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thekitchensnk · 4 years ago

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and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 23)

Rating: T Warnings: Violence - sadism, murder Pairing: Gin/Ran Part 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12 Part 2: Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21 Part 3: Chapter 22, Chapter 23

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

What kind of beast are you, Ichimaru Gin?

What are you becoming?

(What could drive a man to kill a god?)

Aizen played white. Gin played black.

He held territory on both corners of the board, but it wasn't enough. He could see the tide beginning to turn against him, white beginning to eat away slowly at his lines. Aizen was closing in. There could be no escape.

The board and the pieces were finer than any he had ever played on. The stones were not, in fact, stones at all, but rather perfectly carved pieces of bleached and blackened lacquered wood. They felt smooth in his hands, hands that had once been rough and calloused from the filthy work of keeping himself alive.

It was quite the step up in the world, he thought idly, to be playing on an actual wooden board, and not some scrap of cloth on which he'd had to draw clumsy lines - and quite something to be actually playing someone who as proving a challenge to beat.

He was going to lose, he realised distantly, and on his first time playing on an actual board as well. He hadn't been playing his best, but it still rankled him to be beaten. He frowned in concentration at the board, and seeing no path to victory, chanced a quick glance up at his opponent.

That was a mistake - Aizen caught his eye and held his look, and there was a glint of casual, entertained cruelty there.

He knows, Gin realised, brows furrowing only slightly. He knows he's got me beat. An’ worse, he knows I know he knows. What does he want? Where do I go from here?

There were four games going on; the game of go, with all its exciting swapping of pieces and setting of traps; the game of minds which had always existed above the game of go, the manipulation above the game at which Gin had always excelled, and then -

Aizen's game. Gin's game.

He’s won the first game, and probably the second. But they don’t matter, he thought with a hard stare. This one does. This matters. I’m beat, but -

“I forfeit.”

Something dark lit up in Aizen’s eyes, like an ember suddenly come to life in a breeze.

“You’re very good,” he said appreciatively.

Gin shrugged carelessly. “An idiot could have seen it comin’.”

Aizen gaze was dark and his tone mild. “Could they, though?” he murmured. “You’d be surprised at how much an idiot does or does not see. You played well, for what it’s worth. Up to the point where you didn’t.”

The man paused, and he leaned forward.

His eyes were brown, Gin couldn’t help but notice; a warm brown, like honey, like rich wood. There had been a Rukongai girl with eyes like those, once upon a time, and Aizen had killed her. Her essence had faded into the air like tea in hot water.

“Why did you kill the third seat?” Aizen asked, the look in his eyes searching.

A lie came to him easily. It came easily because had it been any other person he had murdered, it might not have been far from the truth.

“Jus’ felt like it,” Gin said simply.

That seemed to entertain Aizen. “Oh?”

“Ain’t no ‘oh’ about it. That’s it. I killed him because I felt like it. Because I was strong. Because he was weak. Because I was bored.” Gin waved a hand abstractly in the air and stretched out.

“And that’s all?”

“Yep. Sounds about right.”

Aizen considered it a while, and then he smiled patiently.

“Are you a beast then, Ichimaru Gin? Is that all you are? A creature that blindly follows its impulses? Nothing but a creature of nature? An animal that eats when its stomach growls, kills when the impulse befalls it, and defecates when its bowls tell it to?”

Is that so far from the truth? Gin wondered.

He let himself fall backwards towards the tatami mat with a delighted laugh. There was still blood on his eyelashes and under his nails.

“I think that’s exactly what I am, Vice-Captain Aizen.” Gin informed the man, grinning. “I see that the armband of yours ain’t just for show.” He rolled over onto his stomach, and let his chin fall into his hands. “Yes. I’m a beast. Let me be a snake,” he said playfully, and the words rang with truth. “Cold of flesh and devoid of heart. My tongue flicks back and forth, always in search of new prey, and if I like what I find…” He caught Aizen’s eye and grinned for him this time. “…I swallow ‘em whole.”

He sighed theatrically. “Poor old Mr Third Seat.” The words rang with menace, and the grin was like a sickle. “Poor, poor third seat. I did like him. Best be careful, Vice-Captain. I might end up take a likin’ to ya’ too.”

Aizen looked down on him, and smiled strangely.

“A snake...” he considered, weighing up the notion. “A snake. Yes. Slithering through the mud on its belly, rising to strike; vicious, poisonous even...” His voice trailed off. “But a small snake yet. Sit back up.”

There was a command as strong as iron in that voice and so Gin dragged himself from where he had been lying. Aizen took a slow, thoughtful sip of his tea.

“You were messy. I can’t help but wonder at that. You were not so far removed from the fifth division barracks that no one would stumble upon you at work. Like a beast indeed, to kill so openly and without thought. Strong, to have bested a third seat. Skilled, to have graduated in only a year. And clever...” He looked down at the go board. “Without a doubt, clever.”

He looked Gin straight in the eye.

“It will be a shame when I tell Hirako what you’ve done.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and he bared his teeth.

“Ah,” Aizen said, a dark gleam in his eye. “Were you labouring under the impression that I wouldn’t turn you in? That we’d play a while and I’d let you go on your merry way? I’m afraid not. They’ll send you to the Maggot’s Nest for this.” He paused. “It will be an absurd waste of talent, don’t you think? Verging on criminal itself. But they must have their justice. And it costs me nothing to give it to them.”

The irony was not lost on Gin as he gritted his teeth. It had been a long shot, he knew, playing to Aizen’s hunger for knowledge, his sense of intrigue, in the hope that he would take him on.

But it was not over yet. Black still had pieces on the board.

“Must they? Why? Why bother?” he asked lazily.

“‘Why bother?’” Aizen said in imitation, a small, victorious smile playing about his lips. “Why am I going to turn you in, you mean?” he said casually. “Because you’ve lying to me, and it would offend me to let you think I hadn’t noticed it from the instant we began this conversation. Trying to lie and failing, for what that’s worth, though you surely must realise that now. I’ll ask once more, and only once: why did you kill the third seat? Lie again and I’ll know.”

Gin was silent for a long moment.

“Well?” Aizen said, triumph in his eyes.

“I-“

Let him see something of the truth. Let him see what kind of beast you really are.

All of a sudden, he felt his muscles relax. He let himself fall forward again onto his forearms, slouching comfortably again on the floor.

“I wasn’t lyin’,” he objected. His voice sounded half a whine, but at least it didn’t tremble. “Got caught up in a passin’ fancy when I saw Mr Third Seat out and about walkin’ so late. But ya’ right, Mr Vice-Captain - very forgetful of me, would forget my own head if it wasn’t stuck on my neck. Missed a bit out of my story, didn’t I?” He paused dramatically, grin back on his face.

“I wanted ya’ to see me, Vice-Captain. Wanted ya’ to see me with your own eyes so that ya’d know what kind of beast ya’ve got on ya’ hands, so that when the moment came and I asked, ya’d know.”

He leant in conspiratorially.

Aizen’s brow darkened. “I’d know what?” He asked dangerously, patience running thin.

“Aah. What a helpful boy I can be.”

Aizen paused a moment, his eyes searching Gin’s face intently.

“You know?” he said, realisation immediate, words fraught.

“Bingo,” Gin said, delighted.

Aizen gaze was soft with menace. “Oh,” he murmured. “But of course you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Gin confirmed with a grin.

“And I take it you’ll take no pains to divulge to me how you learned of such things?”

“Ya’ a smart man, Vice-Captain.”

“A smart man would not let you live long, Ichimaru-kun,” Aizen said, and the threat was delivered levelly.

“Maybe, maybe. But there’s more than one way to gut a pig if ya’ a creative sort, and I think ya’ know that.”

Aizen leant back and considered him in silence. His chestnut hair hung about his face and his glasses gleamed in the lamp light. He made no move to speak further. It was a dangerous silence flung at him.

Gin shifted impatiently where he sat.

“I want in,” he said bluntly. “Don’t throw away a tool ya’ can use, Vice-Captain. Mr Third Seat wasn’t even third rate. He was trash. His guts were on the floor before he even thought ta’ suspect me. He was shit on someone’s boot. You want me quiet, then keep me quiet – but I think ya’ve got more about ya’ than to resort to somethin’ as borin’ as killin’ me, not when ya’ could try me out.”

Aizen’s silence was heavy and threatening.

Nothing from him. Nothing at all.

Let him see something of the truth. Let him see what kind of beast you are.

“They’re weak,” Gin said suddenly. “All of them. Worse than weak. They prate and they shuffle about to do your biddin’ and they bleat “Aizen-sama, Aizen-sama” like sheep. When they kill, they don’t kill for you. They don’t even kill for themselves. They do it because they’re nothin’ and they want to be somethin’ so badly and they’re so – so small that they can’t even grasp the kind of something they want to be, how pathetic what they desire is, how little they know how to become it. They’re so pathetic that they’re not even worth hatin’. They’re just… Nothin’. I don’t understand that. I’ll never be nothin’.”

It took Aizen long moments to speak. An expression began to pull at his lips. His smile was slow and predatory - and yet something of an alien humour danced in his eyes.

There was nothing gentle about the look. Gin had never seen its like before, and had he no knowledge of the man, he might have called it a kind of respect.

Riding high for a moment, he did not anticipate the question that came next.

“Nothing? Really? If they’re all so small, then why do you kill them, Gin? If they’re nothing at all, then why bother? Why even notice them? If they’re so small... Why do you do what you do?” Aizen asked softly.

He’d said too much and realised it a second too late. Panic began to creep up his gorge and sweat pricked at his skin.

Because that was the heart of it, wasn’t it? The suffering he inflicted – what it revealed – it was interesting. It was fun. They... were fun.

But no one else could know that. They would kill him if they knew.

The question pried at places that were too secret, too intimate to see the light of day– warm, dark places into which light had never shone, places so murky that they would swallow up the light. He had never before let himself be uncovered as blatantly as this, allowed himself to be so exposed - not to someone he then hadn’t gone on to kill.

There had been one time – a time long ago – when he had killed four men in town and had trudged back to Rangiku doused in their blood and smelling of their burnt flesh. It had ruined his yukata and the blood had settled into his shoes, never to be washed out. He had trembled to think of what she might say to him, certain that she would leave. She hadn’t.

But she hadn’t acknowledged the truth either.

Here and now, the question could not be avoided. Not if he wanted to see her again. Not if he wanted to make her whole again.

The price of tangling with the devil had always been to stake your soul. He knew, down in his gut, that he could never have expected to escape unscathed. But for a moment, he let resentment boil up in him.

For a moment, it was aimed at her too.

“What I-“ he stopped, and he drew in a deep measured breath. He found that despite his immense self-control, he could not keep looking Aizen in the eye. When he found the breath to speak again, his voice was low. “When I kill I – I see somethin’ true. In their eye. Ya’ see them dance. Ya’ see the truth they’re always hidin’.”

Aizen’s expression was warm. It was appreciative. The hair on Gin’s arms raised in a shiver of disgust. “That was the most honest thing you’ve told me all evening, Gin,” he murmured. “I appreciate your honesty. Truly.”

He rose slowly from where he sat and moved to look at the moon still hanging overhead in the sky, bloated and corpulent like fruit gone foul.

“Mutual bondage in co-conspiracy, you and I,” Aizen said slowly. His voice was low and rich. “No detail that you could divulge for fear that it would stick to you too. For every finger I drag through the dirt, a corresponding trace on your fingers; a stain for every stain of my own. An elegant, symmetrical solution. You know that your age will stand as no defence were you to betray me, and you know that I know where the bodies are buried.”

Aizen turned to him, and Gin knew suddenly that the wage had been deemed paid.

(Everything that happens now happens because you made it that way.)

Black was still on the board.

“The position is yours. We start again tomorrow.” Aizen smiled. “I look forward to working with you, Gin.”

---

And just like so, he became a shinigami and apprentice to Aizen Sosuke.

And for a time – the first time, in fact – Matsumoto Rangiku began to fall slowly from his mind.

---

#Bleach #GinRan #gin ichimaru #sosuke aizen #Rangiku Matsumoto #kitchen snk are you seriously busting out chess metaphors in 2021?#it's an iconic cliche alright???#Aizen u fancy bastard #Spider Lilies

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porkchop-ao3 · 6 years ago

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I.C’s Suit Fitting

More OC fun! This fic features both Ice Cream Rick and Tailor Rick. No reader here, but she does come up in conversation ;3 Tailor is giving the lovely I.C a suit fitting! A nice little character study to help us get to know these guys even more.

So! SFW, just under 3k words, enjoy!

“This colour? Are you absolutely sure about that?”

It was going to be a long day, Tailor knew that much. What he did not know was why on earth Ice Cream Rick, of all people, had booked an appointment for a suit fitting with him. It wasn't as if he had the money or the taste to pull off one of his suits. Especially if the whole thing was going to be done in pastel yellow for Christ's sake.

“Yes. T-totally sure. She says she likes that colour on me.” I.C replied to the tailor's snarky question with an undeterred smile on his face.

“Well yes, I'm sure she does, but not in this volume.” Tailor scoffed, scowling down at his book of fabric samples. “An-and I don't even use this fabric for suits. It's far too thin, I use it for linings. A subtle hint of colour. Only an idiot would walk around wearing a suit in this colour.”

I.C cocked a brow, glancing down at the suit Tailor had decided on that day. Emerald green shot with magenta, the colour shifted in the light. He would question it, but he couldn't be bothered to listen to the hour long lecture that would no doubt follow.

“If it's too thin, source me a fabric that's suitable. But I'm having this colour. It matches a dress she has…” I.C insisted scratching at his goatee as he looked down at the fabric once again. He thought it would look pretty cool, paired with a powder blue shirt.

“Oh, bloody hell, you're going to be matching? Christ.” Tailor sighed, turning on his heel and pulling out a second book from his shelf, containing more fabric samples. “If you insist on going with yellow, may I suggest something to break up the colour? Stripes, perhaps. That might just work with the correct accessories. Very Dick Van Dyke.”

“Huh?”

“You've seen Mary Poppins, haven't you? The scene with the chalk pavement drawing? Oh, never mind. Just make sure you find yourself a nice pair of white brogues and a cane.” Tailor muttered somewhat sarcastically, slamming the heavy book down on the desk and flicking through it until he found what he was looking for. “This. With plain white trousers.” Tailor suggested.

This fabric was mostly white, but had yellow stripes of varying widths running along it. I.C pursed his lips as he looked at it.

“Alright. I will trust you on this. And what about the lining, you mentioned lining?” He nodded, looking back up at Tailor who gave a long suffering sigh and pointed towards the original choice.

“If you must have that particular fabric somewhere, then I suppose it would be fine to line it with that.” Tailor said, bringing a smile to I.C's face. “And what are you wearing it with? Would you like a shirt as well or are you just springing for the suit and trousers this time?”

“Just the suit and pants. I'm not- well, I have a shirt in mind.”

“Don't tell me it's a pink polka-dot eyesore, or-or something along those lines.” Tailor grumbled, jotting something down in a notebook – not dissimilar to the one I.C owned for his ideas, he thought – on a page with 'Mr. Whippy’ written across the top. I.C still didn't understand what that was about.

“No. It's a p-pale blue, plain one with white buttons.” He said defensively, though he wouldn't admit that he did in fact own a pink polka-dot shirt as well.

“Hm, not terrible.” Tailor nodded thoughtfully. “I'll allow it.” He added.

“Oh, thank goodness.” I.C rolled his eyes in mild annoyance.

“So what's the occasion for this? And you'd better not say a funeral because I'll throw you out of here.” Tailor asked, closing up the fabric books and carrying them back over to the shelf where they belonged. He slid them into their specific places carefully.

“No.” I.C frowned. “It's our anniversary. Six months.”

“You know, that's not really an anniversary that counts for anything, I'd at least wait a year before splashing out on a Sanchez suit. Not th-that I'm trying to talk myself out of a paying customer, but for the record, I don't do 'mates rates’. You'll be paying full price whether you're dating my assistant or not.” Tailor informed him dryly, and I.C tutted and rolled his eyes.

“I wasn't expecting that, w-we're hardly good friends anyway.”

“How you wound me.” Tailor whined dramatically shortly before dropping all emotion from his face. “Get up on there, would you? I-I-I'm ready to take your measurements.” He continued, pointing towards the low pedestal in the middle of the room.

The same pedestal that I.C's girlfriend to be had been creaming her knickers on during her own dress measuring earlier that year… Tailor had been tempted to mention it, but then again, he wasn't completely heartless.

Tailor brought a tape measure and his notebook over to I.C, who'd stepped up onto the pedestal and was standing rather awkwardly.

“You can relax, you know. I-if you're all stiff my measurements will be off.” Tailor said, slipping off his own suit jacket and hanging it off the back of a nearby chair.

“I'm-I'm perfectly relaxed, I've just never been fitted for anything before. I don't know how to stand.” I.C admitted a little sheepishly, watching Tailor come over to him uncoiling his rolled up tape measure.

“You don't say.” He mused, looking I.C up and down analytically, considering where to start. “Well, just stand naturally. Don't hold your breath, just be… hmm.” He suddenly narrowed his eyes.

“What?” I.C frowned.

“Those won't do. Take your trousers off, please.”

“What?” I.C questioned, his tone incredulous.

“Those trousers are too baggy, I won't be able to get an accurate inseam measurement, it'll be easier if you just remove them. Keep the shoes on, however.” He explained, looking up at I.C with his signature bored expression, holding out his hand. He was waiting.

I.C sighed and started to unbuckle his belt, fumbling as he did. If he was awkward before, he sure as hell was a lot worse now.

“If you're worried I'm going to laugh at how small it is, I assure you I'm a complete professional. I'll only tell my closest friends about it.” He added dryly, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. I.C realised he'd never seen anything so close to a smile on his face before.

With a huff, he dropped his drawers – however awkward that might be with his shoes still on – and handed them to the other Rick, who walked across the room to hang them up neatly on a nearby clothes rack.

“That's better. Now, like I said, just relax and stand naturally. This should be quick and painless.” He said, returning to I.C and holding the tape measure between his two hands. “We'll do the chest measurement first. Again, don't hold your breath.”

Tailor stepped in front of the other Rick and briefly wrapped his arms around him, under his arms, and brought the tape measure around his torso. He took a few seconds to ensure it was level all the way around and adjusted it so that it was snug, but not too tight. Then he released him and turned to jot down the figure in his notebook, sitting on a portable table just behind him. He then walked around to I.C's back and stretched the tape out across the tops of his shoulders.

“So,” he started, simply to make conversation. “Where are you taking her for the anniversary?”

“Hm? Oh. I'm- well, I'm- I think…” I.C stammered, fidgeting a little. Tailor's eyes slid from the tape measure up to the back of his head curiously. “Honestly? I don't know.” He finally admitted with a disappointed sigh.

“You don't know?” Tailor repeated, moving to make a note of the next measurement before going over to his side, taking I.C's wrist in his hand and positioning his arm just right. He took the measurement from the top of his shoulder and down to where the jacket sleeve would fall.

“No. I-I-I'm actually kind of shitting myself at this point. I wanted to take her out somewhere real fancy, expensive, jus-just go all out, you know? But all the places I can think of are fully booked. Th-they have waiting lists!” I.C lamented.

“Oh, well that's no problem. The owner of Park Chinois is a client of mine. I could get you in. That's if it's in your budget, this is a very high end restaurant we're talking about.” Tailor told him, surprising even himself; he wasn't sure where the offer had come from.

By the look on his face when I.C slowly turned to stare at Tailor, neither did he. His eyes were comically large and his mouth was hanging wide open.

“You'll catch flies.” Tailor commented briefly.

“Are you fucking serious?” I.C exclaimed, his voice much higher in pitch than usual. Tailor chuckled to himself, but there was an edge of regret in its tone.

“Hmm. I could do it. I'd have to offer them a discount on their next purchase, but they're putty in my hands; they'll do it. That's if that's really what you want to do, has your girlfriend told you she'd like a slap up meal?” Tailor asked, noting down another measurement before pausing, crossing his arms and looking up at the other man.

“Well, no. I just thought that'd be the best thing- the most romantic thing-”

“Yes, taking out a second mortgage to pay for a meal and a suit. How very romantic.” Tailor rolled his eyes and immediately I.C was scowling at him.

“Listen, I don't know who you think you are – or who I am for that matter – but I can afford to splurge every once in a while. I might not drive a- a Bentley or whatever the fuck, but don't forget I own a business. A pretty successful business, actually.”

“Alright! Must've touched a nerve. I am sorry you feel that way about your money situation, I didn't realise you were so sensitive.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I.C grumbled, half tempted to storm out. But that'd only give him more ammunition.

“I suppose I can fuck off along with the offer of getting you that table for two?” Tailor's eyelids lowered, his face deadpan. I.C kept his mouth shut. They were quiet for a while, and finally Tailor returned to taking measurements.

“Do you think she'll like it?” I.C asked, his voice timid. “You spend a lot of time with her, maybe you know a different side of her. Help me out here.”

“Hmm, well, what do you usually do on your dates?” Tailor questioned.

“Well, a bunch of things. Lately she's been showing me around London. I suppose it's her way of returning the favour of what I do for her; I like to take her to different planets, and we'll just sit up on the hood of the truck and eat ice cream together, talking and enjoying the scenery. Then other times we'll go out to small towns or villages, find a l-little family run coffee shop or restaurant and eat there. We'll go on walks, sh-she likes nature reserves. Sometimes we'll just book out a hotel room somewhere and spend a weekend just- well, I live with Beth and the kids, she lives with her family, so it's a good chance to get some alone time.” I.C explained, staring off into space.

“First of all, gross. Second of all, all of that sounds pretty low-budget and quaint, I suppose. Does she honestly strike you as the type to want to go out to dinner somewhere like Park Chinois?” Tailor proposed, taking the outseam measurement of his leg. I.C was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Tailor let him mull it over as he scribbled in his notebook.

“Hmm, maybe not. I don't know, I just want her t-to be happy, I want to let her know how much I appreciate her and- and I guess I don't know the right way of doing it.” He finally said, sighing heavily and chewing on his bottom lip.

“Perhaps, I don't know, speaking to her may help? Just a-”

“Watch where you're putting your hands!” I.C suddenly hissed, jolting away from Tailor who was kneeling on the edge of the pedestal. He stared up at the other Rick with a blank expression, completely unaffected by his outburst.

“Inseam. I'm measuring your bloody inseam, trust me, I don't want to touch your shrivelled up mole-rat, thank you very much. I'll leave that to my assistant.” Tailor quipped, trying again now that I.C was a little more prepared. “Anyway. I suggest you speak to her and ask her what she'd like to do. Then you can't go far wrong.”

“I wanted to surprise her.”

“You don't make things easy for yourself, do you? I'm going to measure your seat, which is basically your arse, so don't think I'm copping a feel, okay?” Tailor said absentmindedly, wrapping the tape measure around him. “In that case, I have no advice to give, you're on your own. However, the offer is there, if you'd like me to pull some strings.”

“Y-y-you'd seriously do that for me?” I.C questioned, looking at Tailor in a light he'd never seen him. He couldn't help but feel touched, underneath all of the surprise and disbelief.

Tailor looked up to meet his eyes and promptly scowled, huffing out a breath before spinning on his heel and scribbling in his notebook again. He was rough with his pen this time, clearly irritated.

“I'm not doing anything for you.” He muttered, much quieter than he'd normally speak. “Anyway, I'm done. You can get dressed now.”

I.C stared at him for a while, cogs turning in his head. His stomach churned with something deeply unpleasant and his heart rate picked up. He shakily stepped down from the pedestal and rushed over to where his pants were hanging up, suddenly feeling far too exposed in front of Tailor. He dressed quickly, chewing on his bottom lip until it was swollen and sore.

A number of unwelcome images were flitting through his mind; Tailor and his own girlfriend spending time together in this very room, alone. Long hours, late into the night. The few times they'd all been together he'd noticed the way Tailor looked at her, he'd thought nothing of it at first but he really looked at her; intense, holding her eye contact for far longer than necessary. And then there were the subtle touches, how he'd sometimes touch her hair to neaten out flyaways, or place a hand on the small of her back when they were talking. On a number of their dates, I.C had turned up to her house and he had been there, apparently helping her get ready. So he'd seen her undressed, hadn't he? Must've done, at the very least for her dress fitting with him all those months ago. She was beautiful, of course, any man would…

He let the thought fall flat and frowned to himself.

“Rick.” He started, his back to the other man. He heard him hum in acknowledgement. “Do you- uhh, well, are you-” He kept stalling on his words, he could not for the life of him get them out.

“Spit it out, I have another client arriving soon.”

“You're doing it for her, aren't you? You'll book us the table and give the owner a discount on your work for her sake.” I.C pointed out, turning around to look at him. Tailor raised his head to meet his gaze, eyes slightly widened.

“Who else? She's been a real help to me these past few-”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Came his follow up question, shutting Tailor up instantly.

The room was silent for a while, the two men simply staring each other in the eye.

“Yes. I'm in love with her, com-completely head over heels.” Tailor started, straightening up and rolling his eyes, totally breaking eye contact as he disinterestedly continued with what he was doing; rolling up his tape measure. “That's why I'm going through all this hassle; so she can go on a bloody date with you – Christ, what're you thinking? Get out of here. Morty will take your partial payment as you leave, I-I-I expect the rest when you come for your fitting once the suit is done. I'll make any necessary adjustments then.”

I.C was hit with a whole host of emotions, one after the other, and he didn't have time to work them out. Instead, he simply found himself nodding like a dumbass and scurrying towards the door. Before he left, he turned and cleared his throat before gearing himself up for what he was about to say.

“In- in that case. Would you- I'd appreciate it if you did, ahh, speak to the owner about that table. She deserves to be spoiled for just one night, doesn't she?”

“I will do my best and let you know by the end of the week.” Tailor replied without looking up, he was back at his desk, doing what appeared to be busywork.

“Thank you, Rick. You know, this is really going to-”

“It's nothing. Anything for the love of my life, do take care of her, won't you?”

I.C could hear the smirk in his voice and clenched his teeth, embarrassment rising hot below his skin. He left before he had the chance to say anything else.

Asshole.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #oc ricks #tailor rick #ice cream rick #fanfiction #my ocs

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