Chapter Text
The next morning, Ichigo woke up to an empty couch. There were no signs that either Grimmjow or Rukia had been there — or that they had ever been there to begin with. He refused to acknowledge the sharp sting in his chest.
“Bastard. Fucking bastard,” he muttered under his breath as he walked over to Orihime. He poked his wife with a finger to wake her up. “Fucking midget too,” he continued grumbling, even as Orihime refused to wake and mumbled something Ichigo couldn’t be bothered to understand. “Getting all drunk, not even putting up a fight against him... All dressed up and pretty...”
Finally, Orihime stirred. “Hmm? Honey, you’re calling me pretty this early in the morning already?” she asked sleepily, dumbly. Ichigo sighed. Something about consequences and making different choices.
“Yeah, yeah. Wake up. We gotta get home and pick up the kid.” At times like this, he couldn’t even bring himself to call his son by name.
At least when she remembered she was actually a mother with real responsibilities, Orihime got to her feet, stumbling as she struggled to find balance after one too many drinks, and followed Ichigo.
He felt a twitch in his neck — a piercing sensation that begged him to look back, to search for black hair or blue eyes.
He clenched his fists. Ichigo refused to let him, of all people, haunt this waking nightmare of a life.
Ever since the reunion at Soul Society, things had gone dreadfully quiet.
Months had passed since that little... whatever-that-was between him, Rukia, and Grimmjow. Ichigo hadn’t heard from either of them — not a single word. Truth be told, he kind of expected that from Rukia, as painful as it was. She wouldn’t — couldn’t — afford the luxury of screwing around like that; she had a daughter, a husband, and an entire Division depending on her.
Grimmjow’s absence, on the other hand, not only hurt Ichigo — though he’d never admit it — but also surprised him. The arrancar had seemed so hell-bent on making them all fail in their respective duties that Ichigo half-expected him to keep tempting him a little longer.
He felt only mildly disappointed, really.
Until shit really hit the fan.
Ichigo should’ve guessed — no, scratch that, he always knew it was a terrible idea to have a child. Especially in the Human World, with a human woman who also happened to have supernatural powers.
Kazui wasn’t just a headache. He was a threat. The boy had inherited every single power that made Ichigo an absolute menace to all Worlds combined — he managed to be a Quincy, a Shinigami, and somehow had Hollow powers, too.
On top of that, he was impossible to manage. Ichigo almost felt guilty thinking that way about his own son, but Kazui would simply vanish into thin air, opening portals and crossing between worlds at will, poking at things that shouldn’t be poked. Orihime’s efforts to keep him in line were futile, to say the least. There was simply no way she — or anyone, dead or alive — could ever put a leash on the walking atomic bomb they had for a child.
Kazui also didn’t seem to have any consideration for his family or anyone else, for that matter. He wandered around all day, making his parents lose more hair with each passing moment. And when questioned, he would just smile softly and change the subject.
That night, Ichigo looked in the mirror and scowled. The ugly, nearly inhuman feeling in his chest was one he had grown used to. Whenever he thought about Grimmjow’s words at his wedding, he didn’t resent himself.
Ichigo just tried his best not to direct that dark, twisted feeling toward the one person he rationally knew was guilty of it all.