Title: Let The Idiot Speak (Bookmark)
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Ishida Uryuu/Kon, Kurosaki Ichigo
Rating/Warnings: R for violence, language and themes.
Status: Bookmark 7/20, 2034 words.

01: Bookmark
02: I Tell Ya What, Man
03: Low-Down Dirty Thief
04: They Also Mourn, Who Don't Wear Black
05: And Take It All Off
06: No Heart-Warming Stories




It was a dead night. Completely dead. Except for a short, obnoxious visit from one Hirako Shinji (who could curl up and die in a corner, thank you very much), Ichigo hadn’t found a single hollow or anything else in Karakura Town, which actually kind of pissed him off. The lower-level ones were useful in their own way, not that he ever actually wanted them around to cause any damage, physical or emotional, to the world around them. It was simply that they gave Ichigo something to take his anger out on, that wasn’t something negative like snapping at his friends or banging his head repeatedly off of a brick wall.

His life was complicated lately. Far, far too complicated. Being a shinigami, Ichigo could handle. He could always handle it pretty well, come to think of it—it was like a role Ichigo was born to play. It wasn’t a big deal, most days. It was recent things that were complicating. First, there was the white Ichigo inside of his brain, whatever he was. A hollow. Some manifestation of everything messed up with Ichigo, which in his opinion was, assuredly, a mountains’ worth. Then there were Hirako of the vaizards, who were a non-issue issue at the point, Hirako having mostly taken Ichigo’s refusal seriously if not gracefully, moving to guilt-trips and general bastardry and stalking.

General uncertainty about his place in the world and looming insanity completely beyond the current point, Ichigo’s emotional life was suddenly a total mess. He’d like to think it was all because of Kon, but the truth was, it wasn’t. Ichigo didn’t really know who or what to blame it on, and this was probably the issue. He had nothing and no-one to blame. No concrete object to focus his irritation and anger on.

The unfocused anger was making Ichigo cranky. It was making that hollow inside of him squirm when he lay in bed at night, trying to get to sleep.

Ichigo dropped lightly onto the roof of the clinic, hooking the roof with his fingers and slinging himself through the open window to his own bedroom. He’d expected to find aforementioned lion boy mussing his sheets all up and snoring. Instead, he found his science text laying on the ground, the door to his bedroom cracked open just enough to cause a draft in the room. Setting Zangetsu to rest safely in a corner, Ichigo slid out of his room and descended the stairs.

Maybe Kon wanted a bedtime snack. Ichigo usually liked to grab something while studying, and assumedly his stomach had a long memory.

Ichigo stared into the kitchen; it was dark, light from the porchlight bringing the basic shapes of the room into relief, Ichigo’s memory filling in for him what his eyes couldn’t. The sink was dripping forlornly, large drop landing every ten or twenty seconds, but there was absolutely no sign of Kon.

Shrugging his shoulders to himself and the dripping sink, Ichigo went back upstairs, only to notice light glaring out from under the door to the bathroom, spraying across the carpeting in the hallway. Ah, thought Ichigo. He was up the right alley after all, just at the wrong bodily function. He might end up catching Kon pissing, and Kon might end up injuring himself with a zipper, but at least his body hadn’t been kidnapped by god only knows what.

Hirako fucking Shinji, maybe.

Ichigo swung the door open without knocking, figuring he knew exactly what sort of contents the bathroom held. It was damp, air thick with shower steam and a mixture of scents—the orange and cream shampoo his father insisted on buying. Toothpaste. Something else entirely, which Ichigo could not manage to put his finger on. He scratched at his eyebrow with a single fingernail, confused. So maybe the mod-soul decided Ichigo’s body was in desperate need of hygiene. Squinting, he could see dark areas beyond the shower curtain. That was more like it.

“Kon? Is that you in there? I looked everywhere else in the house. What are you doing? You okay? I thought I heard—”

Come to think of it, the shower seemed awfully full from where Ichigo was standing, staring from the doorway.

Was Kon… “Who is that—“ There couldn’t be any way. There couldn’t be. “Shit.”

At which point Ichigo looked down, spotting a mound of clothes on the ground. He could plainly see the large t-shirt Kon slept in when he did the sleeping. There was a pair of Ichigo’s black boxers. There was something else entirely. Parsing the pile again, Ichigo realized what the other clothes were. It contained a pair of dark-washed jeans, far too small for Ichigo’s legs and waist, and a white sleeveless of some sort, which could essentially have belonged to anybody. Even a girl, what with the size, and Ichigo’s brain was steadily trying to convince himself that that had to have been it. Kon had picked up some ‘hot babe’ like he was always threatening to, when Ichigo ignored him.

Except for the unmistakable, unbelievable light blue lines emblazoned plainly on the clothing. A Quincy cross. Ichigo’s face suddenly flared, bright with anger, embarrassment, confusion—a hundred emotions, most of which he didn’t understand or want to.

“Is that Ishida?” Ichigo demanded, voice dropped an octave; not quite a threat, but ready to throw one out in the open. Ichigo got no answer from either form in the shower, even more irritated by the sudden coyness, now that he had…

Now that Ichigo knew…

“So it was fucking Ishida, then. Fucking Ishida fucking Uryuu.”

He paused for some sort of confirmation from Kon that never came. Ichigo kicked the side of a cabinet with his toes, which made a wooden thump; a bad idea, when clad in zori. But the pain only made him more upset.

“I don’t fucking believe it.”

Ichigo stared at the shower curtain, pressure building slowly behind his temples.

“I’m standing right here, Kurosaki,” Ishida’s voice hissed from the corner.

Ichigo snapped, reaching forward and ripping the shower curtain open. Ishida Uryuu stood in the shower, face passive. He reached his hands into his hair and smoothed his long bangs back and away from his face, where they stuck to his skull, giving his face a severe look. He eyed Ichigo coolly, naked, and stepped out of the tub. Kon stared at Ichigo's legs while shaking bodily, refusing to meet Ichigo’s eyes.

“Excuse me,” Ishida said, pushing Ichigo’s chest lightly and sliding past him, putting damp marks on the silk of Ichigo’s yukata and hakama where Ishida brushed him with his hand and naked hip. He snatched his glasses off of the counter, snapping them open and sliding them onto his face.

Kon scrambled out of the shower himself, suddenly embarrassed to be naked in front of Ichigo.

Ichigo felt the same way. He waited for the other two to get dressed, returning some sense of decency to the situation, if there was any decency in it to begin with.

Ichigo didn’t know the details of what happened. He didn’t want to, probably ever. He only knew that Kon had been fooling around with Ishida for the past, what? A month, maybe. Ichigo knew why he kept finding bruises in strange places on his body. Ichigo knew he caught Kon and Ishida, wet and naked in his family’s shower.

“Assholes!” Ichigo shouted.

Ishida, having dressed, was checking the time on his cellphone. “Shh,” he commanded.

“Don’t you shh me, you—“

“Oh, believe me, Kurosaki, I want to say a few things to you just as well as I know you’re dying to shout your fat mouth off at me. But maybe you could be prudent enough to wait until we’re not in your bathroom, five yards away from your sisters’ room.”

Seeing the sense in this, even if he was seething, Ichigo conceded. Ishida slunk out of the bathroom and looked both ways, checking for inhabitants, as unaffected as if he had not just been caught having his naughty way with Ichigo’s own damn body. It pissed Ichigo off even more.

His knuckles itched.

Seeing that the hallway was empty and doors were still shut, Ishida fled down the stairs and out of the front door silently, leaving the door open behind him, letting all the cool air out. The elder Kurosaki, having been sitting in the kitchen, beer in hand, stared after Ishida, not pretending not to notice, but not asking any questions either. Kon followed Ishida, Ichigo trailing behind, face murderous and contorted as he stalked angrily after his quarry. Kurosaki Isshin stood in the doorway to his home, peering after the trio, before smiling stupidly.

He leaned against the doorframe, tapping his beer-bottle along the length of his thigh. “You’d better be back in the morning, or I’ll kick your head off,” Isshin said, waving obliviously. Kon waved back, trying to force a frown onto his face.

Ichigo stared back at the house as his father shut the door and, assumedly, retreated back to the kitchen.

“What!” Ichigo shouted, “Like this is my fucking fault! Bastard!”

“He can’t hear you, Brilliance,” Ishida drawled.

“Eat me,” Ichigo muttered, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, following Ishida as he made his way to the small park in the middle of Karakura Town. Ten minutes later, they were there, surrounded by playground equipment and fuck all.

The walk had done next to nothing for Ichigo’s temper. Ishida stood under a streetlight, purposefully tilting his head so that the yellowish light reflected off of his rectangular lenses. He was obviously doing it on purpose, veiling his expression. Manipulative little cheater.

Kon snorted behind Ichigo, throat clogged. Ichigo curled his toes in his zori, refusing to look back. He couldn’t look back; if he looked back, he would be too tempted to forgive Kon again and let it go for another day, because Ichigo hated seeing people cry. It was why he always preferred Rukia’s company to Orihime’s. Why he found himself surrounded by guys who seemed so much more put-together than Ichigo in every way, like Chad and Renji.

Like Ishida.

“Let’s just…” Kon started nervously, entire body tensed from the atmosphere between the three boys. Like a cat with raised hackles. “Can’t we just… wait until everyone’s more calmed down. I don’t want there to be—“

“Shut up, Kon,” Ichigo growled. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want to wait until he was calmed down, because he wanted to be really damn mad.

“I don’t want to see—“

“Kon.” Ishida said, voice warm but warning. Ichigo didn’t like the sound of it. He didn’t like the way Ishida was calling Kon’s name.

“You’re not his keeper or something, Ishida. Back off.”

“You’re one to talk, Kurosaki,” Ishida said sweetly.

“Fuck you.”

“Ichigo,” Kon pleaded. “Uryuu.” Ichigo slapped his forehead into his right palm, gritting his teeth. So Kon was on a first-name basis with Ishida Uryuu all of a sudden? He couldn’t believe this shit.

“What the hell did you tell him, Ishida? What the hell did you do to get Kon to—whatever it is you two are doing. And don’t you dare tell me!”

“Please. Are you simple? He likes me. Astoundingly, I like him. You learned what happens when two people like each other very much in grade school. End of story.”

“Kon likes girls. I like girls.”

“Oh, as if your own convoluted sexuality has anything to do with anything. And for god’s sake, Kurosaki, could you not have at least given him a decent name? He’s only got one, and it’s not even very clever. At least be humane before you go around waving your uptight sexual attitudes in my face!”

“Figures,” Ichigo spat, “that you were fucking queer. I just want you to tell me what you did to Kon to convince him it would ever be a good idea to get into a relationship with somebody as socially retarded as you!”

Ishida walked slowly over to Ichigo, closing the distance, and Ichigo could feel his knuckles itching again.

Ishida swung forward and slapped Ichigo across the cheek with the back of his hand, sending Ichigo a step back with all the force of his bow-arm, tears stinging Ichigo’s eyes. Ichigo could already feel the welt rising, burning in the soft summer breeze.

Ichigo blinked twice, startled, before the dam holding back his anger and confusion finally broke, flooding his other emotions out. Ichigo snapped.

“Don’t, he’s not…” Kon shouted, the mod-soul’s light voice seeming fuzzy and far away from the present, but not before Ichigo had already reeled back for a blow, reiatsu flaring hot and white.