Author's Note: Sorry I haven't been updating my other fics in a long time, I decided to finish up this one-shot as a filler. It came out really weird, I think. Not sure if I like this one a lot. Well, tell me what you think? It's also deliberately pretty vague at parts, so a lot of it is left to your imagination. Enjoy.

There were many things in life that were forbidden to Kurosaki Ichigo, and these were things that he was well aware of. For instance, he knew he shouldn't be drinking and going crazy at wild parties, and he shouldn't be mistreating his sisters or stealing things from other people.

He was more than willing to oblige to these restrictions, but there was one thing he couldn't have that he found himself to desire unlike any other, despite it being completely off-limits.

"Who" instead of "what" would be a better term to put to this individual whom Ichigo was completely enamored and infatuated with.

To be more specific, this individual happened to be a certain young captain of the tenth division, Hitsugaya Toshiro.

To be completely honest, Ichigo wasn't sure himself just why he was so deeply in love with this boy that he barely even knew. Maybe it was the young, pretty face with the perfect porcelain complexion and snow-white locks, or the large, stunning emerald eyes fringed with long, dark lashes. Perhaps it was the cold, dignified air of regality and air of mystery that he carried himself with as if he were royalty instead of a poor boy from the Rukongai, or the slender, lean, build of the small, lithe body.

One thing was for certain: Hitsugaya Toshiro was, without a doubt, the most beautiful creature Ichigo had ever laid his eyes on before.

He was sure, however, that he was not the only one out there that felt his heart beating faster every time the icy captain would pass by.

As Hitsugaya made his way down walkways, usually, in silence, most males lucky enough to be in the vicinity would turn their heads, their eyes lingering on the haori-clad, cold-hearted beauty that they could not, and would not ever, be able to lay a single finger on. It was almost as if the boy had been sent from heaven – but the gods had only intended to mock them by dangling a treasure before their eyes that they simply could not have.

Ichigo knew that he was no different from these poor men, be they lovesick or lustful for Hitsugaya Toshiro.

Hell, he wasn't even sure whether or not the kid knew his name.

But that, unfortunately, could not stop the substitute shinigami from desperately wanting the silver-haired boy for his own, and his own alone. This deep desire bordered a need for him, almost like how he needed food and water to survive.

Without his presence, his soul was starved hollow and parched dry.

Ichigo often found his mind wandering towards Hitsugaya, even when he wasn't in Soul Society.

He always felt as if he just had to see the boy, even for only a moment.

But at the same time, Ichigo was also painfully aware of the fact that Hitsugaya, despite his pretty, childlike appearance, was also deadly.

He was similar, in a way, to a simple rose. His beauty was there, right up in your face. But if you got too close and reached out for him, and if you were lucky enough to even graze your fingers against the seemingly fragile stem, your reward would be a hand full of sharp, stinging thorns.

Ichigo was helplessly caught in this situation.

In certain parts of the world, there exists a plant scientifically called the Drosera. On the outside, the Drosera is a dainty, pretty little plant that often produces lovely, snow white blossoms. When an unsuspecting insect wanders near it and makes the mistake of getting ensnared in its tendrils, however, it will proceed to kill and digest the poor creature without any remorse.

Hitsugaya was this externally dainty, pretty, snow-white-haired, yet deadly Drosera.

And Ichigo was the pitiful insect that had the misfortune of falling under his spell.

It was true that the boy who was often called a child prodigy carried Soul Society's strongest ice-type zanpaku-to across his back and possessed exceptional powers. But this was not the danger.

What made Hitsugaya Toshiro so deadly was not the blade he carried into battle, but rather, the one he carried in his tongue.

He was always quick to drive away any man that dared approach him with intents and interests that were beyond those of a shinigami's duty. In order to protect his own heart, Hyourinmaru was not his primary weapon. He didn't even need his zanpaku-to to defend himself if he already had his pretty face, bitter wit, and sharp tongue.

Ichigo didn't dare speak to Hitsugaya for fear of being cut down by this figurative blade.

Aside from the occasional greeting as they passed each other in the hallway, as was polite of a shinigami to one of the captain class, the two shared no words.

"Good morning, Toshiro."

"That's Hitsugaya-taichou to you."

"Sorry."

"You're not forgiven."

That was how the longest conversation they had ever held had gone.

It was pitiful, really, and Ichigo was painfully aware of this fact. He wanted this boy, needed this boy, and loved this boy. Yet, there was nothing he could do to make him feel the same way in return.

He could only be satisfied with the occasional icy, curt acknowledgement or the even rarer glance in his direction, even if it was cold enough to freeze hell over.

Hitsugaya Toshiro wasn't heartless.

That, Ichigo knew.

He had heard stories from Hitsugaya's vice-captain (who the strawberry had the good fortune of befriending) that every night, the young, pretty, and deadly, but surprisingly fragile captain of the tenth division would lock himself into his quarters every night after hours of work in the office and cry until the sun rose again. Then, he would dry his tears, dress himself, and get up to face the world as if nothing had happened, colder than ever.

It was something else. There was something else that had caused the boy to encircle himself with a glacial barrier of stoic silence and cold stares. Whatever it was, Ichigo wasn't sure of its identity at all. There was some kind of past or history to this emotional apathy Hitsugaya viewed his numerous admirers in, including Ichigo. He wanted badly to find out just what had happened to him in the past that plagued the beautiful young soul reaper with countless tears every lonely night.

He had been in love before, the vice-captain had explained.

Once, many years ago, he had opened his heart to another man. However, this proved to result in nothing but the most painful heartbreak imaginable as this young man that Hitsugaya once loved had been sent to die.

Then, as the vice-captain had said, up until the days before his betrayal, a certain brown-haired captain of the fifth division would often approach the heartbroken captain. He would take him by the wrist, hold onto it tightly, and whisper sinful words in his ear before taking him away to who knows where to do who knows what with him – although, Ichigo had a pretty good idea of what would go on behind closed doors.

Hitsugaya wouldn't fight back, ever. His heart was too weak for that. He would merely lower his eyes and allow himself to be taken off to fulfill this fifth division captain's desires.

This man had left Soul Society quite a while ago, and that was the only thing that could have saved Hitsugaya from this humiliation.

During this time, and since the death of his lover, as the story went, his heart had turned to ice, colder than his zanpaku-to.

Ichigo didn't want to fool himself into believing this injured heart was one he could ever heal.

He was wrong.

One night, he had been running away from Kenpachi again, who had been eagerly seeking a fight that Ichigo most certainly didn't wish to participate in. Desperate to seek refuge anywhere, he had thrown himself into the nearest building and closed the door behind him.

Unbeknownst to the substitute shinigami at the time, this room he had hurried into was the tenth-division administrative office.

He stayed there for a while, quiet, trying to suppress his reiatsu such that he would not be detected by the brawl-thirsty captain of the eleventh division. That was when he heard the faint sound of soft, muffled sobs.

Curious, he approached the source of the sound, which appeared to be behind a closed door.

Uncertainly the strawberry reached for the door, sliding it open with ease. It was not locked.

He was startled and taken aback by what he saw.

There, in the center of the plain, unadorned room, knelt Hitsugaya Toshiro.

He was obviously in great distress. The usually alluring emerald eyes were filled with unimaginable pain and tears streaked down and across the pale cheeks. His snow-white hair was disheveled, and the thin hands folded in his dainty lap were trembling.

"I-I'm sorry to intrude," Ichigo murmured, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "I…I'll leave now."

"Wait a moment, Kurosaki…" came the tired, weak voice of the young captain.

Ichigo stopped, his heart pounding as he slowly turned back the object of his fruitless affections.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Kurosaki Ichigo," Hitsugaya began, not bothering to hide the fact that he had obviously been crying for who knew how long, "Why do you stammer when you speak to me? Why do you dare not look at me? Why is it…that you are uncertain in my presence?"

The orange-haired shinigami was slightly startled at hearing Hitsugaya address him by his full name for the first time he remembered.

"I…I'm sorry, I-"

"Kurosaki," the white-haired boy continued, looking straight into Ichigo's chocolate-colored eyes with his own emerald set, "…Is it because you fear me?"

"No," Ichigo admitted, "It's not."

"You are not afraid of me?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm afraid of what you'll say if I told you I loved you."

There was a silence before, much to the strawberry's surprise, a small smile appeared on the tear-streaked face, then, the soft, strangely gentle reply.

"Don't be."

Perhaps this attraction was not so fatal after all.