Twelve to Thirteen

Chapter Notes

I'm literally crying ohmy someone made fanart for this ;-; I didn't have a twitter so the lovely hilda (hiilikedragons) pointed it out to me 3 I love it – I even made a twitter just cause of this ngl…

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @ENPISSI ON TWITTER: /ENPISSI/status/1555915438428545024? t=1d_HCZ2MxWGPhMhrnScHWg =19

now, I've been gone for a bit not because I fell out of my writing phase naturally or because Sumeru came out, but because I was rather rudely and forcefully shoved out of it by a very persistent headache that got to the point where it wouldn't leave me for more than an hour at a time… it fking sucked. But hey, I'm now hopped up on like six different drugs to help clear up the problem so please keep that in mind while reading this…

Something was different.

Ichigo wasn't sure what, but something had changed and it all started the second he'd joined Aizen for breakfast that morning. (That was a lie. Things had been different for a while now. But Ichigo didn't dare hope and didn't dare think on it too long.) Breakfast wasn't exactly a quiet affair; Aizen always prattled off his schedule for the day, the books he needed to read or the assignments needing finishing, as well as whatever captain he'd be shunted off to for training if at all. Ichigo, in turn, would ask him about something or other he'd read, or even try and needle him for extra training. The later rarely, if ever, worked.

Today, though, there was the soft calmness before a storm the second he sat down. For the better part of the meal, he couldn't pin-point exactly why. That was, not until Aizen offered to spar.

"Really?!"

"Yes, really," Aizen hummed.

Ichigo looked down at his half-finished breakfast. The food was good as always – never, never as good as Yuzu or Mom's but who could hope to top them anyway – and he didn't particularly want to waste it. But then again, a spar with Aizen.

"Finish your food first, Ichigo."

"I can eat it later."

"It'll be cold by then," Aizen pointed out.

He was sorely tempted to say he didn't care, because he didn't, but arguing more might make Aizen take the offer back. "Fine."

By the time they finished breakfast, he was an open nerve. All but vibrating in place as Aizen

leisurely put on his haori and grabbed his sword. The second they were outside, he flash-stepped away. The dew-soaked grass of the training-field wet his socks. The gentle warmth of the morning sun only just starting to burn away the chill of the night lapped at his skin. Ichigo spun around, hand already on his sword, and-

And Aizen wasn't there.

He flashed back to the office and found Aizen strolling towards the grounds.

With a frustrated huff he grabbed the man's arm and tugged, "C'mon, you're going so slow." It was not a whine. No matter what Urahara said about him falling a bit too recklessly and far into his role as a child, he was still very much a… Ichigo paused as he did a quick mental math and came to the realization he was nineteen. An adult. Officially. Legally. That…he didn't know what to do with it, honestly. Was there even anything he could do? He was still stuck in the body of a child, after all.

Anyway, he mostly certainly hadn't whined so Shiro could shove his over-sized blade up his-.

"Oh, am I?" Aizen asked cutting off Ichigo's thoughts, lips hardly even twitching, but the way his eyes shone gave him away.

"Yes, now walk faster."

"I'm merely enjoying a morning stroll."

"Aizen." Again, he didn't whine, shut up Shiro.

"The walk will help limber you up."

"I don't need to limber up," Ichigo shot back. And he knew for sure Aizen didn't either.

"Ah, the wonders of youth."

"The what? You're not even that old!"

"I'm over two-hundred, Ichigo."

He froze for a moment, the grip he still had on Aizen's arm causing the man to pause as well. "Wait, really?" Was Aizen really that old? He'd known, logically, that Shinigami lived almost incomprehensibly long. He just hadn't really thought about how old Aizen was.

"You will find," Aizen said, tone still humored, "that many of the captains are well over a hundred."

"Oh. That explains the grey hairs." He offered Aizen his most beamish smile as he said it. And then he promptly flash-stepped away. He made it much further than he would have when he first arrived in this time or even than he would have a few months ago. The improvement felt exhilarating. But Aizen caught him all the same. Hauling him up and over his shoulder like a snickering, squirming sack of rice before flashing to the training field.

"No shikai," Aizen said as he set him down.

"Why not?"

"It's a spar, Ichigo," Aizen explained without a hint of annoyance. "How many times have I told you, you can't rely-."

"-on my shikai. I know, I know. But it's not as fun and Shiro won't stop nagging me if I don't let him join."

"And when the other captains come to see what is happening?"

Ichigo wanted to ask why they would if only in the spirit of being contrary, but he also knew Aizen was right. The last time he'd loosed his shikai close to the divisions – unintentionally as it was, thanks Shiro – they'd come running. "You said we didn't have long?" Ichigo asked instead.

"An hour at most," Aizen hummed. "Then your friends requested your presence, as well, after which we'll be heading into Rukongai for a play."

"Why?" Ichigo blurted before trying to back-track. "Not- not that I don't want to, it's just, I don't understand why we're doing all this."

"What day is it?"

He scowled in confusion, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Ichigo," Aizen said slowly, "it's your birthday."

He went slack – jaw falling open, arms dangling useless at his side – as he tried to unpack that. There wasn't a lot. But what there was, left the morning air feeling burning and freezing in turn.

"Oh," he said. There wasn't anything else to say. Not when Aizen was giving that look. The one that almost had Ichigo thinking he cared, too.

"You forgot."

It wasn't a question.

He crossed his arms, and blew an orange lock out of his face that the breeze had set there. "I lost track of time." It wasn't like they'd celebrated the year before anyway. Why was it different now?

Aizen ruffled his hair, sending the lock right back into his eyes. "Good thing I remembered then."

Ichigo scowled up at him as he fixed his hair again. "Stop doing that."

With a soft hum, Aizen reached back out and ran his hand through Ichigo's hair before tugging lightly at it. "Perhaps we should get this mess cut, hm?"

"It's only a mess because you won't stop that."

If Aizen were anyone else, he would have rolled his eyes. Alas, Ichigo hadn't been able to unlock that level of sheer exasperation. Yet. "I'll see if Isane is up to it."

"Later," Ichigo said, taking several steps back with narrowed eyes. "You promised we'd spar."

"Where you got this thirst for battle, I'll never know."

Ichigo scoffed, "It's fun." And it was one of the best ways to learn about someone. You could tell so much about a person from how and why they fought. Then there was the thrill of it. The surge in his veins. The way everything simply dropped away as he summitted that breathless high; narrowing and expanding at once. Aware of his opponent. Of threats. Of attacks. Uncaring for everything else.

It was irony at its greatest. The way he felt most alive when he didn't remember he was alive at all. When it didn't matter he was. That the greatest euphoria came from the sound of Shiro's cackling and the song of his blade against another's. When everything fell away. When life fell away. No responsibility. No coming war. No plans or secrets or scars.

"We stop if you get hurt," Aizen sighed then, taking a few steps back of his own and drawing his blade.

There was no real signal for it start. One second, Aizen was giving him a frustratingly soft smile, and the next he was dodging Ichigo's first downward slash. Aizen blocked the next strike and the next and next – all with his bare hands, despite having his sword drawn. Then he struck back. It had Ichigo dodging and then sliding back on slick grass. That was fine, though. He sent off a wordless bakudo one that Aizen batted away like a gnat. Flashing forward, he readied his blade in a feint that he turned into another wordless kido. Aizen dodged, caught his follow up attack, then sent one of his own. Ichigo skirted around it; the burn of the reiatsu against his cheek only exciting him further. He brought his blade up in the same movement.

Finally, Ichigo managed to get Aizen to use his own blade to block. Their swords locked and Ichigo grinned. With the buzz of triumph also came the rush of emotions that he'd spent so long puzzling over. They came through loud and clear and shocking. The gasping loneliness he'd felt a lifetime ago wasn't even a whisper now. Instead that addictive warmth rushed over him. The warmth he could now name.

Pride.

Curiosity.

Joy.

And-

Ichigo pulled back. He dodged the next few strikes instead of blocking them, desperately pulling up that battle-rushed high he so loved. Fumbling for it with trembling hands.

It meant nothing, he told himself.

What he felt- it couldn't mean anything.

Not unless it made Aizen change his plans.

By the time their spar ended, Ichigo was aching in the best way. And despite it, he was all but vibrating as Aizen took him to the sixth where Yachiru, Rukia, Isane, Rangiku, and – surprisingly – Toshiro were waiting. He hadn't seen the captain in some time now. The last being a month ago when he'd dropped of some papers at the tenth.

He didn't know what they'd planned; felt almost awkward at the thought they'd done something like this for him at all. But he wasn't going to let the opportunity to spend time with them go.

Yachiru was the first to move. All but tackling him as she screeched, "Happy birthday, Ichi-nii!"

Ichigo let out a squawk as they staggered to the ground. Yachiru's arms only squeezed harder.

"Yachiru," he struggled to say, "I can't- breathe."

"Sorry, Ichi-nii!" Sucking in a breath as she pulled back, he stumbled to his feet. She slid back to the ground, but kept a stubborn hand fisted in his hakama.

"I'll take my leave, then," Aizen said, and Ichigo could hear the damn amused smile in his voice. "I trust there'll be no alcohol this time?"

"Of course not, Captain!" Rangiku proclaimed with a wide smile and almost careless wave of her hand. Her gaze fell on Ichigo, predatory and gleeful. "We wouldn't possibly let something like that happen to our cute lil' Ichi-berry again!"

Ichigo mouthed the words, at a loss.

"See to it you don't," Aizen said evenly. 'I'll be back to pick you up later, Ichigo." With one last nod he swept away. Ichigo watched him go with a frown. He'd honestly thought Aizen would stay – a niggling part of him said Aizen was going off to one of his scattered labs or to draw up some plan or other, but he pushed it away. Whatever the reason – whatever plans Aizen had – Ichigo would deal with it when he needed to. Right now, his attention was reserved for his friends.

"Don't worry, Ichi-berry!" Rangiku cried out, pulling him into a soul-crushing hug. "Your dad will be back. Until then we're going to have so much fun!"

Ichigo would have protested against Aizen being his dad but if he spent the air he'd surely die. What was with Shinigami women and strangling him?!

"Hey! Ichi-nii is mine first!" Yachiru protested, pulling insistently at his sleeve that she still hadn't let go of. He took a gasping breath as he was mercifully released; taking several steps back at the same time. Sweet, sweet air, how he missed it.

A hand came down on his head, lightly if firm, "Happy birthday, fool."

"Rukia," Ichigo greeted with warmth even as he scowled in annoyance.

"Come on, Ichi-nii," Yachiru said, now hanging onto his arm like a limpet. "I'm going to show you something awesome."

The beaming grin she sent his way had her eyes crinkling shut and made her, for a moment, seem just as young as she appeared. Bright pink hair framed her face; the afternoon humidity frizzing it at the edges ever so slightly. His heart quaked. She'd become like a little sister to him in almost no time at all; moments like these hammered that fact home. Moments where she smiled like the world was a gentle place. Like she believed it and like the world would be so because of that. Moments where she smiled and for a second, Ichigo believed it too.

"Lead the way," Ichigo said on a soft note.

The others stayed behind. They were an odd motley crew; a captain and officers from different divisions. His old group had been odder, he knew. A mish-mash of spiritually aware people dragged into the world of ghosts because Ichigo couldn't tamp down his reiatsu. For an agonizing few seconds he let the fact he'd never see them again settle on his shoulders. Let it sink bone deep with terrifyingly long claws. Because they deserved that grief. It meant it was real. That they'd been his once. That they'd settle under his skin and impacted him – changed him, even if they'd never know it. They deserved his care and if that care brought the bittersweet longing for a time he would never get back, then so be it.

He took a breath in that didn't tremble, but stretched his ribs just that side of too much.

He wouldn't try Orihime's creations again. Wouldn't spar with Tatsuki. Wouldn't feel Chad's solid presence at his back. Hell, he'd probably never be as close to Renji as he once had been either.

And despite that, the world would keep turning.

He'd never believed in fate.

Thought prophecies and destiny were rubbish best left in the trash bins they'd crawled out of. And now he had even more proof. His friends' powers – barring Ishida – were accidents. Their meeting wasn't written in stone.

It made it all the more precious.

He may not have them in this lifetime, but he'd had them once. In one life, everything had fallen just right for him to be able to call them friends. The impossibility of that – of all those accidents, coincidences, choices piecing together just right seared him in a blaze of aching fondness.

They deserved his grief.

And he had every right to let himself feel it.

Then the moments were washed away – drowned, really – under Yachiru's cheerful chattering and the warm tug of her hand. It was then that he noticed it wasn't just the sixth they'd gathered at; they were right by Byakuya's estate. Because it was an estate. Lavish and sprawling, the sheer size still left his head spinning. What did someone even need all that space for?

Yachiru skipped around the side of the estate, ducked around a bush, and then dragged Ichigo down to squat beside her. Her face was split in mirth, eyes sparkling as she held a finger to her lips and then whispered, "This is a secret. I haven't shown anyone else yet, so you better not either."

"I won't," he agreed easily. "Promise."

She nodded her head, face a mask of seriousness that melted into glee as easy as breathing.

And then she patted the wall like a puppy.

Nothing happened at first. Ichigo was sorely tempted to say something, but before he could there was click and the wall slid open. Behind it was a tunnel shooting off into a bend. It should have been eerie. Should have sent chills down his spine for the way it was unnaturally lit. Instead, the horror-movie-hospital-vibe twisted into… cheerfulness. Which tracked, honestly.

And then his brain caught up with what he was actually seeing.

"Did you find secret hallways in Byakuya's house?" It came out on a higher pitch, disbelief and awe staining his voice.

"Of course not, silly Ichi-nii!" Yachiru laughed, happy as could be. She pranced into the tunnel, spinning on a heel to offer a wide smile. "I made secret hallways in Bya-kun's house!"

The laugh that burst out of him caught on the edge of incredulous; it teetered with humor and endearment and joy. "Only you," he managed once he'd settled into snickering. "Why would you even make this?"

"Bya-kun has the best snacks," Yachiru said. "And because his home is the biggest."

They spent a good while exploring. Or, more like Yachiru chattered on about this or that as she led him on a tour that he was almost positive encompassed the whole estate. They opened up at some point to a series of hallways weaving into each other and into rooms. Libraries. Multiple kitchens. For fuck's sake, there was even an entire room dedicated to tea. The smell of dried leaves was so thick he was surprised he didn't choke.

They snuck into a kitchen next and Yachiru shoved a bowl of fruits at him while she clambered up to sneak a sweet-bun from a shelf. Absently, he took a bite of a strawberry. It wasn't like Byakuya couldn't afford to miss one or two of them, after all.

"Ichi-nii, how could you?!" Yachiru cried out.

Ichigo blinked up at her, "What? It's not like you're not stealing stuff too!"

"But- but-," she stuttered out, falling back to the floor. "But that's a strawberry! How could you eat it?! That's cannibalism!"

Ichigo stared at her, mouth hanging open and bowl almost toppling from his hands. He saved it just in time, and then shoved another strawberry into his mouth with a pointed look and obnoxiously dramatic chewing. Yachiru broke down into a fit of giggles.

Sometime later, Ichigo distantly felt Toshiro unleashing a whirlwind of reiatsu. "Rangiku must have tried something," he told Yachiru. It earned him a smile a touch too-wide. He blinked. "What?"

"Nothing!" she said a touch too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes.

"It's nothing!" she said again. And again it was a touch too pushy.

"Uh-huh."

He let it go if only because he knew he'd find out eventually.

And find out he did.

Once Yachiru had deemed him sufficiently introduced to her labyrinth of tunnels, she led him back out and into a decidedly colder set of gardens and training fields.

Snow.

Snow everywhere.

He breathed out in a puff of mist. Snowflakes tumbled through air that bit at his cheeks, no doubt turning them a cold-kissed red. The trees were almost too bright to look at with how ice and snow glittered in the sun, so instead he looked down and took a step forward. Let his feet sink into the snow with a soft crunch, his thin sandals doing nothing to keep the chill out nor his socks from soaking through in seconds. But he let it happen. Didn't other with reiatsu for now. Just let himself feel the refreshing cold and smiled for it.

"Happy birthday!" Rangiku cried, launching herself at him to trap him in another crushing hug.

"You already said that," Ichigo pointed out weakly; weakly because her arms were suffocating.

"And I will say it again," she sniffed imperiously. "The snow was Yachiru's idea, you know. I can't imagine how she was able to convince my captain to do it."

"Thanks," he muffled into her side, "all of you… you guys didn't have to do any of this, really."

Rangiku was pulled ack with a strangled squawk and replaced with Rukia. She shoved a handful of snow into his hair and ground it in gently, the cool shock of it had Ichigo shouting a protest that went ignored. Rukia pulled back with a self-satisfied grin, "You're right, but we wanted to, so shut up and enjoy it, Shrimp."

The words struck a chord in him. Once he didn't have time to listen to because a snowball the size of his head barreled into his side. "Tag! You're it, Ichi-nii!"

There was a comical moment of pause as Ichigo processed. A breath later, he was off, snow in hand and grin bared. He smacked Toshiro in the shoulder and then danced away from the shocked look as it quickly turned narrow-eyed and murderous.

"You're it, Toshiro!" he called out, already ducking behind a tree. Just in time, too. The thump of a snowball breaking against the bark came before he'd even finished speaking.

"That's Captain Hitsugaya!"

"To-shir-o!" He punctuated each syllable slow and cheerful and teasing. Honestly, Toshiro should be used to his lack of titles by now.

There was another thump against his tree. Harder, this time. Ichigo took off in a flash-step that had him winding through the trees and scooping up a giggling Yachiru as he went. She shrieked a joyous cheer from her new position on his shoulders. A snowball whizzed past them and hit a bush, scattering flakes in every direction. Ichigo eased into a loop that took them back towards the whiter trees once the snow started to thin. At some point there was an indignant shout behind him that sounded distinctly like Rukia, but Ichigo didn't slow.

"We should make a fort," Yachiru told him happily, tugging at his hair lightly with cold hands. How could Ichigo ever say no?

She pointed him back to the clearing and instantly started piling lumps into something resembling a mound. Ichigo kneeled to help. By the time they were done, his fingers were aching and red but they had managed a decent size enclosed wall. Yachiru had added a few sticks to the outside as if they were spikes.

He'd given them bemused looks, and Yachiru had been all too happy to tell them they were for, "Planting the heads of our enemies to scare off everyone else!" Before shoving a ball of snow on one that had a few stones in a pattern that might have been a face if Ichigo tipped his head and squinted.

Regardless, it had her humming as they waited for the others to approach. Ichigo took the time to cup his hands and try to unfreeze them up with a few puffs of warm breath. It burned and tingled and did absolutely nothing. Yet, even with his fingers two steps away from falling off, it was all worth it when Rangiku broke through the tree-line and Yachiru shoved a snowball from the pile of ammunition she'd stocked while already jumping up to throw one of her own. She let out a battle cry that melted into laughter. Her snowball hit Rangiku square in the chest and had her cursing about snow in- well, Ichigo took the chance to hit her in the shoulder and duck back down before her return fire could catch him.

Yachiru let out another peel of laughter as their fort blocked Rangiku's onslaught. And Ichigo…

Ichigo let himself sink into the whirlwind of joy storming through his chest.

The others skidded into the clearing at the same moment that Byakuya stepped into view. "What is going on here?"

Ichigo watched as Rukia's hands clenched, the snow in her hand dropping back to the ground along with her gaze.

Oh, hell no.

With all the anger and vexation he'd been keeping over Byakuya's treatment of his sister, Ichigo hurled a snowball at the noble. Maybe it was because he'd taken his eyes off him, or because he wasn't expecting it, but either way, it hit his cheek and splattered across his hair.

Ichigo didn't wait for the scolding to start, instead he offered some of his own. "Loosen up," he snapped. "We're having fun. Maybe you've never heard of it, but ig you pulled that rule book out of your-."

Yachiru elbowed him hard.

"-mind, you'd be able to have some with your sister." The stress he put on the last word had Byakuya's eyes flashing, jaw tensing, and then a sigh passing his lips. He'd been nagging the other incessantly every chance he'd got. Said again and again that he was hardly acting like a proper sibling should. Pointedly talked about good memories he shared with his own sisters. Needled and prodded and poked and fucking slapped the man with it. All but beating it into the uptight idiot that he needed to spend time with Rukia. To be her big brother in more than just name.

"You're never going to let this go."

"Never."

"Of course." Byakuya looked over at his sister. Took in her bowed head, and clenched fists, and stiff posture. If he were any good at reiatsu sensing, then he'd no doubt feel the way hers was pulled in tight around her. Still. Rigid. Glacial instead of its usual calm chill. In spite of that, Ichigo expected him to sweep back out of the garden then. Instead, a miracle happened. The posh, I'm- too-dignified-to-laugh, Kuchiki Byakuya reached down for some snow. Seriously, maybe Ichigo should push his surgery back; he'd just used up all his luck on this. Byakuya inspected the snow as if it were a weapon. "I suppose this could be considered a form of training."

None of them could have anticipated a response like that. Obvious in the wide eyes flickering from Byakuya to Rukia to him and back. Obvious in Rangiku's strangled, incomprehensible muttering. Obvious in the way Rukia was standing stock-still, but her head had shot up; her mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she stared at her brother.

Yachiru was the first to shake herself free of the shock. She launched herself out from behind their fort with a cry for "Bya-kun" to join their team.

"Hey!" Ichigo shouted, "I didn't agree to that!"

Yachiru stuck her tongue out at him as she all but hauled Byakuya behind their walls. From there, his afternoon devolved into chaos. Snowball fights and switching teams and light-hearted betrayals when Rukia or Isane suddenly dumped snow on him. It turned slowly into building snowmen once the others had pieced together what exactly Yachiru had tried doing with the sticks, and then into

laying out flat to watch the way the clouds hunt in the sky while Toshiro dragged Rangiku back to work and Rukia escorted a reluctant Yachiru. Isane waved her goodbye with a soft smile and reminder of his next appointment with Unohana.

Byakuya was the last of them. Still seated beside him as they waited for Aizen to come by – it would be any moment now.

"You were right," Byakuya said into the quiet. "I've never seen her laugh like that before."

Ichigo snorted. "Obviously. But make sure I don't have to tell you again. She deserves a brother that acts like one."

It'd taken Rukia almost dying for this to happen last time. At least he'd managed to drag Byakuya into the light without that happening.

The crunch of snow and wash of familiar reiatsu had Ichigo tipping his head back.

"Captain Kuchiki," Aizen greeted amiably, the smile on his face too polite to be real. "I didn't expect you here."

"They covered a good portion of my division in snow," Byakuya said plainly. "And Ichigo insisted I partake."

Aizen's brows raised at that but he didn't otherwise react. "Thank you for waiting with him."

"There's no need to thank me for something such as that." Byakuya got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I must speak with Captain Hitsugaya about removing the snow. Good day."

"Bye!" Ichigo called after, drowning out Aizen's much softer farewell.

"So this was what they had planned," Aizen said, taking a few steps closer.

"You didn't know?"

"They wouldn't tell me. Said they didn't want me spoiling the surprise."

"You wouldn't have," Ichigo pointed out.

"No," Aizen agreed. "But they insisted." Then he turned on his heel and started back out of the garden. "Come along, Ichigo."

It wasn't really a choice. Aizen had left himself wide open. Back to Ichigo. Mind probably running through what they would be doing next. It wasn't really a choice.

It was, however, a choice to aim the snowball at his shoulder rather than head because Ichigo didn't have a death wish. Aizen froze mid-step. Reaching a hand up slowly, he plucked a clump of snow from his shoulder and then glanced back at Ichigo with a raised brow. Ichigo beamed. It was only a little bloodthirsty.

"Ichigo," Aizen said, in what failed to be a strict and warning voice.

Still, Ichigo didn't pick up another one. The idea of Aizen of all people getting into a snowball fight was too surreal. Just- impossible. In no world would that happen, Ichigo concluded. Aizen was simply too… well, Aizen. He'd thrown the first one mostly because he could – because who was he to deny himself the chance to throw something as harmless and childish as a snowball at Aizen – because he wanted to try, because it might have goaded another spar.

Ichigo trudged over to Aizen's side and put up with him fussing over his hair and clothes; both soaked-through with melted snow. Some distant part of himself held its breath for Aizen to suddenly shove snow into his hair or face or something; something that would shatter the tentative reality he'd constructed of who this man was. It didn't come. Not when they got him dried off. Not when he was brought to the theatre or when they watched the play. Not when they trekked back to the fifth or when they had dinner. And not even after as he was slumped over an open book detailing the myth that had inspired the script.

It wasn't until Unohana was slipping into the office that he realized he no longer truly understood Aizen at all.

"Apologies for dropping by so late, but I want to give him this before his birthday's over." She held up a book.

"Of course," Aizen agreed easily.

Unohana's gaze fell on him. She offered a warm smile and the book, "Happy birthday, Ichigo."

"Thank you," he said almost automatically. The book was a brown, leather-bound thing without a title or any fancy embossing in sight. He flipped it over and then back to the front when he found nothing there either. When he opened it, however, he was hit with the smallest understanding of why his dad took pictures with an almost obsessive abandon. The group photo from the Women's Association meeting he'd been dragged to stared back at him. Hinamori's close-eyed smile. Yachiru's cheerful, toothy grin with her hands held up in victory signs as she balanced on Ichigo's shoulders. Rangiku and Isane and Rukia and so many more. He flipped the page and saw others. The ones he took with each of them, and then one of him and Yachiru in a tree sharing candy. Another of him separating herbs, brows furrowed in concentration. Rukia holding her hand out to prove he was shorter than her with a smug look. Him and Toshiro tucked quietly into a table scanning over paperwork and books.

Honestly, he didn't even know how Unohana managed to get half of these.

And then he turned another page.

"That's one of my favorites," Unohana's hushed voice had him looking up. Her and Aizen both had their gazes locked on the book. Where Unohana's face was open and so very sentimental, Aizen's was carefully schooled.

He looked back down. It was the photo Unohana had taken all those months ago. Or years or whatever. Ichigo was leaned back against Aizen, book in hand and Aizen-

Aizen was twisted slightly as if to look back at him. There was exasperation lined in every corner of his lips and shoulders and the way he raised one brow. But his eyes-

Ichigo turned the page before he could think too hard on it.

Not that the next page was much better. It caught him and Aizen walking together from the first division's meeting room. Ichigo with his mouth open and presumably talking while Aizen met his gaze, listening. The next had sprawled out in the grass with Gin and Aizen sitting on either side of him, talking.

And it went on and on from there.

Years of memories packed into such a small place, and yet when he to the last of the photos there were still pages left over. Waiting. Anticipating.

Aizen was the first to break the silence that had fallen over them, "He was so little back then." It was said quiet enough that Ichigo wasn't sure whether he and Unohana were meant to hear it. But of course they were; this was Aizen. If he hadn't wanted the chance them catching it then he wouldn't have said it at all. Louder, he said, "Little, but already a menos-sized headache."

Unohana stifled a chuckle, "At the rate he's growing he'll be a teenager soon. Just imagine all the havoc he'll cause then."

There was something to be said for the almost dead stare Aizen offered Unohana at that. The way his mouth thinned out and his eyes hardened and then glazed and wow, Ichigo really needed to start asking Urahara and Unohana how the hell they managed to crack Aizen like that so easily.

"Ah, but it's really unfair," Unohana said then, a wistfulness overtaking her, "with how fast he's growing there is practically no time to enjoy his childhood years."

Ichigo blinked. He hadn't really thought about enjoying his childhood in a long time.

"It is, isn't it?" Aizen hummed his agreement, frowning.

What.

"Such is the curse of being a parent," Unohana said. "I suspect even if he grew at a normal rate, we'd find it too fast."

"It would make him being forced into the academy more acceptable," Aizen said with a sigh. "They don't even care that he's still a child. The second he can hold his shikai properly they'll ship him off without a care for what I say." Aizen looked at him then, eyes focused and assessing but not in the same way they once would have been. Not in the way that made his skin crawl. Not in the way a scientist looked at a specimen. Not in the way he expected or was prepared for. "I'd… like to keep him like this a little longer."

His mom had said that once. The thought of it hit him like a cero; his mom had said that once. His mom had said that once. His mom. His mom who was nothing like Aizen. His mom who had gathered him close in her arms and made it feel like the safest place in the world. His mom who wore sweaters and smiled softly and looked at him and didn't see a hero or martyr or monster. His mom who had once tickled him into a fit of laughter so bad he'd gotten the hiccups, which led her to sitting him on the kitchen counter with a glass of warm water and a soft smile and softer words about how she wanted to capture him and keep him just like this; the rest of the world could move on and change but she wanted to bundle him up and never let him go.

At the time he'd thought it silly.

Had even whined about not wanting to have hiccups forever.

Later, it became one of the few untainted, clear memories he had of her.

Now…

Now he was seated at a low table with a leather-bound book of photos in hand and Aizen looking at him with something indescribable in his gaze.

This time when Yoruichi snuck into his room in the dead of night he only missed stabbing her by a hair and did succeed in binding her with a kido. She blinked up at him with big cat-eyes.

"You're coming alone well," she said; if cats could grin, he had no doubt she would be. And then she shook off the bind with a full-body shudder and whip of her tail. "We don't have much time, so I'll skip to the point."

Ichigo stood a touch straighter.

"It's ready."

Her eyes glowed in the almost-darkness of his room. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible."

"Tonight, then."

Yoruichi nodded. "Tonight."

Aizen had definitely suspected something.

He'd given Ichigo a searching look when he'd sent him off to bed, but Ichigo couldn't tell what it had been for exactly. It hadn't seemed like he was gauging whether Ichigo would sneak out or not. So Aizen suspected, but didn't know. And Ichigo didn't have a contingency plan for this. All he had was getting to Urahara's when Aizen would least think he'd run off and hope for his luck to hold. It rarely did. But he liked to think the universe owed him here.

So he'd head out tonight and be back by morning.

Nothing to it.