Archive of Our Own

A man with short ginger hair stepped into the coffee shop and took a seat at his usual spot. He smoothed out his suit jacket and slacks and read through emails while he waited to be served. The day was bright and many people walked past the little shop, unaware of the special guests it hosted.

“I can take your order if you’re ready, Ichigo,” Momo said in her typical chipper voice. She wore the cafe’s logo, a dark butterfly with blue light around it, on an apron tied in front of her shihakusho. “Or I can get Hisagi to put on your usual.”

Ichigo smiled broadly, feeling the wrinkles on his face tighten just a bit. It was always good to see old friends. “I’d love that, Momo, thank you.”

The retired Vice-Captain went off to fill the order and Ichigo went back to his emails. Working as a professor meant an overwhelming number of people contacting him at all hours. He was glad for it, life was boring otherwise. Seireitei had run out of enemies to fight and hollows came about less often once Kyouraku revamped the human-world patrols to be focused on sending off the recently deceased instead of fighting hollows. Nowadays, Ichigo was lucky to encounter a spirit on his morning commute and usually they were gone by the end of the day. Twenty years of constant, necessary change meant a whole new system so it wasn’t surprising things were different.

His coffee arrived, with a drawing on the side of the cup. This time the drawing was a prickly looking cat yowling a speech bubble with Ichigo’s name. It stirred a memory he had kept buried for some time. An angry feline yelling “ Kurosaki! ” across white sands in a desolate place. 

“What happened to you,” Ichigo murmured to his drink as he sipped it. It wasn’t that he actually missed the crazed killer, more so he missed the action and adrenaline he always brought. 

Ichigo switched tabs on his computer to look at the news. The leading article was about a breakthrough in humanity. The world ten years ago experienced its greatest psychosocial shift since Freud because of two proven discoveries. What were they? What could have possibly been so incredibly interesting and profound? Well, reincarnation was real — Ichigo already knew that — and there was one person everyone was tied to in each and every life. As romantic as that sounded, it was actually a terrible burden because this person was destined to hate you and for you to hate them. A soulhate. 

The headline for this story was: “New Soulhate Pair Found”. According to the article, more than two hundred similar stories were reported across the globe. In the last year alone, five soulhate pairs were found in Japan. 

The article detailed the past lives of the pair and how they met in their current one. They claimed to have started off as servants in the Mongol empire that were pitted against each other until the woman killed the man. This time they met at a dance competition and instantly started fighting. The competition floor was splattered with blood before they even realized what was going on.

Ichigo scoffed into his coffee. Even if ‘science’ had proven their existence, he wasn’t too sure about the whole soulhate thing. “Seems like I have more than a hundred enemies, are any of them my soulhates? No. Because they died and reincarnated and didn’t come back for me.” 

He wasn’t insulted by that. Really. How many hollows did he fight one-on-one where they swore vengeance upon their death? How many Soul Reaper’s careers did he destroy by beating them in a side fight? How many people have screamed “ We’re enemies, you and I, and only one of us gets out of here alive ” at the top of their lungs just before he cut them down? Yeah, it just didn’t make sense that he never felt that spark of hatred for any of them the way they did for him.

His cup was empty, so he knew he was done. Break time lasted only so long as he had a drink, and it was always too short. Ichigo dropped his cup in the bin and waved goodbye as he stepped out the door. The chime on the door rang and for that moment his life was perfect. He waited at the crosswalk outside and, when signalled, walked onto the road.

Unfortunately, that was the last thing he did in his earthly body.

As odd as it was, Ichigo hadn’t been in his Soul Reaper form for years. There was no need and it was a hassle he didn’t want when he worked full time. So when he felt the heavy weight of his swords against his hip and shoulder, he was thrown off. That on its own wasn’t so bad because there was an even more pressing concern in the moment. He couldn’t find his body.

Someone was screaming. A man on the sidewalk stood stalk-still, staring at a spot behind Ichigo. He turned around slowly, confused by the reaction. Then he saw it: wet red against rocky black.

“Oh my god. I — I didn’t see him! I swear I didn’t, fuck, I didn’t see him,” a nondescript man wailed as he frantically walked through the spreading pool of liquid to its source. He was shaking. His hands stretched beneath his car to something, mumbling prayers and curses in equal measure.

That was when Momo came out of the shop. She was out of her gigai, shikai released, calm as a caterpillar. Her eyes shifted from the car to Ichigo and back again.

“Hey, Momo, is that…?” Ichigo asked with a fake chill. 

She nodded, expressionless, then sheathed her zanpakuto. She took a calm breath, and motioned for Ichigo to follow her inside the shop once again. They sat at the same table he was at before. No coffee kept them company as they watched the scene unfold on the road.

“I guess that’s that. Not much I can do without a miracle healer here. My students are going to be disappointed that I can’t give their midterm tomorrow.” Ichigo chuckled at the dark humor.  Momo didn’t laugh at the joke. “So, what do I do now? Go to Soul Society or find a gigai or… hollowfy myself for no reason?”

Momo tapped her chin, not willing to look away from the crash even while contemplating its meaning. “We have never had a soul that was already a Reaper when they died. You’re a bit of a first.”

“Not unusual for me,” Ichigo once again joked.

This time she cracked a smile. “We could send you to Soul Society to get sorted out, if you wanted to join our ranks officially. With all you have done, I think the Captain Commander would agree to anything you proposed.”

Ichigo didn’t have to think too hard. Since the end of the Blood War, he had been planning how to spend his afterlife. Seeing so many deaths in such a short time left an impression on him. He couldn’t picture an afterlife not as a Soul Reaper.

So, that was that. All it took was a Hell butterfly and an escort from Toshiro. Ichigo was placed in squad 7 while taking classes on hado and Soul Reaper history. Life was normal for him after that, not much trouble and only the occasional hollow to deal with.

Then, he was put in the group protecting Rukongai areas 70-80. It was rough. Lots of thieving and threats. The soil was poor and the weather even poorer. Ichigo didn’t know death could be so miserable. 

It was on a rainy day when he encountered a crowd in district 78. People were circled around a spar of some sort. At least, he assumed it was a spar from the things they were shouting.

“Kick that punk’s ass, Michiru!”  “Make him think twice about coming around here again!”  “Hold him down and we’ll grab our stuff.”

Ichigo jumped overhead to avoid the shoving masses. He expected to see a kid with fruit in his pants getting hung up by a large woman (that was usually what these scenes entailed). Instead, he saw a small girl kicking the Jezus out of a tall, skinny man. A bag covered the man’s head and he could do little more than curl in on himself as the assault continued. 

“Knock it off, he’s had enough!” Ichigo projected his voice down to the aggressive girl. She stilled but didn’t remove the foot planted in the man’s side. “Either step away from him or fight me. I won’t tell you again.”

The girl’s brows furrowed and she sucked in a breath, presumably to say some choice words. Luckily, another little girl yanked her away and into the dispersing crowd. In a minute, the only people around were shopkeepers and the odd straggling onlooker. The beaten man stayed as he was, drawing in rattling breaths. 

Ichigo felt for him, really he did. The outer districts were practically a punishment. The system was supposed to be random but it didn’t seem so random that the healthy and rich people died and went to the upper districts while the poor, disgraced, and disabled were herded to the outer reaches. It was just another thing he had to fix.

“I’m sorry for not getting here sooner,” Ichigo said as he stooped down to remove the bag from the man’s head. As his hand came closer he felt a resistant energy attempting to push it back. It was infuriating. The man was frozen, all his muscles tensed.

“It’s a little too late for that crap, don't you agree, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo’s breath caught. It couldn’t be, but there was no one else who said his name with such venom and reverence. There was no other voice so prideful and sullen. Never anyone else who grabbed his arm with a rough hand and forced him to be still.

“Grimmjow? Is that you?” Ichigo tried not to let hope trickle into his voice. He failed. At long last, he had found someone from the old wars once again.

“Miss me?” Grimmjow said. Then the hand on Ichigo’s arm went slack, dropping to the dirt with the weight of sins. His body shook and blazed with energy and heat that scalded Ichigo even as he grabbed onto him.

Ichigo had a protocol to follow. A script he was supposed to say. Messages he told the Rukongai citizens when these things happened. It was an apology for them living in such shit. He was not going to let Grimmjow hear those words, not today at least. His Captain could chew him out for it later, but he refused to let the one enemy he enjoyed fighting die in front of him again. He pulled the man’s limp body into his arms and shouted a warning to his squad members before dashing through the sky to the closest infirmary.

The days passed in a haze for Ichigo. He had paperwork to fill out, explanations to make, and scoldings to get from his Captain and Lieutenant. It was fine by him though, because that gave him something to do while waiting outside Grimmjow’s infirmary room. Hell, if he hadn’t had so much work then he might have done something stupid like barge into the room and shake the poor soul until his head came off. At last on day five he was pulled out of a rousing Seireitei Bulletin column by shouts in the aforementioned room.

“Where the fuck am I? Why is it so fucking bright in here?” Grimmjow cursed. Ichigo slid the door open and just about died when a glowing blue ball of energy careened into his face. “Who the fuck are you?!”

Wiping the energy away, Ichigo stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind him. “Grimmjow, chill, it’s just me. You’re in the healing wing of the Soul Reaper Academy and it’s bright because it’s sunny out. Now, can I ask you some questions?”

Grimmjow squinted. He gave Ichigo a hard once-over, scrutinizing every detail of his image. He sniffed snootily and turned his face away. “Get lost, Kurosaki.”

Fire. Hell. Death. Ichigo had never become so enraged so quickly.

“Are you fucking kidding me? ‘Get lost, Kurosaki’, that’s all you want to say to me? Not even a thank you for saving your sorry ass?” Ichigo stomped to Grimmjow’s bed and shoved his face in front of him. 

Grimmjow closed his eyes.

Ichigo screamed, yelled, directly at him. If he were a hollow he would have shot a cero that dissolved Grimmjow’s entire head. Still no eye contact. Ichigo couldn’t stand it. He gripped the front of Grimmjow’s clinic clothes and yanked him up so they were breathing the same air. Then, he let Grimmjow flop back on the bed.

Turning on his heel, Ichigo didn’t look at Grimmjow. “Thirty fucking years. Twenty while I was alive, ten after I died. Thirty. Years. Since I last saw you run off to chase some dickhead quincy into a trap that I didn’t know you could win. Quincies eradicate hollows. Nothing left. No soul of a hollow reincarnates when they die. But you fucking ran towards that death with both arms open.” He took a breath, not to calm his anger but to stoke it more. “Kisuke didn’t come back. Nel didn’t come back. You didn’t come back. What was I supposed to think? You tell me, what was I supposed to think happened!?”

Silence.

Ichigo clenched his fists. He had shut his eyes at the start, unable to see clearly due to the flood of emotions. Something creaked and then broke but he didn’t care, these words were coming out. “I wanted to fight you! I wanted it! You were right, in Las Noches, when you said I was there to fight. You were right. I didn’t care about fighting the quincies because I didn’t have a choice. But you! You gave me the choice and I was going to take it and then you fucking died! I thought ‘that’s it, no more fights’, because they didn’t matter anymore. And now you’re here again but you’re a coward that was curled up ready to die. Pitiful. You have reiatsu but you don’t even use it.” 

Still no response. 

“SAY SOMETHING, BASTARD!”

He didn’t even think about it when he pulled Zangetsu’s short blade from his hip and brought it down on Grimmjow. Ichigo stopped just a hair short of his throat. Because Grimmjow was looking at him. His eyes were shiny like polished cobalt and his face was red from anger or embarrassment or fear. With an agonized expression, he tilted his chin up and exposed more of his throat.

Ichigo waited a second for the man to do anything else, then shoved his blade back to its resting place. “No, I won’t fight you like this. And I won’t let you die either. If you want to be done then starve, but I’m not going to waste my blade on you. If you decide you want to get strong again, then enroll at the Academy.” 

Walking out of the room, Ichigo didn’t spare another glance at his former enemy. His heart hammered with adrenaline and it was all he could do to keep from screaming until he got outside, and then his world faded to black.

“-saki. Kurosaki. KUROSAKI!” A deep voice shouted, bringing Ichigo back to consciousness.

A hammer of pain slammed into his head, making Ichigo groan with intense displeasure. It was not his best awakening. When the pain ebbed away, Ichigo cracked an eye open and groaned again. The one person he did not want to wake up to was standing in front of him. “Captain Zaraki, so great to see you here.” Ichigo let his eyes slip closed, trying to shut out the nagging feeling of despair and anger in his stomach. He was almost over it when he heard something:

“Please, someone, anyone come save us. We can’t control him and my friend is hurt!”

It was a kid’s voice. Ichigo peaked at the source of the sound and saw a TV was turned on in a corner of the room. Shaky video displayed a scene of utter destruction, worse than the time a Menos had gotten into district 6. Particles of dust and energy swirled in a whirlwind behind a wall. Ichigo’s gut clenched, he didn’t want to see it, he didn’t need to. The video panned up to show the source of the violence: an orange haired Reaper with a hollow mask covering half his face. 

“That’s not me, is it?” Ichigo pleaded. 

Zaraki snorted. He pressed a button on the TV and the replay shut off just before a slash of darkness hit the recording device. “You had some fun, huh?” 

Ichigo shrank away from the Captain’s eyes. The only thing he could think of was the panic in the kid’s voice in the video. He didn’t need a lecture on controlling his overwhelming power, he was hating himself already. 

“Kurosaki,” Zaraki said with an oddly kind tone, “I am not going to scold you for that. What you did was dumb, but no-one died and the buildings can be fixed. We needed to redo that area anyway. I’m here because Kyouraku got an earful from the Academy director.”

“What do you mean?” Ichigo tentatively asked.

“I mean, you’re not in squad 7 anymore.”

White noise. 

Static.

 Ichigo couldn’t hear anything, his vision swam, and he felt bile rise in his throat. Of all the worst consequences that could have come about, he didn’t think this would be the one chosen. Kicked out of Seireitei. Maybe he would be executed too since he was clearly too out of control to be let loose. Damn. The world just kept laughing at him. First Grimmjow turned him away and now his squad. 

“... aren't allowed in the lower barracks but you can go in the main areas. Ikkaku will show you your room. Don’t complain about the view, we got the shit end of the stick. Meet at the center at sundown for official induction,” Zaraki finished rattling off his speech. He counted on his fingers for a moment, nodded curtly, then walked out of the room with one last comment: “Welcome to squad 11.”

Ichigo’s brain froze for a moment, then crashed, rebooted, and slowly started functioning again. When he finally could manage a thought, he exploded with energy like someone had clicked on the internet icon too many times and now forty seven windows were open. He threw the covers off the bed and sprinted out of the room to the Captain.

“So, I’m not going to be executed?!” 

Zaraki laughed, full bodied and shaking with the noise, before answering. “No, not yet. I won’t let a demon like you get out of my grasp so easily.”

Ichigo’s legs gave out and he crumbled to the floor. He wasn’t done. He could still be a protector, he could stay. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The deal only extends so long as you are in my squad and never wear your hollow mask again. If that happens, we gotta lock you up until your soul is destroyed.” Zaraki stared him down, putting all the menace he could into it, and chuckled again. “Let’s go, demon.” 

It took a few weeks, but Ichigo settled into his new squad. Despite Ikkaku’s best attempts, Ichigo beat him for his Lieutenant position but the two bonded over it. The paperwork was hell, and as a Lieutenant, Ichigo had to attend the apology meetings when his squad members got too rowdy with other squads. 

While leading the squad’s bootcamp training for the summer, Ichigo received a summons from Head Captain Kyoraku. He sent his squad on a ten hour run with the instructions: “Anyone who quits early has cleanup and construction for the next year.”

Walking down the hallways to the Captain’s office, Ichigo felt an itch come over him. It was like bugs were crawling under his skin. He couldn’t help scratching at his arm. He reached the heavy red door that was the final barrier. A nod to the Soul Reaper attending the office was all he had to do before he was let inside the room. He couldn’t stop itching his arm.

“Ichigo, I think you know why you’re here,” Kyouraku greeted. 

Nothing like an ominous phrase to ease nerves. Ichigo swallowed heavily and rehearsed his apologies as he approached the Captain. He settled on a cushion by the short table the Captain sat at. He refused the offered tea.

“I’m sorry for what my squad has done this time. Please allow me to volunteer to clean up whatever mess they made. I could--” Ichigo started before Kyouraku cut him off with laughter.

“Ichigo, my boy, your squad has not done anything… yet. I called you here for a more personal reason.” The dark haired man smiled at the confused look on Ichigo’s face.

“What personal reason? Is it my family? You found Yuzu and Karin?!” He allowed hope and excitement to creep into his voice. He hadn’t seen his family since his death, and even some years before that. It would be wonderful if they were finally--

“Not quite. Though there is a person I want to put in your care, who you know from your past,” Kyouraku cut off his celebratory thoughts. His words were parsed and carefully chosen. Clearly there was something going on that he didn’t want Ichigo to know quite yet.

Ichigo hesitated before asking the question, his nerves rocketing again, “Who?”

Instead of answering that, the Head Captain motioned for someone to come out. Ichigo looked to see which of his old friends would be with him now. His spiritual energy reached out, also seeking the mystery person, and brushed against a staticky energy that felt all too familiar.

A white tabi peaked out from behind a pillar and the bugs under Ichigo’s skin turned to wasps. As the person smoothly stepped into view, Ichigo felt a pinch on his arm. 

Decked out in the typical black robes of Soul Reapers, not even the white robes of Academy students, was Grimmjow. His hair was tied into a low ponytail not unlike Ukitake's in the past. The sword strapped at his left hip wasn't as long as Pantera had been and the scabbard was the basic asauchi design. But the most startling difference, the one Ichigo had been too upset to notice, was the absence of his mask fragment. So many things about him had stayed the same, the attitude and hair and physique, at least the mask was different.

Grimmjow crossed the distance between them and sat on another cushion at the table. He stared pointedly not at Ichigo. It didn't light him up this time, because he knew now.

"You're ready to fight, huh?" Ichigo taunted. He couldn't help the smile that cracked his face when Grimmjow nodded. "Good."

Kyouraku brought some forms out of his sleeve that all three men had to look through and sign. They were 'custody' forms in the way that a pineapple is a berry. Technically, all the language was there to say that Grimmjow was to be in Ichigo's control and command. However, as Kyouraku explained, it was just to pacify the higher ups that feared letting a student graduate so early. Once all the characters were on the page, there was nothing to do except chat and leave. 

Ichigo refused tea once again and made his excuses. "I need to get back to my squad, I got a feeling the training isn't as hard as it should be since I'm gone. Thank you for your time, Head Captain."

"Take care, Ichigo. And don't think twice before stopping in to chat, I need distractions from running this place every now and again," Kyouraku joked as he waved goodbye.

Ichigo left the room and checked behind him to see his new shadow following. Grimmjow’s head hung low but he was indeed trailing him. Ichigo felt something building inside him, warm and light, different from his prior anger at the man. It was… hope? Happiness? He didn't know, but he liked it. 

When they were outside of the squad 1 area, Ichigo slowed his pace so he could walk beside Grimmjow. Their eyes briefly met, and it set off a playful spark between them. Ichigo bumped Grimmjow with his shoulder, "So, you excited to be a Reaper now?"

"Yeah," Grimmjow muttered. 

He wasn't exactly curt with his response but it wasn't as enthusiastic as Ichigo wanted. Fair enough. He would have to drag the cat out. "The papers said you were better than all your classmates, so I'm sure you'll be ranking high soon. In our squad, fighting is the norm, and if you don't fight then you won't gain ranks. There's weekly tournaments you can sign up for too. One happens tomorrow, Yumichika is hosting, so it'll probably be a beauty theme of some sort, or maybe--"

"What do you want, Kurosaki?" Grimmjow snapped. He stopped walking and finally faced Ichigo head on. He was like a dog seeing a stranger, unsure if he should run or play or attack. 

Ichigo chose his words carefully, like Kyouraku had, before speaking. "I want to fight you."

Grimmjow’s face twisted in a snarl. "Don't fuck with me. You said I was pitiful, a coward, trash you didn't deserve to fight," his words were venom.

"That was when you were ready to die, wanting me to kill you. Wasn't really you though," Ichigo calmly said. He meant it. The man he brought off the streets of the far district was not the same as the man in front of him. This one had fire behind his blue eyes, an energy that emanated out and sparked against Ichigo’s.

Grimmjow drew his mouth tight, chewing on his words, then guffawed. He shoved his hands into pockets Ichigo didn't know existed on hakama, and resumed walking. "If you say we're fighting, then I guess we're fighting." 

Introductions were short with squad 11, as they usually consisted of a series of punches and 'welcome to the best squad' shouts. Grimmjow took it all in stride and dished out his own punches when he felt like it. Ichigo observed it all, not caring that he had a dopey smile on, excited to bring one of his kinda-sorta-maybe enemies into his life again. 

"So this the guy? The one you went berserk for over a year ago?" Ikkaku taunted. He pointed his zanpakuto at Grimmjow as if it was an extension of his finger. 

Ichigo's smile widened and his heart sped up a bit. "Yeah, that's him."

"He's gotta be your soulhate. No one goes that crazy over a random person without there being a meaning."

"Yeah, that's probably him."

Ikkaku slashed the air, practicing his moves. "You aren't fighting him right now though. Heard that's how it happens for soulhates; eye contact that sets you off on a series of rampages to hurt them," he said.

"I don't know about that," Ichigo hedged, "I do feel a drive to make him yell and scream my name, but I don't want to kill him."

Yumichika chose that moment to pop his head over Ikkaku’s shoulder. "Oh, so you want to fuck him? Go for it."

Ichigo balked. The very thought of that was too much for him and he tried to block it out but his brain was suddenly throwing all sorts of images at him. "Shut up. Shut. I don't want to. He's my fight-buddy, not anything else physical. From our first meeting and through death we've been fighting and that's how I want it to be."

Yumichika and Ikkaku looked at each other skeptically. Silent communication happened between them, the kind that occurs on a frequency all their own, and they nodded in agreement. 

"Whatever you say, boss."

Ichigo would love to say he only had to wait until the end of the day to have his spar with Grimmjow, but reality was cruel. Grimmjow was busy fighting his way up the ranks and only settled at sixth seat. That surprised many of the squad since he was so new. Ichigo thought it appropriate, having seen his ferocity in battle firsthand. The next day was full of training again, this time workouts, which meant neither man could hassle the other for longer than a moment. 

After two weeks of obstacles and excuses, Grimmjow slammed his hand on Ichigo’s desk and proclaimed, "You, me, in the courtyard, now. Don't do paperwork, don't talk to the subordinates, don't fucking eat dinner. Let's go."

Ichigo was only too happy to agree to that.

Their swords flashed in the night light, glinting in odd ways. A memory passed in Ichigo’s mind and he laughed. 

"What? What's going on?" growled Grimmjow as he parried a strike at his arm.

"It's just," Ichigo giggled, "This reminds me of our first fight. The one where I really wanted you dead because I thought you killed Rukia."

“Yeah, well, I was already dead so I don’t know how you could kill me any harder.” Grimmjow slashed his blade, and Ichigo easily dodged. 

They continued their dance of blades and memories until Grimmjow slammed his zanpakuto into the dirt and leaned on it to catch his breath. “How come I’m over here sweating like a pig with cuts all over and you look fresh as Spring? Get on my level, coward!” 

“If I did that I’d lose rank with the others,” Ichigo chided. 

Ichigo wasn’t unaware of the difference in their spiritual power, but it was hard not to antagonize Grimmjow. Still, he was essentially fighting a child. Grimmjow was using a sword whose name he didn’t know against the Hero of Seireitei. It was never going to be a fair fight. How could he level the field without making it obvious that’s what he was doing?

A thought like light pierced him. A competition he had engaged in when he was also new to his Soul Reaper powers, one that helped his leveling by leaps and bounds. A hollow hunt. 

That was how Ichigo and Grimmjow ended up chasing down a lone hollow in the Miyagi outskirts twenty years later. The hollow was an Adjuchas level and had a lot of stamina for something of its type. Two huge horns stuck out from the top of its face and one more protruded from the very tip of its nose. The thing moved faster than any other hollow they had encountered before, and it knew the layout of the land well enough to evade most all attempts at capture. Up until now, that is. The hollow had made a very bad mistake in revealing itself to Ichigo and Grimmjow. Unlike other Soul Reapers, they didn’t give up when the hollow disappeared from sight. Three days and four nights were spent tracking this one and they were not giving up. 

“You just had to go and touch its horns, didn’t you,” Ichigo huffed. He spared a glance at his subordinate and was pleased to see he was struggling to keep up. He was not so pleased by the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Well, you know how it goes, curiosity and cats and all that,” replied Grimmjow as he flung himself over yet another pile of trash. He nearly slipped in a puddle but Ichigo caught him and held him steady. “Thanks.” 

Ichigo nodded curtly and kept running. Their movements had become in sync to a degree that even Zangetsu got jealous at times. It couldn’t be helped when they spent practically every day either hunting hollows or training together. 

They rounded a corner and came screeching to a halt. In a flash, their shikai were out and they were in battle stances. The hollow was facing the men down, eyes flitting from Grimmjow and his new clawed hands, to Ichigo and his twin blades. Ichigo could almost see the calculations running through the hollow’s mind. Which meant he had only one option to take.

“Plan red,” Ichigo said to Grimmjow, then he launched himself at the upset spirit. His swords slashed in tandem, driving the hollow back and cutting deep into its mask. But an Adjuchas mask is much thicker than a Menos. They took more than one hit to kill. 

Grimmjow moved unseen behind the hollow. His movements were cloaked by his tightly controlled reiatsu. When Ichigo ended his attack and leaped back, Grimmjow struck. Claws tore through white armor like paper, and red blood sprayed over him. 

"Hollows, they never protect the back of the head," Grimmjow remarked. He looked almost pitying of the creature. “If they were smarter then I wouldn’t feel so bad about killing them.”

"We're helping them move on, it's just our job. If we didn't do this then they would turn the world into a spiritual disaster on top of a physical disaster." Ichigo patted Grimmjow on the back and ignored the glare shot his way, "And anyways, since we both took it down I guess both of us won this challenge."

"False," a dreadful voice said from their feet. "Today, I won."

Before Ichigo could figure out what the hollow meant, a bright red cero was blasting through Grimmjow's unprotected throat. And he was gone.

The next sensation Ichigo felt was damp cold. It didn’t make sense, nothing did. He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything. Darkness, it seemed, was all around him. He tried to rub his eyes but felt a tug at the movement, a chain keeping his arms held up. As his ears tuned in to the world once again, he heard a consistent sweeping sound, like a snake slithering on the ground about to catch its prey.

This wasn't the first time he had been captured and held in isolation. As a Soul Reaper, his birthday usually consisted of at least one kidnapping attempt by his friends, and the squad 11 barracks had a dark room for training purposes. No, this was not a new situation to him at all. The pain in his chest, though, was an experience unlike any other.

Ichigo sucked in a breath and let it rattle out of his sore throat. There was a thought, a trace of recollection that drifted at the edges of his mind, as to why he was in this condition. It was a terrible, painful thought, one he wished wasn't true. But this wasn't his birthday and he had no wishes to make.

"He's gone." 

The pain in his heart exploded into a fire of rage and hatred. Ichigo keened and cried and yelled at the unfairness of it all. 

"I finally get you back, and you slip through my fingers once again. I hate you. I hate you so much. I'm going to find you and kill you all over again for this." A cero formed between his eyes and pierced the dark, leaving burning embers in its wake.

Ichigo got his first glimpse of his surroundings from the volatile light: dark stones with symbols engraved on them, no sign of steps or a ladder or any exits. He also saw in the fading light the state of his own existence. White scaly skin with dark lines dripping down his body. He didn't need a mirror to know why he was restrained now.

Ichigo laughed between his sobs of anger and pain, because it was so ironic. Lose one hollow bastard and become one himself. Live a happy existence and suffer the worst fate of a soul after. It was funny. 

Days or months or years of his existence passed away like that, chained in the dark, away from the world in a place no one could find. His strength dwindled but never fully went away, the hollow was too strong within him to simply wither and die. When he felt like it, he would shoot off ceros every way he could. Every finger and toe, the tip of his tail, between his horns, and from his mouth, all could make ceros. None could free him. So he stayed and stewed in his anger. 

One day, when he was exhausted from attempting to escape, Ichigo began to talk. His voice was rough from disuse, every syllable torn from his throat. "I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry, Grimmjow.”

The ever-present ache in his soul, for a moment, seemed to lessen. The stale air of the hidden cavern shifted and a great creak echoed in the confined space. Then, like a bird breaking free from its egg, the world was exposed again and Ichigo could see. The scent of the living world, carried on the breeze, brought with it a renewed vigor.

Ichigo felt alive, and he hated it.

He hated the way his arms easily snapped the chains binding him. He hated the snarl he let loose. He hated the speed with which he ran to the closest living being. Most of all, he hated the feeling of blood between his fingers as he took a human’s life for the first time. 

He had been a human, a person with family and friends aplenty. That was long ago though. It was so very long ago. He couldn't even recall his father's name. But he did remember how they all left him. Every one he ever knew or loved had gone away from him and left him to face the world alone. The one man he ever trusted enough to leave him, had come back, only to be ripped away again.

Ichigo’s hollow hole stood gaping and exposed to the world as he killed indiscriminately. It was a warning that he was wounded, like a dog backed into a corner, and he would fight his way out no matter what. That was his existence, to fight and scream, tearing down as much life as he could because he felt so betrayed by the world and the broken system he lived in.

A chance of fate was all it took for Ichigo’s nightmare to end. He was lazy, slacking intentionally on his defenses. With two slashes of a zanpakuto, it was over. Ichigo didn't fight it when he felt his soul shredding and becoming new again. He was ready to be done. He was ready to die.

Ichigo’s next life was much shorter. This time he was born as the only child of a family in Sendai. He wanted little more than the trust and respect of his peers. His grades were alright and his athletics were as good as a kid could be. A life of mediocrity and averageness, how refreshing for such a weary soul. However, everything stopped short when he was ten years old.

Children ran around in a field, playing a game of kick-the-ball. There were no rules or teams, just five kids trying to get a ball where they wanted it to go. 

Ichigo, the boy with uncommonly long brown hair down to his waist, planted his foot and kicked the ball as hard as he could. Into a blonde girl's face. She stopped, took a breath, then screamed with all her might. It was not pain, it was anger. Well, also pain, but still… 

Ichigo took off in a cloud of dirt and grass, not caring where he was running except that it was away from the screaming demon. Unfortunately, he forgot about the roll at the edge of the field. He took a step on air and fell hard into the grass and weeds. Even at the tender age of ten, when there were no limits on the world yet, he knew he should not put weight on his right leg after that. Tears welled in his eyes and refused to fall. 

The blonde, unaware of the situation, jumped on him and yelled, "I hate you, Ichigo! That's the third time you've hit me! Now I'm going to see how you like a smack in the face!" And she followed through with a great big five-finger slap that sent the held back tears streaming down his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would hit you. Please stop, Angie," Ichigo said, though his face was shielded by his hands and his words were more like sobs. 

Angie held her fist, "What? Why are you crying so hard? I'm not that mad at you."

Ichigo pushed Angie off him with weak arms. He couldn't pretend to be uninjured when the tears were already tracking down his cheeks. "I hurt you and now I'm hurt. My foot. I can't feel it anymore."

That seemed to stir the little girl into action. Angie looked her friend over then ran off yelling for help. She brought all the children with her and together they carried Ichigo off the field. "Don't worry, I sent Suga to get his mom. We'll wait here with you so you're not alone. That's what friends do, right? We wait for each other and help when we're hurt."

Ichigo nodded hesitantly. His lip was bleeding from where he bit it to stop his wails. "Thank you.”

Even as he was surrounded by friends saying they loved him, he felt a pang of loneliness. It was like he was missing the reassurance of the one person who really mattered. There was no one missing though — his parents spent their nights with him watching movies and reading stories together, and his friends chose him to eat lunch with him out of the whole class. Ichigo was undeniably loved and socially accepted. 

So why did he feel empty?

The ambulance rolled up and his friends waved their goodbyes as he was driven away. The medics assessed his foot and agreed he had most likely torn something from the way the accident happened. An X-ray confirmed the problem was torsion of important parts. His parents consulted with the doctor and they agreed to surgery. 

Two days later, Ichigo was put under anesthetic. It was minimal risk, virtually no chance of death. A quick nap and then recovery time and he would be good as new.

Except, he didn't wake up.

His last thought as he slipped away was a name he had heard long, long ago: Grimmjow.

Ichigo looked in the mirror at a face he had no recognition of. 

His skin was pale and wrinkled, with sun spots and stray hairs dotted randomly. His eyes were sunken and sullen, seeming to have lost their vibrance to the ages. The sparse hair on his head was no longer its lustrous black, it had faded to a dull grey, not even giving him a shiny silver like his peers. But the part that was most different was his lips, and the smile that hung on them.

"It's been so long since I saw you," Ichigo said to himself. No one else was in the bathroom or in the house at all. It was his house alone, in every sense of that word. Except for one occasion each week. 

Putting a kettle on the stove, he fumbled with the knob to turn on the gas. One spark, two spark, three- Fire! It was the way it always worked on that stove. The years wore away at the fuse and made it fickle to work with, but Ichigo couldn't imagine trading it in. He liked things as they were. Besides, his one and only houseguest had complimented the stove, so he couldn't part with it.

As if the heavens kept score, the doorbell rang at that moment and Ichigo hurried to open it. Waiting patiently on the porch was a tall man dressed in scrubs with hair colored a greenish-blue. He smiled broadly and bowed his head in respect. 

"Mr. Mashiro, good morning, how are you doing today?" the man said. He was motioned inside and complied happily, bringing with him a cooler bag with a red plus on it.

Ichigo shut the door and sat down in his usual spot on the couch, ignoring when his knees crackled and popped. "Oh, you know, I'm alive so I can't complain. And I'm at the best day of my week now that you're here, Grimm." 

The man's face tightened for a moment but he didn't acknowledge his discomfort. "You only say that because I'm the one who brings your meds for the day. If you could go to the pharmacy in town you'd never invite me inside. And then I'd never get my favorite part of the week: your crackers and tea." 

"Yes, yes, I know that's why everyone comes to my house now. I make the best tea in the whole of Japan. Do you want to know why I make the best tea?" Ichigo leaned in and whispered his question. He looked around, checking that no one was eavesdropping to hear this secret. "My special tea actually has a bit of honey."

The pharmacist feigned gasping, surprised by the revelation of the truth he had learned on his first visit. "Mr. Mashiro, I can't believe it!"

"Believe it, Grimm! I would never lie to you."

Once again, the man's face screwed up. This time, he clenched and unclenched his jaw, working it from side to side before saying anything. "Sir… Do you know my name?" 

Ichigo stood up from his seat and checked the kettle on the stove.

"Mr. Mashiro? Kei? What's my name?" The man seemed more insistent now. 

Ichigo shut his eyes and gripped the counter as hard as he could. He didn't want to think of the man’s name; he already knew it. Why was Grimm asking such silly questions? They both knew who they were and how they had fought each other for so many years and decades and centuries even. Why couldn't they enjoy this peaceful little life at last? Why couldn't they be friends this time? 

"I don't want to hate you anymore, Grimmjow," Ichigo said feebly. His knees shook and his heart was racing. 

"I'm sorry, sir, but... my name is Kida, not Grimmjow." 

And there it was. The kettle was boiled, wailing the woes of the water inside, unattended. 

Ichigo collapsed in the kitchen and gasped for air, his vision fading and becoming brighter at the same time. He loosely heard someone yell his name, but it wasn't really his name. It was a name given to him by people younger than he ever was, people who laughed when he said this was his last life, people who didn't understand. He knew though, he knew his name and his lives and his deaths and his love. Because there had only been one love.

The aches faded from his body. Light swirled around him, unseen but still detectable. A soft murmur of voices settled over his ears and revealed no distinct sounds. Then, someone touched his arm. 

With all the energy in his body, Ichigo turned his head around and looked at the one reaching out for him. His mother. Not Masaki. No, this was his newest mother, who had sea green eyes and sun-kissed skin. She cooed and gushed at him as he focused his eyes more on his surroundings. The air was familiar. It had a taste to it that could only be described as ‘power’ in his mind. A power he had tasted in his first life.

Many years later, Ichigo walked into the halls of the Soul Reaper Academy. His robes were pristine as his family, one of the Nobles, would allow for nothing less. His stride was confident as he knew where he was heading before he got a tour. The only thing that looked out of place about him was the bright orange hair on his head. It wasn’t natural, he had all but begged his parents to let him color his hair when he was old enough to form words. Yes, to everyone at the Academy, Ichigo seemed to be a perfectly normal Noble kid with an odd choice in hair color. 

Sliding open the door to his class, Ichigo tried his best to maintain his composure, he had a family name to uphold and all that. It was useless though. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was overcome with joy. Sitting in the front row with a matching expression of shock and excitement, was a boy with eyes bluer than the sky and dyed hair that was an unmistakable blue. 

Grimmjow smiled a toothy grin and said, "Took you long enough to get here." 

Ichigo flung himself at Grimmjow, and they embraced. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about rank or status or appearances. After six lifetimes of anger, repentance, guilt, loneliness, confusion, and subjugation, finally they were together at the same level. Soulhate or not, there was no denying the emotions swirling in his chest or the words he couldn’t hold back.

"Grimm, I," Ichigo swallowed the lump in his throat, "I think I love you?" 

Of course he did. He had always loved him. Ichigo had been a fool blinded by emotions he never cared to work through when they first met. Yet, every path he took, every choice he made, in every lifetime lived, took him right back to Grimmjow. The one man that came back for him. 

“Yeah, Ichigo, me too,” Grimmjow said.

A soulhate is not predetermined. It’s an opportunity. A chance encounter when two souls are born together. Like a spark, it can grow into a fire that destroys a forest, or it can become the warmth at the center of a home.