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Ishida Ryuken was working the night shift at Karakura General.
This was nothing unusual or remarkable, yet at the same time it meant everything.
It was one in the morning, the whole Ishida house black as pitch, and a single light winked on in one window.
Uryu sat up in bed, heart racing, thinking of all the possible ways this could go wrong. Months of planning couldn’t help him face the grim reality of what was about to come to pass, to push down his mounting fear and anxiety. His whole body felt like a buzzing hive of bees ready to bubble over at the slightest provocation.
Slowly he eased himself up to standing, gazing in the direction of the closet. The preparations had been made for a few days, now. It was easier to make sure that he couldn’t find so much as a single excuse to not go through with it. This had to be done, and it had to be done now. Tonight was the night.
He could not lose his nerve.
The handle to the closet door was cold under Uryu’s touch. Foreboding, intimidating, a promise of a future both terrifying and glorious. All he needed to do was take the right steps. Such a meticulously arranged plan, but now it seemed like a looming mountain. So many unplanned things that could go wrong.
It’s not too late to crawl back between the sheets and give up…As soon as the thought crossed Uryu’s mind, he hated himself for it. Shoved it down and refused to let it return.
Uryu shifted the bag higher up on his shoulder and closed his eyes, taking one long last deep inhale of the room that had been his childhood, so long a prison. The idea of not waking up here tomorrow, or any subsequent tomorrow, was a strange concept his brain couldn’t quite wrap itself around, but he pushed through it, forced himself through the door.
Behind him, Uryu’s bedroom door closed with a squeak, never to be opened by his hand again. The clicking sound bolstered his steps, and he set off down the hallway, heart thudding a steady determined beat against his ribcage.
Each step seemed to echo through the entire house. So empty, so cold…maybe once it had been less so, though he doubted there had ever been much love around to speak of. Any there had been, died with his mother. Nothing but faded memories, tattered remnants of a family that had never known how to care.
So empty. So soulless. Ryuken never spent time here unless it was sleeping. The young boy that had grown up suffocated by its walls had gone ignored for so long, left behind all on his own.
Not letting himself lose momentum, not slowing, Uryu gripped his quincy cross so tight that it dug into the palm of his hand, threatened to pierce through flesh just a little bit. A couple of drops of blood, warm and wet, running against the metal.
Freedom and a bright future was close at hand. After so long of being beaten down, left to the wind, forgotten. A chance to be himself, not just a shallow copy of what Ryuken had always wanted for him.
Somewhere his steps were losing momentum, each one being a deliberate and herculean effort. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Didn’t fathers love their children, understand that they needed to be allowed to be…who they were to grow? Wasn’t a broken family supposed to cling to each other, mourning what they’d lost and left with the desire to preserve what was left more than ever?
A drop of hot liquid slid down Uryu’s cheek as he made it to the house’s front room, dripping down his chin and onto the floor. It sat there, a perfectly round droplet, circle on the ground.
Perfect. Something Uryu had never managed to be.
His legs certainly weren’t, buckling out from underneath him and sending him to his knees. Following suit were his arms, hand opening up and letting the quincy cross clang loudly on the floor. There was a fleck of red in one of its veins.
Maybe it was behaviour like this that made Uryu a problem. Good sons never ran away from home. Good sons shouldn’t have had any reason for their heart to be eating its way out of their chest, crying into their pillows at night. Respectable sons didn’t disobey their parents’ wishes for their future, working thread in place of a scalpel. Good sons didn’t lust after delinquent boys.
Uryu choked out a sob, wishing he knew where exactly he went wrong. That way he could understand, even if he knew that fixing it would be impossible. Where Ryuken’s heart had grown so cold, where he’d failed.
Memories of childhood were warped, filled with soft faded images of a mother’s love in such dominating scale that he couldn’t remember if Ryuken had wanted him back then. There was a chilling possibility that he never had, that Uryu had been an unwanted child from the start.
Yet guilt was still clawing at his heart, the final irresponsible act of a son: daring to tear himself from his father’s life. Putting his own foolish needs and wants above Ryuken’s infinitely more important ones. Selfish, selfish, selfish.
Never been worth anything.
Now Uryu was doubled over, crying onto the floor, wailing strangled and shrill, torn between staying and going. On how important his own happiness even was. (Surely not at all, compared to a father’s wants and needs for his son. To fulfill, to live up to expectations.)
The bag had slumped to the floor as Uryu continued to bawl, chest heaving fast and weary. Another disappointment…
An imperfect portrait of his mother, of his father, of what everyone wanted.
Angrily Uryu scrubbed at his eyes, seeing the angry red lines scattered along his arm, all the times he’d tried to fix himself. It had never worked. Some flaws couldn’t be fixed. No matter how hard anyone tried.
Even now: he’d been resigned to running away, but he’d stopped within view of the door. Weak. Weak. Weak. Always.
Maybe it had been foolish to think he had an escape at all. That imperfections were meant for anything more than trapped in an endless loop of unfulfilling misery that wasted everyone’s time.
Poor Kurosaki Ichigo. He’d really fooled himself that he loved Uryu. It was…such a tragedy. He might really have a good future ahead of him. But he’d wasted his time on Uryu, the broken one, the flaw.
Maybe I should issue a formal apology for everyone’s time I’ve wasted. If he fell asleep here, he’d be slipping back into the cycle of failures and not-quite-enoughs. Breaking free of the cycle was…too hard. Not worth it.
Uryu collapsed in on himself, letting the tears fall silently until his eyes ran out and ached with dry. His bag lay forgotten next to him, knees clasped close to his chest. He was caught in a vortex that in his perception might have been some form of eternal. Just bad memories, his worst thoughts, battering against him over and over again and leaving no warmth left inside.
When he heard a knock on the door, he was terrified. Jolted free from a spiral of self-hatred to be confronted with the unpleasant reality around him. Unavoidable.
Maybe it’s Ryuken. Perfect timing…to see his failure of a son broken in front of the door like this. With a packed bag. What a pathetic, vivid, infuriating picture it must paint.
The door creaked open, and Uryu braced himself for seeing Ryuken looming in the entryway, an ill omen of doom. But his eyes were greeted with someone else instead.
“Are you okay?”
Kurosaki Ichigo…reaching his hand forward, barely lit by anything more than the faintest halo of streetlights in the distance behind him, yet it seemed like a divine halo of truth.
Two twin tears left Uryu’s eyes, falling wet on the dried battlefield of the ones that had come before.
Someone had come. His brain couldn’t quite process that.
“Did you fall? I was worried when you hadn’t come out yet. That something had happened. I hope you’re okay. Please tell me you’re okay.”
Now Ichigo was kneeling, door still open leading to the hazy night behind him, waiting for Uryu to come to him.
“Ichigo…” He began in a quivering, uncertain voice. “Am I really someone you want and love, or do you only say you love me to placate me?”
“What?” Ichigo’s voice sounded baffled. “I…don’t understand what you’re saying, sweetheart.”
“I’m just a failed version of the person who everyone actually wanted. So how can I be certain you don’t think the same?”
After some time of silence, Ichigo finally spoke again. “Leaving got to you, huh? Reminded you of that asshole’s neglect?”
“Reminded me that I’m not the son he wanted.” Uryu swallowed a surprisingly large lump in his throat.
“Well. Luckily for you, you’re exactly the boyfriend that I wanted. And I’m here to take you away from this depression pit forever. Sound good? Remember everything I promised—that I’m gonna cook for you, and that you could sleep in my bed with me, and you’d never be left unloved another day in your life.”
“It won’t last.” Uryu mumbled. “Love doesn’t last. It’s just a passing thing. You’re going to learn how weak and false I really am, and grow tired of me.”
“You underestimate how stubborn I am. And how much I love you.” Ichigo’s arms were spread wide now, inviting Uryu in. So simple…so unbelievable. Yet his face was genuine, and Uryu somehow knew that he was being honest.
Uryu half-crawled, half-stumbled into Ichigo’s outstretched arms, reaching for a hug as if he were in the dark. Every line he’d ever carved into himself stood out in the dim light, showing how much was on the line for the simple act of him so much as daring to ask for an embrace. To ask for love.
The touch was magical in a way, and Uryu let himself melt into Ichigo’s arms, wrapping his own arms around his neck and burying his face into his shoulder.
“I can carry you out if you need.” Ichigo’s breath was cool brushing against Uryu’s ear, carrying the words.
It was an offer that Uryu would once have viewed as an insult, but now it seemed more like a lifeline. “But what about my bag? I…all my stuff is in there. The important stuff.”
“Uryu, you’re a featherweight. I can carry you and your bag all at once.” Ichigo kissed Uryu’s ear before he pulled away, shifting his arms around Uryu and reaching for the bag to sling it over his shoulder.
“You sure it’s not too much?” His whole life, Uryu had been too much, an extra burden, not carrying his own weight. Now it was symbolized by the way he was cradled in Ichigo’s arms as his boyfriend slowly stood up, only poorly managing to hide his grunts from the strain.
“I’ve carried worse burdens than your bag.” From where Uryu was angled, staring up into Ichigo’s face, his smile might have been the sun. “You, though, you’re not a burden at all.”
Words Uryu had never once expected to hear spoken to him. Of him. He expected it would take a while for them to fully sink in, but for now they left a fizzing, popping sensation throughout his mind. Uryu let himself close his eyes after taking one last look at that soft, handsome face, realizing that he was literally in good hands. A comforting relief that seemed almost unfamiliar to him.
Eyes shut, he was aware of the gentle sway that came from the steps Ichigo took forward. Soothing…safe. At peace. With his head tucked in the crook of one of Ichigo’s arms, legs bent at the knee dangling over the other, he felt secure and some strange, terrifying part of him even trusted Ichigo to not let him fall. Was this what having trust in other people was like? If so…it was something he could get used to. If he was lucky, maybe leaving home and letting himself trust and share his heart with Ichigo would allow him that freedom.
Uryu let out a soft sigh, and let his thoughts wander to loving, warm corners before finally drifting towards slumber.
The walk to Urahara Shōten was long, and the night was dark aside from the sporadic twinkle of street lamps and distant stars, but Ichigo didn’t mind. He also couldn’t bring himself to particularly mind the weight of Uryu settled across his arms. Ichigo could sense a soft warmth coming from him, and his whole body seemed to gently pulse with pale blue vanilla-peppermint reiatsu that acted as if it was a heartbeat. He seemed so delicate and innocent, filling Ichigo’s heart with fresh waves of unmitigated love as he carried him towards safety. Living with Ryuken had given the young man a permanent haggard look in his eyes, an impression of constantly being on edge; being able to finally remove that from him was a prospect that Ichigo welcomed with all his heart. He didn’t like seeing the people he loved suffer like that. And, as was becoming clearer every day, not every threat to them was going to be a hollow. Sometimes they took the form of people, and it was just as important as Ichigo to do his bit to protect them from the less supernatural horrors.
If Ryuken tried to follow his son to continue the grey stain of misery on his life, Ichigo mused, he wouldn’t be opposed to wounding him. Gravely, if it came to it.
The bag he had slung over his arm was notably more bothersome than Uryu, strap digging into his shoulder and promising an ache in the morning, its bulk swinging and slamming against his side with each step. What exactly Uryu had put in it was a mystery to Ichigo, though he could at least assume it was all deeply important to him. The bag was only just big enough for a sewing machine, if Ichigo had correctly guessed what that heavy square thing whacking at his leg was. Presumably Uryu had done some sort of organizing stunt to fit everything inside the bag properly. Or maybe he was hoping to borrow clothes from Ichigo for a while before he got back on his feet. They’d tried that once, and Ryuken had gotten mad about it and the ‘lack of decorum’ it apparently showed. Ichigo had thought Uryu looked rather dashing and adorable wearing his black and yellow hoodie that he could practically swim in, but clearly Ryuken had no sense of style. Or whimsy.
Yes, it was a good thing to get Uryu out of that depression pit. He needed to smile again, feel what it was like to be safe and loved.
Ichigo returned, slipping inside the Shōten’s doors and into the room that he was going to share with Uryu. No one was around to greet him; presumably Urahara was busy deep down in the basement experimenting with something.
Lying across the ground in the room was a double wide futon, covered in soft blankets just pulled down at the top to provide space for them to slide in. Heaving a loud sigh and groan from his sudden realization of the strain, Ichigo set Uryu gently down on the futon before shaking his arm to let the bag clatter free to the floor. A sudden relief flooded through Ichigo, combined with the ache in his shoulder and a pinch of worry that all the racket had woken Uryu up.
Closer investigation proved, however, that his eyelids were still softly shut, chest rising and falling in a sluggish yet steady way. Uryu was lulled too deeply into his sleep to have been awoken by such a crude thing, which Ichigo was thankful for. Quickly he slid the bag towards the corner of the room before turning his attention to more important matters: namely, cradling Uryu and pulling the blankets back to leave him a nice cozy nest to sleep in. Safe, soft, comfortable. Ichigo pulled the blanket up to Uryu’s chin, removing his glasses with a feather touch and set them on a table that rested along the wall. Laying there he looked so peaceful. So beautiful and precious. Free.
Gentle hands dancing across his face, Ichigo pushed the long, thick, silky black strands away to the side, as he let himself stare into the face of the man he loved for just a little while. His chest was rising and falling in a way that made the blanket shift with him, soft puffs of breath brushing against Ichigo’s hands.
Perfection. And no matter what he thought, not someone useless to be left behind at the first opportune moment.
Having to tear himself away, Ichigo slipped into his own bedclothes, and with perhaps excessive levels of delicacy peeled back the blankets to settle in next to Uryu.
He was warmer, than usual. Uryu had always held this sort of frigid feeling to him, his skin startlingly cool to the touch. Maybe the sudden arrival of love and care had brought change.
Ichigo wasn’t going to complain. Instead he rolled over, draping one of his arms across Uryu’s torso and pulling him in close. I’m not gonna leave you, all right?
𝄪
When Uryu first woke up, he felt faint confusion as to why he was so warm and comfortable, and where the soft yet sturdy embrace wrapped around him had come from. This was not normal. It should have been cause for panic, yet…it felt so nice. So comfortable and caring. Better than waking up under the mountain of blankets he needed to keep himself warm in the eternally frigid Ishida manor.
But he hadn’t stayed the night over at anyone’s place. Not that he remembered…
With a sleepy mumble Uryu turned over and saw Ichigo there, arm stretched across him, eyes still shut and tiny breaths escaping from his lips. Memories of what had happened last night came bubbling back up to the surface, how he’d finally steeled himself to run away from home, how he couldn’t bring himself to leave in the end under the crushing weight of his own disappointment. How Ichigo, in a fit of baffling compassion, had scooped him up and carried him away.
Embarrassment at having been so weak was a central presence in Uryu’s mind, but not overshadowed by how nice and safe this felt, waking up in the arms of someone who cared. It wasn’t the first time he’d slept beside Ichigo, of course, but it was the first time that there was no lingering dread about how it would have to end eventually, when he inevitably returned home. He was free…shame at not being strong enough to do it without help mingled with relief that he wasn’t alone anymore. After last night, waking up by himself, cold on a futon, might have been enough to convince him that running away was a bad idea. Now, though, tucked firmly in Ichigo’s grip, Uryu couldn’t entertain such thoughts. He tucked his head underneath Ichigo’s chin, easing his eyes closed, figuring he could at least sleep a little while longer until Ichigo awoke. He’d had a late night last night…late and full of emotional turmoil.
The idea that Uryu could have—and even deserve—a little luxury like a lie-in was slightly preposterous, but he had to start somewhere with giving himself freedoms. This was a fairly harmless one.
“Thank you,” he whispered into Ichigo’s neck, meaning every inch of it and more.