Chapter Text
“Excuse me! You can’t go in there!” The voice of the secretary resounded through the doors. “Guards!”
Kurosaki Ichigo could hear the shuffling of the guards as they rush to halt whoever is brave (stupid) enough to attempt to barge into his office. The deep cherry double doors of his office are thrown open resounding quite loudly against the walls. He felt a piece of hair escape the loose bun settled at the nape of his neck as he drug his gaze up from his desk and across the Katana displayed at the head of his desk to the now open doors. There, surrounded by the guards that had begun to trickle in, stood two people he never expected to see again, at least not alive.
“Leave us.” He commanded, tone calm and voice dangerously steady.
“But, sir—“ one of the guards began.
“Dismissed.” He said, this time his voice held a dangerous edge, cold as ice and sharp as the blade sitting proudly in front of him. The whole time his gaze never left the two intruders, he wasn’t sure if it was because they were a potential threat or the lingering fear that they would disappear if his gaze faltered even for a second.
“Ichigo! You idiot—“ Kuchiki Rukia began launching herself in a flying kick right over his desk the moment the doors closed.
In an instant he had her pinned face down underneath him on his desk restraining one of her tiny delicate wrists behind her back. Abarai Renji took a step forward from his place, but quickly halted in his tracks at the look Ichigo shot him. Ichigo leaned forward, both savoring and hating the way her body fit against his. In a voice almost unrecognizable to Rukia but still so wholly Ichigo, he ground out “You are far too casual, Kuchiki-san.”
He quickly removed himself from her and strode over to the bar cart nestled in the corner of the room. He turned his back on the two still frozen in their places, and quickly grabbed the bottle hidden in the back row and poured two fingers of the vintage bourbon before shooting it like cheap vodka. The sound of him slamming the glass back onto the cart cut through the tense silence of the room like a gunshot. He slowly poured himself another glass before turning to face the ghosts of his past. He was the epitome of casual, leaned against the bar cart, drink in hand.
He had changed so much since she had last seen him. The bitter cold stare is the most striking difference, his eyes no longer held the passionate warmth that she was used to seeing, that she had longed for. Her eyes travel down, immediately caught by the scar that runs from the middle of his cheek down his neck, it wasn’t very thick, just deep enough to scar, but not enough to cause damage, a clear warning. A warning of what, Rukia wasn’t sure she wanted to know. He wasn’t much taller than he was before, though still incredibly tall to her, but he had gained a decent amount of muscle mass. While before he was all lean muscle, built for speed and augmented by his spiritual pressure, now his build left no room for doubt about his strength. He was still lean, but she could see the definition and bulging veins peeking out from where the sleeves of his white button-up sat rolled up over his elbows, and the definition of his pecs where his shirt pulled tight across his chest and the sliver of tanned skin visible through the top few buttons which had been left open.
As she drank in his appearance Ichigo returned the favor. She had righted herself from the desk and stood tall with her shoulders back and chin held high. Everything about her screamed confidence in the way that he knew came from the years of etiquette training, but he could still see the hesitance and uncertainty hidden behind it. He refused to look at her eyes, afraid to see what the years had done to the hue of violet that haunts his dreams and nightmares. She hasn’t changed much in the past ten years, her hair was longer cascading gracefully down to her hips. She wore casual jeans and a tee-shirt but the majority of her was obscured by the much too large leather jacket that looked suspiciously like Ichigo’s old one that went missing several years ago. Finally, gathering all of his resolve, he met her eyes for the first time in a decade. It takes everything in him to not physically flinch at the dim violet orbs brimming with tears staring at him pleadingly. Even though he kept his features passive, he knew that she would see all of the fleeting emotions he pretended didn’t exist reflected in his eyes, she always did.
Renji cleared his throat breaking the two out of their trance. Ichigo sighed returning his gaze to his glass before taking a slow swig. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Abarai-san, Kuchiki-san?”
He stubbornly keeps his gaze on Renji, but he can’t stop the way his eyes flick to Rukia. “Please, Ichi—“ Rukia began to plead.
“We are not that close, Kuchiki-san, not anymore. Please do not make me repeat myself again.” He cut her off in that same bitter cold dismissive deadpan that Rukia had already grown to hate.
Ichigo can almost see the words slam into her, she takes a half step back to stabilize herself. It takes everything in her to not drown in the whirlpool of emotions. Ichigo is not oblivious to the look in Renji's eyes as his gaze flickers to her, full of longing and pain, before he cut in, trying to spare Rukia, “We wanted to see you, that’s all.”
Ichigo lets out a loud barking laugh causing the other occupants to startle. It’s not warm and comforting like it used to be, this laugh is dry, sarcastic, and filled to the brim with disdain. The glare that he levels Renji would have even Kenpachi cowering. “You wanted to see me? After all this time, now you want to see me? I call bullshit,” Ichigo spits. “I haven’t seen a single one of you in ten years. It's been seven since I saw or spoke to Chad, Inoue, or my cousin, Ishida. My so-called friends that I put my life on the line for, died for, gone. Just like that.”
“It was for the best, we wanted you to have a clean break,” Renji tried to explain.
“A clean break? A clean break where I have to watch my friend run off to risk their lives knowing that I can’t do jack shit about it? Where I have to watch Karin try to take over my place because I can’t protect them anymore? Where I am left with the scars and ghosts of your war but have nowhere to turn because everyone who could possibly understand is beyond my reach?” Ichigo counters, hand tightening dangerously on the glass.
“We just wanted you to live a normal life, get to experience all of the human things. We wanted you to live the rest of your life in peace, away from all of the bloodshed.” Renji tried.
“Right, a peaceful life, because it’s just that simple. Y’know, peace can be suffocating once you’ve become used to chaos. I was fifteen fighting in your war, and you just expected me to be able to go back to my life like normal after it was all over?” Ichigo bit out words like venom disintegrating the two Shinigami in the room from the inside out.
“You're right, we should have known that it would be hard for you to readjust to the World of the Living. But, Ichigo, this isn’t the answer. We’re worried about you.” Renji tried to soothe, but he clearly was only here because he was closest to Ichigo after Rukia, not for his way with words.
“No, you don’t get to stand there and judge my life decisions. I was a child who had been used as a weapon and was discarded once I outlived my usefulness. I was 16 with PTSD from a war that I had no way of explaining to people and was expected to just go back to my normal life. So, I found ways to cope, and they worked. You all abandoned me, so now you can all live with the consequences.” Ichigo snapped hating the way that his voice began to shake. He had built up his walls over the years, but all it took was them to stand in front of him and suddenly he felt like he was 16 all over again, watching her disappear. “Well, now you’ve seen me, so I think it's about time you showed yourselves out.”
Turning his back to them once more he braced himself against the bar ending the conversation. He refused to let them see him break as all of the emotions he had suppressed threatened to explode out of him. He wanted nothing more than to tell them it was fine and that everything was forgiven. That he understood, because what use is a teenage boy with no powers to hundreds of years old Shinigami? But he couldn’t, couldn’t pretend like he hadn’t spent countless nights awake searching for any sign that they had come back for him, that they still cared for him. He couldn’t pretend that the reason he was up most of those nights wasn’t that every night for years he had the same heart-wrenching nightmare full of hues of violet. He couldn’t let go of the decade of torture as he watched those left walk on eggshells around him like even uttering a word would cause him to shatter.
He was so caught in his pity party that he missed the sounds of Rukia shuffling closer to him and Renji trying to stop her. He was only brought out of his stupor by the sensation of thin but strong arms slowly wrapping around his waist and the familiar weight of a head pressing against the middle of his back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ichigo.” He could feel the sobs threatening to take over her small frame and hear the thickness of the barely contained tears in her voice. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’m not going anywhere this time.”
And just as quickly as they came they disappeared, though this time Ichigo wasn’t sure if he was relieved or terrified. The second the doors had closed he jerked around launching the glass in his hand at the door, letting out a guttural scream. Ichigo a mirror image of the glass as he collapsed to the ground as both his heart and walls shattered.