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On Ichigo’s twenty-first birthday, Renji and his other college friends dragged him out to a bar called The Masque. Renji raved about it, swore he’d heard the craziest stories from there, insisted this had to be the source of Ichigo’s first hangover. Ichigo didn’t actually want to spend his birthday night getting sloshed at a random bar, but some things were tradition, as Matsumoto proclaimed. Some things there was just no saying no to.
The Masque was classier than Renji made it sound. It was small, softly lit, with rich dark wood décor and red accents. It had only two bartenders at the single, long counter, and Ichigo’s group made up most of the customers. It was almost like having the place to themselves.
The male bartender, blond with straight, shoulder length hair, gave a shit-eating grin when Renji dragged Ichigo over. Ichigo immediately wanted to punch him. He snickered on the sidelines while Renji tried to wheedle Ichigo into a drinking contest. Ichigo wasn’t stupid. He’d never had more than a shot his whole life; of course he’d lose. Why the hell would he want to get black out drunk in a public place while losing to Renji?
Also, alcohol was nasty.
Renji was just getting pushy when the bartender stepped in. He plopped a tall glass of something frothy and vibrantly red in front of Ichigo, who looked at it like someone might a tarantula.
“On the house, for the birthday boy.” The bartender winked.
Ichigo took the glass with trepidation. He had no idea what this stuff was. But… it was free. And Renji would laugh at him forever if he didn’t at least try it. Cautiously, he took a sip.
Sweet. Something sweet and fruity swirled across his tongue, strawberries and cream, with no bite whatsoever. No alcohol.
Ichigo locked eyes with the bartender, who grinned like they were sharing a secret and gave another exaggerated wink.
Renji whooped when Ichigo downed more of the red cocktail, and Ichigo thought maybe, just maybe this birthday wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Later that night, when Kira had drunk himself under the table and Matsumoto managed to egg Ikkaku and Hisagi into a dance battle, Ichigo sidled over to the bar again to thank the blond bartender.
“It’s really good,” he said, chasing bits of strawberry around the bottom with a straw. “And you got Renji off my back.”
The guy shrugged, leaning against the counter casual as you please. “I ain’t in the business of forcing things on people. And if you liked that one, you can always order another!”
He grinned, and Ichigo couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. Maybe it was just the low, golden light, casting shadows under the bartender’s bangs and catching in his sharp eyes, or maybe it was the syrupy sweet taste lingering on the back of Ichigo’s tongue, but the guy’s face didn’t look so punchable anymore.
Ichigo talked to the bartender (“Hirako Shinji,” a devil-may-care smile) for the rest of the night while his friends got progressively drunker. When The Masque shut down for the night, Shinji courteously helped Ichigo drag them out to the bus stop.
“Come back anytime!” he told Ichigo as the bus pulled up.
--
Renji and the others didn’t go back. Most of them preferred a flashier scene, and Renji claimed The Masque wasn’t the place he’d been thinking of.
“Plus,” he muttered to Ichigo during lunch the next week, eyes darting around like he was afraid of being overheard, “I heard that place is a yakuza hotspot, so we should steer clear.”
“You’re concerned about yakuza?” Ichigo said, incredulous.
Renji wrinkled his nose, like he didn’t know whether to be offended or not. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got eyebrow tattoos.”
The conversation devolved from there.
But regardless of Renji’s yakuza claims and Ichigo’s ever increasing workload, he still made time to drop by The Masque about once a week. He liked Shinji, and the place was quiet. Cozy. It rarely had much of a crowd, and Ichigo liked to do his homework on the bar counter while sipping on whatever sugary concoction Shinji made for him that evening. On weekends, a piano player came in and played soft, lilting jazz. Sometimes Ichigo brought his friends from high school to hang out there, and they agreed that it didn’t seem like much of a yakuza den.
“It’s so nice here!” Inoue smiled, drinking something bright and fizzy. “Nice and quiet. I can see why Kurosaki-kun likes it.”
“It’s quiet because none of the usual riff-raff are here picking fights with him,” Ishida said. Ichigo scowled, although he couldn’t deny that he had an almost supernatural ability to attract thugs and delinquents wanting to knock him down a few pegs.
“People are usually pretty calm here,” Ichigo said. “I’ve never seen a single fight.”
“The furniture’s nice,” said Chad. He was right. Actually, it was kind of weird how shiny and untarnished of everything was. Even if there were no fights, there were bound to be some drunken accidents in any bar, along with the regular wear and tear.
Ichigo frowned into his drink thoughtfully. The Masque really didn’t get a lot of customers. Maybe the furniture was nice because it didn’t see much use? It just made him resolve to come there more often. He didn’t want Shinji’s place to go out of business.
--
Months after that first visit, Ichigo dropped by The Masque hoping to vent about something he, quite frankly, wasn’t comfortable talking about to anyone else. Shinji wasn’t at the counter when he came in, but the lady bartender, Lisa, nodded his way.
“I’ll bring him on out,” she said, putting away the glass she’d been cleaning. “He’s been stocking things in the back since it’s so dead in here, but we can swap.”
“Thanks,” Ichigo said. It was dead in there. He was the only customer. Ichigo felt a little guilty; he’d been avoiding this place for the last couple weeks, hoping to keep The Problem from spreading here. He hoped business hadn’t been doing too poorly.
“Well, well, well,” Shinji said, sweeping out like the dramatic bastard he was. “If it isn’t my favorite customer. What can I do for you today?”
“I came for advice,” Ichigo said, then thought about it. “And one of your surprise drinks?”
Shinji grinned, smug and provocative as always. “We’ll see what I can do.”
Ichigo loved watching Shinji work. There was something hypnotic about his long fingers, his deliberate motions. He looked totally confident in his space, never hesitating, always moving with intentional flare. He turned mixing drinks into a show.
The one he mixed today was a sunset orange, melting into cherry red at the bottom. He slid it over to Ichigo with a flourish, and then leaned on the counter, into his space. “So, whatcha need advice for?”
Ichigo felt his expression go sour. “My boyfriend won’t break up with me.”
Shinji blinked at him, long and slow. “You know, people usually come to me with the opposite problem.”
Ichigo scowled and took a sip of his drink. It was something sweet and tropical, and totally non-alcoholic as usual; just the taste was enough to ease his frown.
“Since when do you even have a boyfriend?” Shinji asked. “Anyone I know?”
“Since like, two weeks ago. And I don’t think so? His name is Ginjo Kugo.”
“Hm.” Shinji stuck out his tongue in thought. Ichigo couldn’t keep his eyes off his tongue piercing. Normally piercings didn’t bother him, but something about Shinji’s always caught his attention and held it. “Nah, doesn’t ring a bell. Must be pretty bad, if you wanna get rid of him already.”
“He’s annoying,” Ichigo said. Just thinking about the smug asshole was enough to put a foul taste in his mouth. “And I don’t mean annoying in that we-bicker-like-an-old-married-couple way. I mean every time he talks I want to kick his teeth in, but I can’t because that would be abuse.”
Shinji snorted. “If you don’t want to be with him then why don’t you, I don’t know, break up with him? Tell him to take a hike? Off a cliff, if he’s that bad.”
“I want to!” Ichigo glared, hands clenched around his glass. “But he’s wormed his way into like all my friend groups and they think he’s just the best! A real standup guy!”
He ran his hand through his hair, and couldn’t stop his voice from going bitter and sharp. “They invite him along to things, and if he doesn’t show up they pester me about where he is. He wheedled me into bringing him along for family dinner too, and managed to ingratiate himself with my sisters. My sisters, Shinji!”
Ichigo dropped his head on the countertop, ignoring Shinji’s disapproving hiss. “Now Karin and Yuzu ask after him, about how he’s doing, how our relationship is going, and I just- I just…”
He lifted his head off the countertop but couldn’t bring himself to look his friend in the eye. “They love him, Shinji. If I’m the one who breaks things off they’ll hate me for it.”
And wasn’t that just the shittiest thing? Nobody told him when he actually got into a relationship that his entire social circle would be involved. He’d always thought of dating as something private, intimate. No one’s business but his own and whoever he was doing it with. It was a bad shock to find that yes, the opinions of his friends and loved ones did matter, possibly more than his own.
It shouldn’t have mattered, that other people might be upset if he broke up with Ginjo. It wouldn’t have mattered, if he were as brave and bullheaded as everyone claimed. But this was different from mouthing off to bastards, from fighting off assholes trying to put him in his place. This was different from anything Ichigo had had to deal with before.
“Hey.” A hand fell on his, and Ichigo released his white-knuckled grip on the glass. Startled, he looked up to see Shinji’s eyes, usually so amused and irreverent, soft and serious instead. “That’s a crap situation to be in. You don’t have to be ashamed about it.”
Ichigo gulped. His hand tingled where they touched, and Ichigo pulled back and ran it through his hair to cover it up. “It’s my own fault though. I hated the guy from the start. I shouldn’t have agreed to go out with him.”
Shinji raised his eyebrows and leaned back. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Eh…” Ichigo waved his hand, trying to convey how not interesting that story was. But, Shinji probably needed more context; Ichigo did come here for advice. And it might be nice to vent. He’d been running around in circles, picking through his memories over and over again trying to decipher what he could have done different, and all it did was make him neurotic. Maybe telling someone else would work better.
“I met Ginjo a little less than a month ago, when I saved him from a mugger. He offered to buy me ramen as thanks, but I had somewhere to be so I turned him down. Then he just kept… showing up. Like, on campus, or at the bus stop, or even around my apartment complex! He kept pestering me to accept his thanks, to come have dinner with him, until I asked him point blank if he was hitting on me.” God, it was embarrassing. Being followed around and pestered was embarrassing, and normally Ichigo would have kicked Ginjo’s ass but… It felt wrong, to do that to someone who was only trying to thank him. Who was trying to be friendly in his own awkward, invasive way.
Ichigo heaved a sigh. “He said he was, and that he was going to keep bothering me until I gave him a chance.”
Shinji’s face, which had twisted more and more as Ichigo’s explanation went on, settled into what could only be described as supreme disgust. “Are you saying he stalked you into dating him?”
“Wha-? No!” Ichigo said, even though, looking back on it, he kind of had. “He was just really, really annoying, and everywhere, and- It’s not like he scared me or anything! He just- I got tired.”
Ichigo put a hand over his face, not willing to look at Shinji anymore. “I thought, I don’t know, that maybe the first time I rejected him he took it as a challenge or something. Like maybe his ego wouldn’t be satisfied until I said yes.”
God knows Ichigo had met enough people like that in his lifetime. Stubborn assholes who made everything about them and couldn’t take no for an answer. Of course, those assholes were usually trying to fight him, not start an intimate relationship.
“So you assumed he’d lose interest if you said yes?” Shinji looked almost pitying.
Ichigo scowled into his glass. “Yeah. I figured we’d go on one date, two tops, and he’d realize I’m dead boring and dip out.”
Shinji snorted, loudly. Bastard didn’t even try to suppress it. “Did you try being dead boring?”
Ichigo bristled. “I’m plenty boring!”
“Sure you are.” Shinji made a show of looking him up and down. “Neon orange hair, firecracker attitude, would fistfight God for his friends- yeah, you’re a real snooze fest.”
Ichigo pulled a face, because maybe his hair was a little unusual, and maybe he did get into fights more often than your average guy. But he spent most of his free time studying, or reading old literature, or meditating. All his interesting parts were a product of the people he hung around with, not Ichigo himself. Ginjo should have realized that from the first awkward, stilted date. “We don’t have shit in common. When he’s not talking about himself or what he thinks of me, we’re talking about the weather.”
“Have you tried being nasty? Like, really really nasty,” Shinji said, grabbing Ichigo’s empty glass from him. “Like, haven’t brushed your teeth in over a week nasty.”
Ichigo glared. “First, ew. Second, I am not sacrificing more of my health and happiness on Ginjo’s account. He’s not worth it.”
“Fair enough.” Shinji grinned, head tilted so his eyes glimmered in the low bar light. “Good to know you’re not that kind of desperate.”
“Yet,” Ichigo said bitterly. “I’ve tried being a bitch to him, but it’s not like my resting bitch face deterred him, and my active bitchiness doesn’t seem to be having any more affect.”
Ginjo didn’t get mad when Ichigo insulted him, he got… condescending. Indulgent. Like an owner would around a puppy that bites.
“He thinks it’s cute,” Ichigo admitted sourly.
Shinji whistled. “Damn, this guy’s really sunken his teeth into you.”
His tone was playful, but his eyes were off. Weirdly flat, sharp in a way Ichigo had only seen once before, when he’d caught a creep trying to slip something into Inoue’s drink. From the way Shinji’s eyes had pinned that man in place, from how cold his voice got when he asked what the hell he thought he was doing, Ichigo had thought for a moment that he was going to see The Masque’s first fight.
But then Shinji had given him a smile, a smile full of razor blades, and tugged the creep outside by the collar. Lisa had taken over his shift for the rest of the night.
“Look,” Shinji said, turning away to clean the glass in his hand, “I don’t wanna say it, but that whole bullshit ‘rejection is a challenge’ thing… are you sure dating was the finish line?”
Ichigo drew a blank. Getting a date was what Ginjo wanted, right? It was what he’d been asking for. But now they were dating and he still pestered Ichigo. “What more could he want? Marriage?”
As soon as the words were out, Ichigo wished he’d bitten his tongue. He’d meant it as a joke, but- It sounded disturbingly plausible. Ginjo wasn’t getting bored of Ichigo… Ginjo kept inviting him out, kept trying to needle him into interactions… Ginjo was scoring points with Ichigo’s family…
For a second he pictured it. Coming home to Ginjo every day. Waking up to his face every morning, going to sleep next to it every night. Ginjo at every family dinner. Ginjo at every meal Ichigo had. Ginjo there, there, there, always there.
Ichigo felt his insides curdle. He didn’t want to marry Ginjo, but he hadn’t wanted to date him either. He hadn’t wanted any of this to happen. Who was to say, who was to say he wouldn’t-
“Ichigo!”
He jerked his head up, belatedly noticing the tremors wracking his body. Shinji’s face was all he could see. Shinji’s hands, warm and heavy on his shoulders, felt like the only thing anchoring him. Shinji’s sharp eyes were narrow in concern, mouth twisted unhappily. He looked like he wanted to make Ichigo better by sheer force of will. For a second, Ichigo could only stare at him, finding himself in the planes of Shinji’s face.
“Sorry, I- Sorry.”
Shinji studied him, eyes sweeping over his face and down to his still-trembling hands. His fingers rubbed tiny, barely-there circles into Ichigo’s shoulders, and he struggled not to lean into them. He didn’t want to be weird. He didn’t want to make this more awkward than it already was.
“It ain’t a problem,” Shinji finally said, releasing him and leaning back. Ichigo’s shoulders felt cold. Shinji eyed him, the same way one might ice on a lake that may or may not be thick enough to step on. Ichigo tried not to flush in shame.
“If it makes you feel better,” Shinji said, sounding like he really, really doubted it would, “I wasn’t talking about marriage.”
Ichigo blinked. “Oh. What were you-“
He could have hit himself. Sex. That’s what Kon wanted out of dating. That’s what Keigo daydreamed about when a pretty girl walked by. That’s what Tatsuki drunkenly soliloquized about when she’d had a few too many. That’s probably what Ginjo thought about, when he invited Ichigo back to his house in a dark husky voice at the end of a date.
Ichigo put a hand over his face.
They’d never even kissed. It hadn’t occurred to Ichigo. Why would he kiss someone he couldn’t stand? Ginjo probably thought he was playing hard to get. Ginjo took his reticence as a challenge.
“Shinji,” said Ichigo. His voice sounded odd. Distant. “Do you think if I slept with Ginjo he’d leave me alone?”
Somehow, after the thought of marrying Ginjo, the thought of just sleeping with him wasn’t so scary. At least it would be quick. An unpleasant thing to get out of the way, like unclogging a drain, before he could move on with his life. Maybe it wouldn’t even come to that. Ichigo had no experience after all. He was probably a terrible kisser. Maybe they’d kiss, and it’d be so terrible that Ginjo would break up with him then and there.
“Ichigo.” Shinji’s voice pulled him back. Deep, flat. Calm as a riptide. His face was inscrutable, but his eyes… they hooked into Ichigo, hauled him out of himself. He couldn’t look away. “I think you had the right idea to begin with. We need to convince Ginjo he doesn’t want to date you.”
Shinji covered Ichigo’s hand with his own. They weren’t shaking anymore, but Ichigo still felt the contact like a livewire under his skin. “I can make him break up with you. Don’t ask me how, but I can promise he won’t bother you anymore.”
“What?” Relief caught Ichigo square in the chest, left him reeling. “You- Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Oddly formal, Shinji lifted their joined hands and pressed them against his chest. Ichigo felt his heartbeat, strong and certain, under his palms. “Only if you want me to though. I don’t want to do anything without your consent.”
Ichigo didn’t know if he believed Shinji. He wanted to. God, he wanted to agree and let Shinji take on the burden fixing this and have the Ginjo problem just melt away. He wanted to trust his friend.
It seemed too simple.
“I don’t want to cause trouble for you,” Ichigo said. “This isn’t your problem.”
It was his problem, his fault. Shouldn’t he handle it himself? He shouldn’t be dragging his friends into this shit, not any more than he already had.
Shinji squeezed his hands. Ichigo could feel his heart beating in time with Shinji’s, strong and steady, and it made it strangely hard to doubt him. “It ain’t a problem. How can I rest easy knowing you’re in trouble, huh? You’d be doing me a service letting me take care of this guy for you.”
Ichigo felt heat blossom across his face, but this time it wasn’t from shame. It was from something warm, something fluttery, something so alien it took him a moment to name it.
If Shinji wanted to protect, then who was Ichigo to deny him?
“You’ve got my permission.” Ichigo turned his hand around, wrapping his fingers around Shinji’s own. “Go ahead and take care of my boyfriend.”
Shinji’s smile was full of razor blades, but Ichigo had never felt safer.
--
“What did you do,” Ichigo said, bounding into The Masque the next day. He dropped his book bag carelessly beside the bar, having come straight from class. Just like yesterday, the place was deserted. “He broke up with me over text. Said he was moving to a different city and didn’t want a long distance relationship. I didn’t even have to see his stupid smug face!”
Shinji grinned, showing just a few too many teeth. “I convinced him it was in his best interest to get as far as possible from you.”
Ichigo grinned back, relief making him giddy. He’d been walking on air all morning, ever since he’d gotten the text. It was a struggle acting upset for his concerned family, who’d been fussing over him ever since he broke the news.
“How’d your friends and family take it?” Shinji asked, looking at him sideways. He was already preparing one of those sweet drinks Ichigo adored.
“Great!” Ichigo said. “Well, not great, but like- I was worried they’d be upset, you know? That they might miss Ginjo. But they all seem more interested in murdering him. Even Yuzu!”
Shinji cackled. Ichigo relished his drink. It tasted like birthday cake.
Once Shinji had calmed down, he said, “They don’t need to worry about that. I doubt the guy’s gonna show his face in this town again.”
Ichigo eyed him curiously. “What did you do, anyway?”
“Nothing too bad,” Shinji said, with practiced indifference. “Me and some friends just gave him a scare is all. Nothing he didn’t deserve.”
Ichigo noticed he didn’t say what he did was legal. He let it go.
“Well, thanks. I really owe you,” Ichigo said. “And thank your friends for me too.”
“You’re welcome,” Shinji said. It sounded proud, indulgent, but somehow it didn’t make Ichigo want to kick his teeth in. “But you don’t owe me. If you ever need something like this from me, just ask. I’ll help, free of charge.”
Ichigo blinked at his oddly serious tone. Shinji smiled, rakish and coy. “You are my favorite, after all.”
Ichigo smiled into his drink, flushing as the giddiness bounced and spun in his chest. He mumbled into his glass, almost too quiet to hear, “I think you’re my favorite too.”