Word Count: 1,539

Timeline/Spoilers: technically post-canon, reincarnation/soulmate au; no spoilers

Summary: We're old souls in new skin, but far from the place you'd thought we'd begin.

/ / a story about finding each other again

Notes: this was written on a whim after hearing You in This Light by The Hotelier (which is where the title is derived from) and Old Souls by Prawn (which is where the summary comes from), also i've been itching for some ichiruki in my life

It's gnawing at him. There's this odd feeling in the back of his mind that's desperately trying to draw his attention to something; he's just not sure what.

He likens it to being suddenly awash in deja vu – or deja vecu if he's being technical about it. (He is.) Not simply I have already seen this, but I have already experienced this. It's a difficult feeling to describe. He's not even quite sure what experience his mind is calling to. Nothing in particular triggers it. There's just certain points in time (not every day, but at least every other week) where he feels that too cool tingling down his spine and suddenly all his hairs stand on end. Though it's been occurring more often as of late, he can hardly say he's become accustomed to it. Each instance sets him on edge all over again. He's starting to get annoyed, if he's being honest here. Each occasion prompts him to pause whatever he's doing and look around bewildered, like some feral beast, desperately trying to pinpoint the source of his confusion, his familiarity.

While it's become something of a bother, it's not an unwelcome feeling. It seems like a paradox, but even if he can't help but feel irritated by this mysterious sense of familiarity (he's more so bothered by not knowing what it comes from or why), the feeling it brings is almost a comfort. It's like something reaching out to his very essence, and his soul simply responds in kind – ah, it's you again. It's calming and confusing all at once, and he can't take much more of it.

He's been trying to narrow down a common denominator, and feels a bit like a conspiracy theorist with their bulletin boards and red string, but it's to no avail so far. The feeling can strike at any time, anywhere. It happens at school, at the grocery store, at the park, even sometimes while he's standing in his closet, pulling out his clothes for the day. Other times, he'll be in the middle of answering a question in class and then gets scolded for being unprepared or not paying attention. But it's inconsistent. He's in class five days a week but sometimes it happens only one out of twenty. Sometimes it's back to back between courses.

He'd say his friends are beginning to worry, except that they're not. He chose to attend a university a few hours outside of his tiny hometown. It's been a few years since the initial move, but he hasn't quite clicked with anyone in his new city. Hasn't really tried. Didn't make much of an effort to keep in touch with his old hometown acquaintances either, aside from the occasional "happy birthday" posts on each other's Facebook walls. He's never been too close with anyone anyway – always a bit too removed, too indifferent to make any lasting relationships. Even those drawn to his quiet, apathetic aura soon fade away, growing tired of his perpetual disinterest. He doesn't blame them for leaving, revels in it a bit actually. Flying solo has always suited him, he supposes.

There are mornings he wakes up in a dream like state, still immersed in that hazy, peaceful feeling. It's a nice change of pace from the usual, where he simply wakes feeling cold and empty.

It's like being buzzed after those first couple of drinks – a fuzzy and content feeling. Until it's not.

It happens like this.

He's strolling down aisle 15 of the local market, scanning the label on a loaf of whole grain bread. There are a couple of other folks a few shelves down. He hears the slight squeak of the wheels of a shopping cart passing by behind him. He's got one hand on his own cart, ready to push down the aisle.

And then it's burning. His eyes. His ears. His head is throbbing. He drops the loaf, eyes simmering and shut tight, and clasps at his temples, trying to reign in the incessant noise and pulsing of his brain - more like a wildfire than a migraine. And then he's coming to with his back on the cold tile floor.

He vaguely registers a hand on his shoulder and an unfamiliar voice steadily growing more anxious. His vision swims. The two or three other shoppers in his aisle had gathered in a half moon around his feet, expressions varying from deer in the headlights to genuine relief.

Once he's certain there's no need to call for further assistance, the man who had taken a knee next to him informs him that he'd collapsed and was out for a minute or two at most. The rest of the small crowd begin to awkwardly wander back to their regularly scheduled lives. He's sure this'll make a quirky tale for their respective family dinners – a little tidbit of their day about the weird man at the market. Otherwise, he's just some random stranger that bears no meaning to them. The man that had kneeled beside him soon leaves as well, with a semi-concerned glance and a half-felt "Go see a doctor for that, man."

He can't say he's offended. They have no responsibility towards him. They're at the shop for groceries not to help strange men who faint without warning in the middle of the bread aisle. He picks up his whole grain and pulls himself up. He's ready to carry on with his day and save this ordeal for contemplation after he knows what he's going to for dinner when he's hit with that tingling sensation on the back of his neck. It calls to him, and he all but chases it over to the next aisle. He's not sure what's around the corner, but the feeling dulls as he moves. He makes a few compulsory checks in adjacent aisle ways, but it's vanished. He grits his teeth in irritation.

He's gone for a morning jog in the park when it happens again. He doesn't pass out this time, but he's doubled over, clutching a wooden bench so hard his knuckles are white. He tries to force his head up to scan the perimeter, to locate the source of his discomfort, but the feeling is like wave after wave crashing down on the ocean floor. And he's drowning. Until he's not.

The third time, he's taken a seat at an outdoor table at a cafe down the street from his apartment. He's got a cup of Joe in hand and hot coffee spills and scalds his fingers as he's shaken by the force of it. The hot white pain of slightly burnt skin is almost a welcome distraction from the miserable pounding in his head.

And just as suddenly as it arrived, it's gone. In its place, stands a slim woman, hands tightly gripping the back of the chair across from him with a contemplative expression strewn across her face.

"It's you, isn't it?"

He stares for a moment, slowly dragging his eyes up to meet hers. The instant they connect, the feeling is back. Not the excruciating burning but the quiet, tingling, hey, I know you from somewhere. He's certain he's never laid eyes on this woman before in his life. Her striking gaze would be hard to forget. She's eying him like a hawk descending upon its prey. Strangely, he feels unthreatened. And then it's waves upon waves of warmth as her expression finally softens. He somehow doesn't mind that there's still spilled coffee on his hands and the skin is even starting to peel a bit. He slowly sets his mug down, hands a little shaky from the scorching liquid. He's not trembling because of her. Slowly she pulls back the chair she'd been death gripping and takes a seat, uninvited. Usually, this would be met with a scowl from him. He doesn't even know her name. Oddly, he doesn't feel the need to ask for it, nor to offer his own. A few syllables with contrived meaning are of no consequence in this moment.

The first thought that bubbles into his mind is 'she's taller this time'. It's absurd, he's never encountered this person before in his life, yet the stirring in his chest is telling him it's okay. Still, neither have said a word. It becomes slightly awkward and he moves to take a hesitant sip of his coffee. Snapping out of a daze, she immediately offers a napkin to dry off his still damp hands. He nods in thanks and is hardly prepared for what comes next. Her lips part in the tiniest yet most dazzling smile he's ever seen. It's stupidly cliché but he swears there's light pouring out from the corners of her mouth.

hey, I've seen this before

He feels a weight descend upon his back, but it's not too great that he cannot shoulder it. It feels like the weight of a thousand lifetimes, but he's as light as can be. It's achingly familiar. It's not names or faces or sounds or sights. It's only a feeling.

hey, I've felt this before

That tingling spreads across his own features until he's offering a small, unguarded smile of his own.

"Yo."

hey, I know you already

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we're old souls in new skin

a/n: so basically they get the weird tinglies when they're within each other's vicinity and then it's BAM this pounding, burning feeling when they'r ht t h er e... it's like a game of hot and cold except the warmer u are the more u feel like dying :-) until u actually find them. sorry this doesn't make sense it just happened.

idk u can take it as a soulmate thing also where this is what happens to soulmates but it's not like a well-known or talked about thing. obviously since ichigo doesn't know what tf is going on. also no names bc ofc their reincarnated forms wouldn't have the same names but idk what names to give them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ also mystery and mystique~~~

possibly open to doing one from rukia's pov if anyone's interested