Author's Note: And finally, the update!

Summary: Ichigo takes hold as Ryuo lets go

Rating: Kplus, I would think.

Dying on the Inside

Chapter Three: Sharing

By: Mazzie May

Ichigo Momomiya stood at the end of the bed, her small hands drawn up to her collarbones, wringing relentlessly. An act of worry. Ryou tried to squint, couldn't, then realized he already was.

"What is wrong with you!" Mint was very teed. She was practically snarling at Ichigo, and Ryou wanted to tell her stop, that it wasn't that important, but something held him back. Was it because that maybe Ichigo needed to hear what Mint had to say, that maybe she had this coming, that maybe she was going to understand how he felt? What also seemed possible was that he had to no energy to speak with.

She was wearing her Café uniform, and even teary-eyed and half cowering, she seemed adorable. It was a rare thing indeed when Ichigo back down for any reason, especially when it came to Mint and Ryou. It usually only happened when she knew she was wrong. How long had they been arguing before he woke up?

Ichigo opened her mouth. Whether it was to retaliate or apologize, he'd never know, since Mint cut her off. "You stupid girl! Look at him!" She pointed at his broken form, sagging deeply into the blankets and puffy pillows. "Because of you-" she then moved her index finger to face Ichigo, "Ryou'd dead!"

"He's not dead," Ichigo bit out. She was standing a little straighter now, getting some of her fight back. The minute you put blame on Ichigo, you were in for it. She stopped wringing her hands, but kept them cupped.

Mint moved quickly and precisely, like a blue bird hopping. Her face was inches from Ichigo's. "Oh, he's dead alright." Mint narrowed her eyes further, if that was even possible. "His body just doesn't know it yet." Spit hit Ichigo's face. It was a bit dramatic, but Ryou couldn't think of a time when Mint didn't treat every situation with an all or nothing approach.

Well. Ouch. That was rather brutal, Mint dear. But really, it's not like she was wrong. Figuratively speaking, he wasn't even him anymore, yet his body continued without him. Literally speaking, he needed get the lab and be thoroughly examined; that attack did some kind of cellular damage, no doubt, and it needed to be gauged. He could indeed be dying.

For some reason, the though of his life actually draining away wasn't incentive enough for him to actually get up and go. Logically, if the damage was that severe, he was beyond saving, anyway, really there was no reason to try. Who'd miss him, anyway? His parents continued in their failure to remember they even had a son, and the Mew Mews would be sad at most, but would move on with little hindrance. Keiichiro, though… No, he'd respect Ryou's decision. Maybe disappointed, but still respectful.

Honestly, though, it's not like it matters. As their bickering continued, Ryou allowed himself to sink a little bit deeper into his despair. He'd always thought that love was something that was understood, not said. That love meant never having to say sorry. That love was something that couldn't be measured in value. But she showed him that love most be vocalized at every moment for its presence to be reassured, that love was filled with constant apologies, and that it did indeed have a price.

As he stared up at the wind dancing curtains, their shallow argument in the back of his mind, he decided that love was the right thing, done for many a wrong reason.

It wasn't the first time he considered it, but it was something he just couldn't push away. Ichigo… most of the girls weren't really supposed to be Mew Mews. In fact, he and Keiichiro had already made a list of possible matches for the genes. Zakuro Fujiwara and Mint Aizawa had already been on the consideration list, true, but they'd been near the bottom. Ichigo Momomiya, Purin Fong, and Retasu Midorikawa were names they'd never heard of.

It made Ryuo wonder. Wonder if maybe things hadn't happened the way they did that day at the aquarium who the real wild cat was supposed to be; maybe a different girl, out of the hundreds there that day could've been chosen. Or, if they'd stayed on schedule, would he have fallen for the real wild cat? The girl who was meant to receive the injection.

A girl who wasn't Ichigo.

It was an unfair, illogical argument, seeing as how Ichigo's cat-like tendencies weren't what attracted him to her to begin with, but it made him feel better to think that this wasn't his fault. That somewhere along the line, somebody else screwed up and made him love Ichigo.

That this slow death he was suffering from was murder and not a suicide.

The sharp sound of a slap made him sit up quickly. It hurt, it stung and it burned, but he had to see. Mint was facing away from him, half turned. Ichigo's right hand was extended out and down, tears of frustration rolling over every inch of her cheeks. Mint slowly stood straight, and Ryou got a good look on the red mark that was practically glowing against her pale skin.

Ryou's arms were shaking, too weak to continue to hold his heavy body, but he fought to stay upright. Ichigo slapped Mint. What… did he miss? Mint pushed past Ichigo hard, sending the wildcat against the bed frame. In the doorway, she turned. "A slap won't change the fact that you're a selfish little bitch. How about you suck it up and at least try for him." She shifted her eyes to Ryou. "Good morning." And then she quietly disappeared from sight, before slamming the door.

He turned his eyes to the pink haired girl on her knees at the foot of his bed, her face buried in the comforter, her arms over her head. He stared down at her, feeling something strange as she sobbed out her anger and frustration. What it was directed at, he didn't know. And he didn't care. But that strange feeling… of warmness was swelling in his chest. Watching her cry, watching her hurt, watching her suffer, finally acknowledging his pain, his sorrow, his love…

It felt good.

She looked up at him. Crying was not kind to her, her eyes red rimmed and puffy, her cheeks and forehead blotched, her lips chapped. He smirked at her. Her eyes widened as more tears poured and she bit her lip, fighting the sobs. She slowly crawled onto the bed, and her slightly snot touched hands reached out and took hold of one of his arms. She laid face down again, her face pressed against his thigh.

She was apologizing. Words couldn't do it, because the only thing that could be said that would help is "I love you", which she doesn't. So, she settled for suffering with him. He didn't like it, but it was all that could be done. She cared, on some level…

"Ryou…!" He felt Ichigo hovering over him. When had he fallen backwards? And why did he feel so heavy? "Ryou?" Why couldn't he open his eyes? Cellular damage… The warm feeling he'd felt in his chest had nothing to do with Ichigo. The same heat suddenly filled his mouth and burst from pale lips, like a flower violently blooming, sliding away from the corner of his mouth, leaving a cooling trail. "Ryou!" His eyes opened slowly, with realization. He was bleeding internally.

He knew she was yelling, but he couldn't understand the words. The blood continued to erupt from his mouth, but he didn't choke for air, because he wasn't breathing. Red lined his vision as darkness grew behind it. The white-hot burning sensation expanded past his chest, through the rest of his body, but it didn't hurt. Well, it did, he knew it hurt, he knew it was supposed to hurt, that it was meant to be incredibly painful and that he should be withering in agony.

But he felt nothing. His eyes were still open, he knew that, but the black had completely diminished his vision. The dizzy, nauseating, but still pleasant feeling of lack of air was rolling of his brain. He felt disturbingly at peace. Even as he felt hands grabbing at him, someone ribbing open his shirt – a paramedic, maybe? – he wasn't concerned with coming back. He wasn't concerned at all, except for one piece of knowledge he gained with in the last few moments.

She might not share his love. But at least she tried to share his pain. And would live forever with both their guilt.

With those few thoughts his only company, he sighed out what was left of his life, through the blood.

Ichigo was gripping his hand so hard she drew blood. The paramedics slowly backed away from him, the bitter nectar of life still slowly oozing from his parted lips. She cried out his name as she looked down at him.

Through her blurry vision, she could make out his eyes. Even in death, they seemed soft. Like wet silk.

Author's Note: So… eheheheheheheh. What's… up guys? So, not exactly my best work, and I know you all deserve better than this, after being so patient while my life and other writing projects put this on hold. I didn't go into so much physical detail and I did more character depth for two reasons: One, rereading the other chapters, I realize I spent waaaaay too much time on physical detail and two, my writing style has changed over all the time that's passed. So, it'd be impossible to keep up the consistency. Sorry to everyone that might bother. Again, sorry for the wait. And, no, I did not just pull that ending out of my ass. I had it planned all along. I hate Ichigo and I think she live with guilt of knowing someone loved her more than she's ever experienced and she turned him away. I would like to think that this guilt drove her to break up with Masaya. Maybe I'll do a one-shot on it. I'm not going to make any promises, though. Unless you all would like to see it.

Review, (assuming you're still reading this.)