Chapter Text
The good thing about having given Unibrow a biblical smack down was that the rumours of everything that happened flew around the school fast enough that the entire populace started avoiding him even more than before. When he walks into a room, people shut up and eye him warily, like he might just snap and attack them, which, well, if they’re cut from the same cloth as Unibrow was, he just might.
(The rage from that day never quite seems to disappear but Ichigo hones it in his soulscape, sharpening it into a weapon to use against anyone who ever touches Kenzo again. He might be losing his grip on reality just slightly, but then, Ichigo never claimed to be sane. Or in control of himself, really.)
The downside is that it means that several teachers are also keeping a close eye on him and his ‘delinquent’ ways. None of them had any proof that Ichigo did anything other than Unibrow’s loud complaints and the rumour mill, so they couldn’t do anything about it formally, but that didn’t stop them from treating him like a problem student. It was like going through high school all over again and not for the first time, Ichigo regrets his decision to come to this stupid academy.
“There’s my favourite delinquent!” a cheerful voice filters through Ichigo’s thoughts.
Ichigo scowls. He’d almost made it to lunch without being stopped for some stupid reason or another—or by anyone stupid for that matter—for the first time all week. The cafeteria is right in front of him, barely a couple flash steps away. He should have known better than to expect a couple minutes of peace in this damned reality. Even without turning to look for the face to go with the voice, Ichigo knows exactly who’s speaking to him.
Fujioji Takano, in charge of hohou and in particular, Ichigo’s sixth year advanced class, is an uncharacteristically beautiful man among the academy’s more rough and tough looking crowd of men. His face is slenderer and his long black hair—always pulled into a half-up half-down style—is clean, silky and the envy of every female student. Strategically placed kanzashi accent his overall vibe and add a more feminine flair than Ichigo normally sees on men in Soul Society. Most of the time the kanzashi of choice is a hairpin or comb that pairs perfectly with the women’s kimono he’s wearing and the makeup on his face.
Takano’s blatant disregard for gender norms reminds Ichigo of an odd mix between Shunsui and Yumichika, but none of that is why Ichigo can already feel his head throbbing at being caught by who would otherwise be his favourite sensei. No, Ichigo can feel a headache coming on because Takano only ever brings chaos wherever he goes, and he’s not remotely sorry, the asshole. He doesn’t even try to hide his sadistic streak. Unless you count the poorly hidden smirks behind elaborately decorated fans, that is.
Ichigo still remembers the first day that he’d stepped into Takano’s ‘classroom’ (more like whatever random area on the academy grounds he chooses that week), weeks ago now. The sensei had taken one look at Ichigo, sized him up and flicked his fan open, only to announce from behind it that Ichigo was “it” and that they had better catch him before the end of class if they didn’t want to be dealing with the consequences. No warning or explanation, Ichigo had been left to run for his life for the next hour or so, evading 20 odd shinigami-to-bes like his life depended on it. Not that it had been much of a struggle—it would be truly embarrassing if Yoruichi’s prize student in another life couldn’t handle some Shinou Academy kids—but that doesn’t mean it had been an overly auspicious beginning to their relationship.
(At the end of the class, Takano had grinned brightly, flicking his fan closed with a flourish of his hand and a snap that almost echoed through the woodland they were training in, a little way away from the main academy buildings. “Fantastic work Shiba-sama,” it was mockery, not praise, but Ichigo ignored the way it rankled him. “As for the rest of you. Well, I think we need to work on your speed.” He’d barely spared his class another look as he left the clearing that they’d been training in, whistling all the while. Fucking weirdo.)
Groaning, Ichigo internally debates the pros and cons of ignoring Takano outright and just going to his lunch. On one hand, Takano doesn’t actually care about being ignored. Doesn’t seem to care about much of anything, really, from what Ichigo has managed to figure out. He’s seemingly oblivious to the terror he inspires everywhere he goes. On the other hand, while Takano doesn’t really care in the traditional sense, he isn’t above getting even and Ichigo’s not entirely sure he’s in the mood for whatever payback Takano might have planned.
“Don’t ignore me Ichi-chan,” Takano whines, like he’s a child and not a grown shinigami in his own right.
Whirling to look at his sensei, Ichigo glares. “What do you want, Takano?” he asks.
To his credit, Takano meets his glare with a bemused expression and a flutter of his eyelashes. “Maa, you really should at least call me Takano-sensei, you brat.” And then he ploughs on before Ichigo can get in a word about whether he really feels taught anything, “I have a favour to ask.”
The tirade building in Ichigo pauses. “A favour?” he repeats, not bothering to hide his incredulousness. He glances around warily, “Where’s the army of hollows?”
Takano rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, you’re so funny,” he says, voice completely deadpan. “You do realise I’m asking you instead of giving you orders even though I could, out of respect, don’t you?”
Ichigo scoffs. They can agree to disagree about how Takano shows respect. Personally, if this is Takano’s idea of respect, Ichigo thinks he should keep it to himself, effective permanently. “No, you’re asking because if you tried to make me, I’d just tell you no.”
Inclining his head for lack of an argument, Takano sighs dramatically. “Also that. I truly don’t understand why you’re even at this academy when you’re horrendous at taking orders,” he laments. “But alas, I couldn’t care less about whatever broody dark secrets bring you here, or about whatever captain gets to suffer your reticent attitude.”
Try as he might, Ichigo can’t help but roll his eyes.
Takano continues like he isn’t amused by Ichigo’s reactions (he is, Ichigo recognises the curl in his lip that he’s trying to hide). “I do, however, care about you helping me out with this teensy problem of mine by giving someone just a few pointers.”
He holds up a hand before Ichigo can voice the complaint already on his lips. Sure, he doesn’t interact with much of the student populace but not only is he content with that, he prefers it like this, thank you very much. The last thing he needs is another Kenzo to look after while he’s here. He’s only here to keep the Shiba’s from answering questions to Central about his general abilities. All of this extra drama was not on the cards when he agreed, damn it.
“You see, there’s a rather special student of mine with a, shall we say, unique predicament,” Takano continues leadingly, undeterred by the weight of Ichigo’s reiatsu that’s rapidly starting to bear down on him.
Ichigo’s not sure why Takano bothers with the pretentious build-up. It’s not making him any more inclined to agree or any more interested in whatever sob story Takano is leading up to in the hopes that Ichigo will be willing to help him out with this little problem. If anything, Ichigo is rapidly losing patience for this game.
Takano meets his eyes, and there’s that glint in them again that puts Ichigo on edge. The very sparkle that spells more work and chaos in Ichigo’s life than he has any care for.
“It’s not happening,” Ichigo says.
“That’s what I’d like to say,” a familiar voice says from behind.
Glancing over his shoulder, Ichigo freezes, his entire body tensing so much that it hurts before Ossan filters through his mind soothingly and Ichigo manages to relax his muscles. It takes more effort than he’s like to admit and his heart squeezes harder painfully in his chest. If he was still alive, Ichigo might’ve called an ambulance for fear of a heart attack it hurts so badly. He’s not the same as Ichigo’s version, not even close, but Ichigo would recognise the snooty tone and unique hairstyle of Kuchiki Byakuya anywhere. He sees it often in his nightmares holding a bloodied Rukia in his arms with a scream that shakes Ichigo even in his memories.
At least the uniform helps Ichigo to separate this Byakuya from his, though only a little. Ichigo had never considered that Byakuya might have attended the academy at some point, or that they would be attending at the same time, for that matter. He always figured that he was trained in house with his parents and people specifically selected for him. It feels like the kind of uppity choice the Kuchiki’s would make. He also sort of figured Byakuya would already be part of the Gotei by this time, not that he knows that much about the timeline of events that led up to his own birth and Aizen’s machinations, admittedly. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d listened better before, if only to avoid being blindsided.
(It’s a ridiculous notion. It’s not like he’d planned on being sent back in time and what use was there for timelines when the entire world was falling apart right in front of him. Fucking Kisuke.)
Ichigo’s head throbs with a familiar headache he recognises comes with the ache in his chest and longing in his bones. Even though logically speaking, Ichigo is aware that this could have happened at any time and has met two of the closest people from his past life in this life already, somehow this feels even worse. At least his core memories for Yoruichi and Kisuke aren’t of them both clinging to the lifeless form Ichigo’s best friend in another life.
If this is how he feels seeing someone what was still alive in his time—or as alive as any of them were, shells of their former selves as they were—then he’s not entirely sure he can handle seeing the one’s he’s lost. The faces of people he’s failed; the ghosts that walk in this land of the dead like they’re still alive.
A polite cough alerts Ichigo that he’s paused for too long and missed his usual cue to start an argument. Takano’s eyes on him are suddenly much heavier and there’s a curiosity in his reiatsu that Ichigo wants—needs—gone now.
‘Breathe, Ichigo. Just turn them both down. We’re here,’ Ossan coaches from his mind.
The reminder is helpful if nothing else. Breathing in and then out once, and then once again, Ichigo manages to find the faint threads of sanity and clings to them like a man on the edge of a cliff struggling not to fall. “I’m glad we’re all in agreement. Anything else Takano?” Ichigo asks, aiming for a bored tone. He’s sure he fails, but Takano doesn’t call him on it. If it weren’t for how sure he was that Takano was filing it away to bring up later, Ichigo would feel grateful for the tact.
Byakuya flinches at the use of Takano’s name and God, Ichigo recognises that disgusted look all too well. It doesn’t burn in the same way that being without Kisuke does, but it still feels like someone kicked him in the solar plexus immediately after punching him in that same spot.
“You can’t just call your sensei by their name, have some decorum,” Byakuya scolds. He’s going for imperious but it’s a weak facsimile compared to years from now when he’s a taichou in his own right and he’s gone through so many things to build him into the man Ichigo came to know.
Pretending to clean out his ears, Ichigo raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I just did. Takano doesn’t mind so why’s it any of your business,” he says, letting his mouth run on autopilot. If he closed his eyes, Ichigo’s sure he could pretend he was back in his own timeline, sniping with Byakuya while the Visored watched on in amusement, and Rukia told him off for speaking impolitely to her brother. He resolutely keeps his eyes open.
Snorting indelicately, Takano flicks his fan open to cover his mouth. Probably so they can’t see how amused he is, Ichigo notes.
“I’m pretty sure I just told you to call me sensei,” Takano objects.
Ichigo waves a hand at him carelessly. “Whatever. We done here or what?” He doesn’t even want to eat anymore—he’s not sure he could even if he still had an appetite. It’s taking everything for him to not run away from this conversation as it is.
Sighing, Takano glances between them both. “Come now Ichi-chan, surely you can at least give Byakuya some pointers,” he needles.
“Isn’t that why we have people like you in this stupid academy? Why the fuck am I your solution to his plateau or whatever the fucks going on?” Ichigo demands. It’s louder than he intends, borderline shouting, and a few students stop to stare until Ichigo meets their eyes with a glare. They flinch and hurry away.
Snapping his fan closed, Takano sighs dramatically, looking up at the sky like he’s praying to the Soul King for patience. As if the asshole has any right to be like this when he’s the entire reason Ichigo is standing here with a stomach tied in knots and emotions that are threatening to put a fucking crater in this damned academy.
“I haven’t hit a plateau,” Byakuya cuts in before Takano can open his mouth again.
Rolling his eyes, Ichigo hums like he believes that. “Fantastic. Then there’s no reason for us to be having this conversation,” he says.
“You’re far too arrogant,” Byakuya says, right as Ichigo turns away, determined to leave this conversation. Fuck Takano and his favours, he can be mad all he wants at Ichigo. Preferably later when he doesn’t feel like his stomach is trying to eject itself through his mouth.
“Considering the standards of this academy, it’s a miracle I’m not more arrogant,” Ichigo mutters without sparing him a glance. “But if you find my arrogance annoying then even more reason for you to leave me the fuck alone. In return, I’ll leave you alone too.”
“No.”
Ichigo pauses, turning to look back at Byakuya. “What?”
Those steel grey eyes bore into Ichigo, a crease between those eyebrows and an irritated uptick in his mouth. It’s all so familiar. “I, Kuchiki Byakuya, hereby request a duel with you Shiba Ichigo.”
The courtyard goes dead silent following Byakuya’s statement. Finally, Takano’s voice, half-way to laughter, cuts through the quiet. “Well, it’s not how I thought this would go but I suppose this works just as well,” he says, grinning. “I’ll supervise, per academy rules for outside of classroom duels.”
“Oi, I haven’t even agreed,” Ichigo protests, even as his fingers twitch to grab the asauchi on his belt. The desire to fight, to cross swords with his once-friend and actually have a chance to go all out is almost as strong as the pain he feels reminding himself that this Byakuya can’t handle him all out, even weakened as he still is.
His chest throbs, a reminder that he’s in no physical, mental or emotional state for this. It doesn’t stop anticipation from thrumming deep within his bones. Ichigo wants this.
“You will,” Takano says like he’s all-knowing. Like in a scant handful of weeks knowing him, he understands Ichigo at his core. Maybe he does, but if that’s the case then it’s none of Ichigo’s business.
Byakuya’s gaze remains steady. Ichigo runs a hand through his hair, tugging roughly on it to ground himself. He shouldn’t do this. It’s like leaping off the edge of sanity willingly. Nothing good can come from this.
His fingers twitch with the build-up of energy. The desire to fight. To test his blade against another.
“Fine, fuck. I’ll give you your duel,” he agrees, helpless to fight glee that Zangetsu radiates, his hollow side ecstatic at the idea of a fight. Ossan radiates worry, but he doesn’t interfere.
“Perfect.” Takano claps his hands together, making the students that were not-at-all subtly watching from the sidelines jump. “Then let’s head to a training hall so we don’t attract any more attention,” Takano advises. He doesn’t wait for them to acknowledge his statement before slipping into shunpo, simply expecting that they’ll follow along. To his credit, Byakuya has no problem keeping up with them both. He thinks he remembers Yoruichi mentioning that she trained Byakuya for a while, and it shows. It’s no wonder Byakuya became a captain at a young age if he’s already this fast compared to his peers, Ichigo thinks as they land in the familiar training hall of the advanced sixth years zanjutsu.
Ichigo considers Byakuya for a moment, forcing himself to look past the ghost of another version that keeps trying to overlay the Byakuya in front of him like this is some shitty video game and not the reality he’s suffering through. “You’re not in my advanced sixth years zanjutsu class,” he realises.
Byakuya bristles. “And just what are you trying to imply?” he demands.
Ichigo’s hands shoot up in a faux surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out why you haven’t been in any of the advanced classes I take so far.” Not that Ichigo wants him there. It would be significantly harder to focus with Byakuya there, but it just doesn’t make sense to him.
Takano coughs. “Kuchiki-kun here is a, shall we say, late addition to the academy this year. I’m sure he’ll be joining you in a lot of your classes soon,” he promises. He considers for a moment, “except for kidou of course. He’s leagues ahead of you in that department.”
“Ha ha,” Ichigo says flatly. Like he needs the reminder that even now his kidou blows up half the time.
“Are we here to fight or are you going to continue wasting my time,” Byakuya demands before Takano can say anything else to piss Ichigo off.
Turning to look at Byakuya, Ichigo hums appraisingly. “You could’ve attacked me whenever. I’m not stopping you,” he says.
Ichigo expects Byakuya to say something about honour duels or argue about the importance of giving an opponent his full attention, but instead the Kuchiki takes him literally and moves.
They hadn’t set ground rules for this fight, but Ichigo assumes anything goes as he slips shunpo, slowing himself with effort. Byakuya isn’t bad. Even at this age, he’s well-versed in his shunpo and he uses that to his advantage, trying to slip into Ichigo’s guard, asauchi in hand. Distantly, Ichigo wanders if he knows Senbonzakura’s name yet. Probably not.
It barely takes a thought to side-step the attack, slow as it looks to his well-trained gaze. Byakuya’s eyes widen and he barely manages to parry Ichigo’s counterattack, clearly unprepared for Ichigo to dodge his movements. Ichigo snorts to himself. How ironic that Byakuya was calling him arrogant when his level is this low and he’s equally arrogant with no substance to back it up. At least yet.
There’s something odd about fighting Byakuya like this, without his shikai and the threat of deportation via murder. The fluid, almost pretty sword-style that Ichigo is used to seeing him use is incomplete. His movements are slower and jerkier, a little too uniform. He hasn’t quite found his style yet and it slows Byakuya down more than Ichigo would have expected.
Needless to say, Ichigo only lets things drag on for another minute, already bored of this fight. His anticipation wasn’t worthwhile, and he knew that from the beginning but it’s a bitter pill to swallow. Another reminder of just how far from home he is.
Moving a little faster, the world is a blur as Ichigo lands behind Byakuya, his asauchi pressing against the noble’s throat lightly. “Yield,” Ichigo orders softly. It’s the same voice he used to command scores of Shinigami in the war.
Byakuya is quiet for a moment before he swallows. “I yield,” he says finally.
This version of Byakuya sounds so much more petulant that Ichigo struggles to fight down a (potentially mad sounding) laugh. How is this what his life has become?
Fucking Kisuke.
“Are we done here now?” Ichigo asks.
He doesn’t actually wait for an answer before shunpoing away as fast as he can. Even if Takano or Byakuya tried to catch him, he doubts they have the skill. This isn’t like when Kaien, a fukutaichou and genius in his own right chased Ichigo down. An academy sensei and a fledgling Shinigami in training simply aren’t fast enough to challenge his speed.
The world blurs past Ichigo so fast that everything fades to the background except the repetition of the ground beneath his feet and the air whipping past him. Even at these speeds, Ichigo’s stamina refuses to falter. Despite with the pain in his chest and the way his bones ache with old injuries and his heart aches with loneliness, Ichigo keeps moving. Keeps pushing forward.
‘King, you have to stop!’ Zangetsu urges, but Ichigo drowns his voice out with ease. The faster he moves, the less he seems to feel and the more the world falls away.
He doesn’t have a particular direction in mind as he continues to run. And run and run and run. Not that he can really see where he is anymore even if he did have somewhere to go in this world where he’s alive—not with how quickly everything is moving. He closes his eyes and focuses on not seeing and not feeling. Not existing at all.
God, he wishes he didn’t exist anymore.
‘Do you ever quit yer whining?’ Zangetsu demands, except his voice is desperate, like he doesn’t understand Ichigo’s thoughts. Even though he was there. He knows how Ichigo failed. And failed and failed and failed-
“Ichigo-dono?”
Like flipping a switch, Ichigo falls from shunpo, except the momentum carries him and he finds himself face first in a wall. Or, Ichigo thinks he does. If he can’t feel any pain from the impact—and he doesn’t, can’t feel anything anymore, not even the ache in his chest—did it ever really happen? Is he even real? Is any of this real? What even was reality? Is it the here and now, or the past-future he lived? Or was all of it just the creation of his mind, as result of losing any sanity he ever had?
“Ichigo-dono?” that voice repeats. For all the urgency in its tone, it curls around Ichigo like honey, soothing and sweet and comforting. Stumbling to his feet, Ichigo tries to open his eyes and see the owner of that voice, but his dumb eyes won’t open, weighted shut by an invisible force. Let him see, let him-
“Shh, Ichigo-dono, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Can I touch you?” that voice asks. Ichigo huffs, as if he would ever deny the owner of that voice anything. Not that he knows who it is. He can’t seem to find them in his memories. Every time he reaches for the name it slips like water through his fingertips. He growls in frustration.
“Shh, it’s all okay, Ichigo-dono,” that voice soothes, this time punctuated by a light touch on his shoulder. The warmth of that touch shudders through his body and he gravitates towards it, letting himself fall forwards and trusting that he’ll be caught.
He’s not disappointed.
The arms around him are hesitant but then he’s wrapped in their warm comforts. Everything slowly fades away.
Waking up in his soulscape isn’t Ichigo’s idea of a good morning, but it’s not the worst wake up either. The fact that his soulscape looks like a knock-off version of a new-age Atlantis does however make it infinitely less enjoyable.
“You fucking asshole, are ya done with your breakdown now? Happy now that ya’ve gone and drowned us?” Zangetsu demands, warbled voice slightly exacerbated by the water.
Ossan floats next to him, and Ichigo can’t help the shame that wells inside him. He’d been doing so well and now look where he is. He doesn’t remember the last time his soulscape was this much of a wreck.
“I’m sorry,” Ichigo says. Or tries to say, but no sooner than he opens his mouth is he being pulled into Zangetsu’s arms and held tightly, face smashed uncomfortably into the soaked fabric of his doppelgangers uniform. There’s no human warmth or soothing words, but all the same Ichigo feels comforted.
“Ya’re such a moron,” Zangetsu repeats, but what Ichigo hears is ‘I’m here for you’.
Ichigo swallows against the burning in his throat. If they weren’t underwater, he might even be crying. As it is, he has no way of knowing if the burning of his eyes is because of tears or something else.
Ossan floats awkwardly to the side and Ichigo reaches out a hand.
“Stop actin’ like yer not part of him too,” Zangetsu snarls, realising Ichigo doesn’t know how to phrase the request for comfort.
There’s a beat where Ichigo thinks Ossan is going to ignore the request, but then there’s an additional weight behind him, effectively trapping Ichigo between his two spirits. He’s not sure the last time he felt so protected.
“It’s not surprising that you reached your breaking point,” Ossan murmurs. “You’ve been through a lot and no matter how you supress your emotions, you need to accept and work through them to actually move forward in this world.”
Ichigo doesn’t respond even though he knows it’s true. He’s not even sure how to go about accepting everything that’s happened to him. No-one else would understand, they weren’t there.
Zangetsu scoffs. “I just say we take a little hollow huntin’ trip and work out some of ya anger,” he argues.
It startles a laugh out of Ichigo.
“That’s not going to help Ichigo work through his emotions,” Ossan reprimands.
Ichigo’s not sure what follows between his spirits above him, determined as he was to continue basking in the comfort of being the protected instead of the protector, but Zangetsu hisses and mutters under his breath, so he’s sure a scuffle of some kind takes place. The normalcy of it all helps, he thinks.
“Huh, would ya look at that,” Zangetsu remarks, voice sounding more normal.
“It would appear you’re feeling better,” Ossan says softly. “The water has drained.”
Ichigo steps away from his spirits to look around and realises they’re right. The water is still there, the height of a running stream, but it’s nothing like the bottom of a lake that he woke up in.
Zangetsu’s eyebrow twitches. “It’s time fer ya to go back, Kingy. Someone’s callin’ ya, and he’s gettin’ reeeeal worried.” He grins, all teeth.
With a sigh, Ichigo files away the memory of Zangetsu’s comfort and resigns himself to his spirit returning to his usual asshole-ish self.
He should probably be more offended, but it brings a small smile to his face.
“Yeah. Thanks, both of you.”
Zangetsu scoffs, looking away. Is that a dusting of pink on his cheeks? Can Hollow’s even blush? Can Zanpakutou spirits?
“Go be a fuckin’ sap elsewhere, ya bastard.”
Ichigo snorts but does as much, but not before offering a commiserating smile to Ossan.
The old man spirit inclines his head in return. “I’ll keep the hollow in hand,” he promises.
“You’ll what?!” Ichigo hears as his consciousness fades away.
Ichigo’s consciousness returns to himself in pieces. First, he hears voices, almost muffled, like they’re whispering between themselves. Then comes the sound of a door opening and closing and footsteps. They don’t come closer to when Ichigo’s laying. Instead, they seem to travel back and forth in the same pattern. Pacing, Ichigo realises.
“You need to wake up, Ichigo,” Kaien’s concerned voice is loud in the otherwise silent room.
Ichigo hesitates, before he forces eyes to flicker open and look at the candle-lit ceiling of his room at the Shiba compound. As much as he’d like to pretend that this day never happened, he knows it’s not really an option. At some point, he’s going to have to face reality, and putting it off isn’t going to make things any easier.
“Please Ichigo,” Kaien whispers like a prayer.
“I’m not worth pleading at,” Ichigo says, guilt a rock in his stomach. His throat burns and it sounds like he’s spent hours screaming without break, but he swallows dryly.
There’s a choked noise and then Kaien’s frantic and hopeful face appears over top of him. His cousin’s hands grip at his shoulders. “You’re awake!”
Before Ichigo can open his mouth to give a witty reply, he’s being smothered by Kaien’s uniform in a scene so similar to when he’d woken in his soulscape. But unlike Zangetsu and Ossan, Kaien feels warm and real and surprisingly comforting.
When Ichigo doesn’t push Kaien away after a few seconds, he hears another choked sound.
“Are you crying?” Ichigo demands, alarmed. He’s definitely not worth crying over.
“Shut up,” Kaien orders with the full force of the Shiba head. It’s an effect ruined by the very real tears Ichigo can hear in his voice and feel seeping into the fabric of whatever he’s wearing. Fabric that’s sticking uncomfortably to his skin where it’s been dampened by his idiot cousin.
Ichigo huffs and gently tries to push his cousin away so he can sit up. Kaien goes easily. His hair is a wreck, sticking up every direction, and his eyes are rimmed red, like he’s been crying non-stop. It’s a little much for someone who’s only known him for a couple of months.
“I’m not dead yet, so stop crying,” Ichigo says, voice still scratchy. “It makes your face look even uglier, and then how will you get a wife.”
Kaien chuckles. “You don’t get to start onto me about a wife as well,” he says. His voice is steadier than a minute ago. “I get enough of that from the elders as it is.”
Ichigo snorts, recalling many of his rants after meeting with the elders in the past few weeks. “True enough,” he agrees.
They fall into a silent lull, neither of them saying anything. It’s not for a lack of questions, Ichigo knows. He can see the internal debate Kaien’s having, like he’s trying to figure out the most tactful way to ask what he needs to ask. It would make him more endearing if it wasn’t making the room almost suffocating.
The sound of the door opening breaks their quiet. They both turn to look at who’s entering.
“Shiba-fukutaichou-” Kisuke starts before pausing halfway into the room. “It seems Ichigo-dono is awake.” There’s a slight accusation to his tone and a glare directed towards Kaien.
Just this once, Ichigo decides to save his cousin who’s rapidly looking sheepish. “I only just woke up,” he promises, decidedly warm at the idea that this Kisuke, despite not having known him for that long, was concerned enough to willingly hang around the Shiba estate and that he was annoyed at not being told he was awake. Not that Ichigo thought things between them, whatever things are, had been bad. But still.
Kisuke hums, but it’s not the sound of someone agreeing so much as acknowledging that Ichigo said something. “If Ichigo-dono says so.”
Kaien still looks chastised despite no chastising actually happening.
Before silence can overwhelm the room with more awkwardness, Ichigo coughs purposefully. “Would one of you get me some water?” he asks. After a minute, he adds, “please.”
Kaien snorts, getting up from beside Ichigo to grab a ceramic cup of water from the small table in his room. “I didn’t know you knew how to say please,” he teases as he hands cup over a moment later.
Ichigo huffs and pointedly doesn’t say thank you. He knows Kaien notices because his lips twitch.
The door slides closed and Kisuke comes to sit with Kaien, both of them taking up residence next to his futon while Ichigo drains his water in one go. The cool liquid soothes his throat.
“Don’t make yourself sick drinking so fast,” Kaien scolds, taking the cup from him. He still gets back up to refill it again, however. When he comes to sit down again, there’s an additional set of cups and a jar of sake in his hand. Ichigo snorts.
Kaien rolls his eyes and offers one of the cups to Kisuke. “I don’t want to hear it,” he says, like he expects some kind of lecture. “After today, I’d say Urahara-taichou and I have earned a bottle or three of sake.”
Kisuke hums in agreement, accepting the cup and waiting for Kaien to pour him some sake before taking a sip. “Indeed. This was not exactly the afternoon I’d expected.”
“Never a dull moment around Ichigo, huh?”
Groaning, Ichigo fights the urge to hide his face away like a child scared of being acknowledged. “You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here. If you have something to say, just say it,” he says.
Both men hum in sync before Kisuke starts. “How much do you remember of this afternoon?” he asks.
Shrugging, Ichigo looks down at the blanket covering him. “It’s a bit of a blur. I remember the urge to… run.” It’s all a little hazy and vague.
“Can you tell us why you were running? Or who you were running from?” Kaien asks. His tone is gentle but there’s an element of alarm between the two Gotei operatives.
Ichigo scoffs, a sardonic noise. “There’s no actual monster. I was running from the ghosts of my mind,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate further but both men nod like it’s a perfectly reasonable response to memories. Maybe they’ve seen worse, or maybe they’re just used to how fucked up Ichigo is. Isn’t that a cheery thought.
“When I tried to get you to stop, you uh… hurt yourself,” Kisuke says haltingly. “You didn’t seem to know who I was, but you seemed to trust me, so I did my best to help you and sent for someone to grab Shiba-fukutaichou.”
Glancing down at himself, Ichigo notes the various bruises that are already fading. They aren’t really painful, so he hadn’t noticed them.
“I didn’t know who anyone was, don’t take it personally,” Ichigo says.
“It’s just as well Urahara-taichou found you. I’m not sure what would have happened if it hadn’t been for him,” Kaien says. There’s an edge of desperation to his statement and Ichigo can already imagine the options. Not that he would let any of them happen, but he can’t exactly tell his cousin he’s fought the entire Gotei before and would do it again if things came down to it.
“So what happens now?” Ichigo asks.
Kaien allows the change in subject. “Well, I’ve applied for a leave of absence from Shinou for you. Family emergency,” he says.
It should bother Ichigo that he’s not getting a choice in missing his classes, but the idea of some time away from the watchful eyes of the student body and the heavy mistrust of his sensei’s sounds like exactly the rest he needs. He hadn’t realised how much that had been weighing on him until now, while he’s sitting in one of the few places he’s ever truly felt a sense of peace and safety. And if the forced leave means that he can avoid seeing Byakuya again for a little longer, well, that’s just a bonus.
He’s not running away. He’s… giving himself a chance to adapt.
“I understand,” Ichigo says when he realises Kaien is waiting for a reply.
Placing his empty cup on the ground, Kisuke gets up. “Now that I know you’re doing okay, I should be returning to my own quarters,” he says.
Swallowing back the urge to ask him to stay longer, Ichigo nods. “I understand. Get home safely.”
Just like when they first met in this world, Kisuke offers a barely there twitch of the lips. “I will. Ichigo-dono should get some more rest.”
“I should also let you get some more rest,” Kaien says, getting up himself. “I’ve explained the situation to Ukitake-taichou and taken a few days leave from work.”
To keep an eye on you isn’t said out loud, but Ichigo hears it loud and clear. Part of him wants to argue that he can take care of himself, but he bites it back. Kaien cares about him and this event made him incredibly worried. He can let his cousin hang around for a few days and nag to assuage his concerns.
“Goodnight,” Ichigo wishes both men as they leave the room.
“Sweet dreams,” Kaien wishes, almost too quietly for Ichigo to hear.
Then the door slides shut and Ichigo’s alone again.
The first few days of Ichigo being home passes without incident. He spends time reading to Natsu and Ichirou, enjoys the superior food of the Shiba chefs, drinks sake with Kuukaku and puts up with Kaien’s fluttering about and refusing to let him be out of sight for more than a few minutes at a time with (he thinks) an admirable amount of restraint. On the fourth day of being treated like spun glass, his patience finally snaps. “I’m going into town. You’re not invited,” Ichigo informs Kaien. They’re sitting at breakfast and Kaien pauses mid-sip, frozen.
Finally, he swallows and places his glass down on the table. “But Ichigo-”
“No,” Ichigo says firmly. “I need to get out of the house, and you need to understand that I’m not going to disappear if you stop loitering around me for more than five minutes.”
Kaien’s wide eyes don’t deter him. “I’m just worried,” he says.
Breathing deeply, Ichigo thinks back to how frantic Kaien was the night he woke up back in his room here. It calms his irritation but doesn’t change how he feels. “I know, Kaien. But you have to go back to work eventually,”
“Ukitake-taichou-”
“is sick and needs to know that he can count on his fukutaichou to be there and do his damn job,” Ichigo cuts him off. He stares into his cousin’s eyes with a steady gaze. He appreciates the concern and he knows that Kaien’s still struggling to process everything that happened, but his cousin can’t be around him all the time. Ichigo will be back at the academy in a few days’ time, and Kaien can’t be there to watch him every minute of the day. At some point, he needs to get back to work. And Ichigo is starting to feel suffocated.
Kaien wilts. “…are you sure you’re okay, though? You haven’t said anything to me about that night, but it was bad Ichigo. Really bad. I need to know that you’re not going to spiral like that again.”
His voice is soft and Ichigo can’t help but soften a little in response. Maybe it would be easier for Kaien to move forward if Ichigo could at least explain the situation, but there isn’t a really good way to say that he met an old friend except he’s younger and more free than Ichigo ever knew him to be, and that now, Ichigo’s struggling to reconcile the two versions. That seeing that old friend reminded him of fighting to know the difference of illusion and reality and that he still isn’t entirely sure what’s real on any given day anymore. So, Ichigo simply doesn’t talk about it, and Kaien hasn’t pushed, but the consequences of having to keen so many secrets are really starting to hit. How Kisuke always had so many, Ichigo can’t understand.
“I promise that I’m doing better and that I’m… I’m working on getting past everything,” Ichigo says. And he has been. Every night, he meditates and speaks with Ossan and Zangetsu in his soulscape. It’s not the most traditional therapy, but it’s the best he’s got and it’s helping, he thinks, bit by bit. Before now, Ichigo didn’t realise how much he was struggling to accept this new life. It’s not like he has a manual to help him adapt to all these changes. But he’s working on it as best as he can and the next step he knows is going out and spending some time accepting that this is his new reality and learning more about it. Forming connections, as Ossan had pointed out to him one night.
It’s quiet while Kaien considers Ichigo’s words before he breathes out. He looks less anxious now, but still unhappy, his brows drawn tight. “Okay, I get it. You need your space and I need to trust you,” he says. “But, can’t we just go out just this once together.”
He puts up a hand before Ichigo can even open his mouth.
“I promise that I’m not trying to dissuade you for spending time alone, or that I don’t trust you to wander around on your own. I just,” Kaien pauses, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. “We’ve never gone out shopping together. We’ve had lunch together a few times, but I’d like to have a new memory of us together before I go back to work.”
To replace the more recent one, Kaien doesn’t need to say.
Swallowing, Ichigo caves. He struggles to deny Kaien when his reasons aren’t good. He can hardly fault his cousin from wanting good memories of them together. And it’s not like he’s against the idea of them going out together.
“Fine,” Ichigo says. “Just this once. But you have to go back to work this afternoon.”
“I promise,” Kaien says. He’s smiling so much like the sun that Ichigo can’t even regret agreeing.
Despite his initial reservations, Ichigo can at least admit in the privacy of his own mind that spending time with Kaien is actually enjoyable. For all his cousin can be irritating, he knows when it’s better to walk silently beside Ichigo and just bask in the energy of the marketplace. Together, they look at stall after stall of various wares, ranging from simple and elaborate kanzashi to artisan sake. With Kaien’s expertise, Ichigo carefully selects a bottle of sake to gift to Kuukaku for putting up with him being unwell and the subsequent menace Kaien’s been at home ever since.
(Ichigo’s never seen Kuukaku so close to actually pummelling Kaien into the tatami as he had in the past few days, every time she caught sight of him lurking around Ichigo’s room, standing just far enough away to not interrupt those who didn’t notice he was there, while still keeping an eye on Ichigo. Unfortunately, Kuukaku has known Kaien her entire life and when she was trying to take advantage of their extra time together, she didn’t appreciate being watched the entire time. Kaien had lost in the battle of wills just that once, and Ichigo would be lying if he said that it wasn’t satisfying to see.)
Kaien pauses at another stall, eyeing a selection of sword accessories critically before grinning up at Ichigo. “We should get you something for your asauchi. You would have received one by now, right?” he asks.
Ichigo grunts. It’s an odd question considering he already had a zanpakutou before his asauchi anyhow.
Taking in the noncommittal response in stride, Kaien hums as he looks at the various menuki and sageo. Picking up a pair of sleeping lion menuki made of copper, he eyes them carefully, probably ascertaining their quality and make. “What about something like this? It’s fitting, no?”
As much as Ichigo appreciates the thought, he’s not entirely sure how to explain to Kaien that as much as menuki are both a decorative and practical element, he just doesn’t see the point in them. They’d be wasted on him.
“I’m not much for decorations,” Ichigo settles on.
Kaien wilts. “That figures,” he says, before immediately perking up when he spots something a little further away. “Let’s go look over there.”
He doesn’t wait for Ichigo to follow, already rushing over to another stall. Taking his chance, Ichigo quickly swipes a different pair on menuki that Kaien had eyed for a second too long before showing off the one’s he thought would be good for Ichigo. Paying the stall owner, he ignores the knowing grin of the elderly lady as he immediately hides the menuki in the inner pocket of his kimono.
“Ichigo, look!” Kaien calls impatiently, waving something at him. The stall owner, a middle-aged man in an elaborate kimono is eyeing his cousin like he’s the worst customer he’s ever seen. For all Ichigo’s immune to anyone’s disdain for himself, he feels a flicker of irritation at anyone being upset with his cousin. So what if Kaien is a little loud? He spends most of his time being one of the most important people in Seireitei. He shouldn’t be judged for letting lose every now and again. This is a marketplace, not some luxury store.
“Shiba-fukutaichou,” Ichigo starts as soon as he’s close enough for his cousin to hear him without them having to shout across the market, mouthing the fukutaichou with deliberate intent as he eyes the now wilting shop owner, “can you at least pretend you care about decorum as our head of clan?”
Snorting, Kaien shakes his hand insistently. “I didn’t think you knew the meaning of decorum,” he teases, eyes bright.
‘What an oblivious idiot,’ Zangetsu says.
‘Yeah,’ Ichigo agrees, aware of how fond he sounds.
Zangetsu scoffs, radiating disgust. Like he can’t believe Ichigo find anything about this ridiculous man endearing. It’s not like Ichigo thought his cousin would ever grow on him this much either, but well, Kaien has a talent for getting people to like him.
Taking the item from Kaien, Ichigo inspects the small leatherbound notebook. The pages inside of a quality paper and the leather is soft to the touch. There’s nothing elaborate to it, just like Ichigo prefers, and his heart feels oddly full. Kaien didn’t come over here because he spotted something he liked, he came over because he saw something Ichigo would like more than sword decorations.
Now that he understands exactly who is shopping at his stall, the stout owner grins at them like he was never upset. “Will you be taking this one?” he asks. Ichigo can practically see the greed in the man’s eyes, but even still, he wants this book.
“Absolutely,” Kaien says, already handing over the coins before Ichigo can say anything.
“Kaien-”
“And I’ll take that one as well,” Kaien says, pointing to a similar notebook, the leather stained a darker brown, almost black with pages a little bigger than the one Ichigo is holding.
“That better not be for me as well,” Ichigo mutters, unsurprised when Kaien doesn’t respond to him at all. He’s even less surprised when they bid goodbye to the stall owner and Kaien hands it over to him.
“You didn’t need to buy this for me,” Ichigo says.
Kaien shrugs, grinning brightly. “But I wanted to. You never let me buy you things, so let me have this much at least,” he says. His eyes twinkle. “Even if you refuse, I’ll find a way to slip them into your things at the academy.”
Of that, Ichigo has no doubt.
After eating lunch together at a ramen stall near the thirteenth’s barracks, as promised, Kaien heads back to work, leaving Ichigo to his own devices for the first time in days. It’s oddly quiet without his cousin around. Which isn’t a bad thing, Ichigo reminds himself, even if feels almost too silent now. Still, Ichigo shakes off the feeling and heads towards his next destination.
It’s only been a few weeks but coming back to the twelfth feels like returning home after a long trip. After the Shiba compound, this is where’s he’s spent most of his time. Even from outside, he can feel the soothing thrum of Kisuke’s reiatsu, like water to his parched throat. Following that reiatsu leads him, unsurprisingly, to Kisuke’s office.
Knocking on the door, Ichigo flares his reiatsu in warning before swinging the door open, even without a verbal invitation. The familiar sight of Kisuke, hair mussed, haori haphazardly thrown over the back of his chair and an ink stain on his cheek is a balm on Ichigo’s soul. For the first time in days, the pain in his chest fades away entirely.
“Ichigo-dono,” Kisuke greets, standing to offer a slight bow. At this point, Ichigo’s convinced he does it because he knows that Ichigo hates it, just like so many other things this infuriating man does entirely out of spite. It would be so much easier if he could just hate Kisuke. Instead, he feels affection curls in his chest because he finds Kisuke’s decision to be irritating adorable instead of infuriating. He’s so fucked in the head.
“Ichigo-dono?” Kisuke prompts, lips twitching.
“Yo,” Ichigo says, like he hadn’t been completely distracted a moment ago.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Kisuke prompts, raising an eyebrow.
Fighting the urge to blush like he’s a teenager again, Ichigo shuffles inside the room, shutting the door behind himself. It was only a couple weeks; how come he feels so awkward? “Can’t I just come by?” Ichigo asks, slightly defensive.
The way Kisuke’s eyes dance tells of amusement. “Of course. I think we’ve long established that Ichigo-dono is welcome in my office whenever he pleases,” he teases, voice steady. It’s such a large leap from the hesitant way he’s teased in the past that it takes Ichigo’s breath away. It’s not the same as his Kisuke, but it’s closer.
Shaking himself, Ichigo makes his way over to his usual chair, fighting a smile when he realises that Kisuke hadn’t moved the chair back to the other side of the desk. “I’m sure you could find a way to stop me, if you tried hard enough,” Ichigo says.
Kisuke hums, looking down at a piece of paperwork and signing it. There’s no way he had time to read it beforehand, but then, it’s not like half this paperwork actually matters. There’s so many forms for useless things that Ichigo’s honestly shocked they haven’t revolted against Central out of desperation.
“Be that as it may,” Kisuke says, “I don’t have the time and energy to dedicate to stopping you. There are too many other projects that demand my attention.”
Ichigo snorts. If Kisuke really wanted to, he’d make the time. He might as well be offering blatant free reign to his office. It’s an astounding amount of trust from the ex-onmi operative. “Not like there’s anything worth sneaking a peak at.”
Kisuke chuckles, and Ichigo basks in the noise.
It’s silent for a while, and comfortable between them in a way that only Kisuke makes him feel. Hanging around Kaien is nice, but this is where Ichigo feels the freest. The most relaxed.
“…How are you?” Kisuke asks after they’ve been silent for a while, only the sound of ink and brush on paper filling the room.
On one hand, it would be easy to lie and say he’s well. That he’s doing perfectly fine and that Kisuke doesn’t need to worry about anything like the other day ever happening again. But Ichigo doesn’t enjoy lying, and he enjoys it even less when it comes to Kisuke. Not that he thinks the taichou wouldn’t be able to tell he’s lying by now anyhow. In all the skills Ichigo’s taught himself or been taught, lying well enough to escape the eyes of trained liars is not one of them.
“I got you something,” Ichigo says instead of answering.
Kisuke raises an eyebrow.
Pulling a paper fan from his pocket, Ichigo places it on the desk.
Gently, almost hesitantly, fingers brushing just barely against the fan like he’s afraid to handle it too roughly, Kisuke picks it up. Opening the fan reveals a delicately pained green flowers. It’s a lighter green than he associates with his Kisuke, and a different style to what he’d have gifted that version of the man he loves. But just like he’s going to have to learn the differences between the Gotei he once knew and the ones that exist in this version of reality, he’s been slowly learning the differences between Kisuke of before and the Kisuke of now. And one of those differences is that this Kisuke appreciates the fleeting beauty of flowers and their many meanings.
Tracing the flowers, Kisuke looks blankly at the fan before gently closing it. “You didn’t have to,” he says, voice devoid of emotion.
Undeterred by the reaction, Ichigo shrugs. “I wanted to. It’s yours so if you hate it, you can throw it away,” he offers.
“I don’t-” Kisuke starts before cutting himself.
Ichigo fights the urge to roll his eyes. Even without the years of knowledge from before, it’s obvious that Kisuke doesn’t think he deserves something like this. Too bad for him, Ichigo doesn’t actually care what he thinks he deserves.
“I saw it and decided to buy it for you. You don’t have to treat it so carefully. Consider it a thank you gift if that makes you feel better,” Ichigo offers when Kisuke’s still silent, no doubt struggling to find words for how he feels.
“… Thank you,” Kisuke says finally. His voice is still devoid of emotion, but that alone is an obvious tell. Besides, if Kisuke really didn’t care, he wouldn’t be holding the fan with more care than he’s seen mother’s hold their children.
Shrugging, Ichigo slumps into his chair, trying for apathetic even when his cheeks feel warm. “Sure thing.”
They remain silent until Kaien stops by, evidently already predicting where Ichigo would spend his afternoon. He opts to ignore the knowing look he gets when Kaien’s eyes rest on the fan still clutched in Kisuke’s left-hand, like he’s worried someone will take it from him.
“Shut up,” Ichigo grumbles.
Kaien grins. “I didn’t say anything.”
Ichigo grunts. “… it’s a thank you gift,” he says.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
Kaien hums and Ichigo huffs, giving up.
Asshole.
When Ichigo gets back to the academy a couple days later, he finds a small leather-bound book titled “A Simple Guide to Courting Correctly” in his small bag of things. He heavily considers burning it or breaking into Kaien’s room to steal back the menuki he’d bought his cousin.
In the end he does neither, but they make for great daydreams.