Title: A Caustic Bromance
Status: Complete
Word count: ~40k
Warnings: Explicit m/m sex, dirty talk, alcohol use, toys (non-graphic)
Summary: Uryuu and Rukia share an apartment at university, which is how he ends up meeting her old friend Ichigo, a rude punk who simply refuses to leave well enough alone. Even after he gets what he wants.
AN: Real-world university AU, meaning no powers, Hollows, or ghosts, etc. Mostly from Uryuu's POV, but also Ichigo's and a dash of Rukia's.

This story is finished except for some last-minute editing, so I will be posting a new chapter every few days or so.

Uryuu snaps his book closed and exhales angrily. Pushing his glasses up, he pinches the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to dispel some of the tension stored there. Going on three hours in this library and he's no closer to understanding the various indications and complications of sarcoidosis than when he began. The dregs of his Starbucks are cold and curdling beside his stale, half-eaten bagel. He's too stressed, however, to feel things as trivial as thirst and hunger so they go untouched. If he has a hope of passing his next immunology exam, he has to drill this concept into his tortured brain today. It's not his fault the text is outdated and poorly-written, rendering it utterly incomprehensible. Especially to sleep-deprived, over-worked university students cramming like their entire futures depend on one exam.

It's also not his fault that the punk down the table from him has his raucous music up loud enough to be heard from the large red headphones bracketing his pierced ears. Uryuu is many things, including courageous enough to confront the delinquent, but after seeing the strict librarian try and fail, he'd prefer not to waste his time. That had begun with a stern request and ended with the poor woman scurrying away from her crass target like a mouse from the cat. All he'd done was growl something under his breath low enough for only her to hear.

He would be happy to find another study spot but Uryuu has been unable to muster the will to move for some time now. He blames it on upcoming exams and a dual lack of caffeine and sleep. The fact that he's also been unable to masturbate for weeks doesn't help, either. That one's on his roommate, who somehow seems to never leave their apartment and has a tendency to pop into Uryuu's room without knocking. All it took was one close-call to teach him that lesson. Even the shower isn't safe!

So he has no choice but to grit his teeth and bear all of it, unfortunately. The strawberry-blond shifts in his seat, leaning back as he reads texts on his black flip-phone, and Uryuu is surreptitiously staring once again. Although his social graces are clearly lacking, his physical attractiveness is certainly not. Tall and lightly tanned with plenty of lean, well-defined muscle visible under thin clothes, the twenty-something has the face and figure of a model with the apparent arrogance to match. His outfit is stylishly-cut yet brazenly-colored in bright reds, greens, and oranges to match his spiky hair. The pair of silver chains adorning his neck is matched by more circling his wrists and looping over the line of his hip from a spiked belt. His black messenger bag is patched with various American rock band logos: Green Day, Linkin Park, AFI, Hawthorne Heights, and such. The rings lining his ears accompany a bar in his left eyebrow and a stud in his lower lip. Momentarily overcome with lust, Uryuu idly wonders what else is pierced.

Just then the man looks askance at Uryuu, catching him staring. With a nonchalant flip of his wrist, Uryuu refocuses his gaze on the fresh page and pretends his eyes had just happened to fall on the colorful miscreant. From the corner of his eye, he can see the man's gaze holding, sweeping over Uryuu's form and analyzing him as he was just being analyzed. Uryuu knows well the picture he makes, clothed in black pressed-pants and white starched button-up under a matching black vest. His bag is a brown leather satchel devoid of personalization. The silver pentagram bracelet from his grandfather and the glasses he casually taps back into place are his only accessories. The smooth, inky wash of his longish hair falls neatly to one side of his pale face. They are polar opposites of one another.

He can picture this person out late every weekend, drinking and partying with friends. Singing karaoke, buzzed-driving, and pulling pranks past midnight. The type of crowd which is short-sighted enough to believe the purpose of those slosh-sessions is to harmlessly let off steam. Uryuu, on the other hand, has never been inside any of the bars near campus and he doesn't plan to be anytime soon. He has never played any practical jokes, sung in public, nor partaken of so much as a 'spliff'. Though he does occasionally indulge in a glass of wine if the mood takes him. If that makes him a square then at least he's a healthy, self-respecting square.

When the man finally looks away, Uryuu relaxes slightly. He has always hated feeling like he's on display, at the mercy of unwanted judgments and criticisms simply by existing. But just knowing of the man's awareness is unsettling enough to leave him feeling vulnerable. If he had his way, no one would ever notice him until he was ready to be noticed. Regrettably, his list of attributes does not include voluntary invisibility.

Finally, he decides to give up studying for the day and head home. Rukia will be waiting for him—hopefully with dinner since it's her turn to cook—back at their apartment. Uryuu packs up his numerous texts and walks out of the library without tossing his table-partner another glance. His thoughts are too preoccupied with his schedule on the walk home to notice how spring is out in full-force around him. Campus is vibrant and green with new growth after a heavy rain. The wind is still rain-scented and cool from this morning's storm. It has a subconsciously calming effect.

When he reaches his street, Uryuu is so deep in his head that he almost doesn't notice that he has a tail. Only due to years of vigilance and caution does he realize now. He glances back and spots none other than the scowling visage of the guy he just left back at the library. Rather than lead a potential stalker right to his home, Uryuu takes a turn at random and passes his block. Call him paranoid, but it seems a little unusual that a stranger so noticeable would happen to be going in the exact same direction as him right after their little size-up session.

Uryuu uses a parked car's mirror to subtly look behind him after a few more minutes of walking in the wrong direction. There's no one behind him so he stops and waits. Then he turns and watches. Several minutes pass until he is satisfied. When he is, Uryuu heads back home, eventually convinced it was a coincidence after all.

"I'm home," he announces as he toes off his shoes and steps into his flat.

"Welcome back," comes Rukia's trilling answer. She sounds like she's in one of her rare excited moods. Maybe she got her portfolio back from her professor. If anyone is eccentric enough to truly appreciate the art in her demented doodles, it would be Urahara-sensei. "Dinner's almost ready! I made chicken katsu!"

"Great," he sincerely answers as he sheds his bag and walks down the short hall towards the living room. "I forgot to stop for something so I'm starving. I was too busy dodging this creeper following me home from the libra—"

Uryuu stops dead and stares. The creeper is in his living room, sprawled beside Rukia on their ratty couch with black socked-feet kicked up on the rickety old coffee table. The two of them stare back at him. Confused violet are ignored in favor of meeting irritated brown. The man openly scowls at him until Uryuu looks away.

"What creeper?"

"Who is this?" he demands instead of answering her. It's a little unsettling that Rukia would invite a ruffian into their home without his consent.

"Oh, this is Kurosaki Ichigo," she gushes, resuming her prior glee. "We went to high school together. I haven't seen him in almost three years!"

"And you suddenly decided to stop by for a surprise visit?" Uryuu dubiously asks, addressing the young man.

"He just moved into town. Ichigo got a place right down the street from here."

"I see."

This Kurosaki person seems content to let Rukia do his talking for him, even if he's ogling Uryuu pretty aggressively. They start staring again and this time Uryuu doesn't look away. He can see Rukia curiously glancing between the two of them but he doesn't feel like explaining something so trivial as their earlier encounter. If anyone has the right to glare here, it's Uryuu, not this crude guy. He just met this man but he can already tell they're not going to get along. When he starts to wonder if they'll keep this up all night, Kurosaki drops his feet and shifts forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The frown lessens somewhat as he finally opens his mouth to speak. His voice is deep and a little rough, in a pleasant way. Though his speaking cadence is sloppy as a rowdy mutt.

"And you are?"

"Ah! This is Ishida Uryuu," Rukia proclaims. "My roommate. He's a med school student at the university."

"Smart-kid, eh?"

"A genius," she corrects with a beatific grin. "He takes 22-hour semesters, including grad courses as electives. You should see his grades! It's like reading a horror manga, 'Aaaaaaaa!'" She snickers at her own lame joke while Uryuu rolls his eyes and Kurosaki shoots her a look for being weird. "Seriously, I don't think he's gotten a 'B' his whole life."

"Is that so?"

"My father would never allow it," he snaps, embittered by the taunting expression Kurosaki adopts. As if it was shameful to be intelligent. "And they tend to give you more scholarships if they think you'll pass."

"Money troubles?"

The way he asks, with a hint of a smirk to his lips, instantly pisses Uryuu off. Who does this prick think he is? Looking down on him just because he's not a drug-addled layabout with more metal on his body than hair.

"None of your fucking business."

"Uryuu! I'm sorry, Ichigo. He's usually very polite with people. He's just in a bad mood because I caught him…letting off some steam the other day. He's been testy ever since. That was my bad!"

Uryuu's eyes flare wide as the words leave her mouth. Expecting a delighted sneer of derision from Kurosaki, he is even more shocked to see the man reddening slightly and glancing away in discomfort. Maybe Uryuu's embarrassment is so extreme that it's contagious.

"I will thank you not to divulge such information to strangers, Rukia," he snaps once he regains his composure. "Especially tactless ruffians like him."

"Ichigo isn't a stranger and he's not a ruffian. You would realize that if you weren't so intent on being such a prissy queen today!"

This time, Uryuu's jaw drops in astonishment. Not only has she outed him as a masturbator, but now she's also just plain outed him. Kurosaki is looking at him again. At least the hostility is gone now.

"I should go," Kurosaki says as he stands. Rukia stops him with a pleading grip on his arm.

"No, wait! Ichigo, stay for dinner?" Rukia glares at Uryuu when this elicits an affronted scoff. "Please? Once Uryuu gets to know you better he'll calm down. He's suffering from a complex combination of low blood-sugar, lack of sleep, and caffeine withdrawal. If he gets some tea and hot food, he'll cheer right up! Really. I missed you, Ichigo."

Whispering the last with a pitiful pout, both men produce simultaneous sighs of resignation. They know there's no stopping her once she's made up her mind. Though he also knows she's manipulating them, Uryuu can't bring himself to be selfish when she's pulling that face. So, when Kurosaki raises his brows to him in silent question, Uryuu shrugs and gives a small nod. The tension between Kurosaki's eyes remains but he quirks a half-smile in response. The more positive expression suits him.

It turns out that Rukia is right: Uryuu feels much better after a good meal and some fresh tea. And Kurosaki might not be as much of a douchebag as he initially thought. He loses some of the attitude, thanks to Rukia's pleasant chatter and delicious food, allowing Uryuu to see past the punk façade. He catches a glimpse of someone loyal, clever, and kind as they reminisce. Though none of it is directed at Uryuu. There's no way he's going to judge someone for being slow to open up to new people when it took Uryuu two years to be comfortable with the idea of living with Rukia. He's big enough to admit when he's wrong.

Except when he really isn't.

"What the hell is your problem, Kurosaki?" he snarls, throwing his controller to the floor in fury. "How many times do I have to tell you we don't play free-for-all in this mode?"

"If you'd stop jumping in front of my fucking missiles, Ishida," Kurosaki growls right back, "You wouldn't keep dying every five seconds!"

"'Jumping in front of'—you imbecile! Even if I was that poor of a player, the statistical likelihood of me maneuvering with such a degree of consistent accuracy on accident is—"

"Yeah, whatever Brainiac, just admit you suck at PS3."

"Only when you admit you suck at life, Kurosaki."

"Boys!" Rukia shouts, standing to hold them back from each other with a palm against each chest. "Why don't we take a breath and put the game away? How about a movie?"

"Why, so this lout can critique every character's shortcoming while eating all the chocolate pretzels? How about 'no'?"

"Oh, yeah? You don't want me eating your chocolate snacks, Ishida? PMSing?"

Uryuu feels a ripping rage burn up his neck and set his scalp tingling. He clenches his fist and Rukia tenses before him. Kurosaki's sneer subsides a fraction and Uryuu is so. Fucking. Tempted. But he's never been in a senseless fist-fight before. He's never wanted to punch someone in the face more than he does right now. His father excluded, of course.

"Uryuu."

"What," he hisses, finally diverting his stare to the diminutive woman gazing worryingly up at him. Seeing her apprehension, Uryuu relents. "I'm going to get some air."

"Wait, it's after midnight!"

He slams the door to her concern, stomping down the stairs and around the corner before he realizes he forgot his jacket. Luckily, his anger is more than enough to keep him warm for now. His mind keeps rehashing the evening, on loop as he meanders down the road. Maybe he was out of line, turning to violence when civility failed. And if he is being particularly honest with himself, Uryuu can admit that he's been way too stressed lately to be thinking clearly one hundred percent of the time. Especially now that he's almost a senior, so close to graduation and all the freedoms that entails.

No thanks to his bipolar father, Uryuu will not have tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt to pay back over the next decade. Due to excellent grades and hard work, he will be able to get into his choice of graduate schools with little trouble. Once there, it will be a simple matter of not killing anyone during residency. But all of that is riding on this final year of undergrad. If he gets even one B, he will lose his scholarships, his future, his freedom. This one semester is giving him more trouble than any before it and he's not sure he can do it this time. What he really needs is a break, but the next one is another fortnight away.

Pondering the potential downfall of his dreams leeches the remaining ire from his blood. With a sigh, Uryuu finally stops to lean against the rough, stained brick of another apartment building. He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes, just breathes. This is not the time for a mental breakdown. That will have to wait until he's graduated. It's on his calendar. He's blocked off ten days to have as many panic attacks, sleepless nights, and crying fits as he pleases after it's over.

The sound of a jogger interrupts his brooding. Although a late-night jogger is rare, it's not significant enough to pique his interest and look up. That's why he nearly jumps out of his skin when hears, "Here."

Kurosaki is standing in front of him, about arm's-length away, panting and holding up his jacket. Concealing his fright, Uryuu wordlessly takes the proffered garment and frowns. "What—"

"Rukia."

"Oh."

They stand in silence for a beat, eyeing each other and shifting slightly. Uryuu can't help wondering why Kurosaki is so close, why he isn't leaving, why he bothered to bring him his jacket.

"Put it on, man. You're shivering." He doesn't say it rudely, so Uryuu obeys, wondering why Kurosaki should care. Uryuu opens his mouth to ask one of these questions—he isn't sure which—when he is preempted. "Look, Rukia told me about your…situation. What you've been going through lately."

"All she does is meddle."

"Yeah, she's still the Number One Meddler, that's for sure."

"It's not her place."

"Maybe not, but I'm glad she did." Now Kurosaki looks away and tilts his head contritely. "I didn't mean to give you a hard time, Ishida. You just seemed like such a spastic, self-entitled little nerd—"

"Kurosaki."

"What I'm trying to say is…" he straightens and looks Uryuu right in the eye, holds out his hand, "Truce?"

Distrustful, Uryuu hesitates. He's been in this position before, with a bully or an ass feigning grace to get another laugh. But Kurosaki doesn't have any watching buddies, no reputation to boost in a town he just moved to. The Kurosaki who Rukia was talking about at dinner wouldn't do something so petty.

Against his better judgment, Uryuu listens to his instincts and accepts, taking Kurosaki's hand to shake firmly. The gesture sparks a wide, relieved smile that sets his pulse racing and his pupils blooming. Uryuu snatches his hand back and walks away, muttering something about getting home, before his blush can give him away.