The Nightmare That Is Marriage

-o-

I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.

Rita Rudner

-o-

Fourth Anniversary: Wedding Night

-o-

Kurosaki Ichigo sat in silence at the bar of the huge hall their wedding reception was held in, trailing the rim of his glass with Tullamore Dew - he had asked for something strong but not to the extend that he'll cough it up and drop dead - his gaze solemn and expression contemplating. Rukia and he hadn't talked since their kiss, and when the reception started they had begun to avoid each other entirely. He took the glass in his right hand and lifted it to his lips, emptying the glass off the amber alcohol. As his sleeve dropped from his wrist his gaze locked on the ruby band burned into his skin, like a scar, taunting him.

It was his collar.

With a sigh he put the glass on the counter, waving the bartender for a refill. His left thumb found its way to the inside of his wrist, rubbing the skin roughly, his brows furrowing in a frown. The skin felt no different from the rest, but he knew it symbolized the loss of his freedom.

"How is the newlywed feeling? Excited?"

Golden-brown eyes flashed to the newcomer, startled it turned out to be one infamous - and strangely sober - Matsumoto Rangiku. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited, smarty pants."

A light blush marred his tanned cheeks at his own stupid question, and he coughed before taking a sip from his refilled drink. The blonde raised a thin eyebrow. "I didn't know you drink."

She received a lazy shrug in response, the rim of the glass still against his lips as he stared blankly ahead. "I don't. This is an exception."

The Fukutaichô stared at him, eyes scrutinizing, as she pushed her arms forward on the top of the bar, leaning on them, her face turned towards him. "Are you sad?"

The young prince stopped in his tracks, the glass tilted towards his lips. He put it back down on the bartop and turned his body and attention fully towards the inquisitive woman. "I don't know, you tell me. Barely a month ago I was preparing to graduate high school, found out I was a fucking prince, and got forced to marry my best friend. What do you think?"

Matsumoto sat up and stared at him, serious. "I can imagine how hard this is on you, on both of you, but... just... I'm sure you'll make this work somehow." She smiled at her poor attempt, and pivoted in her seat. "Sorry, that was probably the worst advise in history. See you, Ichigo!" With that she stood, and vanished into the crowd.

Just when he was about to turn back to his drink did his father's boisterous voice echo throughout the reception hall, freezing his blood in his veins.

"Come on, Rukia-chan! I want to have a father-daughter dance with my beautiful third daughter!" Said "daughter" was red-faced, and tried her best to politely shrug him off, but his grip on her was tight and secure.

"No, really, Isshin-san-"

"It's Daddy!"

"Yes, well, if you insist, Daddy, I really just want to sit down and rest a little bit, I don't feel like dancing at all-"

"Rukia-chan!"

She was just about to speak up again when she felt a strong, yet gentle grip on her right wrist, exactly where the red band marred her pale skin, and she was suddenly pulled into a mass of warmth, enveloped by a spicy, yet familiar, scent. "Dad, I think you are overdoing it, don't you think? She said no, period."

Rukia's heart paused in her chest momentarily, her plumb lips parted as she craned her neck back to look at Ichigo, who stood behind her, glaring at his father over her head, his hand on her wrist tight but not painful.

Her blush darkened, and she quickly averted her flustered expression.

Isshin was just about to retort when a cold aura enclosed them, and one Kuchiki Byakuya glared chillingly at the man. "May I talk to you in private, Isshin-san?" Said man only let out a scared, high-pitched "Eep!" before running away, the gray-eyed noble high on his heels.

The young wife felt the hand on her wrist relax, and could feel his thumb trace small patterns on the red band of skin. He chuckled, and it sent vibrations through her as he turned her around, smiling lightly. "Good your brother showed up, whatever that stick-up-his-ass will do, is much worse than anything I could ever come up with."

Violet eyes narrowed and she slapped his chest playfully, a smile of her own coming to her lips. Ichigo blushed, extending his other hand to her. "May I have this dance, Kurosaki-san?"

She blinked, blushing at how he called her, and hesitantly took his offered hand. The one holding her wrist wrapped around her slim waist, pressing her tightly against his body.

And with that they started their shy dance, hesitant smiles on both of their faces.

-o-

"What! You would make your wife sleep on the floor?"

They were in their bedroom, arguing. Their eyes were locked on each other, lightning flashing between them as both refused to give in.

"There's a sofa, midget!"

"Common courtesy dictates you offer up your bed!"

"I don't give a shit. I'm the prince, I get the fucking bed."

And their glaring match continued.

-o-

In the darkness of a nightly Seireitei, a lone man walked along its streets, swaying and laughing drunkenly. The noise he made caused annoyance whenever he crossed paths with someone, screaming at the tops of his lungs, slurring.

"Finally, Masaki! Our son has finally become a man!"

And on he went on his merry way.

-o-

The petite, black-haired woman sighed in resignation, too tired from the day's events to argue with her husband any further, as she made her way to the couch on the side of the bedroom. Ichigo meanwhile happily slipped under the soft covers of the huge king-sized bed, snuggling into the pillows. Across the room his annoyed wife glared at the back of his head, fuming.

"You're an ass."

When he didn't respond she huffed angrily, turning around and trying to get as comfortable under the covers as possible.

Midnight had long since passed when Ichigo got annoyed from his wife's relentless tossing and turning in her sleep. Deep in his gut he could feel the guilt twist his insides, and he sighed, trying his best to suppress that feeling.

Huffing, the orange-head sat up, turning around and glaring at Rukia on the other side of the room. "Oi, midget." She only tossed more, and he growled, jumping off the bed and stalking over to her. With a resolute tug he threw the blankets covering her off the couch and onto the floor, and his wife jerked up, glaring heatedly at him. "What? Did you decide I'm unworthy of the couch now? Want me to sleep on the floor, you ass?"

The orange-head growled, glaring at her before grabbing her wrist and dragging her off the couch towards the bed. She struggled in his grasp, screaming obscenities at him until he picked her up and tossed her onto the soft mattress, climbing in after her. She was just about to sit up when he grabbed her wrists and pinned her down, amber eyes fiery. "Your noise is keeping me up. You can sleep in here tonight, it's big enough anyways. This is a one-time-thing, midget, remember that."

With that said he got off of her and scooted to the far side of the bed, snuggling back into the covers with his back turned towards her. "Now shut up and sleep."

Rukia stared at his back for a short while, before turning away from him, burying her face in the pillow, absentmindedly taking in his scent still lingering on the pillows.

Baka.