Architect

Three words I will never say, can never say. But I feel them in every cell of my body when you look at me and just for a moment, without knowing, your harsh gaze softens. You don’t do it on purpose, I know that for a fact. You don’t do it for anyone else either; I checked. For just a moment, for a grain of sand in the hourglass, I know your heart tightens for me with longing, with curiosity. You are never quite sure what to make of me. Sometimes I know you think that you’re lucky, that I would deign to lower myself to a creature like you and though you would deny it, deny it more furiously than anything, a hint of worship enters your eyes. You think you are blessed to have me in your life.

That you think so, that for an iota of your time I am the center of your world, makes my heart melt into a pool of confusion and a horrible almost-pain. You are so confident in everything, irrepressibly powerful and determined. You succeed often and you fail often. When you fail you usually do it in the most spectacular and explosive of ways, but in the end you attain what you want anyway. What you want is never selfish.

But when it came to me, it was different. Like an unreachable and uncaring God I was aloof and held myself above you, and it needled you. Your pride was stung—no one in your life was a God, and if Gods were real, then you needed to stand amongst them. Instead of tearing me down, you fought to rise and meet me. But I built imaginary walls and distance between us; you were but a shadow of the destiny of Hercules in the face of something greater than Mount Olympus, because imagined greatness could never be gripped by even your powerful reality. It crushed you. I crushed you.

Your power dripped away and with it your own barriers. You weren’t even a blip on my radar then, which is how you slipped in. Humbled, unsure, and star struck, your hands reached out like a whisper to offer friendship. But your whisper was still full of steel. You knew what you wanted, though I don’t know why. I smashed your offering. I hated you for trying to stand with me and for making me face the world as it was. I was cold, empty and perfect like the Heavens above.

Then we got drunk.

You more so than I, obviously. It was just enough to allow me to laugh brashly, to participate in a conversation with someone like you. Enough barriers slowly dissolved that I even allowed myself to enjoy it. After all, you are more intelligent than you let anyone think. Your grades are poor because you choose to do other things with your time, but your philosophy is quite stunning when you’re inebriated enough to consider life’s questions.

The conversation grew deeper, and your eyes more determined. Your face was getting terribly red, and it was clashing in an equally terrible manner with your hair. You crawled close to me—you had already tried walking with mixed results—and looked at me fiercely. “Ishida,” you said. I was confused. I hadn’t even imagined what you were trying to say with that single word.

You leaned forward, close and in my space as a drunk is wont to do, so I wasn’t alarmed. But your eyes were heavy, lips parted. Your hand slipped back and up into my hair, and you kissed me. Inexperienced but warm, well-intended. I was shocked.

You kept kissing me, perhaps unaware of time and my lack of response because you were both hopeful and plastered. It was then I realized just how drunk you might be. Maybe you would forget, or maybe you would tell me it was the alcohol later. Either way, I was lonely. I hadn’t known how lonely until I knew that you desired me at all, and that exact second the loneliness bit at my whole heart and being until I was aching and exposed, and it hurt so, so bitterly. The pain was so bitter and unfair I thought I might die.

I thought to use you, and kissed you back. I liked the way our lips fit together. This made you excited. Not aroused, no, but you kissed me harder and pushed forward until I was laying on my back, and you knelt over me, kissing me with the enthusiasm and determination only you could have. I adored the attention. After a time, you became bold enough to rest your hands on my chest and slide your tongue into my mouth. It soothed the bitterness and filled a space inside my heart. Not that I had real feelings for you that night. I sought to use you, and nothing more.

You weren’t filling enough of my heart, so I reached down and grabbed you. It was impetuous, bold, unlike me, but I wasn’t going to let the opportunity disappear. Your eyes were wide, not quite understanding, but as I continued your eyes lidded and your lips parted to let your hot, heavy breath escape. I pushed, I convinced, I cajoled. I gave you more to drink. I prodded and seduced you until we finally had sex.

Unsurprisingly, you were drunk and clumsy, but so vastly well-meaning. I was undoubtedly the villain that night as I demanded more and more from you.

It made me feel complete. I soared and wrapped around myself, purely happy and completely ignoring you. I think even then you could tell I was shutting you out. You were my surrogate feelings that night, and I felt amazing. Then you finished and lay down beside me, breathing heavy. Your cheeks were still flushed, your eyes not quite focused. Even when lush, your gaze was both hurt and adoring. You passed out.

The pain returned like the thrust of a knife. To make myself feel better, I had taken something from you that could never be returned. The innocence that was always within you in some bizarre way. Worse, you wouldn’t even remember it. I was destructively selfish. You were pure, and I abused and desecrated you.

I was right, and the next morning you didn’t recall what we had done and I had no intentions of telling you. So I spent the day limping while you discreetly inquired as to what everyone had been doing the night before. You never did find out.

I expected things to end after that. I expected you to ignore me, as I was the aloof Quincy, and that you would continue your duties as a Shinigami without a second glance to me. Yet in complete denial of everything I thought I understood about you, you pursued me. Subtly. You picked verbal fights with me, yet dulled the edge of your insults. You mockingly offered me aid, but meant it every time. And when I faltered, you caught me and retaliated in overstated fury at whoever was responsible.

I started to fall. I realized it one day it class when I caught myself staring at your hair and listening intently to your voice. You were being your usual brash and tactless self, and your charisma was glaringly obvious as our friends surrounded you. I wondered why the sound of you was suddenly so interesting to me and dismissed the more apparent answer.

Then Orihime made some silly remark and instead of ignoring her as par the course, I felt a stab of anger. Always trying to ingratiate herself with you, watching you, laughing and hoping. It was annoying. And then I froze. I sat back in my desk and stared straight ahead. I proceeded to avoid you like the plague.

It couldn’t be, it was impossible and even if it weren’t, there was no reason for it to be so. Those were the things I told myself. You were an irritating nuisance, a prone-to-explosion thorn in my side and above all a Shinigami. I wanted nothing to do with you. But nothing with someone like you is that simple, ever. The moment my habits changed and I attempted to remove myself from your life, you were more determined than ever to stay within it.

You tracked me down, you cursed at me, we fought. All the while I stared, I studied you and remembered the tones of your voice, when it was sometimes scratchy or rough, and I looked at your eyes and beyond them. Something within that neither of us aloud would say must have been speaking back and forth all the while, because you suddenly walked forcefully to my side and then, with incongruent gentleness, took my face in your hands and kissed me. I gripped the sides of your shirt tightly and kissed you back. I could feel the joy that radiated from your body and it awakened a faint, strained call of happiness inside my heart.

My walls began crumbling, and you began rebuilding my humanity. I was something precious to you, and you were the architect of my life. You worked tirelessly and often without any kind of thanks from me, and only rarely bit back. Because of you, I stepped down from my throne in the clouds to the branches of the willows, and you built a ladder to meet me.

Your heat is astounding, and it wakens a beast within me I did not know I possessed. I was not afraid when we kissed. I was not afraid when we pushed further, when I allowed my hands to explore your chest and your strong arms to grip me. I was not afraid when at last you could knowingly do, enjoy and desire what I had lured you into doing before.

If I do not show it in my kisses, in my body or when I am breathless below you, you are my God. You are my Apollo, my light, my fire. When you spin me in your arms, I am able to laugh. I smile. And no one sees it but you.

Yet even through this, I have kept one wall. I still imagine myself one hiding place for a part of me, and I do not allow your light to reach there. There isn’t a reason why, besides my fear. I still cling to this last vestige of destructive pride and primal fear.

When you pull my body against yours and say “I love you, Uryuu,” and I do not reply, this is why I have written. You smirk to cover your hurt, and we continue as if the rejection were not there because I cannot say it. But it may happen that I never, ever outgrow this last selfishness. Or perhaps before I have the chance, I may die. And so I leave it to this letter to tell you in death what I failed so miserably to let you know in life.

I love you. A thousand thousand times over I want to tell you I love you, I want to write it, I want to say it to you over and over until the words lose their meaning.
Kurosaki Ichigo, my Ichigo, my stupid, impetuous, retarded Shinigami, I love you with all the strength in my twisted, brittle Quincy heart and I beg you to forgive me for never telling you what you so desperately deserve to hear.

I love you . I love you. I love you.
Ishida Uryuu



“…What is this?” Ichigo asked. He was never supposed to discover the letter. Not unless Ishida died.

“…Put it down, please,” Ishida’s voice was calm with no hint of the panic he felt. He walked over stiffly to take the pieces of paper away from the redhead, but he lifted them and kept them out of the Quincy’s reach. “Ichigo, that’s private!” He said sharply.

“ Uryuu,” Ichigo said, and the one word said much.

“Please Ichigo!” Ishida asked, this time allowing his fear to thread into his voice. But Ichigo ignored him and continued reading. He sat down on Ishida’s bed, his eyes scanning rapidly while the paler teen stood and watched him with resignation. Ichigo finished reading the letter, and looked up at Uryuu with disbelief in his eyes. Ishida looked away, preparing for an outburst of anger or hatred. Instead Ichigo rose to look at him.

“Stupid. Stupid, stupid,” the redhead said angrily.

“…I won’t say it,” Ishida replied stiffly.

“You don’t have to dammit, I don’t want you to. …god I love you, you stupid bastard,” His eyes were red-rimmed, his eyebrows were snapped together in anger. “Writing a letter like that, you’re so fucking stupid…” He kissed him hard, and then embraced Uryuu as though he feared to lose him. Ishida paused. Then he put his arms around Ichigo like a vice and rested his head against him. He stabilized Ishida’s suddenly rocking and dangerous world.

Even after all this time, I continue to forget who you are. I forget that you love me exactly as I am, bitter and cold, all baggage attached. One day I’ll tell you I love you out loud. One day I will be able to tell you that you are the very foundation of my soul.