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Ichigo is preparing to come home after an eight-year mission in the human world.
He is sitting on a street/park bench, overlooking a 300-year old, sprawling karesansui garden encased in glass - preserved in 2035 the sharp chrome plaque flashes. It is very late in the evening.
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A young, human woman, black-haired and slightly inebriated but well-dressed and clean-cut, happens to wander into the same place as Ichigo.
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The woman slumps beside Ichigo, and he nods at her direction in recognition- a curt hello, and her eyes linger a bit unwittingly. She could tell he is the kind of man most girls daydream about - once they get past the cute boys phase: older, fit, and handsome.
She thinks of the city park - a considerable stretch of a city street and garden fully preserved, behind glass and converted to an open museum - and concludes it's an unusual venue for a man like him to go to. (it's actually unusual for anyone to go anywhere anymore)
"Mister," the woman starts, observing his keen interest in the park, "do you study the human past, are you a professor? I come here frequently, I -I...I'm a student, if you can't tell."
Ichigo considers the question. Human study, Rukia's interest in it never waivered. Fifty years ago, many stopped publishing books made of paper, some still do in old temples. She never appreciated the thin, sleek devices he brought her, they were impersonal, she said, he agreed.
"No," he said.
"So, waiting for somebody then?" the student presses.
"Somebody - something, a gate." Ichigo answers easily - he does not mind much how the student would perceive it.
A gate. "I see," she nods. But what a curious thing to wait for, the student wonders, fumbling with the buttons of her black coat.
"And you?" Ichigo asks, after a long pause.
"Nothing particular, really, just walking around," she shrugs.
Ichigo notices her eyes frequently rest on the glass-encased, several-stories high displays of actual gardens, lakes and old houses and shabby food stands - a history student, she said. For somebody who frequents this park, she must have wished she saw firsthand how these places were before becoming displays: living.
Ichigo never stayed in his old house in the entirety of his 8-year liaison deployment in the human world, because it was simply no longer there. His old town area made way for smart, full-glass apartment buildings.
"Well, if you still have time, mister, I'm meaning to drink something, would you, I mean, I mean while waiting, of course - would you like to have some...?" she asks offhandedly after a minute.
"I'm sorry I can't," Ichigo answers quietly, "I'll be home soon."
"Ahh, alright," but the student does not look dejected, if anything, she accepts, nods, and continues the topic anyway.
"You talk as if you came from a long way, are you from around here?"
"Yeah - I grew up here, but me and my wife live far," Ichigo says. In the afterlife.
-that he is: married, albeit unsurprising. The student still did not expect him to be, then she laughs, hoping he isn't somehow irritated by her questioning, people barely stop to talk to each other face-to-face nowadays. "How long you two have been married?" she asks, and tightens her coat around her, briefly pausing to notice the city made the wind too cold tonight.
"A hundred years tomorrow," Ichigo states simply, consciously, and checking to see her reaction.
He is expecting her to put up any shocking reaction, but other than her eyebrows raising, it seems she's easily accepting of the fact. The current natural lifespan hasn't changed much, it's still something between 60 and 70, he thinks, but better medications and gene editing got further, it's technically possible to live for more than a hundred years, but not remain young-looking. He expects her to question that at least.
"A hundred years?" she laughs nervously. "That's - well, that would be awfully long for me, but I guess, it's wonderfully long for you? Oh - wait, is that why you're coming home? A centennial wedding anniversary, isn't?" she quips, thumbing her backpack's strap.
Ichigo does not answer - but perhaps he is.
One hundred years - looking back - isn't so daunting. Rukia and him maintained a kind of routine, satisfied in what they share and don't share with one another. Also, they take frequent afternoon naps.
"I married my friend…and she's older by multiple lifetimes and berates me a lot," he says, "just...just imagine that."
"How old is she exactly?"
"About 300 this year."
The student is not fazed by the absurdity of his story, if anything, she looks away - towards a preserved takoyaki stand - and her forehead creases.
"Are you trying to make me think she looks like a hag? Someone with...with ghoulish eyes and papery skin?"
Ichigo laughs a little, "she wouldn't mind if someone thought she looks like a hag. We live in the afterlife, but she'll meet me here."
"I don't understand where this conversation is headed, mister...?" Her head tilts. it must be, she muses, that the late evening/early morning hour has caught with her.
"Go home," Ichigo tells her mildly, warm like family.
"Wha...t?"
Soon, he gets up.
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The student keeps to herself some minutes after, and thinks about her conversation with the oddly attractive, doubtedly very old, orange-haired man. He said he is over 100 years old, and he married his friend who is over 300 years old, and she is some sort of a hag, and they are living in the afterlife - it is strange.
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When she leaves her seat, she caught a glimpse of orange - the strange man! - talking to a woman with black hair and wearing a white furisode - she is definitely not a hag.
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a/n: i'm not convinced kaien is rukia's first love. also, this isn't over.
