Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grains of Sand

.

.

The future, you see... does not wind down a single road. The future... diverges from a single point in time... like countless grains of sand scattering in the wind...

Now, if you could see them... each and every individual grain of sand would be considered a "future" which means there are as many "possibilities" as there are grains of sand...

If destiny is like a cog-wheel. We are the sands being crushed between them. There is nothing I can do. I just want power. If I can’t protect them by reaching out my hands. I want a blade within them. The power to crush destiny. Is similar to a blade being swung down.

It is rotating. If destiny is like a cog-wheel. We are the reason to why it spins. We step forward believing we are right. Towards the matching powers.

"For I shall find the future... that one moment in time where each of you feel the greatest amount of joy and happiness... and it is there, I shall slaughter you."

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.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

As ridiculous and stupid as it sounded, the very first thing he thought he needed to do that came into Ichigo's mind was to check if he was, despite being shirtless, still wearing his gray sweatpants—and, more importantly, his boxers. He glanced at Orihime, who was sitting there looking confused and frightened by his sudden outburst. Relief washed over him when he saw she was fully clothed in her short spaghetti strap nightwear. Although, he noted, it was a bit too short, too revealing—definitely not the kind of outfit to be worn in front of any man except her husband.

Chapter Text

Rukia wasn't home yet.

It was getting late; the clock on the wall had just ticked to 10 PM. Ichigo wasn’t sure when captains and vice-captains were supposed to finish work, but he hadn’t expected it to be this late.

Their daughter was sleeping peacefully on his chest, having insisted he read her favorite bedtime story, "The Great Adventure of Chappi-kun to Soul Society," at least three times before finally drifting off. On Rukia’s side of the bed lay their son, clad in his dinosaur-patterned green pajamas, sprawled out with his limbs in all directions. The two must have missed their dad terribly; they wouldn’t let him out of their sight for even a second. Ichigo didn’t mind—he cherished every moment, relishing being the center of their world.

Megumi had even asked him to stay during his private basic zanjutsu class with one of his tutors, eager to show off how much he had improved in the month Ichigo had been away. And Ichigo had to admit, the kid was impressive—almost too good for a five-year-old. No wonder he was considered a prodigy.

As Ichigo watched him train, he couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between them. It filled his heart with pride, seeing parts of himself reflected in Megumi.

But that pride was bittersweet, too, as it reminded him painfully of Kazui and how little he could see of himself in his son. Kazui was so clearly 100% Orihime. Ichigo loved Kazui deeply—his son was everything to him after his marriage to Orihime, the one thing that mattered when he felt like he’d lost it all. He longed to train Kazui, to create that special father-son bond during their sparring sessions, hoping to finally see himself reflected in his child. But Orihime always insisted that Kazui was still too young for such things.

Kazui was seven now, and Megumi was five.

Ichigo shook his head, reminding himself it wasn’t fair to compare them. Megumi was a product of his dreams, and any moment he could wake up, perhaps not even remembering what he had.

The shoji door slid open softly, and Ichigo looked up to see Rukia enter. She looked exhausted, dark shadows beneath her eyes, but her expression softened instantly upon seeing Ichigo and their children together. Sachi being pampered by Ichigo was nothing new, but seeing Megumi there too brought a smile to her face. Megumi had always played hard to get with Ichigo, despite secretly idolizing him more than anyone else in the world.

Rukia greeted Ichigo with a simple kiss on the lips. "Hi."

He leaned in, chasing her lips as she pulled away, making Rukia stifle a laugh. He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. "Hey, rough day?" he asked.

It was so typical of Ichigo. Even though Rukia knew she must look like a ghost right now—exhausted and deprived of sleep for what felt like a month—Ichigo gazed at her as if he never wanted to look away.

“Sorry I’m late,” she sighed, letting her head droop. “Nii-sama wanted to see me after work, so…”

“Everything okay?” Ichigo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rukia hesitated before responding. She searched his eyes, knowing that look she gave him when she had something to say but held back. Her gaze flicked briefly to Sachi and Megumi before returning to Ichigo, her expression softening.

She nodded twice, as if trying to convince herself, and squeezed his hand—a gesture meant to reassure him. “Everything’s fine,” she whispered, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Ichigo chose to ignore the slight tremor in her voice and the way her lips quivered.

He brought their entwined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle gently, lingering longer on her ring finger. “You can rest, Rukia. Take a warm bath,” he murmured. “I’ll put the kids to bed, alright?”

He sounded like the caring and loving husband she knew—her Ichigo. Rukia nodded and mouthed a soft “Okay…”

Ichigo carefully rose from the bed, still holding Sachi and doing his best not to wake her. He gently lifted Megumi too, cradling both of their sleeping children. The reflection in the large dressing mirror across from them captured a moment Ichigo wanted to remember forever: tall and strong, holding their kids, while Rukia tiptoed beside him to plant a goodnight kiss on them, her hands resting on his arm and shoulder. “Good night, babies,” she whispered softly, then pulled away as Ichigo playfully stole a quick kiss from the crown of her head.

They were such a happy family, and Ichigo could only wish that this moment was real.

Rukia had just finished her bath when Ichigo returned to their bedroom. She sat in front of her large dressing mirror, brushing her shoulder-length raven hair. As he approached the bed, her eyes caught his reflection.

“Otou-san called,” Rukia said. “He said he was sorry he couldn’t see you today, Ichigo. I think he’s still on his trip to Mt. Koifushi in Hokutan?”

Ichigo hummed, still processing how endearing it was to hear Rukia refer to his father as “otou-san.”

Rukia gracefully moved to her side of the bed, pulling back the covers. She paused to add, “Karin also said hi. She was sorry she couldn’t see you right away. It’s never easy getting permission to come in and out of the dorm…”

“…Shino Academy can be that strict,”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. So Karin was becoming a shinigami too? It felt fitting somehow.

“How is she?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Rukia curled closer to him, and Ichigo wrapped her in his arms, both of them settling comfortably together. Ichigo felt a rush of happiness, but guilt nagged at him too. He’d never even held Orihime like this during the night.

“She said she’s surprisingly enjoying her time at the academy,” Rukia said, “especially learning kido.”

Ichigo scoffed—he was terrible at kido. Rukia playfully patted his cheek, echoing his thoughts. “Unlike her idiotic brother here.”

“How about Yuzu?” Ichigo asked, sliding his hand down her back in a loving caress. “Did she call too?”

Rukia chuckled lightly. “Oh, everyone called. Your family, the Shibas, Ishida, and Orihime—”

Ichigo’s hand stilled at the mention of Orihime.

“—said she would visit, bringing her special okayu with soybean paste and… wasabi?”

Ichigo shuddered. He had had more than enough of Orihime’s cooking. If Rukia noticed his reaction, she was doing a good job of hiding it.

“Everyone’s so worried about you, you know, Ichigo?” she said gently.

Ichigo sighed and pressed another kiss to the crown of her head. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

He felt sorry that she had to worry so much for him.

He was also deeply sorry that it wasn’t her Ichigo who had returned to her.

They settled into a comforting silence for a while.

Rukia lifted her head from his chest to look at him, arching an eyebrow in question. She trailed her fingers over his clothed chest and abdomen, asking softly, “Ichigo…?”

He glanced down at her. “Hm?”

“When you were… unconscious for a month…” she chose her words carefully, “what did you dream about?”

Ichigo slid his hand over hers, his thumb brushing against the beautiful ring on her finger—the one that matched his. He swallowed hard, his voice low and husky. “Just a really bad dream, I guess…”

She raised her eyebrow higher, urging him to continue. “You can tell me,” she said, her voice softer, almost a whisper. “If you want to.”

He looked away, but she didn’t. Ichigo felt it in his bones—she was searching for something in him, persistently probing.

He held her hand tightly, as if drawing strength from it, and took a deep breath. “Remember what I told you about what that bastard—Yhwach—said to me in the final battle?”

That he would slaughter them all at their happiest.

Rukia tried to maintain her composure, but Ichigo noticed the alarm in her eyes. 

That look said it all. Yhwach was still a very real threat in this reality. That was why they had formed The Order of Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, as Renji had mentioned. That was why this Ichigo never stopped fighting tooth and nail to protect his family.

“Well, in my dream, I acted like a fool and a loser to keep him away,” he sighed, finding it difficult and embarrassing to reveal the truth.

He fell silent for a moment, and Rukia waited patiently.

She watched as Ichigo's expression hardened, his brows furrowing. “I lived my life in the gensei mostly as a normal human, wishing—no, knowing—that I was destined for something much more…”

He felt anger toward himself for giving up so easily, for allowing Yhwach to have the last laugh, ruining their lives and their chances at happiness. If only he hadn’t let her slip away—would they have had this? This happiness they all deserved?

“…but I did absolutely nothing about it. The power in my hand meant nothing, Rukia. It was as if Zangetsu had been drowning and I didn’t even try to fight for him.”

Finally, he looked back at her. Rukia saw the flash of gold in his amber eyes, filled with pent-up anger, disappointment, frustration, but mostly regret.

Ichigo knew exactly when he lost it all—the moment his downfall began. She had been the light that stopped the rain, and without her, he felt lost. The rain always overwhelmed him when she wasn’t there, because he always needed her as his driving force, the gear that pushed him forward, his source of power and will when he felt weak.

“I lost you.”

At his quiet confession, Rukia’s eyes widened, her hand gripping his t-shirt. It was unfathomable; she couldn’t imagine ending up with anyone but Ichigo.

“Ichigo…”

“I let you go,” 

“I let you go and I watched you marry someone else.” His tone was cold and dry, repeating it as if still in disbelief about what he had done.

Rukia’s gaze held words he couldn’t decipher. Did she feel pity? Was it worry he saw in her eyes?

Clearing her throat, she tried to lighten the mood, rubbing his chest gently. “What about you? Did you marry someone else too?”

His immediate response was a humorless chuckle.

Rukia’s reply was icy yet composed: “Oh.”

The tension dissipated instantly. It was endearing how she pouted and lightly pinched his waist, tickling him enough to elicit a laugh.

But the atmosphere shifted when Rukia narrowed her eyes at him, scowling. “Really, Ichigo? Who was it?”

That question should have been painful and ironic. He could never say Orihime’s name out loud; it would make it all too real.

Maybe he had gone insane already to find humor in all of this. Ichigo grinned boyishly with that familiar cockiness Rukia knew since he was 15. He wanted to enjoy this, Rukia being jealous. In his reality it was always him, being blatantly jealous of Renji. Rukia had always been good at masking her emotion.

At thirty-one, he really shouldn’t still look so ruggedly handsome. Rukia rolled her eyes and turned away, her back to him. “Forget it, I don’t even want to know.”

“Hey, come on,” he chuckled, pulling her back into his arms. She relaxed against his broad chest. “It was just a freaky nightmare, Rukia,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her neck. “And it didn’t stop me from longing for you.”

It was a confession, honestly spoken but perhaps carelessly, because part of him wished he was saying it to the right Rukia.

“Nothing made sense, and no one was happy,” he whispered against her skin, his lips lingering as he moved to leave soft kisses along her neck.

Rukia melted under his touch, a sigh escaping her lips that was utterly addictive to him. It had been far too long, and he had missed this.

She turned to face him, looking breathtaking as always, her lips pink and cheeks flushed. She cupped his face, her hands moving to stroke his spiky hair.

And then, as effortlessly as breathing, Rukia spoke the words that always brought him peace, her gaze flickering between his lips and eyes. “Can I say something?”

Ichigo hummed a sleepy okay.

Rukia exhaled a long sigh, her fingers caressing his cheeks tenderly, "Fool, you are not a loser..." she said, pausing to let her words sink in. “You’re not allowed to say that again, Ichigo—not in front of me, not ever.”

Silence fell between them for a moment as Rukia contemplated her words.

“I think what you did in the dream was brave…” Her half-lidded gaze held a distant, questioning look, as if she sensed it wasn’t just a dream. But Ichigo brushed that thought aside for now.

“Sometimes love isn’t just about happiness,” Rukia continued, her tone earnest. “Sometimes it’s about consistent selflessness—a willingness to sacrifice.”

Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight filtering through the shoji screen, making her look like the moon itself—a beauty he could only admire from afar.

“And I know it sounds cliché, but it might be true…” She bit her lower lip and nudged her nose against his, their mouths meeting in a sleepy kiss, soft and open.

“…that the love you sacrifice now will return to you tenfold, or even twentyfold—maybe hundreds or thousands more… you have to believe me on that.”

Ichigo stared at her in awe. Her words had a calming effect, washing away his worries.

Rukia then kissed him deeply and slowly, her lips soft and pillowy against his. He adjusted himself to lie on top of her, deepening the kiss as her arms circled his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He wrapped an arm around her slender waist, pulling her closer. He licked her upper lip, silently asking for permission, and Rukia opened her mouth, their tongues meeting in a sweet dance. They kissed like they never wanted to part.

It was the same warmth, the same soft sighs and moans he remembered from his own reality when they were together. Ichigo couldn’t bear the thought of this ending. How could he give it up, knowing how much he had missed?

Eventually, Rukia pulled away, her eyes still closed, mind hazy from the kiss. She nestled closer to him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, arms curling around his waist like a little spoon.

In the silence of their bedroom, Ichigo decided to say it, not willing to risk the chance of him waking up from this without telling her. It was the same words he told her the night he lost her forever in his reality. It was a wishful thinking on his part, maybe when he said this time, he would finally hear her saying it back. 

"I love you, Rukia," Ichigo murmured against the crown of her head. His voice was rough. "I just can't stop... and will never stop loving you, alright?"

Waiting for her reply was a torment.

But then Rukia shifted closer to him and there was a smile pressed against the skin under his jaw.

"And I love you, too, idiot..." she whispered softly and quietly in his ear, only for him to hear and Ichigo grinned like a fool in love.

"I love you here and there... now and then," 

She loved him too. Always. In every reality. Only this once, in this one, she was able to say it back out loud. This time she didn't have to break his heart and get her heart broken too in the price of protecting him.

In the silence of the night, in the comfort of Ichigo, Rukia closed her eyes, trying to sleep while her mind and heart were in a race with one another.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't understand what was going on.

But she knew it would have hurt less if it had been her Ichigo that came back to her instead.

In her attempt to drift to sleep, Rukia recalled the moment she had with her brother before going home tonight.

Rukia closed her eyes, trusting her brother with her insecurities. "Nii-sama... I—"

But Byakuya interrupted, his tone sharp and direct. "Renji reported sightings of The Patrol Corps outside the gates and near your home, Rukia. You understand that only a captain can request the assistance of The Stealth Force and The Patrol Corps on such short notice."

Rukia remained still. The old Rukia might have crumbled under his gaze, but now she was a respected captain of the Gotei 13.

"Now, enlighten me, Rukia. Why did you decide to send The Patrol Corps to guard your own home?" His question was straightforward; he wasn’t playing games.

Her stare was equally sharp, embodying the strength of a Kuchiki. "The same reason you kept Megumi at the Sixth all day," she countered, her gaze unwavering. "The same reason you sent Renji home early."

Ichigo had just woken up after a month in a coma. It made sense to let Megumi spend time with his father, didn’t it? Rukia knew Byakuya hadn’t sent Renji home merely to check on Ichigo; it was about ensuring Sachi’s safety.

This was the price they paid for happiness: the constant need to protect those they loved.

"It isn’t his hollow that’s in there, Nii-sama..." Rukia finally whispered, lowering her voice so no one else could hear.

Ichigo controlled his hollow; it was a part of him, not a threat to those he cared about. Accepting Ichigo meant accepting his hollow.

Byakuya's reply was swift. "It isn’t my brother-in-law in there either, Rukia."

Rukia bit her lip to hold back tears, her gaze hardening. She refused to cry in front of him.

"He is Ichigo."

"He is not our Kurosaki Ichigo."

Byakuya spoke the unspoken truth they both feared. Rukia trembled, her voice low and cracked as tears welled in her eyes. "But he is still Ichigo..."

In that moment, she was no longer the captain; she was just Rukia—his little sister, a wife terrified for her husband and the father of her children.

Byakuya felt guilt and shame wash over him, wishing he had done more to protect her—wishing he hadn’t let her down.

He saw the whirlwind of emotions in her violet eyes: sorrow, frustration, confusion, worry, and guilt. She was worried for her real husband. Where was he? Was he alive? Could he be brought back? Confused about the man before her who looked and acted like Ichigo but wasn’t him. Guilt for not trusting her husband alone with their children.

Byakuya shifted on the tatami mat and pulled her into a warm embrace, allowing her to cry on his shoulder. 

"We will make this right, Rukia."

He had failed her once, but he promised himself he wouldn’t fail her again.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Orihime sat quietly in the dining room, her hand gripping the coffee mug on the table as she stared vacantly at the dark, cloudless sky through the open window. The night breeze felt unusually cold, and she sensed that rain was on the way. Orihime walked lifelessly to the window still and contemplated whether she had to close it or not. Maybe not. 

Ichigo-kun (or should she really call him Kurosaki-kun now? Since he was not her husband anymore?) went out with Urahara-san this morning and had not come back ever since. 

Orihime wiped away the tears pooling in her eyes and shook her head repeatedly. How many times would she have to cry in this marriage? How many times would she have to cry for him?

She promised to love him in her every life time and guess what? She couldn't even keep him as hers in every universe? 

Deep down Orihime had always known the bitter truth, she didn't even have him as hers completely in her own universe. He belonged to her on papers and in the bed they shared. 

It was just his heart and mind had always belonged to someone else.

The front door clicked open and Orihime's head turned to peek at the doorway.

It was Kurosaki-kun.

He came home.

Relief washed over Orihime in an instant. She had feared he might have already found a way to run off to the Soul Society.

"You're not asleep yet?" Ichigo asked gruffly, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he leaned against the door frame. He was still in the same worn white t-shirt and grey sweatpants from that morning.

Orihime coughed nervously, trying awkwardly to hide her recently fallen tears and swollen red eyes. She couldn’t just admit she had been waiting for him to come back, could she?

"You came home," she said softly, more to herself than to him. She didn’t expect him to hear her—he rarely listened—but he did.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head as he walked closer. His voice was low, almost like he was answering himself, but Orihime caught his quiet mutter, "Of course I did."

Of course he had to come home, Ichigo thought to himself. He couldn't just leave her alone—not with that... that thing inside her son. Whether married to her or not, Ichigo had always been protective of his friends, especially Orihime. It wasn't that he thought she was weak; rather, he knew that if something went wrong, she wouldn’t be able to handle it when it came to her son.

He felt he owed this. If only Ishida in his universe would step in to protect Rukia and his children when he couldn't, then protecting Orihime and her son in the other universe was the least Ichigo could do to repay him at the moment.

"You... you didn't go to Soul Society to see Rukia-san...?" Orihime asked bravely, tightening her arms around herself.

If Ichigo was caught off guard by her direct question, he hid it well. He stood beside her, setting down his coffee mug and starting the coffee maker.

"Urahara told me I couldn't, remember?" he scoffed, replying nonchalanty.

He would go in an instant if he could.

It felt bitter and salty, and Orihime couldn't help her frustration anymore. His nonchalant demeanor irked her. She had been worried sick about him all day, and this was his response?

"She hasn’t visited us in three years." Orihime was surprised by her own voice—brave, cold, and bold.

"And why is that?" Ichigo's amber eyes bore into hers.

It was ironic that he asked her that. Maybe he should ask his other self in another universe; he would have the answer. Orihime tightened her grip on herself, urging herself not to cry. Don’t cry, Orihime. 

"Maybe she’s busy with her life? She’s a captain, after all, with a division to run," she replied.

Ichigo scoffed again, reminding her just how much of a cocky jerk he could be. This Ichigo acted exactly like the young Ichigo she had fallen deeply in love with. He irked her, sure, but it was him—the version of him she missed so much.

Despite her voice cracking, Orihime didn’t care if he saw that she was shaken; she met Ichigo’s gaze bravely. "She has a husband and a daughter to take care of, Kurosaki-kun."

She wanted to add that she couldn’t just come at his beck and call, but held her tongue.

She wasn’t sure if he knew. Perhaps Urahara had told him, or maybe not. Ichigo turned away, his toned arms resting on the kitchen table, his head hanging low.

After a moment, he regained his composure, crossing his arms and leaning back against the countertop beside her. "Who is it? Renji?"

His annoyed tone said it all, as if he were ready to punch the man for taking her away from him.

Orihime nodded meekly.

Ichigo let out a dry, sarcastic laugh sprinkled with blatant jealousy. "Yeah, what the hell," he muttered, shaking his head as if he’d just heard something utterly ridiculous, then returned to making his coffee.

His response made Orihime muse. It was truly the old sarcastic, arrogant Kurosaki-kun standing beside her. She realized just how much he had changed into someone else she didn't know since marrying her.

But she still loved him—didn't she?

Right?

That had been such an easy question once. It wasn't anymore.

Ichigo took a sip of his coffee, leaning against the countertop next to her again. Outside, it finally started to rain. A light breeze drifted through the open window behind Orihime, gently tousling her long hair.

"How old is Kazui?" He asked.

The question took Orihime by surprise. She hadn’t realized he cared about Kazui-kun at all. After Kazui came home from his school trip, he hadn’t even checked on his son, choosing to spend the day with Urahara instead.

"He’s seven," Orihime replied.

They must have married young—right after college, maybe? Ichigo mused.

He nodded, setting his mug down on the counter and crossing his arms again. "Is he a shinigami?"

Why did it feel like he was asking questions he already knew the answers to?

Orihime didn’t have an answer to that. She struggled to explain to Kurosaki-kun that her son could "change" into a shinigami and seemed to possess what they thought was a zanpakutou without separating his spirit from his body. It was a topic her Ichigo-kun often tried to discuss with her, but she always evaded it. She just wanted her son to be safe. He was just a little kid; he deserved a happy, normal childhood. Kazui-kun was different from Ichigo-kun—he didn’t need to fight or put himself in danger.

"We don't raise him as a shinigami, Kurosaki-kun." Her whisper came out defensively, as if the topic were taboo.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, which only irritated her more. "So you and your Ichigo never even train him?"

"He’s still a kid..." Orihime hissed. "We love him so much and are trying to give him as normal a childhood as possible..."

So being a shinigami was considered abnormal? Her husband was a shinigami, for heaven's sake.

"There's nothing wrong with being a shinigami," Ichigo replied.

Orihime realized how tone-deaf she sounded and wished she could take back her words. "No... of course not..." She took a deep breath. "He’s just too young, Kurosaki-kun... that's all."

Ichigo didn’t want to compare, but Megumi was only five and already excelled at sensing kidou and practicing swordsmanship with wooden swords. His son was a prodigy, recognized even by esteemed figures like Byakuya and Yoruichi.

"And does your husband agree with this?"

No. He doesn't. The answer was clear, but the words felt difficult to express.

Orihime nodded meekly, and Ichigo sensed she was hiding something from him.

"Why are you asking me all these questions, hm, Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime stepped away from the kitchen counter and stood in front of him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

Not that he cared. About her. About Kazui-kun.

It was so typical that ever since he woke up from his coma, all he cared about was Rukia-san, Rukia-san, Rukia-san, Rukia-san, and Rukia-san.

"What should I ask then?" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration.

She couldn’t even provide satisfactory answers about her own son, so what could he possibly ask her?

Should he really ask about his pathetic life? Why he had given up being a shinigami? Why he chose to marry her when he was clearly in love with someone else? Why he had a child with her at such a young age? Why they—all of them, Orihime included—chose to live in misery instead of fighting for the happiness they all deserved?

All the things he already heard from Urahara and Yoruichi back in the shoten. 

"Alright, let me ask you another question," his gaze hardened on her.

The rain fell more heavily outside, and the wind intensified. The window frames clicked against the sill, while the wind tousled Orihime's long hair. The room was dimmed as the thick clouds covered the moonlight.

His question was sharp and direct like his gaze on her, "Where the hell is Ishida in all of this?" 

What part did he play? What was that bastard even doing, isolating himself from his own friends?

Orihime's eyes widened, her mouth slightly open in shock. It felt as though Ichigo had asked a hurtful, mocking question.

"You said we haven't been in contact with him for... what? Years?"

Ichigo noticed tears welling up in Orihime's eyes, her body trembling as she fought to keep her bottom lip from quivering.

"Why?" His voice was husky yet gentle, but Orihime still sensed the intent behind his words was to wound her.

Hadn’t he hurt her enough already? Both then and now? This Ichigo and the one from her own world?

There was so much she could share, yet even more she couldn’t.

For one, she could tell him that everything fell apart the moment she told Ishida-kun she was pregnant with Ichigo-kun's baby, and that Ichigo-kun wanted to marry her because it was the right thing to do. She could tell Kurosaki-kun that Ishida-kun had been furious, that he had beaten Ichigo-kun senseless in a rage, all because of her.

But she couldn't tell him about the night Ishida-kun had knelt before her, pleading that choosing Kurosaki-kun was a mistake, insisting he could make her happy and had always cared for her deeply and the desperate words, "Don't marry Kurosaki, Orihime," escaping his lips honestly.

She could tell Kurosaki-kun that Ishida-kun didn't even show up at their wedding. But she couldn’t tell him how, the night before the wedding, Ishida called after she had gently prepared her gown, asking, "Are you happy...Orihime?" She had foolishly thought she could be happy with Ichigo-kun and hung up. Ishida called again, but she didn't answer. She cried in her sleep, and poor Yuzu-chan had to work hard to hide her swollen eyes the next day.

She could tell Kurosaki-kun that Ishida-kun hadn’t congratulated them directly when she gave birth to Kazui-kun.

Yet, she couldn’t tell him about the flowers Ishida sent anonymously to the birth of her son—daisies, chrysanthemums, tulips, and daffodils—symbols of spring and new beginnings.

She could easily say they hadn’t contacted Ishida-kun in years.

But she couldn’t tell him that Ishida-kun sent presents for Kazui's birthday each year for seven years, nor that he never missed sending her flowers on Orihime's own birthday. She couldn’t tell Kurosaki-kun that she had taken little Kazui-kun to Ishida-kun whenever he got sick, at least until Kazui-kun was three.

And she certainly couldn’t tell Kurosaki-kun that she often sought comfort at Ishida-kun's mansion whenever Ichigo-kun was being difficult, where Ishida-kun always welcomed her with warmth she couldn’t find from her husband.

Orihime sobbed even harder.

Realizing he might never get the answers he sought, Ichigo sighed, moved away from the counter, and gave her a supportive pat on the shoulder before walking off. It felt awkward; he was trying to see her as an old friend while she viewed him as the husband who never loved her.

Orihime stood frozen as Ichigo left the dining room and returned from Yuzu and Karin's old room with a blanket and pillow, setting up a bed for himself on the living room couch, letting her have their bedroom.

She stared at him in silence, and as he arranged his pillows, Ichigo glanced up.

"Go to sleep, Orihime. I'll be here," he said. It had been a long day for both of them, and after all her tears, he must have thought she needed rest.

Orihime nodded shyly and approached their bedroom door but paused to look back at him.

"Kurosaki-kun...?" she asked softly, fidgeting with the doorknob.

"Hm?" he replied, not looking her way as he lay back on the couch, his arms behind his head.

"In your reality, Kurosaki-kun..." Orihime bit her lip and took a deep breath. "...am I... happy?"

His answer was simple yet confident, a teasing smirk playing on his handsome face. "Yeah, very."

Tears slipped down Orihime's cheeks as she closed her eyes, a sorrowful smile forming on her lips.

"Good night... Kurosaki-kun..." she whispered shyly.

She softly closed the door, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor, clutching her chest with one hand.

It was the same question she had been asking herself, one she believed she already knew the answer to but never dared to admit.

Would she have been happy if she had chosen Ishida-kun instead of Kurosaki-kun?

Deep down, Orihime knew she would have.

Ichigo sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It was a relief that Orihime had left the window open; the sound of the rain and the cool breeze would help him fall asleep more quickly. He shifted, trying to retrieve something from his sweatpants pocket.

Urahara had returned his shinigami badge. He flipped it around. It still looked pretty much the same. 

He remembered when he lost his power, he still could hear Rukia's voice through his badge.

Ichigo's lips lingered on the badge. Telling her that he missed her like crazy to this badge wouldn't make a difference, would it? It was a wishful thinking on his part.

He fell asleep with the badge attached close to his heart and dreamed of Rukia and their dear children.

Earlier that day, Yoruichi was there the moment Ichigo entered the shoten. But it wasn’t just her; Ichigo noticed a dark figure looming behind her. It was his father, dressed in his shinigami robes, standing tall with his arms crossed over his bulky chest. The shinigami robes looked good on him. Ichigo pretended it didn't make him feel betrayed that his old man was back as a shinigami and leaving him alone in the gensei.

"So, the kid really did absorb the final vestiges of Yhwach's power?" Yoruichi asked, sounding like she had her suspicions already and finally got them confirmed.

Urahara was not playing around anymore. "Would now be the proper time to say I told you so, Yoruichi-san?"

"Shut it, Kisuke," Yoruichi scoffed. Name exactly the one time that Urahara was wrong. Almost never.

"Did you guys and that Ichigo really not know about it?" Ichigo asked in disbelief.

"It's extremely faint—Yhwach's dark energy within Kazui-kun. It's also likely masked by Kazui-kun's own spiritual energy, acting like a protective shell," Urahara explained. "Even the top captains can’t detect it," he added, tossing his fan and chuckling, "and let’s not forget, Kurosaki-san has always been terrible at sensing reiatsu, so I don't really put much hope in him..."

Yoruichi laughed at Ichigo’s muttering of "This bastard..." as he huffed in annoyance, his fist clenched.

"Let’s set that aside for now. The real question is how the kid managed to do that without getting himself killed," Isshin said, his expression serious, which seemed out of character for him.

Yoruichi sighed. "It would be simpler to say that the laws just don't apply on the kid; with him being a hybrid part of everything. He is Ichigo's son after all,"

Ichigo's heart clenched but didn't show it. He remained silent even even as he felt his father's intense gaze on him. It had never crossed his mind to have a child with anyone other than Rukia; the guilt gnawed at him, as if he were betraying her.

"It would be simpler, indeed." Urahara said, his eyes hidden by the shadows of his hat.

"However, we saw it back then in the war, Yoruichi-san. Shinigami powers, White's powers, and Kurosaki-san's part fullbring powers failed miserably to counter the power of The Almighty,"

Urahara paused and removed his hat.

"And yet, a particular shrift of Quincy powers could." 

Yoruichi narrowed her eyes at him. "Whatever do you mean, Kisuke? I told you the kid's hybrid of all things, he probably inherits Ichigo's Quincy powers too,"

"You're not listening to me, Yoruichi-san," Urahara replied, his wordplay evident again.

"He might inheret Quincy's powers from Masaki, but Ichigo's Quincy powers have always been overshadowed by the sheer raw and destructive power of his hollows," Isshin explained it instead, clearly aligning with Urahara more quickly than Yoruichi and Ichigo themselves. 

"Ichigo has no Quincy abilities, but he has the “potential” to utilize standard abilities, like all Quincy. He has no shrift." Isshin added. 

Urahara nodded. "As for now we only know one shrift power that could possibly stand against The Almighty. The one that is able to counter it." The ex-captain of the 12th division said, casting a knowing glance at Ichigo. 

Ichigo's eyes widened in shock. 

The Antithesis.

Ishida's shrift.

It was becoming clear now why Urahara asked him about how they handled the remnant's of Yhwach's reiatsu back in his world. There was no other way to annihilate it. It had to be with Ishida's antithesis to counter Yhwach's power and Ichigo's destructive getsuga as the final killing blow.

"The Antithesis reverses the effects of events between two objects. While it may not be the strongest shrift overall, it is particularly effective against The Almighty..."

"...No matter what Yhwach attempted to do to harm Kazui-kun, the Antithesis reversed it, making it seem as if Kazui-kun acted against Yhwach instead," Urahara explained.

"What are you implying, Kisuke..." Yoruichi said, gritting her teeth dangerously.

"The truth we already know, Yoruichi-san...," Urahara replied solemnly.

He didn’t sugarcoat it in front of Ichigo.

"The kid is a mix of a Quincy with Antithesis power and a fullbringer with rejection abilities..."

"...essentially, Yhwach couldn’t touch him back then."

"That’s a very serious accusation, Kisuke..." Yoruichi's fists clenched. As a woman who cared deeply for Orihime, she felt protective. Kisuke Urahara might be the smartest man around, but he had no right to question the kid's parentage in front of the girl's father-in-law and an alternate version of her husband.

"You said Kazui's a shinigami," Ichigo said, surprisingly calm. Urahara noted his clenched fist and thought, or maybe not.

As they made their way to the shoten, Urahara told Ichigo that he had heard Kazui-kun already possessed shinigami powers.

"I only shared what I heard, not what I've seen," Urahara explained.

A smirk crossed Urahara's face as Ichigo finally snapped and grabbed his collar once more.

"Get to the point, damnit," Ichigo hissed, sounding so lethal. He was so tired of the older man's wordsplay.

"It is not the first time we mistaken Quincy powers as shinigami powers, is it, Kurosaki-san?" Urahara grinned again as he felt Ichigo's loosening grip on him.

Ichigo knew Urahara was referring to Zangetsu and he was not wrong.

"Kazui-kun manifests his shinigami robes and what we assume as a zanpakutou without ever leaving his body. We never see his zanpakutou scabbard, do we? Where the hell could he possibly acquire a real asauchi? For all we know it can be the manifestation of his Quincy or Fullbring powers."

"The kid..." Urahara glanced at Isshin, then to Yoruichi, and finally Ichigo, "... is not a shinigami."

Ichigo was stunned, detached from reality and too confused to react. How was he supposed to respond?

It wasn't him feeling betrayed by this revelation, nor was it his marriage falling apart. Yet he could vividly imagine how deeply it would hurt if this Ichigo discovered that his son wasn't really his. How much pride would be wounded knowing that his best friend was actually the father? Did Orihime know? Had she truly betrayed him?

Isshin came up behind Ichigo, patting him on the shoulder before pulling him into a comforting hug, like a father offering solace to his son in a time of need.

"We've been making mistakes for too long, and we'll make it right, son."

It might not be his true son standing before him at that moment, but it was still Ichigo. His son had endured so much, and Isshin would do everything in his power to help him.

Chapter Text

I will light a fire on an unreachable fang,
so that I won't have to see that star,
so that I won't let it tear at my throat.

Renji counted the remaining boxes one last time to make sure that nothing was left behind. The red-haired vice captain was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Rukia approaching from behind, leaning her petite frame against the doorframe of his bedroom. The golden light of the nearly dusk sky bathed her in a soft glow. 

Renji glanced at the clock on the wall. The Rukia he knew never left her office until it was close to midnight. He guessed she wasn’t as heartless as she seemed—she had come to see him off after all.

"I told you, there was no need to make this a big deal," he said, turning away, afraid that if he looked at her, he might reconsider leaving.

"Who said anything about making it a big deal?" Rukia replied, raising an eyebrow, a playful yet melancholic smile tugging at her lips.

"Heh, you're right," Renji said with a small laugh, scratching the back of his head.

Renji took one final look at his now-empty room.This was it—the end of another precious chapter in his life. He was leaving the home he had shared for the past ten years. Their divorce had been finalized at the 74th Central Court the day before, and they were no longer husband and wife.

As the respected vice-captain of the Sixth Division, Renji earned a good salary. He was able to purchase a nice house in the southeastern part of Seireitei—a home with three bedrooms and a spacious backyard where Ichika could train. It wasn’t too far from the one he was leaving behind, but not too close either.

As for Ichika, she would be living with him. There had been no custody battle or dispute; after all, Ichika had always been an Abarai, never truly a Kuchiki.

"Looks like I’m good to go..." Renji mumbled.

Rukia remained where she was, leaning against the doorframe, unmoving. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes were hidden beneath the shadow of her bangs.

Even on the last day, Renji still foolishly clung to the hope that she would ask him to stay, that she would want him back.

Everyone was right—he’d always been an idiot.

"You take care, alright?" Renji said quietly. Rukia nodded but still didn’t look up.

Maybe, contrary to what he thought, this wasn’t easy for her either.

He patted her shoulders twice and took a deep breath. Of all the things he’d ever imagined happening in his life, divorcing Rukia was never one of them. 

Rukia grabbed his shihakushou and pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment, Renji was too stunned to hug her back.

"Thank you, Renji..." Rukia murmured softly against his chest.

And in that moment, Renji finally smiled—a genuine smile.

No regrets.

With his lips brushing the crown of her head, he whispered back, "You're not alone, and you'll always have me, alright, Rukia?"

One of the hardest parts about leaving her was the thought of Rukia being alone again, trying to handle everything by herself without asking for help.

Their marriage might be over, and they might no longer share the same address, but Renji made two hard promises.

First, Ichika would always be loved by both her parents. Second, the friendship he shared with Rukia would remain unbreakable.

It was a widely known fact after the war—though never officially announced to everyone—that Ichigo and Rukia were together. The exact beginning of their relationship might even date back further than the end of the Thousand-Year Blood War; Renji suspected that idiot, Ichigo, might have confessed his feelings during the Fullbring era, when he thought he learned the hard way that he just could not live without Rukia in his life.

They never tried to hide it. Their feelings were evident in the way they looked at each other and the way they acted around one another.

Ever since the end of the war, Ichigo had never been the same.

Rukia had told him about Ichigo's relentless night terrors and nightmares—how he would sweat, toss, and scream in his sleep, making it painful for her to watch.

The dreams were mostly about Yhwach, haunting him during his happiest moments and slaughtering those he loved most.

That was also why Rukia had received official permission to see him regularly in the Gensei.

The Captain Commander granted her this privilege for three years, allowing her to ensure that the most powerful man across all three realms had the support he needed during such a difficult time. This showed how aware everyone in the Gotei 13 was of Rukia's significance in Ichigo's life.

Their time together was, ironically, dated from the start.

Time was ticking, and Ichigo wasn’t getting better. Instead, his reliance on Rukia grew stronger, leaving Renji to wonder how much Ichigo would break when Rukia ultimately had to let him go. 

The Gotei 13's request to Central 46 of Ichigo's admittance as one of the permanent shinigami in Seireitei was heavily debated. It was his right if he wanted to stay in Soul Society, they shouldn't stand in the way of his will. He was their hero, he deserved basically anything that they could give him.

Renji heard about all kind of rumors at that time and he didn't know which one was to believe. The Central 46 and the Royal Palace opposed the idea. Despite having technically won the war, they still felt as though they had lost.

They fully understood the deadly threat Yhwach posed and were aware of the heavy price that needed to be paid—mostly by Ichigo and his friends—to prevent Yhwach and the Wandenreich from rising ever again.

The Thousand-Year Blood War was one of the darkest chapters in Soul Society’s history, and it could take over a century to rebuild and recover from what was lost. Strong soldiers aren’t made overnight, and it might take a long time to restore their strength against such formidable foes. The current Gotei 13 couldn’t withstand another war against Yhwach and his armies, and Central 46 held firmly to the belief that they couldn’t afford to take that risk again.

Ichigo had been summoned by The Central 46 multiple times during the last three years after the end of the war. He never told Renji about the details of his visits or the offers and demands the old geezers at The Court asked of him.

Ichigo only said that The Central 46 were full of bullshit.

The Central 46 knew the negotiations they had with Ichigo himself were mostly futile and decided to go on different approach.

After all, the surest way to strip someone of their happiness was simple: remove the source of light in their life.

In Ichigo's case, everyone knew exactly what that was—Kuchiki Rukia, and the pride he held as a Shinigami.

Renji always thought of Rukia as a walking contradiction.

Her selflessness was both her greatest strength and her deepest vulnerability, just like her unwavering dedication to her duty as a Shinigami and her position in the Gotei 13.

Yet, all of this could be easily swayed by the control Ichigo Kurosaki held in her heart. It was evident from the moment Rukia met Ichigo—how she acted selflessly, giving him her power and defying the very laws she had always upheld at the same time.

Ichigo Kurosaki was both Rukia's greatest strength and her most profound weakness.

And The Central 46 and The Gotei 13 were very well aware of it. 

Rukia knew that Ichigo's recurring nightmares were undeniable evidence, that no matter how well he tried to hide it, Yhwach's lingering threat haunted him and stirred fear deep within.

The order from The Central 46 and Gotei 13 to Rukia was simple: to protect him by walking away. Ichigo could live the rest of his life in the human world, build a career, start a family, and simply... be human. He could remain a substitute Shinigami for as long as he wished, and he would be free to live his life without the constant threat of danger lurking in the shadows, haunting him.

Rukia loved Ichigo. She loved him with every ounce of her being. And sometimes loving someone could mean a consistent selflessness—a willingness to sacrifice.

Just like the way the night she kicked his hand, called him a mere human, and offered herself to Renji and Byakuya, just like the way she made peace with death and screamed at him to leave her alone on The Sokyouku Hill, just like all those times, Rukia decided to let Ichigo go for the sake of his safety.

Three years after the war, Rukia ended her relationship with Ichigo. She had always been reluctant to open her heart, and Renji could only watch as she tried to carry the burden of their break up alone.

It was painful to watch. She was slowly becoming the old Rukia before Ichigo came along; a closed book, lonely, distant, and cold.

There had been no contact between Rukia and Ichigo since then. Renji heard about Ichigo's multiple attempts to cross the Garganta to see her, but the Gotei 13 wouldn’t permit his entry. His request to become a permanent Shinigami in the Gotei 13 was ultimately denied for the sake of everyone involved.

It was cruel but it was the sacrifice Rukia was willing to make.

After the war, Rukia and Renji made it a routine to visit the Inuzuri district of southern Rukongai.

About ten months after she ended things with Ichigo—on that hill in Rukongai where they buried their old friends—Renji finally got Rukia to open up.

The scenery was serene, etched into Renji's memory. He recalled it was dusk and the golden hour rays illuminated her perfectly, as if crafted to highlight Rukia's grace and beauty.

He remembered her words, spoken softly like a whisper. "The clan wants me to get married," her eyes were fixed on the beautiful view of Seireitei in the distance, the brisk wind tousling her shoulder-length hair.

"Nii-sama is sorting through the marriage proposals," she said with a wry laugh, as if she had lost her mind.

It seemed that if the higher-ups of Seireitei—acting on behalf of the Royal Palace through the Kuchiki clan—could just arrange Rukia's marriage, it might finally put an end to all of Ichigo Kurosaki's efforts and shatter all his hopes to win her back.

"They're all coming from the top noble families, Renji, but you wouldn’t believe how many papers Nii-sama has to trash in the bins."

They returned, the invisible painful strings pulling at Renji's heart. He had lost her once to Byakuya and a second time to Ichigo; he couldn’t bear to lose her a third time to someone she barely even knew.

Renji asked, attempting to lighten the mood, "And you, you're okay with that? I thought you were never a fan of those stuck-up noble asshats, Rukia?" 

She let out another small laugh, but it wasn't sincere or happy. 

"That sucks, you really have no way outta it?"

Rukia shrugged like it wasn't a big deal; distant, cold, almost heartless. "It will happen eventually, sooner or later,"

Finally, she turned to face him, her violet eyes sparkling like golden stars. "It has always been my duty, Renji," Rukia whispered, embodying her role as a respected heiress of the Kuchiki clan and a soldier of the Gotei 13.

The realization struck Renji. After all these years, while much had changed, some things remained the same.

He was reminded of his inability to fight against Rukia's ascension into nobility years ago.

He would not let it happen again. Not now.

It would make him sound like a mad man or maybe he had turned insane already, Renji didn't care.

"Or you could just marry me," Renji blurted out, clenching his fists.

He did sound crazy and Rukia's violet eyes widened in surprise.

"Are you out of your mind—"

"No, just listen to me, Rukia," he said as he walked toward her, his steps uncharacteristically floppy. He grabbed her shoulders firmly and refused to look away.

Label him a loser or the biggest fool in all three realms if they wanted—Renji was not going to lose her again.

There was worry etched on her face, the fear of having to break her childhood best friend's heart.

Rejection was evident in her eyes.

"Renji, you know I haven't..."

She hadn’t moved on, not even a little. 

"Oi, oi, no, no, you got me wrong, idiot," Renji laughed it off, so much reminded her of his youthful self, in a way he tried to act nonchalant the moment Rukia told him she was about to get adapted by the Kuchiki-clan.

"I know, okay, and trust me, Rukia, I don't even feel that way about you, alright?"

Rukia squinted her eyes, feeling confused and anxious about where Renji was headed with this.

“You could marry me, you know, as best friends. All platonic, Rukia. Listen to me, it may sound crazy—"

"—absolutely crazy," Rukia chimed in, looking adorably confused.

"—but it would save you from dealing with those stuck-up noble assholes you barely know. They’re the worst—you should know better.”

He acted like rambling fool, reminding her so much of that moment in the academy when he told her to accept the proposal from the Kuchikis. Rukia gently took his hands off her shoulders and muttered softly, just as she had years ago, “I don’t want to hurt you,”

Because her heart belonged to another man and likely always would.

He let her go at that time, he wouldn't make the same mistake. Renji held her hands, their cold softness contrasting sharply with his calloused ones. "And you're not going to, Rukia."

His heart broke but his mouth couldn't stop blabbering the opposite. "I'm not an idiot, I know the situation you have with Ichigo. Hell, that dumbass is my best friend too. This is me offering my self to be there for you, I'm your best friend, Rukia, you don't have to bear it all this shit alone, you can always share your burden with me,"

"Come on, oi! It’d be fun, Rukia! Just like the old days here in Inuzuri, you and I living together as best friends, navigating life and adventures, right?”

Rukia stayed quiet. A platonic marriage with someone she had known her entire life—someone she had shared her childhood with, someone she could call her best friend before Ichigo came along, someone she considered family and trusted with her life—was undoubtedly far better than agreeing to the marriage her clan was planning for her.

Noticing her silence and the multitude of thoughts probably racing through her mind, Renji pulled her into a tight embrace, providing her with warmth and protection. He held her close, gently stroking the back of her head. "Baka... you can never hurt me,”

Waiting for her anwer was another kind of torment. He was pretty sure he was going to be rejected.

She held onto the front of his shihakushou and relief washed over Renji when she laughed wryly, “You’re an idiot.” 

"Heh, I probably am," Renji scoffed.

When Rukia looked up, Renji's heart nearly burst at the sight of her breathtakingly sincere smile.

Rukia mouthed a silent thank you and Renji grinned at her and pinched her cheeks to ease the serious tension between them. "What's with that face, huh, wifey? Aren't you happy that you're going to marry me?" 

In the back of Renji's mind, Zabimaru chimed in, calling him all sorts of names: moron, moron, moron, moron.

After all these years, nothing changed much.

He had always been the stray dog howling at an unreachable star.

They announced their intention to marry as soon as possible, and surprisingly, Byakuya was being exceptionally supportive. Renji thought it was the logical choice for the Captain too, considering Renji was one of the few people Kuchiki Byakuya truly trusted. While his captain understood that their marriage would be platonic, he chose to remain silent about it. Rukia's well-being, safety, and comfort were his top priorities.

On the other hand, the Kuchiki Clan vehemently opposed Byakuya's decision to give Renji Rukia's hand in marriage. They remained as obstinate as ever, refusing to accept him simply because he wasn’t of noble blood.

To them, he was just another street rat that Byakuya had brought into the family. However, Byakuya was the Head of the Clan, and no amount of protest from the meddling aunts and uncles would sway him from what he believed was best for his sister.

The wedding was just three days away, and Ikkaku wasn’t holding back. Despite having a liquor in hand, he remained as sober as ever.

"You're a moron," he said to Renji, his tone serious, like a brother trying to set him straight for his own good.

"You're a fucking moron if you think marrying her will make Kuchiki eventually fall in love with you."

Renji took another sip of his drink. 

Yeah.

He knew that. He was an idiot.

They were married in the spring. Despite Renji's efforts to convince himself that he knew his place and expected nothing from Rukia, deep down, he was just a foolish man with a hopeful yet bitter heart.

It became clear when Renji felt a surge of jealousy upon learning that Ichigo likely spent the night with Rukia just days before the wedding. Renji pretended not to know, accepting that they probably deserved one last moment together.

Still, it wasn't fair and pathetic that Renji rubbed salt on Ichigo's wound on his wedding day, urging him to pursue Orihime, claiming she had waited for him too long. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were bullshit. He knew Ichigo never saw Orihime that way. It was unlike him to bring her up, and it wasn’t his place to say. He wasn’t proud of it, and after that, he no longer felt worthy of calling himself Ichigo's best friend.

It was petty of him to sulk when Rukia insisted on keeping her Kuchiki name, refusing to take on Abarai as her last name.

And though he wasn’t proud of it, he secretly enjoyed the way people saw him and Rukia in the Soul Society—part of a young, powerful, married couple, both successful and famous vice-captains.

He took quiet satisfaction in the envy of two-thirds of the male Shinigami, knowing he was the one Rukia had chosen.

Their routine after they got married didn't change much. The difference was Rukia wouldn't have to be so lonely. They left for work together, and sometimes Renji would visit the Thirteenth Division to have lunch with her. Rukia was always late, but Renji, ever the doting husband, would wait patiently to walk her home. Afterward, they’d have a late dinner together before retreating to their separate rooms in the Kuchiki-Abarai mansion.

Renji never touched her. There were no kisses, no cuddles as a couple might share, and no whispered sweet nothings.

At times, Renji tried to flirt a little, to show Rukia a softer side, hoping she would see him as more than just a best friend—hoping to finally take that step and break free from the friend zone he felt trapped in. But Rukia always seemed indifferent, and Renji wasn’t sure if she even noticed.

A year, five years, and ten years passed. Renji held true to his words. He never crossed any boundaries as long as she never let him. 

The topic of an heir was a taboo for the Kuchiki Clan council. They were vehemently opposed to the idea of Rukia having a child with another "street rat" they didn’t approve of. The council still clung to the hope that she would eventually change her mind and dissolve the marriage. They had made it clear that they would never accept any heir born of Renji Abarai, deeming such a child unworthy of the Kuchiki name.

Byakuya never pressured Rukia about an heir. He fully understood the nature of her and Renji's platonic marriage and remained supportive of whatever decisions Rukia chose to make.

A year after their marriage, during another routine trip to Inuzuri, Renji and Rukia stumbled upon a baby abandoned in a run-down shack in one of the roughest parts of Southern Inuzuri.

She was so tiny, her skin dry, and her cries faint from severe dehydration. In Rukongai, a baby shouldn’t feel thirst unless she possessed unusually high spiritual energy.

A baby like her wouldn’t survive the harsh life of Inuzuri.

Renji couldn’t help but marvel at the parallels in their lives. He had met Rukia in Inuzuri, and together with their friends, they had made their own family. Now, they had found another little soul in need of a loving home, and they were both eager to provide it.

The once quiet halls of the Kuchiki-Abarai mansion wouldn’t stay silent for long. Soon, the sound of little footsteps would echo through the corridors of their empty engawas.

As Rukia cradled the tiny baby in her arms, Renji found himself foolishly imagining that she was theirs, hoping that if he believed it long enough, it might become their reality.

Ironically, the baby had red hair, just like his, but pale skin, like Rukia.

"I’d name her Ichika," Rukia said with a proud smile. "Ichika Abarai."

"What do you think, Renji?" she asked.

Ichika meant Strawberry flower.

Renji nodded, leaning down to kiss the crown of the baby's head. "I think it suits her perfectly."

The child would be so loved as though she were truly their own.

During the early years of their marriage, Rukia never mentioned Ichigo. Not even once. Perhaps she was trying to protect his heart.

Their marriage might be platonic, but perhaps Rukia was determined to honor the vows they had shared, preserving the purity of their marriage.

Renji, however, would bring up Ichigo in their conversations, hoping to keep her heart from growing cold, ensuring she remained connected to her emotions, knowing that his love alone might not be enough. 

It wasn't until news of Orihime's pregnancy and the sudden wedding that Rukia’s perfect, cold façade finally cracked, allowing Renji a brief glimpse into what she truly felt and thought.

Ichigo and Orihime married abruptly, around two years after Renji and Rukia’s wedding. Both were still very young—Ichigo hadn't even finished university, and Orihime had to leave school due to her pregnancy.

The implications behind their action were heavy but Rukia never even asked. It amazed Renji how Rukia could remain so classy and graceful, even in the face of heartbreak and disappointment.

They sent bouquets of flowers and congratulatory cards, but never attended the wedding in person.

That night, Renji saw deeper into her soul than ever before. She sat alone on the engawa, her eyes fixed on the dark sky as if she was counting the stars. A bottle of red wine sat beside her. Rukia rarely drank enough to get drunk, but tonight her cheeks were flushed with a rosy tint.

"Hey," Renji said softly, sitting next to her.

She avoided his gaze, but Renji pulled her close, wrapping his strong arm around her shoulders.

"Renji, I..." she began, her voice soft as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. 

He pictured how painful it must be for her to watch the love of her life marry someone else and have a child with them. Part of him wanted to beat the shit out of Ichigo for going through with this, but Renji knew he had no right to feel that way.

"You know I’ll always be here for you, right?" he murmured, his lips brushing her forehead.

Rukia nodded and leaned in closer. "I’m sorry."

Two years into their marriage, though she never once mentioned Ichigo, it was obvious her feelings for him hadn’t changed. She hadn’t moved on, not even a little.

Years passed, and Renji realized he was a fool for thinking time would heal all wounds. Despite knowing his marriage to Rukia had changed almost nothing, he had foolishly hoped that Ichigo having a son with Orihime might alter things between the four of them.

It hadn’t.

Renji saw it the moment they reunited after years apart, at Sado’s boxing match when Orihime invited everyone from their old school for a small reunion. A decade had passed since everything they’d been through.

Ichigo was still in love with Rukia. It was obvious in the way he looked at her and acted around her. Renji wasn’t sure if Orihime noticed, but Ichigo’s feelings were painfully clear. His attention always shifted to Rukia whenever she was in the room—she was still the ray of light in his life, even after all these years. Renji didn't even need to confront the man. 

It was near midnight, and everyone had already fallen asleep in the living room. Renji cradled a sleeping Ichika, about to call Rukia to head home. But he paused in the doorway leading to the kitchen. He knew he should give them their privacy, but his pettiness got the better of him.

Ichigo stood too close to Rukia by the kitchen sink, with her leaning against the counter beside him. The moonlight streaming through the window cast shadows on their figures as they spoke in hushed tones, too quiet for Renji to hear.

Ichigo looked a little furious, and in the way only Rukia could, she tried to calm him down with her icy glare. They continued talking, and at one point, Ichigo replied with that arrogant smirk and scoff, reminding Renji of the cocky bastard Ichigo had always been. Their dynamic hadn’t changed, even after a decade apart.

“I’m being serious,” Rukia said, her voice low, arms crossed, her gaze locked on Ichigo.

“And I’m not?” he replied, clearly enjoying the attention she was giving him.

He leaned in closer, trapping her between the counter and his muscular arms. He was too close—dangerously close to crossing their unspoken boundaries—but Rukia remained composed.

“You have a son,” she reminded him, her voice soft yet firm, a painful truth hanging in the air.

Ichigo leaned in even further, their noses nearly touching. “And?" He paused, "that doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t spent a single day without thinking about you, Rukia...”

“Ichigo—” Rukia began, but Renji had heard enough.

He cleared his throat, making his presence known as he walked into the kitchen, still cradling Ichika. Rukia immediately pushed Ichigo away, and that arrogant bastard didn’t even bother turning to face him. Renji knew he should hate him, but for some reason, he couldn’t.

“Yo, Rukia, let’s head home,” Renji said, doing his best to sound indifferent, though his blood was boiling.

Ichigo gave a half-hearted wave, not even bothering to see them to the door.

That was the last time they saw Ichigo, the last time they ever stepped foot in the Gensei. After that, Rukia never made an effort to visit him again.

Their first major quarell erupted the moment they returned to the Kuchiki-Abarai mansion after Renji had tucked little Ichika into bed. They had fighted before, but never like this—never about this.

"He’s still fucking in love with you, Rukia," Renji said, the words cutting deeply. "You know he is."

Rukia apologized, saying she should have known better, but insisted, "Nothing happened, Renji."

Renji snorted rudely, "Oh, for fuck's sake, Rukia, you know something would have happened if I hadn’t barged in there."

Renji was furious and irrational. He wondered if Rukia was truly oblivious to his feelings towards her all these years or if she was just in denial.

The way she looked at him now seemed to ask why he was angry, why he was acting jealous—why it mattered now, after all these years.

After all these years?

"I'm hurting you," Rukia finally said amidst their argument. "I told you, Renji, I'm not going to do this if I’m hurting you."

This. This ridiculous marriage.

Stupid Renji would have denied it just to keep Rukia in his life. But not anymore.

They were both hurting, Ichigo was hurting—no one was happy. 

At some point, this bullshit had to end.

Renji fell silent, realizing it was over.

In the end, they decided to wait until Ichika was at least ten before ending things completely.

He had lost countless of battles but it was absurd how he had gotten her only to completely mess it up in the end.

Zabimaru echoed in the back of his mind.

After all, he had always been the stray dog howling at an unreachable star.

Chapter Text

Ichigo usually looked more peaceful when he slept. His brows relaxed, his scowl softened, and his handsome features appeared at ease. But this time, though his eyes remained shut, his brows were furrowed, as if troubled by a bad dream.

Sitting quietly at the edge of his bedside, Rukia reached out in the way she always had—her fingers brushing lightly against his glabella, smoothing the creases with her gentle touch. And, as always, it worked. The tension faded.

Dressed in her uniform and ready to leave, Rukia found it hard to pull herself away. The Order of Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni was set to hold a meeting that morning at their headquarters at The Kuchiki-Kurosaki mansion. The Fourth Division would present the findings from Ichigo's blood tests and brain scans.

Ichigo stirred, shifting to shield his eyes from the morning light streaming through the window. "...time is it?" he asked in a husky, sleep-laden voice, his eyes still closed.

"About 6:30," Rukia replied.

Ichigo groaned, muttering 'the hell' under his breath, and opted to try to sink back into sleep.

A bittersweet smile tugged at Rukia's lips. He sounded and behaved just like her Ichigo. For a fleeting moment, her heart foolishly clung to the hope that he truly was. Maybe he was her Ichigo, and she was the one turning crazy.

The shoji door slid open slightly, and a small head peeked through the gap. Quiet, chubby footsteps padded across the floor before Rukia scooped her daughter into her arms with a warm smile.

The little girl settled into her mother’s lap and rested her head against Rukia’s chest.

“Why are you up so early? Did you have a bad dream, Sachi-chan?” Rukia whispered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. Sachi closed her eyes again, still sleepy and content in her mother’s embrace.  

Little Sachi shook her head sweetly. "I miss you, Kaa-chan, berry, berry, berry much."

Rukia smiled wistfully. Since Ichigo's absence, she had been so consumed by her duties in the division that she rarely had time for her children—and the guilt weighed heavily on her.

"I miss you too, baby," she said softly. "I'm sorry I've been so busy. But now that Tou-chan is back with us, let's spend lots of time together, okay?"

Sachi nodded eagerly, and Rukia leaned in to gently rub her nose against her daughter's in an Eskimo kiss, drawing peals of laughter from the little girl.

The sound of Sachi's joyful giggles stirred Ichigo awake. Slowly, he opened his eyes, expecting to find himself back in his own reality—next to Orihime, preparing for a job that drained the life out of him. Last night, when he held Rukia, he had braced himself for that dream to vanish as it always did.

But this time, as his vision cleared, the dream hadn’t vanished. It was still here. They were still here—Rukia, their children, their perfect life.

He watched as Rukia, so gentle and soft-spoken with their daughter, smiled tenderly. He had seen glimpses of this tenderness when she was with Megumi, but with their little girl, it was even more adorable.

Sitting up, Ichigo found himself close to them. Sachi, nestled in her mother’s arms, peeked over Rukia’s shoulder and shyly greeted him. "Hi, Tou-chan."

Rukia turned slightly, realizing how close Ichigo was. Her gaze softened as she caught the way he was looking at them—his expression full of unspoken love and yearning.

She was already dressed in her captain's haori, her shoulder-length hair styled half-up, half-down. Ichigo couldn’t recall ever seeing her like this in his world, but he decided right then how much he liked it. She was stunning—more beautiful than he ever remembered, even here in this dream.

"Hey," Rukia said, snapping him out of his daze.

"Hey," Ichigo replied. Their closeness made it easy for him to lean in and kiss her good morning. He wanted to—desperately.

Noticing the intensity in his gaze, Rukia flushed and cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing away. "I’ve already prepared your uniform. We have a meeting early—at 7:30," she told him. "I will be heading down the HQ earlier, since Nii-sama usually arrives before the meeting and he won't be happy if we're not at all ready,"

He hadn’t known there was a meeting today.

Sensing his confusion, Rukia explained, "Hana and the rest of The Fourth are going to give us detailed information of your condition, Ichigo, and with you finally waking up, The Order will have to decide where we'll go from here, since we have not sensed any traces of Yhwach's reiatsu again, after that night."

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck and nodded. "Alright," he replied simply.

Rukia looked at him then, her violet eyes searching for something—answers, perhaps, to questions Ichigo didn’t even know how to ask. Maybe she already knew the truth: that he wasn’t hers, and she wasn’t his.

She bit her lower lip, as though weighing her words carefully, before finally speaking. "I’ll send Renji to guide you to the headquarters, alright?"

Her gaze was still tender, but there was a quiet understanding behind it, a bittersweet acceptance.

She knew.

Ichigo nodded again. "Yeah, that’s fine." 

She looked at him for a moment longer before gently ruffling his spiky hair with a playful smile. "See you later, Ichigo."

Ichigo nodded and waved as she turned away.

It struck him as painfully ironic. Just last night, he had held her in his arms, kissed her, and confessed that he could never stop loving her. Yet now, there was a quiet, familiar boundary between them—like the days before they became a couple. The yearning was still there, but so was the invisible line they hesitated to cross.

Rukia picked up Sachi, who immediately began to protest, asking if she could stay with her Tou-chan. Walking hand in hand with the mini version of her, Rukia reassured her with a soft smile, saying, "Byakuya-jiji is here, and he’d be upset if his favorite niece didn’t greet him at the gate." The mention of her uncle lit up Sachi’s face, and her excitement was heartwarming. They really were such a sweet family.

The shoji door slid shut with a quiet thud, leaving Ichigo alone. His gaze drifted to the uniform Rukia had carefully prepared for him, hanging neatly in their large wardrobe.

It felt too real.

It didn’t feel like a dream anymore.

Renji grumbled the entire walk to the headquarters. Picking at his ear, he muttered, "Seriously, Rukia is that overprotective now? Can't even let you find your own way to your own HQ?"

Ichigo didn’t respond. 

No, that wasn’t the reason.

She knew he didn't know the way.

The headquarters was another building within the sprawling Kuchiki-Kurosaki mansion complex. Tucked away at the rear of the estate, it was surrounded by a vast expanse of trees and large fishing ponds. In this dream, Ichigo—the one who was Rukia’s husband—had personally designed and maintained this HQ. It served as the operational base for the Order of Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni, of which he was the lead commander.

As the gates opened, the first person to greet him was, to his surprise, his father. Isshin looked exactly the same as he did in Ichigo’s own reality. It had been a while since Ichigo had seen him; in his world, Isshin had left the house Ichigo and Orihime shared to return to the Soul Society and rejoin the Shibas. Ichigo still didn’t fully understand his father’s reasons for doing so.

"My son!" Isshin exclaimed, pulling Ichigo into a rough, manly hug, patting his back once, twice, and then a third time. When he finally released him, Isshin grinned and added, "Don’t you dare make my third daughter worry about your life like that again, you ungrateful brat."

Ichigo barely had time to process the comment before his gaze shifted past Isshin into the large hall beyond. At the center of the room was a massive round table, already surrounded by familiar faces.

As expected, Kyoraku Shunsui and Nanao Ise were present, as were Hanatarō Yamada and Kotetsu Isane from the Fourth Division, just as Rukia had mentioned. Byakuya sat with his usual solemn composure next to Rukia. There were others, mostly the higher-up of The Gotei 13, like Kenpachi, Soi Fon, Toushiro, Rangiku, all those faces Ichigo had not interacted for a while.

What truly caught Ichigo off guard was someone he, ironically, hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Sitting on Rukia’s left, engaged in a serious, hushed conversation with her, was none other than Uryū Ishida, in his white Quincy uniform.

Noticing his arrival, Uryū looked up, cutting his conversation short. His gaze swept over Ichigo from head to toe, and Ichigo couldn’t help but think how little had changed—Uryū still carried himself with that same air of superiority, as if he were somehow above him.  

"Kurosaki," Uryū greeted curtly.  

Ichigo gave him a nod in response.  

"Ready to reclaim your seat?" Uryū asked as he rose from the chair next to Rukia.

So, that seat was his after all.  

Uryū studied him again, his expression unreadable. There was something layered in his look—a mix of emotions that Ichigo couldn’t quite decipher. It was as if he were simultaneously worried, cautious, confused, relieved, and yet, somehow, not entirely pleased to see him back.  

Placing a gentle hand on Rukia’s shoulder, Uryū leaned down and spoke quietly, "You’ll be alright, Rukia-san?"  

Rukia nodded, and Uryū returned the gesture before motioning for Ichigo to take the seat next to her. Uryū himself settled into the chair on Ichigo’s other side.  

Rukia greeted him with a faint smile, and Ichigo noticed Uryū glancing their way repeatedly, as though he was being unusually protective of her. Ichigo had never known Uryū and Rukia to share any real closeness, at least not in his own reality.  

Uryū stepped forward to address the group, his demeanor calm and authoritative, perfectly suited to his role as the commander of the Quincy counterpart to The Order. His voice carried a maturity and precision that felt worlds apart from the younger version Ichigo used to bicker with.  

Hanatarō stood nervously, ready to present his findings about why Ichigo had been unconscious for nearly a month without any apparent cause, only to wake up with his reiatsu drained to a dangerously low level—almost killing him in the process.  

Ichigo tried to quell his growing nerves. This was it. The people in this dream would finally discover that he was a fraud. His legs began to move in agitation beneath the table, betraying his anxiety. That was when Rukia quietly reached out, placing her hand firmly atop his thigh. Her touch stopped the shaking instantly. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, leaned closer. 

"It's going to be fine, Ichigo," she whispered softly.  

Ichigo desperately wanted to believe her. Her touch and her words grounded him like nothing else ever could.  

As The Fourth Division presented their findings, Rukia never let go of his hand. And he was glad that she didn't.

"To conclude," Isane explained, standing beside a visibly nervous Hanatarō, "the blood test results revealed no abnormalities—no toxins, no dark energy, nothing of concern."  

She continued, "The soulmark and DNA etched into Kurosaki-san’s blood confirmed it is unquestionably him. The soul signature, however, showed an 85% match. While this is slightly lower than expected, literature indicates that variations between 80-100% are still consistent with the same individual."  

From the audience, Mayuri scoffed loudly, his disdain for the Fourth Division’s efforts palpable. Their findings, in his view, were as useless as ever.  

Isane pressed on, unfazed. "The Kidō brain scan, however, yielded an anomaly. When we extracted Kurosaki-san’s memories from approximately 1.5 months before he regained consciousness, we found no trace of his recollection of the night of Yhwach's attack in question—or the day before, or even the week prior." She paused, meeting Ichigo’s eyes. "In fact, his memories are distorted, offering glimpses of a reality that differs from our own."  

Rukia’s grip on his hand tightened.  

"At this stage, we cannot confirm whether Yhwach was responsible for altering Kurosaki-san’s memories, as we only sampled data from the week leading up to the attack," Isane admitted. "We deeply regret that we cannot provide a conclusive answer at this time..."  

Mayuri snorted again, this time more derisively. "Fools," he muttered. "Entrusting this to the Fourth was idiocy. The Twelfth Division should’ve experimented on Kurosaki Ichigo from the start. We’d have the answers by now."  

"Jūnibantai-taichou, if you please let the Yonbantai-taichou continue," Kyoraku had to interfere there.

Isane thanked The Captain Commander in silence, "...Therefore, we’d like permission to perform another Kidō brain scan, extending the timeline to further explore the days leading up to—"  

"That won’t be necessary."  

A loud creak echoed through the room as the gate swung open, drawing everyone's attention to the doorway.  

Standing nonchalantly at the doorway was none other than Urahara Kisuke, donning his iconic hat and clogs. Beside him stood the renowned noblewoman, Yoruichi Shihouin.  

"Whatever memories you're searching for won’t be there, Yonbantai-taichou," he said, tilting his head slightly, shadows obscuring his eyes. His wooden clogs clacked against the ground as he approached the round table.  

He fixed his gaze on Ichigo and smirked. "You think you’re waking up to a dream, don’t you, Kurosaki-san?"  

Ichigo remained still, his unwavering stare locked on the older man. He could feel the confused and wary gazes of everyone in the room fixed on him, suspicion heavy in the air. Yet, Rukia’s hand was still clasped in his, her reiatsu flowing gently into him through her touch, offering reassurance, support, and strength.  

"Welcome to our world, Kurosaki-san," Urahara greeted, pulling his hat down.

And that was where the truth unfolded.

Urahara explained it with ease, as though it were a subject he had understood his entire life, despite claiming he had only read about it briefly in the forbidden section of The Great Library in the Seireitei.  

Genjitsu o kirikaeru or switching realities, the former captain of the Twelfth Division had called it.  

For a moment, silence filled the room. No one dared to speak.  

As the leader of the meeting, Uryū was too stunned to steer the discussion back on track.  

The bitter truth was clear: the Kurosaki Ichigo standing before them was not the same man they had hoped would return. The horror of the situation loomed over them—the possibility that their Ichigo had not survived, that he might be trapped in some dimension devoid of time and space, unable to make his way back to them.  

Ichigo rose from his seat, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the revelation. The responsibility had somehow fallen on him. While he had been reveling in what he thought was a dream—a life with Rukia, her children, and everyone he loved—those around him had been enduring a nightmare where they had lost him, perhaps forever.  

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside.  

"Sorry," Ichigo muttered, "just give me a minute," he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to come up with something, anything, but words weren't suffice, "God, sorry," he finally excused himself to a smaller room adjacent to the hall.  

Everyone understood, but he could feel the concerned gazes of everyone in the room.

His father began to rise, but he wasn’t fast enough—Rukia was already halfway to following him.

Of course Rukia was faster. When it came to him, she was never second.

The adjacent room appeared to be an office, with a large desk and curtained windows that allowed only a few rays of sunlight to filter through. Ichigo gripped the edge of the desk tightly, his head hanging low, his broad back turned toward the door as Rukia entered and softly closed it behind her.  

"So, this really isn’t a dream," he finally broke the silence, his voice heavy and husky.  

Rukia kept her distance, her tone steady and composed, like the true Kuchiki she had been trained to be. "It never was."  

Fragments of the past few days began to align in his mind: the Special Corps stationed at their mansion, the questioning glances Rukia had given him, the way she had hesitated to tell him the truth, and how she had sent Renji to escort him to the headquarters.

It all made sense now.  

"You knew. You always knew," Ichigo said, turning to face her. He leaned back against the desk, his strong arms crossed over his broad chest.  

Rukia stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. Only the raw, bitter truth spilling from her pretty lips. "Of course I did."  

She had known he wasn’t her Ichigo. Of course, she had. No one understood his soul better than she did. Not even the advanced medical technology of the Fourth Division could compete with their bond. Not even Mayuri’s outlandish experiments could touch what they had. Their bond was something no force in any world could sever.

Rukia stepped closer again, her proximity pulling at him like gravity. He could have reached out and held her if he wanted to.  

"Ichigo," she said softly. Her carefully maintained composure cracked ever so slightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she whispered, "I knew. And yet, I meant it—all of it. Every word. Every action."  

The words she had spoken: that she loved him, both here and there in his own world.  

The actions she had taken: kissing him, letting him kiss her and hold her through the night, and giving him a piece of her heart, even when she knew she wasn’t his to keep.

"You may not be my Ichigo, you may not be my husband, or Megumi's and Sachi's father," Rukia's voice carried a quiet strength that amazed him. Despite being a wife on the brink of losing her husband forever, here she was, trying to console him when it was she who needed it most. 

"But you're still Ichigo—the man in my heart."

The man in her heart.  

Those words, much like years ago when Rukia had pulled him out of the darkness after being defeated by Tha Arrancars, struck something deep within him. They still held the same power, filling him with strength and confidence when he needed it most. Rukia was the force that propelled him forward—no one else came close. No one ever would.  

"I need you to stay with me, Ichigo," she pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. She needed him—to face this, to fight this—together.  

"You heard Urahara," she continued. "If you can make it here, there’s a chance Ichigo might take your place." Her hands rose to cradle his face, her touch soft and comforting despite the heaviness of her words. She was trying so hard to cling to hope, even though Urahara had said the chance was slim.  

A million thoughts swirled in his mind. From his point of view, he felt pathetic, faced with the reality of what his life could be if only he had fought for his happiness. He felt a pang of guilt for his family back in the real world. He might not love Orihime the way a husband should, and he could very well claim the title of the worst husband in the world, but the thought of leaving things unresolved between them, without even a proper goodbye, filled him with unease. His thoughts turned to their son, Kazui, and the possibility that he might never see him again, that he might never be able to train him to be strong like he always wanted. Then, there was Rukia—Rukia, back in his world. He thought about all the unsaid things between them, about how he hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye. It was all so utterly fucked up.

But nothing ever came close to what Rukia in this world was facing right now. Ichigo couldn't imagine being in her position. How hard it must have been for her. After a month of losing her husband to an unexplainable state of unconsciousness, to suddenly have him back, only to realize he wasn’t entirely hers. And now, she had to fight, again and again, just to bring him back into her life. 

She was trying so hard to stay strong. She was a captain, the wife of the hero of the three realms, and the mother of his children.  

"We have to work together to fix this, Ichigo," she said, her voice shaking but resolute. "I don’t care how difficult it is—we can, and we must—"  

Rukia’s words were cut short as Ichigo wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the desk behind them, trapping her gently between his strong arms. He leaned closer until his head rested on her shoulder. Her scent enveloped him in warmth.

Rukia had always been good at holding back her tears, but as soon as she closed her eyes, they began to fall, tracing soft paths down her cheeks. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, neither speaking.  

Her fingers gripped the front of his shihakushou, trembling. "I’m scared," she whispered, her voice cracking as her facade crumbled.  

"I know," Ichigo murmured, he almost groaned, resting his forehead on hers this time, his thumb gently brushing her tear-streaked cheeks.  

"I can’t live without him," she confessed, her voice breaking completely. "I can’t, Ichigo. I just… I can’t."  

Her words pierced him, filling him with both pain and awe at the depth of her love. How deeply she loved him. How incredibly lucky Ichigo was to have someone like her by his side.  

She didn't deserve this. Not after all the fights she endured to secure their happiness.

"There’s gotta be a way to set things right, Rukia," Ichigo finally said, his voice firm and steady.

"I’ll regain my reiatsu, get stronger, talk to Zangetsu, and figure out what we can do—maybe I can reach him in the other universe, hell, contact him, or goddamn something else—" He spoke with a confidence he hadn’t felt in the last ten years, a confidence that made him feel like himself again.  

His amber eyes hardened. 

"I promise I’ll bring him back to you."  

Him. The other him. The same idiot who had Rukia in his life but somehow managed to lose her to another dimension.  

Ichigo’s hands still cradled her face, and Rukia placed her hands over his. Her touch, as always, soothed him, grounding him while giving him the strength to move forward.  

She nodded, closed her eyes again, and took a long, deep breath to calm herself and finally gave him a soothing, breathtaking smile. 

She wanted to tell him in return, that she believed that Ichigo will bring him back to her. Her. The Rukia from his universe. The one he’d lost.

Because Rukia knew her Ichigo—he was too stubborn to give up. When he woke up in the other Ichigo’s world and discovered they hadn’t made it, he wouldn’t sit still. He would fight to bring her back, no matter what.  

"That idiot will be here before you know it, and it'd be like he never left in the first place, alright?"

Rukia laughed at his attempt to cheer her up and Ichigo chuckled, the tension between them dissipating entirely. It felt so natural, so right, to be close to her again. She smiled at him sincerely, even though her eyes still held traces of worry and sadness.

It amazed him—again—how strong she was. Anyone else would have broken, over and over again. But Rukia didn’t have the luxury of breaking. She didn’t even have the will to rest. For him, she would never stop fighting.  

Ichigo’s gaze flicked to her lips, then to her eyes, and back to her lips again. If he could, he would kiss her—anything to ease her pain.

He found himself leaning closer, drawn to her by an invisible thread, but Rukia moved first, pulling him into a hug.  

He may not have been her husband, but he was still her soulmate.

And a warm hug couldn’t hurt anyone. Couldn't betray anyone.

"Thank you, Ichigo," she whispered, her voice soft in his ear. Her soft lips lightly brushed the skin on his cheek, "thank you,"

Ichigo wrapped his strong arms around her, tightening the hug and pulling her even closer to him.

"It should be my line, baka,"

His smile was handsome, confident, and just a little smug—so much like the version of himself he thought he’d lost all those years ago.  

Because now, he had regained what he’d lost.  

The power to fight for her sake.

If I don't wield the sword,

I can't protect you.

If I keep wielding the sword,

I can't embrace you.

It was a cold winter night that they would remember for a long time—especially Rukia. She recalled sleeping soundly in Ichigo's arms when a series of urgent knocks broke the stillness. One. Two. Three knocks.

"I'll get it," Ichigo groaned, his voice heavy with annoyance. Rukia watched in the dim light as he climbed out of bed, shirtless and clad only in pajama pants, and made his way to the door. He slid it open, revealing a figure obscured from Rukia's view. The voice was unfamiliar, likely someone from The Order she didn’t recognize. They exchanged hurried, hushed words before Ichigo finally replied, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Rukia sat up, her eyes adjusting to the dark. “Ichigo, what’s going on?” she asked, her tone laced with concern. She watched as he crossed the room, pulling a t-shirt from the drawer and tugging it on.

“Just go back to sleep, Rukia,” he said tersely from the bathroom as he splashed water on his face. His agitation was palpable, and she didn’t need to see him to sense his fury simmering beneath the surface. 

Rukia frowned. “Is this about the mission to Fugai?”

The Order had sent a five-man team the previous day to investigate reports of missing souls in Fugai. Ichigo had explicitly instructed them to halt operations at dusk, unwilling to risk his men battling the relentless cold of winter nights. As their commander, he often said he couldn’t sleep soundly knowing his soldiers were fighting in the freezing dark while he lay safe in his bed.

Things hadn’t gone as planned, apparently.

They had sent five men.

Only one returned alive. 

When Rukia followed him, clad in her classic long dark blue sleeping robes, she found their living room—never mind the official headquarters—already packed with people. 

Urahara, Yoruichi, Kyoraku-soutaichou, Isshin—nearly all the higher-ups in The Order she recognized—were gathered there, loudly offering Ichigo their input on the situation.

Ichigo stood leaning against the doorframe, his strong arms crossed. Though silent, his fury was unmistakable.

Amid the crowd of higher-ups, Akon was presenting data from the Twelfth Division. He reported grimly how the dark reiatsu’s strength had surged overnight. What had been steady yesterday had now spiraled out of control. It had consumed almost 57 souls—including their own men.

From the discussions, Rukia gathered that Yoruichi was staunchly against acting rashly. She insisted they wait for Ishida before charging ahead. The situation was too uncertain, too dangerous. They had no way of knowing what they were up against, and the possibility that this was connected to Yhwach’s remnants loomed large. They might benefit from Ishida's antithesis to counter whatever sick plot Yhwach was preparing to serve them.

And Rukia agreed with her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a trap—one meant for Ichigo. It felt deliberate, as though Yhwach was purposefully luring him in.

Ishida, meanwhile, was hiding a pregnant Orihime to safety. No one knew where they were at the moment. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t be here—this emergency had caught everyone off guard. They had all planned to meet in the morning to discuss their strategy. 

But it seemed that morning might come too late. 

“We’ll go tonight,” Ichigo finally said, sighing and scratching the back of his head. “We don’t have time to wait for Ishida.”

His words hung heavily in the room, leaving no room for debate.

It was decided that a first team would depart immediately, with Ishida joining the second group in the morning. The soul-devouring had to stop now. Ichigo couldn’t sit idly by while, with every passing second, countless innocent souls were consumed by the dark force—Yhwach’s lingering reiatsu.

“Old man,” Ichigo said, nodding at his father.

Isshin met his gaze with a firm nod. “Your call, son.” There was no question—he was going with him.

Yoruichi let out a long sigh, crossing her arms. “Stubborn as ever,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Fine. Soi Fon and I will cover the rear.”

Before anyone could respond, the door burst open. Kenpachi and Ikkaku strode in, fully geared up and swords at the ready. Kenpachi’s massive frame nearly filled the small living room. With his trademark grin, he growled, “Like hell I’m letting you have all the damn fun, Ichigo!”

Ichigo finally turned to face Rukia. Pushing off the doorframe, he sighed and made his way toward her. She was furious—he could see it in her eyes. The moment he stood in front of her, she began hitting his chest with harmless, desperate punches. 

“This is a bad idea, and you know it, Ichigo,” she hissed.

Why did he have to go? Why couldn’t he stay? If Ishida could prioritize his family, why couldn’t Ichigo do the same? Why didn’t he ask her to go with him instead?  

“He could be luring you into a trap,” she whispered, her voice trembling with frustration and fear.

And she knew Ichigo understood she might be right.

"You don’t have a plan."  

"I plan to kill him," Ichigo interrupted, his tone stubborn and unyielding.  

"That’s not a plan," Rukia hissed angrily, her frustration spilling over.  

"It’s the only goddamn plan I’ve got, Rukia," he shot back, his voice edged with determination. She could be stubborn, but he was even more so. "I did it once, and I’ll do it again. That bastard needs to die—for good this time. We don’t have any other fucking choice."  

“Let me come with you,” she insisted, her frustration unmistakable, "please,"

But Ichigo placed his hands on her neck, framing her jaws, his amber eyes locked on her violet ones. “Megumi and Sachi need at least one of their parents with them,” he said firmly. 

“Then let me go in your place!” she demanded stubbornly. “Yhwach wants you, Ichigo. You know he does. Walking straight into his trap is madness.”

“I can’t send my men into danger and stay at home while they fight my battles, Rukia,” he replied, his voice resolute. This was the choice he had made—a choice born out of his responsibility. He didn’t want to risk anyone else paying the price for the happiness he had chosen. “You, more than anyone, understand that,” he added, reminding her of her own role as a captain who led her division into battle.

"And I can't send you to battles," he added. "It will only drive me fucking crazy,"

Oh, the hypocrisy. Rukia scoffed. She badly wanted to yell at him. "And you get to do that, don't you, Ichigo?"

"I can’t protect you without holding a sword," Ichigo said, cutting her off. His voice low but firm. He was the one who was turning soft first.

Rukia shook her head, her frustration even more evident. 

"And I can’t embrace you while holding a sword," he whispered softly as if the words themselves weighed heavily on him.  

The message was clear—he wanted her to stay safe at home.  

This was why Kyoraku and Urahara weren’t part of the first team tonight. An unspoken understanding existed between them and Ichigo—they would stay behind to protect Rukia and the children. It frustrated her to no end. She understood his protectiveness over their family, but she also wanted to protect him. If something happened to Ichigo, she would never forgive herself for letting him go alone.  

She didn’t want to admit that his plans might not be enough, but the fear gnawed at her. Ichigo was the strongest in the team, but that only heightened her worries. Who would watch his back when he needed it most? 

As if in answer to her unspoken fears, her brother stepped into the room. Byakuya’s cold, unyielding gaze met hers, and in that silent moment, Rukia understood. Right behind him was Renji, the best friend who had once sworn an oath to protect her with his life.  

"He will have my back, Rukia," Byakuya said, his voice steady and resolute.  

Rukia wanted so badly to believe her brother, to cling to the assurance in his words. But in truth, she no longer knew what to believe.

He first went to Megumi's room, then Sachi's, to kiss them goodbye before leaving. In the darkness of their bedroom, as Ichigo donned his gear—ironically resembling what he wore when he defeated Yhwach years ago at just 18—Rukia watched him finally unsheathe Zangetsu from its holder, preparing to leave.

In their last moment, he inclined his head so that his forehead rested against hers. Their eyes closed, breath intermixing. She could sense his struggle and his despair.

"I’ll never forgive you if you don’t come back," Rukia said stubbornly, fighting him until the very last moment.

"Che, think so little of me?" he quipped, flashing that cocky, handsome smirk that always, secretly, made her knees weak.

"It's not funny," Rukia scowled and she was adorable and Ichigo only wanted to tease her more.

"Will you cry for me if I don't come back?" he added with an arrogant raise of his eyebrow.

"Don't make jokes about it!" She glared at him and he grinned even wider, handsome and smug. "I just… I just won’t let you... If you don’t come back in one piece, Ichigo, I swear to God—"

Before she could finish, he let out a low growl of frustration, and silenced her with his hands cradling her face and his lips pressing against hers as she cricled her arms around his neck, her fingers grazing his hair softly.

Soft yet firm. His lips. Kissing hers with a passion and urgency that conveyed everything he couldn’t put into words.

"I'll be fine," Ichigo grinned at her again, "I promise," he added, capturing her lips again for the last time before leaving a trail of kisses along her neck and jaws, eliciting soft moans from Rukia that nearly made him not want to leave.

Their time was up and Rukia held on to him, burrying her face in his chest for the last time. Ichigo kissed the top of her head once and twice and thrice, his lips lingered longer there.

"I promise," he repeated to the crown of her head, and his amber eyes hardened.

It was a promise he couldn't keep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The first thought that crossed his mind the moment he locked eyes with her was just how much he missed her and wanted to hold her again. It hadn’t been that long. From Urahara, he knew he had been unconscious for three days, and since then, he had been training relentlessly to restore his reiatsu in Urahara's basement for almost a week. It had only been ten days, by proper calculation.

But perhaps this body—one that didn’t truly belong to him—remembered things differently. To it, it felt like three or four years had passed since this Ichigo had last met this Rukia. He could almost feel it in his bones and skin, the aching longing.

The Rukia standing before him was slightly different from his Rukia. Her hair was longer, though it didn’t extend past her shoulder blades. Her elegance and beauty were the same. She wore a dusty pink nightgown made of fine silk satin, layered with a matching long robe. When their eyes met, she instinctively tightened the robe around her, as though aware of how his gaze had wandered from the pale skin of her neck down to her collarbones. 

Rukia tucked her hair behind her ear, blinking a few times. “Ichigo...?” 

There were more than one emotion conveyed on her beautiful face but confusion was definitely winning over. “What are you doing here?” she asked again, her tone laced with worry she was trying to conceal. “Is something wrong?”

Ichigo scoffed. “Why? Do I really need a reason to see you?”

The irritation in his voice was sharp. Having to provide a reason to see his own wife was kick-you-in-the-crotch moment of its own. It annoyed him. That much.

“Can I come in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as his scowl deepened.

Rukia's brows furrowed in suspicion, clearly unamused by his attitude. Still, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

Her house definitely wasn't as big as the house they shared back in his world, but it was simple and looked expensive in its own simplicity. It was traditional, unlike their house which had its own modern touch, however, the design, the furnitures, they were all so Rukia. 

Walking past the entrance hallway, Ichigo noticed a photo—not that big, but framed and displayed on the wall. It was a family portrait of a little girl with red hair, Rukia leaning close to her on the right, and Renji on her left. A bunny sticker was etched in the corner of the photo.

Ichigo's stomach curled. He thought the kid didn't even look like Rukia, compared to their daughter.

"Where's he? Renji?" Ichigo asked, not even trying to mask his bitterness and jealousy.

Rukia took a while to answer. "He doesn't live here anymore."

So, it was true, what he heard from Yoruichi earlier. Ichigo sounded amused. "Finally realizing that he isn’t the right one for you, Rukia?" 

Her expression remained unchanged—cold. Her voice was even colder. "So that's why you're here? To taunt me about my divorce?" 

Ichigo chuckled, his smug grin annoyingly handsome. "No," He added. "Congratulations, then. For finally making the right choice."

For a second, her mask slipped, and Ichigo could see just how much he had annoyed her. But then the annoyance was quickly replaced by guilt, written all over her pretty face and Ichigo noticed that. She would blame herself.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking, it's not your fault," he said.

Rukia thought she had hurt Renji, her dear best friend and comrade. She thought she had ruined Ichika's only chance to have a real family.

"What if it is?" she replied.

"No, it's not," Ichigo replied, his gaze hardening. "Because it shouldn't have been him in the first place, Rukia," his voice low and husky. "You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. That idiot—Renji—must know it too."

He stepped closer, close enough for her to grab him. The proximity reminded her of all the moments they had shared, but especially of that one, long ago, when he lost his power, and she had to say goodbye.

"Who should it have been then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow elegantly, challenging him. 

Ichigo chuckled, a low, rough sound, and when it faded, he answered with quiet confidence: "Me." Then, in his trademark cocky way, he added, "Obviously."

Rukia scoffed, finally breaking eye contact, "You're acting like a child."

His hands stayed buried in the pockets of his shihakushou, but they itched to grab her, to pull her into his arms. 

"This is all bullshit, and you know it," Ichigo said, taking a step closer to her. Rukia immediately stepped back again.

"Everyone is miserable, and that bastard Yhwach is the only one having a goddamn party." 

At her silence, Ichigo pressed. "This isn’t the only way to protect each other, Rukia,"

"It’s not perfect," Rukia replied stubbornly. "But we can’t have it all."

"It’s not right," Ichigo retorted back.

"We are alive, aren't we?" She frowned at him, displeased.

Ichigo was alive and safe, and that was all that mattered to her. To Ichigo, however, they were alive but barely living—it was no better than being dead.

"We can't be having this argument over and over again whenever we see each other," she added, lowly. 

Ichigo moved again, and so did she—until her back hit the wall, leaving her no room to retreat. His hands moved of their own accord, planting themselves on either side of her head, trapping her. Rukia didn’t flinch.

"You know, in another life, we could have been happy, you and I."

She said nothing, but her eyes searched his. After all these years, the intensity of his gaze on her had never changed. Slowly, she placed a hand on his chest, as if to create some distance between them. Instead, the contact only drove him crazier. 

Rukia was so calm, as though she had dealt with his outbursts countless times before. 

"I lived here—in the Soul Society. We got married. We had two kids, a cheeky son and an adorable daughter. I swore to my soul that I’d always protect you, our kids, our present, and our future," Ichigo said, his voice thick with emotion. He knew he sounded like a madman but didn’t care. "And you’re right—we didn’t have it all. We still had to fight that bastard from time to time, but he could never take our happiness away, Rukia."

Ichigo leaned in, and still, she let him. This close, he could see every detail of her violet irises, and her familiar scent enveloped him, making him ache.

"You shouldn’t be here," Rukia whispered. 

He nodded, half-lidded eyes locked on hers, and whispered back, "No, I shouldn’t." He should be in another universe, one where they were together and happy. "And yet, here I am."

Her expression remained cold, and Ichigo could feel the temperature drop even further. Yet, she didn’t push him away, and it drove him mad. This was his wife, standing so close, looking and sounding so much like her—but she wasn’t his Rukia. He didn’t need reasons to kiss her, to hold her, or to tell her how much he missed her in his world. But here, she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers, and it was just so utterly fucked up.

"Tell me why," Ichigo said, his voice low, almost a growl of desperation. Waking up and realizing they hadn’t ended up together had scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t accept that there was a universe where Rukia didn’t love him. He needed to know why—to be reassured that this wasn’t because she didn’t feel the same. "Tell me why you and I aren’t together in this world, Rukia."  

Her left hand, resting on his broad torso, moved up to his jaw, and it happened so naturally—the way Ichigo leaned in further, almost brushing his lips against hers in response to her touch.  

But it was swift, smooth, and flawless—the way Rukia’s right hand formed kido seals behind her back. She was, after all, a captain renowned for her mastery of kido.

She touched him to lower his guard. However, Ichigo was not the strongest Shinigami in all three realms for nothing. Rukia might surpass him in kido by miles, but he was faster and stronger.

Her gasp was soft when he stopped her kido by force, grabbing her hand and pinning it against the wall beside her head. The light elicited by her kidou spells in her right hand flickered off. The collar of her sleeping robes slipped slightly, revealing the pale skin of her neck and collarbones. Unable to resist, Ichigo leaned in, rubbing his nose against the junction between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent.

"Since when did you know?" He asked, almost breathless.

"Since I let you in," she replied. 

"Right, you never call me by name—not since you greeted me at the door," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm.

Rukia took her time answering, her voice calm and composed despite the closeness, but her breathing was faster, mixed with fear and worry inside. "You're not Ichigo..." 

It amazed him how she just knew it wasn’t him. It warmed and calmed his heart that, even though everything was so messed up, she still knew him by his soul. Only she could do that. Orihime—his so-called wife in this world—didn’t even realize it wasn’t her husband standing in front of her. Ishida didn’t suspect a thing. But Rukia... she just knew.

“What is going on?” Rukia didn’t push him away—even though it had been years, it was as if she were still so used to him needing their close proximity—but she started pressing him for answers. “It was Urahara’s senkaimon that got you here, wasn’t it? Did he send you?”

“No, he didn’t send me,” he said, his voice annoyed. “I came all the way here because everyone kept telling me that the captain of the Thirteenth couldn’t just come at my beck and call and would never spare me her precious time, even if I specifically asked her to, and that pissed me off.”

“Where is the real Ichigo?” she asked, her mask finally crumbling, revealing the worry underneath. 

Reluctantly, Ichigo pulled his face away from her neck. He sighed, missing the contact already. 

"We are still trying to reach him—me and Zangetsu," Ichigo replied. "It has been ten days. He isn’t responding... on the other side."  

Rukia's eyes widened. "What? What are you talking about? You have to meet me halfway here, Ichigo. What the hell is going on?" Her hands instinctively grabbed both his upper arms, almost shaking him, though she likely didn’t notice how her touch affected him.  

"Reality switch—as sick as it sounds. I fought that bastard's last remnant of reiatsu back in my world. He pulled me in—got no goddamn idea how he did it—but I woke up ten days ago here, reiatsu completely depleted, and in the wrong body."  

Rukia was too stunned to speak at first. 

"So, Ichigo is just thrown into your alternate reality? Is that what you're saying?" she asked. 

"No, no," she said, shaking her head in disbelief, her lips trembling as she finally lost her grip on his upper arms. "That's not possible..."  

She began pacing, massaging her forehead in disbelief and frustration. She couldn't stay still, and Ichigo thought it was almost ridiculous—Orihime, supposedly his wife in this reality, hadn’t even acted as panicked as Rukia was upon learning the truth.  

"Is Ichigo okay? Is there anything I can do? What will it take to bring him back to us?"  

Ichigo badly wanted to hold her, to ease her worries. "Urahara-san said the switch might take a greater toll on him than on me. He probably just needs more time to recover. For now, we’ll have to wait."

Rukia shook her head repeatedly and started pacing again, but this time, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to make her stay still. Their skin burned at the contact—it was the touch he craved, the one he had longed for. "Hey," 

Squeezing her hand, Ichigo tried to reassure her with a cocky grin. "He'll be fine. He’s me, after all."  

Rukia looked at him with concern, her tearful eyes reminding him so much of the expression she’d worn when they reunited on the bridge to the Senzaikyu.  

"Fool. This is ridiculous—how did you even get into this situation?" she asked.

It was absurd—but the recklessness, that was so Ichigo.  

"That sick bastard, Yhwach. He's not dead, Rukia," Ichigo replied, his expression grim. "Not in my world, not here."  

Horror crossed her features as her eyes widened in shock. "No. The Twelfth Division made it clear—we haven’t been able to trace any of Yhwach’s reiatsu in the last—"

"—three years? When it magically disappeared without a trace in the Kurosaki household?" Ichigo scoffed. "Come on, think about it—it just couldn't be that easy,"

Rukia didn’t say anything, trying to process everything. She stepped back again, her back unconsciously hitting the wall. Her eyes looked empty as reality sank in, her breath was heavy as if her lungs failed her and so did the muscles tone in her calves, almost causing her to collapse. Silence hung between them for a while, and Ichigo wished he could just hold her in his arms, tell her that everything would be okay—that he would trade his very soul to make it so.

All for her.

Ichigo ended up telling her everything he knew. As they sat side by side on the couch near her kitchen, their knees almost touching, sipping warm milk, he did most of the talking, while Rukia listened, often appearing lost. She looked so worried. He started from the beginning—describing the last moments before he arrived here, his fight with a shadowy remnant of Yhwach’s reiatsu, and his discovery of the buried traces of Yhwach’s reiatsu deep within Kazui. He also shared Urahara’s theory about Kazui’s parentage and the possibility that Kazui had absorbed Yhwach’s reiatsu, hiding it within himself like a shell.  

The room was cloaked in a gentle stillness for a while, broken only by the faint rustle of the curtains as a cool night breeze slipped through the open window. It was raining outside. The soft glow of a single lamp bathed the space in warm amber hues, casting long shadows on the walls. The silence between them was soothing, like a shared unspoken understanding. 

Rukia took a deep breath and finally broke the stillness between them. "My marriage to Renji... it wasn't like that—it wasn’t like that at all, Ichigo."

Ichigo looked away, sipping the last drop of milk from his mug. Jealousy was written all over his handsome face at the mention of the red-haired shinigami.

"It was all platonic. Ichika isn’t ours. Renji was just being a good friend. Instead, I used him and our marriage to..."

To finally make Ichigo give up on her. On them.

It was so clear to Ichigo. Why it was different with Rukia. She handled things better, more gracefully—so much different from Orihime and Uryuu. Maybe it was because, even in the midst of this sick fiasco, Rukia remained pure. There were no skeletons in her closet, no secrets, no sins—just pure intentions to protect the people closest to her. 

Rukia closed her eyes again and sighed, unable to finish the sentence. "I just... I just keep hurting everyone dearest to me..."

Rukia placed her Chappy mug on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch, resting her head as she stared blankly at the ceiling. In a low voice, almost a whisper, she said, "After all these years, I thought I was protecting Ichigo..."  

Instead, Ichigo’s life had been miserable. He had ended up in a loveless marriage, raising a son who wasn’t even his. Rukia was furious—at Orihime, at Uryuu for betraying Ichigo, and most of all, at herself for being oblivious to it all and leaving Ichigo to carry such a heavy burden alone.  

"Why do I always end up hurting him?" she whispered.

Sometimes, she wondered if it would’ve been better if they had never met. Would his life have been easier if she had never entered it? Sometimes, she even wished it had been so—so that his destiny wouldn’t have been so cruelly twisted.  

"You know," Ichigo began, leaning forward to place his mug next to hers on the coffee table. Rukia watched his broad back as he spoke, his voice so careful, "I’ve faced more enough bullshit in the past ten days. But if there’s one thing crazier than finding out my reality got switched, it’s learning that there’s an alternate reality where you and I don’t end up together, Rukia."  

He finally turned to look at her, his eyes filled with longing and adoration that reminded her so much of her own Ichigo. "I speak for myself and for him too—because he is me, technically—you make me the happiest man in all realms."  

Ichigo leaned closer, gently tucking a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear. "You gave me power, a happy life, a beautiful marriage, and two amazing children." He gave her a cocky grin at the mention of their children. His grin was boyish, smug, and too handsome for a 31-year-old husband with two kids. It was so clear how much he was so proud of them and how he missed them like crazy.

Rukia closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying to calm her nerves. Her brows furrowed deeply, as if she were fighting back tears. A million thoughts crossed her mind. She felt sorry for herself and Ichigo, for missing out on what they could have had. She was guilty for realizing how greatly she had contributed to ruining his life. She regretted not having the courage to give him what he deserved. And she was consumed by worry and fear—fear that she might never see Ichigo again, fear that she might not get the chance to tell him she was sorry, to set things right, and to tell him that she loved him. She always had, and she always would.  

"Look at me, Rukia," Ichigo said, his voice both gentle and husky.  

But Rukia kept her eyes shut, afraid he would see the tears burning at the back of her eyes.  

He cupped her jaw and caressed her cheek, resting his forehead against hers. She didn't say anything and her eyes remained closed. As he pulled her into his arms, Rukia buried her face in his shoulder. Ichigo smiled like he was winning a prize as her defenses crumbled, and he felt her arms wrap tightly around his torso.

"Your Ichigo, he’ll be fine. He’ll get stronger and come back here," Ichigo said, his amber eyes burning with determination. He murmured against the crown of her head, "Why? Because when he wakes up, he will have you by his side, Rukia."  

The gear that moved him forward. 

There was another night, under different circumstances, when she opened the door late and found him standing on her porch. A rainy night when he was somewhere he shouldn’t have been, and she wasn’t supposed to open the door and let him in.

But he was there, and she let him in anyway. They had a history—ex-lovers whose relationship had ended around ten months prior, yet neither of them had truly moved on.  

It was just three days before her wedding to Renji.  

Rukia didn’t know how he had managed to get there. The Soul Society, under orders from Central 46, had banned Kurosaki Ichigo from having any contact with Kuchiki Rukia. When she thought about it later, it had to have been Urahara. Who else could it have been?  

Ichigo was furious and desperate, Rukia could tell. He clutched the wedding invitation in his hand, mocking it with sharp words. He laughed bitterly at her choice, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, and demanded the truth. The marriage was fucking bullshit—he knew it, and she knew it.  

It wasn’t a fight, not really. Ichigo yelled at her, his voice filled with rage and disappointment, while she stood there gracefully, silent, with guilt and sorry written all over her beautiful face.  

It was her choice. Her fault.  

At some point, Ichigo's anger subsided. He stepped closer and closer, trapping her between his body and the door behind her. He was so close—too close—and Rukia could barely feel her legs anymore. She couldn't feel the cold or emptiness in the room because all she could feel was him, everywhere, filling all her senses. Ichigo leaned in, his voice breaking into a desperate whisper.  

"Leave him. He’s not good enough for you."  

It was a plea, raw and vulnerable. "Hell, marry me, Rukia. We could run away—you and me."  

He inclined his head and left a trail of soft kisses along her neck. He lingered there, his lips warm against the curve of her skin, leaving sweet, closed-mouth kisses before his lips parted slightly, deepening the touch. It was a familiar sensation, one he had been deprived of for almost ten months—soon to become almost ten years.  

He paused, his breath warm against her neck, and groaned, the sound pained and raw. "You can’t do this. Goddammit, it isn’t fair."  

When Ichigo finally lifted his head, his expression was stark, honest, and intense. His voice was low but unwavering as he repeated, "I love you."  

For a moment, Rukia thought she might kiss him then and there, forget about everything else, about reasons and consequences. 

But it wasn’t the same words he heard from her. Instead, it was, "I’m sorry," escaping her lips. Her pretty face was raw with apology as she met his gaze.

Then, as if surrendering to the moment, she launched herself into his arms and kissed him. Ichigo groaned, and before she knew it, he was kissing her back hungrily.  

"Ichi—" she managed, but he silenced her with his touch, unraveling her entirely. He was always good at this—dismantling her walls, silencing her doubts, and chasing away her insecurities. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and he lost whatever control had been holding him back. He caught her lips again, his kiss deep and desperate. Her lips were warm, soft, just as he remembered, and as his tongue pressed against her, she parted her lips, letting him in.  

They pulled away briefly, her body tingling, her breath catching. Ichigo stared at her flushed face, her naturally pink lips, through lidded eyes before pulling her back in, hungrier and more intense than before. When Rukia’s knees buckled, she hooked her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Ichigo lifted her effortlessly, not wanting to let go, as he opened her bedroom door behind her.  

He carried her inside, never once stopping his trail of messy, desperate kisses—on her lips, her neck, her collarbone.  

It was goodbye.  

Through this kiss, Ichigo knew his world would never be the same. And all he wanted was more. More of her.

Chapter Text

Uryuu Ishida stared wearily through the car window. It was unusually dark for an early morning at 9 AM. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as his blue eyes stared blankly at the elementary school ahead of him. It was silent too, the only sounds being the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers and the steady patter of rain against the car roof and windows.

For a moment, it was just him and his lingering thoughts about the orange-haired boy who had entered the school gate moments ago.

"Oi, Ishida,"

A knock on the passenger window startled Uryuu, nearly making him jump.

Ichigo was here.

"Open up," Ichigo knocked again, typically impatient. Just what the hell was he doing? In the rain?

Uryuu sighed and quickly unlocked the car. Within seconds, Ichigo slid into the passenger seat, carrying two cups of hot coffee from that well-known café near the school. Uryuu eyed him as the orange-haired Shinigami placed both cups into the cup holder between them.

That jerk didn’t even bother to explain himself, too busy wiping the rain off his jacket, mumbling some curses at his own predicament.

"Kurosaki," Uryuu nearly gritted his teeth.

"What?" Ichigo replied in his usual annoyed tone, running a hand through his slightly damp, spiky hair in an attempt to dry it a little.

"The hell are you doing here, Kurosaki?" the blue-haired Quincy asked.

Ichigo shrugged and grabbed one of the cups. He took a sip and groaned at the warmth—he needed that. The rain was merciless, and he was cold.

Uryuu remained silent, waiting for an answer. No, you don’t just knock on someone’s window and get into their car without a word.

"Kurosaki!"

It surprised Uryuu, too, just how easily he lost his calm and patience when it came to his former best friend.

"You should be asking yourself that," Ichigo took another sip of coffee, savoring the warmth.

Uryuu was following Kazui. And so was Ichigo. Ever since Ichigo told him the truth about the boy, Uryuu hadn’t been able to sleep. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t even concentrate at work. Just the thought that the remnant of the most dangerous Quincy in history might be lingering inside a little boy—a boy he cared so deeply for, the blood and flesh of the only woman he had ever truly loved—was enough to drive Uryuu insane.

He wanted to protect Kazui.

And Orihime, too.

"He's not going to come out of class until lunch, at least," Ichigo said, placing his cup back into the holder. He adjusted his seat slightly, leaning back a little.

He might have been acting aloof, but it was clear this wasn’t the first time Ichigo had followed Kazui. Uryuu was taken aback. He hadn’t known that Ichigo cared. It turned out that despite coming from a reality different from his own, he was still the same Kurosaki—always protecting those closest to him, the ones he held dear. And in this matter, he was already ahead of Uryuu.

"He mostly goes to the park or the river, though he never strays far from the school,"

At Uryuu’s questioning stare, Ichigo went on. "Urahara-san thinks it’s something that bastard needs to do—to survive as a parasite inside Kazui," he paused, his scowl deepening. "Sending those poor souls to hell in exchange for reiatsu, bargaining chips with the Hell Keepers, or some sort—" Ichigo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I’m shit at explaining things."

He was, but Uryuu got the picture.

Sensing his worry, Ichigo added, "Sending souls to Hell is not going to put him in mortal danger or anything—for now, at least. Urahara-san has been keeping an eye on him, too."

It wasn’t just Ichigo. Even Urahara Kisuke was protecting Kazui better than he was.

What the hell had he been doing?

Uryuu felt ashamed of himself.

Silence filled the car once again. Uryuu could say anything, really. He could fill the silence with an apology—for being a terrible friend, for starters. For blaming Ichigo for everything that had happened, when in reality, it was Ichigo who had sacrificed and endured so much. But that wasn’t how they communicated. They didn’t do heart-to-heart talks. They understood each other through fists.  

“It isn’t red, Kurosaki,” Uryuu finally broke the silence, his grip on the steering wheel tightening once again.  

Ichigo raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.  

“Kazui-kun’s reiraku,” Uryuu continued, his voice low.  

“It isn’t red,” he sighed, his voice heavy with regret. “It’s not white either.”  

Ichigo was pulled back to the old days—sixteen-year-old Uryuu standing in front of him, delivering some long-winded speech about how he absolutely despised the Shinigami. How their reiraku was supposed to be different. Red. That was how he had always been able to pick Ichigo out.  

It felt like a lifetime ago.  

“Alright. What is it, then?” Ichigo asked.  

This Ichigo was such a good friend, Uryuu thought. He didn’t sound judgmental or condescending. He didn’t sound disgusted. He sounded like he understood the weight of the sin Uryuu had committed and was willing to forgive him for it.  

Uryuu turned to the window, staring wearily at the traces left by the raindrops.  

“It’s blue,” his voice thick with guilt.   

Ichigo had never known the color blue. Uryuu had never mentioned it before. But from the look on his face, Ichigo understood. It was the color of a Quincy’s flesh and blood.  

Kazui had never been a Shinigami. He had always been a true Quincy. 

Ichigo looked away, feeling sorry for Uryuu. 

"How do I fix this, Kurosaki?" Uryuu asked. His eyes were hidden beneath the shadows of his hair.  

"We're trying. Urahara-san is working on it—to find a way to separate a living soul from another without harming Kazui's soul and to destroy that bastard once and for all at the same time. Like it or not, you and I must work together. End him like we did years ago,"  

It wasn't just that. They also needed to find a way to bring Ichigo back home—to his world, to his Rukia, and to the family that had been waiting for his return.  

"But apart from that, we know this is a much deeper problem, Ishida. Yours and Orihime's," Ichigo stated bluntly. Sugarcoating had never been his style. "I have no right to get in the middle of it—not when I’m not the Ichigo you guys owe an apology to."  

Ichigo knew it wasn’t his place to interfere in a marriage that had never been his in the first place. He was here to help as much as he could. Maybe he couldn't stop himself from venting his frustrations about Rukia, but when it came to Orihime, Uryuu, and their history, he had no intention of stepping in.  

"You should talk to her," Ichigo said.

Uryuu nodded. “I know. I will.”  

It was something the two of them had to settle on their own. Maybe tonight, he would finally find the courage to visit her.  

Silence fell between them again, but this time, the rain grew louder and louder.  

"We—I—haven't seen Orihime and Kazui-kun for almost three or four years," Uryuu began, taking a deep breath. He had kept this all to himself for so long, and he desperately needed someone to talk to. "I think it was the day after Sado-kun's boxing match?"  

Ichigo raised an eyebrow again, his scowl deepened. A lot had happened that day—like a turning point, a catalyst for everything that followed. It was the day Kazui absorbed the last of Yhwach's reiatsu. The last time Rukia set foot in the Human World and saw Ichigo. The moment Renji realized he could never win Rukia's heart. The final push that made Orihime stop seeing Uryuu.

What exactly did happen that day?

"She came to my house, and I welcomed her as someone... who had been her constant companion all these years." Uryuu's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, his piercing blue eyes narrowing at the memory. "She didn't bring little Kazui with her. She was crying, telling me she had another fight with Kurosaki."  

"I wasn't surprised, especially with the news that Kuchiki-san was coming back to Karakura. Even without her presence, it happened often. Orihime's jealousy of Kuchiki-san was nothing new. She had always known—you never loved her. She was living in Kuchiki-san’s shadow."  

"She kept saying she was a horrible person, that what we had been doing all these years behind Kurosaki's back was a mistake. That Kurosaki was a good man and we had betrayed him. That she was thankful—but she could never see me again."  

Ichigo looked away, staring at the rain through the window. It rained a lot these days. As if the sky was trying to tell him something.  

This. All of this. It wasn’t a perfect ending. It was a complete mess.  

Ichigo didn’t reply, but Uryuu knew he was listening. 

After a while, Uryuu asked again, "What’s it like, Kurosaki? In your life?"  

"No, it isn't a grand ending or anything. But it just makes sense, Ishida," Ichigo replied with a shrug. "And I'm happy, everyone is happy, we are content and living the lives we want, and I think that's more than enough."  

Ichigo ending up with Rukia, living his proud life as a Shinigami. Uryuu ending up with Orihime, carrying on the last legacy of the Quincy he loved. The fact that they never stopped fighting, that they refused to live in fear as Yhwach had once threatened.  

The orange-haired Shinigami had no other words. It might not be perfect, but it made sense. 

Uryuu nodded in understanding. "So, you and Kuchiki-san?"

"Yep," Ichigo nodded. He smirked, and there was something boyish and carefree about it. For a moment, Uryuu was reminded of the old Kurosaki he once knew—seventeen and fearless.

"The only one for me," he added in a much lower tone, taking another sip of his coffee. Ichigo sounded so proud of it like he was never embarrassed to shout it at the world just how much he loved the woman who changed his world.

So that was how alternate universes worked. The turn of events could be different, like parallel networks, but the bond and connection between two souls destined to be together remained rigidly unchanged.

"And Orihime?" Uryuu asked, his fingers playing with the silver band—his engagement ring—around his ring finger. A part of him thought he didn't deserve this ring. Not anymore.

"She made the right choice," Ichigo answered, still in that same carefree manner, "she chose you after all,"

In another world, she chose him.

Finally, Uryuu grabbed his cup of coffee and took a sip. It was bitter on his tongue—the coffee bean too strong and blunt—but it provided the warmth he needed.

"Goddamn it, Urahara, I'm going to kill him," Ichigo cursed as he shunpoed as fast as he could to avoid getting drenched by the pouring rain. He arrived almost a minute later, but still, he was soaked from head to toe. If only he were better at kidō, he might have known that one spell to shield himself from the rain.  

He remembered Urahara's words before stepping into the senkaimon:  

"Oh, this one's route is new, Kurosaki-san! I don't have access to the exact coordinates of Kuchiki-san's private senkaimon, and you said the last one wasn't exactly near her house, so I'm trying this new coordinate. I assure you it's closer, and who knows? Maybe you can enjoy the bright weather of the Seireitei night sky!"  

He had said it with a wink. A wink. That was all it took for Ichigo to know the man was up to something.  

Closer, my ass. Rukia's house was in the elite southern district of Seireitei. Urahara's senkaimon had opened in the northern part, where the working-class shinigami lived. And what was that with his sinister comment about the weather? Ichigo swore, sometimes he thought the man was closer to a shaman.  

Ichigo tried to do some damage control, but it was useless. He had only spent two seconds standing on Rukia's porch, and he was already making puddles on the floor. He was going to make an even bigger mess when—if—Rukia decided to let him in.  

Just as he was about to knock, the door suddenly slid open. Ichigo found himself face to face with Rukia once again. She was getting better at sensing his familiar and yet foreign reiatsu now.

Tonight, she was wearing an elegant long white satin night robe, trimmed with lace, that fell past her knees. And Ichigo was never going to get tired of thinking about how beautiful she looked.  

He cleared his throat, mentally cursing at himself. Why are you getting flustered like a 30-year-old virgin? She's your wife, damn it. 

"Hey," he muttered. His mind told him not to, but his right hand moved on autopilot to scratch the back of his head.  

Rukia eyed him from head to toe with that cold gaze of hers, arms crossed under her chest. And Ichigo was reminded of just how much he missed her scolding him (affectionately).   

"And what are you doing here, Ichigo?" she asked the same question as before.

Ichigo scoffed. Right. Here they go again. It was never easy to win her over, was it?

"You can't keep coming here, especially at night like this," Rukia said, frowning.  

"Alright, night's clearly no good for you. Should I visit in the morning instead?"  

He was teasing her and she knew it. 

"It's not appropriate, Ichigo," Rukia said again, her tone laced with frustration.

If only he could understand her position for once. She was a recently divorced Kuchiki heiress. He was a married man. Him visiting her alone, late at night, didn’t look good for either of them. People talked.  

"Inappropriate, my ass, I'm your husband," Ichigo muttered under his breath stubbornly, finally stepping inside.  

At his boldness, Rukia was momentarily too stunned to stop him. She let him walk past her, just like that. Heat spread across her cheeks and neck. Mentally slapping herself, she regained her composure, slid the front door closed, and rested her back against it.  

Ichigo was already sitting on the wooden bench in the genkan, pulling off his wet sandals and socks.  

"Stop fooling around, Ichigo. You're not my husband. Not here," Rukia finally said, reminding him that things were different in this place and that he needed to know where they stood.  

Ichigo had the audacity to chuckle, flashing her that infuriatingly handsome smirk. "And we could easily change that, couldn't we?"  

Rukia raised an eyebrow, stomping her foot in annoyance. Her glare could freeze hell over.  

"Just say the word, Rukia," Ichigo said, still grinning smugly. His toned arms crossed.

Rukia sighed, knowing the argument would go on forever if she entertained it. "You can't just do whatever you please," she muttered as she walked further into the house. She turned back to glare at him and mumbled something like, "Wait there and stay put."  

Ichigo chuckled again. He was enjoying this too much.

A minute later, Rukia returned with a warm, dry towel in hand. She looked at him with a mix of exasperation and concern. He wasn’t drenched in blood or anything—just rain. Still, she sighed and shook her head in disapproval. "Seriously, what do I do with you?" she whispered, her irritation laced with worry.  

And then, just like that, everything clicked. How things always seemed to fall into place between them. The way Ichigo instinctively parted his knees to let her stand close. The way Rukia, without a word, gently wiped and dried his face and hair with the warm towel. She was so close—close enough for him to inhale her sweet scent.  

You know what? Thinking about it again, Ichigo was almost certain Urahara had done this on purpose. That crazy bastard.  

As Rukia focused on drying his hair, Ichigo started to remove the kosode of his shihakushō. The fabric clung wetly to his skin, and if he kept it on, he’d probably catch a cold. His torso was bare now, but Rukia didn’t seem fazed.  

The silence between them was peaceful. The only sound was the steady patter of rain outside. Ichigo didn't want to ruin it. But he just couldn’t stop imagining. If this were his Rukia—his Rukia—standing before him, he would hold her, kiss her, and show her just how much he had missed her, loved her, and wanted her.  

Fuck it, really. Ichigo thought.

Against the last drop of sanity he possessed, his hands moved on their own and pulled her by the waist, drawing her closer.  

Rukia gasped as she tumbled forward, one knee landing on the wooden bench between his knees, her hands bracing against his broad shoulders for support. Her hands were cold against his bare skin. Their faces were inches apart. He could hear her heartbeat—fast, nervous, uncertain, but on the outside, she remained composed as ever. Like it wasn't her first time at all—having to deal with him being like this. 

He could just kiss her, claim her the way he possessively wanted. His grip on her waist tightened. Ichigo wanted her. He just wasn’t sure she wanted him too.  

"Ichi—" Rukia whispered, her fingers trailing from his nape to his collarbone, then lower, over his hard abs. She pushed slightly, as if to create distance between them. But he didn’t budge.

Her touch only made him arch closer, inclining his face to hers. They were so close now. 

But no, his lips didn’t meet hers—instead, they met her palm.  

Did she just—? Did Rukia just block his kiss with her hand? She did and now she forced him to face the other way. 

Rukia glared at him. “Stop it, Ichigo. We can't do this.”  

He growled in protest as he pulled away. “Why not?”  

Because she wasn’t his in this world, and he couldn’t stomach that fact.  

Rukia untangled herself from his hold and tossed the towel in his face. She remained as composed as ever, her demeanor unwavering, as if to remind him that a true Kuchiki had more pride and self-control than anyone. It frustrated Ichigo sometimes—really.  

“Rukia,” he called out in exasperation, wishing she would just come back to his arms.  

"Rukia," he pleaded once again, leaning back against the wall in defeat.

But she left him to dry himself. A minute later, she returned, this time with a freshly washed T-shirt and a pair of pants. She dropped them on the bench next to him and stood there, arms already crossed over her chest.  

Ichigo glared at the clothing like it was an insult. “I’m not wearing Renji’s clothes.”  

He sounded like an irrational jerk, but he didn’t care. There was no way in hell he was putting on something that belonged to her ex-husband.  

Rukia scoffed at his clearly wounded male pride. “Then stay here as long as you want. I’m not letting you in to make a mess on the floor.”

“The bathroom is that way,” Rukia said before turning and leaving him alone in the genkan.

Ichigo picked up the clothes. The T-shirt was a plain gray one, and the pants seemed normal enough. They both knew how terrible Renji’s taste was in modern clothing, so maybe they weren't his after all?

And then he felt it. A sense of familiarity. Could this t-shirt and these pants be his? Was it possible that Rukia had kept them, in the house she once shared with her husband, after all these years?

After all these years?

Ichigo shrugged. It turned out the real Ichigo from this world had more of a chance than he thought. He wasn’t that unlucky after all.

After the hot shower, Ichigo walked around the house and found Rukia sitting in her study. Her desk was huge, with documents piled in stacks and scattered across its surface. It seemed the Captain of the Thirteenth had a lot of homework. Ichigo stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his hands hidden in his pants pockets.  

"I made warm milk if you want some," Rukia said, not even looking up from the document she was reading. "It will help keep you warm."  

Ichigo’s eyes slid over to the coffee table. There was a cup for him. Hers sat on her desk, next to the documents.  

He made his way into the room and took a seat in front of her massive desk. Budget plans, mission reports, recruitment forms—all of it needed to be signed and validated by the captain. The Rukia from his world had moments where she had a lot of work, but never like this.  

It wasn’t that she was slacking off. Rukia here had likely spent most of her time consumed by divorce proceedings and court matters. And after learning that the man she truly loved had been absorbed into a different reality with a slim chance of survival, Ichigo couldn't imagine how she was managing to focus on work at all.  

She was still more beautiful than most, but she looked paler, as if she hadn’t been under the sun in a while. She looked thinner, like she had lost her appetite. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and the bags beneath them made it clear she hadn’t been sleeping well.  

He watched her, seeing how hard she tried to concentrate on the overwhelming workload, though her mind and heart were clearly elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts she couldn't shake.  

"You should rest, Rukia," Ichigo said.  

"And add more work for tomorrow?" she replied with a tired sigh.  

Ichigo was all too familiar with these documents. Everything needed to be signed, labeled, and sorted. Rukia clearly wasn’t going to stop until she finished. He took a deep breath and began helping her sort the ones she had already proofread and signed.  

"Ichigo, what are you—?" Rukia stopped reading and watched him with confusion. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. In fact, he was more efficient than Sentarō, her fukutaichō.  

Ichigo shot her a smug, handsome grin. "Believe it or not, I’m kind of a really devoted fukutaichō." He cleared his throat, in a tease, and mumbled under his breath, "and a devoted husband, too,"

At first, Rukia thought he was joking, but as she observed his efficiency, the way he understood the process so well, she realized he might not be.  

Ichigo had served as her fukutaichō in his world? He had been both her husband and her fukutaichō? Rukia had never even considered or dreamed of it. Ichigo had always been stronger than her—stronger than any other captain in the Gotei 13. A fukutaichō of the Thirteenth? Why stop there?  

Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped scribbling on the documents. Knowing how possessive and protective he was, she had an idea why he had settled as her fukutaichō.

She was not weak. She didn’t need him to protect her all the time. She was a captain. She was no longer the shinigami who had lost her powers and needed him to rescue her. How could the Rukia from his world allow this?

It was almost uncanny how Ichigo could instantly read her wandering thoughts and sense her discomfort.  

"I’m not settling for anything, Rukia."  

His eyes bore into hers, filled with longing and love.  

"I know you’re strong, and you can take care of yourself. I know that better than anyone," he said.  

"It's me. My problem. I made a choice—one that possibly threatens the people I love," Ichigo continued. "So just the thought of something happening to you when I'm not there is enough to drive me insane."  

"I just want to be with you all the time, that's all," he added, almost nonchalantly, as if he had explained this a thousand times before.

There was a hint of obsessiveness, possessiveness—all directed at one person: her. It spoke volumes about his love for her, how deeply devoted he was, how his life belonged to her, just as hers did to him.  

Maybe if she were in their shoes, she would understand—the danger of Yhwach returning at any moment was the price of living the life they wanted.

Rukia didn’t want to lose focus by his confession or by watching him lick an envelope to seal it closed. She cleared her throat and rubbed her neck. Her nape and face felt warm again. She shook her head and hummed in apology, "sorry, that's not... that's not what I meant," she mumbled.

They worked in sync for a while, the silence between them comforting, filled only with the sound of the pouring rain. It was almost eleven when Ichigo finished his pile of work. He got up, took his mug from the coffee table, and instead of sitting back down, he moved to her side of the desk, standing close as he watched her work on the budget plan. At some point, he placed his mug to the side, bent his back, and leaned closer, his arm resting around her seat, his face just inches from hers. He wasn’t looking at her, and Rukia found herself staring at his handsome side profile.  

"You missed a zero here," he told her in that husky voice before pulling away.  

Rukia closed her eyes for a moment, trying to regain control over herself. It was hard when she had missed him so much, when she had spent days fearing for his life. And now, his replica—the exact same Ichigo—was right here, providing her warmth and quiet companionship.  

Just how much self-control did a Kuchiki have? She was sure Ichigo was just testing it. 

After another silence, Rukia asked him then—the one thing that had been weighing on her mind ever since she found out about it. She didn’t want him to see her vulnerability. She had tried so hard to hide it, and so far, she had been doing a pretty good job.  

She had postponed asking until the very last moment, maybe because she was secretly afraid of his answer.  

"Have you heard from Zangetsu? Or Ichigo?" Rukia whispered, not even looking up from her last piece of paper.  

"No, not yet," Ichigo replied. He sounded softer this time, as if he knew the truth might break her.  

Rukia remained calm, but the crumpled paper in her hands told him otherwise.  

"How long… how long do we wait?" she asked.  

"Urahara-san said that with each passing day, the probability of survival gradually decreases," Ichigo replied, his tone steady. In front of her, he looked and sounded like a man worthy of being called a commander in war—direct, fearless, not easily swayed by emotion.  

"By the end of the 30th day, the chance of survival will drop to zero percent," 

He paused.

"Tomorrow is the 30th day."  

Rukia finally looked up, her eyes widening. The mask she had worn so well was gone. She could no longer hold it together. Her face was raw with emotion—worry, desperation, fear.  

"How can you be so calm about this?" she asked, her expression reminding him so much of that time she had been worried sick for him on the bridge leading to Senzaikyū.  

Ichigo sighed and moved to her side of the desk again. He took her in his strong arms and lifted her onto the desk so he could look her in the eyes at the same level. He gazed deeply into her violet eyes, staring at her like she was his world. His toned arms rested on either side of her waist, effectively caging her in. 

"Because I know my own power and limits, Rukia," 

He was so confident. And he always talked like both Ichigos were the same person, with the same power and abilities. 

Rukia bit her lower lip and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself. Her mask cracked completely.  

"Why is he taking so long?" Rukia whispered again, almost as if she were muttering to herself.  

"The switching process took a greater toll on him than it did on me, remember?"  

Rukia sighed. He was right.  

"And what do I need to do to help, Ichigo? What can I do?" she asked softly. Her hands instinctively moved over his clothed chest in a comforting motion. It drove her crazy that she couldn’t do anything—that all she could do was feel helpless and worry about him over and over again.  

"Ah. Actually there’s something I need you to do—later," Ichigo replied.  

Her gentle touches were distracting and Ichigo tried so hard not to get distracted or succumb to temptation.  

"When we start the switching process again, as the gate opens, I need you to pour your spiritual energy into me, Rukia," Ichigo explained.

"Just like the second time you gave me your powers. That way, it will help boost and replenish my spiritual energy so I can cross the barrier without getting trapped in the dimensional void," he added.

"Instead of relying solely on my own energy, which will eventually be depleted, you can provide a constant source of reiatsu—fueling me forward until I reach the other side without my reiatsu dropping to near zero, which would kill me."  

Rukia nodded, her face brightening at the thought that there was finally something she could do for him. And she was perfect for the role. Back then, Urahara had said that Ichigo's soul accepted the Shinigami powers more easily when they came from her because of the history and bond they shared.

"That’s... that's actually a brilliant idea, Ichigo."  

He smirked smugly. "Well, yeah," he acted proud before adding, "Not my idea. Urahara-san came up with it."  

"I’ll ask for help from the Gotei—just like last time. Renji, Nii-sama, your dad, Kyoraku-soutaichou... I bet everyone will be willing to help. We won’t run out of reiatsu sources," she said, her enthusiasm evident.

Actually, she had already filed a report on Ichigo's arrival and submitted it to the Soutaichou the morning after Ichigo first visited her.

Without realizing it, her defenses had completely crumbled around him, and she was now caressing his neck and jaw with both hands in a comfortable, familiar way. "I’ll ask and explain everything to the soutaichou myself, okay?"  

Ichigo only nodded. "Yeah, okay, do that." Her determination was adorable. Somehow, she didn’t look as tired as before. That was so like Rukia—putting others' needs before her own.  

One of Ichigo’s arms smoothly moved to circle around her waist, pulling her closer. Rukia seemed unfazed by the proximity and warmth, as if she were completely familiar with it. But she paused her touch for a moment and asked, her eyebrow raised, "And I assume our Ichigo will have the same help on your side?"  

"He’s in good hands, trust me,"

Urahara, in his world, was just as—if not more—brilliant than the one here. He would know what to do.  

"You sure?" She asked again.

"Trust me, Rukia," Ichigo’s voice was rough and husky, and Rukia melted at his confidence. It really was hard to stay in control when Ichigo was constantly like this.  

Ichigo pulled her closer again, grinning in almost triumph when he realized she wasn’t pushing him away. Instead, her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, while her other hand gently caressed his chest once more.  

"I just... badly want to help him—help you," Rukia mumbled.  

Him. You. It was confusing. Weren’t they both Ichigo?  

"I know," he replied.  

"It drives me restless, Ichigo, knowing I can't do anything but worry myself sick over you."  

At some point, the lines between the Ichigo here and her old Ichigo blurred.  

But at the end of the day, they were both the same soul, weren't they?

"I know," Ichigo repeated.  

"Why do you always get into trouble like this?" The Ichigo here and the Ichigo there were just the same, weren’t they? Ganging up to drive her insane with worry over his safety.  

"Eh? This is kind of the first time I’ve been thrown into another dimension, Rukia," he teased, and she frowned. Yeah, he did love it when she got angry with him.  

"You know what I mean," she scolded. "Idiot," she added, giving him a light punch.  

"Yeah, okay, I get it." He murmured in defeat.

Somewhere along the lines, Rukia muttered something like no, it wasn't okay, but he ignored her. It was just smooth—the way Ichigo managed to unknot the tie of her sleeping robe. The collar and sleeves of her outer night robe slipped as he left a trail of kisses down her neck, to the junction where her neck and shoulder met, then to the flawless skin of her bare shoulder. One of his hands rested on her thigh, leaving gentle, innocent caresses, while the other pressed lightly against her waist—enough to successfully distract her logical thinking.  

Rukia exhaled a sigh and closed her eyes. For a moment, she wanted to forget that the Ichigo she knew was a married man—to someone else. The same married man who had confessed, the last time she saw him three or four years ago, that his heart still belonged to her and likely always would. She wanted to be oblivious to what was right and what wasn’t. She only wanted him—the comfort and safety he provided.  

And Ichigo? Ichigo wanted this stolen moment too—just this once. He didn’t know what tomorrow might bring. What if the other Ichigo truly didn’t make it? What if he was trapped in this reality forever?  

He needed Rukia to be with him when the fear of never seeing the other version of her and their children again loomed in the back of his mind. When he knew the possibility of not making it back to her was more than 90%, yet he still had to pretend he could handle it—so that Rukia in front of him wouldn’t break.  

No, it wasn’t cheating. Not when they were the same souls, just living in different scenarios.

It was still the same Rukia he was madly in love with.  

Ichigo didn’t think it was foul or selfish to have a moment of weakness when it was what they both needed most at the moment.

So Ichigo finally truly lost all self control he barely possessed in the first place and leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.  

And this time, Rukia did more than just not stop him—she kissed him back, circling her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. She could feel his lazy but happy grin against her lips, could imagine his handsome smirk that he finally won her over. She was almost disappointed with herself and her so-called Kuchiki pride.

Their mouths met sleepily, already soft and open, starting slow before turning into something more when Ichigo's arms tightened around her waist. He pressed his mouth harder against hers, hungry for her. Her lips parted in a gentle sigh, letting his tongue in, and after that, all Rukia knew was Ichigo kissing her harder, deeper, with the same fervent, urgent need she had known before. It was familiar. The way he made her feel now and the way Ichigo had made her feel years ago. The same obsessiveness and possessiveness in his kiss and touch. The way he didn't only kiss but took and claimed.

Eventually, Rukia pulled away first. Ichigo looked so lost in it that he groaned in protest and tried to claim her lips again, but Rukia tilted her head back, and instead, he left a trail of kisses along her jaw, down to her neck and bare shoulders once again.

Rukia pulled him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and kissed his cheek that she could reach.  

It didn't stop him though. Ichigo continued leaving open-mouthed kisses on her right shoulder this time, marking every skin that he could reach with his lips and tongue. That was when Rukia realized it wasn’t just the sleeves of her night robe that had slipped—somehow, the strap of her nightdress had too.

He wouldn’t stop kissing and biting at her skin, and Rukia almost moaned and got carried away at the sensation. He grazed his lips against her collarbone this time, moving lower, and lower, to the delicate skin above her breast—and that was when Rukia decided they truly needed to stop before it went too far.  

"Ichigo," she let out a breathy whisper, trying to pull him away, but he only grunted and tried to bite her skin playfully.

"Ichigo, stop," she told him, pulling him away once more. 

"Hm?" He mumbled in a half-assed reply, stealing another kiss, from her pink lips this time.

"Let's just… let's just call it a night, okay?" She tried to sound convincing, but she was breathless from his kisses, and her fingers cradled his cheek, caressing it lovingly.  

Ichigo finally pulled away and glanced at the clock on the wall and realized it was nearly midnight. He sighed, kissed the palm of her hand on his cheek, then covered it with his own. He nodded and mumbled, "Alright, then, let's go to bed."  

Rukia smiled and tapped his cheek playfully this time. "I am. You're sleeping on the couch."  

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, pretending to be confused. "Huh? Isn't your bed big enough for both of us?" Sometimes he was such a dork.

Rukia laughed softly—genuinely laughed for the first time in what felt like forever.  

Ichigo grinned—boyish, cocky, and really, utterly handsome—he muttered something like what, why, what's so funny, and Rukia really, really just wanted to kiss him again to wipe off that smug grin off his face.  

It was a stolen moment, solely belonging to them. They were allowed to have this—two people in dire need of each other's comfort during an uncertain time.

Uryuu parked his car in front of the Kurosaki Clinic. It was the first time in almost a decade.  

After spending a few minutes building up his courage, he turned off the engine and prepared to step out. His phone buzzed. A mistake—he glanced at the message. It was from his fiancée.  

Great, he thought. As if he didn’t already feel guilty enough.  

Hey, long surgery again? Just wanted to tell you that I'm drained, probably knocked out already the moment you get home. I left dinner in the fridge, okay?

He didn’t open it, just read it from the message preview. His blue eyes lingered on the silver band around his ring finger.  

For a moment, he contemplated taking it off. But in the end, he didn’t.  

The truth was all they needed right now. No more secrets—secrets that would only tangle the threads even more than they already were.  

He stepped out of the car and jogged toward the entrance. It was still raining, though not as heavily as in the morning.  

Ichigo had told him he would give them privacy. He had also subtly hinted that he no longer stayed in this house. Instead, he spent his nights at Urahara’s shop—something about how it didn’t feel right to live under the same roof as someone who wasn’t his wife. Worse, that someone was also his best friend’s wife.  

Uryuu snorted. That Kurosaki—he really was a devoted husband when he wanted to be.  

Uryuu took a deep breath and tried to summon more courage. He had practiced—he swore he had rehearsed exactly how this conversation would go. But now that he was here, every word he had prepared felt like it had been tossed into a dumpster.  

"Alright, stop being a loser," he muttered to himself.  

He pressed the doorbell once.  

No answer.  

He pressed it again.  

Still no answer. Is she home?  

One more time. Come on. Open the door. Come on. 

This time, the door opened.  

And for the first time in three years, Uryuu came face to face with her again.  

Orihime.

"Uryuu…kun?" Her eyes widened, her voice filled with disbelief.  

Was she glad to see him? Was she relieved that he was here?  

She still sounded the same. She looked even prettier—or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him since he hadn’t seen her in so long. But she looked… sad. Lost. Vulnerable.  

She had lost weight. Uryuu could tell.  

She had lost herself again and again, trying to fill the love for two people on her own.  

A part of him wanted to punch Ichigo all over again for making her this miserable. Seeing her like this, he could tear down the world if she asked him to.  

"Uryuu-kun…?" she repeated, as if she couldn’t believe he was standing there.

This time, though, it felt like she was calling him closer. Asking for his help. Asking for his warmth.  

Uryuu couldn't even remember what he had planned to say. He couldn't even think.  

Seeing her like this, his body moved on its own, driven by instinct.  

He stepped inside, shut the door behind him with a firm slam—and wasted no damn time. He pulled her into a tight embrace.

Orihime didn’t fight him. She didn’t push him away.  

She only sobbed, burying her face against his chest. She soaked his shirt with her tears. And he didn’t care.  

He stroked her hair, just like he always had. And slowly—hesitantly—she wrapped her arms around him too.  

"I'm here," Uryuu whispered softly against the crown of her head. "I'm here," he repeated. 

And Orihime only sobbed harder.  

He was here now.

He never left. He had always been here.

Later that night, Ichigo suddenly jolted awake from his sleep. Heavy sweat ran down his back, making his t-shirt damp and wet. He took his t-shirt off and wiped his sweaty torso, neck, and back with the fabric. Clutching his chest, he struggled to steady his rough, ragged breathing.  

Next to him, Rukia was still sleeping. Her brows furrowed slightly, as if sensing his distress. For a moment, he thought he was back in their old home, with his wife sleeping soundly beside him. But as Ichigo looked around, reality set in—no, this wasn’t their home yet. It was still Rukia's. The one she used to share with Renji. 

Ichigo rubbed a hand over his face and lay back down, trying to find sleep again. Rukia instinctively snuggled closer to him, and he sighed, pulling her into his arms and pressing soft kisses to her forehead.  

He closed his eyes, but his breathing was still labored, as if he had just run a marathon.  

In his dream, he had been falling. Falling. Falling into an endless pit of darkness.  

A familiar voice called out to him.  

King.

King.

Wake up.

Wake up, King.

WAKE UP.

In another reality, Ichigo opened his eyes and abruptly sat up. Similar to his counterpart, he was covered in sweat, struggling to even out his ragged breathing.  

Next to him, Rukia stirred, slowly opening her eyes. "Ichigo…?" she asked softly.  

Ichigo wiped his forehead with his already damp t-shirt. "Just go back to sleep, Rukia," he said, his voice rough and breathless.  

Rukia sat up beside him and rubbed his arm. "What's wrong?"  

Ichigo couldn’t even form a full sentence at that moment, still trying to regain control of his breathing. Seeing the state he was in, Rukia turned on the bedside lamp and walked to their shared dresser, retrieving a dry towel and a fresh t-shirt. She left the bedroom briefly and returned with a glass of water.  

"Thanks," he muttered, taking the glass after wiping his torso with the towel she had given him.  

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rukia asked. She did that again, rubbing his arm to provide him comfort.

But Ichigo wished she would stop looking at him with so much worry. It pained him to know he was causing her trouble.  

"I could hear him," Ichigo finally said, his voice hoarse, before taking another gulp of water.  

Rukia didn't press him. She patiently waited for him to continue.  

"Zangetsu," Ichigo added solemnly.  

Rukia’s eyes widened.  

His words ignited something—hope.

Finally.

A light despite all the darkness.  

Zangetsu calling out only meant that her Ichigo—her husband—was alive. 

Both of Ichigo had made it out alive after the switch.