Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Reminiscence ❯ Interlude~02 -- Part I: Please Don't Say You're Sorry ( Chapter 11 )

Title: Reminiscence

Interlude: 02 - Part I ~ Please Don't Say You're Sorry

Author: La Loba de Mibu

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Ikkaku and Yumichika

Warnings: Angst

Summary: Ikkaku was no longer around; he should therefore stop thinking about him, but it was insanely difficult to kill over three decades of habit.

Notes: The number of the chapter does not reflect the chronological order of the present storyline, rather the flashback portrayed therein.

Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach.

Beta'd by: jamminbison

 

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~ Series Timeline

~ Series Index: Chapters 1-9 & Interlude 1

 

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Happi coat: the short sleeveless robe Ikkaku's wears

 

Kagema: this is a derisive slang word for homosexual men; while okama when used derisively, is a bit more offensive but most akin to words like “fairy” or “fruitcake,” while kagema is much more offensive, most similar to the word “fagg*t” in English.

 

Yuuen: the kanji for this name means “melancholy beauty”

 

This interlude's anthem can be nothing other then Madonna's song: Sorry. Silly thing was on repeat while I wrote this. >.>

 

--Loba

 

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Yumichika stumbled along the path that wouldn't stop swaying in front of him. He wiped the bangs clinging wetly to his sweaty forehead away in annoyance as if they were at fault. The sun was high in the sky and it was early summer, but for all his perspiration, Yumichika could have sworn it was dead winter from how cold he felt. The ground below him dipped suddenly, or so it seemed.

 

He staggered regardless and would have fallen to the ground in a heap if a heavy hand on his shoulder did not catch his fall and pull him back up. Yumichika shuddered violently and pulled away with a sharp gasp, pinning his distorted gaze on the stranger now in front of him. He was heavy built, but not that tall; at least not as tall as Ikkaku. The gears in his mind grinded to a sharp painful halt at the thought.

 

Ikkaku was no longer around; he should therefore stop thinking about him, but it was insanely difficult to kill over three decades of habit.

 

“Oooh, touchy!” the burly man teased, turning his head towards someone grinning.

 

It was only then Yumichika realized that there were several people in front of him. Wonderful.

 

“What's a little lady like you doing out here all alone without an escort, eh?” the same man spoke once more.

 

Yumichika felt his eye suffer a violent twitch and his fever flushed face twisted into a derisive sneer.

 

“I'm no lady,” his voice was not deep, but still undeniably male as he spat his words in a scathing tone, “And I need no escort.”

 

There was a chorus of surprised guffaws from the brutes in front of him and Yumichika would have given anything to be able to clearly identify which of the group had called him a `fucking kagema,' because he would have loved to personally introduce him to his next life that very instant.

 

Unfortunately, Yumichika was wise enough to know that four against one were not stellar odds and weaponless as he was, he was going to have to be extremely careful. His body swayed to his left a bit; of course, a raging fever didn't help one bit either. He forcibly stopped himself when he found he was analyzing which opponent was the strongest, so as to leave him to Ikkaku.

 

Ikkaku was long gone; he was not coming back. He took up a fighting stance he'd learned from that very man, making sure not to show how he was favoring his left arm.

 

“Alright then, pansy, no need to get uppity. Be a good sport and hand us over yer food and yer money, and maybe we'll even leave you be. Eh, whatta ya say?” the leader addressed him once more.

 

He stubbornly ignored the pang of lonely nostalgia and threw himself at his closest opponent, delivering a neat drop kick as his answer.

 

He pressed his advantage of surprised as long as he could before they recovered, managing to wind one of the men with a crushing kick to the diaphragm and also break the wrist of another with a satisfying crack. However, by the time he turned to the third, a wave of dizziness along with a meaty fist caught up with him. He tried to dodge, but an untimely bout of vertigo caused him to swerve in the wrong direction and while the hit missed the intended target of his gut, it caught the shoulder of his left arm, which had not yet healed from being broken some weeks earlier.

 

A sharp pained cry escaped his throat and as his world blacked out for a few moments, Yumichika tried to remember how it was he got into such a lousy situation in the first place. Ah, that's right, it had all started about three weeks earlier . . .

 

 

. . . . . .

 

 

Ikkaku had been losing.

 

The idea was almost too much to wrap his mind around; the meaning something that almost escaped him as he glanced over his shoulder at the battle Ikkaku was engaged in not too far off.

 

Sudden movement in his peripheral vision warned him of his own opponent's impending attack and Yumichika found himself hard pressed to dodge and parry, or have his face cut. His arms trembled with the force of holding off the other man's blade, but his blood was now boiling at the mere audacity of the move and before he knew it, he had delivered a savage kick to the man's gut. The pressure against his blade eased as the man doubled over and Yumi quickly sidestepped and thrust forward, running him straight through. He pulled his kodachi free before whipping around, now free to watch Ikkaku again.

 

He was still losing.

 

Madarame Ikkaku had built quite a reputation over the years and it was no longer uncommon to find their path blocked by a cocky challenger or two. Yumichika had gotten quite used to standing on the sidelines and watching Ikkaku dispatch an idiot before continuing calmly on with their aimless travels. It was an unspoken agreement of sorts.

 

Ikkaku was, and would always be, more battle hungry than Yumichika. He relished a good fight like nothing else. Ikkaku lost in the heat of battle was one the most beautiful things Yumichika had ever seen, so he was quite content to concede most times and simply watch his companion in all his glory.

 

Other times, however, they would encounter a group of cowards, who'd try to ambush them in greater numbers, thinking such a dishonorable tactic could bring down the mighty Madarame. It was those times that Yumichika was grateful Ikkaku's reputation overshadowed his quietly beautiful presence, despite him always being at the other's side, as it gave them an advantage in situations like those ambushes. The unintelligent brutes would rain down on Ikkaku, never taking into consideration that he would be any kind of threat until it was too late.

 

Yet even when they fought side by side against a group, Ikkaku would immediately stake a claim on the group's toughest fighter; trusting Yumi to deal with the rest. Ever faithful, Yumichika would do just that, usually with enough time to sit back and watch Ikkaku finish off the ringleader in a spectacular fashion.

 

Never, in all their years, had Yumichika finished his fight to find Ikkaku seriously struggling against an opponent. Fighting all out, yes; but never with undeniable defeat looming over him as it was now.

 

Yumichika cringed, and his fingers unconsciously tightened on the hilt of his kodachi as he watched Ikkaku narrowly miss having his head cleaved clean off his boy by his adversary's massive sword. It did not miss his flesh however, carving a fresh wound along Ikkaku's sword arm as the bald man dodged. Ikkaku didn't do much more than grunt, flowing quickly into a counter-move that was parried easily.

 

He watched in morbid fascination as the blood flowing freely from the wounded arm sailed in elegant ruby arcs through the air with every swing of Ikkaku's blade. Yet, Ikkaku's smile never faltered, even as his breathing became labored and the salt from his sweat burned his various wounds. Yumichika was startled to see the grievous gut wound Ikkaku had received no more then three days earlier had broken open during the fight, and was steadily staining the bandages around Ikkaku's midriff and straight through his happi coat.

 

Ikkaku, he realized belatedly, had been hiding the extent of his pain the past few days much more seriously then he had imagined. He had noticed that their pace was much lazier then normal, even after the extra day spent resting at the inn of the town where their last fight had taken place. Yumi would not have allowed them to depart had he known Ikkaku was that bad off; hindsight was seldom of any use.

 

Even so, he silently berated himself as he watched Ikkaku struggle against a foe that would have given him a run for his money even if he were in perfect health, but against whom he was gradually failing in his wearied state. If Yumichika had only been faster, Ikkaku wouldn't have had to deal with those three lackeys he dispatched of before being able to turn to his current opponent.

 

He hissed, shoulders tensing as he watched Ikkaku back peddle suddenly but not quite fast enough to avoid an angry red slash across the chest, adding to his collection of bleeding wounds. Blood from a cut above his brow rain into his left eye, effectively limiting his range of vision and making him clearly favor one side.

 

His opponent wasted no time exploiting every weakness, every fault. He was the strongest man Yumichika had seen Ikkaku come up against to date, and he couldn't help but curse the horrible timing. He choked back a horrified cry and bit his thumb as Ikkaku sailed into the dirt with a pained groan. The enemy approached then, sword held high. Ikkaku was dragging himself to his knees, but Yumichika realized with a sudden wave of cold dread, he wasn't going to have time to block. The other man's giant cleaver-like sword hailed down towards his friend to hew him in two.

 

An instinct of the most primal nature surged up in Yumichika and made him move without care or a thought to his actions. He was suddenly in front of Ikkaku, his pathetic little kodachi braced with both arms against the onslaught of a sword many times its size. The impact jerked his whole body, making pain lace through his arm so strongly his stomach flopped.

 

Yumichika felt almost as if time had stopped running everything was in such slow motion around him. His kodachi strained to hold the cleaver at bay but succeeded only in delaying the inevitable. He felt a change in pressure as his sword cracked and started to give right down the middle. But Ikkaku was still behind him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let them both be sliced in half. As his kodachi finally broke, Yumi pivoted on one foot, and put his entire bodyweight into the kick he delivered to the broadside of the large blade, sending it and its wielder tumbling to the side.

 

He came back to himself then, standing pale and trembling slightly from adrenaline, the hilt of his broken kodachi his only means of defense. The other man recovered with a look of shock on his face, but it couldn't have been much compared to what Yumi felt when he was suddenly shoved out of the way from behind.

 

With his opponent still too stunned to react in time, Ikkaku managed to slip past his defenses even in his beaten state and thrust his katana straight through the other man. Yumichika was surprised to note that his characteristic smile was no where in sight.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood as he watched Ikkaku pull his sword free from his adversary's body, only to stand stock still, shoulders stiff, face grim and staring angrily at the corpse before him. This was not right. Where was Ikkaku's victory whoop? That winning smile? His triumphant laugh?

 

Yumichika approached then, keeping his aching arm as still as possible to minimize the pain. Perhaps Ikkaku was more seriously hurt than he looked. He reached the taller man and placed a small hand on his shoulder.

 

“Ikkaku? Ikkaku, are you alright?”

 

Yumichika's only answer was the pain that suddenly bloom across his brow and right eye. He reeled back, stumbled over a nearby body and landed in the dirt road on his broken arm. A hoarse cry escaped his lips involuntarily as pain raced up the limb in a blinding fashion, making him choke as he quickly shifted his weight off it. He battled to his knees, looking up in shock at his friend, eye already starting to darken with bruising.

 

Ikkaku was staring back at him a look of disgust on his face. He normally towered over Yumichika even when the long-haired man stood at his full height, but kneeling as he was then, he'd never felt quite so small. When Ikkaku finally spoke, the coldness in his voice chilled Yumichika's spine.

 

“What the hell was that?”

 

The quietness of the obviously angry question filled Yumi with foreboding, and he found himself gaping silently.

 

“What the hell was that just now, huh?!”

 

Yumichika blinked in honest surprise at having Ikkaku's wrath suddenly directed at him full force. It was not something he was used to; he'd incurred Ikkaku's annoyance, exasperation, and just this side of anger occasionally, but never the oppressive rage he was feeling now. He frowned finally and struggled to his feet, looking up at Ikkaku in concern and uncertainty.

 

He instinctively knew that he should not have stepped in like that, that it was a matter of pride; but he had not realized how grievous it was to Ikkaku. Yumichika shifted uncomfortably, opening his mouth several times, but finding that words escaped him. Ikkaku's face darkened the more he hesitated and delayed, until Yumi could no longer face him and looked away guiltily.

 

Ikkaku made a noise of disgust then, suddenly stalking past Yumichika, shouldering him out of the way none too gently and causing him to stumble to regain his balance. Yumichika watched in stunned silence as Ikkaku walked over to their packs and started digging through them, sorting out things so they were distinctly separated as either his or Yumichika's. Cold apprehension started to squeeze at his heart.

 

“Ikkaku . . . What are you doing?” his voice was very quiet and perhaps a pitch too high.

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Ikkaku cut him off sharply, pinning him with a glare hot enough to burn a hole through Yumi's stomach. Ikkaku turned back to his task, and Yumi watched as his comb box was transferred from one pack to the other.

 

“Ikkaku,” Yumi tried in a placating tone. He was sure the frantic edge of it, growing with each passing word, ruined the effect, “You're bleeding all over the place, maybe we should head back to town, and have the medic see you. We can—”

 

“We? There ain't no we,” Ikkaku turned, facing Yumichika with a look of contempt, “There's just me and the idiot pansy that interfered with my fight!”

 

One of the packs landed at Yumichika's feet, and he watched with wide violet eyes as Ikkaku shouldered his own with a pained grunt. The other man began heading down the path then, at a slightly pathetic hobbling pace, his injuries deterring anything more industrious. When he drew closer, Yumichika stepped in front of his path. Cold chills of hurt confusion were giving him gooseflesh as he tried to digest what Ikkaku was saying; but more then that, hot anger was beginning to chew on his frayed nerves.

 

“What exactly are you trying to say, Madarame? Is this the thanks I get for saving your life today? What's wrong with you?!”

 

Yumichika was starting to feel as if he was no longer in his own body, controlling his actions, but rather floating above somewhere, watching events unfold beyond his ability to stop them.

 

“Saved my life?!” Ikkaku pinned him with a sneer that the slight young man had never seen directed at him before, he was livid, “More like trampled my pride, and paid me the greatest disgrace a warrior could possibly get!”

 

“What? I— What are you talking about? You've saved my life before!”

 

“You ain't no warrior!” Ikkaku retorted without thinking, “Yer like some fool pup I gave scraps to and now I can't get to quit yappin' at my heels! Consider yerself lucky I'm not in the habit of kicking defenseless animals, or you'da been dead a while ago!”

 

All expression was wiped clean from Yumichika's face. Those words stung in ways Ikkaku probably hadn't intended, but that nevertheless made his temper snap. He punched Ikkaku square in the jaw with his good arm, the hilt of his broken kodachi still in his hand adding to the weight of the blow.

 

“Fuck you!” Yumichika didn't know what surprised Ikkaku more, the unlikely curse spilling from his lips, or the way Yumi had decked him hard enough to send him reeling, “When I saved you today I didn't think I was helping out such an ungrateful bastard. What were you expecting me to just stand by and watch you die? Not while I owe you my life!"

 

Yumi meant more by that statement than he ever intended to let Ikkaku know, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking about that. He was enraged at Ikkaku for essentially throwing his scrawny physique and inadvertently his past in his face.

 

"But if you think I've been hanging around your lousy company this long because I can't take care of myself, then you couldn't be more of an arrogant son-of-a-bitch! I can do just fine on my own thanks. I don't need you!”

 

He stopped then, trembling with barely contained rage at his long time companion. But as he stopped and studied Ikkaku then, the firm set of his mouth, the small crease between his brows, the more rational, less riled part of Yumi's mind realized the other man's eyes contained, dare it be said, a flicker of hurt, before his expression hardened once again.

 

“Well then, consider that debt paid," Ikkaku replied grimly, "And I'm glad ya feel that way, 'cause I won't be totin' yer skinny ass around fer another step." He moved finally, starting to head North before pausing and glaring over his shoulder. When he spoke, there was no jest in Ikkaku's voice, "If you ever interfere in one of my fights again . . . I'll kill you."

 

It was as if suddenly all the air was crushed out of his lungs and Yumichika stood dumbfounded for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe. He succeeded only after Ikkaku turned back around and continued down the path. Fear and uncertainty as he had not felt for over three decades welled up in him with every step the bald man took. His breath began to quicken before he finally got his body to move, following after the other man as he had so long ago, resolutely ignoring the pain in his arm as he hurried to catch up to Ikkaku.

 

Ikkaku stopped then, turning around so abruptly that Yumichika almost ran into him. A hand fisted in the front of Yumi's kimono and before he knew it, he was pulled forward and up so high he had trouble keeping his feet on the ground. He hissed and grimaced, his vision going white for a second as the move disturbed his arm once more. He pressed his eyes shut to clear them, the tissue starting to swell around his right eye throbbing painfully at the small action. When he opened them again, he was staring straight into Ikkaku's scowling face inches from his own.

 

“Quit. Following. Me. Now,” each word was clipped and his tone seemed to be aimed at a stupid child.

 

Yumichika didn't bristle as he usually would. He had never seen Ikkaku so angry. No, that was a lie. He'd seen worse, but never directed at him as it was now. It left him stunned and wary as he'd never felt around Ikkaku. Not knowing what else to do he fell back on an age old habit, unconsciously repeating the words he had said so many years ago.

 

“I'm not!” he retorted forcefully, but his voice died little by little as he continued and he couldn't look at Ikkaku and tell and out right lie, “I'm merely . . . traveling in the same direction.”

 

Ikkaku's eyes widened a tiny fraction, no doubt in recognition, before they narrowed coldly.

 

“Fine then.”

 

Yumichika stumbled as Ikkaku let him go, and pushed past him once more, this time very purposely heading South, in the direction they had come from that morning. It dawned on him then that Ikkaku was walking out of his life for good. After a moment, he walked numbly back towards his pack, standing in silence, face blank, watching Ikkaku leave. He stood there even as Ikkaku's figure became a tiny nearly indistinguishable spec on the horizon, and did not move even when he disappeared below it.

 

Long afterwards, he fixed his eyes to the hilt in his hands. It seemed to suffer his apathetic gaze for long unmoving hours, before Yumichika dropped the useless thing onto the dusty road.

 

The sun had been midway through the afternoon sky when he and Ikkaku had been ambushed. When Yumichika finally picked up his pack and turned North on the road, the sun was long passed set.

 

 

. . . . . .

 

 

Yumichika flailed about blindly as his arm was released. His vision returned in a swarming mess of color, light, and shadow, and Yumi gasped suddenly when his back was slammed into a tree, his breath knocked clean out of him. He was disoriented and his head seemed to refuse his command to cease its useless lolling as he struggled weakly against his captor's grip. It was a hard task when said man was squeezing his not quite broken arm and shooting sparks of nausea inducing pain up along his nerves.

 

The weeks had gone by, and with Ikkaku gone, Yumichika's luck seemed to have gone with him. He roamed through districts distracted and apathetic. No longer accompanied by his tall muscled companion, Yumi's petite figure attracted many who took him for a weak and easy target, much to their chagrin when they attacked. But it hadn't been easy to fight everyone off, not without a proper weapon and a broken arm to boot.

 

Yumichika had gone to have it set, but the constant fighting had made it fall awry again and again. He was beginning to wonder if it would ever heal, when one particular fight a week earlier had left him cut up and with only enough money for either his arm or the gashes he acquired. Most of the cuts healed just fine on their own, but as small one at his hip had festered, he soon found himself with an intolerably high fever.

 

“Heh, you ain't so tough,” the leader of the bandits used his greater girth and strength to pin Yumi to the tree, before calling to the others, “Grab his stuff boys, I'll make sure he's not hiding any valuables.”

 

Yumichika had gone deathly still the moment the man's smelly breathe had ghosted past his neck, mind briefly transported to another time as a blinding flash of lightening lit up the gloomy clouds above. When hands gripped the front of his kimono, his reaction was quick, primal and violent. A swift kick shattered the leader's kneecap, but his howl of pain was deafened by the clamor of thunder rolling right over their heads. Yumi was freed as the leader slumped to the ground, and he wasted no time in grabbing hold of the man's head, introducing it several times into the rough bark of the tree he'd been pinned against. As the man fell to the ground unconscious, Yumichika grabbed the sword at his waist, carelessly slashing an approaching thug across the chest.

 

“Shit! Run for it!”

 

He turned then to see the last two trying to make off with his pack. His eyes widened as he remembered a certain item therein, and he lurched after them on unsteady feet. He growled as his ailing body swerved sharply to the side and he pushed himself harder to right his course, managing to just graze one of the thieves' back with a swipe of his stolen blade.

 

The man yelped and turned as another lightening bolt lit the sky. Yumichika had been so intent on not toppling over as he staggered after them that he did not dodge in time. Pain bloomed sharp and bitter in his side where the man's katana cut through his flesh. He retaliated with a swift thrust, straight and true, right through the gut as he'd been taught. The man collapse nearly on top of him, pinning down sword and arm as he fell to the ground, his dying moan lost in the chaotic chorus of more thunder.

 

Yumi groaned, trying to pull the sword now embedded deeply into the corpse out from under it. He gave up with a frustrated cry, shooting up - or swerving, actually - when he remembered the other bandit still had his pack. But by that point in time the other man was out of sight.

 

“No . . . no, no, no!”

 

There was not another soul in sight to hear him whisper to himself in despair. Raindrops began to pitter and patter around him as he pitched about the path in a vain effort to catch up with the thief. By the time the world did a strange loopty-loop around him and he found himself staring at the ground from a very short distance, the rain had become a steady constant drum.

 

After a moment of silent contemplation to determine which way was up, he wobbled to his feet and continued down the path at a pathetic, unbalanced shuffle. The sky continued to light up and roar above him as he made his way back down the path he had come, where earlier in the day he had seen a cave not too far away. Reaching it after what seemed like ages, he lowered himself carefully to the ground, hissing as he pulled the wound in his side.

 

With his pack gone, so were his bandages and any medical supplies. He tried to tear a strip off his naga-juban, but wet silk was nigh impossible to split without a blade and he'd left that behind too. Not that he'd have been able, he suddenly realized, to bandage himself with only one good arm. He'd have to travel back to town the next day and see a medic, but with his money gone as well, the old coot would probably refuse to see him.

 

Yumichika bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper and forced himself to stop that line of thinking. He gingerly wrapped his good arm around his torso, trying to staunch the wound as best as possible and lay on his good side, letting his injured arm hang limply in front of him. Fiery heat burned through his body, and Yumichika wondered how long it took infection to set in as the dirty cave floor swam in and out of his vision.

 

His breathing was elevated and refused to return to normal, he didn't know whether it was from fever or from panic trying to set in, most likely a combination of both. He could die, he realized, out here, in the wilderness, all alone, and not a soul would care or notice.

 

His breathes became sharper and he bit his lip trying to contain them. Yumichika had few real fears; intimacy, fever, fire, but most of all dying alone. Three had already happened in conjunction to him once and he would most certainly not enjoy a repeat performance. He wondered absently, what it was about him that made those he cared for abandon and even betray him.

 

His family had abandoned a sick child floundering with fever to lay dying by himself, never again visiting him once his illness had been declared to be the plague. As if suffering the infernal fire within his body had not been punishment enough, they rid themselves of an already doomed victim with a real inferno.

 

Yuuen, his dear friend and protector, the only person whose soothing, almost motherly touches he could take comfort in while enslaved to that wretched brothel. He was first a teacher, then a friend, and before the end the brother who knew and shared all the hardships of his miserable life. They protected each other as best they could in their harsh and narrow little world, where they never saw the streets except through cage bars and the only piece of nature they knew was the tiny courtyard in the middle of the brothel's compound.

 

One desolate night, as Yumi sobbed brokenly in Yuuen's embrace after a violent client, the other man had whispered to him fervently of some secret plan to escape their nightmarish lives. It involved lots of money, and biding their time, years of biding their time; small issue with the longevity that Soul Society provided. It had sounded brilliant and had filled him with hope, but neither he nor Yuuen had counted upon the toll those years would take on them.

 

Yuuen who seemed so beautiful, so strong and so unbreakable when Yumichika had been dragged kicking and screaming to his induction into the brothel, seemed far older though no less beautiful, fragile rather than strong, and utterly world weary. Yumi thought at times that too strong a breeze might shatter him. Somewhere along the way, their roles reversed; and on the eve that Yumichika had finally managed to leech an extra tip from one of his regulars, the last bit of money they had needed to make their escape, he had run to his friend's room in excitement, only to have his euphoria smothered mercilessly by the horrifying sight before him.

 

The one who had given him the hope of freedom had tripped at the finish line, seeking his own escape from their hell and abandoning him to fret and suffer through their planned getaway by himself. Yumichika had never been felt so frightened and alone, and had almost desolately given up on escaping by himself. Yuuen was now a name that sparked both deep fury and unfathomable pining. His throat tightened uncomfortably as he remembered the combs he stole from his room the night he finally took flight. He had still been angry, but deep in a dark part of his heart he seldom visited, he understood, and could ignore, even if he could not yet forgive, Yuuen's final infraction. When he looked over and wore those combs, he thought only of how precious his friend had been and nothing else.

 

But now they were gone. The idiot that stole them probably had no idea what a treasure he had actually found and would peddle them off for chump change. The very idea would have made his blood boil if fever had not already been doing so. Then there was the small, slightly shabby looking wooden box the precious combs were stored in.

 

He wouldn't be surprised if it was thrown straight out and for some reason that cut much more deeply than the thought of his devalued combs. The comb box may not have been the fanciest thing in the world, but Ikkaku had taken the time to carve it out and put it together with his own hands; that warmed his heart like no other present the man had ever given him.

 

Ikkaku, he mused in his feverish haze, was constantly spoiling him. Yumichika had learned to be careful of what he praised or looked too long at in a shop, because often he'd find himself accepting those very items from Ikkaku days, sometimes just a few hours later. It had made him so uncomfortable at first, but had slowly transformed into a guilty pleasure.

 

He couldn't remember a time in his afterlife where anyone gracing him with some sort of attention, touch, or praise wanted absolutely nothing from him. Until he met Ikkaku, he had never experienced that kind of freedom. The man had made it possible for him to live without fearing the consequences of expressing his emotions, of sharing conversation, even experiencing human contact like a normal person. When he was with Ikkaku, he felt safe, clean, and unjaded.

 

The past few weeks without the man had been a hell of an old kind, with a new twist. It felt like those first few weeks he'd been on the run, except back then, he'd been clueless as to how hard life on the streets was or how to fend for himself. This time, he'd been aptly prepared for the challenges he'd face again.

 

What he hadn't been prepared for was the piercing loneliness he would experience every morning he woke up to find his was the only futon in the room; to only have to order breakfast for one; to walk by a gambling parlor and turn to point it out to nothing but the empty space next to him; to wake up from a nightmare and not be able be able to find comfort in a warm embrace for the first time in years; to walk into a fight by himself for the very first time since he picked up a sword and was taught how to use it.

 

Everyday had become an exercise in missing Ikkaku and Yumichika had no one to blame, but himself. He'd thought long and hard about Ikkaku's reaction to his interference, and had come to the conclusion that the bald-headed moron was set in his ways and would not, probably could not, see things any other way. Yumichika still couldn't quite grasp the exact reasoning behind it, but he respected Ikkaku enough to understand its importance to him. He of course realized it all too late, and now, he was gone. He felt a weak anger percolate within him, even if it was his own fault, he felt abandoned once again.

 

Over the days of his new found isolation, Yumi had taken comfort in the little box and the combs inside, but now, he could only imagine some silly girl trying to stuff one of the combs into too tight of a knot and breaking the teeth off the precious item; or some fool merchant not wanting anything to do with such a simple, lackluster comb box, throwing it absently in a hearth to feed the fire.

 

But most of all, he imagined Yuuen's sad kind eyes, and more often still, Ikkaku's strange cackling laugh, his casual caresses, and that vicious victory grin. The images made his heart and eyes clench tightly, and if there was a warm wetness sliding down his face, he convinced himself that it was rain water dripping from his bangs down his face.

 

He suddenly remembered the strange phrases the old man, who had been the retainer at the brothel, was always randomly spouting at them. He would probably say now: if a man breaks down in the middle of a forest, and there is no one around to hear his sobs, does he truly weep?

 

Yumichika's closed his eyes against the warm dampness welling in them, his consciousness fading before he could divine an answer.

 

 

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~*Owari*~