Gah, sorry it's been so long since I updated. I'm trying to write long and well and fast and this doesn't work for us poor Grammar School students x_x Barely getting any free time. But hopefully this chapter will be a lot longer than the others, anyway.
P.S. I forgot to mention last chapter… I'm British so I find writing the American 'ass' instead of 'arse' a bit odd. Anyone bothered by this? 'Ass' does suit the story more but I can't write it without mentally depicting everyone as Texan farmers…
I over think these things. I'm sorry.
Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain
-Joseph Campbell
Chapter 3
If anything had been happening outside, I couldn't care less. If my mobile starting trilling to tell me of my family's demise, I wouldn't be particularly perturbed. Happily drifting along on my cloud of lassitude that encircled me with its wispy streams of mist, embracing me with its benign warmth, anything not regarding what was happening right here and now was not of my concern. My back bent in an awkward place, my legs were cramped from the abandoned rucksack in the foot-well and my neck was cricked from hanging down on the snowy tufts below me - but the minor aches paled into comparison when I thought of the complete contentment I felt. I hadn't slept that well in years. No purple blotches would mar the skin under my eyelids. No headaches would ultimately split my skull. I finally felt as though I was thoroughly rested, thoroughly satisfied with my current body and mindset. I slid down in the seat and felt some kind of bone in my spine click back into place. The relief was instantaneous and I let a sigh slip through my lips, exhaling through my nose at the same time. The feathery tresses tickled the end of my nostrils and I barely suppressed a smile. Of course. I'd slept with Tōshirō on my knee. No wonder I felt rejuvenated.
My grip on him tightened somewhat and I rolled to my left slightly. The natural curve of my body allowed him to fit snugly into my torso, like he was bespoke for me alone. My chin travelled from the top of his head and down to his shoulder. I sniffed at his skin. It smelt rural - like grass and earth and herbs. It was a nice smell. I felt a stirring in my chest. My fingers reached around his arm and pulled him closer to my body, trying to tessellate the boy with me. I tried to weld him to my side as gently as I could. It still didn't feel close enough. Ah well, I thought dryly. Don't want to push my luck. Soft sighs dripped from his lips, thin as water. The contented breaths were that prevalent that they seemed to be just his inhalations; but it was too happy to be just breathing. Letting my eyes flutter shut once more, we both sank back into the soothing shroud of satisfaction where we should have been granted to lay forever.
Blaring horns and sirens were my wake-up call. The wild cacophony snapped me out of my listless daze, sending my head flying back to see where they were. Shit.
"Tōshirō," I whispered gently into his ear. I didn't want to wake him, not now. Not when he was so at peace, his face relaxed. But now wasn't the time for petty indulgences. I squeezed his arm and held him closer for just one moment. He would wake then the moment would be over. I only had so much time - and I wanted to savour it.
"I know." The reply came quicker than I had expected. My arms tensed. He'd been awake. With much reluctance, my fingers unfurled from around his arms, only to have them stopped by another set of milky, lithe appendages.
"Tōshirō?" Incredulity was thick in my tone. How was he not mad, or upset in the least?
"They aren't coming for us. There was a fire a few streets down." His tiny hands curled around the jacket and pulled it over his shoulder. He brought his legs up to meet his stomach and pressed his cheek into the dip in my chest. Another sigh permeated his lips. "We have time."
How the hell was he so calm, so unperturbed by our situation? If he'd been awake then surely his mind was clear enough to realise that they were after us? We didn't have time to keep this hazy state of mind.
"N-no," I stammered, pulling my jacket off of him. His skin twitched at the cold. "We have to go."
His shoulders sagged slightly. With deliberate tardiness, he brushed his cheek against my torso and looked up at me. Then, very slowly, his lids lifted. A dark jade colour shot at me instantly, irises rimmed with black. Something feral sparked in his eyes, his pupils were dilated but thin; he glared up at me with panther-like intensity. An unreadable emotion pooled in his eyes; it was palpable in those blazing orbs, but I couldn't identify it. Whatever it was in him that changed, the animalistic gleam in his eyes piqued my interest. How the hell would I let go of him now?
"You're right," he drawled furtively. He rolled out of my grip and I clutched after him. That teasing little bastard, I mentally groused. He clambered over the handbrake and settled back into the driving seat as though nothing had happened; as though I hadn't been embracing him like a lover all of ten seconds ago. I suddenly felt utterly incomplete without him. It was like when you had been holding a coat in the crook of your elbow - then you shifted it and couldn't find the warm spot where your arm had been. I felt cold and empty. He ducked down into the foot-well and fumbled around for a few seconds. I was about to ask him what he was doing, but he came back up with the marinade needle and bottle of water, sugar and salt in his hands.
"What is all that?" I asked, nodding towards the bottle and syringe.
"A makeshift IV." Dexterous fingers popped off the top and dunked the needle into the solution. "Trained in this kind of stuff." He pulled the full syringe out of the bottle and jabbed it straight into his arm, not even wincing. I had to turn away and cringe. It was still completely disgusting, no doubt about it. A sigh and frugal clatter informed me that he had finished and I twisted back to fully look at him.
"Where are you hurt?" The words left my mouth before I had even thought them. I wanted to recoil the hand that was reaching for him, but any attempts would be in vain. To my surprise, he simply batted the offending limb away. I'd expected something more… violent.
"Doesn't matter." He pulled several levers and the engine roared. "We need to go."
He pulled the truck out of our alleyway and drove premeditatedly in the exact opposite direction of the dissonance. Wailing sirens began to fade into a murky background noise, until it disappeared completely when we exited the rough town. I'd given up on trying to find out where we were exactly; I'd lost track about an hour after we left Karakura.
The silence filled journey was too much to tolerate. Tōshirō could deny it all he wanted; he could completely negate the fact that I had just held onto him with something much more fervent than a simple yearning to keep him warm - but I couldn't. Now I didn't feel the desire to get to know him, to brush that indelible scowl off of his face; I felt the complete and utter, debauched need to hold him, to touch him - any moment we spent apart would have me swimming in pain, crying out in it. He was my comfort blanket, my last resort. It was the kind of notion that was ripped straight from some insipid romance novel that I didn't care to name. Something about a girl falling in love with a sparkly vampire the first time she saw him even though she was scared shitless - I don't know, I'd only heard Rukia incessantly blathering on about it. I'd always thought she was pathetic. Love at first sight doesn't exist; was what I had told myself. I knew, because I loved Rukia, didn't I? Love happens through sharing feelings and understanding each other, right? There was no way I could have fallen in love with a person I had just met who was so aloof, so mysterious, that I knew nothing about him, was there?
Glancing across at Tōshirō, I wasn't so sure.
"You know what you said about your mother…"
His quiet voice interrupted my thoughts. My head snapped to the side. His face was the picture of concentration. I was sure he was trying to watch the road, desperately trying not to look at me. I could have just been kidding myself, though.
"… why were you so offended? I wasn't being impudent." The last sentence he uttered sounded childish, as if I had affronted him.
But what did he mean, why was I offended? Was that not obvious? "Because you insulted my mother. That is why."
"But why is that a problem?" His tone meant he didn't understand. He didn't understand why insulting my dead mother would offend me. "Not that I intended to, but you would not have reacted that way if I had insulted another one of the deceased. Why is it such a problem?"
My lips parted slightly and I blinked at him. What was he talking about? You can't be serious! "Tōshirō! I love her! She's my mother and I love her, so your insults do not bode well with me!"
That goddamned bewildered look on his face remained. It was as though I was trying to explain my theories on life to him. But then he said something I could not comprehend.
"So you love her because you have to?"
My jaw jutted out. I couldn't believe him. He was sick, something was wrong with him. He couldn't understand the basic human relationships of mother and kin. How could he not understand that?
But, I thought, I had said she was my mother and I loved her. To him, he would have interpreted that as 'I love her because she is my mother'. He was implying that I only loved her because I felt the obligation to; because she was the one who brought me into the world. She was the one who fed me, clothed me, raised me, sent me to school… saved my life that day. What if he was right? Who was to say I loved her because of her. What if I had never met her, if she had never been my mother? If I had met her through some other circumstance, would I still love her the way I do now? … Of course I would, she's my mother.
And it was my reasoning that decided my answer. "I love her because she was a kind lady. Yes, her being my mother was the reason I got the chance to know her and spend time with her, but if she was my mother and she was a horrible woman then I wouldn't love her, would I?"
His finger tapped on the steering wheel. He never mentioned the subject again.
"I have a question…"
"You have several, don't you?"
"You know me too well," I grinned sardonically. Another few minutes of unremitting silence allowed me to pick my next questions carefully. I trusted him now. I could ask more daring questions. "What is wrong with you?"
He eyes flickered towards me, glinting with annoyance and incredulity. "That's a bit vague. Care to expand?"
Oh I did. "You have something wrong with you - up there." I nodded towards his forehead. "I want to know what." I leaned back on my elbow, chin in palm, grinning madly. I felt like such a stud - it was laughable. "Insanity and sadism not included."
A thin, white brow arched and plush lips twisted. Well, his look had out-sexified mine by a long shot. He could make the most attractive man look like a beggar with a simple flash of his arrogant, crooked smile. "Might you be implying that I have some sort of mental ailment?"
"Yes." No point elaborating on that.
The tapping increased in tempo and he exhaled. "And here I thought I was keeping it well hidden."
My grin widened. Finally, I had gotten something right about him. Maybe I was starting to understand him, even if for just a trice. "Would you like to tell me what they are? You know if you don't I'll just keep nagging."
The thought of his grin growing cockier than it already was seemed like an impossibility, yet a slight slope in his eyebrows and a tilt down of his head proved otherwise. His lips twisted from side to side. He was contemplating whether or not to tell me; or, at least, he looked like it. It was more likely that he knew whether he would indulge me with the information or hang me out to dry; he just enjoyed toying with me. 'Sociopath' was one of the labels I thought I might grant him. "Alright then," he finally conceded. The tapping finger unfurled from around the steering wheel and stood erect. Next, he made a peace sign - two diseases. Then, with predetermined slowness, a third one straightened out. "ADD, Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia."
I blinked. Three? Bipolar Disorder I had guessed from his constant switch between mild arrogance and fury - but ADD? Schizophrenia? "I…" I stuttered. "I didn't know…"
"Of course you didn't," he scoffed. "That's why you asked." The hand gripped the wheel once more.
I couldn't help but stare at him. For once, I stared past his lithe body, past his beautiful face, through those haughty orbs and I tried to stare into his mind. I wondered what thoughts coerced their way through the little wires in his brain; I wondered what each of those diseases looked like. When he had a flash of anger, did something in his brain tick? Maybe it was like a virus - working its way throughout his mind, then spreading to the rest of his body like poison. Maybe he saw sparks when the worm wriggled into his conscience, or maybe it was some kind of dull ache. What if it was constantly there, burning in the back of his mind as he constantly tried to suppress it? I wouldn't know - as far as I was concerned I was mentally stable - so I continued to wonder. What about the ADD? Did he even listen to me when I talked to him? I surmised that it took too much of his concentration to pay attention to the road and me at the same time… so why did he do it; how did he manage? My mind drifted to odd things such as oblivion and eternity, trying to comprehend wires and connections. The human brain is an odd little thing, filled with electricity and other little thoughts - so easily broken by something as small as an atom missing from DNA, so susceptible to influence; so easily swayed by malevolence and deceit. I wondered what had turned Tōshirō's mind.
As for his Schizophrenia… I didn't even want to think of what part of reality Tōshirō didn't find real.
"Your face just crumpled," Tōshirō noted. "You thought about the Schizophrenia, didn't you?"
"You're living in a fantasy world, that's why you're running from the police." I couldn't think of any other logical conclusion. Tōshirō had done something under the influence of his mental disorders and was now being punished for that. Schizophrenia made you hear voices, didn't it? What if a voice had told him to do something bad; something dangerous?
"I never said anything about the police."
"It's obvious."
He exhaled sharply and I saw his hand twitch towards his pocket again. His mouth pursed again and his face paled slightly. I was stressing him out. I leaned over and placed a hand on his, stopping its movements. His head snapped towards me and he shot a murderous glare. With those teal orbs penetrating mine, I never felt so at risk.
"No," I ordered. I would not let him smoke. And I would not let him shoot me either, but that was an afterthought. He couldn't ruin himself anymore than he already was. He had been cursed with those disorders and as hard as it must have been for him, he could not allow himself to destroy his body. More importantly, I would not let him. Not at all. "You can't smoke and drive."
The way his lip curled; I was sure he was going to hiss at me, or at least growl. He had to do one of the two. It was healthy. But when his forearm loosened, I knew he was settled. The ride became steadier when he could focus again and we stopped swerving every few seconds. I was reluctant to let go, but I didn't want to push him. I leaned back into my seat again and rested my head against the seatbelt. I suddenly felt tired, my fatigue returning just as quickly as it had dissipated. My eyelids shut and I willed myself to sleep. Silence - it's a beautiful thing when induced at the right time.
"I was in my right mind when I did it." His voice was too sweet. It was too sad. It was too damned out of character to be Tōshirō, yet when I opened my eyes I confirmed it was him. "It'd be nice if I could blame it on the Schizophrenia."
"Why don't you, then?" I mumbled sleepily.
"Because it's my disorders that make me a good sniper."
If I were a dog my ears would have pricked. In fact, they did anyway. I bolted upright and stared at him. Whether he realised it or not he had just told me who he was. He didn't have to give the whole story; he didn't have to even expand on that. I just knew what had happened. Tōshirō was a sniper, a damned good one at that, and he had been ordered to shoot someone… only doing so got him shot as well. That was his injury - that was his secret. I had figured something out about him, something major, yet I couldn't find it in me to be happy. Tōshirō had been shot. Someone had shot Tōshirō. Someone had shot my Tōshirō. Colours began to bleed into a blackened red.
"Who were you ordered to shoot?" I asked in a grave voice. This was too austere for me, but I didn't care. How could I?
"The Emperor."
"By who?"
His knuckles audibly cracked when he gripped the steering wheel. "Sōsuke Aizen."
We both sat in silence. It wasn't awkward, but it was anxious. Tension snapped the air between us; palpably thick. Sparks flew and electricity crackled; feeding off our rage. His virus was spreading to me, only it wasn't irrational. I would kill him, Sōsuke Aizen. I would dismember him painfully, make him bleed; make him suffer like Tōshirō had. I knew that my wrath paled into comparison to Tōshirō's. I wondered what shade of scarlet blurred his vision. Maybe it was tipped with black, the colour of blood…
"Would you tell me the whole story?" I needed to hear his voice.
He refused to answer for a minute. The sound of his teeth gritting made me flinch. My body began to sink into the seat when he sped up, the power of it forcing me into the chair. We were on a highway now, weaving in and out of cars at about fifty miles per hour above the speed limit - a velocity at which I didn't know my shabby old truck could achieve. Horns blared at us whenever we narrowly avoided cars. Tōshirō was a maniac; but still, caring was so difficult.
This whole experience was a bad influence on me.
The truck oversteered slightly as he pulled into a junction and we slalomed around cars, trying to avoid them. He was a skilled driver, I would give him that. Leaving yet another trail of wailing sirens behind us, we finally pulled down a narrow, country road and his driving slowed. We cruised along at a gentle forty for a few minutes, until we came across a metal gate that led into a field overflowing with cows and sheep. There was a small lay-by where my truck could pull into, so Tōshirō did just that. He drove in, then turned and drove backwards, and then in again… the whole process repeated until he had successfully parked in the space and his breathing was regular. A pitiful pat told me his hands had dropped listlessly onto his knees, and a sigh informed me he was tired. Rage wore you out, I would know. The silence came again. My gaze wandered to the outside world and I couldn't help but admire it. Although the dissonance of the motorway was still in earshot, the scene around me was perfectly calm, quite tranquil. We were in a small area of greenbelt surrounded by lush trees and hundreds of fields filled with more cattle than I had ever seen in my life. Karakura was quite an urban dwelling, so I wasn't used to this amount of grass. It was too green, way too green. The monochromatic panorama was straight from a childish scribble with rolling hills and another curve for a sun. It was sad; I'd never thought such a landscape existed. But then, when I glanced back at the road, I noticed how beautiful it was. I'd always seen the beauty in metropolitan environments, looking past the pollution and noting how beautiful towering skyscrapers and rusty railings looked; always wondered about nature. Now it was here, I just needed time to adjust.
Then I looked back at Tōshirō, and knew why it was so picturesque.
"I'm a war veteran," he finally stated. Such sadness tipped his tongue. "Afghanistan - it's a horrible place."
My skull sunk back into the headrest. I hadn't even known Japan was in the Afghanistan war.
"We pulled out," he told me, reading my thoughts. "2002 to 2010; we provided naval support for eight years. That's what the public know. What they don't know is that Aizen sent thousands of soldiers out to the frontlines; most of which were slaughtered within the hour. The only ones that remained were a few firearm specialists. It's a tough place, Ichigo… such a damned hard place to survive. We survived - me and my spotter. His name was Sōjirō Kusaka. He… we…"
His eyes had brightened slightly and I felt that green-eyed monster prowling in the depths of my mind again; snarling. Warmth was now curling around his lips. I could hear how he spoke about this Kusaka… I couldn't help but sneer the name. The name that the boy spoke so fondly of, it wasn't a tone that a person took when they talked of a friend. My fists clenched. It was stupid, but hot tears burned the corners of my eyes. Why was I reacting like this?
"He's your lover?" I choked. The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I wanted them off, out in the open; away from me.
Tōshirō nodded. "Kusaka…" Then the smile faltered. "Kusaka…" His face fell. His lips parted slightly, remembering something. His hands darted to the sides of his head and he clutched at his temples. His nails scratched at the skin of his forehead, leaving angry red streaks in their wake. His breathing became laboured again, but this time his eyes were dilated… they were wide open, tears streaking down the sides of his flushed cheeks. My breath hitched and I leaned towards him, hand stretched out, and called his name. He didn't answer. His eyes had become hazy, milky almost, and more tears poured from the corners. I think he was trying to say something, but his mouth could from no coherent words. The only sound he made was a slight choking. He hiccupped. His fingers began to claw at his hair, only to recoil quickly. He stared at his shaking hands with unseeing eyes. His fingers twitched, his palms trembled; I could only assume it was a panic attack.
"Tōshirō…" I barely susurrated. "Tōshirō, b-breath. Try to breath, Tōshirō." Like that was helpful - he was breathing too much. He was hyperventilating. I could hear his teeth chattering, even at this distance. His lower lip quivered as more tears rolled down his cheeks. I didn't know what to do, I felt useless.
"K-k-k…" He was trying to say 'Kusaka'.
"Shh, it's okay." I finally dared to place my hand on his shoulder.
He shot back like a hare, pressing his entire body against the car door; only to be suppressed by the seatbelt. He scrabbled at the offending strap fruitlessly, pulling it over himself and back on in his terror. His chest continued to heave and more tears fell. He was completely tangled in the seatbelt, half strangling and half restraining himself. He didn't quite know what to do with his hands, flinging them out in front of him then slamming them flush against the door. My hand recoiled, but instead of sitting back like I knew I should have, I instead used it to unfasten my own seatbelt. With that gone, I lifted out of my seat and tilted down to Tōshirō's. His mouth unhinged and he looked as though he was screaming; only no sound came out. No choking, not hiccups - nothing. I pushed the button on his seatbelt and it came undone. Tōshirō trembled sporadically before finally pushing himself into the gap between the seat and the door. No. I wouldn't let him. I slid my arms around his back and pulled him close to me. I whispered in his ear, told him I was here and I wouldn't hurt him. He seemed to ignore me, a bloodcurdling scream stroke sob finally sounded from his gaping mouth. His head twisted from side to side, rocking back and forth and still letting out that horrific shriek of a bansee. The screaming boy writhed in my arms and I held him closely, nuzzling into his neck. I kissed the base of it. He tasted sweet. So… sweet.
Then he bit me. His teeth dug into my shoulder with enough force that if it weren't for my jacket it would have drawn blood. He wasn't trying to hurt me - I could feel his trembling beginning to slow and I surmised that he was trying to suppress his cries of pain. My fingers worked in circles on his back, trying to be as consoling as I could. I winced as he bit down again. Even between the muffled sobs, I could hear him muttering something resembling 'Kusaka' over and over. It tore at my heart, tugged at something inside me. This wasn't like him; why was he panicking? My lips brushed over the back of his neck again, half whispering and half kissing the bare skin there. Then I felt sinewy fingers graze my back. They trailed over the leather of my jacket, dipping into the slope of my back. The fingers laced together and he hung onto me with such zealousness that it hardly seemed as though he was frightened any more. The trembling had almost ceased and was now an uneven shivering. He released my shoulder and simply laid his cheek there. His chest heaved still and his tears were sliding down my coat.
"S-sorry," he stammered, so quiet I could barely hear him. I simply hushed him for that.
"It's okay; you don't have to tell me."
I felt his head shake. "N-no. I-I want to."
I noticed that his legs were still half in the driver's seat, so I pulled them around mine so he was sat on my lap properly. Once he was sitting up on his own accord, the position had somehow meant he had shunted backwards slightly. He shuffled forwards so he could collapse on my chest once more. His entire body sagged into my hold, and all I could think about was how damned close we were, especially in some… important areas…
"Just tell me why you're running from the police. Tell me about him afterwards," I mumbled into his collar. My fingers twirled around the snowy locks and the back of his neck. They were so soft. His entire visage was such a contrast to his personality. In fact, his personality was a contrast to itself - half the time a sadistic killer and half the time sentimental like this. I think his manic depression was changing slightly. The depression used to be his callousness and the mania was his dry persona - now the mania appeared to make him more… tame. In fact… hadn't he just called me 'Ichigo'?
He nodded into my shoulder. He waited for a few seconds to gather his thoughts, something that I assumed he didn't normally feel the need to do, and then he started. "I used to work under Aizen, but due to some… unfortunate circumstances, I left him and the military behind. Best damned decision I ever made - I got more time to spend with Sam. He's my dog. Clever lad, he is. But about a month ago, Aizen and some of his subordinates came to my house. How they knew where I lived, I don't know - seeing as I moved out of my parents' house when I left - but still, they found me and came onto my property without permission. They asked if I would help them with something." I could hear the smile in his voice. "You can probably guess I declined before they even told me what they wanted. Still, he asked if I would help them to plan an assassination on the Emperor… so that they could stop one. God, I was such an idiot for believing him. Why did I believe him…?" His grip around my back tightened again as he tensed, but still he insisted on continuing. "I went to Tokyo and scouted for them. I told them where I would have taken the shot from. There were two places, so when the day came we waited in the room that would have the best chance of getting a clean shot. I got out my rifle and aimed at the other building…" He took a sharp inhalation. "Aizen had a gun to my temple. He told me to shoot the Emperor or he would shoot me. Ichigo… I've never been scared; never. Afghanistan was a nuisance, and it shocked me at times but I was never scared. But when he had that gun to my head…" A broken sob ripped from his lips. "I don't know why."
I stroked the back of his neck. He had been through a lot - too much for someone his age should have been through. "It's okay," I cooed. Trying to sound condescending to someone like Tōshirō was a bad idea, but at this stage it wasn't important. "Of course you were scared."
He shook his head. He mumbled something inarticulate, and then leaned back so he could look at me. His eyes were rimmed with red and looked crusty from sleep and tears. Even those jade irises looked slightly stained with scarlet. The entire orbs were bloodshot for too many reasons to count. He stared at me and I stared at him. My eyes searched his for some emotion other than melancholy, but they could find none. He perpetually looked at me as he continued. "I'm so selfish, I shot at the Emperor."
I cringed at that. My hands didn't release his neck, but I still cringed. He'd shot the Emperor. He had - he didn't miss. I turned away from him.
A wry smile tugged at his lips. "I missed."
My head snapped back. He missed? Tōshirō Hitsugaya did not miss - that much I knew. "How did you miss?"
"I did it on purpose. Shooting the Emperor would be suicidal, Ichigo; even you should gather that."
He called me Ichigo again. He didn't call Kusaka by his given name, yet he was relating to me on a first name basis - we both were. I smiled at the irony of both our words. He tipped his head back somewhat as he thought of something, revealing the creamy skin of his neck. It looked so delicious, so absolutely ravishing…
"I didn't miss completely, though. I shot an MP… but that was enough for them to chase me. Long story short: I managed to escape, found you and here we are." His fingers tapped lightly on my shoulder blades.
"How did you get shot?" I inquired. I moved one hand down to his side and frivolously fingered at the fabric there. I didn't touch the wound, but I felt some disturbance under the thin fabric of his shirt - some kind of bandage.
He let out that dry laugh again, throwing his head back as he chuckled. His white tresses splayed across his face in several directions. When his lids lifted, the red that streaked the whites of his eyes had faded to a dull pink and his irises were a shocking green. He swung down and kneeled on the chair, towering over me. His nose was a few inches from mine, growing ever closer. His hands had slid back up to my shoulders and down the front, now trailing lightly across my collar. Another playful smirk teased at the corners of his lips. And those eyes… those eyes were so fucking intense that I felt myself blush in my prudery. He was so endearing, so voluptuous with those pink little lips that breathed words to me. Why was he doing this? He shouldn't have been doing this, wasn't he still with Kusaka?
I paused at the thought. He had said that Kusaka and he had survived… but Tōshirō didn't seem like the kind of person to do this when he was with another.
…
He had said Kusaka had survived the war, not that he was still alive.
"You really thought that bastard would let me get away unscathed?" he murmured, that ever nocuous simper still tugging at his mouth. "Come on."
He rolled off me and back into driver's seat, buckling his belt and starting the truck before I could even comprehend what had happened. I felt empty again; it was a painfully familiar feeling. The truck rolled out of its place and it finally occurred to me that we were moving. Ignoring the lack of warmth that I was now experiencing, I fastened my own seatbelt and sat on my hands nervously. My thoughts were filled with Tōshirō - of those stunning eyes, supple body and plush lips… I felt a stirring in my stomach.
"Where are we going?" I asked hoarsely, coughing at the end to try and regain some of my depleting composure.
"Against all of my instincts," he smirked, slamming down hard on the accelerator.
Where we arrived was by far the nicest place I had been to in a while. It felt homely, even more so than my actual home. Half an hour (and forty miles of inordinately terrifying driving) after we had last spoken, the truck pulled up next to what looked like a field. Trees lined the border, each one pruned to perfection with the skill of a top class gardener. The rest of the field was rather bare, save for a white, two storey house that rested square in the middle. Tōshirō told me to get out, so I did. I rounded the truck and walked through the gate after him, admiring the house. It looked quite prim and proper, with white painted stone for the walls and an adorable little thatched roof. It was sort of like an old cottage, I noted; completed by the flower beds that were dotted along the front of it like patchwork. There were also hanging baskets and vines draped down the stone's surface - the whole picture made me feel as though it was taken care of by a woman, most likely a grandmother. Yes, it definitely looked like the kind of cottage that your grandparents had. But, when we were close enough, I realised the place was fucking huge.
Way too big to be a cottage - the place was a mansion!
"Well, he sure keeps the place tidy," I heard Tōshirō grouse. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked towards the manor, leaving me dragging behind.
"He? But there are so many flowers!" I protested and hurried after him.
He shrugged. "Ukitake-san likes his flowers." The phrase was uttered with such indifference that it barely seemed like the Tōshirō that had sobbed into my jacket earlier that day.
"Why are we here?"
He didn't answer me until he had reached the door and beat it a few times with the brass knocker that was shaped like a lion's head. "We need somewhere to stay, I need someone to tend to my wound properly and this is the last place people would look. I met Ukitake-san in Afghanistan and we made friends. Also, I'm bloody starving. "
I almost laughed at the last second, but then again; I'd forgotten how hungry I was. I'd been meaning to eat last night but, you know: dashing off with some runaway sniper rarely comes with regular mealtimes. I could hear distant footsteps echoing in the house, yet they didn't seem to get any closer. I spiral staircase, I assumed. "Wouldn't Aizen know you two were friends then?"
The footsteps got louder. "Nah. In Afghan' none of us trusted Aizen. We had a bunch of people who we stuck with in the open, then friends that we talked to in secret. That way, when the war was over, if we ever needed to hide somewhere then we had people we could go to. "
"Oh."
The door creaked open and a nose pushed out, followed by an eye. The eye looked me up and down, then flicked towards Tōshirō and flashed with recognition. "Hitsugaya-kun! It's you!" The door shut for a few seconds, followed by the tell-tale sound of a chain being unhooked. It then flew wide open and a man threw himself into a great bear-hug. Tōshirō stumbled back in shock, brows knitted together and lips pursed in a way that made me chortle, then grinned and patted Ukitake awkwardly on the back.
"Nice to see you too, Ukitake-san."
The man pulled back and I managed to get a good look at his features. He didn't look too old, forty at my best guess; yet his eyes were withered and his hair was a shocking white that cascaded down to his waist. His eyes were a bright emerald, putting Tōshirō's to shame (Although Tōshirō's eyes were much more appealing) and sparked in a way that implied he knew too much. Just like Tōshirō, I noted. He was fully clad in a simple cream shirt, three buttons left undone at the collar to show off an impeccably smooth chest, a long mint coloured scarf and a set of white jeans that only added to his almost omniscient countenance. He reminded me of God from Bruce Almighty, and I mentally chuckled at the notion. He looked as though he were an Agony Aunt; someone who Tōshirō went to in desperate times of need. An amiable smile adorned the lower half of his face, yet his brows were pulled tight at the top. His emotions were easily decipherable: He was happy to see Tōshirō, unsure as to what to think of me and had some underlying anxiety regarding our presence here. He wasn't displeased; just anxious.
"I'd like to say I'm glad you're here, but I don't think you're here for a cuppa and a chat, are you?" He pushed the door open again, as it had closed slightly in the duration of their hug, and gestured for us to go inside.
"I'm afraid not," Tōshirō deadpanned. After thanking Ukitake with a nominal bow of his head, he stepped inside the house. He motioned with a languid flick of his hand for me to follow. I hurried inside, skittering around in my apprehension which made our host chortle.
"M-my name's Ichigo." I held out my hand for him to take. He stared me in the face for a few awkward seconds then glanced down at my hand. His smile brightened almost instantly and he grasped my waiting palm warmly.
"Good to meet you, Ichigo," he beamed. His handshake was a little too rough for my taste, clenching my fingers to the point where it was painful, but I managed a half-smile in return. "My name is Jūshirō Ukitake, a friend of young Hitsugaya-kun, here." He pointed towards the now rather impudent looking Tōshirō, who was busy scowling at the sight of both of us. It should have been deemed childish, but I couldn't help but smile at the gorgeous face he made when he was irritated. It was adorable, though I wouldn't care to say that out loud.
"This is all very well and nice," Tōshirō began and made his way towards the spiral staircase, "but would you mind closing the door? Ukitake-san, I'd like your assistance if you wouldn't mind. Ichigo, you come too." His hand clasped around the rather gratuitously elaborate rail that bordered the flight of steps and he hopped up it. The thin material of his shirt bobbed as he jogged up the stairs and I noticed a modicum of white skin. A blush began to spread across my cheeks. My thoughts wandered to memories of him gazing down upon me, fingers fisting into my shirt, with those bright emerald eyes filled with pomposity and what I hoped would be some variety of illicit libido. The memory reel in my mind spun back to a few seconds before; to that creamy neck that would be oh so lavishing to swipe my tongue across. Said tongue drew a line across my lips in my never-to-come anticipation. Ukitake coughed beside me. I snapped my head back from my listless fantasy, wondering if I had been too obvious. Thankfully (or maybe not so much) he was just hacking up something; in fact the coughing attack seemed to span for a longer period of time than I would have deemed usual.
"Are you okay, Ukitake-san?" I asked, placing a hand on his back and patting it gawkily. He continued to retch up nothing in particular. He was hunched over quite severely, scarf draping along the ground. Scarlet powdered the skin on his cheeks.
"Y-yes." Cough. "Sor-" Hack. "I'm okay, I swear-" Heave, retch, hack. The process continued for a while, him trying to breathe and assure me he was fine at the same time. He started to wobble, stumbling around slightly on his spot. I just caught him in time. He fell slack in my arms and I cursed. At least he stopped coughing… I thought to myself dryly. I scanned the room for somewhere he could sit down, yet all I could find was a table and the stairs. I opted to lead him towards the steps. With his arm draped around my shoulder, we began to hobble towards the staircase; him offering what little help he could.
"I'm sorry so, Kurosaki-san," he wheezed in a breathy tone. "I have some… breathing issues… it's nothing too bad."
"It sounds bad enough to me," I said and began to knead little circles into his back. He slumped down on the first step he could, ultimately slipping down onto the floor in his ineptness. The heaving in his chest began to lessen, until he was breathing normally again. It was all over quite quickly; just as it had started.
"Kurosaki-san…"
"Come on, you just had a coughing fit, give yourself a break," I chuckled wryly. I took my hand away from his back once the sharp inhalations had subsided.
He waved an indignant hand my way, brushing off my comment. "No, this is important."
I took in a deep breath. All these war veterans; constantly nagging me about something. Couldn't he just loosen up? Or at least take care of Tōshirō first? "Go on then."
The muscles on his arms strained as he pulled himself up onto the second step where I was sitting. I wanted to tell him to stop pushing himself, but any words that defied him would undoubtedly be in vain. "Kurosaki-san, how long have you known Hitsugaya-kun?"
I cast my memory back to when I met him. It had been precisely 17:13 when we entered the car - I would remember that number for the rest of my life. I assumed it was before lunch, so that meant… I hadn't even known him for a day.
"Not… not even a day?" It was more of a question in itself rather than an answer. How could I have only known him for half a day when it felt like I had known him for years? I felt something towards him that wasn't normal; I wouldn't be able to live without him. Here, talking to Ukitake-san… as nice as the man was I didn't feel complete with Tōshirō in another room. He wasn't there to be that warm spot on my arm, that jigsaw piece that fit snugly into my side; that something to fill the void. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose him. I'd just gotten him; I didn't want him to leave my side. The bereavement would be too much to abide. I could only imagine the feeling would grow. This feeling of utter adoration would only blossom into something more - I would venerate the boy.
"And he already refers to you on a first name basis…" Ukitake let his gaze drift into the corner somewhere. His eyes flicked from side to side, figuring something out. His movements were quick and agile as he spun back towards me and grabbed my wrists. I instinctively pulled back at the touch, but his grip was strong and his eyes just as intense.
"Kurosaki-san," he started; almost obstinate in his need for me to listen. "Hitsugaya-kun already trusts you - he trusts you more than he has trusted anyone that I know of. He will have told you of Kusaka, I am sure. He will have told you of his relations with Kusaka. He trusts you more than Kusaka. You are the only person he has referred to by their given name - ever. He never once referred to Kusaka as 'Sōjirō', not in the whole time that they were together. Do you know what that boy has been through, Kurosaki-san? He has had to endure more than any boy, or man for that matter, should have to endure. He has experienced pain in more than one way, and probably more than a few. Even before what happened, he was unwilling to trust; to put his faith in even one person for fear that he would be betrayed. He has a good sense of character, so when he entrusted his faith to you he gave it to you with all his heart and soul. He does not do that lightly, and he does not do it often. Kurosaki-san. If he asks you to do something then you must be acquiescent. If he wishes to confide in you then you must be there when he requires you to do so. I don't know what has happened between you two or what either of you intend to happen; but to be frank I do not care, so long as you do not abuse that connection."
I was taken aback to say the least. A light dusting of burgundy now almost certainly lay indelible on my skin. Yes, I did know what Tōshirō had been through, but whatever Ukitake was referring to meant more than just fighting in Afghanistan. War is a horrible, malevolent thing. I could tell that Ukitake's cough was no transient phase - it was a consequence of fighting in a country where dust and smoke were palpable in the grey air. Tōshirō did not hear voices from birth - the sound of gunfire and innocent civilians dying had brought forward his subconscious and twisted it into something bitter. And I was sure they weren't the only ones. There would be war veterans dotted around the globe, each one sporting some sort of ailment due to their time in service. But what Ukitake was talking about was something else entirely. Maybe to do with the war, maybe not - but it affected Tōshirō in a way he could not manifest.
"Ukitake-san," I stated. "Rest assured; I will not harm Tōshirō - ever. I would rather die."
I meant that.
His mouth tugged weakly at the corners. "I'm glad that is your answer. Now, what kind of bother has he gotten himself into now?"
I was hungry. Hunger made it hard for me to think straight. "He was shot. I think he wants you to stitch the wound."
He jumped straight to his feet, sprinting towards what looked like the kitchen with the vigour of someone half his age. "Why didn't you say so earlier? That boy bleeds like he has haemophilia! Hurry up, Kurosaki-san! Go and check up on him! And shut the door, will you?"
I hope that please you all ^^ Please let me know if you think this story is going too slow, because I'm not even at the point where I planned chapter two to end so I think I'm rambling a little ^^;
Updates might be a little slower now, but that's just until Christmas. I have exams and homework and more exams and then coursework and then exams and it's all so stressful x_x Plus I just bought the new Zelda game which I would very much like to play (I've nearly done the first temple - without a walkthrough *is proud*)
Need I remind you to review?