That Good Night

A/N: This one took a bit longer, and I don't particularly like it, but it's done.

Close of Day

I awoke several hours later to the image of a worried-looking Izuru kneeling over my until then unconscious body. I like to think the expression on his face mirrored my own from the previous night. Upon seeing my eyes open, his lips cracked into a faint smile that nearly sent my heart into paroxysms of joy. After a moment of blessed and blissful silence, Izuru, of a sudden, struck me in the gut, at which collision I cried out in pain.

“Idiot,” he said. “You didn't have to go and put yourself in danger like that. I would've been fine.” There was, hidden within his voice, beneath layers of anger, a sense of genuine affection.

“Sorry,” I managed to say. “Habit.”

“But, seriously,” I continued, “you've gotta stop hitting me like that. It hurts.”

“You deserved it for being so stupid,” he said. “If you'd been conscious, the hollow might not have gotten away. . .”

“Enough about that,” I said. “How're you?” I betrayed in my asking an eagerness, a yearning I would have much preferred to keep hidden.

“Fine, I guess. After you got knocked out my priority was to get you back here,” he said. “I don't think I could've taken him on by myself. . .” There was a hint of sadness when he said that, but it quickly vanished from my perception. He began again with some measure of nervousness: “I, uh, heard about you and, umm, Ishida.”

By this point I was pretty damn tired of being embarrassed—especially the part where my cheeks match my hair. But it's not like I have any control over such bodily functions. “You, uh, heard about that?” I said.

“Rukia was oddly excited by the thought.”

“Oh, so she found you?” I said. “She was looking for you when she interrupted us.” I paused for a moment, then, before he could reply, I continued: “Where were you, anyway? I missed you this morning. I thought maybe we could talk. About. . . things.” Almost as an afterthought, I added, “And what were you thinking? Fighting in your condition. . .”

“Look,” he said, “I'm fine. Perfectly capable of combat.” The last might have been said with some sarcasm, but, if it was, I couldn't tell. “And—if you really want to know—I went looking for Renji.”

I gave him a look.

“To break up with him,” he amended with some exasperation. “I went to break up with him. But I couldn't find him, so I just walked around for a bit. Rukia found me in a park sometime in the afternoon. We ended up having a rather lengthy conversation, actually. Talked about a lot of things. I told her if she saw Renji to tell him we were through.”

“Good for you,” I said. “So. . . what now?”

“I don't know. Focus on work?”

“That's not what you need right now. What you need,” I said, “is a vacation.”

“A vacation?” he said. “That's what I'm on. This is as close to a vacation as I get.”

“Well that's not good enough.” I tried, for a moment, to think of what next to say. The heart of the matter was that I wanted very badly to extend any time I might spend with Izuru, but that's not to say I didn't consider his interests at all—he really did need a vacation. I could tell from the worry lines forming above his brow and the stray gray hair in the sea of blond that his job, not to mention his ex-boyfriend, was aging him.

“I guess I see what you're saying,” he said, “but I don't think I can afford to take the time off. . .”

“I'm sure they'll understand,” I said. “You've had a lot of stress recently.”

“Right. So. . . vacation,” he said. “To where?”

“Somewhere in Soul Society?”

“Oh,” he said suddenly, “I know a place.” I could see the excitement in his eyes—O how they glistened with nostalgia!—as he continued: “Way in the outskirts of Rukongai. . . Hisagi showed it to me back when we were dating. . .”

By this point I had managed to sit up, though with some discomfort. “You gonna take anyone with you?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “I had thought I might take you—as a thank you. . . and an apology.” The last part he seemed to force out, and it unspooled slowly and deliberately from his mouth. Upon hearing where he desired that I should accompany him, my heart fluttered in disbelief for a moment, then rushed up and out of my body in a show of emotion, the details of which I would much prefer remain hidden from all but the one at whom the display was directed. The result of my protestation, however, had Izuru trapped in a most probably vice-like embrace that left him gasping for breath—though I didn't notice the latter until he pleaded that I release him. But that my happiness had not gone unnoticed he made clear. “I thought you'd be happy,” he said, “but what about Ishida?”

“That,” I said as I struggled to find the exact words to correctly convey the emotions, the connotations of the experience as a whole to him, “was,” but the words still wouldn't come no matter how hard I searched for them and all I could do was lengthen the pauses between my words, “or is,” damn that Ishida and his schemes that didn't make any sense I thought but still nothing so I said the next with no thought: “It was an accident. There's nothing between us, really. Can we talk about something else?”

“Looks like we both have something we'd rather not talk about,” he said. It seemed that, though curious, neither of us should broach the subject of relationships with each other, even as one—faint and adolescent as it might have been—formed between us.

Later, after he had left me alone to wallow in my recovery, I wondered what had motivated his change in attitude regarding me. Not even twenty-four hours earlier he had rejected me out-right, and now he was offering me a vacation. But I didn't particularly care; what mattered was the invitation itself, not the motive. Results were all that mattered. Who was I to worry about hidden agendas and the like? Outside, the snow had begun again, though this time with the intention of remaining. Thick clouds of white powder descended in blankets to conceal the ground. There was a tree just outside the window, and its branches sagged and creaked under the weight of the slowly accumulating snow. The wind picked up, and it was to its howling lullaby that I at last fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Izuru was still around. He made small talk with me throughout the morning—or tried to, at least. It was, perhaps, the most continuous interaction we had yet had. Unfortunately, the art of conversation was lost on the both of us. Anecdotes were shared, jokes attempted, but pervading our words was an uncomfortable silence most likely caused by our mutual agreement to not mention certain subjects. Our stories lacked certain people whose mention might elicit negative reactions, even should they have played an integral part in the original. They were replaced by figments of our imagination. We invented characters to fill in the blanks, even though we both knew the truth. What fragile and timid rapport we had would be otherwise shattered. I marvel know at our emotional ineptitude at the time, but I suppose such could not be helped. At least, for my part. Despite his best intentions, Izuru let slip some pieces of his past. Of his hobbies. His interests. It shocked me, at first, how little I knew about him. But as we regaled ourselves in our falsified nostalgias we became somewhat less uneasy. Our dialogue became slowly more lucid and less obfuscated. I asked him whether he knew if Byakuya was in town. In fact, he was—the day before last, at least. I told him I thought I had seen him that night. Where? I told him I couldn't remember. He called me a liar. A strip club, if he really had to know. Of the gay variety? Where the hell else would I go? We both laughed at the thought of Byakuya watching half-naked men prancing around on stage. Neither of us had thought he swung that way.

He made lunch—nothing too fancy, but a heart-warming gesture nonetheless. I was long since mobile, but I might have faked weakness for extra attention. He insisted I continue to rest, but I used my stubbornness to my advantage. After lunch, the day passed in a series of flashes, nothing more than images, with the gaps filled in with inane babbling that could have originated from either of us. Trivialities with no meaning to them other than to fill in the silence. Then: the supper.

“So,” I said. “When do you plan on this vacation?”

“”Well, I'd like to take it as soon as possible, but shouldn't we take care of that hollow first?” he said.

“What part of 'vacation' do you not understand? Ishida and them can handle it. You need a break.”

“I guess. Then. . . as soon as you're feeling better?”

“You mean now?”

“More like tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is then.” We resumed eating. “I didn't know you were such a good cook,” I said.

“I've had lots of practice. You should've seen me when I was just learning.”

“I have a feeling I'd prefer not to.”

“And I would prefer not to think of it again.”

The conversation there ended. It seemed like both of us had run out of things to say—not too surprising considering my youth, but I had thought Izuru would have had more to say. Though, I must admit, I gave little thought to it at the time, I did notice, deep down in the bowels of my consciousness, that his silence felt somewhat force, like he had more to say but held his tongue. Like there were things he was hiding. But I was a young fool in love.

The next morning, outside where, even though the snow from the day before had ceased, everything was covered in a brilliant whiteness, Izuru and I went for a walk before our departure. We were both still out of topics for discussion, but this was a time, an event, which did not call for words. They were superfluous. What words I use now can never hope to convey that which I felt during that walk, and I implore the reader to forgive me this of my manifold weaknesses. Perhaps it is merely a romanticization on my part, or perhaps my memory is failing me in my age, but that one silent hour held more meaning to me than the hours of conversation we had the day before. I cannot list specific instances, nor any pervading theme which might lead to such a condition; I can only postulate that my blind, youthful infatuation combined with his presence induced in me a premonition of nostalgia. Even as it was happening, I longed for when it had happened.

We stopped for a rest on a bench when he first spoke: “You ever gonna tell me what's up with you and glasses?” The look on his face indicated to me his growing interest in my personal life. “I mean, I understand if you don't want to, but I'd like it if you would.”

“What about you and Renji?” I asked. “You always seem to clam up when I mention him.”

“Hmm,” he said in a pensive tone. He closed his eyes as if deep in thought, and, without opening them, he spoke. “I guess it can't be avoided.” He paused. “I turned to Renji out of sheer desperation. I was hurting, and Renji comforted me, made me laugh, made me forget. He's a nice guy, but he has his faults—but I put up with them because I had to. If it weren't for him I don't know that I would have made it.” I almost said something, but thought better of it and allowed him to continue uninterrupted. “And even though I knew I should stop it, I just couldn't because then I'd have to take charge of the situation and change things. I was afraid to lose the times when he'd make me happy—that I'd never be happy again if I left him.

“I didn't even notice what he was doing at first. He'd tell me what to where, but it always sounded like a request and not an order. He didn't like it if I went out with others without him, but I thought he was just being jealous and overprotective. Then he got drunk and beat me. I never fought back because I thought that would just make him even angrier. And each time he'd wake up in the morning crying his eyes out and begging me to forgive him, that he'd never do it again—and I did, because I had no one else.

“There,” he said. “That's it up till the point you butted in.” He leaned in even closer. “Now tell me what happened between you and Ishida.”

“Well, um,” I stuttered awkwardly, “he found out what happened between you and me and came up with some plan to get us together. Or something—I have no idea what he was thinking, but part of his plan involved making out in my living room and having Rukia see us. It was. . . embarrassing. But, I guess yours is kinda worse than mine, huh?”

“It all depends on your perspective, really.”

“I guess.”

“Not that we're competing or anything, right?” he added playfully. It was still kind of odd to see him being playful like that, but that he was smiling was all that mattered.

“I. . . I like it when you smile,” I said. “You should do it more often—it's nice.”

He smiled. “So I've been told,” he said. “You should smile more, too.” He reached over and ruffled my hair playfully and we both laughed at our silliness. “You about ready to go?”

“Sure,” I said.

He got up and drew his sword. Presently, he opened the gate and we both traversed to the other side with no great hurry.