|miko_no_da (miko_no_da) wrote,|
@ 2008-07-04 09:15:00
|Entry tags:||bleach, fic, ichigo, ishida|
[Fic] Going Casual - Bleach, Ichigo & Ishida
I've been so insanely busy for the last... well, year, really, that I've hardly written a damn thing. And the less I write, the less I want to write, because it's really hard to get back into it. But I've finally had a couple of days off, and I've used the time to force myself to start writing again. Hopefully I will continue to be at least a little more productive.
The idea for this came to me while catching up on the latest episodes, pretty much springing full-formed into my head, so I figured it would be an easy one to start with.
Title: Going Casual
Pairing: gen, but you don't have to squint to see potential slash
Warnings: do I actually need to warn for swearing when Ichigo's involved? It should go without saying
Ishida just can't take it anymore... something needs to be done about Ichigo.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"What?" Startled by the unexpected sound of a familiar voice, Ichigo turned to see Ishida standing a few feet away, loaded down with bags and staring back at him in dismay. "Ishida? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Shopping, obviously," Ishida said. "We've been so busy lately I've almost completely run out of fabric, and I won't even tell you the state of my thread supplies. Who let you out of the house dressed like that?"
"Huh?" Ichigo blinked at him, confused by the random turn of the conversation. He glanced down at his clothes, a pair of extremely faded black jeans and a blue t-shirt with 'Nice Vibe' on the front layered over a red one. He'd even dug up a red and blue terry-cloth wrist cuff that matched. "It's Sunday, idiot, I don't need to be in uniform."
Ishida looked dismayed and pained, like he'd suddenly been struck by a massive headache. "You haven't got a single iota of fashion sense, do you Kurosaki?"
"A single what?" Ichigo felt like he'd been dropped into the middle of a conversation and was expected to know the parts he'd missed. What was Ishida on about? His fashion sense? "I'm in casual clothes, you don't need fashion sense for that."
"Clearly you don't." Ishida seemed unimpressed by Ichigo's logic. "Are you actually here for a reason, or were you just planning to spend the day hanging around and playing in the arcade?"
"Uh..." Ichigo had been on the defensive from the moment Ishida had first spoken to him, and he didn't much like it. Now he felt like he should be defending the fact that he'd planned to spend his first day off in months - not just from school, but from chasing hollows and training his skills as a shinigami - hanging around goofing off and letting off some steam. "So what if I am?"
"Good." Ishida dumped half his bags into Ichigo's arms, and Ichigo was surprised enough that he grabbed them automatically. That freed up one of Ishida's hands, and he promptly grabbed Ichigo by the elbow and started dragging him along. "Come on. I'm going to teach you how not to dress like a little boy who grabbed his clothes in the dark."
"Hey! What the fuck is wrong with my clothes?" Now Ichigo was getting pissed off. Ishida could rub him the wrong way at the best of times, but this was ridiculous. He could easily have dropped the bags and shaken the idiot off, of course, but he wasn't quite angry enough to pick an actual fight in the middle of a public plaza.
"First of all," Ishida said in a superior tone of voice, looking back at Ichigo over his shoulder, "you should never wear red close to your face. Certainly not a bright primary red like that."
"Why the hell not? Everyone else does it all the time," Ichigo said, scowling.
"Everyone else does not have flaming orange hair, Kurosaki," Ishida replied, with a long-suffering sort of patience. "Red clashes and makes your face look ruddy. Second of all, layered t-shirts in primary colours make you look about five years old. Third, 'Nice Vibe'? I can't decide if that's supposed to be some kind of suggestive come-on or just idiotic. Fourth, that horrible wrist-cuff makes you look like a dorky five-year-old, and terry-cloth is so out of style you're at least a decade behind. Fifth, those jeans are so worn and scruffy they make you look like a delinquent dorky five-year-old. Either throw them out or keep them for doing heavy dirty work around the house, but for the love of the gods don't wear them out in public."
"They're comfortable," Ichigo protested, his scowl darkening. "It takes me forever to get them this perfect, and by then I've usually grown out of them." He didn't even know where to start arguing with the rest of Ishida's points, and wasn't entirely sure why he needed to justify himself to a guy who seemed to think ruffles and crosses were necessary accessories to everything.
"Regardless of how comfortable they are, you've long since passed the state of 'fashionably worn-looking' and crossed into 'ready for the rag bin'," Ishida said. "In here." He dragged Ichigo into the store they'd just reached, a little boutique full of fashionable clothes for men and women. At least, Ichigo assumed they were fashionable - the price tags certainly said somebody was willing to pay good money for them, and the store was pretty busy.
"I am not paying that much money for clothes I'm never gonna wear," he hissed to Ishida, wincing at the thought of what it would do to his wallet. Being a substitute shinigami paid not a damn yen, and didn't exactly leave him free time for a traditional after-school job. His allowance from his father was enough for him to enjoy his rare days off, and that was about it.
"This time it's my treat," Ishida said. He'd stopped to look through a couple of racks, picking things up and studying them critically before either putting them back again or adding them to a growing pile draped over the bags on his other arm. "When you see how much better you can look, you'll not only be willing to wear them, you'll scrape up enough to buy more. Trust me."
He sounded so smug and self-assured that Ichigo was seriously tempted to smack him, but he held his temper with an effort. This was a stupid waste of time, but it wasn't like he'd had anything better to do and it was kind of amusing to watch Ishida acting like a damned girl. It would give him plenty of fodder for later teasing. And he still didn't want to start a fight in public.
"All right, I guess that's enough for now," Ishida said. "You can only take so much in with you at a time, anyway. Go try these on." He hustled Ichigo to the back of the store where a few curtained alcoves had been set aside as fitting rooms, making shooing motions like he was herding a dog or something.
"Y'know, if you're this desperate for a dress-up doll I could just send Kon to you for a week," Ichigo muttered, rolling his eyes. It would get the annoying mod-soul out of his hair, and keep Ishida occupied at the same time.
"But then I'd still be forced to deal with you as an eyesore every time we meet outside of school or battle," Ishida said. "Just put on the damned clothes, Kurosaki. It won't kill you to be well-dressed for once in your life, I promise."
Still grumbling under his breath, Ichigo dumped his armful of bags on one of the chairs provided for waiting people outside the change rooms, and took the clothes Ishida shoved at him.
Five minutes later he stood staring at himself in the mirror, wondering what the hell he was doing. "Well?" Ishida called from outside.
"I look like I'm wearing my school uniform, except it's the wrong colour," Ichigo said. It was true, the tan slacks and pale jade button-up shirt were essentially the same style as his summer school uniform. He pulled the curtain aside, and Ishida looked him over critically.
"Well, at least the colours look better on you," he said, though Ichigo couldn't see that the colours had made any particular difference.
"They're prissy colours," he growled, tugging at the shirt in irritation. "A girl would wear these. Or you, but you're so close to a girl sometimes it hardly makes a difference."
Ishida gave him a cold look and folded his arms. "In point of fact, I would not wear that colour green. It wouldn't suit me, any more than red suits you. But you're right about the style. Take that off, and try this instead." He offered a different shirt, in a warm pale blue. There were laces dangling from it, and Ichigo eyed it warily.
"No ruffles," he warned Ishida as he took the shirt with poor grace and turned to go back into the change room. "Nothing girly. I mean it, Ishida."
Ishida sighed, and pushed his glasses up. "Just put the shirt on, Kurosaki."
This time when Ichigo looked in the mirror, he felt more than a little creeped out. He looked like... he looked like someone had cut the head off a picture of him and stuck it onto a picture of Ishida's body. The shirt hung loose off his shoulders, with a wide neckline that laced up, and full sleeves that came to his mid-forearm. "Oh, hell no," he exclaimed.
"Let me see," Ishida insisted, and Ichigo reluctantly emerged from the room. He felt like a giant dork, standing there in these idiotic froofy clothes - like he ought to be spouting poetry, or something. Or maybe going for the nearest needle and thread, considering just who it was he looked like he was imitating.
Across the store, he heard a sudden burst of giggling. When Ichigo looked he saw a group of high school girls staring in his direction and whispering to each other behind their hands. When they saw that he was scowling at them, they giggled again and hid their faces.
"Hmm." Ishida was frowning as well, tapping his lower lip with one finger as his eyes travelled slowly over Ichigo's body. That made Ichigo feel even more uncomfortable, and he crossed his arms and glared.
"No, there's still something not right," Ishida finally decided, shaking his head.
"You think?" Ichigo snapped. "This is a waste of fucking time, Ishida."
"Actually, we're making progress. This is better than the last shirt, and they're both infinitely better than what you were wearing to start with." The smug tone was back in Ishida's voice, and this time Ichigo was having a much harder time resisting the urge to smack him. "Now try this one."
Ichigo scowled, and Ishida smirked back at him. They matched each other stare for stare, and something in Ishida's eyes convinced Ichigo it would be more trouble than it was worth to argue. "Fuck it," he snarled, and snatched the new clothes out of the other boy's hand. He was going to make Ishida pay for this, one way or another.