Bleach Fan Fiction / Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ 1st Kiss Meme ❯ Boys Talking ( Chapter 1 )

“Either come in and sit or go away, but don't stand their like a half-wit, Abarai.” Ishida didn't look up from the shirt he was altering, but he heard hesitant footsteps enter the empty classroom and stop a few desks away. He pinched the seam of the shirt and marked changes he would make with chalk and straight pins. He grumbled at the entirely unflattering cut of the gym uniforms and again tallied the list of students who had asked him to fix up their shirts so that they didn't look like bags of shapeless polyester. He should really start charging for this. He could buy his books for university next fall with the money he made, seeing as his father wasn't giving him a cent. He could-

 

He looked up when Renji cleared his throat and tapped a desk in a restless rhythm. Ishida pushed up his glasses. “Do you want to sit down? You look like shit.”

 

Renji stood over him for another few seconds, clearly indecisive, giving Ishida sufficient time to take in his latest effort at “civilian” clothing. Whatever time capsule he'd gotten them from this time wasn't nearly as offensive as others he'd seen. He wore a button down shirt with loud stripes, tucked into black slacks (no pleats!) that actually fit quite well, pointing out the hard lines of his waist and hips, but not clinging to his thighs, like another idiot he knew who, even though his legs were like toothpicks, insisted upon- “Was that just luck or did you actually visit a tailor to have those pants altered for you?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

 

Renji jumped at his words as though he'd been poked by something sharp, and then abruptly collapsed in a desk chair, leaning forward with an exasperated sigh. “No, they're Kurosaki's. I found them in his closet.” When Ishida's eyes narrowed in suspicion, Renji clarified. “In Kurosaki Isshin's closet. Shit, you think I'd wear Ichigo's pants? They'd fit Rukia better than me.” Then, just as abruptly, he gave an anguished “Argh!” and dropped his head into his hands, large fingers reaching up distractedly to tangle in the spiky knot of hair sticking out of a black bandanna. “Seriously, Ishida, the pants are not the problem. The pants are not why I'm here.”

 

Ishida busied himself with the shirt. “No, oddly enough, your pants are fine. I'm wondering more about the suspenders and the choice of belt buckle, but those things can wait. Baby steps are still constructive.” he was stalling a bit, just a little hung up on the image of Renji raiding Kurosaki the Younger's closet. Renji was tall and broad and the thought of him tugging on t-shirts that were tight on the person they were intended for was quite ludicrous. On Ichigo, they were snug enough to slip up and reveal a strip of abdomen or the indentation of his spine; they showed the wiry strength in his-

 

He stabbed himself with a straight pin and cursed, shoving his thumb into his mouth and sucking a few drops of blood onto his tongue.

 

“You okay?” Renji asked, glancing up from his intense examination of the desk.

 

“Finger slipped,” Ishida mumbled awkwardly.

 

Renji nodded once and looked out the window, tattooed eyebrows drawn down and slanted together into a bizarre new shape.

 

This unease between them was not how they normally operated, not since they'd returned from Hueco Mundo together over a year ago - in the gut of Unohana-taichou's giant released Zanpakuto, no less - and spent a blurred period of time with the 4th Division recovering both physical and mental health, then gone out to fight again in the Winter War. Quincy and Shinigami had never been on better terms. Ishida was 17 and Renji was... probably close to 200, and yet, the two warriors had an understanding - the kind of easy friendship that didn't require maintenance or effort, but that felt good and safe and honest. They didn't seek each other out normally, but when they saw each other, scowls and foul moods lifted. They didn't confide their deepest, darkest secrets, but then, Ishida had never done that with anyone, and Renji didn't seem the type to either.

 

Even though there were secrets - there were always secrets. Ishida knew whose heart Renji's belonged to, and he suspected that Renji knew where his... attention tended to stray.

 

“You get along good with girls, right?”

 

And, if Ishida had been thinking aloud, he would have had to eat his words. As it was, he narrowly avoided stabbing himself again and put down the shirt. He looked up to see wide dark eyes pinning him in his seat, mouth set in a pained frown that appeared to be stuck there. Ishida noticed lines around Renji's mouth that were starting to look like they'd stay even if he wasn't upset.

 

“A few of them,” he answered carefully. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Well, I-” Renji looked away again, laying his hands flat on the desk and staring intently at the backs of them. He bent his fingers up and now Ishida looked too, watched rough skin bend and stretch over large knuckles. “I ever tell you about Rukia?”

 

Ah. Eating his words, indeed. “Nothing specific. What should I know about her?”

 

Renji's mouth twisted into a strange smile. “It's what you should know about me.” He looked up, asking permission, and Ishida shrugged sharply, nodding, saying without words, 'Of course. Just talk to me, you idiot.' “So, I've known'er since we were kids, right?” He gave a humorless laugh, but smiled and meant it. “I don't think I ever even told you where I was from, did I?” His smile turned rueful and Ishida felt a fierce swell of affection that would have been mortifying to express. “We were poor, dirty, street rats with just enough talent to stay ahead of the rest. And for... shit, for decades, we were it for each other; there was no one else. For twice as long as you've been alive, Ishida, we were together, every day, and she slept in the same room as me every night - hell, when it was cold, she slept with me. But I- I couldn't...”

 

“You couldn't keep her,” he supplied. Ishida didn't know the details of the story, because, aside from Renji and Rukia, there was no one in Soul Society with whom he would speak to about this. He loved Rukia because she was nakama and because she loved all the clothes he made for her (he sympathized with her plight of never finding clothes her size in Living World stores), but he didn't know her past. He did, however, know subtext and he knew hormones and hooded glances, and disappointment, confusion, miscommunication, missed opportunities and humiliation. All of it came off Renji in waves; he could almost see it. Rukia was harder to pin down; she'd had better training in burying that sort of thing.

 

Renji nodded. “Yeah. I fucked it up. I think about it now, and I remember when I did it; when, if I'd just said somethin' different-” He clenched his hands into fists. “She was ready to stay with me forever, to say 'no' to the Kuchiki, because she thought she already had a family with me, and I- I told her to go.”

 

“You were thinking about her interests.” It was easy to say; it was a good enough reason for most actions, for why he stayed away from his friends even when they sought him out, even when they showed up at his apartment building with med school applications and a shout up to his window that he needed help and that Isshin couldn't sit still for five minutes to look over his essay on why he wanted to be a doctor, and that he brought dinner too, and just answer the damn door, Ishida-

 

“No!” Renji snapped, jerking Ishida right back to the conversation at hand. He blinked and then swallowed and picked up the shirt again. “I did what I did because it was easier for me. The Kuchiki put me in my place in one afternoon, and I took it because that's always easier than-”

 

He cut himself of and folded his arms across his chest, hunching down in his seat. Ishida distracted himself by fixing his eyes on the thin black suspenders half-blending in with the stripes of Renji's shirt. They did actually look quite sharp on him, in that somewhat off-center, but always earnest way that Renji had. All he needed was a jaunty cap and he'd-

 

“You're going to try to talk to her, aren't you,” he realized, feeling a thrill of empathetic anxiety spread up his spine. “That's why you're here, why you're dressed like that.” Renji heaved a sigh that was an obvious, 'yes,' smoothing his hands over his shirt. “She's visiting Kurosaki this week. You'd rather talk to her in the Living World?”

 

He shrugged, disconsolate. “Sometimes I think she's happier here. She loves Ichigo's sisters and Inoue and all those dresses you make for her, which always look fucking fantastic.”

 

Ishida smiled and preened a little, in spite of himself. “Her figure is suited for them. She's too petite for-”

 

“I know, Ishida!” he bit out. “You think I don't know what looks good on her? Believe me, I know.”

 

Ishida's eyebrows lifted. “Right. Sorry.”

 

But his outburst seemed to rally his nerve a bit and Renji straightened in his chair, looking entirely too large for it. How he'd ever managed to convince the administration that he was 16 was anyone's guess. “Anyway, now's a good time to do it, I think. We're both in good places right now with our jobs and our friends. She's finally a seated officer under Ukitake-taichou, and I know he wants her for his Vice seat once she's had some more time in the Division. And Kuchiki-taichou-” His voice lowered ever so slightly as he said the name, and Ishida frowned internally at the clear reverence and respect Renji held for his captain. Even now, after Renji had proven himself again and again both in battle and in his commitment to the Gotei 13 (and not to mention the welfare of Kuchiki's younger sister), he still felt he was not good enough, that he would never be Byakuya's equal. That particular Kuchiki would give Ryuuken a run for his money in the stick-so-far-up-the-ass-it's-difficult-to-sit competition. He smiled. Ichigo had come up with the name for that competition after meeting Ryuuken during the War. So far, those two were the front-runners with Yamamato-taichou and Soifon-taichou tied for a distant third.

 

“Kuchiki-taichou told me that he thinks I'm doing a good job as fuku-taichou, and that I should be proud of how far I've come.”

 

Ishida's eyebrows lifted higher. “Really.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“He really said that.”

 

“No.”

 

Ishida laughed and so did Renji. “Then what did he say?”

 

Renji shrugged. “I don't remember his exact words.” Which was definitely a lie, Ishida thought, but a harmless one. “He only insulted my birthplace and my appearance and the way I talk five times instead of the usual eight. And he, uh, well, he said that I couldn't have set my sights any higher by pursuing Rukia.”

 

“Oh, shit.” He couldn't help it. He put both elbows on the desk and leaned into the conversation.

 

Renji, released a great, gusty breath of air. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

 

“That's good, right? You should be happy that he said it, right?”

 

Renji leaned back and spread his arms wide, half stretching, half expressing... Ishida didn't know. Joy? Frustration? Anxiety? His underarms were dark with small rings of nervous sweat. Urahara's gigai-making skills were indeed impressive. “Yes, it's fucking great that he acknowledges what I've dedicated the last century of my life to. All I have left to do now is actually tell her that I'm in love with her and that I want her to move out of the Kuchiki compound and live with me and, I dunno, marry me?” He sat up straight again. “Shouldn't be too hard, right? She's only here visiting the one person in both worlds who could steal her away from me. No big deal, right, Ishida?”

 

His eyebrows were now arched up, and Ishida read his desperate need for reassurance as though the tattoos were actually words. “You mean Kurosaki.”

 

“Ichigo. Yeah. You know the one who saved her when I couldn't, who was her best friend when I was a total dick to her, and who put her up for a summer in his closet? That Ichigo.”

 

Ishida bit the inside of his lip and slid his gaze to the window. “Kurosaki is an idiot,” he hissed.

 

“You know that. I know that. Unfortunately, he's also our friend, and-”

 

“He thinks he knows what he wants. He makes these gestures and says things that indicate he- But he doesn't know. He doesn't think about consequences or appearances or the future.” He took a slow breath and turned back to Renji. “You shouldn't worry about Kurosaki. But neither should you delay in making your feelings known to Rukia-san.”

 

Renji was looking at him funny, specifically, looking for something. Ishida met his eyes briefly and looked away. “And I suppose you came here for advice on how to do it. That would be the reasoning behind the question of whether I 'am good with girls,' I presume.” Now Renji flushed, and Ishida took a moment to collect himself and, in the midst of his confused self-pity, appreciate Renji's sharp features and how they could still be utterly guileless. Kuchiki Rukia was a lucky girl. She probably knew that, because she was also a smart girl. “Sorry, Abarai,” he concluded. “I like Rukia-san very much, but I'm not the person to talk to about wooing her. I wouldn't have the foggiest idea how.”

 

Renji made a sour face and nodded, staring down at the desk again until he finally shrugged and muttered, “Fuck it.” Now it was Ishida's turn to look at him funny.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“I said, 'fuck it,'” Renji repeated, louder this time. Ishida flinched back a hair. “If you don't know how to talk to Rukia, that's fine. Hell, if you did, I would seriously worry about my own skills, because you're one of the prickliest people I've ever met. But,” And then he looked Ishida right in the eye. “You're the only one I can talk to about this. You're the only one I want to talk to about this. So, I don't know,” he said with a nervous shrug. “What would you want? How would you want to be... to be wooed?”

 

Ishida felt that same swell inside him, that rare feeling of connection and trust and... He couldn't name it exactly; there wasn't one word that described it. He knew Renji in this one moment, perhaps more than Rukia did, even though she'd known him for a 100 years. And he felt the acute need for someone to understand him and what he wanted, and he wanted that person to be Renji, because he knew this was a conversation unlike any they'd had or were likely to have. This was an important moment in both their young lives, so he wanted to tell the truth, because that was what the moment deserved.

 

“I would want... I would want to just let it happen like it's supposed to. I would want to let him bring dinner to my house and ask me to read over his entrance essay on why he wants to be a doctor. I'd want to have a beer with him, even though I don't like beer and I don't think he does either. It'd loosen us both up enough to... to finally recognize what's been going on for two years.” He met Renji's gaze. “That's about it. Pretty simple, I guess.”

 

At some point in the conversation, Renji had scooted his desk closer so that they were now directly facing each other, and anyone who walked by the classroom would have seen two young men engaged in serious discussion - from the looks of it, on how to alter a gym uniform shirt.

 

Renji nodded, appearing to digest what he'd said. Ishida had never told anyone about his sexual preference, let alone who he was attracted to. “I'm assuming you're not talking about Chad, here.”

 

Ishida snorted. Some were brighter than others.

 

“No, I'm not talking about Sado-kun. Though, to be honest, I could do much worse - am doing much worse, in fact.”

 

Renji shrugged. “Nah, this kinda thing happens pretty often back home. From what I've seen - and granted this is Ikkakku and Yumichika we're talkin' about - all you gotta do is get him on the ground and grab his crotch and he'll get the picture.” In the space of Ishida's appalled silence, Renji gave him a wry grin. “And you could do it, too, Quincy. I've seen how fast you are. And how strong.”

 

If he wasn't blushing before, he certainly was now. He'd never taken compliments well, mostly because, since Souken died, he'd gotten so few from the people he really cared about.

 

“If only it were that simple with Rukia.”

 

“Maybe it is,” Ishida sputtered, desperate to move on with the conversation. “She's a shinigami too. Just, uh, just-” He motioned flipping someone onto their back and pinning them. “Just get her on the ground and grab her-” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “Abarai, I already told you, I'm no good at this.”

 

Renji was grinning at him again, and Ishida squirmed in his seat. “Uryuu, you are the best kind of person, and if I was into dudes, Ichigo wouldn't stand a chance.” Then he stood up and brushed a hand over his shirt and slacks. The more Ishida thought about it, the better the clothes suited him. He stood up, too, not really wanting the conversation to end because, when it did, Renji would go Rukia and Ishida would be left in an empty classroom with a pile of gym shirts and the prospect of another night alone in his apartment. But, at the same time, he had nothing left to say. They'd shared what they needed to share and this was the nature of their friendship. Renji would leave now.

 

“You really do look nice,” he said quickly. “Rukia-san will like the suspenders.”

 

Renji puffed out his chest a little and hooked his thumbs in the slim black bands of elastic. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Then, because Ishida didn't like to think himself a coward in every aspect of his life, he stepped forward and straightened Renji's collar, enjoying the momentary proximity of another male, smelling nervous sweat, and briefly touching hard shoulders. He licked his lips and leaned up to kiss him before he lost his nerve and to fill the last moments of their visit with something just as memorable as the rest of it.

 

Renji's whole body jumped, and by reflex, Ishida did too, but he grabbed Renji's elbow and pressed up a little harder until Renji's shoulders relaxed a bit and his head bent forward into the kiss. It was mostly a sloppy mushing of wet lips against dry, but somehow, it soothed Ishida's jagged nerves and lifted his spirit. Renji broke the kiss first and backed away, flustered. Easily flustered, Ishida remained calm. Renji rubbed the back of his head and gave a nervous laugh.

 

“I'll see you, Ishida.”

 

“Good luck, Abarai.”

 

His friend gave him a genuine smile, remembering what he'd come to Ishida for in the first place. “Thanks.” Then he turned and fairly ran from the room.