Chapter Text
In the painful year that will follow, he'll look back longingly at the couple of months after they'd just met - before her arrest, before Aizen, just them walking to school together, her sleeping in his closet, and the closeness and trust they'd had - and he hadn't realized it then, but he does now: those simple days had been the best of his life.
She's shown up out of the blue at his school, and he's baffled and confused and annoyed (and embarrassed when she punches him in the gut), but most of all... he's relieved he hasn't seen the last of her.
Her so-called training regimen is ridiculous, but he goes along willingly because it means being able to protect his family.
The way he slowly draws approval from her - first a raised eyebrow, and then eventually a smile - has nothing to do with it whatsoever.
She's struggling with a juice box of all things, and he refrains from helping her for a few moments because her puzzled expression and muttered curses are somehow endearing.
Goat Face gets suspicious when he hears Ichigo talking to himself in his room; Yuzu gets suspicious when he starts taking meals for two up there. Honestly, Karin probably knows. But Ichigo doesn't care, as long as Rukia's near.
He doesn't know why his heart leaps every time her eyes widen and her lips part in wonder when she sees some new "mortal innovation"; he takes her to see movies, to cafes, to random stores and sight-seeing spots, treating her like a tourist just to see that glowing expression on her face.
She speaks constantly about her desire to regain her power and to return to Soul Society, and every time it feels like a punch in the gut because doesn't she realize that he wants - no, needs - her here with him?
She's the first person outside of his family that he talks to about his mother. Her face conveys understanding and sympathy and gratefulness that he shared this with her. She reaches out to hold his hand, and they sit in peaceful, comfortable silence.
Then, "She would be proud of the man you've become."
He laughs silently at times at their height difference; she'll be scolding him, but craning her neck just to look him in the eye, and it's such a funny sight he has to fight to keep from grinning, for fear of her kick to his shin.
Kon's about as threatening as a newborn baby, especially when in that ridiculous plushie body, but when he flings himself day after day at Rukia, Ichigo still feels the bubbling urge to grab him by the scruff of his neck and growl, she's mine, not yours, mine, don't even think about touching her. Luckily, Rukia always handles the situation just fine on her own with a swift kick to Kon's face.
That's my girl.
She falls asleep next to him during lunch, exhausted from a hollow hunt the previous night - sometimes if the hollow is weaker she insists that he let her take care of it with kido; she needs to build up her powers once more. He wraps an arm loosely around her, absentmindedly twirling her silky hair around his finger, and marvels at how perfectly her tiny body fits into the side of his.
He searches for ages for a giant Chappy plushie, in every store, gift shop and mall kiosk he can think of, but to no avail.
Good thing Ishida's such a good sewer. Even if there's no way a Chappy toy could cost that much.
Whatever. The smile on her face when he gifts it to her is worth a million bucks.
He's gotten so used to her frequent slaps to his head that he could now dodge them without any effort, but for some reason, he never does.
She knows how a juice box works now, thank you very much, but still he'll swipe it out of her hands to stick the straw in for her.
He doesn't see -and she can't control- the smile tugging at her lips every time he does so.
One night he wakes to the sound of her muffled sniffling; she's trying to mute the noise with her pillow. After only a slight hesitation, he pulls the closet door open and deftly scoops her into his arms, carrying her over to his bed. She protests weakly, eyes tired and red, but then relaxes, exhausted, in his gentle embrace. He sinks into his pillow and cradles her in his lap.
"It's okay. I'm here. When you want to talk, I'll listen." He murmurs words of comfort into her ear, echoes of the wisdom she once gave him.
She falls asleep curled into his chest. The luxuries of the Kuchiki manor in all of its splendor do not compare to his soothing warmth.
He doesn't know if he should call what he feels love - after all, he's just a high school boy who has zero experience with the stupid thing - but he does know that though they've only known each other for two months, he trusts her with his life.
But now she's fading from his vision, agonizingly slow, and a million words he can't say try to force themselves out of his trembling lips - don't go, there has to be a way, I'll find a way, I promise, I miss you already, please don't forget me - but it comes out as a weak "thank you".
He hopes she understands all that he's thankful for: for saving him, over and over again, for caring for him, loving him, for changing his world and making him the man he is now.
And then she's gone, and he hates himself because in all the moments they'd shared he hadn't once said the words I love you.
Now he never will.