[Log] Gin Ichimaru, Yumichika Ayasegawa
Title: Lunch in the... ER?
Characters: Gin (formative), Yumichika (day_eight)
Timeline: September 25, 2007
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Summary: Gin and Yumichika share a wonderful bonding experience.
On some days, days like this particular day, Gin wanted to pat himself on the shoulder for having hired such competent and effective people to work under him. They could handle almost everything on their own, leaving him with little to nothing to do but play games or read magazines which could - believe it or not - be rather stressful.
A glance at his watch told him it was lunch time already and he dialled Aizen’s extension only to get brushed off with: “I’m in a meeting, Gin.” He blinked at the receiver and hung up with a shrug. They’d have dinner together.
However, that left the blond with no lunch partner and eating alone was boring. Slipping out of his office unnoticed by his staff, he wandered down the corridor, peeking into other offices, trying to find someone to kidnap.
The smiling man poked his head into H. Records’ personal designer’s office. No one except Yumichika was in. That meant the pretty petal was free! Strolling in as if he owned the place, Gin draped himself across that strange stiletto chair and grinned at the other man.
“Ya still owe me a meal, beautiful,” he chirped sweetly, trying to ignore how uncomfortable his seat was.
Yumichika froze, much like an animal that had just caught wind of a predator. He blinked, staring at what he hoped was just a hallucination. It was almost lunch time, after all. Perhaps lack of food was making him see things. Pushing his swivel chair away from his desk, he abandoned the sketch that he had been working on and turned to face Gin. A very real Gin, whose very real ass was on Yumi's precious chair.
There weren't enough swears in the English language...
Quickly, silently, Yumichika ran through his list of options. He could claim that had an appointment with a client, but what if Gin found out that he was lying? There was always the old, "I'm swamped with work," but the publicist would probably stick around, just to be inconvenient. Of course, he could simply decline, but that would be rude... not to mention hostile. Pissing off your boss's boyfriend wasn't exactly advisable, especially if you liked your job.
Damn it all to hell. Yumi had hoped that Gin would just forget about the owed meal. It wasn't like the publicist was incapable of buying his own food. And since when did they start having lunch together, anyways? They weren't exactly what one would call friends. Why the hell would Gin want to eat with him? Didn't the blond have anyone else to harass? The designer had a sneaking suspicion that this was some sort of game. A game that he appeared to be losing.
"Ah... that I do," he finally replied, still scrambling for a plausible excuse. "But, unfortunately, I was just about to go home," he lied, saying the first thing that came to mind. "Terribly sick, you see. My stomach..." He put a hand on his abdomen, as if the gesture would somehow prove his sincerity. After the slightest pause, he added, "and my head," just for good measure.
Calmly, Gin watched the designer try to worm his way out of this one. It was pretty entertaining. The theatrical gestures were very much appreciated. The smile turned a tad sharper as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together.
Narrow slits of pale blue fixated on Yumichika. “Tummy ache, I see.” The blond tilted his head to the side a little. “Ya do look kinda pale, not as… vital as usual. A little withered around the eyes.” He studied the brunet a little bit longer and then a very resolute look settled on his face.
“That’s what ya get from not eatin’ ‘nuff, petal.” Rising from the shoe chair, the publicist stalked towards the designer’s desk and slapped his hands on the table top. “Starvin’ might be trendy ‘n all amongst ya young ones but it ain’t very smart. Get yer tush outta yer chair. Now!” he hissed.
Blinking in surprise, the designer flinched and pushed his chair backwards, away from the looming publicist. Why couldn't Gin just leave him alone? And what was that spiel about not as vital and withered around the eyes? The vain designer brought a hand to his face, nearly sighing in relief when his fingers encountered soft, smooth skin. Withered around the eyes. As if!
"I don't starve myself," he countered, albeit a bit defensively. His diet contained a more-than-healthy portion of calories. "Besides, I doubt that my stomach ache has anything to do with lack of food," he argued, almost forgetting that he didn't even have a stomach ache.
"Really, I don't think eating is going to help..." Especially if he had to eat in Gin's company. That could very well kill him. He squared his shoulders and grasped the seat of his chair, as if ready to hold firm should the publicist decide to drag him away.
The designer wanted to play?
‘Let’s play.’
“I agree,” Gin interjected, sounding very serious. “Yer stomach ache might be an indication for internal bleedin’. Eatin’ now could kill ya.”
The publicist fixed Yumichika with an icy glare. “This ain’t a matter of eating lunch or poking ya fer fun anymore. Fun has left the building, kiddo. Right now, we’re focusing on protecting company property. If Mista Aizen loses his top designer because said designer can’t take care of himself…” He paused and frowned. “Well, Mista Aizen probably won’t be too bothered by it, but I would have to explain it to the press. And I hate dealing with that kind of issue. It’s irritating and boring. I don’t like boring.”
“You and I,” the blond said very slowly, pointing a bony finger at Yumi and then at himself, “are going to get you checked by a doctor, Mista Ayasegawa. Now, kindly remove yerself from that chair and fetch your jacket.”
A... doctor? Well, that was certainly an unexpected twist. Yumichika felt himself shrink, caught in the middle of his own lie. As far as he could see, there were only two things he could do. One, he could admit that he was fibbing and face the consequences, whatever they might be. Two, he could keep up the act and spend the rest of the day in a doctor's office. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. But, since he was already halfway there, he decided to play along. Besides, he was sure that Gin would leave him alone once they made it to the hospital. The blond had a job to do, after all.
"Well, thanks," he said, a bit begrudgingly. "I wasn't aware that you cared so much." Fighting the urge to scowl, he fixed what was supposed to be a grateful smile on his face and grabbed his jacket. After slipping into the denim blazer, he sighed woefully and trudged toward the door.
This was not going to be fun.
“Oh, I care,” Gin chirped, his customary smile back on his face as he watched the designer get ready for going outside. “Gotta take care of Mista Aizen’s property after all.”
The publicist was looking forward to their little adventure to the hospital. Hospital coffee was really good in the very bad kind of way and the sandwiches were to his liking as well. Of course, he practically ate anything that was even remotely edible so other people probably disagreed with his assessment.
Sauntering out after the petal, the blond pulled the door shut behind him and slung an arm around Yumichika’s slender waist.
“Don’t want ya to suddenly faint ‘n fall on yer pretty face,” he explained as he navigated them into the elevator, smiling and waving at the people they came across.
How embarrassing. Yumichika tried to smile at the people they passed, but all he could manage was a weak grimace. He almost wished that he was sick; maybe a life threatening illness would take his mind off the steely arm that was wrapped around him. Gritting his teeth, he remained silent and watched the floor numbers count down on the elevator's display. All he could think about was grabbing the blond and pushing him away. Far away.
Once they reached the ground floor, the designer stepped out of the elevator and made a dash for the exit. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Stopping on the sidewalk, he turned and gave Gin his best impersonation of an honest man. "You really don't have to come with. I appreciate it... but you really don't have to."
Gin didn’t chase the younger man when he made a dash for the exit, knowing that Yumi wouldn’t actually run away. That would be plain stupid and the designer was definitely not stupid. Smirking, he stepped out and took the time to appreciate the expression on the brunet’s face.
“I know I don’t have to,” the publicist replied lightly, lifting his hand to wave at a cab, “but I want to. I worry about you, ducky, and you’re a valuable asset so I’m gonna make sure ya get the best treatment fer yer illness as quickly as possible.”
Spidery fingers closed around Yumichika’s arm in a surprisingly tight grip and more or less shoved the man into the waiting cab. Telling the driver to get them to the next ER that wasn’t just there to let people die while they waited for a doctor, the blond leaned back against his seat and grinned at the petal.
“Lemme know if yer gonna be sick, okay? Not that yer vomit could make it much worse in here but I’d rather not pay fer cleanin’ somethin’ I didn’t dirty up myself.”
The "valuable asset" theme was getting a bit annoying. Actually, the whole thing was getting a bit annoying. Yumichika bit the inside of his cheek to keep a snippy retort from slipping out of his mouth. Did Gin really think that he'd do something as disgusting as vomiting in public? As crazy as the whole ordeal was, there was no way he'd reduce himself to something as unsightly as that. Well... maybe if his life depended on it. But then again, probably not. A very large part of him would choose death before embarrassment. That very large part was currently considering jumping into the middle of traffic. Maybe they'd get mugged and shot before they made it to the hospital. Weren't big cities supposed to have high crime rates?
In a few minutes, however, Yumichika looked out the cab's window to see St. Vincent's Midtown Hospital. It seemed slightly ironic that what was supposed to be a beaming haven of rescue looked to him like a ominous place of doom. Even the cab ride had been suspiciously short. Was the whole city working against him?
Still trying to feign illness, the brunet hauled himself out of the cab and toward the emergency room's doors. "I hope they give me drugs," he said, half under his breath. "Really strong ones."
The lanky figure of H. Records’ publicist slipped out of the confines of the cab after paying the driver and held the door open for his charge. His stomach was rumbling softly which caused his brows to crease a little. The ride had taken too long.
“C’mon.” Grabbing Yumi’s arm, Gin pulled him towards the entrance not too gently and approached the nurse’s desk. He put all his skills to work when he spun a terrible story about possible malnourishment and internal bleeding which sent the woman - a cute little brunette - rushing away to fetch a doctor.
“Shouldn’t take too long, kitten.”
Unable to do anything but play along, Yumichika stood silently and listened as Gin completed his brilliantly fabricated speech. He had to give the publicist credit; that little act had been Oscar worthy. A part of him wondered why Gin's little lies didn't backfire like his did.
Meandering over to the waiting area, the designer found a chair and plopped into it. He heaved a great sigh and tried very hard to look miserable--a task that was actually pretty easy. Everything around him, from the sterile smell to the hacking old man in the corner, was grating on his nerves like steel wool. All he could think about was getting the hell out of there. His apartment, with its light jasmine scent and plushy couch, had never sounded so appealing.
"Don't let me keep you," he said, trying once again to get the blond to leave. If Gin left now, Yumi would still be able to duck out unnoticed. "I wouldn't want you to miss work for this."
“S’fine.” Gin settled down next to Yumichika, draping an arm across the back of the younger man’s chair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Lady in white said she’d be ‘right back’.”
Pale blue eyes glanced around and tried to find someone who looked willing to fetch a couple of sandwiches and some beverages. Unconsciously, the publicist had begun to tap his finger against the designer’s shoulder in a not identifiable pattern.
“Don’t worry yer pretty head about my work,” the blond said, focusing his attention on Yumi again, and smiled sweetly. “I have nothing to do anyway so I’ll be stayin’ by yer side until yer done here. Ain’t ya lucky, hm?”
His hopes of getting rid of Gin dashed once again, Yumichika tried to hide his disappointment by picking up an issue of Vogue from the end table next to him. It was from the previous month, which meant he'd already looked through it a few times, but that didn't stop him from pretending to be fully immersed in its contents. Licking his thumb to turn a page, he glanced warily at Gin, and then the clock, and then back at the magazine. The whole ordeal could have been humorous, if it hadn't been so humiliating and infuriating. He was sure he'd have a laugh about it later. That was... if he made it out alive.
Finally, the brown haired nurse came back, a clipboard and pen in tow. "If you could just fill this out, we'll get you looked at right away, sir," she said. Yumichika couldn't help but noticed that, although she was speaking to him, her eyes remained fixed on Gin.
"Right," he mumbled, reaching forward to take the paperwork from her. He scanned the sheet and started marking things off with the pen. What prescriptions was he on... did he have any allergies... the usual rigmarole.
Gin snatched the magazine from Yumi and flipped through the pages idly while the nurse yapped something about this and that - he really wasn’t interested. “I’ll have the ham ‘n egg sandwich and a large banana-chocolate shake or a coke. My muffin here prolly shouldn’t eat anythin’, right?” he said when she fell silent and glanced up from the glossy page.
The nurse stared at him as if he had lost his mind so the publicist stretched his smile a little wider and repeated his order very slowly. “Is that too much? Would ya like me to write it down fer ya?”
“No, sir… but I’m not… If you want something to eat you can get it at the cafeteria-”
“Yeah, I know but yer standing already and don’t look like ya got anythin’ to do.”
“Sir, I’m a nurse. If you want food, you’ll have to…”
“Please? Pretty, pretty please? I really don’t wanna leave my lil peach here alone. He can be very unreasonable when it comes to dealing with his health issues, miss pretty nurse. Last time he ran away from the clinic and hid for two weeks. He almost died,” the blond whispered urgently and looked up at the brunette with large, pleading baby blue eyes. How could she not fold?
The nurse’s features softened and she patted his shoulder lightly before she left them alone again. “They’re so gullible,” Gin chuckled softly and returned his attention to the magazine. “Don’t forget to give her money fer the food when she returns, ‘kay? Ya shouldn’t make an innocent bystander pay fer yer forgetfulness.”
Oh, what the hell. Yumichika could not believe the nonsense that Gin was spewing. There were just... no words to describe it. He didn't know what to be appalled about most--the fact that Gin was treating the nurse like some sort of waitress, or the publicist's outrageous story. Ran away from the clinic and hid for two weeks? Great. Now anyone within earshot believed him to be an unstable lunatic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mother and her young daughter move to the other side of the room. Flipping fantastic.
Yumi considered himself to be a pretty even-tempered guy. Perhaps he wasn't exactly a pillar of self-control, but he could be... somewhat patient. But even the most forgiving of people had their limits, and he was pretty damn close to reaching his. He couldn't even manage to hide his disgust; dismay was written all over his features. Dumb-struck horror was not an attractive expression.
It was a good thing they were in a hospital, because he was about to have a seizure at any moment.
He couldn't speak. He couldn't even trust himself to move without making some attempt to strangle Gin. So he sat, wide-eyed and horror-struck, clipboard and pen held tightly in his white-knuckled fingers.
It seemed slightly ironic that feigning illness would end up being the death of him.
The smugness Gin felt showed. In his smile, in the lazy sprawl, hell, he was practically oozing it from every sing pore of his body. His eyes were trained on the magazine in his lap but a sideways glance every now and then told him that Yumi was ready to pop a vein.
That look on the designer’s face was probably not one that many people had seen and Gin took pride in being responsible for that comical expression. It was no wonder, really, that the publicist didn’t have many friends.
“Feel free to stroke,” he said, keeping his voice low, and flipped the page. “Might get us into an examination room and outta here a lot quicker if ya do. Of course, there’s the paralysis and the brain damage ya’ll have to deal with but…”
Letting his voice trail off, Gin turned his head to look at Yumichika, a reptile smirk on his lips.
That smirk. That cocky, sickening, infuriating smirk. Yumichika gripped the clipboard, fighting back the urge to slam it-repeatedly-over the publicist’s smug little head. He wondered if he could get fired for assaulting a coworker outside of the office. Since said coworker was both his superior and the boss’s boyfriend... chances were he’d not only get fired, but thrown in jail and sued as well. It almost seemed worth it. He could think of nothing better than bloodying that damn smirk and getting the hell out of there.
He turned his attention back to the paperwork, clinging desperately to his last threads of sanity.
Are you currently taking any prescriptions?
No, but he could use a good dose of... something.
Have you been out of the country recently?
No, but a vacation sounded pretty damn good.
Do you have any known allergies?
Yes. To one Gin Ichimaru.
Have you contemplated suicide recently?
...not even funny.
He looked up just as the waitress... nurse showed up with Gin’s order. She placed it on the end table next to them, giving Yumichika wary glances out of the corner of her eye. He threw some money at her and mumbled something unintelligible.
“Won’t be long now,” she said, edging away slowly when Yumichika’s glare hardened. “Try to hang in there, ‘kay?”
As soon as the food arrived, Gin was all over it. Tossing the magazine to the side haphazardly - it landed in Yumi’s lap, of course - he tore the plastic container open and lifted his lunch out of it. Pieces of shredded salad fell out from between the slices of flaccid toast when he took a large bite and made a contented sound.
“Dry and tasteless,” the publicist mumbled. “Bet hospital food can kill people faster ‘n germs. Wanna bite?” The sad and grey looking sandwich was hovering a breath away from the designer’s perfect little nose and lost a slice of tomato, which landed on the allergy question, along with another couple of salad shreds. “Faster it’s finished, the faster we’re outta here~”
Picking up his beverage, the blond slurped it through the straw noisily.
Oh, go choke on your stupid sandwich. Yumichika wrinkled his nose, trying to lean as far away from that... disgusting looking thing as he could. Take a bite? Of that? Surely not. He’d be damned if he was going to be done in by a couple pieces of soggy toast. It was bad enough that he was probably going to die of frustration.
“I’d rather not,” he hissed, batting the sandwich away. Frowning, he looked down at the piece of tomato that had landed on his paperwork. He stared at it for a moment, his eyebrow twitching at the blotchy stain that had formed beneath it. It made the whole paper look ugly and sloppy. He wondered if Gin knew all of his buttons and was pushing them on purpose, or if the publicist was just that lucky.
“I don’t know how you can eat that crap,” he said, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer. He was antsy, irritated, and damn near fuming. It was a miracle he hadn't said something stupid already. "Can't be good for you."
Gin Ichimaru never pushed people’s buttons on purpose. It just happened, nothing he could do about it - is what he would have said and there may have even been a kernel of truth to that statement. A long time ago, when he was still young and the world was a better place, he’d spent a lot of time on trying to find people’s weak spots, their strong points, how they ticked. Learning how to read people was hard work but it had paid off. It had become natural like breathing or blinking.
“Can’t be good fer me?” The blond lowered his sandwich and raised an eyebrow. Oh dear! Yumichika wasn’t really sick, was he? A bony hand reached out and was pressed against the designer’s smooth forehead. It didn’t feel hot or sweaty which was even more puzzling. “Almost fooled me into thinkin’ yer worried or really sick, petal.”
Taking another large bite, the publicist chewed thoroughly before he swallowed it. “Shouldn’t ya be wishin’ fer me to eat more crap? Might drive myself into an early grave, which’ll prolong yer lifespan by at least two or three years. ” A flock of nurses rushed past them, looking very much like startled geese.
Pale blue eyes gazed down the corridor. “Think somebody’s dyin’ down there?”
Yumichika jerked backward when Gin went to touch him. He cringed at the thought of all the little bits of food-dirt stuck to the publicist’s fingers, which were probably being transferred onto his forehead. His expression darkened as he gingerly wiped two fingers across his brow.
Shit. So Gin had known all along that he wasn’t really sick. Well, wasn’t that just perfect? Not only was this whole ordeal excruciating, but now it was also pointless. He considered storming out of the hospital, leaving Gin there with his stupid sandwich and his stupid shake. But... it was too much like surrendering. Liar though he was, Yumichika Ayasegawa was not a quitter.
He scoffed, rolling his eyes before returning to his paperwork. The damned form still had a piece of tomato on it, which he hastily flicked away with a growl of impatience. He ticked off a few more boxes, too frazzled to really care whether or not the information he was giving was correct. Gin was one of the few people who could get under his skin... and one of the very few people he couldn’t figure out in turn. There was no figuring out when it came to Gin. He was just... impossible.
The designer continued finishing the paperwork, doing his best to ignore the sound of Gin’s chewing. His nerves were worn thin, he was tired, and his head was starting to hurt. And... what was that racket at the end of the hall? Dying patient or not, those idiotic nurses should have learned how to panic quietly. There were sick people around! Not that he was one of them, but... that wasn’t the point.
“What, are you concerned?” he asked, still staring at the form in front of him. “Or are you thinking about ditching me to go watch the show?”
Gin polished off his lunch and wiped his hands on the paper-like napkin that came with it before his arm reclaimed its place on the back of Yumichika’s chair. His cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket but he steadfastly ignored it.
“I would never ditch you for a corpse, petal. How can you even think that?” The publicist sounded positively hurt but that didn’t prevent him from leaning in to look at the form. His brows furrowed a little and a bony finger extended to tap the spot where the tomato had dropped.
“Uh-oh! Ya smudged yer allergy responses. S’quite dangerous, ya know? It’d be tragic if ya died because the poor doctor couldn’t read the smudges there. I wouldn’t know how to ‘splain it to Mista Aizen. Know what? Ya should redo it,” the blond chirped, lowering the rest of his fingers to the sheet, crumbled it and tore it off.
The phone kept vibrating and was beginning to irritate him. With a sigh Gin pulled it out, flipped it open and shut again. Before he could do anything else, however, it went off again. Caller ID told him it was his own extension at the office and he assumed it was his assistant so he repeated his previous action.
That stupid plastic thing had the audacity to go off again. Only this time it was Mista Aizen calling. The publicist stared at it, willing it to stop humming. Of course, it didn’t. Must be important... Looking slightly miffed, he slipped it back into his pocket and peeled himself out of the chair.
“Playtime’s over, lil piggy. Yer gonna stay here or do ya wanna share a cab back to the office?”
Yumichika, in all of his frazzled glory, was doing his very best to ignore the publicist’s infuriating presence. This was... not impossible. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. He could do this; he could get through this alive, and without killing anyone, and without having some sort of panic attack.
He was calm. He was focused. He was the embodiment of Zen.
And then that damn phone went off. The stupid thing kept buzzing, and for some reason Gin seemed hell bent on ignoring it. Yumi tried to dismiss it, but was finding it very hard to remain calm and focused and Zen with that buzzing rattling around in his brain. His patience, which was stretched thin to begin with, was about ready to snap.
Just as he was gearing up to grab the damned thing and chuck it across the room, the blond finally decided to look at it and-what? Playtime’s over? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Surely Gin wasn’t suggesting that they just leave and pretend like this whole ordeal hadn’t been excruciatingly painful... for at least one of them.
So now, on top of being irritated beyond belief, Yumichika was also stuck between a rock and Gin-the hardest place of all. It wasn’t like he could take the rest of the day off... well, not if he wanted to keep his job. But he certainly didn’t feel like going back to work, either. He almost felt like throwing in the towel, going home, and taking a nice, long bath-or maybe drowning himself in a bottle of alcohol.
Shit.
In the end, his rational side won out. He needed his job, after all. His job gave him money, and money paid for clothes. And, as always, clothes were more important than his sanity.
Rising to his feet, the designer slammed the clipboard down on the table and stormed out of the waiting room.
At least... he tried to.
“Oh, no you don’t, mister,” said a high-pitched voice from behind him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder as Gin’s little waitress appeared at his side. “You’re not escaping this time. Not on my watch!”
Oh. Dear. God. He stared at her, slack-jawed, and just... gaped. She could not be serious. This could not be real.
By the time Gin caught up with Yumichika, the young brunet was already in the clutches of the nice nurse. That was a problem. Not a big problem but a problem nonetheless.
Since it was mostly - alright, completely - Gin’s fault that they were in this situation, it was up to him to save the designer. He practically owed it to Yumi after all he’d put him through, didn’t he?
‘Nope,’ the publicist thought, ‘I don’t.’ Staying close to the wall, he managed to slip past the nurse and her captive. When he reached the exit, he turned around briefly and waved at Yumichika, mouthing a silent ‘bye bye’ before he quickly stepped outside.
He.... didn’t. Gin did not just leave. No words were foul enough to describe Yumichika’s mood, but ‘livid’ and ‘enraged’ hit just below the mark. He could not believe that the publicist had just left him there. He could not believe the nerve of that man. He could not believe that this whole fiasco had been his own damn fault. It was more than he could take.
“Let go of me,” he hissed, squeezing the words out between clenched teeth. He glared at the door, Gin’s infuriating little wave still burning through his mind.
“Sir, are you sure?” the nurse asked. Eyes widening, she released him and took a step away. “I really think you should at least get looked at.”
“I’m fine now,” he spat. He refused to look her in the eye. He refused to put up with this any longer. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I guess I can’t keep you here.” Her expression held a mixture of pity and alarm. “And now that your partner left without you...”
Partner? Partner?! Yumichika had been certain that this day couldn’t get any worse, but that was the icing on the cake. Hell, it took the goddamn cake.
“Shut up.” He whirled around, fixing her with an icy stare. “Don’t say another word.”
He pointed a finger at her, as if daring her to speak again, and began to walk backwards toward the exit.
“I’m not sick. I’m not crazy. And for fuck’s sake, I’m not his partner.”
Once his back made contact with one of the glass doors, he spun around and pushed it open, hurrying outside before the poor nurse-who looked about ready to call security-could object. He must have looked insane, flailing around for a cab the way he was, but all he could think about was getting the hell home.
...
Later that night, after consuming more vodka than should have been physically possible, Yumichika came to the conclusion that Gin Ichimaru was none other than the Devil himself.
Characters: Gin (formative), Yumichika (day_eight)
Timeline: September 25, 2007
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Summary: Gin and Yumichika share a wonderful bonding experience.
On some days, days like this particular day, Gin wanted to pat himself on the shoulder for having hired such competent and effective people to work under him. They could handle almost everything on their own, leaving him with little to nothing to do but play games or read magazines which could - believe it or not - be rather stressful.
A glance at his watch told him it was lunch time already and he dialled Aizen’s extension only to get brushed off with: “I’m in a meeting, Gin.” He blinked at the receiver and hung up with a shrug. They’d have dinner together.
However, that left the blond with no lunch partner and eating alone was boring. Slipping out of his office unnoticed by his staff, he wandered down the corridor, peeking into other offices, trying to find someone to kidnap.
The smiling man poked his head into H. Records’ personal designer’s office. No one except Yumichika was in. That meant the pretty petal was free! Strolling in as if he owned the place, Gin draped himself across that strange stiletto chair and grinned at the other man.
“Ya still owe me a meal, beautiful,” he chirped sweetly, trying to ignore how uncomfortable his seat was.
Yumichika froze, much like an animal that had just caught wind of a predator. He blinked, staring at what he hoped was just a hallucination. It was almost lunch time, after all. Perhaps lack of food was making him see things. Pushing his swivel chair away from his desk, he abandoned the sketch that he had been working on and turned to face Gin. A very real Gin, whose very real ass was on Yumi's precious chair.
There weren't enough swears in the English language...
Quickly, silently, Yumichika ran through his list of options. He could claim that had an appointment with a client, but what if Gin found out that he was lying? There was always the old, "I'm swamped with work," but the publicist would probably stick around, just to be inconvenient. Of course, he could simply decline, but that would be rude... not to mention hostile. Pissing off your boss's boyfriend wasn't exactly advisable, especially if you liked your job.
Damn it all to hell. Yumi had hoped that Gin would just forget about the owed meal. It wasn't like the publicist was incapable of buying his own food. And since when did they start having lunch together, anyways? They weren't exactly what one would call friends. Why the hell would Gin want to eat with him? Didn't the blond have anyone else to harass? The designer had a sneaking suspicion that this was some sort of game. A game that he appeared to be losing.
"Ah... that I do," he finally replied, still scrambling for a plausible excuse. "But, unfortunately, I was just about to go home," he lied, saying the first thing that came to mind. "Terribly sick, you see. My stomach..." He put a hand on his abdomen, as if the gesture would somehow prove his sincerity. After the slightest pause, he added, "and my head," just for good measure.
Calmly, Gin watched the designer try to worm his way out of this one. It was pretty entertaining. The theatrical gestures were very much appreciated. The smile turned a tad sharper as he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together.
Narrow slits of pale blue fixated on Yumichika. “Tummy ache, I see.” The blond tilted his head to the side a little. “Ya do look kinda pale, not as… vital as usual. A little withered around the eyes.” He studied the brunet a little bit longer and then a very resolute look settled on his face.
“That’s what ya get from not eatin’ ‘nuff, petal.” Rising from the shoe chair, the publicist stalked towards the designer’s desk and slapped his hands on the table top. “Starvin’ might be trendy ‘n all amongst ya young ones but it ain’t very smart. Get yer tush outta yer chair. Now!” he hissed.
Blinking in surprise, the designer flinched and pushed his chair backwards, away from the looming publicist. Why couldn't Gin just leave him alone? And what was that spiel about not as vital and withered around the eyes? The vain designer brought a hand to his face, nearly sighing in relief when his fingers encountered soft, smooth skin. Withered around the eyes. As if!
"I don't starve myself," he countered, albeit a bit defensively. His diet contained a more-than-healthy portion of calories. "Besides, I doubt that my stomach ache has anything to do with lack of food," he argued, almost forgetting that he didn't even have a stomach ache.
"Really, I don't think eating is going to help..." Especially if he had to eat in Gin's company. That could very well kill him. He squared his shoulders and grasped the seat of his chair, as if ready to hold firm should the publicist decide to drag him away.
The designer wanted to play?
‘Let’s play.’
“I agree,” Gin interjected, sounding very serious. “Yer stomach ache might be an indication for internal bleedin’. Eatin’ now could kill ya.”
The publicist fixed Yumichika with an icy glare. “This ain’t a matter of eating lunch or poking ya fer fun anymore. Fun has left the building, kiddo. Right now, we’re focusing on protecting company property. If Mista Aizen loses his top designer because said designer can’t take care of himself…” He paused and frowned. “Well, Mista Aizen probably won’t be too bothered by it, but I would have to explain it to the press. And I hate dealing with that kind of issue. It’s irritating and boring. I don’t like boring.”
“You and I,” the blond said very slowly, pointing a bony finger at Yumi and then at himself, “are going to get you checked by a doctor, Mista Ayasegawa. Now, kindly remove yerself from that chair and fetch your jacket.”
A... doctor? Well, that was certainly an unexpected twist. Yumichika felt himself shrink, caught in the middle of his own lie. As far as he could see, there were only two things he could do. One, he could admit that he was fibbing and face the consequences, whatever they might be. Two, he could keep up the act and spend the rest of the day in a doctor's office. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. But, since he was already halfway there, he decided to play along. Besides, he was sure that Gin would leave him alone once they made it to the hospital. The blond had a job to do, after all.
"Well, thanks," he said, a bit begrudgingly. "I wasn't aware that you cared so much." Fighting the urge to scowl, he fixed what was supposed to be a grateful smile on his face and grabbed his jacket. After slipping into the denim blazer, he sighed woefully and trudged toward the door.
This was not going to be fun.
“Oh, I care,” Gin chirped, his customary smile back on his face as he watched the designer get ready for going outside. “Gotta take care of Mista Aizen’s property after all.”
The publicist was looking forward to their little adventure to the hospital. Hospital coffee was really good in the very bad kind of way and the sandwiches were to his liking as well. Of course, he practically ate anything that was even remotely edible so other people probably disagreed with his assessment.
Sauntering out after the petal, the blond pulled the door shut behind him and slung an arm around Yumichika’s slender waist.
“Don’t want ya to suddenly faint ‘n fall on yer pretty face,” he explained as he navigated them into the elevator, smiling and waving at the people they came across.
How embarrassing. Yumichika tried to smile at the people they passed, but all he could manage was a weak grimace. He almost wished that he was sick; maybe a life threatening illness would take his mind off the steely arm that was wrapped around him. Gritting his teeth, he remained silent and watched the floor numbers count down on the elevator's display. All he could think about was grabbing the blond and pushing him away. Far away.
Once they reached the ground floor, the designer stepped out of the elevator and made a dash for the exit. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Stopping on the sidewalk, he turned and gave Gin his best impersonation of an honest man. "You really don't have to come with. I appreciate it... but you really don't have to."
Gin didn’t chase the younger man when he made a dash for the exit, knowing that Yumi wouldn’t actually run away. That would be plain stupid and the designer was definitely not stupid. Smirking, he stepped out and took the time to appreciate the expression on the brunet’s face.
“I know I don’t have to,” the publicist replied lightly, lifting his hand to wave at a cab, “but I want to. I worry about you, ducky, and you’re a valuable asset so I’m gonna make sure ya get the best treatment fer yer illness as quickly as possible.”
Spidery fingers closed around Yumichika’s arm in a surprisingly tight grip and more or less shoved the man into the waiting cab. Telling the driver to get them to the next ER that wasn’t just there to let people die while they waited for a doctor, the blond leaned back against his seat and grinned at the petal.
“Lemme know if yer gonna be sick, okay? Not that yer vomit could make it much worse in here but I’d rather not pay fer cleanin’ somethin’ I didn’t dirty up myself.”
The "valuable asset" theme was getting a bit annoying. Actually, the whole thing was getting a bit annoying. Yumichika bit the inside of his cheek to keep a snippy retort from slipping out of his mouth. Did Gin really think that he'd do something as disgusting as vomiting in public? As crazy as the whole ordeal was, there was no way he'd reduce himself to something as unsightly as that. Well... maybe if his life depended on it. But then again, probably not. A very large part of him would choose death before embarrassment. That very large part was currently considering jumping into the middle of traffic. Maybe they'd get mugged and shot before they made it to the hospital. Weren't big cities supposed to have high crime rates?
In a few minutes, however, Yumichika looked out the cab's window to see St. Vincent's Midtown Hospital. It seemed slightly ironic that what was supposed to be a beaming haven of rescue looked to him like a ominous place of doom. Even the cab ride had been suspiciously short. Was the whole city working against him?
Still trying to feign illness, the brunet hauled himself out of the cab and toward the emergency room's doors. "I hope they give me drugs," he said, half under his breath. "Really strong ones."
The lanky figure of H. Records’ publicist slipped out of the confines of the cab after paying the driver and held the door open for his charge. His stomach was rumbling softly which caused his brows to crease a little. The ride had taken too long.
“C’mon.” Grabbing Yumi’s arm, Gin pulled him towards the entrance not too gently and approached the nurse’s desk. He put all his skills to work when he spun a terrible story about possible malnourishment and internal bleeding which sent the woman - a cute little brunette - rushing away to fetch a doctor.
“Shouldn’t take too long, kitten.”
Unable to do anything but play along, Yumichika stood silently and listened as Gin completed his brilliantly fabricated speech. He had to give the publicist credit; that little act had been Oscar worthy. A part of him wondered why Gin's little lies didn't backfire like his did.
Meandering over to the waiting area, the designer found a chair and plopped into it. He heaved a great sigh and tried very hard to look miserable--a task that was actually pretty easy. Everything around him, from the sterile smell to the hacking old man in the corner, was grating on his nerves like steel wool. All he could think about was getting the hell out of there. His apartment, with its light jasmine scent and plushy couch, had never sounded so appealing.
"Don't let me keep you," he said, trying once again to get the blond to leave. If Gin left now, Yumi would still be able to duck out unnoticed. "I wouldn't want you to miss work for this."
“S’fine.” Gin settled down next to Yumichika, draping an arm across the back of the younger man’s chair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Lady in white said she’d be ‘right back’.”
Pale blue eyes glanced around and tried to find someone who looked willing to fetch a couple of sandwiches and some beverages. Unconsciously, the publicist had begun to tap his finger against the designer’s shoulder in a not identifiable pattern.
“Don’t worry yer pretty head about my work,” the blond said, focusing his attention on Yumi again, and smiled sweetly. “I have nothing to do anyway so I’ll be stayin’ by yer side until yer done here. Ain’t ya lucky, hm?”
His hopes of getting rid of Gin dashed once again, Yumichika tried to hide his disappointment by picking up an issue of Vogue from the end table next to him. It was from the previous month, which meant he'd already looked through it a few times, but that didn't stop him from pretending to be fully immersed in its contents. Licking his thumb to turn a page, he glanced warily at Gin, and then the clock, and then back at the magazine. The whole ordeal could have been humorous, if it hadn't been so humiliating and infuriating. He was sure he'd have a laugh about it later. That was... if he made it out alive.
Finally, the brown haired nurse came back, a clipboard and pen in tow. "If you could just fill this out, we'll get you looked at right away, sir," she said. Yumichika couldn't help but noticed that, although she was speaking to him, her eyes remained fixed on Gin.
"Right," he mumbled, reaching forward to take the paperwork from her. He scanned the sheet and started marking things off with the pen. What prescriptions was he on... did he have any allergies... the usual rigmarole.
Gin snatched the magazine from Yumi and flipped through the pages idly while the nurse yapped something about this and that - he really wasn’t interested. “I’ll have the ham ‘n egg sandwich and a large banana-chocolate shake or a coke. My muffin here prolly shouldn’t eat anythin’, right?” he said when she fell silent and glanced up from the glossy page.
The nurse stared at him as if he had lost his mind so the publicist stretched his smile a little wider and repeated his order very slowly. “Is that too much? Would ya like me to write it down fer ya?”
“No, sir… but I’m not… If you want something to eat you can get it at the cafeteria-”
“Yeah, I know but yer standing already and don’t look like ya got anythin’ to do.”
“Sir, I’m a nurse. If you want food, you’ll have to…”
“Please? Pretty, pretty please? I really don’t wanna leave my lil peach here alone. He can be very unreasonable when it comes to dealing with his health issues, miss pretty nurse. Last time he ran away from the clinic and hid for two weeks. He almost died,” the blond whispered urgently and looked up at the brunette with large, pleading baby blue eyes. How could she not fold?
The nurse’s features softened and she patted his shoulder lightly before she left them alone again. “They’re so gullible,” Gin chuckled softly and returned his attention to the magazine. “Don’t forget to give her money fer the food when she returns, ‘kay? Ya shouldn’t make an innocent bystander pay fer yer forgetfulness.”
Oh, what the hell. Yumichika could not believe the nonsense that Gin was spewing. There were just... no words to describe it. He didn't know what to be appalled about most--the fact that Gin was treating the nurse like some sort of waitress, or the publicist's outrageous story. Ran away from the clinic and hid for two weeks? Great. Now anyone within earshot believed him to be an unstable lunatic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mother and her young daughter move to the other side of the room. Flipping fantastic.
Yumi considered himself to be a pretty even-tempered guy. Perhaps he wasn't exactly a pillar of self-control, but he could be... somewhat patient. But even the most forgiving of people had their limits, and he was pretty damn close to reaching his. He couldn't even manage to hide his disgust; dismay was written all over his features. Dumb-struck horror was not an attractive expression.
It was a good thing they were in a hospital, because he was about to have a seizure at any moment.
He couldn't speak. He couldn't even trust himself to move without making some attempt to strangle Gin. So he sat, wide-eyed and horror-struck, clipboard and pen held tightly in his white-knuckled fingers.
It seemed slightly ironic that feigning illness would end up being the death of him.
The smugness Gin felt showed. In his smile, in the lazy sprawl, hell, he was practically oozing it from every sing pore of his body. His eyes were trained on the magazine in his lap but a sideways glance every now and then told him that Yumi was ready to pop a vein.
That look on the designer’s face was probably not one that many people had seen and Gin took pride in being responsible for that comical expression. It was no wonder, really, that the publicist didn’t have many friends.
“Feel free to stroke,” he said, keeping his voice low, and flipped the page. “Might get us into an examination room and outta here a lot quicker if ya do. Of course, there’s the paralysis and the brain damage ya’ll have to deal with but…”
Letting his voice trail off, Gin turned his head to look at Yumichika, a reptile smirk on his lips.
That smirk. That cocky, sickening, infuriating smirk. Yumichika gripped the clipboard, fighting back the urge to slam it-repeatedly-over the publicist’s smug little head. He wondered if he could get fired for assaulting a coworker outside of the office. Since said coworker was both his superior and the boss’s boyfriend... chances were he’d not only get fired, but thrown in jail and sued as well. It almost seemed worth it. He could think of nothing better than bloodying that damn smirk and getting the hell out of there.
He turned his attention back to the paperwork, clinging desperately to his last threads of sanity.
Are you currently taking any prescriptions?
No, but he could use a good dose of... something.
Have you been out of the country recently?
No, but a vacation sounded pretty damn good.
Do you have any known allergies?
Yes. To one Gin Ichimaru.
Have you contemplated suicide recently?
...not even funny.
He looked up just as the waitress... nurse showed up with Gin’s order. She placed it on the end table next to them, giving Yumichika wary glances out of the corner of her eye. He threw some money at her and mumbled something unintelligible.
“Won’t be long now,” she said, edging away slowly when Yumichika’s glare hardened. “Try to hang in there, ‘kay?”
As soon as the food arrived, Gin was all over it. Tossing the magazine to the side haphazardly - it landed in Yumi’s lap, of course - he tore the plastic container open and lifted his lunch out of it. Pieces of shredded salad fell out from between the slices of flaccid toast when he took a large bite and made a contented sound.
“Dry and tasteless,” the publicist mumbled. “Bet hospital food can kill people faster ‘n germs. Wanna bite?” The sad and grey looking sandwich was hovering a breath away from the designer’s perfect little nose and lost a slice of tomato, which landed on the allergy question, along with another couple of salad shreds. “Faster it’s finished, the faster we’re outta here~”
Picking up his beverage, the blond slurped it through the straw noisily.
Oh, go choke on your stupid sandwich. Yumichika wrinkled his nose, trying to lean as far away from that... disgusting looking thing as he could. Take a bite? Of that? Surely not. He’d be damned if he was going to be done in by a couple pieces of soggy toast. It was bad enough that he was probably going to die of frustration.
“I’d rather not,” he hissed, batting the sandwich away. Frowning, he looked down at the piece of tomato that had landed on his paperwork. He stared at it for a moment, his eyebrow twitching at the blotchy stain that had formed beneath it. It made the whole paper look ugly and sloppy. He wondered if Gin knew all of his buttons and was pushing them on purpose, or if the publicist was just that lucky.
“I don’t know how you can eat that crap,” he said, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer. He was antsy, irritated, and damn near fuming. It was a miracle he hadn't said something stupid already. "Can't be good for you."
Gin Ichimaru never pushed people’s buttons on purpose. It just happened, nothing he could do about it - is what he would have said and there may have even been a kernel of truth to that statement. A long time ago, when he was still young and the world was a better place, he’d spent a lot of time on trying to find people’s weak spots, their strong points, how they ticked. Learning how to read people was hard work but it had paid off. It had become natural like breathing or blinking.
“Can’t be good fer me?” The blond lowered his sandwich and raised an eyebrow. Oh dear! Yumichika wasn’t really sick, was he? A bony hand reached out and was pressed against the designer’s smooth forehead. It didn’t feel hot or sweaty which was even more puzzling. “Almost fooled me into thinkin’ yer worried or really sick, petal.”
Taking another large bite, the publicist chewed thoroughly before he swallowed it. “Shouldn’t ya be wishin’ fer me to eat more crap? Might drive myself into an early grave, which’ll prolong yer lifespan by at least two or three years. ” A flock of nurses rushed past them, looking very much like startled geese.
Pale blue eyes gazed down the corridor. “Think somebody’s dyin’ down there?”
Yumichika jerked backward when Gin went to touch him. He cringed at the thought of all the little bits of food-dirt stuck to the publicist’s fingers, which were probably being transferred onto his forehead. His expression darkened as he gingerly wiped two fingers across his brow.
Shit. So Gin had known all along that he wasn’t really sick. Well, wasn’t that just perfect? Not only was this whole ordeal excruciating, but now it was also pointless. He considered storming out of the hospital, leaving Gin there with his stupid sandwich and his stupid shake. But... it was too much like surrendering. Liar though he was, Yumichika Ayasegawa was not a quitter.
He scoffed, rolling his eyes before returning to his paperwork. The damned form still had a piece of tomato on it, which he hastily flicked away with a growl of impatience. He ticked off a few more boxes, too frazzled to really care whether or not the information he was giving was correct. Gin was one of the few people who could get under his skin... and one of the very few people he couldn’t figure out in turn. There was no figuring out when it came to Gin. He was just... impossible.
The designer continued finishing the paperwork, doing his best to ignore the sound of Gin’s chewing. His nerves were worn thin, he was tired, and his head was starting to hurt. And... what was that racket at the end of the hall? Dying patient or not, those idiotic nurses should have learned how to panic quietly. There were sick people around! Not that he was one of them, but... that wasn’t the point.
“What, are you concerned?” he asked, still staring at the form in front of him. “Or are you thinking about ditching me to go watch the show?”
Gin polished off his lunch and wiped his hands on the paper-like napkin that came with it before his arm reclaimed its place on the back of Yumichika’s chair. His cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket but he steadfastly ignored it.
“I would never ditch you for a corpse, petal. How can you even think that?” The publicist sounded positively hurt but that didn’t prevent him from leaning in to look at the form. His brows furrowed a little and a bony finger extended to tap the spot where the tomato had dropped.
“Uh-oh! Ya smudged yer allergy responses. S’quite dangerous, ya know? It’d be tragic if ya died because the poor doctor couldn’t read the smudges there. I wouldn’t know how to ‘splain it to Mista Aizen. Know what? Ya should redo it,” the blond chirped, lowering the rest of his fingers to the sheet, crumbled it and tore it off.
The phone kept vibrating and was beginning to irritate him. With a sigh Gin pulled it out, flipped it open and shut again. Before he could do anything else, however, it went off again. Caller ID told him it was his own extension at the office and he assumed it was his assistant so he repeated his previous action.
That stupid plastic thing had the audacity to go off again. Only this time it was Mista Aizen calling. The publicist stared at it, willing it to stop humming. Of course, it didn’t. Must be important... Looking slightly miffed, he slipped it back into his pocket and peeled himself out of the chair.
“Playtime’s over, lil piggy. Yer gonna stay here or do ya wanna share a cab back to the office?”
Yumichika, in all of his frazzled glory, was doing his very best to ignore the publicist’s infuriating presence. This was... not impossible. Difficult, yes, but not impossible. He could do this; he could get through this alive, and without killing anyone, and without having some sort of panic attack.
He was calm. He was focused. He was the embodiment of Zen.
And then that damn phone went off. The stupid thing kept buzzing, and for some reason Gin seemed hell bent on ignoring it. Yumi tried to dismiss it, but was finding it very hard to remain calm and focused and Zen with that buzzing rattling around in his brain. His patience, which was stretched thin to begin with, was about ready to snap.
Just as he was gearing up to grab the damned thing and chuck it across the room, the blond finally decided to look at it and-what? Playtime’s over? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Surely Gin wasn’t suggesting that they just leave and pretend like this whole ordeal hadn’t been excruciatingly painful... for at least one of them.
So now, on top of being irritated beyond belief, Yumichika was also stuck between a rock and Gin-the hardest place of all. It wasn’t like he could take the rest of the day off... well, not if he wanted to keep his job. But he certainly didn’t feel like going back to work, either. He almost felt like throwing in the towel, going home, and taking a nice, long bath-or maybe drowning himself in a bottle of alcohol.
Shit.
In the end, his rational side won out. He needed his job, after all. His job gave him money, and money paid for clothes. And, as always, clothes were more important than his sanity.
Rising to his feet, the designer slammed the clipboard down on the table and stormed out of the waiting room.
At least... he tried to.
“Oh, no you don’t, mister,” said a high-pitched voice from behind him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder as Gin’s little waitress appeared at his side. “You’re not escaping this time. Not on my watch!”
Oh. Dear. God. He stared at her, slack-jawed, and just... gaped. She could not be serious. This could not be real.
By the time Gin caught up with Yumichika, the young brunet was already in the clutches of the nice nurse. That was a problem. Not a big problem but a problem nonetheless.
Since it was mostly - alright, completely - Gin’s fault that they were in this situation, it was up to him to save the designer. He practically owed it to Yumi after all he’d put him through, didn’t he?
‘Nope,’ the publicist thought, ‘I don’t.’ Staying close to the wall, he managed to slip past the nurse and her captive. When he reached the exit, he turned around briefly and waved at Yumichika, mouthing a silent ‘bye bye’ before he quickly stepped outside.
He.... didn’t. Gin did not just leave. No words were foul enough to describe Yumichika’s mood, but ‘livid’ and ‘enraged’ hit just below the mark. He could not believe that the publicist had just left him there. He could not believe the nerve of that man. He could not believe that this whole fiasco had been his own damn fault. It was more than he could take.
“Let go of me,” he hissed, squeezing the words out between clenched teeth. He glared at the door, Gin’s infuriating little wave still burning through his mind.
“Sir, are you sure?” the nurse asked. Eyes widening, she released him and took a step away. “I really think you should at least get looked at.”
“I’m fine now,” he spat. He refused to look her in the eye. He refused to put up with this any longer. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I guess I can’t keep you here.” Her expression held a mixture of pity and alarm. “And now that your partner left without you...”
Partner? Partner?! Yumichika had been certain that this day couldn’t get any worse, but that was the icing on the cake. Hell, it took the goddamn cake.
“Shut up.” He whirled around, fixing her with an icy stare. “Don’t say another word.”
He pointed a finger at her, as if daring her to speak again, and began to walk backwards toward the exit.
“I’m not sick. I’m not crazy. And for fuck’s sake, I’m not his partner.”
Once his back made contact with one of the glass doors, he spun around and pushed it open, hurrying outside before the poor nurse-who looked about ready to call security-could object. He must have looked insane, flailing around for a cab the way he was, but all he could think about was getting the hell home.
...
Later that night, after consuming more vodka than should have been physically possible, Yumichika came to the conclusion that Gin Ichimaru was none other than the Devil himself.