Psych.
Blurb: Ichigo Kurosaki. Occupation: Student, Shinigami... Mental patient.
Warning: Spoilers for Bleach series, non-major. Extrapolation. Disturbing themes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Don't bother suing me.
Written To: The insanely annoying sound of the person next to me tapping away very loudly on the keyboard. The only consolation is that I'm not working right now.
"Can I have some paper?"
The ward looked down at the redhead, surprised. "Sorry?"
"Paper," he said clearly. "And a pencil."
"Sure, I - I don't see why not," she replied, thrown off slightly by the boy's request. Over all the time she'd been watching, she hadn't heard him speak, and had wondered whether some kind of injury had left him traumatised and unable to do so. The nurses commented on it occasionally. "Any special kind of paper?"
He sighed. "Just... normal paper. And a pencil or a pen or something."
She hurried over to the desk, passing a small girl of about nine who was sleeping in another bed, and picked up the items before passing them to him with a smile.
"Thanks," he replied.
He began to sketch. Slowly, a scenery began to take shape; springtime, with the cherry blossoms falling from the trees in the background, as Chad's outline was slowly added in black, leaning casually against one of the trees in the picture. By his side lay a zanpakuto.
He hoped it was true.