A/N: So, there is a lot that needs to happen in this story so I felt that for it to run smoothly, it needs an intro. So there you go, a relatively short intro, which, I hope, you enjoy despite the fact that not much happens in it. Bear with me, it'll get more dramatic later. XD

So, here you go, the sequel of 'Iridescent', named...

Black-and-White

Chapter 1

Intro

"Toushiro, I'm getting on the plane… Do me a favor and let some oxygen into the apartment before I get there, will you?"

"Hey, who says the place isn't well aerated 24/7?" Hitsugaya grumbled into the speaker, balancing the mobile phone between his chin and shoulder as he jostled the window with his elbow, trying to get it to open up for him, nice and wide. "What do you think our little love-nest looks like while you're gone?"

"Like a chimney."

"Rude," Toushiro managed with a huff, trying not to breathe too harshly into the device as he put a little more pressure on the handle and the frame. "No more bondage sex for you, Mister, not with that insignificant level of trust that you're displaying right now."

"You're battling the window, aren't you?" Ichigo deducted in a flat voice.

"No," the boy objected sullenly, biting his lower lip to contain a victorious 'Not anymore!' when the window gave in and opened with a deafening crack. "That's just the neighbor above us, shooting pigeons again."

"We live on the last floor, Toushiro."

"Are you trying to play smart or something?" Hitsugaya snapped, watching somewhat incredulously as a cloud of dust and cigarette smoke slowly leaked from the room into the open. Huh. Who would've thought.

"One of these days you're gonna suffocate in your sleep and you'll have no one to blame but yourself."

"I don't think I'll be complaining once I pop off." Making a face, Toushiro leaned over the frame, contemplating with a frown the busy traffic that was bustling on the street beneath and the crowds of people, struggling to pass each other without tripping or pushing anyone in their track. Big city, thin patience… He had learned that the hard way a couple of months ago. "Did you get me anything?"

Ichigo made a dramatic noise into the phone, something that was probably meant to sound like a slap on the forehead echoing along with a terrified gasp and the very distinct sound of an airport loudspeaker. Toushiro had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from chuckling as he picked up an old magazine and dutifully began waving it back and forth from the room and out, making some miserable attempt to aid the ventilation of the premises.

"I completely forgot! I'm so sorry! Do you think we can work that out if I buy takeaway on my way here?"

Hitsugaya leaned back against the window frame, sliding down a little as he muttered into the phone in his lowest, most decadent voice.

"Is it sexy?"

"You're gonna love it," the carrot-top replied with a chuckle, his voice sounding a bit muffled for a second as though he had separated the phone from his mouth to look at something else. "I have to go now. See you soon, okay?"

"Yeah…" Toushiro muttered, a bit more dreamily that what he intended. His boyfriend obviously caught on the tone, because he laughed again, saying something about not being able to wait for the welcoming kisses. The admission had Hitsugaya snapping out of his daze with a gasp, and he straightened up abruptly, cheeks flushing with colour as he suddenly found himself in a struggle to make his tongue work. "W-wait! Lo-"

Beeeep.

"-ve you. Dammit!" glaring nocuously at the mobile phone, Toushiro tried to keep himself from cursing and throwing the device at the wall. It wouldn't do him any good anyways… It was his own fucking fault that he couldn't say it in person... That he couldn't be the initiator – for once – and make his feelings known when stupid, absent-minded Ichigo didn't seem to have any urges to say the 'l'-word even after all this time that they had been together.

If someone had told Toushiro a year and a half ago, that he would leave his home town behind along with his friends and his cousin to chase vague dreams and even vaguer future with a man who he barely knew, the white-haired lad would've probably laughed in the idiot's face and offered him a cigarette as a reward for being so amusing. Now that he had a more sober view on what had happened, Hitsugaya had to admit to himself that when Ichigo had offered him to come to the big city and give fate another chance, the change had been exactly what the boy had needed to get back on his feet. The fresh start had been difficult, all the more because he was still frightened and insecure about his relationship with the carrot-top, but irritating, caring, patient Kurosaki had been there every step of the way, supporting him and pulling him back up every time he reeled and tripped.

For the better part of the first two months, there was practically nothing that the boy could do but stay at Ichigo's place and browse job and apartment announcements and refuse to unpack completely, mostly in spite of the orange-haired model's constant nagging to relax and stop worrying so much. The strawberry wouldn't let him take up any work such as shop assistant or a waiter, and Toushiro hardly had the qualification for anything else, so they spent endless hours fighting over whether Kurosaki could, should or needed to look after his boyfriend rather than having Hitsugaya spending his time in a supermarket as a cashier or cleaning floors and windows in some business building. It was near the time when the boy had almost given up on struggling anymore and decided to go back to his granny's house (where at least he wouldn't have to argue over every ad because of Ichigo's absurd ideas of care), when Kyouraku called on the phone with the news that he had obviously bought and arranged for the old construction site outside Karakura to be turned into the eccentric gallery that Toushiro had always wished for it to become. Hitsugaya almost strangled his boyfriend upon realizing that the carrot-top had so persistently kept him away not only from starting any job but also from going back to his hometown for the sole reason of giving time for the manager to complete the project, and with that – the place where the pig-headed lad could finally let his imagination loose. After an hour of screaming and throwing random objects at the half-amused, half-worried Ichigo, Toushiro had (a bit overdramatically) locked himself in the room where he had all his things tossed around in suitcases and packages, and had only come out late in the evening to pull his lover into a long, sweet kiss that had gradually turned into a lot more than just an innocent lip-lock…

The next few months Hitsugaya was engaged mainly in travelling back and forth between town and city to paint, meet with Momo, Matsumoto, Renji and Rukia (the last two had recently become an item) and then back to Kurosaki's ever-welcoming arms. Ichigo didn't complain about the wait, for he was himself rather busy with his own job, and so things worked out surprisingly smoothly till the place, in which Kyouraku had invested so much, was finally finished. Toushiro hadn't really expected to see the project gain much popularity even after all the efforts that had been put into it – personally, he would've participated even without the large salary that he had initially tried to deny – but what the artist hadn't taken into account (and what his manager had obviously thought of ahead), was that there was no such thing as bad advertising. The young Hitsugaya's name might've been the object of just as much negative as positive gossip after the article that described the actual events from the lawsuit from over three years ago, but it wasn't the difference in the opinions that really mattered, it was the presence of such opinions at all that set all the right wheels in motion. He was hated, reproached, loved, admired, resented and adored altogether, and that, as strange as it sounded, was the perfect recipe for a grand breakthrough.

Toushiro didn't even know what had hit him when his grumpy pictures – often accompanied by his manager's dazzling grins and his boyfriend's glamorous magazine photos – littered the front pages of every paper and tabloid he could think of. The maze gallery sprouted and blossomed into a huge success in no time whatsoever and as soon as Hitsugaya came back to the city, he was swarmed with interview invitations, job propositions, phone calls and a lot of other such things that sincerely freaked him out and made him disconnect from the world for the next three days. Luckily, Kyouraku seemed to know what to do in such predicaments and he took it upon himself to sort through the garbage and pick out only the few good offers that could lead to a potential benefit. Toushiro's relationship with Ichigo didn't help to calm down the spirits and to the boy's horror, he found himself in the eye of the public long before he was ready to deal with the attention. To preserve his own mental health, he gave up on reading any newspapers or magazines that could somehow connect to gossip and intrigue, and to his surprise, the strategy worked wonders for him. He refused to be guest in any talk shows and anything else that was airing and could therefore put him in a situation where he wouldn't know how to react, and although Kyouraku wasn't happy with the decision, he was decent enough to honour it.

A few occasions later, a couple of extravagant paintings in random galleries and several graffiti works, and Toushiro found himself with much more money than he could possibly spend. They kept piling up, and even after he sent a good amount of it to Momo and Matsumoto and used up as much as he could on renovating his wardrobe, there was still plenty to go. So, after a lot of musing and several long talks with his cousin, Toushiro decided to invest into an apartment.

He bought a flat in a calm neighbor about six blocks away from where he was currently residing, furnished the place according to his own peculiar taste, bitched a lot about the hundreds of things he still didn't like, and then eventually continued living at Ichigo's place, with just a few boxes transferred to his official abode. The idea suited the taller male just fine, for he had voiced his unfavorable opinion about Toushiro's intentions to have his own house on many an occasion, and having his complaints silently respected seemed as enough of a prize for him. The two of them appeared to be co-habituating quite well together, with Hitsugaya having his own room to stock all the garbage he couldn't fit in Kurosaki's one, and the boy sharing the carrot-top's bed and the rest of the apartment, including the vast, usually well-ordered living room…

Usually well-ordered living room, because right now it looked like it had survived a war and then been gifted to a tribe of hippies as a bribe for their good behavior.

"Oh, God…" leaning back against the frame of the opened window, Toushiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He held like that for a few short seconds and then exhaled, lifting his eyelids, only to discover with a loud groan that the terrible scene before him had not disappeared while he wasn't looking.

Since it was Ichigo out of the two who usually made sure that his little lover cleaned after himself, didn't roll in his own filth and ate at least relatively healthy food, it was only natural that the small joy which Toushiro derived from the times when the man was away, was to do the exact opposite of what the carrot-top always insisted he did. As a result, the room could probably make a nun cry if she saw it. There was practically no semblance between the tidy space that Ichigo had left upon his take off and the horror which was currently stretching before the white-haired youth – just remnants of the pragmatically maintained order that had once ruled over the place...

"Why didn't we get a maid, again?" Aw, that's right. Because last time Kurosaki had done that, a lot of personal underwear and other small belongings had ended up sold online for legendary prices. One very unfortunate incident - and this is how distrust is born.

If he had to be really honest with himself, Toushiro would have to admit that the living-room didn't really look half as bad as his overactive imagination was making it seem. True, there were pizza boxes full with cigarette fags on every surface in the near vicinity, Chinese leftover smudged across the low table in the center, overflowing ashtrays in curious locations all around the place and clothes and empty bottles right about everywhere you looked, but most of the worry actually came from the knowledge that Ichigo was always so damn fastidious about his apartment and how it looked. The boy had intended to put things into order several days before his lover came back from his business… trip… thing, yet no matter how hard he had tried to propel himself into executing this magnificent plan, he had failed the moment he began imagining where he needed to start to get things done. His will was too weak when it came to tidying up and he had dutifully tried to explain this to Kurosaki on plenty of occasions – he needed his creative chaos to spawn chef d'ouvres and no amount of clothes folding or coffee pads could change that. Now, just a few hours before Ichigo popped on the doorstep with his personal version of 'Honey, I'm home!', Toushiro was facing a jungle rather than a room as well as a growing need to smoke.

No. Get your act together.

Taking a deep breath in to calm his inner world – which, honestly, was on the brink of a panic attack – the boy nodded to himself and headed for the kitchen, emerging several seconds later with an enormous trash bag. With determination that he rarely showed regarding anything else, the boy proceeded to collect what he had personally thrown around the apartment, emptying ashtray after an ashtray and harvesting empty cigarette packets from atop, underneath and behind sofas, couches and cupboards. The endeavors were accompanied with lots of grumbling and cursing, but Toushiro continued his working anyways, knowing that if he couldn't meet his lover with a squeaky clean apartment, he could at least show that he had tried to achieve some form of tidiness... That he was going perfectly well on his own and that the model didn't need to worry about anything when he was away from the city…

…Which was a bit too often, nowadays, Hitsugaya noticed with a sigh, pondering whether to smoke first and move the table and chairs back to their original places later, or do things in the opposite order, with a bit more motivation to finish his job more quickly. He opted for the first alternative – again, because his will was weak when it came to cleaning up – and with a small huff, pulled a half-empty cigarette pack from the pocket of his loose grey sweatpants. Tucking one of the poisonous sticks between his lips, he put the carton container of his precious addiction back where it belonged, and lit up the fag, feeling strangely accomplished now that he could taste the tobacco on his tongue, even when all he had done was collect the garbage that had been rolling around the past week and a half. Dragging his load to the corridor, he bent down before the front door and tied up the neck of the now full trash bag, hauling it on his shoulder with another inarticulate grumble. He didn't forget to put a baseball hat and a pair of sunglasses on as he slipped his sock-clad feet into his shabby sneakers near the threshold and proceeded outside the apartment building and into the vast open, where cars were hooting, people were staring and paparazzi were charging from every corner.

The past few months Ichigo's rating had shot sky-high, his popularity aided not only by the photo sessions that he was snapping regularly for different clothes brands and the endless list of ads that had his name and face imprinted on them, but also because he had begun showing up as a co-host or jury member for one or two episodes in several popular TV shows. As far as Toushiro knew – and, interestingly enough, he didn't know much, because his lover rarely talked about his plans and ambitions lest he jinxed them – there were good chances the strawberry could get his own program to lead if he played his cards right. The result was that the media was eating up every findable speculation and idea about their ginger star without even chewing. Figuratively speaking.

The reporter assaults, which had previously been annoying, but still relatively bearable, had turned into a constant terror that could strike at any moment, at any place. There was little that these people wouldn't resort to and the dirt was seeping online and on paper in piles almost as tall as the ones that spoke with pride and awe of the carrot-top's success. Ichigo didn't seem affected by the bullets that were being shot at his back, and at home he mostly just refused to speak about it, but Toushiro knew it still frustrated his boyfriend to see his name involved in stories which he had never heard of and in which he had never participated. Sometimes, at the oddest, most unexpected moments – perhaps when the load was just too much or the effort to swallow the gossip were causing him trouble – Ichigo would simply smile a rare, sad little smile, and thank the younger male for refusing to read any yellow press and watch shows of the same kind. The boy honestly didn't know why he would deserve any gratitude after the kindness that the model had showed him – after all, he was well-aware of how far reporters could go to get their scandal; he wasn't going to let some idiot with a camera and a hand twitch ruin their relationship with his scribbles. He was better than that. They were better than that.

Which most certainly didn't mean that he wasn't supposed to be careful, especially since his connection to Ichigo was making him just as much of a target as the carrot-top himself. Innocent hand holding and hugging aside, there were a lot of things that Toushiro would rather not share with the world, and after the carrot-top had told him on one occasion (his large tan fist muffling a fit of laughter that the boy refused to appreciate) that there was a picture of him asleep on the model's shoulder in the opera house and then one where he was surreptitiously pinching his taller lover's butt in the middle of the street, the artist had decided he was at least going to make an effort to remain somewhat incognito. Hence – hat and glasses.

When he came back home without the trash bag, Hitsugaya's cigarette was halfway finished and he was feeling slightly restless. Determined not to pollute the apartment anymore (or at least till Ichigo came home and congratulated him with hot, steamy sex on cutting back on the tobacco sticks) he slipped his shoes off and padded towards the still opened window, leaning over it as he idly released rolls and rolls of white, curly smoke. His mind drifted momentarily to the painting that he was currently working on back at his own apartment and the side of his mouth curled up in one of those dreamy little smiles that always came up whenever he allowed such images to emerge in his consciousness. The half-painted canvas was his most recent artistic obsession, and when he wasn't mourning over his growing Ichigo-deprivation, he was spending his time hidden those 6 blocks away from here, bottled up in the beautiful art studio in which he had transformed one of the rooms, and drawing dots, lines and stripes till out of the previously bleak white surface, there rose a phoenix. With the threat of several long hours of cleaning looming menacingly over him, the itch to skip to his own flat and layer a few more shades and shapes, was becoming almost irresistible. Nowadays he worked with brushes and pencils just as much as he did with graffiti cans and empty walls. It mostly depended on what Kyouraku had found for him and to what terms and conditions he had to agree for the particular contract. He was just as willing to work on a reserved landscape as he was thrilled to massacre the front of some boring edifice, as long as he didn't get sued for it and someone told him he wasn't half bad. Income, salaries, prizes – none of those really mattered, not when he could practice what he loved the most without anyone chiding him for that or making him feel like a lowlife just because he didn't draw black squares. He had his own style, his own understanding of the world, and being allowed to express himself freely and sincerely, was about the greatest gift he could ever hope for…

…Although, Kyouraku, of course, had much higher dreams to follow now that he had got his hands on someone who he both enjoyed working with and who was famous and talented enough to reach further than the front steps of a the local gallery. With the nation craving to see, perceive, connect to something original and liberated, something that thrilled the heart just as much as it excited the mind, there was a lot of need for an original and independent soul to enter the starchy circles of artists that was currently claiming to be on the top. There was youth and variety in Toushiro's creations – one that he didn't pressure himself into building up, but which came up naturally and easily, and won younger, brighter fans to his side - and with those factors present, it was no wonder that the manager seemed hell-bent on signing something that would give Hitsugaya a little more than a couple of fleeting chances to show his skills. Long story short, Kyouraku was fighting to get the boy permanent rights over the east wing of one of the new galleries that would soon open in town.

Toushiro had to be mad not to adore the idea – it would mean that he would be allowed to do whatever he pleased with the three interconnected rooms that he would be getting, he would get to stuff them with whatever number of paintings he wanted, in an atmosphere he single-handedly picked and approved of. What was there not to like about all this? His projects were scattered around the city, hard to find if you didn't know where to look, and people needed a place where they could go and be sure that they would be able to find works that had his name scribbled in the bottom corner. As funny as it sounded, if it all worked out at the end, he might actually start regarding himself as an actual painter – not just a joke that real professionals laughed at over a cup of coffee…

Finishing up his cigarette, Toushiro remembered not to throw it through the window and sullenly pulled back, finding the trash can and flipping the fag there. With a longing glance at the inviting weight of the package that was resting in his pocket, he let out a long, miserable sigh and walked back into the living-room, preparing for the horrors that would certainly await him there.

The next few hours went by in putting things back to their places, collecting dirty clothes, doing the laundry, vacuuming and wiping out whatever unidentified substances had gathered on the furniture. He smoked three more times, resisting heroically for as long as he could before he picked up the tobacco stick, and by the time he was finished with everything, he was rather happy with both his achievement at cleaning and not fogging the premises again. He hit the shower with a grumble, noting that he probably had about an hour before his lover came home, and he took his sweet time washing his hair and body. As he tipped his head back and enjoyed the warm drops that rained on his face, Toushiro couldn't help the long, content moan that left his lips. In such moments, when he let go of his mind and allowed it to wander aimlessly in whatever direction it pleased, he was always surprised to see how easy his thoughts tangled up around the image of his lover's face and stayed there to caress the fantasy. Even if it wasn't anything particular, the memory of Ichigo's smile, his warm eyes and smooth lips, was the easiest way for him to relax and let the tension roll off his shoulders.

Or perhaps the easiest way to get hard. Depended on how you liked to look at it.

In fact, it had been during one such lonely shower, when his lover was out on a trip to some other county, that Toushiro had realized for the first time that he was in love. At first the thought had frightened him, making him shoot out of the bathroom at a lightning speed and curl into the bed among a sea of towels and blankets in which he positively looked just as lost as he felt on the inside. The emotion wasn't unfamiliar to him and he was a bit surprised that he hadn't noticed it earlier, but it was the apprehension that he would be hurt again, tossed aside or played like a fool, that made him ponder over whether he should even allow this relationship to continue and dig into deeper, harder soil. A break-up seemed so easy… Just a few harsh words, some half-hearted explanation, and he would be out of the door with the suitcases and his train ticket to Karakura squeezed in his trembling hand… But the more he thought about running away, the angrier he got at himself and his own weaknesses. He realized that all this time he had left Ichigo to lead the way in everything they did, and even when he had assumed his role of a careless, blunt kid who was trying to pretend to be an adult, he had still forced all the big decisions in his lover's arms, too scared he might err to take a chance that could affect them both. He didn't know how he was going to do it, when he would find the strength, the right moment to make his move, but he was determined he would be the one to say it first this time… To show that he cared enough to swallow his insecurities and put his feelings into words, for both of their sakes…

That was about five months ago. Talk about slow.

Letting out a small sigh, Toushiro reached to stop the water flow, standing in the cabin all dripping wet for a few moments longer, before sliding the door open and shuddering at the gust of cold air that nudged through the fading steam. Wrapping a towel around his waist and rubbing one in his hair, the boy slowing exited the bathroom and navigated absently towards the bedroom, emerging several minutes later with a fresh white T-shirt and a new pair of grey sweatpants, with which he then flopped down in front of the TV, half-wondering if he had the patience to watch anything.

He only had about five minutes to think before the doorbell rang and he was on his feet, rushing towards the door.

A/N: Sequels always get less readers than the original story, but I'm still hoping, so... Review, please. :)

P.S. I have renewed the poll since there's been too many stories recently and a lot has changed since the first poll was created.