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The only time Tatsuki Arisawa missed a man was when she swung and he ducked.
And everyone knew, if they even believed it was possible, how rare an occurrence such a thing could be.
Yet here she was at 8pm on Friday, ruefully poking at her phone. Her heart wasn’t in it, and her eyes had glazed over. She was feeling a little ashamed, increasingly exhausted, and her irritation was rising to a feverish pitch. She thought of her good, possibly former, friend, Ichigo Kurosaki.
Because where the hell did a guy like him get off! Dropping her, and everyone else, like some unwanted memory to disappear under mysterious circumstances with a shady shopkeeper to do god knows what for months, and then come back sunken and sad, just to…
Not text her back?
It was getting ridiculous. No, it had been getting ridiculous, for quite some time. Too long. And god knows she’s spoken up, done her due diligence, tried everything to break through to him. Those confrontations in the school halls had led to nothing but tears on her end and apathetic dismissal on his.
It was almost like he wasn't even all there anymore. Like he’d lost some great big part of himself when he went away, and came back half empty.
Tatsuki had seen him around, quiet and checked out as he floated like a ghost from one space to another. Responding, but not engaging. It’s not like she ever stopped habitually looking at all the places he normally occupied, even when he was away. His desk in the middle of the class, the shaded spot in the courtyard, the alley way he’d schlep his way home down each afternoon when classes were over and students ran to their friends with big plans for the weekend.
Ichigo had no such plans, that much she knew. Not anymore.
She didn’t think of herself as being especially nosy, but that didn’t stop her from asking some pointed questions. She felt like she had a right to know, since he’d all but admitted to keeping this secret double life from her, and the bucket hat guy confirmed that.
Ichigo hasn’t been doing much of anything. With anyone. At least, not that anyone could reliably recall.
Keigo sang his usual sad song about being left in the dust, a noncommittal Mizuiro doing nothing to soothe the situation. His dramatics were unnecessary, but point taken at least.
Uryu had delivered his own brand of cold snark, a short clipped “The behaviors of Ichigo Kurosaki have never been, and never shall be, any point of concern or responsibility of mine.” Okay, ouch.
Chad didn’t have much to offer either, a simple but weighty “Hmm. No, sorry. I haven’t seen him.” That somehow told her so little yet managed to carry the depth of concern that only served to reinforce that something, something, was amiss.
As per usual, it was Orihime that gave her the biggest window of perspective on the situation, through no shortage of tangents and the occasional nonsensical remark (it was becoming increasingly difficult to discern what was actually a part of the events that had transpired over the the last six months, and what was just an old reliable Orihime fantasy).
But that didn’t make their most recent conversation any less unbelievable.
With a sigh, Tatsuki rolled over on top of her bed, abandoning the unresponsive phone. The last moments of dusk cast an orange rectangle across her ceiling, holding her gaze as it quickly faded into the blue dark. She thought about Orihime’s explanation, and how that impossible story would have impacted their friend. According to her, he was the most affected of all of them.
“He doesn’t have his powers anymore.” She’d said it with so much finality, like it was a fate worse than death.
Wasn’t death also kind of not even that big of a deal? Based on the epic tales of “soul reapers” and “hollows” and everything in between, Tatsuki was having a difficult time grappling with the implications of this fantastical cosmology.
But, when Tatsuki Arisawa found herself grappling with something, usually someone, both stubborn and strong, she always came out on top. Especially when that someone was Ichigo Kurosaki.
With newfound determination and a well practiced kip-up, the up and coming boxing champ was snatching that pesky phone and shoving her shoes on with a clear goal in mind.
To pin Ichigo Kurosaki once and for all, bullshit excuses and half assed explanations be damned.
The walk was brisk and short, she moved with confident purpose through the spring evening in practiced steps out of her quiet home and towards the Kurosaki clinic, as she had done many times before in childhood. Regular scraps had left her with no shortage of nosebleeds and scrapes, it was a path she was well acquainted with. And maybe more often as of late, not out of need for treatment, but hoping to catch a glimpse of her friend at home for once. For him, she knew to go the long way; through the alleys adjacent to the fastest path and take the scenic route, along the water. As predictable as ever, her walk was cut short - bingo.
Ichigo Kurosaki stood still beside the canal, staring with that forlorn expression he always wore when things weren't going well. The dark blue light had faded to near complete darkness now, a silver blade of curved moonlight reflecting off the water Ichigo’s gaze seemed emptily transfixed on. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She fished her phone out and shot a rapid text to Ichigo.
“Turn around!”
She saw the light of his phone screen dimly glow through the back pocket of his jeans. She heard the muffled little vibration.
It did nothing to break the spell he seemed to be under, and Tatsuki felt her righteous indignation and fiery drive towards confrontation give way to something more raw.
This just wasn’t right. Sure, Ichigo was a crybaby, always had been, and moody on his best days, but this was just a total loss of spark. Like he’d lost his fight. Tatsuki felt her concern, the carefully shielded anxiety in the pit of her stomach, swell into something unbearable, her heart breaking for her friend.
Maybe he didn’t notice her approach, or maybe he didn’t care to acknowledge it. Tatsuki wasn’t sure which was worse but she closed the distance between them with careful intent. Coming up to stand by his side, her footfalls soundless in the wet grass, she followed his gaze out to the water. She hoped she’d be able to see whatever it was he saw in it. Blue ripples of moonlit water cut through the darkness that lay beneath, and a breeze lifted her hair up around her face. She glanced at him and saw how tired he was. The darkness under his eyes. She realized he’d been looking for something in that water for a long time. She couldn’t see it either. For longer still, neither of them spoke. She shared his silent vigil, hoping that at the very least, he knew he wasn’t alone. She was still here for him. After what felt like a stretched eternity, Ichigo broke the silence.
“It’s just unbelievable.”
Tatsuki didn’t respond as she let the statement hang. What was? Fighting a war? Losing his powers? Was tonight about his mother again? She waited patiently for him to go on, and after several more beats of empty quiet, he did. “I gave them everything. Everything. I was everything. I-” he stopped short, breath catching on his words as his voice cracked. Tatsuki turned to face him, open and honest, and Ichigo’s voice broke over his words when his pained eyes met hers “Why don’t I feel like I won?”
Tatsuki was taken aback by the admission. Hadn’t he won? Everyone else made it sound like he had. Everyone else had come back, alive, and as far as she could tell, the terrifying spirits in robes and butterfly mutants had disappeared for good this time. The war was won, as she, and everyone else, understood it.
So what exactly did winning mean to Ichigo?
Her head swam for a moment as she considered how unprepared she was for this impromptu confrontation. It had been arrogant of her to pick this fight. Until now, she’d only known winning a fight to be a fair and equitable system of points with a ref to call the shots. The victor could rely on rules and take home a trophy, maybe get press coverage if they were that good.
Ichigo’s fights were not like Tatsuki’s, and a sinking sudden shame wormed its way into her gut with the realization. His brown eyes were haloed in purpling shadows, his hair hung limp around the sad watery depths of his pleading gaze. She could almost feel his slight tremors through the ground as he sucked in a shaky breath through clenched teeth. He held it, grinding his jaw like he was waiting on some great precipice that he couldn’t cross.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly, meeting his gaze head on. Come on, Ichigo, you know me. You’ve always known me. Let me in, for once.
He let out a breath and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his eyes. Exhaustion drew his frame into a sunken slouch. “It’s a lot,” he warned. She laughed, throwing him the lightest and most playful punch to the shoulder she could. He snorted weakly at the impact.
“C’mon, Kurosaki. You know I can handle anything you throw at me and give it right back.” That earned her a dry chuckle from her downcast friend, and she felt a bloom of encouragement light up.
He sighed and lowered himself down to the damp grass, crossing his legs and motioning for her to follow suit.
Tatsuki had known Ichigo long enough to recognize that he wasn’t one for vulnerability, and she’d proven herself a seasoned enough fighter to know when to use brute strength vs when to lean into strategy. She paced around Ichigo’s seated form, circling to his backside, and settled herself in the grass behind him with her back pressed between his shoulder blades. She leaned experimentally against him, testing, and to her small triumph, he leaned back in return, sharing his weight against hers. Instinct told her he wouldn’t want someone to be looking in his eyes right now.
“There, now you can get all mushy with me and I won’t even see.”
“Fair enough, I guess I do owe you one for keeping you in the dark,”
“Yep.”
“And for not answering any of your messages,”
“That too.”
“And for you coming all the way out here to pin me down in the middle of the night…”
“Correct.”
“Okay, I hear you. But listen, I have a favor to ask.” Her eyebrow raised alongside that familiar annoyance. She shifted her head questioningly as he continued, undeterred “This has to stay here. Between us. I don’t want the others knowing. Not even Orihime. Okay?”
Well, that was grave. Asking for privacy was one thing, but to keep it from her friend? Her best friend? Who was already worried day and night for him?
Tatsuki hesitated, then took a steadying breath and pictured his expression when she’d first laid eyes on him. He somehow looked like that scared little kid she used to know, but also terribly aged by war and responsibility beyond comprehension. She had to remember why she came out here.
“Okay. Deal.” She reached an arm out to her side, twisting behind her towards Ichigo’s assumed line of sight with a pinky extended. Childish, maybe, but she hoped he’d at least appreciate the sentiment.
“Great. Thank you, Tatsuki. That means a lot to me.” She felt his pinky close around hers with a gentle squeeze. Progress progress progress. “And,” he added.
“And?” she echoed.
“And,” a pause, “you can’t laugh at me.”
Tatsuki rolled her eyes, thankful he couldn’t see her face. “Okay. I won’t laugh. Now give it up, Kurosaki.”
He breathed an unexpected small chuckle at her demand, tangled in sadness. There were several heartbeats in the still of the night — heartbeats that Tatsuki could feel slowly thrumming from Ichigo’s back pressed to hers. He cleared his throat, making a scratchy rumble that vibrated between her shoulders. While she couldn’t see his face, she could imagine that pensive, drawn-in expression he so often wore when lost in grinding thought.
“I’m out here because, well… I guess I just haven't been sleeping. You probably figured that out though.” In the far corner of her vision, she saw his hand, almost trembling, picking absently at the grass, having released her pinky in favor of something less personal. “I can’t. You know I come here when I need to think, but lately, I dunno. It’s all too familiar, like I've been here before for the same reasons. I know I’m not making sense, I’m sorry. It's just…” he trailed off, and she felt him turn his head back out to the water. The slivered moon hung lonesomely in the dark. He struggled shakily around a breath, and Tatsuki waited in nervous patience for what was to come. Finally,
“There was… this guy. An opponent on the enemy side. We fought three times, he was good. Really good. Fighting him didn’t feel like war, it felt… it felt like it was just us. I know you’d get it, being a boxer and stuff. Without the war politics of it all, having a rival you resonate with and respect, it just felt… like I was myself for a bit. I didn’t need to hold back with him, I'm stronger because of him, and the thing is, he got me. He understood me when I didn't even understand myself. The power I had that I was so afraid of, he wanted to see it and face it head on. When everyone else looked at me like I was a monster, the way Orihime looked at me—”
His voice suddenly broke around the words, head dropping with a lurch as the fingers he’d woven into the grass clenched in desperate grounding. “She was terrified of me, Tatsuki. Terrified. Like I wasn’t even- even a person,” His voice wobbled as he spoke in the grip of memory. “Like I wasn’t there for her, to save her. Like I was some kind of ravenous predator, like she didn’t understand that I am what I am to fight for her.
“And he smiled. It was like he knew me, and in that moment, I knew him. The desperation for strength, and power, how necessary victory was. How thrilling it all was to be there, going hit for hit with a real evenly matched challenge. He knew how many times I could pull off an attack the first time he met me. He called me out on wanting to fight, and he was right. I did want to fight. I wanted to fight him. Of course I went to Hueco Mundo for Orihime, but I stayed for him,” Ichigo’s voice softened as he spoke about this… enemy? Rival? His fingers slowly unwound from the grass with a defeated exhale.
“I wish you could have seen him,” he finished softly, almost wistful.
Tatsuki’s mind reeled for a comforting gesture, a piece of advice, anything. But it all just so far beyond her element, and she knew that at the very least, she should keep him talking. This was the most he’d ever shared with her, and she had so many questions. He seemed to be in less pain when talking about…
“What was his name? Tell me about him.”
At that, Ichigo huffed almost fondly like Tatsuki had suggested something silly. Like he was laughing at himself. But thankfully, Ichigo chose to humor her.
“He was something else when he went all out. He was evolved to fight. I know you won't know much about the hollow stuff, but he had blue hair and that wasn’t even the wildest thing about him. He was like a panther cat man out of a weird dream. Mean, sharp claws and pure power. He glowed blue and had fuzzy green triangle ears. His name was Grimmjow.”
Well, this created far more questions than it answered. Something in Tatsuki served up a flash of a memory, something she’d been wanting to address for some time now. Ichigo’s description somewhat matched the opponent from last year, the one who had landed some brutal punches to Ichigo’s face, and pride, not too far from Keigo’s place.… She remembered peering out from behind the corner of an alleyway, watching frozen in shock as Ichigo took hit, after hit, after hit… but that guy looked totally, normally human, except for the hole through his middle.
“Panther?” She landed on, questioningly. “What, did he have paws or something?”
A snort, “Yes.”
“And a tail?” A small laugh this time.
“Yes! It was this transformation thing he could do, leveling up his power and all that. He was fast, flexible, and fucking ferocious. If I hadn't been fighting for my life, I’d call it beautiful. He was terrifying.” Ichigo’s laugh faded and that horribly grief stricken silence slid back through his frame, under his skin down to his bones. He was suddenly wrecked all over again.
“You ever see those pictures of hunters posing with their kill, like some kind of trophy? Doesn't it make you feel sad? That's not at all like winning a fight, it's killing some beautiful predator that was better off left alone.” And suddenly Ichigo’s voice broke open the way she’d heard a thousand times before, a choked wobbling with the crack in his voice and eyes swelling with tears. Tremors shook through the leaning press of his back against hers.
“I ruined him, and I feel horrible. I still feel horrible. I know I had to do it, but I didn't feel like I had to do it. I wanted him- I wanted him to stay alive, I wanted to fight him again, I tried so hard to protect him. I failed.” Ichigo hiccupped around his tightening, broken voice as she listened to the wet breaths around sniffles pick up with his words, “I left him, Tatsuki. Bleeding out to die alone on his back. Defenseless. I left him there, I left-” His body shook, wracked with sobs and Ichigo cried like he was 5 years old and socked in the face. He cried like the sky was pouring down on him and his mom wasn’t coming home. He cried like he’d lost everything. “I didn’t want to leave him.”
Tatsuki felt his shoulders shake against hers, turning over the confession in her mind while he cried. It was a weight unlike anything she’d ever been close to being able to relate to, and hopefully, something she’d never have to. There wasn’t anything she could say to undo what he’d gone through, or restore his power to change the outcome of it all. She shifted, slowly, from her seated position where she’d leaned back against him and twisted herself around, knees arranging neatly folded beneath her as she carefully looped her arms around his shoulders that heaved with sobs. Her forearm slid beneath his chin, the other crossing down diagonally from over his shoulder like a seatbelt, her nose tucked down against the back of his neck. She couldn’t see his face, and she slowly drew in a long inhale, expanding her diaphragm against his back, pushing her chest into him with a gentle pressure. She held it while he cried, and let it out just as slowly, breath ghosting against the back of his neck. She repeated her demonstration, twice, a third time, until by the fourth, the teary boy in her arms was pacing his breaths with hers, subconsciously or otherwise. The sobs quieted to sniffles and he coughed around the snot that had built up in his sinuses. She didn’t have anything to offer for that, but at least she couldn't see him fully. At least he’d gotten the important stuff out.
“I saw you that night, y'know,” she whispered. Ichigo stiffened in her hold. “Fighting him.”
“What?”
She pressed on. “I was walking home, it was late. You got thrown down the entire street like a bowling ball. BlueCat was really letting you have it. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if there was anything I could do. I was worried about you. I just watched, I was so scared. I’m sorry for that. That was him, right?”
He sniffled. “Yeah. That was him. I’m glad you didn’t get involved, keeping yourself safe was the smartest move. He probably would've punched a hole right through you,” Ichigo murmured, damp breath ghosting across her forearms still securely encircling over his shoulders. “This is so stupid. I’m an idiot for crying over a person like that. I shouldn’t have wanted to save him.”
“Hey,” Tatsuki bit, “It isn't stupid. Look since we’re in the business of trading secrets now, you want one?”
Ichigo tilted his head back, trying to angle to see her in questioning without much success. Tatsuki didn’t wait for a response. “I talked with Orihime. A lot. And she told me about all this stuff you guys saw. It was hard to believe, hearing it from her, and if you weren’t such a serious guy all the time, I wouldn’t believe it from you either. But your stories match, and she had one of those too.” Tatsuki shifted her hold slightly, getting more comfortable as Ichigo listened in rapt silence.
“Some poor, sad guy that her big stupid heart got soft for when she was stuck there, and she said the same thing. He didn’t make it out either. She didn’t say what happened, but you guys are both suffering so similarly, it's awful to watch. You’re right that I don’t know the politics of it, and you’re saying what you’re saying for a reason. Fine. But the both of you saw something in those people, and you’ve both got this amazing power of seeing what’s right and finding reasons to love and protect the people around you. I trust that. She trusts that. Spirits and swords aside, that's what makes both of you powerful people. It’s your hearts. And if you saw something you felt like was worth protecting, who am I or anyone else to judge? I think it’s brave. You’re not stupid for that. And it’s stupid that you’d call yourself stupid.”
Ichigo let out a weak laugh, and Tatsuki loosened and then released her hold around him as he rubbed at his eyes. He shifted to half face her, wiping away new tears that had sprung forward, but not with so much sadness this time. Her chest ached as she sat back and watched him compose himself in the dark under the moon. “Also,” she leaned forward and landed a heavy palm into the stop of his orange fluffy head, “Anyone strong enough to give you a run for your money like that isn’t going down easy. Give us a little credit! If he’s good enough that you’re still carrying on about him, you’ll be seeing him again. Show some respect.”
His eyes met hers in a watery smile, brighter and far more clear than the dull catatonic look she’d found him with. “Thank you, Tatsuki,” he choked, voice hoarse. “Let’s never do this again. It’s weird seeing you all nice and sweet.”
Tatsuki scoffed and landed a shoulder punch, with feeling. “Well I’d say it’s weird seeing you a crying blubbering mess but I’m not a liar, liar!” Ichigo fell straight back and hit the grass with a breathless laugh. He stared up at the light sky as Tatsuki gathered herself to her feet, stretching her cramping legs.
“I do hope I see him again.” Ichigo confessed, to both Tatsuki and the moon reflected in his distant gaze. “Though, without my powers, I guess I won’t be able to until I kick the bucket for good. He could be sitting on me right now swearing in my face and I’d be none the wiser.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Tatsuki snorted, earning a heated glare and delightfully flushed cheeks from the flattened former soul reaper. She laughed over her shoulder, glancing down at his sprawled form in the grass. “He isn’t, by the way.” She held a hand out to him, grateful that her teasing hadn’t pushed him to the point of petulance.
“I know,” Ichigo sighed, letting her haul him to his feet. “That’d just be too good to be true,” he feigned lament, and then caught up with her teasing. “Hey, and you promised you wouldn’t laugh at me!”
Tatsuki laughed fully this time as they started on their path back towards her home. “I promised not to laugh over your big emo feelings, but the scene catboy crush isn’t gonna fly under the radar, Ichi.” His face went red.
“Scene?!” He shrieked, and she raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve come a long way, Ichigo. I’m just glad you’ve accepted the crush and we can move on to nitpicking his proper subgenre aesthetic.” She clapped him on the back and his face got somehow redder.
“I am never telling you anything again.”
It was just past 3am when Tatsuki's eyes flew open under a crushing weight, stifling like pressing layers of sand and static as she lay on her back in the supposed safety of her own bed. But she was not alone, and-
Oh, fuck.
Two discs of burning blue flame burned inches from her face, scoring all the way down into the current of her soul and no amount of Ichigo’s fond smiling memories around this person had any weight against how heart-stoppingly terrified she was in that moment.
He was straddled over her, how the fuck did he get in this close? One knee on either side of her body, tightly controlled waves of crushing pressure rolling off of him keeping her back pinned ramrod straight to the mattress, she could hardly breathe. From a distance, he was terrifying. Up close, Tatsuki feared she was going to wet the bed.
“What the fuck did you say to him,” Bluecat - Grimmjow - bit out, hot breath seething through sharp fangs that parted and glinted in the moonbeams cast on one side of his angular, angry expression.
“Just- just that you’re alive. That I thought you made it, I don’t-” Tatsuki answered quickly, thanking survival instinct for her fast-paced brain. She could barely breathe, pulling in a desperate gasp against thrumming spiritual pressure that held her pinned like a mouse under a big, padded paw.
Blue steel chip eyes narrowed, reflective yellowed mirrors flashing behind the pupils in true predatory feline fashion. His lip curled, but to Tatsuki’s tremendous relief, the panther sat back and her chest heaved in liberation as the crushing weight subsided.
“He spoke to me,” Grimmjow grumbled, clear dissatisfaction twisting across his face. He glared venomously at her, like that was not only a problem, but completely her fault.
“What?” Tatsuki punched out with half a cough as she shakily sat up, stomach throwing itself like a washing machine up and over itself with nervousness and fright. She was still trying to catch up with being suddenly awake, under the unwelcome and frankly dangerous presence of an intruder that had, with verified confirmation, made multiple murder attempts on her friends. Fuck, was she next? Was tonight her turn? This is what she gets for chasing after Ichigo Kurosaki, for the love of-
“He can’t see me. Still. He’s fucking powerless, it makes me sick,” Grimmjow elaborated, somewhat unhelpfully, and clearly still deeply unhappy. He huffed at her, eyeing her critically, saying without saying that he was deeply unimpressed with her own strength. “But tonight he started fucking talking right to me like he could. Said he hopes I’m ‘still there’ and that we’ll have our rematch. Wasn’t doing that before.”
Tatsuki blinked in startled confusion. “You were in his room?” she asked without thinking, and the snarl she got in response was nothing short of humbling.
“S’not a crime to track prey,” he said succinctly. The thought of Ichigo being “prey” made her stomach do another flip, and she suddenly became worried about the implications surrounding the predator's current presence in her room.
He snorted like he read her mind. Though it was probably written all over her face. “I’m not after weak prey,” he sneered, with so much snark she nearly felt insulted by the obvious taunt.
“Well you’re after Ichigo!” She shot back against her better judgment.
“And he ain’t weak!” Grimmjow bared his teeth defensively, and they flashed bone-white in the weak light. The bridge of his nose scrunched somehow tighter between his eyes. “He ain’t weak. I’m getting our fight, and you messed around and did something now he’s talking like I’m there. He shouldn’t know I am. You seen me around? You tell him I’ve been stalking him?”
Tatsuki stared. If she hadn’t been so scared for her life, this situation would be becoming comical - they were dancing around each other blindly, in denial, and she’d somehow gotten snared between those terrifying, exoskeletal teeth like an unfortunate appetizer.
“I did not see you.” She kept careful control over her voice, hoping to sound confident. “I saw your fight with him last year. When you beat the brakes off him. Never saw you after that until tonight. And I didn’t tell Ichigo you’re alive, I just told him that tough fighters don’t go down easy, and if he really respected you he’d stop moping like you’re gone for good. It’s not like I knew you were alive until just now!”
That seemed to be the right thing to say - now he was looking at her less like an irritating snack and more like a particularly interesting bug that the metaphorical, or possibly literal, paw was refraining from slapping. His narrowed eyes shifted sporadically, quickly flitting over her body, seeing something she couldn’t and weighing her words against her soul. When she imagined judgment day, this was not what she pictured.
But, to her tremendous relief, it weighed in her favor. With smooth, feline grace, he unspooled himself up out of her bed and glared coldly over his shoulder.
“Good. Don’t.”
There was a distortion, a muffled boom like sudden compression that stole the air from her lungs, and he was gone.
Her room was empty, and silent. She stared at the space he’d been standing in, at the depressions in her bed from his knees. The moonlight spilled into an empty square across her bedspread. She sighed in exasperation, feeling her heart rate steadily return to something non life threatening.
Ichigo kept some weird company. For better or for worse, she was grateful to be one of them.