That Good Night

A/N: Whew. That took longer than I thought it would. And it's shorter than I wanted. One more to go and it's done.



Fierce Tears



To begin with, it says, I should apologize. Firstly for my initial reaction to your advances, and secondly for my eventual acceptance of them. I don't know when you'll read this—before or after—but there are some things you should know.



I mentioned our age difference, but maybe I should explain what I meant by that. And I mentioned my former captain, as well, and the two are very much connected.



In the same way I am older than you, he was older than me. Perhaps even to the same degree, perhaps more so.



I courted him, in the beginning, though he playfully avoided any resolution for some time. He'd always make a sarcastic quip whenever I said anything embarrassing. That lasted maybe a few months, and then he suddenly returned them.



It started with a kiss, one day after dark, the both of us alone in his office. He was trying to distract me, I know now, and he did a damn fine job of it, and maybe that's a part of what I'm apologizing for as well.



He was not my first, or anything like that, but he was my longest, my most earnest. I opened up to him more than to anyone else before that, and it was very fulfilling while it lasted.



You can guess when it ended, I'm sure.



Right after that, amid all the fear, uncertainty, and doubt, is when Renji found me. Metaphorically, I mean. We'd known each other for years and years before that, but never as anything more than friends.



He made me smile for the first time in a while, made me laugh and forget—he liked telling stories, too. Told me all manner of tales, from truth to fiction, all of them hilarious.



You'll find out soon enough, like as not, but I like to drink. A lot. This is important.



Renji and I went out to drink frequently. Usually, for the first few weeks, at least, the alcohol made him more jovial, if aggressive. Then it started to make him jealous.



He was more than a little possessive from the beginning, but I didn't take it as a bad sign. Just the opposite: it made me happy he was so devoted to me. And it was fine, for a while.



Until one night he thought I was checking out some other guy; he didn't take that particularly well. I could have fought back, I guess—but somewhere deep down I thought I deserved it. That's why it's taken me so long to actually do anything about it. Renji's fits of violence were obviously my punishment for failing to prevent Gin's betrayal.



You didn't start nosing around till after that, though. I honestly have no idea what triggered his violence—every time was for a different reason, but only ever when he was drunk.



If you had been anyone else, I honestly think Renji would have beaten you up for the way you looked at me. But you were Ichigo, so the worst he ever thought was, That kid better not do anything stupid. And even then I don't think he worried so much about you as he did others. Shuuhei probably got the worst of it.



But none of that matters anymore. None of it. Because by the time you read this letter he and I will no longer be a couple.



I'll go up to him, wherever he is, and I'll tell him flat out that I won't take it anymore, that I won't keep quiet. I'll tell him it hurts me to do it, I really did love him somewhere down there, before, I wish it didn't have to be like this.



And he'll say right back how much he really does love me, and he'll mean every word of it. He'll say he won't ever do it again, and he'll mean it. But only for the moment. The minute he takes another sip of alcohol, or sees anyone looking at me funny, or me looking at anyone funny, we'd be right back where we were.



I won't put up with his foolishness anymore, and I'll leave him to himself once I've said as much. Whether he accepts it or not. I might even tell him I've found someone else, someone—not to replace him, no—someone better than he ever was in every respect, who'll know how to treat me.



And then I'll let it go. I won't ever think about that period of my life again, except maybe for the lessons I've learned. I might say how stupid I was and laugh it off, or I might reminisce with a drink once every long while, and think of those wasted times.



I'll see Renji at work; that much can't be avoided. There'll be meetings, and we'll both go to them. It will be awkward. It will be painful, maybe. We won't talk much, or more than what's necessary to do business, most likely. That's the best-case scenario.



The worst is the one where he gets fired, everyone starts pitying me, and nothing at all is ever the same.



I really do hope Renji learns something from all this—but that's not what I'm writing this for. I've already apologized, now to the second part.



Only, I'm not even sure what to say. Perhaps a thank you. My injuries last night hardly would have been fatal, but you did rescue me. So thank you.



It should go without saying, but I've been thinking. More so than usual. I already said I would accept your advances, but there's much more to it than just that. For that is but the end result, and fails to adequately represent the sum of thought and struggle that preceded it.



I still can remember how I felt back then, before Gin played the part of my lover, how I pined for him so much it hurt. And not a thing could compare to being ignored. Thinking back on that, I know how you must feel—must have felt. But that alone does not defeat my logic. I still could hurt you, use you, cause you pain.



It is not the only reason, though. Though hardly resembling love, I definitely feel something for you; affection, attraction, lust—whatever you want to call it, the feeling exists. I should know better. I do know better. But I cannot help myself any longer. Perhaps I'm just being selfish.



What I have is experience in life, and what that has taught me is never to deny you true feelings. So I won't deny them. That doesn't mean I must act on them.



Yet I must. I am compelled to. I still am not entirely certain why.



You are a most captivating person—that's about the best way I can put it—captivating in such a way that I must give in no matter what I think of it otherwise. Even though it be doomed from the start. For what else could any union between us ever hope to be, if not doomed?



Such is all of life, and the after. The point and the meaning is in how you use it, or make it to mean something. And what could mean more than a thing entered into with foreknowledge of its doom?



Ugh. How can I even write this crap?



So, I've said—or did I? I can't even remember know what I've said and what I haven't so I'll say again or for the first time I love you, or so I now think. It feels of love, or similar enough to fool me. Not to say I've never before been fooled.



Now I'm just rambling. I do that, sometimes. Mostly when I'm nervous. Which I am.



Because I'm putting to paper what till now I've left unsaid, and with good reason. Did I mention our age difference? I still don't even know why I'm doing this.



No. I think I do. It's just I fear to put it to paper, to words. If I keep it in my head, it will stay there, ephemeral as all thoughts, and disappear with time and death. But that is the coward's way out, and I aim for better.



You are captivating, in the purest, oldest sense of the word: I am yours however you want me, whatever your whim. Your captive, if you will, redeemed only through love, if you can call it that. And as such I cannot hope to act without you. But that just sounds like an excuse.



I am an adult, and you a child—I mean no offense. It just seems that might get lost in all I'm saying.



What I mean is I have the capacity to choose, to opt out from this, but I cannot. I choose not to, rather. I'm rambling again.



Last night in the alley slumped against the dumpster I thought all manner of thoughts. After the standard rationalizations and justifications for his actions, I delved deeper. What I found was a sort of rock, deep within my soul, caked with dust and ash and soil. But beneath that it sparkled every now and then. I think I know what it is, and what I must do about it, now.



And since I can't think of any other way to pad this out, I'll say goodbye, and I love you. Izuru.



On the bottom of the last page, it says:



P.S. God, you look so cute with that guy. What's his name, with the glasses. Couldn't resist covering you two up. Sweet dreams.