Chapter Text
Before he even knew it, Ichigo found himself on the phone. It was as if his body was working on auto-pilot. His legs felt heavy against the soft surface of his sofa. The soft hum of the phone slowly filled the apartment. Dialing. Waiting. God the waiting drove him insane. He needed the bastard to pick up.
Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. His mind was racing. Thoughts clashing into each other as if fighting for dominance.Wanting to be let out of the confinement of his head. Why did his other self do this to himself? Why go through such measures to insure ichigo’s wellness? Betterment?
Betterment was a strange way to put it and yet it felt most fitting.
Ichigo was often described as selfless. Giving and giving to others till there was nothing left. He gave his time. His energy. Strength. Now he was a mere shell of himself. A husk.
It did make sense that his other self inherited this pesky trait of his. Of course he was a self-sacrificing idiot. As if he wasn’t looking at one already. Every single day. Every waking moment. One was enough. More than enough. The last thing he needed was another one. Though technically it wasn’t another one? It was still him?
It was getting so hard to remember that. As if ichigo’s very core rejected this notion.
That bastard wasn’t picking up.
The static signal was harsh against his ears. Scratching and clawing. Why? Ichigo was ready to give everything to his other self. After all, his whole life amounted to nothing. He was worthless. Trash. But his other self? Not only was he brimming with energy, he was brash, confident. His body, free of the cage that was ichigo’s past, was smooth in all of the right places and yet firm. Why couldn’t he be more selfish?
Or at least selfish about his own well being. That…that would still be his, Ichigo’s. But that bastard knew what ichigo meant. He should have lived his own life. Create an identity for himself.
Do something. Anything outside of ichigo. And yet….he didn’t. They switched, of course. Ichigo couldn’t let it be otherwise. But god it was so infuriating. Bastard only let himself have half of the week, at most. It was like playing tug of war. Except the only time he saw his opponent was when he was sprawled on ichigo’s bed.
In the rare occasions that he would allow himself to exist. To live. He took on ichigo’s appearance, going through his mundane life like it was the most natural thing to him in the whole world.
He-
“Hello.”
A sudden voice put his racing mind to a halt. He waited a little. Nothing. He took a steadying breath.
“I need to stop this. Immediately. I-I can’t do this anymore. He-”
“Remember here’s no he. He is you. You are one.”
Ichigo felt his blood boil.
"Listen to me.” his voice was raising “I don’t care about any of this anymore! I need this to stop! I need to stop. I can’t just stand there and just watch him destroy himself.”
“Have you been switching regularly?”
“No! God are you even listening to me? We haven’t! He barely lets himself have 4 days. He-”
What an irony. There he was worrying, losing his mind. Desperately trying to stop whatever madness this was. But was it even about himself? His other self?
God he wanted his mind to shut up. It would be so much easier. Why did every single of his thoughts have to occur at once?
It was drilled into his head from the start that he and his other self were one and the same but was it really true? His other self was everything he was not. More handsome. More perfect. More. More. More. More anything.
“He is milking himself dry! Even started injecting me with the stabilizer right before our switch! This couldn’t be right! Could it? Am I supposed to just let him wither right in front of my eyes?”
There was silence on the other end. It felt cold and calculated but also disinterested.
Was he really on the phone? Is his brain playing tricks on him? Or maybe this is his other self’s doing? Maybe it’s revenge. Retribution? Messing his senses because Ichigo was such a weakling?
It felt like he could feel him sometimes. Almost as if he was right at the surface of his consciousness. Observing him. Of course, he knew that was impossible. They were one. His other’s consciousness was his own.
“If you are not satisfied you can put an end to the experience and go back to being you on your own.” a pause “Would you like to stop?”
Ichigo’s mind stopped. It was almost as if it went blank. Almost. But anger swiftly found its way in instead. Filling him with its burning embrace.
“Oh! So instead of watching him kill himself I should do it myself?”
He was shaking weakly.
“Why don’t I just do the work myself, huh? Spare you the trouble? For that matter why don’t i just kill myself as well. Make your lives even easier!”
“If the procedure will not be terminated then respect that balance and everything will be in order.”
Just like that. As suddenly as it began, it also ended. Ichigo took a steadying breath once more. He was face to face with his other self. When had he came to his bedroom, he had no idea.
He looked…almost peaceful. His hair was softly pooling onto the pillow, a subtle halo of light emitting from his white roots. It was strange. Ichigo never had white hair. Neither does anyone in his family. And yet his clone had the most beautiful white hair. Soft and delicate like snow. It always transfixed ichigo. He wished he could stare at it endlessly. Cradle it and spin it between his fingers.
It was a devastating end when the perfection that was his snow white hair was replaced by repulsive orange. Ichigo thought about bleaching back but decided against it. Even if for his own benefit, this was still an act of free will from his other self. So Ichigo respected it, even if painful for him.
He found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, taking in every inch of his double’s features. His fair face, perfect mix of Ichigo’s own sharpness and note of softness. His golden eyes. His sunken and yet perfect lips.
It was unknown to Ichigo for how long his clone had done this to himself. Maybe it was only this week. Several. The amount was not of importance though, what mattered was the marks it left on him. His skin smooth like marble, was now swollen and yet puffy. With a tint of sickly yellow. His eyes, that were once glistening like liquid gold, had now lost their shine.
His hands were delicate to the touch. It felt like any wrong movement would break them. Ichigo often found himself scared to hold them but that rarely stopped him. Once more, for god knows which time, he took his other self’s hand, cradling it gently like it was the most important thing in the world.
As if an answer from god himself, a single thought crossed Ichigo’s mind. Clear as a day. He frantically stood up, retrieving the IV necessary for their switch and the stabilizer syringe.
The tip was long and blunt. It felt like a thousand blades were simultaneously stabbing him directly in the spine. How his clone did this was a mystery to him. After injecting him with the stabilizing fluid and securing a week's worth of supply, he finally put the IV, letting their blood mix.
“Two can play this game, Shiro.”
He uttered before collapsing next to his other self.