Insomnia (chapter 6)
DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Author: SilverKytten
Title: Insomnia (chapter 6)
Rating: PG-13 (overall NC-17)
Pairing: IchigoxRenji
Warnings: Yaoi, language, angst, spoilers
Summary: When you carry world on your shoulders, who’s left to catch you when you fall? (previous chapters)
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. All characters associated with the series are the property of Tite Kubo, I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement.
Reflection
To say that Ichigo was used to waking up next to Renji would have been a gross exaggeration. He was, however, slightly less horrified than he'd been previously when the first thing he saw upon waking was a mass of red hair. He sighed, stirring the crimson strands against his nose, twitching when they tickled his face. He couldn’t begin to imagine how they’d accomplished it, but somehow during the night they’d switched positions on the narrow futon. He was currently pressed along Renji’s back, forehead resting against a messy braid, and one arm draped casually around his waist. He wondered if the other man was awake.
He pushed himself up on one arm to get a better look, his back popping in protest, and found Renji’s eyes closed. That didn’t prove anything, but it was a good start. He slipped his arm from around Renji slowly, drawing it back towards the safety of his own body. He figured that if he could have one morning where he wasn’t caught in an embarrassing or compromising position he would consider it a success. If he was really careful, he might even be able to escape the room and avoid conversation entirely.
It seemed like a good plan, and it might have even been successful, but for the barest of chances. He was almost completely clear when the tips of his fingers grazed the skin just below Renji’s ribs and he heard his breath hitch. He stilled instantly, eyes snapping back to the other man’s face. Renji had the slightest hint of a frown, but his eyes were still closed and Ichigo was beginning to think that he might actually be asleep for once. As he continued to watch, the tension in the brows relaxed and the breathing returned to normal. He looked so peaceful in sleep, it was like watching a whole different person, and Ichigo couldn’t help but stare at him for a minute.
He hesitated, knowing he was moments from freedom, biting his lip in thought. He didn’t remember making a conscious decision, but he must have because one moment he was telling himself to go and the next his fingers were slipping back over that same patch of skin. The breath shuddered, lips parting slightly, and Ichigo was transfixed by the sight of it. He wanted to do it again, felt his hand already starting to move, but he stopped himself, frowning at his own actions, frowning at Renji.
Sometime in the night, a lock of hair had slipped forward, a vivid crimson slash against the unmarred cheek. Brows still drawn together in confusion, Ichigo withdrew his hand from the blanket, reaching up to tuck it back behind an ear. His fingers grazed the delicate skin behind Renji’s jaw and his chin rose slightly, as if arching into to the soft caress.
Ichigo felt something twist inside him, a dizzy sort of tingle that seemed to spread through his veins. There was a warning going off in his head, but he couldn’t make sense of it in the haze of the moment. His thumb ghosted along the exposed neck, drawing a soft hiss from Renji, and the warning increased tenfold. Lashes fluttered slightly and swept open as Renji turned towards him with sleep clouded eyes. He snatched his hand back, realizing this was far worse than being caught asleep against the other man.
“Ichigo?” Renji’s was rough, and there was a hint of confusion behind it.
Ichigo bolted upright, the blanket pooling around his waist as he tried to roll off of the futon. Renji was quicker, though, and shot a hand out capturing his wrist.
“What’s goin’ on, Ichigo?” He sounded more awake as he settled on his back, tugging the wrist to keep the younger man seated.
Ichigo gripped Renji’s forearm with his other hand, the color draining from his face. “I need to go.”
“What’s going on?” he repeated, drawing himself up so they were face to face.
Ichigo watched the blanket fall away over the bare, tattooed flesh and felt his panic rise. He pulled harder against the restraining hand. “Let me go.”
Renji ignored him, reaching out with his free hand to catch the side of his neck, stilling his movements and tilting his head back up. Wide eyes snapped to his and he frowned, thumb brushing across the wildly beating pulse in his throat.
“What’s the matter with you?” His voice was low and concerned.
Ichigo belatedly realized that if he had been asleep then he’d probably only felt the very last of the touch, making this outburst all the more confusing. He tried to think rationally, but Renji’s thumb was still stroking calming circles against his neck and it was making things a bit more complicated. He cursed Renji’s inability to remain still.
“What the fuck did I tell you about petting me?” he tried for a dry tone but he could hear the flutter in his voice.
Renji frowned, thumb stilling over his pulse. “I-”
“Abari-san, can you…” Urahara slipped the door open and stepped through before drawing up short at the sight of them.
Ichigo could only imagine what they must look like, sitting in bed together, still half under the blanket with Renji cupping the side of his neck. He pulled back roughly and this time Renji let him go, hands dropping to rest on his knees.
“My apologies, I should have knocked,” Urahara said lightly, turning to leave.
“No!” Ichigo yelped, standing so quickly that he staggered into the wall. Urahara paused in the doorway. They were both looking at him with varying degrees of confusion. He cleared his throat. “I mean, It’s not…I was just…”
“Don’t worry, Kurosaki-kun. I’ll go see about breakfast.” Urahara waved his hand dismissively.
“No!” Ichigo winced at the sharpness in his own tone, trying to calm himself. “I have to go, I have school.”
Urahara was frowning now, running a critical eye over him as though looking for some previously undetected injury. There was a rustle of cloth as Renji stood, adjusting the dark cotton pants hanging low on his hips and frowning as well. Ichigo snatched his shirt off the table, yanking it roughly over his head. He started for the door but Renji caught him again, fingers closing around his upper arm.
“What the hell’s goin’ on in your head this mornin’?” he demanded, the concern starting to war with irritation.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” Ichigo gritted his teeth, conscious of both sets of eyes on him still. “I just have a headache from working with Urahara-san yesterday and I’m already running late.”
He shrugged out of the hold and made his way to the door, nodding briefly to Urahara who was still studying him with mild concern. He heading down the hall as fast as he could, trying to ignore the soft voices from the room he’d just vacated, undoubtedly discussing his odd behavior. He tugged on his shoes and broke into a light jog, heading for home. He’d told the truth when he said he was running late.
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The sky was a lazy, rolling thing, spattered with wisps of cloud that seemed to drift just out of reach. Ichigo lay flat on his back on the riverbank, watching them pass, wondering if it meant anything at all. The grass tickled against his cheek and he wanted to brush it aside but he couldn’t seem to move. It was warm. The breeze ruffled his hair slightly, reminding him of when he used to come here and play with his mother. It was warm but Ichigo was cold.
He wasn’t stupid, he was impulsive and hotheaded, but he recognized that these weren’t quite the same thing. He had the ability to think rationally about something if he put his mind to it, not that he often took the time to do so. Of course, not being stupid didn’t prevent him from doing stupid things, not even remotely.
He hated running away, it was the coward’s way out and he always felt like he was betraying himself when he did it. He’d spent most of his recent years running straight at the biggest danger he could find, not even taking time to consider that there could be another option. He’d done it for Chad, when bullies had come because they knew he wouldn’t fight back. He’d done it for Rukia, when he’d seen her led away to die and all of Soul Society stood against him. He’d done it for complete strangers threatened by hollow and worse. All those times, he’d stood against immeasurable odds with nothing but his own resolve to see him through, and yet here he was running away, letting himself down.
It was cowardly because it didn’t solve anything. It wasn’t a strategic retreat; it was facing your fears and crumbling under the weight of them. The entire situation with Renji was so monumentally confusing that he didn’t even know where to begin to think about it. Somehow he’d gone from an antagonistic, competitive friendship to a still somewhat antagonistic, partially concerned, falling asleep together friendship in just under a week.
He considered it a friendship because he didn’t know what else to call it; it was all just weird. Part of the reason it was so confusing, however, was that he spent an extraordinary amount of time either wallowing in horror, trying desperately no to think about it, or simple running. There were never going to be any answers if he couldn’t stop running, couldn’t face up to his fears long enough to recognize what they were. As it stood, he wasn’t even completely sure what he was running from, which is almost always a bad way to do things. He felt lighter for a moment, like he’d just figured out something important.
Unfortunately these moments of divine clarity are most often associated with events of horrific trauma, in which the mind seems to separate from reality and drift away into retrospect. This was the case with Ichigo, who ultimately came to these realizations while gripping the rather large spike shoved through his chest, and sinking deeper into the spreading pool of his own blood. It is one of the great ironies of fate that only in death can some people find understanding.
Everything had started out simple enough. He’d had his fiasco with Renji and then he’d gone to school; noting how much quieter everything seemed without Rukia there to scold him every five minutes. When school had let out he’d gone home to change and then gone out for a walk. He called it a walk but more accurately it was hiding. He didn’t want to stay home because he was afraid that Renji might show up and he didn’t want to go to Urahara’s because then he’d have to face them both. He knew that he wasn’t really going to be that hard to find if someone was actually looking as his reiatsu defied all attempts to contain it, but he felt better when he was out and moving.
He hadn’t bothered to leave his body at home because he wasn’t planning on fighting anything. He had his substitute badge with him, though, because he wasn’t stupid. Half an hour of aimless wandering had brought him to the river, to the tree where he’d first fallen asleep on Renji. He’d dropped down, staring out over the water, trying to simultaneously think about and not think about the events of that morning. He scowled, rubbing idly at his temple; he hadn’t been lying about his headache and it still hadn’t gone away.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed, but he was laying on his back and staring up at the sky when he felt a surge of something brush against his awareness. He pushed up on his elbows, but it was gone almost as soon as he’d noticed it. It had felt like a hollow for a second, but he hadn’t been able to tell how far away or even in what direction. He concentrated for another few minutes, feeling around for anything abnormal and finding nothing. He dropped back into the grass, flinging an arm over his face and wondering if he’d been imagining things or if someone was just quick on the kill today.
He wondered if Inoue and Rukia had made it to Soul Society alright, but figured he’d have heard about it by now if they hadn’t. He was killing time by trying to imagine what they might be training when something ticked the back of his senses again. He removed the arm from his face, frowning in concentration. Whatever it was felt really dull, a sort of oily feeling that he just couldn’t hold onto it. He figured it must be far away because he could barely make it out. He turned his head in the grass, looking back towards town, trying to pinpoint what and where it was. It didn’t feel like a hollow this time, but with the strange things that had been happening recently it was best not to assume anything. He sighed, figuring he should probably go take a look just to be sure.
He hadn’t even managed to sit all the way up when the air in front of him seemed to waver and a sharp pain tore though his entire body. He felt the thing punch though his ribs, flesh and organs, before ripping out of his back to bury deep in the ground. He hadn’t seen it coming, he hadn’t felt it coming, and it was over before he even realized what had happened. One hand came up to claw at the bony protrusion embedded in the middle of his chest, so thick that he his fingers couldn’t close around it.
He couldn’t see what had hit him; the long shaft just disappeared into midair directly in front of him. There was the strange shifting again and it came into view, so grotesque and twisted that he recognized it immediately as one of Aizen’s new Arrancar experiments. He remembered in Soul Society that Aizen had bragged about creating hollows that could hide their reiatsu, and even hide their bodies. It seemed that he had adapted the same principals to his Arrancar work. Even now, looking straight at the thing, he was having trouble feeling it. It was that same fuzzy, slippery feeling that he just couldn’t quite focus on. It sneered at him, lips pulling back over broken yellow teeth.
“Poor little shinigami, all alone with no one to hear you scream,” it mocked, its voice like nails across glass, red eyes alight with triumph.
The spike ground deeper, tearing a strangled cry from his throat and he felt the blood rise to stain his lips. Something wet was creeping under his neck and he realized that he was losing blood fast, too fast; a tingling was already setting into his fingers and toes. Ichigo felt something inside of himself start to slip, blurring the corners of his vision. His hand fell away, bouncing off the soft grass at his side, twitching slightly as he struggled to breath. He shook his head to clear the spots that were dancing in front of his eyes, trying to force his arm off the ground and towards the badge hanging from his belt. There was a blinding pain and he choked out a screamed as another spike pierced his forearm, slamming it back into the blood soaked earth. The leering face came closer, fading in and out of focus, laughing at his anguish.
His head fell to the side, away from the fetid breath and he found his Hollow standing next to him with Zangetsu flanking him to the left. Above him, the Arrancar continued to crow its triumph, unable to see anything out of the ordinary. His Hollow looked more solemn then Ichigo had ever seen him, torn robes fluttering gently and the pure white daito of his bankai clutched loosely in his hand. The cold black and yellow eyes bored into his own, flickering with something unreadable. He wasn’t sneering or laughing as Ichigo would have expected from him in a moment like this, he didn’t even look angry. He simply watched. Ichigo’s eyes shifted to Zangetsu and found him watching as well, looking infinitely weary, his eyes betraying a sadness that scared Ichigo more than anything else to that point. He realized that it was a bad sign for them to be here together, manifesting themselves but unable to do more than watch.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything to stop them from looking at him like that but all that came out was a trickle of bloody bubbles. He choked and Zangetsu seemed to wince, as though they were connected somehow in their pain. He realized that they probably were, and he regretting that they had to suffer with him. His Hollow seemed to sway and long fingers curled around the side of his neck as Zangetsu held him in place, stepping closer to the smaller body to lend his support. They were dying, Ichigo realized with a sense of detached horror. They were dying because he was dying and there was nothing any of them could do about it.
He flinched, feeling lightheaded, trying to stay conscious, trying to move. Another scream, more broken than the last tore free as he felt his other arm pierced, splaying him out mercilessly before his tormentor. The pain receded quicker this time, settling into a dull sort of numbness and a sickening feeling of cold. Zangetsu shuddered, dropping his forehead against the Hollow’s snow white hair as his knees started to buckle. His fingers tightened on the pale throat and the Hollow tipped his head away, opening his neck further to the touch. The yellow eyes slipped closed and it would have almost seemed sensual but for the pain etched in every line of his body.
Ichigo could feel his arms moving as they were dragged across the ground, spreading him wide like some ritual sacrifice. He didn’t bother to look up, his world had faded and he could no longer see past the two figures beside him. His Hollow fell to his knees, sword driving deep into the ground as he fought to stay upright. Zangetsu followed him down, arms curling around the Hollow’s chest, head resting against the white shoulder.
One ghostly pale hand slipped through the grass to brush against Ichigo’s fingers where they lay pinned between them. He wanted to pull away, because this show of sympathy or support from the Hollow meant unbearable things. He wanted to throw him off as those white fingers slipped across his palm, smearing crimson stains over his flesh as they warped around his hand. He wanted to but he couldn’t, he couldn’t even find the strength to curl his own fingers in response.
“Sorry, king.” The voice barely reached him and he wondered if it was the Hollow’s voice or his own ears that were failing. It didn’t really matter, he decided, as the darkness overcame him and the hot breath of the Arrancar descended. It didn’t matter because there was no more time for it to matter. He wished that he had the breath to say goodbye.