Well, if Ichigo ever came to just have a visit instead of when he was dying or needed something, maybe they could have conversations like normal people. Like the partners they were.

Actual minutes tick by like hours. Music plays on, unimpeded by the growing storm outside. Zangetsu almost can't take the silence when Ichigo finally speaks again.

As he listens, the lump in his gut hardens. So he knew, after all. He knew what was happening. He just couldn't make himself care.

And that wasn't his fault. If he was going to stop this, if he was going to do his duty, he was going to have to cut off the head of the serpent. Or the manticore, as it were.

Zangetsu stands and straightens his stupid clothing.

"Then do what you want, King. Dance, drink, eat. Stay out of trouble. But I can't relax. I've relaxed enough. I guess I'm just an anxious horse, after all. It's time for me to act. So while at least this part of you," he says, gesturing to his own chest, "-- is lucid, I'm going to get something done."

Watch over him, old man.

He pulls his hand across his face, summoning his ebony black mask to hide his features. Time to put an end to this mess.