I know it's been some time since I posted something new, and I apologize. Things have been difficult for me lately, and I just had to write something positive. Its pointless fluff and the characters are OOC, I know, but I had it inside of me and decided to release it upon the world.
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"Let me see your hands."
Six years is a long time to not see your wife, Ichigo thought as he held up his hands to his bride. Rukia clutched at his arms, pulling him closer into intimacy distance. She let loose on her grip and slowly, gently, brought her fingers down over his knuckles; as if marveling at them.
"Rukia, what are you doing?"
He'd been away on a mission for all those years the two of them spent apart. The Quincy war may have been won, but there were still factions out there that needed to be weeded out. The Seireitei wasn't ordering the death of women and children, but rather the disbandment of those factions. Ichigo, a seated officer in the First Division, while awaiting an opening for Captain Rank, was tasked with leading a platoon of Shinigami into the badlands of Quincy territory to help with the effort.
It took them six years to successfully, and completely, disband the last known faction of Anti-Seireitei Quincy warriors.
"I've… missed your hands," Rukia said, her cheeks tinted pink as she spoke. He could tell it was embarrassing to admit, but she did not desire to lie to her husband.
"My hands?" he furrowed his brow in confusion. "Out of everything, you missed my hands?"
"I missed all of you, idiot," she rolled her eyes, smiling. "I just… missed your hands in particular…"
She brought his left hand to her cheek, leaning into it lovingly.
"More importantly, I missed how they felt on my skin…"
Ichigo's features softened, a small smile masking his usual scowl as he cupped her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of it – of him.
They'd messaged each other as much as possible through the Hell Butterfly service; Ichigo's Soul Pager unable to connect out in the badlands. In public they liked to keep their intimacy a secret, preferring to bicker and argue and hiss should the other even come near to touching them. People assumed they were on the verge of divorce with how they treated one another outside of their home. It was different in private. Still they bickered and argued, but it was hard not to touch each other.
Although their messages couldn't be considered Shakespearian, they were indeed riddled with backwards love declarations and promises of affection in the future – albeit only should Ichigo return alive, of course.
With her free hand, Rukia brought Ichigo's right hand up to her face to inspect. She ran her thumb over the pads of his palm, a slight frown marring her once delightful smile. "There're more lines than I remember."
Ichigo interlocked their fingers, squeezing gently to ease her slightly. "It's been a rough few years."
She knew all too well, Ichigo thought. She'd demanded to hear about his battles, to know just how far he was pushing himself for the mission. Not wanting a kick to the face when he returned, Ichigo had conceded and described the fights he'd had to take in, of the enemies he'd faced. He lost soldiers, collected a few more scars for the collection, and left behind enough pools of blood to fill a river – not all of it his.
Throughout it all, Rukia had been his rock. Listening to his messages, giving him advice during the hardships he faced, and even reassuring him whenever he doubted himself.
Ichigo knew that without his wife he would have died in every sense but the literal.
"I'm glad you're home," she said, kissing the hand cupping her cheek, squeezing the other back. "I've missed you, strawberry."
Ichigo chuckled, leaning in. "I've missed you too, midget."
They shared a tender kiss, and Ichigo once again thought about how six years was a long time to not see your wife. But, despite that, he knew no length of time could tear them apart. They'd been married for nearly a full century, and their bond was as strong as ever, as evident by the way they still held hands so lovingly when no one was looking.
We could spend ten lifetimes apart, and yet I'd still come back to you.