Ichigo blinks awake and pushes himself off his pillow a few seconds before his alarm starts trilling. With a practiced poke, he silences the thing. He looks around his room—rather, his studio apartment—and makes mental notes on what needs to be done today. Laundry, recycling, and grocery shopping. Although all of those things are annoying, thinking of the latter task finally ceased making him scowl the day after he met Ishida.
It's been over two weeks since he started seeing that psychiatrist. Ichigo isn't sure yet but he believes this time the therapy might actually take. He is already having fewer blackouts and bouts of aggression towards neighborhood assholes since he's been spending an hour twice a week in Ishida's office. Something about the questions he asks and the fact that he never seems to judge Ichigo for the stupid mistakes he keeps making…whereas all the others had either been terrified of him or openly disdainful. As a result, he has ended up sharing more about himself with Ishida than with some of his closest friends.
In fact, Ichigo has begun to think of the man as a type of friend. What else would you call someone who helps you out, gives you good advice, and who you enjoy spending time with? Of course he realizes Ishida is just doing his job. And that he probably pities Ichigo for being such a momentous fuck-up of a human being even though he's steadily closing in on thirty years old. Ishida is the first person he has met who doesn't look at him with some form of fear or disgust. That by itself is enough to keep going back.
Shaking idle thoughts from his sleepy mind, he gets up and plods into the bathroom to take care of morning business. Thirty minutes later Ichigo is grabbing a sleeve of Pop-Tarts from his freezer and pulling on his jacket on the way out. He eats on the short walk to his father's clinic. As usual, a few strangers toss his scrubs odd looks. It used to bother him, people thinking it's weird to see a male nurse like Ichigo, but he's long since gotten over it. Besides, he can understand how a tall dude with loud hair and a perpetual scowl would look out-of-place in a hospital setting. Since he kind of looks out-of-place anywhere but at a rock show.
He shoves at the sliding door to the staff entrance and nods to his father as he enters. As usual, Kurosaki Isshin greets him with way too much energy for this early in the morning.
"Good morning, my lovely son!"
"'Mornin'."
"What's that, my boy?" the idiot shrieks, closing in despite attempts at evasion. "I can't hear you over the sound of my love for you!"
"Jesus, you crazy old geezer," Ichigo grumbles. He dodges an attempted headlock and elbows the man in his stupid ribs. "Why the hell are you so happy when we've got so many sick people waiting for you to treat them? Get to work already."
"Aww, don't say that, Ichigo. Daddy's got enough love for everyone—patients and delinquent children."
Rolling his eyes, Ichigo drops his bag and jacket in his locker and slips his trusty stethoscope around his neck. Jabs a pen into his shirt pocket. Takes a swig of stale coffee. Grabs the roster for the day and peruses it as he takes the hall to the main wing. He stops in front of the first occupied room and gives a quiet knock. Inside sits a seventy-three year old woman halfway through fighting off a bad flu. Ichigo slips on a surgical mask to keep his germs to himself before walking into the room. Ichigo washes his hands the instant he enters, as always, and approaches the woman with a smile in his eyes.
"How are your symptoms today, Katagiri-san?" he asks kindly.
"Oh, Ichigo-kun," croons the silver-haired lady. "It's good to see you again this morning. I'm doing all right, I suppose."
She breaks into a mild coughing fit and Ichigo holds a fresh cup of water for her to sip. He takes her vitals and notes them in neat shorthand on his clipboard. Then he looks up and smiles at her gentle expression. This woman has been in and out of his father's clinic since Ichigo was a toddler, so they know each other fairly well. When she was admitted, he worried she wouldn't make it through the night. Now he's fairly sure she'll pull through. Her electrolytes are up, she's hydrating well, and her cough is improving each day.
"Are you sleeping well?"
"Yes, thank you. How about you, young man?" Katagiri-san asks with a no-nonsense stare. "Those bags under your eyes don't do your handsome face justice, you know."
"I've had better weeks," he wryly admits with a dismissive shrug. "But things are looking up."
"Your papa tells me you're seeing a new therapist."
"That big-mouth…"
"I was glad to hear it."
"Yeah," Ichigo sighs. He sits at the edge of her bed and sets his papers on his lap. "He's some fancy-ass psychiatrist specializing in mental disorders or some shit—sorry."
"I've heard worse, dear. Is he helping you?"
"I think so…for a guy my own age he's crazy-smart." Ichigo shakes his head, marveling at the genius that is Ishida Uryuu. "I mean he comes across like a super stuck-up automaton, you know? But once you get to know him he kinda defrosts a little. Then you start to see he's actually sort of cool. In a nerdy, way too fucking serious sense. Sorry."
Katagiri-san smiles in forgiveness for his foul language. She pats his hand reassuringly. "Well, that's nice. He sounds like a good man."
"Yeah."
"Maybe he can get you to realize how sweet and intelligent you really are for once."
Embarrassed at her praise, Ichigo quickly mutters an excuse and leaves to check on his other patients. Fortunately, it is still early enough that most of them remain sleeping. He checks the stats on their monitors, adjusts their fluid levels, and moves on until he completes his rounds. Ichigo has done this so many times that at a certain point he more or less flies on autopilot. By the time he stops in at the break room for lunch, his brain is clouded with unrelated thoughts. Often, he begins to feel a sense of detachment as a result, like he's not really here. Like he's watching someone else tend the infirm with polite stoicism day after day.
When he told Ishida about this, he had a suggestion for Ichigo to try. Now he finally tests it out. Sitting at the table, he sets an apple in front of him and stares at it. He thinks about its color, shape, and texture. About how the apple will feel in his hands. The scent of its pulp beneath the skin. How it will taste when he bites into it. Ichigo imagines it in vivid detail so that when he touches it, the apple is precisely what he envisioned down to the smallest facet. As his shrink had explained it, this is a method of repairing something called 'cognitive dissonance', which may be contributing to his feelings of detachment. Ichigo doesn't get the particulars, but he trusts Ishida enough to take his word for it.
After a few minutes of this, Ichigo grabs the apple and takes a bite. Something shifts in his mind and suddenly he is snapping back to this moment with the clarity of an ended daydream. He chews the apple slowly in astonishment. Not only does Ichigo not feel like a zombie anymore, he is almost too alert. Hyperaware down to the way his scrub top drags against the hairs at the back of his neck. Tag chafing and shoes constricting. Ichigo takes a breath and feels it fill his lungs. Tastes the sweet-sour fruit juice on his tongue and listens to the complaining crunch of it between his teeth.
The strange affects wear off after a while, but his connection to the present—to himself—stays firm.
Ishida's office has a particular smell that has become almost nostalgic. The reception area is an amalgamation of many things: old books, recently-vacuumed carpet, the potpourri pot on Nanao's desk, a generic people-scent. Inside, where Ishida spends so many hours of each day, it smells of clean leather, a eucalyptus and spearmint candle, more books, and Ishida himself. Ichigo doesn't have words for that particular scent, but it is distinct nonetheless.
He greets Nanao with a nod as he takes his seat. Listening to her page Ishida, he ignores the usual balloon of anticipation that swells in his chest. Thinking of it as the desire for change that he believes Ishida can help him achieve only fools him part of the time. If he's being honest with himself, Ichigo knows it is the particular happiness normal people experience when visiting good friends.
"Ishida-sensei is ready for you, Kurosaki-kun."
"Thanks, Nanao," he says as he passes her desk. Then he pauses to remind her, "And you can call me 'Ichigo'."
She gives him a polite smile, laced with discomfort. Ichigo doesn't hold it against her since he suspects she's just like that. Ishida still calls her 'Ise-san', after all. With a mental shrug, he pushes into the office and takes his usual seat closest to the doctor's armchair. Ishida is seated at his desk with his head in a stack of papers but he ditches them as soon as Ichigo walks in.
"Hello, Kurosaki."
"Yo."
"You're looking in good spirits."
"I tried that trick you mentioned last time," he explains as Ishida comes to sit, clasping his hands and giving Ichigo his full attention. "About focusing on something before I touch it? It worked. Like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head!"
"Excellent." Ishida gives him that little smile that makes Ichigo feel like a petted puppy. "I'm glad it helped."
"Got any more suggestions like that?"
"Nothing specific that comes to mind, no. I could do additional research—"
"It's no big deal."
Ichigo shrugs and waits for the subject change. This is his fifth session with Ishida but he already feels comfortable enough with the man to welcome whatever he chooses to bring up. Somehow, his shrink seems to have a damn good idea of just how far he can push Ichigo before he will shut down. He tests the limits a little more each time, but Ichigo doesn't get annoyed: pushing at just the right pace is how Ishida is going to fix him.
He uses the pause to indulge in something that has become one of his favorite pastimes. It may seem dumb, but Ichigo has taken to memorizing and deciphering the minutiae that are Ishida's emotional spectrum. Initially, he assumed this guy was just one of those people who doesn't feel anything, like a sociopath or something. But gradually he realized the 'tells' are there if he looks hard enough. Right now Ishida is working through a complex thought; he's not sure if what he's going to ask will be taken well but he's working up the determination to ask anyway. Ichigo watches the small scrunch of an arcing eyebrow, the tiny tug of his curving mouth, and the diminutive dip of his pointing chin. Ishida's inky asymmetrical fringe brushes his cheek as he tilts his head a fraction.
"I would like to discuss your relationships today, Kurosaki."
"What else do you wanna know? I already told you all about my silly family and my crazy friends."
"Not those kinds of relationships."
Ichigo's eyes narrow as he catches on. Thus far, he has resolutely refused to talk about his exes. Mostly because he doesn't like thinking about them, much less rehashing old history with someone who has never met them. This is the third time in three weeks that Ishida has brought it up and Ichigo realizes that he isn't going to be able to pass on this one. Maybe if he talked fast enough it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe if he got it all out at once Ishida would drop it once and for all. With that thought, Ichigo sets his jaw and gives a tight nod.
"Okay. I'll tell you this time and then I don't want to talk about it again."
"Fair enough."
The way he says it has Ichigo thinking it's far from a promise but he's already made up his mind. Feeling the familiar zing of anxiety begin to vibrate under his skin, Ichigo takes a breath and reaches for the memories.
"My first girlfriend was this red-headed chick in high school who followed me around a lot. Actually, I didn't really want to date anybody but my friend Tatsuki, who was like this girl's big sister, convinced me to do it."
"You were close with Tatsuki, right?" Ishida interrupts, recalling a previous comment about her. "It never occurred to you to date her instead?"
"Nah, Me and Tatsuki…there was too much history, you know? I've known her since we were five."
"Ah, I see."
"Yeah. So I dated her friend but she was almost too nice. You know those types of girls who you can't picture surviving a really horrible death in the family or something? Although Tatsuki told me her brother died when she was a kid."
"I know someone similar. The world doesn't seem to have had much of an impact, like true cruelty is more of an idea than a reality."
"Exactly," Ichigo nods, appreciating Ishida's ability to comprehend, as usual. "So it's hard to relate to that kind of innocence. Especially when you're a rowdy thug like me."
"Kurosaki, you don't give yourself enough credit."
Ichigo ignores this. He's pretty sure Ishida has to say pandering shit like that from time to time. Encouragements so Ichigo won't think Ishida agrees with deprecating comments.
"Anyways, she and I didn't work out. I broke it off with her and a few months later this guy named Kon cornered me in the stairwell and kissed me." Taking pleasure—as always—in the rare chances he gets to shock Ishida, he hides a grin as the man's slanted eyes widen a fraction at the admission. He recovers quickly and Ichigo continues. "I didn't hate it so I let him. But then we got caught by a teacher and had to scram."
"Did this boy ask you out?"
"Yeah but he was an annoying prick and I turned him down. We still met up to make out every once in a while, though." Ishida shifts a bit in his seat. Ichigo grins. "Bet you didn't guess I was bi."
"No, I can't say that I anticipated that." He likes the way Ishida's blue eyes sweep over him in curiosity. Ichigo doesn't mention that he's the first shrink he's shared that with. "What about in college; were there people you were with for longer than a few months?"
"There was this one woman…"
"Tell me about her?"
The fact that the request is phrased as a question assuages some of the mounting stress this memory creates. Ichigo has carefully tucked thoughts of her away from his brain for good reason. Dredging them up will not be pleasant.
"Rukia. She was loud and rude and bitchy. But I liked that about her. We argued a lot and her family hated me." His throat seizes up as images of Byakuya pop into his consciousness. Blood and curses. Rukia screaming. Black, acidic fluid wells within him and he hears the beginnings of a sinister whisper. "Rukia said she loved me and I couldn't handle it. I broke up with her."
"Because you were afraid of commitment?"
"No," he chokes out, inwardly swimming in the sorrow of that time. "Because I was afraid I'd hurt her."
Dimly, he hears Ishida's calm reassurances filtering poorly through the haze. The sounds of his own frantic breathing echo in his ears and Ichigo looks down at his open palms. He clenches them closed as tightly as he can but he doesn't feel the strain, nor the bite of nails carving crescents among sweeping lines. Black curls like thick smoke along his peripheral vision until he can barely discern the alarmed shape of Ishida across from him. He hears the telltale howl and slips under.
Shirosaki's mouth curls into a wide grin. A high, tremulous laugh vibrates from his throat. A pretty young man is staring at him and Shirosaki identifies him as Ichigo's White Knight. He recalls the conversation perfectly. Letting his open hands fall lax to the pine-scented sofa, he cants his hips and sits sideways to prop a leg and an arm casually across it. He twists his neck with a loose arch and eyes Ishida at an angle.
"Kurosaki…?"
"Ya wanna hear about my conquests? The bitches I've banged and the cocks I've sucked?" Shirosaki savors the man's discomfited propriety like fine wine. Ishida tries to hide it but his posture is too stiff, his mouth a pursed line. "I'll tell ya all about it, Baby."
"Actually, I'm more interested in hearing about the duration and scope of your relationships."
"So there was this Grade-A honey, Orihime-chan," he briefly shuts his eyes in recollection. "Huge tits and the cutest little mouth. But the prude wouldn't put out. Rukia, on the other hand…girl knew what to do with a hard-on, lemme tell ya."
"As I said, Kurosaki—"
"But her brother! Now there's a fuckin' prick if I ever met one! Though he regretted it in the end."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Ishida-sensei," Shirosaki croons in mock-respect. He loves watching Ishida squirm like this. Ichigo may miss it but he can see plain as day how his own doc has the hots for him. Based on the way he keeps subconsciously fidgeting with his errant hair, Shirosaki suspects Ishida himself doesn't even realize it yet. "I dumped that clingy broad and her bro came at me like a half-cocked cougar so I beat his ass into next Monday. By the time I was done with 'im, his stupid pretty face looked like hamburger. Actually, ya kind of look like 'im, kid. Before I rearranged his face."
"He attacked you first?"
"What difference does that make?" With an irritated huff, Shirosaki flings his arms out in a wide shrug and drops his head to the back of the couch in boredom. "Yeah, he took the first swing but I took the next one. And the next, and the next…"
"You lost control."
"Fuck no!" he snaps, offended. "When I fight, I go at it for real. None of that pussy bullshit like, 'Oh, I should aim for his cheek so he goes down quick.' Nah, I'm like, 'how much will it hurt if I hit his kidney just right?'"
"I see."
Ishida's breath quickens and a fine sweat breaks out across his pale skin. Shirosaki can sense the tension building at his words. He can't tell if it's fear or excitement, though, so he pushes a little further.
"After Rukia, I started fuckin' this athlete called Ikkaku. He was a demon in the sack—always comin' by my place and pushin' me around like he wanted it so bad he couldn't even say it out loud." Now he leans forward with forearms on his knees and peers straight into Ishida's darkening eyes. "No surprise, seein' as I'm a fantastic lay. I could do things to ya, Doc…Things yer body would remember and crave for years after."
"I'm sure."
It is said with the veneer of sarcasm but breathlessness belies his true mood. Shirosaki's grin widens as his eyes crinkle and gleam. He has Ishida just where he wants him. A few more suggestive comments like that and he'll have Ishida aching for a quick screw over his desk. Hot and dirty like this cool cat never allows. Maybe then Ichigo could get over this idiotic fixation and move on.
"But then I met his friend—Yumichika. Flaming gay; ya could tell from miles away. This dude was pretty enough to be a tranny, all purple hair and feathers and floral kimono. A real Queen! I fucked 'im up against the wall until he whimpered my name."
Now Shirosaki sees the way Ishida's gaze darts to the side in thought, imagining the whole thing as he tells him about it. He's picturing Ichigo's naked body pinning some pretty boy and pumping him like an animal. Which is exactly what happened, only it had been Shirosaki instead of Ichigo that time. He's always had a thing for dominating weaker men.
Clearing his throat, Ishida asks, "You cheated on Ikkaku?"
"He caught us, too. Yumichika collapsed on the floor with my come staining his silk kimono and Ikkaku screamed and screamed until I socked 'im in the jaw."
"Do all of your relationships end in violence, Kurosaki?" he asks with more curiosity than criticism. "Have you ever even been dumped?"
"Well, I had a quickie with this prof once. Soi Fon…somethin' or other. She taught me some new tricks but then ran off every time she saw me after that."
"I don't think that counts, then."
"Why not?"
"She was probably running from the possibility of being caught having relations with a student," Ishida states matter-of-factly, tapping his chin in thought. "Those kinds of incidents are easily grounds for dismissal."
"You would know, wouldn't ya?"
"Hm?"
"I've seen that look before, Ishida," he murmurs as he slides a little closer. The man perks up as if sensing danger. He's not wrong. "The way yer eyes follow my hands, skate over my body. That color on yer cheeks as I talk about sex looks really good on ya. Makes me wanna shove my tongue in yer pink mouth and lick inside until ya beg me to fuck y—"
Shirosaki breaks off as a cold shiver runs down his spine. He suddenly stands, looking down at himself like one of those poor saps in Alien before they birth a slimy beast from their guts. Ishida is gaping up at him in rapt fixation, though he couldn't possibly know what is going on within. He takes a quick breath and wonders if it's safe. Then Ichigo's rage slams into him like an avalanche, abruptly washing him from the spotlight.
This story is more or less finished, total length around 50k words. I will be posting chapters every couple of days or so to give myself time to proofread. Feel free to point out typos if you see any. Reviews are very much appreciated!
