Paradigm

Summary: Ichigo doesn't quite understand how someone can be so rich yet so poor. (AU)

A heads up: this story is set in the Japanese school setting, where teachers come into the classroom to teach rather than students moving from class to class. Also, they eat lunch in the classroom or wherever they fancy, mostly in the classroom though.

For your reference: tencho is shop owner.

Disclaimer: not mine, not for profits.

Karakura High, in Ichigo's opinion, was a most unexciting place. The same things always happened on a very regular basis - Keigo would walk into the doorframe, everyone would shun Orihime at lunch break, and all but Ishida would snore through boring lessons, particularly math. So when he strolled into the classroom, he was mildly surprised to find the class abuzz with chatter. Doing what he thought was the most obvious course of action, he tapped Rukia on the shoulder.

'What's up?'

'New kid, they say,' the petite girl folded her arms and sighed, rolling her eyes in the direction of one busty blonde. 'Rangiku swears it's going to be some hot, hunky dude come to court her.'

As if to illustrate the point, the girl in question flung a lock of golden hair over her shoulder and declared to the rest of the class, 'and together we shall elope, escape from this dungeon of a school and settle in his royal mansion!'

On the other hand, the guys seemed to have a completely different idea. 'Long, sexy legs!' Keigo announced, 'a scandalously short skirt and a beautiful face...'

'Surely not as beautiful as mine,' commented Yumichika primly as he brushed his hair.

'Princely and handsome,' Matsumoto insisted, 'with broad, square shoulders and a good tan.'

'Slender arms and pretty eyes! She is a work of art, truly a sight to behold,' Keigo sighed dreamily.

Yumichika did his best not to look affronted. 'Am I not good enough?'

The door slid open with a loud bang, effectively putting an end to the chaos. The teacher strode to the front and slammed her clipboard down on the table. 'Class 1-3,' she all but shouted over the noise, 'those not present say "aye"...everyone here? Good. We have a new student today, so please welcome him with open arms.'

'I told you it was a guy,' Matsumoto hissed across the aisle and nobody in particular.

Surprisingly small fingers edged the door open and a boy stepped hesitantly into the room. Pure, white hair defied gravity around the crown of his head, vaguely resembling a halo. He shuffled to the blackboard where he wrote his name (very neatly, Ichigo noted) and bowed slightly. 'Hitsugaya Toshiro. Pleased to meet you.'

Someone whistled. 'He's shorter than Rukia!'

'I don't think he's carrying you off into the sunset, Rangiku.'

The class hushed once more as the teacher said, 'why don't you take the empty seat beside Kurosaki?'

Ichigo watched as Toshiro carefully slid his tattered bag under his table and somehow felt obliged to strike up a conversation. 'Hi. I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, and if there's anything you need you can just ask me, okay?'

Toshiro hummed in response, spreading an old, yellowed notebook on his table. The pages were dog-eared and thin, as if they had been written on and erased over and over countless times before. Even as he sat rigid-backed in his seat, Ichigo saw that the carefully rolled hems of his trousers slipped past his heels and the sleeves of the school shirt hung past his elbows. At the top of the desk, Toshiro placed a slightly squashed box of chocolates that Ichigo recalled had been given out as freebies outside the supermarket a week ago. Bending back the flimsy cardboard lid, he withdrew a small stub of a pencil that was attached to a straw with plasticine as if it were the most normal thing that could happen.

Ichigo shrugged it off; he was probably one of those kids who used everything until they fell apart. Trying to break the awkward silence, Ichigo attempted at conversation once again. 'So, Toshiro, how old are you?' He might as well have slapped himself, judging by the look he was being given. 'Uh, I mean, not to offend or anything but, well...'

'Fifteen,' he answered coolly.

'Oh. Do you know your way around school yet? I could show you around later or something.'

'Do your math, Kurosaki,' Toshiro didn't even look up.

'My what?'

'You know, questions 78 to 90, the ones that your teacher just set about two minutes ago?'

'But nobody's doing it, Toshiro!' And true to his word, the only conscious figure in the classroom was Ishida Uryu.

'It's Hitsugaya, Kurosaki. And, even if you don't, I would certainly like to graduate when I'm eighteen.'

The boy was definitely strange, and Ichigo wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe him when he said he was fifteen. He had since taken to watching his new desk mate from a distance. First off, Toshiro spent the entire lunch period studiously finishing homework and poring over a physics book he most probably snitched from Ishida's table. Towards the end of lunch, Matsumoto and a group of equally high-pitched girls had made a stop at their tables and squealed over Toshiro's makeshift chocolate box. They flounced off, leaving the poor guy utterly speechless. Within the next week, recycled boxes had seemed to become a fad, where all sorts of Pocky, candy and biscuit boxes decorated the desks of practically all the girls. When Ichigo tried to tease Toshiro about it, he flushed a rich shade of scarlet and buried himself even deeper in Ishida's literature book.

It didn't really take a rocket scientist to figure out that Hitsugaya Toshiro was the epitome of all introverts, so when Ichigo invited him out with his friends after school, he was less than surprised when he declined. It didn't mean he didn't try, though.

'Come on, it'll be fun! Rukia, Orihime, Renji and Chad will be there, and don't you dare say you don't know them. We'll just be hanging out somewhere nearby...'

'I said no, Kurosaki, and that's final.'

'Why not? I've seen you around, and you hardly talk to anyone! It can't be good for you.'

'I'm busy; just leave me alone.' With that, Toshiro picked his bag up, tucked Ishida's history book under one arm and left swiftly. 'Tell Ishida-san that I'll return his book on Monday.'

'How about tomorrow? You need to make friends, kid.'

'No.'

/

The following Monday, Toshiro slipped past the door, barely making it in time for the bell. He deposited the book on Ishida's table before promptly collapsing in his seat, dark eyebags shadowing his usually stunning green eyes.

'Tired?' Ichigo greeted him.

'Astute of you,' and Toshiro mutely extricated his notebook and chocolate box from his bag. Out of curiosity, Ichigo peered in to what looked like the school-issued bag, surprised to find it rather empty.

'No lunch?' he inquired.

'No,' Toshiro's response was monotonous.

'But we end at four today!'

'So?' his tone was icy cold, frigid enough to send chills down Ichigo's spine.

The day passed in relative silence between the duo, and Ichigo instead took his woes to Rukia in between lessons. Meanwhile, Toshiro seemed to be fighting a losing battle against sleep. His hair was unkempt and when Ichigo leaned over stealthily ('Stop trying to cheat, Kurosaki, and do your own math.') his handwriting was considerably sloppier.

There was no doubt that Toshiro was not lazy or a slacker, though. He had, much to Ishida's horror, aced every test for every subject, topping the class without even breaking a sweat. Ichigo envied how he grasped concepts with such ease, understanding them moments after each lesson, applying them effectively as if it were second nature. He envied how Toshiro seemed to take such pleasure in simply learning, how he seemed to appreciate every second of time.

'Lucky ass,' Renji had muttered into his ear when Toshiro handed the phys ed teacher a piece of paper before retreating to the locker room, but Ichigo just sighed and shook his head wearily, realising that his pale desk mate was just one oddity after another.

After school, Ichigo was rather dismayed at the fact that Toshiro had vanished just as quickly as he had on previous days.

'It's not like he would have agreed to come with us anyway,' Rukia pointed out.

'Why wouldn't he? I've never seen him around after school...he's not in any of the clubs, right?' Renji yawned lazily, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

Idle chatter led them out of school, where Orihime professed her undying desire for cake. 'Sponge cake with dumplings inside and pasta sauce on top!' she cried, eyes gleaming dangerously with passion.

'There's a café somewhere that way. You could see if they'd make one for you,' Ishida suggested hesitantly.

'Lead the way, Ishida-kun!'

The café was trapped in its own world and time. Well-trimmed bushes with minute red flowers lined the alfresco compound, where small round tables and ornate garden chairs sat, surely stolen from an olden English countryside. Large, smooth stones paved the way to the wooden door with a stained glass set in the middle. A soft bell chimed gently as Orihime pushed it open.

'Welcome to Avenue Thirteen's Cakes and Pastries, please take a seat,' called a strangely familiar voice. Peering around Chad's bulky shoulder, Ichigo gaped.

'Toshiro! What the hell are you doing here?'

The teal-eyed boy levelled his stare with an equally incredulous gaze. 'What the hell are you doing here, Kurosaki?' He hastily pushed a pile of papers - schoolwork? - aside and slid off the high stool behind the counter. His hair was tied back in a large white bandanna, and he wore the school's grey trousers with the café's black polo shirt.

'Eating cake!' Orihime bounced excitedly. 'Do you have cake?'

'What kind of cake would you like, miss?' bellowed a man with cropped black hair from the other end of the counter. He was immediately tackled to the ground by a girl with short blond hair. Both, Ichigo mused, wore the same café polo shirt. Employees, then.

'I won't let you take the order! I, Kotetsu Kiyone, shall take the order for the pleasant young lady here!'

'Oh no you don't, you think I don't know you're playing dirty? I'll have you know that Ukitake-tencho likes me better, so there! Your order, miss?' the man planted his elbow firmly atop Kiyone's head, whipping out a notepad and pen with the other hand.

'I would like a vanilla sponge cake with dumplings inside and tomato-based pasta sauce on top, please!' All three employees froze, and the ballpoint pen clinked to the ground.

'Stupid Sentarou, look what you've done!' an irate Kiyone dug her elbow into the older man's side, probably in revenge.

'Uh...miss? May I suggest something else? Perhaps a banana and walnut brownie?' Sentarou asked weakly.

'Any other orders for the rest of you?' Toshiro had retrieved the notepad and pen and now rested his chin against the counter; he really didn't have to bend very far.

'Do we get a discount?' Renji was already investigating the display case. All three co-workers shook their heads in response.

'Chocolate milkshake, then.' The group placed their orders in turn - Orihime had eventually decided on a marshmallow cream cake and honey (Ichigo honestly hoped she wasn't planning to mix them).

'Anything for you, sir?' Ichigo was slightly taken aback, not expecting to be spoken to so politely.

'Actually,' he smirked, 'I'd like to know why exactly you're working here instead of gallivanting around town like everyone else.'

Toshiro's eyes narrowed; he detached the slip of paper from the notepad, placing it on the counter as he said equally calmly, 'please take a seat, we'll bring your food as soon as it's ready. Nothing for the young sir with the obnoxious hair, if you don't mind, Kotetsu-san. '

Renji stopped mid-guffaw when Kiyone called back, 'which one, Hitsugaya-kun? I believe there are two.'

/

That had not been the only time Ichigo patronised the café. There was one time he stepped in, only Toshiro was at the counter and the café was devoid of any customers. 'Wednesday is a lull day, in case you were looking for some party animals,' he droned, not even bothering to look up.

'Actually, no. I wanted to ask you some questions.'

'Fire away; doesn't mean I'll answer them, though. Shouldn't you be home, perhaps studying for Friday's class test?' The pencil-tipped straw was moving at top speed across multiple school worksheets.

'I'll get down to that eventually,' Ichigo mumbled offhandedly. 'When does your shift end?'

His ears met with a dry laugh. 'Wouldn't you like to know.'

Ichigo was normally a patient guy, if he said so himself, yet he found his patience quickly wearing thin. 'Yes, really. Six? Seven? I can wait.'

'Oh?' a thin white eyebrow quirked, the first sign of emotion Toshiro had shown throughout their entire conversation. 'How about one?'

Ichigo swore he heard his jaw hit the ground. 'You end at one? Is that why you come to school looking like shit every day?' He sputtered like an idiot. 'You end at one, get home at two, and then what? Study untili daybreak?'

'Problem?' Toshiro was officially a basket case. 'I'm on closing shift, if you must know. If idiots like you didn't use the toilet then there wouldn't be so much cleaning to do back there.'

He squinted doubtfully at his classmate. 'So you're telling me that you're unfit for phys ed classes but fit to work through the night? I know many a human being who would rather it the other way.'

'Ukitake-tencho doesn't know about that. Shut up.'

'I give up,' Ichigo threw his things down at a chair. 'I'm packing lunch and a coffee for you tomorrow. One strawberry shortcake, please. You could help me with the homework while i eat that.'

Toshiro hopped off the stool, white bandanna firmly in place - it did do a good job of camouflaging his hair. 'I don't normally support cannibalism, but I'd like to see this one. Whipped cream for you, sir?'

Ichigo groaned, but left the café feeling much more enlightened than he ever could be. Who knew that a sleep-deprived kid could explain in so much detail? If only he was that smart, then surely his future would be shining so brightly he'd be blinded...Okay. So he didn't really want that.

As the months passed, Ichigo's grades inched upwards, but Toshiro's kept sliding backwards. Ichigo even had to nudge the boy awake at least three times an hour, until he'd completely given up, taking notes diligently and making copies at the bookstore for him. He saw, as the weeks passed, how Toshiro only seemed to shrink, his eyes sunken and cheeks gaunt. Once a day, at lunch, he would nibble at the rice ball Ichigo would bring him, thank him for it, and wrap the rest neatly in his bag. Five months ago, Ichigo would never have pictured himself getting this close to the studying ice block that sat next to him.

Along the way, Ichigo had managed to wheedle some life secrets from Toshiro. Apparently, he'd been tested anaemic several years ago after turning up at the school nurse's office one time too many.

'Why don't you do something about it?' he'd asked as he tailed Toshiro to the café after school.

'My family needs the money, okay? Stop prying into my life.' Toshiro's pace quickened, his strides widened. It hit Ichigo then that he should have smelt a huge, pungent rat long before this. His behaviour with the pencils, the notebook, the chocolate box that was miraculously still intact, and his entire shabby appearance. It all fell into place now.

'Why don't you get another job with shorter hours? This isn't good for your health, you know.'

'It pays well,' Toshiro walked even faster.

'Does it have to be about the money? I mean, what about your parents?' Ichigo sucked in a breath as Toshiro stopped abruptly. His large eyes were flooded to their depths with hurt, betrayal, and hatred as they bore straight through Ichigo; they seemed to strike something deep within him.

'Oh god, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking and - shit. I'm sorry.' There was a terribly long pause, and then, 'if it counts for anything, you're not the only one who has to bear the burden. Maybe I only know half of what it's like, but I lost my mother in a freak accident when I was eight,' he smiled sadly at the shorter boy, but was not expecting the answer he received.

'Did she love you?'

Nodding dumbly, Ichigo sighed when Toshiro continued. 'That's nice.' There was a faraway look in his eyes - wistfulness?

'How about I find you a better job?' A subject change was in order, no matter how awkward.

'No. Ukitake-san actually understands,' his tone was almost venomous. 'Nobody else is going to hire a thirteen-year-old in high school.'

'T-t-thirteen? But you said you were-'

'Look, the less attention people devote to me, the better I can support my family. The harder I work, the faster I get to graduate. The faster I enter the workforce, the better. Don't mess up my life, okay?' and he stalked off, leaving the carrot-top speechless.

They barely spoke after that, only a wordless routine connected the two. Toshiro would barely miss the tardy bell, sleep the school day away, collect a copy of Ichigo's notes after school with a silent "thanks" and disappear inconspicuously. Days, weeks, months passed where nearly nothing changed and his grades stagnated at borderline passes, yet Toshiro only appeared more and more exhausted.

The change in their fleeting friendship did not go unnoticed. 'What happened?' Rukia asked, only after making sure Toshiro had disappeared down the corridor. 'I thought you two used to be on speaking terms.'

Ichigo sighed, looking much more weary than he should have been. 'I said something really, really stupid. I might as well have thrown him into a ditch. To be frank, his life sucks and I just rubbed it in his face, and now every test he passes is like a celebratory moment. I feel like I've smashed him into a million pieces, and I don't even know how to put them back. The only thing I can do now is stand around and make sure no one steps on those pieces.'

/

Almost a year had passed since Toshiro first stepped into the classroom. Now in second year, the dry autumn air was not doing wonders to anyone. When the day ended, it barely registered in Ichigo's mind that Toshiro had turned left rather than right after class. He vaguely toyed with the idea of chasing after him, but then again he was probably going to the toilet.

With his bag?

Well, some of the girls did that...

But Toshiro wasn't a girl, he firmly concluded. A tap on the shoulder coursed through him like an electric shock, jolting him out of his thought process. Looking around, he found Rukia's piercing violet eyes staring at him questioningly.

'Why do you think Toshiro's going to the staff room?'

'Staff room?' he echoed.

'It's the only place that staircase leads to, after all,' Ichigo turned, realising Rukia was quite right, and that there was something quite wrong about the sluggish manner in which Toshiro ascended the stairs.

One could say that for the next few seconds, Kurosaki Ichigo was in a trance-like state.

'I'm busy; just leave me alone.'

'The less attention people devote to me, the better I can support my family.'

'My family needs the money.'

'Even if you don't, I would certainly like to graduate when I'm eighteen.'

'Did she love you?'

'Nobody else is going to hire a thirteen-year-old in high school.'

'The faster I enter the workforce, the better.'

'That's nice.'

Without warning, he took off down the corridor. Why didn't he see any of this before? All he saw was the brilliance of his mind, the rich, profoundness of his knowledge and skill, the determination in his hard work, and all he did was stand around and admire its beauty, envy its fruits.

He never bothered to probe deeper, just because he thought it wasn't his place. Just because Toshiro said it wasn't his right. Since when had he been one to take others' advice?

'Toshiro! What are you-' Ichigo caught him with one hand on the door to the staff room. He first noticed how small the wrist he was grabbing was, then proceeded to stare at the piece of paper he held.

Withdrawal Application.

Not transfer, not leave. Withdrawal.

'Holy crap,' he breathed. 'You're quitting school?'

Toshiro wrenched his arm harshly from his classmate's grip. 'It's none of your business. Go away.'

Ichigo couldn't believe it. 'Wait, just because you don't have enough money? What about government scholarships? Have you tried-'

'Shut up!' his eyes blazed murderously. 'As much as everyone sugarcoats everything, you can't escape the fact that money is the basis of our existence! You need money to fuel even your most basic needs, to sustain life is in itself all about money-grubbing, and every hour I spend in school is another hour spent being an economic burden! The government only gives scholarships to people who can contribute back to society, so why would they give one to me when I can barely keep my family going?'

Ichigo had never seen Toshiro so angry ever before. 'There must be other ways,' he said gently. 'What happened to graduating from high school?'

All the previous fight and energy quickly bled out of Toshiro; with his back pressed against the wall and his face buried into his hands, Ichigo had to strain to hear his echoing words in the dimly-lit corridor. 'What makes you think I haven't tried? What makes you think I haven't been trying for the past year to make life better? It isn't your fault, not mine, not the school's. You don't have to fix anything.' He took a deep, shaky breath.

'It isn't anyone's fault that my grandmother is sick, and it isn't anyone's fault that my sister dropped out of school to look after her. It isn't anyone's fault that my mother goes on nightly romantic flings with every male on the planet, and it isn't anyone's fault either that she ditched my sister and I with different surnames at my grandmother's doorstep. Nobody's to blame when my family falls through the faults of the country's welfare policies. It doesn't matter that my mother never intended for either of us to even exist, or that my grandmother never really had to take us in. The "why" doesn't matter, Kurosaki, all this shit has landed us in a huge hole. All I want is enough money to keep a roof over our heads, pay off the hospital bills and give her a proper seeing off...school fees have no place in that equation.'

'I see.'

'You wanted to know, right? Satisfied yet?' Toshiro's voice was quiet and strangled.

Ichigo sighed in defeat. 'Go ahead, I'm not going to stop you,' he said, placing the younger boy's hand on the door knob. As his emaciated fingers tightened around it, Ichigo spoke again.

'One last thing, Toshiro, before you leave the school.'

Toshiro paused, his shoulders drooped and back hunched, looking altogether very, very tired. Ichigo smiled sadly at him.

'I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, and if there's anything you need you can just ask me, okay?'

'Thanks.' The sound of a door opening, then closing behind his back, leaving Ichigo to the sounds of his breathing echoing up and down the corridor.

end

A/N: And that puts an end to it! I think I have this penchant for bittersweet stories...and I'm sorry if it was a bit dialogue-heavy, but please, please, please review?