Ichigo almost flinches at the terse statement. He hated himself for stopping mid-reach for the soft, white spikes of Shiro's hair.
His fingers curl into a fist. Shake for a moment with indecision.

Then, his entire body slides across the sheets, and molds itself to Shiro's back; shoulders, to hips slotting against a matching set, hand wrapping to clutch at Shiro's shoulder, preventing the hollow from shoving him away entirely. Warm, and tense, but stubbornly pressing as tight against Shiro as he could, Ichigo clung to the hollow's back, and tucked his head in the crook where Shiro's neck met his shoulder.

Because love is not the absence of pain. Love is a hand to hold through the pain. And you have to either accept Ichigo is the way he is, or don't. The specific person doesn't matter. Because if it wasn't Rinzler, it would be someone else. It always has been. Every close friend Ichigo has? He's tried to 'save' in some form, or another.

This is who he is. What he is.

"Then I guess you'll have to kill me."

It would be better than feeling like I'm being pulled apart a piece at a time.