A/N: Hello, my beloved fans! Are your eyes deceiving you? Nope! An update in three days! And let me tell ya, I'm so nervous about this chapter! I had this scene planned from the very beginning, but I had saw this scene through Orihime's perspective, so it was a challenge to write it in Ichigo's. But I like it. I really do, so please keep reading, enjoying, and reviewing. (AHHHH! 30 chapters! I'm so proud of me!)

Blink. Blink because I'm seeing this wrong. I must be. My eyes are playing tricks on me. My mind is registering these characters on the cake wrong, making them form into words that separately would make sense but are completely indecipherable when put together.

Breathe. Breathe because I'm not. Halted intake of air as my eyes follow each stroke of those words that won't change. What it's trying to convey is printed clearly. There's no room for interpretation. No room for discussion or denial. It's plain and simple and clean.

Swallow. Swallow because my throat is suddenly dry. Dry with trepidation as I reread the words. Words that invent crossroads. No, that's not entirely true. It's my response that will ultimately create these alternative timelines…My throat becomes dryer.

Chad's right. That part of me that wants something more with her will never be satisfied, and it's a strong possibility I won't be happy. But that's all it is: a possibility. A chance. But I'm right, too. If I don't ever tread down that path with her, I might not be happy, but I know that if I lose her friendship, it is undeniable that I will not be happy. If I can't have her in my life, I can't be happy. I know that. I feel that.

My eyes move from the box toward her. She's still hiding behind her hair, still squeezing her hands together, still waiting for me. And that's not fair. None of this is fair to her. She shouldn't have given me this box, this cake with words that I want to believe, with feelings that I want to monopolize. She shouldn't have done any of this. Because I-I…

She's presenting me with sentiments that I can't accept. Because I can't risk it. I can't risk our friendship. For almost three years, I've been friends with her. Our relationship has grown, and I won't imagine a world without that. I have to protect it. Protect our bond because that's my job. Our bond needs to be forever protected, and I have to protect it forever.

I can't accept, and I'm a liar because I am wound so tight, so much tighter than I thought possible that it hurts. Everything hurts, but I can't accept.

Time seems set into motion again as a gust of frigid wind closes the lid of the box because her head snaps up, and her eyes widen. She looks lost for a second before she flashes a smile. That smile that I hate with eyes that reveal too much.

"Oh. I understand." Her voice is quivering, but she's still trying to smile. Trying to keep it in place while she looks at the ground. Keep it in place while my insides rage a civil war. "Well, you said…you promised that we would still be friends, so I'll see you tomorrow!"

I can't accept. I can't, but when she turns to leave, my hand shoots out desperately, mindlessly, to grab her wrist. And once my hand wraps around her wrist, I know that I can't do this. I can't reject her, reject us. I can't let her go even though I should. I can't because she's willing to gamble our friendship, willing to put everything on the line for something more. Something that could potentially be better. She's willing to risk something that I can't.

When did she become so courageous?

When did I become such a coward?

She tries to pull her wrist from me, but my hold is relentless. I might be hurting her by how badly she's pulling, but I can't release her because I know what'll happen when I do. Once she is free, she'll leave. She'll leave, and I'll have erased each alterative timeline, leaving only one left. One path that leads to friendship and nothing more. No more crossroads. Just one road.

"Inoue." She struggles more. "Look at me, Inoue." She doesn't. All she does is try to escape my grasp. "Please." If my tone sounds like a beg, it is because I'm begging. I'm afraid that if she doesn't face me, if she doesn't look at me, then it's over. I would've done irreparable damage to us.

She shakes her head, and I can't take it anymore.

"I like you, too."

She spins around so quickly that she breaks my grip. My eyes find hers, and I wince. She's crying. I've made her cry, and I don't know what to do. All urges point to holding her, comforting her, apologizing to her, and crumbling at the pain I feel for hurting her.

"No, it's not the same," she says quietly, sniffling while she rubs her tear-soaked cheeks with her sleeve.

It is, though. My words are the same ones that are on the cake. The same confession.

"I like you," I repeat with more feeling, making me blush.

She shakes her head again.

"No, it's different." She lifts her chin so she stares straight into my eyes. "I don't just like you, Kurosaki-kun. I like like you."

"I know," I tell her softly. "I like you, too."

Her eyes close, and she starts to frown. Some tears start to stream down her redden cheeks again.

"You like me as a friend, but I like you more than that. I don't like you as just a friend…well, I like you as friend, but I also—"

My cheeks are hot when I cut her off. "I like you, Inoue!" She stops rambling. "I like like you, okay? I like you, so please, please, don't make me say it again because it's getting embarrassing."

"You-you can't…" she mumbles, disbelief in her voice and her eyes.

"I can," I stop her. "I do."

She lowers her gaze down to her shoes, and though it's embarrassing, I prepare myself to repeat those words until I'm blue in the face. I'll say those words in any order, I'll pick different words, I'll stay here all night, anything for her to believe me.

But it's not needed. She moves her head back, and I stare down at her while she stares up at me, and she smiles. Not that fake smile. A real one, and the war in me ceases. That knot in my stomach disintegrates. The tension that had me wound so tight unwinds, leaving this calmness, this serenity in me. Like I'm finally at peace.

"You like me?" She whispers.

I gulp as the blood reaches my ears.

I nod.

"Pinch me."

"What?"

"Pinch me so I know this is real and not a dream," she explains.

I scowl. "No."

She pouts. "But how will I know it's real?"

If I were a brave man, a bold man with no inhibition, I would do something that I've seen in movies, something I've done in dreams, but because I am me, an inexperienced teenage boy, I don't. I can't.

I gather a patch of skin between my forefinger and thumb and squeeze.

"What are you doing?" She gasps.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to pinch you, so this should be enough, right?" I show her the red skin of my hand that holds the box.

She bites her lip in concertation. She looks unconvinced.

"Maybe I should go jump off the roof and see if I can fly," she ponders out loud.

"You are not dreaming," I assert. "And don't even think of doing something so stupid and dangerous."

She frowns with pink cheeks, and I sigh.

"You're not…you're not just being nice, are you?"

I snort. "I'm not that nice."

"Yes, yes you are."

"Inoue, please, just accept my confession. Stop being so stubborn!"

She looks surprised before she laughs. "Me? I'm stubborn?"

"Yes, yes you are."

She blushes, and she tries to cover face with hands. It's cute.

She's cute.

I blush at the thought.

She giggles suddenly, and she starts swaying in the cool breeze.

I laugh lightly. "Are you sure that sparkling juice wasn't really alcoholic?" I ask as she hums softly. She's acting so...giddy.

She smiles. So big, so bright and infectious that my lips attempt to mirror hers.

"I'm not so sure now," she says with shyness that leaps off her and onto me. I look away, embarrassed.

It's quiet. Awkward because this is new to us. We are not just in uncharted territory; we are creating this territory step-by-step, and I feel like if we make a step to soon, we'll fall into oblivion.

How terrifying. How absolutely thrilling.

"Well, I should get going," I finally interject. I turn around and start to walk away when her arms wrap around me. She presses her body against me, and she pushes herself to me. I can feel her forehead against my back. I can feel my heart jump to my throat.

"W-wh—" I stutter out.

"I'm drunk," she whispers.

I can't help it. I laugh. Loudly.

"Liar."

She squeezes me tighter, to the point where it should hurt, but it doesn't. All I can think is that I want her to hold me tighter.

"I'm drunk," she swears as she pulls me tighter to her. Can she hear me? "I'm dreaming." Tighter. "I'm crazy." Tighter. "I'll be anything, everything. Just…just stay like this for a bit more."

I have to remind myself that I have a cake in my hand because if I don't, I would have turned around and hugged her back because it's unfair. It's outrageously unfair how I can't hold her back. It's deeply unfair when her arms leave me. Ridiculously unfair how she runs away from me, telling me she'll see me at school. Unfair how warm I feel in the cold weather.