Chapter Two
A/N: Happiness writes white. Sorry I took so long to update. Chapters will get longer the further we get into the story, so bear with me!
"All right, Grimmjow?" a nurse's voice cut into the soft cello music playing in the small room.
"Yeah."
Ichigo laid back on the floor, trying not to eavesdrop while he stared at the smooth white ceiling. Yoga therapy. It seemed like a superfluous title. Wasn't yoga always therapeutic?
"What are you doing?"
Ichigo closed his eyes.
"Wallowing in self-pity, staring into the abyss, wrestling with my self-loathing, and staring at the ceiling, slowly slipping into madness," Grimmjow replied, a laugh scarcely concealed in his tone.
"How the Grinch Stole Christmas," Ichigo said unthinkingly, brown eyes opening and a smile curling around his lips in appreciation.
Grimmjow gave a quiet, low laugh in response somewhere across the room, and there was the muted sound of shuffling as he rolled over.
"All right, let's all get up and stretch now."
Feeling tired, Ichigo dove under the blankets in his hospital bed, kicking his shoes off haphazardly as he burrowed under the sheets and comforter. He threw his phone sideways on to the bedside table, and curled his fingers into the sheets, pulling them free accidentally from the mattress.
There was a knock at the door, and Ichigo sat upright somewhat belatedly as it swung open, his orange hair looking bed-mussed.
"Here Mr. Kurosaki," the shy, redheaded, young nursing student said as she walked in with a tray of medication and a glass of water. An older nurse supervised her from a few feet away - it must have been her first time working here.
"Oh, thanks," Ichigo replied half-heartedly, reaching for the pills laid out on the napkin. "What are they?"
"Oh, um, uhh—"
"Equetro, Risperdal, and Diazepam. The Diazepam is just for while you're here. You said you were having trouble sleeping," Dr. Unohana said as she stepped into the room after the nurses, looking unusually frazzled.
Ichigo winced, suddenly regretting that admission. "Oh, yeah, thanks," he said mutely, supposing it was better than never getting any sleep. Reluctantly, he took the medication, sipping on the glass of water afterward as he watched the nurses shuffle from the room.
Dr. Unohana sighed heavily, falling into the chair with rolling wheels a few feet away. "How did you like yoga?" she asked, folding her hands into her lap.
"A lot, it was good," Ichigo said enthusiastically as he leaned back against his pillows, a small smile creeping over his lips as he thought about the energetic, blue-haired patient.
"Good," she replied. "I've also got you scheduled for art therapy after breakfast, and group DBT in the afternoon before lunch."
"Okay."
The doctor frowned sympathetically. "Do you have any questions?"
"No."
"None about the new medications?"
"How long do I have to be here?" Ichigo asked, a sudden feeling of itching rage swelling in his chest.
"Just until we see that you don't have any adverse responses to the new medication, and that it's working," Unohana said reassuringly. "At minimum, two weeks. At most, less than two months."
"Okay."
Ichigo awoke the next day with a swollen tongue, dizzy, and tired. He could hardly keep his eyelids open. He tried to ask the nurse if he was okay, if this was normal, but found it impossible to form words as he was herded out the door and to breakfast.
Stumbling over his own feet, he somehow found himself seated in the quiet cafeteria again. Or maybe he just couldn't hear, but it seemed quiet, either way.
He wasn't sure if there was food in front of him, but his nurse had vanished, so he just sat still. He wasn't going to risk looking like an idiot as he fumbled around for a tray of food that may or may not be in front of him.
He tried harder to open his eyes, but found them reluctantly drooping again. It was hard to focus, anyway.
"Hey," a voice cut into his delirium.
A hand shook his shoulder lightly.
"Hey," he replied hoarsely.
"You should eat, it'll make the side effects wear off sooner," the person sitting next to him informed.
Ichigo tried to nod and found himself leaning heavily against the person, as his muscles gave in from exhaustion. He tried to make a mental note to say whatever dose they gave him of whatever, was way too much.
There was a barking laugh. "I get the feeling," the man he was leaning against responded. If the redhead had the ability to feel embarassed right then, he figured he would, because he wasn't even sure what he had said out loud. He hadn't known he could speak at all.
He forced himself upright and off of the warm shoulder of the guy next to him, the warmth only serving to make him more drowsy. He sloppily reached in front of himself, and found a slice of an apple. Immensely relieved that he could open his eyes enough to see, he took a bite of the fruit, and turned his head to see who was sitting next to him.
He found amused blue eyes, and familiar tousled blue hair. He let his eyes sleepily roam over the unique facial features of the other man, something he hadn't done their first couple of meetings.
He turned back to his plate - as it turned out, yes, there was a plate of food in front of him - and reached for a couple crackers, hoping they would soothe his unsettled stomach.
Grimmjow stood up suddenly. "Be right back, getting myself a plate," he said, and Ichigo nodded as he continued to pick at his food.
He sipped some water, and the swelling of his tongue went down a little. Grimmjow came back a few minutes later, and they finished breakfast together.
"I have art therapy," Ichigo said after he started to stand up, still feeling unsteady but slowly gathering his bearings.
Grimmjow grinned, scooping up another bite of cereal. "You should get going then, I think it's already started," he said as Ichigo dumped his plate into the nearest garbage can.
Silently berating himself for feeling disappointed when he realized Grimmjow didn't share that group therapy with him, he nodded, forcing a smile and waving as he started off down the hall.