Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first problem they encountered was where to put all the boxes.

His room didn’t look like his room anymore —the mattress was stripped of the sheets and blankets, the desk had been emptied and cleaned, and the shelves held no books. He had taken all of the clothes and shoes from his closet and packed them into the biggest suitcase his family owned, until Rukia pointed out that, starting that day, he wouldn’t need human clothes anymore.

From then on, he would only wear the shihakushō and little else.

So he put his clothes back into the closet and got started on packing his books.

Soon, there were so many boxes that there was barely any space in his room to freely move around. Ichigo kept bumping into boxes and the edge of his desk, and Rukia had already knocked over a towering stack. That was when the problem arose.

“Ichigo,” Rukia called, eyeing the boxes with a frown. “Where do you suppose you’ll put all of these?”

He stopped sorting out his clothes for the umpteenth time —he’d been thinking that, after all, he could take some clothes with sentimental value to Soul Society— and looked over at her.

“Huh?” he asked, “in my new room. Where else?”

She took a deep breath, as if arming herself with patience. Ichigo felt vaguely insulted.

“You idiot, you aren’t getting a room for yourself. Since you’re starting as an unseated officer, you’ll sleep in the barracks with everyone else. There’s no space for your things there.”

Ichigo stared at her, blinking, uncomprehending, for several seconds. “Then what am I supposed to do with these? Are you telling me I spent nearly a week packing for nothing?”

Rukia seemed to ponder her answer for a moment, and Ichigo sincerely hoped she could find a way around the unexpected problem. Having to leave his childhood home and family was something he’d made peace with a long time ago, when he’d started his final year of high school. Even if, at that time, he had been convinced he would end up attending college in another city, that didn’t change the fact that he’d been getting used to the idea of living somewhere else for a while now.

The shift from college to Soul Society was a big one, but not an unwelcome one. After all, there had been a high probability that he would have ended up studying in a different city than that of his friends’ universities, where he would have been stranded in an unfamiliar place with no one to call his friend. In a sense, Soul Society seemed like a safer choice, considering the amount of people who lived there that he was on friendly terms with.

As much as the idea of moving to Soul Society attracted him, the thought of completely leaving behind his old life was daunting. As childish as it sounded, he wanted his personal belongings with him. He wanted to be able to reach for one of his favourite books whenever the whim to reread them struck him. He wanted to be able to put on a DVD and sit down to watch a movie, which was, to his dismay, impossible to do in Soul Society. He wanted the comfort and familiarity of his favourite shirt and, most importantly, he wanted to take his mother’s portrait with him.

“Well,” Rukia started, a pensive look on her face. “It’s not like you don’t have a family there. Maybe we could ask Kukaku if she would mind lending you a room to store your things?”

Ichigo frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to impose and, besides, we aren’t that close. I didn’t even have the chance to talk everything out with her and Ganju. I know they’d receive me, but still… it’d be awkward”.

Rukia sighed. “You have a point.”

“There’s really no way of putting everything in the Division? There must be some unused rooms or something.”

“No, Captain Ukitake makes use of them; they’re his living quarters.”

“I could ask him…”

“Ichigo, don’t be so disrespectful,” Rukia chided, bending down to pick up a stray pencil. She’d been sitting on the windowsill during the conversation, and now made her way over to Ichigo to hand him the pencil. He put it away in one of the drawers, knowing it would be pointless to bring it along with him to Soul Society. “Do you really need all of these?” she asked, gesturing to the boxes scattered around his room. “It’s not like you’ll have that much free time. Unless you’re planning on slacking off.”

“As if I’ve ever done that,” Ichigo muttered. “Maybe I could leave behind some things, but I want to take my mother’s portrait with me. That’s non-negotiable.”

Rukia’s expression softened at his words, and Ichigo turned away, unable to bear the full weight of her eyes. It had been two exhausting, overwhelmingly emotional weeks for the two of them. After Yhwach had been defeated and dealt with, Ichigo and Rukia had had two days to rest before other matters began to compete for their attention. During the war and the time they had spent training with the Zero Division, there had barely been any time to talk about their families and the past they unknowingly shared through Shiba Kaien. But, once there was no end of the world to avoid, Ichigo had started to itch to talk to Rukia.

So, they had talked. In the Kuchiki manor, after resting for two days after the final battle; in his house, when she had come with him to say goodbye to his family and Karakura for the foreseeable future. There was a lot to explain and a lot to sort out.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to the Thirteenth Division,” she’d confessed to him one night. She had slipped under the covers of his bed with him; it was a tight fit, and they both had to be lying on their sides, but Ichigo didn’t mind as much as he should. “With Captain Ukitake so weak after his sacrifice, I don’t know if he’ll stay as a captain much longer.”

“I hardly doubt Kyoraku will make him retire,” Ichigo had answered. He kept clenching his hand into a fist, while the other was shoved under the pillow. There was a lock of hair falling across Rukia’s cheek that he had to constantly repress the urge to brush aside. Doing so would break the fragile normalcy of the moment. Rukia hadn’t bothered with the closet this time around and chose to sleep in his bed every night and, somehow, they’d managed to make the situation feel natural instead of uncomfortable or forced. But neither of them had touched the other, and Ichigo refused to be the one to make it weird.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and dropped the bomb. “I think they want to make me the captain after Ukitake retires.”

Ichigo stared at her, feeling wrong-footed all of a sudden. He could perfectly envision her clad in a white haori, even more regal than Byakuya.  A captaincy would suit her like nothing else.

“I’ll be sure to change Divisions before that day comes,” he said drily. “Or else you’ll work me to the bone.”

She shot him a murderous glare and made an aborted, jerky movement forward before stopping herself. Ah, so she felt it too. She’d been about to punch him, but realized at the last moment that that would imply disturbing the carefully constructed balance between them.

“Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like I don’t have more offers from the other Divisions.”

“Oh, excuse me, Mr Hotshot. I didn’t realize you were so popular.”

Ichigo grinned at her, but didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t want to derail the conversation any further. “But is that what you want? To be a captain?”

Her answer was infuriatingly demure. “It’s an honour to even be considered for the post.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I asked.”

Rukia broke eye contact, her eyes wandering over his face until they rested on an undefined spot above his shoulder.

“I would like to,” she said, “In time.”

“Well, when that time comes,” Ichigo started, shifting minutely on the bed to be more comfortable. “I’ll be there for you. I got your back.”

Once again, they found themselves in the middle of a charged moment. Rukia’s eyes snapped back to his, large and inscrutable. She nodded wordlessly, and Ichigo understood that there was not much to say back. He had only stated a fact, after all, and she could do little else but acknowledge it. She had expressed a similar sentiment to him a few conversations ago, when they’d been discussing his move to Soul Society.

After that, they had slowly drifted to sleep, and the next morning found Ichigo waking up alone in a cold bed while Rukia had breakfast downstairs with his sisters.

Ichigo felt as if the amount of meaningful, possibly life-changing conversations he’d had with Rukia over the past two weeks had completely eaten up his capability of having them without embarrassingly breaking down. The move was also fraying his nerves and, if they really couldn’t find a way to store his belongings in Soul Society, he feared he would officially be at the end of his rope.

“Oh! I know where to put everything,” Rukia exclaimed suddenly, snapping Ichigo out of his trip down memory lane and bringing him back to the present. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner, but there’s plenty of space in the manor. I’m sure Nii-sama wouldn’t mind.”

Ichigo’s eyebrow twitched. “How can you be so sure? It’s his house, and I doubt he’d be pleased to see my things there.”

“Don’t be a moron, of course he won’t mind. He likes you.”

“He has a funny way of showing his affection, then,” he said, knowing he was being unfair to Byakuya but unable to resist the comment.

Rukia narrowed her eyes, but let it pass. “Besides, he has a huge, empty room exclusively dedicated to Hisana’s altar. Not to mention all the unused rooms, and the fact that you always stay with us whenever you are in Soul Society. You practically have a room already.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea, but its convenience was undeniable and, on top of that, Rukia did have a point in that he would be living in the barracks of the Thirteenth Division. It wouldn’t be as if he were moving in.

“Okay,” he conceded, “if you’re really sure that your brother won’t mind.”

She gifted him with a luminous, breath-taking smile.

“Positive.”

Saying goodbye hadn’t been as hard as he’d expected. Most of it, he knew, was due to the fact that nobody had cried, and he suspected that his family, especially his sisters, had adopted the mentality of seeing this as him going away to college. It felt more like inevitability, rather than a necessity, and they had the Soul Passes to come and go to Soul Society as they pleased, which would be cheaper and faster than taking a train to visit him in a different city.

When the time came to say goodbye to his friends, the moment held a more melancholic note, mostly because he wasn’t the only one going away to start a new chapter in his life. Their paths were, at last, diverging, but that didn’t have to mean that they were drifting apart.

Thankfully, no one had made jokes that they would see each other again for the next world-destroying crisis.

When he stepped into the Senkaimon with Rukia, he felt his heart clenching in his chest, half in fear and half in excitement, and couldn’t help shooting Rukia a quick grin.

“Ready?” she asked, with a matching grin in her face.

“I was born ready.”

Rukia rolled her eyes, huffing, but her smile remained in place, untarnished, while they made their way through the long, wide aisle that connected the living world with the Seiretei.

The Senkaimon led them to a bright, traditional Japanese garden that he recognized instantly. After all, he’d spent several hours sitting there, recovering from his wounds, sometimes with Rukia or Renji (and, on one memorable occasion, with Byakuya), and the place was now as comfortingly familiar as his house.

Ichigo saw Rukia relax out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her fully. “So, what now?”

“Now, we go to your room to check that the servants put all of your things there, as requested. Have you thought about where you’d like to put your mother’s shrine?”

Ichigo wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, wherever? I don’t know, we’ve never had one for her.”

Rukia hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t offer an answer. Ichigo appreciated her tact, but realized she had probably known that already, after living with his family for so many months. It was no secret that his father had foregone an actual altar for that weird poster of his mother. He would have been more surprised at how she took her father’s eccentricities in her stride if he hadn’t known about Byakuya’s shrine for his late wife. Rukia was probably used to those extravagant displays of love and grief, which was such a sad thought that he tried to drive it away as soon as it came.

They weren’t too far away from the room in which he usually stayed in when Rukia stopped short in front of a closed door.

“What is it?”

“This is Hisana’s shrine.”

“Oh, do you… Do you want to go in and say hello?” he asked awkwardly, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

“No, just… I don’t actually know why I stopped. Probably because we were talking about it earlier. Let’s go on,” Rukia said, taking a step forward, but he took hold of her sleeve to stop her.

“Are you sure? It’s your sister, you know. It’s okay if you want to go in,” Ichigo had tried for an encouraging tone and expression, but, judging from the reticent look on Rukia’s face, he wasn’t succeeding.

“I told you, I don’t want to go in. Come on, let’s get you settled,” she replied, with that tone of voice of hers that usually brooked no argument.

Rukia tugged at her sleeve and Ichigo promptly let it go, wisely deciding to follow her this time when she resumed walking.

They hadn’t even neared the end of the aisle when she stopped again.

“Argh, let’s just go in quickly. I’ve never introduced you to her, after all,” she said with a touch of exasperation, pivoting on her heel to retrace their steps until she reached the door, which she slid open.

“I told you we should’ve gone in,” he muttered under his breath, following after her and slipping for the first time into the room dedicated to Hisana’s shrine.                                

Rukia was right; it was a large and empty room, the only furniture the lavishly intricate altar at the back. Perhaps due to its vastness and purpose, the room gave off an ominous feeling, and Ichigo started to suspect the reason why Rukia avoided the place.

They knelt before the altar and bowed their heads in respect. They were in silence for a short while before Ichigo lightly nudged Rukia in the ribs. “Didn’t you say you were going to introduce us?”

Rukia seemed to hold in her breath before speaking, “Right. Hisana, this is Kurosaki Ichigo. He helped save Soul Society more than once and now he’s in the Thirteenth Division with me. Ichigo, this is Hisana, my sister and Nii-sama’s late wife.”

It was a rather spartan introduction, but Rukia’s sheer discomfort was almost tangible. It was strange, he reflected, for Rukia to be so tense about this. He had no connection to Hisana and, in fact, they had already had a conversation about her in the past, back when he had barged in Soul Society to stop her execution. He’d lent an ear while she tried to wrap her head around the news that she’d had a sister that had abandoned her, and even offered his two cents when she’d asked.

They had openly talked about Shiba Kaien and his Quincy heritage, far more awkward topics of conversation than her sister, so why was Rukia so wound-up about it?

“Does it make you uncomfortable, that I’m here?” he blurted out before his brain could fully process the words.

Rukia looked at him strangely. “No. Why would you ask that?”

“You’re acting weird about this. If you would rather be alone right now to talk to your sister, it’s no big deal. I can find my way around the manor.”

Rukia kept looking at him, gaze unflinching, and he had no choice but to look back. Truth be told, if Rukia chose to send him away now, it would hurt, because they were already all the way in. They’d unearthed personal and family secrets to each other, bared their souls, and for Rukia to figuratively close the door on his face now would feel like the most definitive of rejections. They were stuck in a weird limbo, waiting for something to happen and tip the balance one way or the other, and Ichigo wasn’t sure yet that Rukia closing the door on him was the disturbance they were awaiting.

At last, Rukia broke the eye contact and turned to face her sister’s portrait, with a soft and rather downcast expression.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’ve let me into your family, and I want you to meet my sister, however futile this may be,” she said.

If it hadn’t been for the utter stillness of the room, Ichigo would have had to strain to hear her voice. He nodded once and kept silent, trying not to think too much about the uncanny resemblance Rukia bore to her sister. He wondered what Byakuya felt every time he looked at Rukia, if he saw his wife in her, and how messed up it had to be to live with someone that shared the exact same looks with the person he’d loved and lost.

Then he remembered his own resemblance to his cousin and Rukia’s past relationship with him, and this time it was harder to push his frustration away. The fact that so many things had been going on in the background of their relationship, without their knowledge, made him think of things like fate, and he didn’t know how to deal with those thoughts on top of everything else. What did it mean that their encounter had been predetermined and predicted so long ago?

“So many things are happening all at once,” Rukia’s quiet voice broke the silence.

“You can read minds now?” he asked, only joking slightly.

Rukia smiled blithely. “We’re both going practically through the same process, if you think about it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ichigo considered, for a brief second, bringing up the topic. Why not? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked about it before, but he didn’t want to breach the matter of destiny sitting right in front of Hisana’s altar. He let out a quiet sigh and patted Rukia’s knee, startling her. “Let’s go. I still have to unpack.”

“And don’t forget reporting back to Captain Ukitake,” Rukia added, getting to her feet and offering him a hand up. She smiled teasingly at him, alleviating the atmosphere. “How does it feel, having to answer to someone?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes. “I’m not nearly as disobedient as you make me out to be,” he grumbled.

“I distinctly remember that time you were unable to sit tight for two days and ran to Hueco Mundo,” she replied.

“How was I supposed to know that Renji and you were coming too!” Ichigo huffed. “Honestly, when are you going to let me live that one down?”

“Never,” she shot back, mischievous grin still in place.

Ichigo had to suppress a smile of his own for the sake of their little spat. They bickered all the way to the room that he was slowly beginning to think of as his, which was as much of a mess as the one in his childhood home. The futon was rolled away in a corner of the room, a small kotatsu in the middle of it, and the boxes containing his belongings were scattered all around.

Rukia sighed heavily. “This is gonna take so long.”

She wasn’t wrong. They had only spent two hours just putting away a quarter of his possessions in the chest of drawers against one of the walls when Ichigo begged off, claiming he would rather get started on the necessary paperwork to be fully considered a Shinigami in service to the Seiretei.

Rukia was all too happy to comply, immediately closing the box she had just opened seconds ago. “Thank goodness. I was starting to think we would never call it a day. How can you have so much stuff?”

“Shut up, it’s perfectly normal,” he replied, and reached to slide the shoji door open.

They came face to face with an old woman so abruptly that Ichigo nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Aunt Shigeko!” Rukia exclaimed, and then bowed, recovering from her surprise amazingly quickly. Ichigo was still coming down from his near heart attack, and looked carefully at the woman.

She was old in the way most shinigamis were old: which was to say, there was something about the way they moved and carried themselves that tipped off any onlookers that they were in the presence of someone that had seen a lot in their time. She wore a lavish kimono, and a hairpiece glinted atop of her head.

Then his brain caught up with what Rukia had just called her. Aunt? The woman certainly looked the part of a rich noblewoman.

A sharp elbow digging into his ribs prompted him into a shallow bow and, when he straightened his back, he discovered the woman’s sharp eyes trailed on him.

“Rukia, dearest,” the woman said, voice sugary-sweet. It reminded Ichigo of Rukia when she was impersonating a high school student back in the old days, and he instantly knew where she had got the inspiration from. “Who would this young man be?”

“Ah, Aunt,” Rukia said, trying to cover how flustered she was at the situation. “This is Kurosaki Ichigo, former substitute shinigami. I am sure you must have heard of him.”

“Certainly,” Shigeko replied. There was something about her that made Ichigo glad that he wasn’t being included in the family conversation. “We’ve heard all sorts of tales about him. And, pray tell, what were you two doing in that room with the door closed?”

Ichigo felt himself flush at the implication. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed that Rukia wasn’t faring much better, as a faint pink color adorned her cheekbones.

“We were just leaving,” she told Shigeko meekly, which seemed to be the wrong answer. They both realized this when her eyes narrowed to slits, and her expression suddenly became so thunderous that Ichigo felt as if he were in the presence of Byakuya when they had fought so long ago.

 “Are you telling me,” the woman started slowly, “that this boy here has dishonoured you?”

Ichigo choked on air. Rukia looked as if she wanted the earth to split open and swallow her aunt.

“No—”

“Rukia, this is a grave matter!” Shigeko shrieked. “I absolutely cannot let this slide! The situation must be dealt with right away!”

In that moment, Byakuya rounded the corner, and Ichigo had never felt so happy before at seeing his impassive face. Surely he would right this crazy situation and assuage the aunt’s fears.

“Aunt, I see that you’ve found Rukia,” he said, glancing at Ichigo and Rukia briefly, questioningly.

“Byakuya,” the woman blustered, walking up to him. “A most dire thing has happened under your roof. Rukia’s been dishonoured by that boy!” Shigeko pointed at him with one long finger. Ichigo felt like a deer in the headlights. “I caught them red-handed, coming out of that room.”

Byakuya looked at them, expression inquisitive. Ichigo knew right away that he didn’t believe that crazy old hag’s claims, but he was obviously expecting an explanation.

“I was just helping Ichigo unpack, Nii-sama,” Rukia hurried to explain, her face having returned to a more normal color. “And we were about to go back to the Thirteenth.”

“I see,” Byakuya replied. “Then there is no problem.”

Upon hearing his words, Shigeko seemed to calm down so fast that Ichigo wondered if she were right in the head.

“Oh, Rukia, dear,” she said, sounding so genuinely earnest and cheerful that it made the situation even more bizarre than it already was. “You should have told me that this young man here is your intended! I wouldn’t have made such a ruckus if I’d known,” she chuckled.

“What,” Ichigo finally found his voice. “Intended—”

Rukia’s quick slap to his side and Byakuya’s warning look shut him right up. Shigeko turned to him, expression sunny.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry for my earlier behaviour!” she chirped. “I didn’t know you are going to be part of the family! You see, I was only looking out for our sweet Rukia.”

Before Ichigo could open his mouth and demand to know what the fuck was happening, Byakuya intervened, “Aunt Shigeko, would you mind coming with me to the library? I need to show you something.”

“Of course, dear,” she acquiesced. “And you must tell me everything about this engagement. He has the Shiba look, doesn’t he?”

Byakuya’s face became so incredibly pinched at his aunt’s comment that it wasn’t a wonder that his next words were through gritted teeth. “That’s because he is one.”

“How wonderful!” Shigeko exclaimed. With a happy smile on her face, she turned to Ichigo and Rukia, who had remained silent and paralyzed on the spot. “Such a good choice, dear. Congratulations to the both of you.”

Ichigo took his cue from Rukia and dredged up a smile for the crazy aunt. Byakuya beckoned Shigeko with a smooth movement of his hand, and they started to make their way to the library. Ichigo got the distinct impression that Byakuya was walking faster than normal.

When they rounded the corner and were out of their sight, silence reigned between them for a moment until Ichigo finally turned to look at her.

“Rukia,” he said. “What the fuck.”

Rukia didn’t fess up until they were seated in her office at the Division. She had flat-out refused to answer any of his questions as long as they remained in the manor, forcing them to move to the Thirteenth Division’s headquarters. That didn’t drastically change his plans, since that had been their original intention before the crazy aunt had showed up.

“Don’t call her crazy,” Rukia chastised. “She’s just old. And a respected elder of the Kuchiki Clan, so don’t be rude.”

“Rukia, she made a complete 180 in the span of five minutes twice,” Ichigo felt the need to point out.

Rukia pursed her lips. “I know, okay? It’ll pass.”

When she didn’t elaborate any further, Ichigo pressed the issue. “Well? Spit it out. What’s the deal with your aunt?”

“Nothing. I already told you, she’s just old,” Rukia sighed. “Her mind is not the same as before; it wanders constantly. One day she’s perfectly sound, and the next she asks after her father or her brother, both dead for a long time now. Sometimes she doesn’t even realize we’re talking about her, while she’s in the room with us.”

“I didn’t know about her,” he admitted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t see her very often, and neither does Nii-sama. She lives in another district of the Seiretei. And with the war and everything, I simply didn’t have the chance to see her. She just wasn’t on my mind.”

“I see.” Ichigo ran a hand through his hair. “So, what, we just don’t tell her that we are not, in fact, going to get married?”

Ichigo chose not to ask why she had jumped to that particular conclusion. If he thought about it, it must have been due to a mixture of conservative thinking and the suggestive scene of two young people leaving a bedroom together. He was tempted to bring it up, but bit back his words at the last moment.

“It’s no use trying to dissuade her from the idea,” Rukia shrugged, and picked up a paper off a tall pile next to her elbow. “She’ll think whatever she wants, and it’s likely to change depending on the day. I reckon she’ll just forget it.”

 “How can you be so sure of that? You just admitted you don’t see much of her.” When Rukia glared at him, he put up his palms in a placating manner. “You said it, not me.”

“It’ll be fine,” she reassured him, and then smirked, “Forget about it and start thinking about your new duties.”

Ichigo groaned. “What duties? I’m unseated!”

“Such lack of ambition,” she teased. “At this rate, you’ll never even be a fifteenth seat.”

“I’m fine with less responsibility for the time being, thanks,” he muttered under his breath, his words wiping the smile off Rukia’s face. Seeing how her expression became sombre almost instantly, Ichigo groaned again. “Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. Now, tell me about those new duties you were talking about.”

He pushed himself to his feet while Rukia rattled off what tasks had been assigned to him. He tried to show as much enthusiasm as possible, to convince her that this was what he wanted, and, surprisingly, he didn’t have to fake it as much as he’d expected. He’d always liked the Seiretei, when its members weren’t actively trying to kill him or his friends, and found himself actually looking forward to helping with the reconstruction of certain areas, although he could have gone without the guard hours —You’ll be bored to tears, Renji had said to him, but everyone does them at some point, it’s almost a rite of passage at this point.

However, his eyes lit up at the mention of leading morning practice in the Division, and Rukia finally smiled at his reaction.

“Now, off you go,” she told him. “Go get yourself acquainted with everyone else.”

He hesitated. “Shouldn’t I fill in the paperwork for my admission into the Division?”

“No, it’s not necessary now, and it’s not like nobody knows who you are already. You can do that tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s when I’m off duty,” he replied, furrowing his brows.

“I told you I’m not letting you slack off,” Rukia smirked, looking all too pleased with herself.

“Whatever.” Ichigo scoffed, and turned on his heel and made for the door. “See you later, dictator.”

Ichigo had been to the Thirteenth Division’s headquarters before, on the sporadic occasion, but wasn’t intimately familiarized with the place or the layout. Thankfully, one of the few places he’d been to in previous visits was the Captain’s living quarters, which was where he had to go next. But, once there, he hesitated; he knew Ukitake was especially fragile after his sacrifice during the war and that his recovery was slow and draining, and he didn’t want to disturb him.

One of the third seats —Sentaro, his mind supplied just in time— was standing vigil in the foyer, and gave him the green light to go in and report to the Captain about his joining the Division.

He kept it as short as manners and proceedings allowed. Ukitake obviously didn’t want to drive him away, but his affliction was evident in his pale face, so Ichigo assured him that Rukia was taking care of everything with such emphasis that Ukitake let him go after a few minutes of conversation.

“Well then, I hope you settle in nicely, Ichigo,” Ukitake said once he was done, smiling sweetly at him from his half-reclined position at the kotatsu. “We’re very fortunate to count you among us now.”

Ichigo returned his smile. “I’m happy to be here, sir.”

Ukitake chuckled delicately, a cheerful twinkle in his eyes. “I’m not used to seeing you be so polite. What has brought this change about?”

“Um, Rukia, basically,” he answered without thinking, and then hastened to add when he saw Ukitake’s expression. “She’d promised me suicide laps if I was disrespectful, now that I’m officially part of the Seiretei.”

Ukitake’s laugh rattled his whole body. Ichigo was worried the man was going to topple over and hit something, but fortunately the Captain kept himself upright.

“Ah, dear Rukia. Please be patient with her,” Ukitake said. Despite his smile, his eyes looked more serious now, and Ichigo subconsciously straightened his back in attention. “She has so much pressure on her shoulders now. I’m sure she’s trying to do her best and do the Division proud.”

“Of course,” Ichigo replied dumbly. Of course Rukia was doing her best; he had never seen her doing anything less than that, and he couldn’t imagine anyone not being proud of her achievements. He hoped that the soldiers of the Thirteenth Division were appreciating all the hard work their lieutenant was doing in their behalf.

The conversation ended shortly after that and, once back in the foyer, Ichigo asked Sentaro to point him in the direction of the men’s barracks, and followed his instructions until he reached the building that housed the unseated male soldiers. He stood before its gates for a few seconds, took a deep breath and pushed them open.

It’s getting real now, he thought.

Omake

Chapter Text

Over the course of the next weeks, Ichigo found himself settling in his new residency (for want of a better word, as he still considered the family house in Karakura his home), liking his new comrades, who were warming up to him, and enjoying the work he was put to do. He was particularly pleased with the morning practices over which he was required to preside, as that was the ideal time to get to know the others and it prevented him from getting rusty with his zanpakutoh.

Depending on the roster, twice or thrice a week he went with         Rukia and a few of the seated officers to oversee the reconstruction of the neighbouring district, and to lend a hand whenever one was needed. And, almost as regularly, he was put on patrol duty at night, which turned out to be as mind-numbingly boring as Renji had promised. The upside was that he had the other nights of the week off, and then he was left to his own devices.

In his free time, Ichigo took to exploring the Seiretei. Although there was currently more rubble and debris than actual places to visit, some vendors had got back on their feet and had reopened their shops. Before permanently moving to the Seiretei, whenever he’d visited (a very polite way of referencing the way he’d barged in) he hadn’t wandered far from the First, Sixth, and Thirteenth Divisions, sticking close to his friends; he’d had neither a reason nor a real desire to check out the other districts, and he’d also been avoiding Kenpachi and his eagerness to engage him in a fight again. Now, however, things were different and, while he’d been carrying out his duties, it had slowly begun to sink in that he was staying in Soul Society, that it was his home now.

So, in order to broaden his knowledge of the Seiretei, Ichigo had decided to go out to explore. Most of the time, he was on his own, but he always ended up crossing paths with someone he knew and striking up a conversation with them. They always asked after Rukia.

“She’s back in the Division,” he always replied. “She’s on duty right now.”

He knew that Rukia wouldn’t have a problem if he asked her to accompany him on his expeditions, but she was always on duty whenever he wasn’t. Initially, he’d wondered with some worry if there were some hidden meaning behind that, since Rukia was the one that did the roster, but he’d quickly realized that it was for protection, as Rukia didn’t want to deprive the Division of two of its strongest shinigami at the same time so soon after the war and with Ukitake in such a fragile state.

Although their time together had depleted, that didn’t mean they never saw each other. It was never for particularly long periods of time, and they were almost always working or surrounded by other people, but he still vividly remembered the time when seeing her was impossible for him, and he’d learnt not to take for granted any glimpse he was able to catch of her.

Thus, his new life at the Seiretei started to take a shape and develop a routine. Life as a shinigami suited him, and Rukia soon started to add him in missions to the Rukongai.

“That’s typical for rookies,” Renji explained with a smirk on his face, but it was good-natured enough that Ichigo didn’t let it get to him. Both of them favoured a food vendor in the district surrounding the Tenth Division, and they usually met up there to catch up over dinner whenever their schedules allowed it. “It gives you guys an opportunity to gain more experience and get a taste of actual combat. Well, it’s not like you are in desperate need of that. Rukia probably doesn’t want to give you special treatment or somethin’ like that.”

Ichigo nodded, digging into his food. He knew how much Rukia still resented the fact that Byakuya had practically bribed the director of the shinigami Academy to let her graduate sooner than she should have, as it had undermined her hard work and its shadow had followed her into the Thirteenth Division.

“Yeah, I know,” he answered after swallowing. “I don’t mind them.”

“She wants to move you up the ladder as soon as possible, huh. It makes sense. Your being an unseated officer is bullshit and everyone knows it.”

Ichigo scrunched up his nose and said, “It doesn’t feel like it. She’s really enjoying working me to the bone and bossing me around whenever she gets the chance, which is always.”

“Dude, Rukia is soft on you,” Renji countered. “You should see the way Captain Kuchiki has me running round all day.”

“You can’t compare her to Byakuya,” Ichigo argued. “He’s too strict and kind of a workaholic. Everyone is lenient compared to him.”

Renji scoffed and waved a hand. “Whatever. Still, you don’t get to complain. If you’re already leading morning practice, Rukia definitely wants you to be promoted. Leading morning practice traditionally falls to the lieutenant, y’know.”

“She’s just too busy running the Division while the Captain is sick,” Ichigo grumbled, shoving more food into his mouth, hoping that would deter Renji.

“Then one of the third seats should’ve gotten assigned to it.” Renji had clearly not got the hint. “Instead, she gave it to you. That means something, whether you want it or not.”

“Wow, fourth seat, here I come,” Ichigo said, the sarcasm in his words almost palpable.

Ichigo felt Renji’s eyes trained on him, but he pretended not to notice. He’d promised Rukia to always have her back, but he wasn’t sure how much he actually wanted a promotion. On one hand, it was true that being unseated was almost offensive, considering how much he’d done for the Seiretei, but he also understood that now he was part of a hierarchical system, and his superiors couldn’t just hand him a position.

Besides, he didn’t want more responsibility on his shoulders. He’d had enough of that for a long while, and taking a break from it was doing wonders to both his physical and mental states.

“I’m fine with how things are right now,” he finally settled on saying.

Renji was quiet for a moment before saying, “Okay, then. Let’s talk about something else. Have you heard about Captain Kurotsuchi’s trial?”

Ichigo’s eyes widened and he turned to look at his friend. “What? A trial?”

“Yeah, he’s being judged for his crimes during the war,” Renji answered. “I just heard from the Captain. Kurotsuchi ordered the death of a lot of people living in the Rukongai at the start of the war to ‘maintain the balance’ or some other bullshit reason. I’m a bit fuzzy on the details, but it’s all very recent.”

“Can he be stripped of his position?” Ichigo asked.

“Dunno. Perhaps. I think the Captain Commander just wants to use him to set an example and make people think twice before murdering Rukongai folks for whatever reason they come up with,” Renji explained, frowning down at his food. “Or maybe they just want to tighten the reigns on him. They’ve had enough of him runnin’ wild, apparently.”

“Well, they couldn’t have judged him during the war,” Ichigo reasoned.

“I guess.”

They parted ways shortly after that. Renji had to return to his duties at the Division and Ichigo had to be back in the barracks before curfew. He had briefly considered letting Rukia know that he was going back to the manor, since he’d been in a mood to read since the morning, but his reluctance to endure the stares of the Kuchiki staff had won out in the end. Despite the fact that Byakuya had agreed to it, the servants were still getting used to having someone unrelated to the Kuchiki family around. His Shiba lineage didn’t do him many favours either, as the families had been on not so friendly terms before the Shiba were disgraced.

In short, he would rather avoid the awkwardness of setting foot in the manor, and so Ichigo found himself back in the men’s barracks. He waved at some of the men there with whom he got along with and plopped down heavily on his futon.

Ichigo liked the men’s barracks. Unlike the ones he’d seen in the Eleven Division, the place was relatively clean, high-ceilinged and not too crowded, which contributed to his liking of it. His fellow soldiers were still a bit intimidated by him and, although he didn’t revel in it, he did enjoy the space people gave him because of it. It helped him not to miss so much the privacy of his old room.

He was up and about the next day, awakened by the rustle around him as the men from the night shift returned to the barracks. He abandoned the warmth of his futon and dragged himself through the familiar motions of grooming, eating breakfast and helping out with morning practice in the training grounds.

It would have been a morning like any other, except that, in the middle of the drills he had his fellow soldiers doing, everyone stopped abruptly and saluted at someone behind his back. Ichigo swirled in place and had to look down to see Rukia’s familiar face.

“Ru- Lieutenant,” Ichigo caught himself just in time. Even if everyone and their mother knew about their friendship, it wouldn’t do for an unseated officer to greet his superior so informally while on duty. “Are you here to relieve me of my duties?”

“Not at all,” Rukia answered smoothly. “I was just walking around. How long till you’re done?”

“Uh, a few minutes.”

“Great, meet me at my office then,” Rukia said. Ichigo had to resist the urge to scratch the back of his head, just to have something to occupy his hands with. He could feel the eyes of the others on the back of his neck, and Rukia must have realized it too, because the next moment she was smiling at them, saying, “Very well, resume your training. Good job, everyone.”

After that, she left, leaving Ichigo to fend off the wolves by himself. He turned back to them only to discover a few of them looking at him with their eyebrows raised or suggestive smirks.

He scowled. “Well? Aren’t you guys supposed to be doing the drills? Get to it!”

They reluctantly resumed their work, but the previously concentrated atmosphere was gone, and, for the remainder of practice, he could hear more than a few giggles and whispered conversations.

He resolutely ignored them.

Ichigo rapped the paper of the shoji door for politeness’ sake and slid it open without waiting for permission.

“Wow, at least you knocked before entering. You’re improving so much,” Rukia noted with amusement.

“Shut it,” he snapped, walking to her desk and plopping down in front of it. “What was that just now?”

“Nothing! I was really just walking around the Division,” she insisted. “I’ve spent practically all night locked in here, doing paperwork. I wanted to stretch my legs and a distraction.”

“If you wanted a distraction, why didn’t you lead the practice? I would’ve been happy to let you do it,” Ichigo said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re doing such a good job.” The tone was teasing, but the words seemed genuine enough. Ukitake had pulled him aside after only a few days to tell him precisely that, and there was no way Rukia didn’t know about that. “Anyway, I actually had a reason to call you up here,” she continued.

“Oh, really?” Ichigo asked dryly. He’d had to endure everyone’s stares and stupid giggles for what was left of practice, and was about to say so before he caught himself. If he told her that —even if Rukia must have known what would happen if she asked him to come to her office in front of those gossipers— he would be bringing up the topic they were both avoiding, and he still wasn’t prepared for that conversation.

“Yes,” she answered, infuriatingly calm and collected. “You have tonight off, right?” At his nod, she continued, “So do I. Nii-sama has invited us to dinner tonight, at the manor. What do you say?”

His first instinct was to refuse the invitation, but thought better of it. Firstly, he had to admit that being separated from his things was making him long for them. Although this was far from the first time he didn’t have ready access to them, it was the first time that it wasn’t because of a war, but rather because of his new living arrangements. This was his life now, and the realization hit him every time he reached for a book or the mood to watch a movie struck him, only to remember that wasn’t possible anymore, although it was becoming less frequent now as time wore on.

Secondly, he hadn’t had proper time with Rukia since his official admission into the Division.

“Sure,” he answered at last, shrugging. “Why not?”

“Great,” Rukia smiled at him. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Yeah, before practice,” he said. “But I could eat again.”

He was glad when she got up and gestured for him to do the same. They made their way to the dining hall, and the cook gave him a look when he saw him there for the second time in the morning, but didn’t say anything and filled his plate once more. They sat themselves in one of the tables and tucked into their food, Rukia with more hunger than him.

“So, how are you finding life in the Seiretei?” she asked after her appetite had calmed down. “Is it like you expected it to be?”

“Kind of,” Ichigo lowered his chopsticks and frowned. “I knew what to expect, from what you’ve told me and my past stays here.”

“Still, there’s a difference between a short stay and living here,” she said gently, clearly trying to gauge his reaction.

“Yeah, well…” Ichigo trailed off and his eyes skittered around the place briefly before resting on Rukia’s pale face again. “I guess it’s different from what I’ve imagined it would be, and similar at the same time. It’s hard to get used to it, but I feel… calm.”

“Oh,” Rukia said, sounding surprisingly relieved, “that’s good to hear, Ichigo. I’m glad.”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at her, and then rolled them. “Please don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that stupid idea that you ruined my life when we met.”

“No!” Rukia glared at him, but he noted with satisfaction that her cheeks had turned a rosy colour. Busted. “I was just worried that you weren’t adapting to the new lifestyle. I know there are fewer commodities here than in the living world.”

“Well, I’m adapting,” he replied, unable to rein in the slightly triumphant smirk that overtook his features. “Your concern has been duly noted.”

Rukia threw him a dark look before taking another bite of her food. “You’re such an idiot,” she mumbled, then cleared her throat and regained her composure with enviable ease. “So, out of everyone, who do you get along with the most?”

“You,” he blurted out before he could think better of it. He felt his eyes widening in shock at his own bluntness; Rukia looked equally taken aback, and she was definitely blushing now, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Well, I-I mean, of course you’re the person I get along with the most. I’ve known you the longest,” he finished lamely.

Rukia ducked her head. Ichigo found himself staring at the top of her head, her shiny black hair, trying not to find her so irresistibly cute.

“Obviously,” she answered, trying to once again pull herself together. “But I meant among the ones you’ve met now.”

“Tadashi. He was stationed in India a few months ago and has some cool stories.”

Rukia hummed noncommittally and didn’t push for details. She was uncharacteristically flustered, not unlike him, and seemed to be having trouble with looking directly at him. The display was so rare that he almost felt like poking fun at her, but knew that would backfire terribly on him.

They finished breakfast in silence and departed quietly to attend to their duties. Although he usually resented how their respective obligations kept them separated, this time he was almost relieved for the respite.

Tipping the balance before time was too dangerous.

Ichigo should’ve known that something was off the minute Rukia told him about the invitation to dinner.

It was not that there was any animosity between Byakuya and him; in fact, any remaining doubts had been cast aside the moment Byakuya had welcomed him into his home by granting him a permanent room in the manor. He’d officially made the Kuchiki manor his residence when he’d been filling the Division paperwork. It didn’t matter much that he didn’t live there; it was still an important act of trust and, dare he say it, even love, although he didn’t doubt that his relationship with Rukia had played a significant part.

So, at first, Ichigo thought nothing of it. It was just dinner between the residents of the house. The evening had begun normally enough; they’d sat down at the table and waited for the servants to bring in the meal. In the meantime, Rukia and Byakuya had started to catch up, and Ichigo left them to it. But shortly after he realized just how much the siblings had to talk to; it seemed that they hadn’t had a moment to sit and talk since their stay in the Royal Realm.

It made sense, Ichigo supposed; if he, serving under the same Captain and living in the same headquarters as Rukia, felt they didn’t spend much time together, her brother should be missing her presence even more. Rukia was constantly swamped with work and had little time to spare for other things, such as going to see her brother. She never complained, but Ichigo knew how tired she was.

It’s weird he invited me, then, Ichigo thought when the servants finally arrived with their meal and Byakuya turned to him to inquire about how he was finding his new job. Ichigo gave a vague answer, distracted, and Byakuya nodded without seemingly much interest.

“Oh, Nii-sama, I wanted to ask,” Rukia said once the servants had left. “What do you know about Captain Kurotsuchi’s trial?”

Byakuya frowned. “That it was high time it occurred,” he answered, more forcefully than Ichigo had expected. “Frankly, the way he treated his subordinates was inhuman. Of course, as a Captain, he is entitled to run his Division however he likes, and the trial isn’t even about that, but his behaviour has always been beneath of someone of his station. He’s as much of a barbarian as Zaraki.” And, when he said the latter’s name, he grimaced with obvious distaste.

It was obvious that his reservations about Kurotsuchi came from the way he believed a Captain should act, as they represented the Seiretei and such behaviour spoke badly of all of them, rather than because he felt Kurotsuchi’d been unjust and needlessly cruel.

Rukia surprised him when she looked at her brother disapprovingly. “He shouldn’t treat his subordinates badly not because it is undignified, but because he is responsible for them and should care for them. They all deserve basic decency, at the very least.”

Ichigo hid a smile behind the rim of his cup of water. To any outsider, Byakuya didn’t have any visible reaction to his sister’s admonishment, but there were clear signs of surprise on his face, if one knew where to look.

“Yes, of course, you’re right, Rukia,” Byakuya said after a pause. Ichigo was sure he was doing a disastrous job of concealing his delight; after all, he was always firmly on team Rukia. “However, no matter our opinions on the matter, he’s not being put on trial for that, but due to his actions in the time leading to the latest war.”

“The killing of thousands of Rukongai citizens.” Rukia’s voice was tight with thinly veiled anger.

“Exactly. His main reason for doing so was that the balance of souls needed to be corrected immediately, and that he didn’t request permission beforehand because he didn’t want to take responsibility if worst came to worst. He would’ve gone unpunished.”

“He could argue that the situation was dire enough to require it,” Ichigo pointed out, a bit disgusted at having to actually say it.

“Of course, that’s what he said. And, besides, former Captain Commander Yamamoto admitted that he would’ve granted permission if Kurotsuchi had asked.”

Ichigo felt his stomach turn upon hearing that. As if the fact that someone in a high position of power had done that wasn’t enough, to know that the ultimate authority actually commended that atrocious action…

“That’s sick,” Ichigo heard himself saying in a quiet voice.

Byakuya nodded gravelly. “Yes, it is. And I assure you you’re not the only one that was upset when this happened. The matter would’ve escalated, I’m sure, if it hadn’t been for the war and the Quincy invasion. Now that that’s settled, Captain Commander Kyoraku felt it was pertinent to deal with it, and I agree. The Twelfth Division should be well enough in the care of its lieutenant and third seat.”

The rest of dinner passed while they discussed the details of Kurotsuchi’s trial. Ichigo couldn’t stop thinking about the Rukongai people that had been so ruthlessly killed, and couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Yamamoto would have given his permission if Kurotsuchi had asked.

What would he do, he wondered, if Kyoraku came up to him and ordered him to do it? His gut told him he would fight such a command, but could he really afford to do that? He was a cog in the machine now, a soldier expected to follow orders. And what would they do to him if he refused?

He tried to remember Rukia’s voice, telling him of how much the Seiretei had changed because of him. It was hard to believe that he was the reason that an entire society was changing its mind-set, but would gladly welcome the change.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Byakuya rang the bell and the servants came back in to remove their empty plates and serve them sake and dessert. He tried it; he was sure it was excellent, but it tasted like ashes on his tongue.

Ichigo was yet again distracted when Byakuya cleared his throat, and he looked at him. He was looking a little too shifty to Ichigo’s liking.

Oh, no, he thought.                

“I called you two here for a reason,” Byakuya finally said, so painfully uncomfortable that Ichigo wanted to hide under the table. “I received a visit from Aunt Shigeko yesterday. She came to see me at the Division.”

“Oh, no,” Rukia said, her already big eyes wide like saucers.            

“Yes,” Byakuya cleared his throat once again before continuing. “It was a rather disastrous meeting. I’m afraid that she did not forget about the little incident the other day, as we’d hoped, and in fact remembers every detail of it.”

“Are you telling me,” Ichigo spoke slowly, testing every word, “that your aunt still thinks we’re getting married?”

Byakuya nodded. “She does. And she came to see me to ask me when I was going to notify the Elders of the Clan, because she wants to commission a new kimono for the wedding and fears it won’t be ready in time.”

Neither Rukia nor he spoke for a long, drawn-out minute.

“Nii-sama, you do know that there is not going to be a wedding, right?” Rukia asked, as if she actually feared he’d believed that lie. “She came up with it all on her own.”

“Of course I know that, Rukia. But I can’t very well tell her that, now can I? We can’t risk her getting upset and suffering from her nerves. I just told her that you two have only recently become engaged, but Ichigo didn’t have time to properly court you because of the war.”

“Byakuya, that’s ridiculous.” The words burst from his mouth before he could bite them back, but didn’t regret speaking up. “You should just tell her the truth. We can’t keep this up forever, it’ll backfire on us.”

“Don’t tell me how to deal with my relatives,” Byakuya replied frostily. “This is the way we’ve been dealing with her until now and it’s always born fruit. She’s harmless, I assure you, and very excited about the prospect of a wedding. It’d be cruel to dash her hopes like that. It’s better this way. We just have to make sure Aunt Shigeko doesn’t go to the Elders with this, and everything will be fine.”

Ichigo begged to differ. Everything was not fine. He could barely recognize to himself, in the safe confines of his own mind, the nature of his relationship with Rukia, and to make a mockery of it in such a way provoked a sinking feeling in his chest.

“Nii-sama, I can’t agree to this,” Rukia said, and Ichigo rushed to nod along. “This is taking it too far and is a terrible idea.”

Byakuya furrowed his brows, seemingly pensive. Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look; he saw his worry reflected in her eyes. She didn’t look very pleased with the situation either, and Ichigo suddenly remembered all those times he’d been so careful not to touch her or not to say something that could take them over the edge they were standing on.

It was all so pointless now that Aunt Shigeko’s assumptions had done that for them. Where did that even leave them?

“Very well,” Byakuya said, making them break eye contact. “I do understand that this is too much to ask of you.” Ichigo was impressed. Byakuya had always been unyielding, but he’d submitted easily enough after Rukia protested. “However, I have to ask that you pretend in front of her.”

“Doesn’t she live in another District?” Ichigo asked, addressing Rukia. “You told me you hardly see your aunt.”

“That’s true,” Byakuya cut in. “There is one small issue, though.”

Ichigo braced himself, scrambling to think of what could possibly be that small issue that had Rukia looking like that so suddenly, as if she’d just realized something.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, slumping her shoulders in defeat.

“What? What is it?”

Byakuya sighed. “My birthday is in three weeks.”

At first, Ichigo didn’t understand what the big deal was, until the Kuchiki siblings explained that it was generally a grand affair, as it was the birthday of the Head of the Clan. Byakuya detested them and had been able to call the party off a few times in the past, but this year, he explained, would be impossible to do so.

“We just came victorious out of a war. We’re expected to celebrate.”

“Half the Seiretei is in shambles,” Ichigo had protested.

Byakuya shook his head. Apparently, that didn’t matter much, and Rukia, to Ichigo’s dismay, agreed on that. She seemed to understand the importance of the birthday party —which wasn’t really a party, as they sounded awfully boring when Rukia explained what they typically consisted of— and was mostly resigned to it, whereas Ichigo would rather be assigned the night shift the seven days of the week.

“But after that, no more, Nii-sama,” Rukia had said, with a warning tone she usually reserved for the troublemakers of the Division, and it almost made him smile.

Byakuya had acquiesced to her demand, and then he’d retreated to his bedroom.

“Coward,” Ichigo muttered under his breath once Byakuya was out of the room.

“Indeed,” Rukia sighed and dragged a hand down her face in an uncharacteristic gesture of tiredness. She turned to look at him with a hint of regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ichigo. This shouldn’t have happened. After I promised you nothing would come of it and everything.”

“Well, it’s not like this is your fault, so don’t beat yourself up about it,” he said, avoiding her eyes. But then he met them head-on, knowing she would do the exact opposite of what he’d told her if he acted so shifty. “I mean it. You can’t decide what your aunt’s mind comes up with. I just wish it were something less… Ugh, just less.”

Rukia smiled faintly and nodded. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

“What does courting even mean?” he asked aloud, mostly to himself. “Do I have to bring you flowers and all that bullcrap?”

“No, courting is just the excuse Nii-sama used to explain the delay on the wedding,” Rukia’s voice had grown faint when she reached the end of that sentence. Ichigo knew he was blushing, and that Rukia was staunchly trying to ignore her own reddening cheeks. “We’ll just have to act engaged during the birthday party.”

“How does one even act engaged.” When Rukia just stared blankly at him, Ichigo couldn’t fight off a smirk. “Admit it: you’re out of your depth here.”

“Of course I am!” she replied, exasperated. “I’ve never been engaged before. Have you?”

“What kind of question is that?! I’m eighteen! And when would I have gotten the time to date someone long enough to get engaged to them?”

“Exactly, so don’t get cocky.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, feeling more like he had got his feet back under him. Bickering with Rukia was normal, familiar and, now, strangely comforting. He didn’t always know how to deal with his shifting relationship with Rukia —although, now that he was a bit older, he was beginning to realize that what he’d always labelled as a friendship had never quite fit in the category— but he could always fall back on their banter and easy camaraderie.

“Rukia, you’re slow today and looking like shit, so you better go to bed.”

Her eyes glimmered dangerously and he knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. “Oh, is this how you treat your bride? What a wretched life awaits me!”

“Do you have to talk like that,” Ichigo deadpanned, bringing a finger to his left ear, “and in that irritating tone of voice to boot.”

“Get used to it.” Rukia flashed him a smirk, but got up immediately after. “This time, you’re right, as I do have to wake up early tomorrow, unlike someone.”

“Yeah, but I have a 24hr shift, starting after lunch, so don’t rub it in.”

“I’m always on 24hr shifts.”

“Is that why you assigned one to me?”

Once again, Rukia regaled him with one of her smug smiles. “So you can start getting used to them. Don’t think this’ll be the only one. Goodnight.”

Ichigo watched her leave the room absentmindedly and, when she slid the shoji door closed behind her, he let his eyes wander around the dining room. Like most of the other rooms in the manor, it was sparsely decorated, but what little it had on way of decoration was tasteful and hinted at the owner’s fortune. It was a pity that so few people were there to appreciate it. The manor was not a lived-in place, and he couldn’t imagine himself growing up there, or his father raising Yuzu and Karin in it.

Every time he was at the manor, he felt like he understood Rukia’s past a bit more. One only had to know where to look.

After a while, he got up and headed to his room. Rukia had told him that she always slept in the manor whenever she visited for dinner, and that he was welcome to do so too. He had readily accepted, eager to be reunited with his belongings. He ought to have felt shallow, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that anymore.

Once in his room, he discovered with some surprise that the servants had unpacked his boxes and arranged them. It took him a while to find the book he was looking for, but he was finally able to lay down on his futon holding Macbeth with one hand and using his other arm to prop up his head.

For the rest of the night, he managed not to think too closely on what had transpired at dinner, and fell into a dreamless sleep after hours of reading.

Omake

Chapter Text

The next week passed in a flurry of activity and work that blended the days together. The reconstruction of the neighbouring district they always helped out with was nearly completed, and Ukitake and Rukia seemed to want to hurry the process along, increasing the hours the members of the Division dedicated to it. Ichigo, who was in desperate need of a distraction, happily applied himself to it.

He had asked Rukia to put him in as many parties as possible and spent so much time in the streets of the Seiretei that he barely stepped foot in the Division’s headquarters that week. He still had to lead morning practices, per Ukitake’s request, but he didn’t mind them at all. He’d finally upped the difficulty of the exercises he had his comrades doing and was more than satisfied with their progress. Soon enough, he would start pairing them for practice matches.

“I wish I could’ve done this sooner, though,” he told Renji that Saturday.

They’d met up when Ichigo’s shift at the reconstruction site had ended and he was making his way home. Renji was heading to the Thirteenth Division, too, to give Rukia some paperwork that required signing.

“Don’t be impatient,” Renji advised. “Not everyone is a freakishly fast learner.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested. “I just want them to be strong so the Division can be safe. I don’t want people losing their sleep because they don’t trust the skills of the guy on patrol duty that night.”

“Yeah, I’d never argue against that, but I wouldn’t worry too much. The war is done. Well,” Renji’s expression suddenly became sombre and added, “hopefully.” When Renji caught Ichigo’s alarmed look, he quickly backtracked, waving his hands in front of his face, “Agh, you know that I mean! After two consecutive wars, a guy is paranoid. Just ignore me.”

Ichigo took his time to answer. “Yeah, I can relate,” he admitted. “I really hope we get some peace after all this shitstorm.”                                                                                               

Renji sobered up even more, if that was possible. It was hard to forget, sometimes, Yhwach’s threat of coming back at their happiest moment. But Urahara had assured him, more than once, that Yhwach had been vanquished by Rukia and him, and there was no possible way for him to execute another Auswählen. Ichigo preferred not to think too much about it. If he paid too much attention to that fear, it would dominate his life and drain it of any enjoyment. Ichigo would rather live his life and cross that bridge when it came to it. They had defeated Yhwach once, they could do it again.

“Let’s talk about somethin’ else,” Renji suggested, clearly trying to dissipate the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What’s new in your life?”

Ichigo groaned. “Ugh, do you really wanna know?”

So he spent the rest of the walk towards the Division bringing Renji up to speed on the latest development of his life. By the end of it, his friend was in stitches and Ichigo was frowning at him.

“Stop laughing,” he said tersely. “It’s not fucking funny.”

“It so is,” Renji composed himself a bit and smiled deviously. “I once went to the Captain’s birthday party. Just letting you know that, since then, I make sure to have something else to do that day.”

“Any advice?”

“Yeah. Don’t talk to anyone. The less you talk, the less you can screw up and offend some old man,” Renji snickered when Ichigo groaned again, but then turned pensive. “It’s weird that their aunt is around, though. I only met her once, after we won against Aizen, but then she went back to her house and we didn’t have any more news about her. She generally stays out of their business.”

“So Rukia wasn’t lying when she said the aunt is never around,” Ichigo mused aloud.

“Nah, it’s true. I wonder what changed her mind.”

They arrived at the Division’s gates and were let through. Ichigo waved at the girls on guard duty and led Renji through the maze of corridors towards Rukia’s office. However, they found it empty when they arrived.

“Huh,” Ichigo said, looking around as if expecting Rukia to come out from behind the bookcase. “Lately she rarely leaves this place. Well, you can leave the paperwork on her desk, if you want. I’ll let her know it’s there.”

Renji did so and they left the office. “I need them back soon, or Byakuya’ll have my ass,” he warned.

“If it’s urgent, we can give them to Captain Ukitake,” Ichigo offered, not really sure of his own idea. After all, Ukitake was still ill and recovering.

“You don’t know the protocol?” Renji asked. Ichigo was reluctant to admit it, but he shook his head nonetheless. “Short of a crisis of epic proportions, Ukitake is to be left alone until he’s fully recovered. Rukia’s signature and decisions are as valid as any Captain’s.”

Of course, Ichigo already knew that Rukia was practically the Captain on all but name, but he’d thought it only applied to the Division. It was another thing to hear it from an outsider, even if it was Renji.

They were back at the gates soon after, and Renji left with one last piece of advice. “If I were you, I’d start thinking about commissioning a kimono, or at least renting one.”

Ichigo was confused. “What?”

“For the birthday party,” he elaborated. “You can’t show up in your uniform if you’re going as Rukia’s date.”

Rukia’s date. His heart stupidly skipped a beat at the thought. Something must’ve shown on his face, because Renji looked at him with a strange expression and slowly let a smirk curve his lips upwards.

“It’s basic etiquette,” he said teasingly. “You better learn it, and fast. You’re gonna need it.”

“It’s only this one time,” Ichigo protested, without much conviction.

“Sure it is,” Renji’s smile grew in size and playfulness. “Not even Aunt Shigeko would’ve believed that.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Renji’s roaring laughter must have been heard back in the First Division. Ichigo didn’t need to turn around to know that it’d attracted the attention of several of his comrades, including the girls guarding the gates, who looked at him questioningly. Ichigo shrugged his shoulders, trying to feign nonchalance.

It took him five full minutes and a few kicks to the shins to get Renji back to normal.

“This seriously isn’t as funny as you seem to think it is,” he grumbled, frowning at his red-faced friend.

“Seeing you all flustered because of Rukia is comedy gold,” Renji replied, earning a new kick to the shins. “Ow, you bastard! That was uncalled for.”

“Whatever. Don’t you have a Division to go back to?” Ichigo said, shoving him towards the open gates. “Or is Byakuya actually a softie and you just make him look like a tyrant?”

“Go to the seamstress!”

Despite his reluctance, Ichigo heeded Renji’s advice and asked Emiko, the Seventh Seat, about where he could find a seamstress willing to make him a kimono on such a short notice. He hadn’t talked much to her since his arrival, and she seemed surprised when he approached her, but Ichigo had chosen her because she was interested in fashion and was minor nobility. He figured that, short of asking Rukia, it was his best shot.

“There’s a very good one near the Third Division,” Emiko told him, looking as if she was dying to ask why he needed one, but thankfully she refrained. “Tell her I sent you and you shouldn’t have any problems convincing her to make it her first priority.”

“Thanks,” Ichigo breathed in relief. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Ichigo thought he saw her blushing faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Soon after, Ichigo was following the directions Emiko had given him, and he found himself in the middle of a busy district. It was in considerably better shape than the one surrounding the Thirteenth, and there were more houses than shops. When he saw a family with two small children passing him on the street, he was glad that the district had survived the war mostly unscathed.

He finally arrived at his destination. It was a quaint little shop, and the inside was even smaller. Ichigo had to either bend his knees or bow his head to avoid hitting it against the rooftop. When the seamstress appeared out of a backdoor, alerted of his arrival by a little bell on top of the door, the shop became inevitably crammed.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said. She was even tinier than Captain Soi Fong. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, hello,” Ichigo greeted, a little awkwardly, and proceeded to explain what he needed. The seamstress nodded along, jotting things down on a little notepad, as was everything on the shop.

“A pair of hakama and a kimono to match,” she summarised after he’d finished. Ichigo nodded. “Very well. It’ll be done by the end of the month.”

“Umm,” Ichigo’s tone of voice made the woman look up sharply at him. “I actually need it in two weeks.”

“That won’t be possible,” the seamstress said with a solemnity that was almost funny.

“Please, it’s an emergency.” Seeing how his pleading tone had done nothing to sway the woman, he played his trump card. “I came here by the recommendation of Utagawa Emiko. She seemed to think there wouldn’t be any problem.”

The seamstress narrowed her squinting eyes. She obviously didn’t like being pressured like this, but Emiko’s name had clearly had its effect, because she eventually said, “Fine. I’ll have it done by then.”

Relieved that he’d managed to convince her, he left the suffocating shop and went back to the Division, thinking that at least he wouldn’t have to worry about what to wear for Byakuya’s damn birthday party.

 Ichigo tried to think as little as possible about the upcoming party and what he’d had to do there so as not to break an old woman’s heart. Pretending to be Rukia’s boyfriend would be weird, and neither of them had talked about what it would entail. He had the suspicion that she regretted the way things were playing out, but he hadn’t been just trying to comfort her when he’d said that it wasn’t her fault if her aunt’s mind jumped to ridiculous conclusions.

But then again, just how ridiculous it truly was?

Think about something else, he berated himself as soon as he realized the detour his thoughts had taken. He was supposed to be concentrating on the book he was reading; he had the afternoon off, and had chosen to retreat to a secluded spot in the Division’s grounds, near the pond with the koi fish. He found them incredibly ugly, but the atmosphere there was peaceful and silent enough that he could read in peace.

“What are you doing?” Ichigo looked up from the page he was on to see Rukia coming out of the Captain’s quarters with a stack of papers under her arm. She made her way over and sat down next to him. Ichigo simply lifted the book to let her read the cover. “Around the World in Eighty Days. Is it any good?”

“Yeah, it’s a classic,” Ichigo sighed. “Do you wanna borrow it? I’m just re-reading it.”

“I’d like to, but I don’t have much time,” she replied. However, she made no move to get up from her spot on the grass.

Ichigo looked at her curiously and wondered how tactless his next question was. “Do you think Ukitake will ever recover?”

“Ichigo, he’s right there,” she said without much energy, waving at the Ugendo Quarters, where Ukitake spent most, if not all, of his time. “But, if you want me to be honest… I don’t think so. I don’t think he’ll ever come back to his duties.”

“We always knew this would happen,” he reminded her. “Besides, new blood is supposed to be good after times of change, right?”

“Yes.” This time, it was Rukia who looked at him curiously. Ichigo raised his eyebrows in silent question, and she smiled softly. “It’s nothing. It’s just that I always thought you were the one to make things change.”

Ichigo averted his eyes and cleared his throat in an effort to get his unruly heart under control. “I’d never been to Soul Society before it started to change, so I don’t really know how much I’ve helped. If I even did.”

“Oh, you did,” Rukia assured him. “Things were a lot different before. I’m glad I found you when I did.”

“Me too,” Ichigo replied with sincerity. “Before… everything, life wasn’t very exciting for me.”

Rukia didn’t seem to know how to answer that, because she took her time to do so. “I know you don’t like to think it was fate, but sometimes it feels like it.”

All his disposition to talk about the matter disappeared, but before he could shut her down he took notice of the way she was looking at him, intently, almost ardently, as if willing him to understand something.

Ichigo let out a sigh and relented. Rukia’s eyes had always been bewitching, and if before moving to Soul Society he’d had trouble resisting their spell, now he was utterly helpless against them.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “The timing is very suspicious.”

She nodded, seemingly lost in thought. Ichigo left her to it, unsure of what conclusions she could be coming to. In his most sentimental, brooding moments, he tended to think that Rukia had saved him first, and then he’d returned the favour. He liked that; even if now she was his superior, they were equals. The mutual understanding and respect had come rather naturally, but it had nothing to do with fate. He could accept that their meeting was predestined, but the relationship they had was purely theirs. He didn’t want it undermined in such a way.

“What do you think of fate?” he blurted out, without thinking.

Rukia seemed startled by his question, and so was he. He couldn’t believe he’d asked her such a cheesy thing. But he could admit he was struggling with accepting the concept into his life, and talking things through with Rukia had always helped him before. After all, he had reconciled himself with his Shiba heritage that way.

“Well, I think it explains a lot,” she admitted.

“Like what?”

“I used to think that my finding you could be explained away by Aizen’s meddling, or your unusually high reiatsu, but I like the idea of fate better. It’s less sinister.”

Rukia made a pause to look at the pond, but Ichigo got the distinctive impression that she wanted to say something else but couldn’t quite find the words, so he didn’t push.

“I also know you don’t like the idea that we met because you’re Kaien’s cousin,” she spoke in a quiet tone, as if to soften the blow of her words.

Her attempt was useless. Ichigo turned away from her, shoulders hunched, tightening his grip on the cover of Around the World in Eighty Days. Back then, when they were still in Karakura and had just started to broach the topic, talking about Kaien had been surprisingly hard. He would have liked to think it was because Kaien was the cousin he never got to know, a good man who met a tragic end, and it was part of it, but it was a significantly small part, and he knew it. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking otherwise. Talking about Kaien had been difficult because he perceived it as yet another thing that cheapened his meeting with Rukia; it made him feel like he was the replacement, the second-rate toy a parent bought to appease their child whose favourite toy was broken or lost.

It was an awful feeling. His self-esteem had never been particularly high or low, but the thought of being Kaien’s replacement was a heavy blow to it. And with it came the feeling of guilt, because who was jealous of a long-dead cousin?

“I never said that,” he grumbled, praying that neither his tone nor his words gave too much of his feelings away.

“It wasn’t necessary,” Rukia replied, biting her lip. She took a deep breath. “And I know why you don’t like it. But I actually think it’s the other way around.”

Ichigo quirked an eyebrow, equal parts intrigued and sceptical. “What?”

“I think I met Kaien and grew close to him because I was supposed to meet you.”

Ichigo turned so he was facing her once again, wide-eyed. Rukia’s words, this time, were a different kind of blow. They still left him reeling, but with a heady feeling that filled his mind with white noise. They were game-changing, and despite this it was like a balm to his soul.

Petty as it was, it made him feel better about his cousin’s place in Rukia’s life.

“I— I’ve never thought of it that way,” he said, tripping over his own words like an idiot. He scowled at his own floundering.

“And the people in the Division like you for who you are, not because you’re related to Kaien-dono, you know?” she added.

Oh. She was trying to reassure him, just like he had done before for her, when she’d admitted how hard it was sometimes to try to be as good as a lieutenant as Kaien had been.

“I guess we both have pretty big shoes to fill,” Ichigo mused aloud.

“You told me to be myself,” Rukia reminded him, smiling faintly, “that I should be my own person.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know what it felt like,” he mumbled. “I still think that, though.”

“So take your own advice,” she replied, as if that was so simple.

He sent her what he hoped was a warning look. Their communication skills had vastly improved in the last months, and even if they’d delved into deeply personal matters, they’d seldom touched on the nature of their bond. But they had, and whenever that happened, either he or Rukia had ended up backtracking and changing the subject. At first, it had been a relief to know that he wasn’t alone on feeling like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, too scared to make the leap.

But, lately, Rukia had been pushing, testing the waters; insinuating that she, unlike him, was no longer afraid and wanted to talk.

He honestly did not know where his fear came from, and so he didn’t know how to take care of it and move on. Because he did want to move on. He wanted to make that leap and finally have that conversation with Rukia.

It stung to admit he wasn’t ready. But he would be, hopefully soon, so he didn’t have to keep Rukia waiting longer than he’d already had.

Now, thankfully, Rukia took the hint and dropped the subject. “Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, internally sighing in relief. But then he realised he was being unfair, and hastily added, trying not to sound too bashful, “I like your interpretation better.”

He saw her smiling out of the corner of his eye. It was one of her soft smiles, and Ichigo tried to keep his heart from beating too loudly out of fear that she might hear it.

It was getting ridiculous.    

The day of Byakuya’s damn birthday party arrived earlier than Ichigo would have liked. He’d gone to pick his kimono up at the seamstress’ earlier that same day, and was now trying to make sense of it in his room in the manor. The party, conveniently, was going to take place there, and would save him from having to walk around the Seiretei with his formal garments.

He felt clumsy and cumbersome in his heavy kimono, nothing like how he felt when he was wearing the shihakushō, so light and easy to move around in, and fervently wished he could attend the party in his uniform, however plain he would look compared to the others.

Although, now that the first guests were arriving at the manor, he was beginning to think that the term party was inaccurate. Maybe fancy reunion of nobles was a more appropriate definition.

The seamstress had made a fine job of his kimono, though; he had to give her that. Unsurprisingly, it was a dark colour, a deep maroon that, the seamstress had assured him, would nicely compliment his eyes. Ichigo didn’t really care much about that, but maybe Rukia would appreciate it?

He told himself it wasn’t weird to think about that, since he was going as her date. As her intended, in fact, to borrow Shigeko’s phrasing. It was normal that he’d care about her opinion of his appearance.

He looked himself in the mirror the servants had brought into the room at some point since his last visit. He was pretty sure everything was tied correctly and in its proper place, but wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t worn a kimono in forever, and even then he hadn’t had to put it on alone —Yuzu, and even his father on a particularly scarring occasion, had helped him out before.

Figuring that was as good as it was ever going to get, he left his room and headed to Rukia’s. Both Byakuya and she had already warned him that they were supposed to make their grand entrance together, so that meant he was picking her up at her door.

On the way over, he started to feel the first signs of nerves. No matter how much he pushed them down, they resurfaced with a vengeance with every step he took towards Rukia’s room. He surreptitiously made to wipe his sweaty palms against the fabric of his hakama, but caught himself on time when he remembered they were brand new and expensive. With any luck, he’d be able to avoid skin-on-skin contact all night so Rukia wouldn’t notice and mock him about it.

When he finally arrived at her door, he forewent knocking and called, “Rukia? I’m here. Are you ready?”

“Just a minute!”

Just a minute turned out to be, in fact, several minutes. Ichigo had no idea how long she made him wait, with nothing to do except admire the drawings on the shoji door, but he made sure to let her know how bored he was.

“I can’t believe all those stereotypes about girls taking too long to get ready are actually true,” he said, raising his eyebrows even if Rukia couldn’t see him. “I guess Hollywood got one thing right.”

“Shut up,” came Rukia’s annoyed voice from the other side of the door. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to put on a furisode?”

“Um, do you need help with it?” he offered, wondering at the same time just why he’d thought that was a good idea. He had barely been able to put on his own!

“Are you an expert on the matter, Ichigo?” Rukia’s voice was taunting, and he couldn’t help but allow himself a small smile now that she wasn’t watching. “I don’t remember this being covered in class.”

He needed a minute to understand that she was talking about his high school. His old, human life seemed so far away that her reference had almost flown right over his head.

Ichigo cleared his throat. “I see how my offer of help is received,” he said drily.

“Aw, don’t be hurt! You’ll have plenty of opportunities to pamper me tonight. After all, you’re courting me, aren’t you?”

She was bullshitting, and they both knew it, because she’d already explained to him what courting entailed, and he wouldn’t have to dote on her. If anything, he should pamper Byakuya, and he was most certainly not going to do that. As her intended, he was supposed to win Byakuya’s approval so he would consent to the match, and it followed that, for that to happen, Ichigo should suck up to him. Women, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have much of a say in the matter.

“This is too sexist,” he complained.

“Tell me about it,” Rukia sighed, and then he heard the tell-tale rustle of fabric. “Good thing that we aren’t actually going through with it. We could make this something fun, you know. See how many people we can fool with our acting.”

Ichigo bit back a sigh. He should’ve known that Rukia’s love for acting would come roaring back to life at the mere opportunity. He just wasn’t sure how good of an actor he was.

“Wouldn’t it be a problem if we managed to convince all your relatives that we’re actually going to get married?” he asked.

“Ugh, you’re right. But I don’t want to talk to all of them, though, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” she replied. He heard another rustle coming from the other side of the door, and then footsteps approaching it. Ichigo held his breath in anticipation. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Ichigo took a step back just as the shoji door was being slid open, and suddenly Rukia filled the space. For a moment, he couldn’t look away, couldn’t breathe.

Rukia was clad in a bright-coloured kimono, its long sleeves reaching past her knees. Coincidentally, the kimono was a deep brown colour, just like his, but it exploded in a firework of bright flowers that started at the bottom of it and grew over her legs, her waist, her obi, and climbed all the way up to her shoulders. The intricate design and vivid colours of the kimono made him look dull and boring in comparison, but Ichigo couldn’t care less about his own appearance at the moment. Rukia’s hair was so short that she couldn’t really do much in terms of hairstyle, but he could see a pearled comb peeking out of the back of her hair.

Ichigo licked his lips, nervous. It wasn’t that she needed to wear fanciful clothes to be attractive, but most of the time it embarrassed him terribly to admit it to himself. But now, practically slapped in the face by the force of her beauty, he couldn’t deny it to himself without being the biggest hypocrite in Soul Society.

When he realised how long he’d been standing there, just staring at her, he tried to regain his senses and cleared his throat. “Took you long enough.”

Rukia’s expression went from good-humoured and delicate to frowning. “Just for that, I’m going to have you at my beck and call all night.”

Ichigo raised his eyebrows, and bowed mockingly. “Shall we go, then, my lady?”

Rukia huffed and set out in the direction of the hall where the party was being held. He followed after her, and couldn’t help but admire her gracefulness. If his kimono and hakama were so difficult to move around on, he could only imagine what hers felt like, and yet Rukia managed to carry herself with enviable grace and elegance.

They made their way towards the hall quickly, or as quickly as one could move when wearing geta.

When they entered the hall, Ichigo understood why Renji had told him he didn’t attend Byakuya’s birthday celebrations anymore. The large room was crowded with people, all of them wearing stuffy kimonos and making stilted conversation. People sat at low, small tables scattered across the hall, but at the back of it there was a long table atop a dais. Byakuya was sitting there, and Ichigo and Rukia weaved through the guests to reach him.

“Happy birthday, Nii-sama,” Rukia greeted him, with a luminous smile.

Byakuya did his version of a smile —meaning, his expression softened and relaxed. “Thank you, Rukia,” he said, and then turned expectantly towards Ichigo.

Ichigo managed to contain his slight surprise. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.” Byakuya seemed satisfied enough, and gestured at them to take their seats. They did —Rukia at her brother’s left and Ichigo beside her— and it wasn’t until he was seated that he noticed the other people sitting at the table with them.

One of them was Aunt Shigeko, who smiled cheerily at him when she caught his gaze. There were other two men, both of whom seeming older than even Yamamoto, with a teenage girl sitting between them.

“Who are they?” he asked Rukia in a low voice.

“The men are cousins of my late grandfather,” she whispered back. “And the girl is the daughter of the one on the far right.”

“Won’t they think we’re actually engaged when Aunt Shigeko shouts it from the rooftops?”

“No. I told you, nobody takes her seriously.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but find that sad. Even if Aunt Shigeko had made a mess of things, it was obvious that she meant no harm and, most of the time, she was quite cheerful. It hurt a bit to think that her own family constantly dismissed her and left her to live alone in a far-off district.

He followed an impulse and leaned forward, stretching over Rukia’s lap. “Hi, Shigeko-san,” he called. Both Kuchiki siblings and the aforementioned turned to look at him in surprise, and he smiled his gentlest smile, the one usually reserved for lost kids. “How are you?”

Her expression lit up, and Ichigo knew he had made the right call. “Oh, I’m quite well, dear. How are you finding life in the Seiretei?”

Ichigo gave her the old spiel of getting used to the way things were done in Soul Society, and they settled into a fluent, if a bit ceremonious, conversation. Byakuya looked bewildered —if one knew how to look for it, of course— but didn’t interrupt or make a comment, while Rukia had joined the conversation after the initial surprise had worn off.

After a while, though, Shigeko’s expression turned mischievous and playful, and Ichigo dreaded her next words.

“It must be very strange to be your fiancée’s underling,” she said, winking at him with absolutely no trace of subtlety.

Ichigo forced an awkward laugh and scratched the back of his head. “Um, not so much.”

“You keep things professional, I hope, while on duty,” Shigeko continued.

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged an incredulous look. If the way his face suddenly felt like it had gone up in flames was any indication, he was sure he was blushing furiously at the implication.

“What the f—“

“Aunt, what you’re suggesting is dishonourable to my sister,” Byakuya cut in smoothly. “Rukia is an excellent lieutenant. I’m sure that no improper behaviour comes to pass in the Thirteenth Division.”

Rukia’s cheeks tinted pink with the compliment, and she ducked her head. If Ichigo hadn’t still been so taken aback and embarrassed by Shigeko’s comment, he would’ve done more than spare a thought about how adorable that was.

But, once his embarrassment had died, he found that it was a bit funny. Shigeko was old, and she had just implied that her niece got down and dirty with one of her subordinates. And it hadn’t been meant as a dish against either of them, he realised, but an attempt at a joke, something to laugh over in camaraderie. She wanted to bond with them.

Aunt Shigeko was lonely, and the epiphany saddened him to the point that any humour he could’ve found in the situation vanished.

“I meant no harm, Rukia, dear,” Shigeko told them earnestly.

He smiled at her. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t worry about it, aunt,” Rukia replied softly.

After a few moments of silence, Byakuya started a conversation with Rukia about Kurotsuchi’s trial, and while normally that topic interested him he didn’t feel like listening to the often-repeated facts again. Moreover, he couldn’t stop thinking about Shigeko’s loneliness, so similar to Aizen’s and yet so different at the same time. He didn’t think that she would end up becoming an evil mastermind, but he was unable to put it out of his mind.

His train of thought was interrupted when the servants arrived with the food. It was, of course, a lavish, exquisite dish, and he tried not to wolf it down and show that he had some manners.

Once dinner was over, people started to get up and mingle to talk. Byakuya did the same, approaching a nearby group, looking as if he would rather face a sternritter again before talking to anyone in the room.

“Should we be doing the same?” Ichigo asked Rukia.

“No.” Although she tried to make it sound casual, he was able to instantly tell that there was something she wasn’t telling him, and he nudged her shoulder in encouragement. “Fine, fine… I don’t get along with most of these people. They resent me for coming from the Rukongai and being adopted into the Clan. And for being Hisana’s sister, too, I suppose.”

Ichigo frowned and looked at the sea of people in the hall. No-one seemed to be in any hurry to approach Rukia, which was both telling and weird. She was the Clan Head’s sister, wasn’t she? That must have lent her some power and station, and he was sure that Byakuya would never look favourably at someone that scorned his sister.

“They’ve always been very rude to Rukia,” Aunt Shigeko said, so quietly that he almost didn’t catch her words, making Rukia tense beside him.

Just then, the two men and the teenage girl —neither Rukia nor Byakuya had even looked at them, much less exchanged words with them— left the table to go socialise with other guests. He felt Rukia relaxing at his side once they were gone, and his scowl deepened.

“Well!” Aunt Shigeko exclaimed, clapping her hands merrily. “Now that the three of us are alone, we should discuss wedding details!”

Ichigo paled.

They were eventually able to deter Shigeko’s assault by reminding her that they were taking things slow. They hadn’t had any time for Ichigo to court Rukia the way she deserved, after all, and things were so busy in the Division with the Captain indisposed, and they both took their shinigami duties so seriously…

“Oh, well,” Shigeko pouted, clearly disappointed. “Of course, I understand. I wouldn’t dream of pushing or rushing you two!” Oh, the irony. “It’s just that you two make such a lovely couple, I can’t wait to see our families united!”

Her expression was dreamy, which was a bit disturbing to see on an old woman’s face, considering the person Ichigo usually saw with their head in the clouds was Inoue. Ichigo definitely believed her when she said she was looking forward to the wedding.

“Neither can we,” Rukia said, smiling. At least, she was getting the chance to polish her acting skills.

Shigeko started to blab about wedding venues, and Rukia indulged her patiently for so long that Ichigo got complacent and began to think that maybe he was off the hook.

This was the exact moment when Shigeko turned to him. “Have you done a guest list? Just a rough draft would do.”

Ichigo drew a blank. “Uh…”

“We’d like it to be private,” Rukia intervened with an ease that reminded him of Byakuya, “a more intimate affair.”

“But it should be a grand occasion…”

“It can be grand and intimate,” Rukia smiled in the way that meant that the issue was not up to discussion. “Neither of us would be comfortable otherwise.”

Ichigo had started to notice that, every time that someone shut her down, Shigeko tended to blink slowly, as if trying to understand the refusal, and then changed the topic abruptly. This time, she did the same.

“Are you sad that you won’t be able to wear furisode anymore, after you’re married?” Shigeko asked Rukia, looking forlornly between her own kimono and her niece’s. “Furisode are so much lovelier and cheerful than any other type of kimono, and it’s such a shame that you won’t get to wear them anymore.” Shigeko let out a deep sigh. “Such a shame.”

Ichigo exchanged a look with Rukia. She seemed amused, and he knew why straightaway.

“It wouldn’t be such a loss,” he said, gaining both women’s attention. “She wears her shinigami uniform on a daily basis, after all.”

Rukia smiled reassuringly at her aunt. “He’s right, Aunt Shigeko. It’s not like I have much opportunity to dress up to begin with.”

“Oh.” Shigeko frowned. “I suppose you are right. However, we could arrange a few visits so you could…”

“I can’t,” Rukia cut in once again. “My duties at the Division take up all of my time. I’m in charge until Captain Ukitake recovers and comes back.”

Ichigo raised his eyebrows, interested, but didn’t comment. It was the first time he had heard her saying out loud that she was the one in charge of the Division.

“I hope that, with all your duties, you still find time to be a proper wife,” Shigeko told Rukia severely, almost as in warning.

Ichigo took over when he saw Rukia bristling at the comment. “I come from a different world, Shigeko-san. I wasn’t raised the same way as people here. I don’t have those expectations of Rukia.”

Rukia sent him a grateful look, and he quirked his lips up in a smile for her. Shigeko, for her part, seemed flabbergasted at his words. “But what will you do once you have children? Who will raise them?”

That definitely caught them by surprise. For a moment, neither of them answered, too startled to think of an answer that would appease her.

“That’s a long way down the line.” Rukia finally managed to assemble words to reply.

“Yeah,” Ichigo nodded. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Shigeko still seemed worried, so he hesitantly added, “And I guess… you could help us?”

The old woman beamed, utterly thrilled by his suggestion, and Ichigo internally breathed in relief. Another storm weathered.

The rest of the evening went by uneventfully. As the host’s sister, Rukia couldn’t leave the party too early, at least not until most people had left, so Ichigo stuck by her side. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as boring as he had feared; since Rukia had no desire to mingle with the people in attendance, she stayed at the main table, so that was what Ichigo did too. He didn’t mind, because they took advantage of the opportunity to talk and spend time with each other. Finding time to do that was still difficult, with their different duties keeping them away from each other, and Ichigo found himself feeling thankful to Shigeko more than once for pushing them into this situation.

Aunt Shigeko, for her part, seemed content to just let them talk the night away and didn’t intrude in their conversation even once. At some point, she got up to greet an old friend of hers, effectively leaving them alone for the first time since they’d arrived at the hall.

Rukia shifted in her seat to stretch her legs a bit and leaned back on her hands to relax her back. Ichigo understood her discomfort and was almost begrudgingly impressed that she hadn’t relaxed her posture sooner, as she had been sitting seiza since the beginning, while he hadn’t even bothered to pretend and had sat cross-legged since the beginning.

“That didn’t go so bad,” he commented after a short moment of silence.

“No,” Rukia admitted. “I’m surprised that she didn’t catch on, luckily for us.”

Ichigo nodded and thought of the best way to phrase something he’d been thinking about since dinner. “Your aunt isn’t that bad,” he settled on saying, hoping that Rukia would get what he meant.

She did. “You have to know that she’s really ambivalent. One day you’re her favourite person on Earth, and the next you don’t deserve to carry the Kuchiki name. And it’s worse when the latter is the case more often than not.” Ichigo was surprised at the bitterness in her voice. If what she was implying was true, it was only normal that Rukia would still resent her aunt, but Rukia was a forgiving person by nature.

He flicked his eyes to where Shigeko had moved on from her friend and was now talking to a group of women, all of whom looked uncomfortable while she droned on. Even after hearing what Rukia had to say, he couldn’t help pitying her.

“One of the reasons I don’t see her much is because of that, actually,” Rukia said in a quiet voice. She had an odd expression on her face, as if she were talking from a place far away. “She didn’t receive me very well when I first came into the family, and Nii-sama stopped inviting her to the manor.”

“Not as uncaring as we originally thought, huh,” Ichigo murmured.

That got Rukia to smile faintly, dispelling part of the black cloud that hung over her. “He has his moments,” she said with affection.

Not long after, Byakuya approached the table to tell them that nobody would raise an eyebrow if they chose to leave then, and they didn’t need to be told twice.

Outside the dining hall, the sounds seemed quieter, the colours more muted, and the lights dimmer. Ichigo was supposed to escort Rukia back to her room —all this play at a date was a mix of ridiculous, fun, and confusing— and they made their way there in companionable silence. He was looking forward to getting back to his own room and changing out of his formal clothes; how he had longed all night to be back in his shinigami uniform, more like a second skin by now.

They took an aisle that leaded them to the stylishly arranged garden, with the great sakura tree barren because of the time of the year. Rukia stopped in her tracks, but he didn’t notice until a few moments later, and he turned to look at her questioningly. “Rukia?”

His voice startled her out of her thoughts. “Sorry, I got distracted… Do you mind if we sit there for a while?” she asked, motioning to one of the stone benches that littered the garden.

He nodded, unsure of what Rukia had in mind, and followed her to the bench. Once seated, Rukia didn’t waste a second to kick off her geta and shake her hair free of the hairpiece. Ichigo couldn’t really make himself more comfortable without taking his kimono off and wearing only the pair of hakama, so he kept quiet and gazed at the pond, grateful that there were no koi fish in it. A few lotus flowers floated in the surface of the water, and they painted a pretty enough picture to let him fully relax, now that they were finally away from prying eyes.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Of course, the calm couldn’t last forever.

With his heart beating wildly in trepidation, Ichigo turned to face Rukia fully, but she wasn’t looking at him; instead her eyes were trained on the lotus flowers just like his had been a few seconds ago.

“Okay,” he replied, his voice coming out a lot quieter than he would have liked.

Rukia didn’t immediately answer. She seemed to be gathering herself, and, in turn, Ichigo held his breath. He was once again transported to the sensation of standing at the edge of a cliff, about to overbalance and fall. He’d always been so scared of it, so unprepared and hesitant. He’d tried to find the root of that feeling; he did know what he felt and what he wanted, so why hadn’t he done anything to get it?

Now, he felt different, eager to make the leap of faith and jump into action. The prospect was daunting, and a bit scary, but he couldn’t fathom that things wouldn’t work out between them. He didn’t even feel nervous, and why would he? They had always made a good team, after all.

Ichigo kept his eyes on her, waiting, willing her to speak up. He saw her take a deep breath before she finally turned to face him. Her lips parted. Ichigo wanted to lean over and kiss her.

He almost did, before she tilted her head down and said softly, “It’s nothing. I just wanted to thank you for putting up with this and helping us out.”

For an endless second, Ichigo felt nothing but the sharp pang of rejection. He had been this close to finally kissing her, only for her to turn her face… And he was sure he hadn’t read the situation wrong. They had been about to address the unspoken feelings between them, but Rukia had chickened out.

His lips tingled, his heart thumped painfully against his ribcage, and he wanted to reach over and demand an explanation. But he caught himself, remembering all the times their roles had been reversed, all the times he had backtracked or kept his distance, even when it’d been obvious what she had wanted.

He reigned in his feelings. Even if he wasn’t entitled to anything, he couldn’t help but be hurt that she hadn’t followed through, that she was holding back, but he couldn’t act on it. Rukia had been nothing but gracious when dealing with his own hold-ups, and she deserved to be in the receiving end of that kindness now.

“Of course,” he managed to choke out.

Ichigo didn’t miss the relief that passed like a flash over her features. He wanted to ask what the problem was and solve it, but didn’t know how, or if it was even the right time to do so.   

So he said nothing and chose to trust that Rukia would come to him when she was ready.

Omake

Chapter Text

The day after Byakuya’s birthday party, Ichigo had a 24h shift. They were always unadulterated hell, long and tiring, and it didn’t help that they were already having sparring sessions every morning, and that day was no exception. As the unofficial ‘instructor’, he not only had to demonstrate and overlook their progress, he also had to answer any questions his comrades might possibly have and, more often than not, pair himself up with them to help them hone their individual skills.

At least he got a good workout out of it, and it was distracting enough that he didn’t have much time to dwell on the previous night and its disappointing end.

He couldn’t help the pang in his chest whenever Rukia’s expression when she tilted her face down came to his mind, uninvited, and he pushed it down to the back of his mind. He desperately needed a distraction and so he tried his hardest to concentrate on morning practice and on the best ways to help his fellow soldiers improve their swordsmanship.

After morning practice ended, he left the Division’s headquarters and headed towards the reconstruction site. It was almost finished, now, and the district was blooming again with new houses and shops opening almost daily. He waved at some of the vendors and even stopped to chat with some of them; he was on friendly terms with almost everyone, due to the endless hours he’d spent helping out there. The neighbours always seemed glad to see him and talk to him, making him feel welcomed, and Ichigo was grateful for that.

The only bad thing about seeing them was that they were always thanking him for either helping with the reconstruction or for getting rid of Yhwach.

“It was a joint effort,” he repeated once again that day. “Rukia was instrumental in defeating him, too.”

“Oh, we know,” assured an old man that owned a food cart and sold the best food in the district. “It’s only that we rarely see the lieutenant. We understand!” the man hurried to say when he saw Ichigo’s frown. “She’s very busy, of course. We don’t expect her to pop up around here all the time. So, please pass along our thanks.”

Ichigo’s expression softened considerably. “I will,” he replied.

The old man insisted on providing him with breakfast and sent him on his way. He gulped it down in record time —the food at the birthday celebration had been abundant, but morning practice had left him practically ravenous — and then quickly got to work.

He couldn’t wait to see the Seiretei finally back on its feet.

The day went by on the same fashion, with him running around the Division carrying out different chores. They weren’t as mentally demanding as he would have liked, however, and Ichigo found himself thinking back on the previous night and, more importantly, on Rukia and their last conversation.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out just why she had backtracked last night. Why was she having doubts now? What had he done? For a moment, Ichigo considered that his own slowness and fears had convinced Rukia that he wasn’t interested in taking their relationship to the next level —a ridiculous thought— but he dismissed the idea as soon as it came. He could believe that of someone that didn’t know him very well, but he couldn’t believe that of Rukia, who knew him better than anyone else in the world, maybe even better than he knew himself.

Moreover, she had always seemed to understand that he hadn’t been ready before, that there was always some issue holding him back. First, it had been his unresolved feelings about his mother’s heritage; then, the move to Soul Society and his new life as a full-time shinigami had taken over, pushing everything else to the side-lines; and lastly, he’d been worrying over Kaien’s significance in his life, how it tied him to Rukia and the Division.

With a jolt, Ichigo realised that he had been able to work through those issues with Rukia’s help. He had done most of the weight-lifting, of course, but Rukia had been beside him every step of the way, even when she had barely had time to catch a breath. He felt a new wave of gratitude towards her, but, at the same time, he felt guilty. He didn’t think he had been helping her as much as she had helped him.

Ichigo knew that the easiest way of helping Rukia would be being a seated officer, but that opportunity had come and gone before he’d even realised. Running the Division required a lot of work and time, and Rukia, understandably, delegated a lot of responsibility to the seated officers. He had come to realise that later, however, when he had been living in the Seiretei for a few weeks, and by that time he had already asked Rukia to hold back on advancing his career for the time being.

“It’s not that I don’t want it,” he had told Rukia once, when they were discussing the subject. They had still been in Karakura, and that afternoon in particular had been spent packing his belongings into boxes. “It’s just that I’m tired of having big responsibilities. I want to help, obviously, and I’m here for whatever you need me for, but I wanna be a run-of-the-mill soldier for a while.”

Rukia hadn’t immediately answered, seemingly too busy sorting out his things with a frown. “Right, it’s no problem. I was planning on letting you work your way through the ranks, anyway.”

“I know,” he replied. “But there’s no rush, is there?”

Rukia had turned around and smiled at him. “Of course there isn’t.”

Only later had Ichigo come to realise that Rukia had lied to him. She would benefit much more from having him as the Fourth Seat, rather than as an unseated officer.

He tried to push his guilt away, to no avail. He tried to tell himself that, back then, he hadn’t known that he could help Rukia that way, but the lump in his throat only grew heavier. He felt selfish and irresponsible; even if, sometimes, a voice in the back of his mind told him that he’d done more than enough for Soul Society, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had been remiss on his duties. He was willing to shoulder more responsibilities if it meant lessening Rukia’s workload and giving her a reprieve.

At the end of the war, Rukia had been as tired and bandaged as him, but she’d shaken it off and took care of the Thirteenth Division nevertheless.

“I’m such an asshole,” he muttered to himself.

By the end of his shift, the sun had set and risen, and Ichigo felt drained, both physically and mentally, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up on his futon and sleep until the next week. But there was also a restlessness humming under his skin, pushing, pushing, and Ichigo opted to listen to it instead of his aching body, and walked towards Rukia’s office with a sense of purpose that left no room for any doubts, fears or questions.

He didn’t make it that far, however, because he bumped into Rukia herself when he was rounding a corner.

“Wow, sorry.” Ichigo reached over and steadied her by her shoulders. Rukia blinked up at him, surprised.

“I thought you’d be sleeping by now,” she said.

Ichigo took his hands off her and put one in the back of his head to scratch at his hair. Despite how much he fought it, he averted his eyes like a blushing fool. “Ah, I was actually looking for you.”

“Oh?” Rukia raised her eyebrows, and, not for the first time, he envied her grace and composure.

“Yeah, for…” Ichigo’s mind was suddenly blank. Or rather, all his bravado and determination had deserted him in the blink of an eye once confronted with Rukia, and he couldn’t quite find the necessary words to convey to her that he had found all the answers to their problems.

“For…?”

“Training,” he blurted out without thinking. He mentally winced. It would be far from the first time he overexerted himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted Rukia to kick his ass into oblivion. “You’ve put me in charge of everyone’s training. Well, that includes you too. I bet you’re rusty after sitting so many hours at your office.”

Rukia’s back straightened and her eyes acquired a dangerous glint. “You’re gonna have to take that back, Ichigo.”

He drew himself up to his full height too and grinned down at her. “Make me.”

Ichigo didn’t miss the moment when Rukia drew in a sharp breath, shocked at his words, and even if she quickly recomposed herself as if nothing had happened, Ichigo knew better, knew his words had affected her, and felt both satisfaction and a pang of longing.

“Okay, let’s go to the dojo. I’ll show you that I haven’t gotten rusty. You’re gonna regret this.”

The best part, he reasoned as they made their way towards the dojo, was that Rukia was obviously playing along with him. There was no way that she’d lost her abilities after a few weeks of desk-sitting, and they both knew it. He had just wanted an excuse to spend some time with her, and she must have wanted the same, or else she would have shut him down after his impertinent comment about her needing his training. The air between them felt charged, electrified, about to snap.

Ichigo wanted it to snap. He wanted that more than anything else in the world.

They finally arrived at the dojo. It was not a building he’d made much use of, since he lead all of the zanpakutoh practices in the yard, and only moved them to the dojo when the weather was bad. Not only that, but it was implicitly reserved for seated officers.

Under any other circumstances, Ichigo would have felt affronted at the obvious privilege, but, in fact, it suited him just fine. Dojos reminded him of the times when his mother would pick him up from karate class, and even though remembering his mother was no longer as painful as it used to be, that didn’t mean he had to go looking for it.

They made their way inside, leaned their zanpakutoh against a wall, and went to find appropriate training katana. They took their places facing each other. Rukia seemed impatient to start and blow some energy.

“No kidoh,” Ichigo warned.

Rukia rolled her eyes and huffed with amusement. “Okay, no kidoh. No need to be so scared.”

They took a starting position, nodded at each other, and less than a second later they were at each other’s throats.

Even though he was tired, his every sense came to life at that moment. He concentrated on defending himself against her assault of blows and stabs. She’d always been good, and now, after the combined experience of two wars, she was even better. After a while of that, though, his weariness gave way to adrenaline, and he began to push back.

It was a long, drawn-out duel. There was no real winner by the time they decided to call it off; sometimes Rukia’d had the upper hand, and other times Ichigo did. It had been so long since the last time they had sparred together, with the Zero Division, and he couldn’t help the surge of nostalgia when he also remembered the time when they had first met and he was just starting out as her substitute shinigami. Urahara had undertaken the bulk of his training, but it had been Rukia who had laid out the fundamental basis.

“Okay, okay, let’s call it a draw,” Rukia said, panting, and stepped away from him.

Ichigo nodded and pushed back his sweaty bangs off his forehead. “We should do this more often. The others are no match yet.”

She hummed affirmatively and plopped down on the ground, her breath coming out in softer pants now. Ichigo raised an eyebrow and looked at her tauntingly.

“I thought you were always complaining that you spend all your time sitting down now,” he teased.

Rukia shot him a dark look. “You could wisely shut up now, or you can get your ass beaten later. Your choice.”

He rolled his eyes, but went to sit down next to her after putting away his practice sword. He leaned back on his hands and glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. His earlier revelation came to his mind once again, unbidden, but this time the guilt appeared with a sense of determination, not nerves.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked.

Rukia huffed, indignant. “I don’t know where you got this idea that I’ve lost my hand at fighting, but I think I just proved—“

“No, I— I didn’t mean that,” Ichigo groaned, frustrated with himself, with his inability to convey what he really thought. He shifted in place, moving so they were face to face, and his heart, anticipatory, jumped in his chest at the sight of her. “I mean, aren’t you taking on too many duties? I know it’s an honour to be the acting Captain, but it’s also a test, and I know you have little to none free time and that you’re tired—“

“Ichigo.” Rukia reached over and shook his arm gently, cutting him off. He stared; her previously irritated expression had been replaced by a touched one, and she smiled at him. “Yes, I’m tired, but it’s nothing I can’t take. I have a lot of help, too.”

Ichigo bit his lip. “About that… I know I could be helping more. Don’t deny it,” he hastened to say when he saw Rukia opening her mouth to contradict him, and she closed it with a sigh. “I know I could help you more if I were a seated officer.”

Rukia locked eyes with him. It was something they’d done a lot, these silent conversations between them, and he let her look for whatever she was looking for in his eyes.

“That’s true, but you don’t want a promotion, and I’m not going to force you into it,” she finally said, with that tone of finality that Ichigo knew so well. “Besides, you’ve been helping a lot, even if you don’t realize it. You don’t have to be the lieutenant to be useful, you know.”

“I promised to always have your back,” Ichigo protested stubbornly. “And I haven’t.”

His statement spurred Rukia into action.

“You have!” Rukia got up on her knees and shuffled forward a little. “How can you say that after I made you sit through an awkward birthday dinner with my family while pretending we’re engaged? And you obviously don’t realize the effect you have on the members of the Division; they’ve all improved so much under you, too.” Rukia took a deep breath; she looked flustered and determined on equal measure, and Ichigo stared at her star-struck. “Don’t say that ever again.”

Ichigo swallowed, surprised when he realized that the lump in his throat he had felt earlier was no longer there. He nodded slowly, and Rukia managed to relax her posture a fraction. She was looking at him suspiciously, as if challenging him to go against her words again, but Ichigo just dredged up a small smile for her sake.

Her shoulders slumped with relief. “You’ll climb your way up the ranks fairly and at your own pace. I won’t promote you just because I need you.”

Ichigo’s breath left him in a rush. Of course, he knew that Rukia needed him. Of course, he also needed her, and loved her, and had followed her to Soul Society, hadn’t he? But knowing it and actually hearing her say it were entirely two different things, and Ichigo briefly spared a thought for his heart, who was going overdrive.

“Okay, I’ll help you in other ways,” he conceded. Rukia smiled at him so brightly that he decided to throw caution out of the metaphorical window and asked, “Can I kiss you now?”

Rukia jumped slightly in surprise, laughed breathlessly, and took his face into her hands to kiss him.

Kissing Rukia felt like every wonderful sensation he had ever experienced and more. He put a hand on her side to drag her closer to him, and used his other hand to cradle the back of her head, stroking the silk of her hair. She sighed in response, and he couldn’t help but smile at that.

They kissed for what felt like hours and, even though he was tired and sleep-deprived, there wasn’t a force in the world that could have pulled him away from Rukia. Eventually, much to his dismay, she broke the contact just enough to look at him. They were still so close that Ichigo could only make out the shape of her smile, their lips brushing with every breath they took, but her eyes were shining with mirth, to match his own.

“Took you long enough,” she whispered, a tone of playfulness in her voice.

“Too important to mess up,” he replied, and leaned forward to resume kissing her. There was nothing that needed to be said after that.

Coda

December was fast approaching and the cold weather had sharpened considerably in the last days. Rukia was in her element, seemingly unbothered by the cold that numbed his hands and nose and ears every day. The shihakushō wasn’t precisely renowned for its thick protection against winter. At least, there was one advantage to the cold, and Ichigo exploited it shamelessly at every opportunity.

“You’re a furnace,” she said incredulously every time he complained.

“Not true,” Ichigo replied, and proceeded to snuggle up to her.

“You’re like an oversized cat.” Rukia’s voice was fond as she curled around him, her body moulding against his like two perfect puzzle pieces.

“Am I a furnace, or a cat? I can’t be both.”

“You’re an idiot, is what you are.”

“Rude.”

Omake