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2024-06-07
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Grains of Sand

Chapter 2: The Ray of Light in His Life

Notes:

A/N: Guys! Thanks so much for the warm comments, they really give me motivation to write more.

I am surprised at how fast I am updating (better update now while I can) hahaha (I SHOULD be writing my thesis proposal and here I am hahaha).

Still try to listen to the songs: First Love by Hikaru Utada and Hatsukoi, also by Hikaru Utada to get in the feels with this story.

I hope you all can enjoy this chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rukia was the ray of light in Ichigo's life. Even in his reality where he had not seen her for more than ten years, not since their reunion on Chad's ridiculous boxing match, not after that, Rukia remained the focus of his attention whenever she was in the room.

So it was no surprise that Ichigo lost all concentration, tuning out Renji’s incessant chatter—“What the hell happened, Ichigo? You had us all worried, you dumbass!”—or Byakuya’s silent, disapproving raised eyebrows, or Kyoraku’s relieved sigh, “It’s about time, Kurosaki-kun. We thought we’d lost you for good. You can’t do that to us, especially not to our lovely Rukia-chan.”

None of that registered with him. His amber eyes were completely locked on Rukia as she moved gracefully into their bedroom, drawing closer until she stood right in front of him.

She still hadn’t said anything. Yet.

"Rukia..." his voice was hoarse. Ichigo didn't know what to say, sounding like a starstruck dumb fool in her presence.

He had missed her. In reality, they had not met each other for a while. They hadn't talked. He hadn't seen her beautiful face. He hadn't heard her voice for so long. He didn't know how she was doing in Soul Society. The only glimpses that he knew of Rukia's life were only through Orihime's random chit chats here and there. And he never asked. Because why would he? Why would he dumbly ask his freaking wife about how the love of his life was doing with her life? Ichigo might be a cursed pathetic fool in love but he wasn't a masochist.

And now she stood before him. Rukia in this world was just as stunning as—if not more so than—the Rukia he remembered. Her hair was a bit longer than in the photograph he’d seen earlier, falling a few inches above her shoulders, yet still shorter than the Rukia he knew. The captain's haori suited her perfectly, as if the white fabric had been crafted solely to highlight her beauty. Her eyes were locked onto his, seeming to ignore everything and everyone else, sparkling with a brightness he had never seen before.

“Kaa-chan, Kaa-chan! I told Miyayama-san I felt Tou-chan's reiatsu, but she wouldn’t let me go to him just because I didn’t finish my onsen tamago! I told her I didn’t want it—I just wanted miso soup and tofu, but Miyayama-san never listens!” Little Megumi in Ichigo’s arms was bursting with excitement, clearly eager to capture all of his mom's attention.

Ichigo felt a laugh bubbling up. Poor Miyayama, really—Megumi came across as quite the spoiled Kuchiki prince.

"That's great, baby. Now why don't you ask Miyayama-san nicely for some miso soup and tofu so you can finish your breakfast, hmm?" It was the first time Ichigo witnessed Rukia interacting with their son, and it filled him with a warm feeling in his stomach and chest. She was so gentle with Megumi, and seeing them together like this, the resemblance between mother and son was striking. They were perfect—almost too perfect to be real.

"Hey, kiddo, come here and let your jiji take you for a bit. Your Kaa-chan and Tou-chan need to talk," Renji said as he approached Rukia, trying to coax Megumi away from Ichigo's lap.

The kid refused, playfully sticking his tongue out at Renji and tightening his grip on Ichigo. “Go away, Jii-chan,” he said in that cute yet sassy baby voice. “I have to keep my Tou-chan awake.” Then, in a soft mumble, he added, “Can’t risk having my Tou-chan fall asleep again like a sleeping beauty.”

“Oi, what sleeping beauty?” Ichigo chuckled, pinching his son’s chubby cheeks. He really was a handful—definitely inherited that cocky attitude from him.

Renji sighed and scratched his ear. “He’s always like this, acting like a cheeky spoiled brat when his folks are around.”

Poor Miyayama tried again to persuade the young prince, gently offering to make Megumi his favorite miso soup and tofu, but the kid still refused to let go of Ichigo.

It wasn’t until he heard just one word—“Megumi”—from Kuchiki Byakuya that Megumi finally released his grip on Ichigo. Just that single word, spoken by his dear uncle, was enough for the little Kuchiki prince to listen.

There was a lot about family dynamics Ichigo still needed to grasp in this dream family of his.

“Hanatarou Yamada,” Byakuya began again. Ichigo hadn’t spoken to Byakuya for years in his own world, largely due to some unpleasant history (he had to resist the urge to punch the man in the gut when they met). Yet the Kuchiki captain remained unchanged, still exuding that high-and-mighty aura expected of the head of the Kuchiki clan. “Please report to me and Kyoraku-soutaichou the full details regarding my brother-in-law.” Byakuya continued, clearly sensing that Ichigo and Rukia might need some privacy. “Outside.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but notice that Byakuya referred to him as his brother-in-law, nearly snorting with amusement. This guy certainly had a way with words, didn’t he?

Renji hoisted Megumi onto his back and patted Ichigo’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Ichigo,” the red-haired fukutaichou grinned. Ichigo could see the sincerity in his eyes. “Next time you decide to pass out like a pansy for a month, give us a little heads-up, will ya?”

“Thanks,” Ichigo smirked. “Don’t count on it.” He missed the lighthearted banter with Renji.

“Be good, okay?” Rukia said to Megumi, tiptoeing next to Renji to kiss their son on the forehead as Renji leaned closer to her. Seeing Megumi with Renji, so close to Rukia, stirred an irrational unease in Ichigo. He turned away, feeling petty. Why was he worried—or jealous? This was his perfect life; Rukia was his wife here, not Renji's. They didn’t have a child named after him. Besides, he missed this friendship with Renji, free from the jealousy that used to gnaw at him whenever he saw them together.

“Now, now, we really should be going,” Kyoraku said with a cheeky smile, waving as he left Rukia’s and his bedroom. “Speedy recovery, Kurosaki-kun~! We don’t want to be without our strongest soldier for too long~”

The shoji door closed softly behind him.

And then it was just him and Rukia, surrounded by a heavy silence.

Rukia still wasn’t speaking, but her gaze remained fixed on him, making Ichigo feel oddly uneasy. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and he wished he had at least thrown on some clothes.

“Rukia,” he began, feeling uncharacteristically nervous as he tried to break the icy silence between them.

But Rukia still remained silent. Instead, she took a step closer. Ichigo was sitting on the edge of their king-sized bed, his knees parting to make space for her as she stood between them. Then she cupped his face in both hands.

It was intimate. Serene.

At first, her hands felt cold, but then a green glow—similar to the kidou Hanatarou had used before—began to emanate from her palms, warming his skin.

He hadn’t felt her touch in over a decade. They hadn’t been this close for years. She had never touched him again, nor had he dared to touch her since that night—the night just days before her wedding. The last time he held Rukia in his arms, begging her with every ounce of his being, “Don’t marry him, Rukia, please don’t marry him,” his words tumbling out repeatedly against her soft lips and fair skin.

In this surreal moment, Ichigo couldn’t take his eyes off her. Rukia, in this world, was his—not Renji’s. She was his wife. Bathed in the green light of her kidou, her beautiful eyes sparkled like stars. She looked breathtaking, so incredibly beautiful that it took his breath away. As cheesy as it sounded, it felt like time had stopped while he stared at her.

Ichigo was so captivated by her beauty that it took him a moment to notice the worry etched on her delicate features. Rukia’s brows were furrowed, and she nervously bit her lower lip, with tears pooling in her violet eyes. Ichigo recognized that look all too well; it was etched in his memory. Rukia’s beautiful, sorrowful face when she cried—a sight he couldn’t forget, even now. It was the image that had spurred him to achieve bankai against Byakuya on Sokyoku Hill, one that brought him both pain and the strength to protect her.

It frustrated him to see Rukia holding back her tears as she examined his temple, face, neck, and torso for any hidden injuries without saying a word. “Rukia, come on…” he pleaded, instinctively covering her hands with his. He was the hero of Soul Society, the strongest shinigami who had defeated the mighty Yhwach, yet before Rukia, he never hesitated to drop to his knees and beg.

“I’m fine, really,” Ichigo tried to reassure her again. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he was fine. He didn’t know if this version of Ichigo, who had somehow ended up in a month-long coma, was truly okay. All he knew was that Rukia was crying, and he couldn’t stand it. Her tears were enough to drive him to tear the world apart. They made him resent that Ichigo too—the stupid, ungrateful bastard who had this beautiful life, this perfect ending, only to faint and sleep for a whole month without any reason. What kind of loser does that? If he could find him, he’d gladly punch his lights out for making his—his—wife cry like this.

The glow from Rukia’s hands felt different from Hanatarou’s. It was gentler, softer, wrapping him in warmth and comfort like nothing else. The soreness in his shoulders began to fade, and his throbbing headache slowly eased.

“Hanatarou said I was fine,” Ichigo insisted stubbornly, trying to fill the silence with words rather than just Rukia's silent sobs.

She placed both her hands on his jaw. “Shut up,” she whispered, her tone revealing her worry for him when he was being reckless.

“I really do feel fine, Rukia,” he admitted, keeping his warmer hands over hers. All he wanted was to hold her and never let go.

“I said, shut up, Ichigo,” she scolded again, tears threatening to spill down her pale yet rosy cheeks. “I need to concentrate.”

At that moment, Ichigo couldn’t take it any longer. Having her here, crying for him, so worried, so close—her scent enveloping him—was overwhelming. After missing her for so long, dreaming of holding her again for over a decade, he had to act. He pulled her onto his lap, earning a soft gasp from Rukia. Their foreheads touched as Ichigo cupped her face in both of his calloused hands. In this reality, Rukia was his, and he was hers. He hadn’t married Inoue, and Rukia hadn’t married Renji. They were allowed this moment; it wasn’t cheating—no one was betraying anyone. This was their perfect ending, solely theirs.

Ichigo tilted his head, and when he spoke, his dry lips brushed against hers. “Hey, come on,” he said, his voice husky and low, carrying a seductive tone that never failed to make Rukia weak in the knees. “Talk to me.”

It must have been difficult for Rukia—the strong, respected captain of the 13th Squad, the wife of the strongest shinigami alive, the hero of Soul Society, and the mother of their two beautiful children—to show her vulnerability in front of him right now. To finally let the tears fall, tears of relief knowing that Ichigo was fine, that he was here, alive, and not going to leave her alone.

“You're really noisy,” Rukia scolded him again, her voice tinged with desperation.

Surprisingly, it was Rukia who closed the distance between them, pressing her soft lips against his. It started slow but quickly grew desperate. All Ichigo knew was that Rukia was kissing him—again and again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his messy hair, and Ichigo kissed her back just as fiercely. His mouth was warm and firm against hers. He needed this like he needed air; he had longed for this moment. Rukia's lips parted beneath his, and his tongue swept against hers in eager strokes.

“Dummy, making us all worried like that,” Rukia whispered breathlessly between kisses. “You dummy,” she repeated, just before Ichigo claimed her mouth again, not wanting to waste a single moment.

That's right. He was a dummy. Her dummy. 

“Aa,” Ichigo almost grunted as she tried to pull away. “I am.”

He hadn’t kissed her in years, and he didn’t want to dwell on the past—the last time they had shared a kiss, held each other, spent an entire night together, was over a decade ago, just a few nights before her wedding to Renji. He remembered barging into her private quarters as the 13th Division fukutaichou with that wedding invitation in his hand, shouting at her in a rage.

Ichigo pushed that painful memory aside. All he wanted was this moment. Just this moment to hold in his mind.

"I hate you, Ichigo," Rukia said again, between kisses, her hands moved from his hair to throw little harmless but desperate punches on his bare chest. "I hate you," she repeated, even weaker this time.

“I’m sorry,” Ichigo replied, his voice husky from their kisses as he continued to nibble on her lower lip. He captured her hands again, stopping her playful strikes.

Then Ichigo hooked an arm around her waist, using it as leverage to place her on their bed, laying there under him with him situated above her. 

"If you never woke up, Ichigo, I swore to God, I would kill you myself, you know that?" She might have stopped crying but she had not stopped, would not stop scolding him and Ichigo could only think that was just so Rukia.

Ichigo chuckled boyishly and Rukia just melted. She loved him. She loved her husband so much...

"I said I am sorry," Ichigo repeated, his tone cocky. "Yell at me all you want later," With that, he wasted no time, his lips trailing wetly down her neck and lower to her collarbone, prompting a soft moan from Rukia. Her gasp felt almost surreal to Ichigo.

This was almost the best dream he had ever had. He tried not to think about the reality he knew; about Inoue or about Renji; or Kazui. He was allowed to have this. He was allowed to touch Rukia in this reality like this. 

Then Rukia stopped him before he could go any further. She cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. She looked deeply into his eyes, then shifted to his lips, and back to his eyes. Her fingers gently brushed against his lips, and Ichigo followed her touch like a lost puppy, playfully kissing her fingers before she guided them to trace his jawline. She remained silent, just gazing at him with so much love in her eyes.

“What?” Ichigo asked, raising an eyebrow at her. Even as a father of two, he was still strikingly handsome.

Rukia smiled at him, so beautifully that Ichigo felt he could die a happy man right then and there. Then she said, “You need to shave.”

Ichigo laughed and kissed her again.

How could this feel so real?

How could everything feel so perfectly in place, as if it were meant to be his ideal ending?

He just wished he would never wake up.

Ichigo tossed and turned in his bed, his eyelids feeling heavy as if they refused to open. Sweat dripped down his temples, neck, and bare torso, his hair clinging to him as if he were on fire. He could feel a damp cloth pressed against his forehead and under his arms. It must be a terrible fever, he thought. He couldn’t stop writhing, kicking, and flailing at the invisible air, as if he wanted to scream and let his soul escape his body. He imagined how painful it must be for someone to watch him like this.

In the distance, he heard a woman’s voice—soft and weak, not soothing enough to calm him. “Ichigo-kun...? Ichigo-kun...?”

Ichigo grunted in his sleep. The voice didn’t sound like his wife. It didn’t sound like Rukia at all.

Ichigo couldn’t think clearly. The voice was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. When she touched him, his skin burned at the contact, as if resisting her touch, prompting her—whoever she was—to withdraw her hand immediately.

“... Ichigo-kun, are you okay?”

It definitely wasn’t Rukia’s voice, the one that usually brought him peace. This voice sounded scared, weak, like a frightened animal facing a predator.

His body felt like it was boiling, ready to burst at any moment. He struggled to open his eyes and groaned—they felt impossibly heavy.

“Rukia...” he groaned, desperately calling for his wife.

He heard a choked sound from the figure beside him. Then she gathered her courage. “I’m here, Ichigo-kun. What do you need?” She tried to hold his hand. It felt like it was burning—hotter and hotter. But she held on.

“Rukia...” he called again, louder and clearer this time. He needed her. The heat was overwhelming; he craved her icy touch to ease the fire within him.

At that, the woman beside him sobbed. Yet she continued to grasp his hand, even as Ichigo wished he could let go. Deep down, he knew. It wasn’t Rukia. It couldn’t be her.

And everything felt off. The sheets beneath him felt different, the scent surrounding him was too sweet, too floral. The temperature was stifling. He was so used to the coolness that came with Rukia; now it felt like an unbearable summer.

Ichigo tried to open his eyes again, groaning in pain as he did. His vision slowly cleared, though everything remained a bit blurry. He turned toward the window, narrowing his eyes; it was still dark, just before dawn. As he attempted to sit up, the bed made a little squeak. His bed didn’t make squeaky noises.

The damp cloth on his forehead slipped away, and Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed painfully. What the hell happened?

“Ichigo-kun...?” That voice. Now that he was starting to regain his senses, it sounded so much like... Orihime? The owner of the voice scooted closer and reached to touch his face again, and that was when Ichigo's eyes fully snapped open. He turned to face her, horror filling his amber eyes.

He was in a bed in a room that felt both familiar and foreign. This was definitely not his bed. He was shirtless. Next to him was... Orihime. In nightwear. In bed. With him.

"What the fuck?!" Ichigo screamed and leaped out of bed with the last bit of energy he had left, despite the fever that felt like it was boiling his blood. He fell to the floor and quickly scooted away as far as he could from both the bed and the terrified Orihime on it.

What the fuck?!

What the hell happened?

It was a nightmare.

It had to be a fucking nightmare.

...

It wasn't.

Notes:

Guys for a little bit explanation...

I think i am not being clear but everything will be explained in the upcoming chapters. It is actually not a dream but they are switching realities. Canon Ichigo is thrown into the reality of AU ichigo. The one who woke up next to orihime was the poor unlucky AU ichigo who got into the canon reality. So he was really shocked to see orihime in bed with him and he was calling for his wife rukia 😂

Oh and yes, in this fic Ichigo and Rukia did go out and had a whole romantic history in the canon universe before... you know, Rukia married Renji. Byakuya and everyone else might have something to do with the decision so that explained why canon-Ichigo kind of hated him.

Guys if you like the story, please tell me what you think of this chapter. Your comments really motivate me to write more! Thank you! :D

NB: sorry again for the grammar errors, I wrote this in like 3 hours XD