A/N: guys! It has been a while, hasn't it? I know since the end came out years ago, I haven't written a canon setting fic for a long time. This is my attempt to do a canon somehow fix-it fic, but also kind of a canon-divergence one? Is it confusing? XD sorry hahaha.

I already had this idea for a while but I just have time to write it down these past two days. I wrote it while listening two songs on repeat!

First Love by Hikaru Utada and Hatsukoi, also by Hikaru Utada.

I am obsessed with those songs! Try listening to those songs as you read this story.

And also, I drew an illustration of Ichigo and Rukia in this fic, and also their family, (yesss Megumi from JJK is DEFINITELY IchiRuki son hahaha. I decided to borrow his face here, just his face, not at all related to the JJK)

NB: I don't own Bleach or even JJK hahaha.

Grains of Sand

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The future, you see... does not wind down a single road. The future... diverges from a single point in time... like countless grains of sand scattering in the wind...

Now, if you could see them... each and every individual grain of sand would be considered a "future" which means there are as many "possibilities" as there are grains of sand...

"For I shall find the future... that one moment in time where each of you feel the greatest amount of joy and happiness... and it is there, I shall slaughter you."

Ichigo's eyelids fluttered. His body stirred stiffly as if he had not moved his limbs for months. His body felt unusually heavy this morning. Ichigo tried to open his eyes slowly but groaned again as he placed his arm over his face to block the morning sunlight. It was unusually bright. His head throbbed as if he had been heavily drinking all night long (he was absolutely sure he wasn't, he had quit drinking for... a while now).

His throat felt dry. His limbs felt stiff.

Everything about this morning felt unusually off.

The bed sheet also felt different. The scent wasn't the usual sweet (too sweet for his liking) flowery aroma Orihime picked for their laundry detergent.

And it felt softer too against his skin. That was when Ichigo realized he wasn't wearing any shirt. That was funny. He had not slept shirtless for a long time now. Not since he married Orihime.

When he slowly got a grip of all his main senses, Ichigo realized there was something absolutely wrong this morning. Something so familiar that he had not been able to experience for more than a decade. Something that made him feel like he was home, even though it was not where he belonged.

There was no mistake.

It was reishi, the warm and reassuring spirit particles, gracing his naked skin.

Ichigo slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. It looked different. Unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time.

But Goddamnit. He was definitely not in his bedroom. That was the one thing he was sure of.

What the hell? Was he waking up in Soul Society?

Heck, that was ridiculous. He had not been in Soul Society for more than a decade, for the sake of his sanity, and for the sake of... everything and everyone.

And it just didn't make any damn sense. Or did it?

Ichigo slowly pushed himself to sit on the bed. The blanket fell to his waist.

"Fuck," he cursed in agony. His body was stiff as hell. And the headache just got even worse like a thunderclap headache.

He sat up straighter and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind trying to make sense of what happened last night.

Ichigo remembered going home after work last night, walking with both hands in his pants, looking up at the sky and thinking the sky looked unusually starry and beautiful last night, so he took a detour and bought his time, mindlessly walking around just because he didn't feel like going home yet.

Then he sensed a mere hollow-a weakling-and decided it would be fun to have a late night exercise once in a while. He had not transformed into shinigami for a long time. Somehow after the war with Yhwach, Soul Society finally sent some proper shinigami to the real world. They handled the weak hollows pretty well that Ichigo and his friends never had to step in as often.

And after that.

Everything was kind of blurry...

What happened after that?

Did he get hurt? Did he get hurt terribly and some shinigami posted in the living world just brought him here?

That didn't make any damn sense, they could just bring him to Urahara or Orihime-one of the best healers-and also his wife.

Ichigo looked down and searched for any wounds or any bandage on his torso and his abdomen and he found none. Nada. Nothing screamed the fact that he had been badly wounded. Instead he woke up like he had been unconscious for months.

He looked around his surroundings. It was a huge, fancy bedroom. The design was a classic expensive looking traditional Japanese mansion that somehow strongly reminded him of the Kuchiki mansion. On the corner of the room, there was a huge and fancy looking sword holder. Zangetsu was nicely seated there like it had always been his home.

Ichigo ran his both hands over his face roughly.

Okay. This couldn't be real.

Why would he be in Soul Society, of all places? When he hadn't been so for more than a decade? When things had been so peaceful, no war, no threats ever since he had given up fucking everything to keep Yhwach away for everyone's sake?

Wake up.

Wake the hell up.

This must be another fucking cruel dream.

It wasn't a surprise. He had a lot of dreams like this. He had dreams of waking up to a different course of life, living up his desire to protect the people he loved in a different way. Not by giving up his life and being miserable like a pathetic fool to keep the enemy away, but by being a shinigami, fighting the enemies without fear, getting stronger and stronger and stronger for the people dearest to him, being full and proud with the life he decided for himself, and living with the one person that meant the world to him.

(Even to this day when he was married and with a kid he couldn't let it go. He couldn't forget her. He couldn't move on).

He had those dreams.

Dreams of another life if he did fight for his happiness.

If he didn't become a coward.

If he didn't let her get away.

If he became more stubborn than her and refused to give up on her, on them.

And in those dreams, he was happy. He was so freaking happy.

And yet when he woke up, he woke up with shame, seeing Orihime sleep soundly next to him. He couldn't help but wish he never started a life with her.

The dream usually came in a haze. But this one felt so real, especially with the reishi grazing and trickling his skin.

Ichigo moved slowly and sat on the edge of the huge bed. He was shirtless but he was wearing trousers that he had never seen before in his life. His feet touched the ground and it felt kind of cold. It felt too real. Too detailed for a mere dream.

The sunlight was still especially bright, peeking through the huge window, and it reflected on a framed photograph next to the king-sized bed he was sitting on.

Ichigo grabbed the framed photograph and let out a humourless, mocking laugh. "What the...,"

He knew he wasn't supposed to be surprised but it was too cruel.

Ichigo swore he would give God a middle finger if he could because just, what the hell was He playing at? Mocking his life like this?

It was a photograph of a beautiful and happy family. There was Rukia, in her captain haori, looking as beautiful as she had always been since the moment Ichigo first laid his eyes on her. The Rukia he knew in his real life had long hair, but this one-in his goddamn dream-she was even more beautiful and mature with shorter hair. She was holding a cute and adorable little version of herself, a toddler with jet black hair just like her mom, with those chubby rose colored cheeks, and next to the little girl, there was a little boy, older than the girl, he might be 5 or 6 tops, he had pale skin and spiky jet black hair, his eyes were dark, and he was scowling. He was handsome for a boy his age. And Ichigo wasn't stupid. This was his dream, beautiful yet cruel, so of course aside from the hair color, eye color, and pale skin tone, the boy just had to look exactly like a carbon copy of him. While the girl looked almost 90% Rukia, the little boy was a perfect combination of him and Rukia; 60% Ichigo and 40% Rukia. Next to the boy was Ichigo himself. He looked older and more mature with the proud vice captain badge he wore on his toned arm. There was the snowdrop insignia-the 13th division (like, of course). He still retained a little bit of his boyish look. His hair was different from reality. It was still the same spiky hair he had like when he was young (he wasn't balding, the word Karin used to make fun of him). He looked annoyed in the photograph but he knew better. Ichigo here in the photograph was a man content with his life. A man being rewarded for fighting for his happiness.

Ichigo half laughed again.

Hell.

This was just too cruel.

He placed the photograph back on the bedside and tried to stand up. His limbs felt heavy as hell as if he hadn't walked in months.

Ichigo stretched his also stiff arms as he made his way to a room, supposedly the bathroom. The bathroom was spacious. This version of Ichigo really lived his life to the fullest, didn't he? With a bedroom and a bathroom like this, Ichigo could guess he and the Rukia in his dream must be pretty successful. She was a captain. He was her vice captain. The two must be the top Soul Society elites.

Ichigo shook his head at the thought and washed his face and felt so relieved when the water hit him. It was cold but refreshing. But damn, the water felt real too. It was not at all like a dream.

Then Ichigo stared at his reflection on the huge mirror in the bathroom. He looked different. He looked exactly like the Ichigo in the photograph. Except he looked like he hadn't shaved in a month. The facial hair wasn't too thick for his liking and it kind of looked good on him, made him look more mature and older. Ichigo brushed his teeth and washed his face again and dried it with a towel.

He sighed.

Alright.

Even the cold water didn't affect him one bit.

When would he wake up to his real pathetic life?

The longer the dream lasted, the more real it felt, the harder it was for him to accept reality when he woke up. It was just too painful.

Ichigo opened the bathroom door and that was exactly the same time when someone slided open the shoji bedroom door.

"Ichigo-san?!" he knew that voice, he knew that face.

It was Hanatarou.

The timid shinigami ran to him and almost tripped. He was still as clumsy as ever. There was a huge surprise on his face but he also looked somewhat... relief?

"Ichigo-san! Yokatta!" Hanatarou hugged him and Ichigo swore he saw some tears falling down on his face.

"Yokatta!" Hanataro repeated, "we were so scared, Ichigo-san, we were so scared you'd never wake up," Hanatarou sobbed.

It was awkward and Ichigo was confused as hell. So he patted Hanatarou on his back and tried to at least act normal, "... here I am?"

Hanatarou laughed weakly and wiped his tears as he finally let go of Ichigo. "I couldn't... I couldn't look Rukia-san in the eyes, every day, every time she asked me if you were ever going to be okay, if you were ever going to open your eyes..." Ichigo realized Hanatarous's shoulders were shaking, "I couldn't... every morning I came here, trying to heal you, Ichigo-san, but I saw no progress, not even a little, you remained in this constant unconscious state and we, the 4th division, had no idea what was going on, and Kyouraku-taichou and Kuchiki Byakuya-taichou demanded us to give a clear prognosis of your state and we just couldn't-" he sobbed.

Ichigo only stood there, watching him and just trying to make sense of what the clumsy shinigami was saying.

"-we just couldn't, we didn't have it in us, to just declare the hero-the hero of Soul Society... dead," Ichigo's eyes widened. And everything kind of just clicked.

But Hanatarou kept rambling on, "so we just hang in there, Ichigo-san, me coming here every day wishing a miracle would just happen, not knowing what I was doing or what I should do, and every time I looked at Rukia-san I felt guilty, I felt like I was lying to her, because she would never give up on you-she would never-"

She did. In his reality. Rukia did give up on him and he stupidly let her.

"Rukia-san was here every morning, holding your hand, whispering silent prayers, she just-she just refused to-"

"Stop, Hanatarou," Ichigo finally uttered a word. He decided that he didn't want to hear more. This was supposed to be a happy dream.

Waking up as a person who had been somewhat in a comatose state wasn't exactly what he desired.

"Ah, sorry, I just couldn't help it," Hanatarou laughed meekly, "I am just... very very glad, thank you, Kami-sama, thank you,"

"Anyhow," his smile was more genuine now, "welcome back, Ichigo-san,"

Looking at Hanatarou's most genuine smile, Ichigo couldn't help but smile back, his familiar boyish smile that had not made an appearance for more than a decade. "Aa,"

Hanatarou's eyes beamed with happiness. Ichigo was here. The hero of Soul Society. The strongest shinigami in the universe. He was finally awake. He was fine. He didn't die in his care.

"Oh, how stupid I am!" Hanatarou scratched his head nervously. "Please sit down so I can do a thorough check up on you, Ichigo-san,"

Ichigo did as he was told and sat on the edge of the bed, his-he assumed-his and Rukia's?

"How are you feeling right now?" Hanatarou asked. Green light appeared from both of his hands, screening Ichigo's head, face, and torso.

Ichigo shrugged. He was confused, mostly. He was tired like he had not gotten enough rest. Even though Hanatarou did imply he had been unconscious for a while, making everyone worried. Especially Rukia. There was warmth creeping up in his stomach. Rukia. He was sure Rukia was his wife in this cruel too-good-to-be-true dream. Was she going to see him now that he had come back from a coma?

"Just a little stiff," Ichigo answered, scratching his neck in his trademark Ichigo style.

"That's strange," Hanatarou murmured and his eyes narrowed to slit. "I still couldn't figure out what went wrong," he added, "your organ system is completely fine, Ichigo-san..."

"... and your reiatsu is a little bit weak-well weak for your outstandingly high standards-and the signature is a little bit... different,"

Ichigo raised both his eyebrows. Would Hanatarou find out? That he was in a dream? That the real Ichigo was supposed to be in the living world, waking up next to the wife he didn't love, working a job he didn't like, feeling sorry for the life he was destined to have?

"...but it is you, 100% you," Hanatarou said again.

Ichigo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He didn't want this dream to be over yet. Not when he hadn't met Rukia in this dream.

"I will have to report to Kotetsu-taichou," he said. "Your reiatsu is still under the radar, I couldn't even feel it until I was right in front of your door," the timid healer told him, making a sorry face at Ichigo.

"You should rest more, Ichigo-san," he said.

Ichigo nodded. "Thanks, Hana," he said, and he added a little smirk to show him that he was okay. That he finally could stop worrying about having the strongest shinigami alive die in his medical care.

"Rukia-san... Rukia-san would be very glad," he smiled. Ichigo knew Hanatarou had always had a soft spot for Rukia. "I can't wait to see the happiness back on her face," he mumbled in a lower voice but Ichigo could hear it.

"Where's she?" Ichigo asked. He had to see her. He had to see her before he woke up and be miserable.

"Oh, I think the morning report for the captains isn't over yet, Ichigo-san." Hanatarou made a quick glance at the clock on the wall.

Hanatarou was about to leave Ichigo to rest some more when there was a ruckus outside the bedroom door. Ichigo's reiatsu was weak, but Hanatarou could tell it was getting stronger and stronger, and he wouldn't be surprised if in a moment all the people who had been waiting for him to wake up would just storm the Kurosaki-Kuchiki mansion.

Ichigo heard the ruckus too, his head turned to the door.

"Megumi-sama!" There was a young lady's nervous voice, hushed in a whisper. "Yamada-san from the 4th squad is still checking on Kurosaki-sama, let's just get back later, young master-"

There were shadows behind the shoji door. A little boy with spiky messy hair getting pulled around by a young woman, like she was trying hard to stop the little boy from bragging in the bedroom.

And he was right. In a second the door slid open and Ichigo's amber eyes locked with the little boy's very dark eyes. The boy in the photograph. He was still so little, so young, maybe younger than his son in real life, Kazui. The kid looked handsome yet adorable at the same time. He was 5 or maybe 6. He had still retained those round and chubby cheeks. The boy had natural, spikey, stubborn hair that defied gravity. His hair was jet black, like his mom. His skin was pale, also like his mom, like he hadn't spent so much time under the sun. But his face. He had Ichigo's face. A perfect combination of him and Rukia. He was wearing a black shihakusho. But he was wearing a scarf-probably a copy, child-version of what Byakuya wore-and a red rosary-like strap across his chest-just like Ichigo's. And just by a glance Ichigo knew. The kid was his. His son. A perfect representation of a Kuchiki and a Shiba must look like.

Ichigo felt bad for even thinking about it. But looking at the kid, for just a moment, he could see himself in him. He had been looking at his own son, Kazui, back in the real world, and all he could see was Orihime. He never saw himself in Kazui.

"Young master Megumi-sama!" The nervous young maid gasped and almost fell, trying to hold the little boy's shoulders in place but the cute little boy was acting like a spoiled brat and just ran to Ichigo.

Megumi?

A blessing.

The maid looked so nervous to be in Ichigo's presence. She bowed a million times, "I am sorry, Kurosaki-sama! Please forgive my irresponsibility!"

Ichigo didn't know what life this version of Ichigo had but he wasn't used to being treated this highly like he was some kind of a high class noble.

"Nah, it's okay," Ichigo chuckled the moment the boy-Megumi-his son-his son with Rukia-his blessing-leapt into his arms, sitting on his lap and hugging him tightly.

And like an instinct, like he had been doing this for a million times, Ichigo hugged him back tightly and ruffled his hair. "Oi, kiddo," he said, couldn't even try to hide his happy smile.

This wasn't real. This wasn't real.

"I knew Tou-chan was awake," the boy mumbled against Ichigo's bare shoulder. "I could feel it- Tou-chan's reiatsu," he said. For a little boy, he sounded so smart. "Miyayama-san didn't believe it. And she didn't let me run to check on you, just because I haven't finished my onsen tamago-"

"Really, eh?" Ichigo chuckled. "She didn't?" Ichigo glanced at the young maid (Miyayama, was it?) and she blushed even more.

Hanatarou smiled at the sight. He sensed nothing was off. He didn't know that this was Ichigo's first time holding his son.

"Megumi-kun can sense reiatsu already?" Hantarou sounded amazed.

Ichigo couldn't help but grinned and held his son even tighter. His son might be a genius after all. This must be from Rukia. He sucked at sensing reiatsu.

"Of course I can! I trained hard," Megumi replied, still mumbling against Ichigo's shoulder and refusing to look his dad in the eyes. There was an arrogance that slightly reminded Ichigo of himself and a little bit of Byakuya. The hell? Did this version of his son spend so much time with his uncle?

"I learn everyday from my shishou... so I can protect Kaa-chan when Tou-chan is away," he mumbled again, lower this time, and his baby voice was muffled. That was when Ichigo realized his son was crying.

Ichigo's heart broke, imagining what his imaginary family went through all this time he was in comatose. Especially his son. His son who loved his mom so dearly just like when he was a kid.

"Hey, look at me," Ichigo pulled Megumi and he looked adorable, his eyes were red, his chubby cheeks were puffed. He might sound mature for a little kid his age but deep down he was just a baby. "I am here," Ichigo grinned, genuinely, raising both his eyebrows at his little version of himself. "Thank you for protecting Kaa-chan when I was away. You did a great job, didn't you, kiddo?"

Megumi adorably wiped his tears like he was embarrassed to be caught crying. He nodded multiple times, telling his dad that he did, indeed, do a good job. "I went to work with Kaa-chan, I had lunch at the division so Kaa-chan wouldn't eat alone,"

"Then I went to Byakuya-jiji's place to take a nap for a while but after that Renji-jichan took me back to Kaa-chan and we went home together,"

Ichigo chuckled. His son was definitely a momma's boy. Just like him.

"And Sachi was crying a lot because she missed playing with you but I told Sachi that Tou-chan would wake up one day, only if Sachi stopped being a crybaby," Megumi rambled on and on and on.

Ichigo could only assume that Sachi was his little sister. The adorable little carbon copy of Rukia. His daughter. With Rukia.

Ichigo was content just to hold his son in arms right now. He hugged him tightly, kissing him on his forehead like he had always been his dad and this boy, Megumi, had always been a blessing in his life.

"Thank you, Megumi," he said, rolling his son's name for the first time on his tongue, but it felt like he had been calling his name for like forever.

Just how perfect was the life this version of Ichigo had?

Ichigo wished he would never have to wake up to reality. Not before he met his daughter. Not before he met Rukia.

The perfect end.

The perfect end was supposed to be like this.

He was just so content that he didn't even realize the ruckus and footsteps outside his bedroom door.

The shoji door was opened and there were people there. Ichigo couldn't tell who else was there. There was a glimpse of Kyoraku. A glimpse of Byakuya. A glimpse of Renji. But they were just glimpses... just blurry figures, overshadowed by her light and her importance in his life.

Because just like the old times, just like it had always been, it was hard for Ichigo to focus on anyone else when the ray of light in his life came into his view.

"...Ichigo?"

Her voice.

Her reiatsu.

She was still the same.

The same person. The only one person in this whole universe who could make him feel like this.

The ray of light in his life.

Rukia.