first chapter/ story/whatever to this. I hope you enjoy the emoness

he carried around the notebook with him. A note book filled with all that he was, all that he wanted to be. In the notebook, there was him. Every accidental drop of blood, every tear stain. It was a notebook filled with all his pain.

Because paper is more patient than man.

The notebook was filled with poetic prose, meaning nothing. He ranted and ranted about his unrequited love. He wrote and wrote about it.

He had no life.

There were many pictures of people crying, of blood stained blades, of broken wings.

It was a two hundred page notebook signifying his soul. And what a wretched soul it was.

And when the pictures weren't sad and lonely. He was drawing him. Ha was drawing that poor excuse for a human and a believable excuse for an angel. He was drawing that person who he wrote meaningless poetry about. He was drawing Ichigo Kurosaki.

Sometimes when he was feeling lonely, he would write stories about Ichigo. Write about how Ichigo loved him, write about how happy they would be if they were together. Write about all those things he wished Ichigo would say to him.

Ichigo was that popular kid in school. The kid that looked like a punk and a bully but was really quite nice. That kid whom everyone loved. The one who drew them in like moths to a flame. And he was one of those moths, but nobody saw him. Ichigo didn't see him. Ichigo didn't know him.

But that didn't stop him from loving Ichigo.

And he could watch Ichigo all he wanted. He sat behind him! Just watching and watching. He knew every gesture Ichigo made. He liked to record them and draw them. he liked to just write about all the things Ichigo did.

if only so he could have his imaginary Ichigo when he went home.

It wasn't a nice home. It was only him and his Abusive older sister. She saw every drop of blood. She slapped him for it. He knew why she slapped him. He knew why she acted like she hated him.

He had seen daddy slapping her when he was younger. His older sister used to shove him in the closet when his father had been drinking. But some people had taken daddy away. Now it was just him and her.

He never blamed her when she slapped him. He let her. He knew it made her feel better. And worse at the same time. Sometimes he let her beat him until his face and body was swollen and sore. He knew he could easily stop her, he was bigger than her now.

But he didn't. He let her have what she wanted.

Because to make him feel better, he had his imaginary Ichigo.

"Hey?" Hichigo looked up from his notebook at the sound of a voice. His golden yellow eyes widened when he saw Ichigo.

"Y-yea?" his voice cracked. Ichigo was talking to him. And he felt like a giddy highschool girl.

Ichigo combed his hand through his hair, looking embarrassed. "I know I don't talk to you alot...but..." he paused, trying to find the right words. "You're always coming in all beat up, so I was wondering if you're alright?"

Hichigo smiled. He noticed. Not something overly wonderful or dramatic or even good. But he noticed. "Yea. I'm great."

"Your cut up hand can't hold your pen properly." Ichigo noted dryly. He sat back down when the teacher came in. "Let me know if you need anything." he whispered. "Cool drawing, by the way."

Hichigo glanced down at his half finished protrait. It was of another random person, crying yet smiling at the same time.

/Draw me crying. Make me smile/


yersh, first chapter. I don't really know what I'm feeling right now. Why I threw in the abusive older sister? I dunno. I needed something! Anyway, hope you enjoyed!