"If Aizen-sama deems it so, then surely you deserve to die."
"You really think that's true?"
"It's not important what I think."
There was a stagnant pause that clung to the heavy air. The chains around Ichigo's hands and ankles jingled loudly as he stepped forward, the sound echoing off the solid walls. Inside, Ulquiorra silently begged for him to stop coming closer, even as he made no move to escape himself. He felt the insects in his stomach begin to scramble hurriedly as Ichigo's cut-up, dirty hands reached up to cup his chin the best they could in their bound state.
Ulquiorra wanted to turn away. He wanted to leave the room, and the boy, behind. He wanted to forget everything, but he had the crushing awareness that he would not. He could not, after all of this time, let it go. Let him go.
"Ulquiorra." Ichigo's voice nearly trembled. Had Ulquiorra been pretending not to see the wetness in the others eyes, his voice gave away the emotions ravaging the teen. Emotions that seemed to soak through his skin and into him as well, as Ulquiorra felt his throat tighten. "Even if it's not important…"
"Stop." Ulquiorra demanded, not taking his eyes away from Ichigo's pleading ones.
"I want to know…" Ichigo ignored the command, ever still the stubborn brat.
"Ichigo." Ulquiorra shook his head, bringing his hands to Ichigo's, fully intending to remove them from his face but finding he could only hold them there.
"Will you miss me when I'm gone?"
--TBC
