Quick author's note: These chapters will be a lot shorter than the ones I usually churn out. But on the bright side, that means this fic. will be updated a lot faster...
Chapter 1: Favors, Past and Present
A few months earlier...
Urahara held the innocuous little ball up to the light. No bigger than a gumdrop, it looked harmless enough. But it wasn't. It was actually a modified soul and one created for battle. Like Ririn or Nova or Cloud. A decidedly dangerous little piece of equipment. Urahara stared at the little yellow ball a moment longer, then dropped it inside a velvetine jewelry box. He clapped the lid shut with a resounding snap! He thought he should find somewhere safe to put it and not leave it out to be picked up at random, like he had Kon's. He didn't want a repeat of that situation, with Ururu or Jinta accidentally snatching the thing up and handing it off to some random customer. Best to always take precautions.
A long shadow fell across the wooden floorboards at Urahara's sandaled feet. Urahara peered out from under the brim of his floppy hat to stare into the molten brown eyes of Ichigo Kurosaki, his sometimes student. "Sensei," began Ichigo. "Can I ask a favor of you?"
"A favor, Kurosaki?" said Urahara. He turned and placed the jewelry box in a trunk containing several other unlabeled boxes. He pulled the lid shut with a protesting squeak! "It seems you're always asking for 'favors' and mostly on credit, as well."
A sheepish grin spread over Ichigo's face, and his eyes flicked away to stare at some vague point above Urahara's head. "I don't want any of your crazy inventions. That's not what I'm here about. I want...I mean, I would like...that is, if you wouldn't object..." Ichigo's hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and Urahara noticed that he was slowly starting to turn as red as his hair.
"Spit it out, Kurosaki."
"What I want is...I mean, um, would you mind if I used Renji's old room, sometimes in the afternoon?"
"What a strange request, Kurosaki." Urahara frowned in confusion beneath the shadow of his striped hat. "Why, whatever for?"
Ichigo's sneakered feet drew nervous circles on the floorboards. The sheepish grin was quickly sliding into one of acute embarrassment. "Well, you see, sensei-"
"Yes?" Urahara prompted.
"Uryuu and I-"
Urahara's eyes widened briefly beneath his hat at the casual mention of the Quincy boy's name.
"Anyway, Uryuu and I would like somewhere to go to, um, meet. You know."
Urahara picked up his fan and flicked it open, waving it in front of his face in order to hide his somewhat distressed expression. "...somewhere to go to, um, meet. You know." The phrase kept echoing in Urahara's head. Oh, and what do I know, Kurosaki? That you and that Quincy are looking for some place private to go and make out? That it was just a matter time before the two of you got together? That history has a really funny way of repeating itself? And that somehow, I'm always the one stuck in the middle...
"Alright." Urahara answered curtly.
Ichigo's head lifted, and his face instantly brightened. "Really? You mean it? You don't mind? It's just...it's just...my little sisters are always listening at my door these days, and Uryuu..." Urahara watched tiny frown lines dig harsh, vertical trenches between the shinigami boy's eyes. "Well, you see, Uryuu and his dad don't get along; he really hates Shinigami and-"
"-you don't have to explain everything," said Urahara, cutting him off. The fan continued to flutter back and forth, rapidly, like a hummingbird hovering in mid-flight. "The room is yours."
"Oh, thanks, sensei! You're the best!" With a happy, almost child-like grin on his face, Ichigo turned and practically bounced from the room of the shop, jumping up to tag the wooden arch over the doorway on his way out. Urahara watched him go, with a sinking feeling pulling at his heart. Like an anchor pulling at the prow of a ship. A sinking feeling he tried his very best to ignore, as his thoughts flitted, unbidden, to memories long past...
Several years earlier...
"So will you let us use the room then?"
The question doesn't fall from Ichigo's lips, but rather from those of his father, Isshin. A darker, broader, gruffer version of Ichigo himself. Isshin and Urahara are sitting together on the floor in the exact same room of the Urahara shop. The same floorboards, the same walls. The same sheepish expression on young Isshin's face.
Except behind him, in the doorway, hovers Ryuken, arms folded across his chest and a typically cold look glazing his elegant, icy features. Beautiful curly hair and an arrogant air. He reaches up a slender finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. It's the very same gesture that his son, Uryuu, always makes. Urahara watches Ryuken in the doorway, watches his empty expression. Then his eyes fall on Isshin's face. His look is expectant, lively. His is the expression of a man rapturously in love.
"Alright," says Urahara, agreeing. He doesn't know why, but there is a sinking feeling in his heart. A feeling that becomes more pronounced the moment his eyes alight on Ryuken's beautiful, icy face...
The same beautiful, icy face that belongs to his son, Uryuu.
End Chapter 1.
Next update: tomorrow or Thursday.