Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Happy Ending	By : Ardespuffy Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Hitsugaya/Ichigo Views: 2079 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Happy Ending
- 2-Teaser
- 3-One
- 4-Two
- 5-Three
- 6-Four
- 7-Five
- 8-Six
- 9-Seven
- 10-Eight
- 11-Nine
- 12-First
- 13-Second
- 14-Third
- 15-Fourth
- 16-Fifth
- 17-Sixth
- 18-Seventh
- 19-Eighth
- 20-Ninth
- 21-Tenth
- 22-Eleventh
- 23-Twelfth
- 5
- 6
- 7
… Wake up in the morning,

Stumble on my life.

Can't get no love without sacrifice…

They're sitting across from each other in the cosy living room. Ichigo is drumming his fingers on the table, making a tip-tap noise that's slowly driving Toshiro insane. Mental demolition fighting techniques should be considered as cheating, he muses.
"You know I don't like ya anyway, right?"
"The hell I care. Your turn."
"Hmph. Lemme think in peace."
"I wouldn't dream to interfere with a miracle."
The redhead glares at him from the opposite side of the chessboard. Then he makes his move – foolishly, foolishly! Toshiro can't help the tiny smirk that rises on his lips. Noticing his opponent's mischievous glance Ichigo frowns in suspicion, but it's too late to fix his faux-pas: the soccer team captain moves a pawn and it's the final straw.
"Checkmate. Again." Toshiro arches a mocking eyebrow. "What's with that frown, Kurosaki? Li'l doc cannot lose?" He teases, all the while trying to keep a goofy grin off his face. Stupid ginger had it coming. You must be feeling either kind of suicidal or extremely conceited to try and challenge a whiz kid at logic games, for crying out loud. "You didn't really believe you stood a chance against me, right?"
Ichigo looks undoubtedly ready to murder. He never gets to voice his thoughts aloud, though, for Momo passes them by while crossing the room and sees fit to intrude. "Cheer up, Ichigo. No one beats Shiro-chan at a game of chess. Well, apart from gran – " The girl trails off abruptly at her cousin's scariest glance. " 'm going!" She rushes past the door and disappears.
Still fuming, Toshiro watches her leave, a glint of edginess in his teal eyes. (Okay, their granny, so what? The old woman taught him the very rules of the game, it's just normal she gets to outwit him on occasion. And Kurosaki needn't know, by the way.) Drifting his gaze back to the carrot-top, he's surprised to find him grinning like an idiot. "… what?"
"No one beats ya, huh?" God forbid, Ichgo looks positively intrigued. "Then it's on. We've got a dare."
Toshiro's brow knits. Hold the fuck on. "We don't have nothing."
"Cool down, Shiro-chan. It's all in good fun." The redhead leans forth across the chessboard, smiling in a way that sends shivers down the athlete's spine. "How do you like a challenge?"
"How would you make a challenge?" Toshiro is quick to retort, albeit somehow unconvinced. To smirk like that after such a humiliating defeat… Kurosaki really is shameless.
"Try me."
Sure enough, that seals it.

New Year's Eve. A panting, stumbling figure strolls down the dark and smoky alleys that are currently buried in all kinds of party garbage, unexploded bangers included. The night air is sharp and thick. Up in the sky, above the hundreds of heads amongst the speechless crowd, fireworks are wrestling the wind to show off against the stubborn rolling of clouds. Not an easy night for many – Toshiro finds himself rejoicing in the desperate struggle of Nature.
He's got no idea what brought that particular memory to his mind just now, now that he's nearing the point of hypothermia in the deep, gloomy pit that is the last night of the year, but he can't shake off the biting feeling it carries behind, like a lining of regret.
Try me.
Gods, it was so clear from the start, yet it's taken Toshiro three years to figure out they would not be going for a game of chess after all. Those he always won.
A particularly loud detonation has the white-haired man nearly jump out of his skin. Raising his head to glance at the brightly coloured sky he spots the familiar silhouette of his apartment block, standing out as a sinister shadow against the cheerfully lit night. A shaky smile stretches his lips. Funny how home can look so close and still feel so far.
Treading heavily on his wobbly legs, Toshiro resumes walking, arms reaching out blindly to steady himself. That game of chess won't stop haunting him, gnawing at the back of his mind. Of course, that had been before he developed his not quite sane obsession with Ichigo, and long before the redhead even took notice of his feelings.
Those goddamn feelings. Toshiro inwardly snorts. He recalls bloody well how it all began.

Thump. A loud one. Skin colliding with skin, a taut fist with a sharp jaw.
"The fuck, Toshiro? ! Whadda hell was that for? !"
"What the hell d'you think? You shoulda stayed the fuck outta this!"
"You punched me! I save your sorry ass and you punch me!"
"Nobody – you didn't save my – just mind your own goddarn business!"
"Well sure as hell I am! Next time you get beaten to a pulp I'm gonna stay back and enjoy the soddin' show!"
Both are shouting so vehemently they're running out of breath. Still shaking from the shock, Toshiro crouches down, his palms on his knees, in an effort to collect his wits. The moment he glances down, though, a wave of nausea comes over him: there's blood on his knuckles from the blow he struck Ichigo, adding up to a long trail of vermillion running down the front of his white shirt from the deep cut on his lower lip – all his attackers could get away with before mister Fantastic came to the rescue. The mere thought sparks a surge of boiling rage through Toshiro's body. Kurosaki, motherfucking git. The footballer's heart can't seem to stop its racing. It feels like nothing he's ever experienced before.
Hell, he can't recall a time he'd been so helplessly, shitless scared in his entire life.
And it's all the redhead's freaking fault. Because then, in the midst of everything, as two very much taller-than-Toshiro sportsmen set about beating the fuck out of him, he had not been worried for himself. But Ichigo had to pop out of the blue and play the hero… then, just then did that hideous feeling of utter dread creep over him. Toshiro had absolutely no idea one could feel so intensely about another human being. It's frightening for lack of a better word.
"Oi. You okay?" The medic student asks in concern, his head cocked to the side.
Only then Toshiro realizes he's still bent over as though he's considering passing out on his rescuer. Grunting, he straightens up. "Yeah, thanks to you." His words are pure poison.
They stand in silence for several moments, neither quite resolving to take leave, before Ichigo comes up with a cheerful: "So, any idea why those thugs picked up on you?"
Toshiro rolls his eyes. Dumbarse. "Those were not thugs. Did you not look at them?"
"Sorry. Being kinda busy getting them off of ya." The carrot-top's eyebrows rise in disdain.
"They were athletes, from your college high jump team in fact." The white-haired boy huffs. "Remember that contest I was called to adjudicate on?" Ichigo nods, awaiting. "Let's just say the weren't very happy with my verdict."
"Assholes." The med student mutters, then a frown creases his brow. "Now that you mention it, how come you were in the panel for a high jump competition when your sport is soccer?"
Oh, seriously, brilliant! To think Toshiro spent the better part of two hours telling his new flatmates and friends the tale of his worldwide renown awesomeness…! "You didn't listen to a single word that came out of my mouth when I told you guys why I was called a prodigy back in high school, did you?" He snaps, or better yet tries to. As a matter of fact he only manages through half his retort before he starts choking on the blood in his mouth and throat. Cough, curse, cough. Damn, that sodding hook to his chin hadn't seemed to score at first. Curse, cough, curse.
"That looks pretty nasty, prodigy." Ichigo says in a mocking tone, but his eyes give off actual concern. "Lemme have a glance." He steps to approach the shorter boy, who promptly withdraws. The carrot-top snorts. "What? I'm the closest to a doctor you're getting around here at the moment, which is not bad considering you're bleeding your soul out on the ground."
Toshiro can't tell whether it's the condescending tone or the unexpectedly gentle brush of Ichigo's thumb against his tormented lips that does the trick, but he finds himself promptly, obediently yielding to the soothing touch. As Ichigo lets his brown eyes scan him clinically, however, the athlete squirms. This is getting more than a little uncomfortable.
It feels like ages until the orange-haired student finally lets go of his chin and passes judgement. "My room at the campus is closer than your place. Come with me, I'll figure something to seal the cut. A small injure like that would not be much of a problem were it anywhere else on your body, but lips are a high blood-vessels concentration spot." Ichigo explains, his voice taking on an irritatingly didactic tinge – please, it's not like you need a degree in medicine to tell that much! Toshiro wants to grunt his scorn aloud, but the moment he goes to open his mouth the redhead slips a fucking finger in it. "Is the inside alright? Open up, let me see – "
Toshiro pulls back abruptly, barely resisting the urge to bite hard down on the invading digit. "Get those dirty hands off me! We're not doing this in the middle of the road! And I don't need your help anyway, you've…"
A loud, very impolite sigh interrupts him. "Such a pain in the ass." Ichigo's shoulder brushes against his templ – cheekbo – ea – brushes against him as the ginger-head passes him by, leading the way. So stubborn! Stubborn and obtuse, Toshiro mentally inveighs. "Hurry up, I've got class in an hour or so. Don't wanna waste more time than necessary over ya, brat."
"… how dare you call me – !"
Ichigo glares upon his shoulder. "You sure are acting like one. Only brats get bullied and keep it from their moms 'cause they're too ashamed to show signs of weakness." The piercing glance turns into a cunning grin. Toshiro feels his ears grow inexplicably hot.
"I didn't get bullied." The soccer team captain complains under his breath, then sets off to keep up with Ichigo's long strides. When they're side by side he looks up, his lips stretched into a sly smirk to match the redhead's. "Shall I call you mom from now on?"
Ichigo's reaction is nothing like the outburst of annoyance Toshiro had anticipated. "If you wish." The carrot-top concedes. His eyes look softer than ever before, and the white-haired prodigy squirms uncomfortably. What the – ?

The first thing Toshiro notices about Ichigo's room is how overall tidy it looks, despite its occupants' – mostly Abarai's, to be fair – personality disorders. He says this much as he props down on one of the twin beds, eliciting a small, self-satisfied smile from the med student. "Gonna take it as a compliment, though I'm pretty sure you didn't mean it to sound like one!"
Toshiro huffs, somehow irritated by how little credit Ichigo gives him. Stupid fuck. "Is just standing there your idea of medical care? Get a move on, thought you said you got things to do as well."
The taller boy rolls his eyes, but fetches his first aid kit from a cupboard nonetheless. "Ya really are a charmer, y'know?" He mutters, and without bothering to wait for an answer sits across from his guest on the bed.
Toshiro stares begrudgingly as Ichigo goes through his equipment. Eventually he gets too bored to hold it. "Pick the sodding white vial to disinfect, first, then you either put on some bandages or stick to a band-aid, whatever you want. Just get on with it."
Ichigo drops his hands down, a disbelieving look on his scowling face. "Do not go all bossy on me, Shiro-chan! Heck, how d'you even know what to – ?"
Toshiro cuts him off abruptly. "Sports medicine." The footballer wrinkles his nose. "You really have no idea what my grades were back in – "
"High school, yeah, yeah, whateva ye say." Ichigo dismisses with a wave of his hand, then gets back to rummage through his medicine box. It sounds almost like he's talking to himself when he grumbles: "You self-assured prick. Must have been so popular among yer fellows! Bet they absolutely loved how you went on about your holier-than-thou crap all the time."
This strikes a nerve. Toshiro finds himself unconsciously clenching his fists on the bedspread. Of course his classmates had been none too fond of him, but it wasn't his fault. Hell, it's not like he chose to be a genius! And he never meant to flaunt it anyway. Tried not to, at least. Not too much. Damn, it was his teachers – always treating him like he was a fine piece of china, too precious to be even looked at. No freakin' wonder his classmates were too afraid to approach him. Well, there was Kusaka… Toshiro stiffens. He doesn't feel like going over that right now – nor ever. "Less talking, more mending." He eventually barks, albeit half-heartedly.
Ichigo must notice, too, for his features relax in a more sympathetic expression. "You're lucky to have Momo and the others. They're good guys."
"Mmph." The white-haired boy says non-committally as Ichigo finally concentrates on tending to his wound. The stinging of the disinfectant against his split lip has Toshiro shifting in distress, but the redhead's touch is soft and gentle, soothing even. Wait, soothing? Second time I think like this about him today. Must be the aftershock. As sure is aftershock what subsequently possesses him to murmur, in some sort of dazed state he would later reply in his mind with horror: "You've got nice hands."
The carrot-top's movements actually still for a second. "Ehr… thanks?"
Shit. Bugger! Need to change the topic, need to divert Ichigo's focus right away, right, right now! "How did you decide you were going to become a doctor?" Toshiro practically blurts out, only half-aware of what's coming out of his mouth. "Was it because your father's a medic too?"
To his utmost relief, Ichigo smiles somewhat amusedly. "Everyone automatically assumes that's the reason. I don't blame you for doin' the same."
Being compared to everybody else is not something Toshiro was ever used to. So it's mostly out of the urge to differ that he suggests: "Has it do to with… your mother instead?" Except the glint of sadness in Ichigo's eyes makes him want to stuff a foot in his mouth soon after. Note to self: great minds can be total assholes. "S-Sorry. Not my place to ask."
Oddly enough, Kuroaki doesn't look offended. "And this usually is their second guess." The youth sighs and shakes his head, a merry little smile twisting his lips. "Listen," he starts off slowly, catching all of his friend's attention, "mom was a good woman. A kind person. To be a good boy – that's all she ever asked of me. Well, I suppose it was just a way of saying, you know, like keep quiet or don't bother the adults or be nice to your teachers. But I really wanted to be good." Ichigo smiles that tiny, tender smile of his right in Toshiro's face, which promptly flushes beet red. "Doctors are not necessarily good people, I know that much. So I'm working to become more than a decent medic – I want to try and be a kind man. I want to be nice toward people, help them, support 'em, give them hope and, y'know, all that. Just like mom did."
Toshiro is still struggling to grasp the other's words when Ichigo pulls back and stands up. "There you go, all fixed. Ya'll need to take that shirt of yours to the laundrette, though. Blood stains are hell to remove." After placing the medicine box back on the cupboard the ginger-head turns, only to be faced with a frowning Toshiro. "What?"
"No one's going to thank you, you know. If you're nice to people. No one's gonna thank you."
Chocolate brown eyes hold an ice cold teal gaze as Ichigo wordlessly ponders his answer. Which leaves Toshiro utterly dumbstruck at last. "So what? They don't have to like me. I'll like 'em instead." Then Ichigo moves toward his writing desk and starts fumbling with the piles of papers on it, making a blatant effort to look occupied. "Now piss off, I'm busy. Be sure to change the bandage first thing in the morning, and let me know it if the bleeding hasn't stopped – we might have to stitch the cut up then." He obstinately keeps his back turned, which has Toshiro wondering about his face.
Raising to his feet with as little noise as humanly possible, the silver-haired athlete briefly considers heading out at once, no greetings bullshit to bother with and, and whatnot. But before he even knows it Toshiro's mouth has decided for him. "Kurosaki?"
The redhead turns to face him, albeit reluctantly. And it's all Toshiro can do to tell himself he's just doing it to stand out, rise above the crowd, 'cause if no one's going to, to show gratitude, then sure as hell he is, 'cause this is what whiz kids do, right?, they stand out, Kusaka used to say so, they were good friends, what happened?, what happened? – but honestly it's all about the way Ichigo looks now, so open and warm and human and close. It takes Toshiro's breath away. "Thanks."
Which, ça va sans dire, already means I like you.

.
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Happy Ending