A/N: I wanted to get this updated on Saturday, but somehow the whole weekend I couldn't find my muse, and now here it is, what came out today. I don't know how well it came out, I'm so tired I can barely see straight. I can feel people are losing interest in the story, and I'll do my best to finish it as soon as possible. If all is good, 2 more chapters and we'll finally witness the end of this monster.

Toushiro's home had never felt so far away.

Everything in the world seemed to be hell-bent on slowing Ichigo down that afternoon, and the more things got in his way – missed buses, red traffic lights, people in wheelchairs, etc. – the thicker the inexplicable sense of impending doom loomed over the carrot-top. He passed most of the distance in a sprint, grateful beyond belief that Hitsugaya had been so strict about soccer team practices the last few weeks, but regardless of how hard he pushed himself or how little breath he allowed inside his lungs, it still didn't feel fast enough, it still frustrated him that he couldn't just magically teleport himself to the front of his lover's apartment building. He had tried calling the genius several times already, but the phone rang freely, no one to pick it up from the other end of the line, and the possibility that he was either being ignored or subjected to distrust, set everything in Ichigo into motion. Never, in a million years, had he thought that he would run such a distance, with so much fervor and impetus, when none of his close people's lives were in danger and no natural calamity was mounting the town… In fact, from the non-so-polite squeaks and grumbling that he was detecting from the people he darted by in his rush, he could gauge quite well the impression that he was leaving on the crowds, and on the elderly population in particular.

When he finally reached the building where Toushiro lived, the carrot-top was completely out of breath. His legs felt like towers of jiggery jello, bending and twisting with every step he made, and he cursed aloud, having no other means to vent as he threw a fleeting glare in the direction of the sun that was blazing bright and hot even as it moved towards the seam of the horizon. The abrupt halt wasn't a smart thing to do, Ichigo knew that, but at the moment he literally had no choice in the matter and, supported by his melting, unsteady limbs, he trotted exhaustedly towards the front steps, panting quite harshly through his mouth as he dragged his body forward. The blood that was thumping in his ears was practically rendering him deaf, so he didn't notice the soft screech of the front door when it was pushed open, nearly tripping over his own feet a trice later at the sight of the person who had chosen to exit the edifice at the exact same moment.

Ichimaru's teeth glinted momentary in the fading daylight, surprisingly small and even despite the extent of the creepy grin that the fox projected at every chance given, and the sight made something inside the other student twist and turn uncomfortably. Ichigo half expected a remark of some sort, a mockery or a sneer that would give away at least a hint of what had probably happened inside the building, but instead, the ex-sportsman just nodded with ostensible politeness, stepping aside and holding the door open for the other, still gravely exhausted, teenager to pass through. The carrot-top's face twisted at the sight, uncertainty and confusion making him feel oddly weightless, like he couldn't maybe find the anchor that had previously sealed him to the ground, yet he knew well enough that had no strength and time to waste on this man. If anything, this accidental rendezvous meant one thing – he had been late, and spending any more time on someone who could neither fix, nor explain this mess, was completely and utterly pointless.

The only thing that mattered at the moment was Toushiro. Toushiro's understanding. Toushiro's forgiveness. And Ichigo had no intention on delaying any longer the conversation that could either save him or cross out any chances of a good outcome whatsoever.

He could sense Gin's gaze on himself as he walked past the guy and those inhuman slit eyes felt like severing, red-hot scales, cutting into his skin, hard and cruel in their aim to penetrate his body and shred it to pieces from the inside. Every inch of flesh on Ichigo's bones prickled under the odious contemplation, resentment and anger building up like a wave of heat inside the carrot-top for having to deal with someone so base, someone who would do anything to get their way, even if it meant resorting to means as despicable as gossip and half-truthful stories. A part of Ichigo objected it was only his own fault that he was standing here, his own mistake and his own stupidity that had landed him in front of Toushiro's apartment building in the first place... Yet it seemed so easy and so right to just pin all this on Ichimaru, to hate the cunning and possessive bastard and everything he had done to mess with the Hitsugaya's life. However… how much right did Ichigo have to decry or justify anyone's deeds,? Wasn't he the same? Hadn't he acted just as low-mindedly and just as thoughtlessly to pass the time and come out as the winner in a bet that brought him nothing real and nothing valuable? Actually-… Actually, we're both the same, aren't we, Ichimaru? It was shameful to say that the two of them were indirectly fighting over the boy, pulling back and forth as though their prize was some kind of a juice piece of meat, rather than an actual person, but truthfully, that was exactly what they were doing. Playing a pointless game of tug-o-war without care about the character in between, the damage that they were causing or the gravity of the situation. They were both just as bad… And until they figured out how to settle this without hurting Toushiro in the process, neither of them probably deserved to have him…

Sighing, Ichigo forced himself not to look in the other lad's direction, walking past the guy in silence that he was determined not to break even as the softest, almost compassionate whisper reached his ears, twisting his stomach in a knot.

"Ya lost 'im."

The staircase felt like it was spiraling, looping and deforming under his feet as he tottered quietly up its body in search for the right floor and the right apartment that so persistently seemed to evade him. Everything inside him was a mess, every fact, every date, word or question… It was almost as though he was wading through some kind of a sick nightmare, pushing himself forward through his greatest fears, all in hopes that he would wake up stronger and healthier in the morning. Sadly, no waking up occurred. Instead, as he reached his final destination in the form of a tall, dark brown door, he was surprised to discover in himself no desire to ring the bell or knock the door, hand automatically reaching for the handle despite every sense of decency that his family had tried to plant inside his head for the better part of his life.

The hinges practically didn't make a sound as they allowed their load to tilt backwards, welcoming the guest without a hint of modesty, cautiousness, not even curiosity. It made the carrot-top realize that if Gin had visited – which the silver-haired teen had certainly done – Toushiro hadn't got up to see him out of the door. Whether this was a good or a bad thing – Ichigo wasn't sure. But as he quietly continued further inside the flat and along the deserted corridor, he was overwhelmed by a sense of dread that didn't leave him even as he stood on the kitchen's threshold, watching quietly the figure that was sitting behind the table, hands buried in his snowy locks and elbows prompted on the slick wooden surface beneath as he kept his eyes closed and shoulders slumped in defeat. When the carrot-top made no sound to announce his presence, merely watching with tight throat and painfully knitted brows the state of the person he had so recently admitted to loving, he realized that even with all his gusto and all the strain he had put into getting here as fast as possible, he still had no idea how to begin or what to say. Secretly, he had hoped he'd be the first one to get to the boy. Now he didn't have that clean, solid start to take off from, and everything became that much harder. Especially…

"You're still here?"

…Especially with Toushiro's voice shaking like this.

He could clearly hear that the boy was struggling to talk, his words unsteady, breaking and cracking at the ends, at yet Hitsugaya didn't move from his spot, sealed to the chair as though afraid that if he got up, he wouldn't be able to stand on his legs. His fingers – small and fragile in this state – seemed almost as white as his hair, burying deep among the wisps in search for something: alleviation, hope, anger… And when Toushiro spoke again, rolling the sounds off his tongue as though they were pebbles that were bouncing off the table in search for somewhere to land their weight, everything inside Ichigo turned upside down.

"Gin, I asked you to go… Just-… please… we'll talk tomorrow." The boy muttered weakly, still refusing to open his eyes as he dug his fingertips in his scalp, applying pressure that could both mean to punish him and ease the pain. "That is enough. I already said you were right… What more do you want?"

Ichigo's heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what Hitsugaya was talking about – what kind of a 'right', what kind of an 'enough' his little lover was referring to – but he had a bad feeling about this. He had barely talked to the fox-faced teenager since the guy had been kicked out of the soccer team, but something told him Gin wasn't stupid. He probably knew Toushiro a lot better than the carrot-top did, and was very much aware of how to poke in the right places and where to apply well-measured pressure to plant doubts and fears… What if this hadn't started just now? What if Hitsugaya's insecurities, his timidity and the general air of distrust that radiated from him didn't just come from his past experiences with relationships? What if Ichimaru had been sowing those parasites of hesitation all along, messing with the kid's head white Ichigo wasn't around? Could it be that? Could it, really?

…How dirty was one willing to play to get back something he'd lost? Was the price ever too high, too much, too unacceptable?

You know the answer to that one, don't you?

"It's not Ichimaru." Ichigo muttered. "It's me."

Toushiro didn't react for a moment, remaining as still as a statue even after the words had reached his ears, but then he sat back, withdrawing his arms from the table, and allowed his hands to land limply in his lap. Usually intense emerald gaze fell wanly on the boy's knees, letting him surrender to a tiny trice of weakness, of fright even - because deep inside he probably already knew what would follow – and then he looked up to face the taller male, something akin to a plea reflecting in the way the pair of thin brows had now knitted helplessly in the middle of the kid's face, childish, innocent, helpless in their unconscious striving for protection... A layer of unshed moisture was glistering on the surface of those turquoise pools, threatening to spill as the tears grew heavier and harder to restrain the stronger the ache seemed to get, but Hitsugaya was still holding up, crumpling the hem of his shirt between his fingers as he waited for something... Expecting, searching for it the way a drowning man reaches for a wooden shiver. What-…The realization hit Ichigo like a bucked of ice-cold water and he made a reeling step inside the kitchen, seeking to lessen the distance between the two of them without scaring the younger student off. He knew that expression. He knew what it meant… And it was shattering his heart to know that Hitsugaya was begging him to say that none of it was true. That everything had been a lie, a scheme that Ichimaru had developed to tear them apart, and that it would all be okay. That they would be fine.

Oh, God…

Right now-… Right now Toushiro would believe anything that Ichigo told him. Every beautifully composed lie, every obvious fib, every stupid excuse… It would pass, because the genius was just that desperate to be proven wrong. And if Ichigo chose to use it to his advantage, if he decided to pretend that the bet had never happened, then maybe he would get away with it. Maybe he would never have to worry about finding himself in such situation again.

But…

"Please, tell me you didn't." Hitsugaya whispered, choking on his own words, on his own desperation. "Please. You didn't, you wouldn't do something like that."

But he just… He just couldn't do it. He couldn't lean on a lie and pretend everything was fine – this was not the way things worked. Trust had to be earned and admitting your guilt – as costly as it could turn out to be in the end – was the only way to make things right…

"I'm so sorry." Ichigo whispered, making another unsteady step forward. "You have to believe me… I'm so, so damn sorry."

And that was it.

Some kind of a thin, thread-thin wall shattered between them, bringing down the illusion that had probably been Toushiro's only pillar and hope till now. The boy looked away then, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together in a fine white line... His narrow shoulders shook, retaining only for a second more the emotions that were trying to break free from the prison in which he had caged them, and then he doubled over, right hand clutching the edge of the table beside him as the first hot tears rolled heavily down his cheeks. It took a trice before any sound left Hitsugaya's throat, but finally something between a painful sob and a muffled scream tore from his crumbling body, and his free palm shot up to cover his mouth, to lock the rest of the cries in, away from the world and everything that it had done to him. God, no… The sight of the younger boy, seeming even smaller and frailer now that the truth had crashed down on him unbidden, made everything inside the carrot-top clenched tight, suffocating him with guilt and helplessness. A part of him wanted to rush to the captain, to offer comfort, to make it all better, but something kept him rooted on spot. Something forbid him this right.

So he watched, like an idiot, at a complete and absolute loss as to what to do, as the person he loved fell apart before his very eyes, destroyed by something that he had done, something that he had said. And the simple, foolish "Don't cry…" felt empty and insignificant as it tumbled from his lips, seemingly aggravating the damage even more instead of fixing anything.

"C-can you go now?" Hitsugaya uttered with difficulty as he lowered his hand from his face and brought his trembling arms around his body instead, not a single trace of aggression painting his voice as he spoke – only defeat. Only agonizing, crushing defeat. "I n-need to be alone for a while…"

Ichigo swallowed, struggling to make his thick tongue work even as his mouth filled with glue and his lips cracked and bled under the effort to let him talk. This wasn't-… This wasn't normal. Yelling, thrashing, anger – that he had been prepared to face – but what he was witnessing now, this pain, locked inside, crippled, instead of fueled by the committed injustice: this the carrot-top had no idea how to deal with.

"I can-… I can explain." He managed finally, and the tiny scoff that followed his statement literally sliced through his heart.

"No, it's okay. I get it. You don't have to say anything." The boy muttered, reaching to try and wipe away some of the tears, but they just kept coming, clogging his lungs with their salt and bitterness. "I've been-… I've just been so stupid."

"No… No, don't say that. God, I should've-… It's not what you think." Ichigo insisted desperately, shaking his head as he urged his mind to work with him. "Please, I know how it looks-"

"How? How does it look?" Toushiro challenged through another soft hiccup, fingers digging in his sides as he continued. "Did you or did you not make a bet that you could get me to go out with you and then fuck me? Because that what I've been told. That's what I know."

Fuck, did it really sound so ugly? Was it really that disgusting, that vile?

"I-I… Yes, but-"

"There is no 'but' in this, don't you get it?" Toushiro rasped brokenly, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe he needed to explain himself. "What kind of a person-… Who would actually do that? God, and coming to think that-… That I told you-" covering his eyes with his palms, the boy tried to fight down another series of sobs, his whole body shaking as the disappointment and desperation rolled off of him in waves. "I can't believe this… I can't believe that I trusted you. So. Damn. Much."

"But I love you. I do love you, I meant what I said!"

"No." Toushiro ground out suddenly. "No. You did not say it. I did, and you went along with it."

"That's not-… Toushiro, please, I know what you're thinking, but I promise you-"

"The hell with your promises, I don't need more lies. I'm done with this. Gin was right. Gin was right all along."

At that point Ichigo couldn't take it anymore and swiftly crossed the room, kneeling in front of the boy's chair and grasping the thin little wrists to try and pry Toushiro's hands from his face.

"Do you honestly believe this? Do you honestly think that all this time, I've been pretending to care about you? Don't you know me? Don't you know yourself?" the carrot-top insisted fervently, growing progressively more and more frightened when even after getting a clear view of his lover's face, he still couldn't make the boy look at him. The tiny white palms, brought back down to the kid's lap and held there against their will, lay against Hitsugaya's thighs lax and irresponsive, failing to react to any caresses and kisses that the carrot-top would shower the skin in, no matter how hard Ichigo tried to show his affection or how ardently he whispered his words for the other one to hear. "You have to believe me, please, it might've started that way, it might've come from the wrong motivation, but things changed. Goddammit, can't you see that I fell for you!"

Toushiro was shaking his head now, eyes tightly closed as he battled his own body, his own tears. It seemed like every word was hurting him, every sound was crushing him even more, and Ichigo found himself at complete loss as to what to do. This couldn't be it. He wouldn't let things end like this. He-

"Don't you understand," Hitsugaya muttered forlornly. "How cruel it is. Regardless of the result, you did this. You did this to someone you didn't even know. And for what? For a couple of bucks and the triumph of banging someone who's name is a little more known that your own?" features twisting painfully, he bit on his lower lip hard, jaw trembling as he tried to get the next words out a bit more clearly. "Was I really that cheap to you, that disposable?"

Dammit, how can you even think that?

The carrot-top's throat throbbed with the words and wails that wanted to come out, but for some reason nothing seemed good enough, nothing made enough sense… For the first time since they'd met, he could see absolutely everything in Toushiro's face - every emotion, every scar, every crushed dream – and it startled him to realize just how used, ashamed and insignificant this stupid story was making the boy feel. Like it was his fault somehow that he had believed it was real – not Ichigo's – but his own.

"I made a mistake. I made an honest mistake. Why can't you see, " the older student forced out, voice rising with something that horribly resembled panic. "Why don't you get just how much you mean to me?"

"If you cared about me, you'd just leave." Toushiro hissed suddenly, tearing himself from the other one's hold and raising to his feet. He turned to face away from the carrot-top and pressed his knuckles to his lips, voice a little sharper now as he spoke quietly. "If you cared, you'd understand and go. I can't do this anymore. It was hard enough hearing it from Gin, I can't chew on the same garbage all over again."

"Toushiro."

"No. No, I can't take this. Please, just leave me alone, I can't- I can't think." The boy shook his head, stumbling forward towards the window in search for some kind of a mild escape. "I don't need either of you two right now. And I honestly-… I don't know why you don't seem to get it."

I don't need either of you two.

Ichigo closed his eyes for a second, a dull kind of sadness spreading through the center of his chest. Then he picked himself up, glanced at Toushiro one last time, and decided that the least he could do now was have decency to leave.

Ichimaru and he had done enough.

Hitsugaya couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights, and so the living-room was completely dark now, safe for the TV that was working with almost no volume in the center of this suddenly rather gloomy place. If he dared to glance at his watch, he'd probably be surprised to find out he'd been lying on the sofa for hours now, but he just had no strength left to think about wasted time. He had run out of tears what felt like centuries ago, and all that remained was the distant pulse of something both painful and regretfully nostalgic that was spreading its toxins all over his body.

His mobile phone was abandoned on the floor beside the couch, long ago muted due to the headache that the constant ringing was causing him, and Toushiro wondered if he should even take the little fucker with him tomorrow. Seemed like the only thing these devices did was bringing bad news and annoying the hell out of everyone.

In the numb daze that he had lapsed, he could barely register what he was doing, but at some point his mind caught up with the rest of him and he realized his fingertips were running along the burn marks on the inner side his right forearm, grazing the defective skin in an absent-minded caress that he couldn't recall ever indulging himself into before. He scoffed to no one in particular, turning his head to the side as the soft sound of the late evening news starting up leaked from the television, having a surprisingly relaxing effect on the boy.

Back when he was younger, he used to hate those same late evening news. His mother always watched them, which meant she was always up at this hour, and if she had somehow fallen asleep and missed to hear about whatever disasters had recently occurred, she was exceptionally crabby afterwards, ready to throw offences in her son's direction and pour booze down her throat as he carefully sneaked around the house, collecting empty bottles, strewn kitchen utensils and swiping miserably the broken shards of his very last teacup and the little saucer that went with it. He never said it out loud, but sometimes it was the small things that upset him the most – finding his room trashed beyond recognition, or having her tear up the last good shirt that he had, or just discovering the remains of the milk he had bought the previous day spilt all over the floor as though real food, real nourishments were worthless crap in comparison to the beloved doze of whiskey or vodka… Every once in a while, when it got too much, when he couldn't handle it any longer, he would cry for hours over such tiny, petty things. Material proofs of some erstwhile care that lay broken and scattered in his feet, reminding him once again how irreversibly his only relative was slipping down the abyss of her own destruction. The last few years all she did was hurt him – in whatever way shape or form she managed to do that – and more than once he would wish she would either kill herself, him, or both. Because apparently they couldn't sustain anything even remotely normal when they lived together under the same roof, with their parenting roles reversed and the lack of money constantly pressuring them to pay rent, pay the bills, pay for food, pay for Mrs. Hitsugaya's disgustingly expensive alcohol addiction…

So…

He supposed it was honestly, really, really shocking for him… To discover himself shattered to such an extent when she finally did muster the strength to end her own life and relieve him from the weight that he had been carrying around like a dog for so long now. He figured part of the grief came from the memory he still cherished of her – back when she hadn't been so bad. When she had actually bothered to apologize after hitting him. But truth was, he was just so scared, lost in the endless arms of this enormous world, that the perspective of being sent to an orphanage and losing every tiny bit of normality that he still clung to, mortified him to extremities where he could hardly think about anything else. He felt small, confused, insignificant - the parentless kid that nobody would bother to look for – and the possibility of the police getting a hold of him was terrifying him beyond belief… In this situation, the only two people that he could think of, the only ones that were left, who he could actually trust, were Ichimaru and Grimmjow…

And that was definitely not much of an army to face reality with.

Being discovered by Gin was probably the luckiest and at the same time, the worst thing that could happen to him after he ran away from his own apartment. Letting himself go in the familiar pair of arms, allowing everything to just pour out of him, all the anguish, all the pain and desperation – it was a luxury that he couldn't resist, but which secretly tore him apart every second that he spent with the silver-haired teenager. He knew Ichimaru couldn't help him – he was a kid after all, just like Toushiro - and relying on the older student, burdening him with the mess that the shorter boy himself had been struggling to put into order for so long – it just wasn't fair. And so the moment he saw his opening, minutes after Gin had foolishly left him alone, Hitsugaya found his way back to the streets, this time with a purpose and aim in mind rather than a vague striving to escape his future.

Grimmjow was a wrong choice in so many ways and on so many levels, that some would say the kid was better off on his own than looking for the cobalt-haired lad's help. Problem was, this wasn't just about today, or about this week, or about this month even… With the less time that Toushiro spent with his eccentric old buddy and his ever-changing company of pot-addicts, there were much fewer things he could do to 'pay' back for the weed he was buying, so naturally, his debts to the young drug dealer were building up along with the cravings that always came full-power when the jade-eyed kid was stressed out. No matter what the boy decided to do with his life from now on, regardless of the direction he picked to follow, he couldn't do it with the knowledge that he hadn't returned the money he owed. True, he didn't have the cash now (and the older teenager most probably knew it) but while Grimmjow could be incredibly crude and tactless when it came to most things, he had his creative ways to handle financial difficulties… Which most probably meant that Hitsugaya would be swamped with paperwork for the next couple of days, doing the job that the older teen was meant to fulfill for his dad, and eventually, after he worked off everything that he owed, he could think about the rest of his problems and their supposed solutions. It was his only option, really. And besides, he would need some place to stay at least for a little while, which meant that if he wasn't fond of the idea of sleeping in a cardboard box till the coast was clear and he could actually collect the little possessions that he had from his flat, he would need assistance. Maybe when his head cleared out and the world didn't seem so messed up and hopeless anymore, he would figure something out; he was a survivor after all – he had gone through too much, he'd get through this, too…

Of course, those were quite naïve thoughts for someone who would later be declared a child prodigy, and looking back at what happened, Toushiro had to admit he had made the worst choices possible. Grimmjow was spoiled, short-tempered and had a huge ego that seemed to grow larger and larger the longer he kept living the way he did. The past couple of weeks all that Hitsugaya had done was try and avoid contact with the older guy, slowly pulling away from the drugs, the alcohol and the suffocating grip that the other lad had around his slim throat. And what he was doing now - showing up on the entrance of the club that his 'friend' was taking care of – was undoubtedly, absolutely, one of the stupidest things the boy had ever done. Till this moment, when he thought back to the events from that night, the genius got chills running down his spine, wondering what the outcome could've been if things had gone just a little bit differently…

Grimmjow had met him with arms wide open, chasing away the group of junkies that had gathered around him, and taking the boy to the second floor to a more secluded office-like room, where they could actually talk. The guy smelled a bit of vodka and lemons – probably some kind of a cocktail that Toushiro hadn't tasted before - but he insisted he hadn't had much to drink and would like to listen to whatever the issue was, because, well, Snowy-chan looked positively upset… Ignoring the nickname, which he honestly didn't fancy, Hitsugaya had just nodded his head and went along with the explanation, deciding he didn't want to be the one questioning anyone tonight... His head hurt too much, his mind was too blank, and all he needed right now was to find someone he could trust and lean on… Maybe Grimm could be that person, if given the chance, and truthfully – the kid didn't have that many options to pick from – so he followed the club's 'owner' in the chosen direction, forgetting for a moment just how aggressive and cruel the taller guy could really get when his precious ego was bruised.

Afterwards…

Afterwards Toushiro remembered explaining his predicament to the older teen, accompanying his story with stiff hand gestures and an enormous effort not to burst into tears again while the azure eyes of the other bloke watched him carefully, silence and something else that the white-haired kid couldn't quite pinpoint floating around in the air between them. When the story was finally over, Grimmjow remained quiet for a couple of seconds, merely watching the smaller male with slightly darkened, yet unreadable blue gaze, and then, before the boy could actually fathom what was happening, he was being pulled in a surprisingly tight embrace, the soft promise for help ringing in Hitsugaya's ear like some heaven-sent melody. In that moment - for a single particle of the second that tasted both sweet and sour with the waft of hope that it carried - the kid almost dared to believe that everything would be alright. That maybe, just maybe, he would drag himself out of this living hell in which he had fallen and remember to dream, to pray for miracles...

How-

How truly, truly gullible he had been.

Toushiro could still vividly recall the scent of that tea… thick, bitter, yet with an odd tinge of something that was typical for medications. He asked what it is and Grimmjow told him it was a certain new herb he got recently, a plant like weed, but now quite, that would help him relax for now. Yes… parents always tell you when you're a little not to accept treats from strangers, for you never know what could be hiding in the cup of lemonade or the delicious piece of cake you've been given… But Grimmjow was not a stranger, not a lewdly grinning old man, peeking from the window of his black shiny car, he was someone the boy had known for years now. And in the state in which Toushiro was at the moment – lost between nightmare and reality - he couldn't quite bear thinking that there was someone left out there that would want to harm him. A single drop of distrust more, a hair of hesitation, and the load would break his spine. The truth would crush him irreversibly.

So he sipped his drink, appeased when he quickly started feeling the tranquilizing effect it had on his wasted, aching body. And then…

…Then it got too much.

The empty cup dropped from his lax fingers, tumbling to the floor with a dull thud that echoed in his head as the still whole cup rolled a few inches along the fleecy beige carpet. The colours were everywhere before his eyes: bubbles of swimming blue, shimmering red, pink, violet, nacreous white and marvelous green… Wave after wave of something warm and tender washed over him, making his body accepting and pliant, like it was maybe floating on a cloud instead of sitting in some cheap, unkempt room on the second floor of a second-class club… So he almost didn't register Grimmjow's hand as it pushed him from his sitting position on the sofa and coaxed him to lie on his back instead, Toushiro's right foot still on the floor while his other leg remained up on the delectably soft piece of furniture. The words that were coming from the cobalt-haired teen's mouth were very vague, torn, loud, yet quiet, everything altogether, but the boy half-heartedly detected anger in those sounds, annoyance… And somewhere among the noise, Gin's name, too, appeared, uttered with disgust and what could've been considered jealousy …

"Why do I act all patient and carin', looking out for you all the fuckin' time if ya're gonna put out for the first guy that shows up on your doorstep, huh?"

Maybe it was the accusations that brought some of his consciousness back, maybe the drug just hadn't knocked him out completely, but when Grimmjow's lips found his neck, biting and sucking, while his large, rough hands worked on pretty much tearing the shirt off of Toushiro's torso, the boy started to move. He tried to say no, he tried to push the guy off of him, but truthfully, he couldn't even feel properly frightened. It was all like some kind of a dream, a raving, torn from a sick person's lips, and it was both peculiarly distant, surreal somehow, and so damn hard to believe that his mind simply refused to fathom the situation… The dull burn in his stomach told Hitsugaya he didn't want this, that this wasn't okay, or normal, or acceptable, but it was just so hard to focus and even harder to resist. The other teen didn't even have to pin the small pale hands down, the kid was that weak, barely nudging at the broad shoulders as the older lad raked his dull fingernails down the kid's sides beneath the clothing, leaving soft red trails along the tender skin.

Then as those hands traveled lower, fumbling with Toushiro's belt and the slightly oversized jeans, it started to get scary. Some clouded part of his mind protested, startled by what was happening, and he struggled to pull away from the touch, to get Grimmjow to understand that this wasn't okay. Oddly enough, the blue-haired guy didn't seem to care, manhandling his supposed friend with harsh, slightly aggressive movements, while the boy chanted a weak, now verging with desperation 'stop' and tried to wriggle out of the unrelenting fingers. It was all to no use. The drug, however easily it could drag him into a beautiful, liberating euphoria, had now turned into a dreadful prison, locking his mind away from his own body and granting him useless no matter how much he fought against the restraints of the tea. Toushiro was practically helpless – a rag doll, that had been tossed around too much, pulled and battered too hard and for too long – and with the loud disco music blaring downstairs and muffling any miserable cries, Hitsugaya didn't stand a chance.

He had almost given up when it happened… At that moment, as Grimmjow was proceeding to pull the smaller male's jeans off of him, the door burst open and someone rushed inside, catching both occupants of the room off guard. And what occurred next was truly an ugly, atrocious picture.

Toushiro didn't think he had ever seen Gin so angry. Most of it was really just a big blur, but he recalled the baseball bat as it collided with the back of Grimmjow's head, and then some of the other hits as Ichimaru dragged the offender off the sofa and onto the floor. Most of the beating was really unnecessary and Hitsugaya tried to tell the silver-haired guy so, but his mouth wouldn't work with him and the shock of what had just happened was too much to swallow at one gulp. When Gin made sure the guy at his feet wouldn't be getting up any time soon, he turned his attention to Toushiro, finding himself before the boy in a heartbeat. It was one of the rarest and strangest sights, really, and the teen would never forget the feeling of being pulled against his larger body, long, pale fingers stroking the thick white locks as Ichimaru scolded him mildly for running away.

The rest was a surprisingly bright ending.

Grimmjow got arrested and taken to juvie for several things, including drug-selling, vandalism and attempted rape, and Toushiro never heard of him again. Not that he cared much, because for the first time in his life, he discovered that he actually had living relatives – people who were willing to give him a chance regardless of all the shit he had done and the stuff he had been forced to go through. His mother had hidden more than one secret from him, and for the news he had stumbled upon in the face of his gentle uncle, the boy was not surprised… Mrs. Hitsugaya had always had an interesting way to handle situations and after her whole family had stood against Toushiro's dad – the guy who had incidentally left her with an infant on her hands just a few years after they married – she had just decided to cut them all out of their life. Just for the sake of keeping appearance.

And then it turned out that Ukitake lived in Karakura and life couldn't be more perfect. It could've been his happy ending, really, Toushiro thought regretfully, pulling his sleeve back over his scarred forearm. It really could've been…

Now he was knee-deep in a mess that he had no idea how to handle and the only thing that came to mind was just how much he wanted both Gin and Ichigo out of his life. It was probably the wisest thing to do, considering the idiotic situation, but of course… he had made a promise. He had made a deal with Ichimaru.

God, integrity… What a useless, useless thing.

Click.

Toushiro didn't react for a second at the peculiar sound that came from the other end of the apartment, features twisting in surprise and confusion, and then he shot up in the sofa, anxiety coursing through his body as he realized something incredibly obvious.

He had forgotten to lock the door after Ichigo left.

Slipping off the couch, the boy scrambled peeked cautiously over the back of the furniture and then scrambled to get the phone that he had left on the floor near his head, only to accidentally kick the device.

"Shit!"

Falling on his knees, he peered under the sofa, searching for where the little machine had disappear, but without any light in the room, the task proved to be much harder than expected. Before he could slip his hand between the floor and the furniture, the sound of steps made his head snap up, eyes growing wide at the dark figure that stood on the threshold of the living room.

"I was gonna ring the bell, but the door was opened."

The empty locker room smelled of sweat, dust and rubber, even stuffier and dirtier than usual by the time the day's brightness tumbled to an end. The echo from the laughters and shouts that had filled the place an hour or so ago had long died away, yet Ichigo still seemed to feel the vibrations of those noises in the ground beneath his feet, the benches, the cupboards, even the walls that surrounded him singing that tune as he made his way through the place with one hand rubbing a towel in his damp hair. Teeth around his lower lip and skin still radiating heat from the extra running and the hot shower he had taken afterwards, he looked positively unnatural the way he was currently staring oh-so-intently at the bright screen of his mobile phone and running through the chronology of his last calls. More than two dozen repetitions of Toushiro's name flitted before his eyes as he scrolled down, only vaguely registering the hours, minutes and seconds that floated next to each failed attempt for communication. He had sent a couple of text messages to the now painfully familiar number, laconically asking to be given at least a chance to explain himself again, but all such pleadings seemed to lead to was a momentary sense of frustration which almost blissfully took over the dull despair that had been such a constant guest in his heart ever since he spoke to Hitsugaya about the bet.

The genius hadn't shown up in school for two whole days now, remaining seemingly miles away from the mundane life of Karakura high's students, and in that way saving himself from the petty gossip and arguments that would undoubtedly pull him in if he so much as spoke to a classmate. Maybe it was a strategy of some sort, a plan to allow the tension to fade before he dared to return to the battlefield of his usual life, but regardless of the reason, Ichigo felt somehow cheated. The kid had even missed soccer practice today, leaving the team to tend for itself and suffer the lack of a good and organized leader, and the fact had definitely confused the majority of the players, as most of them had never attended a practice without their beloved captain before. From the looks of it neither Renji, nor Ichimaru had said anything about what had happened to Monday, but the red-head seemed positively distressed, asking about Toushiro whenever he caught Ichigo alone in some empty classroom or a deserted corridor, and offering advice that was neither applicable, nor wanted. Perhaps it was still the guilt talking, the carrot-top assumed as he placed his phone in his locker and proceeded to pull his clothes out, but guilt really didn't help much. Besides, no matter what his friend thought about this situation, it was still Ichigo's fault, all that had happened… He just needed to figure out how to fix things. How to make this whole mess go away for good.

"Easier said than done…" the orange-haired teen muttered with a sigh, pulling his pants on and then proceeding to don his school shirt as well. It took him a minute to get his things packed and leave the locker room, his fingers massaging the back of his head as he tried to rub the stress out of his scalp and bring some sort of alleviation for his wasted nerves. He barely registered where he was heading, his legs carrying him on their own as he made his way through the school and towards the main entrance.

Most of the building was eerie empty, really. There was no one around except the janitors that looked half asleep and the obese man with a walkie-talkie who was supposedly one of the guards, responsible for the safety of the enormous institution. The rest of the usual hustle and bustle had drained from the place hours ago, leaving it large and insignificant, a mere composition of large boxes with the names of offices and classrooms, which would look just as crowded and buzzing with life the next day… if only Ichigo could survive till then.

Deciding that he would walk the rest of his was back home, the carrot-top descended the front steps that led him out in the open and marched across the yard, barely managing to make it out of the school property before a rough hand grabbed the front of his shirt and smashed his back against the fence. The carrot-top's blurred for a moment, the shock of what had happened catching him off guard, but then Ichimaru's face came into focus and the shorter student didn't even try to bite back a groan of annoyance.

"What the hell do you want?" Ichigo spat out, shoving angrily at the other guy's chest, only to be pushed back against the fence with doubled force.

"Ya're a complete moron, aren't ya?" the foxy teen hissed, grin completely wiped out of his lips as he shook the orange-haired lad a little. "What did ya say ta Toushiro the other day? What the fuck did ya do?"

"What did I do?" the carrot-top ground out in disbelief, mind going momentary blank as he grasped the front of Ichimaru's shirt and balled it in his fist. For anyone who passed by at that moment, the two would look positively ridiculous, literally at each other's throats as the passive hostility finally began bubbling in something real, something that wasn't resolved with words or thoughts… But with his temper threatening to burst at the seams and the idea of being accused of anything stinging so bad, Ichigo just couldn't bother to think about decency. Being good and polite didn't count for anything anymore. "You were the one who readily broke his heart to get your way. If you really cared about him, you'd know some things are better left untold."

"Ya're no good fo' 'im!"

"And what? You are? Please." Ichigo snorted in disgust, shaking his head as he narrowed his eyes at Gin. Unconsciously, he took into account the way the sharp features hardened even more at those words, creating a nearly stony mask on the face that would've been so appealing, so handsome-… If only it had been allowed to open up a little more.

The silver-haired guy didn't answer immediately, just glaring through those snake-like slits at his rival, and then he let go of the shorter bloke and pushed himself away, lips pressing together in a thin, tight line. For a split second – a moment so short, Ichigo actually doubted its existence – the carrot-top saw an expression of bitter anger and regret flitting in the barely noticeable gleam of red that peeked beneath the eyelids, the half-concealed emotion denoting for the first time something human, something real, yet impossible to fix that had probably tortured Gin just as much as it repelled everybody else.

"At least I didn' lie ta 'im about bein' any better." Ichimaru stated flatly, fists opening with effort by his sides as he struggled to remain calm. "I neva' promised 'im it would be easy, or normal, or even beautiful enough. I've got mah flaws, I always have, but you! Ya gave 'im all those wonderful things he always dreamt he'd have, an' then ya took it away from 'im, because ya proved it had neva been real."

"That's not true and you know it, you bastard!" Ichigo snapped as he pushed himself away from the fence. "This is all about your obsession to have him all for yourself. Nothing else. I bet deep inside you don't even believe he'll come back to you, you just can't stand the thought that he might be happy with someone else!"

Momentarily, he saw Gin's jaw tighten, a furious, rather dangerous look twisting those features the way primal instincts to hurt always came to animals, but then he managed to relax again, inhaling harshly through his nose as he added quietly.

"I dun care what ya think. I jus' have ta kno' what ya told 'im. Because this ain't Toushiro. Toushiro wouldn't have missed school. In fact, he'd come if only ta prove he could handle this. He wouldn' miss practice. He wouldn' let the world see how much he's hurtin'."

The conviction in the other lad's voice made Ichigo pause for a second, a cold, benumbing feeling running down his spine as he held Ichimaru's gaze with his own slightly incredulous one and snorted.

"And you think you know him that well?"

"I know I know him that well." Came the sharp, yet surprisingly coherent retort and then Gin shook his head, clearly irritated. "Ya're useless. I was hopin' ya had some answers, but I suppose I'll have ta go check fo' mahself. Have fun bein' you, it must be hilarious."

With that Gin turned around on his heel and started making his way across the street, his hand diving in his jeans' pocket to fish out a bunch of keys. Ichigo stood there for a moment, contemplating the other guy as he made his way towards an old dark blue car parked in one of the streets…

Ichimaru was going to Toushiro's apartment.

And suddenly, the carrot-top decided he needed to go there, too.

Review.

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