Dream A Little Dream

Kurosaki Ichigo had never had a hangover before. He never thought he could have a hangover, if that says anything about his ego. He’d never really tried sake before, but he figured out quickly that he really enjoyed the warm and relaxed feeling it set into his bones. But this damn hangover mess was more than he could handle.

If it hadn’t been for his dad’s “special” tonic that morning, Ichigo would’ve never made it out of bed. Now, showered, fed and slightly less irritable than he was when he thought his head was going to explode, Ichigo headed out the door of the Kurosaki Clinic and started toward Urahara’s.

Evidentially, there was something big in the works, and Urahara just had to meet with everyone the day after his birthday. He snorted and ran a hand through his hair, remembering that Urahara had put off the meeting a day so he could celebrate his “important day”, so he couldn’t be too pissed off. He still hadn’t figured out what the big deal about his 18th birthday had been, but shrugged it off as he entered the shop.

“Kurosaki-kun, how are you feeling?” Orihime asked from her seat at the table when he entered the back room. He mumbled and shrugged his shoulders before sitting beside her.

“You don’t looks so good,” Chad commented.

“I’m surprised you can even walk,” Ishida said pointedly, inching his frames up his nose.

“I’m fine,” he scowled. Ishida always had something snide to say whenever Orihime expressed an interest in his well-being. He wanted to bitch-smack the Quincy, hangover or no. Where does he get off? He’s not even dating Inoue.

“Must’ve been a helluva night.”

Ichigo’s head snapped up to see Renji in his gigai, a long white yukata draped over his shoulders as he sat down at the table with a cup of tea. A sudden vague flash went through his mind, and he felt a slight heat come to his cheeks. What the hell? He could barely make out the image of Renji’s throat, sweat running down his tattoos. He tried to focus in on it, but the image wouldn’t come.

“I’m sorry you had to miss it, Renji-kun,” Orihime said politely.

“Yea, me too. That hollow was a waste of time,” Renji said, his eyes slowly making their way to Ichigo.

Ichigo caught the soft grin on the shinigami’s lips and felt his face redden even more, though he couldn’t figure out why. Several more images made their way lazily through his mind, but none clear enough to understand.

“You didn’t come back?” Ichigo asked, slightly confused.

“Missed the party entirely,” his grin widened slightly before bringing his cup up for a sip. At the movement of his arm, the yukata opened slightly, exposing his bare chest.

Ichigo suddenly latched onto an image, and it became clear in his mind. Renji’s chest… his tongue running over the tattoos of Renji’s chest. His stomach fluttered at the sudden image. What the fuck happened last night?

He shied his eyes away from the shinigami and stared at the table, his hands folding almost violently in the hem of his shirt as he tried to remember. If Renji never came back… then…

“Ahh, you’re all here. Good,” Urahara slid into the room and closed it behind him.

Ichigo continued to stare at the grains of the wooden table, his mind trying to wrap around the events of the night before. He remembered Renji leaving… or rather, the cursing he did before he left. He remembered how Inoue, Chad and Shuuhei had made him play that stupid game with the quarters, and how he really sucked at it. He remembered Ishida sulking in the corner until he’d finally gotten enough sake in him to loosen up. He remembered Ikkaku and Matsumoto getting into an argument over what type of zanpaktou was better, and Yumichika breaking it up. He remembered opening his gifts, the cake, more sake… and then… it was all blank.

What the fuck happened last night? The thought was the only one he could manage, his eyes moving back and forth without effort as he tried to search the back of his mind. Why was he seeing these things? Something must’ve happened with Renji… but what? And why the hell couldn’t he remember?

“Isn’t that right, Kurosaki-kun?” Orihime’s voice shattered his concentration, his head lifting quickly to meet her gaze. Immediately, his headache returned and his hand shot to his temple.

“Dammit!” he shouted as he clenched his eyes shut.

“Are you ok?” Orihime’s hand was on his shoulder as he fought away the pressure behind his eyes.

“Yea. Gimme a minute,” he strained, willing the pain away. After a few moments, he opened his eyes, a dull ache resting behind them as he saw the smug look on Ishida’s face. He really needed to smack that Quincy one of these days.

“I think maybe we should continue this when Ichigo is feeling a bit more… focused,” Urahara said, standing. He motioned with his cane to a pitcher sitting on a cabinet behind Ichigo. “Have him drink some of that,” he told Orihime as he stepped from the room.

Orihime fetched the pitcher and poured the magenta colored contents into an empty cup and handed it to Ichigo. Ichigo had grown used to the weird drinks and potions that Urahara always seemed to have on hand, but he always hesitated. They always, always tasted awful.

He gripped the cup for a second more before swallowing it all in one go. He was right. It was death by beverage. “Gah!” he shuddered.

“You’ll be alright in about ten minutes,” Renji told him. “That shit is nasty, but it works pretty good.”

Ichigo blinked a few times before looking over at Renji. “You’d know, huh?” he snorted.

Renji’s eyebrow raised as he stared back at him, that damn grin still plastered to his face. He didn’t say anything, but his expression made Ichigo want to squirm. It told him that he knew something Ichigo didn’t… and he was more than happy to keep it from him.

A few seconds passed that felt like an eternity to Ichigo before Renji finally shook his head and chuckled before rising to stand. He adjusted his yukata and turned, walking from the room without another sound.

A few minutes later, Ichigo walked out with Orihime, Ishida and Chad, still a bit flustered from the look Renji had given him and the images that refused to stop playing in his head. Now that Urahara’s drink o’ death had kicked in, his headache was gone but the images were getting clearer and Ichigo’s stomach felt like it was going to sink out of his body.

He stopped suddenly, and his companions turned to look at him.

“There’s something I need to ask Urahara-san. I’ll – I’ll catch up with you later,” he said quickly before turning on his heels and stalking back to the shop. He had to know what happened last night.