Do Not Tip the Scales

"Uh-- Hey, here, let me--"

He leaned down, half because it was his fault all of this had fallen and half to cover the sudden awkward meeting. He hadn't expected to run into Yukio-- Well ever. Honestly. The blond had seemed pretty intent on avoiding him.

     Arms stuffed full of chip bags and energy drinks galore, Yukio had made the mistake of blindly turning on his heel in the middle of the supermarket to head for one of the many registers in the store. His supply of snacks was running low — so there was no other option than to replenish his stash for a night or two or three of gaming. Slamming his side into someone, eyes went wide momentarily before everything in his arms fell loudly to the floor.

"O--kay, beansprouts and brown rice..." Once was an aisle over the other was over in produce. Easy choice. Ichigo turned down the appropriate aisle and got- maybe -a quarter of the way down the aisle before someone slammed into him. ( Admittedly, this was half his fault as he'd been looking up and not where he was going. )

        Yikes, he really was uptight.

        “—was a figure’f speech, kid, Don’tcha worry so much ‘bout it.”

        Then again…he was just a teenager who managed to get involved in a war that he didn’t fully understand or belong in, for that matter. The quirks were understandable; Ichigo really didn’t know what to do with himself sometimes. A trait Gin could relate to given recent matters.

        ”…Ambushed, eh? I guess that jus’ means everyone thinks they gotta get through you ta accomplish anythin’. Take it as a twisted compliment thatcha matter, even to th’ baddies.”

"That's..." actually really good advice.

Before any of this, the shinigami and the Soul Society, and certainly before Aizen and the Winter War, the target on his back had been a mark of irritation and shame. Because of his hair color, and his brash attitude, people made assumptions, and that led to the type of person he had become.

But when he thought about it as Ichimaru said, it all seemed very different. Not so much a target any longer, but an obstacle, a hurdle others wanted to surmount. (And as he had proven, often couldn't.)

"All just depends on what I’m in the mood for, I-chi-go."