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The wind was chilly against his exposed calves, and for the umpteenth time since he had left, Kisuke Urahara cursed his absent-mindedness. Genius as he was, matters of practicality in ordinary, everyday life had always been a foreign concept to his brilliant mind, and he had once again gone out in the middle of a winter night wearing his usual get up, and nothing else.
Really, geta and bare-feet when the air was crisp enough to freeze the ends of his still damp hair were a deadly combination. Possibly literally.
Blowing into his joined hands to try and get some semblance of feeling back in his fingers, he pushed the convenience store's door open with his shoulder and walked in, letting out a sigh of relief as heat washed over his very nearly frost-bitten body.
There were few clients at this time of the night ; mostly, he supposed, young people stopping by on their way back home after an evening out. The store was silent except for the soft, almost muted sound of the radio and the light buzzing of the neon lights. Slightly disappointed that he wouldn't even get the chance to wait in line and enjoy the warmth for a little longer, Kisuke dragged his feet through the aislesand picked up the items he'd crossed half the town to find: milk, yogurt, some cheese, more milk, and, after only a second of hesitation, a can of whipped cream... after all, it was a dairy produce, wasn't it? He'd sure earned some privileges that night... hadn't he?
Well, he thought dreamily, it was well worth trying, anyway.
Moving as slowly as was humanly possible to draw out his stay, he paid for his purchases with his trademark, half-hearted attempt at flirting up (embarrassing) the too-shy-for-her-own-good cashier (who, to his delight, blushed quite an impressive shade as he alluded at the many uses of whipped cream). Then, taking a deep, shuddering breath of warm air, he prepared to walk out and face what, in a moment of cold-induced insanity, he imagined hell would be like when frozen over. Abandon all hope, ye who, er... go out there.
He had barely turned on his feet when a familiar voice stopped him.
"Cat strayed back home, Urahara-san?"
Startled at finding himself face to face with an overall exhausted-looking Isshin Kurosaki, Kisuke raised an eyebrow. He looked pointedly at the doctor's shopping bag, stuffed full of chocolate bars, various bags of candy, and oddly enough, a few carrots.
"Pregnancy going well, I take it?"
Isshin only sighed, before his face split into what, in the shopkeeper's humble opinion, must have been the stupidest smile ever witnessed on the former captain's features. "Yeah... Four months now. It's a boy."
"Aah, congratulations, Kurosaki-san! Though I do hope the poor lad takes after his mother..."
"Oh ha ha..."
There was a short silence as the two men glanced at the street on the other side of the store's glass doors.
"So," Kurosaki started, "my wife's pregnant and gets these cravings at the oddest times, sending me out at all hours of the day and night, regardless of the weather, to buy her whatever she wants, which I happily do and explains my presence here," he stated, smirking knowingly. "What's your excuse?"
Kisuke looked down at his own shopping bag and scratched the back of his head, disturbing his ever-present hat. "Ah, yes... Yoruichi-san has dropped by for a visit and uh... I think I got blackmailed into feeding her," he replied, a puzzled frown on his face. Yes, blackmail definitely was the word, he decided as he remembered glimpses of dark, smooth skin and not-quite-veiled threats that he wouldn't see or touch another inch of it until he complied. Also, something about a man's duty and keeping a woman happy...
"Ha! That woman has a bottomless pit for a stomach."
That comment earned him another raised eyebrow. "Says the pot about the kettle, or I believe that's more or less how the saying goes..."
Isshin glared in mock affront before lifting and flexing his arm. "Hey, I'm a grown, strong man... I actually need all that food if I want to keep that perfect body of mine healthy and attractive!"
The eyebrow stayed up. Kisuke decided against pointing out that he had originally designed said perfect body himself, and that it would probably stay that way whether or not the man decided to stuff his face at all hours of the day.
The soon-to-be father leaned against the wall, raising his other hand to wave two small metal recipients in front of his old friend's eyes. "I saw you there as I was paying for Masaki's candy, and figured you'd need some warming up before going back."
Urahara, never one to refuse an opportunity when it all but danced in his face, shook his head, his lips stretching into a thankful smile, and grabbed his can of bottled, alcoholic comfort. "Western beer, uh? Interesting choice. Well, I doubt it'll keep me warm all the way home, but looks to me like it's worth trying, isn't it?"
They both set down their bags, and Kisuke mimicked his companion's position, a contemplative look in his eyes as he popped the can open.
"How long is she staying this time?" Isshin asked, before either of them took a sip.
The genius only shrugged. Yoruichi's comings and goings and the reasons behind them was one topic that his ever-expanding intelligence wouldn't ever help him understand. "Long enough, I guess."
That prompted a sigh from his fellow exiled shinigami. "Ah, we're both suckers for beautiful women, aren't we?"
"That we are, my friend, that we are."
"They own us..."
"Absolutely!"
"They just... order us around for no valid reason, sending us out in a cold winter night, and we... wag our tails and obey. Like the overgrown, hormone-ruled, pitiful, loyal little puppies we are."
"Yup!"
There was another short, contemplative silence.
"You love it too, don't you?"
"Every minute..."
Both friends looked at each other like the hopeless fools they really were. Isshin raised his beer, smiling.
"That deserves a toast, I say. So, to your ever-returning stray cat, or to my hormonal, pregnant, but albeit loving wife?"
Kisuke grinned back, raising his own. "I'd say... To estrogens in general, maybe?"
His friend snorted. "Hai, hai... to estrogens."
As the cans clang together, the tired shopkeeper wondered, not for the first time, if women were the one mystery he wouldn't ever decipher, and, on second thought, if he really wanted to.
Some things, he'd learned, were better kept in the dark.