title: Sunshowers

by: WhisperedSilvers

commissioned for: Ash

summary: He'll follow him anywhere. —Shirosaki/Ichigo

There is, and will always be, something inherently wrong with the way Ichigo sees things, Shirosaki thinks. There is something unpleasant about the color yellow and the way it clashes with the bright orange—of what is it? Poppies. Even the word sounds terrible. There's a drug joke in their somewhere, he knows, but he'll stop here for the sake of propriety.

Ichigo is quite delicate when it comes to these subjects.

The windows of their patio are blurred, smoking edges with ripples that wiggle underneath his fingertips when he slides and smooths the bumps over.

The colors are cross somewhere between blinding and atrocious. How Ichigo has kept his flower business from plummeting to the pits of hell is beyond him, even with that financial slip up he had almost two years ago – the bank is really the root of all evil – business has always been steady, especially during the peak of winter.

Shirosaki slides the door of their patio open and is immediately bombarded with the smell of sunflowers and something itchy.

Rubbing his nose furiously and blinking through watery eyes, he glances at his patio, which now looks like the floor of Wonderland.

There are at least seven types of flower arrangements on each side of their table, that with the cluster of different types of china, from crystal to bone, to porcelain, mixed and match colored fabrics—

—it's a little too much.

"What are you doing?" Shirosaki's voice comes out a little nasally, even as he fights the tickle at the back of his throat.

"Arrangements," comes his distracted reply, "I thought poppies, sunflowers, and daffodils would bring out some brightness since we planned the wedding for the winter, but they're clashing with the white of the china and it's just a walking disaster, so to speak."

"Ah," Shirosaki makes a noise of interest, he takes a seat on the small loveseat in front of the window and almost sneeze when another whiff of pollen washes over his face, "I thought poinsettias or roses were in season."

"We have a greenhouse, remember," Ichigo cocks a brow at him, orange hair glitters like a flame against the setting sun.

"Do we have enough bulk?"

Ichigo thinks about it for a moment, "Possibly, we would have to split it up with the other flowers," then he smiles a little at the thought, "We could use some succulents. It would be a nice addition."

Shirosaki quirks his lips up at that, "Trying to butter me up?"

Ichigo's foot taps the inside of his sole and points to the ochre-colored roses on the left, "I don't have to. You like me too much."

"Taking advantage of my feelings," his hair is silver in the light, almost like the clouds when it disappears behind the sun, "I don't know if I approve or am proud."

Ichigo snorts, "It's a little of both, I'm sure."

"I'm a bad influence," Shirosaki smirks at that, his throat is starting to scratch now and his voice deepens because of it, "But you like that."

The redhead's ears flush at the sound, but he doesn't move mostly because his eyes are still locked on the arrangement, "Which bundle do you like most?"

"I like anything you make," he says honestly and then glances at the bouquet with the marigolds, "But I like the red and white ones."

"But our theme is orange and yellow,"

"Then change it," Shirosaki shrugs and scratches the inside of his wrist absently, "We have more variety with those colors anyway."

"But then I'll have to redesign everything!" Ichigo yanks out his hair in frustration, the sight of self-abuse causes Shirosaki to move.

He stands up and untangles his hands from the fire of Ichigo's hair, he drops the appendages at his side and his fingers tangle in the flames of silk. Shirosaki uses the blunt edges of his nails to soothe his fiancée's scalp, the soothing motions cause Ichigo's shoulders to drop and his head to drop into the crook of Shirosaki's throat.

"Why couldn't we get married at City Hall again?" Shirosaki asks distractedly, the itch in his neck growing more and more pronounced as fingers begin to tingle.

"Karin and Yuzu would have killed you," Ichigo laughs into his neck, the warm wash of air causes him to shiver, "Mostly Yuzu."

"Not Karin?"

"Karin hates the fanfare," he replies with amusement, "She would rather show up at City Hall in sweats and sneakers, but Yuzu would force her into decent clothing," his eyelashes tickle his pulse, "And Dad would've complained about it until he was on his death bed. I'm not a fan of the abuse."

Shirosaki grins at that, eyes water and throat trembling, "Your family can be terrifying, Ichigo."

"This is coming from the man who threw out a guy named Grimmjow, from his shop, after he accidentally knocked over a pot,"

"That was my Rose Pincushion Cactus, do you have any idea how rare those succulents are? It only grows in a small area—"

"In Mexico," Ichigo continued for him, "I remember."

Shirosaki scoffed, mostly to get rid of the cough inching up his throat and because the memory of that incident pissed him off in ways he cannot begin to describe, "Exactly. He's lucky I didn't inflict bodily harm."

"Your restraint is awe-inspiring," Ichigo deadpans and yelps when those fingers in his hair yank him upwards. The sting of pain causes him to hiss and jerk his hips into his.

Shirosaki envelops his mouth with his. The sting of teeth cuts into Ichigo's train of thought, each nip of the lower lip burns his fingers and sends a shiver down the length of his spine. Ichigo staggers into him, tongue curling against his cheek, his eyes slant over and his fingers dig into the dip of his hips.

But the tickle, the edge of a feather, is too much for Shirosaki, he pulls back and sneezes into the crook of his elbow. Two huffs of air and the sound echoes off the windows in rounds.

"Fuck," Ichigo hisses and then scowls at himself, "I forgot you were allergic to most of these breeds," he sets him into a chair, "Are you scratching? Why did you let it get this bad, you idiot!"

"I'm itching," Shirosaki corrects, his voice all scratchy and he's losing his sense of smell now. "And it's fine. I needed to see the arrangements anyway."

"You need your pills," he runs a hand threw his hair, "It's in the kitchen, isn't it?"

Shirosaki rolls his eyes and scratches the "It's fine, Ichigo. I'll take it after I wash this pollen off of me."

"You will take your medication," Ichigo commands with narrowed amber orbs, "Now."

Shirosaki quirks a brow and wonders if he can intimidate with watery eyes, "I want to see your arrangements, you've been working on them for a long time."

"We can't use the arrangements if you're allergic to nearly everything,"

He waves it off, "Semantics."

"We can use some succulents," Ichigo tries again, "Calico Hearts and Torch Aloe."

"What about daisies?"

"Di—Did you not hear what I said?" he scowls.

Shirosaki rolls his eyes, "I'm not allergic to daisies."

"I know that!" Ichigo snaps, then he blinks, "You're not allergic to daisies."

"That's what I just said,"

Ichigo ignores him, "Daisies, Calico Hearts, Torch Aloe and…"

"And roses," Shirosaki adds in helpfully, "I can always take some medication for the wedding."

"Yeah but—"

Shirosaki pulls him down, moonlight and sunlight, they clash under the sunset, and he looks at him, "Shut up."

He kisses him again.

.

Shirosaki pulls back but sneezes on Ichigo this time.

"..."

"...I think I'll take that shower now."