Archive of Our Own

Ichigo wasn’t entirely sure when he realized where his tastes lay. In the years that kids usually discovered those things about themselves, he was busy trying to cook for his family and maintain a steady older brother persona. If he really regretted missing out on those childish first loves, he didn’t remember.

There was a brief sliver of time that existed between him gaining some adolescent freedom again and being chained down as a substitute shinigami. It didn’t last very long, only a handful of months; it was hardly enough to say he learned much about himself. But at this time, he supposed if he was being generous, he might have gained inklings and snippets of this aspect of himself. Nothing much.

Certainly, after Rukia crashed her way into his life, he didn’t have time for it anymore.

Ichigo had mostly learned the few ‘risqué’ phrases he knew from Keigo and his antics, but he hadn’t really understood them. He ranted about ‘attraction’ and ‘sexuality’ and ‘horniness’ on a daily basis, but Ichigo shrugged them off as things that didn’t affect him, matters for more naïve and innocent kids who didn’t have to go roaming around town cleansing the restless dead. They certainly didn’t apply to him. It was all too easy to keep on rolling his eyes.

There were more important things to worry about, including the prick who thought it was a fun idea to summon a swarm of hollows into Karakura.

Ichigo didn’t sleep the night after the Menos attack, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. Part of him felt guilty, although that was absurd; he hadn’t done a single thing wrong. It had been that Ishida weirdo who had caused all the problems. And so what if he’d fallen to tears at the end? He’d brought it upon himself, just like Rukia said.

Something inside Ichigo felt differently, however, and the image of Ishida’s face with tears streaming down his cheeks kept playing over and over again in his mind as he tried to fall asleep.

Despite his reputation, Ichigo wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t even particularly oblivious. It only took him a few days of inviting him up to lunch on the roof to figure out that he felt something for Ishida that he hadn’t before. Figuring out what wasn’t quite so easy, not when he’d spent most of his adolescent career packing his feelings tightly up into boxes and refusing to examine them closer. All he could discern was that it was slightly tingly and a bit like an unexpected shock from an outlet. He considered asking Rukia about it, but before he had a chance she was gone and as good as dead and his mind became swollen with desperation to win her back . The mission loomed front and center, and like always in his life Ichigo’s emotional life took a backseat.

It wasn’t gone for good, though; feelings could never be fully extinguished especially after they’d taken root. Looking at Ishida in his homemade outfit, stupidly white and attention-grabbing and about as subtle as waving a bright red flag in front of a pissed off bull, he could feel his whole face grow hot. He knew that wasn’t normal, least of all for him, and that was a source of deep concern.

Fighting shinigami was only a distraction from his strange unexplainable feelings, not a cure for them. On returning home he found himself burdened with more emotions than ever, agonizing by Ishida’s newfound sadness and unsure what to do about it. Even among the growing worry about his hollow, and the impending conflict, and the vizards, the feeling remained. Stubborn, ever-present.

It took him a long time to begin to realize what it actually was, and there was too much going on with the war for Ichigo to process it until everything had blown over.

With no tumult surrounding him, Ichigo was forced for the first time in his life to reconcile with his feelings. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. He quickly realized he’d held everything back for a reason, and it existing out in the open made his skin crawl.

It was one day three weeks after he’d awoken from the coma when all the puzzle pieces finally clicked together, one after another, and the image became whole for the first time.

The memory always came back to him almost too clearly in his mind’s eye. He’d been lying on his bed, flat on his back, staring up blankly at the ceiling. A familiar pose. It was a position of melancholic reflection. He didn’t like the thoughts that came into his head when he was in it. And that day would prove to be no exception.

Things bounced around against the walls of his skull, demanding attention after so long of being pushed down in favour of whatever crisis was going on. He had all the time in the world, now. Nothing to distract him from the truth.

He wasn’t sure what made his mind wander in that direction. With nothing to focus on, he focused on everything, flowing gently from one long-repressed topic to another like a stream of consciousness. Eventually it wound its way into dusty recesses filled with Keigo monologues, narratives half-understood from his father, expectations he knew everyone had but that he hadn’t quite come to face in full intensity yet. He thought there might have been his parents’ old wedding photos there, and silly drama shows he’d overhead his sisters watching with over the top plotlines, and above it all a bunch of silly, glittering red hearts that everyone seemed to care about except him.

It was romance, something he’d never given much thought to before then, but when he closed his eyes to block out the white ceiling another truth came to him in bright, romantic red, so clear he couldn’t believe that it had never occurred to him before.

Whatever it was he felt for Ishida, smart, funny, talented, infuriating Ishida, was obviously whatever this mystical ‘romance’ thing that everyone had kept telling him about was.

Ichigo sat up with a gasp, head spinning from the jolt, wrapping his arms around himself.

There was one thing he knew about romance for certain. Men liked women and women liked men.

Ichigo was a boy. But he liked another boy, didn’t he? The more he thought about it, he could see himself with Ishida in that high school relationship role. He even liked the idea, sickeningly sweet as it was, holding hands and sharing bowls of ramen and kissing in empty classrooms. Years of pent up pubescent hormones flooded him all at once and he was nearly flattened by the overwhelming feeling of yearning. That was a new experience for him, and he was torn between hating how weak it made him feel and loving every minute of it.

He couldn’t tell anyone, of course. Ichigo could guess how poorly that might go.

For the first time in years, that afternoon, Ichigo let himself cry. He’d rolled face-first into his pillow and let hot tears soak into the fabric. That way his sobs were nice and quiet, and he was left alone in peace to vent his feelings. Not for the first time and far from the last, he found himself wishing that things could just go back to normal and his deeply unpleasant feelings were locked up back where they belonged.

With the understanding of what attraction and romantic love were now, Ichigo found himself picking up a lot more information from both Keigo and his father. The former was always dangerous, bringing horny thoughts that he found himself enjoying more than he would ever dare admit in the very specific context of things he could do with Ishida. As disappointing as he had initially found it, the fact that Ishida was no longer lunching with Ichigo and the others was in some ways a blessing.

One afternoon Keigo was having a particularly spicy monologue about things one could do with a tongue, and Ichigo choked on his rice. His constricting airway was just about the only thing keeping the lurid images of him doing all those same things, but with Ishida, at bay. It kept his mind blank save for survival instincts for a short moment, but soon enough Chad came to the rescue and thumped his back with one of his hands, dislodging the rice and sending it flying across the roof. Suddenly freed from the fearful grasp of potential death by choking, Ichigo took in deep, burning breaths one after another in near desperation.

“Whoa! Are you okay?” Keigo finally broke off his very steamy tirade to check in. “If what I was saying made you uncomfortable, you could have just asked.”

Ichigo shook his head, but his throat still hurt too much to say much of anything, so Chad answered for him.

“He choked on some rice.”

“Oh. Damn. Uh. Was it my fault?” For all his blunt eccentricity, Keigo at least seemed to understand when things needed to be serious. Ichigo was grateful for it, but there was also no way he was going to tell him how it was his fault. Instead he shook his head from side to side, vigorously, which seemed to put Keigo at ease.

“Good. I thought you might need some pointers, anyway. Have you ever even actually kissed a girl, Ichigo?”

Not taking another bite had been a smart move, because there was a high chance Ichigo would have choked again after hearing this question.

“Why me,” he rasped. “I mean. Why ask me. It’s not like Chad has, either, and as far as I’m aware you’ve not even had anyone like you.” He tensed, hoping his deflection worked.

“On the contrary! I have had several girls interested, and a couple of kisses!” Keigo practically crowed. “I, friends, am well on my way to a stable relationship.”

Good for you, Ichigo thought bitterly, wondering idly where Ishida might eat lunch now. He’d grown distant after the war, hard to pin down.

“I think we need to find Ichigo a girl, too,” Keigo said. “He’s so dour and scowly all the time. A nice, pretty girl might cheer him up.”

“That should be Ichigo’s choice, in the end,” Chad told him gently. “Not ours.”

“But he doesn’t know where to even start! What’s wrong with us helping? Just a bit. He can tell us what girl he likes and then we can come up with ways for him to ask her out!”

That same gnawing, agonizing pain returned to Ichigo’s chest. He knew now that it was longing and self-hatred tied up into one tidy and convenient package, but that information made it no easier to bear. He closed his eyes, hoping to mask whatever pain was in his expression.

“I mean, there’s so many cute and nice girls in our class. Surely Ichigo’s gotta have the hots for one of them!”

This was the final straw for Ichigo, who got up suddenly, half-eaten lunch clutched close to his chest. “I’m not hungry anymore. See you in class.” It wasn’t a lie. His stomach felt like a stone that might never crave sustenance again.

He got strange looks from Keigo and Chad—the former baffled and incredulous, the latter calculating and knowing. They burned into his mind’s eye as he slipped through the door and clattered down the stairs, taking deep breaths and holding his eyes open wide.

No one ever used the washroom on the top floor, which mean there was no one there to see Kurosaki Ichigo crying in front of the mirror.

This encounter made the situation worse from all sides. Keigo was now convinced Ichigo was head over heels in love with a classmate, and proceeded to run through the entire list of every girl in Karakura First High School when they shared lunch to see which one brought a reaction out of him. After the first few attempts Ichigo had become numb, and his expression didn’t change through the whole proceedings.

As for Ishida, the feelings and thoughts were only getting stronger as time went on. Every time Ichigo did anything, he imagined what it would be like to do it with him by his side; he spent the classes they had together staring at him. Making notes of the subtle details, the slight shadows cast by his cheekbones, the way the whites of his eyes seemed to shimmer in the light, the thin grace of his hands as his pencil danced across the page.

The determination when he ran out of class on some paper-thin excuse to hunt a hollow. Another thing Ichigo imagined doing by his side, that he knew couldn’t come to pass.

It almost seemed like Ishida was avoiding the others. As much as Ichigo loathed this idea, the more he thought about it the more sense it made.

Desperate for closure, he confronted Ishida one day in the hall at the end of school.

“Hey.”

Ishida took his coat out from his cubby without bothering to look over at Ichigo. “Hello, Kurosaki.”

“How are you?”

“What is this, small talk? I didn’t take you for a fan.” Ishida’s gaze was still fixed on his locker with an intensity that could have melted a hole through it.

“Not really, but we’ve not talked in so long. I genuinely want to know how you’re doing.”

“Schoolwork. Hollow hunting. The usual. I assure you, Kurosaki, that none of us are doing anything thrilling while you’re depowered.”

Ichigo flinched as if stung. “I wasn’t asking that. You’re my friend, Ishida, and—”

“I don’t recall telling you that we were friends.” Ishida’s words were curt, but there was an undercurrent of repressed pain under them that Ichigo recognized all too well.

“Well, it’s never too late.” Ichigo smiled weakly. “If you ever want to eat lunch with us, or walk home together, or anything—”

“I’m sorry, Kurosaki.” Ishida closed his eyes, but the distress was visible on his face anyway. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do that right now.”

Ichigo wanted to argue, ask why not, but he knew that would only make Ishida dig his heels in more. Instead he bit down on his tongue and said with a great helping of reluctance, “Let me know when you change your mind.”

Ishida’s answer came in a small, weak voice full of pain. “If I ever do, I will.”

It wasn’t until Ichigo was back home, having eaten only the meagrest portion of dinner Yuzu would let him get away with because his stomach was writhing with distressed nausea, and sitting at his desk that a thought came to him.

The idea that Ishida didn’t want to talk to him because he felt the same way was almost too good to be true, but it wasn’t entirely unsupported either. Why else would he suddenly act so avoidant, have so much pain in his voice? He…maybe he felt something too. And like Ichigo, knew that it was wrong, and was trying to cure himself of it.

Regardless of what Ishida’s situation was, Ichigo didn’t think it was a bad idea. He could cure this affliction he had, too. From both Keigo and his father he knew that what he was feeling was wrong and broken, so if he could find a way to cure himself, all the better.

It was several months later when Ichigo decided to make a move. Summer had arrived, warmth hovered in the air almost tentatively, just like the self-hatred simmering under the surface of Ichigo’s mind. Every last ounce of it was aimed squarely at himself, and he couldn’t bear it. The only way he knew to make it stop was to kill the thing that was wrong with him. First his powers had been gone, and now his homosexuality; finally being a normal person was within sight. He was so driven to this goal that Ichigo had managed to completely forget that he hadn’t ever wanted to be normal, that some part of himself was dying inside to make room for this new plan.

The day when he hid the last of what made himself wrong away was warm and sunny. There were a few white clouds scudding across the sky, the air was filled with a sense of mildly pleased hope, and if Ichigo wasn’t about to commit the biggest sin against his heart he might have even enjoyed it.

But there he was, facing Inoue Orihime after having asked for her attention. She was turned to him, face like the sun with happiness. Ichigo felt sick. He should have thought this was the most beautiful thing in the world, shouldn’t he? That was how men felt about the women they loved.

“So. Uh. Inoue-chan?”

“Yes?” Her eyes were bright, expecting. Anticipating his next words that felt like lead on his tongue.

“Would you like to go out on a date with me?”

He knew what her answer was going to be before she spoke it, but still a tiny piece of him hoped she’d say no, that he’d be free even if only to bask in his own misery.

“Of course.”

Chained to heterosexuality, starting right then.

Dates with Orihime—first name basis was almost required for two individuals dating one another, after all—were better than they could be when Ichigo made sure to remind himself that she was a friend regardless, that there was affection in his heart for her, even if it was platonic in colour. Holding hands…was with a friend. Friends did that. He wasn’t overstepping any boundaries, not really.

When Orihime kissed him for the first time, in front of his house in the light of the sunset, it should have been something out of a romance movie. The most spectacular, special moment of his life. She kissed him long and hard, moving in and out, clearly showing what must have been months, if not years, of pent-up passion that had just been yearning for this outlet.

Ichigo didn’t know how to deepen a kiss he didn’t…feel. There was no way to fool his brain into thinking this was all platonic. It was at the same time eerily similar and yet so mind-bendingly different than all the times he’d imagined this with Ishida. He felt sick, so sick, it took everything he had to not throw up—not while Orihime was kissing him, he couldn’t do that to her, because despite it all she was a good person, a good friend that he cared about and he was the one playing her like a violin to cover up his own inadequacies; she deserved more than to have the boyfriend she loved with all her heart throw up on her lips. He was too focused on his churning nausea to do much kissing back, however, and he prayed to whoever was listening that Orihime wouldn’t notice.

“I love you, Ichigo-kun,” she said as soon as she pulled away, looking up into his eyes with hope and optimism.

Guilt burrowed deeper into Ichigo’s soul, and he had to bite down on his tongue. “You too, Hime-chan.” He called her that because that’s what boyfriends did. Called their girlfriends cute names and took them places and kissed them back with happiness and didn’t have to keep down bile while they were at it.

She walked off and he let her go, wanting to cry.

When he turned back to the house he saw his father leaning in the open doorframe. Ichigo was greeted with a wolf whistle.

“You’re not too bad with the ladies, you know. If you ever wanted I’d definitely be up for giving you a tip or two.”

Ichigo wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he didn’t need another reminder of what he was doing, but he knew that would arouse suspicion. Instead he plastered a false smile to his face.

“Pretty good, huh? I think she likes me. A lot.” And I’m breaking her heart the more I let her believe I love her back.

“She’s a good catch. Take care of her, son, got it?”

Ichigo’s stomach did a backflip. “Of course, Dad. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Isshin smacked Ichigo on the shoulder and made him jump slightly. “For a while, you know, I was worried you were one of those…you know…perverts. But then you came home with a girlfriend and my happiness was so much! My son is a real man! Masaki would be so proud.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

When Ichigo finally went up and closed the door behind him, he let himself break a little bit. Shatter like glass. It was easy to do, really; all he needed to do so was lock the door, slump on his bed, and let the tears roll down his face in an army while his chest heaved with monumental sobs. Not for the first time he wanted his powers back again, as an outlet, because bashing a hollow’s head in might make him feel at least a sliver better.

As the months went on and crept into winter, Ichigo and Orihime’s relationship stayed surprisingly strong. Ichigo’s walls grew higher and more opaque, playing the role of the loving boyfriend as best he could. Even the kisses became less disgusting, more of something he had to endure for the sake of protecting a friend’s feelings. That was something he could understand, and helped motivate him to keep up the act. Going through with their first intimate relations was a lot harder, considering he would have rather jumped out a fifth story window with no shunpo to save him than have intercourse with anyone that wasn’t Ishida, and he feared that Orihime could sense it. They stopped short, something he was immensely grateful for. And all the next times—because there were next times, much to Ichigo’s dread—stopped short as well. He hoped Orihime couldn’t guess why, but she never pushed. Maybe she was just trying to respect him with distance.

Ishida’s distance had grown, however, and it felt blatantly disrespectful. Ichigo couldn’t remember the last time they’d even exchanged a word, and the silence was tearing him apart. From all the places he watched him, though, where he still could, he could see as his face darkened. Shadows lingered under his eyes, and there was a seemingly now permanent sadness etched into his face. Sometimes he’d lie awake at night and wonder if it was his fault.

Sometimes he’d wonder if Ishida felt the same way about him, and by dating Orihime he was breaking his heart, too. He hoped not. But at the same time, the sneaky not quite dead part of him that loved Ishida so much it made him cry himself to sleep every night wanted it to be true. No matter how hard he tried, or how many times he numbly kissed Orihime, the longing to hold Ishida in his arms never went away. It just got sneakier, came out at less frequent intervals. And sometimes, in the dead of night, or when he was walking hand in hand with Orihime, or even that one time they slept together in her apartment.

The night was dark aside from the streetlights outside seeping through the small crack in Orihime’s curtains. It was an oppressive sort of dark, the kind that liked pressing in against Ichigo’s eyelids like a shroud. In a way it reminded him a bit of Hueco Mundo, but he didn’t spare much thought to the comparison.

Instead, as he lay there on his side, shirtless with one arm laid across Orihime, his thoughts wandered to Ishida. Once there, they stayed put and simmered.

At one point Ishida had lived in an apartment on his own, but from what he’d gathered after the war he’d returned to his father’s house. For a while he’d told himself that was why Ishida was pulling away so much, becoming so somber. It even made sense, with what little he knew of his family situation. Maybe that was why his mental health was visibly declining as the months went on. Ichigo wished, more than anything in that moment, that there was anything at all he could do to remove the grey cloud from the boy’s handsome face.

Imagining what it would be like to cuddle up in bed with Ishida was invigorating and electric. His skin might have been slightly warm under his touch, and instead of the delicate, reluctant hold he was giving Orihime, Ichigo knew that he wouldn’t have hesitated for a second to wrap his whole body around Ishida, protect him from the night air and keep him close. Ichigo never gave Orihime’s heartbeat a second thought, but the very idea of hearing Ishida’s under his ear, throb lightly against his arm, made him feel like the whole world was a miracle.

With a snort and rustle, Orihime shifted in bed, snapping Ichigo back to the unpleasant truth that was the present and making him feel like a sack of flesh filled with tears.

Waiting, listening, for Orihime’s breath to go back to normal: it didn’t take long. Whatever dream she was having, presumably one that involved Ichigo and being happy, now had her firmly back in its thrall.

He lifted his arm off her side and rolled over to the side of the bed, lighting on the ground with soft feet and creeping over to the window. Careful not to pull the curtains across lest they make a startling sound, he slipped behind them to peer out the window at the town below.

Sleeping with a girlfriend should have been a major rite of passage for any teenage boy, but it had been nothing to Ichigo but lackluster and heartbreaking. He knew thinking of someone else the whole time was just about the most improper and rude thing you could do during sex, but Orihime had no way of knowing. From what he could tell, she still thought he was head over heels in romantic love with her.

Excusing himself afterwards to go take a shower had seemed benign enough in her eyes, he supposed, even if the real reason was that his disgust had finally been enough to make him throw up. Just more secrets. He supposed that was the fate of people who had been born wrong like him, after all. Nothing but smoke, mirrors, and curtains.

With a sigh that failed to generate enough heat to fog up the glass, Ichigo stared out and wondered what Ishida was doing right then. Was he sleeping, sound and content in bed, or staring out his own window?

One of these days he was going to have to stop hoping.

Ichigo would never admit it, but he cried on the way to the hospital after getting the call that Ishida had been hurt.

(He wanted to be close enough to be able to call him Uryu, but he also feared what giving himself that permission might do to the delicate lie he’d crafted around himself. So Ishida he was and would remain.)

It didn’t attract all that much attention, someone crying in the hospital lobby. Ichigo wasn’t even the only person there with wet eyes. He did make certain, however, to dry them off properly before asking the receptionist which room Ishida was in.

He couldn’t help but feel disappointed when Orihime was already there, having beaten him to it. What was he even planning on doing? Throwing himself at Ishida, wounded as he was, and pouring out his heart’s deepest secrets?

Ishida looked so helpless, so broken, and Ichigo blamed himself. All himself. For letting him get so hurt, for the grey shadows under his eyes that weren’t even remotely new, for the thin and only slightly faded red scars that the hospital gown didn’t hide on his arms.

It really shouldn’t have surprised anyone that Ichigo decided to take the Fullbringers up on their offer. It was a release, an escape, a chance for him to rewrite some of his many wrongs. To fix something about him, a collection of broken errors that damaged anything it touched.

As depressing as Chad and Orihime being turned against him was, the idea of Ishida being corrupted hurt the most. And he’d seen Ichigo cry, now. Not that Ishida could possibly know or understand the countless reasons, the dozens of tiny cracks in his heart that brought on the public waterworks. But he had seen it nonetheless, which felt both like a breach in privacy and letting him in on the start of his biggest secret.

I’m in love with you, Ishida.

Having his shinigami powers back felt good. For the first time in a long time Ichigo felt like something in his life wasn’t completely broken and ruined, and being back on the hunt gave him something to live for. Air tasted different now, fresher.

He and Ishida ran into one another on hunts, fairly often. The first time it happened Ichigo didn’t even know what to say, opening and closing his mouth in a string of fluffy meaningless greetings.

“Kurosaki.” Ishida stared back at him with those cobalt eyes, expression both unreadable and yet filled with so much pain. Ichigo remembered how he’d lain in the hospital bed, so helpless and hurting, the scars lacing up his arms. That air of brokenness had never truly left him.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Is it?”

Ishida turned around and walked away leaving those words ringing in Ichigo’s ears. Burning against his heart.

Ichigo’s last year in school was like walking on nails. Nothing happened, not really, but at the same time everything hurt on a microscopic level to a degree that left him not a single moment where he wasn’t in pain.

Excusing himself after being intimate with Orihime to vomit in the shower was now part of his own secret little ritual, initiated with dread every time she expressed interest, but always made sure to accept her offers in a way that he hoped didn’t seem too begrudging. It was harder to pretend dates were platonic, now, when they kept kissing and holding hands. Isshin liked asking when the wedding was going to be, and his sisters were ecstatic at the prospect of their older brother getting married.

(Enthusiastic, although he could swear he saw Karin give him a few suspicious side glances. He hoped he was just imagining them and she believed all the lies just like everyone else.)

Ichigo didn’t see Ishida anymore. Whatever contact had once been there was cut completely, and Ichigo now found himself starving for attention. What he received from Orihime, he realized guiltily, was wrong; what he needed to thrive was long, emotional looks from Ishida. Deprived of them, he felt like he was rotting from the inside out.

Even still, the prospect of graduating terrified him as it crept ever closer. Ichigo knew in his heart that it would mean Ishida leaving, forever, and his life permanently locked into a lie. Somehow he had this imaginary scenario that if he could only tell the truth before graduation everything would reset, and this whole nightmare would be over. It was nothing but childish fantasies, of course. Ishida was going to go to medical school, Ichigo was going to go to whatever school Orihime did, and they were going to move to different towns and live out their lives together, marry women and have two kids each. Perfect numbingly normal bliss.

All Ichigo could do was stand there and watch as his emotions slid closer and closer towards complete and utter desperation with nothing to stop them from sliding the whole way down. Crying and screaming were beginning to sound like good options, but he kept a straight face the whole time. Spending more time with Orihime increasingly meant he had less time to let his true emotions out without others around to judge them. Fighting hollows was his only outlet, and he was beyond grateful for it. Otherwise his life was all future plans: applying to college, Orihime talking about where they might live, because of course they’d go to the same school, and everything was being wrapped up in a tight bow that Ichigo couldn’t escape from.

The next time he got Ishida alone was a week before graduation.

“I saw your results.” Ichigo decided that starting with a simple observation on something he knew Ishida was proud of would be the safest option. “Top of the class to the very end. It’s impressive.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Ishida still stood there, and he hadn’t turned around. “Is there something you wanted to talk with me about, Kurosaki?”

I want to talk to you about everything. The whole truth. But, of course, he couldn’t. Not when the lie was so carefully crafted.

“So. What are your plans?”

“Medical school. What else?” Ishida’s words were wooden and dead. “My father is going to be so proud.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to do that.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to date Inoue-chan, either. But that’s happening, and so is this. Time keeps moving whether we want it to or not, Kurosaki.”

“Sometimes I wish I could change what direction it was moving in.”

“What, reverse time? Don’t be an idiot. Those sorts of things only happen in movies.”

“Not so much that as just changing what happens. Don’t you ever wish for that?”

“What’s the point in wishing for things you can’t have?”

For a brief moment Ichigo’s heart soared in a futile hope that Ishida might feel the same way he did, but it fizzled out almost immediately.

“We’re probably not going to see one another again.” It was a statement that Ishida spoke, not a question. “Different schools, different life paths. I hope what you have with Inoue-chan works out. She’s a good person.”

“And what about you?”

“Don’t bother with me. I’ll be fine.” Ishida’s voice cracked as if in a secret reveal that he wouldn’t be fine in the slightest. “Is there…anything you want to tell me? Before we part ways?”

“Can you turn around so I can see your face again?”

Ishida did, slowly revolving, giving Ichigo a full view of the grey bags under his eyes and the dead expression that his face had settled into. “Is this enough to satisfy your nosiness, Kurosaki?”

His words may have been prickly but Ichigo would have had to have been blind to not see how much they were full of hurt. His heart began racing, pounding in his ears, and he took a step forward.

“Ishida…” This was the closest they’d been since the war, Ichigo reckoned. He could reach out and touch him if he really wanted. He shouldn’t of course; they were two men who barely counted as friends anymore, and he was in a committed relationship with someone who trusted him. The conversation should have ended in Ichigo wishing him luck, them maybe exchanging contact information if he was lucky or if he was less so, them bidding one another an indefinite farewell.

As he’d spent his whole life doing, Ichigo ignored all the things he should have done, and instead went with his gut instinct. He reached out and cupped Ishida’s bony cheek in his hand. The contact made the other boy suck in a tense breath, and he waited for him to pull away in anger. Waited for something that never came.

“Kurosaki. You’re supposed to be loyal to Inoue-chan.”

“I know,” Ichigo breathed softly. His feet had been creeping closer to Ishida this whole time without even thinking.

“What would she say if she saw us here, talking? Surely even you can figure out how this might look.”

Ichigo was leaning in close enough that he could feel Ishida’s hot breath on his lips now. “I’ve already hurt her more than I ever should have.”

“Somehow the idea of you being a terrible boyfriend is disappointing,” Ishida said flatly, staring at Ichigo’s lips. “I would have thought the whole white knight routine might have made you considerate and thoughtful.”

“I’ve tried to be a good boyfriend for her.” Ishida was so close now and he wasn’t pulling away. Shouldn’t he have? This was invasive and creepy as far as he was aware, and Ishida hadn’t talked with him for months. “I couldn’t, though. I keep trying and trying but it’s never worked. She seems happy only because she hasn’t seen the truth yet.”

“You never struck me as the type who would lie, Kurosaki.”

“I wish I wasn’t. I hate lying. Makes me feel sick.”

“What is the truth? You say you’ve been lying for. How long now?”

“Years, by now. I think.”

“What is it, then, that you’re hiding? And why are you telling me that you’re lying to your girlfriend?”

“I think it’s probably easier if i showed you.”

And then all at once, practised only from all the times he’d imagined it, Ichigo crept closer and kissed Ishida’s lips.

The first shock was that they tasted like blood, not the cotton candy rainbow magic that he’d giggled about at night to distract him from his woes. The second was that Ishida didn’t pull away and instead deepened the kiss, nipping at Ichigo’s bottom lip and sighing softly. A hand appeared on his back, keeping him secure and safe, and pulling him in close. Ichigo’s heart was fluttering and doing backflips and mind blanking with disbelief that the thing he’d wanted for so long was finally happening.

They pulled apart reluctantly, only in the interest of rescuing breath. Ichigo could feel Ishida’s—Uryu’s—hot on his lips, panting.

“Why?” It was the only question he seemed to be able to ask, blue eyes staring at Ichigo with blazing, almost…aroused intensity.

“Why do people do anything? Why do we live our lives the way we do?” Panicking, Ichigo began to philosophize, but Uryu was having none of it.

“Why did you kiss me, Kurosaki, you—you—absolute cheating asshole!”

“Do you regret it?”

That took the wind straight out of Uryu’s sails. “No,” he murmured, eyes dropping to the ground sheepishly.

“If I tell you something, you need to promise not to hate me.”

“Kurosaki Ichigo, no matter what you say, I could never hate you.” Uryu’s voice was nothing but a whisper, its delicacy making Ichigo shiver in pleasure.

“I would have regretted more having us graduate and go our separate ways without kissing you. Without telling you anything. It would have broken me.” The words felt scary to speak aloud, even though they were quiet; Ichigo was leaning in closer to Uryu and letting his mouth inch closer to his ear so there was no chance of anyone else hearing the words.

“It was you. It was always you. I was scared and I hated myself for it but no matter what I do I can’t get rid of the feelings I have for you. I never…wanted anyone else. But I couldn’t tell you what I wanted because I was scared of what everyone else would think, scared of what you might think, of you casting me aside and telling me that you hated me.”

“I’ve never hated you, Ichigo.” The use of his given name was startling, Uryu’s eyes wide and seemingly having surprised himself just as much. “Resentment, maybe. But I’ve not hated you since the first five minutes we talked. And even then…I couldn’t stay that way for long. I don’t know why. Even when you walked around hand in hand with Inoue-san and I wanted to…” He pressed his lips together and turned away so Ichigo couldn’t see his face. “It was easy to ignore the way I was until all those feelings were aimed towards someone that I saw every day. After that I couldn’t pretend.”

“I get you.” Ichigo’s hand was trembling when he raised it and brushed Uryu’s hair out of his face. A part of him still expected the boy to recoil from it, but instead he just let out a low humming sound that seemed to be pleased.

“It eats you up inside. I saw you with Inoue-chan, kissing her, and I almost wanted to die sometimes. Out of self-hatred and sadness that I wasn’t going to get to swap places with her. So when out of nowhere, you come kissing me, it almost feels like you’ve found out the dirty secret in my closet and are trying to mock me for it. I’m a homosexual, Ichigo. Are you happy? Are you going to keep tormenting me and follow me to college and paint slurs on the front door of my apartment?”

“I’d never…” Ichigo was going to say that he’d never do anything at all to hurt Uryu, but considering what he’d been doing for the past two years that seemed like hollow words. “I don’t like hurting you, Ishida. It makes me feel sick inside.”

“Is it like that when you’re with Inoue? Do you get sick inside at the thought of hurting her?”

“I don’t like hurting her either. But it feels different. It feels a lot different when you know you’ve already hurt a person deeply and there’s nothing you can do to reverse the damage.”

“It would have been easy to avoid hurting her. You just had to refrain from kissing me just now.”

Uryu just didn’t get it, or maybe he did and he was in disbelief.

“I started hurting her the day I asked her to be my girlfriend.”

“If this is going to be some self-pity show where you talk about how awful and unpleasant a person you are, Kurosaki, I’m not in the mood. It’s exhausting.”

“That’s not what I was planning on saying.” Although he did feel slightly embarrassed at being called out for something he had thought before no small number of times. “The truth is, Uryu, that the only reason I asked Inoue Orihime to be my girlfriend is because I loved someone else and was ashamed. Not of the other person. But of myself for feeling that way. So I thought that if I asked Orihime out I might forget about that other person and grow to love her romantically.”

Uryu didn’t ask who this other person was. Ichigo could tell from the set in his face that he already knew. His blue eyes darted towards Ichigo and back, almost daring him to say something.

“Did it work?” His voice was empty. “Your plan, to use Inoue-chan to forget this other person. Did it work?”

“No. I kept trying but I could never forget them. Being with Orihime like that…I did it for her, and the façade, but it made me sick unless I thought of them the whole time. Even still, I was always hurting. Always waiting for the day that I’d stop holding a candle for you, but at the same time I knew if that day came I’d never live it down. Never be the same again.”

“I should blame you and be angry.” Uryu’s words were coloured with a faint tremour. “But I applied and got into medical school mostly to get away from you in the hope that I’d forget, too. I have no right to be throwing stones when all I’ve done since I realized I liked you was avoid you and try and find ways that I wouldn’t have to be near you just in case I finally gave in and did something stupid.”

“Like kissing me?” Ichigo chuckled nervously.

“Precisely.” Uryu sighed and turned so he was facing Ichigo fully. “But it’s happened now, hasn’t it?”

“Was it good?”

“Your kissing? I don’t exactly have much to compare it to, but I would say it most likely is, yes. I definitely enjoyed it.” His cheeks flushed an awkward crimson.

“I don’t want to lose you. I haven’t—I’m so scared of what’s happening in the future. Not being able to see you anymore. I know we avoided each other but—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Uryu leaned in and gave Ichigo a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Is…there going to be a later?” Ichigo was hesitant in asking, voice quivering just slightly. “I thought—well, I said all this today because I was starting to think there wouldn’t be.”

“I didn’t think there would be either, for better or worse. Do you know how hard you are to forget, Kurosaki Ichigo?”

“Easier than trying to forget you was, I imagine. I thought dating someone I cared about would make me forget.”

Uryu’s voice had gone so quiet Ichigo had to strain to hear it. “Since you came running to find and kiss me before we graduated, I’m guessing it didn’t work?” There was a faint, cautious sort of hope in the way his words rose at the end.

“All I managed to do was break three people’s hearts at once, I think.” Ichigo’s sigh was a bit more like a shudder. “Oh, fuck, why couldn’t I have done this sooner?” He knew the answer—shame and humiliation—but that didn’t make the result of his cowardice smart any less. “What are we gonna do? We—I mean we have plans in place, lives, we can’t upend it all just for some fling that for all we know won’t go anywhere.” That he still couldn’t let himself want.

Uryu’s eyes darted all along Ichigo’s body, as if sizing up his chances. “I never wanted to go study medicine. I applied and got in as…a failsafe, because I couldn’t see myself getting the future I really wanted. Maybe even as a bit of a punishment for myself.” There was a tension in his muscles that suggested there was more he wanted to say, and Ichigo stupidly let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be what he wanted to hear. Something along the lines of him abandoning expectations to run away with Ichigo. It was foolish, and his heart yearned for it.

Whatever it was that Uryu was considering saying next, though, it didn’t get spoken. There was a rustle and a flicker of soft reiatsu behind them, announcing that they were no longer alone.

“Inoue-chan.” Uryu’s tone of voice had immediately changed: now it was coarse, aloof. “What are you doing here?”

“I was coming to ask Ichigo if he wanted to go out for dinner.” Orihime drew even to them now, putting her arm around Ichigo’s waist, letting a fresh flood of guilt pool in his stomach. He’d ruined a perfectly good friendship—two relationships, now—and for what? A delay on the time he’d have to finally admit who he really was? Neither Orihime nor Uryu had deserved such self-centered behaviour.

Either the truth of the secret meeting had eluded Orihime, or she didn’t want to say what she suspected. Uryu was looking straight at Ichigo, some sort of pleading fearful expression now twisted on his features that looked alien there.

“You’re talking with Ishida-kun?” Orihime’s eyes turned up to Ichigo, not angry, not accusing, just slightly accepting. As if she’d somehow expected this to come sooner or later.

“Yeah.” Ichigo’s heart started pounding in his chest. Regret, regret, regret. He should have stopped this all a long time ago. Why hadn’t he? Some sort of foolish attempt to fix himself.

If Ichigo was a smarter man, he would have learned before now that some parts of yourself could never be fixed. And that hurting the feelings of people you cared about to try and cover that up would never truly work. In his mind he scrambled for words to explain, to try and at least rip the bandage of the wounds he’d caused off as slowly as possible.

He didn’t need to.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you talk with Ishida-kun. Is it because…you worried I’d get jealous?”

“Jealous of what?” Ichigo immediately hated himself for trying to perpetuate the lie.

“You always looked at him with such warmth and love.”

“I looked at you like that too.” He wasn’t trying to extend the act, though this time he was only hoping to not hurt Orihime as much as he could.

“I should leave. Call me…later.” Uryu backed away, brushing off his pants, biting his lip nervously. “Once you’re done.”

“No. Don’t—don’t go. Not yet.” Ichigo held his hand out in a stop gesture, surprising even himself. “Not after all this time.”

The next words felt like they were boulders, teetering over the edge of his tongue. “I was lying to you. About us.”

“You cared about Ishida-kun.” Orihime’s words weren’t a question. It felt like Ichigo’s heart had been laid out to dry in the sun, bare for all to see.

“It was easier to try and date you, because you were my friend. I already liked you, I could simply. Pretend that I liked you in another way.” It even sounded heartless and incriminating, and Ichigo felt both sets of eyes on him, burning holes through his body.

“I’d wondered that for a long time.” Orihime’s face was sad and wistful, but shockingly enough not actually hurt. “You seemed so…hesitant and upset. And like you were trying to hide something.”

So he hadn’t managed to cover his tracks well. Part of Ichigo was grateful for it since it meant less lies, as embarrassing as it all was.

“In a way, it made it all comforting. I was also trying to hide my own feelings—I really like you, Ichigo. But…same as you, not in the way that means what we pretended it did. I’m not sure I like guys in a romantic way at all. But you asked, and you’re my friend. So I settled. Even if you were awfully keen to run off to the bathroom when we were done—well, I had my own secrets, so I let you keep yours.”

“Does saying ‘I’m sorry’ begin to help any?”

Orihime finally pulled away from Ichigo, closing her eyes and sighing. “A little bit. In a way, knowing that I’m not breaking your heart by saying this is…comforting. And that you shouldn’t be too hurt if I say I’d only planned for us to go to school and move in together because it was safe and normal.”

“Then…why did you ask for more? And kept asking? I really thought…” Ichigo’s thoughts were a slurry, unable to be properly formed.

“I think I did like you, at first. For a while. But I think…a while ago that attraction faded. It started when you weren’t excited at my requests, I think, but it wasn’t you. Your hesitation made me think. Long and hard. And then when we finally went further, it didn’t feel as good as I thought it should. Something was wrong. I could tell you felt it too…but I didn’t understand what it was. I didn’t understand why sometimes I wished we’d stayed friends. Because I loved going out for dinner, and watching movies, and even sleeping over together. It was all so fun. But  then there was this idea of being…boyfriend and girlfriend and that seemed to take some of the fun out of it. I kept asking for sex because I felt like I must have been missing something.” Orihime sighed and shook her head slowly. “But each time, I only felt more lost. I was supposed to like men in that way, enjoy having relations with them. And I liked Ichigo. But…I realized it wasn’t like that.”

“Are you saying Kurosaki is so bad at sex he made you…” Uryu swallowed and flicked his eyes downwards. “Homosexual like us?”

“I don’t think he was bad,” Orihime corrected in a cheerful tone. “Actually, I expect he’d be quite good if he was actually with someone he wanted to be. I just think he’s bad at having it with women. Like how I’m bad with having it with men.”

Ichigo felt his cheeks heat up. “Listen, Hime-chan, it didn’t have anything to do with you—”

“Actually, it did,” she shut him down. “Thank you for making me realize. I don’t know when I would have if you hadn’t.” “

If we were more honest people, there might be a lesson in here about how lying is bad,” Uryu mused, “though I doubt this will stop any of us very much at the moment.”

They all laughed, and it felt like a weight was off their shoulders. Uryu’s laugh was tinkling like music, and Ichigo found himself wishing he’d heard it sooner.