Romance and Rivalries

Chapter Nine
by Rob

Jushiro didn’t fear death, nor did he fear the pain of his illness or the infirmities to come. He had made peace with himself long ago. He had repented all of his past sins, he had strived throughout his life to help people and change their lives for the better and even now, with death so close to him, his only thoughts were on those he loved. Indeed, he had no regrets, everything he’d ever felt compelled to do he had done, all the things he could have wished for from life he had, and there was no business of his left unresolved. There was no reason to fear death.

If anything it would be a welcome release from his pain, from the horrific coughing fits that caused his throat to rip and blood to pour, from being unable to breathe to such an extent he’d find himself fainting, vomiting and sometimes just plain panicking. Each and every time he would cough or feel faint he would feel a sense of horror, an emotion so primal it was virtually impossible to explain, like a cold feeling radiating in his stomach which would consume all thoughts and emotions, leaving him feeling nothing but a icy statue, a being that existed but in a soulless state, a being without meaning. He knew by now to recognise it for what it was, an intense state of shock and wonder, an instinctive fear that ‘this very moment could be my last’ and thinking that – despite all the loose ends that have been tied up – this was not an dignified way to go. There was always someone whom you wished you could have said ‘I love you’ to before that moment had taken place. It didn’t matter how ready you were for death, how much you wanted to die, you could not stop that fear!

Anyone who said they didn’t fear dying was either a liar or had never encountered death itself, because when you were in that very moment, knowing that the breath you took could be your last or the sight you saw may be the final thing you ever saw, all you felt was fear. Your thoughts were always ‘why here’, ‘why now’ and you always found yourself in a pit of utmost despair, hating the parents that bore you and loathing the gods that made you this way, wishing that the fates could have just given you a second more, just one second! Oh, because what that very second could mean . . .!

Each time a coughing fit came, each time a dizzy spell consumed him, he’d always wonder if the people who loved him truly knew how much he loved them in return, if it was possibly Kyoraku knew the depths of his devotion, or how much Byakuya and Rukia knew how much he hoped they would succeed in life. Did Yamamoto-sama know how much he looked up to him and respected him? Did Toshiro-kun know how much he adored him and thought of him like the son he always longed for? Did any of them know how much he’d miss them and long for them? Most of all he didn’t want to die alone. There was always a sense of shame in his attacks, no matter where he was, a curious self-loathing in that he could collapse onto a chair or maybe die in an undignified pose, but that there was someone there comforted him: he was not alone. In his own home however he was often alone, his nurses Kiyone and Sentaro were only part-time, his family and friends worked or were still students themselves, and Kyoraku had a very busy schedule . . . These days with each attack he would find himself shedding tears, not from frustration, pain or his inability to breathe, but from fear, fear he may die alone, and fear his last few moments would be in complete solitude.

He did not fear death . . . he just feared being alone as he died, crying silently out for his lover as his final breath left him, mentally pleading for someone to hold him as the world turned to black . . . that was what he feared most.

At one point in his life he had very little reason to have this fear, he was a teacher after all and spent every moment he could with his students, even volunteering to teach extra-curricular classes and take on private tutoring. He’d adored children and had always wanted one of his own. He loved the fresh vitality they brought to his life and the happiness that they could give him, a light in his world of shadows. His favourite had always been a small boy named Toshiro Hitsugaya, a cousin of a student of his named Momo who lived with his guardian Matsumoto-san, the boy was a savant, capable of things even men Jushiro’s ages found trouble doing, and so Jushiro had been assigned as the boy’s tutor. He loved those moments. His students were like his children, his colleagues were like his siblings, and he was always surrounded by family during the day and returned to Kyoraku at home at night. Then – as his illness progressed – he was forced to give up teaching. Just like that his dreams, his hopes, his loves and ambitions had been stolen from him . . .

Of course Toshiro-kun still visited weekly with a frown on his face and a pout on his lips, and Rukia-san made sure to see him as often as she could, sometimes even daily if possible, but it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t impart knowledge to them, play roughly with them, sometimes he couldn’t even laugh with them without inflicting a coughing fit upon himself, and so he found himself wearing a smile that seemed false and fake, a shadow of his former emotions. He was simply wearing a mask of happiness and his heart became weaker both physically and emotionally.

Tuberculosis. It was a simple enough disease and one he should have been vaccinated against, and yet he hadn’t been, and as the disease grew worse it grew resistant to treatment, and other illnesses had invaded his body along with it. His skin had grown deathly pale, his once raven hair was now white as snow, and his once fit frame had became fragile and weak. He was a shadow of his former self, his hazel eyes still glowed at the sight of those he loved but dwindled each time he gazed upon his reflection in a mirror, despising this thing he had become. He was someone who now depended on others, who faced death constantly, and who had become too ill to work and help those in need, instead he had became a burden and an eyesore. It was never the life he had wanted, never!

It was far from the life he had planned for himself.

He’d grown up in a quite affluent household, near to where the Kira family lived, and with five brothers and two sisters he was never alone for a moment, money may have been tight with such a large amount of children in the house but there was enough love for everyone. From the moment he’d been born he’d lived to teach, he was the eldest of all eight children and so he spent all his time raising and watching them, and of course with his parents death in his twenties it had been up to him to raise them all as well. He’d met Kyoraku in school and the two had always been inseparable, they’d loved each other unconditionally and fought life side-by-side. Now with his illness his second-eldest sibling was raising the few youngest children, his lover was forced to work extra hours to support them both, and Jushiro was left wondering if he was perhaps more of a burden than he’d thought. He’d contributed as much as he possibly could of course, in his bedridden days he’d began a series of children’s novels entitled ‘Rejection of the Twin Fishes!’, and it seemed they’d became rather popular, bringing in a hefty income. Yet it didn’t matter how much money he helped to bring in, he still felt as if perhaps it was his time to die, his time to move on, perhaps it would be best for his family and for Kyoraku. He felt too much of a burden . . .

He stood slowly from his chair, at once feeling light-headed and forced to grab a hold of the armrest so as to balance himself. His head swam in a way that made him feel nauseous, his vision now faded black with specks of unidentifiable light drifting across his vision, and a feeling of coldness that often came in moments of weakness.

It took a long moment for the feeling to pass, but when it did he slowly made his way across the room, reaching a large table where sat a now wilting bouquet of flowers from Byakuya and a novel from Kira Izuru. It seemed Ichimaru-Sensei had been so impressed with it he’d passed it onto Shunsui to give to him, hoping that maybe – as an established writer – that Jushiro would be able to help out ‘little Kira-kun’. The very thought made him smile. It made him feel like he had a use once more, a purpose, like he had a sense of being, even if that was to guide and inspire up-and-coming writers. Most of all he adored how Ichimaru-Sensei was treating him as if nothing was wrong with him, he was treating him like an equal and a friend, and that made him feel more human and less of an invalid, even if Kyoraku accused the man of being ‘insensitive to Jushiro’s condition’. Jushiro had a slight feeling however that Kyoraku’s accusation was less to do with worry and more to do with jealously, after all his own writing attempts had ended disastrously.

Jushiro gave a smile and let his hand trail over the copy of Kira’s novel, wondering if his young ex-student even realised his novel was being circulated around his fellow teachers like this, with the explicit request to help along with publishing if they could. He had a feeling that should he find out he’d be extremely embarrassed, and yet perhaps also feel a sense of pride that his work was so well received.

It was then he heard the door to the living room slide open. Startled out of his thoughts he turned to greet his lover with a warm and affectionate smile, relieved at finally having some company on such a dreary day.

“I’m home, Jushiro.”

Jushiro smiled as he watched his lover saunter steadily towards him. He was dressed in the required uniform for teachers, but of course he’d marked it with some personal touches clearly against regulation, however it was that unique flare that Kyoraku applied to all things that made Jushiro love and adore him. When his lover came close enough he reached up to remove his hat, throwing it to one side, before engaging him in a soft yet passionate kiss.

Yet less than a few seconds in his throat began to tickle, a small scratching sensation deep within his throat where there was little hope of soothing it, and of course the more he kissed the more his breath left him, causing that slight scratch to become a sore ache. It was a feeling like a vice upon his throat-box, a dull yet powerful force that threatened to crush his voice entirely, something strong and choking, something that cut off his breath and forced him to pull back. It was humiliating to find himself in one of his bad episodes, unable to endure even a kiss, and to have to turn his head away from his lover and release a few, abrupt coughs into a clenched fists made him feel nothing but pathetic. True it wasn’t a bad coughing fit, true after a second or two it had all but cleared, but how could he hope to satisfy Shunsui when in his worse episodes he was unable to even kiss him? Was it any wonder the other man flirted with women so often, that he chased other people? Jushiro really did feel inadequate.

“Hey? You okay, love?”

Shunsui took a gentle grip of his lover’s chin and forced him to turn his head and make eye-contact, the sight of those flushed cheeks and lips strained red with blood made him wince inside, his expression changing to one of concern. He hated seeing his partner this way, he’d sworn after all to protect him no matter what and yet this was the one thing he couldn’t help protect against. He felt so helpless, so unable to help his lover, wanting nothing more than to take that pain away and yet there was nothing he could do, he hated that feeling and he hated being unable to soothe his lover’s pain. Even then his eyes were flecked with little pearls of tears, threatening to flow down his cheeks, and Shunsui knew there was nothing he could do or say to stop them, to make it better for Jushiro. Nothing.

“I – I’m fine,” Jushiro said with a raspy breath and a bright smile, “I must have forgotten to dust today, you know how the slightest bit can set off an attack. I was just careless.”

“Oh? So it’s not that you’re breathless just from a kiss?”

“Of course not. Please, don’t worry.”

“Very well,” Shunsui gave a lazy smile of his own and reached forward to Jushiro, placing a soft and innocent kiss on his lover’s cheek, he then pulled away and made his way over to the sofa, collapsing down as if exhausted, “I’ll get one of those nurses of yours to give the place a cleaning tomorrow . . . make sure all the dust is gone.”

Jushiro sighed and gave a sad little look of exasperation. He hated these games more than anything, Shunsui clearly saw past his act and had decided to burden his nurses with chores to guilt him into admitting the truth. It was frustrating because he would have thought by now Shunsui would just be open and tell him what was on his mind, but then again . . . it was hardly as if Jushiro was willing to do the same. The dilemma was if he admitted to being ill after just a simple kiss then his lover would worry, his nurses’ would panic, and everything would be up in the air followed by a multitude of tests and people getting worked up, and he couldn’t do that to them . . . It was better to just increase Kiyone’s workload than to admit the truth and have everyone so upset over nothing.

“If you think that’s for the best, Shunsui, although I’m happy to clean the room myself. There is no need to burden already overworked staff.”

“Nonsense! I’m sure they won’t mind,” He said with a bright grin, “Now why don’t you come join me on the sofa? My lunch break doesn’t last forever and I have two very juicy pieces of gossip for you.”

“Oh? Well I suppose as you don’t have long . . .”

Jushiro was usually adverse to gossip but he’d learnt during the course of his illness – particularly when bedridden – that it was a good way to keep in touch with the world around him. It was nearly impossible for him to talk to everyone and catch up the way he used to, and because he was so ill no one dared to come to him with their problems anymore lest it upset him, and so the only times he ever learnt what was really going on in people’s lives was through the mindless gossip of his visitors. He didn’t mind at all in the way that he used to, in fact he rather enjoyed hearing about Toshiro-kun and Momo-san’s little spats, or Ichimaru-Sensei’s latest pranks, and it was always interesting to hear about Rukia-chan and her latest endeavours. He was actually grateful that Shunsui still loved him enough to spend time with him like this, to share aspects of his life and the lives of those around him, it made him feel more in touch with the outside world.

He gave a warm smile and slowly made his way over to the sofa. He sat carefully down beside Shunsui and soon found himself feeling rather exhausted, of course he wasn’t used to any strenuous activities but to be tired out so quickly from merely walking across the room . . . already his breath was slightly panted and he was forced to lean to his side, rest his head on his lover’s shoulders, and close his eyes for a moment in rest. It was truly a sad sight and never had he felt so old before, and yet he simply bore it and accepted his state for what it was, hoping that he at least had a year or even a few months left before his illness took over him completely.

“What kind of gossip is it?” He asked softly.

“Well,” Kyoraku replied with a slight grin, wrapping his arm tightly around his lover, “I don’t teach Ichigo-kun’s class on Mondays, but Gin does. It seems he overheard Uryu-kun planning to throw a party at his father’s house, a very large one where nearly all students he knows are invited, and Gin being Gin has decided it’s his duty as a teacher to protect his students from themselves . . .”

“Meaning?”

Kyoraku smirked and looked dreamily upwards innocently, “Meaning with his heavy workload and a hot date tomorrow night he won’t possibly remember about the party, but when his date’s over – about halfway through the evening when our little students will be piss drunk – then he might just remember. Of course he’d have to tell the students’ parents at that point, which would mean Ishida-san, Kurosaki-san, Urahara-san and others, and they would have to break the party up, probably even humiliating their poor children in the process . . . but one has to do what one has to do to stop them from getting drunk and hurting themselves. Underage drinking is illegal after all.”

“And after Ichimaru-sensei’s ‘hot date’, after he remembers to report the party to the appropriate individuals, I don’t suppose that you and Gin will just be coincidentally walking past to spy on events?”

“Don’t be so cynical, of course we won’t!” Shunsui said with a bright, innocent smile, “ . . . Matsumoto-san will be coincidentally walking past too. You see Gin will be dropping his date off at the party, at which point he’ll ‘remember’ and report the party, then he’ll go to the bar to meet Matsumoto-san where I’ll just happen to be. We’ll then decide to go for a nice walk on a nice night out and just happen to walk past with a camera . . . we’re innocent in all of this, you know?”

“This is all Ichimaru-sensei’s plan, isn’t it?”

“Of course, but you have to admit the guy does have a sense of humour.”

Jushiro sighed to himself quietly.

Indeed he could certainly see the humour in things but at the same time he remembered what it was like to be young himself. The students needed time to unwind, to take a break from the stresses of university exams that they constantly prepared for, and to assert themselves as adults and learn a sense of independence in a safe environment. They’d also learn a sense of how actions had consequences, after all after a couple of hangovers in his youth he’d very quickly learnt that alcohol wasn’t the godlike nectar it was proclaimed to be. These social events were good for the children, and it wasn’t as though they’d be drugs or promiscuous sex because – let’s face it – Uryu would rip out the still-beating heart of anyone who dared try such things. This was an excuse to annoy his father with broken ornaments, loud music and vomit on the bathroom tiles . . . not a reason to have a warning on a criminal record. All in all it seemed rather mean to him to spoil their fun. Rukia-chan in particular needed space from her brother, it didn’t seem quite right to ruin their evening in such a manner.

Then again, a part of him realised that this was exactly what Uryu wanted, because it was impossible to infuriate a parent about a party when that parent had no idea about the party’s existence. He also knew that Urahara-san and Kurosaki-san had very high hopes for their sons, and Byakuya impossibly high expectations for his sister, they had a right as guardians to know when their children were engaging in reckless behaviour, and had it been his own child he would have wanted to know too. In which case why not just tell the parents now, before this mess even began? This had to be the most transparent of all Ichimaru-Sensei’s pranks. The man just wanted to torture the students he disliked, laugh at the ones he did, and have photographic evidence for any possible ‘innocent’ blackmail in the future. It amazed Ukitake that the man ever chose to be a teacher when he clearly disliked the youth of today.

“I suppose he does,” He unwillingly conceded, “But tell me, Shunsui, what was this other piece of gossip you mentioned?”

“Ah, well, you see . . .”

His lover was blushing slightly, scratching at his neck with mild embarrassment as he looked to his far left to avoid any possible eye contact. Apparently the man had either done something very wrong or found the gossip too ridiculous to retell to his lover, and Ukitake had a sneaking suspicion it was the former. After all Kyoraku was a man to act first and think later, it would make sense that he’d done something wrong, all too much sense in fact. He wouldn’t pretend the idea of an affair, possibly bankruptcy or even a sexual harassment suit didn’t hurt him, but at the same time what right had he to be angry when he should expect such things from the man? Everyone knew Kyoraku was a notorious womanising alcoholic, and he spent more evenings than healthy binge-drinking with Zaraki-san, but still . . . it hurt.

“What did you do, Shunsui?” He asked softly.

“Huh? Nothing, I swear! It’s just . . . Well, I don’t want to get your hopes up, that’s all. Not over gossip anyway . . .”

“My hopes up?”

“Yeah . . .” Shunsui gave a loud sigh and lowered his head considerably, raking his free hand over his face as if he’d only just awoken, then with a sweet smile looked to Jushiro with bright – albeit regretful – features, “You see I heard something interesting, but it’s kind of like Chinese Whispers . . . Well, it’s just . . . Kisuke-san told Mayuri-san who told Ishida-san, who told Kurosaki-san who told Ichigo-kun who told Jeagerjaques-san, who told Aizen-san who told Kaname-san who told Gin-san, who told me about a new treatment that’s possibly available for you.”

Jushiro blinked rapidly and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He was more concerned with the fact he’d been able to follow that long chain of story telling, rather than with the actual fact of the matter. It was like being back teaching young children on a playground listening to the ‘he said that she said’ stories, and even worse was that despite being grown-up Shunsui seemed to actually be finding truth in these matters. It was no wonder he’d been so embarrassed to tell Jushiro what he’d heard! How the story must have been retold from person to person didn’t bear thinking about, and if anything it just made him wonder what poor Urahara-san had actually said in order to have ended up as a butchered ‘there’s a new treatment for Ukitake’.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Shunsui continued, to which Jushiro could only look at him as if to say ‘no you don’t’, “And let me just say that break-time is very short, by the time Gin told me about his prank and then about the rumour mill at work lessons had already started again! So I didn’t have time to look into the matter . . . so on the way home for lunch I stopped by at Kisuke’s place. The old fart was out buying stock, but guess what information I got from Tessai-san?”

“A message not to call people younger than you ‘old farts’?”

“Ha, still got a sense of humour I see.” Shunsui said, rolling his eyes, “No. It turns out – now this is top secret, mind you – that Kisuke’s been doing some private, behind-the-scenes medical research. I know he’s been barred from medicine, which is why it’s vital you keep quiet about what he’d been up to, and I don’t even want to know where the lab is he’s been working in . . . Well the genius has done it again apparently, he’s found some sort of cure. He’s given Mayuri-san the prototype and Mayuri-san’s perfected it. Ishida-san is getting one hell of a commission, seeing as it’s his hospital that technically discovered it. The point is Ishida-san is looking for test subjects and you’re name is first on their list . . .”

The moment Jushiro heard that he shivered and closed his eyes hard.

There was a part of him that was deathly excited, thrilled at the fact he could be cured and would get to lead a normal and healthy life, that he might possibly get to teach again, raise his younger siblings once more and maybe even have a family of his own. He felt that familiar twinge of hope in his chest at the entire everything might be better, that he might get to be alive again and go freely out into the world with his lover, where he could spend as long as he wanted at Yoruichi-san’s parties and not have to worry about his health or the affect of alcohol on his medications. It was clearly a good thing, a positive thing, and yet . . . was it worth it?

This was an experimental treatment. There was no guarantee it would work, none at all, and even if it did what would be the cost? Granted he would owe them no money for being a ‘guinea pig’, but what about his body, his health, his sanity even . . . What if the medicine made him worse or progressed his illness? What if it did work but left him bedridden for the duration of treatment? What if the treatment in itself was painful, with needles or transfusions or operations? Was it truly worth it? It was surely better to die slowly and with dignity, than to suffer greatly and die quickly with a treatment that could possibly fail him. Yet – yet he loved Shunsui. The very thought of leaving him before his time was up was heartbreaking, and to know that he had a chance, even a small chance, at being with him for a moment longer . . . surely that was worth taking?

He gave a small but weak smile, trying to work out what he wanted and where his conflict lay, and most of all if he should take the treatment despite its risks so that he stood a chance at being with Shunsui, or leaving things be and not getting his hopes up only to have them dashed again.

“Thank you for telling me, Shunsui,” he whispered.

“Not a problem.”

“Could you . . . Would it be too much to ask that you take me to the Urahara Shop on your way back to school? I would of course stay there until school was finished and you could pick me up, but I’d like to talk to Urahara-san or at least Tessai-san about the treatment, about what effects it may have and what my chances would be at success. If I was going to consider something new I want to know everything about it. In fact I’ll make two appointments tomorrow, one for Unohana-san and one for Kurostuchi-san. So please, would you take me to Urahara-san?”

Shunsui smiled at his lover.

It was a lot to ask of him, a lot of pressure to put on him too, but frankly even if there was only a one-percent chance at success he was willing to take it, because he loved Jushiro, and as far as he was considered a one-percent chance may as well have been a million-percent. He didn’t care what the odds would be, what the effects might be, all he cared about was spending as much time as he could in the arms of his lover, and it meant the world to him that Jushiro would even consider a new, experimental treatment. So when he asked to see Kisuke, to learn more about what would happen, he only had one reply:

“Of course. Like you even have to ask.”

* * *

The one thing Yumichika loved about Ikkaku was that, no matter what, nothing ever seemed to keep Ikkaku down. He often found himself in dangerous situations or less than pleasant scenarios, and yet no matter what occurred he’d always find a way to jump back on his feet and get back in the game. It was almost as if life itself was an opponent who had to be conquered!

If he was insulted by Yachiru-chan’s persistent nicknames he’d rise above it and not take it upon himself to discipline her, if he lost a match he had his heart set on winning he’d train consistently so he’d win the next time around, and even when another man was dating the love of his life he refused to give up. He refused to back down until he had Yumichika in his arms and a promise to be together forever. It was indeed the aspect of Ikkaku he loved most, the part of Ikkaku that inspired him in all aspects of his life, urging him forward in his modelling career and photography class, knowing that if his lover refused to quit then he had no right to quit either. They’d known each other all their lives, fought against everyone to be together, sacrificed so much to let their love bloom, and they’d even nearly lost Renji’s friendship in the process to do so. Ikkaku was a man of inspiration, a man who would no doubt blossom in his field and later become a master of the martial arts he adored, and one day he may even run a dojo that could compete with Zaraki’s. He had so much potential, so much lust for life, so much motivation and endurance! He would never let his dreams die, never, and that was perhaps his most admirable quality . . .

It was also his worst quality.

Zaraki-sensei was Ikkaku’s idol and despite being a man of brawn he had a considerable amount of wisdom. Every day he’d impart advice to his pupils in the morning before school and training, he’d always take time out to talk to them when the need arose, and sometimes he even acted as kind of counsellor for the more troubled of his charges. When Ikkaku had been sent to Zaraki to become his charge, it was less to do with his abilities at kendo and more to do with his ability to find trouble in the strangest of places. The idea had been that through regimented training, a tough sensei and very strict rules that he’d not only master an art he loved, but would become a responsible member of society. He would learn discipline, to fight in a controlled environment and not as a criminal on the streets, and he would learn to be a real man. In fact with Zaraki’s ninety-six-point-five success rate with troubled teens it seemed the perfect place for him to go.

Yumichika had learnt long ago, as a model and photographer, that looks were deceptive. So what if it seemed a good idea, they should have known that with Ikkaku’s wild, independent and determined nature that things would not go as plan!

Zaraki was a man Ikkaku highly respect. His first words to Ikkaku had been spoken to the boy his first day at his dojo, where Ikkaku in a furious temper had challenged the man to a duel. He’d suffered a humiliating defeat but his sensei’s words had inspired him to get stronger, to carry on chasing his dreams and to improve himself, and for any other pupil that would have meant more hours at school and all free time inside the dojo training . . . but not for Ikkaku. The bald-headed boy had decided that for him it had meant less time at school, more time drinking, and every free minute fighting dangerously for his life in underground clubs or back alleys. Unfortunately for his daring lover there was only so much he could get away with, and finally he’d crossed a line that had forced both himself and Zaraki to get involved with his ridiculous affairs, and hopefully put a firm stop to them.

It had meant that from now on Ikkaku was walked to school by a very irate Zaraki Kenpachi, in fact not only was he walked to the school gates but to the very classroom itself. It was of course an humiliating experience, made purposely worse by how Zaraki would walk him by the arm to his seat, sit him down, hand him a homemade lunch with a sweet grin and wish him well. It was usually followed by made-up yet serious sounding words of worry, such as ‘if you have anymore accidents I’ve left a spare uniform at reception’ or ‘I’m sure Uncle Gin will let you spend lunch with him if you pass out again during sex ed’. Yumichika had actually cried laughing when an over-excited Renji quickly spread the stories around the dojo, and it seemed the utter humiliation might actually teach Ikkaku a lesson and drive it into his head to actually attend lessons. It was a very unique approach to parenting but worked incredibly well.

Outside of school Ikkaku had found himself with several new chores: babysitting Yachiru, personal slave to Iba on weekends and in charge of new students during weeknights. His bedroom had even been moved back into the main building, right next to Zaraki-sensei’s own bedroom, and so that meant more mornings of Yachiru waking him up with songs and less nights of sex with Yumi, because – let’s face it – no one wanted Zaraki-Sensei to hear that. Not that Yumichika was willing to give him any regardless, oh no, he was far too furious with Ikkaku to allow him access to his beautiful body! His boyfriend would have to be a fool if he expected sex any time soon, a complete fool.

Overall it had put Ikkaku in a foul mood. He had became tougher, harder and crueller during his sparring matches and was training to excess in his free time, constantly working to get better and better. Oddly he was even trying hard in lessons he found ‘useful for being a dojo master’, such as biology and economics, although failing lessons such as English and art miserably. Indeed, harsh punishments seemed to be quite effective, and Yumichika found he hadn’t even needed to give him the ultimatum of ‘myself or your ridiculous fighting’. It had been a huge relief in that regard, because he’d been terrified in case Ikkaku would choose fighting over him, especially risking his life in those ridiculous fight clubs . . . and yet . . . yet it didn’t matter what one did, some lessons were just impossible to teach, and one was apparently the art of ‘curfew’.

Due to Ikkaku’s eight o’clock curfew he was unable to spend the nights at Yumichika’s apartment, and so they were forced to spend most nights in Ikkaku’s room instead. Therefore Yumichika currently found himself preening in front of his boyfriend’s mirror, trying to make himself presentable for bed, a fact that amused his lover no end considering there was to be no sex and yet he still wished to look perfect. Meanwhile Ikkaku was stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head as he watched Yumichika with a lustful gaze.

“Come on, Yumi,” His lover’s voice sounded almost pitiful considering how ‘manly’ he always professed to be, “It’s going to be a great party. That Ishida guy’s trying to piss off his dad so there’s guaranteed booze.”

“There’s alcohol at Matsumoto’s Bar too.”

Ikkaku grunted loudly, “Yeah but Zaraki-Sensei’s got my photo up in there with his number on the back, Matsumoto-san’s got to ring him if she sees me even so much as walking past the bar window.”

Yumichika raised his hand to stifle his laughter.

In the mirror he could see his pale skin blooming with a crimson flush, his lips tightening into a line as he tried to be subtle, and his wisteria eyes gleaming with mischief. The very idea of Ikkaku being forced away from alcohol was amusing enough, to find out the extents that Zaraki-Sensei would go to in order to stop him was just plain funny! He was tempted to head over to the bar just so he could see the photo, that and so he could gloat over how his underage lover was now banned from one of his most famous places in town. He only had himself to blame of course, if he wanted his freedom and his alcohol then he shouldn’t have acted like a complete moron, getting beaten up like that and waking up in an alley . . . he’d worried everyone half to death! If anything Zaraki-Sensei wasn’t being tough enough on the bald-headed brat.

Sighing he flicked his short bob away from his face and glanced over in the mirror one last time. He seemed ready enough for bed; he’d made sure to moisturise, that his hair was completely knot-free and there wasn’t a single speck of dirt on his entire body, and yet it still frustrated him that in the morning his work would be undone and he’d be back at square one! In the night he’d sweat, his hair would become mussed and there’d be a little speck of sleep in each eye, it was a foul and ugly sight and not one in which he ever wanted his lover to see! Most morning’s he could wake up before Ikkaku and wash, dress and apply his face before his boyfriend saw him, even if his lover claimed him beautiful regardless he still didn’t want him to see him in such a state! It just worried him because – now that Ikkaku was forced to attend school – he’d be awake at the crack of dawn for breakfast, chores, homework and then his little walk with Zaraki-Sensei . . . It meant that his lover would have to see him at his most imperfect! It was a horrific thought indeed.

“Regardless Ikkaku, I am not going to a high-school party, the oldest person in Ishida-kun’s year is only sixteen! It’ll ruin my image. I can also imagine Renji will be there,” He turned to give his boyfriend a meaningful look and saw the other wince slightly, “He may still be a dear friend to you but he resents me for breaking up with him, if I appear there he’ll only drink to excess and make a fool of himself, probably either starting a fight with you or coming on to me in the process.”

“Renji’s not like that,” Ikkaku argued, “We’re good friends and I trained him for a long time in martial arts too, if does start a fight it’d only be for his honour and afterwards – being the men we are – he’d probably be grateful and everything will go back to normal. You know what it’s like, fights even the playing field, it means he can get his anger out and we can go back to being good mates.”

“Oh, I forgot that for you fighting solve everything.”

He ignored Ikkaku as he glared at him and made his way over to the bed. His lover was no doubt pissed because he knew very well that fighting was the cause of all his troubles, and he know doubt resented Yumi for bringing it up, unable to let go of what he’d done.

Yumichika, however, had no plans to let the subject drop anytime soon, and if that meant throwing it in Ikkaku’s face every two minutes then he would, because if that’s what it took to show how reckless Ikkaku had been then he would gladly annoy his boyfriend by doing so. Fighting for sport was one thing, but to see Ikkaku laying in what was likely a pool of blood and urine in a dirty alley from some illegal fight . . . It scared him. Terrified him. He never wanted to see Ikkaku like that again, never wanted to get that phone call and worry in the man was even still alive, he’d do anything to make sure Ikkaku understood that, anything. In fact the day they found Ikkaku they’d forced him to go for a check-up at Ishida-Sensei’s hospital, where Unohana-Sensei had checked him over, and when Yumichika had heard that everything was alright he’d spent the entire night making love to Ikkaku. Throughout the whole time he’d cried, not because he was sad or in pain but because he’d been so relieved, so happy his lover was okay and safe at last.

Gently he rested his head on Ikkaku’s chest, laying his ear directly over the younger man’s heart, listening to that regular rhythm as it echoed proof of life, proof that his lover was with him and his heart beat for him. He wrapped an arm and leg around Ikkaku, unable to separate himself from him, just relishing in the moment as they lay entangled as one person. When Ikkaku’s arms wrapped around him he sighed, already ready for sleep but refusing to close his eyes, at least not when they were sharing a rare moment of intimacy, just lying in each other’s arms without the fear of separating or the expectation of sex. Moments like these were rare now Ikkaku was being worked to the bone, but that’s what made them all the more special, that’s what made them all the more cherished.

“Anyway,” Ikkaku murmured, burying his nose into Yumichika’s hair to smell the delicious scent of his shampoo, “You won’t be the oldest one there. Ishida said everyone could bring at least one person, so Ichigo’s bringing his boyfriend who’s older than you are, and I think someone invited some guys named Stark and Luppi from the Arrancar Corp. Hell, that Kukaku babe’s going too, oh and some guys from Vizard? I’m sure one of them is your boss. He’s like blonde and kind of creepy, apparently Ichigo’s going to try setting him up with Renji, which would be awesome if it worked out.”

“You seem to know more about the guest list than the host.” Yumichika said a little too coldly, “However I suppose if there’s people from such distinguished places arriving, along with Shinji-sama himself, then I can deign to make an appearance.”

“Awesome! Thanks, Yumi.”

“However I am curious how you propose to get Zaraki-Sensei’s permission to go to this party. I’m most certain it’s on a school night, and with alcohol there and fellow rivals of yours, it doesn’t seem like a place he’d want you to go.”

Ikkaku let out a large, generous laugh and placed a soft kiss to Yumichika’s head, “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll be there. Zaraki-Sensei’s a smart man but I’m sure I can fool even him if I have to, just meet me there when the party starts, okay?”

“Okay,” Yumichika sighed, “but if that girl’s there, the one that keeps stalking you . . . I can’t hold myself responsible if I scratch her eyes out.”

Ikkaku shuddered. “Put it this way, if you don’t I just might do it myself . . .”