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Chapter Text

When the Soul King, helpless and frantic with the future knowledge of its death, grabbed hold of his wandering soul and tasked him with destroying Yhwach, he had no other desire than to complete his mission and die with glory. 

These people aren’t his people, he had thought at the time, and ripping his memory to shreds in an effort to trap the so-called son of god in a realm between the living and dead was no big deal. He was already too ashamed to face his ancestors: what else did he have to lose?

“We had a hell of a time, Kazeshini, Ichigo,” he smirks.

Ichigo races towards him with hand outstretched as he disappears. It’s only then that he realizes how much he doesn’t want to die, doesn’t want to miss out on what happens next. So when the Soul King shows him the way home, he can only ask,

“Can I take a raincheck?”

Then he digs himself out of the trash and moves on with his life. Literally more so than metaphorically.

It’s a surprise that his captain is the one to pick him up. 

“Let’s get you back to Kurosaki’s. Ichigo nearly tore me in half when I stopped him from coming,” Kensei says before helping him into the cab.

“He what?” He bites out as Kensei slides into the seat next to him.

“Almost lost control of my hollow. That’s some boyfriend you got,” Kensei remarks.

The denial he wants to shriek gets stuck in his throat, and instead he mouths out, “He’s not my boyfriend.” Kensei, keeping an eye on the cab driver for any signs of listening in, doesn’t see his silent struggles.

And then Ichigo calls, ruining whatever momentum he might have had. The following conversation strengthens Kensei’s wrongful opinion about the two of them, and it becomes too awkward to argue against. 

Losing his nerve, he plops his head against the window and keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t say anything even when Kensei talks about him taking a tentative vacation among humanity.

“Assuming you don’t get squirreled away into Muken,” Kensei says flatly.

Assuming I don’t have to put you in there myself, Kensei doesn’t say.

The sudden tension these words leave is like a slap to the face. A silent boundary comes down between the two of them, and he realizes for the first time that Kensei is his boss and nothing more. 

He lets go of the words stuck to the back of his tongue. If Kensei notices that Shūhei’s reflection wears a bitter smile, he never says anything.

Ichigo takes him in while he recovers. A fair trade for the loss of his powers all those months ago that left him in a coma, Ichigo says. The excuse doesn’t hide the sympathy in Ichigo’s eyes.

Seeing that sympathy almost makes him want to run away where no one knows him.

But life goes on and he’s a survivor. He survived the genocide of his people, Rukongai, even death, he can survive this. Pride has no room when it comes to survival.

So he hunkers down and consumes his textbooks like his life depends on it. He does what he can to keep from being a burden on the Kurosaki’s—washes the dishes, cleaning up what he can without overstepping guest boundaries, studying outside the house—but it never feels like enough.

He’s not stupid or useless; he knows that, but it can feel like it.

Sometimes he goes drinking on the roof at night to forget the emptiness in his head. It’s a dangerous slope considering how he died last time, but it helps him get to sleep. He’s being careful, he tells himself.

Ichigo catches him one night, and then that’s the end of that.

“If you’re having a hard time, you can talk to me,” Ichigo says while pointedly throwing every beer can in a trash bag. “I know what it’s like.”

But you have your people here for you, is the reply on the tip of his tongue.

“Make sure you treasure your family,” he says somewhat awkwardly instead.

“Yeah,” Ichigo says with a knowing look.

Months crawl by, but there’s no word about returning him to Seireitei. He doesn’t bother asking any more about it after the first couple of weeks. His Soul Reaper career is probably a lost cause. Just like his homework.

Because despite his best efforts, his grades never climb to a passable level. He may have passed high school just by attending, but his grades mean he’ll never see college. All the teachers tell him so.

That’s that, he supposes. Time to go find some work. He refuses to leech off of Ichigo while he’s going to college. That shit’s tough already without adding in a depressed layabout.

The morning of graduation day, he sneaks out of the house to go job hunting. There’s not a lot of reputable places that want someone without a degree or recommendations from a teacher, so he ends up in the more shady places.

Survival, he chants to himself with every slimy, sleazy character he talks to. Something that can pay the bills and bag him connections.

Even shady places want references however, so he ends grabbing the first well-paying job that comes along. Which is more or less how he ends up getting interviewed in an “escort” office.

“You do have the face. Body’s good too,” the man looks over his comically large shades with consideration. “Which field you play for?”

“None at all,” he answers.

The man stares at him for a long moment before saying slowly, “By field, I don’t mean playing baseball.”

“I know.”

“I mean are you gay or straight-”

“Neither. I am neither,” he says through clenched teeth.

That’s as good an answer as any. Explaining the ins and outs of being demi-sexual is too complicated. Most people don’t believe in it by the end anyway.

(It galls him to say Kensei-sexual, but that’s the closest comparison he can think of.)

“Fantastic. You’re hired.” The man leans back with a satisfied smirk. “You are now an official gigolo.”

“Just what I always wanted to be,” he says morosely. Kazeshini isn’t here to tell him not to do it, so that’s on the Zanpakuto, he thinks ludicrously. 

He goes back to the house to pack a bag and leave a note on the table. Then he’s gone.

The first day on his own sees him settling into the temporary dorms until a client moves him into their abode. He makes nice with his roommates who appear to be a drug addict and a runaway teenager. An older man swings by to give him the “Do’s and Don’t’s” of being an escort.

Day two consists of picking out a wardrobe from a cart of used clothes. He ends up walking out with a tight black suit that looks like it’s been through the shredder. Mind, it looks good on him, but that doesn’t stop the fact that he looks like a sexualized murder victim from a horror movie.

On the third day, he practices for the interviews with his clients. It goes to waste because he gets hired before he even sees anyone.

“Saw your profile and was a goner. She’s willing to pay big money for you. Seems your face reminds her of an old friend,” his boss tells him.

The client’s name is Narumi. She appears to be an average Japanese woman in her late twenties, but there’s a spark of something in her eyes that gives off red flags. No doubt there’s a weird, creepy dungeon somewhere below her house. 

He is, unfortunately, a professional, and his boss has already signed him over before he can think better of it. Unless Narumi does anything to void the contract, he’ll have to suck it up and deal with her. He moves out of the dorms without a fight. 

Narumi’s house turns out to be a huge, traditional manor complete with a high stone fence around the property. The place is much too big for only one person, but Narumi says she has no plans to give up her family’s property any time soon.

“It’ll be so good to have someone walking the halls again. It gets lonely by myself,” Narumi tells him with a smile that could make children cry.

He resolutely does not let his expression falter.

“I look forward to being here with you,” he says without sincerity.

Survive. He only needs to hang in there until his client gets bored of him. He can do this.

“Let me show you to your room, darling,” Narumi all but purrs.

“After you, my lady.”

The first few days of living with his client are rough. He has to learn to dance to her tune while setting up his own boundaries with a delicate touch. For one, he’s a companion not a slave which can be hard to differentiate when his only job is to make his client happy.

He learns that Narumi does not take “No” very well.

Even so, the job isn’t as bad as he initially feared. Sure, being forced to wear women’s kimono and drink tea in the courtyard is strange, but it’s not the worst thing that could happen. His client seems mostly content to spend her days chatting to him about old memories.

“Did I ever tell you of the time we decided to replace my family’s sake with fruit juice?” Narumi giggles from where she lies in his lap.

“Tell me about it,” he says while lazily swirling the drink in his hand.

His phone remains quiet. No one has contacted him since he left. He tries not to feel hurt by it. It’s his own fault for not maintaining his relationships. Nothing is stopping him from picking up the phone and calling them himself.

He needs to do better, be better.

Once he attains independence, he’ll crawl back to the Kurosaki’s and thank them properly for taking care of him. He’ll even apologize to Ichigo for being so grumpy these past few months. He didn’t come back from the dead to keep running in the same endless circle.

“Are you listening to me?” Narumi asks, eyes narrowing up at him.

“Your uncle just accused the maid,” he repeats automatically before pasting on a fake smile. “Please continue.”

Two years is the average length of time for this particular brand of escort to be in service. His coworkers told him that once he gets past the first month, pretending will become almost second nature.

He just never thought he couldn’t even make it that long.

“Of course you have a dungeon in your basement.” He sighs, and the back of his head hits the table beneath him.

There’s something keeping him sedated, but a careful tug tells him that chains holding him down won’t break even if it wears off. Narumi hums as she adjusts the dials of a science-fiction machine over by the wall, and the crystal on top of it shines menacingly.

If this isn’t the prelude to being tortured and murdered, he’ll eat his very fashionable hat.

“I knew you were nothing but a bitch,” he says.

“Don’t be like that, darling.” Narumi’s high heels click against the cement floor as she moves back and forth. “This is a joyous day.”

“I can’t say that it is.”

He had relaxed his guard, had assumed that his initial impression of Narumi was wrong. He should have listened to his instincts and walked back to Ichigo with his head bowed. 

“I can never forgive Kaien for taking her away from me,” Narumi scowls, “but this time. This time, I will not let you go.”

Of course he got the woman who was actually a renegade Soul Reaper looking for a vessel for her dead beloved.

“Come back to me, Miyako,” Narumi croons in his ear as she places metal wires into his skin.

“I’m. Not. Her,” he bites out.

Narumi pays him no mind and flips a switch. Nothing happens at first, and he has a moment to hope that the experiment is a bust.

He was never that lucky.

There’s a feeling of something expanding inside of him, and it grows from barely there to incredibly painful. He screams as the crystal atop the machine slowly fuses into his gigai. It’s more than just painful; his very soul feels like someone is pouring in heated iron to fill the holes. It’s too much.

“No, no, no!” Narumi suddenly screams.

He passes out right before everything explodes.

Get up.

Who?

Get up and let me fight.

Fight what?

He’s smacked on the head. Well, he thinks he is. His head throbs like it's been hit even though no one is actually there. 

He scrambles to his feet and the chains on his wrist and ankles move against his skin uncomfortably. It looks like whatever they were attached to has disappeared. He examines a wrist with something like fascination.

Something whispers angrily in his ear, and he looks around in confusion.

“Who? Oh, your name is Kazeshini? That’s neat.” He tilts his head. “Mind helping me out? Because I suddenly realize I don’t know anything.”

He doesn’t think strange voices calling him an idiot is normal, but then, he can’t remember a thing, so maybe it is?

A glance around the room tells him nothing. There’s a smoking hunk of metal over by the wall, but that’s it. It just looks like a random murder basement.

“I should get out of here? I don’t suppose you know where ‘out of here’ is?” The angry voice doesn’t bother responding to him, and he’s left to find the hidden staircase by himself.

Kazeshini is nice enough to help him find his room. Well, he hopes it’s his room. The kimono he’s wearing is completely wrecked, and the clothes that look like they’ve been slashed with a knife fit him perfectly. They even sort of go with the chains he can’t seem to get off.

He finds a flip phone in a jacket pocket, and Kazeshini helps him operate it. He chooses a name from the contact list that the angry voice gets less angry about, and puts the phone to his ear. He waits until he hears a cheerful “Urahara Shop!” to say,

“Hello, do you know me? I seem to have forgotten everything, and I don’t know where I am.”

The silence on the other end stretches on for a long time.

His name is apparently Shūhei, and he is a grumpy cat in fake human skin. That is what Urahara says, but he seriously doubts the validity of it when he considers Kazeshini’s whispers of warning. Urahara lies a lot supposedly.

He wants to say that half-baked help is better than no help, but he’s getting exasperated with trying to figure out what is true and what isn’t. That’s not even getting into the “memory experiments” Urahara likes to subject him to when he’s not helping run the man’s shop.

“Shūhei!”

He looks up from where he’s wiping down the counter. A young man rushes up to him, and the sight of spiky, strawberry blond hair makes him wince.

“Don’t be annoying. I have a headache,” he says, clutching his forehead.

“You don’t even know who I am,” the man says, offended.

“Ichigo,” he says, the name coming to him easily.

“You remember me?” Ichigo looks at him in surprise. Somewhere behind him, he can hear Urahara writing something down in his notebook.

“No, but here’s a doodle of me pushing you down a flight of stairs,” he says pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket.

On the back of an old receipt is a stick figure labeled “Shūhei” pushing down another labeled “Ichigo.” There’s a stick figure getting impaled by a scythe above, but there’s no name to go with it.

“Still the same Shūhei,” Ichigo scowls.

“Good to know we really do have a loving relationship,” he says serenely.

Chapter Text

“What possessed you to leave and become,” Ichigo struggles as if unable to say it, “become an escort.”

He glances up from where he’s attempting to tear open a package of rice crackers to stare blankly at Ichigo, who crosses his arms defensively. Between them, resting on a small table, are two barely sipped on cups of tea which have longed cool off. Neither of them seems to care for green tea, he mentally notes.

“You have a problem with escorts?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Ichigo says unconvincingly, “but that’s not the point.”

He manages to rip off the plastic keeping his snack from him, and stuffs it into his mouth. The taste isn’t anything to write home about, but it’ll keep him from starving. Hm, starving. Didn’t he use to—

“You didn’t have to do something you didn’t want to!” Ichigo slams a fist against the table, rattling the cups and breaking his train of thought.

“Well, maybe I wanted to?” He rolls a shoulder.

Ichigo doesn’t appear to know how to take that.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I have amnesia. I have no idea why I did what I did,” he says.

Really, the only reason anyone knows he was an escort is because Urahara did some digging to find out what happened to him. He doesn’t think he’s the type of person who enjoys working with people so intimately, but then he can’t exactly recall his previous situation.

“You really don’t remember me?” Ichigo slumps, all fight leaving him.

“I only have the vague suspicion that you are really annoying,” he confirms.

There’s a constant urge to say something mean. At the same time, he feels completely relaxed in Ichigo’s presence unlike anyone at Urahara Shop. He’s not sure what they are—certainly not friends—but he feels like he can trust Ichigo with anything.

Perhaps that is why he’s not averse to the idea of living with him.

“Come back with me,” Ichigo insists on. “You’ve been living at my house for half a year. You might remember something.” Ichigo’s eyes slide from him towards the door. “And you hate living with old Hat and Clogs, don’t you?”

An offended gasp comes from the next room over. He recalls all the times he woke up to Urahara standing over him with shaded out eyes and a maniacal grin. He shudders.

“Fair enough.”

There’s no need for any more convincing than that; he moves out immediately. The voice in his head doesn’t scream any more than normal, so he takes it as a positive sign in his decision making.

He rethinks that last thought the moment he steps into the Kurosaki residence.

“And where have you been? Don’t you know how worried you made Yuzu?”

A small, angry child wearing a t-shirt streaked with dirt and possibly blood greets him with hands on her hips. The eyes of a tiny killer glare up at him, and he flinches back when she goes to bare her teeth.

“Hello, angry child,” he says, bowing politely, “I have no idea who you are or where I’ve been. Please don’t bite me.”

“Don’t break him, Karin. Shūhei’s head is messed up. More than normal, I mean,” Ichigo tells the child.

“Your head is messed up,” he retorts automatically.

“I’m not the one who became a—”

Ichigo suddenly splutters to a stop, and he and the demon child give Ichigo an expectant look. The only answer they get is Ichigo running a hand through his spikes and grimacing.

He wants to call you a whore, Kazeshini coos from somewhere in the back of his mind as if Ichigo is nothing but an adorable puppy misbehaving, we should rip his throat out.

“I’ll take Shūhei up to my room and get him settled in. Tell Yuzu and Dad I found him, but he has memory problems.” Grabbing him by the front of the shirt, Ichigo pulls him towards the stairs before freezing mid-step. “And do not take that as permission to mess with him.”

Behind them, Karin wipes the evil grin off her face for a scowl. He makes a note to cross-reference everything the demon child says.

Dinner sees him meeting, or re-meeting he supposes, the rest of the Kurosaki clan. Unlike Karin, Ichigo’s other little sister is more friendly and cheerful. He can practically see angel wings behind her as delicious food is placed before them.

“You really don’t remember me?” Yuzu asks with a fallen expression.

Before he can reply, Isshin leans out of his chair and slaps him on the back with a boisterous laugh. He nearly goes face first into the curry.

“Don’t be sad, my dear Yuzu! He’s probably happier this way! It’ll do him some good to take a break from being so grumpy!”

Isshin smacks him again, causing him to nearly knock his plate onto the floor. He glares at Isshin while Kazeshini shrieks promises of retribution in the back of his mind. He has a pretty good idea what made him so grumpy to begin with.

“Shut up, Dad,” Karin says with lidded eyes. “You’re only happy because this moron can’t remember that he’s dating our big brother.”

Chopsticks fall against a plate, and Ichigo chokes on the curry inside his mouth. A fist bangs against the table rapidly. He subtly moves his plate towards Isshin’s to get it out of the line of fire.

“Pardon me?” He asks, resolutely not looking next to him where Ichigo is flailing and attempting to give himself the Heimlich maneuver.

“The two of you were so happy before you had a fight with Ichigo and ran away,” Yuzu sniffs.

“Obviously that means they weren’t happy, and we should support their separation,” Isshin says, crossing his arms and nodding.

“We’re not together!” Ichigo finally manages to yell, tears in his eyes and food splaying everywhere.

“It’ll be alright, big brother,” Yuzu says sympathetically. “I’m sure you can work this out.”

“We’re not—” Ichigo tries again, wiping at his mouth.

“Yeah, don’t be such a coward. Go woo him again or something.” Karin rolls her eyes.

“We—”

“There’s probably no hope of recovery, so you should go for someone who has big boobs—” This time Isshin is the one cut off by a slipper flying across the table to hit him in the face.

“Shut up, Goatface.” Karin turns her demonic eyes to him. “You’re not good enough for Ichigo, but if that’s what makes him happy, then I will beat the memories into you myself.”

“More importantly, we love and support you, big brother. No matter who you love. Isn’t that right?” Yuzu turns to her father, face scrunching up into a smile that makes everyone break out into a cold sweat.

“R-Right,” Isshin says, bending immediately under the force.

“I am so confused right now,” he says as Kazeshini cackles long and hard inside his head.

Ichigo holds his head with a groan.

Dinner goes by swiftly after that. As if to escape the awkward atmosphere, Karin and Isshin inhale their food before racing away with their dirty dishes. Yuzu pats the hunched over Ichigo before subtly shooting him a thumbs up and going up to her room.

Ichigo doesn’t say a word to him until they are spreading out the futon next to his bed.

“Look, don’t listen to them. We’re not dating,” Ichigo snaps out.

He looks at where his name is scratched into Ichigo’s bedframe, to the shelves containing the notebooks with his name on them, to his clothing drawer that contains several mesh shirts that leave little to the imagination.

“Sorry,” he says, hanging his head. “I must have been a real jackass to make you say that.”

Ichigo stares at him wordlessly, and he tries not to wilt under the pressure. No matter how much he wracks his brain, he can’t remember anything other than Ichigo being an annoyance. He must have been a terrible boyfriend for sure.

“Let’s start over,” he says, looking up as determination fills him. “My name is Hisagi Shūhei, and I am an ex-Soul Reaper—” that’s what Urahara told him in any case. He’s still not sure the man wasn’t lying to him, “—there’s a bloodthirsty Zanpakuto telling me to do things inside my head, and my taste in fashion leans towards the sexy murder victim side.”

Ichigo lets out a strangled laugh at that, and he smiles at the sound. To his confusion, Ichigo’s expression falls as his eyes widen with panic. Before he can ask, Ichigo is suddenly dashing towards the light switch, and he’s left standing in darkness.

“I’m going to sleep now.” There’s an odd hitch in Ichigo’s voice.

“Okay?”

The rest of the night is spent in awkward silence. He doesn’t get much sleep, mind hung up on what do boyfriends even do. Because he’s going to do better, be better.

The first thing he does is consult the demon child. As much as he prefers the angelic one, Karin is the one who seems to know what went on with him and Ichigo the most. If her threats are genuine, then there is no reason for her not to help.

“What do I look like, a love doctor?” Karin frowns at him. “I don’t know. You two like to go hang out while pretending you’re not. Go take him to an arcade or something.”

So he does.

“You really suck at this,” he says with awe.

He’s actually pretty impressed at how badly Ichigo fails at the rhythm machines. No matter how many times he attempts it, the screen always cuts away to a little sprite crying at a low score.

“Like you can do any better!” Ichigo slaps a button on the machine dramatically.

He shoves Ichigo to the side and cracks his knuckles.

“Watch and learn, dear,” he grins devilishly, missing Ichigo’s flinch.

He gets so caught up in proving how much better he is than Ichigo that they end up competing in every game they come across. It’s close, but the competition ultimately ends in his loss.

With how brightly Ichigo smiles and laughs afterwards, he can’t say he minds.

“You should take him to your favorite café next!” Yuzu tells him later once she catches wind of his “be a good boyfriend” plan. “And then go on a stroll around the park!”

“I have a favorite café?”

“Oh, I don’t remember it either.” Yuzu’s expression falls before brightening back up. “Which means you should take big brother to try all the cafés!”

Taking the advice to heart, he ends up dragging Ichigo to a new eatery each day. Ichigo, is at first, reluctant and somewhat prickly over the matter. They come to an understanding soon enough. Mostly.

“Save your money, you don’t have a job!” Ichigo hisses as he’s pulled by the wrist towards a maid wearing cat ears.

“My wallet’s fat because I was a gold digger in my previous life,” he shoots back, somehow keeping from breaking into maniacal laughter.

Before he left the murder mansion, he made sure to grab anything of value. The sheer amount of cash he stuffed into his pockets would make lesser men cry. This must have been the reason he became an escort despite hurting his boyfriend’s feelings.

“Can we at least go somewhere else?” Ichigo asks with resignation.

“No way, I want to experience everything,” he says, gleeful in the face of Ichigo’s agony.

(He wonders if previous him was a sadist because that would explain a few things.)

“You should go meet his friends!”

The enthusiasm Isshin shows at the idea sends warning alarms ringing through his head. The shiny teeth smiling at him radiates nothing but a hostile intent.

“Fine.” He decides to spring the trap.

Ichigo doesn’t seem too bothered by the idea of reintroducing him to his friends, so he gears up for a battle. He finds the best smelling cologne he can get his hands on and plans out his sexiest outfit. He even spends an hour making sure his hair looks strategically messy.

Of course, the knife he hides in his leather boot is a “just in case.” There’s not much he can do if he gets jumped by a group, but he’ll make them regret trying it.

“Don’t worry, they’re good people—what are you wearing?” Ichigo, who’s been waiting by the door for him, takes one glance at him and proceeds to have a mental breakdown.

“A skintight leather outfit with strategic mesh and chains to look like sex on legs,” he answers brightly.

“You, y-you,” Ichigo’s brain remains stuck.

“Glad you like,” he purrs, pushing Ichigo out the door.

Three of Ichigo’s friends have agreed to meet up for a picnic at the park. He’s given a short description of each, so he has a good idea who’s who when they arrive. Three young adults wave at them, and he labels each mentally: Inoue, Ishida, and Sado.

Ichigo, he has learned through overheard phone calls, is fully devoted when it comes to his friends. This means that it is important that he leaves them with a good, lasting impression of the new him. He’s not going to mess this up.

“Fancy that, your taste in clothing somehow got worse after the brain damage,” Ishida scoffs at him.

“I’ll stab you,” he says immediately.

“Hello Ichigo, Shūhei,” Sado says warmly.

“Ichigo!” Inoue greets cheerfully before following with a more subdued, “Hello.”

A blanket is spread out onto grass and takeout containers are laid out for everyone to fill their plates from. Nothing of importance is brought up while they eat. There’s no digging up old memories or unease, just endless gossip about recent news.

“—and they said she already has a baby,” Ishida informs them through shiny lenses.

“No,” Inoue gasps.

“Saw it coming,” Ichigo grunts.

“Yeah,” Sado nods.

“So who is this girl, and why do we care?” He asks without caring too much about the answer.

It all feels familiar, like he’s done this a thousand times before. He almost lets down his guard in the warm atmosphere. Almost.

All the glances he notices Inoue sneaking at Ichigo gives him cause for concern. As well as all the light teasing Ishida and Sado give her whenever she reacts over the top to anything Ichigo says. It’d be cute if that wasn’t his boyfriend.

The thing is, he’s no longer sure Ichigo is his boyfriend. Not once has any of them acted like the two of them have ever been more than friends.

“Inoue, let’s go get some more drinks,” he says, making a quick decision.

“Oh, sure,” Inoue blinks at him.

“I’ll help,” Ichigo says.

“Nope,” he stretches his back sensually like what was practiced in the mirror, “girls only.”

“You’re not a girl,” Ichigo says flatly.

Whether it’s due to the fact Ichigo isn’t coming or that Ichigo hasn’t moved his eyes away from his mesh-covered collarbone, Inoue’s smile dims noticeably. He tries not to feel any more vindictive than he already is.

He’s probably going to feel like an idiot real soon.

They reach the park’s vending machines, and he asks his question.

“Inoue, I need you to answer me. How long have I been dating Ichigo?”

He has to grab Inoue before she collapses onto the concrete. Dazed, she looks from Ichigo in the distance to the determined expression on his face. She lets out a gasp, and tears suddenly appear in the corner of her eyes.

“You said you weren’t together with Ichigo! I-I still need to tell him my feelings!” Inoue flinches back as if he’s slapped her.

Kazeshini whispers to him to take out his knife and slit her throat. To take Ichigo before this bitch does. He tells the Zanpakuto to shut the hell up.

“Sorry, I think I made a mistake,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

He leaves Inoue standing at the vending machine and heads home.

“The memory wipe worked, but not the soul fusion. We’ll finish replenishing your soul, and end this once and for all,” the crazy lady carrying him says.

A tiny shoulder digs into his stomach, and he twists his neck to avoid getting a face full of ass. Chains keep his arms tied behind his back and render him incapable of doing anything besides kicking. That said, even if he gets in a solid kick, he’ll likely be murdered in the next second. He’ll have to wait until a good opportunity arises.

He can only wonder how life got so complicated so fast.

Surprisingly, rescue comes before they can get too far away from the center of town.

“Put him down!”

Ichigo.

“Fine. I only need his soul,” the crazy lady says.

Though he can’t see it, Ichigo sprints towards them at full speed with a snarl on his lips. He’s thrown to the ground, and he only has a second to realize there’s a stick aimed at his forehead before it slams into him.

It feels like the clothes he was wearing are torn away—ah, no, that’s not it.

He stares at his lifeless body lying before him before noticing the black kimono wrapped around his ghostly self. He doesn’t get a chance to steady himself before he’s picked back up and slung onto the crazy lady’s shoulder again. She’s also wearing a black kimono, he notes.

His captor takes a leap that sends them flying over buildings, and he decides he’s done for the day. Theoretically, he knows about Soul Reapers, knows he used to be one. Actually experiencing it is something else.

“Come back here!” Ichigo chases after them wearing a black kimono and waving a sword.

Screams about “Kaien” and “reincarnation” go in one ear and out the other. The angry voice in his head remains as silent as the grave. He closes his eyes and pretends he’s currently in the midst of a nightmare.

He thinks about how heartbroken Inoue looked at the vending machine. He thinks about how much he’s come to enjoy being with Ichigo.

“You always took everything from me, Kaien!” Narumi screams.

“Would you stop with that?” Ichigo spits out.

Would it all stop if he wakes up?

He feels himself falling. Ichigo calls his name, and his captor cries for Miyako. He reaches for the only thing he can count on. He speaks Kazeshini’s name.

Moron.

Idiot.

Weakling.

The world he opens his eyes to is full of empty, dirty streets that gradually fade into grassy fields. A red road stretches past a tree, and he soaks it all in. This place feels warm and familiar, all except for the litter. Broken pieces of a house are scattered throughout the world, and every piece fills him with revulsion.

The litter isn’t supposed to be here, he suddenly realizes.

A figure appears before him, oozing of darkness and grinning with pointy teeth. He knows the being: Kazeshini. A razor-sharp finger pokes his head and a scream tears out of his throat at the ensuing pain.

"Wake up and say it," Kazeshini hisses, red eyes glowing bright. "Wake up and take your soul back."

Something vile is stripped from him. He chokes on the blood suddenly filling his mouth. There’s no holding it back; his world floods from the blood pouring out of his mouth. Distorted memories sing through his mind, and he trembles under their weight.

Kazeshini never stops grinning at him as the blood reaches their neck before going past their heads. Darkness crushes him, and he can’t breathe. He's drowning, and the only one who can save him is himself.

Say it.

"Let the birds feast and the bells toll! Let death come for those who breathe life!" He screams without sound. "Reap, Kazeshini!"

He opens his eyes and remembers everything.

Kazeshini laugh echoes inside him until he hears nothing else.

The giant scythe in his hands moves quick; Narumi’s head is sliced from her shoulders. He swings the large weapon to the side and watches as her body dissolves into spirit particles.

It’s over without much fanfare.

"Ichigo, you are a thorn in my side," he begins as Ichigo steps up beside him. "Your very presence makes my life difficult, and I hate having to deal with all the people who are drawn to you."

Before Ichigo can say anything—before he can change his mind—he grabs Ichigo by the collar of his Soul Reaper uniform and hisses,

"But I am the only one allowed to do this."

He slams his lips against Ichigo’s, knocking their teeth and noses together. It's not a gentle, loving kiss, but then he didn't want it to be. Ichigo attempts to pull back with a gasp, but he leans forward to bite hard enough to leave teeth marks.

He finally lets go with a scoff, and Ichigo wastes no time scrambling away.

“What the hell? Do you remember everything or not?” Keeping a wary eye on him, Ichigo shuffles back even farther and guards his mouth with his hand.

“I remember everything,” he says frigidly, “including the part where you wasted all my money on taking you out.”

He can see the moment a little light comes on inside Ichigo’s brain.

"Are we dating?" Ichigo asks faintly.

"We're dating," he confirms.

The charged atmosphere between them pops like a balloon. Ichigo drops the hand away from his mouth to rub the back of his neck; a thoughtful frown crosses his face.

"Are you going to be less bitchy?" Ichigo finally asks.

"Hell no," he snorts. "Now I'm going to be worse. You have standards to live up to now."

"Guess there’s no running away,” Ichigo sighs.

“Only if you want me to break your legs.”

Once they track down their respective body and gigai, they collapse on a bench and call it a day. They keep their shoulders touching as if to remind themselves that the battle is over.

"There's a lot of things we'll have to work out because I'm not going to seal away Kazeshini like your father," he tells Ichigo, "but that's for a different day."

The future mess with Inoue and Seireitei will probably force him to go into hiding. He should prepare some emergency travel funds and scope out potential hideouts. He’s going to have to keep away from Kensei too, so there’s no getting the Visor’s help.

“You seem happier when you lost your memories,” Ichigo says quietly.

“Maybe so, but I lost more than just the painful memories. I’d rather remember everything and be grateful for what I still have.”

He fought tooth and nail to be here. Choosing to forget all that would just be spitting on his own grave. Even if his life was not going so well earlier, he’ll just have to fight even harder to be happy.

"By the way, now that we're dating, I'm taking your bed.” He stretches, already envisioning the wonderful mattress waiting for him.

"What? No. Sleep on the floor." Ichigo kicks at his ankle.

"Nope, boyfriend privileges. I'm also going to hang up some skulls and spikes around the room. Give it that real ‘Me’ look," he says grandly.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself!" Despite himself, Ichigo is smiling as he says it.