Trigger Warning: This story will contain graphic violence, explicit content, implied/referenced assault, and intense criticism and corruption of Catholicism for the plot. Future warnings or tags may pop up as well as the story progresses.


There's a girl in his dreams tonight.

A young woman, really, though she can't be any older than early twenties at most. Her hair is soft, and brown, and it floats in the wind like sea foam on ocean waves. She's petite. Her white dress flutters in the breeze without rising about knobby knees, and her hands are clasped politely behind her back. She's standing before the front doors of the cathedral. His cathedral. Her head is bowed in reverence.

The sky is blue and the air is warm; the sun at noontide and not a cloud in sight.

It's a beautiful sight.

A butterfly, the brightest and hottest shade of red he's ever seen, flutters lazily over to the girl and purchase on her shoulder. It sits there happily and even though he can't see her face, Ichigo is certain that the girl is smiling.

So then why does he feel so afraid? Why-

"ICHIGO!"

The dream shatters.

The harsh shout of his name jerks Ichigo to sudden confidence, the young man yelping in surprise as he throws himself upright. Wrestling with the bedsheets, chest heaving, it takes him a few seconds to regain his composure. When he does, it's with one hand planted dramatically on his chest, eyes blinking clumps of sleep from his vision as he looks over to the doorway. He would've rather seen the coast guard standing there telling him to evacuate, or a burglar polite enough to learn his name before robbing him blind. Instead, he's met with the sight of one unbothered Ishida Uryu, standing there with all the audacity in the world.

Panic quickly morphs into annoyance and indignation. "What the hell was that for?"

"Language."

The bastard. Ishida's already assigning him penance with his eyes. Ichigo glowers in response. "How did you get in here anyway? Wasn't my door locked?"

"You were going to be late," Ishida answers, completely ignoring the second question in favor of casting Ichigo the most condescending look he's ever received. And that's saying something, considering he's been under that very gaze a lot over the years. "The ceremony starts in an hour and you're not even out of bed yet."

Shit. Clumsy hands fumble for his phone and the awakening screen flashes 9am at his face. Shit. Ichigo's responsive groan must satisfy Ishida, because the other slinks back out of the doorway to take leave. "You can thank me later," he makes sure to toss over his shoulder, "lunch will suffice. I heard the new deli down the street is good."

Ichigo scrubs his hands furiously over his face. The covers are flung off, the wooden floors cold beneath his feet. "Don't break into my room."

"Don't be late to your first baptism in a new parish. Good luck."

At least he has the decency to shut the door on his way out. It's just like back in the seminary.

Right – don't be late to your first baptism in a new parish. Solid advice regardless of the breaking and entering. Ichigo has flung himself from the bed and himself and he likes to think he does well at keeping all his profanities innocently inside his head, stumbling over his pajama bottoms and flinging himself towards the bedroom. Ishida has probably already been up for hours – checked tea time and devotions off in his little journal, probably crocheted an entire scarf too. And all before the 10am service. Ichigo scoffs at the thought around a mouthful of Colgate minty fresh.

He furiously attacks bright ginger hair – ginger, yeah right, its orange – with his bare fingers to get it tamed. Spits, rinses, and splashes cold water on his face as a mockery of a skin care routine. One Hail Mary, an Our Father, and two Glory Be's because he forgets whether he actually does the first one or not while yanking on socks and slapping on deodorant. By the time 9:20 rolls around, he's buttoning up the topmost parts of his cassock. It's a long piece, falling all the way to his ankles, replacing simple black pants and a shirt today due to the baptism.

Ichigo exhales sharply as the last button is fastened. He feels like he's finally able to breathe as he stands in front of the full-length mirror and gives himself a once over. The orange beacon on his head will always be a fluffy mess unless he buzzes it - God actually forbid - and so he pays it no mind. As long as there's no knots, he's satisfied. Face is clean, acne free at last, freckles more prominent than normal due to early summer sun. The cassock hangs off his frame almost elegantly; it cinches just slightly at the waist, and hovers two inches above the black dress shoes that ruin his morning, just a little bit, every time he puts them on.

He clears his throat. Reaches up and adjusts the white collar peeking out in front of his neck, before letting his arms fall limp to his side.

There was a girl in his dreams that night, but the memory of her has quickly been forgotten. For now.

"Amen." Morning devotions? Complete during the teeth brushing and hair tussling phase. Personal preparations? All checked off. Someone's going to be late for their first big sacrament in a new town, but it damn well isn't going to be Ichigo Kurosaki. He smirks at himself rather triumphantly in the mirror, and lets out a slow breath as he smooths his hands over his clothes and finally eases up.

Birds chirp merrily outside his window. Ichigo even takes the time to wander over, and smile at the small nest assembled in a nearby tangle of tree branches. A mother robin attends to three, maybe four, young ones. Cute, wholesome, it brightens the grin already tugging at the young priest's face just before he spots a black-clad figure briskly making his way down the pathway between the rectory to the cathedral. Ishida's lanky form is unmistakable and Ichigo immediately stands up straighter, frowns, almost scoffs in indignation. Uptight and impatient as always, the other man is already head down there without him. And he'd only had to wait two minutes more.

Prick.

Ichigo mutters something under his breath that definitely isn't a profanity and launches off the windowsill. He snatches a leather messenger back on his way out the bedroom and his feet fly. Take him down the hallway and the stairs are jumped two at a time. He ignores a startled yelp from Ishida's grouchy gray cat, more surly than its owner half the time, and doesn't look back as he yanks open the front door and lets it slam shut behind him. What sort of pal does that? A real one wouldn't let him show up to the ceremony both alone and the last. Patience is supposed to be a virtue. Brotherhood is supposed to be without limitations. Ichigo sprints, cassock and all, down the twisting path leading around the rectory building and towards the church. His messenger bag slams repeatedly against his right hip, his toes ache in these shoes, Ishida's going to imply he's running late simply by showing up first and he's not, he's —

Ichigo slams into the second body so hard and so fast that he rebounds.

The sound that's slammed out of him is absolutely unholy as he gets knocked right off his feet. He'd flung himself around the corner too fast, head ducked in pointless agitation, and now he's two milliseconds away from a concussion. Or at least, he was about to be. The only reason Ichigo doesn't suddenly crack his head open on concrete is due to a pair of strong hands that suddenly catch him. Actually catch him, fingers digging into his bicep and back, arms practically surrounding him. Like he's a damsel in distress. The voice that accompanies the save, however, doesn't sound very befitting of a knight in shining armor at all. "Hey!"

Crap, the guy sounds pissed. "Watch where the fuck you're goin'!

Ichigo's feet scramble to find purchase again as he whips his head up and… blue.

Blue.

It's in the stranger's hair. His eyes. Even under his eyes, sweeping below the lower lash line via what he can only assume is makeup. All different shades, like when ocean meets sky. That hair is bright beneath the morning sun and those eyes are, indeed, pissed. He has enough decency to not just shove Ichigo back to the ground though to make a point. The man - it's a man - instead yanks him roughly back to his feet like he's righting a damn fence pole. He doesn't let go right away.

"Sorry, crap, sorry." It all happens so fast that Ichigo is left a stammering, embarrassed mess. When the stranger doesn't release him right away, he finds himself having to awkwardly pull himself free, stepping back and out of the insane iron hold. He realizes now that it seemed like the guy hadn't even flinched upon their collision. It was like running into a brick wall. A blue-haired, blue-eyed brick wall, that put Ishida's tempered scowls to shame. "Wasn't looking where I was going. Sorry."

The man tosses him one last, disgruntled look before his gaze travels south. He searches the ground around them a moment before ducking down and snatching something up off the pavement. It's tiny, and smoldering, and the scent of nicotine washes over the pair as the stranger studies the fallen cigarette for any visible contamination. He must be satisfied with the inspection because, before Ichigo gets a chance to say anything, he sticks it between still-frowning lips and takes a long drag. Ichigo blinks at him for a moment, before outright wincing as he raises a reluctant hand.

"Sorry but… there's actually no smoking on these grounds. I'm sure you understand."

The man's gaze snaps back to the priest so fast, it's a miracle he doesn't suffer visual whiplash. "Eh?" He looks one second away from twitching his right eye. "Are you fucking serious? I just saved you from eating shit." The stranger shifts his weight to his back leg and leans back, annoyed gaze floating up and down as he gives the priest a quick once over. Ichigo himself shifts awkwardly beneath the scrutiny, but he holds firm and shakes his head after clearing his throat.

"And I, um, thank you for that. But we cannot allow smoking on the property. Especially this close to the rectory."

He's expecting the man to protest some more, honestly, given the fact that he emanates attitude like how the moon provides light. And so Ichigo is surprised when, after a few tense seconds, the stranger suddenly opens his fingers up. The cigarette is dropped and ground into the asphalt with the heel of a laced-up combat boot, the stranger putting a concerning amount of aggressiveness into the action before he looks back up. Smoke is blown out from both teeth and nostrils as his scowl twists into a sardonic grin. Sharp. Smoldering like the ash beneath his heel. "Better?"

Well, yes. "Thank you," Ichigo breathes out sincerely, visibly relaxing even if the stranger's grin is laced with an unknown vice. "And thanks again for the, you know, the save."

"Tch. Playing hall monitor's one hell of a way to say thank you but—" Those eyes sweep over his form again, and Ichigo's felt less dissected at the damn doctor's office. "-I guess I can let it go on a good ol' Sunday. Father."

It's like he's only now just noticed the collar, the cassock, the St. Vianney pin on his bag. Ichigo rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as the stranger seems to relax suddenly. The aggression from earlier melts away, as if crushed with the Malboro. Hell, maybe the guy had had a run in with Ishida just before Ichigo's impactful arrival, that'd sour anyone's mood. Ichigo opens his mouth to reply but is cut off by the other suddenly taking a full stride forward; right back into his personal space.

Ichigo straightens - not quite bristling but definitely surprised at the very least as he's suddenly forced to look up again. The savior of potential concussions is a good few inches taller, and that's just emphasized by the heeled boots strapped well up over his ankles. He's also wearing black, distressed jeans and a baggy leather jacket, white stitched on over the shoulders and probably over the upper back of the piece too. It's zipped. This close, Ichigo can smell the leather, and the faint remnants of a fresh cigarette.

Summer wind blows down the pathway and carries with it the fresh scent of Ishida's sweet peas and daphnes. "You're new here, aren't you, Father?" the stranger suddenly asks, head tilting, smile growing. "Haven't seen you 'round the parish before.

Ichigo is, in fact, rather new here. Not fresh off the train, but he'd been transferred to 40 Days Parish a few weeks ago and was still getting to know the congregation, the community. He'd missed Easter by just a few days and so today was going to be his first 'big' event. The answer is rather simple, but for some reason, Ichigo can only think of Marlboro and leather and summer flowers for a few embarrassingly-long seconds.

That is, until the stranger chuckles, and Ichigo snaps out of it.

Face suddenly flaming with awkward shame, the priest takes a few quick steps back. Why he'd just stood there for so long, practically engulfed by the other, is beyond him. "Oh, um, yeah! Yeah, not new new but I just transferred here last month." Ichigo drags back composure and dignity and tosses the man a quick smile; like he hadn't just been so suddenly close that he could practically feel his breath. He brushes the odd sensation off, swallows down the tossing of his stomach. Instead of getting unnerved, he sticks out a hand. "Father Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Ichigo Kurosaki." The stranger stays where he is, still grinning as he clasps the offered hand eagerly and gives it a firm shake. His grip is as surprisingly strong as it was earlier. Ichigo had half-expected him to follow when he retreated back. "Yeah, the name sounds kinda familiar. Came in from Karakura Town, right?"

"Yeah, just after Easter." Ichigo's smile eases up into something a bit more genuine as he let's his hand go. "And you are?"

The blue-haired man laughs for some reason, a sound that dances through the air like fall leaves as he steps back and shoves both hands into the pockets of that leather jacket. He kicks at the ground and then is just about to answer when, at that moment, bells crack through the air. They chime and ring and call through the air, gentle thunder. The man turns his face to the towering spirals of the cathedral; his gaze seems to soften though his grin becomes razors. "Love that fucking sound."

Ichigo has followed those eyes up to the towers as well, letting the sound wash over him for one more calm, blissfully-ignorant moment - and then it hits him.

Bells.

Bells.

There's no way. There were forty minutes left. There's no way, there's no way. The look on his face is nothing short of horror as he pulls up his wrist. He forgot his watch. His hands are suddenly fumbling with his bag but he's also started moving already, quickly slipping into a clumsy jog as he pushes past the stranger. "Shit!" Shit. "Sorry, I have to go! I'm sorry - have a nice day!" He doesn't even have time to look back, to wave, to anything. Within seconds, he's sprinting again, tearing through the grass this time towards those symphonic bells. The man and all his blue are left behind.

He's going to be late for his first baptism in a new parish. Someone was bound to do it, and today its Ichigo fucking Kurosaki.

He'd start panting out his Act of Contrition now if he wasn't so out of breath.

The Cathedral of the Archangels isn't one of the largest holy structures out there, but it's grand enough to be put on the map for a reason. Stained glass and dark brown limestone and iron twist together to form great halls and towering spirals. Two bell towers and sweeping rooftops sometimes dramatized just for decor it seems. It's a beautiful achievement, one of the most beautiful church's Ichigo has ever been blessed enough to visit, let alone work out of.

The only problem right now is it's big. Once again not the largest in the area; but it's still a cathedral, and one of the biggest sanctuaries they utilize is deep within the structure's confines. By the time Ichigo reaches the great front doors - tall, monstrous things, made of dark wood and carved with care - he's out of breath, but he still then has to race to the left exit of the lobby, and down two more hallways to reach the big sacristy, and then he has to ask God why him, and then—

Right. Not left, right. Ichigo does a 360 spin, an automobile donut, right in the left exit and tears back across the lobby. He's better than this. He has four years of theology under his belt and two - not one, but two - years as a deacon in addition to that. He's better than this; Ishida just jinxed him this morning with his condescending little scolding earlier. That's it. He's the one that will be buying their sandwiches at the new deli later today.

He arrives at the sacristy, the small room where parties of the church service prepare themselves, at exactly 10:07am. An impressive run, considering it's a ten-minute walk just from the rectory on a casual day and he's not even breaking too much of a sweat. Can't breathe, but at least he isn't both sweaty and asphyxiating. The bag is dumped onto an awaiting chair, his hair is tousled again, his hands are quickly washed. He peeks out the side door towards the altar and the area all around it. The entry hymns are long done, as are the beginning greetings; but it seems like everyone is on the first of the two scripture readings at least. The baptism will occur after the second.

Ishida spots him through the door's tiny window, sitting there next to the deacon and one of the altar boy's. His eye twitches.

He'll definitely be buying the sandwiches later. If anything, it'll be in return for the hour of I told you so's he's about to have to sit through.

Ichigo takes a moment to completely compose himself, before inhaling slowly and quietly slipping through the door. The unfortunate part of the scripture readings is everyone is seated; but Ichigo silently just scoots himself along the wall until he's able to sit beside the other altar servers. He's supposed to be on the complete other side of the 'stage' area, the chancel, but he can switch over once everyone is standing and singing. The kid directly to his right, all fiery red hair and horrific attitude, scrunches his nose at his arrival. If he were any older, and if they weren't in a damn church, Ichigo's certain he'd be flipping him off too. In his handful of weeks here in this cathedral specifically, he's quickly picked up on Jinta Hanakari's absolutely atrocious behavior at times. He's here for the structure, Ichigo was told. His parents needed him doing something in the community, and Jinta at least is able to restrain himself enough to behave acceptably during Masses. He also likes aggressively dispersing the incense during special ceremonies like baptisms.

Ichigo still wants to send the kid back to Sunday school at times, though. Keep him there until he learns not to be so disrespectful all the time.

With a sigh, Ichigo sinks back into the pew and resists the urge to rub at his face. His gaze quickly catalogs the faces around him, notes the generous size of the congregation this morning, and spots the infant star of today's baptism in the front-most pew sound asleep. The sight manages to rejuvenate a smile to his face. He does almost immediately feel eyes staring back at him though, and reluctantly, the young priest is forced to sheepishly make eye contact with the head pastor. Brown eyes level him with a bit of solemnity, a bit of disapproval; but when Ichigo bows his head in apology, the older man relaxes and returns his attention to the speaking lector.

He might be new to the parish, but Sosuke Aizen practically guided Ichigo through his entire last two years at the seminary. He is, fortunately for him, one of the most forgiving people Ichigo knows.

The rest of the service goes smoothly, Ichigo quickly able to slip back into the familiar motions of the Mass with bright and eager ease. Aizen and two other priests from the parish are there, but merely as formalities. It is Ichigo who conducts the baptism, gently lowering the little girl - a beautiful baby, all big blue eyes and gurgling smiles when she wakes - into the holy water fountain and cradling her to his chest as he bestows blessing after blessing upon her. The organ was fixed over last week and it's loud, perfect and in tune, harmonizing and blending seamlessly with the choir this morning throughout the Mass. Its rendition of All Things Bright and Beautiful echoes throughout the building, it feels, during the end procession. Ichigo falls into third place in line, directly behind Ururu with the cross and Aizen's graceful steps. Ichigo's smile is firmly and seemingly-permanently transfixed on his face by now as he bows his head in greeting to the pews of loyal attendants. Their faces are all equally happy, faces raised high with faithful song. A little boy in his father's arms waves at him as he walks past. Ichigo waves back.

He's stepped out into the front lobby of the sanctuary, suddenly surrounded by a crowd of exiting followers and the dispersing procession, when he thinks he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

Blue.