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Toshiro Hitsugaya was a wonder. It wasn’t easy to obtain every title he earned, and every achievement took years of hard work and dedication that Ichigo himself could never expect to earn himself.
Everything about Toshiro Hitsugaya was special, and Ichigo loved him.
Toshiro isn’t sure quite how much Ichigo loves him until he falls ill.
“It’s nothing.”
Ichigo has heard those words so many times, not all limited to Toshiro, but it’s mostly with him that he calls bullshit. Nothing to Toshiro is far more serious than he ever lets on. Ichigo had heard Toshiro swear he was fine with stab wounds through his chest, and for that, he had always been a little protective.
Ichigo was an alpha, and Toshiro his omega, but that never allowed for Ichigo to say or do anything stupid. The captain was far smarter than him, more mature, and was always the one to keep his instincts in check when it came to his biology. It was more of a struggle for Ichigo, being human, and wanting to claim the smaller as his mate. But Toshiro wanted time, wanted to be sure-- wanted Ichigo to be sure--because the last thing he wanted was to steal what little left of a normal life Ichigo had.
It almost feels like rejection, the ache of not officially having Toshiro as his, but the substitute wanted him to be all in, and decides that no matter how long it takes, he would wait to officially mark him with a bite. Even without a scar, it doesn’t keep Ichigo from worrying over his omega, especially when he falls ill.
It’s strange for Toshiro to become sick, and even more so especially for him to ask for the day off. A relationship between a (mostly) human and a soul reaper was bound to be complicated, but they make it work. Perhaps it’s their common quirks that makes it easier for them, but between Toshiro’s occasional assignment to Karakura and Ichigo’s substitute duties, they find plenty of time for each other.
It’s during a visit to the soul society that Ichigo finds Toshiro is nowhere to be found.
His office is empty and quiet, any scent left over had become faint and stale, and he aches to smell the freshness of peppermint as he searches for his mate.
Rangiku, to his surprise, is dealing with the paperwork. For once, she doesn’t seem to be hungover, although she does still yawn as she places a not so neat pile down onto the desk before noticing Ichigo. Perhaps it’s his scent, or his body language, or simply knowing the behavior and instincts of another alpha, that makes Rangiku give him a soft smile to settles his nerves.
“Toshiro took the day off.” She confirms, and Ichigo frowns.
“Is he okay?” His tone is anxious, and even more so is his scent. Rangiku had lived long enough to learn to deal with scents, especially from a distressed or angry individual, but can’t blame the young alpha for his nerves when Toshiro is nowhere to be found. She fights her idea to shrug-- it isn’t her business, but Ichigo is her friend and she watched Toshiro grow up. She thinks she may owe something to them.
“Just a cold. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing you, if you went by to visit.” He hardly needs her permission, or Toshiro’s, if he really needed it. They’ve surely dealt with far worse and done worse than invite themselves into a person’s home unannounced, but Ichigo is a gentle soul, and perhaps he learned first hand what it means to come uninvited into an omega’s nest. The thought still makes Rangiku shiver.
The lieutenant hears something along the lines of thanks, and when she turns, he’s no longer there. She can only sigh, and hopes that her captain won’t be too angry with her.
Toshiro had been sick before. He had starved, been beaten, been stabbed, bled for the soul society and for his allies, and something about being sick feels so much more disappointing. Of all the things that could have taken him down, it had to be the simplest one.
He muffles a sneeze in his sleeve as he climbs from his futon, disturbed from his half sleep by the sounds of footsteps at his door, stewing with bubbling anger at the thought of being disturbed by anyone, until the face that greets him is familiar and awkward and holding a bowl of food.
“I brought you something to eat.”
It sounds as if he had brought a peace offering. Ichigo stands, a little awkward, as he offers his gift like a sacrifice to appease an angry dragon, and Toshiro can’t help the way his lips quirk into a small smile before he speaks. “Come in.”
The crooked smile and the happy burst of Ichigo’s scent when he’s invited is enough to make Toshiro melt.
The day goes by much faster with Ichigo around. His presence is warm, but not uncomfortable, and Toshiro finds that he rather likes it as he leans against his side and lets the substitute run his fingers gently through his hair. “You didn’t have to take care of me. It’s not your responsibility.” Toshiro murmurs, and he’s right. He was never anyone else’s problem but his own, but Ichigo doesn’t treat him like a problem.
“I know.” Ichigo tells him softly, tucking a strand of hair safely behind his ear and he sighs. “But I want to.” And for that moment, Toshiro trusted that his words were true. If only his fondness was temporary, he would cherish it for as long as he could.
With every passing day, Toshiro falls more in love with him. It’s hard not to, with the way Ichigo looks at him, whispers him sweet words and promises of a life and a future he had never dared to dream of, and it all feels too good to be true.
It had to be.
Two weeks pass, and although the pink in his cheeks fade with time and he’s no longer sneezing, Toshiro gets worse, and Ichigo remains worried about him.
His fears only become worse when Toshiro refuses to see him, and a few days later, shows up at his door. It’s quiet, far too quiet, and Ichigo had never before felt like he was suffocating in the way he was. Toshiro opens his mouth to speak, and for a moment, he’s terrified. He can’t lose Toshiro, not to illness, or a war, or when his little omega decides that he isn’t worth the love he was given and pushes him away, guarding his heart. Ichigo would always fight for it, fight for him, and now, he needed to.
“I love you.”
The words never seemed to hold so much weight before, not to Toshiro, and he quiets if only to listen to the last thing Ichigo may ever say to him. “Toshiro.” His name rings like a bell, and he doesn’t dare to look up, not until he feels fingers on his jaw that gently guide his gaze to Ichigo, who looks at him with such fondness as he gives a hint of a sad smile. “I love you. I always have, and I don’t want to lose you. For whatever time you will allow me, I want to be yours, and you to be mine. Will you allow me?”
Ichigo was so damn cheesy, but Toshiro can’t deny they were words he most needed to hear. He gives the faintest smile, a forced laugh, and unfolds a picture from his pocket to hand to Ichigo.
Surprise, he wants to say, but it sounds so bittersweet, and instead, he says he’s sorry.
He doesn’t have the time to explain before Ichigo pulls him into a kiss.
Come late summer, it’s unavoidable news in the seireitei that Toshiro Hitsugaya had given birth. A healthy baby boy, with vibrant orange hair like his father and sparkling turquoise eyes like his mother. It never goes unnoticed how the two new parents wear matching bite scars, and have never looked quite so happy.