The air of Urahara's training basement was thick with the lingering tension of a long fight just completed. Sparks of spent reiatsu charged the space with an electric fervor. Ichigo sighed, the pleasant burn in his muscles dulling down to a lingering ache. He loved days like this. Days where he could let loose and fight to his heart's content. Being able to test out his full power and experience that thrill of danger without the actual threat of death hanging over him was liberating in a way he never would have expected. It certainly helped that Grimmjow, his usual opponent, wouldn't tolerate Ichigo going easy on him.
Ichigo let his eyes drift to the arrancar sitting in front of him. Ever since the Quincies were defeated, he had been meeting up for weekly sparring sessions with his former rival. They would clash together in spectacular displays of reiatsu and strength, often for hours on end, until their legs would give out from exhaustion. Sometimes they would fight and be done with it, but every once and a while the battle would put Grimmjow in an uncannily relaxed mood. Like all his unquenching bloodlust was miraculously sated. Those days always led to different things: they'd talk like old friends, or they'd just lay in silence and appreciate the other's company. It was comfortable.
Today was one of those rare days.
The two were seated on the dry ground, crossed knees almost touching, shirtless.
Ichigo's fingers trailed up Grimmjow's torso, feeling the rough skin beneath his hand. Even after years, the angry burn from Ichigo's hollowfied reiatsu hadn't faded. Ichigo still wasn't entirely sure why Grimmjow kept that scar, but it still filled the shinigami with an odd sense of nostalgic pride. Grimmjow was strong. Back then, he had been clearly outmatched by the arrancar. And yet he had managed to land such a devastating blow.
Grimmjow huffed, impatient.
There was nothing to be gained from that scar. Nothing Ichigo himself didn't already know.
The second most prominent scar sat at the junction of Grimmjow's neck and left shoulder.
"You know that one already. Or did you forget how our fight in Las Noches ended?" Grimmjow said with plenty of snark behind his words.
"Didn't forget." Ichigo responded, not taking his attention off the mark. "I'm kinda glad it ended the way it did."
Grimmjow scoffed, "What, you saying you enjoyed watching that bastard Nnoitra try to decapitate me? Didn't think you were hollow enough to find joy in that."
Ichigo furrowed his brows, "I'm not— Of course I didn't like it. But he did get you to stop fighting. If someone hadn't stepped in, I would have been forced to kill you because you wouldn't stay down otherwise." A pause. "I'm glad I didn't have to do that." I'm glad you're still here.
That shut Grimmjow up real quick. "Whatever. Just pick another one already."
Ichigo nodded. He wasn't exactly sure how they had gotten on the topic of scars. Probably tending to their minor wounds from the skirmish leading to discussing their worst injuries leading to... whatever it was they were doing now. They had settled into an unspoken rhythm of pointing out scars and learning the stories behind them. A soothing back and forth that Ichigo was more than willing to take part in for as long as Grimmjow's relatively good mood lasted.
"Fine. That one." Ichigo said, pointing to three thin, raised lines along Grimmjow's flank
Grimmjow frowned in thought for a second. "That's an old one. Some scrawny hollow took a swipe at me with his claws when I was climbing out of the Forest of Menos for the first time. Thought I'd make an easy meal 'cause I wasn't a big lumbering oaf or something. Didn't realize what he was messing with an adjuchas until after I tore his arms off." He finished with something akin to fondness in his tone.
Taking his turn, Grinnjow's dragged his calloused fingers over the star of marred skin in the center of Ichigo's chest; following the jagged points outward before catching on the smooth, perfect circle of raised skin around it.
"The jagged one is from Byakuya."
"Who?"
"Rukia's older brother. One of the Captains. I guess you haven't met him. He tried to take away my shinigami powers back when Rukia was going to be executed. I have one a bit lower too, where he struck me through my back. I think it was through my back. I never really could tell." Ichigo pointed out the matching mark just above his naval.
"Ohhhhh? So you have a pattern of getting your powers nicked. It wasn't just Aizen..."
"Shut up."
"Or that Ginjo guy..."
Ichigo took a weak swing at Grimmjow, which was easily dodged.
Grimmjow inspected both scars until he was satisfied. His attention returned to the center of Ichigo's chest. "Is that circle from that Byakuya guy too?"
Ichigo's expression faltered, "Ah, no. That was from Ulquiorra. Inoue did the best she could to heal me but..." He trailed off. It wasn't really something he liked to think about.
The arrancar's own expression soured at the mention of the late fourth espada. "I'm still mad he marked you as his like that."
"Quit being so possessive. I don't belong to anyone. 'Sides, that's where my hollow hole was anyway. At least that's what the Visored told me." The shinigami rolled his eyes. It was an old argument. One not really worth getting into. "Also, that was two. It's my turn."
Apparently, Grimmjow was also not looking to revive that topic either. He conceded and withdrew his hand with only minimal grumbling.
A knot of whorled tissue on Grimmjow's left forearm snagged Ichigo's attention. "I don't think I've seen that one before."
"You haven't. I was training with Nel not too long ago and she's gotten really good at spiraling that javelin-lance-thing."
Ichigo winced in sympathy. It looked like it still hurt.
They went back and forth a few times; Ichigo talking about the battles he fought, Grimmjow spinning tales of stalking the dunes of Hueco Mundo.
"And this one's from when I punched Yammy in the face after he tried to take my seat at the table." Grimmjow looked smug at the mark along his knuckles.
"You punched that big guy in the face?"
"Yup. The guy almost sat on me."
Ichigo wasn't sure whether or not it was acceptable to laugh at that mental image. He settled for a light smirk "Alright. You go. I'm running out of scars to talk about though."
Grimmjow's eyes raked over Ichigo, taking in every raised scar on display, looking for something he may have missed. Finally, ever so slowly, Grimmjow reached out, tracing the thin line in the crease of skin just below Ichigo's left pectoral muscle.
Ichigo froze.
He had almost forgotten about those.
Hadn't even realized they transferred to his shinigami form.
But there they were.
A second hand found the corresponding mark on his right side. Calloused fingers mapped out the scars from where they started on his sternum to their end on his side. Ichigo fought to keep his breath even.
The scars were old. Older than all of his battle-inflicted injuries. Old and thin and faded. Twin lines that had obviously been tended to and cared for. Tended to. Clean. Precise. Surgical. Nothing at all like the jagged, hastily-healed battle wounds.
That was something that Grimmjow, with all his knowledge of fighting and wounds, had to recognize.
"What're these from?"
Ichigo's mind shuddered to a halt. How would he explain that? He wished Grimmjow would have left those alone. That was a delicate area for him— not physically; it was all pretty numb from having the nerves sliced through. But emotionally, it was still sensitive. So many feelings attached to those simple lines. Feelings Grimmjow wouldn't care about. Feelings Ichigo wasn't comfortable sharing even if Grimmjow had been interested.
Would Grimmjow treat him differently if he knew? Would he care?
Maybe he should say those were off-limits, Ichigo thought. But, no... If he told Grimmjow to leave them alone, the antagonistic arrancar would just take it as a challenge and double down on his efforts to get the truth.
Realizing it had been a minute since he had said anything, and that Grimmjow was expecting a response, Ichigo chose his words quickly but with care. "Those were... a personal battle."
Grimmjow stared intently at the faint lines. He placed his hands on the sides of Ichigo's ribcage, running his thumbs across the scars in slow, even sweeps. "Personal battle, huh?"
Ichigo scratched the back of his head, hoping his rising blush wouldn't be noticed. "Yeah. I... when I was a kid I was wrong— felt wrong. Different. I had to fight to be who I am now. Had to fight to make people see me. Really see me. Gaining those scars was part of the process."
The duo sat in an odd sort of silence. Rough thumbs continued giving gentle attention to Ichigo's chest.
"Did you win?"
"Huh?" Grimmjow's voice started Ichigo out of the semi-trance brought on by the methodical kneading of Grimmjow's hands.
"That personal battle. Did you win?"
Blue eyes looked up at him, determination and assurance and swirling in a turbulent sea. Like he was going to march out and fight Ichigo's 'personal battle' for him if he didn't get an affirmative answer.
Ichigo sighed. It wasn't really the sort of fight that had a victor. It was an endurance match that had tested his stamina for literal years and still dragged him back every so often. But, then the thought of where he had been at the beginning of that long road. Being eleven and seeing nothing but pain and torment in his life ahead. The blissfully liberating feeling he got when he finally took the plunge and chopped off a foot and a half of his hair at thirteen. How much easier it felt to breathe, even when his ribs were constricted by bindings and bandages. Those marks were what he was left with after his struggle.
Proof of how far he had come.
He realized, sitting shirtless across from a hollow that used to be his most fearsome enemy:
He was happy.
A small smile graced his face. "Yeah, Grimmjow. I won."