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The small desktop light was still on, shining across the uncharacteristically dishevelled mop of Uryū’s hair that was spilling over and onto the desk. It looked like he’d buried himself face-first into the folds of the fabric he was sewing into a shirt for Ichigo to wear. A soft, gentle sound was coming faintly from the mess, only detectable by Ichigo’s sharp hollowfied ears.
He sucked in his breath, shifting the cup of tea in his hands so that he held it with his palms flat against the sides, warmth blooming against his palms. It seemed as if his delivery of caffeine was just a bit too late.
Delicately, using every ounce of stealth he had, Ichigo took careful steps towards the unconscious Quincy. From the gentle light flickering inside the bowels of the machine he could tell he hadn’t quite finished whatever it was he was he was working on.
Ichigo set Uryū’s forgotten tea down on the desk and bent his neck slightly to come parallel with his head, looking at the slight sliver of face and unaligned glasses peeking through the black curtain dappled with highlights from the lamp.
“Hey,” he murmured, not wanting to speak too loud lest he startle him and end up on the receiving end of his bleary insults and complaining like usual. Testing the waters Ichigo waved his hand in front of his face a few times, hoping for a reaction and getting none.
A slight sleepy groan rose from Uryū’s face, still buried into the cloth. It was the groan of someone who was asleep in a decidedly uncomfortable position. Already Ichigo could imagine his complaints the next morning regarding the inevitable crick in his neck. He knew he ought to grab Uryū’s shoulders now and lightly shake him, but the picture of him asleep at the sewing machine was so cute he just had to let him lay there for a bit longer, a smile etching its way on his face.
He took his fingers and wove them through his hair, feeling it soft and smooth against his hands, perfectly cared-for as always with only a very slight tingle of reishi hiding in it that he could feel sparking against his fingertips.
By now Ichigo knew that scolding him to take a break, to let his projects rest for the day when he was bullheadedly determined, was a futile act. The only thing that would convince Uryū to quit and come to bed when he was in one of those moods was this very thing: he worked himself so hard he fell asleep in the middle of doing something, in this case sewing a hem.
It was something of a character flaw of Uryū’s that he was conflicted on. One part of him hated that he felt the need to drive himself so hard, so relentlessly, even though Ichigo was much the same way himself. The other part, however, the hopeless romantic part of himself he was still embarrassed to admit he had, found it unbearably adorable when he fell asleep in the middle of something. Usually it was sewing, or embroidery, late at night after a stern order of a cup of tea or, if he was feeling particularly audacious, coffee. Of course any time after ten at night Ichigo would refuse. Uryū may have lived off of coffee and tea every other time of the day but he drew the line there. The tea had been delivered only with great reluctance, because a quick glance at the clock on the kitchen wall before Ichigo had stolen inside their workspace had revealed that it was twenty minutes or so past midnight, long past time for Uryū to be finished with his work.
Ichigo kept stroking him, softly smiling at the sheer vulnerability of him asleep, that he could never quite manage to muster while awake. Moments like these reminded him what had made him fall in love in the first place, and made him do it a little more all over again.
“Hey, little dragon,” he murmured, watching the steam rise from the cup of tea he’d delivered. “You doing all right?” His hair was so soft, especially now that it was so long, and Ichigo idly wound a tiny bit of it around his finger.
All he got in response from Uryū was a huffy snore half-muffled by the shirt, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected much else. Ichigo let himself lean in closer, feeling the warm sleepy embrace of his reiatsu and letting his arm slowly shift so that it wrapped around part of his shoulders. It didn’t take much for him to lean in, face nestled into his hair, inhaling the warm scent of his shampoo and the detergent on his shirt. It was a mark of trust between both of them, letting each other get so close and personal.
Gently, tenderly, he gave Uryū’s hair a few little licks. It was a hollow habit of his, one that Uryū always lamented as mussing up his hair, but the fond look on his face when he scolded Ichigo suggested otherwise. And considering he fell asleep on his sewing machine, tidy hair wasn’t exactly in the cards either. So he methodically let his tongue pass along his hair, the reishi crackling on his tongue, trying to lick it back from his eyes. Of everyone in the world, he knew that Uryū was the only person who wouldn’t judge him for it. Even when awake.
“You gonna wake up soon?” Ichigo lay his head sideways on top of Uryū’s, closing his eyes and feeling the heat of the old lamp that had been running for two hours too long against his eyelids. There was still no response aside from the snuffling sound of breathing, the gentle rise and fall of Uryū’s chest and the rest of his body in sync. In Ichigo’s heart right then there was nothing in the world but the two of them, everything else around them a featureless void. His ears could make out the soft thumping of Uryū’s heart, a reassurance of everything and the metronomic soundtrack to their soft proximity. It was so comfortable and perfect, the two of them nestled, one asleep and one hazily awake, that Ichigo could feel the rumble of a purr rise in his chest in enthusiasm.
Another dainty lick, this time of his ear. “I can lay here all night with you, little dragon, but we’re both going to have killer cricks in our neck in the morning.”
“Mmphf,” was Uryū’s dozey response, not doing much to prove whether or not he was really awake.
“Do you want your tea?”
“Mmmm.” Uryū groaned a little and shifted his head slightly, glasses still very much askew but his face now looking directly sideways rather than on an angle. He opened one eye a crack and looked up at Ichigo, blue lit up by the overheating lamp.
“Now that you’re awake, we should probably get you properly into bed,” Ichigo said with a slight purring rumble to his words. “I don’t want to hear you complain about your sore neck in the morning.”
“Need to finish seam,” he mumbled, words slurring into each other to make an incomprehensible mess. “Get me tea.”
“You need to get to bed, little dragon,” Ichigo scolded him. “It’s after midnight.”
“Seam first,” he insisted, trying to lift his head up to keep going but failing miserably at it. Instead he flopped back down onto the table with a thunk, groaning slightly with the impact.
“Now do you believe me?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Ichigo snaked his hands around under Uryū’s neck, lifting him gently up. He was heavy, more so than normal, with sleep, head lolling slightly with the movement. Giving up he let it rest on Ichigo’s shoulder. “How long was I out?”
“I don’t know. Some time between the ordering of the tea and the delivering of the tea.”
“Ugh.” Uryū’s mouth split wide in a yawn. “I thought I’d have been able to hold out long enough to get through another cup.”
“You were cute when you were asleep,” Ichigo told him, wrapping his arm around Uryū’s warm body and slowly leading him out of the room.
“Don’t you dare.” There was no heat in his words, just some lazy banter that was expected between the two of them. The sewing machine and the light had been flicked off, Ichigo’s way of underlining to Uryū that the only way out was bed. The walk through the apartment to the bedroom was slow, lumbering along. Uryū’s unsteady gait made Ichigo smile, stumbling slightly and nearly walking into the kitchen counter.
“This way,” he teased, putting just the slightest pressure on Uryū’s shoulder to prevent him from going face-first into the wall instead of the doorway. It was a long and tedious process oft coloured by Uryū’s sleepy and nonsensical complaints which only served to make Ichigo grin like an idiot.
“Into the sanctum, little dragon,” he whispered close into his ear, giving it a tiny lick when he was done. Carefully he led Uryū through the home stretch straight to their bed. The very instant they were within reach Uryū slid through his reach and sprawled on the bed on top of the blankets with a groan of satisfaction and comfort.
Ichigo sat down gently next to him, taking his glasses off his face with precision and care before folding them on the bedside table. Once that was done he ran his hands through his hair one last time, fingers moving long and soft until they reached his neck, where they stayed.
“I love you,” he whispered, drinking everything about him in, dimly lit as he was. He was half-asleep and his entire posture was slackened because of it, but somehow that allowed Ichigo to see who was really inside for that precious moment of vulnerability. Uryū’s shell was cracked wide open and revealed the sparkling pearl that was inside. As Ichigo lowered himself down next to him on the bed he could feel his heart flutter, even after all this time, still not processing that someone that elegant, that beautiful, was his to love.
A gentle snore rose from the limp heap of Quincy, making Ichigo smile to himself. He turned over and wrapped his arm around him, still over the covers, and pulled Uryū in close. It was a habit that brought comfort and familiarity to both of them, Ichigo serving as a protective shield from anything that might haunt the night. Even asleep he brought so much joy and warmth to his heart, he could feel it from the inside. Ichigo leaned in to kiss the soft skin of his cheek before leaning back to drift off, whispering to no one.
“Sleep well, little dragon.”