[fic] Waiting

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Title: Waiting
Author: kiyala
Word Count: 1023
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Kurosaki Ichigo / Ishida Uryuu
Rating: R
Warnings: Very brief sex scene. Also, I wrote this in under an hour and it isn't beta'd.
Disclaimer: Kubo Tite owns Bleach
Notes: Hahaaa. I haven't written IchiIshi in such a long time! ♥ I actually owe bundamba some, but this is a speedfic I wrote for parvati4th to cheer her up, because fandom is magic and she is awesome :)

It’s getting colder here, with winter just around the corner. The cold seeps into the buildings, old thermostats slowly rattle to life, Ishida’s nose and cheeks are a faint pink from the wind on the street. The sky is grey as he looks out of the window in his tiny apartment, waiting for his water boil. He doesn’t take his gloves off and tucks his chin into his scarf as he waits for the place to warm up. He warms his mug, makes his tea and sits at his desk, opening his laptop. Waiting for him right there is an email from Ichigo. He smiles against his mug, his insides warming in a way that has nothing to do with tea. He reads the email, then reads it twice more. He huddles around his mug for any stray bit of warmth and shuts his eyes. Two more weeks. • It’s nine o’clock and Ichigo is lying on the couch, barely paying attention to the book in his hands. His phone rings, and he drops the book onto his face in his rush to answer it. “Hey.” “Hey yourself. What are you doing?” Ichigo grins. “Nothing. Just sitting around and hoping this guy, who just happens to be crazy about me, calls.” “Oh, I see. Should I hang up, then?” “Smart arse. Don’t you dare. Isn’t it some insane hour early in the morning for you right now?” “It’s seven,” Ishida replies and Ichigo can hear the whistling of a kettle in the background. “Don’t you know how to convert times yet?” “’Course I do. I just do it wrong to piss you off.” “Ah,” Ichigo can tell that Ishida is smiling, because they know each other that well. “What would I do without you, Kurosaki?” “Go crazy?” “I said without you.” • Ichigo wakes up to find a long email waiting for him, from Ishida. It’s his favourite way to start his days, while Ishida’s on an exchange program in New York. It’s just three months, but they’re feeling it. It doesn’t matter that they’ve been in life-threatening battles together, been on different planes altogether, or run into things not knowing if they’d make it back out. They decide they’re still allowed to miss each other from halfway across the world. Ishida’s emails are always longer than Ichigo—which is no mean feat as it is—because they are rich with detail. The places he goes, the things he learns, the hot chocolate he drinks, he describes everything so carefully that Ichigo can pretend he’s there too. And Ichigo’s supposed to be the writer between the two of them. They’ve been emailing each other daily since the very beginning of Ishida’s trip, but there’s an underlying tone to the emails these days, to their conversations, both of them impatient to see each other again. There isn’t long to go now but that almost makes it worse, counting down the days as they pass. It’s afternoon for Ishida. When Ichigo sends another long email in reply, Ishida signs into instant messenger. Ichigo doesn’t have any pressing appointments and Ishida has two hours before his next class. They spend the entire time typing to each other and just before Ishida has to leave, he types; by the way, received confirmation for my flight home. lands at 4:30am. Ichigo groans aloud. you picked a godawful landing time on purpose didnt you Ishida’s only reply before signing out is an emoticon: ;) • Five days. It’s the first thing Ishida thinks when he wakes up. Five more days. The cold makes him want to burrow back into his quilt and ignore the rest of the world. He forces himself to get up and thinks, five more days. He has an exam that afternoon; his second-last for the term, and he’s already studied all of the content. He spends the entire morning in the warm café down the road, drinking hot chocolate as he flips through his notes. The exam is simple enough and he walks through the university campus, on his way back to his apartment when he sees a head of bright orange hair. He breaks into a run without even thinking, taking two long strides before stopping in his tracks, realising it’s just someone with dyed hair who doesn’t look anywhere close to the real thing. People give him odd looks and he ignores them, furious with himself. I miss you, he writes in his email. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. • It’s the night of Ishida’s flight. Early morning. Whatever. Ichigo doesn’t care; he’s standing in front of the arrivals gate, watching every person who walks out with their suitcases. None of them are Ishida and he’s getting increasingly impatient, to the point where he’s starting to hate every single person who walks out for the sheer fact that they’re not who he wants to see. He feels a hand on his back. “Boo.” “What the—” Ichigo spins, already beaming. “I didn’t even see you.” “Of course you didn’t,” Ishida smiles smugly, and that’s all he has the chance to say before Ichigo pulls him in for a kiss. “Missed you.” “I can tell.” “Bastard,” Ichigo grumbles, “you’re supposed to say you missed me too.” Ishida laughs softly and links his arm with Ichigo’s. “Let’s go home.” • “Did you miss me?” Ichigo asks, his voice low and rough. Ishida is arching against the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Yes,” he gasps, biting his lower lip, involuntarily rocking his hips, “yes I missed you, you fucking—” “Good,” Ichigo smiles, and Ishida moans shakily as he releases. They reach for each other and Ichigo wraps his arms around Ishida, face buried in his neck. “Good.” Ishida pants quietly, chest rising and falling against Ichigo’s, hearts hammering against each other. “Fuck, I love you,” Ichigo murmurs, kissing Ishida’s neck, his mouth, not letting him go. Ishida smiles, his eyes closed. “I can tell.” Ichigo huffs out a laugh and murmurs against Ishida’s ear, “You’re supposed to say you love me too.” Cracking an eye open, Ishida’s smile turns sly. “Really? Make me.” x