Disclaimer: BLEACH and the brands/titles stated in this story belong to their respective owners. The plot, me (whee!).
Apologies for the delay...!
…
Chapter 18 – Some Times, Some Things
After venturing to the pet clinic nearby, the trio of two famous men and an asleep cat wound up in Ichigo's silver Subaru. This time, fortunately, the cloudburst regained its dripping fervor when they were en route to the sheltered walkway, and the younger man had the primitive intelligence to park his car nearby. Without a driblet on their bodies they boarded the Subaru. With a blare of the engine they left the neighborhood and into the city.
They drove a few miles in accompanied solitude. Rows of houses preceded sprawling complexes, which blurred into towering buildings and behemoth malls as they entered the hustle-bustle of inner Tokyo. It wasn't before long when Ichigo found the silence suffocating. He was too accustomed to having cutting exchanges with his co-star that he could hardly keep still in the face of inactivity. If the Ulquiorra Schiffer of the unwarranted morning call and house visit was a sparkling, effervescent glass of champagne, then the him of now was a can of stout served chilled.
The raven haired man might be no woman, Ichigo mused, but sometimes he behaved as though he was. He was so practised in his habitual quirks that his unpredictability enjoyed equal weightage. One could never know which Ulquiorra Schiffer would turn up at the ball. One consistent pattern was his prim and proper, albeit finicky, dressing round the clock, and hoity-toity attitude available to all at large.
Except the vet. He was pretty nice to him. Probably didn't want Sakana-chan to be jabbed with some lethal substance, ha ha.
Ichigo flipped on the stereo and lowered the volume by several notches, so they could converse without going at each other like ravenous vultures tearing viscera from carcasses. Hearing the other man's impassive baritone might have him develop intentions of throwing a chair out the window at times, but not hearing it made everything all the funnier. He wondered why, and it was not only because the older actor often had bizarre pearls of wisdom to impart.
"Does this FM station suit your classy tastes? Or is classic rock too cheap for you?" The channel was Ichigo's personal favorite, and he had set it as default.
To the question Ulquiorra answered with reticence. Through the soundless vigil he kept a radio DJ reported the latest traffic updates in the precinct, cautioning motorists to be wary of slippery roads and not to speed along highways. She bade her farewell afterward, giving way to the lunchtime segment, and a modern rock tune came on. A rhythmic beating of drums, a screechy electric guitar riff and thick bass lines accentuated the absence of words.
"Hello? Earth to this spaced out alien here! Any opinion on this?" Ichigo tried. He tapped his fingers against the mauve dashboard for additional effect. Still there was no reply. Heavy strumming rounded off the song and into the next. It was AC/DC's Highway To Hell.
No shit.
Kurosaki Ichigo decided to try again. "Figured you might have some advice to dish out, given your self-imposed authority on each and every niggling matter under the sun."
Ulquiorra Schiffer's lips stayed tightly pursed, refusing to emit any sound, almost fearful of what ideas he might give Ichigo as a result. The centerpiece of his brooding was none other than the ones closest to him currently. There were two: the cat and the man. Initially it was only the cat, but the man ruthlessly wormed his way in. As seconds paced forward, the man more, the cat lesser. Thus deeper the conundrum was. Alas he was an actor, and he did what actors do for a living.
They act.
He put on an act.
Concocting a blank exterior was basic and painless. Concocting a blank exterior to cover up undercurrents lapping and lashing ferociously into a sinking whirlpool demanded greater effort on his part. To triumph he must not give himself away.
Hence he shan't speak.
Kurosaki Ichigo knew who he was up against here—scrutinizing Ulquiorra's pasty complexion, his was a pair of dense brown orbs searching for solutions. In the midst he decided he could be better off talking to cattle grazing the green pastures, or herding sheep with a staff. At least they'd bother to moo, bleat, and boot you out of their territory—the bulls that is.
Gloomy clouds hung above as they cruised down wet roads and swiveled into streets, and sometimes the crackling of thunder distorted the stereo's reception. Songs came and went, buzzed and fizzled, sinking into the dearth as did Ulquiorra's ubiquitous thoughts. They lay with deep puddles located by roadsides, where rainwater pooled, trespassed and splashed about as motor vehicles zipped past with no remorse or whatsoever. In the toxic trail of exhaust fumes his thoughts fled with them.
"Hey," Ichigo called. He observed Ulquiorra's gaze weaving in and out of reality like an intricate pattern one sees in a kaleidoscope. A slight frown crumpled his porcelain lineaments, making him sterner than usual. "Don't look so grumpy and frumpy like an old maid. You already are as angsty-looking as they come, even without your sad, clownish facial makeup. Anyway, just to reinforce the good news, the vet said Sakana's only caught a minor stomach flu, and she'd be fine after a few days. Feed her with the medicine and come on, she's a strong little creature! No point getting browbeat over it."
His co-star nodded an indiscernible nod, his thin but well-defined lips unmoving from the firm line they formed.
The car stopped before a red light, and Ichigo took the opportunity to free both hands from the steering wheel. He thought of placing one upon his co-star's shoulder, but decided against it. No particular reason—he just didn't enjoy the possibility of a precision and care employed in handling Ulquiorra's wound, he scratched the ginger cat's belly with his fingertips. "She's going to recover really speedily and then face your dejected mien on a daily basis, sorry as I am for her. I am so sorry that no words can quite replace my sympathy for the kitty."
Ulquiorra's head bobbed absentmindedly again, jade orbs fixated on the hustle of pedestrian activity beyond the windscreen. A pair of wipers swiped rain pellets to the left, then right, and left, then right again. Around him a bouquet of charcoal clouds danced in tandem, swirling themselves into cherubic blossoms. From the nexus of gaudy red dots a garnet beam was projected. Light travels in a straight line, but the falling rain altered its course. Red parachuted from above and splattered everywhere over the glass, them droplets cascading freely down the bonnet and onto the roads, into the drainage, into the sewers, into the ground where the same undercurrents he held close to his chest, whirl and chart an undignified course into the wide, open sea. They were reminiscent of...
Blood.
He closed his eyes.
Hand.
He opened them.
Bandage.
His eyes flitted shut again, and with it the memories of a careless action clawed at his consciousness, nibbling away at his defenses, setting himself up as a frail creature, easily susceptible to acts of benevolence. He unconsciously touched his recovering palm, and through the clean gauze he felt warmth diffusing into his cheeks.
Beside him was a clueless Ichigo, not knowing who or what bothered his co-star so greatly. If he had known, it would be a travesty—onto himself. He reckoned Ulquiorra's mind was plagued by some unknown virus. A virus that he himself was not immune to either. He knew not. Then again he knew. The raven haired man tended to act this way or another, blatantly banishing everyone else to the periphery. Arcane, the man certainly was. Now that Ichigo enjoyed most of Ulquiorra's personalized attention on a near daily basis, he was not going to be ignored.
"Don't tell me you're trying to be me, with the non-stop frowning and stuff. Actually I don't frown all the time, see?" Kurosaki Ichigo relaxed his facial muscles and mustered a pathetic grin. "It's no longer contorted, and I'm as blithe as a lark! See? See? This," he proffered at the stretching curve. "Is a shining example of a brilliant smile. Note the sparkle that escorts it!"
"You are an absolutely horrendous actor," said Ulquiorra, without so much a glimpse in Ichigo's direction. His defense slinked away like raindrops hitting against the windscreen, attempting to erode glass. "Does your direness know no bounds?"
"Unappreciative as always, aren't you?" Ichigo instantly erased the smile and put on his infamous scowl. At last an answer! A lousy one but...I'd take it.
It was obvious he would be dissed no matter what he did, but reception of proof that the many parts and circuits which made up Ulquiorra Schiffer were functioning together as an effective unit; as puzzling and foreign the emotion was, gladdened his heart. He immediately felt like a sappy fool. He immediately felt the need to say something mean to his co-star:
"Don't get too choked up when you open your mouth later."
The green eyed actor brushed an ashen hand through the sleek coat of apricot and khaki, all the while shooting spaced out stares at the rear view mirror. He raised the cat's paw, and tilted the pink pad towards Ichigo cartoonishly. "She thanks you," said he, softly.
"That's very courteous of Sakana-chan," Ichigo stepped on the accelerator pedal as the red became green. They swept past a garbage truck, a red cab, some buses, before returning to their lane. "What about her owner? I may be incredibly nice, but sometimes a showing of decorum inspires better after services."
"We shall see to it that you improve by leaps and bounds before filming resumes in twelve days," Ulquiorra implored. It was marvelous how hastily his tone changed. Words meant to express gratitude channeled coercion instead. Discreetly he chewed on his bottom lip, locked in semi-regret, and said, "You have my assurance, but don't think of surpassing me anytime in the plausible future. Rome wasn't built in a day, but in the event of freak occurrences, an acting trophy could fall at your feet like snow in September."
"And January has April showers," quipped Ichigo, tongue in cheek. "Sadly that will have to wait." He gripped the steering wheel and swerved left into an empty driveway.
"You are no immortal," Ulquiorra deadpanned.
"Duh. That's precisely why I'm practising hard on my own these days. Don't believe me?" The younger man witnessed skepticism leaping across his co-star's distinct features. "I knew it. Ah, the trial and tribulations of being Ulquiorra Schiffer: A Cynical Bastard. You sure can hold your own under troubling circumstances."
Ulquiorra flashed him a look of nonchalance. "Go to my place now."
"Yeah I know." Ichigo honked at a sluggish green Volvo before them. "Can't you see I'm heading for Roppongi Hills, home of the rich and undeserved, land of glorious decadence? As if the massive street signs and digital advertisement boards flashing brainwashing signals passing you by every 500m and hanging from every space available—left, right, up, down ain't obvious enough," he rolled his eyes with a touch of dramatic flair.
"And I'm not wicked enough to dump you by the roadside. I don't do things halfway—can't believe how much I've repeated that. Almost sickening," said Ichigo, tittering. "If Karin were here with us now, she'd probably kick me in the jaws for being an overrun rag. Too bad you didn't see that goateed old man. He'd probably drool all over you and prevent you from leaving," he said with a sprawling grin. "Only Yuzu suffers his dramatic shit. The rest of us, Karin and I, no effing way!"
"I appreciate the cutting frankness of your younger sister. I don't undermine the worldly understanding your other sister shows. Aside from a semblance of virtuousness, she appears to be wise beyond her years. As for your father, it is not within my moralistic means to comment."
"You, morals? Excuse me."
His pallid co-star ignored him and continued, "Every one has a role to play in a household, and I daresay no two persons occupy an identical position. Not even fraternal twins. It cannot be, for everything has a purpose in society. Everything has to be in its right place, and the composition of a household—a family, is quite, simply put, that of a micro level. A patriarchal figurehead, and alongside him a woman. Then there are the children. Harbingers of joy and pain alike. They fulfill their roles too, as required of society. As beings who need protection and grow up to take their place as protectors of their household. The cycle repeats itself, and in every round, in place of a lack of matriarchal identity, there will be one child amidst the group who shoulders the most responsibility. This is highly resonant in yours."
"Coming from one as morally bankrupt as you, that sounds a bit rich and conservative," Ichigo laughed. "I suppose you are well educated enough to disguise your rotten core with collegiate rhetoric and elegant theories."
"I am but anything you suppose I may be."
"Nah, I'm not interested in guessing who you may or may not be. I've got better things to deal with, such as staring at paint dry and mowing the lawn. Or moving the 1,001 vacuum cleaners taking up precious space in our store room! You need one?"
"A vacuum cleaner?"
"Yep. I'll let you have them cheap. Dirt cheap. We're talking basement sale prices here!"
"No."
"What about your mom? She looks like she uses one?"
"No."
"Uncle, auntie, cousin? I'm sure if that blue haired psycho uses plastic combs with pointed ends, a vacuum cleaner shouldn't be too much of an issue, right?"
"...no."
"The pizza man, your personal stylist, the nice security guard downstairs? As a reward for suffering you?"
A lackluster glare crossed the pale actor's visage. "You won't take no for an answer, would you?"
"That's me," Ichigo gloated. "I made you talk lots in the end, didn't I? Ooh, chatty Quiqui!"
"Vacuum cleaners?" Ulquiorra inquired, completely disregarding the reappearance of an undesirable name. "What is next then? Washing detergent? Laundry powder? Bathroom mats? Does this reflect the swamp-like quality of your mind, imbecilic sponger?"
"Hey!" the younger star protested. "They are a decent topic. Anything related to household cleanliness is—I believe you won't refute that. The state of a home is tantamount to the state of one's sanity. Thank god for Yuzu. Without her, might I add the House of Kurosaki will be in shambles. If I were a pessimist, it would be non-existent by now!"
"Indeed. Be it human or machine, it is important that they bear contribution to prove the value of their existence."
Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't pass up on the chance to poke fun at his severe co-star. It was served to him on a silver platter, garnished and had scrumptious fruit slices dotting the sides. "You feel a tinge of loneliness, don't you? One single man, all alone and holed up in a spacious house. As an only child, you have no siblings to grate your nerves and send you teetering over with rage. Everyday you wake up to nothing but an expanse of space, and your cat is evidently bored. Probably yes. Probably no. Never mind that. Have you ever longed to wake up to someone calling out, 'Breakfast's done, so hurry down now before so and so finishes it!' or someone standing in your doorway, screaming, 'Fire!! Earthquake!! Bombs!!' every other second just to shake you awake? I know, I used to suffer from unnecessary cardiac arrests. No joke. They were unstoppable, all the way from junior school to high school!"
"That explains the latent insanity you wield."
"Jeez. Wait till you know how unpleasant they are. Every yell leaves you feeling numb in the chest and in a constant state of shock for the rest of the day. All in all a most traumatic experience most can do without, but hey, you need some noise in a house. It livens things up. Makes you have a sense of belonging, that you have a place amid these friendly chaos. Makes you feel at peace with the world too. Ironic huh, noise and peace co-existing in a single space, creating harmony, or...how should I put it?" Ichigo pondered as he pushed the aluminum pedal and sped ahead. "Say, something like a magnetic force to pull you to the ground, to make you stand firmly, to keep you rooted."
"That is termed as having a center of gravity."
Concurrence zinged across Ichigo's warm brown depths. "Center of gravity. I like that. Yeah, center of gravity, alright. Regardless of how low you spin on your heel or head, so long your center of gravity is there, you might fall flat on your bum, but you won't end up orbiting around fruitlessly. Still, I just can't imagine moving out and living by myself. Not that I fear loneliness or I am a sticky son who suckles on a milk bottle or whatever, but, to me, it just takes away the whole..." he said with a crease between his eyebrows. Once again his vocabulary failed him.
"Domestic experience?" Ulquiorra suggested. The very thought of the unsuspecting Kurosaki Ichigo waking up to a staged earthquake, confused and fearful, cracked him up from the inside.
"That's the word! Domestic experience!"
"So that spells out everything." Ulquiorra figured it was time to zero in on the many queries he had regarding his younger co-star as of late. "It's a rarity to see grown men leeching off their parents. Especially those earning high salaries."
"Oi. Just because you live alone doesn't imply others have to follow suit. I like where I am now, and that's what matters most. Nobody's kicking me out either. Who cares for your snooty opinion? I'm all for filial piety and family values. I'm well-schooled in Confucian values and I have every intention to upkeep them."
The green eyed actor peered askance at Ichigo. "Doesn't being apart from your...associates bother you?"
"Work is work. After getting off the cameras, I don't really fancy myself lingering around the area. It's too complicated for my liking. As for my so called associates, let's see. I think there are two types, generally speaking. One is mine, and the other is yours. Mine is the wild party-goer, the devil-may-care hell-raiser with colored hair and piercings and tattoos and god knows what bodily embellishments. We are the media whores, which is precisely why I need to get away from that damned place. Not everyone is what we are portrayed as, even though I can't say the same for the rest. Sadly, most times the media is spot on."
Ulquiorra cocked his head, wanting to hear more.
"Yours is the conceited crowd, people who reckon themselves the toast of the industry. Most likely they are pretentious bastards who suppose after reading Western and Japanese classics, the wisdom seeps into their brains. Suddenly," he snapped his fingers together, "they become the 21st century versions of Aristophanes and Homer! Think they're probably too cool, too up there to bother about everything else, but in truth they Google themselves all the time."
"You seem to bear a grudge against them," said Ulquiorra.
"Just stating the facts as they are," said Ichigo, as he recalled rows of aghast expressions when he was called to the front for his audition performance.
"Do you think I belong to the latter group?"
"No way," Ichigo coughed. "Nah, you aren't. Used to think you are, but now, I know. You really can't be assed at all. These people pretend to be intelligent, taking quotes from famous men and passing them off as their own, coming up with their own schools of thought—obviously copied, and hoping to influence the masses. You are quite different. As in, you do have the caliber to do as you say and you say what you think. You don't bother to do good, you don't bother to do bad. Eccentric yes, but, in the very least, you are the real deal."
"How can you be affirmative that I am not putting on an act all along? I could have done everything for publicity. I could be just another boring twerp who sees the need to demean everyone else in order to be noticed. Niceties don't work in this era, nastiness does. My words could have been carefully scripted by a skilled publicist. My appearance too. Everything. I could be the most manipulative person in the industry and no one could have known."
"I just know you aren't," Ichigo insisted.
"Why not?"
"It's like asking someone, 'Why do you love me?', don't you think so? Questions like this don't have answers laid out in black and white. There is no checklist to tick items off one by one and see if the end result is adequate and qualifies for whichever category it can be holed into. It's wholly subjective, and in my case, I stand by what I said."
"Why do you love me?" Ulquiorra repeated, as if weighing the words on his slim fingers.
"W-Wait—what?" Kurosaki Ichigo choked. He very nearly missed a turn, and threw his passenger a ferocious glare.
"Nothing."
"D-D-Don't," Ichigo cleared his throat with great effort, "I mean, don't say things like that without pre-empting me! I could have accidentally pressed the brake and have our lives hanging by a precarious edge! If that doesn't happen, a scratch might scar my beloved car, and that's when I'll make you pay for it."
"Violence and vindication courses through your veins," said Ulquiorra. "Though that alone has nothing to do with me, I profess it was rather refreshing to observe your interactions with your family. I certainly didn't foresee this grounded aspect of your loudmouth personality."
"Sounds to me you're beginning to be enamored with the simple life. Now that astonishes me," Ichigo muttered. "Speaking of a family's warmth, now that sounds as slushy as a grown man yakking about how unfairly priced a hundred grams of cabbage is. Anyway the thing is, if you want to, you can, you know, umm," he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, "that is if you want to, drop by sometimes."
All along Ulquiorra Schiffer was peeking at his co-star from the corner of his right eye. The latter was charm in its crowning glory: dashes of boyish allure setting in with a shake of devilish indifference. Unbeknownst to him, his brain was already working overtime to ingest images taken at shutter speed.
"Did you just issue me an impromptu invitation to visit your house as and when I could at the drop of a hat?" he asked.
"Err, no! No no no! You got it all wrong!" Ichigo sprung from his seat. "W-What I meant was my sisters seemed delighted to have you around. But I won't be fooled. They are obviously charmed by Sakana-chan—even a blind man can spot that from a mile away. You're just an additional sidekick for them to ogle at when their eyeballs become bored with life. Nothing more. Uh uh. That's the way it is."
"I am nothing more than my pet's human sidekick," Ulquiorra echoed brusquely. "I assume that when I stroll along the sidewalk, in reality, the cold painful reality, I am being led by a house cat on an invisible leash."
"You can always ask your local feline community." Ichigo pretended to check out for vehicles in the rear mirror. "Cats have all the answers, no doubt they speak in riddles. I assume they talk fish and yarn balls all the time. Especially those striped ones who can grin from mouth to mouth like a watermelon split."
"I do not believe in intuition, but you are a terrible speaker to begin with. Many times the state of your mind and oral muscle moves with a severe lack of co-ordination. Work on your eloquence too. There is progress but words continued to be haphazardly spliced and consolidated, a disastrous attempt at forming a sentence. In spite of your jarring flaws, my linguistic abilities are more than sufficient to outline the gist of what you say. A jumble no less, and I might take you up on your invitation."
Tick tock.
The clock commenced its mechanical movements again. The timer towards self-annihilation was rewound by a set of omnipresent hands. With every infinitesimal jerk of its second hand needle, a phantasmagorical hue took shape about his co-star. It was pink. Time expanded, then contracted. Seconds crossed into the minute mark. A vivid coloration surrounded the orange haired man, and slowly like tendrils winding themselves around a tree trunk, the hue crept into each and every of Ulquiorra's receptor devices. An attractive man his co-star certainly was, the pale actor thought.
Beguiling, too.
"What's your beef with me again? I didn't say anything, and neither did you hear anything! Why should you come as and when you fancy? Who do you think you are? Some superstar whom everyone is clamoring to be in close proximity with? Even so I will never be as dumb to let you in. Ever heard of 'A Wolf At The Door'? It's by Radiohead, and you bet Thom Yorke's singing about the likes of you," Ichigo laughed nervously, his cheeks a brazen tinge of ruddiness. He laughed louder and louder, desperate to drown his embarrassment in a sea of forced decibels.
"That is me," Ulquiorra referred to the former remark. To the next he said, "That is a poor analogy."
"You twisted my words out of their context! As always! A total fatuous conclusion you've reached—who knows what's going on in that steel brain of yours? Probably some Twilight Zone crap."
Ulquiorra sunk deep into the gray passenger seat, the corners of his lips toying with withheld laughter and inner musings. "Because you are doused in feverish anticipation over what I am currently pondering, I will tell you this."
"Ooh," Ichigo chimed sarcastically, his face recovering from a bout of scarlet fever. "Can't hardly wait."
"It is not so much of a general statement or hypothesis, but rather, a question garnered from my observations over the past few months. You can say it is a study of my colleagues, you can also say it is a personal undertaking. Either way it is only a trick to pass the time, whose clockwork pace perplexes me not until recently."
"A question? Who is it for?"
"You."
"For me?"
Ulquiorra nodded.
"But I thought Spock here has everything figured out!" said Ichigo. Incidentally both Spock and Ulquiorra Schiffer were advocates of holistic uses of logic. "Spock's my childhood hero, and you ain't. That's one line you should never cross."
The older man shot him a side-eye. "You have a significant other—that woman with you on the red carpet during the charity ball. The one who stood up for you when you were decisively defeated by me at Kendo months ago. Can you recall that incident, or has the scoreline battered reality out of you?"
"W-Who..." Ichigo was smacked right in the face by a proverbial curve ball. It weighed some fifty pounds and did his jaws in. "You are referring to Ino-I mean, Orihime?"
"That woman, yes."
"Oh her. Yeah, we've been together for, erm, quite a while."
"A while?"
"Since, hmm, when we both kick-started our careers."
"When you became an official adult?"
"When I became an official adult," Ichigo affirmed.
"In other words, your definition of 'a while' is two years."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. Were there other women before her?"
"Hmm, there was one in high school. But we weren't exactly serious, so..." Ichigo shrugged, "after high school we simply broke it off. Or should I say, I wasn't too into her. Thought I was but my heart gave way to acting. We hardly kept in contact afterward, though I heard she's majoring in Chemistry in, I think, Keio. She's doing rather well too, I believe. Bet she made the honor roll year after year. She's the kind who's smart, diligent, kind of a dreamer, somewhat practical, image conscious, nice, and temperamental at times. The usual package a girl has."
"I see. So she was too normal for you?"
"I wouldn't say that. Maybe I didn't want to settle down that early. Maybe our personalities are a far cry from each other's. That would explain why I wasn't overly keen on keeping the relationship. She's outgoing, loves to hang out and shop around during the weekends. I prefer to stay at home and read. Strum the guitar a little, play some video games with my kid sisters. Whip up some dishes every now and then. All in all, pretty domestic stuffs," Ichigo chuckled in embarrassment. "Our only common interest lies in plays and musicals. We used to catch them together whenever possible. She hated the type of music I enjoy though. Complained it's too loud, or too weird. Either. Can't remember, but she had tons of complaints on that. I was always walking around with a set of huge Sennheiser headphones—hey don't laugh!" He spotted those brilliant emeralds crinkling in hidden gaiety.
"Having music in your ears makes you feel like you're permanently starring in a musical of your own," Ichigo continued. "Don't you think so? The playlist is practically the soundtrack to your life, there and then. Anyway she said I looked sort of dorky doing that. Which my 17 year old self thought was a pretty cute comment. Can you imagine a girl saying, 'You're such a dork!' and then bouncing off to your side, and loop her arm through yours?"
"It was an insult."
"Unlike you, not every soul on Earth has an agenda against me."
"I have no idea what you're saying. After her was that woman. In total, two. All of them women. Your first love was nothing more than a litter of puppies sunning themselves on the veranda."
Ichigo gurgled at his co-star's odd way of speech. "Yeah, I'm not too into relationships myself, but when the right person comes along, it just takes on a life of its own. Can't run, can't hide." He sat up straight in his seat and palmed down the front of his cable knit cardigan. "And the name's Orihime by the way. She's great. Terrible cook, but yeah, she's a real delight to have. Not to mention a total knockout."
"Yes, that woman. In conclusion, those are her favorable attributes which have you in utter entrapment."
"What's your problem with this woman and that woman? What about men? I've never once hear you refer to another man as that man or a term akin to that. When it comes to members of your gender you call them by their names. Got to admit it's kind of hilarious coming from you. Are you a male chauvinist? Or an unintended equal opportunity hater? Trash to the world, maybe?"
"You are wrong. Some deserve that accolade, some don't."
"You called me that, often more than I'd obviously like, and like any self-respecting Homo Sapien with an awareness for human rights, I wish to make a case for it."
"Which is?"
Just as how Ulquiorra had forthrightly questioned him earlier, Ichigo decided to lay his cards on the table. "Am I still a lump of worthless garbage to you?"
Ulquiorra Schiffer contemplated the silence with lean fingers that a piano player would be proud of. "If I were to say yes, would that or would that not alter the dynamics of our concurrent working relationship?"
"As usual you speak in riddles," the orange haired man sighed in exasperation. "I'll drop that. For now. It's kind of pointless circling this area, but you poking your nose into my past and present relationships sure isn't, eh? I understand that we live in an unfair world, but sometimes I can't help but feel you elevate that disparity to a brand new level."
"You are rather..." Ulquiorra's steely jade gaze dimmed by several degrees, as if searching for a neutral phrase in a maze of alphabets. "There's more to you than it seems."
"Instead of being synonymous with trash, I've become the tip of a ginormous iceberg?"
"Of which discovery has to be made."
"C-ool."
"Ice is cold. A temperature of 8 to 14 degree Celsius can then be considered as 'cool'."
In the chilly light of the day, Ichigo managed to not bash his own head against the dashboard. He considered that an incredible feat. "Exactly when did you develop an interest in me, uh, I mean, my private affairs? It feels too sudden, like nothing good's ever going to come out of it. You know that feeling? Like seeing light streaming in at the end of a dark, winding tunnel, not knowing if the magical ray of light is natural sunlight or headlights reflected by an oncoming train."
The older man shook his head. "You misinterpret my words."
"Yeah, sure. Coming from the King of Denials I'd definitely buy it."
"Keep your eyes on the road," Ulquiorra sidetracked on purpose. "Stay inside your lane and turn left at the next intersection. Then turn right once you pass by the pedestrian crossing. You will see the entrance to the parking lot."
"Don't speak as if I've never driven to your place before," Ichigo said in a sing-song voice. "Been there, done that! One time too many!"
"It's a shortcut."
Ichigo shrugged and followed the instructions duly, his limbs moving like a manipulated puppet, his mind however, never ceased mapping matrices around their conversation. "Anyway, back to the topic," he began. "Don't tell me you're starting to take a liking to me? I'm in tears. What have I done to deserve your fondness? And of course you'll deny having asked me these questions when I am to broach the topic somewhere in the near future. This happens every time. I'm used to it. I really am. You waving me off like a little nobody—yeah," he gave another exaggerated shrug. "I'm really used to it."
"You are a goon." Ulquiorra tickled the pads of Sakana's paws. "A headless gimp even."
…
Kurosaki Ichigo didn't understand the course of action he was scheduled to perform and, in due time to come. He couldn't understand even if he tried, and try he might, nothing headed his way. For it was another bizarre encounter he met—he would file that away in a locker later; another bizarre outcome he had to reach. Somehow, it just had to occur at the Schiffer residence. Fate didn't have anything in store for him other than that damned place. The Friday before, and now.
Mulling over the sheer bizarreness that was his life, he reviewed the events that led to what he was currently doing. They were usually innocent activities, such as going to the washroom to freshen himself up, whereas Ulquiorra promised they would do a four hour long dialogue session before calling it a day. Without a hitch, they rounded off with uncharacteristic activities on Ichigo's part, such as gazing at his co-star, asleep and curled up on a wooden settee, fully oblivious to his intended resolve.
Ichigo forgot how long he had done that for. To him time was an irrelevant concept, insubstantial even. Locked away in a penthouse suite, with curtains drawn and afternoon drowsy, the shadows of Friday night sneaked in through trains of maple leaf prints, and formed a silhouette on the ivory walls. In there where Ulquiorra lay, time seemed to move differently. Time became relative. It was as if the Bottega Veneta settee had chalked a boundary around itself, separating the world contained within from the world outside. The settee was the axis where time zones met and separated. Time couldn't be breached, much like how Ichigo couldn't bear to break down the barrier between him and the sleeping figure on the settee. It was tempting no less, the pink plumes sashaying about, teasing him to come forth with every strategic maneuver, and then point-blank refusing him entry.
So he looked on, just like how he was meant to. He looked on at the inside from where he was. White palms pressed against thin air, he looked on. He couldn't plough a path to evade the pink plumes and enter the world within. So he looked on at his co-star, who toed the invisible line between reality and dream-like fantasy. Remembering how Ulquiorra Schiffer appeared when he dozed off in the dressing room, Ichigo felt chills reverberating down his spine. It was eerie how nothing about the man changed.
Chin length hair the color of midnight pooled about his angular features, the strands fluttering lightly in the stale atmosphere. The hypnotic rhythm of his chest rising, then falling. The slim contour of his body. Lips set together firmly still, stacked above each other and left no gaps inbetween. Sooty eyelashes pursed against a sheet of snow. Expressions were wiped clean off the surface; not a single trace walked. Surely the man was in deep slumber. Pink plumes continued to maze around in mischief, sometimes blocking the view, other times allowing for a proper survey of the scene. So the younger actor looked on, just like how he was meant to in this dumbfounding turn of events.
How long has it been for exactly, Ichigo wondered again. Seconds maybe? Minutes? Hours even? No wait—that's batshit crazy!
He couldn't remember, because he didn't keep track. A violet watch may be strapped around his wrist, but he paid no heed to it. He didn't know when everything started too. The gradual aching of his feet signaled a possibility of lengthy periods, but he didn't care—he could be running an ultra marathon and no, he didn't care for that. Not for his feet, not for hands criss-crossing one another on the analog surface, not for grains of time slipping through his fingers.
Ichigo cared for neither of those.
He simply stood there, frozen into immobility, lost to the world. He never believed that observing people in their sleep was remotely fascinating, neither did he believe that it could just as easily send him reeling into a land where the air was so dense that entwined within the affected area, was a liquid sort of time. A locus where time slowed to a crawl. That was how he felt—yes that. That he was at a souvenir shop, face and finger pads squashed against a slate of polished glass, and a snow dome featuring a character reposing on a settee had him maddeningly enthralled.
This isn't the first time, Ichigo admitted to himself. I've been staring at him more often than appropriate. His effortless grace while dealing me blows in Kendo, his unsettling ease of slipping into character, the innocence emitting from him when he's sound asleep like this...of course he isn't like that, but, I can't—
He couldn't tear his eyes away from Ulquiorra.
Whimsical as pink plumes do, they came to fade, leaving behind wisps of cherry cotton. A lonely lining stretched across the ivory countenance, and when it evaporated, was a showcase of the man himself. A virtual closeup which left his younger co-star looking on, who in his stationary stance, ran defenseless against a slew of indelible ideas.
If I run my hand down his cheek, Ichigo pondered, would he stir in his sleep? If I come nearer and nearer, to the point where my lips hover above his, where his breath caresses my being, would he, at the touch of a kiss, ignite into life? Can I try? Dare I try?
Without further ado he brought a hand to Ulquiorra's waxen cheek, and leaned in further. He was ready to prove his unspoken theory. It was now a test of his bravado. His determination, unwavering. Time shifted from relativity to being a non-entity. Inch by inch, Ichigo slinked past the barrier, which melted away like cotton candy upon contact with liquid. The immaterial barrier encased his outstretched arm, then his head, followed by his upper torso. He was caught halfway between the world inside the snow dome and the world he grew up in. He was closing in on the enigmatic man, yet to the bystander (Sakana the cat), he never budged at all.
In place of inertness, an action had to take charge. Not from the active, but the passive. Ulquiorra let rip a sneeze at that juncture, and with it the barrier erupted like thunder, and crumbled down like a pile of falling rocks.
"Jeez, what a killjoy," Ichigo blurted, and moved quickly to erase any potential misunderstandings arising from his near exploits. He had been so close...so close to...oh man, what was I doing?
Safe from a distance, he watched as his co-star shuddered slightly, before letting three more sneezes gush out of his windpipes. The latter then wrinkled his nose, as if preparing for a fifth sneeze. It didn't come, and he soon surrendered to a continued bout of blissful slumber. Ichigo thought of heading upstairs and grab a blanket for the sleeping man, but decided against it. He had no right to invade someone else's privacy.
"Didn't you say you need no jacket?" Ichigo unbuttoned his navy blue cardigan. It was warm from the retention of his body heat. "As usual you're all about denying the truth to death, you silly pale faced chump. And only you would reckon yourself a polar bear—wearing a thin cotton shirt on a cold day in autumn. What were you thinking? Winter's just around the corner and sheesh. Can't you ever learn to take care of yourself? Overgrown baby, and I'm definitely not going to play the role of a mother hen here." He slipped the cardigan off his shoulders and yanked it down his arms. "I'm not going to."
With steady hands he lay the cardigan over Ulquiorra's torso, smoothed the hem, and tucked him in like an infant.
…
The subsequent day came faster than Ichigo liked, and adding to his list of dislikes was him having to unlock the door himself. True that he had the keys. True that he had the owner's permission to enter should he fail to answer the door. True that he was beginning to feel at home in a place of harsh hospitality. However so, a trilogy of truths was not the equivalent of the wholesome, grand truth. Despite how he felt, Ulquiorra's house definitely was not his. He could not, and should not get too comfortable with a place he was bound to never step into again in a week's time.
"Strange, where could Ulquiorra be? He never fails to reprimand me for being late." Ichigo put down his rucksack and combed the length of his co-star's abode.
Nestling in a corner was Sakana the ginger cat, her eyes half-lidded and freely scanning Ichigo, whom she (incorrectly) perceived to be her owner's partner. One to stave away lonely nights of them depending on each other, with a mug of hot chocolate on the intrecciato coffee table, and the requisite item—a novel. Finally her owner had someone to spend his life with! As a ritual to welcome the handsome stranger into their shared space, she had left her scent on him. It was an initiation of acknowledgment, according to the puss.
"Hello there, Sakana-chan," Ichigo paused mid-walk to stroke the cat. "You feelin' alright?"
Sakana purred in delight, and twitched her fine whiskers in greeting.
"That's good. And, have you seen your owner anywhere? Is he out or something?"
The cat gave a few short, dismissive flips of her brown tail.
"No? Hmm. Bet he's still sleeping, that lazy bum. At least he bothered to transport himself from the settee and into his room. So," he addressed Sakana, "has that pallid bugger fed you breakfast and your medicine?"
She mewed again, hushedly, as if to say 'Yes'.
Nevertheless Kurosaki Ichigo demonstrated startling inadequacy in the language of felines, and misunderstood Sakana in more meanings than one. "No? What the hell. I'm going to knock on that large oak door of his and smash the alarm clock into his ear canals! Then I'm going to hurl him to his ass and toss him down the stairs as punishment. Give me a sec, OK?" He gave the cat a final pat of reassurance, before trooping upstairs to do as he promised.
Gungho as the fiery actor was, Ulquiorra was nowhere to be found. Not in his bedroom, not in the study, not in the spare room, and not in the storage room either. Only one room remained in contention now.
A snap of his ankles and Ichigo huffed down the narrow corridor. Is this a game of hide-and-seek? When he rounded a corner like a revved up Harley Davidson he nearly slipped. It was then that he noticed something wet sloshing under his feet. Water? Like a police dog adept at sniffing out narcotics, he pinpointed the watery trail and followed it all the way to its source—the bathroom.
Ichigo rapped his knuckles on the door impatiently, awaiting a hint of acknowledgment. A plain, dour echo arose within layers of rosewood, and that was it. No movements dying down, no flushing of the toilet bowl, no laughable singing in the showers, no dull voice demanding him to quieten down. The lack of distinguishable sounds worried him. For all he knew, Ulquiorra might have met with an accident in the bathroom which left him concussed and sprawled across the floor, with no one rushing to his aid. In the meanwhile the tap must had been left running, making the water level build up in the bathtub. The tub soon grew full and excess water seeped out. Ulquiorra lying unconsciously on the floor. The water overflowing from the tub. He could drown—he could...
"Oi! Are you OK? Don't make me freak out like this!" Ichigo called out, banging his fists rapidly on the door. "Oi! It's me! Open up! Oi!" An onslaught of pummels accompanied his shouts. "That's it! I'm barging in!"
Without warning he slammed his entire weight against the door. He could have twisted the brass knob and entered without using brute strength, but there was no room for repentance. Once in, he skidded a long and winding path to the bathtub, bypassing the sink, the rattan laundry basket, and along rows of color co-ordinated tiles. He didn't miss the scene of Ulquiorra lying on his back, luxuriating in the frothy bathtub. It's OK, Ichigo consoled himself, it's OK as long as I don't open my eyes—he squeezed both eyes shut—yes I'll keep them closed at all costs. And my legs—yes! It's OK as long as I stop before the tub. And after admonishing him for making me do stupid things, I'll leave, and nothing will happen!
Kurosaki Ichigo wished for obedience of his limbs, but bizarre things happened in the Schiffer residence. The winding skid was curtailed by an acrobatic flip over the edge of the squarish tub, and like a sweetcorn cob sailing through the air, he somersaulted into the bathtub. He crashed against an landscape of buttery skin. When mind and sight reconnected and came into focus, he reddened. It was so red that it seemed like he had polished off a tube of red paint. His cheeks, his ears, his body burned like a raging fire. There he was, kneeling between his co-star's legs, his back arched, his palms pressed not against air nor glass but cadaverous skin, dewy from moisture and shower cream.
Ulquiorra's eyes flew open.
"Hi!" Ichigo squawked. "Uh...nice..." he thrashed wildly about the tub, sending jets of water spraying onto the walls and already damp floor. "B-Bubbles! Yay, bub-b-bles! Great s-s-s-smelling fo—"
The pale man's lips parted by a tiny fraction, desperately wanting to berate his fate, but no words tumbled out. All he did was turn a beetroot shade. Very nearly did he break his neck by pivoting around frantically to grab something—a thing, anything, he could cover himself with. Be it a towel, a slipper, his boxers, a bar of soap, or a shower cap even. Never mind if it was transparent to begin with. He simply needed that something! Twisting himself around he found nothing, but his own hands. The same set of hands which lounged by the side of the tub. I must be dreaming. I must be. This is my dream, and I can wake up anytime I want. I have had a good dream, and I have to wake up for breakfast. I simply have to pinch myself and wake up. The time is now! I can...
Yes he could—he could still, as a measure of self-preservation, protect his crown jewels from indecent exposure, irrespective of the fact that he was bathing and had his co-star walk in on him. "Why..." he asked to no one in particular.
"—am. Nice, h-huge, white b-b-bubbles," Ichigo palmed a dollop of shower foam and blew at them. "W-Wow...they r-r-really are err, err, w-white! They are just like snow! They've got to be! H-Heh, s-sno-o-w in Sep-p-p-te-mbe-er!"
Ulquiorra stared haplessly at the ongoing circus that was Kurosaki Ichigo. Blood clamored upstream to his head. Each time he tried to make sense of the ludicrous situation, the mindless rush of blood left him feeling giddy. He already was stark naked, with his legs spread apart comfortably, all of which were held in the solace of his own house. Then the impetuous carrot top had to disturb his peace, and to exacerbate the nightmare, he had to 'join' him in his bath. This has to be a dream, and I have to wake up now!
"Err..." Ichigo's knee came into contact with something soft and fleshy and unexplainable. "R-Rubber duck..ie?"
If death was an option, Ulquiorra Schiffer would choose it without hesitation. Dream or not, that be a gazillion times over, he morosely thought. A gazillion times over.
…
A/N: Appreciate all the reads and feedback given! Do keep them gushing in. Muchas gracias. Personally, I think this story is good to go for another 9 chapters or so. I knowww, I'm long-winded! Surely the length (and content) of this chapter justified the wait. Hee. Feeling the heat yet? It sure is humid over on my side.