[Edit on 13 Feb 2017: made some tweaks to the chapter, nothing really consequential.]

A/N: BLEACH and its characters belong to Kubo Tite.

Chapter 24 - Driven By You

When Ulquiorra woke up in the morning he was hugging two cushions to his chest. Sakana sat at his feet, watching intently as he sat up and looked around before settling back into the comfort of the sofa bed. A cream colored slip was pulled up to his shoulders. Sunlight streamed into the living room through the curtains, casting a soft hue over the place. He took a deep breath, finding the texture somewhat different from what he was used to. It was denser, as though plumes had congregated into thick and heavy clouds. Something in the air was changing, and it seemed to be closing in with every turn.

Peering sideways at the vacant spot next to him, he couldn't resist extending a hand to touch it. He ran his fingers across the surface, taking in the remnants. It was impossible to tell if someone had lain there or was the sun heating up the place. Basking in the gentle warmth he continued to lay there, unmoving, thinking. He tried to remember when he last felt like this but he couldn't. Had he ever? He shook his head. Probably not. Resigned, he got off the sofa bed, folded the slip into two, and urged his cat to follow him upstairs.

At seven pm Ichigo marched off to the kitchen, filled two saucepans with water and set them on the stove. Whistling a tune from the early nineties he bustled from fridge to stove, then from stove to chopping board. He rinsed the vegetables under the tap and chopped them up neatly before putting them into the boiling water. Feeling the sharp pangs of hunger he quickly emptied two packets of instant ramen into the saucepans and cracked an egg into each bowl - just the way Ulquiorra liked, then poured in the piping hot contents. He wasn't used to being this occupied on Saturdays and found himself more worn out than ever, emotionally and physically.

"Cut me some slack, it's Saturday!" he had argued when Ulquiorra pushed a stack of movie dialogue onto him right after they finished breakfast. "Nobody works on this day!"

"Saturday has no difference from Sunday or Monday or any other day. It's worth twenty-four hours. They all are. Can you tell me otherwise, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"It does," Ichigo insisted. "N-o-b-o-d-y bloody works on the weekend!"

"You can take every weekend off after this." Ulquiorra tossed him a condescending glare. "Because you will never have to work again."

"Why you nasty jerk...!"

They spent the day squabbling over (and coolly refuting) whose ratings for so-and-so award winning thespians were most accurate, and which movies were most worth watching for the autumn season. The debate made way for some serious emotional control practice - where Ulquiorra had repeatedly demanded that Ichigo portray with his face, his body the most heartbroken look he could muster by a snap of his fingers - returned during dinner. Owing to their famished selves dinner was over in a couple of minutes and the two men helped themselves to some strawberries, fresh from Ichigo's duffel, before clearing the table.

"It's getting rather warm in here, don't you think?" Ichigo asked as he scrubbed the utensils.

Ulquiorra sat on the stool by the raised kitchen counter and watched the younger man wordlessly.

"It's like the seasons forgot to change or something, and we are now stuck in the shittiest part of summer."

"We are in the middle of the autumn season," Ulquiorra said.

"That's why it's weird! We're supposed to feel all cool and lovely and not have the shirt sticking to the skin. Don't you feel the heat, Quiqui? Unless you're a packet of ice cubes. I think someone once said you are. I think it's me."

Ulquiorra resisted the urge to sweep his fringe across his forehead. During the three weeks his hair had grown longer and his fringe was starting to poke at his eyes. From behind the uneven strands of hair he peered at Ichigo, his outline of him thorny and slightly obscured. The thin clouds of cherry pink skipping around didn't help either.

Ichigo used a soapy hand to fan himself. "Speaking of ice cubes, do you have any in your freezer?"

"Check the ice dispenser."

"Great. We have the ice. Now we need something really chilly. And I don't mean your words."

"Water will do."

"That's a crap idea."

"Water is more than enough."

The younger man rinsed off the last of the plates and set them to dry on the dish rack. "I'll really hit the jackpot if you have beer lying somewhere in your house."

Ulquiorra rose from his stool and strode over to the bar fridge sandwiched between the electric stove and kitchen counter. He yanked the door open to reveal three pints of Ben and Jerry's rum and raisin and a Carlsberg six-pack. Ichigo let out a low whistle at the lucky finds.

"A nuisance left them here after a football match two months ago," Ulquiorra revealed.

"What do I know," Ichigo said with a knowing grin. "At least he doesn't drink odd stuff." He helped himself to two cans and tossed one at his co-star, who caught it expertly. Pressing one chilled can of beer to each cheek Ichigo revelled in the instant coolness. Even his palms were refreshingly cold now. Chilled beer was really the best way to top off an unexpectedly humid evening and there was no longer any need for ice cubes. That he said out loud. Welcoming the frosty respite, he opened one and guzzled it down before noticing that his co-star was just holding the can.

"Hmm? You don't drink?"

"Not really."

"Don't tell me you're a lightweight!" Ichigo snickered. "C'mon. The alcoholic content is just slightly over five percent! Even if you do get drunk, you're at home anyway."

Ulquiorra was about to set down the beer when Ichigo, still grinning, leaned in to place a cool hand on his cheek. The unexpected contact sent a jolt shooting down Ulquiorra's spine. He jerked a little from Ichigo's touch, leading the younger man to assume that the involuntary action was due to a Schiffer-style eccentric combination of regret at not heeding his beer-guzzling advice and astonishment at how chilly his hand was.

Mischief twinkled in the carrot top's eyes. "Drink up, Quiqui!"

Despite the beer they drank the night didn't get any less sweltering. Their clothes clung to them like a second skin they couldn't remove at any cost. Neither wanted to undress themselves before the other - the thought alone was simply unbecoming. They sat at the table and gulped down/sipped some more beer, each lost to the world.

"Umm…" Ichigo began, unsure of what to say. "It's getting warmer in here," he repeated, as if to qualify the understatement of the decade. His nape, ears and cheeks felt like they were on fire. He hated that, suffering from the stereotypical Asian blush whenever he downed a teensy amount of alcohol. It made him look like a gawky teen who just had his first taste of the sweet nectar.

Ulquiorra sat across from him with unblinking eyes. "Just a little."

They sat in silence for a while more. Ichigo noticed, perhaps with a tinge of envy, that Ulquiorra remained and even looked as disaffected as ever, his pale mien giving away absolutely nothing. Ichigo found himself wondering if Ulquiorra enjoyed the beer, or at least, enjoyed the company that came with the beer. He shook his head. The beer must be getting to him. So much for calling Ulquiorra a lightweight.

"I don't know about you," he said at last. "But I'm going down for a walk. My head's kind of strange now. Guess I need some fresh air."

The green eyed man leaped off his stool. "I would like some too."

Together they took the lift down and cut through a miniature bonsai garden to the swimming pool. The night was cool with gentle breezes fleeting by. Crickets chirped from behind manicured bushes. Leaves the color of gold and maroon crunched under their shoes and sometimes a stray twig would snap, startling nobody but them. Clouds broke up to reveal a half-moon shining down on the gently rippling surface. It followed them as they strolled along the poolside.

Ichigo inhaled deeply, holding the air in his lungs before letting them ooze out like a deflating balloon. Like the balloon the suffocating chasms in him wheezed all over the place. His head no longer felt weird and his respiratory system was working fine again. Ulquiorra walked beside him, his cheek still tingling slightly from earlier.

A tiny smile struck across his lips, the younger man closed his eyes and tried to walk in a straight line, imagining himself to be a professional on a tightrope several meters above ground. Relying on the rest of his senses to strike a precarious balance.

He had imagined this before, when he was much younger and had visited the circus with his family for the first time. It was fun pretending to be an acrobat and rolling around like an eight-limbed creature or striding along raised beams at the playground. Now it gradually took on a greater implication, like a thick cloud phasing over his mind. What if he fell? He shook his head. What if he fell hard?

"I hope you are ready," Ulquiorra said to him.

The carrot top turned in his direction with his eyes still shut. "Ready or not I'm always up to it."

"Four weeks ago you said the same words. Three weeks ago you came to me for help."

"Seems like it was only yesterday that your mom popped by and spilled the beans on your wonderfully secret life before you became famous. I wonder what will the tabloids make of it if a little bird twitters it into the night," Ichigo said, slowly opening his eyes to see his companion illuminated in swathes of moonlight. "Makes me wonder about something," Ichigo continued. A prankster's smirk spread like a disease across his face and he hid both hands behind his back. "Are you still afraid of the big bad water monster?"

"Do not make light of this matter, and I never was afraid to begin with."

"Why do I find it so hard to believe you, Quiqui?" the younger actor narrowed his eyes evilly before shoving Ulquiorra into the pool with all his might.

Caught by surprise, Ulquiorra Schiffer flailed about in the pool for a while before using his feet to paddle. Not too fast like he was blazing through laps, but sufficient to keep himself adrift and conserve energy at the same time. The iciness stung his toes but didn't cause numbness. If anything else it rejuvenated him; it made everything extra vibrant to him. He needed to plot revenge, or at least his adrenaline-fueled brain demanded that he do it. Coughing out chlorinated water, he stared hard at the lone figure by the poolside, pointing and guffawing. Unfortunately Ulquiorra still couldn't swim, and there was nothing more he would like than to viciously trip Ichigo and send him splashing into the pool like the born loser he was.

Ichigo needed no trip; he took matters into his own hands. With a loud whoop he ran to the side of the pool and dived headlong into it, like an ecstatic seal longing to rejoin its herd in the ocean. The sudden turbulence rocked Ulquiorra's balance and in his frenzy to hang on, he thrashed about wildly until he hit something solid and warm. A familiar sensation temporarily flooded his senses.

"No big bad water monster here," Ichigo laughed as he held onto his co-star, his breath hot on the other's cheek. "Only me."

Ulquiorra glared at him with as much venom as he could muster. But he couldn't. What came through was a slightly teary expression brought on by chlorine.

"That was uncalled for," he said.

"Don't cry, Quiqui."

"I am not and I do not."

"OK, OK. I won't do that again." The carrot top snickered to himself. "Or maybe not." He was met with an irritated nudge in his ribs. "Don't injure me! Anyhow, much as you hate it, it was worth that look of horror on your face. You should have seen it! Top stuff. Easily the best expression you've had since I first met you."

With him tugging at Ulquiorra's arm, they swam to the side where they then climbed out of the pool and lazed under nocturne skies in their soaked attire. The older man was heaving slightly. Vast amounts of water were never kind to him and he felt almost embarrassed for being exposed in the most vulnerable manner since he was eight. From start to end he could feel Ichigo's brown gaze on him, unwavering yet soft, dissecting every fibre of his being. As though it had a life of its own, that indecipherable brown gaze came closer and closer until it breathed down on him. Then, inches short of touching him, it stopped and blinked.

Or was Ulquiorra himself blinking?

"If every blink of the eye equals a year, I swear you'd have become an old man now," said Ichigo.

With eyes jetting between open and close, Ulquiorra could feel warm vents of air rustling his cheek. The sensation was oddly familiar; he was pretty certain something similar had happened not too long ago. But when? He tried to think harder but all his memory could draw was a startling blank.

"Is there something in your eye?" asked Ichigo in a concerned voice. "You've been blinking non-stop."

"I am fine."

"That's a relief." Ichigo sounded truly relieved. "I was still worrying whether to blow the dust speckle out of your eye or leave you to twitch in agony. Decisions."

"I trust you would do something utterly befitting of your lack of intelligence."

"Seems like someone has gotten his bearing back, eh?"

"It was nothing."

"Yeah, sure. Remind me to bring along a video recorder the next time we get near a pool."

"No."

"Why? I'm already thinking of getting a high-definition type."

"No need to."

"Why!"

"There won't be a next time."

"You're inhuman."

"Perhaps," said Ulquiorra, and retreated into his shell of silence. One shared between them as they lounged casually by the pool in their soaked clothes.

"Do you always say what's on your mind?" he asked after a lengthy pause.

"Usually. Sometimes I'm joking, of course. And then, when I really mean it, I really really mean it."

"How do you look like when you really mean the words you say?"

"Like any normal human being."

"Our definitions of 'normal' could well lie on opposite planes," Ulquiorra mused.

"It's tough talking to you-there, I mean what I said."

"It does not help if you are capable of turning everything against you."

"And it doesn't help if I have a water-fearing fella sniping at my every syllable whenever he can."

"This is about you. Leave me out of it."

Ichigo chortled as he propped himself up. "Enough about me. I appreciate your interest and I think it's best I reciprocate it."

"You are evading my question."

"To answer a question with another question," the younger actor said, "do you mean every word you say then. Since you seem so bloody serious and down all the time. Surely you must mean them!"

"I say what I say for a purpose. It may be the truth. It may be something constructed to fool you."

"Ah great. I suppose deep down you're a really happy guy."

Ulquiorra was as usual, inscrutable. "Happy?"

"Don't make it sound like an alien word."

"Why do you think I could be really happy?"

"Because you can look like the saddest guy on earth at any point in time. And then sometimes you look like you just don't feel anything at all."

"Can you trust a man who chooses acting as his profession?"

Ichigo needed no second invitation to take a good look at Ulquiorra's face. In fact he took his own sweet time. He was in the driving seat and he wanted it to remain that way - at least for the night. But this rarity didn't stay long. The leisurely and almost supreme feeling he had was quickly displaced by one more compelling, more significant than he could ever imagine. Before he could pick out each trait of his feelings and commit them to rigorous analysis, those disturbing clouds decided to show up. The clouds dispersed as quickly as they formed.

"You look like him," was all Ichigo could say. "Him," he sounded strangely distant. "You don't just look like him. You are him."

Ulquiorra understood at once. "Do I?"

A small nod from Ichigo.

"Coming from one who is inebriated," said Ulquiorra, "you are astonishingly eloquent."

Instead of attempting to gain a point back, Ichigo chose to laugh it off. He didn't know why he did that. Probably an instinctive move which had no rhyme nor reason. Light gusts of wind blew the clouds into oblivion. The moon soared into full view. Even the crickets had ceased chirping. Silver rays penetrated the foliage and hit the ground in jagged little angles. Ichigo was doused in them. Suddenly he thought of the photos he had snapped in the day. He thought of seeing Ulquiorra without those painted facial streaks for the first time. He thought of chilled beer. He thought of the sofa bed. He thought of the pampered ginger kitty. He thought of the movie and himself. His other self. Reel and real were converging into one line and he was treading it. He thought how nice it would be if there was someone waiting for him under the line with arms wide open. He thought he could be really drunk. He must be. If he wasn't drunk then very soon he would be.

"Why do you care?" Ichigo said, momentarily snapping out of his reverie. "Family and honor. Love. Friends. Which comes first? Which goes last?" Then turning to Ulquiorra, he jabbed a finger in his chest and asked:

"What would you choose?"

The green eyed man was unflinching in his stance. Autumn Chrysalis, Act Five, Scene Three.

"I'm asking you - what would you choose?"

"Honor above all," said the man known as Takamatsu Soujiro.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"In this time and day, how can anyone else think otherwise? We live and fight for our clan, our namesake, our-"

"Why can't you accept my feelings?"

"There is no point in this, Yoshihito-kun. A war has to be fought. The less we think about such matters, the better it is for our sakes."

The fiery-haired young man named Murakami Yoshihito let out a harsh laugh. "Don't make it sound so easy."

"I never said it was."

"If I were you, Soujiro, I'd choose love. Family and honor? Dumped them years back. Friends? I'm driving away the only friend I could ever have. What's left for me is what you don't want and all I want before I march off to my death." Murakami smiled wryly. "Thought I got out of there for good and suddenly I'm returning in my wretched armor. I guess I'm uneducated and uncouth like that. Indecisive. Lowly. Poor. And to worsen things I'm a samurai, the enemy of the shinsengumi. Your enemy. Yet I don't wish to fight anybody. I'm a traitor. And here I am, standing before the love of my life like a cheap runaway from Choshu that I am."

"You are not a traitor."

"Hell yes I am."

"I said, you are not a traitor."

"I wish I could be so I can join you!"

"We should have ended this conversation before it has even begun," said the green eyed man.

"And there are many things I wish to say to you."

"Let us end this conversation and never speak of it again."

Murakami grabbed his friend's hands. "I wish I can do that, but you won't set me free."

"Stop this."

"That night when I asked you to sleep with me again, and you turned me down no matter how hard I begged. Do you remember that? Do you even remember our first night together?"

"Stop."

"Did you mean it?"

"Stop."

"I just need to know if you've ever wanted to touch me."

"That one time was a mistake. Don't you understand? A mistake made by two parties who clearly were not in the right frame of mind to do anything right. There is no one to blame, and there are no desires between anyone or so you have claimed."

"I don't believe you. You're a pathological liar and you know it. You lie so much that you don't even realize it. If you aren't, why are you so afraid of what I have to say?"

"How many times must I make myself clear before you get the drift?"

"You shinsengumi prattle on and on about true loyalty to the emperor, the country, the heavens. Swearing upon this and that-and then you can't be true to yourself," Murakami laughed bitterly. "Even until the end you still can't-"

Takamatsu exploded. "Will you just stop it!"

With a quiet cry of anguish Takamatsu grabbed the front of his friend's shirt and slammed him against the wall, his lips crushing into the other's. A kiss so brutal and hungry in its depth that it was pit-less. Hopelessly dark and cold and in the dearth of the world they were two clumsy beings struggling to hold on to themselves. Overhead the clouds floated back to their original spots, tucking away the moon. He listened as the crickets belted a harmless ballad to the starless night. Jagged angles of light disappeared.

When Murakami opened his eyes he was Ichigo again. Ulquiorra's lips were no longer on his but his gaze was. Eyes of frosted jade bore into his, imploring an explanation of any sort. He had no answer and he supposed his co-star hadn't one as well. Ichigo soon realized there was no need for a reason at all. He couldn't even think straight. His heart thumped so loudly that he almost expected someone from upstairs to yell 'Shut up!'. No one did. So he closed his eyes again and leaned in. Shutting everything else from his mind, he used his fingers to trace for a reality he could comprehend. His heart, however, decided to march to its own beat. And he was there, trying not to breathe. Who they were didn't matter anymore. He could feel the other man frozen on the spot, mouth slightly ajar. Perhaps he wanted to move. Perhaps he hadn't-that Ichigo couldn't decipher. All he knew was the distortion in the air; it was trying to tell him something. Something bound to happen, something very important. No amount of fretting would dissolve it. He had to experience it again to make some sense out of it. The world around them slowly changed angles. An unseen force was pushing him forward and he couldn't retreat anymore. Hands tightly clutched under Ulquiorra's shirt collar, he drew him close and kissed him.

This time he meant it.