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It had seemed like a good idea at the time. And if not a good idea, then the right thing to do. Inviting a. . ./friend/ to do homework at his house, especially when that. . ./friend/ had looked a bit lonely as he drifted through the hallways, after the final bell had rang.
Then nature had intervened and so had his father, when he'd taken it upon himself to insist that his son's. . ./friend/ spend the night.

So now, Ichigo Kurosaki paced his bedroom and tried to think of anything-anything at all-other than Uryu Ishida, wet and naked, just down the hall.

Ichigo ceased walking the floor and chose to stare out the window, instead. It was raining hard and watching the storm only proved to drag his mind to another rainy day, so the orange haired boy turned away and took a seat upon his bed.
Doing that, however, caused Ichigo to think of Ishida again. Only this time, Uryu's slim, warm body was curled around Ichigo's own and. . . .the Shinigami bolted from the bed and resumed his pacing.

How fucking long of a shower does Ishida need to take?

He'd been in there for-Ichigo glanced at his clock and did a double take. Five minutes?!
Ichigo snatched his watch from the desk and glared accusingly at it when discovering that it told the same time as his clock. Tossing the watch down, Ichigo ran fingers through untidy hair and murmured to himself, dramatically.

'When I do count the clock that tells the time, and see the brave day sunk in hideous night. . .'

Brown eyes found Ishida's sewing kit and his mind drifted to an earlier moment when Yuzu had came into his room and asked Uryu to repair her stuffed bear's dress.

He watched, curiously, as Ishida reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a square, red box; opened it and rummaged through its many compartments. After, Ichigo rolled his eyes and snorted.

'Why am I not surprised to discover you pack a sewing kit around? You are one hopeless dweeb'

Uryu took the bear from Yuzu and went to work while Ichigo studied the long fingers and continued with his jeering comments.

Ishida disregarded all, Ichigo's insults, as he completed the row of fastidiously made stitches, reached for the scissors and trimmed the pale blue thread.
Once giving the doll back to Yuzu, the boy turned indigo eyes to Ichigo, 'I feel it's best to be prepared. You never know when you'll need-'

'To sew something?' Ichigo interrupted him, 'yeah, that's a real first aid kit you've got there, you dork. I'll never again worry about ripping a seam when we're fighting Hollows,' condescending brown eyes pierced into Ishida, 'Thank you for the easing of my mind'.

Ichigo shook his head slightly, as if to clear it and lifted the sewing kit from the stack of school books, belonging to Uryu. Sighing, he took a seat upon the floor and opened the lid.


'Kurosaki? What are you doing?'

Ichigo glanced up, in surprise, not having heard Ishida enter his bedroom. The other boy was running a towel over dark, dripping hair while fixing him with an odd look.
Ichigo wordlessly lifted a hand; palm turned to Uryu and tried not to stare at a lone drop of water trailing a path down the pale column of Ishida's throat.
Uryu blinked several times before his eyes popped and the boy hurried to Ichigo, dropped to the floor before him and seized Ichigo's wrist.

'Oh. . .my. . .'

'I was bored'

'That much is obvious,' Ishida's mouth opened and closed several times and his eyebrows came together, glasses slipping down his nose, 'Kurosaki. . .' Uryu hesitated and righted his glasses before trying again, 'Ichigo/, er, /what/, that is, /why did you do this to yourself?'

You're so adorable when you're bewildered.

Ichigo felt his face begin to heat and he pulled himself from Ishida's grip, providing an excuse to look away as he fixed his attention upon the neat row of metal adorning the heel of his hand.

'What? You've never pushed a needle under your skin? It doesn't hurt,' he tugged several of the needles and shot a look of nonchalance toward Ishida, 'See. Keigo was the first one I'd ever seen do it'.

The Quincy sighed before frowning, 'Of course he was. But Ichigo. . .what's the point and honestly, that's a little unsanitary. I mean, I use those'.

Ichigo glared, 'What? You saying I have dirty hands?'

'I didn't say that; although, there is the risk of pricking yourself and bleeding'

'Well, I'm not bleeding, so there,' Kurosaki's scowl deepened.

Ishida chewed his lower lip and reached for the other boy's hand, again, 'Regardless, let's just get those out, shall we?'

Ichigo smacked Uryu's hand away, 'I can do it, myself!'

'I'd feel better if I were the one. . .'

'You don't trust me to do it without bleeding all over your precious needles?' Ichigo sneered, yanking several of them from his hand, at once, 'Look, they're fine, alright? Contamination free'.

Ishida took the needles from Ichigo and placed them back into his sewing kit, overlooking Kurosaki's histrionic outburst.
He was returning a few more when a sudden 'Oops' broke the silence betwixt the two boys.

Uryu's eyelids closed, tightly, 'I told you. . .'

'Yeah yeah, whatever. It's your fault that I did it, anyway'

'My fault?!' Ishida squeaked, 'How, exactly, is it my fault?'

'You jinxed me with all that griping of yours; made me nervous'

Ishida exhaled, striving for patience and stood.

'Where're you going?'

'To get rubbing alcohol, of course'

Ichigo studied his palm, 'It's just a tiny cut, I don't need it, but thanks,' he pulled the last of the needles from his skin and tossed them into the sewing kit.

Indigo eyes rolled, 'I planned on sterilizing the needle/, Kurosaki,' a faint smirk touched upon Ishida's mouth, 'not /you'.

Ichigo's scowl deepened and he hurled the damp towel at Uryu, connecting with the closing door, in the stead of his intended target.

'Asshole,' he mumbled to himself.

Right away Ichigo's mind was filled with all sorts of interesting images; his breath rushed from his lungs and a tight sensation pooled within his lower stomach.

A trembling hand reached for the sewing kit and one-by-one, he began pushing the needles under the top layer of his skin, once again.

He winced when shoving a particular sharp point deeper than he intended; watched as a small dot of crimson formed upon his hand.

Okay, so maybe it does hurt, sometimes.