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Sunday equals Laundry

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Ichigo massaged the back of his neck as he chewed down on the bread roll he had bought yesterday. Kisuke was taking his time with brushing his teeth, Ichigo thought, almost annoyed. Then he smiled, just a little. He was thinking of the blond as Kisuke.

Cool.

:Allow me to deflate that bubble – the man turned you down, remember? Or are you becoming senile in your old age:

STFU. Ichigo rubbed his temples to ease a potential headache.

He did wish Zangetsu would reemerge soon, though he knew it to be a faint hope. After confronting the Espada, Zangetsu had been almost entirely subsumed into the hollow. Ichigo had met the old man exactly four times the past five years. On the other hand, the hollow was stronger than Zangetsu. Ichigo just had to make sure his inner hollow wasn't stronger than himself.

“Tea is gonna get cold!” he yelled, as much to hurry the shopkeeper as to keep his thoughts from going down that fruitless, wandering path again.

Yuki sauntered in, looking inordinately pleased with himself. Ichigo frowned at the black cat, wondering if Aizen and Ichimaru had had the feline 'treated'. He definitely did NOT want other cat owners, loaded with kittens, to come baying for Yuki's blood. Absently he leaned over and stroked Yuki's smooth black fur. The cat rubbed his lissome body against Ichigo's leg before padding out the kitchen. Ichigo wondered what Yuki was up to, then decided not to bother. Instead he shouted again for Kisuke.

Uraha – no, Kisuke. Kisuke hurried out, dabbing at his chin. The sleepiness was still evident, but there was something off about the blond that Ichigo just couldn't quite place-

Ichigo choked on his coffee.

“You shaved!”

“I did,” agreed Kisuke. He popped two slices of bread into the toaster and poured himself some tea, not without a longing gaze at the pot of coffee. Why oh why did he have to get the jitters after coffee? And only he out of the entire household.

Ichigo was still staring open-mouthed at him. Without the stubble Kisuke looked a lot younger, almost... decent. Ichigo snorted at his own observation, prompting a glare from Kisuke. If only the blond knew how much more appealing he was...

He already told me how he feels. Ichigo, get over it.

“So,” he said, trying to push the urge to feel that smooth chin and cheeks down into the deepest recesses of himself, “Sunday. What shall we do?”

Kisuke studied him over the rim of his cup, his gray eyes lacking the usual spark. Ichigo hated that dullness – and he hated himself for being the most probable cause of the loss of that evil glint. Kisuke smiled, a little wanly. “Sunday is laundry day, Ichigo. We'll go sort it out and get it done after my breakfast and the newspaper. Else Ururu would disembowel us when she comes home.”

“Mm, good point.” Hauling himself out of his seat, Ichigo then plodded to the sink and washed up the few dishes he had used. Kisuke resumed drinking, then he slouched out of the kitchen to hunt for the daily newspaper. It would be an hour or so before Kisuke emerged from his reading nook – the man had a routine and he kept to it.

Sunday. Time blew past fast, didn't it?

It was only Friday when he – they – no. No more brooding over it, Ichigo told himself firmly. Kisuke had been very direct about his decision, much unlike his usual roundabout ways of speaking. But the memory of Friday night sprang unbidden into Ichigo's mind.

Kisuke had been so very gentle, as if scared of hurting Ichigo. The way he kissed him at the window was too soft, far too soft. Ichigo wondered if he had been too bold at that time, reaching up to entangle his fingers in thick blond hair, pushing Kisuke closer to himself. The tongue that usually wielded hidden barbs of sarcasm was more than willing, sliding over Ichigo's and exploring Ichigo's welcoming mouth.

Ichigo blinked hard to clear the heat from his face. He recalled how Kisuke's clever hands had roamed over his body freely after the older man had steered them to the rumpled futon. Hands that tinkered and built and crafted inventions had turned into delicate instruments, exploring and mapping Ichigo's frame for sensitive spots that were followed by Kisuke's lips and tongue.

Oh god his mouth... it should be banned. It should be marked as dangerous as the hougyoku. Ichigo had been wondering about the wisdom of sleeping with Kisuke when the older man had kissed him senseless, rolling his tongue deep into Ichigo, engaging all of the youth's senses. Ichigo vaguely remembered how Kisuke had rubbed against the roof of Ichigo's mouth, how he had teased Ichigo's tongue into the older man's mouth and sucked on it... After that kiss Ichigo had been unable to follow a train of thought coherently.

“I gotta stop. He's not ready.” He repeated the sentence to himself a few times.

It was definitely time for Ichigo to get over it. After all, it had been a mistake. It wasn't about Ichigo's feelings, it was Kisuke's as well, and if one party wasn't ready, then there was no point getting worked up over nothing.

But Ichigo wished faintly that there was something to get worked up about.

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He strolled to the laundry room, all of his washing bundled up under one arm. It was a small, dim space, but somehow Ura-Kisuke, Kisuke - managed to install three washing machines into the room. The green one in the corner was for shinigami uniforms. So often had his shoten been used as a stopover point that Kisuke decided to have a laundromat for the shinigami who came to the human world.

After all, Ichigo mused as he sorted through his clothes, it wasn't as if no one was interested in him. There were a few girls from his classes who had asked him out for tea or dinner or movies, and he had tried a couple of dates with them. Didn't pan out properly though; they were all too innocent, too sheltered; a good thing for them not to be baptized by the fires of war, but immensely boring for Ichigo who had seen and done more than they could ever do. Ishida, with Inoue's prompting, had introduced a few guys to Ichigo. It was the same problem. They weren't on the same emotional level as Ichigo.

Irritated by Inoue's badgering as well, Tatsuki had told Ichigo to find his own mate. He had told her to jump Grimmjow already. They had gotten into a fight, which Tatsuki won easily. She may not be the equal of Ichigo in armed combat, but when it came to fists and feet, not even Grimmjow could take her on without some injury.

“Hey, you started without me.”

“Geez!” Ichigo jolted. The smelly socks he was in the process of unrolling flew out of his hands. Twisting around he glared at the shopkeeper. “You move like a cat!”

“No, Yuki moves like a cat. I move like the perverted shopkeeper I am,” said Kisuke. It sounded like he was back to his usual self, but Ichigo heard the flatness beneath the jocularity.

The air felt thick and the room was suddenly claustrophobia-inducing. Ichigo focused on differentiating between whites and coloreds, heavy material, hand-wash-only and fragiles (he had indulged in three silk shirts over Christmas). Then he placed the fragiles into laundry bags. In the meantime, Kisuke was adding washing powder to the compartments and tossing in the jeans and bermudas the guys wore.

Then he sniffed. “Kisuke, you smell odd.”

“I'll take it as a compliment.” Kisuke's tone was one of resignation. “But I much prefer the term yummy.”

“No, I mean you smell fruity,” clarified Ichigo, still distracted by the scent of strawberry and pineapple. Then he got it. “You used Karin's and Yuzu's stuff by mistake, didn't you?”

Kisuke smirked crookedly. “Yeah, I did. I was half-asleep. But I smell juicy, right?”

Smiling, Ichigo arched a sarcastic brow. Yes, Kisuke was back to teases and wordplay, but there was something incredibly not-right about the blond. They loaded the clothes into the washing machine. Ichigo frowned; he had far too many black clothes. It must be a shinigami influence, he decided.

Speaking of which...

“Kisuke?”

The shopkeeper was staring at the buttons on the washing machine, as if they held the key to one of life's mysteries. “Mm?”

“Why were you in shinigami form last night?”

“I went out to fight. Needed to let off some steam. Couldn't find a hollow to save anyone's life.”

Ichigo's brow creased. “If you wanted to fight I'm always available for-”

“I know that, Kurosaki-kun,” snapped Kisuke.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. Did Kisuke just call him Kurosaki-kun? What on earth was going on? “Why didn't you then?”

“You're not a stupid person, Kurosaki-kun. I'm sure you understand.” The washing machine whirred into its rinse cycle. Kisuke's eyes were shadowed; he was still staring at the machine. “I'll be going out again later, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Stop calling me that,” warned Ichigo thickly.

Kisuke shook his head. “I've been encouraging a closeness that is unhealthy between us.”

“Unhealthy?” Ichigo felt his temper rise. “We were friends for five, six years and you call that an unhealthy closeness? Because of one night?”

Kisuke was not looking at him. The redhead stalked the two steps over and turned the shopkeeper around. Ichigo grabbed Kisuke's arm and the blond tried to jerk away.

“What is wrong with you?” Ichigo demanded. “I'm not pushing for anything now. I'm okay. I'm not asking for anything. And you're just- You are overreacting.”

Kisuke's gaze suddenly bore into Ichigo's brown eyes. “I'm overreacting? Of course I'm overreacting. I fucked my friend's son.”

“I'm twenty years old, Kisuke, and I was more than a willing participant.” Ichigo glowered. “It's not about me. You're upset about something else.”

Kisuke swallowed and turned away. Ichigo, in a rare burst of insight, stated, “You're still upset about Aizen and Ichimaru, aren't you? For goodness sakes, Kisuke, it wasn't as if you guys were that close-”

“Aizen Sousuke was my lover, Kurosaki-kun.”

The admission derailed Ichigo's reprimand. He knew they were friends – Kisuke said it himself – but... “Lovers?”

“Ex-lovers. I was with him for many decades, on and off. He was always there for me until I abused his acceptance one time too far. Yoruichi wasn't even apologetic, saying that I deserved getting kicked out by him.”

“Why should Yoruichi be apologetic?” The confused look on Ichigo's face would be ammunition for a less-serious Kisuke, but right now the shopkeeper wasn't interested in making fun of the young man.

“Because I was also with her when I was with him. It's... complicated.” Kisuke's hands were bunching into tight fists.

Ichigo thought, It's not complicated. You two-timed either Yoruichi or Aizen. Probably Aizen. Why should you be distressed over this? The man was evil. He couldn't have loved you. What would a man who aimed to slaughter tens of thousands know of love?

Even as Ichigo's thoughts segued into doubts of Aizen ever loving Kisuke, Ichigo's inner hollow kicked up a recent memory.

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“I'm sorry you have to go through this,” apologized Ichimaru.

“It's alright.” Aizen's smile was equally thin. “I just wondered why you didn't say goodbye.”

“Because... because if I saw you one last time... I wouldn't be able – be able to go.” He was no longer smiling. “But I'm tired, Aizen-sama. I'm tired, and I was afraid you'd be angry... I'm so tired of being weak... I was afraid that if I was weak, you'll go away.”

“I won't be angry. I haven't been angry with you for a long time. I'll never be angry with you again.” Aizen was stroking through fine silver hair. “Rest, love. Just rest. You're not weak. I won't be going anywhere. I'll be here, with you. I'm always here.”

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:Aizen knew how to love more than you do, King.:

Ichigo had to agree with his inner hollow. He remembered the way the traitorous captain had looked at Ichimaru, the way they held hands. He remembered the look in Ichimaru's eyes when he had traced over the photo of Aizen, and the final kiss Aizen had pressed on Ichimaru's face.

If Aizen had loved Kisuke, he would have offered the world on a platter for the blond.

Ichigo found his voice. “I'm sorry to hear that. But... right at the end, he was prepared. He knew what he was doing, from what I could tell.”

“From what you could tell.” Kisuke was breathing slowly and evenly, his voice curiously dead. “I lost him, and I wasn't even there to stop him. I have to hear from everyone else how Sou died. Do you have any idea how it feels? Do you?”

The blond was almost nose to nose with Ichigo now. The redheaded youth held his breath.

“It's one thing for a soldier to watch a fellow soldier fall,” said Kisuke. Then he let go of Ichigo, stumbling back to lean on the wall. “I – I had loved Sou for more than a century, Ichigo. I have always loved him, even after it was obvious the man had no morals whatsoever. Even then, I loved him. Kept returning to him. And I'd get turned off by his disregard for life and death, and I'd leave. I had never treated him right. And he's gone forever now.”

Ichigo swallowed. “Are you angry that I was there instead of you?”

“No. Yes. No...no. You spoke up for them. I wouldn't have.” Kisuke ran his hand roughly through his hair, mussing it up. “I wish I could have.”

“Then what have I done that you find so overwhelming, Kisuke?” Ichigo spoke softly, as if afraid that Kisuke would bolt. He stepped closer to the blond. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no.” Kisuke sank slowly to the ground. “You offered solace. After that, you offer your heart. How am I supposed to... Ichigo,” the blond said, staring up at the young man, “I don't know what to do with you.”

Ichigo hunkered down, meeting Kisuke eye-to-eye. “I don't understand.”

“ I don't know how to love someone properly,” admitted the former captain. “I never have. Not even with Sousuke. I'm afraid I'll do the same to you and hurt you too.”

Ichigo sat down and took Kisuke's hands. He ran his thumb over the back of the palm, marveling at the smoothness. The washing machine was now settling into the spin cycle, to judge from the noise. The little room was warmer than Ichigo remembered.

“Kisuke,” he said at last. “I meant what I said earlier. I'm not asking for anything. Just... just treat me the way you've been treating me. I don't need to be special, Kisuke. I just want to be you to be in my life. As a friend. And if, eventually, you want to take it further, maybe I'll still be willing.”

Suddenly Kisuke laughed. Real laughter, not the ironic sniggers or teasing chuckles, but honest laughter. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Kisuke smiled at the earnest youth before him. Ichigo was frowning again – that look of intensity amplified rather than reduce the attractiveness of the young man.

“What?” muttered Ichigo. “You're laughing at me.”

“Not at you,” assured Kisuke quickly. “It's just so different. I'm older, supposedly wiser, and here you are teaching me how to handle my emotions and our relationship like an experienced counselor.”

“Hmm.” Ichigo couldn't really see the humor in the situation, but smiled a little anyway. Then he stood up and offered the older man a hand. The machine had stopped its whirring and had started a second rinse. Kisuke accepted Ichigo's assistance in getting up, then pulled Ichigo in for a hug.

“Thanks, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Never call me Kurosaki-kun again. I've had enough of that in the first year,” warned Ichigo fiercely. His reciprocal embrace was slightly too perfunctory, but Ichigo was nervous about too much contact with the firm, warm body of the shopkeeper. He punched the man in the shoulder. “Now say my name properly.”

Kisuke caught hold of Ichigo's chin, held it between his hot palms. The smile was just that little bit wicked, the glint in his eyes just that little bit mischievous. Kisuke leaned in and rested his forehead against Ichigo's. “Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“Much better,” said Ichigo, knowing he was blushing. That tendency was still there despite his best efforts to toughen his sensibilities. It wasn't as if he was still the inexperienced fifteen-year-old.

Kisuke kissed Ichigo's brow and let go. “Let's get the clothesline ready for laundry, hmm?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo smiled faintly. Normal life would help them get over it.

Life went on; it wouldn't stop for their petty problems. Life wasn't about them. It stopped for nothing except Death, and that wouldn't happen yet, Ichigo hoped.