#fluffy dorks

Overworked. 

A simple word to his ears, with a familiar swirl of lethargic waves sweeping through his bones at just the thought. For the hard-working tenth division captain, Toshiro Hitsugaya, it was a recurring trend in his busy lifestyle; he’d fallen into that category so often with his workload. To him it was merely a monthly irritant that plagues him, or a momentary downfall every other week, he couldn’t quite tell. He’d even began to believe it was his persistent state of being, made normal just for him.

Headaches, dizziness, nausea and tumbling over with each fainting spell. With the loss of vision as words swam and disappear off his pages. Yes. It was so normal for him to reach his limits and nosedive off the cliff of self-care to the bottomless pit of no return. Yet each time he learnt to climb out halfway, making an effort only for his work to continue before inevitably falling back down again. 

What a joke.  

Which only made his current endeavour all the more hypocritical.

“Shit sake, Kurosaki,” a grumble comes from the Captain as he ambles down the hallway, plastic bag shuffling noisily by his side. As the number 15 comes into view he sighs, already worn out by Ichigo’s usual rebellious attitude towards help before even seeing him. 

“Crap!” A voice almost howls from behind the door, but Toshiro only rolls his eyes at the assumed idiocy of his orange moron. He knocks lazily on the door and an array of banging follows before someone speaks hesitantly, “Who is it?”

“Open the door Kurosaki, I won’t ask again.” He receives silence, which only causes his eye to twitch. Of course, this idiot would hide away in his bedroom, embarrassed and unwilling to face the Captain in his current state. It had previously taken him a solid twenty minutes of arguing the first time he’d arrived, and of course, he was to face those same struggles yet again with his sickly boyfriend.

Overworked is Hitsugaya’s speciality, yes, but it is just so ironic that he had fallen for the one person who mirrored him perfectly. Why did the only person he like have to be as useless as him with self-care? How brilliant. Hitsugaya often wondered if this was payback for his horrible inability to care for himself, a battle of hypocrisy he had to butt heads with. 

Toshiro groans loudly, and without even giving Ichigo a second chance the Captain barges into the room without a second thought. With the bag of goods in hand, the Captain is ready to scold the other for his childish ways. Lecturing him to death would be a fun option, perhaps.

“I told you I wouldn’t ask-“ Hitsugaya stops dead in his tracks, frozen halfway over the threshold, his angry gaze morphed into utter embarrassment. His pale cheeks burn and eyes gape. The bare form of his boyfriend stands before him, cowering over as hands cover his—oh god. 

“Toshiro! I didn’t say to come in!” The teen's voice squeaks as he stumbles to his bed, though the captain couldn’t tell why as he instantly averted his gaze moments earlier. Nothing was seen, thank Christ, yet Toshiro can’t settle the fire in his cheeks. Rosy blush makes his teal irises pop, the innocence in his face becoming apparent. He is a bit of a prude in all honesty, and he didn’t even try to fight that fact, well, unless it was one of those idiot subordinates Ikkaku or Renji or whatnot. 

“I-“ He starts, clearing his throat as he tries to compose himself once more. “Shut up, dressed or not you would have ignored me.” Toshiro justifies pathetically, hands bawling up with unease. He holds out the bag of medication and huffs. “For your head.” The bag gets thrown at his boyfriend, not caring as it hits him. 

Even Toshiro has to admit his way of showing he cares is rather, ah, difficult to handle. Whether it’s inexperience or general denial, Hitsugaya is one to resort to grumpy growling and profusely using the word ‘idiot’ in the most endearing way he can—kind of.  

“Ah! Hey! Why so-“ Ichigo barely finishes his sentence before he groans in pain. Toshiro peaks over cautiously, thankful that Ichigo is now at least clad in his pants. Ichigo holds a hand to his head as he doubles over in pain, sitting heavily on his bed, skin melting of the colour he usually glowed with. He looked thin and frail, weak and rather sick. 

“Are you alright?” With true sincerity Hitsugaya reaches out in worry, stepping forward to try to place a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder as his attitude washes away for a moment, but the teen simply chuckles weakly as he straightens. It makes Toshiro wince when Ichigo lifts his head to reassure him of his well being, the dark circles hung heavy below his eyes: a horrible sight. 

“See, fine!” He says with a lopsided smile, swaying dangerously as he tries to stand straight. Scratching his neck sheepishly, Ichigo tries to play down his weakness, much to Toshiro’s irritation. 

“Oh? Really?” Comes the Captain’s deadpanned response. A dull look takes over the once worried expression, without hesitation, he reaches out and pushes on Kurosaki’s chest with little effort. He rolls his eyes comically as the lanky teen falls backwards onto the bed like a stiff board. 

“Moron.” 

“Ouch, that wasn’t nice.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Kink- ah!” 

The elbow to the gut Toshiro gives Ichigo as he sits beside him was a low blow but Hitsugaya doesn’t care. He can’t quite tell how the substitute could manage such stupid comments even when burnt out; did he have an extra energy source just to be annoying? More so to the point, Toshiro often wonders why he did actually find those god awful comments amusing.

“Look, take these for your headache and rest. You can’t get better by messing around, now sleep.” He picks up the bag and proceeds to pop the pills into his hand, shoving it in Ichigo’s face. The ginger screws his face up at the sight of the small white tablets, turning away and sighing. 

“Ugh, but I need water though.” Ichigo surrenders—after the icy glare that pierces through him. Hitsugaya gives a smug look as he pulls out a water bottle, much to Ichigo’s dismay. 

Finally, he gives in, sitting up as he takes the pills and unscrews the bottle, slipping them down his throat with a foul look on his face. 

“Your bedside manner is disgraceful,” Ichigo mutters, earning an eye roll, before chuckling lightly. 

“Now rest. That’s an order.” The captain states firmly. He can’t stand to see Ichigo any longer, not in the state he is in. It makes his stomach spin, and not in a good way. The sight of the one he loves like this makes his chest hurt and teeth grind in frustration. He feels useless and hypocritical to all hell, and that’s what drove him to do his best to help. 

With headache sorted there is nothing more he can do but convince Ichigo to sleep. Rest is the one thing Toshiro swears by, even if it is something he struggles with at night—hard. But naps are a godsend and his favoured afternoon activity, maybe that is why his boyfriend’s sister and also Ichigo often call him an old man at heart. 

He stands to leave when suddenly a hand graced his, hot, sticky, and rather boney. 

“Wait,” Ichigo starts, a yawn tearing through his sentence. Toshiro looks back at the gloomy teen, worn out and pale, a sight he doesn’t want to focus on too much. “Stay with me?”

“What for? You need to rest, Kurosaki.” The hold on Toshiro’s wrist tightens, Ichigo’s face softening as he averts his gaze. He seems almost uneasy whilst his fingers mess with the sheets. Toshiro frowns, growing somewhat impatient and confused with his boyfriend's actions. 

“I have to go, Rangiku is hiding out downtown probably spending our budget on useless crap,”

“Stay with me, please,” Ichigo repeats his words with a hint of hesitation. He almost seems scared and cautious of his question, which only serves to make Hitsugaya’s frown deepen with confusion. “I can’t sleep alone lately. Or maybe I don’t want to.” 

“I-“ his words take Toshiro by surprise, eyes widening as he stutters slightly with shock. He isn’t sure how to respond, nor did he know whether to stay or not. Toshiro didn't need to do any work right now, his subordinates are manning the patrols, and Rangiku, well, she is a matter of her own.

“I’m sorry,” The Captain jolts from his train of thought, blinking pathetically at Kurosaki. He can’t understand what Ichigo is asking for and neither did he know what garnered the apology. For a moment the genius feels utterly stupid. 

“I didn’t mean to push boundaries I just wanted to have you by my side. Not just a visit but more...well, close.” The crimson glow of Ichigo’s face is mirrored on Toshiro’s puzzled features as Hitsugaya’s cheeks are once again set alight. 

He swallows thickly as he stares at Kurosaki for a few moments more, weighing his options. 

Was it so bad? To stay and rest with his boyfriend? It should be a simple decision, they are dating after all. Yet the thought of being so close almost made him feel uneasy, body fidgeting at the thought of even a hug. Hugging isn’t his favoured thing, not by a mile. And yet…

Ichigo’s hand releases Toshiro, falling lazily as he turns away and flops down onto the mattress, muttering another apology and somewhat dismissing the question. An arm sling over his eyes and a sigh huffs past his lips, and Toshiro watches with a soft look. Ichigo looks like a sad lost puppy, and that should make the captain roll his eyes — well it does — yet he mostly feels an amusing bubble rise in his chest at the sight. The big, strong saviour of soul society wants the icy genius of all people to cuddle with him. Who would have ever thought?

“You’re such a baby when worn down.” The grumble stirs Ichigo out of his sulking attitude for a moment, but Toshiro has already moved closer, flicking his shoes off before laying down next to him. 

Honey orbs widen at Hitsugaya, shock written all over blanched features.

A brow raises at him, and he tries hard to hide his blush as he rolls his eyes. “What? You wanted me to stay?” He mutters, not letting his eyes meet Ichigo’s. 

“I…I am just surprised,” Ichigo mumbled into his pillow, half hiding the smile and faint blush also dusting upon his features. 

“Shut up and rest now.” The captain orders, though tone soft and void of the usual demanding ring. He rolls over to escape Ichigo’s adorable face, the regrettable denial of his feelings for the idiot still strong in his stubborn attitude. A glare fixes on the wood nightstand, fussing to himself about his situation when a strong arm snakes over his waist, hugging him close to warmth and sturdy chest. 

“I appreciate you, Toshiro.” The sleepy whisper aids in heating up the captains blush by tenfold, hesitant hands clasping over the arm around him. He sighs, oddly comfortable in the hold. 

“So do I, Ichigo,” Hitsugaya’s words were barely audible to even himself, let alone the now snoozing ginger behind him. Yet he smiled at the nuzzle he received into his hair, eyes fluttering shut soon after. 

‘I appreciate you more than anything.’