The boy huffs, a puff of air making his nostrils flare as he rolled his eyes at his counterpart’s immediate reaction. The sort of pricked-lip-sneer is returned, but he doesn’t speak. Obviously the paler of the two hadn’t gotten to what he wants to say, so he might as well endure it for the time being.
Again, though, his brow sinks and nose pinches at the top, creases forming at the question and Ichigo seeming a mix of offended and baffled. A million different things run in his head at a pace similar to a speeding train, ‘til it all smashes together. He’s almost annoyed by the question, because what has happened to him again and again? People he’s cared about have been used as ploys and bait against him; his sisters, Inoue, Rukia, and so on and so forth. His zanpakuto knows this, he ought to be well aware of it, so why even propose such a thought?
"You say that like it hasn’t happened before."
“I—… I care about him, so what? It doesn’t make him a weakness.”
“Do you forget who I fight for in the first place?”
There’s a pause in his breath, chest almost shaking because he has to say these things aloud— surely, he’s acknowledged them, because Grimmjow’s someone he cares for now, so he has. There’s a certain weight and intensity though when it hangs in the air, bare and open, between him and his half. He gathers himself quickly, voice loud and clear when he speaks; no doubt or fear in his tone.
"I’ll fight for him, too."
When he seems solid and clear in his standing— the last question is like a jackhammer to concrete and it crack, pieces crumbling away at the shell. His eyes shoot open for a second, baffled at the thought, one that had never occurred to him, and one that seems all too… too far away of a reality. It didn’t seem right, it didn’t sound right; when he tried to envision it there was only static. His head jerks back a moment, almost defensive when he spits back, a touch of venom on his words. How can such a thought even be true? His chest clutches and aches and his ribs feel like they’re caving in when he breathes, and he hurts. The thought makes him hurt so horribly in a way he doesn’t understand. It’s a pain that crawls up the chain of his body to his memories, hallucinogenic-like recollection of an arm ripping through his body and the hesitation in his blade, the pause in stride to call out to something seemingly asleep and gone. It’s blurry and it makes the scars on hi stomach burn and he feels a fear that makes his whole body want to shake, but he stifles it, smothers it relentlessly and Ichigo speaks in a rush.
That touch of fear doesn’t leave slightly widened brown eyes, though.