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Ichigo does it to relax, honestly.
It’s just soothing, letting yourself sink under the water and enjoy the muted peace of it all. When he was younger and could still stretch out in the bathtub, his mother would leave him there all afternoon, submerged and comfortable and completely unafraid.
He outgrew the bathtub quickly, though, and anyway, he wouldn’t have had the time to use it. His dad was always around, and his sisters were getting to an age where they needed the bathroom more than he did. So, he took advantage of something bigger, a place where he could move reasonably unnoticed and take his time.
The river. Obviously.
It’s hard, staying in his house nowadays, what with his sisters tiptoeing around him and his father rather flatly pretending everything is just as it should be, like Ichigo’s not walking around with half a soul, alone and afraid in a way that won’t be fixed with ‘let’s pretend everything’s normal’. There are monsters floating around, for fuck’s sake, and his sisters aren’t exactly equipped to be handling that sort of thing quite yet.
He’s been living in a state of low-level anxiety for weeks, now. He needs a fucking break.
So, after his father goes to bed, Ichigo slips on his swim shorts and grabs the bag of rocks he keeps in the back of his closet for such occasions before slipping out the door. He hurries to the riverbank, anticipation building in his stomach, until finally, he can duck under the bridge and out of sight.
He toes off his shoes and strips his shirt, dropping both items haphazardly by the pillar nearest the water, before shouldering his backpack once more and stepping into the water.
Ichigo wades in until the water is about waist high, then lets himself collapse backward into the water, sighing contentedly as his lungs close off and the thin, near-invisible slits along his neck flare open.
He thinks he might take a nap. He deserves it.
*.*
Kisuke sees the familiar orange head from high above the street, making its way down towards the river. That’s… troubling. Ichigo has to be feeling pretty damn melancholy to be heading there, especially so late at night.
Except— Ichigo doesn’t seem very melancholy. In fact, there’s something like a spring in his step, and he’s— is he whistling?
Kisuke’s never heard him whistle before. It’s very out of character.
Maybe he should follow him. Y’know, just to make sure everything’s alright.
But that’s sort of weird, isn’t it? Following a person who’s the exact opposite of a threat. Also? Decidedly against Isshin’s orders. No matter how stupid the man is, surely he knows his son well enough to decide what’s best for him, and if Kisuke should stay away, well. He’s going to. For Ichigo’s sake.
… He’s going to follow him.
*.*
Ichigo disappears under Karakura Bridge and doesn’t come out the other side. Kisuke gives him twenty minutes before going to investigate.
There is no bright-haired teenager under the bridge, though there’s evidence he was there, at some point. His shoes and his shirt are piled up right over there, by the river—
Kisuke’s eyes widen. No. No.
Ichigo had been carrying a schoolbag, right? What was in that bag? Something heavy? Something heavy enough to sink him to the bottom? What if—
Kisuke doesn’t let himself think, already knee deep in the water, hands reaching for something, anything—
He trips over something big something decidedly soft and maybe fleshy. Blindly, his fingers wrap around a protrusion that’s probably an arm, hauling up the body (because it definitely is a body) with a strength he rarely has cause to use.
Orange hair breaks through the surface, and Ichigo flails, gasping wetly as he struggles to free himself.
Kisuke doesn’t let him get away, though, dragging him back out of the water before dropping him unceremoniously into a heap beside his sneakers.
“I never thought you one for suicide, Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke says, eyes shadowed as Ichigo gasps for breath
“Fu- cker!” Ichigo looks up, fury and panic in his eyes, and the movement bares his neck and—
Are those gills?
Kisuke takes a surprised step back, and Ichigo takes the opportunity to leap back towards the water, dunking his head into the water and taking a deep, waterlogged breath. Then, only then, does he sit up, the flesh of his throat smoothing out to something resembling normal, human flesh.
He raises a single, shaky finger in Kisuke’s direction.
“Fucker,” he repeats, words tight with fury. “I can’t just switch like that! I could have died.”
Kisuke pauses, momentarily speechless. Luckily, it doesn’t last long.
“You— how was I supposed to know?”
Ichigo huffs, turning away as he pushes himself to his feet.
“If you weren’t following me around, it wouldn’t be a problem,” he says, plucking his shirt from the ground and pulling it over his head in a series of violent twitches. “I could have had a nice nap, maybe caught up on some gossip, and—”
“Gossip?”
“The fish,” Ichigo says curtly. “Obviously.”
Obviously. The little shit sprouts gills out of nowhere and Kisuke’s the idiot not to realize he can talk to fish.
“You’re not human,” Kisuke realizes belatedly.
Ichigo arches a single, unimpressed eyebrow, because right, Kisuke already knew that. Shinigami and— wait, Masaki was a Quincy.
“It’s a bloodline thing,” Ichigo says, turning back to toe on his shoes. “One or two kids like me in a generation. Don’t ask me how it works— mom died before she could decide I was old enough to know all the gorey details.”
Kisuke blinks, opens his mouth, then closes it again, his body promptly deciding this was all too much for today before sinking down onto the ground.
“Getaboushi— hey, whoa!”
Ichigo catches him by the elbow before his face can hit the mud, which is kind of him, really, because Kisuke?
Kisuke has fainted, which is just embarrassing.
*.*
He wakes up on the living room couch in the Shouten, a blanket thrown over his shoulders and a cramp developing between his shoulder blades. Distantly, he hears movement in the kitchen.
“Kurosaki-san?” he grunts, still muddled with sleep-but-technically-unconsciousness.
“Right here.” Ichigo pads into the room, a tray of tea and snacks in hand. He also appears to have changed, a shirt that Kisuke is almost certain was pilfered from his bedroom hanging off one shoulder, front gaping open prettily.
Or not. Kisuke probably shouldn’t be thinking of Ichigo in terms of ‘pretty’.
“I’m not exactly sure why you passed out on me,” Ichigo says almost conversationally, pouring tea for the pair of them. “Considering you’re a sword-wielding ghost from the afterlife and all. Did you seriously think spirits were the only other interesting thing around?”
No, but that doesn’t mean that Kisuke was expecting gills. Gills, for fuck’s sake. The creepiest part of any fish.
“What are you?” he asks, accepting the teacup Ichigo holds out for him with shaky hands.
The orange-haired teen shrugs.
“Closest word I could find in my own research was nymph,” he admits, going slightly pink. “From Greek mythology. I’m not really sure, though.”
“Nymph?” Kisuke pauses, brow furrowed. “As in, a water nymph.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I thought nymphs were supposed to be female.” He read that, somewhere. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’s just pulling pigtails and doesn’t know it yet.
“I said it was the closest word I could find, not the proper one.” Ichigo shifts, almost uncomfortably. “Besides, it’s not like it matters. I’ve never told anyone, besides my mom, and she wasn’t too worried about it, either.”
Ah.
“Your father, then, I presume…” Kisuke trails off as Ichigo shakes his head. “Well, that certainly explains some things.”
“If you say so.” Ichigo pauses. “Did you seriously think I was going to kill myself?”
“What else was I supposed to think?” Kisuke asks, frowning. “You walk to the river, alone, in the middle of the night, and disappear into the water, leaving behind your shoes as the only evidence you’d been there at all— which reminds me: you were carrying a bag full of rocks.”
Ichigo shrugs, cheeks pink.
“Didn’t wanna float away,” he says, reaching for his own teacup. “And anyway, you didn’t know that until you dragged me out, did you?”
No, but that’s besides the point.
“Tell me, Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke says, almost gently. “What on earth was I supposed to think?”
“You were supposed to think it’s rude to spy on people who can’t spy back, half the time,” Ichigo retorts, glaring at him. “What were you doing following me around, anyway?”
“I—” Kisuke pauses. “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”
He finds, quite suddenly, that he can’t look Ichigo in the eye, focusing on the sharp point of his collarbone instead. Ichigo looks strange, wearing Kisuke’s clothes, but it’s almost… it’s interesting. Intriguing. Fascinating.
“... Oh.”
Kisuke eyes dart back to Ichigo’s face just in time to catch the dumbstruck expression before it morphs into one of understanding. But what is he understanding? Did Kisuke miss something?
Before he can open his mouth to ask, however, Ichigo’s expression changes again, this time to something crossed between resolve and satisfaction.
“We probably shouldn’t talk ‘til morning,” he says, downing his tea. “You fainted, I’m a little dizzy from rapid land-creature to water-creature changes, and it’s nearly morning, anyway.”
“Oh.” Kisuke glances at the clock. It’s four-thirty in the morning. “Yes, that might be a good idea. You’re welcome to—”
“To the spare bedroom, yes,” Ichigo says, giving Kisuke an odd look. “But I think I might just share with you instead, if that’s alright.”
Wait, what— oh. Oh, this isn’t what Kisuke intended, not for another century, at least. How did he—?
Ichigo gives him a crooked smile.
“You’re sort of easy to read, Urahara-san,” he says. “But only when you want to be.”
Kisuke isn’t sure what that means, exactly, but he’s not about to argue. He feels tired, suddenly, like he should maybe have been in bed a few hours ago.
“Let’s go to your room,” Ichigo says, a knowing look in his eyes as he moves to help Kisuke off the couch. “Like I said— we can talk about this in the morning.”
Yeah, Kisuke thinks dimly. That might be a good idea.