Darkness swallowed him-
And spit him out, to the saner, ordinary darkness of Ichigo’s bedroom, where a lack of glasses put the dark back into familiar blurs, and warm breath feathered his hair.
Eyes narrowed, Ishida braced his elbow, and shoved.
“Ow!” One brown eye half-opened as Ichigo scrabbled on the edge of the bed; the orange-haired shinigami blinked, and resettled himself onto one half of the mattress with a huff. “‘S my bed, Quincy.”
“You’re still an idiot, Kurosaki.” But he couldn’t quite be as angry with the other shinigami as he should be. “At least you come by it honestly.”
“Laugh while you can,” Ichigo grumbled sleepily. “You’re gonna have to live with it ’til Dad thinks it’s safe for you to go home.”
Ishida rolled his eyes. “I’ve been living on my own for years.”
“No wonder you’re so messed up.” Not even looking, Ichigo grabbed his shoulder, and dragged him back to the middle of the bed.
“My Dad,” Ichigo said, somehow managing to sleep-mumble with perfect clarity, “is a nut. But he’s a nut who cares about people, and he thinks you need a dad around.” A yawn. “Gotta admit… way we usually get cut up… lot easier to have somebody else around to help tie bandages. And come up with better stories than ‘I fell down the stairs’.”
“I am not staying another night in this- this-”
“Circus? Loony bin? Mad alchemist’s lab masquerading as a clinic?” Ichigo’s toothy grin glinted in the dark. “You keep telling yourself that. Then tell Dad. I’ll watch.” A full-body shrug. “Then I’ll help you move in….”