Bleach Drabble (470)
Ha, it's midnight and I have a b-day fic I'm actually on time for! Happy birthday Yumi, Virgo!
470.
Title: One September Night
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character/s: Ikkaku, Yumichika
Word Count: 996
Warning/s: Vague spoilers for their shared backstory, but nothing concrete.
Summary: Ikkaku and Yumichika through the ages.
Dedication: idiosyn-happy birthday! Hope you don’t mind sharing with Yumi.
A/N: Haha this thus far, has been the easiest of the September birthday fics I’ve had to write. I wonder why that is. XD
He sat in the fifty-third (west) district of Rukongai, in some shady bar where the waitress let him get a peek under her flimsy top while she asked him if he wanted anything other than tea for the umpteenth time. He’d looked at her tits of course (they were right there after all), but declined the drink for now-told her he was waiting for someone and he’d start drinking then. She seemed disappointed at the news, but told him she got off round about midnight if he was still interested afterwards anyway.
Ikkaku wasn’t particularly-more interested in getting some booze in his system at the moment, but for now he was waiting because it was the “polite” thing to do or some such shit. Had to wait for the guest of honor.
Tradition, after all, and while this wasn’t exactly the same, it was as far out as either of them could get for just one night. This place was definitely cleaner than the first one-a veritable five star establishment in comparison to the dingy hole from Ikkaku’s memories. Least here he could see partway through the drinking glasses.
He had a hot date tonight, you see. Made him cringe whenever the word came up, but it was only a once-a-year kind of thing, and he supposed he could deal with that since it felt important, somehow. How important it was he wasn’t sure exactly, but he did know that regardless, this particular early autumn night was always reserved for a disreputable bar on the seedy side of some Rukongai slum, for drinks and conversation and a good, bloody fight-- laughing eyes and flashing fists and the memory of a century gone since the first time happened, when he wandered inadvertently into a place just like this in some district just like this and unwittingly sat down next to a guy who looked just like a girl-- only to have his life changed forever.
And so he waited for a good hour-drinking lukewarm tea- until delicate footsteps caught his ear, until the rest of the tavern’s seedy clientele suddenly went quiet.
Something was here that didn’t belong.
He didn’t bother turning, motioned to the waitress to bring that whiskey he’d been wanting all night while the chair across from his slid out, filled with a familiar little form wearing a familiar little smile and the very same flowery-ass little outfit-faded a bit now but still distinguished despite everything-from that very first time they’d ever laid eyes on one another.
“Waiting long?”
“Late, ya fruity fuck.”
Yumichika chuckled at that, unapologetically. “It’s my birthday,” he declared.
“I coulda just bought you somethin’ shiny, fucker. Make me go through all this trouble year after year.”
“You never complain in the morning.”
White teeth flashed in a knowing smile then, and the fruity bastard knew him better than he thought-but then again, close near a hundred years was time enough for that sort of repertoire to develop whether he wanted it or not, he supposed. He smirked back, and it was more of a sneer than anything else. The waitress brought the drinks but didn’t flash him this time-probably thought the competition was too classy.
She’d be right on that account, Ikkaku admitted to himself, and watched his best friend down hard liquor like it was thousand dollar wine. Smooth as silk.
“Can’t believe you still got that outfit,” Ikkaku said after a moment, and as the alcohol warmed him, so did the memories. “You got nicer ones now.”
“It’s good to remember where we came from,” Yumichika replied, and damn it all if every eye in the room wasn’t still fixed on him. A hundred years couldn’t ever change the things that were just meant to be, it seemed.
Yumichika finished his drink and after a few minutes, turned eyes sparkling with anticipation up at his friend. “Ready?”
“Tch. Whenever you are.”
“It’s good to remember where we came from,” Yumichika reiterated, and everyone was still looking at him when he stood and sauntered over to the nearest occupied table-smiled real big and exchanged some words Ikkaku couldn’t make out but didn’t need to anyway.
The first punch thrown wasn’t Yumichika’s, but the fifteen after that were, and when Ikkaku stood and cracked his knuckles, he smiled and enjoyed the rush of adrenaline pumping in his veins, the familiarity and the anticipation and the knowledge that yeah this is who they’d always be, no matter where they went, no matter what they accomplished-how rich or poor they got, how they killed or died.
They whooped and laughed and took out twenty guys apiece that night, and afterwards, when they were drunk and lying on their backs in the rubble laughing breathlessly together, Ikkaku paid the tab and the damages because he could now, and helped his friend to his feet.
“Happy birthday,” he said, and patted Yumichika’s slim shoulders free of dust. “Now let’s go… got work in the morning. Don’t mess up your outfit more’n you have.”
“Thank you,” Yumichika responded brightly, and the two of them supported each other the whole long walk back to headquarters.
“Next year let’s go to the forty-second,” Yumichika murmured after some distance, and still sparkled despite his obvious drunkenness. “The forty-second was nice.”
Ikkaku snorted. “Fuck, we live another year, we’ll go wherever you want.”
“Silly, of course we’ll make it.”
“That a fact?”
Yumichika’s smile was luminous. “It’s what we do.”
The bald shinigami grunted. “Huh.”
“It’s who we are.”
“You’re drunk,” Ikkaku told him.
They walked on in comfortable silence after that, and despite himself, Ikkaku was already supposing that he ought to write down “42” on a piece of paper somewhere before he passed out for the night, otherwise he’d plum forget come morning, and Yumichika never forgot (or stopped holding a grudge) about anything. Especially the things Ikkaku forgot.
It was who they were, after all.
END
EDITS PLZ.
470.
Title: One September Night
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character/s: Ikkaku, Yumichika
Word Count: 996
Warning/s: Vague spoilers for their shared backstory, but nothing concrete.
Summary: Ikkaku and Yumichika through the ages.
Dedication: idiosyn-happy birthday! Hope you don’t mind sharing with Yumi.
A/N: Haha this thus far, has been the easiest of the September birthday fics I’ve had to write. I wonder why that is. XD
He sat in the fifty-third (west) district of Rukongai, in some shady bar where the waitress let him get a peek under her flimsy top while she asked him if he wanted anything other than tea for the umpteenth time. He’d looked at her tits of course (they were right there after all), but declined the drink for now-told her he was waiting for someone and he’d start drinking then. She seemed disappointed at the news, but told him she got off round about midnight if he was still interested afterwards anyway.
Ikkaku wasn’t particularly-more interested in getting some booze in his system at the moment, but for now he was waiting because it was the “polite” thing to do or some such shit. Had to wait for the guest of honor.
Tradition, after all, and while this wasn’t exactly the same, it was as far out as either of them could get for just one night. This place was definitely cleaner than the first one-a veritable five star establishment in comparison to the dingy hole from Ikkaku’s memories. Least here he could see partway through the drinking glasses.
He had a hot date tonight, you see. Made him cringe whenever the word came up, but it was only a once-a-year kind of thing, and he supposed he could deal with that since it felt important, somehow. How important it was he wasn’t sure exactly, but he did know that regardless, this particular early autumn night was always reserved for a disreputable bar on the seedy side of some Rukongai slum, for drinks and conversation and a good, bloody fight-- laughing eyes and flashing fists and the memory of a century gone since the first time happened, when he wandered inadvertently into a place just like this in some district just like this and unwittingly sat down next to a guy who looked just like a girl-- only to have his life changed forever.
And so he waited for a good hour-drinking lukewarm tea- until delicate footsteps caught his ear, until the rest of the tavern’s seedy clientele suddenly went quiet.
Something was here that didn’t belong.
He didn’t bother turning, motioned to the waitress to bring that whiskey he’d been wanting all night while the chair across from his slid out, filled with a familiar little form wearing a familiar little smile and the very same flowery-ass little outfit-faded a bit now but still distinguished despite everything-from that very first time they’d ever laid eyes on one another.
“Waiting long?”
“Late, ya fruity fuck.”
Yumichika chuckled at that, unapologetically. “It’s my birthday,” he declared.
“I coulda just bought you somethin’ shiny, fucker. Make me go through all this trouble year after year.”
“You never complain in the morning.”
White teeth flashed in a knowing smile then, and the fruity bastard knew him better than he thought-but then again, close near a hundred years was time enough for that sort of repertoire to develop whether he wanted it or not, he supposed. He smirked back, and it was more of a sneer than anything else. The waitress brought the drinks but didn’t flash him this time-probably thought the competition was too classy.
She’d be right on that account, Ikkaku admitted to himself, and watched his best friend down hard liquor like it was thousand dollar wine. Smooth as silk.
“Can’t believe you still got that outfit,” Ikkaku said after a moment, and as the alcohol warmed him, so did the memories. “You got nicer ones now.”
“It’s good to remember where we came from,” Yumichika replied, and damn it all if every eye in the room wasn’t still fixed on him. A hundred years couldn’t ever change the things that were just meant to be, it seemed.
Yumichika finished his drink and after a few minutes, turned eyes sparkling with anticipation up at his friend. “Ready?”
“Tch. Whenever you are.”
“It’s good to remember where we came from,” Yumichika reiterated, and everyone was still looking at him when he stood and sauntered over to the nearest occupied table-smiled real big and exchanged some words Ikkaku couldn’t make out but didn’t need to anyway.
The first punch thrown wasn’t Yumichika’s, but the fifteen after that were, and when Ikkaku stood and cracked his knuckles, he smiled and enjoyed the rush of adrenaline pumping in his veins, the familiarity and the anticipation and the knowledge that yeah this is who they’d always be, no matter where they went, no matter what they accomplished-how rich or poor they got, how they killed or died.
They whooped and laughed and took out twenty guys apiece that night, and afterwards, when they were drunk and lying on their backs in the rubble laughing breathlessly together, Ikkaku paid the tab and the damages because he could now, and helped his friend to his feet.
“Happy birthday,” he said, and patted Yumichika’s slim shoulders free of dust. “Now let’s go… got work in the morning. Don’t mess up your outfit more’n you have.”
“Thank you,” Yumichika responded brightly, and the two of them supported each other the whole long walk back to headquarters.
“Next year let’s go to the forty-second,” Yumichika murmured after some distance, and still sparkled despite his obvious drunkenness. “The forty-second was nice.”
Ikkaku snorted. “Fuck, we live another year, we’ll go wherever you want.”
“Silly, of course we’ll make it.”
“That a fact?”
Yumichika’s smile was luminous. “It’s what we do.”
The bald shinigami grunted. “Huh.”
“It’s who we are.”
“You’re drunk,” Ikkaku told him.
They walked on in comfortable silence after that, and despite himself, Ikkaku was already supposing that he ought to write down “42” on a piece of paper somewhere before he passed out for the night, otherwise he’d plum forget come morning, and Yumichika never forgot (or stopped holding a grudge) about anything. Especially the things Ikkaku forgot.
It was who they were, after all.
END
EDITS PLZ.