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1.
Ichigo had known ghosts were real ever since he could remember. When he was four, he met his first malicious ghost, a little girl standing next to traffic trying to lure someone to her rescue. It wasn’t until much later he realized she had done it on purpose. By then his mom was long gone and there was no bringing her back, or dealing with that ghost. He had been waiting a safe distance, listening to his mom, when he realized the truck wouldn’t stop in time, and he had started to run and yell. It missed Ichigo by inches.
Now, at twenty-eight years old, he was learning gremlins were real too. He wasn’t sure how they managed to hide so well, but it was the only explanation for the woman in front of him, giving him the most aggressive job offer Ichigo had ever received.
Also, the only job offer Ichigo had ever received. People don’t tend to offer you a job when you own your own business. Right out of highschool, Ichigo had been convinced by his friends to go into business as a medium. He was already going all over town, helping ghosts, might as well get paid, they convinced him. Well, business is tough, it turns out. And people don’t really like to pay someone for calling them an asshole. Keigo took one look at his business accounts and put a hold on that ramen shop he’d been talking about. Now where were all those friends of his? Too broke paying for college, studio time, having children. Traitors.
Today had seemed like a normal appointment. He got a call, set the date. Repeated his affirmations three times before leaving the office. “I will not yell at this customer. I will not scare this customer. I will not call this customer a dickhead.” The real problem is that the living were too damn rude to the dead, nothing to do with Ichigo’s attitude, but whatever. The dead can’t pay his bills.
The address led him to a comfortable, if dingy, building, right on the edge of the bad part of town. As soon as he knocked on the door he thought, “oh, yep”.
This place was haunted. Like, super haunted. Slasher flick, but all the stupid kids stick around as ghosts, haunted. The second his knuckle hit the door two of them walked into the hall. The door swung open while Ichigo was still gaping at them, opened from the other side by a petite woman, measuring somewhere along Ichigo’s ribs. She had long black hair, tied up in a ponytail on the side of her head that curled back towards her, ever so slightly. She wore a white hoodie, so oversized she was practically swimming in it, and black leggings. But most striking were her eyes. They were violet, and sat too big on her face, immediately assessing him. Sizing him up. It wasn’t unusual. As a professional medium, most of the people he met were skeptical. And behind her? More ghosts, obviously.
The woman had stepped to the side to allow him in, so he twisted his face into something carefully blank, and followed her. The two children’s spirits followed him in, grouping up with their friends waiting inside. Maybe ten of them in total, hanging around, three that followed the woman around, never farther than her fingertips could reach. It was an effort to concentrate on her, and block out the chorus of jeering children. His instinct was to yell at them all to quiet down. His google reviews indicated some people found that unnerving.
“Rukia Kuchiki,” she said, extending her hand.
“Ichigo Kurosaki,” he replied. “So right away, you’ve got a ton of ghosts. All of them between, maybe, ten to eighteen.” Rukia hummed, and so Ichigo kept on. Had this building been used as a children’s hospital of some kind? It didn’t look like it. Surely they must all be location bound, for them to stick around. A normal person didn’t have this many ghosts following them, no matter how loved they were. He would have to cleanse the apartment, perform konso one by one, forcing them to move on against their will. “I can banish them-”
“The HELL you can!” yelled the oldest spirit, a boy with long red hair in a bush-like ponytail that defied gravity. Ichigo’s eyes flicked over, lips twitching into a frown. Ghosts of teenagers were always the rowdiest. You couldn’t blame them though. They were ripped off, big time.
“-but usually they’ll go easier with some cooperation from the homeowner. They might have unresolved feelings tied to this place. It’s unlikely you knew them, but they might move on easier with your help.”
“You don’t think I could’ve known them?” Rukia asked, still eyeing him up and down. Ichigo took off his shoes and stepped farther inside. Rukia had retreated to a small kitchen island, leaning against it, arms crossed on her chest. “I did my research on the building. It doesn’t seem that much of anyone died here.” Her voice was artificially sweet, almost acting, which Ichigo would’ve noticed were he less distracted. He had done his research as well, and she was right. No death records, no newspaper articles. The last thing he needed was to be involved in some kind of conspiracy.
“It’d sure make things easier if you knew them, but with this many, I doubt it.” Ichigo described them, one by one, watching the smile on Rukia’s expression flickering. “Uh, is something wrong?”
“You sure do your research,” she answered, with a tight smile. “It kinda pisses me off, but you’re exactly what we need.”
Ichigo scowled - in that way that Tatsuki’s airhead girlfriend always said would give him wrinkles. “You a professional skeptics or something? Did you call me all the way over here just to yell ‘Gotchya!’ You set up a camera, too? Get a life.”
“-I’ve seen your business reviews,” Rukia cut him off. “You’re not a complete liar. Sometimes you tell people there are no ghosts. Those are about a third of your bad reviews, from morons who couldn’t operate a screwdriver to tighten their door hinge if it killed them. The other two thirds are about your personality. But there are none that call you a fraud... Even if they hate you,” she shrugged, as if that were of little consequence. “You’re good.”
“So you made an appointment to tell me that I’m a fraud, but a talented one...” Ichigo replied slowly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Back off!” the youngest spirit yelled at him, trying to kick Ichigo in the shin. “Rukia would never!”
“Rukia has never done anything wrong, EVER!”
“That’s basically right,” Rukia smirked. Ichigo rolled his eyes, staring pointedly at the kicking ghost. Rukia gestured him to the kitchen table and he pulled up a chair. “I run a business called Soul Repair. We inspect homes using mediums, spiritualists, whatever, as well as licensed home inspectors, to rule out problems both paranormal and physical.”
“Wha- So what d’you need me for? You must know lots of mediums who could help with your herd of ghosts.”
“Nothing is wrong with my apartment,” she waved him off. “This is a job offer, you goon. You’ve got exclusively bad reviews, your business is failing, and yet no one doubts your ghost bullshit.” Rukia ticked off her fingers one by one. “Give up and come work for me.”
Ichigo choked.
2.
“You haven’t seen the office yet?” Rukia frowned, stomping on the backs of her shoes to shuck them off.
He had been working with her on a contract basis, unwilling to close down his business for some reason he couldn’t quantify. Rukia didn’t seem to care. They had a shared online calendar, and any empty time he had (most of it) she filled up mercilessly with appointments. He took the train to their first appointment of the day, then she shuttled him around the city in her extremely vocal truck.
“When have I got the time?” he scowled.
The only reason they were at the office today was that Rukia had run out of liability forms. Soul Repair can not guarantee a stop in suspected ghost activity, nor rule out biological causes, blah blah, don’t sue us.
The office furniture was similar to Rukia’s own. Ichigo had a sneaking suspicion they had been picked up at a secondhand store, but they had been patched up nice enough. The walls were a neutral sandy colour, one of those bullshit paint tones that every office in world used. On top of that, someone had covered every possible inch with art, hanging kimono sashes, painted masks, occult paraphernalia, and then a handful of everyday knickknacks with specks of something looking suspiciously like blood.
The woman at reception was smiling faintly at him, but with a gleam in her eyes that made Ichigo want to keep his distance. She had long hair, skirting between orange and blonde, and a low cut top that could not be practical with the size of her chest. “This is Rangiku, our office manager.” Rukia called back, already leaving the room.
Ichigo nodded to her, following Rukia to a small lounge area off to the side. While reception was cluttered, it was an orderly clutter. Back here was a mess, giving way only for two small couches, face to face. Two men sat on one. One man with feathers glued to his eyebrow, scrolling through his phone. The other with a bald head, and bright red mascara, feet stretched across to the other couch, picking his teeth aggressively, even as they made eye contact. Ichigo shrank back and the guy looked away with a scoff.
He muttered something under his breath, sounding distinctly like, “I could take him.”
“Rukia!” he called after her, “What kinda weirdo’s work here?” She had disappeared through another side door, almost before Ichigo had even left reception.
On the other couch were two ghosts, dressed in old court clothes, carefully avoiding mascara-man’s feet. One of them was identical to Rukia, the other, maybe a husband? He had a hand gently covering hers, and their bodies curled into each other.
“The baldy is Ikkaku, a building inspector. The pretty boy is Yumichika, our other medium,” Rukia yelled back. He followed her voice to a small, organized office. “Talk to them,” she commanded, sensing him lurking in the doorway.
“Ah,” Ichigo nodded to Yumichika, and offered a wan smile. “Nice to know not everyone here is a skeptic like Rukia.”
Yumichika bit out a laugh. “Oh my god, this guy actually believes in ghosts?”
Ichigo’s jaw dropped. Rukia yelled from the other room, “Nah, I think he’s just really committed to the con.”
“You’re a professional medium, and you don’t believe in ghosts?”
Yumichika snickered, bringing his hand up to his mouth and looking to the side in an expression that managed to be both scathing and full of joy. This fucker.
“Aww, don’t bully him,” Rangiku said, skirting around the clutter to wrap herself around Ichigo’s arm. “I’ve been telling you about the ghosts here for months.”
Ichigo looked down at her as she spoke, only to look back up, face feeling hot, training his eyes on a bug on the outside of the window. That was a very low cut top. And those were her... on his arm. He should just push her off, right? But this was his new co-worker. Would she be offended? He was starting to get used to paying his rent on time...
A scathing laugh cut through his thoughts. “Rangiku,” Yumichika drawled. “Could you please rein in your over-sized tits for once? You’re going to give the poor boy a heart attack.”
“Hm, your face is pretty red, kid. Think he’s having a stroke?” Ikkaku spared a glance towards him.
“Ikkaku, tell your boyfriend to stop being so boring,” Rangiku pouted, hugging his arm tighter for emphasis. She was fucking messing with him, Ichigo realized, finally jerking his arm out of her grasp.
Yumichika scowled. “Ikkaku, tell your slutty friend to keep it in her pants.”
“Oh, you know you love me,” Rangiku crooned, bounding across the room to hug Yumichika around the neck. He reacted to her boobs pressing against his cheek like a cat being dunked in water. The patronizing noise of disgust was just a hair away from a cats yowl.
“Got the forms!” Rukia called, from the office she had disappeared into. She came out, closing the door behind her. “You ready to go, Ichigo?”
“Oh my god yes,” Ichigo strode to the door, holding it open for him.
“Oh, what a gentleman,” Rangiku called after them. He slammed the door almost loud enough to drown out Rukia’s snort.
3.
It was the last appointment of the day on June 16th. A day that had started with Rukia casually asking why he had booked the next day off, and immediately doubling down when he had plastered a fake smile on his face, and given some fake-ass answer he didn’t even remember. At first she thought he was covering up about a date. That was still preferable to later, when she shot concerned glances at him that she thought he wouldn’t notice. He had started to feel guilty, even, about his bullshit answer. His fake happy voice had warded off everyone else who asked, but now there was Rukia.
They were at a small house in the suburbs, with an addition tacked onto the front, where an old woman lived by herself. It was the oldest on the street, and Ichigo expected that Rukia wouldn’t even need him. The old woman answered the door and quickly shuffled them into her kitchen to make a pot of tea, and bring out a plate of biscuits. Hovering behind her was the spirit of an old man with thick glasses, wringing his hands.
Ichigo tuned out the pleasantries, observing the ghost.
“Ok!” Rukia got to her feet with a clap. “First thing is to check the CO detector. If there was a leak, that might explain the strange notes you’ve been finding. And that door that’s been opening is probably just crooked. Let me run to my truck and I’ll be right back.”
The old woman blinked owlishly at Ichigo. “Where is she going?” she asked him, fiddling with her ear.
“Getting some tools,” he said clearly, leaning in closer. The old woman frowned, but nodded. Ichigo started looking around the kitchen for a notepad.
“First drawer, next to the window,” said the spirit.
The nice thing about working with Rukia is that some days, Ichigo didn’t speak to clients at all. She was quick to handle people when they walked in, meaning Ichigo rarely got into shouting matches with stubborn assholes these days. He often went off to the other room and performed a quick konso without telling anyone, leaving the clients with a list of home improvements from Rukia to solve their ‘paranormal activity’, that hadn’t been caused by the ghost anyways. Your sink isn’t haunted, your pipes just need to be cleaned.
Rarely, Rukia wouldn’t be able to find anything wrong, and would send a sidelong look to Ichigo, who would step in and let them know who was there and that the problem should be solved.
Clients like this old lady, he didn’t mind though. He put the pen and notepad on the kitchen table as Rukia walked back in.
“Ah, where did you find that?” Rukia asked, expression brightening. “I was worried she wasn’t hearing me,” she muttered to herself, stowing away the notepad she had brought, back into her toolbox.
“While you’re here, would you mind getting the juicer from the top shelf? The neighbours came by with oranges and Min has been looking for it everywhere,” the spirit muttered.
Rukia and the old woman walked out of the room, and Ichigo went to the cabinet he had indicated, pulling the juicer down onto the counter for her to find later.
“Were the notes from you?”
The man sighed. “She just doesn’t keep up with the place on her own. I think it would be okay if someone would just check the carbon thingy, the a/c, and the heater. Plus the windows should really be recaulked before winter, or at least wrapped... And-” Ichigo snorted, fishing out another notepad, and got started on a list, bending over the counter top.
“Can you trust us to take care of it and move on?” Ichigo asked, straightening and stretching his back. These old houses were too small for him.
“Who the hell are you acting for right now? Now one else is here.” Ichigo jumped, hitting his head on the cabinet corner.
“Uh, I don’t know, maybe for the ghost that I’m helping!” Ichigo yelled, rubbing the sore spot reflexively. Rukia raised her hands in fake surrender, stifling laughter. “Whatever, just work on the list,” he said, shoving it at her. Usually they didn’t talk about it, it was clear Rukia would never believe in ghosts, but if they were here anyways...
She took the list from him, looking it over as Min came back. “This is a good start. I want to get her a flashing CO detector as well. The battery is definitely shot in hers, and who knows if she’d hear it anyway. How could you possibly know there are mice in the basement?”
“My juicer!” Min said, appearing from the living room after Rukia. “I must’ve found it last night and forgot.” Rukia’s eyes flashed over to Ichigo. It was a look she had started giving him in the last couple weeks. Like maybe he was a mind reader, because he definitely couldn’t be seeing ghosts. Whatever, let her figure it out for herself.
“Let me make you two some fresh orange juice.”
“I think I’d like to stick around,” the old man said. “Just for another few years until she joins me.” Ichigo sighed, then nodded. Really he should force him to pass on. That deranged candy store owner had told Ichigo some horror stories about ghosts that stayed around too long. But who knew if these two would be able to find each other again if they passed on separately. He could let this one slide.
What was this frail old man gonna do, turn into a monster?
An hour past their usual quitting time, the two of them were back in Rukia’s truck. Ichigo had run to get the new CO detector earlier while Rukia started to work. By the time they left, it was all hooked up, and Min had a week of maintenance appointments scheduled for her. They had each left with an outrageous tip and a container of biscuits. Ichigo cranked the seat back and closed his eyes, laying down bonelessly and enjoying the cicada croaking. Eventually, when the truck didn’t start, he cracked an eye open and caught Rukia staring at him.
She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. “Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mom’s death.”
Rukia sucked in a sharp breath, mouth snapping shut while she waited to see if he would continue. He would not. Her eyes softened. “I never had a mom, but I know about losing people... You don’t have to talk about it, but if you ever want to, I’ll be here.”
His lips twitched into something closer to a smile. Rukia smiled back, then turned on the truck, not noticing that he spent the trip watching her drive from his reclined seat.
4.
After Kurosaki Paranormal was in the black for a full year, Ichigo approached Rukia to thank her for digging him out of his hole. Instead, she fired him.
“What, you think you’re irreplaceable?” she asked, in answer to his confusion, eyes gleaming in that way that meant she was laughing at him. “I’ve already scouted five different leads since you’ve been so busy lately.” And he thought, oh, she expected him to focus on his own business. Stop contracting with her.
He could probably make it on his own now. He wasn’t desperately shoving his contracting money back into the business anymore. Rukia would probably instruct Rangiku to keep giving out his number to anyone who asked. He knew that’s where all the customers were coming from. Did he want to stop working with them? He sure wouldn’t miss Yumichika. And the thought of begging Rukia to keep him on was too mortifying.
And so the busiest two months of Kurosaki Paranormal went by. Ichigo didn’t have a chance to speak to Rukia, although he had threatened to stop by and cleanse her apartment. He got home from work, scheduled new appointments, and in his (scant) free time he wrote spare lines of angsty poetry for no reason and about no one.
At the end of the two months, he finally admitted to himself they were about the same someone. He showed up at her apartment the next day. Within a week, he had closed Kurosaki Paranormal, forwarding all calls to Soul Repair.
“Why don’t you want to come to my place lately,” Rukia scrutinized him, months later. She had driven him home after work, and he was leaning through the drivers window of the old truck, trying to talk her into staying the night.
“Lately? What do you mean lately? I’ve never wanted to go to your place, it’s a damn horror show.”
“Right, your weird method acting thing,” she rolled her eyes. He didn’t know why a con-artist was a preferable boyfriend to a medium, but Ichigo could live with it. Just believing him was apparently out of the question. “Well I didn’t leave out extra food for the stray cat this morning. Some of us have responsibilities, remember?” She gave him that shit eating smile, and flicked him on the forehead.
The truck had started to crawl forward when Ichigo groaned and shouted after her, “Fine!” The truck stopped. “Just let me get a change of clothes.” She leaned out the window briefly, so Ichigo saw her beaming grin, then dropped back into her seat to wait.
Twenty minutes later, Ichigo followed Rukia through the front door of her apartment. The demon children, as Ichigo had taken to calling them, were waiting for Rukia at the building entrance. They were visibly annoyed to see him, faces falling dramatically flat, and spent the whole climb upstairs trying to break the rules of the afterlife and kick him in the shin. They got to her door, Rukia pulled him into the apartment by his hand, and Ichigo yanked his hand back as if he had been burned. He could feel his face flush. He was being so uncool.
“So! Long day, huh?!” he said, stiffly and far too loud. Rukia raised an eyebrow at him, while four ghosts leaned around her to glare. God, each one of them probably thought they would grow up and marry her. No other reason they’d be that obsessed.
“I’m gonna clean up,” Rukia muttered, walking to the bathroom. Maybe he could get rid of them for a bit, before she came back.
“Don’t worry,” said Renji, “He’ll blow it any day now.” The other kids snickered, and Ichigo rolled his eyes. “And if he doesn’t, we’ll just have to scare him off.” He raised a hand, summoning an unsteady red orb to float above his hand, the size of a ping pong ball.
Ichigo snorted, “Nice one, Rudolph. Now we know who to call next time the power goes out.”
“Yeah!? Let’s fight, old man!” he yelled, throwing the red ball at him. It approached in a wavering line. Would it actually hurt him? This little shit doesn’t know what he’s doing; does that make him more or less dangerous?
Begrudgingly, Ichigo leaned to the side so the orb wouldn’t hit him. “You dead little shit,” he muttered at the kids jeering face.
“Aw babe, are your imaginary friends bullying you today?” Rukia grinned, catlike, from the kitchen where she had been watching him.
Ichigo felt his cheeks turning hot, and scratched the back of his neck, looking off to the side. “It’s that Renji kid. This is why I hate your apartment,” he whined, finally walking in past the entryway. “All the ghosts here hate me.”
“Renji, hm?” she asked, following him into the living room where he had collapsed onto the overstuffed couch. “Where did you hear that name?” she asked, haltingly.
He turned his head, resting on the back of the couch, to see her sitting awkwardly on the edge of her seat. He sighed, but didn’t answer. The kids had followed them into the room, and were hovering around her, wanting to comfort her. Ichigo reached out, wrapped a hand loosely around her wrist. “One of the other ones said it,” he told her quietly. She didn’t look back at him.
“Did I ever tell you, Rangiku, Madarame, Ayasegawa, and I, we grew up together. In an orphanage, and not a nice one.” She turned her wrist, catching his hand, and fell back onto the couch. “There often wasn’t enough food. The staff was useless. We went out every day to make money, stealing it off people or whatever else we could do. Renji grew up with us too. And the others you’ve described. They didn’t make it.”
Ichigo squeezed her hand. They sat in silence for a while, kids still looking concernedly at Rukia. “I can help them move on,” he told her.
Pineapple opened his mouth, ready to yell him down, but Rukia cut him off, voice clear. “No. You say they can move on on their own, right? If they want?” Ichigo nodded. “So if their spirits were here, hypothetically, I would want them to be able to choose.”
Then her eyes, which had been looking forward, unfocused, stared straight at Renji, like she was really seeing him. His eyes widened. Her cats smile came back. “And if they were here, hypothetically, then they would know when to give me some privacy, if they don’t want to spend the rest of their afterlife getting the snot beat out of them.”
Ichigo grinned.
“Leftovers okay?” she asked him, shaking the rest of the clouds from her eyes.
When the two of them moved back into the kitchen, the kids didn’t follow. They didn’t see them until the next morning.
5.
Down the hall, in her room, Ichika started squealing, echoed by the baby monitor on the coffee table. “Mama!” baby Ichika said.
Rukia looked at Ichigo next to her on the couch, huffing to himself, and got up. He followed after her and she shot him a wry grin. “Don’t be so competitive, you fool.”
“Who’s competitive?” he grumbled back. He ran a hand through his newly cut hair. He hadn’t realized how shaggy it had gotten until the baby learned to pull on it. “It’s just cause she spends more time with you now. We’ll see who the favourite is when you’re back at work too.”
“It’ll be me, clearly. She has excellent taste.”
“Yeah, whatever,” hard to argue with that.
Rukia slid open the nursery door and walked up to the crib, still grinning cheekily at Ichigo. She reached in to pick up her daughter, only for the baby to start wailing. Rukia blinked in surprise, and the guests began to blush, realizing they were the problem. When Hisana and Byakuya followed Ichigo back home from work, he encouraged them to come spend time with the baby. They missed Rukia as well, but Ichigo was keeping them updated.
“It’s alright,” Rukia coo-ed, bewildered, to her wailing baby.
“Let’s take her to the living room,” Ichigo suggested. Seeing Rukia and Hisana next to each other must be confusing for her. Rukia went ahead humming a nursery rhyme, while Ichigo stayed behind to assure Hisana that it was alright, and they still wanted her to visit. They would just have to ease Ichika into it. She already had little black tufts of hair on her head. Soon enough there would be three of them running around. Ichigo shuddered.
“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Hisana hid her wavering mouth behind the draping sleeve of her Heian court clothes.
Ichigo still thought bitterly of the time he had spent pouring over family trees, and researching ancient high society fashions, before finding out that Hisana and Byakuya were just nerd reenactors. Rukia’s older sister-turned guardian, and brother in law (when they started dating, Byakuya wasted no time letting Ichigo know he was from some stupid highbrow family that could crush him. Ichigo just scoffed). Even knowing they were just dorks, it still felt weird to see two Heian figures standing in a nursery wall-papered with Rukia’s shitty bunny drawings.
When Ichigo went back out, Ichika still seemed upset, but had quieted down some. “Do you think she’ll be alright in time for the picnic?” Rukia fretted.
“Yeah, Ikkaku’ll cheer her up,” he said, running a hand up and down her back. Ikkaku and Yumichika had been first to stop by and meet the baby. Ikkaku had quickly taught her the joys of violence. He was her favourite uncle, and swore he was going to teach her to fight as soon as she could walk. Yumichika had gotten a coin sized stain and refused to go near her ever since. Currently, Rangiku was the only one allowed to babysit.
Rukia grinned at him, fleetingly, but her eyes were still worried.
“You sure you want to go? You stayed up with her all night. Might be a good time to catch up on sleep.”
“And miss you bawling your eyes out? Never.” She leaned into his side, resting against him.
“That was one time!”
Rukia snorted, tilting her face up. “Ichigo, it’s every time your sisters hold her. You’re crying today, for sure, and I would never miss such a good blackmail opportunity just for sleep.”
“That’s the sleep deprivation talking,” he rolled his eyes. “Is the new guy gonna be there?” he asked, taking Ichika from Rukia’s arms for his turn. She was immediately quieter, and he gloated silently.
“Don Kanonji’s been working for us for years now,” Rukia laughed, pacing around the room, looking for something. “You just don’t like him because he took your job. And yes. He’s bringing dessert.”
When Ichigo had briefly stopped working for Soul Repair they hired this Don Kanonji goon to fill in for him. When Ichigo came back, they hired Karin as a new home inspector to pair up with him. Ichigo just wished he could’ve seen that idiot’s face when he found out Karin can see ghosts, but still refuses to believe in them. From what Karin’s said, he’s really out there. Hopefully he’s a better baker than he is a spiritualist.
“Have you seen my keys?” Rukia asked, from on her knees, looking under the couch.
“Cabinet next to the tv,” Renji answered, lounging on the matching armchair. He was the last of the ghost boys to stick around. These days he mostly sat at home watching the action movie garbage Ichigo kept playing for him. “She hid it there when that clone baby came over this morning.”
Wordlessly, Ichigo walked over to the cabinet and grabbed it, resting Ichika against his shoulder. “How do you always do that?” Rukia grumbled.
“You had visitors today?” Ichigo asked instead. This was an old argument. He was pretty sure Rukia believed him by now, but she would die before she admitted it.
“Yeah, Tatsuki and Orihime with their son. I still can’t believe how much that kid looks like her.”
Ichigo hummed in response, bouncing lightly from foot to foot, making Ichika giggle.
“You’ve gotta be some kind of baby whisperer, what the fuck.”
“And that’s why I’m gonna be her favourite again,” Ichigo grinned.
“Dream on,” Rukia scoffed, just as the bell rang. She went to answer it while Ichigo put the baby down on her play mat. “Ah, you two are early!” she said, opening the door to Karin and Yuzu.
“Yeah, figured we’d get the crying out of the way in private. Spare Ichigo what little dignity he has left,” Karin smirked.
“Hey!”
Yuzu pushed past them both, grinning at Ichigo, on her way to leave something in the kitchen. “Karin, be nice!”
Later on, sitting with Rukia on a blanket that didn’t fully stop the grass from poking through, Ichigo watched Karin complaining about working with Don Kanonji. Watched Don Kanonji break into theatrical tears, because Karin made sure to complain right in front of him. Watched Ikkaku hold infant Ichika in outstretched arms, threatening Yumichika with her, while he was being held down by Tatsuki. Rangiku and Orihime had walked off together. Ichigo thought he heard Rangiku say something about ‘improving cleavage’ and he had zero desire to know more.
More friends from school were dropping by later on. It was so hard to schedule now. But the people here, now, they were all brought together by Rukia, he realized. And then he thought back to his angsty teenage poetry and thought, if Mom was the sun they all orbited, Rukia was the moon.
She was gravity. She pulled the tides. She reflected back any light given to her, shining through the dead of night. She stops the rain.
“What’re you ‘mirking about?” Rukia asked, face stuffed with food, poking him in the ribs with her toes.
+1
The nurses were well past concerned. If Ichigo stayed any longer he was gonna get hauled off to the psych ward. Maybe get adult protective services involved. He wasn’t exactly having the time of his life either, waiting around in a cookie-cutter hospital room, divided down the middle by a nauseating yellow curtain. Ichigo scowled, hunkering further into his shitty hospital chair. He had brought a book to read, but it wasn’t happening. He tapped the spine against his knee instead. It had been a long time. Longer than he had ever known it to take. Maybe she wasn’t coming.
He carefully avoided looking at the body. Even covered, as she was, by a thin hospital blanket. He had left the blanket in place since she had gone. Growing up in a clinic, it hadn’t been often he’d seen a dead body, but it had happened. The idea of Rukia with that hollow look. That over-still, discarded wrapper look. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Ichigo got to his feet.
So this was his life now. He swallowed around the rock in his throat as he finally surrendered his seat and turned toward the door. He was stopped in his tracks by a deep, smooth inhale, behind him. Ichigo turned his head abruptly. He was going to have to move up his chiropractor appointment.
“This is some commitment to the con, even for you,” she told him.
She looked just as she had a year ago, before things turned for the worse. Ichigo hadn’t realized how great the difference was. He huffed at her joke; to his horror it came out as more of a sob.
“You’d better tell me right now if you can really see me, you old fool.” Rukia glared, halfheartedly. Her gaze flickered up and down his body, appraising him, just like that first day in her apartment. He frowned. Smushing his lips together to dampen the sob that wanted to escape, but also trying to remember. How exactly had it gone?
He extended his hand towards her, over the vacant body. “Nice to meet you. My name is Ichigo Kurosaki, and you have a ton of ghosts.” She smiled at him. Remembering. “You gonna stick around?”