@heiligbogen || from here
Uryuu carries the convenience store bag in one hand, the knot tied at the top firmly in his hand, the plastic corners of the boxed bentos bouncing against his thigh with each step, an annoyance while he checks his phone in the other hand.
It's evening. Yet again, he's having dinner alone, so he made the journey out to at least get some fresh air after getting his homework done, before he finishes his chores and then relaxes before bed.
But, he's not received any texts. Nothing that's been asked for. Sometimes Ryuken will send a message to pick something up and leave on the table...but not today. He puts the blue metallic flip phone back into his pocket and then continues on the way.
He's almost home. The streetlights are on, but it's still rather dim. Dark blue eyes scan the path in front of him, and it looks the same as always...except for a shadow, or no...that's.
Checking the area around him, he sees no one, and he slides into hirenkyaku to where his cause for alarm is confirmed...and then deepened.
It's Kurosaki Ichigo...and he's collapsed on the concrete.
Putting down the bag, he reaches out a hand to shake him.
"Hey. Kurosaki... You all right?'
First he wonders if it's just his body, and he's off being his substitute shinigami self somewhere. But from what he knows, that overly horny mod soul tends to occupy it, or he's placed it somewhere safe...neither one a reason to have it lying on the sidewalk in shadow.
He looks around cautiously--there's no hollow presence that he can feel. With a careful hand, he checks a pulse, and feels him breathe. He seems relatively normal, but clearly that's not the case.
Uryuu frowns. At least he knows that his father will not be home tonight. But, that doesn't mean that he wants to bring the substitute shinigami to his house for any reason. And, its not as if they're really friends in the first place. Well...everything about the two of them is complicated, with thousands of years of history written by people far older than them in spilled blood.
But, if he leaves him here, he fears it will draw hollows. And so after a few seconds of being very, very angry with himself for the decision that he knows he's going to make...he quickly hoists him over his shoulder. Uryuu is deceptively strong even if he's much smaller in stature, as well as underweight. Before anyone else might come across them, he reaches his home in a flash, not even forgetting the bento he's grabbed for dinner.
He sets Ichigo on the couch, checks his forehead--no fever, he *really* has no idea what's going on here. He pulls the throw folded over the back of the sofa over him, and sits in an armchair across the room, getting out the tonkatsu and rice box, and digging in. He's given up on a life that's normal, so he may as well enjoy some food while he waits for yet another strange situation to resolve.
Something hurts. Which isn’t unusual. But the sensation is more insistent the further up he drifts into consciousness, and he’s forced to locate the pain.
Ichigo’s brow furrows before his eyes blink open, squinting against the dull ache. He lifts a hand to brush the side of his head, finding a lump and the scratchy sensation of dried blood.
It’s dim, too dim to see the entire space. He looks around though, trying to decide where he’s at. It’d be just his luck that some sicko with a body fetish would drag him off.
Ichigo sits up, pushing a blanket off him, but even that makes him sway slightly, hand going to the cushion beside him to steady himself.
His gaze shoots up at the sound of rustling, and he finds Ishida. The archer seems calm. He’s eating, and doesn’t look particularly concerned.
“Great. Not a body fetishist. Just a regular one.”
Shit. How long has he been here? Where’s his bag? His badge? He has a paper due at midnight.
Ichigo spots his bag by Ishida’s chair, and mentally- if not verbally- rejoices in the fact that Ishida is so detail oriented. His wallet, keys, and badge, he finds in his pockets where he put them.
“Alright. Thanks for not letting me lay in the street. This has been fun, but I’ve got things to do.”
He pushes to his feet and loses his vision. His sight tunnels so sharply, it’s only in retrospect, he realizes what’s happened. But he’s down again, knocking his shoulder on the way down, swimming sightlessly for a long few seconds before his head stops making him want to lose the dinner he forgot to eat.
Ichigo blinks. Ishida’s floor smells nice. It kind of pisses him off. Is there anything Ishida isn’t good at? “This sucks...”
