Brown Leafed Vertigo #12
Story Title: Brown Leafed Vertigo
Chapter Title: The Liquid Engineers
Author: foxflare
Disclaimer: I own no part of Cl2(aq) + H2O(l) ↔ 2H+(aq) + Cl-(aq) + ClO-(aq). Kubo Tite-sama whitens & brightens all.
Chapter Summary: It's Christmas Eve at Pure Souls, & some rifts are widened, while others are bridged. . .
XII. The Liquid Engineers
"I'm. . .dreaming. . .of a white. . .Christmas. . .just like the ones I used to know. . ."
Izuru's mouth quirked up in a wry smile as Gin sang along with Bing Crosby, whose smooth, mellow voice filtered through the speakers scattered throughout Las Noches Plaza. The fox-faced boy -- now his fox-faced boyfriend, he corrected himself, smile widening -- seemed to know the lyrics to every Christmas carol in existence and, more importantly, had the voice and nearly non-existent accent (in English, anyway) to pull them off.
Of course, he admitted, that could just be his personal bias speaking, but it made him feel good -- proud -- just the same. Even Renji's absence from school on this, Christmas Eve and their last day before winter recess, couldn't find the fingerholds to occupy his mind for longer than a fleeting twinge of worry. (The redhead had phoned Aizen the day before, "sick with a bad head cold" and staying at Rukia's until he felt well enough to make the trip home.)
Gin simply made him too happy to feel anxious, even when faced with the stares and poorly-concealed snickerings of their classmates as they'd walked through the halls hand-in-hand; even now, when confronted with the similar reactions of passers-by as they wandered the mall, arms looped loosely around one another's waist. On the contrary, Izuru felt bold and defiant, and not a little bit certain that, had he been with anyone less than Gin -- even if that someone had been a girl -- his discomfort with such public displays of affection would have manifested threefold.
But he wasn't, and it didn't, and nervous, timid Kira Izuru had very nearly mustered up the gumption to throw caution to the wind and flat-out kiss Gin in full public view -- not while everyone's back was turned, not while judgmental eyes were so focused on the sky as to be functionally blind to their actions; but here, now, in the middle of the plaza, with not even the leaves of a potted fern to conceal their attraction.
Nearly.
He thought he might be in love.
He hadn't said as much aloud, of course, and didn't plan on doing so anytime in the near future, but the notion was already incubating inside a small, warm pocket of his mind, even if it was "too soon," even if he knew that other people would shake their heads in derision and call it "puppy love." What other emotion could have sent the stones which had made a nest of his belly since he could remember feel well on their way to dissolving, or that they had cracked and sprouted flowers sunny as marigolds? What other word was there for the impatience he felt every night before falling asleep for morning to come so that he could see Gin again? And his writing -- he'd been writing every day, overflowing with words now, filling page after page with poetry before he went to bed, transcribing the rhythms of something he somehow knew but had yet to learn, something universal he felt on the cusp of experiencing for the very first time.
And Izuru had an inkling that Gin felt the same, if the older boy's downright goofy demeanor these past three days was any indication. If Izuru couldn't wait to wake up and see Gin, then neither could Gin wait to be seen. Izuru had opened his eyes Saturday morning to a garnet-eyed smile that, under any other circumstances, would have creeped him the hell out -- and he'd startled, true, but his yelp of surprise had turned into a laugh, and his initial nervousness when Gin, still clad in his clothes from the night before, had burrowed under the covers and wrapped his long limbs around Izuru's slender form, quickly ebbed when the silver-haired boy did nothing but lie there, cuddling him tightly.
It had been a strange feeling -- comforting, but tense. Izuru didn't think he had ever in his life been so conscious of his own body -- and of someone else's -- than in those few minutes' ambivalence between the demands of his heart and those of his bladder. He'd been almost afraid to move, almost afraid (yet eager) for Gin to move, to scoot his thigh up a little higher, to press his hips a little more firmly into Izuru's side. Showering had become an equally harrowing experience, with the knowledge of Gin, pale skin slick with soap suds, only a fiberglass partition away -- and, looking down, with the knowledge of his own physique, or lack thereof: the depth of the hollows behind his collar bones, the knobbiness of his knees and the flat, comically skinny expanse of his chest. He was now making a concerted effort to eat more (about which Aizen, at least, seemed pleased), but the thought of being naked with Gin, exciting though it was, also filled him with trepidation that whatever it was about him that appealed to the older boy would vanish in a puff of smoke once Gin saw what wasn't waiting for him beneath Izuru's baggy sweaters and narrow jeans.
Although, Izuru thought as Gin snared him into a spinning hug that sent his feet swinging dangerously close to a display of reindeer antler headbands during the chorus of "All I Want for Christmas Is You," being underweight did have its occasional advantages. . .
He was set back on his feet to the flash of a camera bulb and a high-pitched squeal of "Shounen aiii!!"
Izuru shyly ducked his head as Rangiku and Yumichika, both heavily laden with shopping bags, approached, their flawless faces adorned with approving grins.
"Do it again, do it again!" Rangiku urged, fiddling with the buttons on the shiny new digital camera she held in her hands. "This does video, too!"
"Mou, Ran-chan, ain'tcha s'posed ta be shoppin' for other people?"
Rangiku waved him off. "It's for the betterment of Soul Society." She was fuku- to Shuuhei's editor-in-chief of Seireitei's school newspaper. "Higher quality photographs will produce a higher quality paper. And anyway, it was on sale."
"Or it was placed on sale as soon as the store manager butted in to wait on her," smirked Yumi. "We're testing the theory that Matsumoto-chan's personal discounts are directly proportional to the number of times she jumps up and down in excitement over the products she's shown."
"And?" asked Gin.
"We're holding out on calling it a law until she can skip her way into a car at below dealer invoice price, but it's close."
Gin smiled proudly. "That's my girl."
Rangiku beamed, but sobered quickly. "Now, pucker up. My readers demand fanservice."
"Oh, leave them be, Matsumoto-chan," Yumi scolded her gently. "One cannot rush the blooming of romantic buds without risking tearing their petals off prematurely."
Izuru let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and hoped the androgyne was perceptive enough to catch the gratitude in his gaze.
"Mm, true," Rangiku relented with a little shrug. "Nothing kills the mood faster than the premature evacuation of petals."
"Quite right, quite right." Yumichika nodded in agreement. "And speaking of delicate blossoms, I believe we ought to collect Ikkaku and Tetsu-san from the game center before Grand Theft Auto drives away with the last of their savings. We'll meet you boys at the west entrance in oh, say, one hour?"
Gin shrugged. "Sounds good." He turned to Izuru. "You hungry?"
It was on the tip of Izuru's tongue to say no, but he thought better of it. "Maybe a little."
They made their way to the food court, but once there, Izuru frowned in confusion as Gin led him not to the taco stand or fried chicken counter, but between the two, ushering him hastily through a door marked with an 'Employees Only' sign that opened into an empty corridor lined with other doors, presumably to various storage rooms.
"Gin, where are we--"
His question was cut short as Gin kissed him thoroughly, surprise opening Izuru's mouth and allowing entrance to the silver-haired boy's steel-studded tongue.
"Fanservice," Gin explained when they broke apart, wrapping cold fingers around the nape of the younger boy's neck.
"But w-what if," Izuru stammered, his eyes growing half-lidded as Gin's mouth traced a path along his throat while he spoke, "what if someone comes in?"
Gin nipped gently at Izuru's earlobe, and spoke in a whisper that doubled his kouhai's heart rate, "What if someone don't?"
"And stay out!" Tsukabishi-sensei, topped with a toque and wielding a whisk like a truncheon, shouted after a fleeing Rin and Hanatarou before disappearing back inside the kitchen at the Pure Souls house. The two boys, white-faced but laughing, didn't spare their elders so much as a glance as they grabbed their shoes and pushed past Gin, Izuru, Iba and Rangiku on their way through the front door.
"Coats!" came Aizen's all-knowing voice from the dining room, to be answered with much rapid backpedaling, closet-rummaging, and darting again out-of-doors.
"I don't think I'll ever figure out how he does that," Rangiku shook her head, toeing off her boots in the genkan before lugging the vast bulk of her purchases up to the girls' dormitories. "Isaneee!" she trilled ahead of herself. "Come and see what the sunglasses kiosk guy gave me!"
On the boys' side of the house, Izuru was surprised to find the door to his and Renji's room open, and even more surprised to find not only Renji, but Rukia within. The redhead, his nose still inflamed and swollen, but not obviously broken, was doing push-ups on his knuckles on the floor, while his diminutive companion lay sprawled on her front on his bed, flipping through the latest issue of FRUiTS. Both paused in their activities at Izuru's arrival, and the air thickened noticeably with awkward tension.
"Hey," Izuru cautiously ventured, setting down his bags next to his dresser.
"Hey," the two replied in unison.
"I'll just, uh, go see what Matsumoto-san bought," Rukia delicately excused herself and closed the door behind her.
With a sigh, Renji ceased his push-ups and righted himself, sitting on the floor with his back against his bed. He seemed to be waiting for Izuru to speak first, and so he did.
"I didn't expect you to be back so soon."
"Che," Renji snorted (then winced). "And trade one of Tsukabishi-sensei's Christmas dinners for the Kentakkii of the masses? It'd take more than the wrath of a scrawny wimp like you to keep me away."
"Gee, thanks."
"Anytime."
Silence did its thing.
"Abarai-kun, I--"
"Look, Kira--"
Their voices collided, retreated.
". . .you go first," said Izuru.
Renji nodded, and took a preparatory breath.
"Look, Kira, I've. . .I did some thinking over at Rukia's -- I know it doesn't happen often, but I did -- anyway, I. . .I'm not gonna apologize for what I did. I still think Fox-Face is some bad fuckin' news, and I still think you're an idiot for not seeing that-- Lemme finish," Renji raised his voice to counter Izuru's automatic protest. ". . .but I also realized that it doesn't really matter what I think. You're gonna do what you're gonna do. But, Kira. . .your my friend, and I'll admit it, I get retarded about my friends. Believe me, I know how shitty life can be when there's no one there to stand up for you when maybe you can't stand up for yourself. And even though I wasn't there. . .I would've tried to talk you down. If I see you about to do some stupid shit, I will always try to talk you down. That's just the way I am, and you can either accept it, or you can't. I'm never gonna like Ichimaru. I'm never gonna like that you do. But if his weird, nutjob ass somehow makes you happy. . ."
"He does," Izuru asserted.
Renji sighed. "Well, then, I'm just gonna have to live with that. Literally. But I'm not gonna pretend it doesn't bother me, or that I don't owe him a punch in the face. I'm never gonna stop tryin' to talk you out of him, and you're just gonna have to live with that, okay?"
It wasn't, not completely, but Izuru knew that, for now, it was the best he was going to get.
"Okay," he said. "Thanks, Abarai-kun. But I. . .I am sorry, for the things I said. I really didn't mean for it to sound like. . .well, you know. And I don't blame you for not being there. You're no less of a friend to me now just because you weren't then -- not that you weren't trying to be. Honestly, if it had been you, I don't know if I. . ." Izuru sat down on his bed with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "This is starting to sound really bad. It's just that. . .that night on the roof, I ended up talking to the only person who made even less sense than I did at the time. I mean, looking back, it was almost like I ended up being the one to talk him down. . ." He shook his head.
"Hey," said Renji, "you don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to. But look on the bright side -- I can hate him for a lotta things, but convincing you to come back inside's not one of 'em. That's something, right?"
Izuru smiled halfway. "It's a start."
"Good. So, we square?"
"Yeah, Abarai-kun. We're square."
Renji held out his hand, and Izuru shook it firmly.
"Cool. Oi, and you know, speakin' of tryin' to save your stubborn ass, I ended up leaving Kuchiki-sensei hanging like a bride at the fuckin' altar to do it. "
"What do you mean?" Izuru frowned. "You found him?"
"I did. Things were going really well, too -- I think. But then I saw you and Fox-Face and 'Be right back, Sensei!'" the redhead mimicked himself, smiling and waving inanely. "And thanks to the number your fucking boyfriend did on my face, nope, I wasn't."
Izuru paled. "Oh, Abarai-kun. . .God, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well. . .up until then, I think I was rackin' up some points, so hopefully that'll offset the damage."
"It probably will," Izuru agreed, more for Renji's benefit than the honest belief that Kuchiki-sensei would exercise any uncharacteristic leniency. The man reacted to mere tardiness as though it possessed an intolerably unpleasant smell; Izuru couldn't begin to imagine the disdain with which he would greet having been stood up completely.
"Yeah," Renji said again, as if to convince himself, "hopefully."
"Oh -- here. . ." Izuru dug around in his bookbag and extracted a subject-changing manila folder thick with papers. "Aizen-san had me go around to all of your teachers today to collect your winter recess assignments. And there's this--" He handed Renji a small violet envelope that smelled faintly of wisteria. "There was one in the locker of almost every upperclassman. I couldn't get into yours, of course, but I assume you got one, too."
"Aa," Renji nodded, ripping into the envelope and flicking open the card inside. "He does this every year. Can't just pass out flyers or somethin' like a normal person. . ."
Izuru already knew well what the invitation said, but he read it again over Renji's shoulder anyway.
Ayasegawa Yumichika
requests the pleasure of your company
at a New Year's Eve Celebration
7:00 p.m. -- the discretion of the Rukongai Police Department
on Monday, the 31st of December
at his home
3-11-5 Ruri'iro, Kuja-ku, Rukongai
Attire is Casual
Music to be provided by
The Vizored
"So that's why he wanted to talk to Muguruma-san," Renji mumbled to himself. "Awesome."
"To who?" asked Izuru.
"Muguruma Kensei, Shuuhei's step-brother. He plays rhythm guitar for the Vizored, this local band. They're pretty good. Bleach Beat just offered them a record deal, but they're not sure if they wanna go through the hassle of negotiating with a big label. Anyway, they're suited to the task -- Yumi's parties are the stuff of fucking legend."
"Oh." Izuru frowned thoughtfully. "Does Ayasegawa-san actually have parents, or just a couple of commissioned portraits and three kinds of handwriting for forging signatures?"
"The debate is still ongoing. I think Sousuke even talked to him about becoming a Lost Soul once, but Yumi said he's content with his situation. Shit, if I had the run of a house like his, I would be, too. Plus it's not like he's ever really by himself. Ikkaku's always there when his folks aren't, and if he ain't, it's not like anyone who looks like Yumi is ever lonely for very long if they don't wanna be."
"Good point -- except when it comes to Hisagi-san."
"Eh. . ." Renji shrugged. "Senpai's a tough nut to crack, sure, but I've never known Yumichika to give up on a conquest until it's, well, conquered. I don't think his ego will let him. Haven't known him to ever be wrong about anyone bein', you know" -- he made a vague gesture with his hand -- "either. Hisagi'd be the first, but he's been sprung on Matsumoto since forever, so. . .it's a crap shoot."
Izuru smirked. "I'm surprised no one's taken bets."
Renji stared at him. "You mean you haven't been let in on the pool yet?"
". . .you're joking."
"Tell me how much money you got, then I'll tell you if I'm joking."
"I am not listening to this. . ."
"Hey, wait! I'm serious!"
"I'll see you at dinner, Abarai-kun."
"But -- Kira--!"
Gin prodded curiously at the mottled, red-purple bruise that now adorned his neck atop the tendon-strung bridge between his throat and right shoulder. His smile stuttered somewhere between a frown and a smirk.
He'd never had a hickey before.
No marks -- that was one of Sousuke's top rules, an absolutely unbreakable commandment. There could be no stones to turn, no evidence left behind. Gin and Sousuke together ceased to be, like the sound of a tree falling in an empty forest. They happened without happening. They occurred, but did not exist. It was a law that had been comforting in its time, an illustration (or lack thereof) of the stark contrast that could be drawn between acts of power and those of genuine adoration.
That Izuru would be the one to bridge that gap seemed funny to Gin, and not a little unreal. The blond was only alive, after all, thanks to Gin's prompting; he, and the marks he imparted, presented themselves only because Gin had willed them back to life. It was almost as if Izuru didn't really exist at all, except as a fragment of Gin's own whimsical desire. He wondered, if such were the case, if to bed the boy could be termed a kind of masturbation. He wondered if it would be considered incest, if Frankenstein fucked his monster of a foster son.
Even deadly little Lolita had said as much of her dalliances with hairy-fisted Humbert. If the sins of the father truly did afflict unto several generations, then wouldn't, Gin surmised with a smile, wouldn't they all be utterly aghast at the things their precious Hinamori-chan would one day reveal had been concealed within her sleeves? Leviticus and Kings, Chronicles and Ezra and Psalms, Nehemiah, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Daniel and Mary Shelley Mother of God knew Sousuke had stuffed Gin's own with barbed throwing stars and aces. . .
"'I was her equal,'" Gin quietly quoted to himself in the bathroom mirror,"'a faunlet in my own right, on that same enchanted island of time.'"
His mind traveled the backward span of three hours, back to an empty corridor, and the hot, hard feel of foreign bones and skin attempting to defy geometry and wrap fluidly around his own lean, angular form. Gin and Kira Izuru fit together like Tetris pieces -- the unyielding corner of an elbow, the last-second crook of a knee filling in a hollow space that might otherwise have incurred a game-ending pile-up -- and Gin was nowhere near ready to stop playing, even though he had been the one to halt their earlier explorations at Las Noches.
It wasn't nervousness, per se; but unlike Rangiku, Izuru possessed an aura of impending tragedy, like a pet bought already ill and given a home only so that it might live out its last few days in ignorant comfort. It was difficult to get close to such a thing. . .and difficult not to want to regardless. A sick puppy could still snuggle. An imaginary friend could still occupy a place at the table, when an adult was feeling indulgent.
And there lay the crux of the matter: three days had passed and still Gin's guardian had said nothing, done nothing to indicate his disapproval of the change in Gin's attachment to the newest Lost Soul. That was fine: Sousuke was a patient man, and Gin himself had learned to be so, for both their sakes. No -- what galled him was a persisting notion that he was being allowed Izuru, that his time with the blond was a gift, and not a stolen artifact. Gin refused to feel thankful for it, refused to succumb to gratitude for that which was being taken, and not bestowed.
It was simple psychology, semantics and perception: Sousuke was yielding to Gin, and would come to do so on Gin's own terms. He was giving Gin nothing until Gin decided he was giving in; only then would the moment be right. Gin had loaded the gun and spun the chamber, but only when he heard the bullet click into place could he dare point that barrel at Aizen Sousuke's perfect countenance. He would get only one shot, and he couldn't afford to miss it, couldn't afford to confuse Spin the Bottle with Russian Roulette.
Still, it was difficult, difficult to change a half-life-long way of thinking, despite his being hell-bent on swimming against the habitual current of his stream-of-consciousness.
They were so different, Gin's two lovers, his almost- and all-but-former: their bodies, Sousuke's ideal Vitruvian masculinity and Izuru's lanky, adolescent waifishness; their smells, equally warm, but Izuru's more ambery, a mellow vanilla to Sousuke's earthy spice; their demeanors, calm authority contrasting skittish meekness.
And Gin between them both, with his wiry strength, his submission to one and power over the other, his. . .
He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth like a surgical mask and breathed in deep, then let it drop with a shrug. Soap and fabric softener, but he had no particular scent of his own that he could detect.
Gin rotated his neck, cracking loose joints, then left the bathroom, only to bump immediately into something small, dark and, if he were so inclined as to judge the appearances of the opposite sex, handsome.
"Gomenasai, Rukia-chan," he smiled, steadying her with a hand on one slender shoulder. "I was lookin' where I was goin', 'stead of at the ground."
Rukia glared and jerked out of his grasp. "Ichimaru."
Gin feigned shock. "What, no honorific? I done somethin' wrong, Rukia-chan?"
"You hurt Renji."
Gin smiled at her, counting the beats, waiting just one too long. ". . .so I did, Rukia-chan. So I did. I'm real sorry 'bout that."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "No you're not."
"No," he admitted, shrugging cheerfully, "I'm not." He stepped close and bent down so that his face was level with hers. "But I'll tell 'im so anyway, if ya want. If ya ask me pretty."
Rukia visibly suppressed a shudder and took a step back. "You're a creep, Ichimaru."
Gin laughed, a light, tittering chuckle. "If you say so."
Down the hall, a door opened. Izuru stepped out of it, and Rukia wordlessly skirted past him to dart within.
"See ya 'round, Rukia-chan," Gin called after her, to predictably no response.
He only smiled at the puzzled look Izuru sent his way.
"What was that all about?" the blond asked.
Gin shrugged again. "Beats me."
"Um. . .okay. . ." Izuru looked unconvinced, but didn't pursue the issue. "Ano, Abarai-kun is home."
Gin sighed in disappointment. "So I gathered. He always manages ta sniff his way back sooner or later. My room, then."
It was early yet, despite their shopping trip -- half an hour until dinner at least. Gin took Izuru's hand and led him to the room he shared with Iba, who was sprawled on his bed, thumbing through a photobook of Yakuza irezumi.
"Time for butt sex!" Gin announced, jokingly but with the desired effect of his roommate's humorously hasty departure from the dorm.
"You shouldn't say such things," Izuru chided him.
"Why not? It got him ta leave, didn't it?"
"Well, yes, but. . ."
Gin tilted his head and regarded the blond with amusement.
"But what? You don' want him thinkin' we already engage in that kind o'scandalous vulgarity?"
Izuru examined the seams of his socks, curling his toes inside them like cashew nuts.
"Have. . .have you ever, before. . .?"
"Maa, you wouldn't want me ta say such things, would you, Izuru-chan?" the fox-faced boy tsked. "Kissin' an' tellin' is bad manners."
"Of course. . ." Izuru said distantly. Wrapping his arms around himself, he sank down onto Gin's bed and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I just. . .I love being with you, I do, and I want to be with you more, eventually, but I. . ."
Frowning, Gin sat down next to him, folding his long legs lotus-style. He reached up to tuck Izuru's forelock behind the boy's left ear, then cupped his angular cheek, turning his head so that he faced his senpai. Worry creased Izuru's brow.
"Doesn't it, you know, hurt?" Izuru asked.
Sometimes, Gin wanted to say, to console and encourage, not always. Not when you're doin' it right.
Wanted to, but couldn't, not without further prying open that which he had long ago swallowed the key to lock safely away. He changed the subject.
The blond yielded after only a moment, closing his eyes and gently caressing Gin's tongue with his own.
". . .did that hurt, Izuru-chan?"
"N-no, of course not--"
Gin leaned forward, hugging his arms around Izuru's torso and nuzzling his face into his kouhai's warm belly, inhaling amber and vanilla.
"Izuru-chan, my Izuru-chan. . ."
"G. . .Gin. . .?"
A tentative hand gradually came to rest atop Gin's head. Slowly, warm fingers began to comb through the silver strands of his hair, and he hummed in contentment at one of his favorite forms of contact.
"Mou, Izuru-chan, what do I smell like?"
Above him, he thought he could actually feel Izuru blink.
"What do you smell like?" Izuru repeated. "I don't know; you smell like. . .you just smell like you."
"Describe it ta me," Gin ordered, coiling himself more tightly around the younger boy's sitting frame.
A beat passed, perhaps two, and then Gin felt Izuru shift and bend, until he could feel the boy's warm, exploratory breath nearish his throat. He giggled.
"Tickles," he said, and felt the hot exhalation of the younger's amused chuckle.
"You smell like. . ." Another breath. The tiny hairs at the nape of Gin's neck pricked up at the sensation, and he clenched his jaw to stave off the shiver that threatened to judder its way down his spine. ". . .like the air right before it snows, kind of cool and. . .metallic, like. . ."
"Blood?" Gin offered.
Izuru laughed. "No, not like blood, like. . .like glass. Like when you're standing really close to a window, and it's winter, and even though you're inside and warm and you can taste the tea you've been drinking, you can still sense the air outside, how biting it would be if you were out in it, and you feel so lucky to be where you are instead."
"I smell lucky?"
"No. . .you smell like I'm lucky -- to be here, on this side of the window, with you."
Gin twisted around so that he was lying on his back with his head in Izuru's lap. He looked up at his boyfriend seriously, admonishingly.
"So corny, Izuru-chan!"
A bashful smile. That blush.
Izuru's eyes fell. He shrugged. "It's Christmas," he said.
His first, Gin remembered, without his parents. By circumstances both accidental and deliberate, his first grown-up Christmas -- a clumsy attempt to braid together the more mature, romantic aspects of the holiday out of the bedraggled ribbons that remained of his childhood celebrations. Gin struggled to meet him halfway, his own holiday experiences having worked in the reverse -- "play" before toys, and the Christmas cake icing always salted by the skin of Sousuke's feeding fingers, while the others slept and dreamt of the lesser things their Santa-san would leave them underneath the tree.
"That it is," Gin agreed, and resolved to pop a piece of cake into the boy's mouth before the evening closed.
Izuru's acute sense of his own stupidity sagged with relief at the knock on the door.
Gin sat up as it opened and their guardian's face poked into the room.
"Dinner's in ten, you two," Aizen informed them. "And Gin -- a word?"
"Jus' the one?"
"Gin."
"All right, all right. . ." Sluggishly, Gin rose and slouched out into the hall. Aizen shut the door behind him.
Left alone, Izuru covered his face with his hands. He was such an idiot. Glass? Gin smelled like this side of a window? But he'd felt he had to compensate somehow for his reluctance, had to prove that his prudishness was in no way platonically derived.
Doesn't it hurt? Moron. Of course Gin would expect their relationship to progress towards "that kind o'scandalous vulgarity." Of course other things, though they so far remained untried stepping stones spacing Nowhere and All the Way, would one day cease to be enough -- and Izuru had no idea how to calculate the speed at which that day was approaching. How fast did Gin expect things to move between them? How fast were they supposed to go? Was there a formula for it, a set of rules to which he had never been privy, having never traded such secrets hidden in banter and ribbing between close male friends? Were there different timelines for boys with girls and boys with boys (and girls with girls, for that matter)?
Izuru wondered if it would be worth the humiliation to ask someone about it. Definitely not Renji. Yumichika, maybe? He seemed to be experienced enough with things of this sort. . .
"So juvenile. . ." Izuru muttered, disgusted with himself. "Grow up already, why can't you just grow up. . ."
He sighed and allowed his body to slump forward so that his fingertips brushed against the floor. His hand grazed something hard peeking out from underneath Gin's bed and, curious, he slid the thing out fully to see what it was.
Elements of Applied Bifurcation Theory
He could see his reflection between the letters in the glossy cover of the thick, heavy textbook he didn't recognize as being part of the curriculum at the Academy. Gin was year twelve, which meant that, like Renji, he took both calculus and physics, but Izuru had never seen Renji with a book like this, and wasn't even certain which mathematical discipline it might belong to, if either.
He flipped through its pages, baffled by the terminology -- degenerate numbers, predator-prey systems, universal deformation and multiple shootings -- and even more confused by the familiar penmanship of the handwritten equations and graphs that crowded almost every page's margins.
Izuru knew Gin was a good deal smarter than he made himself out to be, but this. . .this was well beyond Academy-level work, this was. . .for a seventeen-year-old, this was incredible. . .
. . .and it begged the question: exactly how far, in what ways and for whom was Gin dumbing himself down?
For clever but procrastinatory Rangiku? Would Gin feel guilty leaving his best friend in his academic dust?
For Izuru? No, this had begun long before his time at Pure Souls. . .but that didn't mean his presence didn't give Gin further reason to perpetuate the stereotype of the dopey yokel from Kansai.
"What?!"
Izuru's head snapped up guiltily at the sudden volume of Gin's muffled voice through the door, and he quickly closed the book and returned it to its spot under the bed.
"Why? I only gotta see 'im every six months; it's only been three!"
"Gin, please, no whining--"
"I ain't whinin'! I just don't see why I gotta--"
"You know very well why you must."
"Yeah. I know." Something in the silver-haired boy's tone sounded at once both bitter and smug. His voice lowered, and Izuru had to strain to catch what few words he could -- ". . .see that puffed-up pink. . ." and "Gin. . .disrespect is uncalled for. Ushouda-sensei. . .to help you, as have I--"
"Ta help me, right. . ." Sarcastic and scornful.
". . .be antagonistic, Gin. . ." Gently reproachful. ". . .would hate to see. . .again require medication--"
"No. No fuckin' way." Venomous.
Izuru's eyes widened. He'd never heard Gin swear before, least of all in front of or at Aizen; but neither had he ever witnessed Aizen allow such discourtesy to roll off his back, and yet. . .
"I dearly hope not. The fifth, Gin. Don't forget."
"Me? Forget? Never!" Playful again, as if some internal switch had been flipped, or a circuit run (or shorted out?) -- but Aizen's response was lost in the sudden scream that resounded from down the hall.
"AAAAAAHH!! IBA-SAN, STOP! SOUSUKE-SA--"
Rikichi's voice was cut short and replaced by the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the walls as, Izuru correctly inferred, Iba finally took his revenge upon the younger boy's festival flatulence.
"Tetsuzaemon, that is not what I had in mind when I told you to wash up for dinner!" Aizen's voice retreated towards the bathroom as Gin's grew louder at the opening of the door.
"Yo, Iba-han! Give 'im one for me too, ne?"
"Is everything all right?" Izuru asked as he heard one of the toilets flush a second time.
The fox-faced boy didn't immediately reply, but first kissed him firmly, almost bruisingly hard, pushing him halfway back onto the mattress before lithely leaping into a sitting position beside him.
"Perfect," Gin smiled. "Hate ta say it, but the kid had it comin'."
"I meant with Aizen-san. You. . .you sounded a little upset."
Gin cocked his head at him curiously. "You been droppin' eaves, Izuru-chan?"
"No! I just. . .overheard. Not a lot! Well, not everything, but. . .who's Ushouda-sensei?"
"Eh. . ." Gin sighed and fell loosely back against his pillow. "A duck."
"A duck?"
He opened and shut his fingers, miming speech. "Quack quack quack."
"A doctor."
"Little bit."
"Little. . .a shrink. Your psychiatrist."
"Saa, Izuru-chan's too clever with words!"
"Why do you have to see him?"
"'cause o'you."
"Me?"
Gin lurched up into a sitting position, grabbed Izuru by the shoulders and shook him violently. "Ta make sure you're not makin' me crazy!"
He stopped, laughing at his boyfriend's alarm-widened eyes. "Just playin'," he said. "It's nothin', just a check-up. Isane-chan'll prob'ly hafta go, too; think she's 'bout due for her six-month overhaul."
"Kotetsu-san? But she's so. . ."
"Comparatively sane?"
Izuru pursed his lips. "I was going to say sweet."
"Maa, you don' think I'm sweet, Izuru-chan? I'm hurt! Kiss it better."
Izuru did.
". . .so do I?" he said after a minute, stretching out next to Gin and making a pillow of one bony shoulder.
"Do you what?"
"Make you crazy."
Gin laughed. "What a question. If ya do, then how could you trust my answer? An' anyway, ain't that what you're supposed ta do? Like in all them songs -- you drive me crazy an' I'm crazy for you. . ."
"Gin, please. I'm serious." Because if you're not crazy, he silently added, then why would you ever want someone like me?
Someone so comparatively deficient, someone so far less advanced in apparently every way. . .
Izuru's head bounced lightly with his boyfriend's shrug.
"I dunno, Izuru-chan. Maybe you keep me sane."
'Twas the night before Christmas.
Creatures stirred.
Cold wood against the soles of his bare feet, cold wood pressing against his fingers and palm. Cold wood encircling the shell of his ear, and cold sounds filtering through it from the room beyond.
Soft gasps. Muted whimpers. All for the little ones, Christmas joys.
"Sou. . .Sousuke-san. . ."
"Shhh. . ."
The beds of Gin's nails turned white as his fingertips dug into the door, the opaque door.
You can still sense the air outside, how biting it would be if you were out in it. . .
And the boy could smell it on him. The frigidity. The desertion.
No -- the defection.
Gin pushed off from the door and made his way, mouse-quiet, to the window at the end of the hall. He put his hand to the glass, the frost-encrusted, translucent glass, beyond which lay not only a room, but a world -- an entire Winter Wonderland at his disposal.
. . .and you feel so lucky to be where you are instead. . .to be here, on this side of the window, with you. . .
Gin watched the glass fog up in a diffusing outline of his hand as it pulled at the deeply hidden heat of his flesh, proving that it still existed -- that it was dormant, but not yet extinct.
He wondered what volcanoes dreamt of, if they made their own silver-backed looking-glass worlds out of superheated sand with the same hellfire that burnt all wood that was not petrified to fucking cinders.
We're in the building where they make us grow
And I'm frightened by the liquid engineers
Like you
My Mallory Heart is sure to fail
I could crawl around the floor just like I'm real
Like you
The sound of metal, I want to be you
I should learn to be a man
Like you
Plug me in and turn me on
Oh, everything is moving. . . -- Gary Numan, "Metal"
Chapter XIII
Chapter Title: The Liquid Engineers
Author: foxflare
Disclaimer: I own no part of Cl2(aq) + H2O(l) ↔ 2H+(aq) + Cl-(aq) + ClO-(aq). Kubo Tite-sama whitens & brightens all.
Chapter Summary: It's Christmas Eve at Pure Souls, & some rifts are widened, while others are bridged. . .
XII. The Liquid Engineers
"I'm. . .dreaming. . .of a white. . .Christmas. . .just like the ones I used to know. . ."
Izuru's mouth quirked up in a wry smile as Gin sang along with Bing Crosby, whose smooth, mellow voice filtered through the speakers scattered throughout Las Noches Plaza. The fox-faced boy -- now his fox-faced boyfriend, he corrected himself, smile widening -- seemed to know the lyrics to every Christmas carol in existence and, more importantly, had the voice and nearly non-existent accent (in English, anyway) to pull them off.
Of course, he admitted, that could just be his personal bias speaking, but it made him feel good -- proud -- just the same. Even Renji's absence from school on this, Christmas Eve and their last day before winter recess, couldn't find the fingerholds to occupy his mind for longer than a fleeting twinge of worry. (The redhead had phoned Aizen the day before, "sick with a bad head cold" and staying at Rukia's until he felt well enough to make the trip home.)
Gin simply made him too happy to feel anxious, even when faced with the stares and poorly-concealed snickerings of their classmates as they'd walked through the halls hand-in-hand; even now, when confronted with the similar reactions of passers-by as they wandered the mall, arms looped loosely around one another's waist. On the contrary, Izuru felt bold and defiant, and not a little bit certain that, had he been with anyone less than Gin -- even if that someone had been a girl -- his discomfort with such public displays of affection would have manifested threefold.
But he wasn't, and it didn't, and nervous, timid Kira Izuru had very nearly mustered up the gumption to throw caution to the wind and flat-out kiss Gin in full public view -- not while everyone's back was turned, not while judgmental eyes were so focused on the sky as to be functionally blind to their actions; but here, now, in the middle of the plaza, with not even the leaves of a potted fern to conceal their attraction.
Nearly.
He thought he might be in love.
He hadn't said as much aloud, of course, and didn't plan on doing so anytime in the near future, but the notion was already incubating inside a small, warm pocket of his mind, even if it was "too soon," even if he knew that other people would shake their heads in derision and call it "puppy love." What other emotion could have sent the stones which had made a nest of his belly since he could remember feel well on their way to dissolving, or that they had cracked and sprouted flowers sunny as marigolds? What other word was there for the impatience he felt every night before falling asleep for morning to come so that he could see Gin again? And his writing -- he'd been writing every day, overflowing with words now, filling page after page with poetry before he went to bed, transcribing the rhythms of something he somehow knew but had yet to learn, something universal he felt on the cusp of experiencing for the very first time.
And Izuru had an inkling that Gin felt the same, if the older boy's downright goofy demeanor these past three days was any indication. If Izuru couldn't wait to wake up and see Gin, then neither could Gin wait to be seen. Izuru had opened his eyes Saturday morning to a garnet-eyed smile that, under any other circumstances, would have creeped him the hell out -- and he'd startled, true, but his yelp of surprise had turned into a laugh, and his initial nervousness when Gin, still clad in his clothes from the night before, had burrowed under the covers and wrapped his long limbs around Izuru's slender form, quickly ebbed when the silver-haired boy did nothing but lie there, cuddling him tightly.
It had been a strange feeling -- comforting, but tense. Izuru didn't think he had ever in his life been so conscious of his own body -- and of someone else's -- than in those few minutes' ambivalence between the demands of his heart and those of his bladder. He'd been almost afraid to move, almost afraid (yet eager) for Gin to move, to scoot his thigh up a little higher, to press his hips a little more firmly into Izuru's side. Showering had become an equally harrowing experience, with the knowledge of Gin, pale skin slick with soap suds, only a fiberglass partition away -- and, looking down, with the knowledge of his own physique, or lack thereof: the depth of the hollows behind his collar bones, the knobbiness of his knees and the flat, comically skinny expanse of his chest. He was now making a concerted effort to eat more (about which Aizen, at least, seemed pleased), but the thought of being naked with Gin, exciting though it was, also filled him with trepidation that whatever it was about him that appealed to the older boy would vanish in a puff of smoke once Gin saw what wasn't waiting for him beneath Izuru's baggy sweaters and narrow jeans.
Although, Izuru thought as Gin snared him into a spinning hug that sent his feet swinging dangerously close to a display of reindeer antler headbands during the chorus of "All I Want for Christmas Is You," being underweight did have its occasional advantages. . .
He was set back on his feet to the flash of a camera bulb and a high-pitched squeal of "Shounen aiii!!"
Izuru shyly ducked his head as Rangiku and Yumichika, both heavily laden with shopping bags, approached, their flawless faces adorned with approving grins.
"Do it again, do it again!" Rangiku urged, fiddling with the buttons on the shiny new digital camera she held in her hands. "This does video, too!"
"Mou, Ran-chan, ain'tcha s'posed ta be shoppin' for other people?"
Rangiku waved him off. "It's for the betterment of Soul Society." She was fuku- to Shuuhei's editor-in-chief of Seireitei's school newspaper. "Higher quality photographs will produce a higher quality paper. And anyway, it was on sale."
"Or it was placed on sale as soon as the store manager butted in to wait on her," smirked Yumi. "We're testing the theory that Matsumoto-chan's personal discounts are directly proportional to the number of times she jumps up and down in excitement over the products she's shown."
"And?" asked Gin.
"We're holding out on calling it a law until she can skip her way into a car at below dealer invoice price, but it's close."
Gin smiled proudly. "That's my girl."
Rangiku beamed, but sobered quickly. "Now, pucker up. My readers demand fanservice."
"Oh, leave them be, Matsumoto-chan," Yumi scolded her gently. "One cannot rush the blooming of romantic buds without risking tearing their petals off prematurely."
Izuru let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and hoped the androgyne was perceptive enough to catch the gratitude in his gaze.
"Mm, true," Rangiku relented with a little shrug. "Nothing kills the mood faster than the premature evacuation of petals."
"Quite right, quite right." Yumichika nodded in agreement. "And speaking of delicate blossoms, I believe we ought to collect Ikkaku and Tetsu-san from the game center before Grand Theft Auto drives away with the last of their savings. We'll meet you boys at the west entrance in oh, say, one hour?"
Gin shrugged. "Sounds good." He turned to Izuru. "You hungry?"
It was on the tip of Izuru's tongue to say no, but he thought better of it. "Maybe a little."
They made their way to the food court, but once there, Izuru frowned in confusion as Gin led him not to the taco stand or fried chicken counter, but between the two, ushering him hastily through a door marked with an 'Employees Only' sign that opened into an empty corridor lined with other doors, presumably to various storage rooms.
"Gin, where are we--"
His question was cut short as Gin kissed him thoroughly, surprise opening Izuru's mouth and allowing entrance to the silver-haired boy's steel-studded tongue.
"Fanservice," Gin explained when they broke apart, wrapping cold fingers around the nape of the younger boy's neck.
"But w-what if," Izuru stammered, his eyes growing half-lidded as Gin's mouth traced a path along his throat while he spoke, "what if someone comes in?"
Gin nipped gently at Izuru's earlobe, and spoke in a whisper that doubled his kouhai's heart rate, "What if someone don't?"
"And stay out!" Tsukabishi-sensei, topped with a toque and wielding a whisk like a truncheon, shouted after a fleeing Rin and Hanatarou before disappearing back inside the kitchen at the Pure Souls house. The two boys, white-faced but laughing, didn't spare their elders so much as a glance as they grabbed their shoes and pushed past Gin, Izuru, Iba and Rangiku on their way through the front door.
"Coats!" came Aizen's all-knowing voice from the dining room, to be answered with much rapid backpedaling, closet-rummaging, and darting again out-of-doors.
"I don't think I'll ever figure out how he does that," Rangiku shook her head, toeing off her boots in the genkan before lugging the vast bulk of her purchases up to the girls' dormitories. "Isaneee!" she trilled ahead of herself. "Come and see what the sunglasses kiosk guy gave me!"
On the boys' side of the house, Izuru was surprised to find the door to his and Renji's room open, and even more surprised to find not only Renji, but Rukia within. The redhead, his nose still inflamed and swollen, but not obviously broken, was doing push-ups on his knuckles on the floor, while his diminutive companion lay sprawled on her front on his bed, flipping through the latest issue of FRUiTS. Both paused in their activities at Izuru's arrival, and the air thickened noticeably with awkward tension.
"Hey," Izuru cautiously ventured, setting down his bags next to his dresser.
"Hey," the two replied in unison.
"I'll just, uh, go see what Matsumoto-san bought," Rukia delicately excused herself and closed the door behind her.
With a sigh, Renji ceased his push-ups and righted himself, sitting on the floor with his back against his bed. He seemed to be waiting for Izuru to speak first, and so he did.
"I didn't expect you to be back so soon."
"Che," Renji snorted (then winced). "And trade one of Tsukabishi-sensei's Christmas dinners for the Kentakkii of the masses? It'd take more than the wrath of a scrawny wimp like you to keep me away."
"Gee, thanks."
"Anytime."
Silence did its thing.
"Abarai-kun, I--"
"Look, Kira--"
Their voices collided, retreated.
". . .you go first," said Izuru.
Renji nodded, and took a preparatory breath.
"Look, Kira, I've. . .I did some thinking over at Rukia's -- I know it doesn't happen often, but I did -- anyway, I. . .I'm not gonna apologize for what I did. I still think Fox-Face is some bad fuckin' news, and I still think you're an idiot for not seeing that-- Lemme finish," Renji raised his voice to counter Izuru's automatic protest. ". . .but I also realized that it doesn't really matter what I think. You're gonna do what you're gonna do. But, Kira. . .your my friend, and I'll admit it, I get retarded about my friends. Believe me, I know how shitty life can be when there's no one there to stand up for you when maybe you can't stand up for yourself. And even though I wasn't there. . .I would've tried to talk you down. If I see you about to do some stupid shit, I will always try to talk you down. That's just the way I am, and you can either accept it, or you can't. I'm never gonna like Ichimaru. I'm never gonna like that you do. But if his weird, nutjob ass somehow makes you happy. . ."
"He does," Izuru asserted.
Renji sighed. "Well, then, I'm just gonna have to live with that. Literally. But I'm not gonna pretend it doesn't bother me, or that I don't owe him a punch in the face. I'm never gonna stop tryin' to talk you out of him, and you're just gonna have to live with that, okay?"
It wasn't, not completely, but Izuru knew that, for now, it was the best he was going to get.
"Okay," he said. "Thanks, Abarai-kun. But I. . .I am sorry, for the things I said. I really didn't mean for it to sound like. . .well, you know. And I don't blame you for not being there. You're no less of a friend to me now just because you weren't then -- not that you weren't trying to be. Honestly, if it had been you, I don't know if I. . ." Izuru sat down on his bed with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "This is starting to sound really bad. It's just that. . .that night on the roof, I ended up talking to the only person who made even less sense than I did at the time. I mean, looking back, it was almost like I ended up being the one to talk him down. . ." He shook his head.
"Hey," said Renji, "you don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to. But look on the bright side -- I can hate him for a lotta things, but convincing you to come back inside's not one of 'em. That's something, right?"
Izuru smiled halfway. "It's a start."
"Good. So, we square?"
"Yeah, Abarai-kun. We're square."
Renji held out his hand, and Izuru shook it firmly.
"Cool. Oi, and you know, speakin' of tryin' to save your stubborn ass, I ended up leaving Kuchiki-sensei hanging like a bride at the fuckin' altar to do it. "
"What do you mean?" Izuru frowned. "You found him?"
"I did. Things were going really well, too -- I think. But then I saw you and Fox-Face and 'Be right back, Sensei!'" the redhead mimicked himself, smiling and waving inanely. "And thanks to the number your fucking boyfriend did on my face, nope, I wasn't."
Izuru paled. "Oh, Abarai-kun. . .God, I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, well. . .up until then, I think I was rackin' up some points, so hopefully that'll offset the damage."
"It probably will," Izuru agreed, more for Renji's benefit than the honest belief that Kuchiki-sensei would exercise any uncharacteristic leniency. The man reacted to mere tardiness as though it possessed an intolerably unpleasant smell; Izuru couldn't begin to imagine the disdain with which he would greet having been stood up completely.
"Yeah," Renji said again, as if to convince himself, "hopefully."
"Oh -- here. . ." Izuru dug around in his bookbag and extracted a subject-changing manila folder thick with papers. "Aizen-san had me go around to all of your teachers today to collect your winter recess assignments. And there's this--" He handed Renji a small violet envelope that smelled faintly of wisteria. "There was one in the locker of almost every upperclassman. I couldn't get into yours, of course, but I assume you got one, too."
"Aa," Renji nodded, ripping into the envelope and flicking open the card inside. "He does this every year. Can't just pass out flyers or somethin' like a normal person. . ."
Izuru already knew well what the invitation said, but he read it again over Renji's shoulder anyway.
Ayasegawa Yumichika
requests the pleasure of your company
at a New Year's Eve Celebration
7:00 p.m. -- the discretion of the Rukongai Police Department
on Monday, the 31st of December
at his home
3-11-5 Ruri'iro, Kuja-ku, Rukongai
Attire is Casual
Music to be provided by
The Vizored
"So that's why he wanted to talk to Muguruma-san," Renji mumbled to himself. "Awesome."
"To who?" asked Izuru.
"Muguruma Kensei, Shuuhei's step-brother. He plays rhythm guitar for the Vizored, this local band. They're pretty good. Bleach Beat just offered them a record deal, but they're not sure if they wanna go through the hassle of negotiating with a big label. Anyway, they're suited to the task -- Yumi's parties are the stuff of fucking legend."
"Oh." Izuru frowned thoughtfully. "Does Ayasegawa-san actually have parents, or just a couple of commissioned portraits and three kinds of handwriting for forging signatures?"
"The debate is still ongoing. I think Sousuke even talked to him about becoming a Lost Soul once, but Yumi said he's content with his situation. Shit, if I had the run of a house like his, I would be, too. Plus it's not like he's ever really by himself. Ikkaku's always there when his folks aren't, and if he ain't, it's not like anyone who looks like Yumi is ever lonely for very long if they don't wanna be."
"Good point -- except when it comes to Hisagi-san."
"Eh. . ." Renji shrugged. "Senpai's a tough nut to crack, sure, but I've never known Yumichika to give up on a conquest until it's, well, conquered. I don't think his ego will let him. Haven't known him to ever be wrong about anyone bein', you know" -- he made a vague gesture with his hand -- "either. Hisagi'd be the first, but he's been sprung on Matsumoto since forever, so. . .it's a crap shoot."
Izuru smirked. "I'm surprised no one's taken bets."
Renji stared at him. "You mean you haven't been let in on the pool yet?"
". . .you're joking."
"Tell me how much money you got, then I'll tell you if I'm joking."
"I am not listening to this. . ."
"Hey, wait! I'm serious!"
"I'll see you at dinner, Abarai-kun."
"But -- Kira--!"
Gin prodded curiously at the mottled, red-purple bruise that now adorned his neck atop the tendon-strung bridge between his throat and right shoulder. His smile stuttered somewhere between a frown and a smirk.
He'd never had a hickey before.
No marks -- that was one of Sousuke's top rules, an absolutely unbreakable commandment. There could be no stones to turn, no evidence left behind. Gin and Sousuke together ceased to be, like the sound of a tree falling in an empty forest. They happened without happening. They occurred, but did not exist. It was a law that had been comforting in its time, an illustration (or lack thereof) of the stark contrast that could be drawn between acts of power and those of genuine adoration.
That Izuru would be the one to bridge that gap seemed funny to Gin, and not a little unreal. The blond was only alive, after all, thanks to Gin's prompting; he, and the marks he imparted, presented themselves only because Gin had willed them back to life. It was almost as if Izuru didn't really exist at all, except as a fragment of Gin's own whimsical desire. He wondered, if such were the case, if to bed the boy could be termed a kind of masturbation. He wondered if it would be considered incest, if Frankenstein fucked his monster of a foster son.
Even deadly little Lolita had said as much of her dalliances with hairy-fisted Humbert. If the sins of the father truly did afflict unto several generations, then wouldn't, Gin surmised with a smile, wouldn't they all be utterly aghast at the things their precious Hinamori-chan would one day reveal had been concealed within her sleeves? Leviticus and Kings, Chronicles and Ezra and Psalms, Nehemiah, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Daniel and Mary Shelley Mother of God knew Sousuke had stuffed Gin's own with barbed throwing stars and aces. . .
"'I was her equal,'" Gin quietly quoted to himself in the bathroom mirror,"'a faunlet in my own right, on that same enchanted island of time.'"
His mind traveled the backward span of three hours, back to an empty corridor, and the hot, hard feel of foreign bones and skin attempting to defy geometry and wrap fluidly around his own lean, angular form. Gin and Kira Izuru fit together like Tetris pieces -- the unyielding corner of an elbow, the last-second crook of a knee filling in a hollow space that might otherwise have incurred a game-ending pile-up -- and Gin was nowhere near ready to stop playing, even though he had been the one to halt their earlier explorations at Las Noches.
It wasn't nervousness, per se; but unlike Rangiku, Izuru possessed an aura of impending tragedy, like a pet bought already ill and given a home only so that it might live out its last few days in ignorant comfort. It was difficult to get close to such a thing. . .and difficult not to want to regardless. A sick puppy could still snuggle. An imaginary friend could still occupy a place at the table, when an adult was feeling indulgent.
And there lay the crux of the matter: three days had passed and still Gin's guardian had said nothing, done nothing to indicate his disapproval of the change in Gin's attachment to the newest Lost Soul. That was fine: Sousuke was a patient man, and Gin himself had learned to be so, for both their sakes. No -- what galled him was a persisting notion that he was being allowed Izuru, that his time with the blond was a gift, and not a stolen artifact. Gin refused to feel thankful for it, refused to succumb to gratitude for that which was being taken, and not bestowed.
It was simple psychology, semantics and perception: Sousuke was yielding to Gin, and would come to do so on Gin's own terms. He was giving Gin nothing until Gin decided he was giving in; only then would the moment be right. Gin had loaded the gun and spun the chamber, but only when he heard the bullet click into place could he dare point that barrel at Aizen Sousuke's perfect countenance. He would get only one shot, and he couldn't afford to miss it, couldn't afford to confuse Spin the Bottle with Russian Roulette.
Still, it was difficult, difficult to change a half-life-long way of thinking, despite his being hell-bent on swimming against the habitual current of his stream-of-consciousness.
They were so different, Gin's two lovers, his almost- and all-but-former: their bodies, Sousuke's ideal Vitruvian masculinity and Izuru's lanky, adolescent waifishness; their smells, equally warm, but Izuru's more ambery, a mellow vanilla to Sousuke's earthy spice; their demeanors, calm authority contrasting skittish meekness.
And Gin between them both, with his wiry strength, his submission to one and power over the other, his. . .
He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth like a surgical mask and breathed in deep, then let it drop with a shrug. Soap and fabric softener, but he had no particular scent of his own that he could detect.
Gin rotated his neck, cracking loose joints, then left the bathroom, only to bump immediately into something small, dark and, if he were so inclined as to judge the appearances of the opposite sex, handsome.
"Gomenasai, Rukia-chan," he smiled, steadying her with a hand on one slender shoulder. "I was lookin' where I was goin', 'stead of at the ground."
Rukia glared and jerked out of his grasp. "Ichimaru."
Gin feigned shock. "What, no honorific? I done somethin' wrong, Rukia-chan?"
"You hurt Renji."
Gin smiled at her, counting the beats, waiting just one too long. ". . .so I did, Rukia-chan. So I did. I'm real sorry 'bout that."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "No you're not."
"No," he admitted, shrugging cheerfully, "I'm not." He stepped close and bent down so that his face was level with hers. "But I'll tell 'im so anyway, if ya want. If ya ask me pretty."
Rukia visibly suppressed a shudder and took a step back. "You're a creep, Ichimaru."
Gin laughed, a light, tittering chuckle. "If you say so."
Down the hall, a door opened. Izuru stepped out of it, and Rukia wordlessly skirted past him to dart within.
"See ya 'round, Rukia-chan," Gin called after her, to predictably no response.
He only smiled at the puzzled look Izuru sent his way.
"What was that all about?" the blond asked.
Gin shrugged again. "Beats me."
"Um. . .okay. . ." Izuru looked unconvinced, but didn't pursue the issue. "Ano, Abarai-kun is home."
Gin sighed in disappointment. "So I gathered. He always manages ta sniff his way back sooner or later. My room, then."
It was early yet, despite their shopping trip -- half an hour until dinner at least. Gin took Izuru's hand and led him to the room he shared with Iba, who was sprawled on his bed, thumbing through a photobook of Yakuza irezumi.
"Time for butt sex!" Gin announced, jokingly but with the desired effect of his roommate's humorously hasty departure from the dorm.
"You shouldn't say such things," Izuru chided him.
"Why not? It got him ta leave, didn't it?"
"Well, yes, but. . ."
Gin tilted his head and regarded the blond with amusement.
"But what? You don' want him thinkin' we already engage in that kind o'scandalous vulgarity?"
Izuru examined the seams of his socks, curling his toes inside them like cashew nuts.
"Have. . .have you ever, before. . .?"
"Maa, you wouldn't want me ta say such things, would you, Izuru-chan?" the fox-faced boy tsked. "Kissin' an' tellin' is bad manners."
"Of course. . ." Izuru said distantly. Wrapping his arms around himself, he sank down onto Gin's bed and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I just. . .I love being with you, I do, and I want to be with you more, eventually, but I. . ."
Frowning, Gin sat down next to him, folding his long legs lotus-style. He reached up to tuck Izuru's forelock behind the boy's left ear, then cupped his angular cheek, turning his head so that he faced his senpai. Worry creased Izuru's brow.
"Doesn't it, you know, hurt?" Izuru asked.
Sometimes, Gin wanted to say, to console and encourage, not always. Not when you're doin' it right.
Wanted to, but couldn't, not without further prying open that which he had long ago swallowed the key to lock safely away. He changed the subject.
The blond yielded after only a moment, closing his eyes and gently caressing Gin's tongue with his own.
". . .did that hurt, Izuru-chan?"
"N-no, of course not--"
Gin leaned forward, hugging his arms around Izuru's torso and nuzzling his face into his kouhai's warm belly, inhaling amber and vanilla.
"Izuru-chan, my Izuru-chan. . ."
"G. . .Gin. . .?"
A tentative hand gradually came to rest atop Gin's head. Slowly, warm fingers began to comb through the silver strands of his hair, and he hummed in contentment at one of his favorite forms of contact.
"Mou, Izuru-chan, what do I smell like?"
Above him, he thought he could actually feel Izuru blink.
"What do you smell like?" Izuru repeated. "I don't know; you smell like. . .you just smell like you."
"Describe it ta me," Gin ordered, coiling himself more tightly around the younger boy's sitting frame.
A beat passed, perhaps two, and then Gin felt Izuru shift and bend, until he could feel the boy's warm, exploratory breath nearish his throat. He giggled.
"Tickles," he said, and felt the hot exhalation of the younger's amused chuckle.
"You smell like. . ." Another breath. The tiny hairs at the nape of Gin's neck pricked up at the sensation, and he clenched his jaw to stave off the shiver that threatened to judder its way down his spine. ". . .like the air right before it snows, kind of cool and. . .metallic, like. . ."
"Blood?" Gin offered.
Izuru laughed. "No, not like blood, like. . .like glass. Like when you're standing really close to a window, and it's winter, and even though you're inside and warm and you can taste the tea you've been drinking, you can still sense the air outside, how biting it would be if you were out in it, and you feel so lucky to be where you are instead."
"I smell lucky?"
"No. . .you smell like I'm lucky -- to be here, on this side of the window, with you."
Gin twisted around so that he was lying on his back with his head in Izuru's lap. He looked up at his boyfriend seriously, admonishingly.
"So corny, Izuru-chan!"
A bashful smile. That blush.
Izuru's eyes fell. He shrugged. "It's Christmas," he said.
His first, Gin remembered, without his parents. By circumstances both accidental and deliberate, his first grown-up Christmas -- a clumsy attempt to braid together the more mature, romantic aspects of the holiday out of the bedraggled ribbons that remained of his childhood celebrations. Gin struggled to meet him halfway, his own holiday experiences having worked in the reverse -- "play" before toys, and the Christmas cake icing always salted by the skin of Sousuke's feeding fingers, while the others slept and dreamt of the lesser things their Santa-san would leave them underneath the tree.
"That it is," Gin agreed, and resolved to pop a piece of cake into the boy's mouth before the evening closed.
Izuru's acute sense of his own stupidity sagged with relief at the knock on the door.
Gin sat up as it opened and their guardian's face poked into the room.
"Dinner's in ten, you two," Aizen informed them. "And Gin -- a word?"
"Jus' the one?"
"Gin."
"All right, all right. . ." Sluggishly, Gin rose and slouched out into the hall. Aizen shut the door behind him.
Left alone, Izuru covered his face with his hands. He was such an idiot. Glass? Gin smelled like this side of a window? But he'd felt he had to compensate somehow for his reluctance, had to prove that his prudishness was in no way platonically derived.
Doesn't it hurt? Moron. Of course Gin would expect their relationship to progress towards "that kind o'scandalous vulgarity." Of course other things, though they so far remained untried stepping stones spacing Nowhere and All the Way, would one day cease to be enough -- and Izuru had no idea how to calculate the speed at which that day was approaching. How fast did Gin expect things to move between them? How fast were they supposed to go? Was there a formula for it, a set of rules to which he had never been privy, having never traded such secrets hidden in banter and ribbing between close male friends? Were there different timelines for boys with girls and boys with boys (and girls with girls, for that matter)?
Izuru wondered if it would be worth the humiliation to ask someone about it. Definitely not Renji. Yumichika, maybe? He seemed to be experienced enough with things of this sort. . .
"So juvenile. . ." Izuru muttered, disgusted with himself. "Grow up already, why can't you just grow up. . ."
He sighed and allowed his body to slump forward so that his fingertips brushed against the floor. His hand grazed something hard peeking out from underneath Gin's bed and, curious, he slid the thing out fully to see what it was.
Elements of Applied Bifurcation Theory
He could see his reflection between the letters in the glossy cover of the thick, heavy textbook he didn't recognize as being part of the curriculum at the Academy. Gin was year twelve, which meant that, like Renji, he took both calculus and physics, but Izuru had never seen Renji with a book like this, and wasn't even certain which mathematical discipline it might belong to, if either.
He flipped through its pages, baffled by the terminology -- degenerate numbers, predator-prey systems, universal deformation and multiple shootings -- and even more confused by the familiar penmanship of the handwritten equations and graphs that crowded almost every page's margins.
Izuru knew Gin was a good deal smarter than he made himself out to be, but this. . .this was well beyond Academy-level work, this was. . .for a seventeen-year-old, this was incredible. . .
. . .and it begged the question: exactly how far, in what ways and for whom was Gin dumbing himself down?
For clever but procrastinatory Rangiku? Would Gin feel guilty leaving his best friend in his academic dust?
For Izuru? No, this had begun long before his time at Pure Souls. . .but that didn't mean his presence didn't give Gin further reason to perpetuate the stereotype of the dopey yokel from Kansai.
"What?!"
Izuru's head snapped up guiltily at the sudden volume of Gin's muffled voice through the door, and he quickly closed the book and returned it to its spot under the bed.
"Why? I only gotta see 'im every six months; it's only been three!"
"Gin, please, no whining--"
"I ain't whinin'! I just don't see why I gotta--"
"You know very well why you must."
"Yeah. I know." Something in the silver-haired boy's tone sounded at once both bitter and smug. His voice lowered, and Izuru had to strain to catch what few words he could -- ". . .see that puffed-up pink. . ." and "Gin. . .disrespect is uncalled for. Ushouda-sensei. . .to help you, as have I--"
"Ta help me, right. . ." Sarcastic and scornful.
". . .be antagonistic, Gin. . ." Gently reproachful. ". . .would hate to see. . .again require medication--"
"No. No fuckin' way." Venomous.
Izuru's eyes widened. He'd never heard Gin swear before, least of all in front of or at Aizen; but neither had he ever witnessed Aizen allow such discourtesy to roll off his back, and yet. . .
"I dearly hope not. The fifth, Gin. Don't forget."
"Me? Forget? Never!" Playful again, as if some internal switch had been flipped, or a circuit run (or shorted out?) -- but Aizen's response was lost in the sudden scream that resounded from down the hall.
"AAAAAAHH!! IBA-SAN, STOP! SOUSUKE-SA--"
Rikichi's voice was cut short and replaced by the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the walls as, Izuru correctly inferred, Iba finally took his revenge upon the younger boy's festival flatulence.
"Tetsuzaemon, that is not what I had in mind when I told you to wash up for dinner!" Aizen's voice retreated towards the bathroom as Gin's grew louder at the opening of the door.
"Yo, Iba-han! Give 'im one for me too, ne?"
"Is everything all right?" Izuru asked as he heard one of the toilets flush a second time.
The fox-faced boy didn't immediately reply, but first kissed him firmly, almost bruisingly hard, pushing him halfway back onto the mattress before lithely leaping into a sitting position beside him.
"Perfect," Gin smiled. "Hate ta say it, but the kid had it comin'."
"I meant with Aizen-san. You. . .you sounded a little upset."
Gin cocked his head at him curiously. "You been droppin' eaves, Izuru-chan?"
"No! I just. . .overheard. Not a lot! Well, not everything, but. . .who's Ushouda-sensei?"
"Eh. . ." Gin sighed and fell loosely back against his pillow. "A duck."
"A duck?"
He opened and shut his fingers, miming speech. "Quack quack quack."
"A doctor."
"Little bit."
"Little. . .a shrink. Your psychiatrist."
"Saa, Izuru-chan's too clever with words!"
"Why do you have to see him?"
"'cause o'you."
"Me?"
Gin lurched up into a sitting position, grabbed Izuru by the shoulders and shook him violently. "Ta make sure you're not makin' me crazy!"
He stopped, laughing at his boyfriend's alarm-widened eyes. "Just playin'," he said. "It's nothin', just a check-up. Isane-chan'll prob'ly hafta go, too; think she's 'bout due for her six-month overhaul."
"Kotetsu-san? But she's so. . ."
"Comparatively sane?"
Izuru pursed his lips. "I was going to say sweet."
"Maa, you don' think I'm sweet, Izuru-chan? I'm hurt! Kiss it better."
Izuru did.
". . .so do I?" he said after a minute, stretching out next to Gin and making a pillow of one bony shoulder.
"Do you what?"
"Make you crazy."
Gin laughed. "What a question. If ya do, then how could you trust my answer? An' anyway, ain't that what you're supposed ta do? Like in all them songs -- you drive me crazy an' I'm crazy for you. . ."
"Gin, please. I'm serious." Because if you're not crazy, he silently added, then why would you ever want someone like me?
Someone so comparatively deficient, someone so far less advanced in apparently every way. . .
Izuru's head bounced lightly with his boyfriend's shrug.
"I dunno, Izuru-chan. Maybe you keep me sane."
'Twas the night before Christmas.
Creatures stirred.
Cold wood against the soles of his bare feet, cold wood pressing against his fingers and palm. Cold wood encircling the shell of his ear, and cold sounds filtering through it from the room beyond.
Soft gasps. Muted whimpers. All for the little ones, Christmas joys.
"Sou. . .Sousuke-san. . ."
"Shhh. . ."
The beds of Gin's nails turned white as his fingertips dug into the door, the opaque door.
You can still sense the air outside, how biting it would be if you were out in it. . .
And the boy could smell it on him. The frigidity. The desertion.
No -- the defection.
Gin pushed off from the door and made his way, mouse-quiet, to the window at the end of the hall. He put his hand to the glass, the frost-encrusted, translucent glass, beyond which lay not only a room, but a world -- an entire Winter Wonderland at his disposal.
. . .and you feel so lucky to be where you are instead. . .to be here, on this side of the window, with you. . .
Gin watched the glass fog up in a diffusing outline of his hand as it pulled at the deeply hidden heat of his flesh, proving that it still existed -- that it was dormant, but not yet extinct.
He wondered what volcanoes dreamt of, if they made their own silver-backed looking-glass worlds out of superheated sand with the same hellfire that burnt all wood that was not petrified to fucking cinders.
We're in the building where they make us grow
And I'm frightened by the liquid engineers
Like you
My Mallory Heart is sure to fail
I could crawl around the floor just like I'm real
Like you
The sound of metal, I want to be you
I should learn to be a man
Like you
Plug me in and turn me on
Oh, everything is moving. . . -- Gary Numan, "Metal"
Chapter XIII