Ichigo drooped in relief a little, himself, but short of grabbing up Shiro in a fierce hug, made no comments about the feeling of tears on the back of his hand. Just buried his face in the crook of Shiro's neck, and breathed in the uniquely Shiro sent caught up in white hair, and a whiter throat. Something like a mixture of a very light 'snake' smell, the warm saltiness of skin, the faint detergent of soap used in washing clothes. All of it mixed to make it a wonderful assault of memories, and senses all at once.

Ichigo clung, not caring a bit that he was dragging Shiro into his lap, and probably would have been squeezing the breath out of someone who had need of air for more than just speaking.

"'Told you that I'd find a way. That you're mine.

...And I told you that I'd never leave you behind. Stupid, irritating, beautiful, bratty, hollow"