Renji left the apartment later in the evening, leaving Ichigo to watch TV while he went out for cold medicine, tissues, and – at the last minute – a single-serving of chocolate ice cream, because even though Ichigo shouldn't have it during a cold, Renji wanted to spoil him.

When he got back, Ichigo was laying on the couch, petting his cats. The ragdoll was comfortably curled up on Ichigo's tummy with its usual dark fathomless green-eyed stare, while the wild one was playing with Ichigo, batting at a sock that Ichigo was flicking around.

To Renji's chagrin, Ichigo was coughing badly, wearing a mask again, and was surrounded by tissue balls. "Ichigo, for god's sake, take that off," he demanded as he slung his bags on the counter, digging through them.

"I'm spewing."

"I don't care, you don't have to wear that – just take it off." Ichigo did, pulling it down onto his neck just in time to gag on his own phlegm and practically puke into his hand, coughing and wheezing. "Ah god, Ichigo."

Renji filled a glass of water and brought it to Ichigo, who was too miserable by then to argue with him. He snatched the sick-mask from over his head contemptuously and then softened his scowl when Ichigo began coughing as he tried to drink, choking himself and sniffling pitifully.

Ichigo collapsed back onto the couch and Renji worked around him and his cats to pick up a bit. Renji wasn't good at cleaning, but he did try at least. Ichigo's house was really neat, just as he remembered his room being neat back in high school, and Renji felt bad to see his house get trashed. With that in mind, as much as he didn't like to clean, he threw away Ichigo's tissues and picked up the stuff that Ichigo had just let drop on the floor because he was too tired to put it away.

Finally, he went back and rifled through his shopping bags. "Hey," he said, "brought you this," getting out expensive lotion tissues.

"Sweet," Ichigo sniffled, ripping the package open when Renji tossed it over onto his legs.

"And this," he showed him in turn a pack of cough-drops, some bottled waters, and rice-crackers. "And this." He held up the ice cream, and Ichigo just stared at it. Renji walked over and handed it to him with a spoon, and Ichigo took it almost numbly, breathing through his mouth.

"Chocolate," he noted dazedly. His nose was inflamed, and his eyes were red and wet, and he just stared at the ice cream like it was the last bit of food on earth. "Thanks," he said in his thick congested voice, and he tore the lid off eagerly.

Renji finished cleaning up the front room while Ichigo ate his snack and moaned at the relief to his sore throat, sucking on the cold spoon. He then came and sat on the floor next to Ichigo, leaning against the couch and watched the ridiculous trivia show Ichigo had on. Seeming much more cheerful, Ichigo tried to answer the questions with him, and called bullshit on the stupid parts of the show.

Finally, he hummed, "You know, you don't have to stay here." Renji rolled his head back, looking upside down at him.

"Hm?"

"You came all the way out here, there's gotta' be things you were looking to do." Ichigo ran his finger around the inside of the cardboard carton and licked the last bit off, then set it on the floor with the spoon. "You should be enjoying your break," he said unhappily, "You don't have to spend your time in here takin' care a' me."

"Don't bullshit," Renji muttered, putting his elbow up on the couch, half just because he wanted to jab Ichigo in the leg. "You know I came here ta' visit you – I'm not gonna' leave you while you're sick."

Ichigo squirmed a bit and protested sourly, "It's just a cold. It's not that serious."

"I'm not listening to you."

"It's not like I'm going to die. I'm in med school for god's sake, I know how ta'-"

"Blah-blub-bl-" Renji cut him off, which made Ichigo scowl deeply.

"I-!"

"BLABLUBLUH-" When Ichigo closed his mouth with a deadpan stare, Renji leapt up and went into the kitchen for some food and to make some tea.

"… You don't have to do this, that's all I'm saying," he mumbled, then sneezed and huffed, turning on his side with his arms crossed.

Renji didn't know what to say to that, and paused for a moment after he heard it, staring at the stove. 'Doesn't that tell you something then? That I don't have to, but I'm doing it anyway?'

He grabbed the box of tea and some milk from the fridge to make Ichigo his hot chocolate, and still the answer wouldn't come out, a million different responses passing through and facing immediate rejections. He couldn't say any of it – couldn't.

'I know I don't have to. You'd do it for me too, I hope,' he thought, and stared at his hands. He didn't know what to say that would allow him to keep walking on the slippery slope without plunging over either edge. What was he supposed to say? Was Ichigo testing him? Fuck, why was he doing this?

'I don't get why you keep asking me that when you know the answer. I know you know what it means. I know you know why. What I don't understand is why you're letting me get away with it.'

Renji didn't turn around to look at him, although he almost did on reflex. He knew Ichigo knew about his feelings, he knew Ichigo understood why he was trying to take care of him... but did Ichigo know just how much, just how deeply it ran?

'Do you know what my heart does when I look at your face, Ichigo?'

Renji put the water on to boil and stared down into the depths of the pot. He knows what he feels in his heart, he knows what he should say, what he's wanted to say for three years. He knows how easy it would be to turn and let it come out.

'… I love you so much I think my heart will break.'

He curled his toes up and grit his teeth. 'That's why. And I know you know. So why the fuck do you keep trying to make me say it? Why don't you just send me away?'

Sometimes he entertained the thought of just getting it over with even though it would fuck everything to hell; sometimes he felt like wrecking everything if only to stop playing this game, but again, like every other time, he stopped himself.

He settled on snorting and saying, "Someone's gotta' make sure you don't die up here."

Ichigo made a pouty noise and whined lowly, "We were sposed'a' spend time together."

Renji closed his eyes and smiled and let that tight sad feeling pass as he always did. He wasn't a jerk – he could keep it in. He could. He would keep his balance on this slippery razor's edge no matter what. That was the strength of his feelings.

"We are," he said, "We can still have fun." Ichigo sat up on the couch and folded his arms on top of his knees, resting his achy head on them as he watched Renji. His gaze made Renji itch, made him feel like curling up and hiding, because he knew that Ichigo saw right through him. He just didn't understand why Ichigo didn't turn him out, if he could see what was in his heart.

'Don't stir,' Renji scolded himself. Ichigo was at a tie with Rukia for the most important person in his life, and he was endlessly happy that he'd met Ichigo and that he was at least allowed to stay at his side as his friend. It was stupid and ungrateful to hope for more.

He soon came back with a hot mug for Ichigo and one for him, then sat down on the floor.

Ichigo wiggled forward off the couch next to him, bundled under a blanket cavern, one around his shoulders and one over his head, and they played some Streetfighter Alpha together on Ichigo's Saturn.

Ichigo's legs were loosely folded, and one of his feet was touching on Renji's outstretched leg, and whether it was an accident or a coincidence or on purpose, Renji didn't let himself speculate. He can't let himself slip.