Author's Note: Yay, a new fic! This particular fic is set in the real world, in Karakura town, and you'll have to use your creative mind and imagine that Ichigo, Hitsugaya, & Co. aren't shinigami, just normal teens. Otherwise this story won't make much sense, huh? This fic will be a lot different from anything else I've ever written before, and it's my first M-rated work.

Disclaimer: In no way do I own Bleach, unfortunately.

Here you go. Enjoy From Me to You.


Today was just like any normal day for Kurosaki Ichigo.

He was your average teenager, nothing terribly special about him. Average grades, average height, but, unlike most kids at his school, Kurosaki Ichigo was terribly popular.

Maybe it was his charisma. That grin of his, that laugh of his, or maybe even that spunky orange hair of his.

But he was in love, in love with someone who seemed to not even acknowledge his existence.

In love with Hitsugaya Toshiro.

The so-called "genius."

Unlike Ichigo, he was anything but average. He had the top grades of the school, and there was nothing normal about his silver hair, either. A thin, lithe body with a height that was shorter than the average high-schooler. He didn't talk much, and he rarely smiled or made eye contact with anyone. He was well-liked by everyone, and he returned their respect, but one was never sure what he was thinking behind his troubled aquamarine eyes.

Ichigo knew there was something wrong with him.

He could tell that Hitsugaya harbored secrets, secrets that he would never tell anyone, but they got around anyway, and now, much to his humiliation, everyone knew.

He hadn't been brought up very well, Ishida had told Ichigo. Hisfather had been killedwhen he was a small child, and in order to support them, his mother had turned to prostitution. She, too, died early on in Hitsugaya's life. He had only been six at the time.

He was taken in by his mother's boss, the man who owned the brothel she had worked at.

Now, Hitsugaya referred to this man as "otou-sama," but they felt no sentimental connection to each other whatsoever. He was grateful to have a roof over his head and clothes to put on his back, but he was so ashamed of his "father's" business. Not to mention that the man was an alcoholic.

And Hitsugaya would often come to school with bandages wrapped around himself and bruises staining his skin.

He never explained why.

But Ichigo knew.


"Hey, um, Toshiro?" Ichigo addressed hopefully, approaching the white-haired boy a few moments after the bell had rung, signifying the conclusion of the day's classes. "I was just wondering, if you wanted to hang out with me and my buddies later? It's Friday, after all."

Hitsugaya looked up from his books, which he had been putting back into his bookbag. He sighed and replied, "I don't know."

"Whaddya mean by that? C'mon, Toshiro."

"I'm sorry," Hitsugaya answered as he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "But, more than likely, the answer is no."

"Shame," Ichigo sighed. "Well, I'll keep my fingers crossed, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Mentally cursing, Ichigo retreated to join Ishida, Chad, and Orihime by the classroom door.

"What'd he say?" Ishida demanded.

"He doesn't know," Ichigo answered sullenly. "I guess he's already got plans or something..."

As the remaining students filed out the door, Hitsugaya noted, that, like usual, he was one of the last ones to leave. And he had good reason to want to lag behind, too, if it meant stalling his return "home." Like he could really call that miserable place "home."

He made his way down the sidewalk, contemplating to himself. Ichigo had often invited him places, but he had always turned down the offer for a variety of reasons. Firstly, it would displease his "father," and secondly, it would take away the time that he needed to tidy up the house, make dinner, do his homework, and finish up all the other chores he needed to. He would like to go out someday, he thought, but at this rate, such a thing would never happen.

Presently, he reached a small house, and he stepped up to the front door, inserting his keys into the lock and releasing it with a click, enabling him to swing the door open and step inside.

It was completely dark inside, and completely deserted as well. This was not a surprise, as he usually returned home approximately two hours or so before his adoptive guardian. He flicked on the light switches, removing his shoes as to not get dirt on the tatami flooring that he kept neatly swept. Placing his bag in the living room, he made his way to the kitchen, surveying it with a sigh. The table was sticky with what he presumed to be dried alcohol, so he wiped it down with a damp paper towel, then proceeding to wash the dirty dishes his "father" had left behind. Then, he got the rice going in the rice cooker before sweeping the broken glass, shards of alcohol bottles,off the tile floor and into the trash.

After vaccuming the living room, he returned to the kitchen to use the table for completing his homework with.

As he flew through his math homework with relative ease, a small click from the rice cooker told him that rice was done steaming. He opened it, spooned a small portion of rice into a bowl, ate, and washed the chopsticks and bowl when he was done. It was all like clockwork, but the worst part of his daily cycle was yet to come.

He returned to the table to complete his math homework, and after a few moments, heard the front door swinging open. Cursing under his breath, Hitsugaya's eyes moved to the clock, noticing that his adoptive father had come home a little earlier than usual.

He didn't have to wait long for the man's heavy footsteps to enter the kitchen, along with a whiff of various odors: Sweat, alcohol, women.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything, boy?"

"Welcome home, otou-sama," Hitsugaya answered quietly without looking up from his writing.

"What're you doing?"

"Homework. For school."

His "father" frowned, watching Hitsugaya scrawl numbers and figures upon his lined sheet of paper. "It's a load of bull," he snorted in disgust as he opened the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of alcohol and popping the lid open, seating himself across the table from Hitsugaya and taking a long swig of the liquid. "Just a whole bunch of numbers and confusing shit, so why're you still doing it?"

"Because," Hitsugaya huffed under his breath, "Because I want to."

"You want to?" the man laughed, as if this was actually something meant to be outrageously funny. "What, you want to go to college and everything? You want to grow up and actually be something? Don't want to end up like your ma and pa, huh, kid? Don't want to end up dead on the streets? Don't wanna end up in some whore house, right? I'll tell you what, boy, you're nothing, and you'll never be anything. You're not going anywhere, you hear me? I'll let you finish up high school, since you seem to like doing those stupid math problems, but after that, you're staying with me. You owe me, Toshiro. Who was it that took you in when both of your miserable parents died on you? Huh? Answer me if you think you're so smart."

"You," Hitsugaya answered in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"That's right, boy, and don't you ever forget that. You owe me your life, and when you graduate, you're going straight to my goddamn brothel with all those other useless sluts and bitches and tramps, you hear me? You're going to make me a couple extra bucks to pay for these damned years that I've been taking care of you."

"Can you shut up?" Hitsugaya demanded in an irritated voice, standing up from his seat angrily. "I'm trying to work."

That hadn't been a very smart thing to say.

The man's eyebrows furrowed in anger as soon as the words had come out of his mouth.

"You sit back down right now, Toshiro," he growled dangerously. "You sit back down right this instant and apologize to me. You have no right to speak to me like that."

"Make me," Hitsugaya retorted fiercely, hatred seeping from his voice.

His "father" stared at him stiffly, clenching his fists, before standing abruptly and slapping Hitsugaya across the face.

The white-haired boy said nothing, his hand jumping to his burning cheek. His silence seemed only to infuriate the man even more, and he did nothing to resist as he seized him by the shirt collar, nearly lifting him off clean into the air, before viciously throwing him to the floor.

Hitsugaya squeezed his eyes shut as his body hit the floor unceremoniously, pain shooting through his entire body. He could feel new bruises forming over the ones that had only just begun to heal.

"What do you have to say for yourself, you little brat?"

He remained silent.

His adoptive guardian knelt down on the floor next to him, seizing his wrist and gripping it with such vicious force that Hitsugaya had to bite down hard on his own tongue to stop himself from crying out.

"Still nothing? Forget it, you're just a stupid little slut, and you'll die like that too. Get out of my sight before I decide keeping you alive anymore is a waste of time."

"Don't touch me, you bastard!" Hitsugaya wrenched himself free from the man's grip, stumbling to his feet and fleeing the kitchen, his guardian's shouts still ringing in his ears.

"I'll do whatever I want, bitch!"

Trying to block out his drunken shouts, Hitsugaya stormed up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door tightly shut behind him, locking it as he went. Panting, he stopped only to observe his small excuse for a bedroom, which contained nothing more than a futon, and a closet.

Muttering angrily to himself, Hitsugaya opened his closet, rummaging through it and taking out a small box, which contained a roll of bandages and ointment that he had purchased with his own money a while ago.

He bandaged his freshly bruised wrist, pulling the bindings taught, wincing in pain as he did so. And to think, he thought bitterly to himself, he could be out with Ichigo and his group, instead of having to live through this hell for yet another damned day.

That was how it was.

Every day, he'd come home from school, make dinner, do his chores quietly and obediently, and finish his homework. Then his so-called "father" would return home, and they'd go through the same routine: They'd argue, he'd get drunk and hit him, or sometimes worse. And all Hitsugaya could do was simply bandage himself up and keep quiet about it so he could return to school the next day with at least a small shred of dignity.