Turn away,
If you could get me a drink
Of water 'cause my lips are chapped and faded
Call my Aunt Marie
Help her gather all my things
And bury me in all my favourite colours,
My sisters and my brothers, still,
I will not kiss you,
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you.

Now turn away,
'Cause I'm awful just to see
'Cause all my hairs abandoned all my body,
Oh, my agony,
Know that I will never marry,
Baby, I'm just soggy from the chemo
But counting down the days to go
It just ain't living
And I just hope you know

That if you say (if you say)
Goodbye today (goodbye today)
I'd ask you to be true (cause I'd ask you to be true)
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you
'Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you

Orihime Inoue squinted her dull gray doe gaze, lost in an unbreakable daze as she glimpsed through the glass panes; the harsh pitter-patter ricocheted against the windows, the stray pellets refracting from the surface like a projectile against a sheet of bulletproof glass. Each liquid shrapnel threatened to shatter the pane with the dense mass, as crystal shards began to scutter in a scattered trance, taking up the visage of hailstone. The storm was miserably vigorous, as though determined to obliterate the entire nation's moods, to abolish all things good in Japan. The lightning flashed against the ironically dim incandescent canvas, as the moon lurked high in the sky, as the billowing storm clouds shielded the country from the de rigueur light source, casting shadows of iniquity everywhere she glimpsed. She counted the seconds, a futile form of entertainment, devised only to distract her from her paranoid state, before the thunder cracked throughout the raucous air, rupturing the sky into a mass of minute shards. Nightfall had never looked so sinister.

Orihime wasn't even sure where she was headed, as she studied the mass blur of greenery and woodlands whiz by in an eager pursuit, causing time to hasten by the second, lighting a trace of joy in her mind; her ears pinned back as the steady beat of the train's rhythmic clickety-clack overwhelmed the dismal tempest, her knees drawn up against her chest as her breaths became shallow, her heart building up enough momentum to escape it's hollow imprisonment. A beam of moonlight began to crack from behind the trees, blazing a beacon of hope for the young runaway, as she shifted her gaze, catching a glimpse of her ghostly reflection in the glass pane before her.

Her platinum eyes shadowed a thousand years of anguished heartache, her malaised state slitting scars across her soul with her martyrdom; she was a mere 17 years old, a young woman barely an adult, escaping the angst veiling her previous life in Karakura Town; despite her young age, she had the image of an older citizen, her scars inflicting much distortion to her once flawless features. The innocent gaze she once loved was now varnished with a distinct trait of fear, the paranoia of whom might be watching her and when capturing her callous vessel in a bed of strident flames; the lashes themselves scattered across the ground each time she blinked, causing the red-ringed daze to look all the more bare, struck with a rouged bloodshot effect across her once pearl white sclera. Her once burning hair became absent from her singed scalp, not a single auburn lock remaining cascading from her throbbing skull. All these wounds were the scars she donned under duress, due to her Cancer treatments from over the past year.

The Chemotherapy she had been put through had taken her to Hell and back, as the venom surged through her veins, exploding a mass of heated flares to spread like a virus, engulfing her nerves into a glaring inferno. The scattered embers inflicted pain far worse than she could ever have imagined, drawing out harsh screams each time she caught a glimpse of the dreaded white coats congregating around her barely conscious body. She couldn't take it. Having to lose all of her beauty, the sole features she held all her confidence on, on the off-chance that she might survive, a mere 37% possibility that she would live, it just wasn't enough of a trade to bear. She knew in her heart that she would rather die than face another round of treatment. Her friends insisted that she was over-reacting, but what the hell did they know? Did they have the sadists pumping the toxic into their bodies? Did they sate each day pondering the chances of living another day? Did they have tornadoes brewing inside of their bodies, rupturing and shattering all of their vital organs upon faint contact? No. She would rather die than face another dose of Chemotherapy.

She stammered sobs against her dry, chapped lips, biting down to quieten her cries, cringing as she drew blood from the slashed wounds engraved on the tenuous flesh. She took the sleeve of her V-neck, staining the fabric with her stinging tears, her heart becoming crestfallen as she saw the final lashes flicker from her barren eyelids. She sat clad in a rushed attire, disorderly and un-coordinated, as she'd shrugged on a blue and white pin-striped shirt, with long sleeves and three diamond buttons at the neckline, and a pair of baggy jeans, paired with Converse, so that wherever the train stopped, she was well-equipped for long-distance running. She clutched on to a pale blue rucksack, containing her asthma inhaler, a borrowed baseball cap and a patterned hooded sweatshirt, just in case she had to hide her identity, which at some point, she knew she probably would have to.

She shifted her gaze away, refusing to look at the unattractive imposter, glancing up startled to find a sulking train inspector, barking at her for what had to be the hundredth time, holding out his palm to see her ticket. She gulped, sensing a storm heavier than the one outside arousing within the train carriage; she couldn't admit that she'd jumped fares; she'd have to play along, as she put her infirm acting skills to good use. She feigned searching through her rucksack for her non-existent purse, holding her head low so that he would not recognize any vital features, her brows creasing in an anxious manner; she imitated a stunned gasp, her hands trembling as she hid her gaze from the distempered man.

"I... I'm terribly sorry, Sir; I must have dropped it..."
"Tough, you'll have to pay for another one, or you'll be thrown off." She glimpsed out of the window, studying the tumultuous weather reaching turbulent levels, as the gods raged with a merciless wrath, violent gales blasting across the fragile trees.
"Please... I don't have any more money, and it's simply inhumane to kick me off into this weather." She met his narrowed gaze, her puppy dog pupils begging for him to show some sort of compassion or mercy on her grieving soul.
"Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to leave at the next stop."
"Please..."
"If you're unwilling to co-operate, then I will have no other option but to call the police, and report you for refusing to pay fares."

She ducked her head in shame, biting her lip under the pressure; she couldn't let herself be arrested. The police surely knew she was missing by now. If the police found her, they'd take her back to the hospital to continue her so-called treatment. She shook her head, determined to continue her journey, determined to escape from the medical torture, or die trying. Ever-so-slightly, she nodded, her bruised lips shadowing a faint trace of a sorry smile, uttering an apology as she shifted her gaze away towards the outdoor scenery.

"When's the next stop?" In the reflection of the glass, she saw the inspector check his wristwatch, before giving his reply.
"5 minutes, Ma'am. I'll be waiting here until then to make sure you get off." She nodded, blanking reality with a disjointed hum, a commiserable attempt to amplify the remnants of happiness she had left in her cold heart. She became lost in a trance, her eyes following the trees as they swept by in a blur, clutching her bag closer to her heart as her hoarse throat crooned a nursery rhyme, as though forcing herself to appear mentally stable. In reality, she knew the truth.

The train soon came to a sudden halt, jolting her body forward with a droning screech, the sound of the steel wheels straining against the railway track, igniting sparks under the buoyant train.
"Your stop, ma'am. Next time, don't lose your ticket." She rose with a sense of despair leaking into the atmosphere, as she made a swift exit onto the platform, keeping her head ducked low, raising her gaze fractionally for the womens' toilets. She didn't once glance up to check where she was, but she hoped it was somewhere regions away from Karakura Town. She pushed through the blithely chattering crowds, mostly built up of people her own age, as she stretched her hand out to open the door, cursing as the harsh shove sent tingles of pain back up her wrist; she frowned, attempting again to open it, finding the door to be locked, a wave of panic rising in her heart. She shifted her gaze across to the right, finding a man step out of the adjacent door, whistling freely. She lowered her head, smiling weakly as his attention became caught on her, stepping forward as his towering figure shadowed over her stunted height, as she gulped, a surge of consternation flooding through her. Shit… does he recognise me from somewhere?

"If you're desperate sweetheart, there's no one in the Mens', and I can keep watch to make sure no one goes in." She tilted her head, confounded by his words, before realization hit her, nodding and playing along with his kind, albeit slightly perverse, gesture.
"Thank you, Tabibito-san!" He chuckled softly, running his hand through his slick chestnut hair, unfolding a newspaper from under his arm. She took a glimpse at his attire, noting the black suit to be comparable to that of a business suit, or possibly a funeral outfit, as she tore her gaze away, unwilling to pry into his personal life.
"Please, call me Hashigawa."

Orihime flushed at his boldness, before shaking her head, rushing into the mens' toilets in hope that the citizens were too busy sucked into their own worlds, so that they wouldn't notice. She froze upon entering, holding her breath against the putrid stench arousing from within commode, glancing around at the stale features of the so-called restroom. Above her head, a droning light flickered on and off, attracting all sorts of insects to the alluring rays, casting an unearthly yellow glow across the off-white tiling and pasty walls. The jaundiced wallpaper was peeling away from the plastered walls, with flies buzzing around the cubicles, vast cultures of mould rising against the wall parallel to her.

A row of urinals were positioned against the wall, directly next to the door, and appeared to be the only features clean, with a faint smell of bleach rising into the air. The sinks were located to her right, as the broken enamel had graffiti engraved into the basins, the soap containers empty, with used tissues blocking the plugholes in each one. Spray painted murals adorned the mildew growing near the hand-dryers, depicting what appeared to be an anime man, performing vulgar actions with his hands; she scowled, forcing herself to admit the art work at least was pretty well drawn, but all other aspects of the lavatories were simply unhygienic and nauseating.

Dusty mirrors were positioned above the washbasins, the middle one cracked, whereas the other two were stained with a questionable brown smear splodged across the glass. She sighed, taking her luck with the middle mirror, unwilling to get any closer to another person's excretion than necessary. She tip-toed across the damp tiled flooring, wincing as her black Converse stepped in something dubious, as she positioned herself in front of the fissured mirror, tearing her gaze away as she caught a glimpse of her fragmented visage; she retrieved her inhaler, shaking it in a timorous grasp, before holding it to her pouted lips, sucking in a deep, and well craved, breath, preparing herself to equip her virtuoso camouflage.

She tugged the black sweatshirt over her torso, struggling when it came to her Everest breasts, yanking it down as it covered her chest snugly; the white brick pattern tilted across the plane of her chest, with the words "Oops, a memory" splattered across it in a blood sprayed effect, the scarlet font burning strong against the gloomier colours. It wasn't her typical choice for clothing, but in desperation, she had asked her old male friend to leave it behind whilst she was in hospital, claiming that she wanted something of his to die beside, should the occasion come to it; she was certain his clothes would be spacious enough for her hefty chest, a prediction she had been right about, as it concealed her sole remaining feminine feature from the naked eye, allowing her to take on the form of a man. Although she hated the thought of lying to her dear childhood friend, if she was well enough to run away successfully, to escape the hospital with not a single glance at the obvious fugitived patient, then she didn't need the medical attention, or the help. She was getting on just fine as it was.

She tugged on the baseball cap over her bare head, pausing as she began to tuck her strand of hair in, before remembering she didn't have any to hide; frowning despondently, she flicked her hood up over her cap with a simple motion, masking her face with the sly shadows veiling her upper face, leaving her lips the remaining visible facial trait. An astute smirk plastered across her lips, as liberty became all the more within her reach, with each moment gazing at the stranger before her. Freedom would soon be hers.

She took a few moments to prepare herself, bouncing on the balls of her feet in a masculine manner, deepening her voice into a burly tone, bulking her shoulders up once satisfied. She slung the backpack over one shoulder, grasping onto the strap with a virile hand, lifting her head as a pack of apparent men entered the toilets, hollering and bellowing in a drunken manner, all three men reeking of cheap alcohol as they took their positions at the urinals, their words slurred as though talking a different language. Their incoherent conversation caught her eye, as she frowned, remembering how that Hashigawa man had said he'd keep watch. Was he really one of those perverts? Was he just going to let her go in to the toilets, and let all sorts of men walk in? She scowled under her hood, keeping her masculinity from waning under her perplexity, as she lingered in the background, certain that if she kept still, they wouldn't notice her presence. She took a moment to study all three men in turn, listening in to their babbling, drunken states spout unintelligent, idiotic crap.

"Ichigo, man! Seriously, when are you gunna get laid, dude?" Her eyes grew at the infancy of the man's voice, her mind certain that he couldn't have been any older than her, what with his high-pitched voice. "I mean, c'mon, just take that Chizuru, for example. I've done her! She's easy!" He turned partially, giving Orihime a peek into his image, noting his tanned baby-face, definitely certain that he must have been 14, maximum. His medium-long dark brown hair flipped outward, into a tousled bob, with bangs covering a fraction of his forehead, and slim brown eyes. He stood clad in what she assumed to have once been a plain white t-shirt, now swathed with a tint of brown, as though he'd spilt a drink, and a pair of baggy jeans, sneakers, and a bright blue hoodie.

"Heh… Nice try, Keigo; man, pretty sure she has… you know, alternative tastes."
"Ichigo! Don't embarrass me!"
"There's only me, you, and Chad, and we all know she's into chicks,"
"But… but... there's no need to be so blunt about it! Besides, my point still stands! Get a chick, already!"

The man she assumed to be Ichigo turned away from the urinal, finishing his duty as he took out a cigarette from his pocket, igniting it with a flame-patterned lighter. She stood glued to her spot, her hidden eyes tracking his movements, absorbing his distempered scowls as his irate gaze locked onto her presence. In comparison to his friend, his voice was rough and strident, reflecting his flamed spikes of hair forming around his skull in a mane like fashion; his eyes were a deep chocolate, mirroring what appeared to be a rebellious passion, revolting against anything in his path. The inclement stink of musk shadowed the air, a mix of tobacco and an extra ingredient, as he took a drag, flicking the ashes from the tip of the joint. He spat against the ground, pacing around similarly to a wolf on the hunt. His tightly-fit clothing hugged his body, as his black shirt had a white horizontal stripe cutting across the breast bone, as a peculiar design adorned his muscled torso: a white skull of some sort, with golden irises and black sclera gleaming from behind its masque, and nine crimson stripes adorning the skull in various places. His acid-stained skinny jeans embraced his legs, finishing off his tall, lanky build with a pair of black Converse, identical to the pair she wore. Over his admittedly unsettling shirt design, he donned a black jacket, soaked partially from the outside weather. The other men behind him turned, Keigo pouting at the new face, whereas the taller Hispanic man, who must have been Chad, simply gave her a neutral look that read "You are in so much shit".

"Who the hell are you?"
"O..." She paused, knowing that it would be foolish to give her real name, given that she was now a male. Dammit, think of something, quickly! She feigned her deep voice, letting the words flow from her heart. "Arashi Hisoka."
"Right; Secret storm? Don't tell me you actually thought I'd believe that shit?"
"Believe whatever you want, dude. It's my name. Your name is Ichigo. Don't tell me you expect me to believe that, strawberry." She gulped silently as she saw the glowered embers on his face, praying to God she could take back her banter.

"Fair play to yer; besides, not like I actually give a shit." He shrugged, turning away as he took another drag, as though surrendering the battle.
"Then why ask?" She bit her lip, cursing herself for continuing, swallowing her fears as she felt his overwhelming presence shadow over her, a debauched nature corrupting the air around them. He blew out the smoke into her face, causing her to cough in a feminine manner, shattering her disguise in an instant.
"Because it's none of yer fucking business, short-ass. Now shut it, and get out. Unless yer looking to buy, that is." She bit her lip, shaking her head as she refused to even think about purchasing drugs; besides, she didn't have the money for it, and even if she did, she'd be putting it towards much more beneficial requirements.

"Then get out."
"W-wait!"
"What?"
"Where… where is this?"
"Gents, why where the fuck d'you think you are?"
"I meant…. What town, what region?"
"How do you not know?"

"I…" She gulped, figuring that she should probably just confess; he looked like a criminal, they were definitely not the sort to gas to the police, right? "I'm a runaway. I jumped the train, and I got caught, and thrown off here." A grin plastered over his face, as he whacked her on the back with a rough yet ironically friendly shove.

"Am I right to guess your name was fake, then?" She remained silent, holding her head low as she kept eye contact on her shoes. "And the reason why you're hiding your face, and doing a crappy impersonation of a deep voice?" She bit her lip, fidgeting in his presence, cursing herself silently as a whimper escaped her system, revealing her gender to the group instantly, with the mere pitch of her voice. Ichigo grinned, his hand edging to tug down her hood, as she snapped to attention, shoving him away as she convulsed her body away from his touch.

"Don't look at me!" The stammers in her voice were clear, as her tone returned to its typical, naïve self, her clumsy hands struggling to tighten the drawstrings placed at the bottom of her hood; her vision became blocked, as she turned blind from the fabrics shielding her eyes, waves of panic crashing over her through slick sobs filling the air. "I said don't look at me… I can't even look at myself…" Her breathing turned hollow under her makeshift visor causing her sightless state, holding out her weak arms to push him away, in case he came close to her. "I… I…" Her arms felt limp as she scrambled around in her rucksack, searching for her inhaler with her hands, clutching onto it with a strident grasp. She shook it in the air, whining as she felt it vanish from her hands, as Ichigo swiped it from her hold, studying the name label adorned across the body.

"Ple… Please… God… I… I need that…"
"Orihime Inoue, nice to meet you."
"No… Please… Give it… n'uh… give it back…"
"Show us your face, and we'll hand it back."
"No… no…"
"Why? Surely you can't be that ugly." He grinned at his taunts, watching the woman before him struggle against the grimy floor.
"I… I… Cancer… I… No…"

He froze for a moment, kneeling before her as a wave of tenderness swept over him.
"You're that chick with cancer that ran away from the hospital, right?"
"I… I… Gimme…" He nodded, pushing it into her eager grasp, her hyperventilation spiking her pulse to dangerous levels with each moment that passed by. She shook it once more, taking another inhale, slowing her huffs down as she began to arrange the words in her head.
"Yeah… I am…"
"The hell did you do that for? You're crazy, you'll die out here."
"That's… that's sort of the point…" She bit her lips, taking another gasp of air to fill her lungs. "The medication was hell; they swore it wouldn't hurt…" He rolled his eyes, helping her stand slowly, untightening the drawstrings around her throat, much to her dismay.

"Relax, I won't look. You're insane, though. You should be back in hospital."
"Don't send me back… please; don't send me back to that hell!"
"Shit, chill out, I'm not doing owt. You should turn yourself in though. Everyone's going mental about you."
"I don't care… I'm not going back there."
"Tch, whatever, what do I care? What are you planning to do out here, anyway?"
"Run."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
"Some plan you got there."
"I don't need your input; leave me alone," She pushed past him, wiping the dust from her as she placed her hand on the door handle. "I made it this far, didn't I?" She pressed down on the handle, trudging towards the doorway with her head held low.

"Be a shame, though." She paused, pivoting on her heels as she met his gaze behind her veiled eyes.
"Shame?"
"Since you're so insistent that you're in such good health, we could use a guy like you."
"What…?" She watched him finish the joint, flicking it to the ground as he stamped the flame out with a gentle trod of his heel.
"We know something about you, something you probably don't want getting out?" She gulped at his implications, unwilling to think on just what the hell she'd got herself into.
"What do you want?"

His smirk stretched across his face, darker than nightfall, laced with more malevolence than she had ever seen in one man, a complete personality change compared to the gentle side she'd hoped to leave with. She didn't know where she's heard his name before, and she still didn't know where she was, how far away she was from her so-called home, but she knew one thing for sure: there was no way he was going to go easy on her. Not in a million years.

Shit.

A/N: Hello :3 this may be a little confusing, but I promise it will sort itself out in the end. Anywho, lyrics are of course Cancer by My Chemical Romance. Enjoy mah friends! Reviews much appreciated c: Tabibito = Traveler, stranger, or tourist, so yeah, Orihime said "Mister Stranger"