Fear. Regret. Sadness. Disappointment. Anger. Hatred. Weakness. All of these things were buzzing around Shiro's mind like restless insects, leaves in a breeze. The Hollow hangs there in Ichigo's grip, little more than a ragdoll, like the day before. Limp and devoid of fight. Hurt and tired. Done. He'd gotten his world back, but it sucked.

The wrist is ignored, for now, and Shiro mutters.

"... I don't need your pity. I don't want it. I'll do it on my own. ... somehow."