Dream With Me

He sat alone in the tiny apartment, curled up in an armchair, shoes off at the door, coat hung on the rack. Jean-clad legs and sock-covered feet tucked beneath him, a small item sat atop his lap. A small sigh was given, to accompany the ticking of the wall clock. Lightly-colored eyes traveled to the same clock. Twenty minutes late. He would wait a little longer.

Class must have run a bit late, he told himself. It would not surprise me, with the way that his Professor prattles on.

He pulled his sweatshirt hood up, and rubbed his hands together. The living room always seemed to be the coldest spot in the place, save for the bedroom. Well, he nearly smirked, not always. Lowering his hands, he rubbed his palms against his thighs. His eyes once again found the clock. Thirty minutes late. Class must have been released, by now.

Perhaps, it was just traffic, he considered, confidently. Yes, traffic. He will be here. He promised.

A few more moments ticked by. Gods, it just kept getting colder. He began to shiver, trying to bury himself further into the cushions of the chair. Resting his head against the left arm rest, he sighed. He should get up and find a blanket, but, he was finally getting comfortable. He had had a long day, and, it was yet to hit its climax. A small smile found his lips, then. He knew how their evening, together, would be spent; naked, in the arms of one another, moaning, groaning, crying out each others’ names. They would fall asleep beneath the covers, too exhausted to move, only to awake the same, snuggled against one another for the warmth that they would somehow have needed, in the night. With smiles and kisses for one another, they would go about their day. Together.

He could have wiggled in his seat, in anticipation. They had not been together in so long… He could easily figure the time into months, but, there was little that they could have done about it. They each had classes to attend, which separated them many miles. He missed his love, greatly, during those times. However, tonight was not a night to dwell on missing the other. Tonight, they could begin to make up for lost time. He was finally home for the holiday, and, there was nothing that could have kept them apart.

I hope he gets here, soon, he thought, covering a small yawn with his right hand. I’d hate to fall asleep, on him. He once again looked to the clock. He was forced to squint, the yawn having made his eyes water. For this reason, he shook his head, upon reading the time. There was no way that his love was over an hour late. No way, at all. I’m just being impatient, he chastised himself. He will be here, he promised. Another yawn, and, this time, his eyes remained closed. Pale lips remained in a smile, the young man still anticipating the coming hours. He was confident in their routine, easily changing his mind about falling asleep. Sleep was not necessarily his plan, merely a little rest, a light nap. A nap would not hurt. When he gets home, he’ll wake me up. I’m sure of it.

After all, he had promised.

* * *

Ichigo sighed, dropping himself onto his bed. Turning onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. Brown eyes traced the patterns of the ceiling, above, pointless, aimless, bored. Those same eyes strayed to the clock on the nightstand. Seven-thirty-two. Lovely. Alone, after seven, on a Saturday night, with nowhere to go. Nothing to do. No one to see. Pointless. Aimless.

Totally fucking bored.

For once in his life, Ichigo wished that it was not a holiday break. With Christmas Eve only two days away, many of his friends were out of town, doing this or that. Chad had mentioned a trip, out of the country. Orihime and Tatsuki were shopping, and, seeing a movie, if he remembered, correctly. Even that little Ishida shit had talked about having something to do, not that the boy had sounded thrilled about it. He assumed it had something to do with the elder Ishida. Ichigo had never met the man, but, from what he had heard, there was little to like.

Ichigo’s own father had taken his sisters to a concert, somewhere, near some waterfront – he had barely been listening. He, himself, had been too bored to care. Hell, the teenager did not even remember being invited on the family outing. Not that he would have gone, anyway. Really.

Thus, it came to be that he was the only member of the Kurosaki household to be sitting at home, in his room, staring up at his ceiling.

“Man, I need a hobby,” he mumbled, half-heartedly. But, really, what did he have to do? Read? Study? Had he been in the proper mood, he might have considered pulling out a few magazines. His eyes scanned his room, in its entirety. He had completed every last video game that he owned, and, likewise, he had watched every movie on his shelf at least three times. He could not draw to save his life, and, writing was for girls. The coming holiday had broken his bank, so-to-speak. Therefore, he was not going to go anywhere. Ichigo sighed. “I need one, bad.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that,” replied a voice from the corner.

Ichigo let out a surprised shout, startled into falling right over the opposite side of his bed. He narrowly avoided a rude meeting between his head and the floor, below. What the hell?! he screamed, in his thoughts, as he took a second to catch his breath. Once the initial cowardice had passed, Ichigo raised his head, high enough for his eyes to peer over the mattress, and into the corner from which the voice had come.

Nothing.

“Aw, man,” he breathed out, shakily. “This shit ain’t funny. I’m losin’ my mind.”

“Think, again, Young Man.”

This time, he screamed, leaping onto his bed, and, clutching a pillow. He knew that the voice had been right behind him, he knew it. Turning around, slowly, very slowly, he was almost afraid to ask who – or, what – had found its way into his room. Then… There. From the corner of his eye, he caught the movement. A small flutter of white grabbed his attention, and he jerked his head around the rest of the way. “Wh-Wh-Whadda’ you want?!” he stammered, immediately, not even bothering the really look at what was right in front of him. It was human, he knew that much. But, other than that…

…Was that a giggle? He was pretty sure it was. Brown eyes locked onto the individual, and, the teenager focused on the face.

“You are every bit your father’s son, you know.”
Ichigo stared, wide-eyed. He could not believe… It could not be… “…Mom?” he squeaked out, almost fearfully. Oh, damn. He really was losing his mind.

Perfectly-ainted lips curved upward, in an affectionate smile. “You still remember me.” There was a touch of surprise in the words, as well as a healthy dose of longing. “Even after all of these years…” Masaki sighed, softly. “You look wonderful, my little Ichigo. My son.”

Said son could not have formed another syllable if he tried. His mind was racing, continually sending him the message that this could not be happening. His mother was dead! It was a fact that he resented, to no end, but, still, a fact, nonetheless.  Regardless, it seemed, she was still standing there, right in front of him. Ichigo felt the sudden urge to pinch himself. He was dreaming, he just knew it. There was no other logical explanation as to why his mother would be in his room, with her cheerful voice, her loving smile, her other-worldly white glow-. And, there it was.

“…You’re still dead…” he murmured, before he could even think to stop himself. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re still dead…”

Masaki nodded, gently. “That’s right. I am.” She paused, then, and, Ichigo waited for her to continue. When it was apparent that no other words were about to leave the woman’s mouth, the teen jumped back in.

“So,” he began, trying to remain as calm as possible. “What are you doing, here?” I still say I’m dreaming, he thought, trying to contain a sigh.

“You are not dreaming,” the woman informed her eldest child. “This is very real, I’m afraid.”

Ichigo shook his head, somehow not surprised that his mother had read his mind. “You’re ‘afraid’? What does that mean?”

It was then that Masaki’s smile became less cheerful, and, instead, more saddened. “I’m afraid… That my visit has a purpose…” Her smile changed, once again, now appearing to be more playful. “A rather obscure purpose, I must say.”

A lump rose in Ichigo’s throat, one that he was immediate compelled to swallow. “What is it?” Jumping to a conclusion, brown eyes nearly bugged out. “Shit! No one’s gonna’ die, are they?!”

“No, no!” Masaki replied, waving her hands around in front of herself. “It’s nothing like that!-And, I’ll ask you to please mind your language, Young Man.”

The teen blushed, straight to his ears. “S-Sorry,” he apologized, appearing properly scolded.

Masaki’s smile returned, yet again. She took a moment to marvel in how well her only son had grown. He had to have been seventeen, by now, and, by the looks of things, quite a little heartthrob, amongst his female acquaintances. And – she almost giggled, at the thought – most likely with a few of the other boys. Masaki would have been happy to watch her son for the next few eternities, but, unfortunately, such was not a possibility. She had a duty to fulfill, and, only a predetermined amount of time with which to accomplish her task. Taking a breath, she set to a more serious tone. “Ichigo.”

The boy looked back up, having noted the sudden change in his mother’s tone. There was a firm expression set on her face, and, Ichigo immediately knew that he was best to pay attention.

Once she had her son’s attention, Masaki went right into her explanation. “I need you to do something, for me, Ichigo.”
He blinked, one time. “What is it?”

Masaki lowered her eyes, then. “I have always felt guilty, about this… So terribly guilty… I had no idea. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have…” She trailed off, into a tone too low for Ichigo to hear.

“Hey…” he called, gently. Masaki looked up, and, he tried for a smile. “You’ve gotta’ talk so I can hear you… Otherwise, I can’t really help…”

Taking a breath, the woman nodded. He was right, and, she knew what needed to be done. It should have been simple. “In nineteen-eighty-seven, your father made a mistake. One that I don’t even think that he feels guilty for.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “A mistake? What kind of mistake?” He was not about to say that he was surprised. Leave it to his Old Man to screw something up. But, if his mother had come to him, from across whatever spans of life and death, just to tell him about it… It must have been a pretty major mistake, he reasoned. No little flub.

Masaki had to hold back a sigh. This was where it got a little tricky. She was fairly certain that Isshin had never informed any of their three children of his past. And, while she hated to be the one to do it-.

“Wait,” Ichigo broke in, sounding slightly worried. “Wasn’t eighty-seven the year you and Dad got together?”

A small smile, and, a nod were her answers. “But, don’t worry. That’s not the mistake that I’m talking about.” Noting that Ichigo looked quite relieved by this news, she continued. “No, you see, Ichigo… While your father and I met, that same winter…” She paused, and, finally sighed. “Your father was cheating.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened. His father cheated? Sure, the idiot was a lot of things, but, a cheater? The teen had so not seen that coming.

“Not on me,” Masaki added, quickly, still watching her son’s reactions. “With me. Ichigo, your father already had a…” She paused, for a split second. “Lover, when he and I met.” She looked away, slightly. “One that I didn’t even know about.”

What was Ichigo to say? He was still shocked. It was hard for the boy to hear that his father had it in him to hurt another person, in such a way. Granted, he knew that everyone had a past, and, he was not about to hold his father’s against him, but, it was still a difficult concept to automatically accept.

A moment or two passed, in silence, before he had to ask. “Who was it?”

Looking back over, Masaki smiled, sadly. “That is not my place to say. But, you will soon find out… If you are willing to help me.”

Ichigo’s decision was not a difficult one to make. “What do I have to do?”

“Oh, Ichigo,” Masaki murmured, he smile once again becoming genuine. “Thank you.” She was so proud of her son, in that moment. Without knowing the details, he was already willing to help. That was Isshin’s spirit, all right. “Ichigo, I need you to go back. Go back to nineteen-eighty-seven, to that Christmas. I need you to fix the mistake that was made.”

“Eh?” For the first time in his life, Ichigo debated whether his mother had ever been playing with a full deck. “Go back? Isn’t that, ah… Impossible?”

Masaki merely shook her head. “I can send you there. But, only if you are completely willing, Ichigo. Otherwise, it will not work.”

Ichigo took a breath, and, nodded. “All right. I’m willing.” For his mother… She should know I’d do anything for her, he thought, with determination. Anything, at all. That said, he had a few questions. Opening his mouth to inquire about the specifics of his assignment, Ichigo was forced to take a pause. Clenching his eyes shut, he shivered. Cold. When did it get so cold? He looked up, about to ask his mother what had happened, but… She was gone… In fact, she was not all that was missing. Looking all around himself, Ichigo was quick to realize… He was no longer in his bedroom… No, in fact, he was in the middle of a street, and-. “Shit!!” he cried, barely able to roll his way out from the path of an oncoming motor vehicle.

“Stay the fuck outta’ the road!! Fuckin’ kids...” the motorist shouted through the passenger window, as he passed Ichigo by. So many brats were on the streets, this time of year. Parents needed to assert more control, keep the troublemakers indoors.

The words barely touched Ichigo, as a tremble passed through his body. He had almost been hit by that car. If he had not moved, when he did… Another tremble hit him, instead, and, he forced the thought from his head, as he moved to stand up. He had lived, that was the important thing.

Looking up, he realized why he was cold. No wonder, he thought, reaching out his hand. Snow. One perfect little flake landed in his palm, before he closed his fist, and, looked around. Snow had barely piled up on the sidewalks, proof that it had not been coming down for very long. People were walking up and down those same sidewalks, some with shopping bags, others with what Ichigo assumed to be their ‘special someone’s.

“Aw, hell,” he mumbled, to himself. “That’s right. I’m s’posed ta’ be fixing what my old man fucked up.” Ichigo closed one eye, hearing his own words. “Sorry, Mom,” he apologized, before starting up the sidewalk. He paid some form of attention to his surroundings. That particular side of the street was lined with various shops. In a matter of seconds he had passed by a coffee shop, a bridal boutique, and, a record store. He smirked, a little bit, at the last one. To the teen, records were about as ancient as they came.

Wait. Records? Since when were there still record stores? Hell, since when were records used, period? Those things had gone out of fashion, years ago…

That realization was somewhat startling. Ichigo took a look another look around himself, to the opposite side of the street, where he found that, if he backtracked, he would have been standing in front of a movie theatre. Deciding to take a few steps back the way he came, Ichigo nearly gasped. The theatre was showing Moonstruck.

What in the hell? he asked himself. He remembered that movie. Yuzu had begged him and bugged him until he finally sat down to watch it, with her. But, that had been a few years ago… How could it be that a modern day theatre would be showing an old eighties movie?

“Holy shit,” he breathed out, once again shocked. How could this be? How was it even possible? However, Ichigo knew that he could not deny the probability, not given the signs. He swallowed, hard. “Am I really in nineteen-eighty-seven?”