[Kurosaki Ichigo x Reader] Hmm, I'm starting to wonder whether I should add an icon of the character here... is that allowed? -blink-

"I'm guessing ghosts don't get cold." A gaze travels to the sky, masks the grey of the clouds with a smile, and the rustle of a plastic bag echoes as Kurosaki Ichigo takes the opportunity to settle on an icy bench.

The smile is one only he can see. The slice of your bittersweet happiness is only for him.

You're quick to reply, and although aware of the fact that your explanation is insufficient, it's simply the best you can do. "I can feel that it's cold but it doesn't have the same… bite, I suppose, that it used to when I was alive." Life; it's such a nostalgic topic but your smile remains. "Anyway, what're you doing back here?"

Honestly, he's not entirely sure of the reason himself (or even if there is one) but somehow he always finds his feet bringing him here without conscious order. You watch as he shrugs and ruffles orange hair with a wide palm. "It must get lonely, yeah? Bad company is better than no company in that case."

"True enough, although you're pretty great company, all things considered. Yeah, it does get pretty lonely so it's nice to have someone to chat to… and you have to admit, it is hilarious when you're talking and someone walks by. Surprised you haven't got a reputation for being crazy already."

He leans back, linking his hands at the back of his head with a sigh. "I have."

"Haha. Well the dead girl knows you aren't insane, if that's any consolation." You extend your fingers to brush his arm, sympathetic of his troubles and grateful that he returns anyway, but you recoil with a start. He can't feel anything from your touch; no warmth, no cold… nothing at all, and it's unexpectedly worse to remember that there's nothing you can do about it. He understands why, suddenly, your body — your soul — is quivering. Nature does not freeze you, but reality does.

"[Name]… why don't you move on?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

It's hard question to respond to, but it's not one you find yourself needing to ponder as you stare at the sky. He watches you closely, waiting, waiting for an answer he can refute so he can send you away. "Ichigo, sometimes I wish you wouldn't come here."

He's not surprised, at your declaration or deliberate question-dodging, rather he finds himself full of nothing but empathy. "Sometimes I wish I can't see you."

You laugh. "I'm glad we understand each other… but you know when I do "move on"? Make sure you don't forget me."

"Like you'd let me forget." He frowns. You return it with a second, quiet bout of laughter. Silence hits immediately, but in it is a level of understanding beyond the comprehension of anyone but you or him. It is not said, yet it still resounds softly from both of you, echoing… an expression of solemn honesty:

I wish I had never met you.