Hey guys... Sorry for the long wait! I've been really busy with projects and finals. Real life got in the way. Christmas break is in three days so i should have much more time to write soon! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! That's the most i've gotten on any one chapter! xoxo. So I'm really proud of this chapter, still setting up the scene. You get a different POV! Yay! And some insight on other characters. If you're still reading after the 5 month hiatus God bless you. Haha. Well, i don't want to keep you. Enjoy! xo


Briiiiiiiing!

What is that? Is someone hurt? Is there murder? Ah, whatever. They'll deal with it.

Briiiiiiiing!

Seriously? Who. Is. Fucking. With. Me?

Briiiiiiiing!

"WHAT!?"

Ichigo sprung out of his bed with a strangled yell, voice still scratchy from sleep. His honey hued eyes glanced around the room rapidly; already alert. His mint green blanket was crumpled on the floor, and his pillow thrown against the wall. Ichigo scowled at a drool stain on the offending item. Why was his pillow and blanket on the floor and not on his body where they belong? What the hell happened last night? Is he finally going crazy?

Briiiiiiiing!

"Mother f-" Ichigo cut himself short and glanced around his room. The piercing noise echoed off the walls lodging in his brain. Ichigo looked all around for the source of the noise, in his closet, around his shelves. He even kicked around the various clothes and trash that littered the carpet; nothing to be found. After a few more intervals of the excessive ringing he started to lose it.

"What is that!?" His voice was finally back. The angered scream broke through his paper thin walls, echoing throughout the rest of the house.

"Ichi? Brother? Are you alright?"

He turned to his now open door and glared at a worried Yuzu. His gaze softened.

"Uh, yeah. I just can't find the source of this noise."

As if on cue the racket continued. His worried sister forgotten for the moment, Ichigo continued to sputter out nonsensical curses as he feverishly darted around the room.

"Um, Ichi?" Yuzu bit her bottom lip, brown eyes following her older brother's manic antics.

"Not now Yuzu, this is starting to drive me insane." Ichigo didn't even spare her a glance; he looked behind his desk to find nothing but broken pencils and dust bunnies. He scowled.

"Ichigo, I think I know what the ringing is."

His ear twitched, "Really? You're not joking?"

Yuzu laughed and darted under his bed. He couldn't believe he forgot to look there. She pulled out an alarm clock designed as a pink frosted cupcake. It had two artificial cherry stems for hands, the big one was pointing at the eight, and the little one at the six. She pressed a button on the side of the "wrapper" to stop the ringing.

"I bought you this at the store the other day! I thought it was so cute!" Yuzu's eyes were shining "I knew you'd been sleeping to the tune of your own radio all break and I wanted to get you back into the swing of things before tomorrow." Her eyes looked downcast, "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Ichigo's gaze softened. He rubbed a hand through his messy orange hair. "It's okay, just got annoyed is all. It was really loud, I guess it works. Thanks."

She smiled, "Your welcome I-"

"ICHIGO! YUZU! WHERE'S BREAKFAST!?"

Ichigo's jaw twitched at the sound of his ever so loving dad's voice. Yuzu laughed. As if on cue Karin appeared, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She looked amused.

"Dad wants you guys. He's hungry."

Ichigo took the cupcake clock from Yuzu and set it on his desk. "Thanks I hadn't noticed."


They made their way into the kitchen and were greeted by one Isshin Kurosaki in a wife beater and plaid boxer shorts. He was standing by the stove, arms crossed.

Ichigo avoided his dad's touch as he made his way to the fridge. "You'll get burned if you stand that close to the stove."

"Aw, my little Ichi's worried about me. How sweet." Isshin tried to pinch his cheek, but Ichigo was having none of that. After a bunch of slaps and dodges Ichigo finally got his dad off his case. He frowned as he opened the fridge. White. Spotless. Empty.

"Um, Yuzu, we have no food."

She blushed, "Um, yeah when I went to the market I was so preoccupied in getting that clock that I might have forgotten to get… anything… else."

Karin blinked, "Wait we have no food?" Her feet were propped up on the table.

Ichigo sighed, "If you want to eat a frosted steel clock there is."

Isshin pouted, "But I'm hungry! Ichigo! You go to the store and get food. It is your final adventure before school starts!" He yelled with gusto.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, "Adventure my ass. Shut up Dad." He paused. "Whatever, fine, I'll go." He shut the fridge and stalked up the stairs to his room. He threw open his closet and grabbed a blue hoodie with red sleeves. He supposed the black jeans he slept in last night were clean enough. Ichigo hunted around his room and eventually found and pulled on some shoes.

Glancing around his room he nodded and shut the door.

"Dad! I need money." Ichigo jumped the last two stairs down and waited at the front door.

He heard a groan and reluctantly Isshin stalked up to him, jaw set, fisted his hands in his wallet and pulled out some bills. "I was gonna rent a movie."

"Yeah, cuz' feeding your kids aren't top priority or anything."

He smirked at his father's scowl and started out the front door. Immediately the bright summer sun blinded him. He saw white as he swore and rubbed the backs of his palms against his eyes. When he re-opened them, he saw small fuzzy black spots ever so often in his peripheral vision. The scent of sunburnt flowers and cracked seeds filled his nose. It was a lovely day.

Ichigo hated it.


Toshiro shot out of bed. His body was drenched with sweat and his forehead felt white-hot. He reached a shaking hand up to his face. With a pale finger, he traced his cheek. It felt rough to the touch. He must've been crying in his sleep again. His breathing was heavy and ragged. He fisted his comforter and brought a handful of blanket to his chest, nails scraping against his heart. He'd had the dream again. Ever since that dark day almost seven years ago, he'd been haunted with horrible nightmares. Most of them were of his mother's death, sometimes of his own. Usually he could handle them; he would wake up and shrug it off, just a dream. But this one was so vivid, the stains of his mother's blood so red. He could see it all still. Like if he glanced away for too long he would drift back to find himself covered in the russet, coppery liquid.

Deep breaths Toshiro.

He had to constantly remind himself. She couldn't hurt him. Well, technically, according to his therapist, she couldn't. But when someone destroys your entire since of being, crushes all your self-esteem and sends you spiraling down into the lion's den, you simply don't forget them. Not to mention she was his mother. No, all the wounds that she inflicted. Every word that she used to cut him through stayed. Like an ulcer- pulsating in the depths of his mind, coming out at the worse possible times.

Toshiro's throat was dry. He swallowed a lump in his throat and threw his covers off feverishly. It was too hot; his forehead was slick with sweat. On clumsy feet, he stumbled to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he glanced into the mirror. He looked manic. His eyes were a dull blue-gray, his snow white hair frayed and sticking up in all directions. He gripped the sides of the porcelain sink, gulping down air. His heart was still hammering in his chest; he kept seeing flashes of his mother's lifeless face staring down at him with condescension. Toshiro briefly wondered if she was laughing at him from beyond the grave. Her mouth curled into a demented sneer, knowing he could never achieve any type of greatness. It was unnerving.

"Toshi! I want you to run down to the market! I want you to pick out a bunch of food for your first week back!"

His father's shout rang up the stairs and cut through his self-deprecating haze, snapping him back to reality. Did his dad really just ask him to get food? Surely there were more important things than gorging oneself.

"Uh," his voice was scratchy; he tried to take on a stronger tone. "I'm not really hungry…"

He needed to start thinking of better excuses; this one was starting to get stale.

"Toshiro Hitsugaya."

He jumped, not aware that his dad had come up the stairs. His head shot up with a small crack. Wincing at the pain in his neck, and the unusual steel in his dad's voice, he turned around wearily, pawing at his collarbone.

"Ah, what?"

When Toshiro finally focused on his father he was shocked to see the man staring down at him, midnight blue eyes dark, and mouth in a thin line. He never noticed his father's features before. The sharp contours of his face, the short neat white hair, and broad shoulders. It was painstakingly clear Toshiro didn't inherit any of these traits. The white hair was a recessive gene that his parents both shared so he got that from them. He mentally rolled his eyes. He'd been called a freak on more than one occasion because of his hair color. I mean, was it that big of a deal? People dye their hair all the time.

He realized that his dad was still silent, staring. As if he was seeing through what little of Toshiro there was, and into the bigger heart that was heavy, holding him down. He shifted on his feet, he didn't like this feeling of being probed, decoded. As if all of his secrets and blemishes were being revealed.

"Did you need something, dad?" He tried to sound annoyed, but he just didn't have the energy. He should eat a banana. His eye twitched. Bad idea, abort.

"Um, yeah. You're going to the store." His dad stood firm. Where was the father that was worried about Toshiro with gentle awareness from last night? Did something happen in the few short hours to make him aware of his problems? His stomach heaved, butterflies, no; birds were flocking in his chest, talons twisting his intestines into pink, rubbery rope.

"W-Why?" He tried not to stutter, God, he tried. But his mind was filled with dark promises of his father looking at him with disgust. Knowing his son was a failure- had caused the death of his wife.

His eyes softened, turning more of an azure. "I just… You need to eat," the elder Hitsugaya finally settled on, "and if you won't eat my food you'll need to find something you will."

Toshiro swallowed a lump in his throat. Maybe if he went it would throw his dad off his trail. He would buy a few bags of chips, maybe a thing of pancakes, and never eat them. With intense mental preparation he nodded, and took his dad's credit card. It would be fine. He wouldn't even have to eat anything.

His dad smiled, "That's my boy. Now go get ready."

Toshiro's heart thumped. Without realizing, an unconscious half-smile formed at his lips. "Yeah, okay."


It was nice out. The sun was shining, birds chirping. It was almost unreal.

He shivered. It reminded him of the day he got home from school to find his mom choking down pills. He let out a stuttering breath. It wasn't time to focus on that.

Toshiro had pulled on blue checkered board shorts, and a gray T-shirt hoodie. His Vans crushed gravel underneath, making satisfying crunches. The walk to the supermarket was short. He passed children scarfing down their last bit of summer ice cream, and teens laughing under shaded off trees, empty soda bottles littered around them. His heart ached. He'd never had much of a childhood, no real friends to call his own.

The market started to come into view; many small stands and kiosks were placed outside the main building. The traders would sell everything there from fish to household appliances. He'd gotten a keychain there once, he remembered, but he lost track of it a few years ago. Silently, he weaved in and out through salesmen and customers, listening to the racket of discussed prices and the vain sounds in their voices as they made a sale. The automatic doors slid open, and as he walked into the store a ding was heard overhead. Toshiro shrugged and made his way through aisles. He couldn't just grab a bag of chips and leave; he had to convince his father. He thought about curling up with a magazine at the indoor coffee shop but decided against it. Maybe he would buy a couple things to eat… It couldn't hurt right?

Building up the courage to buy liquids would be easier than solids so he made his way to the drinks aisle. He picked out a liter of milk, as an obvious choice, and can of sweet tea. That wasn't so hard. He closed his eyes. No painful constricting in his stomach, or mind numbing headaches. He could do this.

He balanced the drinks in his arms, and walked into the next area. Feeling good he opened his eyes, clear aquamarine focusing on the room in front of him.

And promptly spilled his milk.

Blood. Meat. Everywhere. Eyes darting around the room rapidly he took in the sights of severed animal heads and limbs. He dry heaved. Salami hung from the ceiling, swinging dangerously close to his face. He shrieked and stumbled backwards into a glass case. Turning around he was faced with a decapitated boars head, gagged grotesquely with an apple. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. The stench of raw meat was all around him, like a carnivore's perfume.

Toshiro flinched at the sound of a cleaver hitting a cutting board. Blood spurted up onto the butcher as he laughed. Toshiro was shaking, his milk and drink forgotten he slumped to the floor, head leaning against a crate. He was having a panic attack. He couldn't breathe, think, he wasn't aware of anything around him-except meat, pounds and pounds of red, raw, animal flesh. Is it possible to feel yourself turning green? He didn't have time to think of an answer, his head felt heavy, and his eyes sunk shut. The madness that was a bloody red suddenly faded into a cold black.


Ichigo liked to think of himself as a nice guy. Even when he was fighting with thugs from around the neighborhood, or having to defend himself because some idiot made fun of his hair color or called him "strawberry". He was kind of a loner. He has a small circle of friends, and yeah, he wouldn't trade them for anything in the world, but usually instead of popping bottles in the club with Rangiku, he's usually at home trying to beat his high score on Super Smash Bros.

And that's why when he saw a white haired kid literally having a conniption in the meat aisle, he couldn't just stand there.

Well, he could of. But that would've been a major dick move. Renji's the dick of the group, thank you very much.

So while every other one of the shoppers of wholesome, friendly, Karakura town stood there gaping with their iPhones recording the hot mess, Ichigo took action.

And by action he meant promptly yelling at every one of them.

He dropped the manga he had been reading, and dashed to the boy's side. Now that he was closer he could really take him in.

What there was of him anyway, he obviously hadn't hit his growth spurt. The boy had spiky white hair, a few stray strands falling in front of his right eye, which was a mesmerizing shade of cerulean, like the waters of the northern sea. He was panicked, he could see it in the flecks of blue and green that swam around his pupil. A light sheen of sweat coated his face and he was trembling. Meat phobia? Is there such a thing? Ichigo didn't have time to think, there were whispers everywhere, quickly evolving into an uproar about the blue-eyed boy. Ichigo could hear every word.

"What's wrong with him? Is he mental?"

"He probably just wants the attention, maybe he's neglected at home."

"Aw, I feel sorry for him. He's gonna be so embarrassed."

"The chemicals that he used to bleach his hair probably seeped into his brain. Made him all loony."

"Hah, yeah, he's probably high already."

Ichigo clenched his jaw. He's usually good at suppressing his emotions, and he really didn't need to make a scene but what could he say? He was a good guy. And no innocent person was gonna get branded and labeled as the town meth-head if they had a legitimate problem.

He whirled on a lady behind him, phone out recording the whole thing. She was ugly, scraggly black hair, troll nose, the works.

"Hey, lady, don't you have shopping to do?"

She looked aghast, her mouth hung open in an unattractive 'O' shape.

"How dare-"

Ichigo pointed to the fruit stands outside of the store, "There's an apple stand. Why don't you go buy one and shove it up your ass?"

Ichigo grabbed the panicking boy by the hand before she could answer. After giving all the no-life bystanders a glare that could kill; he led him to the in-store coffee shop.

He set blue-eyes down in a chair and watched him. Though the spazzing seemed to have calmed down, the boy was shivering like he was surrounded by ice.

Hot chocolate. That would help. Ichigo rushed to the counter and ordered a medium, getting a small biscuit for himself since he hadn't had breakfast, and dashed back to watch the kid. The shivering seemed to have stopped, but he was sniffling. Though, as far as Ichigo could tell, he hadn't been crying. Whatever, he wasn't the most observant one.

Ichigo placed the hot chocolate in front of the boy and sat down to scarf down biscuit. It was heaven, stuffed with cheese and fluffy. So much better than an alarm clock. Through his chewing he almost missed the kid say something. He swallowed as much as he could and cleared his throat.

"What? Kind of missed that."

Okay, whoa and the kid was glaring at him. And having the weight of those sea colored eyes on Ichigo promptly made him forget what he was doing for a moment. He coughed after a while.

"Why did you do that?" The blue eyes darkened, "I didn't need your help."

"Of course you didn't, you know," Ichigo waved a hand in the air, "Being out of it and all."

"I would've handled it." The boy's voice had a stubbornness to it. It reminded Ichigo of himself.

"You were handling it like a fish out of water," Ichigo challenged back, "I don't even need a thank you, just drink your hot chocolate. You're shivering."

The eyes widened, "I am not-"

The boy clamped his mouth shut as his body shook. "Coincidence." He said smartly.

Ichigo smirked, "Yeah, alright. I gotta go anyway. My pop's expecting me home soon."

He got up and turned to leave, but as an afterthought, swung back towards the kid, "The names Ichigo by the way."

The boy hesitated, and then let out a defeated puff of air, "Toshiro."


"Ichigo! My son! What gifts did you bring us from the mart?"

Ichigo swore under his breath as he closed the front door.

Isshin raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, uh," He rubbed a hand on his neck, "I may have gotten sidetracked."


Toshiro slammed his bedroom door shut with fervor. After avoiding his father's questions as to why he didn't bring home any food he got to escape on the promise he would go tomorrow.

He flopped onto his bed, making the pure white comforter crinkle, and sending a few stray papers flying. He watched them fall, so free, to drift wherever they want. So light, no one could catch them. That's what Toshiro wanted; to be free.

He bit his lip. He showed so much weakness today. And what for? Just because he couldn't stand the thought or smell of meat? Not just meat, any food, and thing that would poison his body, keep him from achieving excellence. Toshiro Hitsugaya was not weak, and he didn't need some "strawberry" to help him sweeten up the sour taste of defeat. In fact, he wasn't gonna binge tonight. He was gonna punish himself for showing such a chink in his armor, such damage. Tonight when the nightmares come, he's gonna welcome them. Indulge in the pain. But on the inside Toshiro knew his nightmares weren't limited to his sleep, he was fighting personal demons every single day of his life.


Thank's again for reading! Love you all! ~ari :]