[fic] Love Letter

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Title: Love Letter
Status: Complete
Author: kiyala
Word Count: 1731
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kurosaki Ichigo / Ishida Uryuu
Rating: PG
Warnings: boylove, boys kissing
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach
Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SCHOMPIE DEAREST!


x-posted to ishi_ichi

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In the eighteen years of his life, Kurosaki Ichigo has written one and only one love letter. And it is addressed to a boy.




“Ishida,” he calls the other boy quietly, breaking away from the crowd of friends all congratulating each other of their graduation. The Quincy is standing alone, away from the bustling crowd that is the rest of his classmates and away from the suffocating scrutiny of his father. Ichigo walks to him and instead of ignoring the redhead, Ishida meets him halfway.

“Here,” Ichigo mutters, grabbing the slender hand by the wrist and pressing a folded piece of paper into the open palm. “Read it later, okay? Later.”

“What—”

“Happy graduation, Ishida,” the Vaizard cuts him off, patting the narrow shoulders with the same affection he gives the rest of his friends. “Congratulations.”

“Con…gratulations?” There are still several questions left in Ishida’s eyes when Ichigo smiles at him and walks away. The Quincy stops himself from following. He looks at the paper in his hands and then around at the people standing there. No one seems to have noticed the sudden break in the otherwise smooth rhythm of their last day of school. He slides the paper into his pocket, where he can still feel its presence. His shoulder can still feel the additional weight of Ichigo’s hand on it.




By the time Ishida returns home, he forgets about the piece of paper in his pocket. He only notices it by the rustle it makes when he is changing into the brand new suit his father had bought him for dinner that night. Meeting some higher-ups in Karakura General Hospital, some of whom have strong connections with Karakura Medical School. He’s learning to make contacts early.

He stands there in his dinner shirt and jacket, nothing covering the lower half of his body except for the black briefs as he looks at the piece of paper. He feels the need to let every detail sink in. The grain of the paper beneath his fingers. Every fold. The way the edges aren’t quite flush. The feel of Ichigo’s hand on his when he’d been given the note.

“Uryuu,” the quiet voice of his father drifts through the silence and Ishida almost drops the paper as he is shocked back to reality. He glances at the door, knowing he is running out of time before they must leave. He opens a small box on his desk. The one with all of his precious belongings; his old Quincy cross, his dead Grandfather’s glasses frames minus the lenses which had been broken, pictures of his mother.

“Coming,” he replies, pulling his pants on and turning to the mirror to do his belt up and make sure everything looks right.

That night, amongst the talk of scholarships and research programs, Ishida somehow manages to forget about the piece of paper again.




It’s an entire year before he looks in his precious box again. After three years of living with his father, he’s moved into a flat of his own once again. One of better quality than the one he’d previously lived alone in, thanks to his steady part-time job as a lab assistant in the hospital and a generous donation from his father which he hadn’t been too proud to accept this time.

The loneliness creeps in slowly, chilling his extremities before working its way closer to his core. His precious box is always a source of warmth to keep the cold loneliness away. When he was younger, he’d put his Grandfather’s glasses on and remember times when Ishida Souken was alive, and a younger Ishida Uryuu would steal his glasses, just to see if he could see through them. It was a happy memory and the pricks of grief that accompanied it had faded over time until only the good things were left. Now, he can feel the same calming effects just by holding the light frames. He reaches for it, to have his fingers brush over old paper.

He jerks his hand back reflexively. The shock of touching something he hadn’t expected. He then remembers what it is and his fingers tingle with old memories. A rough hand on his, warm fingers around his wrist. Ishida reaches for the paper, hand trembling as he picks it up. It rustles in protest as he unfolds it. It’s spent a year folded, it’s almost as if the paper doesn’t want to be disturbed.

Ishida smooths it out carefully, a finger tracing over the creases that are too deep to disappear as he turns his attention to the writing on the paper.

At first glance, he thinks it’s a bad joke.

Then, he focuses on the words and recognises the same sincerity he remembers Ichigo speaking with.

He smooths the paper out again, which makes no difference to the way it stands in all odd directions in his hands, and takes a deep breath.

He reads.




Ishida,

I don’t want to call this a love letter, because I don’t believe the word ‘love’ is something that should be used casually. It carries a lot more meaning than most people realise. I think you, better than anyone else I know, would understand what I mean. Maybe not because you’ve been in love, but because you’re the smartest person I know. Because sometimes, I think you know almost everything.

Almost.

Ishida,

This is a confession. Go on and laugh. I know I’m putting my pride at stake here, but this might be the last time I see you. I don’t want to look back and regret not giving this a shot. I don’t get over these kinds of things easily, so I know there’s going to be times… months, maybe even years into the future when I look back and miss you like crazy. I can sort of feel it already. You’re the worst part of leaving school. I have no idea if I’ll see you again and I hope I do, but I don’t think I’m going to be that lucky.

Look, just ignore this whole thing if it freaks you out. I just wanted to let you know. You’re one of the biggest reasons I’m still alive. Remember that day when some dumbass Quincy decided it was a good idea to snap some Hollow bait? (I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making fun of you, but it’s just so much fun – I’ll miss this too) Well, I look back on that day and remember that dumbass Quincy saving my life and having to walk around with his arms all bandaged up after that.

That’s when I really started noticing you. I don’t think I ever stopped.

There’s a whole lot of little moments I could describe to you, but I think I’d creep you out even more than I probably already am. I promised myself I’d keep this to just one page so I don’t end up rambling, so…

If you read up to here, thank you. Even if you never want to see me again, thanks for your attention. For being there.

If by some insane chance, you even feel half of what I do for you… I’m not going to set us some secret meeting date or any bullshit like that. Something will work out. I know it will.

Thanks for knowing me, Ishida. And thanks for letting me know you enough to lo care about you like I do.

- Kurosaki Ichigo.




Ishida reads it again. Then once more, just to ensure that there is no possible alternate way to understand the words on the page in his hands. He tries to put it down carefully, but his fingers don’t know whether to cling to the sheet or treat it as though it is the most fragile thing in the world. Almost as if one more crease in the year-old paper will undo the meaning of all of Ichigo’s words.

Ishida rests it on the top of his precious box and gets to his feet. He looks at the sheet again and reconsiders, picking it up and holding it close. He pulls a jacket on and pockets his keys, still not sure of what he’s doing even as he slips into his shoes and walks out into the dead of the night.

He hasn’t been to Ichigo’s flat, but he’d heard that the redhead had moved out of home. He doesn’t need to know where it is to know how to find Ichigo. He walks through the dark, his pace never faltering. He only comes to a complete halt when he sees another figure walking towards him. But only for a moment, until he recognises them.

Ichigo. Walking to him, brown eyes fixed on blue. Brows furrowed but somehow still managing to look calm and… caring.

“Kurosaki…”

Ichigo is looking at the paper in Ishida’s hand. He recognises it, from the look in the Quincy’s eyes. From the fact that they’re out here on a cold night at some ungodly hour.

“I only just read it,” Ishida says quietly.

“Shit you’re slow,” Ichigo replies, but he’s grinning.

“Does it still… I mean, do you…?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?”

Ishida lets out a shaky breath which turns into a nervous laugh. “Kurosaki, I…”

“You’re here. I know what that means.”

He steps closer to Ishida and they’re nose to nose. He can see every detail of Ishida’s wide blue eyes. Can feel the puffs of breath against his lips.

“Let me say it,” Ishida presses. “I owe you at least this.”

“Mm,” Ichigo assents, carefully reaching out to hold Ishida’s sides.

It takes Ishida a moment to adjust to the feeling of being held. He makes himself look into the Vaizard’s eyes as he speaks. “I agree with what you wrote about love. I… I agree about missing you. About the dumbass Quincy and noticing you and how it never stopped. And I’m just as prone to rambling so…”

He leans forward hesitantly. Ichigo closes the gap and their lips meet in a kiss that is short, but still enough.

“I care for you, Kurosaki,” Ishida whispers, his forehead against Ichigo’s. “And I’m sorry for taking so long.”

“You’re forgiven,” Ichigo whispers back. As if he’d ever blamed the Quincy. His grip on Ishida tightens and he grins. “But I’ll forgive you more if you come home with me.”


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