A/N: IchiKei angst. I used a prompt from a friend; she didn't want to write the fanfic idea anymore so I wrote it for her.

"Ichigo, hold still," Keigo pressed a cold, damp cloth to the corner of his mouth, gently enough so as not to cause added pain, but firm enough to cease the bleeding. The normally loud, obnoxious side of Keigo was gone and in its place a firm expression of displeasure, concentration and--most prominently--worry was set on his face. He didn't look natural with his brow knit and his mouth curving downwards, and Ichigo made it obvious he didn't approve of it.

"It's fine, all right?" He said quietly, wanting to move away, but this time Keigo was a step ahead of him, his hand dropping down to his lap with a slight thump. Ichigo blinked. There was no protest, no whining, no pouting.

This wasn't normal.

"..." Keigo did not look up. His hand remained clenched onto that washcloth, a dark ring of water seeping onto his grey pants. Dark eyes narrowed upon the floor and he took a deep breath.

So did Ichigo.

"...I want to know what's wrong," Keigo said quietly, with a twinge of hesitation. In the back of his mind, in his recent memories, he already knew. He wasn't stupid. He saw all that went on that night, he overheard Ikkaku and Yumichika's conversations. He saw things. He didn't fully understand every last detail, but he knew something was going on.

But, he didn't want to come out and say it. Saying it wouldn't prove anything; it would only prove that he was nosy and that was it. He wanted Ichigo to say it. If Ichigo said it, that meant he was close enough to him to know. It meant that Ichigo trusted him.

There was a deep, anxious silence. Ichigo looked at Keigo, torn between just blurting it all out and remaining silent. He hated seeing him like that; it didn't look right. Keigo was supposed to be happy, annoying, hyper, melodramatic, flirtatious, carefree, selfish, childish and superficial. He hated those creases on his brow, he hated the dimness in his eyes, he hated the way he was frowning.

But, Ichigo hated something else much more than any of that; he hated the thought of Keigo getting involved.

It was this thought, this slight risk that edged Ichigo towards the latter of his choices. Keigo could hate him, be angry with him, it didn't matter to him--even if it hurt--as long as he was safe.

"... It's nothing for you to worry about," Ichigo said firmly, disconnected.

"..." Keigo clenched his fist tighter, droplets of water squeezing between his fingers. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before he stood up and reached for a bottle of peroxide.

Ichigo almost flinched. For some reason, he expected to be hit, as stupid as that sounded. He looked up at Keigo and blinked, anxiety creeping, "...What are you doing?"

He should have hit him. But, he didn't. Keigo forced a small smile and said as calmly as he could manage, bottle in hand, "I still need to disinfect it, okay? It'll only take a second."