Work Text:
Muffled laughter and voices from the TV floated through the house unfitting for the heavy mood that surrounded us.
Too many mistakes.
(I didn't mean too. I'm sorry this is the last time. I'm never touching another bottle again.)
Countless promises broken.
(I'll get a job and I'll fix everything Ichi, I swear.)
Regret plastered on his face. Thin blue eyebrows drawn down. His eyes looking everywhere but my face.
One of my eyes are swollen shut. His nose is bleeding all over the shirt I bought him for his birthday two years ago.
My knuckles are purple and red littered with cuts. His are no better.
"Ichigo..."
His voice is deep and gravelly. Sounding so shameful and sorry that unwanted heavy tears are welling up in my eyes.
The glass table that laid in the center of the living room just in front of the droopy couch we are sitting on is shattered. The weight of 23 year old man being forcefully shoved on it was too much.
There's pieces of glass digging in my back and and all in my hair but I can't find it in myself to care.
This isn't our first fight and certainly seems like it won't be the last.
"I'm..."
There's a fork stabbed in his thigh. Nothing life threatening but I know it hurts mainly because he's done the same to me.
My throat is sore. I'm sure there's finger prints painted on my skin in a horrific blue. I'll have to find a way to cover those up again tomorrow or Urahara will worry.
Our dead cow couch creaks as I stands. Our bedroom is 26 steps away. I think I can make it that far without collapsing.
Heavy tears cloud my vision as I make my way away from the couch. Disgusting.
Just as I reach the hallway I hear him whisper the last word to his sentence.
His "sorry" comes out in a breathy tone. So light I could hardly hear it.
I keep walking.
I keep wishing that these vile tears would stop spilling over and clouding my vision.
I wish alcohol was never made.
I wish Grimmjow would follow through with his promises.
I wish...
I...