misura
in
springkink
Redeemable [Bleach, Renji/Kira, PG]
Title: Redeemable
Author: misura
Rating: PG for implied indecent activities while under the influence of alcohol
Warnings: None.
Summary: The road to redemption was paved with half-baked intentions of suicide, possible pity-dates and alcohol.
A/N: A drabblet.
More than anything, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, of failure to notice something that surely, clearly, he could not have failed to see - the uncertainty of whether he might have seen something if he had been less in awe of Captain Ichimaru, if he might in fact have seen something, at some point in time, and dismissed it as unimportant, a figment of his imagination, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking. He spent his days miserably fulfilling those duties he was assigned and his nights sleepless - he half-expected to fade away to nothing at some point, or die without anyone noticing, let alone caring, or something like that. Instead, headed home one evening, he was grabbed and dragged to a place where people went to get drunk.
When he woke up the next morning, he almost welcomed the sensations of the hang-over. It was painful and unpleasant and there was a truly foul taste in his mouth, but the solidity, the sheer physicality of the sensations made him feel better, in a strange way. It would pass, he knew, with absolute certainty. He'd get some coffee and then he'd lie down some more, and then he'd begin to feel better and then, quite likely, he'd start to remember what had let to him being in such a state that a couple of well-meaning colleagues had seen fit to abduct him. For the moment though, he could find refuge in the hang-over. His head hurt too much to think, about anyone or anything.
Or so he'd thought until his brains began to point out some things about his environment, such as the fact that he was decidedly not in his own room. That, in itself, would not have been too much of a cause for alarm. The fact that there seemed to be someone sharing the room with him, however, was.
The idea that he might slip away quietly presented itself and was dismissed - mostly because he didn't think he'd quite be able to figure out which clothes were his without waking up the other person.
Hesitantly, he reached out, telling himself it would be best to get this over with quickly, if not, in all probability, painlessly.
"Before you get your hopes up: nope, still haven't turned into Ichimaru."
The bedhair reduced the effect of Renji's glower somewhat, or perhaps the glower was the only thing keeping the bedhair from being something to be amused at.
"A-abarai-kun."
It could have been worse, he supposed. No examples immediately occured to him, but ... yes, waking up to find he'd had drunken sex with Captain Kuchiki probably would have been worse. Captain Kuchiki would have been polite.
"You're a friggin' idiot, do you know that?"
Nice, to finally have someone get angry with him. All this time, people had been so very careful to be kind to him, to assure him that nobody blamed him for Captain Ichimaru - it had only made him feel his own guilt more keenly.
"Yes," he said meekly, bending his head, waiting for Renji to say more.
"Huh," said Renji. "Guess you're not a complete lost cause then. Good. I can't stand people who haven't got the guts to stand up for themselves."
"Would you like me to make you some coffee, Abarai-kun?"
Renji opened his mouth, closed it again, said: "Yeah, sure, why not?" and muttered something.
(He didn't go drinking with Renji again that night, and Renji didn't ask, but then, almost later enough for it to be morning rather than night, Renji came to his room with a shallow wound and a demand for a bandage, and Kira, groggy with sleep yet still awake, dutifully wrapped some white cloth around Renji's arm, knowing Renji would rip it off the moment it started itching - it was the futility of the whole thing that convinced him that just perhaps, it might mean something, really.)
Author: misura
Rating: PG for implied indecent activities while under the influence of alcohol
Warnings: None.
Summary: The road to redemption was paved with half-baked intentions of suicide, possible pity-dates and alcohol.
A/N: A drabblet.
More than anything, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, of failure to notice something that surely, clearly, he could not have failed to see - the uncertainty of whether he might have seen something if he had been less in awe of Captain Ichimaru, if he might in fact have seen something, at some point in time, and dismissed it as unimportant, a figment of his imagination, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking. He spent his days miserably fulfilling those duties he was assigned and his nights sleepless - he half-expected to fade away to nothing at some point, or die without anyone noticing, let alone caring, or something like that. Instead, headed home one evening, he was grabbed and dragged to a place where people went to get drunk.
When he woke up the next morning, he almost welcomed the sensations of the hang-over. It was painful and unpleasant and there was a truly foul taste in his mouth, but the solidity, the sheer physicality of the sensations made him feel better, in a strange way. It would pass, he knew, with absolute certainty. He'd get some coffee and then he'd lie down some more, and then he'd begin to feel better and then, quite likely, he'd start to remember what had let to him being in such a state that a couple of well-meaning colleagues had seen fit to abduct him. For the moment though, he could find refuge in the hang-over. His head hurt too much to think, about anyone or anything.
Or so he'd thought until his brains began to point out some things about his environment, such as the fact that he was decidedly not in his own room. That, in itself, would not have been too much of a cause for alarm. The fact that there seemed to be someone sharing the room with him, however, was.
The idea that he might slip away quietly presented itself and was dismissed - mostly because he didn't think he'd quite be able to figure out which clothes were his without waking up the other person.
Hesitantly, he reached out, telling himself it would be best to get this over with quickly, if not, in all probability, painlessly.
"Before you get your hopes up: nope, still haven't turned into Ichimaru."
The bedhair reduced the effect of Renji's glower somewhat, or perhaps the glower was the only thing keeping the bedhair from being something to be amused at.
"A-abarai-kun."
It could have been worse, he supposed. No examples immediately occured to him, but ... yes, waking up to find he'd had drunken sex with Captain Kuchiki probably would have been worse. Captain Kuchiki would have been polite.
"You're a friggin' idiot, do you know that?"
Nice, to finally have someone get angry with him. All this time, people had been so very careful to be kind to him, to assure him that nobody blamed him for Captain Ichimaru - it had only made him feel his own guilt more keenly.
"Yes," he said meekly, bending his head, waiting for Renji to say more.
"Huh," said Renji. "Guess you're not a complete lost cause then. Good. I can't stand people who haven't got the guts to stand up for themselves."
"Would you like me to make you some coffee, Abarai-kun?"
Renji opened his mouth, closed it again, said: "Yeah, sure, why not?" and muttered something.
(He didn't go drinking with Renji again that night, and Renji didn't ask, but then, almost later enough for it to be morning rather than night, Renji came to his room with a shallow wound and a demand for a bandage, and Kira, groggy with sleep yet still awake, dutifully wrapped some white cloth around Renji's arm, knowing Renji would rip it off the moment it started itching - it was the futility of the whole thing that convinced him that just perhaps, it might mean something, really.)