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dracoqueen22a/n: Readers might recognize some of these scenes as pieces of prior flash fiction. I've fleshed them out, added a few more scenes, and made one cohesive fic out of it. This is also another Seireitei Monogatari drabble. Please enjoy!
Title: Lies and Promises
Characters: Ichigo/Kisuke, Yoruichi
Rating: M
Warning: Angst, slash, smut, liquor, spoilers
Words: 3017
Description: Just this once, Kisuke tells himself, but in the end, they're both lying for the sake of a promise.
They were drunk, are drunk, and only a dim part of Ichigo's mind recognizes this fact. It's this dim part which is screaming how much this is a very bad idea. He firmly tells it to sit down and shut the fuck up. He needs it. Kisuke needs it. Together, they need each other.
Kisuke's eyes are dark with sorrow, surely reflecting the pain in Ichigo's own eyes. His lips are hungry, needy, his hands even more so as he helps Ichigo strip out of his clothes, tossing them to the floor carelessly. Ichigo reaches for Kisuke's clothes, glad that they are loose, easily accessible, and soon it's just skin. Warm skin, smooth and rippled with muscle, hairy in some places but oh so warm and inviting.
“Ichigo,” he breathes, and there's so much emotion in his voice that Ichigo nearly winces.
He pushes away the guilt. There's no need for it. He may not love Kisuke as much as he's sure the shopkeeper loves him, but there is respect and affection. Kisuke has been there for him more than Isshin had ever managed, more than any other adult in Ichigo's life since his mom's death. Kisuke will always be a dear friend, and that is a certain kind of love... just not the same kind.
Ichigo seals their lips together, if only to prevent Kisuke from speaking more, and tastes sake on Kisuke's tongue. Ichigo probably tastes the same. They'd finished off three bottles between the two of them, and it makes the world a hazy and warm place. Or maybe that's Kisuke's touch on his bare skin, caressing and stroking, making Ichigo shiver and shudder with pleasure.
Kisuke rocks against him, their burgeoning arousals rubbing together and making Ichigo moan, making Kisuke do the same into their kiss. It feels so good, helping to chase away the shadows of a victorious war with too much price to pay.
The bed is soft and warm, Kisuke even more so beneath him. Ichigo breaks off the kiss, lets his lips warm, lets them travel over Kisuke's throat where Kisuke's voice vibrates against Ichigo's lips. He's murmuring something that Ichigo promptly pretends he can't hear as his hands wander, as they stroke and encourage, drawing Kisuke further into pleasure.
It's such a bad idea, but it feels too damn good, soothes too many raw places inside Ichigo for him to back away now. He tells himself it's all the sake, that he had one drink too many and he can't be expected to think rationally. That maybe he even owes it to Kisuke, owes it to the man who's fought and bled at his side like no one else.
It's just this once, Ichigo tells himself. They can wake up hung over, embarrassed, realizing their mistake in the morning. So just this one time, he'll indulge. Just this time he'll be the bright spot in Kisuke's night, something better than nightmares and flashbacks of the past. Just this once.
o0o0o
He knows better than this.
There are a thousand different other things he should be doing. He knows this all too well. And yet, Ichigo finds himself smiling gently once again, hands fisting in Urahara’s – no, Kisuke’s – haori and dragging him down for another kiss. He seeks out Kisuke’s mouth with his own, thrusts his tongue inside, and demands with his lips what he hasn’t managed to say with his words.
Kisuke makes a sound, a desperate noise in the back of his throat, a rumble that betrays the true depth of his emotions. Feelings that Ichigo can’t quite match and force a twist of guilt in Ichigo’s belly. He squashes it down as quickly as he pushed down all the other hot, bitter emotions he carried during Aizen’s war.
Ichigo needs this. Kisuke needs this. What else should matter?
He says these things over and over to himself but they sound hollow and false. Because they are, but Ichigo pretends not to recognize that either.
Kisuke is warm and wanting, his hands almost tender as they brush across Ichigo’s abdomen, as they pluck at his pants and push up his shirt. He tries to gentle the kiss, but Ichigo thinks that might hurt more, and places a nip to Kisuke’s bottom lip.
Softness and caresses are for real lovers, not the facsimile of ones that Ichigo himself has created.
Ichigo’s lips speak what his words cannot and he tugs at Kisuke’s clothes, pulling them off with quick movements that leave the shopkeeper bare to his eyes. He arches up, grinding against Kisuke, desperately begging for more, something Kisuke is all too willing to provide. Ichigo keeps his eyes closed, afraid of the emotion he knows he’ll see in those grey-green eyes.
Kisuke’s mouth is a warm, wet path from Ichigo’s lips to his throat, a sensitive place that makes Ichigo shiver, belly twisting with want. He’s murmuring, as he always does, Kisuke can never stay silent. And Ichigo tries not to listen to the words. He knows they’ll only twist the knife deeper.
But he’s weak, always has been, no matter what everyone says about the kind of hero he must be.
The whisper of I love you seems to echo in Ichigo’s ears long after they were murmured, and he swallows thickly, lets the blade sink in a little deeper. He’ll never be able to return those sentiments, but he’s here anyway like the coward he’s always been. Because he needs it, and Kisuke needs it, and it’s all that this so-called hero can do.
o0o0o
“You don't love him.”
Ichigo sets down his cup, traces his finger around the damp rim of it.
“No.”
Across from him, Yoruichi sighs. She sounds simultaneously disappointed and sad, the former directed at Ichigo, the latter sympathetic of Kisuke.
“Then why?”
“He loves me,” Ichigo says, and really, it's that simple to him. It's not like Ichigo is losing anything in the process. If one little lie makes everyone happy, what's the big deal?
Yoruichi is looking at him, and Ichigo can't decide what her expression means. Her lips are pulled into a frown, her eyes dark.
“So this is a sacrifice on your part?”
Ichigo contemplates his cup, the intricate cherry blossom design on the side – a gift from Byakuya perhaps. “I wouldn't call it that,” he murmurs, and he hides behind the cup, inhaling the fragrant aroma of the tea, letting it wash through his senses.
“Then what would you call it?”
Fingers – dare he call their touch reverent? – drag down his spine, lips following in their wake. Ichigo pants, bites down on his knuckles, and arches into the caress. His every nerve is on fire, and all he wants is to come, but Kisuke's not willing to let him go just yet. He's far too interested in teasing, in dragging things out, in making it last.
Ichigo's fine with that. Because if he's here with Kisuke, he's not out there, thinking of all the things he doesn't want to think about. He's not remembering the past and his mistakes or feeling the weight of Seireitei's expectations on his shoulders. It's just him and Kisuke and being treated like something special, something worth more than Zangetsu's power.
Here, he's just Ichigo, and more than anything, Ichigo craves that affirmation.
So when Kisuke looks at him like that, grey eyes soft and dark all at once, Ichigo quashes the guilt and tells himself, it's okay. He's not hurting anyone. What's a little white lie? He curls his fingers in Kisuke's hair, and drags the blond down for a kiss, tongue pushing into Kisuke's mouth and embracing familiar territory.
Ichigo takes a sip of the tea and licks his lips. “Mutually beneficial,” he replies, and sets the cup on the table. “That's all I have to give.”
“You're going to hurt him,” Yoruichi says, but as much as she sounds reproachful, there's a lingering heartbreak too.
For him? For Kisuke? For both of them? Ichigo can't guess.
Swallowing thickly, Ichigo has to look away.
“I know,” he replies quietly. “I know.”
o0o0o
It's dark, and Kisuke can hear Ichigo's breathing. His body is warm and languid against Kisuke's, his heart beat a steady thump beneath Kisuke's ear. He smells like life. He feels like comfort. His reiatsu a steady vibration along Kisuke's senses, stretching out to touch against the edges of Kisuke's control.
Benihime hums, and Kisuke's own reiatsu reaches out hungrily, but there's only a brushing contact. A light touch of warmth, but no mingling, no weaving of their reiatsu.
Kisuke's not stupid. He just knows how to play the game as well as everyone else. He knows the truth, and it hurts as much as it soothes an unending hurt inside of him.
Ichigo isn't in love with him. Ichigo likes him, trusts him, considers him a dear friend, but he'll never see Kisuke as a permanent lover. No matter how long they keep up this farce, Kisuke knows that it will eventually come to an end. Ichigo will tire of lying to him. Kisuke will tire of lying to himself. And one or both of them will walk away with heavy hearts and sheets of regret.
They probably won't talk much after that. It'll kill their friendship as much as everything else. Their relationship will be awkward, full of the hurt they threw on each other. Full of the lies and the pity-borne promises. Ichigo won't be able to look at Kisuke without feeling guilty, and Kisuke won't be able to see Ichigo without his heart breaking.
Ichigo isn't in love with him, and Kisuke is startlingly aware of that fact. He knows that eventually, Ichigo won't need him to soothe those nightmares and those war-old hurts. Ichigo will want to be free to look for someone he can actually love, someone who is not Kisuke. And eventually, Kisuke will have to let him go. Will have to pretend to be surprised and hurt, like he didn't see him coming, like he hasn't been lying in turn all along.
Frankly, Kisuke's not even sure who's going to be hurt worse in the end. Does knowing something is coming make it any easier to bear?
Kisuke's not that strong. Not brave or wise enough to say no. He's not strong enough to tell Ichigo to end things now, to turn him away since it would be in their better interest. He's not a good enough man to turn down the things he wants, just for a moment, a blink, a second of comfort and happiness.
He even lies to himself these days, pretends that he doesn't know. Pretends that those soft smiles and gentle touches and quiet nights in are reality and Ichigo means it. Sometimes, Kisuke even fakes himself into thinking that it's all real. At night, like this, Kisuke has become the master of self-delusion.
All he can think is that Aizen would laugh his ass off.
o0o0o
Kisuke's the one in love, and yet he feels like he's the one leading Ichigo on. That he's the one building lie upon lie. That mistruths fall from his lips and every touch is a sin.
Those soothing touches turn to fire, searing his skin, making him tremble in all the wrong ways. It's getting harder to crack a smile, to draw comfort from Ichigo's embrace. All he can feel is the lie, the realization that he's only delaying the inevitable. That he has to pull his courage from somewhere, man up and take the agony.
He can't rely on Ichigo forever. He can't linger in his cowardice, running away from the things that haunt him. He can't keep Ichigo trapped in this farcical romance that isn't. Ichigo deserves the chance to find someone who truly captures his heart.
Ichigo's a good man, and Kisuke's taking advantage of that, taking a hold of Ichigo's kindness and twisting it for his own ends. He wants Ichigo to be his hero just like Seireitei has done for all those years. It makes him sick, makes his insides twist up with guilt.
He has to end this. He needs to end this.
“Kisuke?”
He turns, lips curving upward without his permission.
“Sorry. Lost in thought for a minute there,” he replies and leans in, head resting on Ichigo's shoulder. His ears are attuned to the steady sound of Ichigo's heartbeat, this warmth he's so reluctant to abandon.
Ichigo's fingers are curled around his hand, thumb lightly stroking his palm, tracing sword callouses and old chemical burns.
“It's fine,” he murmurs.
Kisuke's heart clenches in his chest. How can he let this go?
o0o0o
It's like a punch to the gut. A sword to the throat. A kidoh to the chest. Ichigo shouldn't be this upset, but it still feels like his world has been tossed asunder. Like he's left without solid ground to stand on.
He doesn't love Kisuke, but he still feels like he's losing something. Something he can't get back, worth more than he ever realized. They’ve always been friends first and foremost, but Ichigo knows without a shadow of a doubt that even that aspect of their relationship has also been broken beyond repair.
As much as he wants to protest, Ichigo knows that he can't. Because deep in shadows of his heart, he has known this day would come. He has waited for it, anticipated it, and he desires it as much as he still thinks to cling to the familiar.
And yet, Ichigo still feels wrong. Like this is too soon. That he's not ready to let go of what they have. That sometimes, lies are more beautiful than the truth.
He clears his throat, lifts his gaze to Kisuke's, and manages one word. One word which creaks out of his throat, over his dry tongue, and past his cracked lips.
“Why?”
o0o0o
This is much harder than it should be.
Kisuke draws in a shuddery breath, closes his eyes to gather his composure, and opens them again.
“Don't you understand?” he asks, his voice quiet, lacking its usual exuberance and teasing. “It has to be soon. Now. This is what I'm telling you.”
Ichigo's just looking at him, those brown eyes filled with emotion. Like he's the one breaking inside and Kisuke's the cruel one for doing what must be done. Like this is coming as a surprise when they both know it isn't.
Kisuke's finally found his resolve. But a part of him wishes he could abandon it all over again, just to go back, reclaim that fake happiness, go on pretending forever. But he can't.
“You've really done a lot for me,” he continues, and try as he might, he can't smile. “All my wishes have come true. That's enough.”
It's not. By the gods, it's not enough. But it has to be.
Embraces in the dead of night. Friendly, surprise kisses in the middle of the day. Their reiatsu delicately intertwined. The scent of Ichigo on his sheets. The sound of his laughter filling Kisuke's all too silent home. The taste of Ichigo on his lips.
All these things, Kisuke will never have again. But he had them for a time. And that will be enough.
Kisuke swallows thickly, forces himself to keep going, the words so carefully crafted spilling out of him in a rush. “We can only go as far as we can go. There's nowhere else.”
Part of him wants to reach out for Ichigo, drag him close, embrace him one last time as he speaks the words that will forever close that door. The wiser part of him clenches his hands into fists and leaves them pinned at his side, ignoring the way his heart is crying out and his insides are twisting into impenetrable knots.
“You're no good for me,” Kisuke says in all honesty. “And... I'm no good for you. So this is it. This is as far as I'll let us go.”
“It's over,” Ichigo replies quietly, his voice equally broken, finishing what Kisuke can't quite bring himself to say.
Kisuke inclines his head. “Yes.”
A moment of silence sweeps into the room, bringing with it an uncommon chill. The moment is awkward and painful. Kisuke feels he should say something else, apologize even, but the words won't come. They die on his tongue, leaving him clinging to a false memory.
Ichigo is the first to break the standstill. He moves, a bare step that bridges the distance between them, his hand lifting, tilting Kisuke's chin upward. He doesn't remember lowering his gaze to the floor.
“I wish I loved you,” Ichigo says softly, and the pain in his eyes matches only one other look Kisuke remembers seeing before. A time when Ichigo had stood in the middle of a battlefield grown cold, blood staining Zangetsu, clothes tattered, head bowed and shoulders slumped. Even in victory, Ichigo felt only pain.
That Kisuke is the cause of that very same agonized look only makes the knife twist a little sharper, the guilt sink its claws even deeper.
“I know,” Kisuke replies, and the smile that flutters on his lips bleeds around the edges. “Thank you.”
Ichigo has nothing more to say, and it's better that way, Kisuke thinks. Much easier in the long run, for the both of them.
His fingers fall away from Kisuke's chin and he steps past Kisuke, heading for the door. He takes with him the buzz of familiar reiatsu, the scent of citrus and sandalwood, the taste of grief, and the pieces of Kisuke that have always belonged to him.
The click of the front door closing seems to echo abnormally loud in the equally abnormal silence of Kisuke's home. It feels colder too, but that's probably just the knowledge of the snowfall beyond his window. It has nothing to do with the emptiness within.
Nothing at all.
****
a/n: Angst. KisukexIchigo. How could I resist? I hope you enjoyed.
Flash fic Friday tomorrow. Don't forget!
Title: Lies and Promises
Characters: Ichigo/Kisuke, Yoruichi
Rating: M
Warning: Angst, slash, smut, liquor, spoilers
Words: 3017
Description: Just this once, Kisuke tells himself, but in the end, they're both lying for the sake of a promise.
They were drunk, are drunk, and only a dim part of Ichigo's mind recognizes this fact. It's this dim part which is screaming how much this is a very bad idea. He firmly tells it to sit down and shut the fuck up. He needs it. Kisuke needs it. Together, they need each other.
Kisuke's eyes are dark with sorrow, surely reflecting the pain in Ichigo's own eyes. His lips are hungry, needy, his hands even more so as he helps Ichigo strip out of his clothes, tossing them to the floor carelessly. Ichigo reaches for Kisuke's clothes, glad that they are loose, easily accessible, and soon it's just skin. Warm skin, smooth and rippled with muscle, hairy in some places but oh so warm and inviting.
“Ichigo,” he breathes, and there's so much emotion in his voice that Ichigo nearly winces.
He pushes away the guilt. There's no need for it. He may not love Kisuke as much as he's sure the shopkeeper loves him, but there is respect and affection. Kisuke has been there for him more than Isshin had ever managed, more than any other adult in Ichigo's life since his mom's death. Kisuke will always be a dear friend, and that is a certain kind of love... just not the same kind.
Ichigo seals their lips together, if only to prevent Kisuke from speaking more, and tastes sake on Kisuke's tongue. Ichigo probably tastes the same. They'd finished off three bottles between the two of them, and it makes the world a hazy and warm place. Or maybe that's Kisuke's touch on his bare skin, caressing and stroking, making Ichigo shiver and shudder with pleasure.
Kisuke rocks against him, their burgeoning arousals rubbing together and making Ichigo moan, making Kisuke do the same into their kiss. It feels so good, helping to chase away the shadows of a victorious war with too much price to pay.
The bed is soft and warm, Kisuke even more so beneath him. Ichigo breaks off the kiss, lets his lips warm, lets them travel over Kisuke's throat where Kisuke's voice vibrates against Ichigo's lips. He's murmuring something that Ichigo promptly pretends he can't hear as his hands wander, as they stroke and encourage, drawing Kisuke further into pleasure.
It's such a bad idea, but it feels too damn good, soothes too many raw places inside Ichigo for him to back away now. He tells himself it's all the sake, that he had one drink too many and he can't be expected to think rationally. That maybe he even owes it to Kisuke, owes it to the man who's fought and bled at his side like no one else.
It's just this once, Ichigo tells himself. They can wake up hung over, embarrassed, realizing their mistake in the morning. So just this one time, he'll indulge. Just this time he'll be the bright spot in Kisuke's night, something better than nightmares and flashbacks of the past. Just this once.
He knows better than this.
There are a thousand different other things he should be doing. He knows this all too well. And yet, Ichigo finds himself smiling gently once again, hands fisting in Urahara’s – no, Kisuke’s – haori and dragging him down for another kiss. He seeks out Kisuke’s mouth with his own, thrusts his tongue inside, and demands with his lips what he hasn’t managed to say with his words.
Kisuke makes a sound, a desperate noise in the back of his throat, a rumble that betrays the true depth of his emotions. Feelings that Ichigo can’t quite match and force a twist of guilt in Ichigo’s belly. He squashes it down as quickly as he pushed down all the other hot, bitter emotions he carried during Aizen’s war.
Ichigo needs this. Kisuke needs this. What else should matter?
He says these things over and over to himself but they sound hollow and false. Because they are, but Ichigo pretends not to recognize that either.
Kisuke is warm and wanting, his hands almost tender as they brush across Ichigo’s abdomen, as they pluck at his pants and push up his shirt. He tries to gentle the kiss, but Ichigo thinks that might hurt more, and places a nip to Kisuke’s bottom lip.
Softness and caresses are for real lovers, not the facsimile of ones that Ichigo himself has created.
Ichigo’s lips speak what his words cannot and he tugs at Kisuke’s clothes, pulling them off with quick movements that leave the shopkeeper bare to his eyes. He arches up, grinding against Kisuke, desperately begging for more, something Kisuke is all too willing to provide. Ichigo keeps his eyes closed, afraid of the emotion he knows he’ll see in those grey-green eyes.
Kisuke’s mouth is a warm, wet path from Ichigo’s lips to his throat, a sensitive place that makes Ichigo shiver, belly twisting with want. He’s murmuring, as he always does, Kisuke can never stay silent. And Ichigo tries not to listen to the words. He knows they’ll only twist the knife deeper.
But he’s weak, always has been, no matter what everyone says about the kind of hero he must be.
The whisper of I love you seems to echo in Ichigo’s ears long after they were murmured, and he swallows thickly, lets the blade sink in a little deeper. He’ll never be able to return those sentiments, but he’s here anyway like the coward he’s always been. Because he needs it, and Kisuke needs it, and it’s all that this so-called hero can do.
“You don't love him.”
Ichigo sets down his cup, traces his finger around the damp rim of it.
“No.”
Across from him, Yoruichi sighs. She sounds simultaneously disappointed and sad, the former directed at Ichigo, the latter sympathetic of Kisuke.
“Then why?”
“He loves me,” Ichigo says, and really, it's that simple to him. It's not like Ichigo is losing anything in the process. If one little lie makes everyone happy, what's the big deal?
Yoruichi is looking at him, and Ichigo can't decide what her expression means. Her lips are pulled into a frown, her eyes dark.
“So this is a sacrifice on your part?”
Ichigo contemplates his cup, the intricate cherry blossom design on the side – a gift from Byakuya perhaps. “I wouldn't call it that,” he murmurs, and he hides behind the cup, inhaling the fragrant aroma of the tea, letting it wash through his senses.
“Then what would you call it?”
Fingers – dare he call their touch reverent? – drag down his spine, lips following in their wake. Ichigo pants, bites down on his knuckles, and arches into the caress. His every nerve is on fire, and all he wants is to come, but Kisuke's not willing to let him go just yet. He's far too interested in teasing, in dragging things out, in making it last.
Ichigo's fine with that. Because if he's here with Kisuke, he's not out there, thinking of all the things he doesn't want to think about. He's not remembering the past and his mistakes or feeling the weight of Seireitei's expectations on his shoulders. It's just him and Kisuke and being treated like something special, something worth more than Zangetsu's power.
Here, he's just Ichigo, and more than anything, Ichigo craves that affirmation.
So when Kisuke looks at him like that, grey eyes soft and dark all at once, Ichigo quashes the guilt and tells himself, it's okay. He's not hurting anyone. What's a little white lie? He curls his fingers in Kisuke's hair, and drags the blond down for a kiss, tongue pushing into Kisuke's mouth and embracing familiar territory.
Ichigo takes a sip of the tea and licks his lips. “Mutually beneficial,” he replies, and sets the cup on the table. “That's all I have to give.”
“You're going to hurt him,” Yoruichi says, but as much as she sounds reproachful, there's a lingering heartbreak too.
For him? For Kisuke? For both of them? Ichigo can't guess.
Swallowing thickly, Ichigo has to look away.
“I know,” he replies quietly. “I know.”
It's dark, and Kisuke can hear Ichigo's breathing. His body is warm and languid against Kisuke's, his heart beat a steady thump beneath Kisuke's ear. He smells like life. He feels like comfort. His reiatsu a steady vibration along Kisuke's senses, stretching out to touch against the edges of Kisuke's control.
Benihime hums, and Kisuke's own reiatsu reaches out hungrily, but there's only a brushing contact. A light touch of warmth, but no mingling, no weaving of their reiatsu.
Kisuke's not stupid. He just knows how to play the game as well as everyone else. He knows the truth, and it hurts as much as it soothes an unending hurt inside of him.
Ichigo isn't in love with him. Ichigo likes him, trusts him, considers him a dear friend, but he'll never see Kisuke as a permanent lover. No matter how long they keep up this farce, Kisuke knows that it will eventually come to an end. Ichigo will tire of lying to him. Kisuke will tire of lying to himself. And one or both of them will walk away with heavy hearts and sheets of regret.
They probably won't talk much after that. It'll kill their friendship as much as everything else. Their relationship will be awkward, full of the hurt they threw on each other. Full of the lies and the pity-borne promises. Ichigo won't be able to look at Kisuke without feeling guilty, and Kisuke won't be able to see Ichigo without his heart breaking.
Ichigo isn't in love with him, and Kisuke is startlingly aware of that fact. He knows that eventually, Ichigo won't need him to soothe those nightmares and those war-old hurts. Ichigo will want to be free to look for someone he can actually love, someone who is not Kisuke. And eventually, Kisuke will have to let him go. Will have to pretend to be surprised and hurt, like he didn't see him coming, like he hasn't been lying in turn all along.
Frankly, Kisuke's not even sure who's going to be hurt worse in the end. Does knowing something is coming make it any easier to bear?
Kisuke's not that strong. Not brave or wise enough to say no. He's not strong enough to tell Ichigo to end things now, to turn him away since it would be in their better interest. He's not a good enough man to turn down the things he wants, just for a moment, a blink, a second of comfort and happiness.
He even lies to himself these days, pretends that he doesn't know. Pretends that those soft smiles and gentle touches and quiet nights in are reality and Ichigo means it. Sometimes, Kisuke even fakes himself into thinking that it's all real. At night, like this, Kisuke has become the master of self-delusion.
All he can think is that Aizen would laugh his ass off.
Kisuke's the one in love, and yet he feels like he's the one leading Ichigo on. That he's the one building lie upon lie. That mistruths fall from his lips and every touch is a sin.
Those soothing touches turn to fire, searing his skin, making him tremble in all the wrong ways. It's getting harder to crack a smile, to draw comfort from Ichigo's embrace. All he can feel is the lie, the realization that he's only delaying the inevitable. That he has to pull his courage from somewhere, man up and take the agony.
He can't rely on Ichigo forever. He can't linger in his cowardice, running away from the things that haunt him. He can't keep Ichigo trapped in this farcical romance that isn't. Ichigo deserves the chance to find someone who truly captures his heart.
Ichigo's a good man, and Kisuke's taking advantage of that, taking a hold of Ichigo's kindness and twisting it for his own ends. He wants Ichigo to be his hero just like Seireitei has done for all those years. It makes him sick, makes his insides twist up with guilt.
He has to end this. He needs to end this.
“Kisuke?”
He turns, lips curving upward without his permission.
“Sorry. Lost in thought for a minute there,” he replies and leans in, head resting on Ichigo's shoulder. His ears are attuned to the steady sound of Ichigo's heartbeat, this warmth he's so reluctant to abandon.
Ichigo's fingers are curled around his hand, thumb lightly stroking his palm, tracing sword callouses and old chemical burns.
“It's fine,” he murmurs.
Kisuke's heart clenches in his chest. How can he let this go?
It's like a punch to the gut. A sword to the throat. A kidoh to the chest. Ichigo shouldn't be this upset, but it still feels like his world has been tossed asunder. Like he's left without solid ground to stand on.
He doesn't love Kisuke, but he still feels like he's losing something. Something he can't get back, worth more than he ever realized. They’ve always been friends first and foremost, but Ichigo knows without a shadow of a doubt that even that aspect of their relationship has also been broken beyond repair.
As much as he wants to protest, Ichigo knows that he can't. Because deep in shadows of his heart, he has known this day would come. He has waited for it, anticipated it, and he desires it as much as he still thinks to cling to the familiar.
And yet, Ichigo still feels wrong. Like this is too soon. That he's not ready to let go of what they have. That sometimes, lies are more beautiful than the truth.
He clears his throat, lifts his gaze to Kisuke's, and manages one word. One word which creaks out of his throat, over his dry tongue, and past his cracked lips.
“Why?”
This is much harder than it should be.
Kisuke draws in a shuddery breath, closes his eyes to gather his composure, and opens them again.
“Don't you understand?” he asks, his voice quiet, lacking its usual exuberance and teasing. “It has to be soon. Now. This is what I'm telling you.”
Ichigo's just looking at him, those brown eyes filled with emotion. Like he's the one breaking inside and Kisuke's the cruel one for doing what must be done. Like this is coming as a surprise when they both know it isn't.
Kisuke's finally found his resolve. But a part of him wishes he could abandon it all over again, just to go back, reclaim that fake happiness, go on pretending forever. But he can't.
“You've really done a lot for me,” he continues, and try as he might, he can't smile. “All my wishes have come true. That's enough.”
It's not. By the gods, it's not enough. But it has to be.
Embraces in the dead of night. Friendly, surprise kisses in the middle of the day. Their reiatsu delicately intertwined. The scent of Ichigo on his sheets. The sound of his laughter filling Kisuke's all too silent home. The taste of Ichigo on his lips.
All these things, Kisuke will never have again. But he had them for a time. And that will be enough.
Kisuke swallows thickly, forces himself to keep going, the words so carefully crafted spilling out of him in a rush. “We can only go as far as we can go. There's nowhere else.”
Part of him wants to reach out for Ichigo, drag him close, embrace him one last time as he speaks the words that will forever close that door. The wiser part of him clenches his hands into fists and leaves them pinned at his side, ignoring the way his heart is crying out and his insides are twisting into impenetrable knots.
“You're no good for me,” Kisuke says in all honesty. “And... I'm no good for you. So this is it. This is as far as I'll let us go.”
“It's over,” Ichigo replies quietly, his voice equally broken, finishing what Kisuke can't quite bring himself to say.
Kisuke inclines his head. “Yes.”
A moment of silence sweeps into the room, bringing with it an uncommon chill. The moment is awkward and painful. Kisuke feels he should say something else, apologize even, but the words won't come. They die on his tongue, leaving him clinging to a false memory.
Ichigo is the first to break the standstill. He moves, a bare step that bridges the distance between them, his hand lifting, tilting Kisuke's chin upward. He doesn't remember lowering his gaze to the floor.
“I wish I loved you,” Ichigo says softly, and the pain in his eyes matches only one other look Kisuke remembers seeing before. A time when Ichigo had stood in the middle of a battlefield grown cold, blood staining Zangetsu, clothes tattered, head bowed and shoulders slumped. Even in victory, Ichigo felt only pain.
That Kisuke is the cause of that very same agonized look only makes the knife twist a little sharper, the guilt sink its claws even deeper.
“I know,” Kisuke replies, and the smile that flutters on his lips bleeds around the edges. “Thank you.”
Ichigo has nothing more to say, and it's better that way, Kisuke thinks. Much easier in the long run, for the both of them.
His fingers fall away from Kisuke's chin and he steps past Kisuke, heading for the door. He takes with him the buzz of familiar reiatsu, the scent of citrus and sandalwood, the taste of grief, and the pieces of Kisuke that have always belonged to him.
The click of the front door closing seems to echo abnormally loud in the equally abnormal silence of Kisuke's home. It feels colder too, but that's probably just the knowledge of the snowfall beyond his window. It has nothing to do with the emptiness within.
Nothing at all.
a/n: Angst. KisukexIchigo. How could I resist? I hope you enjoyed.
Flash fic Friday tomorrow. Don't forget!
