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Heartless	By : QueenOfCitrus Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Hitsugaya/Ichigo Views: 2448 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its contents. I do not profit from writing this story or make any money from it in any way, shape or form. I don't own the song 'Heartless' by The Fray.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N: IMPORTANT! Due to the fact that the site is recently running a great purge on fics with the so-called MA content (extreme violence, sexual scenes, etc) I've cut out all all the lemons from my stories and put them in my LiveJournal account. The places of the missing scenes I've pointed out where necessary and the links to those scenes are all easily organized in my profile page. Despite that fact, I am not happy for having to cripple my stories and I ask you all to support a petition in favor of fanfiction introducing an MA rating, appropriate for my stories and the stories of many other people. You can find a link to the petition on my profile page as well as if you google 'stop the destruction of fanfiction petititon'.

Anyways... I'm quite upset over this, so some nice comments could do me good.

Heartless

Part 3

Icefall

How could you be so, cold as the winter wind when it breeze, yo

Just remember that you talkin' to me though

You need to watch the way you talkin' to me, yo

One day, as the two children are playing near the river, a speck of the Devil's mirror falls in the boy's eye, blemishing the innocent, unpolluted sight of the growing child, and turning him into an aggressive and cruel youngster, who can no longer see the delicate allure of the world and the good in the people around him. The only thing that seem perfect to him, are the tiny, speck-like snowflakes that fly from the sky, bringing numbness and cold to the people and the frost-bitten soil.

At first Ichigo was curious.

Then… he felt like a stalker…

And now? Now he can't really be bothered to care.

He noticed the tendency about two weeks ago when the fact that he had lost his keys had him spending about thirty minutes in solid search for the misplaced possession. When he finally came out of his office and was just about to turn round the corner and walk past his boss' office to get to the elevator, the sound of slightly impatient, maybe even angry steps, made him slow down to a stop and peek cautious around the wall's edge at what was going on outside Hitsugaya's working place.

The scene he witnessed at that moment remained plastered in the carrot-top's mind for days to come. For what reason – he isn't sure - but after several nights of stumbling upon similar incidents, he already knows. It's the same thing every time. Every evening, without exceptions.

Hitsugaya comes out of his office about half an hour after the work-time is over, strides slowly towards the litter-bin that is snuggling next to this floor's vending machine, and after several long seconds, drops a single, withered rose in the basket beneath him. During those few moments before Toushiro completes his 'daily mission', a side viewer could be left with the deceitful impression that the boy is hesitating, maybe even regretting what he's about to do… But after weeks of watching this happen from his place at the end of the corridor, Ichigo knows better. His boss is incapable of either of these feelings: Toushiro doesn't waver, doesn't ponder, doesn't even pretend to do so… And what sparkles treacherously in those vitreous jade orbs in the broken trice before the dead flower hits the bottom of the trash can, is no more than a mere shadow of something akin to curiosity - perhaps even triumph? - that in the next minute has already melted away to nothing.

Just like that.

It's a sad scene, really. Agonizing. Whether because the fragile rose inevitably survives no more than a few hours after being gifted to its new possessor, whether because Toushiro never seems to care about what kind of a beauty he's throwing away… But for some reason Ichigo can't help it but make the association between the person and the wilted blossom. Someone so fresh, someone so beautiful and exquisite, isn't supposed to seem so exhausted and tormented by life. And everything about Hitsugaya screams of physical and emotional fatigue; every breath, every movement, every blink, everything. This seemingly painfully unpleasant but important routine that the boy has dragged himself into is frightening in its endlessness. Like the performance of some ancient sacrifice ritual, Toushiro rids himself of the presence of the once fresh flower, and then walks away, never, ever faltering in his decision, as though it's something that can't be helped. Something tedious and tiresome, but ultimately necessary that he's learned to deal with, learned to accept, and honour, and respect, cherishing this peculiar funeral of a sort as an unbreakable, albeit strange rule that he can't expect others to understand.

Sometimes Ichigo wonders what it is that has caught him up in this odd habit of his to watch his boss leave and re-enter his office at the exact same time every day. What it is that keeps him there, several minutes after everybody else has already left, waiting in silence for the much expected spectacle of disposal to occur. Again. And again. And again.

Confusion? Certainly. But what else?

What kind of a fascinating miracle could be drawing him in, making him stay day, after day, when nothing ever changes and the drill all but repeats like an endless, punishing cycle…?

After a while he figured it's the motion that thrills him… The fact that he can actually see the infamous ice prince move, walk, do something as human as throwing away a useless item. And it is a rare and unusual sight, indeed, something almost scandalous in its essence because of how forbidden, how undeserved it feels for someone like Ichigo to be there to witness it. There is no doubt in the carrot-top's mind that his boss is aware that he's being watched – those lifeless orbs, such a perfect reflection of everything that is going on in the world around them, can't have missed the presence of this obtrusive lad that seems so irritatingly persistent on finding out more about his young employer – but such knowledge doesn't appear to be worrisome for the owner of the publishing house. From the single time when the strawberry has actually noticed the boy's gaze flitter in his direction during these little spying escapades of Ichigo's, the taller male has learned one thing: Toushiro couldn't have cared less about what his employees were thinking of him. The snowy-haired guy's time is a precious and delicate silk strand, something gorgeous and valuable, yet easy to spoil with rough treatment, and so Hitsugaya doesn't even bother to pretend that being scrutinized is a problem to him. As long as Ichigo is doing his job, as long as no one else is complaining and the company doesn't suffer, why should he do anything about this? Why?

The carrot-top knows that his behavior is probably quite unacceptable and all the more alarming considering he's engaged, but all these facts seem to fade away into the distance whenever the thought of his peculiar superior comes to him. There's something about Hitsugaya… He can't quite put his finger on it, but it's there; this mysterious aura, this absolutely devastating demeanor of a royal figure with no qualms and no inhibitions, and it's fascinating the orange-haired man far more than what he's willing to admit. And the rest of his colleagues? He can describe their behavior as nothing but pathetically timid, that quite foolish ass-kissing attitude that they use to cover up their fears, occasionally tainted with large splotches of passive hatred and disdain that mostly derive from their employer's age and fame. And how can one blame them?

As far as everybody in the company is concerned, Hitsugaya Toushiro does not go out of his office unless it's for something extremely unpleasant and terrifying for his subordinates. The boy doesn't have lunch with the rest of the staff, comes and goes to work at hours when nobody is there to witness said arrival and departure, he hardly speaks to anyone and knows the actual names of even fewer people… So how could a person this closed off and this eccentric spin the fate of three large companies on the tip of his pinky finger?

Heh…

The same way an emperor rules over three continents.

The thought of that evening comes to Ichigo far more often than he would've liked it to, and not so much because of the shady discovery he's made (Or he thinks he's made? Because the more time he spends trying to figure out the meaning of it all, the more likely it seems that everything has just been a figment of his imagination..), but due to the constant, nagging image that entertains those memories…

…The picture of a completely still, almost vulnerable Toushiro, curled in his arm-chair like a kid that has fallen asleep during a car ride out of utter and overwhelming exhaustion.

That picture.

Because it can't be fair, Ichigo muses, for nature to encase someone this ruthless and full of faults in a body so utterly flawless, so perfect that it almost hurt to look at them. He's seen the extents of Hitsugaya's cruelty plenty of times by now - sometimes by accident, sometimes because the employer has found it necessary to make whatever case public for a greater impact on the rest of his subordinates – and after all these weeks, the carrot-top's left with absolutely no traces of doubt regarding the boy's unscrupulousness. When a demand is made, the demand should be met strictly, without delay, without dawdling; when a deadline is put, the deadline's final and nothing anyone says, no excuses, no begging and promising can make the date change. This is the cost of success, the value of a fulfilled ambition in its purest, most extreme form… Being late, being sloppy, being anything but irreproachable is the same as signing your own discharge. And although Ichigo wouldn't say that he feels particularly intimidated by the short, half-mechanical being that is ruling over the publishing house, he has to admit that the only person sharing such a leisure attitude regarding Hitsugaya, is the boy's dashing right hand –Matsumoto Rangiku. A young woman that the strawberry has only met briefly, but who seems to cherish very warm feelings towards the newest member of 'Dragon''s crew, most probably due to the fact that out of all the men on the floor (excluding Toushiro, of course), the carrot-top is the only one who doesn't attempt to flirt with the sultry beauty whenever the chance arises.

Most of the time, he chooses not to deem over the fact that his lack of interest regarding the female is probably to be blamed on his unnatural preoccupation with someone much smaller and much colder, but occasionally the nagging thought comes anyways, unwanted and rather intrusive, followed by a much more mortifying one that just can't seem to shut up: you're engaged to be married!

He knows all of this, he does, he really, really does, Ichigo muses gruffly as he gathers his coat, his hat, scarf and gloves one Friday evening and swiftly wraps himself up like a Christmas present. The scarf is new – a soft cloud of grey cashmere that Orihime has bought for him less than half a week ago – and under his fiancée's treatment, it now emits the faintest scent of lilacs and lemon. As he inhales the fragrance avidly, closing his eyes to preserve the intimacy of the moment, he can't help it but wonder how come this little gesture of affection his soon-to-be-wife has made for him has ended up making him feel so heavy-hearted instead of grateful or at least a little bit happy… Everybody likes presents – especially such thoughtful, sincerely loving ones that prove the giver is aware of the taker's taste and needs – but even this undoubted knowledge doesn't help the newly-fledged editor to feel in any way better about how his life is progressing. He wishes there was an actual reason to be upset – something he could put into words and dress up into eloquent, only half-true phrases that would certainly grant him at least a tiny loophole that he could later use to slip through… But he's got nothing. His life is perfect, exactly the way everybody else think it is, and it's draining, suffocating him, just like this scarf seems so strangely tight around his neck now, so oddly heavy…

He lifts his hand and runs his fingertips along the soft, silken material, nose still buried into the aromatic puff around his face, and sighs dejectedly. A part of him doesn't really want to go home. Not because there's anything bad awaiting him there – an argument or a discussion of any undesirable kind - and not because he's made any kind of an offence to feel guilty about, or even cuz he's got better things to do, but rather… he knows there'll be nothing different to look forward to. Nothing new. It's like eating the same dish, day after day, after day, after friggin' day, with nothing else to vary your diet… Even if the food had been your favourite at the beginning of it all, you can barely stomach the meal any longer, yet you are too much of a goody-goody-two-shoes to tell the cook that you want something else.

Collecting his things with obvious reluctance, Ichigo makes his way out of the office, locking the door behind himself and putting the key into his pocket. Within five minutes he's exited the building and is crossing the parking lot, a tornado of tiny snowflakes swirling around him and pecking his face unpleasantly as he stamps his way through the several inches of downy white that have been adorning the streets for the past few days or so. It's a lot colder than it has been in the morning and he can't help it but bounce a little in his spot as he finally discovers his car and stands beside it, fumbling with the keys. He enters the automobile a minute or so later, shivering spasmodically and dusting the snow off of his hat as he adjusts himself in his seat. Not much later, he's joining the usual evening flow of cars, driving with reasonably low speed down the relatively vacant streets and humming some Christmas tune to himself while his fingers frisk restlessly across the controls of his radio, searching for a decent station to listen to. He pauses at the weather forecast when some old, bored man announces that a rather vicious storm is coming up tonight, and is about to move on to some other frequency that wouldn't make him fall asleep behind the wheel, when something makes him pause.

Fuck! He slogs the claxon so hard that the door elderly woman that is crossing the street all but collapses in terror, but he can't be bothered to feel sorry. The file of manuscripts, the documents, the articles that he has been planning to take with himself and read during the weekend are back at his office – through his inane musings, his constant pre-wedding worries and the stalking tendencies he's developed towards his boss, he's completely forgotten to pick up the meticulously prepared folder on his way out. And despite his complete lack of desire to do this and the pressing urge to just continue driving towards his home and forget all about it, he knows he's got to go back.

So at the next possible place, he turns around and heads straight back to the office.

When Ichigo reaches the publishing house he's all but fuming. He gets out of the car in a hurry, gloves, hat and scarf forgotten, and is just about to race through the blizzard to the entrance of the building, when something catches his attention and he pauses, shielding his eyes with his hand as he lifts his head and squints up at the eleventh floor's windows where he just so happens to be working. The only balcony belongs to his boss – a large half-circle surrounded by curvy, bronze railings that despite their simplicity still manage to stand out a little unnaturally from the lean figure of the blue-grey edifice – and although at first the carrot-top isn't sure what the meaning of what he's seeing could be, the realization sinks in – gradually and mercilessly – kindling a new kind of emotion inside of him.

Panic.

"Oh, God…" he whispers in shock, and before his mind has managed to catch up with the rest of his body, he's rushing towards the entrance, running as fast as he can in the direction of the elevator, while his wet shoes squeak unpleasantly along the smooth floor, threatening him with quite a vicious fall if he doesn't slow down.

Somehow, with the mercy of some great miracle, he manages to make it to the little transporting cubicle without collapsing in the process, and he reaches (quite desperately) with his hand to punch the needed button, his body spinning around just in time to let him see the two metal doors close with an overly merry clink before him. Then the machine is carrying him up, languidly, certainly, gliding him towards the needed destination, and as the speakers croon some relaxing melody above his head, he realizes for the first time since he's reentered his job place just how much his hands are shaking and how hard it seems for him to be able to stand on those weakened knees of his. His world tilts and nearly tumbles out of his vision when the elevator finally stops and opens up for him, and he all but bursts out from within the confines of the silver cell, sprinting in the direction of Toushiro's office as fast as his legs agree to carry him.

His brain registers barely half of the information it usually would and as he pushes his way through the door of his boss' office (completely disinterested in the 'privacy' he's supposedly 'invading'), he find himself frozen on spot in terror. The balcony's door is opened, cold, incisive gusts of air billowing the curtains in an almost arcane manner, and through the twisted dance of the heavy silk, he can clearly see the snow-covered platform outside; he can easily distinguish the figure that is standing right on the edge of said platform… A delicate little phantom, left in the very core of the storm; an elusive illusion that would vanish in the snap of a finger, the way a dream shatters into dust the moment the morning sunlight hits your face…

Is he… He can't be really-…

Ichigo's blood curdles in his veins at the sight, the realization of what is happening making his heart leap in an unpleasant, rhythm-less manner inside his chest... And yet, even with the shock and fear trying to paralyze his muscles, even with his mind as blank as a fresh piece of paper, he still manages to stumble forward, towards him, towards the one person he's supposed to despise with everything that he is... Don't. Let. This happen.

Insides tied in a knot, the carrot-top manages to get to the borderline between the room and the open space outside, and then pauses again, trying to get it through his head what he's seeing, what really is there and what isn't. The railings, the very same ones that had been perfectly solid, thick and unmovable mere hours ago, are now broken in the middle of the circle, twisted and bent as though a large hand has reached out and torn them apart, leaving an unprotected space in the center of the balcony, exactly where one Hitsugaya Toushiro is now standing with his narrow back facing the building. The whole scene makes absolutely no sense, something at the back of the carrot-top's mind insists, as the employee takes into account the thin dress shirt the white-haired boy is wearing, the naked arms that are stretched to his sides, the pale hands that are grasping the edges of the distorted barrier… The snow that separates them - so strangely untouched despite the fact that someone must've walked through it to get to the other side - has already half-covered one black shoe and then a little further – the second. And now, as Ichigo stares in bewilderment at the figure before him, he can clearly see that the other lad is completely bare-footed, standing there on the edge of his own balcony without anything to protect his feet from the caustic cold, and without any means of safeguard between himself and the town beneath him...

And then Toushiro moves and everything in the carrot-top's world dissolves to pieces.

At that moment Ichigo realizes that the other male is about to jump, and all of a sudden he can no longer remember any of his carefully collected prejudices, the well-deserved reproaches he has gathered for the smaller guy, or the meticulously erected odium that he has developed towards his boss the past few weeks. In less than a second the opinion that he has been trying to convince himself he's got about the younger person, is obliterated like a salty teardrop that was never meant to be shed, and all he can recall is this crushing feeling of pity towards the boy. This devastating knowledge that Toushiro is just a kid, a kid who can probably hardly bear the pressure of such an enormous world on his shoulders, and a kid who's going to let himself go because he can no longer support the weight of the sky with those thin, brittle bones of his.

He sees the toes of Hitsugaya's right foot leave the ground and as the skinny leg move towards the open, towards the abyss that stretches beneath, Ichigo knows he can no longer ignore what is going on. Pushing himself away from the door-frame, he bolts forth, a choked sound that was probably supposed to be a name ripping from his lips. His shoes sink into the thick layer of snow, slowing him down just a bit, but the urgency to get the boy is stronger than any obstacles and he pushes himself to go faster – a mistake that nearly costs him everything…

His left sole finds something slithery – spilt, now frozen water, some unnaturally slick piece of a tile or just a patch of wet snow – and he slips stupidly, skidding forward as a loud yelp replaces the inarticulate gargle from a moment ago. His arms flail at his sides in a rather ridiculous manner and his upper body lurches back as he tries to catch his balance, but without anything in the near vicinity to support him, he can hardly do anything to help himself. Oh, God, no… For a single modicum of the second, he can nearly feel the time shudder and slow down to an oddly lazy pace around him, the world stumbling in its movement as it lets him comprehend exactly what's taking place. And it's a cruel phenomenon, really, something akin to revenge from Fate itself for his bold treading through the forbidden lands… Because ignorance truly is bliss. Whereas knowing what awaits you, being so painfully aware of how palpable Death's breath feels against the skin on the back of your neck – that's about the most terrifying sensation one could ever experience…

No, no, dammit, this isn't supposed to be happening! Wide-eyed and helpless, Ichigo realizes that he's slipping uncontrollably exactly towards the one person he has foolishly been planning to save, and the fact that he won't be able to stop his own movements and will therefore push them both off the balcony, is frighteningly clear to him.

He's about to die, reduced to a human stamp by the side of the road, and all of this just because he's a clumsy idiot.

"Toush-"

His boss whips around, brows knitting together in a mix of confusion and shock, and those turquoise crystals of eyes flash oddly with the quick understanding of what he's witnessing. And then…

The two of them clash.

Ichigo doesn't scream, but strangely enough, it seems like he has, his chest tightening with the effort to keep breathing as his right hand shoots to the side, grasping the bent edge of one of the broken railings and squeezing the thing in a vice-like grip. His left arm wraps around Hitsugaya's thin waist and clutches it tightly, crushing their bodies together despite the indignant 'oomph!' that escapes the smaller male's lips at the moment of the abrupt contact. In the tiny trice of the micro fall that follows, the carrot-top's heart hammers and pounds against his rib-cage with such power that he can't help it but fear that the organ will rip from his body or burst from the pressure. Neither of those happen. Instead, the speed in which he is moving sends him and Toushiro flying briefly into the air, the carrot-top's shoes depicting a wide arc, before the hold Ichigo's got on the piece of iron beside him has the two of them sharply changing trajectory…

…And then, a mere trice later, the taller male finds himself pressed against the outer side of the bronze-coloured barrier, squeezing the cold metal under his fingers for dear life and keeping his body as close to the distorted bars as possible, as the enormous chasm of the ignorant city stretches similarly to a large, ancient lizard behind his back, beneath his feet… Toushiro's tiny frame is sandwiched between his own one and the railings, a pair of palms resting neatly on the employee's chest, but the boy is neither shaking, nor looking scared in the slightest.

Something that Ichigo fails to notice until much, much later…

"Okay… Okay…" the carrot-top mutters, nodding more to himself than to anyone else as he tightens his suffocating hold around the other one's waist. "Okay. We're good."

He feels Toushiro shift against him, that lanky body pressing back against the barrier behind the boy to increase the distance between him and the taller male, and then a pair of weary jade eyes are piercing through Ichigo's ones like needles stabbing a pin cushion. The gaze is so intense, so oddly numinous even without that vital particle that would make it feel real, and human, and normal, that for a second the carrot-top forgets where he's standing.

"You shouldn't have come up here." Hitsugaya deadpans, his voice quaking just a bit at the end as the first tendrils of exasperation creep in the employer's tone. "You should've just gone home."

A powerful gust of wind blows between the two, chasing a vortex of dry snowflakes in a wild silver dance around them, but even as the crispy flakes of ice kiss along the white-haired lad's bare skin, no reaction, no flinch or shudder comes from Toushiro's direction. Instead, those thick lashes flutter with the mildest hint of frustration and the boy shakes his head as though the irritable situation can't be helped, as though Ichigo, who is now openly gawking at his boss in disbelief, is just an imbecile who can't be blamed for acting irrationally.

"I- You were going to-" the carrot-top begins in a stutter.

"It's fine." Toushiro cuts him off sharply, his colourless lips twisting with distaste, before he spins around and starts climbing over the railings to the other side. "I get it. You've been born stupid like that. It's not your fault."

What did you just call me? Ichigo watches in shock as his boss leaps gracefully over to the other side, bare feet landing softly in the snow, and then Hitsugaya is striding right back towards his office, toes digging in the downy white mass as though it is warm beach sand rather than a sea of milliards of frozen crystals. Before he has completely realized what he's doing, the carrot-top is swiftly surmounting the bronze obstacle between himself and the balcony, and racing after the other guy, his arm shooting forward to grasp Toushiro's elbow in a way that immediately has the white-haired lad pausing in his track.

"Hey! Hold on a minute!" the indignation in Ichigo's tone is much more tangible than what he has been expecting, and he well-neigh growls as his employer turns his head to give the strawberry that special blank stare which can drive anyone up the wall with vexation. "Maybe it wasn't the most stylish rescue you could expect, but I did just save you from jumping off the 11th floor."

Toushiro blinks slowly, almost tiredly so, wrenching his arm from the other one's hold and moving to fully face the carrot-top.

"Well, what do you want, a cookie?" the boy enquires sarcastically, cocking a brow as he eyes Ichigo up and down. "I don't give away promotions to impromptu stuntmen if that's why you did it."

Ichigo jerks back at that comment as those physically hit, his features rearranging in something akin to hurt as he tries to figure out if the last part of his boss' comment was in fact a joke or indeed an honestly expressed assumption. He can't honestly be thinking- The carrot-top's eyes dart restlessly across the strange being in front of him, looking for something, searching for an explanation, but all that he finds is this inimical, unmovable coldness, a nothingness that burns and mars the viewer, the seeker, the intruder… It's almost intimidating how little there is to see, really. How useless it is to even attempt such a quest… And Hitsugaya? Hitsugaya doesn't even move a muscle under the scrutiny, a bit of vague curiosity managing to emerge on the surface of those glassy teal orbs before that too, is extinguished into the gelid, bottomless void that lies beneath the iris.

"How can you even say that?" the carrot-top utters in some kind of a strange defeat, all anger suddenly drained from his system as he lifts his hands uselessly, almost pleadingly. "Do you honestly not understand why I interfered?"

"I really don't care." Hitsugaya snorts in resentment, his mouth twisting unpleasantly at the side as though he's been forced to observe something unworthy and disgusting. "I just want you to stop trying to stick your nose in my business."

"I think you need help." Ichigo announces unexpectedly, boldly, all of a sudden completely uncaring about whether this comment could cost him his job or not. "I think you're under a lot of stress and you need help from a professional. You're obviously very unhappy with your life, and it's making you take irrational decisions in the worst moments possible."

Instead of reacting in the belligerent way in which the carrot-top has expected him to, Toushiro just rolls his eyes demonstratively, a low, half-coherent mutter that sounded a bit like 'Oh, God, no…' forming on those lips before the boy turns around on his unprotected heel and slinks right into his office, Ichigo following right behind. Strangely enough, the moment the carrot-top manages to get inside the room, the wind behind him grows significantly stronger, the powerful air movement slamming the balcony door shut with a bang and making him jump in surprise. This can't be very good… The lights in the room are off, much like that other night when the taller male made the mistake to enter uninvited, and in the dimness that comes with this late hour, it is rather hard to see where Hitsugaya has disappeared all of a sudden. The hazy shifting of something, somewhere to the right catches the orange-haired lad's attention and he clears his throat, almost as though he feels that if he doesn't make a sound, his presence might be completely forgotten.

"What do you know about happiness?" comes Toushiro's slightly gruff voice and the sound of drawers being pulled open and hands rummaging through numerous objects echoes around the place. "When does happiness ever come without consequences and aren't we always punished for escaping the inevitable for even one moment? I'm not unhappy, Mr. Kurosaki, I cannot feel that way. How can you be unhappy if you can't be miserable or sad, or hurt, or disappointed? If you don't let yourself experience those, you can't say you're unhappy, can you?"

"You can't shut everything out." Ichigo states a little too quickly, a strange sensation, much like dread crawling up his skin, slowly, certainly, painfully. "It's impossible. So why are we having this conversation?"

A hollow sound, brittle, ancient and forbidden like the kiss of some divine creature, ripples from Toushiro's direction and then something is closed shut as the smaller bloke turns around so his back is to the desk, the weight of that turquoise gaze falling on the taller male even from behind the thick wall of darkness that the carrot-top's eyes cannot penetrate.

"What if it is?"

"It's not." Ichigo repeats, his throat running dry despite the fact that he knows that what he's saying is true. He can feel his own numb, stiff fingers tremble restlessly by his sides as he takes a step or two deeper inside the room, shuddering in the cold that seems to stretch from outside and within the confines of the closed space. "That would be like single-handedly taking everything that matters out, just because you're scared… That would be like dying."

"Dying?" Toushiro's voice repeats vacantly and Ichigo can see that frail body move, leaning against the desk as the boy turns his head in the taller male's direction. "Dying? Are you happy, Kurosaki?"

Much to his surprise, Ichigo doesn't even hesitate, the word rolling off his tongue with readiness that scares him a little.

"No."

Hitsugaya chuckles joylessly at that answer, tapping an absent finger across the smooth wooden surface of the piece of furniture behind him.

"Isn't that like dying, then? Falling apart, little by little, every day?" he whispers wickedly, seemingly enjoying the little verbal trap in which he's pushed his interlocutor. "Don't you just want to shut it all out sometimes? To have it disappear forever and leave you alone?"

:"No." Ichigo counters softly, suddenly finding himself right in front of the smaller male as his slightly disappointed gaze falls down on the person before him. "Emotions are the only real magic that we have. Why would I want to give up the one thing that makes sense in this whole fucked up universe?"

The room falls silent. From this distance the carrot-top can make out more of the other one's facial expression, and the surprise that he sees there, the incomprehension that is etched like fine silver dust all across those dainty features, catches the taller male slightly off guard. Toushiro's empty look – so overwhelming, so frightening in its sincerity – is much more impactful than Ichigo has expected and for a moment the orange-haired lad isn't really sure what to do next, how to respond... And then something indefinite glints in the bottom of this child's eyes – something new and yet too dull to be named – and Hitsugaya turns his head away, lashes lowering in vague wonder. Like he doesn't understand what is going through his own head, either. Like it's so different, so unnatural for him, that he doesn't know if he wants to let it affect him.

"You must be cold." The boy mutters suddenly, and before his employee can react, his snowy-haired superior has spun around and renewed his searches, those nimble fingers moving along the insides of the desk so quickly that the carrot-top can hardly follow. A moment later a small electric heater is produced out of nowhere and Hitsugaya stuffs the object in his subordinate's hands, quickly stepping back as though the machine has somehow personally offended him. "Plug that in, I'll go turn on the lights."

As Toushiro disappears to find the switch, Ichigo is left standing there rather awkwardly, switching his weight from one foot to the other till the much expected click is heard and he can finally see further than a meter before himself, his eyes burning a little with the white light that splashes around the room. Blinking a few times in order to adjust, the carrot-top looks around, swiftly finding an electrical contact in the corner and making his wait towards it to turn on the heater. The machine buzzes to life right away. A wave of warm air envelops the man and he groans in delight, kneeling in front of the spinning vane and reaching with his hands towards it to warm up his fingers.

"Your wife might get worried." Hitsugaya's voice comes from somewhere behind the taller male and Ichigo frowns at the slight irony that accompanies the statement. "You should call her, tell her you're thawing your limbs and you'll be right there as soon as you can feel the wheel again."

The carrot-top turns his head to glance over his shoulder, his eyes falling on the smaller lad, who is currently standing as far away as physically possible from the only source of heat in the room, his narrow shoulder plastered to the opposite wall as the boy watches his employee with a slight, static smirk on his lips.

"We're not married." Ichigo corrects, a tad bit disgruntledly. "And you probably need to melt far more than I do."

"I'm not cold." Hitsugaya says quietly, something akin to malice pouring in those words as the white-haired bloke allows his gaze to slip over the heater. Under the bright illumination that is leaking from the ceiling, the taller male can see much more clearly the expression that has twisted those incredibly delicate features, he can survey the almost translucent, paraffin-coloured flesh and the thin, miffly shapes lips… But what surprises him isn't even the fact that no piece of skin looks bloodlessly mauve after being directly exposed to the winter's merciless caresses, and no gracelessness could be spotted in the supposedly cold-stricken body… No, the detail that makes Ichigo's breath hitch is the realization of how dry the other person is. How perfectly untouched Toushiro seems, his clothes neat, spotless, immaculately arranged… There isn't a single sign that could hint, in any way, that this person has just been outside in the open, tiptoeing along the line between life and death - and in the middle of a snowstorm nonetheless…

And then Hitsugaya's face crinkles in repulsion, lips pulling back to reveal a roll of even white teeth, and the boy spits out with thick, naked spite, like an animal that is preparing to bite another one on the neck:

"Warmth makes me sick."

With that said, Toushiro sucks in a sharp breath of air and turns his head to the side, allowing the silence to settle nicely between them. His hands are gathered behind his back, palms turned towards the wall behind him, and he's leaning against his fingertips, bouncing slightly against them as though he's uncomfortable staying still. In any other circumstances Ichigo might've found the picture quite endearing, kind of childish really, but right now, with the way the boy is acting, restlessly and hostilely, he can't help it but feel strangely out of place here. A peasant in the palace of a prince; a mortal in a temple, built for a god… Someone, who has no right to trespass the borders of the strange boy's world, but who can't help it but marvel now - the way a sinner always does when tempted with the right lure – at how beautiful and untouched Toushiro looks. It must be a feeling that only this unusual person can evoke – a craving that is just as bitter as it is sweet… Because it shouldn't be possible, it shouldn't be, to be so pathetically overwhelmed by the need to protect and care for somebody, when mere minutes ago you could barely keep yourself from slapping them.

You aren't doing this on purpose, are you? You can't-… You just don't care.

…And so after a minute or two have passed, trickling away like golden dust in a sand-glass, the carrot-top slowly stands up with a sigh and makes his way towards his boss, yielding to some invisible pull that he can't struggle with right now. Toushiro doesn't react immediately, merely watching the other male through lidded, taciturn eyes, but when the carrot-top lifts his hand to touch him, the boy flinches.

"No."

"No what?" Ichigo asks softly, almost soothingly so, and then carefully reaches for the other lad's wrist. At first Hitsugaya seems like he's about to resist against the physical contact, but then he just rolls his eyes and allows the carrot-top to take his smaller, paler hand between his own tan ones, that strange look of apathy swiftly taking over the white-haired male's face. "You're freezing. You need to warm up."

For a couple of seconds Toushiro watches his subordinate rub the ice-cold palm with his own, significantly warmer ones, and then huffs somewhat boredly.

"That won't work." It's a declaration that seems to accept no arguments and no persuasions, the unhidden tinge of imperiousness that paints the tone summoning a slightly condescending smile on Ichigo's face. The carrot-top's fingers run along the unpleasantly icy flesh, the thin bones that support it so very cautiously, and pause along the exquisite knuckles, touching the thin skin there with a strange kind of reverence. Heh, could you seem any easier to shatter? Toushiro's hand is like porcelain under his tan digits, a fine make of some wicked deity, the creation of a being that enjoys mocking the human kind in the face… And for a moment Ichigo feels strangely cheated on. Why did Fate have to pick someone like Hitsugaya to carry the face and the traits of something this beautiful, and why did he have to be here now, to see it? After a minute, the carrot-top figures he probably doesn't want to know the answer. Some things, people say, are better left unknown.

"It will, if you let it."

"Don't be ridiculous." Toushiro scoffs sharply and then swiftly wrings his fingers from the other person's hold as though the higher temperature has somehow maculated his perfect little hand. "Just dry off a little and get going. There'll be a storm tonight."

Ichigo cocks a brow, barely keeping himself from letting out a loud snort at that comment.

"You really think I'll leave you alone in here after what happened?" he mutters quietly and Hitsugaya falls silent for a second, seemingly confused by the meaning of that retort. Then realization slowly dissipates along those soft features and the boy shakes his head wearily.

"Haven't you understood by now?" the owner of the publishing house utters almost meekly. "I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"Then what where you planning to do?"

"None of your business."

"You just made it my business." Ichigo enunciates slowly, earnestly, his brows knitting in a scowl as he takes the tiniest step forward and tries to peer through the impiercable veil that covers the other one's eyes. "You're coming at my place tonight and that's final."

Toushiro doesn't even seem amused when he responds, flatly and uninterestedly, as though this is a complete waste of his time:

"You think you can order me about and get away with it?"

"I wouldn't even dare assume such a thing." The carrot-top admits with a morose little smile, knowing well enough that he's risking his job place at the moment. "But I can't have you weighting on my consciousness for the rest of my life."

For a moment Hitsugaya actually looks like he's about to laugh, but the sound never really makes it through. Instead, the boy tilts his head to the side and folds his thin arms in front of his chest.

"That's selfish."

"Would you honour anything else?"

The edges of the employer's mouth curve a little into some kind of a twisted semblance of a smirk.

"I guess not." He admits, before pushing himself away from the wall. "Let's go."

The ride home is quite difficult for Ichigo. He's trying to figure out what sort of an explanation he's going to offer Orihime for bringing a teenage millionaire home instead of dinner, and at the same time, he's trying to decide what he'll do with Toushiro in the morning, when the pressing need for more serious measures comes up. His boss seems bothered by neither of these issues. Settled neatly in the seat next to the driver's one, the boy spends the whole time during the ride with his eyes glued on something behind the windows, the doll-like blank expression giving the smaller male the look of someone who isn't entirely healthy.

Ichigo decides not to think about that much, focusing instead of positive things, such as the calm weather that they are enjoying at the moment. It appears that the weather forecast wasn't as accurate as he has originally thought – no signs of a storm have been present ever since he and Toushiro have left the publishing house.

Maybe luck is finally finding its way back to the carrot-top after all.

Several minutes later, Ichigo is pulling up in front of his apartment building, turning off the engine and exiting the vehicle all the while his fingers are vehemently rummaging through his pockets for a key. He can hear Toushiro open and close the car's door and he absently reaches to lock the machine up, still desperately searching through his jacket.

"Take your time." Hitsugaya says patiently and the carrot-top glances up to give his boss an apologetic look before slowly starting to make his way towards the front door of building. As he finally reaches the steps, his fingers discover what he has been searching for and he almost cries out in joy, turning around to brandish his key-ring victoriously.

"I found it!"

Silence is all that meets him.

Eyes widening in shock, Ichigo lowers his arm and looks around, searching mutely for the familiar figure that seems to be nowhere in sight. Then a soft clinking sound attracts his attention and the carrot-top pulls out his phone, looking down at the text message he's just received.

Go home. It's going to be one hell of a snow storm tonight.

And all of a sudden, a powerful gust of biting wind hits the carrot-top in the face, almost making him lose his balance.

After a few minutes of searching in the blizzard, Ichigo is convinced to follow the anonymous texter's advice.

A/N: In the next chapter more things will happen, so bear with me. And please, review.
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