He was burning.
Blisters boiled over the expanse of his alabaster flesh, blood leaked from his steaming sockets, and he howled in excruciating pain. Perspiration dripped from his neck, trickling down his body and falling into the remains of his sweat soaked nightshirt. He could barely move, paralyzed from his lower half as he was branded by an iron barb. This shouldn't be happening, not to him. He was a mere child, and already he suffered against this treacherous torment, he was too young.
Fear
Panic
Dread
All three mocked his fragile conscience, poked at the resolve leisurely breaking, clouded any shred of light hope gave. He was alone. Nobody would come to his rescue, this is where he will die
At the age of ten.
His screams tore through the night air, echoing off the spacious walls that confined him, piercing his damaged ear drums. He was thrown back. A flash of white blinded him as his skull collided into stone, cracking in a profound retaliation. And he gritted his teeth.
Once again he was yanked by his tangled strands, razor sharp nails clawing into his scalp and shoving his face in filthy bathwater.
Why isn't he scared? Why is he fighting? He was in danger, coming face to face with Death, his life was on the line. He was just a kid, had a billion more memories to fill until his time. So, why does he feel this sense of hatred for his captor, why is he acting this way? He didn't know, but one thing was certain, he had to get away.
He choked on the frenetic air bubbles he gave life to, his veins pulsing and reddening his skin, his nose burning. He prayed, silently pleading for this terror to end. He swore he would be good, listen to everything his parents told him. Little did he know they were dead, nonexistent, like he will soon be.
He paused, brows creased above his deep-sea irises, and halted his actions. There was no god, even if there was, he was abandoned by him long ago. He had but one last question, seeked the answer he never obtained. Why does he deserve this?
His vision blurred, fading with each passing second as his lids closed. It was too late. This was his cruel fate, he'd pass on.
Quietly he rested, falling into a heavy weighted slumber, drowning in a never ending abyss.
It was over.
Slowly he opened his eyes, squinting from the intense rays staring back at him. He wasn't in his cell, no, he was someplace else. The usual cracks of stone was replaced with pure tiles, not a single speck of color on the plain walls. Not to mention, four sets of eyes looked at him, studied him, analyzed him as some sort of conducted experiment.
One of the two men stood to his right, the other on his left. And he was then bombarded with millions of questions. He subjected to the usual treatment of the emotionally damaged, treated as broken glass.
Are you alright? What's your name? Do you know who you are? Where you are? How old are you? Do you have any family? Friends? Can you speak? Are you immobile? Why aren't you answering?
No, he wasn't alright. He didn't know who he was either, or where he was. He didn't remember his age, why would they want to know? What will they gain from that information? Yes, he could speak perfectly fine. He just didn't feel like talking. He wasn't immobile, and sure as hell didn't want to waste his breathe on them. But, he did know his name. How could he forget? It was the one thing uttered to him through his kidnapping, through his anguish, whispered in murderous intent. Uryuu Ishida.
...
Twelve years later
"Ishida, I haven't talked to you in a while." The blonde smiled, sipping his share of tea and pouring his guest's, a mischievous aura looming from him. "Tell me, have you came in contact with Kurosaki? Surely you still keep in touch, right?"
Uryuu grimaced, unpleased with the choice of topic. Of course, Urahara was Ichigo's boss after all. He shouldn't have expected anything more than this. But that didn't mean Uryuu was comfortable with it. "I prefer it if he was kept in the dark about it. I have no intention of reconciliation this trip, especially with that idiot."
Kisuke chuckled, heading to his room for the day's retirement. "It's a pity, you used to be such good friends." He reached the door and turned to face the raven, his expression hidden with his worn out hat. "You know, I miss the sound of you two bickering."
And he went inside, leaving Uryuu with his own thoughts
Kurosaki, the idiotic-imbecile that followed him home freshman year, the moron, his child hood friend, and his ex-lover. The hothead was the very reason Ishida was uneasy about his return, he hadn't been in Karakura since the eleventh grade, but it was inevitable. This was work, and Uryuu Ishida always acted professional when it came to his job. He was the most prestigious fiction author alive, the most popular in his career field. And this was a very important project he was working on. Not to mention his temporary apartment was two blocks down the Kurosaki home.
He just had to get settled and deal with the arrangement for three months. Once he received enough reference material for his new book he was able to leave, the sooner the better.
He gathered his belongings and left, mapping his way through the scarce town, stopping at the sight of the local clinic. The only clinic.
It looked more ragged, more aged. It was almost as if it were vacant, that was when the bookworm realized it was. What happened to it? Why isn't it open? Everyone in town loved it, often visited it despite not being injured. It was a major part of Karakura, to him. And here it was, lifeless and forgotten. Alone, just like he was.
It amazed him. How something that brought much joy to the community could close down. Maybe it was financial issues, or its warm feel faded. Either way, it was a waste.
"It was a year ago." Uryuu spun around, surprised to find the one person he didn't want knowing of his arrival. Kurosaki Ichigo.
Although, there were some slight differences in appearance. He was taller, more built, and his layered hair grew shoulder lengh. He was more mature, more sexy, so much that Ishida had to avert his gaze. If he looked any longer he would commit a very distasteful act.
"Goat face moved abroad, he took the girls too." Ichigo drew closer, staring at his old home in longing. "I was wondering when you'd be back. You never told me you were leaving, I heard it from hat and clogs. Six years pass by quickly, don't they?"
No. They don't. But it wasn't like the raven would tell him. If he did, it'd be admitting his life was boring without the carrot top. Something he would never do.
"Why'd you do it?" Uryuu narrowed his eyes, not exactly understanding what the other meant. "You left right after the accident, as if you were abandoning me."
I was.
"I couldn't possibly remember the reason for it this far down the road, Kurosaki."
Ichigo laughed, softly, as if on the verge of tears. "I guess not." He smiled, offering nothing but kindness towards an old friend. "I'm guessing you must be tired. I'll leave now."
Uryuu didn't know why, but he felt a ache in his chest seeing Kurosaki walk away. Whether it was unconsciously or out of impulse, he didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't let the idiot get away. So he did the impossible and swallowed his pride.
"Kurosaki!"
He called out to him.