Tuesday the 30th of July, 2030
Whistles and chimes shattered the silence that had reigned within the Kurosaki household since yesterday evening. The melody grew louder with every passing second, quickly demanding more from the tiny cell phone speakers than they could offer in quality. It overpowered the ambient sounds in the room, drowning out the shifting of fabric and soft breaths of the two occupants of the room in the crackling symphony. Each bell's chime, flute's whistle, and plucked string that reached their ears brought them closer to awareness, rousing them from whatever world their dreams had taken them to.
Orihime was the first to return to the waking world, being none too pleased about her awakening. Her face scrunched up more and more the longer the music continued to play, the static quality of the sound not offering her any comfort from her loss of peaceful slumber. A groan—her chosen battle cry of defiance—left her throat as she fought to keep holding on to the last vestiges of sleep; with clumsy and uncoordinated limbs she wrapped her pillow around her head, turning her body away from the horrid noise that assaulted her ears.
(It may not be the standard, shrill, electronic beeping most phones have as their default alarm but even the most beautiful symphony will become the most horrendous sound you've ever heard if it's played at way-too-early in the god-damn morning.)
'Hmm-ngh… Ichigo~' Orihime called out through slurred speech, voice hoarse and deep from sleep— 'You turned on the wrong alarm again~'
When her husband did not move to fix his mistake, Orihime had no other choice but to take matters into her own hands. She reached back with her foot, venturing through the cold space under the blankets dividing them, to nudge Ichigo's shin with her toes.
'Hn…' Ichigo moved his leg away from the attack, rolling from one side to the other. It brought him closer to the nightstand on which the phone lay, closer to the music that had now reached full-crackly-volume. The brush against his shin had been enough to bring his mind from the endless depths of sleep, surfacing his awareness to the point the alarm posed an equal threat to his comfort as it did to that of his wife.
This would not stand.
With a scowl on his face that would make little kids cry, Ichigo reached out to the dreaded device that vibrated in steady bursts out of sync with the melody. His hand patted the nightstand, blindly searching for his phone and squeezing the sides until it ceased its musical attack on their night's rest.
Task fulfilled, Ichigo returned to his previous position. He scooted further and further until he found the warm body of his wife on the other end of the bed. He took the silk of her nightgown between his fingers, rubbing it lightly with his thumb and index before giving it a gentle tug. 'Good now?'
The light pull on her gown was enough to prompt Orihime to lower her pillow defences. She hummed softly in appreciation of the quiet that had returned to the room and turned on her back in confirmation to Ichigo's query of a job well done.
Ichigo shifted closer, pressing his body against hers and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck to murmur, 'M sorry'.
'It's okay'. Orihime found one of his hands with her own and intertwined their fingers, giving his hand a light squeeze. Her other hand went up, delving into the short orange tresses from behind. 'A few more minutes, though'.
'More', Ichigo insisted, trying to fight the way his body relaxed under his wife's skilful touch to argue his point further. 'Thirty'.
Orihime hummed at the counteroffer, absentmindedly tugging at the strands in her grasp and smiling at the sound her husband made in response. 'Hmm… what about… until the bed stops being comfortable?'
The way Ichigo went limp beside her told Orihime he had accepted her proposal. She pulled his hair a little harder and the odd noises Ichigo had been making grew deeper, turning into a strong tremor in his chest and throat that resembled a purr.
With their deal in place, the couple drifted away from full awareness once more. They couldn't reach the blissful depth they had awoken from, instead floating in the limbo between dreams and reality. Suspended in a mind-space where time crawled by so slowly it felt like it stood still, yet went by way too fast all the same.
A sentiment shared by the two beings residing in a certain substitute's soul.
Down in Ichigo's mindscape, in the endless forest grown from a ruined town, the sun peaked over the horizon. Its light spread over the lush canopy, while its warmth chased away the night's chill to the shadows. The sky brightened from star-littered pitch to beautiful shades of pinks, yellows, and blues; the colours reflected in the large glass panes of the handful of buildings that still remained scattered throughout the world.
It is in one of these buildings—up on the highest floor of the tallest skyscraper, hidden in the most luxurious apartment with the best views of the tree- and skyline—where the two sole inhabitants of Ichigo's soul resided.
There, the morning sun trickled in through the blinds, drawing lines upon the ceiling that slowly made their way towards and down the walls. The increasing brightness teased the eyes of all within the room, calling out to their minds to announce the dawn of a brand new day.
Unfortunately for Zan, Ichigo's energy had long since been replenished and without that exhaustion weighing him down, his mind surfaced to awareness much too easily.
His brows knitted together, eyelids pinching shut in the hope to block the light from reaching but the sun only grew brighter. A deep groan of pure displeasure rumbled in Zan's throat the moment his brain was capable of realising he was waking up whether he wanted to or not.
Annoyed but accepting of his early-rising fate, dark brown lashes fluttered open to reveal a sliver of the sapphire blue they protected. For a while, the gaze remains steady, aimed at the stripes of light slowly making their way down the walls towards the hardwood floor. They grew brighter with every inch and by the time it reached the ground, the varnish reflected the full intensity of the morning sun… right into Zan's eyes.
With a low grumble and pinched shut eyes, Zan unearthed a hand from under his pillow and reached blindly towards the nightstand by his bedside; the place he laid his sunglasses to rest. His fingers met cold, flat glass and a small dance over its surface revealed the nightstand to be empty.
A snippet of a memory resurfaced; a vivid image of a broken pair of orange-tinted sunglasses falling into a sea of leaves dozens of meters below, never to be found again.
Realising his go-to way of protecting his eyes was unavailable to him; Zan had no other choice than to take drastic measures. Gathering all the strength and dexterity he could muster so "soon" after waking, he turned to his other side.
His half-clothed arm met something solid (and smooth and firm and cool but with a little give) that prevented him from escaping the brightness that tormented him, leaving him on his back with the light still glaring at him from the corner of his eye.
The unforeseen hindrance pulled his features into a scowl that would make his counterpart proud (and their master slightly concerned) if they saw it. He turned his head, away from the light and towards the obstacle that stood between him and reprieve. His eyes opened, focused, and…softened.
There, sleeping soundly nestled in the space between the wall and himself, laid his counterpart. Getsu lay on their left side, facing the wall; his body loosely curled around the pillow they held in their arms. Their chest rose and fell in steady intervals, soft snores smothered by the pillow they had semi-buried their face in.
The last few vestiges of sleep that clouded his mind faded, memories of the past week leading up to today resurfacing from the lower trenches of his mind.
Summer holiday had rolled around once again. Six whole weeks free of society's expectations which they could spend however they desired.
The first week was spent lazing around as a family-sleeping in late till the crack of noon, watching movies together in the living room in their pyjamas, going on walks around the nearby parks and getting ice cream—everything fun but low-effort to recuperate from the hectic work- and school life while still making memories.
This year, the second week had been Orihime's assigned "free week", leaving Ichigo alone with Kazui for some father-son bonding he never got with his own father. While Orihime was out of town with Tatsuki, going sightseeing and shopping; Ichigo took his son out fishing, hiking, and even did some baking and homework.
And finally, last week, the third week and Ichigo's assigned free-week of the holiday. Orihime returned from her city trip in the early hours of Sunday morning, unpacked her stuff and took a nap to recharge till noon so she could take over the responsibility of Kazui in the evening. Ichigo cooked, they all had dinner, and after Kon had taken possession of Ichigo's body and Kazui was put to bed, Ichigo said goodbye to his wife and tore through the fabric between worlds. Destination: Hueco Mundo.
For more than a decade, Ichigo's free week had been claimed by a certain ex-espada dead-set on equalling a score. Something every part of Ichigo's soul had come to look forward to. Ichigo and Getsu especially lived for the days they could tear into an opponent who had no qualms about ripping them apart in return.
This year, Grimmjow's been more aggravated than usual. Perhaps Nelliel and her fraccion were particularly annoying recently or Harribel had been breathing down his neck over something he considered "benign". Whatever the reason, the ex-Espada had lunged for Ichigo's throat before he had stepped out of the garganta proper, Segunda Etapa already unleashed.
Ichigo had a split second to decide and choose to meet Grimmjow's aggression with his own, abandoning his blade in exchange for claws—much to Getsu's delight and Tensa's dismay.
Zan had looked forward for Ichigo to cross blades with the ex-espada again and Tensa would be lying if he were to claim he wasn't disappointed to be side-lined immediately. (There was little room for a Quincy in a "Hollow", after all.) However, Ichigo rarely used his Hollow-form and Tensa knows how much Getsu enjoys it when their master lets loose and gives in to his aggressive nature—and knows that Ichigo likes it too. So, for both of them, Tensa was more than willing to grin and bear it.
It's fine. He was fine. He would get his turn next time. He could wait.
"Hmmm?"
So colour him surprised when Getsu stayed by his side and did not join their master in his fight.
"What are you doing here, still? Go join him."
His query remained ignored as they circled closer, prowling around him like a predator did with prey—which, honestly, Tensa had found quite offending.
"Is there something you want?"
Getsu feigned innocence, which didn't quite work while wearing their heart on their face. They walked and turned on their heel, hand shooting out to jab Tensa in his side. Tensa smacked the hand away.
"Or is this just you trying to gloat? Is that it?" Tensa had accused. "Are you seriously rubbing it in you got to play and I don't?"
Those golden eyes squinted in glee and Tensa could just picture the smug grin they must've been wearing under that blasted mask of theirs. They started to chirp and click, circling him while continuing to take lazy jabs at him.
"Stop that! If you're just going to be a dick, be one at Jaegerjacks-he might actually appreciate it."
Of course, they did the exact opposite of respecting his wishes; Getsu took it up a notch. They teased him despite their vocal capabilities, capable of expressing themselves through noises and body language alone. Tensa had tried to remove himself from the situation but Getsu followed, fully intent on continuing to push his buttons for their own entertainment.
It was only a matter of time before Tensa lost his temper and retaliated.
(In hindsight, it was obvious that had been Getsu's objective all along.)
They didn't fight often when their master was locked into a battle of his own; their inattention made Ichigo's attacks less potent (which could lead to his death) and their blades were more likely to break if Ichigo's resolve were to falter (with could also lead to his death). And even if Ichigo's life were not put into jeopardy by their inattentiveness, them being Zanpakuto Spirits meant they wanted nothing more than to be used by their master in battle.
However, Ichigo wasn't using his blades nor was he fighting an opponent who would kill him (not yet, Grimmjow's pride wouldn't allow it).
So, they fought; growing tired alongside their master but, unlike him, were able to go all out. Every power their master's unique soul granted them was used, each willing to stoop as low as needed to get the upper hand. Everything was allowed, nothing was sacred, and they both lost themselves to the euphoria of battle within the hour.
By the time Ichigo stumbled his way back to the World of the Living, nearly a full week later, battered and bruised but oh-so content, Zan had his arms full with one very satisfied counterpart.
"Shall I return you to your place?" Zan had asked out of courtesy.
As anticipated, Getsu lacked the awareness and lucidity to answer him. With glazed-over golden eyes and cheeks flushed blue, they continued to play with the tattered remnants of Zan's coat between their fingers. The hum vibrating in their chest and throat so deep and full it could be mistaken for a purr.
"Or would you prefer having company?"
Getsu pressed their head more firmly against Zan's neck at the suggestion, their noises of content growing louder. Their mindless fidgeting with his coat ceased as their hand moved on to grab a fistful of Zan's torn dress shirt, pulling weakly but insistently.
Thinking back on the exchange brought a smile to Zan's face.
He ended up taking them to one of his preferred places. Getsu didn't make a noise of complaint as they were laid on a mattress instead of the pile of pillows and blankets they usually rested in at their own place. They wiggled around for a bit to get comfortable, snagging the pillow from Zan's side of the bed as they pressed themselves against the wall. They curled up, buried their face into the pillow, and were out like a light.
It was still rare to catch Getsu so unguarded and content, so completely satisfied of their needs that they couldn't even string the letters together to make a word. To know that they had no reservations about him seeing them like that, that they preferred his presence over chosen solidarity... Zan was thankful for the other's acceptance even if he didn't believe he deserved it.
And to find the scene he had fallen asleep to had not changed made him all the more grateful.
Returning from his reminiscing, Zan shifted in place to turn on his side; inadvertently (but not fully unintentionally) spooning the one he laid beside. His half-clothed chest met their bare back and the sheer difference in temperature had him initiate a search-and-rescue of the lost duvet.
He found the bedding down at their hip and waist, the place where it usually ended up sometime during their rest; no matter how careful Zan had been with tucking them both in the night before. Ironically, Getsu's the one who kicked it down even though they are the one susceptible to cold (an unfortunate trait that came with being a reptilian-type Hollow).
His fingers ghosted over pale skin as he draped the duvet over their shoulders, leaning over them to tuck them in. Getsu shifted as warmth washed over them, pressing themselves backwards against the chest of their other half and making themselves as small as possible; incidentally making Zan's self-imposed task easier.
After a few more careful adjustments, Zan deemed the results of his efforts to his satisfaction. Retrieving their hand, he made to slip out of the bed and head towards the bathroom. Neither of them had taken the time to wash up before sleeping and a warm bath sounded like the perfect way to start the day.
He never made it that far.
Two rows of sharp teeth clamped down on Zan's hand as it made its retreat, the serrated ivory sinking into skin like a hot spoon in ice cream. Getsu moved their head to follow their catch, biting down harder to prevent it from escaping. When that proved to be insufficient they abandoned the pillow and rolled on their other side in pursuit of their prey.
Effectively pinning Zan on his back.
Zan heaved a heavy sigh, sinking back into the mattress as he lamented his lack of foresight while the other continued to make themself comfortable.
For someone still asleep, Getsu did an incredible job of tangling their bodies together. Their left arm laid across Zan's stomach, hand grasping at the remainder of his dress shirt in a light hold. One leg conquered the mountain that was Zan's left knee and settled in the space between his legs, allowing Getsu to press against his side more comfortably. Their head found its place on Zan's shoulder, rubbing their cheek against his collarbone before settling completely, nibbling lazily on the thumb they had caught.
He was completely and utterly trapped. No way to escape his predicament without rousing his captor and even then there was no guarantee Getsu wouldn't chase him down and demand another fight.
And thus, with no other option than to wait, Zan followed Getsu's example and made himself comfortable. Or, at least, as comfortable as he could get without disturbing the other too much.
His arm, the one of which the hand was not being chewed on, wrapped around Getsu's shoulder and back; hand settling on their side. The fingers of the hand which was currently used as a chew toy, moved to cup their jaw, absentmindedly caressing the skin with gentle swipes.
The tip of his index brushed against their throat, finding a thin line carved into the skin there.
It's not the only scar that marked their skin and it's certainly not the most recent addition either. Unlike himself, Getsu's body was decorated with a wide variety of scars; from thin lines and small marks from cuts and arrows to wide gashes and large burns from claws and cero, all kept and prized like badges of honour.
Each line carved and every mark burned into their skin, by either his hand or that of their master, Getsu wore with pride and they were not afraid to show them off if they ever caught someone staring.
(They didn't talk about the other scars, the faded, surgically precise lines that shouldn't even exist on their person but did because one day they would be gone. Buried beneath new scars, better scars, cleansing their body from the past.)
(He wondered if he added a new one in yesterday's fight.)
It created an interesting mosaic of different shades, ranging from the purest white to not-quite-dark-enough-to-be-grey. If Zan were to be feeling particularly poetic, he would liken them to a marble statue or maybe a porcelain doll-only this one is far from fragile.
The lazy mauling of his thumb slowed as lips stretched into a grin.
'Good morning'.
Teeth parted at the greeting, allowing Zan to take back the hand which had fallen victim to deep-seated Hollow instincts—to kill and eat everything that doesn't kill you first.
'How was your rest?'
Getsu chirped, the sound more akin to a purr with how slow and heavy it rolled in their throat. They angled their face to meet his, silver-golden eyes peeking through barely parted lashes. A dusting of periwinkle coloured their face from cheek to cheek, lips melted into a lazy but happy grin. 'Morning~'
'I take it you are comfortable'.
'Hmm-mmm~' They tipped forward with their head, the tips of their noses touching before they settled back down, rubbing their cheek firmly on Zan's collarbone. 'Got my favourite pillow'.
'Please, refrain from calling me a pillow'.
'Hmm-mmm, what about… World's Best Heater? Or maybe—' Lips stretched into a smirk, baring sharp teeth that nipped at the skin it were pressed against—'Most Delicious Quincy?'
'No'.
The cold, flat tone with which Zan spoke twisted their smirk into a pout, 'Ya got no sense of humour'.
'I have; you're just not funny'.
'Yes, I am', Getsu huffed. 'I'm fuckin' hilarious'.
Zan withheld his amusement from showing. Instead, he let his hand delve into short white tresses from behind while he found Getsu's left hand with his right, gently prying it from his dress shirt and intertwining their fingers.
'Hmm... at least yer warm'. One eye opened, giving Zan a half-hearted glare. 'Despite the cold shoulder'.
Zan guided their hands towards his chest, untangling their fingers and undoing a button. The other caught on quick; they swatted his hand away and ripped the shirt open without preamble, sending the buttons flying across the room. Their hand spread the fabric apart to expose as much of Zan's chest as possible before hovering above his solar plexus. The nails pressed down, sinking through skin till—
Blue bloomed under their fingertips, spreading out to reveal the intricate map of vessels that lay hidden underneath. Getsu shifted, angling their head in such a way they had a clear view of their dancing fingers painting senseless shapes on the exposed expanse of Zan's torso, eyes growing softer with every swirl.
Getsu had never been shy about their admiration and pride in the power the three of them held. Their grin always showed the most teeth whenever they caught Ichigo displaying an extraordinary amount of skill during combat, the pride they exuded enough to colour their master's cheeks a nice shade of rose after their spar. Zan had caught the other stop and stare at him on several occasions whenever he used one of his Quincy powers, from shamelessly gawking at Tensa releasing vollständing to getting distracted in close quarters because blut vene made "pretty patterns".
(As if Zan hadn't tried to use it to erase them from Ichigo's soul).
Resistance had Zan turn his attention back to the mess he absentmindedly carded his fingers through. He found his hand still upon the other's head, digits ensnared by strands of hair glued together by dark clumps.
Taking a particular large glob between his fingers it crumbled apart into rusty red bits and flakes, releasing the feint scent of iron. Blood... and perhaps a piece of muscle or tissue, he wasn't quite sure.
'We have made quite a mess of ourselves'.
'A fight ain't a fight if there ain't any blood', Getsu stated simply. Silver-golden eyes swept across Zan's body, fast at first but slowing down with every speck of dirt, grime, and blood they encountered. They trailed line after line over wounds that had long since healed, expression soft and fond. 'And we had a damn good fight'.
Zan hummed in agreement, continuing to rub the tresses between his fingers to break apart the clods of coagulated blood and tissue. The strands he freed were discoloured; stained a rusty, brownish-red a simple finger-combing couldn't fix. 'We should have cleaned up before going to sleep'.
The drawing of senseless shapes slowed to a stop, 'How bad?'
'Quite severely, I'm afraid'.
'Ugh…it's gonna be a bitch ta wash out'.
Zan covered the hand on his chest with his own, giving it a squeeze in sympathy for the other's plight. 'If you would like a helping hand, I'll gladly lend you one'.
'Tch, course ya do'. Getsu eyed the hand on top of their own. 'I got a better idea'.
'I am listening'.
'What about…instead of lending me a single hand—' They wiggled their joined hands for emphasis— 'ya use both and I'll let ya braid my hair in return'.
'Absolutely not'.
'Why not? It's a good deal'.
'For one of us'.
Getsu shrugged, 'I'm in a good mood; it's fine',
'No, I shan't accept such a one-sided exchange'.
'Then what would you suggest to make it fair?'
'Let me return the favour at the very least', Zan bargained. 'We can then continue our lazing around outside in the warmth of the sun'.
'Hmm…that does sound tempting'.
'How tempting?'
'It's a deal'. Getsu settled back down. 'Not now, though. I'm comfy'.
'Who said anything about moving right away? Or are you that eager to claim the bed for yourself?'
Silver-golden eyes peered through white lashes, 'Figured ya would be happy ta get out of this stained mess as soon as possible'.
'I will be', Zan agreed. 'But like you said, I'm quite comfortable'.
Getsu snorted, turning back on his side and wrapping his arm around Zan's waist. 'Ya do know yer gonna be stuck here now for the next hour or so, right?'
Zan didn't fight the smile on his lips, his hand settling in the nape of the other's neck. 'Not the worst way to spend the time'. He scratched the skin hidden under the white tresses, drawing a hum from Getsu's throat.
'Yer gonna make that two hours if ya keep that up'.
'Why not make it three?'
Getsu hummed 'Yer gone real soft'.
'And I'm the happier for it'.
The hum became a purr. Getsu relaxed completely against him.
'Me too'.
#
The End
BLEACH – Tite Kubo