A/N: So, this is the final chapter, expect a sequel within the next month. I was prepared to split the chapter in 2 parts, but ended up not doing so, so it's quite long-ish. I'm not particularly happy with how this ending turned out, but I've been battling with it for awhile, and my muse is trying to leave me due to this site giving hell to writers these days, so yeah... be lenient. The sequel will be A LOT more focused on Toushiro and Ichigo's relationship.
Also, due to fanfiction deleting stories with lemons (as most of you already know), from now on to read my smut scenes, you'll have to go to my livejournal account. Every time the story has come to a place where there's meant be a lemon, I'll write 'Missing scene' in that place and you'll find a link to the particular scene in my profile page. Everything will be explained in my author notes, so fear not. I WILL keep writing and there WILL be lemons. The only difference will be that you'll have to go to a different site to read said lemons.
Song: "They" by Jem
Iridescent
Chapter 7
Who made up all the rules?
We follow them like fools,
Believe them to be true,
Don't care to think them through
Acting out was what Toushiro did best.
For years, breaking the rules and disregarding authority had been his one true forte, the only thing that had made his grey life a little more colourful, a little less disappointing. He had never regretted anything that he'd ever done, no matter what people had told him or how dearly he had paid for his little romps, because disobeying the norms that someone else had established before him and crossing the limits, which so few dared to question, was his single source of oxygen. In the world that he was born in, Toushiro was dying. All these people that surrounded him – politicians, who knew no compassion, cheating wives, neglected by their husbands, lying brothers, infected by ambition, they and the rest of the milliards of epitomes of greed, lust, arrogance, vengeance – they represented countless of smudged faces, forming crowds and masses that pulsed and swayed in the cradle of their own ill vices and voracity.
Among that, Toushiro was simply a lamb, unfitted for anything other than slaughter, and his only way to survive, was to bite as hard as he could, make them bleed, make them suffer. Being one of a kind was a constant battle and an endless trial against the world, for the grand finale seemed foredoomed in its tragedy, painted with the darkest brushes that Fate had in possession and highlighted by its own insignificance. Indeed, Ichigo had entered the scene like a mighty knight in shining armour, but his radiance and glory were a mere flicker of light in a pitch dark night; promise, promises, hopes for something that Hitsugaya neither deserved, nor would be able to keep if it so much as grazed his trembling and aching fingers against it…
That's why he shouldn't have been surprised.
He fucking shouldn't have been surprised…
"Toushiro."
The boy's eyes snapped up, narrow against the harsh onslaught of the sun, but not dull, not unseeing despite the turmoil that he was going to, and he easily collected himself, pushing his body away from the door of the limo that he had been leaning against. He had his left arm still wrapped loosely around his middle, the fingers of his right hand holding a smoking cigarette near his mouth, and when the figure of his boyfriend emerged from the black car that had just parked nearby, Hitsugaya did his best to muster a smile. It came out awry and kind of weird, and he got a rather cruel nudge in the ribs from the nearby standing Matsumoto for it, but luckily no verbal comment was made as Ichigo – armed with a concerned, yet impatient expression on his face – made his way towards them.
"Hey." Toushiro managed awkwardly, flinching against his better judgment when the pair of familiar tan hands landed on his hips, pulling him towards the taller, larger frame. The inexplicable need to break free from the embrace overwhelmed him like a fit of claustrophobia and he found himself stiffening when his boyfriend leaned forward to kiss him. "Wait!"
Ichigo froze as soon as the word had rolled off the teen's tongue, the look of confusion and hurt painfully obvious as he pulled back to gaze at his white-haired lover with wary, seeking eyes. The scene was more than a little unusual, kind of uneasy actually, and Hitsugaya could see Matsumoto giving him funny, bewildered looks from behind the model's back, like the boy had suddenly misspelt his own name or something equally odd. Resisting the urge to spat an offence in his female friend's direction, the mayor's son turned his attention back to the man in front of him, shaking his head apologetically in a mute attempt to express what he was sure he couldn't put into coherent words.
"What's wrong?" the carrot-top asked quietly, voice heavy with lead-like worry, uncertainty and something else that Toushiro couldn't quite define. Pulling the side of his mouth in a shape that could've been a cautious smile, but was in fact much closer to a grimace than anything else, the boy placed his palm on his boyfriend's chest, pushing gently till the distance between them was big enough not to cause unnecessary attention.
"Nothing. Just not here." Hitsugaya replied reasonably, then took one last deep drag from his cigarette and flicked the burnt fag to the side, using his thumb and index finger. "Let's go."
He felt Ichigo's fingers slip longingly down his arm as he walked past the man and headed for the mall's entrance, but although the forced reticence wasn't something that he was very good at, wasn't a skill that he had ever bothered to develop, he knew he couldn't let himself get too emotional now. And if Ichigo kissed him, the way only Ichigo did – fully, and openly, and honestly – he was afraid all the self-control he had been struggling to retain would crumble like a straw hut. He would break down, shattered, because of all the lies, and all the games, and all the tricks that he had so foolishly fallen for, and he would do that out of helplessness, disbelief even, because there was just too much that even the most powerful imagination couldn't embrace… Too much that the mind of a child couldn't fathom, no matter how hard that child tried to grow up or how desperately he wanted to face the world of the adults, be a man and not a boy…
Heh…
Toushiro had never been the epitome of perfection. With his combustible temper, his attitude towards people who tried to force their beliefs down the throats of others and just the general ideas on self-expression and straightforwardness that he had, the boy was a ticking mechanism, placed inside a black box that very few dared to open. He was everything and nothing altogether: a genius, who neglected his gifts and knowledge, an artist, that wouldn't paint on canvas or use brushes, a son, abandoned and resented by his father because of who he was and what he wanted from life. Toushiro had never fitted the mold that society had created for him, for his mind had always tried to escape its own cage and his teeth had always aimed to bite off the bars that held him prisoner. But while he was born to swim against the current and punch with his bare fists the rocks that stood in his way, there was something very specific about the way he acted that almost no one bothered to look into…
He had never meant harm.
The person who suffered the most out of the things he did and because of the pranks that he pulled, was he - not his friends, not his teachers, not even his parents. He. He bore the pain of his father's apathy, the bruises that came with the trademark backhanding, he was the one who had to listen to the same tirade about his unworthiness over and over and over again… Toushiro broke and shattered, but mostly he did that to his own heart, to his own feelings, and what he went through, all in hopes that something would change, something would take a different path for the better someday, were mere illusions that once crushed, made him even angrier, even more overwhelmed by despair.
…And so when he found out how naïve he had been and how easily he had played in the hands of the others without ever suspecting a thing, the pain was stronger than what he had ever imagined…
The betrayal was unforgivable.
Reaching the escalators, Toushiro glanced briefly over his shoulder to check if the rest of the flock was following, and, surely enough, Ichigo was no more than a meter away, hands in his pockets and a grey beanie covering up the fatally conspicuous mop of orange hair that most fangirls were probably going to spot from several blocks away with their formidable fangirl telescope and the built-in Kurosaki radar. The model looked non-too-jolly with how things were heading if the wan smile that he directed in his boyfriend's direction was anything to go by, and the fact had the boy turning back around, a bitter taste of guilt dissipating inside his mouth. He had detected Matsumoto's slightly disorientated gadding somewhere near the entrance of the mall, but her irreproachable ability to find him had been demonstrated plenty of times by now, so he wasn't worried that she was going to get lost. In up to ten minutes, she would most certainly sniff her way back to the credit card in his pocket and afterwards – god help his father – the Hitsugaya fortune would never be the same.
Making his way through the relatively empty mall, Toushiro strode forward with a very specific purpose in mind, walking right past the most popular stores and responding very vaguely to his lover's questions as green-and-blue gaze bored straight ahead till he finally reached his destination. The shop was relatively big, a little bit more specious than necessary for the number of clothes that were being offered, but the mere look of the place spoke volumes about the prices and garments that were in stock. There wasn't a soul inside beside the shop assistants and the smartly dressed owner, regardless of the genial smiles that the workers were ready to put forth for anyone who had the courage to peek inside.
Politeness, it seemed, was a somewhat of an unnecessary affix when the first price tag met still virgin eyes and the expenses for even a single article of clothing became clear to the poor potential buyer.
"Um," came Ichigo's slightly hesitant voice from near the boy's shoulder and then a set of warm knuckles brushed against the back of the smaller male's neck. "You sure this is where you want to go?"
"Yup." Hitsugaya spoke up curtly, jerking with a bit too much abruptness from the tender touch, only to turn around and give the frowning model a flimsy smile. "They have the best stuff if you have money. Which I do. For now. And while we're at it," he continued, the wavering upbeat in his voice sounding faker and emptier by the minute. "I have a couple of favours to ask. You see, it's the mayor's birthday today and I'm sure there'll be a huge celebration regarding this wonderful occasion. Do you think your manager would be able to get us invitations?"
"I-… I guess?"
"Good! Now let's get inside and find ourselves something decent to wear for the upcoming evening."
Without waiting for a reply, Toushiro spun around on his heel and made his way through the shop's threshold, the half-bored half-impatient expression on his face causing a few workers perk up at the sight of his dramatic entrance. The shop owner – a neat man in his forties with slick black hair and rather pale complexion - was the first to react, jumping on his feet with his mouth shaped into a small 'o' and brows nearly reaching his hairline. In a heartbeat he was standing before the boy, hands clasped in front of his chest and fingertips tapping against one another restlessly, as he bent down ever so slightly to greet his tiny customer with something akin to a bow. No one else dared to move at first, all of the man's subordinates looking a bit perplexed by the bewildered sounds that were rolled off their boss' lips, but then the noise swiftly changed and turned into actual, coherent words.
"Mr. Hitsugaya! I haven't seen you in so long, I was afraid we will never have the pleasure of offering you our services again. It's been ages, indeed, and with all kinds of rumours going around the place, I had no idea what to think. Your being here must mean things are going back to normal, though, am I right? And that young man behind you? I assume that woul-"
"Shou." Toushiro cut him off sharply, one brow twitching in opposition to the otherwise blank expression that had smoothed his features, and he turned around to gesture to Ichigo to come inside. "Stop talking. It's not a tea party."
"It is a party for us every time we see you." Shou responded with a dutiful smile, to which the teen only let out an audible sigh, giving up a smile only when he detected his boyfriend's quiet chuckle from behind him. "What can we do for you today?"
"Allow me to smoke inside." Toushiro muttered in a leisurely drawl, and to help the man make up his mind on the matter, he pulled out his father's credit card from his pocket, waving it around absently as though he was selling a bus ticket. The little hint had the desired effect. Before him Kimura Shou slowly grinned wider and wider, lips stretching over well-flossed teeth and a warm glow of content dispersing across his face as his small hazel eyes followed the little rectangle lovingly. The scene was almost like a moment taken out of a cartoon show, and the boy needed to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from laughing out loud when the shop owner began speaking again, the words dripping dreamily from his greedy tongue similarly to liquid honey.
"Oh, Mr. Hitsugaya, that goes without saying."
Of course not. The card did all the talking.
"Perfect." Toushiro chirped, shoving the stolen finances back in his pocket. "Let's get some suits then."
The next 40 minutes were spent in constant musing over the clothes, trying things on, smoking, and struggling to decline Ichigo's insistent questions as to where the credit card had come from. Matsumoto joined in somewhere during the middle of the ordeal, quickly busying herself with some evening gowns that the shop assistants directed her to, and her innate loudness and the general fuss that she somehow managed to create around herself, calmed some of the atmosphere down, distracting the carrot-top from the oddness of the situation. In the end, Toushiro picked two sets of suits, both in different shades of grey and accompanied by white dress shirts. He refused the ties but bought one for Ichigo nonetheless, downright shoving the bag in his boyfriend's hands and announcing that there'll be more bribing for his silence later. Rangiku went for just one dress and an old-fashioned, wide-brimmed hat, which of course, all cost a fortune, and Hitugaya more than happily paid for everything, guiding everybody out of the shop with the declaration that they now needed shoes.
Several pairs of shoes (the majority of which being Matsumoto's), an ipod, a mobile phone and a whole bunch of accessories later, Toushiro and Ichigo found themselves in front of a lingerie boutique, waiting patiently for their one female companion to come out. By now, all the purchases had been transferred to Ichigo's guardianship and the poor guy looked positively uncomfortable, loaded as he was with colourful packages of various content and origin. He had called several hours ago to ask Kyouraku to aid him with the favour his boyfriend had requested and Hitsugaya had been pleased to find out that getting invitations for someone of the carrot-top's status had turned out to be quite easy (especially since the mayor didn't handle such formalities personally, but rather left his imbecile secretary do the work). Funny enough, said orange-haired model didn't seem particularly jovial by the news, his face somewhat glum as he seated himself on one of the benches in front of the shop that Matsumoto was assaulting, all the bags arranged awkwardly around his feet like a freaky modern-style paper garden.
For several long minutes neither spoke up - Ichigo's gaze resting on his hands as he propped his elbows on his knees and entwined his fingers together - and the lack of speech hung painfully over their heads like a cloud that would neither burst into raindrops, nor move away from blocking the sunlight. Biting his lower lip, Toushiro shifted his eyes from his lover, to the shop, then back, contemplating what to do now, what step to take to make things better, while still keeping his distance. He knew he was reacting all wrong, cutting out the few people who still mattered, but he couldn't help himself, couldn't fight down this constant need to lock the rest of the world out, when all that world had done was spit in his face at every chance it got.
The question wasn't even about cowardice or bravery, acceptance and denial, falling apart or rising above the problems that brewed in every mundane human life … it was a matter of heart and trust – the most precious things that one human being could give to another – and Hitsugaya just wasn't sure… wasn't sure if he could surrender them so easily. It felt as though-… as though those little treasures that he was still fighting to protect, they would crack and splinter in his cupped hands even as he handed them over, dissolving between his trembling fingers like sand, like dust, like clear spring water… When he looked at himself at such moments, at what he had and what it meant for him, he couldn't shake away the thought that even those cherished sparkles of his, these tiny and imperfect emotions and hopes that he was guarding with everything that he was, they would seem so petty in the eyes of everybody else, so unworthy and blemished by thousands of words, thousands of fingers and thousands of thoughts… Ichigo might not be like the rest of them, but it was a matter of time before he realized a certain little fact. A particular truth that Toushiro had been aware of all along…
He can do so much better than me…
Hitsugaya's features softened as he watched his lover, his posture, his downturned lips and the little beanie that was still covering most of his hair, except for a few orange locks that stuck out unruly and daring from beneath the loose fabric… Where was the calm warmth that oozed from every inch of this man's body? Where was the slightly teasing, albeit comforting smile that he always wore to battle with Toushiro's constant frowns? Where had all that gone…?
Maybe it was the sad, almost defeated look on the carrot-top's face, maybe it was just his own inability to stay so distanced from the guy anymore, but slowly, the boy felt his ice wall crumble as he made his way to the bench with unsteady knees and tight spine, and seated himself next to the taller male. Ichigo didn't say anything, remaining still despite the movement beside him, but somehow Hitsugaya knew that the model wasn't mad. Just upset maybe. Confused that instead of being trusted at such moment, he was being pushed away. Locked out like a pup that had done something wrong without even noticing…
"It doesn't look like I'm trying at all, does it?" Toushiro whispered, arranging his hands in his lap as he gathered his knees together, leaving his feet wide apart and with their toes pointing at one another. His gaze slipped to his loose fists, teal irises resting on the thin white flesh that stretched taut over the bones, and he contemplated morosely the way the skin rapidly began losing its colour, fading, chafing off the iridescent fabric of the world until it was only a splotch of something broken, something drained from the vividness of life and turned into a somber dusty grey flaw. "But I promise you… I promise you, I really am, truly, honestly, struggling to make this work. And it's killing me, because-… because the more I talk, the worse it gets, and the more you find out that I'm a lost case and it's not really worth it to rush to my aid with the little that you get in return. This isn't a fairy tale and you don't have to be my prince in shining armor if you don't want to. And sooner or later, after the next mess up, or the one afterwards, or maybe a hundred more later, you'll have had enough… You'll leave and I'll have no one to blame but myself for losing you."
He felt Ichigo turn his head to look at him, but somehow, somehow, he couldn't lift his own one eyes to see the expression on the taller male's face, to try and figure out what the man was thinking about this sudden change of mood. He could feel it coming, the tide, the tide that he had feared all along, and his shoulders slowly raised, hard with tension and shaking with hope to keep the world from rolling off his back. The harsh, enormous lump that was gradually accumulating inside the boy's throat was a lot thicker than he had expected, and for a few seconds he couldn't speak, letting his voice fights its way round the chunk of emotion that wouldn't let him talk, weep, breathe.
"I f-feel-" His hands clenched now, forming pale, pasty bundles of bones and skin. "I feel so, so stupid. And so ashamed… And so damn sorry. I don't want you to see me like this, but at the same time, I need to have you around. I need to have you here, and I know, I know it's selfish… But it's just-"
"Toushiro…"
"-It's just how it is. How I am. Doubting-… Doubting us is the first step. We haven't even been h-happy yet, and you can already feel it, can't you?"
"Toushiro, please, sto-"
"-How much of a problem I am, how little I can give you for everything you've done for me. It's a matter of time, goddammit, only a matter of time before you realize what you have to do." Toushiro swallowed and shook his head, lips pulling into a quivering and bitter smile. "Before you understand that I mean nothing at all and it's best for you to just go."
His eyes stung a little, but he refused to allow himself to cry, holding up the best way that he could in this situation. Ichigo probably didn't understand half of what he was going on about, confused, maybe even repulsed by the short white-haired boy after this impulsive rant… However, it was all that Hitsugaya could offer at the moment, and even a single word more, a single sound added to this mess of syllables, would shatter him to pieces. He wasn't good at this and it was showing, all his frustration, and helplessness, and despair, oozing profusely from his pores like a poisonous mist. This was it. This was the best explanation that he could muster and it didn't. Even. Make sense.
Is this fear never going to go away?
He could feel his boyfriend move beside him, slowly, almost too slowly even, and then a warm hand slipped down the boy's forearm, caressing the naked skin in its wake till the familiar tan palm was covering Toushiro's knuckles, a slightly rough thumb grazing the thin bones in a soothing and gentle fashion that carefully coaxed the diminutive fist to relax and the tiny fingers to fall loose from their tight bundle. Oh, God… The tentative touch made Toushiro choke on some broken sensation, gasping for air that his lungs otherwise had no problem retrieving. What was this? What was happening with him, to drive him so far, to push him so deeply?
"Look at me. It's okay. Just look at me."
Hitsugaya visibly stiffened for a moment, scared of what he might see if he ventured to do as he was asked, but ultimately his mind and body gave in and he cautiously turned his head to the side, peeking up from beneath tightly knitted brows at his lover's smooth face. Ichigo's lips were twisted in a sad, yet kind smile, as soft chocolate orbs met harsh jade in a battle with no losers and no winners, and the man clicked his tongue playfully, ducking down to press their foreheads together in a tiny arch above their joined hands. Toushiro's heart tightened with emotion at the action. Somehow, even without any words to guide them, they ended up closing their eyes simultaneously, breathing together as though it was the only way to keep existing, the one source of life that they could touch… and then the carrot-top's fingers sneaked between Toushiro's cold ones, squeezing slightly, carefully, almost as though to make sure that the kid was still there, with him.
"Feel that?" Ichigo asked quietly, the words fluttering from his lips like tiny butterflies, breakable and free. Hitsugaya wanted to reply, to say something that actually mattered, but his voice shattered before it could burst out of his throat and he just squeezed back the man's hand in response, knowing that his lover would understand. "That's me, right here, with you, and no matter what you say, or what you do today, tomorrow, or a million mistakes from now, I'm not going anywhere. As long as this means something to you, as long as you care and you'll have me the way I am, I'll never let you go, and I'll hold your hand and carry your bags and kiss you senseless… And if it's not enough, I'll try harder, I swear, I'll try as hard as I can and more. If you think this is something I'd do for someone who means 'nothing at all', then think again. Think again, and you might just find out where you're mistaken…"
At that moment…
At that moment, as Toushiro pulled back with a shuddering sigh and then tilted his head to the side to attach their mouths together, Toushiro knew he had done it. He had finally truly done it.
He had handed his heart and trust to someone else, and with that single liplock, he officially sealed the deal.
It came as a habit to ask if he looked good, although he knew that Ichigo would say he was fine even if his little boyfriend was donned in straw shorts and bunny slippers. Which he wasn't, by the way, because no matter how much he resented his father, he wasn't stupid enough to show up at Masashi's party in inappropriate habiliment.
God help the poor foolish souls who ventured to do that.
Clad in his new light grey suit, a white dress shirt and a pair of expensive black loafters, Toushiro felt as though he was reliving an unpleasant experience from the past, like he was maybe about 4 years younger, attending one of those tedious occasions he hated so much, and itching to get out of the clothes that he was otherwise taught to wear with style. He knew tonight was what he needed – his one way to have a closure and be convinced, once and for all, that he was doing the right thing – but either result, either path that he took as he exited this building, would leave him disappointed and heavy-hearted. No matter what he did. No matter what he said, thought, hoped for…
There was no true happy ending for this story, and even he, as the writer of his own destiny, was painfully aware of this fact.
He took a deep breath in, reaching to brush a stray wisp of white hair out of his eyes. Ichigo's presence beside him helped a little, but he would have to sneak out of the guy's supervision at some point, face his own demons - in whatever shape or form they decided to come to him - and right then and there, when that momentous event occurred, no one would be able to help him. He would be all alone against the heart-wrenching truth, and he would either crumble to pieces under the pressure, or rise from the ashes like a phoenix that was no longer willing to smolder in the dying embers of the past.
"Ready?" Ichigo whispered near his ear, discreetly running a pair of knuckles down the boy's spine. Toushiro shuddered with half-hidden pleasure under the gentle touch, casting his smirking lover a somewhat reproachful glance for the mild teasing, only to nod his head a second later and proceeded to follow the model up the staircase and away from the safety of the man's car.
Oh, God. This would definitely not end well.
"Are you going to finally tell me what we're doing here?" the carrot-top asked quietly, making sure that no one else could hear them talk (a challenge that surely cost a lot, considering the number of smartly dressed people, who were majestically climbing the steps alongside with the two of them). Toushiro just rolled his eyes at the question and shook his head emphatically, for an umpteenth time that day refusing to respond to the persistent enquiry despite the flicker of dejection that he could clearly see flashing behind the taller one's gaze.
It had only been a couple of hours after the conversation in the mall and it probably felt to Ichigo as though they were back to square one, dancing along some thin, quivering line that would either bring them closer together or push them unfixable far apart. Hitsugaya understood how it seemed to his lover, how hard it was to comprehend what the white-haired boy actually wanted to achieve, but it was the best that the artist could do at the moment - no matter how much it hurt him to battle with the carrot-top, again and again, and again, over the same stupid thing – and he couldn't back down now... Fact was though, it was getting progressively more difficult to deflect the subject or make promises for future explanations in order to avoid the inevitable, and as they approached the entrance of the hotel where the party was taking place, Toushiro realized for a final time today, that he wouldn't be able to withhold the interrogation much longer… Ichigo wasn't going to continue taking 'no' for an answer - not now that they were cross the enemy territory unarmed and vulnerable- and the boy would have to give a sensible reason for his behavior, whether he fancied the idea, or not.
And he definitely wasn't thrilled to enlighten anyone about his devious plans.
He saw Ichigo's mouth open, an obstinate expression carving in the perfect, smooth features, but before the model had had the chance to protest and press further, another, unfamiliar voice interfered as he was asked for his name by the strict, notebook armed man who was standing in the doorway to meet the guests.
Right. They were in the guest list.
"And your companion?" came the next question, muttered more likely due to habit than anything else.
"Kyouraku Shunsui." The carrot-top enunciated smoothly, holding back a smile with much less effort than what it took out of Hitsugaya not to grimace.
Three minutes later, they found themselves in the middle of a quite opulent cocktail party, surrounded by so many people, that for a moment Toushiro actually felt claustrophobically dizzy. Several faces stood out as painfully familiar visages of men and women that his father had always been tight with (in the most pragmatic sense of the word, of course) but they were all so busy pulling slick, self-important looks and sugary smiles for their interlocutors, that neither noticed the banished son stride rather boldly past them and further down between the rows and rows of guests. By the time Ichigo and he reached one of the corners of the room where several empty tables were situated, the carrot-top appeared truthfully uneasy, pulling at his tie restlessly as he tried to find somebody he knew in the masses of business men, politicians, well-paid companions and other complacent representatives of Karakura's 'highlife'.
"Is that the first time in your glamorous existence that you've found yourself on a party where you're not familiar with the whole wide world?" Toushiro asked mildly, letting a small wicked smile tingle at the ends of his lips as he stood in front of his boyfriend and very gently arranged the man's tie so that it was loose enough without seeming untidy. "Don't worry so much. It's a matter of time before someone recognizes you."
"This isn't why I'm concerned." Ichigo admitted quietly, shoulders slumping as he allowed the boy's nimble fingers to deal with his knotted accessory. He peeked down at his boyfriend, chocolate eyes swiping incredulously across the pale face, and then let out a low, half-weary huff. "I have no idea what is going on inside your head and it's driving me nuts. Seriously, Toushiro… I want to know what is going on."
"Nothing you should worry about."
"That doesn't matter. You make me get invitations for your father's birthday – the same precious dad of yours that kicked you out and refused to support you when he should've – and now we're here and you expect me to actually believe we're looking for some top-notch entertainment and nothing else?"
"I was hoping you'd get the hint and stop asking after some point." Toushiro muttered with a half-hearted jerk of his shoulder. He didn't even get a snort in response to the stupid argument as Ichigo's hands shot up, cradling the boy's elbows and making the smaller male pause in his ministrations. It was an odd gesture – something that both reminded of the intimacy of a brief kiss and the comfort of a long hug – and it stirred something inside the smaller male, something odd and ineffable that blossomed like a fresh spring flower, yet threatened to wane at the smallest gust of wind.
"You should know me by now." The carrot-top noticed in a soft, quiet voice. "I won't judge. I just need to be sure you know what you're doing."'
You know what you're doing, right?
Hitsugaya allowed his hands to lingers a little too long around the other one's tie, gaze lowered as though he had no strength to look up, and after a moment of mulling, he lifted his chin with a forced smile and nodded his head.
"Alright." He agreed dully, letting go of his lover's attire and stepping back to take a better look at the guy. Ichigo didn't stop him, didn't hold on to him, but the longing was there, etched in his eyes, his posture, the shape of his mouth... "I'll tell you everything you need to know if you just promise not to interfere. Do you mind getting me a drink first, though? I don't think I'll manage without any alcohol into my system."
The relieved expression that fell across Ichigo's face literally made something inside the boy clench in pain. He kept his semi-smile up all through the next few lines that they exchanges - what Toushiro wanted, how much ice, how many olives – but it practically made him feel nauseous as he watched the carrot-top get sucked in into the crowd with the one purpose in mind to please his wayward lover in exchange for a truth that he should've been granted unconditionally. The mayor's son closed his eyes wearily for a moment. Every bit of him, every cell, every inch of skin in his entire being was screaming at him to stay right there, not to move, not to dare leave like this. But he knew he had no choice.
So before Ichigo had found his way to the table with the beverages to fulfill the errands, Hitsugaya had slipped in a completely different direction, searching, seeking, while he still had the guts to do so.
It was easier than he thought.
Or rather, easier to be found by the object of searching, because maybe a minute or so later, he felt someone grab him roughly by the arm and in a blur of colours and voices, he was dragged out of the crowd, through some narrow corridor and eventually shoved in a room that had a large 'Staff Only' label on its door. He stumbled a little on his way inside, rudely as he was 'welcomed' into the unfamiliar environment, yet for some reason the odd urge to snicker, to mock this situation, tickled the insides of his throat, making him feel both stronger and slightly nauseous. The rustle of expensive garments reached his ears, soft and well-measured like everything elegant and hypocritical, and then the switch was flicked and bright light showered the room.
"Mind explaining what you're doing here?" came an even voice from behind his back and a pair of feet shuffled along the bare linoleum, chaffing molecules of polish off the glossy surface similarly to dull nails that were trying to scrape across glass. The noise, the result, the flaws that would only be visible years from now - it almost resembled a twisted and far-fetched metaphor of destruction and the boy couldn't help the sick amusement that the thought sprouted inside his brain. Slowly, in a nearly surrealistic manner, he felt something peel off his skin like a thin layer of dry paraffin and every bit of uneasiness, every doubt that he had had, dripped off his being as his lips pulled into a smirk and he indolently straightened his shoulders. Adapting the role of the defiant, tiresome son came almost naturally to him, but he didn't turn around immediately to face his parent, enjoying the tiny stretch of time as he observed the environment with downright professional interest.
His senses tingled with anxiety, noting the lingering odour of paper and stale tedium - the desk, the chairs, the miniature table and the cupboards, all covered with pads, pencils, books and folders that simply screamed 'office' and sucked every bit of life from the air around them. The atmosphere was tangible, ready to crinkle underneath the boy's fingers and he got the unnatural urge to rub his palms together, to scratch off whatever it was from this room that was sticking so persistently to his skin. The faint flow of music which leaked from the cracks around the doorframe was the only source of reality that would touch this room, and it truly had Toushiro pondering over how banal this situation was, how painfully predictable, and he easily accepted his fate as he spun around to proceed with this dull theater performance.
"I've got something of yours." Toushiro said smoothly, brow arching as though to emphasize on the statement as he allowed his lips to twitch just a little at the ends. "Thought I might as well return it and ask what I have to ask."
Hitsugaya Masashi, dressed to the nines in a dark blue suit, was standing between the closed door and his disowned son with his arms folded before his chest and a face that expressed nothing but rigorous annoyance. There was no real anger showing yet, just smudges of irritation here and there, disbelief, some curiosity maybe… But nothing real. Nothing that actually mattered… Toushiro had to admit that for a guy who was already in his forties, his father looked exceptionally good, neat, slender, masculine, lacking even those tiny wrinkles around the edges of his eyes that most people started to develop at this age. No wonder the man still got his way with the ladies – he was the embodiment of power and authority, and all of it packaged in an exceptionally appealing wrapper – but while there were undoubtedly many reasons to feel attracted to the mayor, there was something oddly disturbing about the politician, something unusual that even the most inattentive person couldn't miss...
…And that something, that tiny, seemingly insignificant detail, was the open, unhidden coldness that defined the very essence of what this man was and what he could do to raise above the masses.
"Mind if I smoke?" Toushiro asked quietly, already pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and tucking one between his lips. His father's eyes narrowed at the sight, painfully thin lips parting to say something undoubtedly caustic, only to freeze in that ridiculous shape when the boy produced a credit card from the confines of his garments and twirled the thing between his fingers, tossing and turning it around like a chopstick. "Familiar much?"
Masashi's face immediately relaxed again, the side of his mouth jerking up as a short, muffled huff rustled from the depths of the man's chest. The acrid amusement that his whole being radiated, mixed with some kind of a nocuous mockery with no visible purpose, literally burnt the air between the two of them, eating up the oxygen much faster than any other chemical as the credit card was chucked on the floor, left to slip towards its rightful owner similarly a used plastic gum package.
"Had fun?" the man asked evenly, momentary baring his teeth in some joke of a smile. "I hear you don't have it very easy with what you're working nowadays. And with your relationship recently over-"
"Who said Ichigo and I broke up?" Toushiro asked sharply, cupping his hand around the end of the cigarette as he lit it up and inhaled with a delighted sigh. The slim strips of curly smoke spiraled and curved like an injured white snake, coiling in fading rolls that only seemed to foreshadow their own death. "He's here with me, actually. Got us these invitations. Your secretary is sloppy not only with blow-jobs, I'm afraid, she hears a famous name and adds it up to the guest list without bothering to ask any questions."
The boy's hollow chuckle was the only sound that tore through the relative silence as Toushiro snatched the tobacco stick from his lips and carelessly tipped the ash off on the floor, contemplating his father with heavy, lead-like eyes. Masashi didn't move under the scrutiny, numinous and unreadable in his silence, but it was obvious that his patience was wearing thin, and when he spoke again - in a voice that resembled a hiss much more than a calm parental tone - the irritation was no longer questionable:
"I should've washed your mouth with soap at every chance I got when you were a kid."
"Maybe bleach would've been helpful, too bad it'd be such a bother to lift your finger to even do that much." Toushiro shifted his weight from one leg to the other and quietly began unbuttoning his jacket, slipping the garment off his shoulders and throwing it on the desk beside him with a fluid, careless motion. "But we're not here to talk about that."
"And what, may I ask, has been the reason for this pleasurable meeting, then?" came the taunting question and Toushiro scoffed, shaking his head as he released another cloud of cigarette smoke from his lips.
"We're here because you keep disregarding precautions and failing to delete potentially dangerous information from your technical devises. Hence, I might've stumbled upon something that you surely hadn't meant for me to find out."
For a few seconds the words seemed to have no effect whatsoever, and Toushiro merely smiled at the bubble of nothingness that met his statement, his hand already pulling his father's phone from the pocket of the recently discarded suit jacket. The little machine felt cold and oddly heavy in his hand, the slick surface seeming somehow disgusting to the touch, like the slimy, clammy flesh of a reptile, and he had to consciously restrain himself from flicking the thing to the ground as he dangled it with two fingers in front of the mayor's eyes. Masashi's face visibly darkened at the sight of his lost possession, realization, along with something formidable and vindictive twisting his features and making him look older, more haggard, less human… The man's skin – such a handsome creamy colour – slowly began fading into something whitish and grave, forcing the sharp cheekbones to stand out even more and the thinness of the lips to cut even further into the noble and strong-willed face.
"You didn't notice it was gone?" Toushiro asked, half chuckling as he placed the mobile device on the desk behind him and sucked on his cigarette greedily. "That's sad. You might've been able to think of something to prevent me from doing what I did. But then again – this was your personal phone, wasn't it? And you don't have much of a family life, so…"
"You think you're so smart," the man spoke, voice severing through the room with its peculiar, inhuman calmness. "Push a couple of buttons, find a few old texts, and you're king of the world again. But if you were clever, you would've stayed back, used what you had… What are you doing here now? What are you expecting, if you already know everything?"
Toushiro tapped the end of his cigarette again, watching as the burnt substance fell like a gust of dirty snowflakes to the floor, and the smile dripped off his face, leaving only blankness, voids, holes…
"I called a reporter." He muttered more to himself than to his father, watching his poison burn closer and closer to the filter with every wasted second. "Smart woman, Yoruichi-something, if I remember correctly… She was one of the few people in her profession who didn't chase after me with pitchforks and torches back when there were things to chase me for… I spoke to her today, and she seemed more than thrilled to write something a little controversial, with the potential of a very massive scandal if she played her cards right… So she downloaded what she needed for her work from your mobile phone and sent me off with a promise that I'll be reading everything on paper by the end of the week..." he paused, chewing momentary on the inside of his lower lip, and then lifted one shoulder in something of a shrug, continuing in a much lower voice. "Funny though, I thought-… I thought that I would be happy to know that the truth would finally come out, that at least some of the stains would be erased… But for some reason, whether because it all came as too much of a shock for me to accept in one day or because I'm just more of a freak than I expected, as I was leaving her office, I realized that I didn't feel any better… That none of this really satisfied me, no matter what it would do for my future, for my dignity and for my pathetic self-respect. " he let out some indefinite sound, something between a choked laughter and a huff and added morosely. "Instead, all I wanted, all I needed, was to see you, to hear you say it… Admit it, deny it, I don't even care, it just has to be from your mouth."
Masashi's face contorted at that confession-
"And why would I do that?"
-Expressing raw. Unbidden. Resentment…
Toushiro slowly looked up at the sound of that question, mouth twisted with bitter, acid distaste as he stared at his father from underneath tightly knitted brows, not even hoping anymore, not even waiting for something to surprise him or to prove him wrong… He knew what he knew, and he only needed his soul and heart to accepted reality. Everything else was clear, believable… And twice as painful.
"Because," the boy breathed, almost swallowing the word before it had left his trembling lips. He reached to the side and crushed his finished cigarette on the desk right beside the abandoned mobile phone, retrieving his arm, only to wrap it on top of the other one around his thin waist. "This is all you've ever needed to claim your victory, isn't it? It's what you've been lacking this whole time, what's made you so heinous, so thirsty for more despite the fact that I've already been destroyed, brought to my knees and crushed under the feet of the whole society… It was never enough, what I had to go through, never enough… That's why you had to go this far, to get me into the press again… It's because you don't have a closure, just like I don't. You've needed this, to tell me the truth, to watch my face as you punish me with it, and prove to me how much stronger, more powerful, more clever you are…" Toushiro swallowed, pressing his lips together as he gave his father an ironic little smile. "Well, there's your chance. I'm all ears."
When Masashi began speaking, it was like his words weren't even coming from his mouth, but dragging their weight from thousands and thousands of miles deep, from some bottomless chasm, where they had been banished to be forgotten, inhumed forever similarly to decaying corpses of some sick, infected creatures. To an extent they sounded in that way – dead, uneven, lurching up and down as they pushed their way into this world – but it did not make them any less real, and Toushiro listened with fists clenched tightly by his sides, drinking in information that he had already figured out.
"You'd be surprised how much something as simple as family status could mean to people. Having a wife, a home to go back to, a child to take care of – it's all an idealistic idea, ingrained in the consciousness of every person, with or without them knowing it. Being successful in politics is image and appearance to such a great extent, that being anything but exemplary is absolutely out of the question if you want to go far. Your mother was the first step – a beautiful and ambitious woman, who knew how to behave in society without attracting unnecessary attention, and you… You were the logical continuation of this plan." Taking a step away from the door, Masashi puled at his own tie, slipping it off and discarding it carelessly somewhere to the side as though this was his own home and he would easily find his things when he got up in the morning. "You were planned, you were conceived, but what I hadn't predicted, was that my precious offspring would turn into such a major issue for me just a couple of years after his birth."
"It didn't have to be like this." Toushiro gritted out with more venom than he had planned, but his father just chuckled soundlessly, shaking his head as he got rid of his jacket as well, this time hanging it over the nearest cupboard as he continued.
"You must be really naïve to think that anything I did could've changed the flow of events… From the moment you inhaled your first breath of air, you seemed to swear on your life to go against everything decent and normal that the world tried to teach you. You were loud, and annoying, and demanding, and the more you grew up, the worse it got." Running a careful set of fingers through his well-coifed hair, the mayor tucked his hands into his pockets, canting his chin back as though to take a better look at his son. "Everything had to be the other way round with you, and when you could, you did your best to put yourself on display, to make the world look at you and either cheer, or hoot, but never stay impartial. Fights. Destroying school property. Underage drinking, smoking… And then? Then you turned out to be homosexual." The man huffed, grimacing in disgust as his eyes landed on the boy's slender figure. "Sometimes I think you became gay just to spite me – after all, attention was what you wanted all along, wasn't it? To be noticed, acknowledged, recognized for something, even if it was beyond repulsive, idiotic, or both."
"You're digressing."
"Not at all. What you did, what you kept doing, wore my patience off year after year, little by little, till your escapades became so big and so obvious that I had no choice but to step up. You were a problem, Toushiro, and the elections were coming up, and for some reason the more the date approached, the worse your behavior seemed to get." Some sick, twisted kind of delight pulled the man's features as he stepped even closer to the child, watching carefully the smaller, paler face. "You had to go, but I couldn't make you disappear without stepping in the spotlight as the bad father, who wouldn't even try reining his son. So I decided to let you destroy yourself. To make you pick the gun, press it to your own temple, and willingly, publically, pull the trigger…"
The next statement came as a whisper, soft, almost tender in its nature, but it cut through the momentary silence like a heated blade that was only meant to cause bleeding. Pain. Humiliation.
"I hired Sakai to fuck you and make you fall in love with him."
Toushiro could hear the malice, the pure, undeniable satisfaction that came from those words, dripping sweet and warm like candy syrup and burning his already leaking wounds. The ache in his chest, the need to bend in half and disappear, grew so strong all of a sudden, so powerful, that for a moment he almost couldn't hear, speak, couldn't even see straight… A little too late, he realized that his father was standing right in front, watching him from above, the way a hawk contemplates a mouse, and the boy barely resisted the urge to jump back from the unwanted proximity, to run while he still had the strength to do so.
"Didn't you ever wonder how a school teacher could live in such a large house, have that much money, indulge himself in so many luxuries with the pathetic salary that he got from the institution where he worked? " Masashi chuckled a little, the taunting, the vicious, vile mockery painting stripes and circles with black, oily fingers across the boy's vision. "Of course you didn't… You were like a little puppy, blinded by the attention that you got from the one person who ever bothered to try and 'get to know the real you'. You never researched him, never went as far as to try and find out more about his background, so it never occurred to you that he was, is, from my social environment. I knew Sakai as the man who had the ideal family and the ideal private life, both he and his wife owning companies that filled their pockets up on a daily basis… Imagine my surprise when I discovered that while he was flaunting around, being number one husband, he was, in fact, quite obviously interested in cute little things from his own gender…"
"That suited my needs wonderfully… I knew you were desperate for someone to get you, to challenge your mind and rub you the right way, so I found you the perfect man and the perfect sin, all wrapped up in a package that shone and glittered from miles away. He claimed that he agreed for the money, but truth was that with the information I had gathered on him, he was merely afraid of being exposed for his sexual orientation… so I had no problem pulling his strings, guiding him to do what I wanted him to… You played along beautifully, Toushiro, dancing like you've always wanted, spinning around and swaying to the beat, albeit with eyes tightly shut and ears deafened by the volume of the grandiose music. I was there to conduct the orchestra. And you? You wouldn't even climb the scene properly, you were that easy."
That foolish… For a moment the boy felt like he might faint, his hands clutching his sides tighter as he averted his gaze, breathing harshly through his nose. He knew this, he had expected it, but it hurt no less, it hit him just as hard and just as deep as it would've if he had come here as clueless as he'd been just 24 hours ago. He wasn't even sure if he knew how to call the emotions that were incinerating his insides at the moment, it was all just a big mess of things, a concoction of experiences that he wasn't used to deal with… His mind was struggling and thrashing against the onslaught of what his heart was putting him through, but it was all so hopeless, so stupid to resist now, for he was already losing the battle and the mortifying sensation of being pulled under, of drowning, bit by bit, by bit... it was consuming his whole world.
"That's disgusting." Toushiro uttered weakly, clenching his fists so his fingers wouldn't shake, wouldn't give away the turmoil that was brewing within the confines of his head… The man just lifted his shoulders in an idle shrug, still observing his own child with a malign little smile on his face.
"It was even more disgusting when the idiot tried to pull back from the deal. He said he loved you, you see, that you were special. Different. Smart." He spat the words out like they were poison, raising a brow at the look of shock that passed across the younger Hitsugaya's face. "Oh, yes, he wasn't faking… Not most of it, anyways. He really did think he had found his significant other, his little sweetheart, sunshine, or whatever it was that helped him get off when you two went at it…"
This wasn't right. This-… This hadn't been planned, it couldn't be, couldn't be true-
He was supposed to be guilty!
"H-he loved me?" Toushiro stammered in disbelief, pulling back to look at his father with wide, blank eyes. "He-"
"He was foolish, and he got himself in too deep." Masashi cut the boy off cruelly. "It didn't take long to convince him to stick to the plan, and so we did the arrangements, making it possible for his wife to catch you at the right moment, in the right position. After that your conscience did all the work. I knew you couldn't bear the thought of breaking someone else's family, not when the image of your own corrupted home was always there to haunt you, and you needed practically no pushing to say what you had to say. When the trials were over, I had no reason to be worried about kicking you out, the whole town hated you; you were the local slut, the home-wrecker and the fake prodigy that had been littering the papers for the better part of the past five or six years… I just threw you to the wolves. They did all the real work, and ironically, you helped, because you stupidly believed you were doing the right thing..."
The silence fell over them like an alleviating, yet heavy veil and Toushiro could barely breathe as he lifted his gaze to look at his father, to confirm everything that had just reached his ears. He could hear the blood pound in his ears, his heart beating in his chest so hard and so fast, he thought it might burst free… But this time it wasn't disappointment and despair that were blurring his sight, weakening his knees, or messing with his head… There was something else, something stronger and more primal that bubbled from the depths of his very soul, addling with his sanity and numbing his muscles like nothing else could…
-True, honest, desperate anger.
"That's it?" he choked out, face crumpling up in a mix of shock and indignation as he met his father's gaze with his own, flaming one. "That's it? That's all you're gonna say to me, after all you did, after all the damage you caused, you're not even going to try-"
"What are you expecting?" Masashi cut him off with a sneer, obviously unperturbed by the beginning of this insignificant outburst. "I gave you what you wanted, we're clear now, you know the truth from the horse's mouth, doesn't it feel good? Doesn't it make you feel better about yourself? Being the good character, instead of the antagonist, for once in your pathetic life?"
"The story will be in the papers tomorrow, or best case scenario – on Friday." Toushiro gritted out between his teeth, trying to keep himself together despite the frustration that was threatening to rip his insides. "Don't you have anything to say? Is that all that is? A story, a plan that worked smoothly and only failed you because you weren't paying attention?"
The mayor actually laughed out at that, and it was an ugly sound, deep and rich, and quite startling, too… Like a thunder that echoed in the shadows, following the slash of its garnish lightening. And the expression on the man's face – so calloused, so uncaring despite the future that undoubtedly awaited him – had all the warmth withdrawing from the boy's body, leaving him cold and empty… And scared somehow, for reasons that he couldn't even pinpoint yet.
'You're confused, aren't you?" The older Hitsugaya whispered almost sympathetically, reaching forward to snatch the kid's arm, yanking the smaller body closer despite the way Toushiro flinched at the action. "You don't get why I'm not angry enough, or upset over this loss, why I'm not anything really… Oh, dear child, it's because even if I didn't win at the end, neither did you. Your figures are off the chessboard, just like mine are, and this little game we've been playing all this time, it's brought us nothing at the end… Nothing useful, nothing valuable, just problems." the man chuckled, staring down at the pair of wide jade eyes with his own harsh ones as he continued in a mellow, almost amiable tone. "Don't you get it, boy? Don't you understand? You won't hear from me what you really, honest to God, want to hear me say, because I'm not sorry. I don't regret anything, not a single thing I've done, and I won't apologize to you for any crime I've committed, I won't give you the pleasure of begging for forgiveness, because I just don't give a damn about yours… True, with the proof you've got, I'll have to resign and leave the political career behind me, but I have the connections I need and the influence that I've earned, and you can't take that away from me, no matter how hard you try. You won't sue, and you won't drag this on like anyone else would in your shoes… But the price for this victory, you will pay with your conscience… You will pay it dearly, and you now know that, you will pay it with a piece of your sensitive little heart, the moment you hear about Sakai's family falling apart, his kids being take away from him and his life-"
"Stop. Stop it. That's not fair."
"Nothing's fair in love and war, and this is both, I'm afraid, in some twisted version of the saying." Masashi replied smoothly, squeezing Toushiro's arm harder and making the boy wince in pain. "You get what I'm telling you, don't you? You understand what I mean?"
"I can't be responsible-"
"But you will be. And that's the tricky part. You'll never walk away from this a winner, no matter what you do, or how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise... In fact, for someone so smart, you sure seem oddly fond of neglecting the simplest things … The smallest, most important details that anyone else would've thought of, because it concerns them, it concerns them more than any elaborate story that's already long gone…" Toushiro didn't even have the time to gasp as his father grasped his jaw, twisting the boy's head forcefully to the side when the teen tried to look away. The man's words were soft, sickeningly tender really, but the younger Hitsugaya knew this look, knew what it meant, and his blood ran cold, paralyzing his whole body like a shot of fatal poison. "You are forgetting, for example-… Something so basic, Toushiro, something so natural and close to the mind… You're forgetting that I know… just how afraid of me you are."
It was a normal thing to do – to try and wrench free, to struggle against it – but then again, Toushiro had never been normal. And he couldn't move, just like every other time before, he couldn't bring himself to resist… So he just stood there, terrified, frozen on spot and expecting the pain that deep inside he thought he actually deserved to suffer. His reason was telling him one thing, but his body had a mind of its own, and just like the time when he had wrongly assumed that Ichigo would hit him, now, too, he knew he wouldn't do anything to stop the blows.
"Remember the beating I gave you before I kicked you out?" his father muttered silkily, as though they were recalling some pleasant family memo that bonded them together. "That was a good one, wasn't it? I bet you won't tell anyone if I do something like that now, too, will you? You'll be too ashamed, the way you always were, the few times that I lost my temper… I should've beaten you more often, though, not just those two or three times when you really asked for it... The bruises definitely suited you. And you always found a way to make up an explanation without it sounding too fake…"
Toushiro tried to open his mouth and respond, to protest, to yell maybe, but nothing came out and he just closed his eyes, trying to make his brain work against the instinct that was prompting it to shut down and have him bear the punishment. He knew the moment his father released his chin, it would begin, just like the old days… First with the face. Just a few hits there, nothing too much, nothing that wouldn't heal in a couple of days, and then his stomach would take most of the punches, followed by his ribs, sometimes even his head, if there was something suitable to slam it against. This scenario had merely happened a few times before, and only when he had really pushed it, really, really pushed it, but the farewell present was the worst he had gone through, and it had actually been one of the reasons why he had refused to come out of his room for so long after he was disowned. Momo had stitched him up – the only outside person who had ever seen him in such pathetic condition – but he had made her swear never to mention it again, never to tell, anyone, about what she had seen… And she had kept her promise, because no matter how much they bickered or how many times they disagreed on something, she really cared about him, valuing his requests regardless of how stupid or senseless they were…
And that wasn't something you could see every day…
He felt his father's fingers leave his face and his whole body tensed, expecting the inevitable. A part of him had probably seen this coming – the unpleasant outcome that sometimes finished up even the most well-performed scenarios – but the dread came nonetheless. The anxiety that foreshadowed the first hit…
And then…
Then-…
…The door slammed open, allowing an explosion of noise to invade the room… The music seemed to come from very far away though, from some dimension beyond reality. From some place that barely brushed its borders against Toushiro's one…
…-nothing.
"Would you please step back, Mr. Hitsugaya, sir?" came a familiar velvet-like voice and the boy's eyes shot open, blinking with surprise at the sight of his lover, standing right behind his father with a blank expression on his face. "I wouldn't like to make a scene. Really."
Toushiro's gaze slipped down, slightly misty eyes taking into account whatever they could fathom from the situation, and he let out a shuddering breath, shocked by the sight of Ichigo's hand, closed so firmly around the mayor's wrist to stop what would've surely turned out to be a rather vicious hit. The grip around the boy's arm immediately loosened, a small smile appearing on Masashi's face as he extracted himself from his son and straightened his clothes, a slightly amused smirk tingling on the edges of his mouth.
"Touching." The politician stated dryly, snatching his phone from the desk and then approaching the center of the room to pick his credit card up as well. "That one sure is a keeper, Toushiro. Try to not mess things up this time, will you?" then he glanced at the carrot-top and shook his head almost regretfully. "Then again, you can't really help yourself, can you?"
And with one final and oddly polite nod to the two of them, he left the room to go back to his party.
A second later Toushiro found his face pressed against Ichigo's chest.
"That was another one." Ichigo whined, coming back from the doorway with a sour expression on his face and carrying a small piece of paper that seemed to have some kind of a number scribbled on it. "Do they really think I'm going to change my mind and call them when I clearly want nothing to do with them?"
"Well, you know the media," Toushiro replied around a mouthful of marshmellows as he adjusted himself more comfortably on the sofa, the bowl of pastel-coloured sweets balanced in the curve of his left arm while he dexterously handled the remote with his free hand. "If you're not with them, you're against them. And sometimes it's really nice to have them on your side."
Making no attempt to give his boyfriend room to sit down, Toushiro reached for the yesterday's newspaper and after disregarding his own photo on the front page, swiftly leafed to the TV program to try and find something decent to watch. Vaguely, he heard Ichigo murmuring something about little people taking up so much space, but the comment didn't faze the boy, his attention already completely focused on the possibilities that came with the good cable television and the endless screen that seemed specifically designed to satisfy the needs of every fan.
"There's a 'House MD' marathon already running." The teen mumbled distractedly, only grunting when the carrot-top lifted his bare legs by the knees and sat himself down, swiftly arranging said limbs in his lap after he was seated. "And some action movie that's started about fifteen minutes ago. Oh, and 'Desperate Housewives'…! If you beg real hard, I might cave and agree to 'Desperate Housewives'. But make the begging believable, I won't break unless I see real tears."
Ichigo sighed wearily rolling his eyes as he made a futile attempt to snatch the remote from his lover's hold.
"I don't want to watch 'Desperate Housewives' and you know it."
"That's not believable, I'm afraid, you'll have to try harder." Toushiro pointed out very seriously, which resulted in another short spar for the rights over the remote. When a couple of minutes later, Ichigo was still on the losing side of the duel, he just leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. Hitsugaya chuckled at the sight, finding the miserable expression on his boyfriend's face rather endearing, and fetched the newspaper again, scanning through the movie options. "And the Lord of Orange has been defeated. Now let's celebrate this with something annoying that he would surely hate…"
"Toushiro." The model suddenly spoke, and the change in his tone (from playful to earnest) had the younger male pausing and looking up, his brows furrowed with slight confusion. When the carrot-top didn't immediately continue, the boy shifted a little, straightening himself expectantly as he prepared himself for whatever his lover wanted to tell him.
"What's wrong?"
Ichigo's hands were warm and firm as the slipped up the teen's leg, grasping the petite white hand and pulling it towards him as though afraid if he didn't hold onto the boy, Hitsugaya would suddenly jump on his feet and flee through the door. It made Toushiro feel even more bewildered, caught off guard somehow, and he narrowed his eyes, a mix of concern and confusion twisting his features…
"What?" the boy repeated sternly, waiting for the response that seemed to come out with such great difficulty. Ichigo's gaze fell on their joined hands, grip tightening momentary, and then he looked up again, determined this time.
"I-… I have to leave Karakura and return to the capital."
Pause.
What?
Toushiro's heart fell in his stomach at the words and he automatically tried to wrench his hand free, betrayal, and disappointment and something else that kept screaming 'I knew it!' making him shake all over as he threw the newspaper to the side, along with the remote. His face felt hard, like it had frozen in some unreadable expression as a backlash against the news, and he found himself unable to speak, the strain that had glued his features in such static way now making everything ache.
"Oh." He managed plainly, throat tight, lungs ready to burst from the pressure. "I see. So. What was this? A summer fling? You came here for a vacation and now you're taking off?" he made an attempt to pull back again, to free himself from the man, but Ichigo wouldn't let him, now holding his hand between both of his as he stared with strained, anxious brown orbs at his lover.
"Would you wait for a second? Please, dammit, I knew you'd overreact." Ichigo muttered heatedly, obviously struggling to remain calm despite the struggling teen that he had at hand. "If you would just-"
"Overreact?" Toushiro repeated in disbelief. "Overreact? You did not just tell me I'm overreacting, you-… you-… you can't just dump this on me and expect me to smile brightly and say 'okay, nice knowing you'! Fuck!" grabbing the nearest pillow, he threw it rather uselessly at the man's face, growing even more irritated when the little stunt helped him none. "Hell, let go of me, will you?"
"No, because you'll run out in the streets in my shirt and your boxers and all those wandering reports will snap a shot of that glamorous beauty."
"Oh, so now you care about me!"
"Overreacting. Again. You should seriously stop doing that!"
"Doing what, you dick? Doing what exactly, because if you're asking me-"
"Not listening!" Ichigo downright shouted in frustration, suddenly letting go of his lover to throw his hands in the air in frustration. At the sight of his boyfriend's incredulous face, he paused though, a small laughter managing to escape his face as he took the teen's face in his hands and added softly. "Toushiro… I want you to come with me."
The End.
Sequel: coming soon.
A/N: If you want to read the sequel, add me to your Author Alert list. The sequel will be called 'Black and White' and should come in the next month or so. The sequel will be focused big time on Ichigo and Toushiro's relationship, and there'll be lots and LOTS of drama. ^^