Where's the Bathroom? or Adventures in Booze – Part 2

Ichigo groaned as the thin light leaking through the curtains forced itself through his closed eyelids. The first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar futon he was sleeping on. The second was the wave of nausea that overrode any other thoughts that might have tried to creep through his muddled brain.

"Uuufh, Yamagai-kun?" That bastard was always the one to get him this trashed, but at least he usually had a trashcan ready by him in the morning. And why'd they go back to Yamagai's place? Ichigo's apartment was so close to the bars, and he'd never even seen the inside of Yamagai's apartment before. He brought his hands up to tightly cover his abused eyes. It didn't help the nausea. "I really feel like shit, c'mon Yamagai, where's the bathroom in this place?"

"Who's this Yamagai ya keep yellin' for?"

Ichigo stiffened. Slowly, unwillingly, he peeled his hands away from his eyes, leaving them curving protectively against the sides of his face to block the dim sunlight as much as possible. He could see, though rather blearily, the unmistakable form of Abarai Renji standing over him—nobody else had hair like that.

There was a rushing in his ears, and only one thing left to say. "Bathroom?" Ichigo coughed out. Renji pointed and moved out of the way as Ichigo ran, slipping and stumbling, down the small hall.

It was only as he leaned back from the toilet that Ichigo noticed the thick pounding in his head. "Uoof." He covered his eyes again, hands futilely attempting to ward off further discomfort. He heard rather than saw Renji move to the door of the bathroom. "We in Soul Society, or did you come visiting Karakura?"

Renji leaned against the doorframe and snorted, amusement and irritation shifting equally across his features. "Soul Society, jackass. You're at my place. You don't remember goin' out with the guys?" Amusement was winning.

Ichigo stayed crouched beside the toilet, chest flush with his knees, hands covering his face. A tiny shake of the head, followed by more violent heaving, indicated the answer was no. He gripped the edges of the toilet to steady himself and his body seemed to freeze.

Then, with a slow turn of the head, Ichigo's horrified features were revealed.

" 'Member now?"

His stunned face was answer enough. The sudden, rushing return of memory had done neither his aching head nor his nausea any good.

"So really, who's this kid you're yellin' for?" Renji shuffled a step closer inside the bathroom, curiosity and forced casualness coloring his voice.

Blank eyes continued to stare at him until Renji shifted back against the doorframe in discomfort. After a moment, Ichigo roused himself just enough to say, "I wanna lay down again."

***************

Sleep was fitful for Ichigo, more dozing with the occasional bout of unconsciousness than anything, and Renji's constant presence in the small quarters kept him from any real rest. The futon smelled like Renji. The pillow smelled like Renji. Through his throbbing headache he could hear the Fukutaichou puttering quietly around his home.

The more lucid parts of Ichigo's day were spent trying very hard to sink through the floor. He groaned, slowly turning his face away from the tiny amount of afternoon sun that forced itself through the curtains to bury his face in his arm. Even his damn uniform smelled like Renji.

Ichigo had come to Soul Society with a plan of attack. Starting with his new college experiences and how he had changed, what he had realized about himself, would have been the first step. It was a good way to lead into the more difficult things, and a good way to gauge how his confession would be taken. He had wanted to tell Renji how he felt in a mature, reasonable manner, to keep their friendship the priority while subtly letting him know he wanted more if Renji was interested. He had wanted to show that he could be responsible, that he could handle a real, meaningful relationship despite his relative inexperience.

Getting drunk, groping him in the middle of the street, and passing out had not been on the agenda. The new, improved schedule had yet to be completed, though punching Yumichika seemed like a good place to start. The smirking bastard had fed him cup after cup of sake as he told him all about Shuuhei and Renji's exploits in the Academy, firing up his imagination and libido before sending him home beside the object of his desires with a smile and a solid smack on the ass. At the very least, Yumichika had better be as sick as he was right now.

As Renji's solid footsteps reverberated through the floor towards him, Ichigo jerked, his arm coiling reflexively tighter around his tender head.

"Fer fuck's sake, I ain't gonna hit ya." Renji sounded aggravated.

Cautiously, Ichigo looked up, really speaking to Renji for the first time since he had curled back up in the futon. "You sure about that?"

Exasperation vanished as Renji got a good look at Ichigo's miserable features in the gloom. He snickered, his body relaxing as he sat down next to the rumpled bedding. "Well, for the moment. Didn't say nothin' 'bout later today."

An unexpected smirk stretched Ichigo's mouth wide as he shifted himself up onto his forearms. Renji's ability to put him at ease was unparalleled, was somehow even better than Chad's. "Well, it's not like you could lay a hand on me, anyways. I could beat you anytime, even now." The familiar boasting came out less teasing than he'd intended, his tone a little too edgy.

"Really now?" The tattooed eyebrow rose in playful disbelief, Renji ignoring the tension thickening the air. "So, say I was to open those curtains a little further, eh? What then?"

Ichigo blanched, but his features held firm. "Could still do it." He felt confused, looking up at his friend's cheery face. Renji was acting normal, so normal it was unsettling. The banter, the comfortable distance between them, it was as if nothing had happened last night, but the redhead's knowing face outside the bathroom had said otherwise.

Moving effortlessly, Renji stretched out along the floor, arms behind his head, his yukata pulling flat against the taut muscles of his stomach. "Look, I know ya said some stuff last night ya didn't mean to say. Don' worry about it. It's forgotten already." He was too comfortable, so easily dismissing it.

It pissed him off. All that anxiety, all the frustrated planning, and Renji wanted to shrug and say "nevermind"? Fucker wasn't going to get away that easily. He waited, watching Renji's face with a battlefield sharpness he had not expected. He took care that the words would be clear. "No. I did mean it."

Renji pushed some stray hairs out of his face, sighing. "Look, kid, you're way too young, even if you know what you're getting into. You'd be better off with someone your own age. I mean, isn't it weird to you at all?"

Ichigo twitched, anger and other emotions clouding his eyes. "I'm weird, Renji. Not just a little weird, really fucking weird, even by Soul Society standards. And if I wanna have any kind of relationship that's more than just being fuck-buddies, whoever it is needs to know about all my weird shit." Ichigo shifted, lowering himself back down to the floor, head resting on his arm as he looked at Renji's too-close face.

"It ain't that bad," Renji growled, rolling his eyes, sliding himself just a hair further away. "Ya ain't exactly part of Soul Society, but there're plenty a weirdoes here. Look at Kurotsuchi, that guy's a maniac."

"He also doesn't have an insane hollow loose in his head."

Renji paused, a little taken aback. "Thought you had control a that now," he said carefully.

"Yeah, as much as I can. Doesn't mean I can't still hear him sometimes. Doesn't make the power he gives me any more normal." Ichigo sighed, pressing the heel of his free hand to his forehead, trying to rub away the tension that always sat there. "Doesn't change the way it makes me feel when I use it."

For a moment Renji saw the weight that rested on Ichigo, that never left him. And the desire to replace Ichigo's hand with his own, to ease that troubled brow himself swelled unpredictably within him. He started a little, turning his eyes back to the ceiling.

Ichigo did not relent. He brought his hand away from his forehead and returned his concentration to the conversation at hand. "And what does it matter how old you are? I'm of age, you're sure as hell of age. Isn't that enough? I've never really felt like there was much of a difference between us, anyways." A small, tight smirk stretched his lips. "Unless we're talking about fighting."

Renji snorted. "Back to that, are we? You're crazy if you think I couldn't wipe the floor with ya right now. You're a mess, Yumi made sure a that."

Ichigo's pale face suddenly brightened, eyes tightening with anticipation. "What do you say," he started slowly, "to a little wager?" Renji's immediate response was cut off by Ichigo's raised hand. "We go a couple rounds on the practice grounds, right now. You win, I go home, we don't talk about this again. I win, you owe me at least a chance."

"I…don't know," Renji said, eying Ichigo with sarcasm and just a touch of consideration. "Decidin' this just based on a fight? Ya sure that's a good idea?"

"Why not? Feels like most of my life lately's been decided on the outcome of fights. Just adding one more thing to the list." The strain in Ichigo's arms as he pushed himself up, in his creaking body as he finally rose, helped drive some of the residual throbbing from his head. The rough smirk stretching his face brought back some of the color to his cheeks. "This might be just what I need."

***************

The practice arena of the Sixth was deserted this late in the afternoon, but Renji still felt oddly jumpy. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with another shinigami seeing them going a few rounds, but the possibility that someone else might view this strange fight put him ill-at-ease.

Not that the whole thing wasn't crazy. Renji had to admit Ichigo, who was busy cracking his neck, looked better now that he was outside and moving around; he still had dark rings under his eyes, and that pallor didn't suit him one bit, but he looked better than before.

"Oy, we gonna get started or are you really just all talk?" He swung Zabimaru forward, ignoring his hesitations as best he could. At least he'd get an interesting fight out of this mess, and he was curious to see how Ichigo would fight with his affections supposedly on the line.

One final loud crack sounded in the quiet dirt circle. "You're the one that seems to be doing the talking now." Ichigo's face turned quickly ferocious, all banter thrown aside. "So shut up, and we'll start." His easy stance shifted, and suddenly Ichigo was running at him, blurred with speed as he raised Zangetsu.

The shock of the first blow surprised Renji. Ichigo was not taking it easy, despite his hangover and their agreement to stay in shikai. He shivered a little at the strange grin on Ichigo's face but couldn't help it when his own lips moved to match. This was starting to get interesting. It didn't matter that they were keeping their reiatsu low, this fight was going to be intense and he had missed the way their styles engaged each other.

The whirl of their movements would have been difficult for all but the highest level shinigami in Soul Society to comprehend. Ichigo was as quick as ever, despite the residual alcohol skewing his perceptions. Only the occasional stumble or slip confirmed any weakness, but he was still swinging Zangetsu with deadly force. The deep sweep of his emotions was keeping his eyes clear, for the most part.

The frustration, the confusion, the shame he pretended not to feel—he was taking it all out on Renji, but he couldn't bring himself to care as his arms moved again. Zangetsu sliced through the air where Zabimaru was supposed to be, Ichigo noticing too late the sword curving around his side. He grunted lightly as the sharp fang of Zabimaru cut first into his uniform and then into his flesh, dragging a blooming red line around his torso. It was teasing, it was almost a caress. If it had been Renji's hand instead of his sword, it would have been an invitation.

"First blood's mine," Renji called lightly, laughter in his voice. Ichigo suddenly blanched as the hangover and the cruelty of that tone pulsed over him in turns. The possible relationship he had been longing for, even to the point of pretending for a while in another's arms, was being taken from him piece by piece and Renji laughed as if it meant nothing. He ripped away the torn, restricting fabric of his haori, and in a moment of blinding rage shot towards Renji's casually waiting figure.

"Too slow!" Ichigo snarled as Renji tried to jerk Zabimaru up to block. The tip of Zangetsu slipped by the upright teeth to snag on Renji's headband, slashing it apart while lightly scratching the tattooed forehead beneath. The shock in those deep red eyes as matching blood snaked its way down the length of Renji's nose made Ichigo smile as he jumped back.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" Renji shouted, anger warming his voice as he wiped the blood away.

"Fighting, jackass. And I'd say we're even now."

Renji's own snarl warned Ichigo before the strike as Zabimaru's slash went just a hair too wide. Finally getting under Renji's skin brightened his attitude, and he chuckled as he slipped by the attack and lightly slid his blade under the cord holding back that unmistakable crimson hair.

As he was blinded by red, Renji couldn't help but shout, "Playin' dirty, now, are we?"

"Just playing, I'd say." And suddenly Ichigo was laughing, zipping around the practice area while Renji tried futilely to sweep his hair out of his eyes. He took advantage of Renji's state to swoop in and strategically cut through his haori until the black outer layer peeled back, revealing the much thinner, white inner layer.

"It ain't just a game, jackass!" Renji was not amused, turning to catch Ichigo in the stomach with the flat of his blade as the last vestiges of his haori fell about him. He did not hold back, and Ichigo was choking and gasping as he back-peddled quickly, the blood abandoning his face for much-abused lungs. Renji didn't know why he was so angry, and he didn't care, either. "What're ya doin'?"

"Trying. To win!" Ichigo spat, bent double over his gut as he stared up through his own hair. "What are you doing? You were treating this like nothing, like it was any other day of sparring. So fine, you wanna play, we'll fucking play! What the fuck was the point of this if you're not taking it seriously? I'm not good at much besides fighting, I'm sure as hell not good with words, and I'm trying to show you I can handle you, despite my age and whatever else is wrong with me!"

Ichigo partially uncurled, panting, but no longer wan and stumbling. Blood streaked his torso from the slash above his ribs. "Unless this isn't about age or anything else. If this is just about you not wanting me, don't spare my feelings." He straightened up, gripping Zangetsu's hilt with white knuckles. "I'm not some idiot child you can fool with a few words!" The cutting glare couldn't completely chase away the anxiety clouding his eyes.

Renji shoved his hair out of his face, frustrated and overwhelmed. "You ever stop to think maybe I'm protecting ya, you idiot! All ya talk about is how messed up you are—ya don't think I've got problems, too? I ain't as strong as ya seem to think, I don't know how to make things better for ya. But I know how not to make 'em worse! I ain't good for ya right now, I ain't good for anybody!"

Almost growling as his face twisted with a bitter aggravation, Ichigo stalked forward, blood and sweat forging slick tracks through the dust coating his body. He disappeared from Renji's sight, his face appearing again three inches from his own. "And who're you to decide that? I know what's good for me," he gripped Renji's chin roughly, jerking it down, "I know what I want!"

Their lips crashed together with a fierce desperation that Renji hadn't been expecting. He hadn't been expecting a lot of things, particularly how Ichigo would be able to affect him, how the battle-scarred young body pushed insistently against his and the clumsy lips pressed against his own would be able to elicit such a response from him.

He knew, in that moment, when Zabimaru fell from his hand and his arms moved to crush Ichigo's bloody chest against the damp white fabric that covered his own, that it didn't matter who had really won the rounds—not that they would have been able to decide, anyways. What mattered was the body in his arms, the hands clutching at his face with a ferocity akin to the way they held a sword.

When they finally parted both had calmed somewhat, Ichigo wobbling as his body's true state finally pushed past the adrenaline that had been keeping it at bay. Renji grabbed hold of a sweat-slick arm and pulled it around his shoulders. "Well, ain't this familiar." He bent to pick up Zabimaru, letting shikai fall away to slide him back into place.

"I didn't say we were done." Ichigo was gasped roughly through his words.

"We're done enough." The younger man began to struggle, slipping out of Renji's grasp. "We'll see about the other stuff, okay? Fer fuck's sake," he muttered, trying to push his unruly hair out of his eyes again as Ichigo finally let himself be supported, "I hate it when my hair gets in my eyes."

"'We'll see' had better mean I get my chance. Besides," Ichigo said, eyeing his handiwork, "I'd say I won this sparring match."

"And who's carryin' ya outta here?" Renji sighed, the bemused and beleaguered look on his face satisfying Ichigo enough for the moment.

"I knew all I needed to do was kiss you and you'd give in," Ichigo said smugly, despite his rough breathing and leaning so heavily on Renji's shoulder. Zangetsu's tip was dragging through the rocky ground, leaving a trail of their path off the practice grounds.

Renji rolled his eyes as he helped Ichigo lift his sword into place on his back. "Yeah, yeah, c'mon, we're goin' to get cleaned up, then we're goin' back to my place."

Ichigo looked up, raising his eyebrow with half a grin on his face, but Renji just snorted, though he had to look away to hide the blush that rose in his cheeks.