Feedback, repeating over and over like an echo, until both of them were so completely spent that it felt like there wasn't an ounce of fluid left in either of their bodies. Well... save for the fact that the Hollow is more or less drooling in bliss, moaning a little as he squirms under Ichigo.

Gone is the hate, gone is the desire for revenge or whatever it was even. Did it ever even matter? How foolish. Wrapping his arms around Ichigo, the Hollow can feel the echoes of that hatred, but can't consciously figure out why it's there. What had he been angry about...? In the fog of bliss and pain and exhaustion, he only felt the need to be close to Ichigo, the need to touch and be touched. What was... sobbing...? Why? Shiro lets a small sound escape from his mouth and he moves his weak, numbed arms up, caressing Ichigo's face with sweaty, sticky hands as gently as he can.

"Shhh... shh..." Shushing those sobs away. No no. None of that. No rain. Cradling him close and rubbing his chin in that soft ginger hair. The hurt remains, but Shiro now wants to chase it away. He felt bad, now, for saying those things. For thinking those things... he had been wrong and he feels that particular emotion stinging at his eyes. Ichigo sobbed dryly, but Shiro cried quietly. Just a few tears. I'm sorry I didn't mean it I don't hate you I don't hate you.