"If you'll excuse me, it's starting to rain and I'd rather not get wet," Toushiro said curtly when he felt a few raindrops on his face.

The bird-like woman pursed her lips as he got into his car. He hadn't meant to snap, but he was tired. And when he was tired being polite was the last thing on his mind.

"My email is posted on the school website," he added in an effort to rectify the situation, lest she start talking about how he was homosexual and rude. "If you feel the need to discuss anything further then you can contact me there."

She narrowed her eyes at him but scampered to the shelter of her own car to avoid the incoming shower. When he could no longer see the woman he leaned heavily against the back of his seat and closed his eyes. He was completely exhausted; the past two days had been nothing but a bombardment of concerned parents. He knew that anything short of putting his entire personal life on display would be futile, but he was not willing to do that. This particular woman was at the head of the pack of do-gooder, religious, home-makers. She had nothing better to do than make snide remarks about his sexuality and protest his position. Sure enough, Gabriel Heathers High was under fire for hiring him, even if his credentials should have put any qualms to rest. A few board members and the principal had told him not to worry, or take any action; his position was secure and the number of concerned individuals was only a fraction of the school population. Hiring someone like him showed that the school was forward-thinking and progressive. Toushiro's skin had itched upon hearing that. He was gay, yes, not a collector's item. Still, he had to assure more than a few parents that he was not going to interfere with any of their children; he was happi- he was married for fuck's sake. And he was good at working with children, so when someone made that insinuation just because of his sexual orientation it made him physically sick.

It had been a long two days, indeed. The rain was coming down heavily now and he grumbled as he started the car. He really was not looking forward to the long drive home in this weather. The roads weren't that great and visibility was sure to be poor. He wiped his palms on his pants before gripping the staring-wheel. Maybe he should stop for coffee before heading home; he was feeling particularly worn-down and didn't completely trust himself not to fall asleep at the wheel. Ichigo wouldn't be very happy if he got into another accident.

The drive back home was surprisingly uneventful. It was a little challenging, but Toushiro was practically the only one on the road. The large, log house sat in darkness when he pulled into the driveway. Toushiro's stomach churned slightly and he ground his teeth. Ichigo had probably fallen asleep and forgotten to turn on the lights. He hated when he did that; it was unsafe and anyone could sneak up on him. He grabbed his briefcase and made a dash for the front door. It was still raining pretty heavily and mud splashed up onto his pants and covered his shoes.

"Ichigo, I'm home," he called as he unlocked the door and wiped his feet on the mat. He was met with silence. "Ichigo?" He flipped on the lights in the foyer and poked his head into the living room. His husband wasn't asleep on the couch, though his laptop was open on the coffee table. Toushiro huffed in annoyance and stomped into the kitchen. He was about to call for Ichigo once more when he saw a piece of notebook paper on the island.

Gone out with Renji; I'll be back late.

Toushiro crumpled the note in his fist and tossed it into the trash. Why couldn't he have just texted him? Sometimes Ichigo really didn't think. He pulled out a carton of yogurt from the fridge and put the kettle on the stove. Ichigo, while not a particularly out-going or sociable person, tended to make friends very easily. Despite how Toushiro had acted, Renji seemed to see something in his husband. And, never one to sit still, Ichigo jumped on any excuse to leave the house, almost as if he hated it. He probably did hate it; he had been fine in San Francisco. He could have stayed there without a problem. Toushiro chewed the inside of his cheek. If only he hadn't forced them to move, if only he had been strong enough to stop himself from falling apart. He shouldn't have dragged Ichigo into his misery.

A sharp sting in the side of his mouth broke his trail of thoughts and he tasted blood. He rubbed at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to soothe the pain. Toushiro felt sick to his stomach; it clenched painfully and he wanted to vomit. He switched off the stove and threw away his nearly-full yogurt before shuffling upstairs. A shower would probably help him feel better. Probably.

The master bathroom was almost as large as their bedroom. A white, porcelain tub took up one wall and a shower, with frosted, glass doors, was set across from it. Rain splattered nosily against the huge windows. He was not comfortable with having floor to ceiling windows in such an intimate area. Even if sparse woods separated them from their neighbours, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, especially at night.

Toushiro had no idea where Ichigo had pulled all the money for this house from. He had said that it was dirt cheap, but Toushiro couldn't help but feel that he was hiding something. His books did bring in a decent amount of cash, and ever since his second movie adaptation was released they had bit more money than they knew what to do with. But, not nearly enough to buy this villa and its surrounding land. Ichigo brushed him off every time he asked, though.

He roughly unknotted his tie, frowning at his trembling hands. He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady them, but he knew that it wasn't going to work. It was with an incredible amount of focus that he managed to remove his contact lenses and not gouge out his eyes. His jaw clenched tightly as he removed his shirt next, surreptitiously looking over his shoulder at the window. Even with his blurry vision, his ribs seemed more prominent that night, sharply jutting from under his skin, and it looked like he could cut a steak with his hipbones. Toushiro was disgusted with himself; he ripped his eyes away from his body and shut them against the nausea that was building in his stomach. His body betrayed just how truly weak he was, while his mind was reliant on the very medication that had caused him to shake and lose his appetite. He clenched his palms when the nausea didn't abate. With a few shaky breaths he finished undressing and hastily stepped into the shower.

The frosted glass provided good enough cover as any. If he couldn't see out of it very well then no one could see in. He lathered a bar of soap and scrubbed his body, pointedly ignoring all the protruding bones that hadn't been there a few months ago. The warm water made him feel marginally better. It loosened tight muscles and offered him a small respite against his thoughts. His mind cleared as he methodically scrubbed his skin, and for once he was able to think of nothing. He didn't think of how hard reacquainting himself to work was, or of the intrusive parents or their religious, brainwashed children. He neither thought of how many times he snapped at his husband, nor how he almost broke down crying that day. He did not think about how his father was right in saying that the world would be better without him. And he certainly did not think of how he had failed himself, Ichigo, and Ken.

The sound of a door opening was barely audible over the sound of the shower and rain.

"Ichigo?" he called, but once again there was no answer. Had the man gone deaf? Toushiro ground his teeth as a spark of annoyance ignited in his chest. He fought it down; it wasn't Ichigo's fault if he didn't hear him. This wasn't something to get mad over. He breathed deeply and stepped back under the shower only to find out that it had gone cold. He jumped out from under the spray, cursing under his breath. The hot water shouldn't have run out that fast. Goose-bumps rose up all over his body as he reached out to shut off the water. As he turned the tap he heard a clunk come from somewhere in the bathroom.

He rolled his eyes and tried to stave off his shivering by folding his arms across his chest. "Ichigo, how many times do I have to say it? Don't watch me when I shower; it's creepy." He cracked the shower door open and yanked his towel from the rack. "Why didn't you answer me when you came in?"

Once again Ichigo said nothing. This time Toushiro allowed himself to feel a little miffed. He wrapped his towel around his waist and wrenched the glass door open. "Ichigo, why-"

The bathroom was empty. Toushiro frowned deeply; he could have sworn that he heard someone. His cheeks heated slightly as he went over to the sink and clumsily took his toothbrush from its holder. He hoped he wasn't starting to hear things. Another side effect that he didn't want to deal with? The doctors hadn't mentioned hallucinating, though, and they had gone through long lists.

He sighed tiredly as he rinsed his mouth and set his toothbrush back down. How late did Ichigo plan on staying out anyway? Toushiro wondered and pulled out a prescription bottle from the drawer beside the sink. He carefully tipped a blue and white capsule into his palm and stared at it for a few moments before grimacing and knocking it back with a glass of water. He hated having to be on medication, he hated the side effects, always feeling tired, shaking, and sometimes nauseated. He closed his eyes and leaned against the counter, willing his stomach not to reject the few spoons of yogurt he'd eaten. He took a few steadying breaths and when he opened his eyes he stumbled backwards in shock.

"What the fuck?" he muttered. Had he blacked out and not noticed? He had been in the bathroom when he closed his eyes a second ago and now he was in a bedroom. He squinted as he looked around, making out familiar, child-sized furniture.

His stomach plummeted. He wanted to retch. His chest tightened. Toushiro stumbled backwards into the door as if he had been physically struck. This was Ken's room. The bed, the desk, even the fluffy, green blanket all belonged to his son. What was he doing in Ken's room? Or rather, what was Ken's room doing here? He told Ichigo not to bring anything to do with Ken. He couldn't handle it. He knew he would break down again when the memories came flooding back and he remembered what he had done. His stomach rolled like a stormy sea and he felt dizzy; the nausea had increased and he had to cover his mouth to keep from vomiting.

He shut his eyes and turned around to place his forehead against the door. Why did his mind always go to such a dark place, why did he always have to put himself into this dark pit of emotions? He was trying to get better, damnit. He ground his teeth together; he wanted to break something, to rip something apart and throw the pieces against the walls. He almost spun around and overturned the dresser when a cold hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving.

"What the hell?" Toushiro shouted craning his neck to look over his shoulder. If Ichigo was – there was no one there.

His breath caught in his throat. All of this was a hallucination, it had to be. He clenched his jaw tightly and reached for the doorknob. His hand was roughly yanked back and he was pushed up against the wood. Toushiro's eyes went wide and he drew in a sharp breath. His eyesight wasn't as bad as to not be able to make out a person, but even as he craned his neck again he couldn't see anyone.

He began to panic when his arm was gripped tighter, almost painfully, and he felt something on his neck, something that felt like cold breathing. In fact everything in the room was cold and his towel didn't do anything to help. He had Goosebumps from this shower, but now it felt like his skin had grown scales. Frigid shivers ran down his spine and this time his trembling wasn't from his medication. A small whimper escaped his mouth in a puff of condensation as he felt something settle over him, pushing him harder against the door. It felt almost like a pressure, a cold, suffocating pressure.

He pushed back when he felt something scarily similar to fingers toy with the edge of his towel. His arm was released, but then he felt, was that a tongue, on his neck. His heart pounded frantically and he reached out for the doorknob again. He rammed his knuckles into the brass before he got a grip and tried to yank it open. The knob turned but the door stayed firmly shut. He drew in a sharp breath, as the back of his neck was tightly gripped and his face was shoved against the door. He squirmed, breathing heavily, but the panic made it impossible for the oxygen to reach his brain. His stomach was a whirlpool, and bile, mixed with the acid from his stomach filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. All the while he was rattling the doorknob fervidly.

Just as he was about to scream for help the door was pushed open, shoving him to the ground. The pressure dissipated in an instant and he was left on the ground panting like an overworked dog, with vomit on his chin and chest.

"Shiro? What're doing in here?" Ichigo poked his head into the room.

Toushiro fought to calm himself and he hastily wiped his chin. Ichigo dove to his knees, suddenly alert, and hovered over him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Ichigo tilted his head. "Are you sick? Is it the medication?"

Toushiro shook his head and shakily got to his feet. He needed to get out of this room. He heard Ichigo sigh and follow him.

...

Sometime after his second shower, the water had miraculously gotten warm again, Ichigo managed to wrap his arms around him and refused to let go. Toushiro didn't want him to let go. His heart was still hammering hours later. But he knew that if he didn't make Ichigo get off of him he would know something was wrong. He didn't need to tell him that he was now hallucinating – how else could he describe what had happened in the room? A ghost? Besides, Ichigo wouldn't have set up Ken's things. He may have brought them to the new house, but he wouldn't have set them up, knowing how Toushiro would take it. Ichigo may have been stubborn, but he wasn't insensitive. He wouldn't have gone behind his back. He wouldn't play with his mental state like that. So, Toushiro had to be hallucinating. But, if he was hallucinating, he wouldn't be fit to work. He'd have to stay at home. And he couldn't do that, he just couldn't. It had ended badly the last time and he didn't want to repeat it. He didn't trust himself. So, he pulled away from Ichigo's embrace.

Ichigo wined softly, obviously a bit tipsy from his night out, and pouted. Toushiro rolled his eyes, and picked up his briefcase from where he sat it at the foot of the bed. He snapped it open and pulled out a thin, paperback book.

Ichigo sighed, "How was work?"

"It was okay, I suppose. I have to go through the student handbook by tomorrow, though."

"Why? You gonna have a test?"

Toushiro rolled his eyes again and slipped under the covers. "That joke is getting old." Ichigo chuckled softly. "Have you seen my glasses?"

"Weren't they in the bathroom?"

Toushiro huffed and kicked off the sheets before Ichigo pulled him back.

"I'll get them; need to brush my teeth anyway."

Toushiro rearranged the pillows and turned on his bedside lamp while his husband disappeared into the bathroom.

"You should come out with us next time," Ichigo called through the door. "It was fun. Some asshole tried to start something with me for being gay, but Renji and a few other guys shut him down. You should have seen it. I knew we were gonna meet those kind of assholes here, but I didn't think that so many people would have our backs."

Toushiro hummed, idly thumbing the pages of the handbook. He couldn't go out even if he wanted to; he wasn't supposed to drink alcohol while on medication. And he would rather die than be sober and have to deal with everyone else's drunken idiocy. When would Ichigo understand that?

"What about at the school? You said you had a few problems yesterday."

"It's nothing. You just said there are people who will stand up for us."

Ichigo was silent for a while.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked haltingly, "I mean, you threw up. You're not supposed to get sick enough to throw up."

"I'm fine," Toushiro called, frowning. He felt agitation rise from the bottom of his chest.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

He huffed as the agitation grew. Again with all the questions, he couldn't really blame Ichigo for not trusting him, but he couldn't help getting angry at him. "Why do you care?" he snapped. "I had yogurt."

Ichigo emerged from the bathroom and handed him his glasses. "You really should be eating better than that-"

"Well I'm not hungry." He grabbed the glasses and turned so he didn't have to see Ichigo get into bed.

"I know, babe, it's just that... I'm worried about you."

His agitation turned into dull anger and he ground his teeth. "You don't have to be."

"But-"

"I can take care of myself, for fuck's sake. I have been, long before you ever showed up, so just stop it."

Ichigo tensed visibly and he paused halfway into bed. The ensuing silence was suffocating, like a wet blanket. Toushiro ground his teeth and seethed while Ichigo slowly backed away.

"I think I'll get some writing done before I go to sleep."

He always said that when he intended to sleep on the couch, away from Toushiro's unexplained temper. He watched him leave and shut the door quietly from the corner of his eyes. Once alone, Toushiro growled loudly and flung the book across the room as hard as he could. It landed with a rustle of papers and he slumped back against the pillows. Damn Ichigo and his questions, damn his temper, damn his medication, and damn this goddamn house. He ripped his glasses from his face and carelessly dropped them on the nightstand. Small, hot tears were forming at the corners of his eyes and he buried his face in his pillow. A part of him hoped that he would suffocate that night.

He woke when Ichigo wormed his way under the blankets much later and rolled over, surprised. Ichigo's only response was to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Toushiro felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world as he turned away and tried to get back to sleep.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he wrung the sheets, nails scrapping against the fabric with a smooth, scratching sound.

"It's okay, baby," Ichigo whispered back, "I understand."

Toushiro's chest tightened and for once he was glad for how drowsy his medication made him, because he didn't want to stay awake to feel the gargantuan guilt that shrouded his shoulders.


Hope you guys can even remember what happened in the last chapter :/ either way this should answer some questions, and hopefully cause more. I'm sure a few of you can piece together what happened to Ken.

Also, albinism is related to poor eyesight, due to the lack of pigmentation and crossing over of more optic fibres than normal. So, there's a reason behind Toushiro's glasses (besides fulfilling one of my head canons). Though, I must admit that writing Toushiro this way was a bit challenging. Hope the reasons for his personality change are becoming clear.

As always, I'd love to hear what you guys think so far.