читать дальше“If you really thought this guy would believe you,” he pressed on, “would you tell him the truth? If you thought there was any chance that he’d accept you for what you are – someone who sees ghosts and wears goofy outfits to hunt down evil spirits – would you tell him?”
Ishida’s mouth opened but no sound came out. He looked like he was trying to form words, or even just one word – yes – but couldn’t manage it.
“I—I don’t know,” he said in a rush of breath. He seemed surprised by his own response.
“Then maybe,” Ichigo went on, his voice rough, “maybe you shouldn’t be with him in the first place.”
The two men stared at each other, and for a moment, Ichigo had no idea what was going to happen. He didn’t have a strategy for what to do after he’d said those words – when had he ever had a strategy? – and he waited to see what Ishida would say. In the next instant, all the breath left his body in a rush as Ishida punched him in the solar plexus.
“My battle costumes,” Ishida growled as Ichigo stumbled back, “are not goofy!”
Ichigo’s chest and stomach burned with the effort to catch his breath, and he braced his legs to keep from going to one knee. Why did he always forget how strong Ishida really was, or that the freaky bastard knew how to put reiatsu into a punch?