Disclaimer: Neither Bleach nor its characters belong to me.

Hope you enjoy.

The darkness of my small room--if you could call it that, being as it was really a closet--was soothing. It was cool and comfortable and I curled deeper into my blankets. My head pounded and my ribs ached when I breathed, but all I wanted was sleep.

I was still slightly embarrassed by my poor performance in the last fight. I'd needed rescuing. Again. I hated needing anything from anybody. Especially when I already owed him so much.

I heard footsteps, then he slammed the door open, rattling the whole closet. I tried to throw him the dirtiest look I could, but was too tired and in too much pain to exert myself, and the influx of light blinded me. No, he couldn't just leave me at peace.

"What are you doing, you freak?" he yelled. He was obviously irritated, maybe even angry, but he had no reason to be. I willed him to just go away, to leave me alone, but he continued to stare me down. "You're injured. You can't sleep in this cramped space! And don't argue with me. You're sleeping in my sisters' room, got it?"

And with that he threw me over his shoulder. I gasped sharply. Pain shot through my body and I struggled to breathe. "Are you kidding me? Is this you trying to take care of me? By putting me up in your sisters' room? 'Cause you're doing a terrible job, throwing me over your shoulder like a bag of laundry! You're just making everything worse. Put me down right now!" I shouted, and pounded a small fist on his hard shoulder blade, which only caused me the pain I was attempting to inflict on him.

Then I hit the floor with a thud.

"Ouch! That really hurt!" I moaned, rubbing my backside. Now I really was sore all over. "Are trying to make me feel worse?" I glared up at him.

But his eyes said differently. He looked down at me and his amber eyes were glazed over and appeared pained, though I knew his latest injuries were healed already. He just stared at me and chewed on his lower lip, his jaw clenched and tight.

I tugged on his pant leg, trying to snap him out of his revere, his daze. "Hey I'm okay, really; just help me back to your room."

He didn't move as I struggled to pick myself up, but as I limped passed him headed toward his room he ducked under my arm and put a hand around my waist, supporting my weight. I limped over to his bed and sat down, wiped by that small release of energy. After, uncharacteristically, making sure I was comfortable, he sat at his desk and pretended to study, but I knew he was distracted. I watched for a while, pretending to rest. He looked troubled, worn too. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were dark, clouded, partially hidden by his soft orange hair splayed across his forehead. He was definitely upset, but I didn't know why.

After a while, the light in the room changed. I turned around to gaze out the window and saw the sun setting slowly. The sky was painted with golds and oranges. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair and found it greasy and disgusting, and remembered I hadn't bathed in a while.

He jumped up when I started for the door.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"To take a bath. Do you have an objection you'd like to voice about this too?" I snapped, perhaps too caustically.

He immediately looked away and blushed slightly. He slumped and returned to his seat, rubbing his head and muttering, "Call me if you get hurt or something and I'll get Yuzu."

After bathing, I returned to his room, dressed, but my hair still dripped wet. I looked for my brush and struggled for a while to run it through the mess. It was hard, with my right hand in a cast and my left hand being totally uncoordinated. The room was dark now, but he had a lamp on and it provided a little light. He still sat at his desk over various textbooks as I drifted in my thoughts.

I heard his chair screech and he snatched the brush out of my hand. I was ready to yell at him but he spoke softly with a somber look on his face and said, "Let me." With that, he began to gently run the brush through my hair, working slowly and thoroughly I sat there in minor shock. My back was to him as he sat behind me on the bed. He was surprisingly gentle, but I was afraid to turn around, to see his face as he did this kind act. This wasn't like him at all. But as he worked through all the knots and mats until the brush ran through smoothly, my heart swelled and tightened, and my breathing became more difficult.

When he stopped, we sat silently in the semidarkness. I kept my back stiff and straight and blood pounded in my head, continued to throb mercilessly. I wanted-no, needed sleep. I just wanted to escape into my dreams...

But I couldn't move. I could hear his steady breathing behind me and couldn't will myself to move.

He cleared his throat and asked cautiously, "Are...are you still in any pain?"

I shrugged and immediately regretted it as pain reverberated throughout my body. "A little," I lied.

There was a moment of silence before he whispered, barely audible, "I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. He always did this, and I hated it. He always blamed himself for my weakness, for my injuries. "Don't," I said, and turned slightly to look at him.

He leaned against the wall behind him and ran his hand over his face. His skin was pale in the moonlight and the glow of the small lamp on his desk. He didn't look at me, but stared at the ceiling, appearing deep in thought.

"Don't do this...again. You didn't do this," I tried to convince him.

He continued to look at the ceiling as he shook his head. "I should have protected you though. I should've been able to stop-"

My soft touch on his jaw made him pause mid-sentence. I felt it, the bolt of electricity that flowed between our bodies at my touch, and I knew he did too. It ravaged my already vulnerable heart. His eyes shifted sharply to meet mine, and I held their amber gaze firmly. I could see all that he was feeling through his eyes at that moment: regret, anger, sorrow. He was hating himself, blaming himself for my state. I shook my head. "Stop. Not tonight…please."

He continued to hold my eyes for a moment before nodding slowly in agreement. I removed my fingertips from his strong jaw, his warm skin, and started to turn away. Before I could stand up, however, he pulled me backwards, so that my back lay against his chest. His arms wrapped around my waist and he held me snugly against him. He rested his forehead on my shoulder as he said, "Just for a moment, please? I need to know you're…here…you're okay."

Again, I closed my eyes and secretly relished his touch. I let myself relax and hugged his arms tightly. No complaints came from my ribs. We sat on the foot of his bed, holding each other, for what I hoped was eternity, but was probably a mere five minutes. His soft breathing rythmed into a lullaby and brought me to the edge of sleep. Then, right before releasing me, he pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of my neck, a kiss that burned my skin and squeezed my heart. My heart rate tripled and I felt hot blood rush to my face. He knew how I felt--how I said I felt--but I knew he knew how I really felt. Deep down, I didn't want him to let go, ever. I felt safe and loved and beautiful in his strong arms. But he did. He released his grip around my waist and crawled off the bed, away from me. I felt so cold without his warmth engulfing me. But as I went to stand, his arms came beneath my legs and behind my back, and he lifted me off the bed. He cradled me close to his chest and I felt like a small, weak child in his strong hold. He then placed my head upon his pillow and covered me with his blankets. Somewhere in my mind I objected, but I had lost the ability to speak.

"You can sleep here tonight," he whispered. He reached, hesitated, then reached again to brush a strand of raven hair from my face. Again, I felt like a child, with him standing over me like he was. Subconsciously, I turned into his hand resting gently on my temple and cheek. We kept eye contact, and it felt as if his gaze was burning a hole into my soul. I couldn't even nod a response.

He pulled away and backed towards the closet. "Get some rest," he said as he climbed into my closet. My heart clenched tightly in my chest as he slid the door shut. My heart rate didn't slow any. I still felt him holding me, still felt his gaze on me.

I loved him. There was no denying it. He might know, but we could never be. Too many obstacles stood in our way. And I'd already broken his heart once. But as my heart slowly shattered, as I turned my head into the pillow, as I buried myself deeper into the blankets, as silent tears slipped from my eyes, I let my mind drift off to sleep with the memory of myself in his arms re-playing over and over until the darkness overcame me.