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Falling.
Ikkaku was falling.
He never did like the feeling. Somehow it always felt like defeat - even though in this moment, with the wind whistling past his ears and his blood floating upwards in odd coagulated droplets, he knew he had the victory. He could feel it in the way that arrancar bastard's reiatsu slowly simmered into non-existence.
The ground was racing up to meet him and try as he might his body refused to cooperate with his efforts to at least lessen what he knew would be a painful impact. His own reiatsu, weak and over-extended, flickered dangerously for a moment and blackness took over for a moment until he felt a spike of energy; warm and familiar, but oddly warped with what he could only describe as all consuming dread. It was so odd to feel Yumichika's insufferably calm aura so devastated by panic.
Hard concrete suddenly slammed into him and scattered all logical thoughts from his head, knocking him into a daze. The strange human constructed road was cool under his battered body and he fought to focus on that sensation to keep him grounded in consciousness. Houzukimaru lay in pieces around him, but his grip on the hilt, though loose, never faltered. This was how he had always wanted it to be, all out without holding back and to the death -- the perfect fight.
Ikkaku felt a strange detachment from his bloodied form and the crumbled world around him, consciousness a fragile thing that slipped away in favor of past memories as a fretful reiatsu drew ever nearer . . . .
"Shit Yumichika! Do you have to tug so hard?!"
Yumichika's only response was to tie the bandages tighter around his bleeding midsection, never lifting his head to look at his ailing friend. Ikkaku was a right mess after his fight-- near massacre really-- and felt the spiteful move keenly.
"Fucking bastard--" he coughed, pain racking his ribcage and something warm and wet bubbling past his lips. He wiped at it haphazardly with his only good hand; it came away red. Ignoring the dreary sign of his condition, he picked at the fresh bandages already starting to stain red only to have his hand slapped away harshly.
"Don't touch them!" Yumichika hissed low and quiet, but there was genuine irritation in his tone. The young man kept his head down refusing to meet Ikkaku's glare, something that was starting to get annoying, "We need to get you to a healer. You're lucky we're so close to town."
Ikkaku growled in annoyance, instigating another bout of coughing that was much wetter and painful than the last. He felt Yumichika's small delicate hands move to steady him in a futile effort to keep the strain off his broken ribs.
"Don't you dare pass out again!" Yumichika sounded frightened and when his fit passed, Ikkaku finally got a good look at the other's expression. It was nearly stoic, save for the slight crease of his brow, the way he looked on mornings after one of his nightmares, or during one of his pensive combing fits. His eyes betrayed him though, those violet depths twirling with anxiety, fear, relief and something undefinable.
"The hell's wrong with you?" Ikkaku wheezed in aggravation because he didn't know how else to respond.
That cracked Yumichika's stoic facade and he glared, but it was an almost heartbroken thing, "You're such a selfish bastard."
The quiet complaint caught him by surprise, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"I had to sit here and watch you get killed."
That it was because of the oath Yumichika had sworn to him was left unspoken, or it would have sounded like an accusation. Maybe it still was . . . But the way Ikkaku saw it, it had been freely given; though there was no denying that Yumichika would not be at his side now if he hadn't made it. While he didn't demonstrate it, he was actually grateful he never had to demand it.
It had prevented Yumichika from interfering as he faced off against a beast of a man with a pink-haired pet on his shoulder. The man had an aura so immense it had been suffocating at first. He had given his all without holding back, as had Ikkaku. The taste of uncertainty and the thrilling rush when he realized in the middle of the fray that this one was different; that he had finally met an opponent he wasn't sure he could beat, that could give him a glorious death match with no regrets.
Except . . . That man, Kenpachi of Zaraki, had refused to kill him . . .
"I ain't dead," Ikkaku replied calmly with annoying sensibility. It was clear it was not an outcome he was happy with.
"Only because you are a damned lucky fool," Yumichika replied through gritted teeth, rebinding what was left of their bandages.
"Psh, whatever . . . who cares--" a fist struck his skull hard, "FUCK!"
"I care!" Yumichika was incensed, and Ikkaku blinked at him in mild shock. Huffing, Yumichika threw the roll of bandages into his pack much harder than necessary, stuffing in everything else that he'd pulled out in his haste to reach the bandages.
"Shouldn't ya be a little more happy to see me breathin' then?" he finally managed, pulling a face at his friend.
"I am happy!"
"I don't see ya smiling," there was a strange note behind his gripe, something beyond exasperation. It bothered him to see Yumichika so upset about something he knew would naturally be the end someday, but he couldn't figure out why.
Yumichika must have heard it because it made him pause and his brow crinkled in that funny way it tended to do when he was both confused and frustrated, but trying to understand where Ikkaku was coming from.
"Am I to smile every time I watch you get yourself killed?"
"I can only get killed once."
Yumichika clicked his tongue in annoyance, pushing his bangs out of his face with fingers stained with Ikkaku's blood, smearing red across his temple. His kimono was ruined with the dark red liquid, and it struck him that the prissy man had not complained once despite it being relatively new and expensive. Any other day Ikkaku's ear would be ringing from the rant but today . . . It occurred to him that in all their travels since reuniting, since Yumichika's promise to him, Ikkaku had never come this close to a death match.
He should have been killed. He asked to be killed. And he would have been, if not for his opponent's odd whim. It was an extraordinary stroke of luck, and he planned on taking full advantage of it.
"I want ya to smile every time I'm lucky enough to get another shot at killing the dumb bastard who left me breathing."
He lifted his good hand to wipe away the blood staining Yumichika's forehead only to end up smearing more red along pale white skin. Violet eyes blinked, and his friend's expression warped into a familiar pout.
"You're an idiot."
Ikkaku only grinned, teeth bloodied. Yumichika snorted, moving to help him up and take most of his weight as they made their slow and arduous way back to the healer in town. The rest of the day passed in a painful blur of stitching gaping wounds and resetting broken bones. He must have blacked out because the next thing he remembered was a soft futon under his back and staring at the ceiling of an inn. There was an overly warm lump sidled up close to his side, a skinny arm draped carefully over his midsection, and fingers curled in the fabric of his burrowed yukata.
Glaring in drowsy indignation, he had thought about shoving the cuddly bastard away . . . but that required movement, and movement was really painful if just the fractional rise and fall of his chest as he breathed was anything to go by. Yumichika sighed then, and he realized the other man was awake.
"Yo," he croaked, "Get the fuck off."
Yumichika's grip tightened instead, "No."
He let it go, passing it off as a reaction perhaps to one of his nightmares, so he wouldn't have to think too hard on it and allowed sleep to seduce him into its graces. It had been a good day all in all, despite his brush with death, or maybe because of it. He had little to complain about, a lot to think about, and nothing to regret . . .
His grip on Houzukimaru's hilt tightened as he ground his teeth and slowly dragged himself as best he could out of the crater of his impact when Yumichika's shadow fell upon him. The man's smile was wide and self-assured, but Ikkaku thought it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I knew it. You're still alive, Ikkaku."
The panicked wavering of his reiatsu moment's ago said otherwise, but he still smiled. Ikkaku grinned back nonetheless.
"Of course, my luck today is crazy good!"
Yumichika helped him up, much as he had long ago on the streets of Rukongai after their first brush with the man who was now their captain. They sought shelter in the home of that kid Ichigo went to school with and suffered the attentions of his insane sister. After some initial tension, the fifth seat was allowed to patch his lover up in private, a comfortable silence settling between them as he worked.
"You smiled," Ikkaku said abruptly as the other tied the last bandage.
Yumichika looked up with a surprised blink, then looked away almost self-consciously. They both knew what he was talking about.
"I was happy," was his ambiguous answer as he rolled up spare bandages, "I had already called for funeral preparations . . ."
Ikkaku raised an incredulous brow, but before he could say anything the Amano kid's sister barged in with some clothes she insisted Ikkaku borrow. A ramen dinner at the demand of the pushy girl before everyone settled for bed, the shingami sharing a room at Yumichika's insistence, which was only granted at Ikkaku's request to the infatuated girl.
"What a tart! Why do we have to stay here? We were fine on the roof," Yumichika hissed in complaint as they crawled into a single futon, though two had been laid out for them.
Ikkaku settled himself gingerly, shifting until he found the position that was least painful before allowing Yumichika to curl near. Silence reigned for long moments and Ikkaku felt the pull of sleep, but in that instant between dream and waking, Yumichika's arms suddenly wrapped tight around him, pulling as close as possible. Ikkaku hissed in pain.
"Ow, shit-- What's gotten into ya?"
"You were beautiful tonight."
His voice was too soft, almost shaky, prompting Ikkaku to look down sharply, but Yumichika had pressed his face firmly into his chest and would not move. Ikkaku let a bandaged hand run gently over short black hair, soft as silk. Yumichika's embrace only tightened painfully, fingers clutching at the material of his borrowed shirt.
"Yumi . . ." He started, but then decided to let it go.
It had been a good day all and all, despite his brush with death, or maybe because of it. He had little to complain about, but a lot to think about and the realization suddenly sprang on him that had he died this night, he would have at least one regret.
"Idiot," he murmured gruffly into dark hair, but pulled Yumichika closer nonetheless.