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The familiar sound of a shunpo swished outside his window, and an even more familiar reitetsu signature rippled for a few seconds, asking for permission. Not bothering to look up from his textbook, Ichigo rapped his knuckles against his desk, knowing that he'd be able to hear.
The window unlatched, and Ichigo looked up just in time to see a blur soundlessly drop to the floor and catapult itself headfirst into his bed. A pair of geta were laid out neatly under the windowsill.
"Hello to you, too," Ichigo said, amused. He closed his textbook and set it on his desk. He'd stopped paying attention the moment he'd noticed the presence headed his way, several minutes ago.
"Mmfg," Kisuke said, into Ichigo's pillow.
"Hollow?" Ichigo said, concerned. If Kisuke was this tired, it must've been quite the opponent. Nothing less than an arrancar could manage to even lay a scratch on him, unless he'd allowed it to.
"Hhrgh," Kisuke said eloquently, flicking his fingers dismissively. He smushed his face further into Ichigo's pillow.
"I was closer than the shop again?" Ichigo got up from the chair, walking over to his bed, currently occupied by an ex-convict. He knelt slightly, plucking Kisuke's hat from his head and setting it on the bedside table.
"Ghhhrg," Kisuke said, with gratitude.
Laughing a little, Ichigo patted his blond head twice. "You're welcome," he said softly.
Kisuke sighed into his pillow, humming a content note.
It wasn't the first time this had happened.
Occurring a total of seven times over the course of the last six months since Ichigo had acquired his own apartment near his college, Kisuke had been dropping into his bed, with zero prior notice.
Not that he was counting, or anything.
The first time went a little like this.
It was too fucking early for this.
Ichigo shoved his arms into a jacket and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. Hopping on one foot as he slipped on his shoes, Ichigo double checked that he had his things in order. He chewed on a piece of toast with utilitarian efficiency.
The madman who'd decided that seven AM was a perfectly acceptable time to analyze the intricacies of literature deserved the sharp end of Zangetsu, Ichigo decided, flicking his lock.
He turned the doorknob, and opened it to Urahara Kisuke, who wore an expression of manic enthusiasm and eye bags large enough to be classified as checked luggage.
"Ichigo," Kisuke said, cheerfully, "I have invented instantaneous teleportation."
Ichigo stared, forgetting for a moment that he was five minutes away from being late to his literature analysis lecture. The sight of him unwound something tightly coiled in his chest; he hadn’t seen Kisuke much since he moved to his apartment, and he had been growing antsy at his absence. The gleam of Kisuke's feverishly bright eyes, paired with the insistent cry of his phone, snapped him out of it.
"Can you teleport me to my next class?" Ichigo asked, ruefully. He fished out his phone, dismissing the alarm.
"No. This is all theoretical," Kisuke responded, before pausing. "For now, at least. I just need to figure out this kink with the spatial displacement."
Ichigo stared down at the glaring 7:06 displayed on his screen, and his heartbeat skyrocketed.
"Shit," he said, emphatically. "You know what, Kisuke, I have to go to class right now, sorry you can stay at my place or go back to the shop, I don't mind, I'll be back in an hour, bye!"
Ichigo turned on his heel and floored it.
Two hours later, he dropped his bag on his kitchen counter, heaving a sigh. Education was exhausting.
And whose fault is that? Zangetsu said, snidely. Goin’ to sleep at ass o’clock.
Ichigo made a face, and ignored him. It’s not like he was wrong.
He made his way to his bedroom, and paused at the door. It was ajar. Cautiously, Ichigo nudged it open. Then, he opened it all the way with a sigh of relief.
Stepping forward, Ichigo knelt in front of his bed, and the figure sitting on the floor, leaning against its frame. He picked up the green, striped hat, running a finger around its brim. Kisuke’s geta were tucked next to his side neatly.
“A Getaboshi with neither his geta nor his boshi,” Ichigo mused. He rocked back to sit on his heels, considering the awkward angle Kisuke’s head was in, lolled to the side.
With a hum, Ichigo made up his mind. Sliding a hand under Kisuke’s neck and knees, he lifted him up into his arms with a bit of effort. Careful not to disturb him further than he already had, Ichigo set him down lightly onto his bed.
Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Ichigo exhaled. Turning back, he moved his messenger bag onto the floor, and took its place on his chair.
Midterms waited for no one. Not even the glorified unpaid intern of Seireitei's high command, specializing in preventing societal collapse and the apocalypse, and all sorts of dirty work they couldn’t bring themselves to bring their asses in gear for.
After a few hours of studying, Ichigo was startled out of his symbolism-induced stupor as a voice said in his ear: “I don’t actually think I’ve read Romeo and Juliet before.”
“It’s not my favorite, but it’s one of Shakespeare’s most famous works,” Ichigo replied, shaking out his hand.
“Why don’t you like it?”
“It’s not that I dislike it; it’s more like I think it’s overrated. What do Romeo and Juliet know of love? They barely knew each other for less than twenty four hours before they got married,” Ichigo said, rubbing the soreness out from his fingers.
“Oh? You don’t believe in love at first sight?”
“No. Love… It grows in you, quietly. Until it becomes so large, you can’t ignore it. That sort of thing can’t happen over the course of one day. There’s attraction, of course, but…” Ichigo shook his head a little at the thought of it, before turning around. "When did you wake up?"
"Just now," Kisuke said, leaning against the headrest of Ichigo's chair. It brought their faces close together; Ichigo determinedly did not allow his eyes to drop to his lips.
"How was your nap?" Ichigo asked, instead.
"Quite good, thank you for asking!" Kisuke said, cheerfully. It looked like it, too: his eyes were still a little blurry with sleep, and his manic energy was brought down to its normal, baseline level. "I like your bed."
"Thank you?" Ichigo's brow crinkled at Kisuke's thoughtful tone.
He hummed, smiling mysteriously. Walking to the window, Kisuke dropped his geta to the floor and slid them on. Unlatching the window, Kisuke said, "That was your warning, by the way. Bye!"
"Um, okay?" Ichigo said, perplexed, but Kisuke was already gone.
Ichigo flicked his lights on, and exclaimed in a totally manly manner.
You sounded like a prepubescent girl! Zangetsu crowed.
Don't be rude, Zangetsu, Tensa Zangetsu chided. It was more like an adolescent girl, than anything else, he added solemnly, as if that were any better.
Oh my God, shut up.
Kisuke was sitting, cross-legged, on Ichigo's bed. His eyes flickered with amusement, seemingly deciding to ignore the absolutely not high-pitched shriek, thank you very much. "Hello, Ichigo!" he greeted merrily.
"Why the fuck are you sitting in the dark, on my bed??" Ichigo demanded. "I think I've had nightmares that began like this."
"You see me in your dreams? Why, Ichigo!" Kisuke laid a hand on his cheek in flustered shock, swooning backwards into Ichigo's pillow, giggling with faux coquettishness.
There was a moment of silence. Kisuke propped himself up onto his elbows, caught sight of Ichigo’s comically repulsed expression, and fell helplessly into genuine, raucous laughter. His arms gave out, and his head fell back onto the pillows with an audible whump.
Something in Ichigo’s chest lurched forward at the sight of him. Laughing, with his eyes forming crescents at the force of it; jinbei jacket slipping to reveal the dip of his collarbones, and expose a sliver of his chest; pale hair splayed across Ichigo’s pillows; in Ichigo’s bed. Keep him here, it said. Never let him go.
Ichigo didn’t tend to entertain his wants. He usually had better things to worry about, like his midterms exams, the safety and wellbeing of his people, and the stability of his relationships with said people. It was best not to rock a sailing boat, he reasoned.
So instead, Ichigo tucked his possessive impulses under his skin with the ease of long practice. He snagged the pillow underneath Kisuke’s head, and smacked him in the face with it. "Oh my God, get out of my house," he said, trying to keep the smile on his face from bleeding into his voice.
Kisuke’s laughter petered off, and he sighed, swiping the tears that had gathered in his eyes from laughing so hard. “You don’t really mind, do you?” he asked, tilting his head. He was smiling; he never would have asked that question if he didn’t already know the answer.
As if King is able to say no to him, Zangetsu snorted. Tensa Zangetsu hummed in agreement.
I should have thrown you both out when I had the chance, Ichigo said, with despair. They were, embarrassingly, as annoyingly correct as always.
“Why do you keep breaking into my house?” Ichigo complained, in lieu of a proper response. It was best to not feed Kisuke’s ego.
“I was sexiled from my own home,” Kisuke sighed. “And Tessai-san and the kids are out in town, shopping.”
Ichigo’s eye twitched as he processed the word “sexiled” falling from Kisuke’s lips. There was just something unfathomably wrong about him using modern slang. Like listening to your fifty year-old aunt insist that she was “hip with the kids”.
“Neither Yoruichi and Kuukaku even live there,” Kisuke lamented, oblivious to his internal struggle. “They just started stripping while I was eating my tamagoyaki. I would have stayed to finish it, but Kuukaku threatened to set my lab on fire until I left.”
Kisuke made aggressive eye contact with Ichigo, who already felt himself preemptively crumpling. “It was a beautiful tamagoyaki, Ichigo-kun. I made it myself, Ichigo-kun. I used the last eggs we had, Ichi—”
“Ugh! I get it, I get it!” Ichigo said, getting up. “I’ll make the fucking tamagoyaki for you, damn.”
“Thank you, Ichigo-kun,” Kisuke crooned, swinging his legs smugly. What genius strategist war hero? This man was clearly using his powers for evil.
Ichigo dropped his bag the moment the door swung open. Through half-closed eyes, he barely managed to step over it.
With a desperate sound of relief, he collapsed face-first onto his bed, closing his eyes.
“Um,” said his pillow.
“Wha’ th' fuck,” Ichigo slurred, in turn.
“Hello to you too, Ichigo-kun,” said what was unmistakably Urahara Kisuke’s voice.
With great effort, he lifted his head, and squinted at what was also unmistakably Urahara Kisuke’s face. Not a threat, was all his sluggish brain could manage to process, so Ichigo decided that not sharing body warmth in this cold-ass weather was a grave oversight.
“Um,” Kisuke said again, at a much higher register, as Ichigo hooked a leg over his hip.
Ichigo hummed a note of contentment as warmth began to chase away the chill from his bones, nudging his face closer to Kisuke’s chest. Kisuke made a cut off, flustered sound, but Ichigo paid it no mind.
He fell asleep to fingers tentatively carding through his hair.
Ichigo was lying down in his bed, rereading Great Expectations for an assignment, when Kisuke's reitetsu signature rippled noticeably. Eyes still narrowed at the bitchy character that the protagonist was in love with, he absent-mindedly knocked twice against his wall.
The window slid open. Then, silence. Kisuke made no noise when he walked, even whilst wearing geta.
A hand tapped his side, wordlessly asking for space. Ichigo complied, brain still focused on his book. He only looked up when Kisuke grabbed his arm to put around his shoulders, bodily maneuvering Ichigo so he could curl into his side. His scent was picked up by Ichigo’s sharp nose: clean soap and bamboo with the underlying note of iron—of blood—that was so uniquely Kisuke that Ichigo immediately folded like a wet paper towel, letting him do as he wished.
Ichigo stared into his white bedroom walls, dead eyed. This wasn’t helping his unfortunate impulsive thoughts of crawling into Kisuke’s lap and shoving his face into the vulnerable juncture of his shoulder and neck to inhale his scent. There were only so many times he could claim Zangetsu’s influence for his weird animalistic tendencies before it became apparent that Zangetsu was also a part of Ichigo, and therefore any of his animalistic tendencies would also be Ichigo’s.
"Good night," Kisuke said, clearly inconsiderate of Ichigo’s inner turmoil. He could hear the smile in his voice.
"It’s 10 AM," Ichigo replied, but Kisuke's eyes were already closed, breathing even.
Ichigo stared into the abyss, unblinking. This might as well happen, I guess.
Kisuke was warm, Ichigo couldn't help but notice. A strand of hair, framing his face, fell in front of his eyes. It fluttered with every steady breath Kisuke took. Ichigo brushed it away with gentle fingers, and couldn't stop himself from letting the touch linger, smoothing his thumb over Kisuke's cheekbone.
For a moment, Ichigo let himself stare. The relaxed lines of his face, the dark half moons under his eyes, the movement of his eyes under his eyelids in REM sleep. He looked peaceful, in a way that Ichigo hadn't seen many times before. A greedy thought slithered into his mind: I want to see this sight for the rest of my life.
At once, Ichigo let his hand fall away, to his worn and well-loved copy of Great Expectations that he'd forgotten he was holding.
People liked to say that he was oblivious—that he didn't notice the feelings of others, especially if they were romantic, and towards him—but that wasn't true. Ichigo wasn't blind. He never would have survived this long without a pinpoint accurate judgment of his opponents’ emotional states.
He knew about Inoue's crush on him; he just ignored it out of consideration for her feelings because he didn't return them. He would give her a gentle rejection, if she ever confessed, but considering that it had been over five years since they had first become friends and she still hasn't said a thing, Ichigo didn't think that would happen any time soon.
So, of course Ichigo knew about Kisuke’s special regard for him. Kisuke didn't let many people in, but when he did, he did it wholly and absolutely. But even then, it was different, with Ichigo. Kisuke let Ichigo see his jagged edges, his softer underbelly (under the guise of playful jokes of course, because he was allergic to bare-faced emotional vulnerability), his sharp wit and sharper intelligence; let him touch him. Ichigo could count on two hands the number of times he'd seen Kisuke touch anyone willingly in a non-violent context, and still have fingers left over. Most of them were with Yoruichi—who Ichigo was pretty sure Kisuke would kill the Captain Commander for, given a good enough reason—and even then, the majority of them were with her in cat form.
But with Ichigo, touch came easily. He let Ichigo's fingers sift through his hair in search of head wounds after difficult battles. He put his hand in the crook of Ichigo’s elbow, on bad days, to ground himself. He let his hand linger on the nape of his neck, and tightened his grip until Ichigo looked up, curious, and let go after locking their eyes for a beat.
And Ichigo received every touch, every moment of Kicuke’s regard, for the gift it was. It would be a betrayal, to take liberties with his trust.
Here’s the thing—Ichigo knew that Kisuke would let him do anything to him. That was the problem. If Ichigo kissed him—told him that he was in love with him—Kisuke would go along with it, even if he didn’t feel the same way. Perhaps especially if he didn’t feel the same way. He’d be able to fake it so convincingly, Ichigo feared that even he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
And that’s why Ichigo wouldn’t say a thing. Why no matter how many times Zangetsu would annoyedly say, “Man the fuck up, already,” or the number of times he’s caught Yoruichi or Shinji or even fucking Tessai make that expression that said, “Make a move, dumbass!!” during a casually intimate moment, Ichigo wouldn’t do a thing.
It took effort. Sometimes, it was so, so hard to keep himself from staring at the sharp lines of his body or touching in a way that was unmistakably non-platonic in nature. Map every inch of his body with his hands, trail his fingers over the line of his spine, follow the dip of his collarbone with his mouth.
(Mark him up where no one else will be able to see, the thing curled up in his chest whispered. Nobody but us, and him.)
Say you will about Kurosaki Ichigo; no one was able to deny his strength of willpower.
So, Ichigo looked away. He continued to read from where he’d left off, and buried his stupid yearning under thoughts of foreshadowing and character motivations. He did not allow himself to touch Kisuke.
Ichigo awoke to the sound of the window clicking open.
Ichigo was faced towards the wall, eyes closed, but he didn't even need to open them to know who it was. The quiet clack of his geta hitting the hardwood floors, then silence; the weight of his silent footsteps; the rustle of his haori as he dropped it onto a chair. Ichigo would know him blind, deaf, dumb.
The bed dipped under his weight. Cool air hit Ichigo’s back, as he lifted the covers and slid underneath them. He curled around Ichigo, sliding an arm over his waist, impossibly close. His hand climbed upwards, and he pressed his palm against Ichigo’s chest, directly above his heart.
A moment of stillness. All Ichigo's ears could hear was soft breathing and a rabbit-quick heartbeat, steadily slowing down as time passed.
Finally, Kisuke spoke.
"I'll tell you a secret, Ichigo," Kisuke murmured into Ichigo's nape. His warm breath ghosted over his skin, scattering gooseflesh in its wake. "I would burn down worlds for you. Empires would crumble in my wake, and rulers would not be able to recognize the height of their folly for daring to challenge me before their heads rolled. Seireitei would be reduced to ruins if they dared to touch you."
Kisuke swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. He pressed his forehead against the space in between Ichigo's shoulder blades, hand over Ichigo’s chest curling into a fist. Ichigo couldn't see his face—but he didn't need to, to imagine it.
"So, you're not allowed to die," he whispered. "I'm willing to do anything to prevent it. I’d sooner raze this realm to ash."
His voice dropped to a softer timbre; lower, and made all the more threatening for it. "Not even death can take you from me, Kurosaki Ichigo. I have committed atrocities for smaller slights."
Ichigo shivered, a wordless sound of want nearly escaping his throat. He swallowed it. It wasn’t the time, nor would it ever be.
A pause, as he gathered himself. Then, Ichigo reached up, trailing his fingers over Kisuke's knuckles until his fist unclenched.
"I know," Ichigo said, voice low. "That's why I'd never ask you to."
Kisuke laughed, softly. "You don't need to ask, for me to want to give you everything that you deserve."
Ichigo’s breath stuttered, and expelled in a single, surprised exhale. His Adam's apple bobbed. "I don't deserve nearly as much as you say I do."
Kisuke’s arms tightened around him slightly. "You deserve the world and more," he said, as if it were a matter of course, a fact of life. The sky was blue, the Earth orbited the Sun, and Ichigo Kurosaki was worth far more than he believed. "The world and more."
“I also have something else to confess,” Kisuke said, later.
“What is it?” Ichigo asked, hoping it wasn’t another emotional confession. He was still mentally worn out from the first one, and if Kisuke confessed that he was in love with him or something, Ichigo was certain his heart would give out.
“I’ve been making my way into your bed with ulterior motives,” he admitted.
“Oh,” Ichigo said, grateful and disappointed all at once that it wasn’t a love confession. Then, “I knew that already, but thanks for telling me.”
There was an incredulous silence. Kisuke squeezed Ichigo’s shoulder twice, urging him to turn over. Ichigo obliged, which gave him a perfect view of Kisuke’s confused frown.
“When did you notice?”
“After the first time,” Ichigo responded, easily. Kisuke was a terrible perfectionist; if he’d wanted to tell Ichigo about a new discovery, he would have come at a time when he was certain that Ichigo was free. But he’d considered his sleep deprived state and what actions Ichigo was likely to make after seeing one of his people in a vulnerable state. Thus, his primary objective was to get into Ichigo’s bed.
“Sometimes, even I forget how observant you are,” Kisuke said, after a moment. The tone of his voice was difficult to describe.
“Also, if Kukaku and Yoruichi really did suddenly decide to have sex on your dining table, you would have just continued to eat your damned tamagoyaki until they were the ones who left,” Ichigo added. It was true. If Kisuke had any ounce of shame, Ichigo had never been a witness to it.
Kisuke nodded thoughtfully in acquiesce, as if taking note to better his future plots. He probably was, that weirdo.
Zangetsu mock retched obnoxiously. Ichigo shushed him, but not before wincing to himself. That sounded way too fond, even in his inner thoughts.
“Oh yeah, what was your objective in the first place?” Ichigo asked, before Zangetsu could continue to distract him with his unnecessary commentary.
“I admitted that I had an unknown agenda to get into your bed. Isn’t that enough of an answer to lead to the most plausible explanation?” Kisuke looked at him, incredulously.
“You said that, but why?” Ichigo asked, hoping he’d say it first. He was currently experiencing heart palpitations. What they never told you about being in love: the repercussions on your cardiovascular health. This was beginning to sound like a love confession, but if Ichigo had ended up reading the signs wrong, he’d probably open a garganta to Hueco Mundo and never emerge again.
Kisuke reached out to touch his face, holding his face in between his hands.
"I invented space time manipulation as an excuse to see you. I climb into your bed to pretend to sleep so I can listen to you breathe. I fall asleep in your bed because it makes me feel safest when I’m with you, surrounded by your scent.” Kisuke shook Ichigo’s head, and his vision wobbled like he was one of those bobbleheads you put on car dashboards. Kisuke’s eyes were wide with manic frustration. “Why do you think, Kurosaki Ichigo?”
What Kurosaki Ichigo thought was an impossibility rapidly sounding like something tangible. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Eyes wide, he began to say, “Are you in—” before he cut himself off.
Kisuke reared back as Ichigo’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “No—is this you finding me out?”
“What?” Kisuke said, the fledgling hope in his face replaced by confusion.
“When the fuck did you figure out that I was in love with you?!” Ichigo demanded, sitting up.
“What are you talking about,” Kisuke said, blankly.
“Listen,” Ichigo said, and snapped his fingers loudly when Kisuke opened his mouth to interrupt. “Are you in love with me, or are you just saying that you are because you know about my feelings for you?”
“What kind of question is that?” Kisuke said in disbelief.
“An extremely pertinent and important one,” Ichigo snapped, his tone belying the quiet hope bubbling underneath his skin. “Answer it.”
“Of course I’m in love with you,” Kisuke said, his tone implying a you fucking idiot. He sat up too, and narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I’d do something like pretending to be in love with you, if I didn’t also have feelings for you?”
“Yes,” Ichigo replied, promptly. “Yourichi has told me about The Marriage Incident.”
Kisuke turned away for a moment, staring darkly into space. “The Shihouin elders are like cats with mice when they find something that interests them,” he said, solemnly. “But that’s not the topic at hand here—the reason why I’m so pathetic for you is because I love you.”
At Ichigo’s expression, Kisuke said, patiently, “I’m not lying.”
Ichigo drank in Kisuke’s face—his unblinking gaze, the determined set of his mouth—and knew that he was telling the truth.
“Oh,” Ichigo said.
“Yes, oh,” Kisuke replied wryly, shifting closer. This time, Ichigo couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to his lips. When his gaze flicked back up to meet Kisuke’s, he was kept still by Kisuke’s keen stare.
“Can I kiss you?” Kisuke asked, softly. Their faces were inches apart; their breaths intermingled in the scant space in between them. It should’ve felt disgusting, or awkward at the very least, but it wasn’t. Most things that should have been weren’t, with Kisuke.
“Yes,” Ichigo breathed. He leaned in, and so did Kisuke: their lips met in the middle.
For a moment, Ichigo floundered, unsure how to move or breathe. He’d never kissed anyone before, because he’d never seen the need to, but he was definitely seeing the need now. He was pretty sure he was supposed to be doing something, but his lack of experience left him paralyzed.
And then—Kisuke’s hand moved under Ichigo’s jaw, tilting his head slightly so their lips slotted together more naturally, deepening the kiss. Kisuke’s mouth moved softly and slowly against his rhythmically. For possibly the first time in his life, Ichigo wanted to forget about his worries and responsibilities, to stay like this forever. It was a selfish thought; Ichigo’s life wasn’t for just himself—it was for his people.
But something about Kisuke had always made Ichigo terribly, ravenously selfish. He wanted to entangle himself with Kisuke until you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. Ichigo wanted to be with him, swallow him whole, carve his name in his ribs, a gentle cage around his heart. He wouldn’t, of course—but the temptation lingered.
Ichigo rested his hands against the column of Kisuke’s neck intimately, fingers over his carotid artery. Like this, he could feel his racing heartbeat, a perfect match to his own.
Eventually, a thought occurred to Ichigo, and he reluctantly pulled away. Kisuke chased after his mouth, before his eyes flickered open and he visibly came to his senses. Ichigo was glad to see him with dazed eyes and red, spit-slick lips, and gladder to see him just as reluctant to stop kissing as he was, but he had something he had to say.
“I didn’t get to say it before, really,” Ichigo began, seriously. Kisuke listened attentively, eyes narrowed in concern. “But I love you, too.”
The tension left Kisuke’s shoulders. A soft smile crossed his face, and he rolled his eyes fondly. “I would certainly hope so,” he said, dryly, and leaned in to catch Ichigo with another kiss.