Bleach // Ficlet // veterans
Focus: Ichigo + Renji
Genres: Futurefic, friendship, humour, angst
Rating: K+
Wordcount: 397
Prompt: yankee
Summary: They survived, and for right now, that's all that matters.
Notes: For geofount, drabble request post 9/28/09.
veterans
The morning after the end of a world, Kurosaki Ichigo wakes up and meets a stranger in the mirror.
"Oh, jeez," he says, squinting at himself first with one eye and then the other. "Look at this mess. Dad's gonna kill me on Mom's behalf."
His face is sunken and haggard. Though his body is in fair enough shape despite Kon, his soul leaks through his skin and makes it look darker, full of shadows, hollow. There is a weary slump in his spine, all the weight of his bones and blood and muscle pulling him down into the ground.
Sweeping back from his ears, his hair drifts about the nape of his neck, longer than he's ever had it. It's frizzy from sleep.
"You look like hell," he tells his reflection.
"I concur," says Renji's voice from somewhere in his bedroom. "I've had nothing else to stare at all night. Dunno why they wouldn't assign me to Inoue, she's a damn sight finer to look at, even all worn out."
Ichigo shakes his head to clear the sleep from it and puts on a glare. "Fuck you, Renji. You'd look like shit too if you'd practically cut your damn soul in half to kill the most powerful shinigami who ever lived. 'Sides, I didn't have Hanatarou and the rest patching me up, like you sissies."
Completely ignoring this, Renji jumps up off the edge of his bed and stalks over to look him critically in the eye. Then he takes a fistful of orange hair and tugs, hard.
"Ow! What the shit, man!"
Renji grins and lets go. "So it is real. I'll be damned. Thought for sure you were some kind of lameass poser, or a yankee, or somethin'."
Ichigo glares at him. "It's my real hair, moron. I've told you that like eight times."
"Don't cut it. Long hair is better anyway."
"Says you."
The smile unexpectedly fades from Renji's face, halting just before disappearing entirely to leave only a wistful upturned corner. It's a strange expression on him. He puts a hand on Ichigo's shoulder, his strong swordsman's fingers digging in just a little. "Sorry, kid. I'm teasin' ya because I'm glad you're alive. It was kinda touch-and-go there for a bit."
"Don't call me kid," Ichigo replies, but there's no bite to it. It's just a reflex.
He's glad Renji's alive, too.
X.x.X
Genres: Futurefic, friendship, humour, angst
Rating: K+
Wordcount: 397
Prompt: yankee
Summary: They survived, and for right now, that's all that matters.
Notes: For geofount, drabble request post 9/28/09.
veterans
The morning after the end of a world, Kurosaki Ichigo wakes up and meets a stranger in the mirror.
"Oh, jeez," he says, squinting at himself first with one eye and then the other. "Look at this mess. Dad's gonna kill me on Mom's behalf."
His face is sunken and haggard. Though his body is in fair enough shape despite Kon, his soul leaks through his skin and makes it look darker, full of shadows, hollow. There is a weary slump in his spine, all the weight of his bones and blood and muscle pulling him down into the ground.
Sweeping back from his ears, his hair drifts about the nape of his neck, longer than he's ever had it. It's frizzy from sleep.
"You look like hell," he tells his reflection.
"I concur," says Renji's voice from somewhere in his bedroom. "I've had nothing else to stare at all night. Dunno why they wouldn't assign me to Inoue, she's a damn sight finer to look at, even all worn out."
Ichigo shakes his head to clear the sleep from it and puts on a glare. "Fuck you, Renji. You'd look like shit too if you'd practically cut your damn soul in half to kill the most powerful shinigami who ever lived. 'Sides, I didn't have Hanatarou and the rest patching me up, like you sissies."
Completely ignoring this, Renji jumps up off the edge of his bed and stalks over to look him critically in the eye. Then he takes a fistful of orange hair and tugs, hard.
"Ow! What the shit, man!"
Renji grins and lets go. "So it is real. I'll be damned. Thought for sure you were some kind of lameass poser, or a yankee, or somethin'."
Ichigo glares at him. "It's my real hair, moron. I've told you that like eight times."
"Don't cut it. Long hair is better anyway."
"Says you."
The smile unexpectedly fades from Renji's face, halting just before disappearing entirely to leave only a wistful upturned corner. It's a strange expression on him. He puts a hand on Ichigo's shoulder, his strong swordsman's fingers digging in just a little. "Sorry, kid. I'm teasin' ya because I'm glad you're alive. It was kinda touch-and-go there for a bit."
"Don't call me kid," Ichigo replies, but there's no bite to it. It's just a reflex.
He's glad Renji's alive, too.
X.x.X