reality, Ichimaru lifted his gaze and stepped just a little closer, both his hands now toying with the edge of the teen's shirt. His eyes slid open just a bit and he met Hitsugaya's timidly widened ones for a trice before leaning forward to press his forehead against the boy's still slightly damp one. In a moment that failed to belong to the reality, a moment so effervescent, so beautiful, lost, that it hurt to watch, Toushiro's fingers lifted to slide up the man's chest until they found the back of Gin's neck and settled there in a trembling knot of anticipation. How can this be wrong? How can it be wrong, when it feels so right…? Captured in their own bubble of wonder and uncertainty, the two of them stayed this way, ensnared, forgotten, and so frighteningly unsure of what to do next. How to carry on, when they had been tiptoeing along this thin borderline of desire for such a long time...
And then…
"I really want ta kiss ya right now." Ichimaru susurrated, moving just a bit till his breath was ghosting right over Toushiro's parted lips. He felt, rather than saw, the boy's eyes flutter shut in an inexplicable, platonic kind of delight.
"Do it." Hitsugaya uttered weakly, similarly to a soldier, giving up on a hopeless fight.
And then their lips touched, and that was it. That was it.
One word.
Completion.
A/N: Well, then... I feel that I'm losing my GinHitsu readers... So go on and prove me wrong! Review! *Bambi eyes*
...Next time: SMUT! Then in chapter 6: Missing Scenes. And maybe some more smut, if I feel like it. ^^