A/N: I don't have much motivation to draw because I haven't got a scanner with me, or my tablet. Thus I'm procrastinating by writing!

What're you thinking?

Chapter 1

"You don't really talk much, but when you do, it's usually verbal abuse or lies," Ichigo said as he observed his classmate from the vantage point of his desk.

Ishida slapped his book onto his table with such speed and force that Ichigo almost lost hold of the chair that he was trying to balance on its hind legs with his foot.

"I told you to not disturb my reading, but on top of doing just that you accuse me of being a liar?" Ishida demanded hotly, the irritation in his sapphire eyes razor-sharp behind his spectacles.

The red-head winced at the glare –ok, so his choice of words was admittedly poor. Cautiously, he tried again.

"What I meant to say is, even when people ask you nicely you're always like 'I don't need help', 'I'm not hurt', 'I don't need friends or comrades'… stuff like that. See what I'm saying?"

The raven extended a lithe leg beneath his desk, hooked it around one of Ichigo's chair leg and dragged it towards himself so that the backrest collided with the front of his desk with a muted bang.

"Before I consider answering your brainless question, can you show a little respect for school property and get off the desk? Tables are for writing on, and chairs are for sitting on –in case you didn't know."

Ichigo was distracted enough by the prospect of conversation with the ever-impassive quincy that he did as he was told. Scooting his chair back towards himself, he sat, crossed his arms over the backrest and rested his chin on top –a posture that resulted in another disapproving look from his peer.

"So, your answer to my brainless question?" Ichigo pressed.

Ishida narrowed his eyes, the late afternoon sun dying his ivory skin with the shade of dulled grapefruit.

"Lying is to speak a non-truth. I do not say any more than what is necessary," he said in a rather dictation-like manner. "Those are two completely different things."

"See, that is exactly what I mean," said Ichigo triumphantly while tapping two fingers against the open book (much to Ishida's annoyance) for emphasis. "You try to sidestep your way out of everything with analyses and definitions."

"I don't want to hear a personality reading from an alpha male like you who always tries to play the lone hero," Ishida snapped. "What is your point, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo ignored the lone-hero jab as well (my, was he tolerant today, thought Ishida) and fired back, "you should speak your mind."

"Fine. You're an attention-seeking, impulsive idiot. Happy?" Ishida scoffed at the irked bronze glare that the comment earned him.

With a small furrow of the eyebrows and slightly pursed lips, the shinigami's face suddenly took on a look of curiosity that Ishida did not like one bit.

"A deal, then."

"What?"

Ichigo nodded as if in affirmation, his unruly tufts of hair giving off hues of saturated reds and oranges from the movement. "A deal. You tell me, honestly, what you're thinking for the whole of this week, and in return, I'll do whatever you like."

Huh. Whatever he liked.

Ishida shook off the thought and remarked coolly, "an unsurprisingly immature proposition, coming from you. What makes you think I would be interested?"

Ichigo barked a laugh. "You're just scared that I'll try to trick you into saying something embarrassing."

"I am not scared, Kurosaki," he snarled.

"Then prove it and cut the deal," Ichigo retorted.

"There's no way I'm going to 'speak my mind' to you 24/7 for the entire week, because we'd both go insane," snapped Ishida, who then realized with horror that he had just dug his own grave with those words.

"Of course I know that, d'you think I'm stupid?"

"I know you're stupid."

The damage control didn't seem to work, because the red-head fumed for only a second before pressing on: "I'll ask you what you're thinking three times every day, and you'll have to answer me –with straight answers, complete sentences, and no cryptic language."

The quincy crossed his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Those were quite reasonable conditions –he and Kurosaki didn't see much of each other during the day, and anyway there were only four days of the week to go. If he made an extra effort to avoid him then he wouldn't even have to talk. He was good at sensing reiatsu while Kurosaki was rubbish at it, so that was in his favor as well –wait, he was actually considering all of this?

"And when it's all over," added Ichigo quickly as if reading his mind, "you can tell me to do anything you like. You can call me an airhead and I'll even answer to it. I'll be your personal servant (Ishida, whose ears went red at this, was very glad he didn't say 'slave' instead) for a day. I can even eat ten of Inoue's custard rice balls for lunch. How about it?"

"If you think that I'm actually going to take you seriously then –

"You're just chicken –

"You are on, Kurosaki!"

His piqued outburst echoed in the deserted classroom for a few seconds before he finally registered his own words.

Then he realized –having unconsciously stood up with his hands slammed upon the table in annoyance –that he was staring down at the biggest grin of victory that he had ever seen on Kurosaki Ichigo's face.

And that was the first time he kind of hated his quincy pride.

To be continued