Ichigo remains quiet. Slow, and subtlety, though, his hand creeps down to run a sword-calloused palm down Shiro's arm, even through the blanket. Call it an almost instinctive drive to comfort Shiro, despite the fact Ichigo was the cause for the hollow's distress.

He did come back, though. He always came back. Why did everyone think he somehow wouldn't? He'd lived through far worse than the likes of Rinzler could dish out, and kept fighting regardless. And anyway, he said it, didn't he? Why couldn't anyone just believe him on this.

The gentle scrap of teeth on the back of a white neck is probably more intimate than a kiss, but Ichigo still presses warm, damp kisses to the spot on Shiro's throat over his sluggish pulse, and gently tugs at the blanket more. Come on, don't push me away.

"M'not gonna die. Wasn't even close to dying, and even still; I'll come back.

I'll always come back."

Maybe Shiro just needed to be reminded, after all.

"No matter how long it takes, or how far I have to go. No matter what tries to stop me, or hurt me, or even kill me. I've got too many people depending on me to stay alive, and to keep fighting.

So that's what I'm gonna do."

The hand settles on Shiro's chin, coaxing the hollow to at least look at him, because Ichigo had pushed himself up onto an elbow to lean over, and nuzzle at a pale temple, and paler hair.

"Promise."