Here it is!

So I know I said this was gonna be the last one, but it's actually the second last chapter guys.

Was a little confused about the posting for a while. Till Snow Rukia inspired me. Thank you so much!

Hope you all like it. Last chapter's on the way.

Nothing is in the middle of somewhere,

surrounded by everything,

where everyone is someplace,

and still lacking the someone

I need most.

Ichigo used to want things.

He remembers being a fussy kid with no end to wanting. The teddy bear, the pens that would light up in the dark, the power ranger t-shirt, the bright green blanket. His little fingers would run over everything, caress them with unbridled desire, clutch at them with anticipation. There had been nothing he hadn't wanted, and the universe would always conspire through his parents to place it all at his tiny feet, and in his small hands.

He never thought of wanting sisters, but the first-time twin chubby fingers grasped at his cheeks, he decided he couldn't not want them. These little angels would be there, right next to his favourite toys and books, safe and secure and his. Once again, the universe had brought him gifts he hadn't known he could even want.

And then, one day the universe decided he had wanted enough, and took away his mother.

He cried, prayed, begged, put all his little treasures at god's altar; but the universe didn't return his mom. His favourite teddy bear, the pens that glowed, the power ranger t-shirt he wore everywhere, the torn blanket he hugged to his chest every night – it all fell short. He looked around and waited for someone to tell him how to bring back mom, and why nobody was trying to find her on the road where she had lain, and what was wrong with his father?

But his sisters had no answers, only voiceless wails; his father had no time that wasn't spent in the clinic or tending to his sisters, and so Ichigo started keeping to himself, holed in the four walls of his room, thinking. Thinking about the last time he saw his mom, trying to burn her smile into his memory and drive the phantom of her blood-streaked body out of his hands; about what he did wrong, why his mom had to go, why he couldn't get her back, why they had to go buy those headphones and why he had to put them on his ears –

And then he realised.

It was because he had wanted too much. He had always, always wanted, and the universe decided he had wanted long and enough, and it was time for him to give back. If he hadn't wanted, he realised with tears in his eyes, he would have been in his mother's arms, telling her about the bad girl hurting him with karate chops. She would have run her fingers through his hair, rubbed her cheek against his, made him a warm cup of hot chocolate, and sung him to sleep. Now he had the coolest pen to brag about, the cutest toy to play with, the snuggest blanket to snuggle in, but no one to share them with.

He had always wanted, and where earlier wanting something would fill his little heart with happiness and hope, now it spread the searing fire of pain and yearning and guilt under his skin all through his body. He had been selfish, selfish enough to sacrifice his mother at the altar of his never ending wants.

So he stopped wanting, stopped desiring. He didn't deserve it, he was tainted in the sin of greed, and would forever carry around the hollow in his heart as a selfish penance.

Now Ichigo no longer wants, no longer remembers what it felt like to desire something with anticipation and not dull misery flowing through his veins.

x-x-x-x-x-

Just because he doesn't want, doesn't mean things don't come to him.

His family surrounds him every morning, Yuzu with her warm meals, Karin with her homework, his dad with his clown antics. They should hate him, should throw him out, but instead they give him a home and a hearth to return to.

Ishida comes to him, frowns and condescension galore, makes him feel stupid about existing. They fight like sworn enemies, and never agree on anything. But Ishida still sits next to him at lunch every day, waits for him at their meeting point on the way to campus, orders his customized coffee before he arrives at the restaurant.

Orihime comes to him too, all smiles and kindness. She is more than he deserves, more than anyone deserves. She talks to him about her daydreams, tries reading his body language, falls in love with his jaded self. He wants to turn her down, tell her she can do better. But with shining eyes she tells him he is what she wants, and well, he knows a little about that, so he gives in.

They all come to him, they all try giving him what they think he wants. But they don't understand that he doesn't want anything, that he would want them to not want things for him, but he can't tell them because his mouth no longer has words.

Rukia is the first person who runs away from him.

The first time he is surprised, has an absurd thought that maybe she saw through to his ugly, insatiable self. Before the thought can grow roots that dredge into murky memories of car accidents and blood streaked headphones, Ishida, who is walking right beside him, gives an interested exclamation. It is a surprise because Ishida rarely takes an interest in something, and for a random petite girl running away from him in the university corridor to incite such interest is strange.

Eventually, Ichigo begins to realise Rukia is strange.

She spends the first one third of their acquaintance running from him, quite literally, making snarky comments and looking down on him through her nose. If she is not being haughty, she is trying to pretend he doesn't exist. She makes his blood boil, an itch settle under his skin, and annoyance seep through his veins. She shows up everywhere, on the campus, in the café, once even in his house. And in spite of it all, he finds himself doing uncharacteristic things, like trying to make conversation about her book and following her out of his house to make sure she isn't crying.

Ichigo has always wanted to be hated, and now that there is someone doing that, he realises, with some disgust, that he wants to change it.

So, he stops. He stops these thoughts, tells himself he won't care, she is doing the right thing anyway, and then Rukia shifts gears. She starts coming to him, invading his personal space, asking all grades of inappropriate questions, and he keeps brushing her away. He can't understand her, can't understand her motives, and something about her feels wrong, like she is a mirage. Someone who should be there but isn't. Sometimes he feels like he sees a real person beneath those jibes and wide smiles, one instance being when she shows up at his place.

He doesn't mean to, but he ends up hearing her conversation with his father about his dead uncle. She speaks four sentences and leaves, giving him no chance to see her, but he hears the heavy breathing, the tremor in her voice, the hasty shuffle of her feet.

And then he knows that sometime in her life, she has wanted too.

He still ignores her, gives short responses, but now his eyes keep straying to her face, trying to place the faceless, vulnerable person he heard that day. He doesn't know why he keeps searching, keeps trying to catch a glimpse of that person. All he knows is that some nights when the ghost of his mother clouds his vision and chokes his throat, the memory of Rukia's broken voice lets him breathe a little easier.

He thinks, later, that it is a misguided sense of comradeship. To think someone else could have wanted something and lost it and become as broken as him – it is strangely relieving. He chalks it down to empathy and there, the topic ends, he has a name to give to these feelings.

Till she ruins it with her dramatic flair.

He is sitting on the stairs, minding his own business, letting a busybody spout off his mouth – when she appears like the wind, blowing away the sheets in his book, and intimidating the random guy into scrambling away. He keeps staring at her, the irritation at his sheets being blown away becoming more irrelevant by the moment – he hadn't known the sticky-smile woman could talk in such low, seductive tones or drop such a practiced kick. Did she have martial arts training, like him? And had she- where the hell had she learnt to talk in a voice like that?

He keeps staring even as she walks off, breaking out of it when minutes later Ishida snaps his fingers.

Ichigo can feel a premonition lingering at the edge of his thoughts, but he is too occupied giving her tit for tat, kick for kick, insult for insult to dwell on it. He starts getting annoyed, starts reacting at the slightest provocation and pulling childish antics to secure the rush of triumph over Rukia. It is all very childish, and he feels like he has regressed by a decade, but then he thinks she should be more ashamed for she is two years older and yet the most childish adult he has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

And then it changes, again.

They meet in the cemetery and when he looks at her, he finally has an expression to put to the voice he heard all those weeks ago. It doesn't feel as relieving as it had back then, maybe because now that he can see her bloodshot eyes and crumbling features, she looks more human, more jaded, more broken. She tells him she killed his uncle, and he doesn't believe that, wants to ask her about it, but then she says something else that hits him like the car that should have all those years ago.

"She died saving you. Because she loved you. You owe her a happy life."

In all the years that Ichigo has hated himself for wanting something, for wanting those headphones, for wanting to see his mother just one more time, not once has he thought about his mother. What had she wanted?

Had she wanted him to live?

He can't think straight, stumbling in his rush to get home, and once he does so he finds and confronts his father.

"Why don't you blame me?!" he screeches. "You should hate me. Hate me for taking away mom!"

His father looks up from the paper. His face is carefully neutral. "Why should I? That isn't what she wanted."

Ichigo stops breathing. "What did she want?"

"For you to be happy and safe," his father says, looking back at the paper and grinning slightly. "It was all she ever wanted, and fortunately for her, while she was alive she got that. She died protecting you because she wanted you to live, so if you want to give her back something, live a happy life. And a longer one than your old man."

His father leaves the study, locking the door behind him, and Ichigo stays there the whole night, silently crying and gasping. His mind is a chaotic mess, his world tilted off its axis, and for once he stops trying to realign it to what he knows and instead to what the people in his life have been saying all along - his father with his words, Ishida with his eyes, Orihime with her smiles, his sisters with their embrace.

By the time morning dawns, his tears have dried and he can breathe again.

That day, he steps out, decides to maybe find Rukia, but Orihime finds him and-

-and he gives her what she wants.

x-x-x-x-x-

He can breathe easier, hate himself a little less, but a sin is a sin, and he has promised to never sin again.

x-x-x-x-x-

He sees Rukia around, but not as often as before. Their paths no longer cross, and he begins to wonder if the only reason they ever did in the first place was because she sought him out. He runs into her on the campus once and once in their usual café. She still smiles at him, still laughs at him, but there is something irreversibly damaged and distant between them. He has never understood her before, and sees no reason to try doing that now, so he doesn't.

He tries giving Orihime everything she wants. The alien movie she wants to see, the anklet she drools over in the mall, the recipes she wants someone to taste. He thinks Orihime is happy, because she smiles and blushes and laughs and expresses gratitude.

It makes him think of how different people can be, of how if it was Rukia, what an ungrateful little twat she would be. She would probably rub his romantic gestures in his face and never let him live down the cheesiness. He can almost see her frantically denying the blush on her face, slyly comparing his home to her extravagant brother's, laughing at him instead of with him the way Orihime does.

He kisses Orihime, hugs her, gives her piggy back rides. It feels nice, doing something for someone, being the reason for the smile on someone else's face. Orihime always asks, shy and introverted, and it makes Ichigo appreciate her even more. Some people he knows would definitely demand to be kissed, to be hugged, to be paid attention to.

He really doesn't deserve someone as nice as Orihime. But she still wants him, still cherishes him, still finds her happiness in him, so he has no reason to feel otherwise.

So, it is a bolt out of the blue when three months into their dating Orihime takes him by his hand and sits him down.

"Ichigo," she begins softly, eyes on the hands in her lap. "I think we should break up."

Ichigo blinks at her. "I am sorry, what?"

"I think we should break up," she says again, voice firmer.

"Um," he doesn't know how to respond. He should probably feel more shocked, more upset, but all he can feel is surprise and a strange sense of guilt. "Have I done something wrong?"

Orihime shakes her head. "No. You never did." And then she laughs a little, no traces of amusement in her voice. "But maybe I did."

"What do you-"

"You don't like me." Orihime interrupts, looking him in the eye. "Do you?"

Ichigo wants to tell her that of course he likes her, everyone likes her, she is one of the kindest people he has ever met, he doesn't deserve someone like her-

No words come out of his mouth. The way she looks at him lets him know that she has taken her response from his silence.

He tries again. "Orihime. You are a good person. Everyone likes you. You are kind and happy and positive."

"And not the person you want." She completes for him. He stares at her, unable to understand where she is going with this. Didn't she want to be with him? Hadn't he given her that?

"I," Orihime begins, only to stop. He realises her voice choked, and the trembling of her lower lip makes his heart turn lead. She takes in a deep breath, fanning herself a little before taking his hands in hers. He can see the tears in her eyes. "I have always liked you. Since the first time Tatsuki introduced us, I have had a crush on you. And I have always watched you from the side-lines. And now, I saw my chance, so I took it. I thought it didn't matter, as long as you said yes and were okay with me. That maybe I could make you fall in love with me, over time. But Ichigo," and here her voice breaks. "I can't be with someone who doesn't want me."

Ichigo has to say something. He has to tell her- what, he doesn't quite know. "I-"

"You don't want me," she repeats, one of her palms rising to rest on his cheek, "and that is okay. It is okay for us to want different things. It is okay for you to not want me, to not give me what I desire. A relationship cannot be a one-way street. You give and you take. You desire and you be desired. I can't keep taking and you can't keep giving. Please learn to take, even if it is not me you want to take from."

Orihime withdraws her hand, getting up and wiping her face with the back of her palms. "I am very thankful that you agreed to be my boyfriend and gave me such amazing memories. My first love came true." She smiles at him. "I think you should go for yours. From experience, I can tell you that even at the risk of being shot down, you might just be pleasantly surprised."

She walks away from him, one step at a time, leaving him sitting still on the bench.

x-x-x-x-x-

Rukia had once asked him about his favourite dish. He had given her a rude response, but she had been persistent.

"What is it? What do you like?"

"I don't know," he had resignedly grumbled, fruitlessly trying to focus on the book in his hands.

"You don't know?" he had looked up to see Rukia cock her head to the side, arms folded on the table at which she sat across him. "How can you not know? You are just trying to evade my question!"

He had rolled his eyes. "Don't know, don't care."

"What did you like eating as a kid?"

He had thought over it for a few moments, before nodding. "Chocolates. I guess. But every kid-"

"When was the last time you had one?"

He had blinked at her. "Um. I don't know? Who keeps a track record of these things?"

Rukia had clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "That's so stupid. I didn't know you were such a wannabe adult."

He had socked her under the table with his foot, and she had retaliated with plastic cups at his head. The conversation had been entirely forgotten till the next day, when he found a Mars' bar waiting behind his coffee cup. Ishida had raised an eyebrow, he had rolled his eyes, and then the bar kept showing up in study sessions with Momo, in picnics with his family, on his desk in the lecture hall. He had rolled his eyes every time, given Rukia the stink eye, and stored all the Mars in the fridge.

Now, a day after the bombshell that Orihime drops on him, he finds the tiny pile of chocolates staring back at him. He finds himself reaching for one, tentatively, rolling off the wrapper and taking a bite. It has been years, years and years, since the familiar sweetness has enveloped his taste buds, and he almost groans.

He had almost forgotten the taste, and completely forgotten the desire for something he had loved as a child. But now he can't stop munching on the bar, can't stop himself from reaching out for another one, and now there is a lump in his throat that he can't swallow.

Later that evening, when he is licking off his fingers and fighting the beginnings of indigestion, he stops and stares at his fingers. He keeps staring till Yuzu pokes him curiously, sending him off in the direction of the washbasin on seeing his smudged fingers.

Ichigo hasn't wanted anything in a long time, has forgotten what it feels like to want something.

But when he looks at Rukia, thinks of her, his heart trips a little over itself, the flames of the dirty fire underneath his skin cool into the warm aura of a pyre on a cold night, and he thinks, this must be what want feels like.

x-x-x-x-x-

Tatsuki groans. "What is it with people making stupid decisions?"

Ichigo really doesn't want to listen to her. But he has no option because they are in the bus and the next stop is still five minutes away.

"It seems to be a bad time for females," she continues. ''All of them turning down love prospects."

"I thought you were going to hit me," Ichigo says, quiet and careful.

"It's not your fault," she mumbles, looking out the window. "So, what are you gonna do now?"

Ichigo stares at an ice cream vendor haggling with a little kid. "Study? Terms' around the corner."

There is a pause, and then Tatsuki groans again. "God, it's not just women. Stupid time for men too!"

x-x-x-x-x-

Ishida drags him to a massive banquet hall. Ichigo has never been fond of seminars, and he finds himself struggling to find a way out of there.

"Sit here," Ishida says, shushing him when he opens his mouth to protest. "I need an objective viewpoint for my project."

Ichigo is going to speak anyway, but then a voice booms over the mike and his head snaps to the stage.

It is Rukia, small and violet eyed and smiling, shining in the spotlight.

"So, I guess it is my turn now," she speaks into the mike, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have a soulmate too."

Ichigo tries to catch Ishida's eye, who is dutifully nodding in Rukia's direction. The bastard, Ichigo thinks, there is no way he didn't know.

He hears Rukia talk about her soulmate, his love for another, her yearning for him, for a love that will never be. Faces flash in his head – the red head freak friend of hers, the white-haired boyfriend of Momo, Ishida – and it is with great surprise he realises that that is as far the list goes. Who else does Rukia know, and who could she be talking of?

It makes him think of other things. Of Rukia's birthday, her favourite sport, her hobbies, her best friends, her worst childhood injury, things she is bad at – and he realises he knows nothing, nothing outside of what she has chosen to show him.

His eyes find her again as she keeps talking, hands gesturing and face blank. All the expression is gathered in her eyes, where there is a glean of tightly held emotions. Her voice is fluctuating, often stable but it breaks once when she speaks of her journey.

"You can control many things in life," she is saying. "but emotions are not one of them. There is nothing more liberating than turning around and looking them in the eye for what they are. Maybe you don't want them, maybe you want to throw them away – but you could also embrace them, focus on the sensation and let it run wild through you. Let it free, let it run, let it have a go, till it exhausts itself or till you make peace with it."

He stays till the end, when the hall bursts into applauds, Rukia setting aside the mike and politely shaking hands with an old man on the stage. Ishida is saying something, but Ichigo can't hear him, another face suddenly flashing in his mind – that of his dead uncle's.

x-x-x-x-x-

Ichigo has heard of soulmates before. He never believed in it, because it seemed absurd. Why would the universe do that to you? How would that even work?

But when he hears Rukia speak, hears her words gloss over the breaks in her voice, he finds himself wondering. He thinks of his uncle, of his uncle's wife in the grief of whose death he went insane, of the little girl his relatives had whispered about shooting his uncle in self-defence, of Catherine Shaw whom Rukia hates with incredible passion.

And he thinks, wow, that is a long time to have loved someone and hated yourself.

x-x-x-x-x-

That night he lies down, closes his eyes, and lets himself want.

He imagines pale hands running all over him, mirthful laughter muffled in the crook of his neck, frail arms locked around his neck, stray raven hair strands on his pillows, chappy mugs in his kitchen, a song hummed every morning in the shower, soft lips pressing insistently against his, and a warm body lining against his under the blankets every night. Imagines Rukia draped around him, over him, under him, pale legs tangled in his tanned ones.

He knows he is too far gone, has known for a while now, and it is only a matter of choosing.

Hamlet had a real dilemma, he can see now.

x-x-x-x-x-

So. What do you think?