Look at me
Chapter four: To fear
Warning: Again, this is after time skip. Some mentions of the full bringer arc up ahead, but not too detailed. Also, Ichigo's part is very boring… And at the end—Ichigo means, he hopes that Ishida would still trust him if he remembered anything or not.

-X-

Socked feet padded their way across a plush, white carpet. Legs clothed in a loose pair of white pajama pants with a blue string around the waist to tighten them moved swiftly throughout the expansion of the room as they moved up and down, and around furniture. A pale hand tugged lightly on the blue shirt he was wearing, before rolling the long sleeves up to his elbows and tugging gently on the v-neck collar to pull it down a bit more. Letting out a soft breath, azure colored irises glinted from behind their frames as he glanced around the room and turned his head to face both ways as he leaned against the armrest on a medium sized, white couch.

It had taken a bit of convincing towards the others, but after a while they had allowed him to go back to his apartment. Well, really—he had tricked them when he said perhaps something would trigger his memories there, so immediately afterwards, they brought him to his home and left him there overnight. He had to admit, even though he only lost two years of his memory; a lot of things seemed to change over the years. His older, more cream colored couch was replaced with a softer looking white one. The smooth wooden floorings now had a miniature, circular shaped rug upon them. And as for the kitchen and bedroom—he had yet to look, seeing as once he came home, he plopped down on the oh-so-comfortable couch and fell asleep there for the entire night and half of the next day.

Smiling softly, Ishida smoothed his palms against the soft material of his pants as he reached up with one hand to adjust his glasses and take a better look around the room. All his books remained in place, in the corner of the room on a large, wooden shelf—and he couldn't help but smile at seeing the added book his friends had made him bring with him; the one containing his lost memories that they had tried so very hard to write down. As it was, the first thing Uryu worried about, when coming home—was how he would prepare for school. But apparently, his friends had also thought that far ahead and said he had injured not one—but two of his legs, plus his writing hand, so he could not go in to class. He thought that was absurd, and wouldn't fool the teachers; but apparently it had. Oddly enough, they also knew he wouldn't accept that—so instead of being out of school entirely until he was 'healed'—his friends would be able to bring him all class notes and homework for him to do and give back to them, so they could hand it in the next day.

Really, instead of being amazed by how his friends had thought so far ahead—he ended up being a bit skeptical and slightly perplexed at the same time. Well, he supposed it was only natural when you care so much for one person, that you do all you can to help them. But, being who he was—he hadn't really, technically experienced true friendship. Of course, he had those in the past he had been attached to, but never to this extent. Ever since childhood, he always preferred to stay indoors during recess, go to different clubs that would allow him to work independently, rather than with others and all sorts of things. So really, he liked to separate himself from others and the outside world—not entirely, no; just so that he could be by himself. After all, he understood himself the best, just as it was with everyone. That, and there was also how he was slightly awkward socially, and never really wanted to make friends due to fearing that when he opened his mouth, something stupid might come out. But that was something he'd never openly admit to.

But he supposed that was in the past, not the present. He had grown a lot since then, and although he still preferred to be alone—he supposed it wasn't too bad being surrounded by a small group of people that seemed to care very much for him.

Letting out another quiet breath, Ishida closed his eyes as he pushed himself off the arm of the couch. Moving towards his bookshelf, he paused for a moment upon spotting a familiar bag resting in front of it. "Isn't this the bag Kurosaki had brought with him?" He murmured quietly as his head tilted to the side. He wondered if it was left there on purpose—but seeing as when the others had brought him here, he was in a rush to kick them out and get reacquainted with his home, Ichigo could have dropped it there by accident and not have been able to pick it back up…

Stepping closer to the bag, Ishida slowly leaned down and stretched out his arm. Stopping part way, his fingertips merely an inch away from the bag's handles—he pursed his lips into a thin line as he stood up straight and shook his head. No, it wouldn't be right to go through Ichigo's things, even if he was curious. Of course, Ichigo had said it would help—or he hoped it would help, Ishida regain his memories; but it was still Ichigo's property nonetheless and although Ishida hated Shinigami, he wasn't about to stoop low to their level and not care about what he was getting into. Shaking his head, Ishida closed his eyes once more as he instead turned to face rows upon rows of his favorite books with a smile. Reaching forward, he allowed his fingertips to brush against the spine of an unfamiliar book, and with curiosity—he hooked his finger onto it and slowly slid it out of the shelf.

It was a new book, one he had heard about coming out late in the fall. He supposed that since he had lost his memories, it had already came out and just as he suspected—he had bought it because he had been interested in it and wanted to read it. Flipping through, he let out a soft chuckle as his eyes met the blue and white bookmark poised in between a couple of pages, signaling that this was where he had left off. So very badly, he wanted to read it—but he knew he couldn't just continue from there because he would have no recognition of even buying the book, let alone starting it.

Clicking his tongue, the Quincy turned the book over and began to read the back as he made his way towards the kitchen. Deciding that it wouldn't hurt to start it over again from the beginning, he would first have to deal with a small, growing problem as the sound of low growling from his stomach reached his ears.

Lifting his leg to walk up a small step, he pushed the kitchen door open and stepped inside. Immediately, his nose picked up the familiar scent of his favorite food, and lowering his arm, he sniffed and blinked as he glanced towards the counter and spotted a small pot—covered and wrapped tightly in the middle of his kitchen counter. Furrowing his eyebrows, Ishida approached cautiously, almost like a lion watching its prey. When he stepped up in front of the counter and spotted a small card along with the bowl of freshly made Mackerel Miso stew—the archer quickly snatched it and flipped it open to read through its contents.

Thought you might be hungry, seeing as you haven't eaten in a while. And yes, I saw you scrape your food into the garbage at Urahara's; don't think you can fool me. Jeez, you're as stubborn without your memories, just like you are with them!

And uh, don't worry—I didn't make it. My sister Yuzu did, so it's not poisoned. But it's your favorite, right?

Kurosaki Ichigo

Ishida stared for a moment, dumbfounded. How did the other know that this was his favorite? No—more importantly, how did he get caught throwing out his food? Yes, he had done that—but not for the reasons one would think. He… Wasn't hungry back then, because he had pushed all thoughts of food out of his mind until he had began to regain his lost memories. Foolish, he was aware of that—but eating seemed to be the least important thing on the Quincy's to do list. He hadn't meant to throw it out, it was just that each time they went to eat, he had brought the book they had made to the table and began to read it over and over repeatedly; in hopes he missed something and as his eyes would take in the words, it might trigger a memory. Of course, it was no use and he never remembered anything—but he didn't want to stop trying. And because of this, he had always taken too long with the book, that when he was finished, his food had gone cold and it wasn't really edible anymore.

It didn't really matter, in his opinion. Yes, he had lost a little bit of weight, but due to other things distracting him up until now—he hadn't actually processed the thought of being hungry, therefore never was. But for some reason, the thought bugged him—how Ichigo had not only been the one to notice, but also had been the one to do something about it and provide him with his favorite food.

Huffing lightly, Ishida blew out a breath which caused some strands of his hair to float upwards for a moment. Reaching up to adjust his glasses, he turned and was about to make his way around and stomp out of the room when a low, long, eerie growl rumbled through his stomach—causing him to pause and place a hand on his lower abdomen. "Fine!" He gave in to himself, turning back around and quickly shuffling towards the food. Instead of using a bowl and separate utensils; he merely lifted the pot into his hands, along with a few napkins and a spoon, before making his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

Moving towards the couch, Ishida slowly sat himself upon it as he crossed his legs and set the pot down on his lap. Reaching to his left, he picked up a small remote and slowly turned on the television, making it so that the volume was down low while he began to eat. Reaching down, Ishida hooked the tips of his fingers onto the pots' handle and lifted it gently. Taking in the scent of the freshly cooked food caused his mouth to salivate in approval and his cheeks to heat up as a small smile made its way to his lips. Placing the spoon inside of the broth—he lightly lifted a bit to his lips and blew on the steaming concoction as he closed his eyes. For a moment, when he placed the spoon to his lips; he felt that familiar, nostalgic sensation of when his sensei used to create this sort of dish for him. It was odd, but he supposed it was simply because those memories were most dominant—and thinking this made him quite thankful that he had only lost two years of his memories, and not them all.

Sighing softly, Uryu placed the spoon into his mouth and gently began to slurp it as he chewed on the fish chunks. Opening his eyes as the colors flashed on the TV, he tilted his head for a moment before shaking it at the idiotic child's show that was playing, and turned back to his food. However, seeing as the silence in the room seemed to make him feel off, he began to grow uncomfortable for no apparent reason. Really, he was used to being alone—preferred it even. So it confused him when he felt so uneasy with the current atmosphere around him. Turning his head as he lowered the spoon back into the pot, he frowned as he eyed the bag that Ichigo had left here. How many times would he have to tell himself not to look in it, and that it was none of his business?

Multiple, it seemed—considering within that short period of time where he was thinking, he had already set the pot down beside him and stood, now currently making his way over to the bag in the corner of the room. Biting his lower lip, he paused in the same position as earlier—half bent at the waist, arm extended and fingertips an inch away from grasping the handles.

Why was it so hard to say no, and ignore whatever contents were in the bag? Was it really that important that he couldn't keep his hands off of it? It didn't really seem like a bad idea to look at it, if he thought about it. After all, Ichigo had said it was a back-up plan to help restore his memories, did he not? So it wouldn't hurt any, to look at it…

Grabbing the handles, Ishida growled internally at his decision—but he couldn't help but feel as if it was the right one to chose. Making his way back over to the couch, he sat down quickly upon it and tipped the bag upside down as he allowed the contents from within it to drop onto his lap. Tossing the bag in front of him and onto a nearby table—he glanced down quickly, only to blink in confusion. A large, scrap-like book was sitting in his lap, a blank cover with no words written on it and so very unlike the book the others had created for him. Frowning, Ishida's brows creased in the middle of his forehead as he allowed his palm to slide over the smooth cover. He could feel Ichigo's reiatsu surrounding the item, which made him wonder if this was something the teen had decided to make on his own. Allowing himself to relax, Ishida slowly slid his index finger between the cover of the book to flip it open. Leaning back as he did so—he blinked as his eyes met a photo in the front—not just of himself, but of the others around him as well. Underneath the photo, written as neatly as the person could have, was;

It may not be much, but let's hope this helps. After all, what's stronger than an enemy that makes you lose your memories? Friends that are here and willing to help you regain them, of course.

Letting out a soft breath, Ishida's expression softened as he smoothed his fingertips over the handwritten words. Had Ichigo made this in hopes he could help on his own? If so, why had he gone to such an extent, instead of simply writing what he knew into the other book they had given him? Whatever it was, Ishida didn't know; but it also made him wonder what could have happened to make Ichigo feel so guilty enough to do this sort of thing, among the other things he had already done for the Quincy—on his own.

Flipping the page, Ishida continued to eye the variety of photo's within it. Each one had a caption, a description—and a brief summary of what had happened before the picture had been taken. Normally, Ishida would have been wary of seeing himself so… open with people he hardly knew. However, that was not the case—and for some reason, as certain pictures met his eyes; he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face as he shook his head gently and resisted the urge to laugh. After a while, when Ishida was reaching the end of the book—he paused as he met a blank page with a single word upon it.

Sorry. It read, nothing more, nothing less. The archer didn't know what it was, but for some reason his insides felt a little uneasy and his heart began to slow its pace. Something bad was placed in this book as well—some things that Ishida hadn't been told first hand. He could tell, and without looking; he touched the pages left over, and realized that there was only one—with words on it, no pictures. Was this where Ichigo was going to tell him what happened? On the next page, if he were to flip it—would he be able to read what had happened during the fight which caused him to lose his memories? He didn't know, and wasn't exactly certain, but he felt as though continuing would answer questions that he hadn't had answers to.

So, with a shaky breath, Ishida closed his eyes before gripping the final page and flipping it over. Opening his eyes slowly, Ishida allowed them to remain half-lidded as he gazed upon the title. It read, 'Memories I always wished you'd forgotten—kind of seems like I jinxed it, now.' This caused Ishida's heart to sink, and although he didn't know why—his shoulders tensed. Moving his gaze passed the title and downwards, he began to read through certain events that had happened—that didn't seem like a big deal to him.

How Ishida had risked his arms to save Ichigo after attacking the Menos. How Ishida had argued with Ichigo before defeating the full bringer Ginjou—he supposed Ichigo felt bad for kicking him in his rear end, which caused him to snort. Each memory he read through, which had been left out for who knows what reasons, he couldn't help but relax with each one he glanced through, thinking nothing of them. If Ichigo felt bad for these, that probably meant what had happened with the hollow was no big deal. Why couldn't Ichigo just tell him what happened then? Ishida knew it wasn't likely he would get mad. Besides—

Pausing in thought as Ishida moved to close the book; he noticed there was one final thing written on the back of the page. Curious, he flipped it over, only to realize it was one final memory and he quickly threw the book away as the memory flashed from within his eyes.

He could almost feel it, the scolding pain of a sword being stabbed through his chest. He could almost see his own hand—as he rose it to his face—dripping with blood from where he had gripped his wound. He looked, wide-eyed into the memory that was Ichigo in full, hollow release form—stabbing Zangetsu into his chest, as Orihime began to scream the teens name in the background. Watching slowly as Ichigo roared—he fell to his knees as he slid off the couch and coughed erratically as he gripped his shirt tightly with his left hand. Realization slowly hit him as the memory began to fade—and he lay panting on the floor for a moment; holding himself up with one shaky hand on his knees. He didn't even notice that the TV had switched to a new show as he slowly sank down onto the floor and turned to lie on his back.

Ichigo had… tried to kill him? No, that couldn't be it. There was something missing—the beginning of that memory, and the end. Ishida looked down slowly, raising his left hand to see it clear from the imaginary blood and he couldn't help but let out a relieved breath as he clenched his fingers into a light fist. Closing his eyes, the Quincy swallowed as he willed his breathing to slow back to its normal pace, as he stretched his legs out slowly in front of him and dropped his arm to his side. So that's why it hadn't been put in the other book… Ichigo must have feared the Quincy's reaction, therefore asked the others to leave it out. Well, it was either that, or he wanted to be the one to tell Ishida himself, which Ishida could tell, that was reasonable. Opening his eyes, Ishida gazed up at the ceiling—trying to make sense of it all, with the little details the memory had provided. It seemed as though something had happened before hand—seeing as he also noticed one of the Espada in the background, as Ichigo had stabbed him. Also, his hand had been hurt before that… So he had to have been engaging in some sort of battle. Perhaps when Ichigo's hollow took over, he couldn't control his senses and saw Ishida as a threat?

Shaking his head, Ishida decided that it was no use thinking over these things. His head throbbed as a headache began to form, due to the fact he was straining himself once more. Looking over, he also noticed that a bit of blood began to leak through both his shirt and the bandages beneath it—due to him falling onto the floor and over exerting himself again. Sighing, Ishida slowly sat up, placing his right hand behind him on the table so he could get to his feet. He already had doubts of trusting Ichigo and the others, and although this memory should have made him feel as though his thoughts were correct—he couldn't help but contradict himself and begin to realize that, that wasn't the case. These were real memories, returning to him and whether he liked them or not, they had happened. He supposed that he could always ask Ichigo later—more about his hollow and how he was able to control it. Also, he could gather a bit more information on what had happened in Hueco Mundo, which could clear up his doubts as well.

But for now, he needed to settle down and relax—so that he wouldn't exhaust himself once more and grow weak. Perhaps a hot bath would help—he mused to himself as he made his way towards his bedroom. A look around the house, a bath and change of bandages would most likely calm him down enough so that he could take another nap. That, and it would clear his thoughts so he could think more level-headedly, instead of having all these scrambled assumptions within his brain. Deciding that, that was best—he gave a nod to himself internally as he reached his bedroom door and extended his good arm forward so that he could open the handle and make his way inside.

-X-

Sighing, a tanned chin rested within the palm of his hand as chocolate colored irises gazed helplessly out the window. A bored expression graced the substitute's features as he watched the wind pick up and create a rippling, quite like waves—across the tops of the trees. He had been like this all day, not being able to concentrate on his current class, due to the fact that he was still preoccupied with what had happened the other day, as well as this morning. He knew he should feel relieved that Ishida had been content with what had happened the other day, due to the fact he seemed overly happy about using his bow and arrow—but after this morning, he couldn't help but feel as though something bad might happen… Like he had forgotten something.

Another breath escaped the teen and slowly, Ichigo closed his eyes. Maybe it was just him being overly cautious now that Ishida was regaining his memories little by little? Whatever the case, he knew it wasn't something he should be so worked up about, considering Ishida was taking this all rather well—when really, Ichigo expected the Quincy to demand answers out of him, rather than wait for them. But then again, this was Ishida without his memories. Would it be any different if Ishida had remembered what had happened, but simply forget other things? No… He bet Ishida would still be acting the way he was now, perhaps a few things would be different, but not many.

Opening his eyes once more, Ichigo leaned back in his seat as he allowed his hand to drop onto his desk. The day was almost over, and it was his turn to give Ishida his homework—so he supposed he really should have been paying attention. It wasn't his fault though, the thoughts of what had happened never seemed to go away, and as much as Ichigo preferred them not to have happened, there was nothing he could do to change the past; he could only learn from it, as so many others had said, and be prepared for the future.

Ichigo rolled his eyes at that thought. If that were the case, someone should have time travelled and told him back then, rather than him learning from it now. Shifting on his chair, Ichigo stretched out his legs from underneath the desk and looked back to the window. He hoped that Ishida's memories would return soon… And although he wanted that for a selfish reason, he knew deep down that he also wanted Ishida to get them back so that he could be happy as well. It was odd, seeing Ishida act like this, day by day—almost as if it was another person, but not entirely. Yes, he knew that didn't make sense, but just something about how Ishida was acting seemed different, but he knew that it was the same Quincy he had always known.

Allowing his eyes to slide close once more, the tips of Ichigo's eyelashes rested gently on the upper half of his cheeks as he allowed himself to relax. It was no use worry about any of this, because Ishida was a big boy and could handle himself quite well on his own. The archer didn't seem to be depressed like most people were, nor did he seem incapable of doing anything on his own. So, in actuality—Ishida was being stronger than was necessary throughout all of this, whereas Ichigo, who wasn't even the one injured—was worrying far too much about this, for nothing.

"Ichigo…"

Feeling the slight nudge to his shoulder caused the teen's brows to knit into a slight scowl as he opened his eyes. Blinking at the familiar voice though, his expression softened as he looked up at the taller male and tilted his head back to get a better look at him. "What is it, Chad?" When the male simply gestured towards the clock and placed a pile of papers on his desk, he stared for a moment, stupefied, before shaking his head and allowing a small smile to grace his features. "Thanks…"

Not only had he not noticed the bell had rang, but he had also forgotten to jot down the notes that Uryu would need to do the work. Thankfully, his friend had saw this—and actually wrote down everything he had for Ichigo to give the other teenager. He kind of felt guilty, and wanted Chad to take the work to Ishida, seeing as he had been the one to gather it—but when he next looked up, the male was waving at him and walking out the door.

Shaking his head, Ichigo stood slowly—his chair squeaking as the back of his legs pushed it outwards. Reaching down, he slowly picked up his bag and sat it on his desk as he unzipped the top of it. Gathering the papers, he put them in a side pouch so that they wouldn't get mixed up with the others; before closing the bag and tossing it over his shoulder.

Stepping aside, Ichigo pushed in his chair as he made his way out of the classroom; turning his head to glance over his shoulder as he reached the doorway he gave the room one final glance. A small frown slowly formed on the corners of Ichigo's lips as he eyed the Quincy's empty desk, and wordlessly—he exited the room, and then the school.

Fingers curled gently around his bag's handle, Ichigo made his way towards the Quincy's home as he took out a small slip of paper from his pocket—and flipped it open. Before the other day, Ichigo hadn't known the exact address, or location, even, of the Quincy's home. So now that they were regulating different schedules of who would bring Ishida his work each day, he was finally able to be lead to Ishida's home, and see where the archer lived. Although, seeing as he wasn't really good at memorising things—Orihime had been nice enough to jot down the teen's address on a single piece of paper for Ichigo to use. He was thankful he lived in Karakura his whole life—otherwise he wouldn't have known street names or complex numbers.

Looking down at the item in his hand, Ichigo used his thumb to hold the sheet open as he read through the address and turned a small side-street. For some reason, that strange feeling he had gotten earlier returned as he neared the Quincy's house; and this caused his brows to crease once more and his lips to thin and flatten together. What's the matter with me? He argued internally, almost as if he were glaring at himself for being so on edge. It couldn't be something with Ishida anymore, seeing as everything with him was going fine—so it was starting to bug him now that this feeling kept returning.

Maybe it was the fact that they had left Ishida at home, without any security? Perhaps he was being overly cautious because he was worried that Ishida would wander off and do something stupid—maybe even get into a fight? No… He knew Ishida was more careful than that, and far too strong to be taken down by something so easily; even with his injury. So… What?

And then it hit him.

Pausing in the middle of the street—halfway towards the Quincy's home, Ichigo froze. If he recalled correctly, he had brought the bag with him to Ishida's house the other day, but he hadn't brought it home. If he had lost it—he wouldn't have been this worried, because if someone found it, they might have just thought it was some plot for a story. But he knew that wasn't the case, he couldn't have just dropped it, which meant…

He left it at Ishida's.

"Shit..!" There were certain things in that book, that Ichigo had promised to leave out, until the teen regained more memories. He only wrote them down in the book, as a 'just in case' sort of thing—to help Ishida remember. But he didn't end up needing it just then, and meant to discard it in his closet before it could be seen by anyone, let alone Ishida. But if he didn't have it with him, and it wasn't at home; that meant it could only be in one place.

"Ishida…" Picking up the pace, Ichigo began a light jog—only for it to quickly turn out into a full-fledged run. He hoped the archer hadn't looked in it—regardless if it would make him remember anything or not. For even though it would be a good thing, if Ishida remembered it; he wasn't sure the teen was ready for certain things in that book, if he didn't. He could only hope now, nothing bad had happened—and that Ishida would still believe that, with Ichigo, he was in good hands.

-X-

To be continued.