Second Sight, Part 2/9: I Really Just Want To Draw Your Pretty Face Before You Piss Me Off
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Part 2: I Really Just Want To Draw Your Pretty Face Before You Piss Me Off.
You're my kind of guy
'Cos I like your style
And you sound as horrible as me
And I don't mind if you're unkind
You're reminding me of me
(My Kind of Guy, Kaiser Chiefs)
Whenever the issue of plans came up, Ichigo thought about either Ishida's future-talk, which he'd been reciting since they were fifteen (I'll train as a surgeon in Karakura General Hospital, become an intensivist, and then maybe save what's left of your little burnt-out neurons, Kurosaki), Inoue's plot to become a robot and take over the world, or Urahara's existence.
Ichigo? He was more of a charge-in-with-guns-blazing kind of guy, and even at twenty-one let other people take care of plans most of the time. This time was different. There was no one to advise him on how to seduce a person into getting bored in a stuffy studio while he bossed them around and took pictures or sketched.
Left to his own devices, Ichigo's brilliant plan regarding his and Renji's first intentional meeting was to show up at the bar not a minute too soon. He didn't want to have to wait like an idiot for Renji; that would just be annoying. To ensure the success of his brilliant plan, he'd carefully scheduled their meeting for right after his afternoon class, so he'd pretty much have to jog to the bar. Not that he actually did good work that day; he was too busy with his brilliant plan. Thinking back, that part might have been counterproductive (though his Victorian Era Painting class could go fuck itself, for all Ichigo cared).
It seemed stupid to put such effort into a brilliant plan that was meant to make him look cool, because since when did Ichigo do that? Yet for some reason it was important for him to seem serious around Renji.
It wasn't even to impress him so they could work together; it was just Renji, a jerk and an idiot who made Ichigo want to beat him at everything, and that something about him that had rubbed Ichigo the wrong way the first time they'd met. He had to show that he was more professional than Renji.
To be perfectly honest, it was probably that based on the impression he'd gotten from their first conversation, he knew that if neither of them stayed serious they'd revert to high schoolers. Ichigo was so serious and professional, in fact, that he showed up exactly when he wanted to.
His brilliant plan got completely fucked when Renji was late. It wasn't like Ichigo wasn't used to sitting alone in bars, but damn, his plan had been so brilliant. Renji, of course, had to call just to irritate Ichigo more. All he did was yell that Ichigo lived in a shithole, that he had taken a wrong turn at some point, that the only reason he'd bothered to try and find his way was that he was a nice man, the only reason he found his way was that he was a fucking spectacular man, and that Ichigo should stop crying like a schoolgirl that got stood up because he would arrive in five minutes.
Ichigo considered literally sitting on his hands just so he wouldn't punch Renji in ten different places the moment he showed up. Of course, when he did show up Ichigo was slightly… distracted from his own anger. Because Renji still looked good, despite it being a well-lit bar as opposed to the alley.
The redhead strode into the bar with conviction, like Ichigo used to when he was a teenager and sometimes still did, and his sharp face tight with frustration was a damn sight. Then Ichigo noticed the aviator shades, sleek topcoat, and the weirdly matched bandana wrapped around his brow and the top of his head. He wondered briefly if Renji had dressed up for him, and if those bandanas were a thing of his. Okay, what he really wondered was if he was using the bandanas to cover up more tattoos because he knew Ichigo wanted to lick them.
He had a gut feeling that was one thing Renji did not need to know, so he stopped looking. Instead he leaned back, crossed his arms, and fixed Renji with a scowl, waiting. Renji seemed content with stomping around the bar and getting glared at by some of the patrons, who then glared at Ichigo, and what the hell, it wasn't him this time.
"Jackass," he eventually yelled from his corner of the bar (he'd actually grabbed a table this time, Jesus). Finally, Renji looked at him. He visibly took a few calming breaths, and then removed his shades and gave Ichigo an honest-to-god onceover before he finally stopped frowning and smirked.
Ichigo was torn between becoming even more agitated and relaxing at that. What the hell did that guy have to feel superior about? He got lost in lower Seireitei, was late to a meeting, and his bandana was stupid. And even if the latter was a stretch, he shouldn't be smirking at Ichigo like that.
Renji sat down across from Ichigo and laid his shades on the table between them. He then put one leg over the other, looking like he owned the place, like The Bleeding Moon hadn't been Ichigo's bar since he'd moved there.
Still with the smirk… Ichigo suppressed all urges to punch and possibly to sketch Renji's face as soon as possible, instead biting out, "Stop looking at me like that, I wasn't crying like a girl that got stood up."
"I find that hard to believe," Renji said. Ichigo was so blindsided by his damn voice again that he hadn't been alert enough to stop Renji before he grabbed his Coke can and drank straight from it. It wasn't even the act of stealing his drink, again, but the smug look Renji had on his face that caused Ichigo to practically rip the can from Renji's hand and gulp the drink, trying to ignore how the fizz made his eyes prickle.
He set the Coke in the middle of the table and his hands on either side of it, ready to pounce if Renji took it again. Renji copied his movements perfectly. So, they simply stared at each other for thirty seconds.
"Buy one for yourself," Ichigo eventually said through gritted teeth. Renji growled at him. Ichigo was in no way whatsoever affected at all.
I win, he thought when Renji broke the eye contact first. He didn't make a move for the Coke, so Ichigo thought it would be safe to cross his arms again. Renji didn't, he just looked at his own hands and started tapping on the table, nervous (or as nervous as he could have looked).
The tapping made a weird sound on the metal table and Ichigo looked at Renji's hands as well, only to find a silver ring on his left hand. It didn't look like a wedding band of any kind, which sort of but not really pleased Ichigo. Now he just needed to stop focusing on the ring because he didn't even know why he found jewelry on men attractive, it was just one of those things, but it was inappropriate. Yeah.
"So," Renji said, a bit awkwardly. "Let's talk."
Ichigo finally felt at an advantage. He sat back more comfortably, putting on a smirk of his own. "This is the first time you've done this, isn't it?"
Renji raised an eyebrow, all awkwardness erased from his face as if Ichigo had just challenged him or something. "What, sit in a bar with a guy?"
Actually, that might be useful information. Ichigo had no way of getting Renji to answer his own question, even though he suddenly really wanted to know, so he finally amended what he'd asked. "No, having someone want to draw you."
A smile started tugging the corners of Renji's mouth again. "You're the first guy to actually come out and ask."
It could have been either Ichigo's nature or Renji's effect on him, but he felt an odd kind of satisfaction at being the first. He gulped his Coke again, trying to compose some explanation that would make Renji agree to a deal.
"I won't need to take my clothes off, right?"
And then he nearly choked at Renji's question. He was this close to just saying yes, please, if only to see how Renji would react. He cleared his throat, certainly going about nearly choking as smoothly as possible. "Only if you feel the irrepressible urge to." Or if I find out about any more tattoos.
Ichigo cleared his throat again, now definitely smirking. It was nice to throw Renji for a loop. He could tell the redhead was still processing, so he went right ahead. "Any more questions?"
Renji ran a hand through his hair in a way Ichigo probably shouldn't have paid such keen attention to. It seemed like he was sorting through a list of questions in his head. "Well." He started, looking up at Ichigo. "You said sit. What does that mean?"
Ichigo could think of a dozen snarky replies reserved just for that kind of question, but said none of them. His goal was to get Renji to sit, after all. "It's more like a figure of speech. I could tell you to stand, too." What, he could have been harsher.
"So I just do what you say?" Renji asked, his jaw tight.
Ichigo liked that idea a lot, actually, but he couldn't let on just how much. "Yeah. But the point isn't for you to pose or something, that's not what I do. You'll just sit, or stand, and I'll take a few pictures. Though once we go up to my studio I wanna sketch for a bit to get a feel for you."
His own eyes widened before Renji had even said anything. "You know what I mean," he added quickly. Damn. He knew he would get over his attraction once they start working together and the initial admiration faded off (and he could feel that happening with every drink Renji stole), but it was still annoying to be careful about what he was saying.
Renji coughed, but thankfully let that one slide. "So that's all?" he asked.
Ichigo wasn't sure how to answer. At first he'd just wanted to do this because he needed interesting faces for his sketchbook, which he had to submit full by the end of the year, but the more he watched Renji move and speak and look at him, and after the internal struggle he'd gone through just to get them to this point, Ichigo knew he wouldn't be able to let go after today. There was no way to let Renji know that, though. "I mean, I think. I might want to take a picture later."
Renji snorted. "Do you usually just wing these sorts of things?"
"Will you do what I say?" It sounded more agitated than anything. Of course he was pulling this meeting out of his ass, he'd never found the right model to have this conversation with before. He didn't think he was doing that bad of a job. How was he supposed to tell Renji in advance if he would want to take a picture of him later?
"I guess so," Renji said, surprising the hell out of Ichigo. They both looked away for a moment, which let Renji steal his Coke again. Ichigo, being downright chivalrous, let him.
"Good. Any more questions?" He was growing a bit impatient. The more he looked at Renji's neck, at the tattoos (on both sides), even his eyes, the more he wanted to get him in the studio already.
It was hard to get inspired during senior year-too many looming finals and overeager professors and Keigo's occasional, "Shit, what the hell are you gonna do for the rest of your life?" which more often than not led to "Join me in a life of fun and hanging around beaches and fun! ". With all of that during the day, it seemed Ichigo only had time and inspiration to paint during the night. Getting the itch while sitting in a bar after his Victorian Era Painting class was unheard of.
Renji nodded, putting his Coke down again. "Do you take pictures of women too?"
Well that's not vital. Ichigo's best guess was that Renji wanted to know if he was special. Ichigo rolled his eyes, but answered plainly anyway. "Not usually. They're less interesting."
Renji chuckled. "So you take pictures of men all the time? Where do you get off?"
It would have seemed like just another question if he weren't looking at Ichigo so intently, practically mouthing the question 'are you a cocksucker?'
"Doesn't matter to me." And that was as much of a confession as Ichigo was willing to give Renji at that point. "It doesn't matter at all, actually, it's not like I sit around and jerk off to pictures I've taken. I'm good, but I've got other shit to do. Does it matter to you?"
Renji did probably the only thing that could have simmered Ichigo down-he raised his hands in surrender and said, "Man, I was just asking."
Right. You're not in Karakura. Not everybody's looking to beat you up. He nodded before he could change his mind, and tried to smile. It didn't work, but he thought his attempt was honorable. At least they got a few things out of the way.
"No more questions," Ichigo said, getting to his feet. He was tired of asking, and he thought Renji was ready. Well, he thought he was as ready as he'd ever be. "Let's go."
He was about to move away when Renji grabbed his wrist, still sitting, the long bastard. There was no memory of the smirk on his face, just… concern. Right, he's the guy that saw someone sitting alone in a back alley and went over just because.
"It's okay," Ichigo said before Renji could ask. "I really just want to draw your pretty face before you piss me off."
A mean little grin appeared on Renji's face, and they both finally left the bar.
"The way I see it, you oughta be nicer to me. Am I your muse, Ichigo?"
Jesus, that was fast. Ichigo jabbed Renji in the ribs for good measure, and led the way.
*
The trip from the shithole bar to the shithole apartment was a ten minute walk, during which Renji guessed he had time to process all the answers he'd received to his questions, and come up with new things to ask or annoy Ichigo with.
The air stank of chemicals, was thick with fumes at that time of day in lower Seireitei, but Renji wasn't concerned by it. He may have been living in a decent place at west Seireitei, but considering he'd originally come from the streets of Rukongai, a place he could barely call a town, the fumes had nothing on him.
"Where are you from?" he asked Ichigo, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his coat and his legs shuffling-he had a bigger stride than Ichigo, but since the brat had to lead Renji was forced to walk more slowly. He could only hope he'd find the way back to his car.
"It's just a few more minutes, damn it," Ichigo snapped, huffing next to him. Is he even listening?
Renji narrowed his eyes at him and nudged his shoulder, to make sure he had his attention. And to let out some aggression. They'd known each other for only a few days yet it seemed like Ichigo did more yelling and snapping at him than anyone ever had the nerve to. Renji usually appreciated people calling him out on his shit and keeping him in line (barring Ikkaku and possibly Rukia, Renji's friends were a hell of a lot more balanced than he was), but Ichigo did it like he had something to prove. It just pissed Renji off.
Yet you're heading to his apartment. Whatever. It was just a job, and he was already there. Plus, he could probably use Ichigo if he ever got lost in that fucking interchange again and needed a lift from damn lower Seireitei.
"I meant, jackass, where'd you grow up?" he clarified, glaring at the pavement. He knew where they were going ("It's a green, huge-ass building, even you wouldn't miss it." "You don't know me, quit talking like that." "I know enough, moron"), but as the ground was level around the area, Renji felt like they weren't moving at all. Making conversation seemed like the natural way to not get bored. As he couldn't ask more bluntly, 'And you're sure I won't have to sit on you? Who the fuck offers something weird like that, seriously? Crazy artists', he went for a change in topic.
"Oh," Ichigo said. Renji glanced at him, noting that he seemed deep in thought. He also noted that the guy frowned a lot. Ichigo shrugged, and picked up the pace so slightly that someone untrained wouldn't have noticed. Renji wondered if he was making him uncomfortable, and then wondered why it wasn't a nice thought.
"You've probably never heard of it. Karakura Town?" Ichigo asked, but still didn't look at him.
Renji snorted. "Are you kidding? Karakura has the highest government agent rate in this area. Heh, you're supposed to be extremely tough guys for townies." He couldn't help it, he nudged Ichigo's shoulder again, pushing him, and noticed for the first time the resistance he was met with. Apparently under the attitude and weird punk clothes, Ichigo had some muscle on him. Renji might have been very vaguely impressed.
Ichigo turned skeptical eyes to him and shoved him right back, probably for the townie remark. If Renji was going to get run over because of Ichigo's stupidity, he was going to shoot him and, in case of survival, would so get Shuuhei to sue him.
"How the fuck would you know something like that?" Ichigo asked.
Renji would have sighed, if he was the sort of person that sighed over getting fired and such bad luck. Renji dealt and moped in a manly way, he didn't sigh. "My previous job involved shit like that."
"Holy fuck," Ichigo muttered, shaking his head and frowning some more. "You are a ninja."
Renji actually laughed. "Close. I was a bodyguard. I worked for a Japanese guy once, though, so I guess I count as at least a samurai."
Ichigo still seemed doubtful, which now slightly offended Renji. "As long as you didn't carry a sword, you were none of those things," Ichigo explained.
"I can knock a man out in three seconds!" he suddenly said. One of his first pickup line choices, surely it would convince Ichigo.
It didn't. "Well, so can I!"
"Fuck that, you're scrawny." He was only saying the truth.
Ichigo seemed like he was about to go for a sharp retort, but instead he huffed, crossed his arms (which looked kind of funny, as he was still striding forward like a big drama queen), and said, "We're not talking about this."
"Which means I win."
"Shut the fuck up."
Renji grinned, and looked away from Ichigo just in time to spot a green building. About five feet from them. Maybe his perceptiveness really could use a little work.
Around the time Ichigo opened the door to his apartment, Renji realized that he was a lot less nervous than he should have been. He was walking into a stranger's home, fully aware that him being there was probably some sort of pretext for a sexual proposition, and he wasn't carrying a weapon anymore.
Despite all of that, Ichigo didn't pose a threat in Renji's opinion. Sure, he was hostile, but Renji considered himself old and wise enough to accept the fact they had a few things in common and the hostility wouldn't be a problem.
"This is the studio?" he asked when Ichigo pushed him into the house. He didn't answer before he dropped his keys on the dresser by the door (Renji snorted when he spotted an embarrassing little keychain in the shape of a strawberry).
"No, this is the apartment. The studio is through there," he pointed at a door to their left, "bathroom through there," a door to the right, "and kitchen behind here." Renji had to walk into the apartment to see the kitchen as it was behind the wall next to the front door. Also to their left, appliances were in a row against the wall, along with a tiny dinner table in the middle of the room, two chairs, and a TV in front of a couch.
Renji looked at the space Ichigo hadn't covered. It was pretty much the basic student apartment-slash-bachelor pad you see in movies-an undetectable kitchen, a small living room with a couch fit for the occasional sleepover, and a coffee table for your feet. He doubted the bathroom would be anything but minimal.
The place did have one weird thing about it, though. Well, two things. There was the oil painting of a black-winged demon in front of them, with black color seeping from its green and yellow eyes, down its cheeks, and from a hole in its throat. It was kind of astounding, to be honest.
The other thing, however, was something more sensible to ask about. "Why is there a bed in the middle of your living room?"
Ichigo raised his eyes from his mail with a "Huh?", and then followed Renji's nod toward the bed. "Because there isn't room for it in any other room."
Oh. "Wait, you don't have a bedroom?"
"Of course I have a bedroom, moron, but it's the biggest room in the apartment. I turned it into a studio and moved the bed out here." Ichigo waved his hand in the general direction of the bed.
Renji wasn't impressed by Ichigo making it sound normal. "So you don't have a bedroom?"
Ichigo chuckled. "Doesn't stop me from getting laid, if that's what you're worried about," he said, and went back to setting the contents of his pockets on the dresser-a tiny phone, an iPod, an obnoxiously orange wallet, some spare change, a pocket knife, some tickets-why the fuck did he carry a pocket knife around?
And why are you looking at everything he takes out? He's not a suspected threat.
Renji cleared his throat and looked away, coming into eye contact with the demon again and fuck, it was still eerie. Renji had to keep looking at it. He guessed that was the point of a piece of art. "Did you draw that thing?"
Finally, Ichigo stopped taking things out and simply crossed his arms, looking at the painting in front of them. He nodded, a bit awkwardly if Renji read him right. "Last year. Took me four days just to get it out of my mind, and more than a damn month to finish."
Renji had no idea whether that was a short or a long time to finish a painting like that, but he knew that Ichigo had put a lot of work into it. It was evident in the details-the membranes of the bat wings the creature seemed to have, its ribcage, even the crescent moon glaring behind it-and in the fact it was the only piece of art presented in his living room.
Renji had to ask. "Isn't it kinda depressing?"
Instead of scowling or moaning about Renji not getting art, the corners of Ichigo's mouth quirked up in a small smile, the first Renji had ever seen on him. It looked… a bit wrong, for some reason. Shifted something in Renji's perception of him.
"It's called ‘Despair'," Ichigo said. Renji could have pumped his fist in triumph and texted Shuuhei, 'I DO get art', but resisted the urge.
Before he got the chance to do anything, Ichigo asked, "Wanna see the studio?"
The studio seemed like a whole other world. On the walls were duct taped papers in different sizes, full of ink sketches-faces, limbs, vague scenery and ambiguous creatures-and occasionally actual words (victory, shatter, duality, heaven-piercer, hollow, hill, serpent's tail and two bolded words-despair and death). He would hardly call it calligraphy, but he guessed it inspired Ichigo.
The only wall free of papers was the one directly facing the single window in the room, so Renji guessed that was where Ichigo took most of his pictures (at least, if he didn't want an ugly background). He drew in front of it too, going by the canvas stand in front of the window.
In front of them was a long leather couch, probably the most expensive thing in the entire apartment other than the photography equipment Renji found lying around. There was a big wooden desk next to the last wall, which Renji guessed was Ichigo's workspace, given the massive amount of crap on it-pens, paints, brushes, papers, canvases, frames, a camera and four lenses, and six notebooks. Renji had no idea how the hell all of that stuff managed to stay on the desk, and guessed it was magic.
On the far end of the desk was a shiny laptop with one external hard drive, and next to the desk there were maybe three feet of space, occupied by a tripod and another camera on it, which was directed at the canvas stand and the couch.
Renji immediately knew why there was such a huge window there. The light, obviously, but also to get the heavy scent of paint out.
A noise brought Renji out of his observations, and he realized that in the meantime Ichigo had slipped by him and pulled the camera out of the bag. Now he was pressing a bunch of buttons to adjust the settings. The camera looked heavy and professional, fancy like the ones Shuuhei borrowed when he went on assignment for the magazine.
"You said you were a struggling student or some shit. How'd you afford all these things?" Renji asked, referring mainly to the sweet-ass couch.
Ichigo didn't look up, but Renji knew he'd heard him because he seemed flustered for a moment, like he didn't really want to tell. "There's a guy who helps me out," he finally answered.
Renji couldn't stop a laugh from coming out. What the hell? "You got a sugar daddy?"
"No!" Ichigo spluttered, looking up with some indignation. "More like a rich uncle! Jesus."
It seemed like a touchy subject, so Renji pressed on, amused. "Is it the guy who'd assassinate you?"
The indignation was replaced with a tired smirk. "That's the one. His name's Urahara. But I did work full time at home and saved some money, so I bought most of my equipment myself." He raised the camera in his hands as an example.
Renji leaned back against the plain wall, and gestured toward the camera. "I'm guessing, pictures first?"
"It'd be a shame to waste the afternoon light. You said you'd roll with it, so it won't be a problem if I take pictures instead of sketch."
It didn't sound like a question, but Renji nodded anyway. He guessed the golden light wouldn't look too bad. The problem was how he would look. If he hadn't been nervous before, he started feeling it right then. "What now? I mean, what should I do?"
He was afraid Ichigo would laugh at his expense or something, but he didn't, just went back to fiddling with his camera. "Just look natural. I only want a headshot this time, so you don't have to worry about doing something with your hands. Oh, and your neck. I want your neck."
Renji arched an eyebrow and Ichigo's hands froze suddenly, so Renji knew it was another thing Ichigo hadn't intended to say. He wondered what else would happen while Ichigo was distracted by working. It might be amusing. Or weird. Probably weird.
They both coughed awkwardly at the same time, and then Ichigo said, "Just stand in front of the window."
Renji tried not to shuffle over there. He'd been photographed before, it wasn't that big of a deal. Rukia had roped him into more impromptu photo shoots than he'd like to remember, courtesy of her state-of-the-art camera phone. Not to mention, the less bearable Kuchiki had spent his fair share of time in the spotlight during publicity events, where Renji was his shadow. He'd been taught to dress properly and not be caught doing anything embarrassing.
Right then Renji wore a pretty sweet coat and wasn't picking his nose, so that part was taken care of. That was as far as it went, though. He didn't know two shits about posing or being of any use to a somewhat professional photographer. Looking natural is pretty crappy advice, shithead.
Ichigo approached the canvas stand in a way that didn't disturb the light. Renji cleared his throat. "You're not gonna tell me I'm pretty again, right?"
"You're not pretty," Ichigo replied while replacing the lens currently on his camera with one from the bag. It was nothing like Rukia's camera. Renji felt even more lost, though it was reassuring to know he wasn't pretty, he guessed.
"I don't want pretty," Ichigo elaborated. "You've been to the gallery uptown, you saw all that understated art and pastel colors and peace the hotshots in Seireitei like to make and sell. That crap's not me. I like…" He thought for a moment, wetting his lips and clicking on a few more buttons. "I guess I like chaos and shit breaking. My professor says I like drama. You're the most dramatic person I've ever seen."
Renji hummed, mulling it over and trying to ignore the 'that's ridiculous' creeping up. Ichigo seemed unrepentant, which didn't really mean it hadn't been a hidden insult. Eventually, Renji just went for humor. "It's the coat, isn't it?"
Ichigo snorted. "Dimwit, it's you." He waved one hand for emphasis, but still didn't meet Renji's eyes. "The tattoos on your face, all serious and remarkable. Even your… body. Big, eye-catching." The longer the sentence progressed the quieter Ichigo's voice became, until he just went silent and left Renji to wonder if all of that was a compliment or something to worry about.
He just took it as it was, in the end. He shrugged. "Didn't do me much good. Being eye-catching ain't exactly what an orphaned kid in the slums of Rukongai needs to survive."
Ichigo's hand stopped moving for once. He seemed contemplative, and Renji doubted it was the camera's fault. What he'd just told Ichigo wasn't some big secret, but he knew from experience it wasn't something you were supposed to say to just anyone. Given all the things Ichigo had just shared with him, Renji didn't regret it.
"You don't think it's all that bad, either," Ichigo said, not exactly carefully. Renji was kind of grateful. "I can tell how comfortable you are in your own skin. I think that's what caught my attention in the first place."
He suddenly shook his head and looked up, all business. "Now shut up, I'm ready." He raised his camera without warning and pressed the shutter button, making a mechanical click noise Renji knew he was going to get very familiar with.
He felt awfully confused all at once, and straightened his back, squared his shoulders out of instinct. He gave the lens an even look and tried not to glare. Renji was loud and… animated, he got looked at plenty of times, but this felt like he was being evaluated by a stupid camera, and a part of him wanted to rebel. Most of him had grown out of that, though, so he just tightened his jaw and looked at the window to take some of the pressure off.
Ichigo clicked his tongue. "Look at me, idiot, and try to keep your face natural. I don't want you to make expressions you think I wanna see."
Yeah, like I'd go for a fake smile. Renji looked at the camera again and stopped trying to hold himself back. He wasn't sticking his tongue out at the offending object like he should have, but he didn't keep his mouth tightly shut, either. The glare was back with a vengeance, too.
The end result was Renji baring his teeth, his posture stiff and imposing, and his eyes filled with venom. Ichigo was clicking enthusiastically by then, occasionally turning his camera vertically and then horizontally again.
"Good," he said after a few minutes, and Renji was surprisingly pleased, enough so that he let up his battle stance. If Ichigo had planned to tell him to do something differently, the change in Renji's expression drove him to bring the camera right back up to his face and into another tirade of clicks.
Renji cursed. Ichigo stopped. "Look at the window," he said without looking up and, more importantly, without saying please. Renji snorted in disdain, but looked at the window anyway. The light was getting dimmer, enabling Renji to widen his eyes and relax a bit.
"What is it?" Ichigo asked between clicks.
Renji shrugged. "Nothing, it's just that no one's bossed me 'round in a long time. I was the head of a group of bodyguards in my last job, y'know?"
"Tell me about it."
Renji could tell Ichigo wasn't being cynical, which left him rather confused. "Should I really talk?"
"I would have stuck to inanimate subjects if I didn't want you to talk and do things," Ichigo chided. That was just snippy.
"Did anyone ever tell you you're shit at making people feel better?" he muttered and ran a hand over his brow, trailing it up to his ponytail and fixing it. He didn't wait for Ichigo to say anything before continuing, though.
"Well, we were six guys, and for a while I was the boss. You know, telling the others which exit to guard and who gets the car and shit. They were good men, I guess. I lost touch with most of them after I got my last assignment, but I still go for drinks with two of 'em. Not in shitholes like the bar here, though." He looked at Ichigo with a smirk, to really rub it in, but instead of gritted teeth all he got was a small noise and more clicking. He was beginning to suspect Ichigo wasn't even listening to him.
Looking angry didn't seem to work, so he just stared at the camera and got more and more bored. Renji really didn't like feeling that way.
"Is that enough?" he asked, taking a step closer to get Ichigo's attention back. Ichigo's finger lingered on the shutter button, but finally he lowered the camera from his face. He was grinning, but Renji didn't see joy in his face, maybe… determination.
Heh. Maybe I really am his muse.
"Not nearly enough," Ichigo said. He sounded excited. Renji couldn't tell whether he was freaked out or getting excited too. This was a very surreal situation, one he might come to like, at one point or another.
"You need more pictures?" he asked.
Ichigo shook his head in dismissal, and put the camera down carefully on his desk. "It's too dark now."
Renji looked at the window again, and was shocked to see only darkness outside. I guess we both got carried away.
"Oh," Renji said, but didn't move. "I should probably go, then."
Ichigo didn't look away from his desk, but his hands tightened on the camera until he was gripping it, and Renji wondered if he was going to cry or something.
"That's cool," Ichigo finally said, turning around. Well that's a relief. He wasn't smiling anymore, seeming preoccupied. Renji couldn't imagine what he was going to do with his pictures.
"You said you wanted to sketch me or something. Can you even do that using just the pictures?" He had no idea why he was stalling. Why would he want to stay? He was a terrible art model. And he was bored.
Ichigo cracked a grin. Oh. Renji had a feeling things were going to become interesting again. "I can do things you wouldn't believe."
"Oh really?" Renji found himself grinning back.
"But you really should go." Before Renji blinked Ichigo walked past him and out the door. Renji felt weirdly deflated. He shook his head and took one last look at the studio. He'd probably forget all about it in a week. It didn't matter.
He took a deep breath and followed Ichigo out.
They stood by the front door, Renji inspecting the living room again and Ichigo picking things out of his wallet until finally coming up with a twenty-dollar bill. Renji looked at him with an arched eyebrow when he handed the cash over.
Well. His previous job might have paid a little better, but Renji wouldn't be caught dead missing Byakuya Kuchiki.
"For an hour and a half of loyal service," Ichigo said.
Renji chuckled. Better than unemployment. "Sweet," he said, and put the money in his coat pocket. Ichigo nodded, but couldn't look very serious.
For a moment they just stood there, staring and waiting for something to happen. Renji wondered if they should shake hands or something, or if he should tell Ichigo he had to let him know if he would use his pictures for anything, or if he should ask whether or not the pictures turned out any good, or if they should consider a next time (the answer to all of those on Renji's part was 'probably not'), but his thoughts were cut off by Ichigo opening the door.
Renji could take a hint. Most of the time.
"Alright then. See you around," he said, and went out without a second glance. All in all, it was kind of nice.
*
It was three in the morning by the time Ichigo finished examining all the pictures he'd taken that day. When he hadn't been staring at the good shots (and there was an impressive amount, mind you, Ichigo was good) he'd been staring at the awesome color histogram.
The contrast was spectacular, like Renji was built just for this. The tall shadow cast behind him, the rich red of his hair falling past the blue bandana, and most importantly, the black ink winding on his pale skin. Ichigo didn't even have to mess around with Photoshop to make it better pronounced. He meant every word he'd said about Renji being dramatic. Now Ichigo was only tempted to change the mode to Grayscale and see what that would do.
He was painfully regretting not sketching Renji. The more he looked at the pictures the more he wanted to make them, to shape some of the things in them. Sketching gave him full control of the subject, which was probably the reason he enjoyed it in the first place, and it also let him distinguish certain things a camera couldn't. He wanted to waste a million layers of charcoal on the tattoos, wanted to get to know Renji's face like the back of his hand.
Ichigo didn't like regrets. He couldn't let Renji go after this, and he wouldn't. He'd have to get Renji back in the studio. At least he could comfort himself with the pictures he'd taken that day. He looked at all the expressions he'd caught when Renji spoke-anger, wistfulness, amusement, endearment, smugness. The way his eyes had fallen when he'd thought about the past.
Before he knew it Ichigo was jotting down with a red fountain pen on a Post-it note: 'EYES'. He looked back at the screen, where he'd zoomed into Renji's eyes, staring back at him heatedly. The color was rich and deep, like his voice and the little he'd let on to him about his personality. Ichigo found it inevitable to focus on his eyes. The good thing was that this time, he was so pumped about getting to work that he didn't ponder on how daring and alluring they were; instead he just marveled at the emotions he got out of them and what he could do with them.
Renji was sharp and rough and straightforward, but Ichigo could see he was concealing things. He wanted to dig in, or at least try to. It would be one hell of a project. He could see the work already-at first he'd use some of the outfits he had saved for fancier photo shoots, to make the layers he saw in Renji visible for the camera, and then he would lose them little by little. Make Renji sit and talk, examine his tattoos thoroughly-those bold hints that there was a hell of a lot more underneath it all.
He hung up all the Post-it notes in the small spaces between the ones already there, and was ridiculously pleased with his brainstorming session. His hands were on his phone before he even thought about it or had a chance to change his mind. He scrolled down his contact list to "Renji" (freshly changed from "fuckable ninjaman") and pressed Send. And then remembered it was three a.m.
Luckily, when Renji answered he didn't sound like Ichigo had just woken him.
"What?" he snapped, but sounded more confused than anything. Ichigo heard noise in the background and wondered if he'd interrupted something. He wondered if he should have cared more about that.
"Dude," he started, because all earth-shattering imperative conversations should start with dude, "I have an offer."
Renji growled at him, and it was kind of annoying that his voice was almost as impressive on the phone as it was in reality. "It couldn't have waited? Don't you have school or something?"
"Shut up, it's important!" Ichigo wasn't concentrating enough to think of a wittier comeback.
Apparently he didn't need one. "What offer, then?"
"I want you to be my final project." I want to tear you apart.
There was silence for a moment. Even the noise in the background was stopped, which made Ichigo suspect it was a TV and Renji was pathetic.
"The fuck?" Renji finally asked.
"No, it means that I'll work with you a lot and then present the outcome at the seniors' exhibition and just maybe get a degree." Even as he said it he knew it sounded crazy-he'd have to base his grade on another person. Just the thought used to be unbearable, but his screen was still on and the post-it notes were still in front of him and he just knew it would turn out good.
Renji still didn't answer, and by the time he did Ichigo was not above the good old "Come oooon, it'll be fun" he'd picked up from Keigo. Well, he'd never actually used it, but those were definitely desperate times.
"How much work are we talking about?" Renji finally asked, which wasn't a no.
Ichigo was pleased. "Like today, only once a week for a few months." He thought it was a sound offer. Plus, if they met once a week, he could coordinate it so that he'd always have something to report on his weekly Urahara check.
Urahara was the kind of guy you went to in a pinch, only even after he'd help he'd forget to leave you alone because he thought it was funny to watch you squirm. His and Ichigo's weekly check meant they'd meet or talk on the phone about what Ichigo was doing and, more importantly, what he'd done with his money (even when the money wasn't Urahara's). Sometimes, secretly, Ichigo thought it was kind of nice to catch up with someone from home like that.
So really, Renji and he meeting every week would be good for absolutely everyone and everything. He still hadn't gotten an answer, but it was too late to make it sound more appealing. Ichigo had been running on his powers of persuasion and personal charm (lacking, lacking, lacking) ever since Renji had picked up the phone. He hoped against hope it would be enough.
"You can't get enough of me, is that it?" Renji asked. He sounded amused, which was also firmly under the not a no category.
"Remember not to trip on your ego and die before we meet next week." He was risking it, but damn it, he was so close.
"Yeah, yeah. Will it involve a lot of calls in the middle of the night?"
Success. It felt like every time he finished a painting or had a new idea or won a game on Keigo's PSP. No, it felt even better, because this was a social victory as well as an artistic one. Plus, yeah, Ichigo couldn't get enough.
"A lot of them," he said, making Renji snort.
"Crazy bastard. I'll see you next week."
Ichigo hung up before he'd mention that he'd probably see Renji every day until then, considering the pictures currently open. It was probably a wise call.
Ichigo pulled out another Post-it note and jotted down, 'FUCK YEAH'.
NEXT
Part 2: I Really Just Want To Draw Your Pretty Face Before You Piss Me Off.
You're my kind of guy
'Cos I like your style
And you sound as horrible as me
And I don't mind if you're unkind
You're reminding me of me
(My Kind of Guy, Kaiser Chiefs)
Whenever the issue of plans came up, Ichigo thought about either Ishida's future-talk, which he'd been reciting since they were fifteen (I'll train as a surgeon in Karakura General Hospital, become an intensivist, and then maybe save what's left of your little burnt-out neurons, Kurosaki), Inoue's plot to become a robot and take over the world, or Urahara's existence.
Ichigo? He was more of a charge-in-with-guns-blazing kind of guy, and even at twenty-one let other people take care of plans most of the time. This time was different. There was no one to advise him on how to seduce a person into getting bored in a stuffy studio while he bossed them around and took pictures or sketched.
Left to his own devices, Ichigo's brilliant plan regarding his and Renji's first intentional meeting was to show up at the bar not a minute too soon. He didn't want to have to wait like an idiot for Renji; that would just be annoying. To ensure the success of his brilliant plan, he'd carefully scheduled their meeting for right after his afternoon class, so he'd pretty much have to jog to the bar. Not that he actually did good work that day; he was too busy with his brilliant plan. Thinking back, that part might have been counterproductive (though his Victorian Era Painting class could go fuck itself, for all Ichigo cared).
It seemed stupid to put such effort into a brilliant plan that was meant to make him look cool, because since when did Ichigo do that? Yet for some reason it was important for him to seem serious around Renji.
It wasn't even to impress him so they could work together; it was just Renji, a jerk and an idiot who made Ichigo want to beat him at everything, and that something about him that had rubbed Ichigo the wrong way the first time they'd met. He had to show that he was more professional than Renji.
To be perfectly honest, it was probably that based on the impression he'd gotten from their first conversation, he knew that if neither of them stayed serious they'd revert to high schoolers. Ichigo was so serious and professional, in fact, that he showed up exactly when he wanted to.
His brilliant plan got completely fucked when Renji was late. It wasn't like Ichigo wasn't used to sitting alone in bars, but damn, his plan had been so brilliant. Renji, of course, had to call just to irritate Ichigo more. All he did was yell that Ichigo lived in a shithole, that he had taken a wrong turn at some point, that the only reason he'd bothered to try and find his way was that he was a nice man, the only reason he found his way was that he was a fucking spectacular man, and that Ichigo should stop crying like a schoolgirl that got stood up because he would arrive in five minutes.
Ichigo considered literally sitting on his hands just so he wouldn't punch Renji in ten different places the moment he showed up. Of course, when he did show up Ichigo was slightly… distracted from his own anger. Because Renji still looked good, despite it being a well-lit bar as opposed to the alley.
The redhead strode into the bar with conviction, like Ichigo used to when he was a teenager and sometimes still did, and his sharp face tight with frustration was a damn sight. Then Ichigo noticed the aviator shades, sleek topcoat, and the weirdly matched bandana wrapped around his brow and the top of his head. He wondered briefly if Renji had dressed up for him, and if those bandanas were a thing of his. Okay, what he really wondered was if he was using the bandanas to cover up more tattoos because he knew Ichigo wanted to lick them.
He had a gut feeling that was one thing Renji did not need to know, so he stopped looking. Instead he leaned back, crossed his arms, and fixed Renji with a scowl, waiting. Renji seemed content with stomping around the bar and getting glared at by some of the patrons, who then glared at Ichigo, and what the hell, it wasn't him this time.
"Jackass," he eventually yelled from his corner of the bar (he'd actually grabbed a table this time, Jesus). Finally, Renji looked at him. He visibly took a few calming breaths, and then removed his shades and gave Ichigo an honest-to-god onceover before he finally stopped frowning and smirked.
Ichigo was torn between becoming even more agitated and relaxing at that. What the hell did that guy have to feel superior about? He got lost in lower Seireitei, was late to a meeting, and his bandana was stupid. And even if the latter was a stretch, he shouldn't be smirking at Ichigo like that.
Renji sat down across from Ichigo and laid his shades on the table between them. He then put one leg over the other, looking like he owned the place, like The Bleeding Moon hadn't been Ichigo's bar since he'd moved there.
Still with the smirk… Ichigo suppressed all urges to punch and possibly to sketch Renji's face as soon as possible, instead biting out, "Stop looking at me like that, I wasn't crying like a girl that got stood up."
"I find that hard to believe," Renji said. Ichigo was so blindsided by his damn voice again that he hadn't been alert enough to stop Renji before he grabbed his Coke can and drank straight from it. It wasn't even the act of stealing his drink, again, but the smug look Renji had on his face that caused Ichigo to practically rip the can from Renji's hand and gulp the drink, trying to ignore how the fizz made his eyes prickle.
He set the Coke in the middle of the table and his hands on either side of it, ready to pounce if Renji took it again. Renji copied his movements perfectly. So, they simply stared at each other for thirty seconds.
"Buy one for yourself," Ichigo eventually said through gritted teeth. Renji growled at him. Ichigo was in no way whatsoever affected at all.
I win, he thought when Renji broke the eye contact first. He didn't make a move for the Coke, so Ichigo thought it would be safe to cross his arms again. Renji didn't, he just looked at his own hands and started tapping on the table, nervous (or as nervous as he could have looked).
The tapping made a weird sound on the metal table and Ichigo looked at Renji's hands as well, only to find a silver ring on his left hand. It didn't look like a wedding band of any kind, which sort of but not really pleased Ichigo. Now he just needed to stop focusing on the ring because he didn't even know why he found jewelry on men attractive, it was just one of those things, but it was inappropriate. Yeah.
"So," Renji said, a bit awkwardly. "Let's talk."
Ichigo finally felt at an advantage. He sat back more comfortably, putting on a smirk of his own. "This is the first time you've done this, isn't it?"
Renji raised an eyebrow, all awkwardness erased from his face as if Ichigo had just challenged him or something. "What, sit in a bar with a guy?"
Actually, that might be useful information. Ichigo had no way of getting Renji to answer his own question, even though he suddenly really wanted to know, so he finally amended what he'd asked. "No, having someone want to draw you."
A smile started tugging the corners of Renji's mouth again. "You're the first guy to actually come out and ask."
It could have been either Ichigo's nature or Renji's effect on him, but he felt an odd kind of satisfaction at being the first. He gulped his Coke again, trying to compose some explanation that would make Renji agree to a deal.
"I won't need to take my clothes off, right?"
And then he nearly choked at Renji's question. He was this close to just saying yes, please, if only to see how Renji would react. He cleared his throat, certainly going about nearly choking as smoothly as possible. "Only if you feel the irrepressible urge to." Or if I find out about any more tattoos.
Ichigo cleared his throat again, now definitely smirking. It was nice to throw Renji for a loop. He could tell the redhead was still processing, so he went right ahead. "Any more questions?"
Renji ran a hand through his hair in a way Ichigo probably shouldn't have paid such keen attention to. It seemed like he was sorting through a list of questions in his head. "Well." He started, looking up at Ichigo. "You said sit. What does that mean?"
Ichigo could think of a dozen snarky replies reserved just for that kind of question, but said none of them. His goal was to get Renji to sit, after all. "It's more like a figure of speech. I could tell you to stand, too." What, he could have been harsher.
"So I just do what you say?" Renji asked, his jaw tight.
Ichigo liked that idea a lot, actually, but he couldn't let on just how much. "Yeah. But the point isn't for you to pose or something, that's not what I do. You'll just sit, or stand, and I'll take a few pictures. Though once we go up to my studio I wanna sketch for a bit to get a feel for you."
His own eyes widened before Renji had even said anything. "You know what I mean," he added quickly. Damn. He knew he would get over his attraction once they start working together and the initial admiration faded off (and he could feel that happening with every drink Renji stole), but it was still annoying to be careful about what he was saying.
Renji coughed, but thankfully let that one slide. "So that's all?" he asked.
Ichigo wasn't sure how to answer. At first he'd just wanted to do this because he needed interesting faces for his sketchbook, which he had to submit full by the end of the year, but the more he watched Renji move and speak and look at him, and after the internal struggle he'd gone through just to get them to this point, Ichigo knew he wouldn't be able to let go after today. There was no way to let Renji know that, though. "I mean, I think. I might want to take a picture later."
Renji snorted. "Do you usually just wing these sorts of things?"
"Will you do what I say?" It sounded more agitated than anything. Of course he was pulling this meeting out of his ass, he'd never found the right model to have this conversation with before. He didn't think he was doing that bad of a job. How was he supposed to tell Renji in advance if he would want to take a picture of him later?
"I guess so," Renji said, surprising the hell out of Ichigo. They both looked away for a moment, which let Renji steal his Coke again. Ichigo, being downright chivalrous, let him.
"Good. Any more questions?" He was growing a bit impatient. The more he looked at Renji's neck, at the tattoos (on both sides), even his eyes, the more he wanted to get him in the studio already.
It was hard to get inspired during senior year-too many looming finals and overeager professors and Keigo's occasional, "Shit, what the hell are you gonna do for the rest of your life?" which more often than not led to "Join me in a life of fun and hanging around beaches and fun! ". With all of that during the day, it seemed Ichigo only had time and inspiration to paint during the night. Getting the itch while sitting in a bar after his Victorian Era Painting class was unheard of.
Renji nodded, putting his Coke down again. "Do you take pictures of women too?"
Well that's not vital. Ichigo's best guess was that Renji wanted to know if he was special. Ichigo rolled his eyes, but answered plainly anyway. "Not usually. They're less interesting."
Renji chuckled. "So you take pictures of men all the time? Where do you get off?"
It would have seemed like just another question if he weren't looking at Ichigo so intently, practically mouthing the question 'are you a cocksucker?'
"Doesn't matter to me." And that was as much of a confession as Ichigo was willing to give Renji at that point. "It doesn't matter at all, actually, it's not like I sit around and jerk off to pictures I've taken. I'm good, but I've got other shit to do. Does it matter to you?"
Renji did probably the only thing that could have simmered Ichigo down-he raised his hands in surrender and said, "Man, I was just asking."
Right. You're not in Karakura. Not everybody's looking to beat you up. He nodded before he could change his mind, and tried to smile. It didn't work, but he thought his attempt was honorable. At least they got a few things out of the way.
"No more questions," Ichigo said, getting to his feet. He was tired of asking, and he thought Renji was ready. Well, he thought he was as ready as he'd ever be. "Let's go."
He was about to move away when Renji grabbed his wrist, still sitting, the long bastard. There was no memory of the smirk on his face, just… concern. Right, he's the guy that saw someone sitting alone in a back alley and went over just because.
"It's okay," Ichigo said before Renji could ask. "I really just want to draw your pretty face before you piss me off."
A mean little grin appeared on Renji's face, and they both finally left the bar.
"The way I see it, you oughta be nicer to me. Am I your muse, Ichigo?"
Jesus, that was fast. Ichigo jabbed Renji in the ribs for good measure, and led the way.
*
The trip from the shithole bar to the shithole apartment was a ten minute walk, during which Renji guessed he had time to process all the answers he'd received to his questions, and come up with new things to ask or annoy Ichigo with.
The air stank of chemicals, was thick with fumes at that time of day in lower Seireitei, but Renji wasn't concerned by it. He may have been living in a decent place at west Seireitei, but considering he'd originally come from the streets of Rukongai, a place he could barely call a town, the fumes had nothing on him.
"Where are you from?" he asked Ichigo, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his coat and his legs shuffling-he had a bigger stride than Ichigo, but since the brat had to lead Renji was forced to walk more slowly. He could only hope he'd find the way back to his car.
"It's just a few more minutes, damn it," Ichigo snapped, huffing next to him. Is he even listening?
Renji narrowed his eyes at him and nudged his shoulder, to make sure he had his attention. And to let out some aggression. They'd known each other for only a few days yet it seemed like Ichigo did more yelling and snapping at him than anyone ever had the nerve to. Renji usually appreciated people calling him out on his shit and keeping him in line (barring Ikkaku and possibly Rukia, Renji's friends were a hell of a lot more balanced than he was), but Ichigo did it like he had something to prove. It just pissed Renji off.
Yet you're heading to his apartment. Whatever. It was just a job, and he was already there. Plus, he could probably use Ichigo if he ever got lost in that fucking interchange again and needed a lift from damn lower Seireitei.
"I meant, jackass, where'd you grow up?" he clarified, glaring at the pavement. He knew where they were going ("It's a green, huge-ass building, even you wouldn't miss it." "You don't know me, quit talking like that." "I know enough, moron"), but as the ground was level around the area, Renji felt like they weren't moving at all. Making conversation seemed like the natural way to not get bored. As he couldn't ask more bluntly, 'And you're sure I won't have to sit on you? Who the fuck offers something weird like that, seriously? Crazy artists', he went for a change in topic.
"Oh," Ichigo said. Renji glanced at him, noting that he seemed deep in thought. He also noted that the guy frowned a lot. Ichigo shrugged, and picked up the pace so slightly that someone untrained wouldn't have noticed. Renji wondered if he was making him uncomfortable, and then wondered why it wasn't a nice thought.
"You've probably never heard of it. Karakura Town?" Ichigo asked, but still didn't look at him.
Renji snorted. "Are you kidding? Karakura has the highest government agent rate in this area. Heh, you're supposed to be extremely tough guys for townies." He couldn't help it, he nudged Ichigo's shoulder again, pushing him, and noticed for the first time the resistance he was met with. Apparently under the attitude and weird punk clothes, Ichigo had some muscle on him. Renji might have been very vaguely impressed.
Ichigo turned skeptical eyes to him and shoved him right back, probably for the townie remark. If Renji was going to get run over because of Ichigo's stupidity, he was going to shoot him and, in case of survival, would so get Shuuhei to sue him.
"How the fuck would you know something like that?" Ichigo asked.
Renji would have sighed, if he was the sort of person that sighed over getting fired and such bad luck. Renji dealt and moped in a manly way, he didn't sigh. "My previous job involved shit like that."
"Holy fuck," Ichigo muttered, shaking his head and frowning some more. "You are a ninja."
Renji actually laughed. "Close. I was a bodyguard. I worked for a Japanese guy once, though, so I guess I count as at least a samurai."
Ichigo still seemed doubtful, which now slightly offended Renji. "As long as you didn't carry a sword, you were none of those things," Ichigo explained.
"I can knock a man out in three seconds!" he suddenly said. One of his first pickup line choices, surely it would convince Ichigo.
It didn't. "Well, so can I!"
"Fuck that, you're scrawny." He was only saying the truth.
Ichigo seemed like he was about to go for a sharp retort, but instead he huffed, crossed his arms (which looked kind of funny, as he was still striding forward like a big drama queen), and said, "We're not talking about this."
"Which means I win."
"Shut the fuck up."
Renji grinned, and looked away from Ichigo just in time to spot a green building. About five feet from them. Maybe his perceptiveness really could use a little work.
Around the time Ichigo opened the door to his apartment, Renji realized that he was a lot less nervous than he should have been. He was walking into a stranger's home, fully aware that him being there was probably some sort of pretext for a sexual proposition, and he wasn't carrying a weapon anymore.
Despite all of that, Ichigo didn't pose a threat in Renji's opinion. Sure, he was hostile, but Renji considered himself old and wise enough to accept the fact they had a few things in common and the hostility wouldn't be a problem.
"This is the studio?" he asked when Ichigo pushed him into the house. He didn't answer before he dropped his keys on the dresser by the door (Renji snorted when he spotted an embarrassing little keychain in the shape of a strawberry).
"No, this is the apartment. The studio is through there," he pointed at a door to their left, "bathroom through there," a door to the right, "and kitchen behind here." Renji had to walk into the apartment to see the kitchen as it was behind the wall next to the front door. Also to their left, appliances were in a row against the wall, along with a tiny dinner table in the middle of the room, two chairs, and a TV in front of a couch.
Renji looked at the space Ichigo hadn't covered. It was pretty much the basic student apartment-slash-bachelor pad you see in movies-an undetectable kitchen, a small living room with a couch fit for the occasional sleepover, and a coffee table for your feet. He doubted the bathroom would be anything but minimal.
The place did have one weird thing about it, though. Well, two things. There was the oil painting of a black-winged demon in front of them, with black color seeping from its green and yellow eyes, down its cheeks, and from a hole in its throat. It was kind of astounding, to be honest.
The other thing, however, was something more sensible to ask about. "Why is there a bed in the middle of your living room?"
Ichigo raised his eyes from his mail with a "Huh?", and then followed Renji's nod toward the bed. "Because there isn't room for it in any other room."
Oh. "Wait, you don't have a bedroom?"
"Of course I have a bedroom, moron, but it's the biggest room in the apartment. I turned it into a studio and moved the bed out here." Ichigo waved his hand in the general direction of the bed.
Renji wasn't impressed by Ichigo making it sound normal. "So you don't have a bedroom?"
Ichigo chuckled. "Doesn't stop me from getting laid, if that's what you're worried about," he said, and went back to setting the contents of his pockets on the dresser-a tiny phone, an iPod, an obnoxiously orange wallet, some spare change, a pocket knife, some tickets-why the fuck did he carry a pocket knife around?
And why are you looking at everything he takes out? He's not a suspected threat.
Renji cleared his throat and looked away, coming into eye contact with the demon again and fuck, it was still eerie. Renji had to keep looking at it. He guessed that was the point of a piece of art. "Did you draw that thing?"
Finally, Ichigo stopped taking things out and simply crossed his arms, looking at the painting in front of them. He nodded, a bit awkwardly if Renji read him right. "Last year. Took me four days just to get it out of my mind, and more than a damn month to finish."
Renji had no idea whether that was a short or a long time to finish a painting like that, but he knew that Ichigo had put a lot of work into it. It was evident in the details-the membranes of the bat wings the creature seemed to have, its ribcage, even the crescent moon glaring behind it-and in the fact it was the only piece of art presented in his living room.
Renji had to ask. "Isn't it kinda depressing?"
Instead of scowling or moaning about Renji not getting art, the corners of Ichigo's mouth quirked up in a small smile, the first Renji had ever seen on him. It looked… a bit wrong, for some reason. Shifted something in Renji's perception of him.
"It's called ‘Despair'," Ichigo said. Renji could have pumped his fist in triumph and texted Shuuhei, 'I DO get art', but resisted the urge.
Before he got the chance to do anything, Ichigo asked, "Wanna see the studio?"
The studio seemed like a whole other world. On the walls were duct taped papers in different sizes, full of ink sketches-faces, limbs, vague scenery and ambiguous creatures-and occasionally actual words (victory, shatter, duality, heaven-piercer, hollow, hill, serpent's tail and two bolded words-despair and death). He would hardly call it calligraphy, but he guessed it inspired Ichigo.
The only wall free of papers was the one directly facing the single window in the room, so Renji guessed that was where Ichigo took most of his pictures (at least, if he didn't want an ugly background). He drew in front of it too, going by the canvas stand in front of the window.
In front of them was a long leather couch, probably the most expensive thing in the entire apartment other than the photography equipment Renji found lying around. There was a big wooden desk next to the last wall, which Renji guessed was Ichigo's workspace, given the massive amount of crap on it-pens, paints, brushes, papers, canvases, frames, a camera and four lenses, and six notebooks. Renji had no idea how the hell all of that stuff managed to stay on the desk, and guessed it was magic.
On the far end of the desk was a shiny laptop with one external hard drive, and next to the desk there were maybe three feet of space, occupied by a tripod and another camera on it, which was directed at the canvas stand and the couch.
Renji immediately knew why there was such a huge window there. The light, obviously, but also to get the heavy scent of paint out.
A noise brought Renji out of his observations, and he realized that in the meantime Ichigo had slipped by him and pulled the camera out of the bag. Now he was pressing a bunch of buttons to adjust the settings. The camera looked heavy and professional, fancy like the ones Shuuhei borrowed when he went on assignment for the magazine.
"You said you were a struggling student or some shit. How'd you afford all these things?" Renji asked, referring mainly to the sweet-ass couch.
Ichigo didn't look up, but Renji knew he'd heard him because he seemed flustered for a moment, like he didn't really want to tell. "There's a guy who helps me out," he finally answered.
Renji couldn't stop a laugh from coming out. What the hell? "You got a sugar daddy?"
"No!" Ichigo spluttered, looking up with some indignation. "More like a rich uncle! Jesus."
It seemed like a touchy subject, so Renji pressed on, amused. "Is it the guy who'd assassinate you?"
The indignation was replaced with a tired smirk. "That's the one. His name's Urahara. But I did work full time at home and saved some money, so I bought most of my equipment myself." He raised the camera in his hands as an example.
Renji leaned back against the plain wall, and gestured toward the camera. "I'm guessing, pictures first?"
"It'd be a shame to waste the afternoon light. You said you'd roll with it, so it won't be a problem if I take pictures instead of sketch."
It didn't sound like a question, but Renji nodded anyway. He guessed the golden light wouldn't look too bad. The problem was how he would look. If he hadn't been nervous before, he started feeling it right then. "What now? I mean, what should I do?"
He was afraid Ichigo would laugh at his expense or something, but he didn't, just went back to fiddling with his camera. "Just look natural. I only want a headshot this time, so you don't have to worry about doing something with your hands. Oh, and your neck. I want your neck."
Renji arched an eyebrow and Ichigo's hands froze suddenly, so Renji knew it was another thing Ichigo hadn't intended to say. He wondered what else would happen while Ichigo was distracted by working. It might be amusing. Or weird. Probably weird.
They both coughed awkwardly at the same time, and then Ichigo said, "Just stand in front of the window."
Renji tried not to shuffle over there. He'd been photographed before, it wasn't that big of a deal. Rukia had roped him into more impromptu photo shoots than he'd like to remember, courtesy of her state-of-the-art camera phone. Not to mention, the less bearable Kuchiki had spent his fair share of time in the spotlight during publicity events, where Renji was his shadow. He'd been taught to dress properly and not be caught doing anything embarrassing.
Right then Renji wore a pretty sweet coat and wasn't picking his nose, so that part was taken care of. That was as far as it went, though. He didn't know two shits about posing or being of any use to a somewhat professional photographer. Looking natural is pretty crappy advice, shithead.
Ichigo approached the canvas stand in a way that didn't disturb the light. Renji cleared his throat. "You're not gonna tell me I'm pretty again, right?"
"You're not pretty," Ichigo replied while replacing the lens currently on his camera with one from the bag. It was nothing like Rukia's camera. Renji felt even more lost, though it was reassuring to know he wasn't pretty, he guessed.
"I don't want pretty," Ichigo elaborated. "You've been to the gallery uptown, you saw all that understated art and pastel colors and peace the hotshots in Seireitei like to make and sell. That crap's not me. I like…" He thought for a moment, wetting his lips and clicking on a few more buttons. "I guess I like chaos and shit breaking. My professor says I like drama. You're the most dramatic person I've ever seen."
Renji hummed, mulling it over and trying to ignore the 'that's ridiculous' creeping up. Ichigo seemed unrepentant, which didn't really mean it hadn't been a hidden insult. Eventually, Renji just went for humor. "It's the coat, isn't it?"
Ichigo snorted. "Dimwit, it's you." He waved one hand for emphasis, but still didn't meet Renji's eyes. "The tattoos on your face, all serious and remarkable. Even your… body. Big, eye-catching." The longer the sentence progressed the quieter Ichigo's voice became, until he just went silent and left Renji to wonder if all of that was a compliment or something to worry about.
He just took it as it was, in the end. He shrugged. "Didn't do me much good. Being eye-catching ain't exactly what an orphaned kid in the slums of Rukongai needs to survive."
Ichigo's hand stopped moving for once. He seemed contemplative, and Renji doubted it was the camera's fault. What he'd just told Ichigo wasn't some big secret, but he knew from experience it wasn't something you were supposed to say to just anyone. Given all the things Ichigo had just shared with him, Renji didn't regret it.
"You don't think it's all that bad, either," Ichigo said, not exactly carefully. Renji was kind of grateful. "I can tell how comfortable you are in your own skin. I think that's what caught my attention in the first place."
He suddenly shook his head and looked up, all business. "Now shut up, I'm ready." He raised his camera without warning and pressed the shutter button, making a mechanical click noise Renji knew he was going to get very familiar with.
He felt awfully confused all at once, and straightened his back, squared his shoulders out of instinct. He gave the lens an even look and tried not to glare. Renji was loud and… animated, he got looked at plenty of times, but this felt like he was being evaluated by a stupid camera, and a part of him wanted to rebel. Most of him had grown out of that, though, so he just tightened his jaw and looked at the window to take some of the pressure off.
Ichigo clicked his tongue. "Look at me, idiot, and try to keep your face natural. I don't want you to make expressions you think I wanna see."
Yeah, like I'd go for a fake smile. Renji looked at the camera again and stopped trying to hold himself back. He wasn't sticking his tongue out at the offending object like he should have, but he didn't keep his mouth tightly shut, either. The glare was back with a vengeance, too.
The end result was Renji baring his teeth, his posture stiff and imposing, and his eyes filled with venom. Ichigo was clicking enthusiastically by then, occasionally turning his camera vertically and then horizontally again.
"Good," he said after a few minutes, and Renji was surprisingly pleased, enough so that he let up his battle stance. If Ichigo had planned to tell him to do something differently, the change in Renji's expression drove him to bring the camera right back up to his face and into another tirade of clicks.
Renji cursed. Ichigo stopped. "Look at the window," he said without looking up and, more importantly, without saying please. Renji snorted in disdain, but looked at the window anyway. The light was getting dimmer, enabling Renji to widen his eyes and relax a bit.
"What is it?" Ichigo asked between clicks.
Renji shrugged. "Nothing, it's just that no one's bossed me 'round in a long time. I was the head of a group of bodyguards in my last job, y'know?"
"Tell me about it."
Renji could tell Ichigo wasn't being cynical, which left him rather confused. "Should I really talk?"
"I would have stuck to inanimate subjects if I didn't want you to talk and do things," Ichigo chided. That was just snippy.
"Did anyone ever tell you you're shit at making people feel better?" he muttered and ran a hand over his brow, trailing it up to his ponytail and fixing it. He didn't wait for Ichigo to say anything before continuing, though.
"Well, we were six guys, and for a while I was the boss. You know, telling the others which exit to guard and who gets the car and shit. They were good men, I guess. I lost touch with most of them after I got my last assignment, but I still go for drinks with two of 'em. Not in shitholes like the bar here, though." He looked at Ichigo with a smirk, to really rub it in, but instead of gritted teeth all he got was a small noise and more clicking. He was beginning to suspect Ichigo wasn't even listening to him.
Looking angry didn't seem to work, so he just stared at the camera and got more and more bored. Renji really didn't like feeling that way.
"Is that enough?" he asked, taking a step closer to get Ichigo's attention back. Ichigo's finger lingered on the shutter button, but finally he lowered the camera from his face. He was grinning, but Renji didn't see joy in his face, maybe… determination.
Heh. Maybe I really am his muse.
"Not nearly enough," Ichigo said. He sounded excited. Renji couldn't tell whether he was freaked out or getting excited too. This was a very surreal situation, one he might come to like, at one point or another.
"You need more pictures?" he asked.
Ichigo shook his head in dismissal, and put the camera down carefully on his desk. "It's too dark now."
Renji looked at the window again, and was shocked to see only darkness outside. I guess we both got carried away.
"Oh," Renji said, but didn't move. "I should probably go, then."
Ichigo didn't look away from his desk, but his hands tightened on the camera until he was gripping it, and Renji wondered if he was going to cry or something.
"That's cool," Ichigo finally said, turning around. Well that's a relief. He wasn't smiling anymore, seeming preoccupied. Renji couldn't imagine what he was going to do with his pictures.
"You said you wanted to sketch me or something. Can you even do that using just the pictures?" He had no idea why he was stalling. Why would he want to stay? He was a terrible art model. And he was bored.
Ichigo cracked a grin. Oh. Renji had a feeling things were going to become interesting again. "I can do things you wouldn't believe."
"Oh really?" Renji found himself grinning back.
"But you really should go." Before Renji blinked Ichigo walked past him and out the door. Renji felt weirdly deflated. He shook his head and took one last look at the studio. He'd probably forget all about it in a week. It didn't matter.
He took a deep breath and followed Ichigo out.
They stood by the front door, Renji inspecting the living room again and Ichigo picking things out of his wallet until finally coming up with a twenty-dollar bill. Renji looked at him with an arched eyebrow when he handed the cash over.
Well. His previous job might have paid a little better, but Renji wouldn't be caught dead missing Byakuya Kuchiki.
"For an hour and a half of loyal service," Ichigo said.
Renji chuckled. Better than unemployment. "Sweet," he said, and put the money in his coat pocket. Ichigo nodded, but couldn't look very serious.
For a moment they just stood there, staring and waiting for something to happen. Renji wondered if they should shake hands or something, or if he should tell Ichigo he had to let him know if he would use his pictures for anything, or if he should ask whether or not the pictures turned out any good, or if they should consider a next time (the answer to all of those on Renji's part was 'probably not'), but his thoughts were cut off by Ichigo opening the door.
Renji could take a hint. Most of the time.
"Alright then. See you around," he said, and went out without a second glance. All in all, it was kind of nice.
*
It was three in the morning by the time Ichigo finished examining all the pictures he'd taken that day. When he hadn't been staring at the good shots (and there was an impressive amount, mind you, Ichigo was good) he'd been staring at the awesome color histogram.
The contrast was spectacular, like Renji was built just for this. The tall shadow cast behind him, the rich red of his hair falling past the blue bandana, and most importantly, the black ink winding on his pale skin. Ichigo didn't even have to mess around with Photoshop to make it better pronounced. He meant every word he'd said about Renji being dramatic. Now Ichigo was only tempted to change the mode to Grayscale and see what that would do.
He was painfully regretting not sketching Renji. The more he looked at the pictures the more he wanted to make them, to shape some of the things in them. Sketching gave him full control of the subject, which was probably the reason he enjoyed it in the first place, and it also let him distinguish certain things a camera couldn't. He wanted to waste a million layers of charcoal on the tattoos, wanted to get to know Renji's face like the back of his hand.
Ichigo didn't like regrets. He couldn't let Renji go after this, and he wouldn't. He'd have to get Renji back in the studio. At least he could comfort himself with the pictures he'd taken that day. He looked at all the expressions he'd caught when Renji spoke-anger, wistfulness, amusement, endearment, smugness. The way his eyes had fallen when he'd thought about the past.
Before he knew it Ichigo was jotting down with a red fountain pen on a Post-it note: 'EYES'. He looked back at the screen, where he'd zoomed into Renji's eyes, staring back at him heatedly. The color was rich and deep, like his voice and the little he'd let on to him about his personality. Ichigo found it inevitable to focus on his eyes. The good thing was that this time, he was so pumped about getting to work that he didn't ponder on how daring and alluring they were; instead he just marveled at the emotions he got out of them and what he could do with them.
Renji was sharp and rough and straightforward, but Ichigo could see he was concealing things. He wanted to dig in, or at least try to. It would be one hell of a project. He could see the work already-at first he'd use some of the outfits he had saved for fancier photo shoots, to make the layers he saw in Renji visible for the camera, and then he would lose them little by little. Make Renji sit and talk, examine his tattoos thoroughly-those bold hints that there was a hell of a lot more underneath it all.
He hung up all the Post-it notes in the small spaces between the ones already there, and was ridiculously pleased with his brainstorming session. His hands were on his phone before he even thought about it or had a chance to change his mind. He scrolled down his contact list to "Renji" (freshly changed from "fuckable ninjaman") and pressed Send. And then remembered it was three a.m.
Luckily, when Renji answered he didn't sound like Ichigo had just woken him.
"What?" he snapped, but sounded more confused than anything. Ichigo heard noise in the background and wondered if he'd interrupted something. He wondered if he should have cared more about that.
"Dude," he started, because all earth-shattering imperative conversations should start with dude, "I have an offer."
Renji growled at him, and it was kind of annoying that his voice was almost as impressive on the phone as it was in reality. "It couldn't have waited? Don't you have school or something?"
"Shut up, it's important!" Ichigo wasn't concentrating enough to think of a wittier comeback.
Apparently he didn't need one. "What offer, then?"
"I want you to be my final project." I want to tear you apart.
There was silence for a moment. Even the noise in the background was stopped, which made Ichigo suspect it was a TV and Renji was pathetic.
"The fuck?" Renji finally asked.
"No, it means that I'll work with you a lot and then present the outcome at the seniors' exhibition and just maybe get a degree." Even as he said it he knew it sounded crazy-he'd have to base his grade on another person. Just the thought used to be unbearable, but his screen was still on and the post-it notes were still in front of him and he just knew it would turn out good.
Renji still didn't answer, and by the time he did Ichigo was not above the good old "Come oooon, it'll be fun" he'd picked up from Keigo. Well, he'd never actually used it, but those were definitely desperate times.
"How much work are we talking about?" Renji finally asked, which wasn't a no.
Ichigo was pleased. "Like today, only once a week for a few months." He thought it was a sound offer. Plus, if they met once a week, he could coordinate it so that he'd always have something to report on his weekly Urahara check.
Urahara was the kind of guy you went to in a pinch, only even after he'd help he'd forget to leave you alone because he thought it was funny to watch you squirm. His and Ichigo's weekly check meant they'd meet or talk on the phone about what Ichigo was doing and, more importantly, what he'd done with his money (even when the money wasn't Urahara's). Sometimes, secretly, Ichigo thought it was kind of nice to catch up with someone from home like that.
So really, Renji and he meeting every week would be good for absolutely everyone and everything. He still hadn't gotten an answer, but it was too late to make it sound more appealing. Ichigo had been running on his powers of persuasion and personal charm (lacking, lacking, lacking) ever since Renji had picked up the phone. He hoped against hope it would be enough.
"You can't get enough of me, is that it?" Renji asked. He sounded amused, which was also firmly under the not a no category.
"Remember not to trip on your ego and die before we meet next week." He was risking it, but damn it, he was so close.
"Yeah, yeah. Will it involve a lot of calls in the middle of the night?"
Success. It felt like every time he finished a painting or had a new idea or won a game on Keigo's PSP. No, it felt even better, because this was a social victory as well as an artistic one. Plus, yeah, Ichigo couldn't get enough.
"A lot of them," he said, making Renji snort.
"Crazy bastard. I'll see you next week."
Ichigo hung up before he'd mention that he'd probably see Renji every day until then, considering the pictures currently open. It was probably a wise call.
Ichigo pulled out another Post-it note and jotted down, 'FUCK YEAH'.
NEXT