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Bleach, "Shameful and Beautiful" (Ikkaku/Yumichika)
To save Ikkaku's life, Yumichika revealed his biggest secret... and now he awaits judgment anxiously. It's hard to know that you'll be condemned for something you can't change about yourself.
Contains Ikkaku/Yumichika. Written for the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fic_promptly prompt, "he's always known that Yumichika had a kidou-type zanpakutou".
.shameful and beautiful.
Yumichika was not exactly the most compassionate of people, but at least he felt that he was not aggressive and cruel the way many of his compatriots in the 11th Division were. He regarded himself as being rather aloof, ambivalent: he was, generally speaking, disinterested in the affairs of other people and found few things personally offensive. Whether cool apathy was better than aggressive and cruel he couldn't say, but -- luckily -- one of the many things he was disinterested about was whether or not anyone liked him.
There were exactly three people in the world that he wanted to think well of him. He sat at the bedside of one of those people and (he who had never wanted harm to come to anyone) (aside from a few people who had dared to malign his perfect looks) privately hoped that Ikkaku had sustained brain damage.
Yumichika allowed his fingers to trace over the starchy white linens of the medical hall cot, too worried even to consider how awful the abrasive fabric was. Although Ikkaku's survival had been in doubt for a while there, the healers of the 4th Division had put him neatly back together and he would wake soon, no doubt.
He would wake soon and remember, probably, how Yumichika had saved his life.
And, most likely, he wouldn't appreciate the interference and he would be disgusted by the method of it.
It was the day he'd dreaded for decades, but the physical demands of his body didn't respect his fears. Somehow he ended up asleep with his face planted in the abrasive sheets, and jerked awake only when he felt the bed move under him.
"I just want some fresh air," Ikkaku told him. The room was dark and Yumichika couldn't see him. "Go back to sleep! And get on the bed, damnit. You look like an idiot balanced between a chair and the mattress."
"You shouldn't be moving around so much," Yumichika said, ignoring that. He rubbed at his face, making sure his nap hadn't left ugly marks in his skin. The feathers at his lash line were crooked from being slept on, so he removed them in resignation. "Your wounds haven't healed so much that they're gone."
Ikkaku grunted. "If I can't make it outside, they should've left me to rot."
"Don't say that." Comments like that had stopped being acceptable the moment they'd started facing enemies who actually had the power to kill him. But Ikkaku moved for the door regardless, and Yumichika rose to follow him.
They seated themselves and looked out over the empty, darkened 4th Division grounds. From Ikkaku's unsteady breathing, he'd managed to reopen a wound, but he was sitting in calm silence and taking in the night instead of worrying about something so insignificant. Yumichika's heart ached with how beautiful he was, even though he could barely see him.
That was what spurred him to say, "You aren't upset?" Because he wanted it to be true -- even though he knew it was unlikely. He didn't think he could take the rejection, but the uncertainty would kill him.
"Upset about what?" Ikkaku sounded genuinely curious.
Maybe he really had suffered some sort of brain damage. Yumichika hesitated a beat. "About the fact that I saved you."
"Oh." They spent a beat in silence. Yumichika resisted the urge to bite his nails. Then there was the sound of rustling fabric, as if Ikkaku had shrugged, and he said, "I guess not. Don't make a habit of it. You know that's not how the 11th does things."
He hadn't mentioned Ruriiro Kujaku. Suddenly Yumichika's heart was beating quickly. Ikkaku would have had to be in a lot of pain, and while that wasn't ordinarily enough to faze him... maybe he'd been far enough gone that he hadn't understood what he was seeing, or he thought he'd imagined it. Maybe that shameful secret was still safe.
Ikkaku added, "I thought I'd never get to see your shikai."
It was such a casual comment that Yumichika didn't process it for a beat. "W-- What do you mean? Of course you've seen..." He couldn't make himself finish. Ikkaku had seen. He did know what it meant.
And he wasn't even surprised?
"Sure, I saw it split into those sickles before, but that's not the real release, right?" Ikkaku glanced at him in the darkness, although Yumichika couldn't make out his expression. "That was your shikai, wasn't it? You don't know bankai?"
Maybe he was still dreaming. This conversation was so surreal. Yumichika mustered, "No-- No. That... arrogant jackass would never cooperate with me that much."
"Ah. I figured." Ikkaku lifted a hand, running fingers over his bare scalp. "It wasn't bad."
"But-- it was kidou-based," Yumichika blurted. He had never imagined anyone in the 11th Division uttering such sacrilege. Kidou was the coward's way out of a fight.
"Obviously! That's why you had to cover for it. Wouldn't want those petty jackasses to know that you have a kidou-type zanpakutou. They'd never look at you the same way." Ikkaku's voice was dripping with scorn.
He felt his eyes burn. Yumichika carefully raised a hand to press fingers against his forehead. If he cried, he was going to look like a wreck.
"I didn't tell you either," he said softly. "How long have you known?"
Ikkaku made a rude noise in his throat. "How stupid do you think I am?" he demanded. "Everyone I know with a melee-type zanpakutou is a violent asshole. I never thought that would be you."
"Never?"
"You know, that face of yours might be all you've got going for you."
Yumichika choked on a laugh, and then he made himself relax. He slid sideways over the wood slats, closer to Ikkaku. "Let me patch you up again," he said. "While you're in this strange mood where you don't object to kidou."
He wasn't as good at healing as the 4th Division, of course, but he knew his way around the spells that came in handy on the battlefield with his hotheaded colleagues. Ikkaku let him close the wound up again, and when Yumichika leaned against him afterward, he slid an arm behind him in a casual embrace.
"It was pretty, wasn't it?" Yumichika murmured. He'd never been able to ask anyone that before.
Ikkaku exhaled into Yumichika's hair. "Yeah," he said. "It was beautiful."
Contains Ikkaku/Yumichika. Written for the
fic_promptly prompt, "he's always known that Yumichika had a kidou-type zanpakutou"..shameful and beautiful.
Yumichika was not exactly the most compassionate of people, but at least he felt that he was not aggressive and cruel the way many of his compatriots in the 11th Division were. He regarded himself as being rather aloof, ambivalent: he was, generally speaking, disinterested in the affairs of other people and found few things personally offensive. Whether cool apathy was better than aggressive and cruel he couldn't say, but -- luckily -- one of the many things he was disinterested about was whether or not anyone liked him.
There were exactly three people in the world that he wanted to think well of him. He sat at the bedside of one of those people and (he who had never wanted harm to come to anyone) (aside from a few people who had dared to malign his perfect looks) privately hoped that Ikkaku had sustained brain damage.
Yumichika allowed his fingers to trace over the starchy white linens of the medical hall cot, too worried even to consider how awful the abrasive fabric was. Although Ikkaku's survival had been in doubt for a while there, the healers of the 4th Division had put him neatly back together and he would wake soon, no doubt.
He would wake soon and remember, probably, how Yumichika had saved his life.
And, most likely, he wouldn't appreciate the interference and he would be disgusted by the method of it.
It was the day he'd dreaded for decades, but the physical demands of his body didn't respect his fears. Somehow he ended up asleep with his face planted in the abrasive sheets, and jerked awake only when he felt the bed move under him.
"I just want some fresh air," Ikkaku told him. The room was dark and Yumichika couldn't see him. "Go back to sleep! And get on the bed, damnit. You look like an idiot balanced between a chair and the mattress."
"You shouldn't be moving around so much," Yumichika said, ignoring that. He rubbed at his face, making sure his nap hadn't left ugly marks in his skin. The feathers at his lash line were crooked from being slept on, so he removed them in resignation. "Your wounds haven't healed so much that they're gone."
Ikkaku grunted. "If I can't make it outside, they should've left me to rot."
"Don't say that." Comments like that had stopped being acceptable the moment they'd started facing enemies who actually had the power to kill him. But Ikkaku moved for the door regardless, and Yumichika rose to follow him.
They seated themselves and looked out over the empty, darkened 4th Division grounds. From Ikkaku's unsteady breathing, he'd managed to reopen a wound, but he was sitting in calm silence and taking in the night instead of worrying about something so insignificant. Yumichika's heart ached with how beautiful he was, even though he could barely see him.
That was what spurred him to say, "You aren't upset?" Because he wanted it to be true -- even though he knew it was unlikely. He didn't think he could take the rejection, but the uncertainty would kill him.
"Upset about what?" Ikkaku sounded genuinely curious.
Maybe he really had suffered some sort of brain damage. Yumichika hesitated a beat. "About the fact that I saved you."
"Oh." They spent a beat in silence. Yumichika resisted the urge to bite his nails. Then there was the sound of rustling fabric, as if Ikkaku had shrugged, and he said, "I guess not. Don't make a habit of it. You know that's not how the 11th does things."
He hadn't mentioned Ruriiro Kujaku. Suddenly Yumichika's heart was beating quickly. Ikkaku would have had to be in a lot of pain, and while that wasn't ordinarily enough to faze him... maybe he'd been far enough gone that he hadn't understood what he was seeing, or he thought he'd imagined it. Maybe that shameful secret was still safe.
Ikkaku added, "I thought I'd never get to see your shikai."
It was such a casual comment that Yumichika didn't process it for a beat. "W-- What do you mean? Of course you've seen..." He couldn't make himself finish. Ikkaku had seen. He did know what it meant.
And he wasn't even surprised?
"Sure, I saw it split into those sickles before, but that's not the real release, right?" Ikkaku glanced at him in the darkness, although Yumichika couldn't make out his expression. "That was your shikai, wasn't it? You don't know bankai?"
Maybe he was still dreaming. This conversation was so surreal. Yumichika mustered, "No-- No. That... arrogant jackass would never cooperate with me that much."
"Ah. I figured." Ikkaku lifted a hand, running fingers over his bare scalp. "It wasn't bad."
"But-- it was kidou-based," Yumichika blurted. He had never imagined anyone in the 11th Division uttering such sacrilege. Kidou was the coward's way out of a fight.
"Obviously! That's why you had to cover for it. Wouldn't want those petty jackasses to know that you have a kidou-type zanpakutou. They'd never look at you the same way." Ikkaku's voice was dripping with scorn.
He felt his eyes burn. Yumichika carefully raised a hand to press fingers against his forehead. If he cried, he was going to look like a wreck.
"I didn't tell you either," he said softly. "How long have you known?"
Ikkaku made a rude noise in his throat. "How stupid do you think I am?" he demanded. "Everyone I know with a melee-type zanpakutou is a violent asshole. I never thought that would be you."
"Never?"
"You know, that face of yours might be all you've got going for you."
Yumichika choked on a laugh, and then he made himself relax. He slid sideways over the wood slats, closer to Ikkaku. "Let me patch you up again," he said. "While you're in this strange mood where you don't object to kidou."
He wasn't as good at healing as the 4th Division, of course, but he knew his way around the spells that came in handy on the battlefield with his hotheaded colleagues. Ikkaku let him close the wound up again, and when Yumichika leaned against him afterward, he slid an arm behind him in a casual embrace.
"It was pretty, wasn't it?" Yumichika murmured. He'd never been able to ask anyone that before.
Ikkaku exhaled into Yumichika's hair. "Yeah," he said. "It was beautiful."