Title: For Shame, For Shame (Bookmark 13)
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Ishida, Orihime
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language and mentions of sex.
Status: Bookmark 12/20, 1,543 words.


a/n: CHRIST.




Ishida walked home with Inoue Orihime that evening, after classes had ended and everyone’d stopped being so damn off-model and such.

They, at a later date, would have claimed it was out of convenience—they both lived on the same side of town and they both lived alone. Rather, Ishida would have claimed this. Inoue would have said it was because they wanted the company, this being the actual truth. They wanted the company. Once every few minutes, their shoulders would slide together gently, and Inoue would move farther away and Ishida would clear his throat and say, he didn’t mind it, really.

Because that was also the actual truth.

He was getting used to the idea of having real friends, as opposed to acquaintances or even good friends. Acquaintances asked you to fix their things if you would at the end of class, and sometimes offered little favors in return. Good friends would help you avoid trouble. They would tell you, yes, it was a good idea in theory, but maybe you shouldn’t. Real friends never told you no. Sado-kun, Inoue-san, and he were real friends of Kurosaki Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo was a real friend of Ishida Uryuu. So was Kon.

Real friends never told you no. Real friends were just as asinine as you were. They just sat beside you, bleeding and broken and smiling, and they said, gee, this time we really fucked up, didn’t we?

Why yes we did, didn’t we?

Inoue was a real friend of Ishida’s, and this meant they were allowed to talk about mess-ups with one another, and to brush shoulders while walking down the sidewalk. Ishida said, having had enough of painful silence:

“It’s my fault.”

“What’s your fault, Ishida-kun?” Inoue asked, tone of voice plainly believing that there was no way Ishida Uryuu could be at fault for Kurosaki’s momentary lack of sanity.

“It’s my fault, the way he kissed me back there. He doesn’t really feel that way.”

“I know,” Inoue said, looking at the side of Ishida’s face with her wide, thoughtful grey eyes. Ishida tried to ignore the glance—it was knowing, and while it didn’t have any pity in it, it still made Ishida feel somehow, immensely guilty. He blushed, scratching a thin, black eyebrow with the nail of his right index finger, irritated by the tiny smudge it left on the lense of his glasses, where his finger touched them.

“I figured,” he replied finally. “But I wanted to say it anyway, out loud. Just for my own confirmation and peace of mind. It’s just that I’ve shoved him into a bit of a situation, as it were.”

Inoue stopped walking abruptly, Ishida further another four steps before noticing the lack of presence at his side. He turned back to watch her as she chewed her pretty, feminine lower lip. Finally, with a worried sort of expression, Inoue spoke.

“I know, Ishida-kun. I know, but I don’t understand. I’d like to, though, if you’d let me. But I know it’s not how you are, to tell another person about what’s really going on in your life. And it feels unfair to ask, if Kurosaki-kun isn’t here.”

“Kurosaki—“

“I know it’s not his fault, but he’s involved in it, isn’t he? It feels too much like I’m gossiping if he’s not around to give his permission to talk about it.”

“No offence, but I’m sure he’ll manage to get over it, considering I’m also very sure he’s simply dying to forget what happened today. It’s his way. He’s a stubborn boy.”

“You’re stubborn too, Ishida-kun.”

Ishida shook his head, amused by his private little thoughts of Kurosaki's stubborn attitude. He turned fully and walked back to where Inoue stood, hair haloed in the orange light of the afternoon, knees pressed together and grinding nervously; the picture of a teenage girl. “No,” he said honestly, “Kurosaki is stubborn. I’m bitter.”

Apparently understanding his sentiment and the subtle differences between his and Kurosaki Ichigo’s general temperaments, Inoue leaned in for another harsh hug. Ishida, having more presence of mind now that he wasn’t trying to deal with the body-memory of Kurosaki pressed flush against his body, grabbed her by the shoulders. She looked up at him, confused, mouth dropping open to say something. He interrupted her.

“Wait,” Ishida said.

“Mmn?” Inoue ducked her head, upset that her physical contact was denied like this, but not willing to make a fuss about it. She was a sweet girl, in a way that made Ishida’s heart hurt and not his teeth—not like most of the other ones he knew, the ones in the handicrafts club.

“You’ve got a hair.” He plucked the long, auburn hair off of the front of Inoue’s vest. She blushed. They pulled apart and started walking again.

“Thank you,” Inoue whispered. “I think it’d be okay now, if you wanted to try to explain to me what happened. I promise I’ll listen good, and I’ll try not to take it personally.”

It was Ishida’s turn to say, “I know.”

He reached into the depths of his pocket, fumbling the small, hard-shelled green miracle of science rolling around in the lint. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled the gikongan out, holding it between the two of them at arm’s length. Inoue eyed him with great curiosity and no small amount of confusion.

“It’s the lion; the one that Kurosaki took in ages ago, when he first got it into his empty orange head that he was going to be a hero. He exists inside of this little pill, when he’s not in some body or another. Do you recall?”

“Kon,” said Inoue, face still confused but substantially brighter. “I remember Kon. I forget lots of things, Ishida-kun. I know I do it. But I never forget a name.”

“We’re together.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

“So you are…”

“Yes.”

“But Kurosaki-kun isn’t…”

“Yes,” Ishida said a second time, just as strongly as the first. He waved Inoue to his side, noting the new apartment she lived in in the distance—the one she moved into after having been kicked out of the first after the debacle with her hollowized brother. Kurosaki had explained it to Ishida and Sado-kun when they’d questioned his relationship with the unique young woman, because they all wanted to know why they were risking their lives for one another, and because they were all jealous, in some way, of Kurosaki. “Your house is up ahead, and it’ll be getting dark soon. We ought to talk and walk.”

“Okay,” Inoue said quietly, pretty little incisors chewing at the smooth knuckle of her left thumb in consideration. “But if you’re, you know. What does all of this have to do with Kurosaki-kun?”

“We had sex.” Ishida might have been proud of his straight face, if he didn’t always feel like punching himself in it so much, lately. Inoue’s eyes fluttered open, eyebrows lifting in surprise and embarrassment. Her cheeks brightened, spotting of freckles dark against the pink. Inoue’s beautiful, imperfect skin.

“He was in Kurosaki’s body, at the time.” Inoue’s shade darkened, and Ishida thought, distracting himself from his own words, wouldn’t she look nice in pastels? “And now, because Kon seemed to generally enjoy it, Kurosaki is having a big gay existential crisis, because everyone must understand that the entire universe revolves around Kurosaki and if Kon is like Kurosaki’s twin brother that he never wanted but actually likes and shows this in the manner of an 8 year old boy, obviously Kurosaki is worried he might generally enjoy it also.”

“I think I understand, now,” Inoue said, looking a bit overwhelmed but generally okay with this. Ishida considered the reality of Kurosaki pulling on Kon’s ponytails.

“Good,” Ishida muttered, quickly dropping that train of thought (he might have enjoyed it too much), “Because I’m not sure I do. Nor do I think I particularly want to consider it in more than rough detail.”

Inoue gave him a lopsided, honest smile, climbing the short stairs to her door, skirt swish-swishing. She slammed the key into the lock, hands working clumsily, face still blushing. It finally came unlocked with a loud, poignant little click. She flipped the light over the door on.

“Good night, Ishida-kun. Have a safe trip back home. Thank you for walking with me.”

“Good night, Inoue-san.”

“Love you.”

Ishida nodded in response, because ‘Love’ always felt like such a dirty word. You did it, you didn’t talk about it. Inoue shut the door slowly, waving as the wood closed and hid her from view. Ishida didn’t leave the front of the house until he heard the lock click a second time. Walking, picking up pace, he shoved the gikongan into the pocket of his cheek, secure against his gums, leaking an offensive sort of candy-sweetness that made the muscles in Ishida’s jaw twitch. He rolled the side of his tongue over it. It was time for the hard part. The hard part wasn’t even explaining to Kon what had happened that day (Ishida had no intentions of lying for his or Kurosaki’s benefit—the mod-soul had missed out on enough of his own life to begin with). The hard part certainly wasn’t facing Kurosaki the next day during class, after he had had a chance to resume normal mental functioning and have the good grace to be so embarrassing as to make Ishida want to kill them both on the spot.

He’d eaten lunch with Kurosaki Ichigo; at the moment, it was much more significant than the whole sucking face bit that happened immediately afterwards. He talked with the shinigami. Ishida didn’t know when, but eventually Ryuuken would stop being politely ignorant of Ishida’s purposeful disobedience.

That would be the hard part.