Part 13.5 Welcome to Xcution? ( Continuation )

...

At some point, Jackie ended up beside him, slumped against the couch with a drink in her hand, her usual rigid posture loosening as the alcohol settled in. She wasn't as loud as the others, nor as animated, but the slight flush on her cheeks and the way her eyes lingered on her glass longer than usual told Ichigo she was further gone than she let on.

For a while, she didn't say much, just sat there, listening to the chaos around them. The room had become a mess of laughter, arguments over poker hands, and Moe loudly trying to convince Riruka that, no, he was not short—just compact.

Then, finally, Jackie broke the silence between them.

"You're handling this better than I thought."

Ichigo, mid-sip of his spiked orange juice, paused. "What?"

Jackie exhaled, rolling the glass between her fingers. "This." She gestured vaguely at the room, at the noise, at everything. "Figured you'd be gone by now."

Ichigo scoffed, setting his drink down. "Trust me. I considered it."

Jackie smirked slightly, side-eyeing him. "But you didn't."

Ichigo rolled his shoulders. "Guess not."

The raven on his shoulder let out a small rustle of feathers before hopping onto the table between them. It tilted its head at Jackie, almost as if studying her.

She stared back.

Then, to Ichigo's surprise, she reached out, fingers hesitating for just a moment before lightly grazing the raven's dark feathers.

"...Soft," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Ichigo raised a brow. "You expecting it to be made of knives or something?"

Jackie huffed. "Considering what it did with that demon? Wouldn't have been surprised."

Ichigo had to admit, that was fair.

Jackie took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze never quite leaving the bird. Then, in a voice quieter than before, she said, "It suits you."

Ichigo frowned. "What?"

She nodded toward the raven. "Your Fullbring."

Ichigo glanced down at the bird, at the way it never strayed far from him, watching with those strange green-and-black eyes. He had barely figured the thing out himself, but hearing someone else acknowledge it like that made it feel... real.

Jackie hesitated before continuing, her voice carrying a weight that wasn't there before. "I... never liked mine much."

Ichigo turned to her fully now, noting the distant look in her eyes.

"Felt like a burden," she muttered. "Always did."

Ichigo didn't answer right away.

But he understood.

Maybe not entirely. Maybe not in the way she did. But the weight of power, of something inside you that wasn't truly yours—that, he got.

Fullbringers came from Hollow powers.

And Hollows? He knew them better than most.

Even now, he wasn't sure how he felt about using power rooted in them. He had gotten used to it—had needed to get used to it. The fight never stopped just because he was uncomfortable. But there was always that lingering question, the edge of unease that came with knowing where it came from.

Maybe it was the same for them.

Maybe Fullbringers felt it, too.

Jackie exhaled, rolling the empty glass between her fingers before setting it down with a soft clink against the table. "Doesn't really matter anymore," she muttered.

Ichigo glanced at her. "You don't believe that."

Jackie's lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "You're right. I don't." She ran a hand through her dark hair, then sighed. "But saying it makes it easier to ignore."

Ichigo huffed. "Not how that works."

She snorted, finally turning to face him fully. "And you'd know? What, you studying to be a therapist too?"

Ichigo scoffed. "No. Just got experience in ignoring shit and watching it get worse."

Jackie smirked at that. "That so?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Yeah."

Jackie hummed, leaning back against the couch, her posture looser now, the alcohol finally settling deep. "Y'know," she murmured, tilting her head slightly to look at him, "I always figured you'd be more of a loner."

Ichigo raised a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jackie waved a lazy hand. "The brooding, the scowl, the way you talk like every conversation is a waste of time—"

Ichigo scowled. "I do not talk like that."

Jackie smirked. "See? Exactly like that."

Ichigo exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath. "Tch. You people are insufferable."

Jackie let out a low chuckle, rubbing her temple. "Yeah. But you're still here."

Ichigo didn't have an answer for that.

She pushed herself up, stretching her arms over her head. "Alright. I'm heading out before someone starts a fight."

Ichigo snorted. "Good call."

She turned, heading toward the exit, but before she left, she paused.

Didn't turn, just lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave.

"Try not to let Kyra rope you into anything stupid," she muttered before stepping out.

Ichigo exhaled, leaning back into the couch.

Yeah.

That was definitely too late.

...

..

.

Ichigo barely had time to process Jackie's exit before another presence slid into the seat beside him.

Arlen.

Unlike the others, he wasn't as visibly intoxicated. His golden eyes were sharp—too sharp for someone who had been drinking all night. He rolled the glass in his hand, the dark liquid inside catching the dim light as he swirled it idly.

Ichigo eyed him. "...You don't seem drunk."

Arlen smirked, tapping his temple. "Self-control. Something you're clearly losing by the minute."

Ichigo scowled, glancing down at his now mostly empty glass of what was supposed to be orange juice. The raven on his shoulder shifted, its beady green-and-black eyes locked onto Arlen like it didn't trust him.

Smart bird.

Arlen let out a low chuckle, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Relax, Kurosaki. If I wanted to mess with you, you'd know."

Ichigo exhaled sharply. "That supposed to be reassuring?"

Arlen smirked. "Not really."

The noise of the others faded into the background as Arlen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze flickering toward Ichigo with something more calculating.

"You did well today," he murmured.

Ichigo blinked. "What?"

Arlen swirled his drink again. "The fight. Your Fullbring. The way you handled that demon."

Ichigo frowned. "You weren't even in the room."

Arlen's smirk widened. "You think I wasn't watching?"

Ichigo tensed. He should've known. None of them did anything without observing first, without evaluating.

Arlen tapped his glass. "You know, I could see you being a great church member."

Ichigo choked. "What?"

Arlen grinned, sharp and teasing. "What? You don't think you'd fit in? Pious warrior, fighting in the name of something greater?" His grin widened. "You do have a knack for throwing yourself into things."

Ichigo scoffed. "Yeah, hard pass."

Arlen chuckled. "Shame. You'd probably do better than half the idiots I work with."

Ichigo leaned back against the couch. "You don't seem like the religious type."

Arlen hummed, tilting his head. "I'm not. But the church is more than religion." He glanced at Ichigo. "You'd be surprised what they know."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"

Arlen smirked. "Like things about Quincies."

That got his attention.

Ichigo's fingers twitched, his focus sharpening. "What about them?"

Arlen lifted his drink, taking another slow sip before speaking. "Did you know they used to work with the church?"

Ichigo blinked. "What?"

Ichigo stared at Arlen, the words sinking in slower than they should have.

"Quincies worked with the church?"

It didn't make sense.

Quincies were exterminators. They wiped out Hollows, erased them from existence completely, and directly opposed Shinigami because of it. And from what little he knew about the church—at least, the one Arlen was talking about—they were focused on protecting humanity from supernatural threats. But Quincies? 

Ichigo's scowl deepened, his fingers tightening around his glass. "If the church worked with Quincies, then they must've known what they were doing." His voice was sharp, cutting through the background noise of the drunken gathering around them. "They knew the Quincies weren't just killing Hollows—they were destroying them completely. Wiping them out so thoroughly that the human souls inside them couldn't pass on."

Arlen didn't react immediately. He rolled his glass in his hands, watching the amber liquid swirl as if considering his response. Then, he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "I doubt it."

Ichigo frowned. "What?"

Arlen set his glass down with a quiet clink, turning his sharp golden gaze onto Ichigo. "You'd need the power of a god to destroy a soul."

Ichigo stiffened.

Arlen leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Hollows are corrupt souls, yeah. But they're still souls. You think humans—even Quincies—have the power to erase something like that completely? To break the cycle of life and death?" He smirked, shaking his head. "Sorry, Kurosaki, but that's not how it works."

Ichigo's jaw clenched. "Then why do Shinigami say that's what happens?"

Arlen shrugged. "Because they need a reason to justify why they went to war." He took another slow sip of his drink, exhaling through his nose. "If the Quincies could do something like that, then the church would've never allied with them in the first place." His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Because no matter what, God would be able to save them."

Ichigo's breath hitched slightly.

He hadn't expected that answer.

Arlen smirked, tilting his head. "What, that surprise you?"

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "You actually believe that?"

Arlen exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable. "Belief isn't the issue. The issue is truth." He tapped a finger against his glass. "Quincies were powerful, sure. Dangerous? Definitely. But the ability to erase a soul from existence?" He scoffed. "That kind of power belongs to something else. Something beyond even them."

Ichigo's fingers twitched against his glass.

The way Arlen said it—the quiet certainty in his tone—unsettled him.

Because if he didn't believe the Quincies were capable of truly destroying souls...

Then what did happen to the ones they killed?

Ichigo exhaled sharply. "If they weren't destroying them, then what were they doing?"

Arlen smirked, tilting his glass just enough for the amber liquid to catch the dim light. "Good question." He took a slow sip, savoring the burn before setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "Too bad I don't have a good answer."

His golden eyes flicked to Ichigo, amusement dancing at the edges. "But if I had to guess? Maybe they've got their own afterlife, like so many other factions. Or maybe they just... come back as humans. Reincarnation, rebirth—take your pick." He rolled his wrist lazily. "Hell, for all we know, they could be getting thrown into some other realm entirely. Stuck in limbo. Absorbed by something worse."

Arlen chuckled, the sound rough at the edges, like it didn't quite belong in his mouth. "Alright, alright," he drawled, swirling the last of his drink like it held some grand answer. "I'll stop messing with you." He leaned back, letting the weight of his words hang between them. "They went to heaven. Where else would they go?" His smile was thin, too sharp to be genuine. "Sure, some might've been reincarnated. Maybe a few got dragged to hell. But souls?" He shrugged, a lazy motion that didn't match the gleam in his eyes. "They go where all the dead are supposed to. Simple as that."

But it wasn't simple—not for Ichigo. And before he could even try to untangle the knot Arlen had just dropped in his lap, the older man shifted, leaning in closer, his golden eyes gleaming with something colder now.

"But you tell me, Kurosaki," Arlen's voice dropped, the teasing edge slipping away like a mask being pulled off. "What do you know about Quincies?" His gaze flicked over Ichigo, sharp and dissecting. "What do you really know about your own blood?"

Ichigo's grip on his glass tightened, the cool edge biting into his skin. He hated this—people poking at his Quincy heritage like it was some secret he should've unraveled by now. Like it was something that defined him more than everything else he'd been through.

"I know enough," Ichigo muttered, but the words felt flimsy, even to his own ears.

Arlen's smirk spread wider, slow and deliberate, like he could see right through him. "Do you?" He tapped the rim of his glass, the sound light, but it echoed in Ichigo's head. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you don't know shit."

That hit harder than Ichigo expected. He opened his mouth, the beginnings of a retort on his tongue—but Arlen didn't give him the chance.

Just like that, the smugness faded from his face, replaced by something more deliberate, more calculating. The shift was subtle, but Ichigo felt it, like the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

"But enough about that," Arlen said smoothly, waving a hand like he was brushing off the topic—like he hadn't just dropped a live grenade into Ichigo's thoughts. "Let's talk about that demon."

Ichigo blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. "What?"

Arlen leaned back, the familiar smirk crawling back onto his face, like he hadn't just sidestepped the entire conversation. "You handled yourself pretty well back there," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "That demon wasn't just some run-of-the-mill hollow or curse. You fought like someone who's been doing this longer than you let on."

Ichigo exhaled sharply, the earlier conversation still gnawing at the back of his mind. But he clung to the new topic, if only to anchor himself. "What's your point?"

Arlen's grin sharpened, predatory in a way that made Ichigo's skin prickle. "My point is, you've got potential." He tapped his glass again, each click punctuating his words. "And the church?" His gaze darkened, like he was offering something heavier than it sounded. "We could use someone like you."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "I already said no."

"Yeah, yeah," Arlen waved him off like it was a minor inconvenience. "But think about it. You'd get access to knowledge. Power. Resources." His eyes gleamed. "All the things you need to protect the people you care about."

That hit a nerve.

Ichigo's jaw clenched tighter, his knuckles whitening around his glass. He didn't need anyone's resources. He'd fought his battles without them. He'd protected the people he loved without leaning on anyone else.

But before he could shut Arlen down again, the man's expression shifted. The playful arrogance faded, replaced by something quieter. More serious.

"But still," Arlen murmured, his voice dropping just enough to pull Ichigo in, "you're lucky you survived that Black Flash."

The words slipped into the space between them like a blade, sharp and deliberate.

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat. The moment Black Flash left Arlen's mouth, something deep inside him—something raw and empty—howled. It wasn't pain. It wasn't fear. It was recognition. Like his body knew something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.

"Black Flash?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, his voice lower, rougher. He didn't mean to sound so... unsettled. But he couldn't help it. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Arlen's golden eyes gleamed, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. Calculated.

"You really don't know, huh?" He leaned back in his seat, the casualness in his posture at odds with the weight of his words. "Guess that makes sense. Not exactly common knowledge outside certain circles." He swirled his drink lazily, but his gaze never left Ichigo. "It's when someone taps into the exact moment their energy and their physical strike sync up perfectly—down to the tiniest fraction of a second. The result?"

Arlen snapped his fingers. The sound was sharp, cutting through the haze of drunken laughter around them.

"Boom."

Ichigo felt his pulse quicken, his mind scrambling to piece together what Arlen was saying. He'd seen plenty of powerful attacks—hell, he delivered his fair share of them. But this? This wasn't just raw strength or refined technique. It was about something deeper. Something... off.

"Never heard of a demon pulling it off, though," Arlen continued, his voice dropping lower, like he was sharing a secret, tho he was mostly monologuing to himself. "That kind of precision? It's rare even for seasoned fighters... " He paused to take another long, deliberate swig of whatever murky liquid was in his glass, the smell alone enough to make Ichigo grimace.

Then Arlen started to chuckle—a low, rough sound that rumbled up from his chest and didn't quite match the sharp glint in his golden eyes.

"But, of course..." His words slurred ever so slightly as he leaned in closer, breath warm with the bite of alcohol. "Of course it's not that simple."

His gaze flicked to Ichigo, heavy-lidded but still sharp beneath the haze.

"You gotta hit the exact second you push your energy into the strike. Not a moment before, not a heartbeat after. Perfect timing. Perfect focus." He tapped his temple with a crooked finger. "Perfect everything."

Arlen leaned back, letting the weight of his words settle between them.

"But even then..." He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn't believe his own story. "Even if you do everything right, it's still down to luck. Pure, dumb luck."

Ichigo's brows furrowed, his grip tightening around his glass. "What do you mean luck?"

Arlen's grin widened, teeth flashing in the dim light. "I mean you've got better odds hitting a jackpot at the slots a hundred times in a row than landing a Black Flash." He let out another chuckle, deeper this time, like the idea genuinely amused him. "It's like the universe flips a coin just to see if you get to be a god for a second."

His laughter faded into something quieter, almost wistful.

"I don't know what blessed that demon to pull off a miracle like that," Arlen muttered, swirling the dregs of his drink. "But shit, I'm this close to switching religions if it means I get that kind of luck."

He leaned forward, unsteady now, his golden eyes glinting with mischief as he whispered, "Just... shhh." He pressed a finger to his lips, swaying slightly. "Don't tell anyone, 'kay?"

Ichigo opened his mouth to respond, but Arlen didn't give him the chance.

The man's grin slipped, his eyelids drooping as his body sagged against the couch. The sharpness in his eyes dimmed, his breath slowing as the weight of the alcohol finally caught up with him.

"Shit," Ichigo muttered under his breath, watching as Arlen's head lolled to the side, his glass slipping from his fingers to land on the floor with a dull thud.

"Oi." Ichigo nudged him with his elbow. "Arlen."

Nothing.

Arlen was out cold, his earlier bravado drowned under the weight of whatever cocktail of liquor he'd been downing all night.

The raven on Ichigo's shoulder let out a soft caw, shifting its weight as it stared at the unconscious man with what could only be described as disdain.

"Yeah," Ichigo muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Real helpful."

He leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath as the noise of the room bled back into focus. The others were still at it—Moe was loudly defending his height, Riruka was halfway through another bottle, and Yukio hadn't looked up from his PSP once.

But Ichigo's mind wasn't on them.

It was on Arlen's words. On the Black Flash. On the way his body had recognized something the moment Arlen said it, even if his mind couldn't pin it down.

Something was off.

He wanted to brush it off, to shove it down with the rest of the crap he'd spent years burying under layers of stubbornness and denial. He wanted to believe it was just another bizarre bullshit which exists

But he couldn't.

He leaned back against the worn leather of the couch, staring at the ceiling as the noise of the room pressed in around him—laughter, the clinking of glasses, the low hum of Yukio's game, and Moe's voice rising above it all with some ridiculous argument about height.

But it all felt distant.

Like he was underwater, watching everything from behind a thick sheet of glass.

The raven shifted on his shoulder, its sharp, unnatural eyes flicking toward him with that same unblinking intensity. It hadn't left his side since the fight, hadn't relaxed once. It was like it knew something he didn't.

Hell, maybe it did.

Ichigo let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand through his still-damp hair. The black strands tangled around his fingers, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered how much of the orange would be left by tomorrow.

Before Ichigo could lose himself further in that spiraling pit of thought—

Thunk.

A weight dropped onto the couch beside him.

Not heavy. Not loud.

But deliberate.

Ichigo didn't need to look to know who it was.

"You know, for a church member, you'd think he'd drink less."

The voice was smooth, too smooth—laced with that same maddening, detached calm that always made Ichigo's teeth grind.

Tsukishima.

Of course.

Ichigo exhaled sharply through his nose, not bothering to turn his head. "You stalking me now, or just don't have anyone else to bother?"

Tsukishima's chuckle was low, a lazy rumble like he was amused at the very idea. "Oh, I've got plenty of people to bother." he murmured, his tone smooth, casual—too casual. Then his voice dipped, that familiar thread of mockery weaving through his words. "But this is your party, isn't it? Thought I'd make the most of it by gracing you with my company. Most entertaining way to spend my time."

Ichigo shot him a sideways glare, eyes narrowing. "Glad I could be your evening's highlight."

Tsukishima raised his glass in a lazy toast, golden eyes gleaming with something sharp, something knowing. "Cheers to that," he replied, his smirk widening just enough to make Ichigo's teeth grind.

The silence between them was thick, but Ichigo refused to let Tsukishima get under his skin—at least, not more than he already had. The man had a talent for it, like poking at an old bruise just to watch it sting.

"You always this charming, or is it just me?" Ichigo muttered, finally turning his head to face him.

Tsukishima's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. "You're special." He took a slow sip from his glass, eyes never leaving Ichigo. "You've got that whole brooding, tragic hero thing going on. It's adorable."

Ichigo's eye twitched. "Tch. You need better hobbies."

"Oh, I have plenty," Tsukishima replied smoothly, swirling the drink in his hand. "But watching you stumble through this mess? That's quickly becoming a favorite."

Ichigo exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You know, for someone who talks so much, you really don't say anything useful."

Tsukishima chuckled, setting his glass down on the table with a soft clink. "That's where you're wrong, Kurosaki. You just don't like what I'm saying." His gaze flicked to the raven perched on Ichigo's shoulder. "Even your new friend seems to understand that."

The raven ruffled its feathers, letting out a low caw that felt suspiciously like agreement.

Ichigo shot it a glare. "Not helping."

Tsukishima's smirk widened, his gaze lingering on the raven for a beat longer before sliding back to Ichigo. "You ever wonder why it looks like that?" His voice was softer now, almost conversational, but there was an edge beneath it—a deliberate sharpness that made Ichigo's skin prickle.

Ichigo frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your Fullbring," Tsukishima replied smoothly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not just some random manifestation of power. Fullbring is... personal. It's born from the deepest part of you—your desires, your losses." He leaned in slightly, his golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "It's for something you don't have."

Ichigo stiffened, his gaze flicking to the raven on his shoulder. The bird met his stare, its green-and-black eyes unblinking, unwavering. He could feel it now—the weight of that statement settling over him like a suffocating blanket.

Tsukishima continued, his tone deceptively light. "Take Kyra, for example." He gestured vaguely toward where she was, laughing with Moe and Yukio across the room, her usual sharpness dulled slightly by the haze of alcohol. "Her Fullbring's strong. Focused. But it's not about power." He tapped his temple, his voice dropping lower. "It's about control. About keeping everything in check, because deep down, she doesn't trust anything—or anyone. But what she really wants?"

His smile curved into something thinner, more calculated.

"Faith."

Ichigo's brow furrowed. "Faith?"

Tsukishima's gaze darkened, though his tone remained casual. "Not just the religious kind. Faith in people. In herself. She hides it well, but it's there—buried deep." He swirled his drink lazily, watching the liquid catch the dim light. "We all have something we're missing, Kurosaki. That's what shapes our Fullbring. It fills that void... or tries to."

He let the words hang there for a moment, letting them sink in before shifting his attention back to Ichigo. His eyes flicked to the raven, then back to him, sharp and knowing.

"And you?" Tsukishima murmured, his voice dropping just enough to feel like it was pressing against Ichigo's skin. "Yours is obvious."

Ichigo's jaw clenched. "Oh yeah? Enlighten me."

Tsukishima chuckled softly, shaking his head like he pitied him. "You want someone to be with." His words were gentle, almost sympathetic. "Not just allies. Not just comrades. Someone." He leaned in a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because you don't have anyone, do you?"

The words hit harder than Ichigo wanted to admit. His fingers twitched against the glass in his hand, the cool edge biting into his palm. He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Tsukishima straightened, his smirk softening into something almost warm, almost inviting. "You know, that's the thing about Fullbringers." He gestured broadly to the room—the laughter, the noise, the chaos. "We're all missing something. But that's why we stick together." His gaze locked onto Ichigo's, steady and unwavering. "We're more than just people with powers, Kurosaki. We're... family."

Ichigo scoffed, trying to brush off the weight of those words, but Tsukishima's voice followed, smooth and persistent.

"You've been fighting alone for so long, you don't even realize how much easier it is when you've got people who understand." He paused, letting that sink in. "People who get you."

Ichigo felt the tension coil tighter in his chest, the raven shifting slightly on his shoulder like it could feel the weight of the moment too.

Tsukishima picked up his glass, his golden eyes glinting over the rim as he took a slow sip. "Just think about it," he murmured, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

Ichigo stared at him, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say—everything he should say, that he he does have people who understood him... 

But the words felt hollow in his throat.

Because as much as he hated to admit it...

Tsukishima wasn't entirely wrong.

No... Actually, he was entirely right.

...The room buzzed with the chaotic hum of laughter and clinking glasses, but Ichigo wasn't paying attention. Tsukishima's words clung to him like a second skin, crawling beneath his defenses in a way that made his chest feel tighter with every breath.

You don't have anyone, do you?

Ichigo grit his teeth, his hand tightening around the glass in his palm. The last drops of what he thought was orange juice swirled lazily at the bottom. The raven perched on his shoulder shifted slightly, its green-and-black eyes flicking between Ichigo and the drink like it knew something he didn't.

He tipped the glass back, letting the final drops slide over his tongue.

And that's when it hit him.

The sharp burn wasn't citrus.

It wasn't just orange juice.

It was something else—something far stronger.

Ichigo's throat seized as the liquid scorched its way down, and he coughed violently, slamming the glass onto the table with a harsh thud. His chest heaved, and he felt the immediate sting of betrayal sharper than the alcohol burning in his gut.

The raven let out a sharp caw, fluttering its wings as if echoing his anger.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed, the pieces clicking together faster than he could stop them.

Kyra.

Of course it was Kyra.

Who else would think spiking his drink was a great joke?

Fueled by the burning in his throat and the fire in his chest, Ichigo shoved himself up from the couch, his boots thudding hard against the floor as he stalked across the room.

Kyra was laughing at something Moe said, her glass tilted in her hand like she didn't have a care in the world.

Not for long.

Ichigo didn't slow down. He slammed his empty glass onto the table in front of her, the sound sharp enough to cut through the noise of the room. The laughter died almost instantly, heads turning as everyone felt the sudden shift in the air.

"What the hell did you put in my drink?" Ichigo's voice was low, his anger vibrating beneath the words.

Kyra blinked, her smirk lazy and unbothered. "What are you talking about, Kurosaki?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I didn't touch your drink."

Ichigo's glare darkened, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. "Don't screw with me. I know it was you."

Kyra snorted, shaking her head. "Tch. Please. If I wanted to mess with you, I'd do it to your face, not sneak around spiking your OJ."

That made Ichigo pause.

For a split second.

Then his eyes flicked to the only other person in the room who was twisted enough to pull something like this off.

Giriko.

The man was calmly sipping from his glass at the next table over, his expression neutral, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Ichigo's blood boil even more.

Ichigo pointed a sharp finger at him. "You."

Giriko raised a brow, setting his glass down with the same slow, deliberate precision he did everything with. "Me?" His voice was calm, almost amused. "Whatever are you implying, Kurosaki?"

"You spiked my drink." Ichigo's voice was flat, his fists clenching at his sides. "Didn't you?"

Giriko chuckled, a low, smooth sound that grated on Ichigo's nerves. "Technically, I just... enhanced it." He gestured vaguely toward the glass like he was explaining a fine piece of art. "A little something to complement the flavor."

Ichigo's jaw tightened, his eyes snapping back to Kyra. "And you let him."

Kyra raised both hands, her smirk widening. "Don't drag me into this. I didn't tell him to do anything." She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with that infuriating mix of amusement and challenge. "But I'm not exactly complaining either."

Ichigo felt his temper snap.

"You think this is funny?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room. "You don't get to mess with me like that."

Kyra's smirk thinned, the teasing edge fading just enough for something sharper to creep in. "Relax, Kurosaki. It was just a drink. You're not gonna die."

"That's not the point!" Ichigo slammed his hands on the table, the raven on his shoulder letting out a piercing caw in response. "I didn't ask for this! You don't get to decide what I put in my body."

Kyra's eyes narrowed, her casual demeanor slipping away entirely. "And you don't get to waltz in here like you're better than the rest of us," she shot back, her voice low and dangerous. "You're in our space now. You want to be part of this? You play by our rules."

Ichigo's breath came fast and hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. For a moment, it felt like the room was closing in on him, the walls pressing tighter with every second.

Then he exhaled sharply, straightening up, his glare still locked on Kyra.

"Keep your damn drinks to yourself," he spat, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

The door slammed behind him with a force that rattled the glasses on the table.

For a long moment, the room was silent.

Then, from his seat in the corner, Tsukishima let out a quiet, almost lazy chuckle, swirling his glass as he watched the door Ichigo had just disappeared through.

"Well," he murmured, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement, "I think he's fitting in just fine."

Kyra didn't laugh.

She sat there, arms crossed over her chest, eyes locked on the door that still trembled in its frame from Ichigo's exit. The smirk that usually danced on her lips was gone, replaced by something tighter—something that pulled at the corners of her mouth like a weight she hadn't expected to carry.

The others shifted uncomfortably. Even Moe, usually quick to jump in with some dumb comment, stayed quiet. Riruka muttered something under her breath, but it didn't carry across the room.

Only Tsukishima seemed unaffected. His golden eyes glinted in the low light, the lazy swirl of his drink the only sound filling the tense silence.

Then he spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate, cutting through the room like a knife slipping through silk.

"You should talk to him."

Kyra's eyes snapped to him, her expression hard. "What?"

Tsukishima didn't flinch under her glare. He never did. He just raised his glass slightly, like he was toasting her irritation. "You heard me."

Kyra scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "Tch. He'll get over it."

But even as she said it, the words felt hollow. She could hear it in her own voice—the edge of something that sounded a little too much like doubt.

Tsukishima arched a brow, the corners of his mouth curling into that infuriating, knowing smile. "Maybe," he allowed, taking a slow sip from his glass. "But maybe he won't."

Kyra's jaw tightened.

Tsukishima set his glass down with a soft clink, his gaze never leaving hers. "You know what his problem is, Kyra?" His voice dropped, low and quiet, but it cut deeper than if he'd shouted. "It's not the drink. It's you."

Kyra's eyes narrowed, her fingers curling against her arms. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Tsukishima leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his smile thinning into something sharper. "You pushed him," he said softly, almost like it was a fact rather than an accusation. 

Tsukishima straightened, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, his voice casual again, like he hadn't just peeled back a layer she didn't want exposed. "Talk to him," he repeated, his tone light, but there was steel beneath it. "Clear the air. Admit it was your fault."

Tsukishima's words cut through the air like a blade, sharper than anything that had come before.

Kyra froze, the casual smirk she wore like armor faltering for the briefest of moments. Her eyes, usually so quick to dance with amusement or irritation, darkened—something cold and distant flickering behind them.

She didn't reply immediately.

Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, thick and heavy, like a noose tightening around both their throats. The hum of laughter and conversation from the rest of the room faded into a distant buzz, as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them in that suffocating moment.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. Measured.

But there was an edge beneath it, jagged and raw.

"Yeah," she murmured, her gaze flicking to the door Ichigo had disappeared through. "I know."

Her fingers drummed lightly against the table, a restless rhythm that didn't match the calm in her voice. "But sometimes..." she trailed off, her lips curling into a bitter smile, "...sometimes you don't realize how much you've tightened up until someone forces you to loosen the hell up."

Tsukishima's golden eyes watched her carefully, his usual smug detachment tempered by something more calculating. He knew where this was going. He always did. But he wasn't going to let her off easy.

He never did.

"And how'd that work out for you?" he asked softly, his voice like silk over broken glass.

Kyra's smile didn't waver, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know," she whispered, almost to herself.

Tsukishima leaned back, his expression unreadable. "I do," he murmured, the softness in his voice making the words hit harder. "But that's not the point."

Kyra's fingers stilled, her gaze snapping back to him with a flicker of something—defiance, maybe. Or maybe it was something closer to fear, though she'd never admit it.

"The point," Tsukishima continued, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly calm tone he always used when he was peeling someone apart piece by piece, "is that he's not you."

Kyra's jaw tightened.

She knew that.

Of course she knew that.

But hearing it out loud, from him—it felt like he was digging his fingers into an old wound she'd long since convinced herself had healed.

"You think I don't know that?" she hissed, her voice low but sharp enough to cut. "I'm not trying to make him me, Tsukishima."

But even as she said it, the words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Because maybe, just maybe... she was.

Tsukishima's smile returned, slow and deliberate. "Aren't you?"

Kyra exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "Tch. You don't know shit."

But Tsukishima didn't rise to the bait. He never did.

He just watched her, patient and unflinching, like he had all the time in the world to wait for her to admit the truth to herself.

And that was the worst part.

Because she could feel it—the way Ichigo's stubbornness clung to him like armor, the same way it once had for her. The way he pushed people away with sharp words and sharper glares, thinking distance was the only thing that kept you safe. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he clenched his fists like the whole world was something he had to fight. It was like staring into a mirror she'd smashed years ago, only to find the reflection staring back at her anyway.

But unlike her...

Ichigo still had a chance.

A chance to break free before the walls closed in completely. Before the weight of everything he carried dragged him under.

A chance she'd thrown away without realizing it until it was too late.

And here she was, shoving him down the same damn path she'd barely crawled out of.

...

God damn it.

Her jaw clenched, the bitter taste of regret settling in the back of her throat like a shot of cheap whiskey she couldn't spit out. She wasn't supposed to care. She didn't care. But the knot in her chest said otherwise.

God damn it.

Her fingers curled against the table, knuckles whitening as she fought the urge to punch something—anything—just to drown out the gnawing realization that maybe, just maybe, she'd screwed this up worse than she thought.

She shot a glare at Tsukishima, who hadn't moved, hadn't stopped watching her with that infuriating, knowing look like he'd planned this from the start.

"Thanks, Tsukishima," she muttered through gritted teeth, her voice low and rough, like every word scraped against something raw inside her.

Tsukishima's smirk didn't even flicker. He leaned back in his chair, lazy and smug, like he had all the time in the world to watch her unravel. "You're welcome, leech."

Kyra's eye twitched. The urge to deck him in the face flared hot and bright, but she shoved it down, forcing herself to her feet instead.

"Fuck you," she shot back, the words sharp and automatic, but her heart wasn't in it.

Not this time.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, as much as it burned in her chest like a wound that wouldn't heal—

He was right.

And that pissed her off more than anything.

Because without noticing it... 

She became like that prick.

The night air was cooler than she expected when Kyra stepped outside, the weight of the door slamming shut behind her cutting off the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from inside. The base felt quieter now, the kind of stillness that made every echo of her boots against the floor seem louder than it should've been.

She didn't bother looking for him at first. She knew where Ichigo would be. Hell, if she were him, she'd be in the same damn spot—somewhere far enough from the noise, but close enough to keep an ear on it. Close enough to pretend you weren't really alone.

It wasn't hard to find him.

The faint glow of a streetlamp flickered in the corner of the lot, its light casting long, uneven shadows against the cracked pavement. And there he was, sitting on the edge of the old loading dock with his elbows on his knees, head low, and that damn raven still perched loyally on his shoulder. 

Kyra stood there for a moment, arms crossed, watching him from a distance. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched even when he wasn't saying anything.

Yeah. She recognized that kind of anger.

It wasn't just about the drink.

It was about control. About feeling like the ground under your feet wasn't yours anymore.

She hated how much she understood that.

With a sigh, she finally pushed off from the wall, making her way over to him. Her footsteps were deliberate—loud enough so he'd hear her coming, but not enough to feel like a threat.

Ichigo didn't move when she approached.

When she was close enough, Kyra stopped, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"You always this dramatic, or is tonight special?" she muttered, her voice low but lacking its usual bite.

Ichigo didn't answer right away.

For a second, she thought he might just ignore her completely. But then, without looking up, he muttered, "Piss off."

Kyra huffed, a dry chuckle slipping from her lips. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome."

She stood there, letting the silence stretch between them until the weight of it started pressing against her chest.

Then, finally, she exhaled, her gaze softening just a fraction.

"Look," she started, her voice quieter now, less sharp, "I did tell Giriko to spike your drink."

Ichigo's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he shot her a glare. "Yeah, no shit."

Kyra didn't flinch under the heat of his gaze. She met it head-on, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "But I didn't do it to screw with you."

Ichigo snorted, his jaw tightening. "Could've fooled me."

Kyra sighed, stepping closer, her boots scraping against the rough pavement. "I get it. You're pissed. You've got every right to be." She ran a hand through her hair, the gesture more restless than she intended. "But you're not the only one with shit to deal with, Kurosaki."

Ichigo's glare didn't soften, but he didn't tell her to leave either. That was something, at least.

Kyra dropped down beside him, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the dock. She didn't look at him, just stared out at the flickering streetlamp like it held all the answers she didn't have.

"You remind me of someone," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I hate that."

Ichigo's brows furrowed, the anger in his chest cooling just enough to make room for confusion. "What the hell does that mean?"

Kyra exhaled, the sound rough, like the words she was about to say were scraping their way out of her throat. "It means you walk around with that same damn look—like the weight of the world's on your shoulders and you're the only one who can carry it." She finally glanced at him, her brown eyes sharp but tired. "I've seen that before. I was that before."

Ichigo scoffed, his jaw still tight. "So that gives you the right to mess with me?"

Kyra's gaze dropped back to the ground, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. "No," she admitted, voice low. "It doesn't."

The admission hung between them, heavier than the silence that followed. Ichigo stared at her, his breath steady but sharp, like he was waiting for more—waiting for the real reason.

Kyra's shoulders tensed, and she let out a shaky breath. "I told Giriko to spike your drink because..." She trailed off, swallowing hard before forcing the words out. "Because I thought if you loosened up—even just a little—you'd realize you don't have to carry everything on your own." She laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. "Guess that backfired."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the edge of the dock. "You think getting me drunk was gonna fix that?"

Kyra shook her head, her hair falling into her face as she stared at the cracked pavement below. "No. I just thought maybe... if you stopped thinking for one damn second, you'd see we're not here to screw you over." She sighed, the weight of her own words settling heavy in her chest. "But I crossed a line. I know that."

Ichigo didn't respond right away. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it was tangled now—twisted up with the frustration of knowing she wasn't entirely wrong. He did carry everything like it was his burden alone. And maybe that wasn't the smartest way to survive. But it was the only way he knew how.

Kyra finally looked at him again, her expression raw, unguarded. "I'm sorry, Kurosaki," she said quietly. "For real."

The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. She wasn't just saying it to smooth things over. She meant it.

Ichigo exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest loosening just a fraction. "You're still an asshole," he muttered.

Kyra smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. I know."

They sat in silence for a while after that, the cool night air filling the space between them. The flickering streetlamp buzzed softly, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement.

Finally, Ichigo broke the quiet. "Next time you wanna help," he muttered, his voice softer now, "try not screwing with my drink."

Kyra chuckled, the sound light but genuine. "Deal."

Ichigo leaned back on his hands, his gaze flicking toward the raven still perched on his shoulder. Its green-and-black eyes watched him closely, like it was waiting for his next move. He let out a soft huff of breath, the tension finally bleeding out of his muscles.

"But just so we're clear," Ichigo added, his eyes sliding back to Kyra, sharp but with less bite than before, "if you screw me over again, I will make sure to pay you back."

Kyra arched a brow, her smirk returning with a bit more of its usual edge. "Oh yeah? You gonna spike my drink next time?"

Ichigo snorted. "Nah. Too easy. I'd make sure it stings—multiple times."

Kyra laughed, the sound rough and warm in the cool night air. "Tch, guess I'll have to watch my back then."

Ichigo chuckled along with her, shaking his head. "Yeah, you better."

The laughter lingered between them, softening the edges of their earlier tension. For a moment, it almost felt like they were just two people sharing a quiet night, not two broken souls trying to out-stubborn each other.

Then Ichigo's expression shifted, his gaze dropping to the raven still perched on his shoulder. The bird met his eyes, unblinking and steady, its presence a constant weight—but not an unwelcome one.

"You know," he muttered, his voice quieter now, thoughtful, "if I'm gonna pay you back every time you screw me over..." He paused, his eyes flicking back to Kyra, sharp but with a hint of something else—something softer. "...Then I guess I should pay you back when you help me too."

Kyra raised a brow, surprised but curious. "Oh yeah? And how're you planning to do that?"

Ichigo shrugged, his fingers absently brushing over the raven's feathers. "Dunno yet." His gaze softened, the corners of his mouth tugging into something close to a smile. "But you helped me find a way to protect myself..." He glanced at the raven, its green-and-black eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Kyra's smirk faded into something more genuine, her eyes flicking between Ichigo and the raven. For a moment, she didn't say anything, just let the weight of his words settle between them.

Then, Ichigo's smirk returned, sharp and playful. "But don't think I forgot about the drink. Be ready for that payback."

Kyra snorted, rolling her eyes. "Bring it on, Kurosaki. I can take whatever you throw at me."

They fell into silence again, but this time it wasn't heavy. It was the kind of quiet that settled comfortably between two people who'd finally let their guard down—if only a little. The soft rustle of the wind stirred the trees around them, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from the ocean nearby. The sky was painted in deep shades of indigo, the stars winking faintly like distant, indifferent eyes watching over the broken pieces of their lives.

Ichigo leaned back on his hands, feeling the rough, cool concrete beneath his palms, the tension in his muscles finally beginning to ebb. The raven perched on his shoulder was unnervingly still, its green-and-black eyes reflecting the dim glow of the flickering streetlight. For once, the bird wasn't bristling with unease or guarding him like a hawk. It simply sat there, a silent witness to this strange, fragile moment of peace.

Ichigo let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting toward Kyra. She sat beside him, legs dangling over the edge of the dock, her posture relaxed in a way he hadn't seen before. Her usual sharp smirk was gone, replaced by something softer—an almost imperceptible calmness that made her seem less like the sarcastic, tough-as-nails leader he'd come to know and more like... just another person trying to survive.

The weight of everything he'd been through since becoming a Shinigami pressed against his chest like a familiar burden. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet, the memories were still sharp, still raw. The first time he'd held Zangetsu. The first time he'd felt that surge of power coursing through his veins. The battles, the losses, the betrayals—all of it swirled in his mind like a storm he couldn't escape.

And now? Now he was here, sitting next to someone who'd been through her own version of hell, someone who, despite all the differences between them, understood what it meant to carry that weight.

Ichigo stared out at the horizon, where the ocean met the sky in a seamless, infinite stretch of darkness. The waves lapped quietly against the shore, a steady, rhythmic pulse that mirrored the beating of his heart.

The words were on the tip of his tongue before he could stop them.

"Hey, Kyra..."

Her head tilted slightly, but she didn't turn to look at him. "Mhmm?" she hummed, her voice low and lazy, as if the ocean itself had lulled her into this rare moment of tranquility.

Ichigo hesitated, the question heavy in his chest. But he pushed forward anyway.

"How'd you become a Shinigami?" The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them, curiosity finally outweighing the comfort of silence.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves and wind, brushing past them like ghosts whispering secrets. Ichigo half-expected Kyra to laugh it off, to throw some sarcastic jab his way like she always did. But instead, she exhaled—a long, heavy sigh that seemed to pull something deep from within her.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her eyes locked on the dark, restless water as if it could tell her story for her.

"You really wanna know?" Her voice was quieter now, stripped of the usual sarcasm that clung to her words like armor.

Ichigo nodded, even though she wasn't looking. "Yeah," he said simply. "I do."

For a heartbeat, he thought she might shut down again. But then, without looking back, she spoke.

"Well, if I tell you," she drawled, that familiar edge creeping back into her voice, "what do I get out of it?"

Ichigo smirked, leaning back on his hands. "Me not stabbing you in the back for the drink."

Kyra let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "Ha... multiple times, right?"

"Yeah," Ichigo deadpanned, the corner of his mouth twitching.

She hummed, as if mulling it over seriously. "Hmm... sounds like a fair trade." Then, with a chuckle that held just the right amount of teasing menace, she added, "Wanna make a binding vow on it? Hahaha."

Her laugh echoed off the water, light and careless, as if the idea was the dumbest thing in the world.

Ichigo, not entirely sure what a binding vow was but catching the joke in her tone, snorted. "Sure," he said, waving it off like it was nothing.

This fucking Idiot.

The second the word left his mouth, the air around them seemed to shift, heavy and electric. Ichigo felt a strange tingle run down his spine, like the universe had just snapped a cord between them.

Kyra froze.

Her laughter died in her throat, and for a split second, she stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. Then her eyes widened—horrified realization dawning in them like a rising sun.

"You... fucking idiot," she hissed, her voice somewhere between disbelief and fury.

Ichigo blinked, sitting up straighter. "Wait, what—?"

Kyra shot to her feet, hands gripping her hair like she was trying to yank out her own frustration. "You agreed, you dumbass! That was a binding vow!"

Ichigo stared at her, utterly lost. "Wait, hold up. What do you mean ? "

"I was joking!" she snapped, pacing now, her boots thudding against the wooden dock. "But you—you—just had to agree!"

Ichigo frowned, standing up too. "Okay, please, explain to me, what the hell is a binding vow?"

Kyra spun around to face him, throwing her arms wide in exasperation. "It's a spiritual contract, genius! You agreed, and now we're both locked into it!" She pointed at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. "Neither of us can break it without serious consequences!"

Ichigo stared at her for a beat, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You're kidding."

Kyra groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "I wish I was." She looked up at him, eyes blazing. "Do you know what happens if you break a binding vow? Your powers could get screwed. Your soul could get screwed. I could get screwed!" She paused, then added bitterly, "We could both get screwed!"

Ichigo blinked, absorbing that. Then, slowly, he rubbed the back of his neck,. "So... does that just mean you have to tell me how you became a Shinigami now?"

Kyra's eyes widened, her face a perfect picture of how-the-hell-do-you-not-get-this. She pointed both hands at him like he was some ancient curse come to life. "YOU DON'T GET IT, YOU IDIOT!" she exploded. "YOU JUST AGREED TO NEVER STAB ME IN THE BACK—MULTIPLE TIMES! You practically declared that you'll never be able to attack me ever again, or you're fucked!"

Ichigo stared at her, mouth slightly open. "Wait, hold on—what?!"

"Yes!" Kyra barked, throwing her arms up in the air. "You made a vow to never betray me, you dumbass! So if you ever decide to take a swing at me—even by accident—you'll probably drop dead, or worse!"

Ichigo's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression sharpening as he weighed her words. "Worse?" he asked, to gauge just how deep the trouble ran.

Kyra gave him a deadpan look, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, Kurosaki, worse. Like, soul-exploding, power-draining, eternal-suffering type worse."

Ichigo's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. "Is there..." he hesitated, as if something inside of him was afraid to ask. "Is there any way to remove it? Or break it?"

Kyra's reaction was immediate and explosive. "DON'T EVEN FUCKING SAY IT!" she bellowed, pointing a trembling finger at him, her face a twisted mask of panic and rage. "Whatever you do, don't even think about backing out of it!" She started pacing again, muttering to herself like she was trying to make sense of a nightmare. "If it was just some dumb vow we made to ourselves, maybe—maybe—we could've found a loophole."

She spun around, fixing him with a look that practically radiated despair. "But no," she hissed. "We made that vow together. Out loud. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" She jabbed a finger into her temple. "Even linking our souls would've been less extreme than what just happened!"

Ichigo felt his stomach twist. "Less extreme?" he echoed, his voice faint.

"Yes!" Kyra threw her hands up again, as if emphasizing how colossally screwed they were. "Linking souls is like... a handshake compared to this shit. This is like we carved the damn promise into the fabric of our spiritual existence."

Ichigo ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as the gravity of the situation settled in. "So what you're saying is..." he began, his voice cautious, "if we screw this up, we're not just dead—we're spiritually annihilated?"

Kyra let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Oh, it could be worse than that, Kurosaki." She flopped back down beside him, staring up at the night sky like it held the answers to their impending doom. "If you break the vow, it won't just kill you. It could take me down with you. Or vice versa. We're tethered now. You feel me?"

Ichigo's eyes darkened slightly, the weight of her words settling in his chest like a stone. He didn't need her to spell it out again. He could sense the seriousness in her tone, the unspoken tension threading between them now tighter than ever. "Yeah..." he muttered, his voice low but firm. "I get it."

But getting it was one thing. Living with it was another.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose, his mind already working through the implications. He'd have to be careful—really careful—around Kyra now. No reckless moves. No split-second decisions. Not if it meant putting both their lives on the line.

"Guess we're stuck with each other," he finally said, his lips twitching into a wry, resigned smile.

Kyra snorted, the tension easing just a fraction. "Yeah, like a bad tattoo you can't get rid of " 

They fell into a quieter silence this time, not as heavy as before, but charged with something new—something fragile and dangerous. For a while, they just sat there, letting the waves and the distant hum of the city fill the space between them.

Then, after a long pause, Kyra sighed, her voice softer but tinged with reluctant acceptance. "Well, since we're officially soul-buddies or whatever..." She shot him a sidelong glance. "I guess I better start explaining how the hell I became a Shinigami. And maybe a few other things while I'm at it. Just to make sure this damn vow doesn't kill me."

Kyra shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. She stared out at the dark horizon, her eyes distant, as if the memories were playing out right there on the waves.

"It was a normal day," she began, her voice quieter now, lacking the usual sharpness. "As normal as it ever gets in Karakura, anyway." She let out a humorless chuckle, but it quickly faded. "I was working at a construction site. Nothing fancy, just another under-construction building in the middle of town. We were laying down the framework, bullshitting about nothing in particular, when it happened."

Ichigo stayed quiet, letting her words flow, feeling the shift in her tone—the rawness that came with revisiting something you'd rather forget.

"One second, everything was fine," Kyra continued, her fingers tightening around her legs. "And then—" She snapped her fingers, the sharp sound cutting through the night. "Boom. The whole place exploded. Just like that."

Ichigo's jaw clenched. He'd seen his fair share of sudden destruction, but hearing it like this—stripped of dramatic flair—hit differently.

"I didn't even know what was happening," Kyra muttered, her eyes narrowing as if trying to piece together the memory. "Dust and debris everywhere. My ears were ringing so loud I could barely hear myself think. But then, through all that mess, I saw it."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "A monster. Right in front of me. Big, grotesque, masked. It was fighting this guy—looked like he stepped out of some ancient painting. Robes, sword, the whole deal. But he wasn't winning. He was injured, bleeding all over the place, and I could tell... he was panicking."

Ichigo felt his chest tighten. He could picture it perfectly—the chaos, the fear. He'd been there before, standing in that same place, facing something beyond comprehension for the first time.

Kyra's gaze darkened. "The rest of the construction crew? Dead. Just like that. I was the only one left breathing—barely." She let out a sharp breath, the memory clearly clawing at the edges of her composure. "I was panicking. Everything was a blur. Blood dripping down my face, my head ringing like a damn church bell, and I—" She gave a short, bitter laugh. "I did the dumbest thing you could imagine."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt.

"I screamed," Kyra admitted, shaking her head like she still couldn't believe it. "What the hell is happening?! Right in the middle of it all." Her voice dipped into self-mockery, but there was a tremor underneath, something raw and unsettled. "Yeah, real smart, right? Bleeding out, surrounded by corpses, and I announce myself like an idiot."

Ichigo didn't laugh. He knew that kind of fear—the kind that grabs hold of you and makes you act before you can think. "Doesn't sound dumb to me," he said quietly.

Kyra glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone, but she didn't comment. Instead, her gaze drifted back to the horizon, her expression hardening.

"That's when the Shinigami noticed me," she said, her voice dropping to a bitter, almost disbelieving tone. "And then... his face lit up. Like he'd just found the perfect solution to all his problems." She let out a hollow laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Before I even knew what was happening, he stabbed me. Straight through the chest. Left the sword there like I was nothing more than a tool. And then—he ran."

Ichigo stiffened, his eyes narrowing as her words sank in. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, it was the sheer impossibility of it. The idea of a Shinigami abandoning their Zanpakutō, leaving it behind like some disposable tool, didn't make sense. It couldn't. A Zanpakutō wasn't just a weapon—it was a part of their very soul. The bond between a Shinigami and their blade was unbreakable, sacred.

But... If the binding vow is a real thing... then she couldn't be lying.

He stayed quiet, letting her continue, though his jaw was tight, and his breathing had sharpened.

Kyra's eyes darkened, her voice dropping into something rough and raw. "Before I could even process it, the Hollow was on me. This giant, monstrous thing, ready to rip me apart." She paused, swallowing hard, her hand subconsciously brushing over the spot on her chest where the sword had once been. "But then... I exploded."

Ichigo's breath caught. "Exploded?" he echoed, his voice a low whisper, the image forming in his mind both terrifying and surreal.

"Yeah," Kyra muttered, her lips twisting into a grim smile. "Reiatsu. It burst out of me like a damn bomb. The Hollow got hit hard—real hard. It wasn't dead, but it was messed up, like it didn't know what the hell just happened." She paused, her gaze distant as if reliving the moment. "And the weird part? I felt good. Better than I'd ever felt in my life. Like I was invincible."

Ichigo's heart pounded in his chest. He knew that feeling. That rush of power, the intoxicating surge of reiatsu flooding through your veins, making you feel like you could take on the world. But he also knew the danger of it. The way it could twist your instincts, blur the lines between control and chaos.

"You've felt it too, haven't you?" Kyra asked, her eyes flicking back to him, searching his face. "That raw power, the way it takes over."

Ichigo nodded slowly, his throat tight. "Yeah," he murmured. "I've felt it."

Kyra gave a small, knowing smile. "Then you get why I reacted the way I did." Her gaze grew sharper, more intense. "I picked up that bastard's sword and drove it straight through the Hollow's head. Purified it. Just like that."

Ichigo's breath hitched, his mind racing. He could picture it—the blood, the chaos, the sheer desperation—and then her standing there, victorious, holding a sword that wasn't hers, drenched in power that wasn't meant for her. The image sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of her story hung between them, heavy and undeniable.

Ichigo finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his voice low and rough. "That Shinigami... he used you." His words were laced with anger, unable to imagine any of his shinigami friends, doing something like that, Rukia doing something like that.

Kyra's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and something else "Yeah," she said quietly. "He did."

The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn't awkward. It was heavy, like they both knew there was more to be said.

Kyra finally broke it, her voice distant, like she was pulling the words from somewhere far away. "After that... things got weird. I started seeing things I couldn't explain. Shadows moving where they shouldn't, whispers in the dark. Hollows, souls... all of it. It was like someone ripped the blindfold off, and I couldn't unsee any of it."

Ichigo nodded slightly. He knew exactly what that felt like. Seeing souls had always been part of his life, but Hollows? Those were something else. It took him time to get used to them, even longer to not flinch when they showed up in his human form.

Kyra's voice softened, almost like she was speaking more to herself than to him. "I didn't know what was happening. I thought I was losing my mind. But the worst part wasn't the monsters..." She paused, swallowing hard. "It was telling my mom."

Ichigo's gaze shifted to her, quiet and attentive.

"She was everything to me," Kyra whispered, her fingers unconsciously tracing patterns into the wood beneath her. "Strong, stubborn... but she loved me. Loved me with everything she had. She raised me on her own after my dad bailed, worked two jobs—one at the church, the other cleaning offices at night. But no matter how tired she was, she always found time for me. We were... close." Her voice cracked on that last word.

Ichigo felt a pang in his chest. He knew what it was like to have that bond, that connection you didn't think could break. He thought of his own mom and the hole her death left behind.

Kyra let out a shaky breath. "When I told her what I saw, she didn't get mad. She didn't yell. She just... looked at me. Like her heart was breaking right in front of me. And then she said—" Kyra's voice hitched, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold it together. "She said the demons were coming for my soul."

Ichigo's throat tightened. He could almost hear the words, the fear behind them.

"She thought I was possessed," Kyra whispered, her eyes glassy. "But she still tried to save me. She gave me this old cross—" Kyra pulled out a small, worn X-shaped cross from under her shirt, its edges smooth from years of handling. "She told me to keep it close, that it would protect me from the evil inside me. She... she kissed my forehead and said a prayer like I was already gone."

A tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. "She didn't stop loving me. Even when she thought I was lost, she still held on. But I could see it in her eyes—she was terrified of me. For me." Kyra's shoulders trembled as more tears followed. "And I didn't know how to fix it."

Ichigo felt something deep inside him twist. He didn't know what to say—there wasn't anything to say. So, he did the only thing he could. He reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder, grounding her in the moment.

Kyra sucked in a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the cross. "A week later... Soul Society found me. And I never saw her again." Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the sound of the waves. "I never even got to say goodbye."

The silence that followed wasn't just heavy—it was suffocating. But Ichigo didn't let go. He stayed there, his hand firm, his presence steady. Because sometimes, just being there was enough.

After a long moment, Ichigo finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "I know what that feels like."

Kyra's eyes flicked toward him, surprise flickering behind the pain. She didn't interrupt, didn't push. She just waited.

Ichigo stared out at the ocean, the memories clawing their way up from the depths of his mind. "When my mom died... it was my fault." His throat tightened around the words, but he forced them out. "I was a kid. Thought I was helping someone, and she... she stepped in to protect me. I didn't even get to thank her. One second, she was there, and the next..." He trailed off, the familiar weight settling in his chest.

Kyra's hand slowly relaxed around the cross, her gaze softening as she listened. She didn't offer platitudes or empty words—just her attention.

"I thought if I could get stronger, if I could protect the people I cared about, maybe it'd make up for it." He let out a humorless chuckle. "But no matter how strong I got, it never felt like enough. It never brought her back."

For the first time that night, Kyra saw something raw and unguarded in him, something that mirrored her own pain. It wasn't just about loss—it was about the guilt that clung to both of them like a second skin.

She exhaled slowly, her voice softer now, fragile in a way Ichigo hadn't heard before. "It doesn't go away, does it? That feeling."

Ichigo shook his head, staring out at the dark horizon where the waves met the sky. "No. But... you learn to carry it. Day by day."

Kyra let out a bitter laugh, one that wasn't aimed at him but at the weight of the truth hanging between them. "You know that's bullshit, right?"

Ichigo's lips twitched, not into a smile but something close. Resignation, maybe. "Yeah... yeah, it is."

They sat there, the night stretching around them like a blanket they couldn't shake off. The ocean's rhythmic crash against the shore was the only sound between them for a while, grounding and unrelenting.

Kyra tilted her head back, eyes tracing the constellations that seemed indifferent to the mess of emotions tangled between them. "Some days, it feels lighter. Like maybe you've got it under control. But then it hits you out of nowhere—a smell, a sound, a memory—and it's like you're right back where you started."

Ichigo nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. Like you're drowning, but no one else sees it."

Kyra's hand drifted to the cross resting against her chest, her thumb running over its worn edges. "My mom used to say that faith could carry you through anything. That if you believed hard enough, you'd find peace." She snorted softly, shaking her head. "But believing didn't stop me from seeing her face every time I close my eyes."

Ichigo glanced at her, his gaze softening. "I don't think peace is something you find. Maybe it's just something you fight for."

Kyra met his eyes then, and for the first time, there wasn't sarcasm or sharpness in her gaze—just something raw and unguarded. "And what if you're too tired to fight?"

Ichigo's answer was simple, but it held the weight of everything he'd been through. "Then you find someone to fight with you."

After a moment, Kyra chuckled, the sound lighter this time, though her eyes still shimmered with unshed tears, as she understood what he is implying. "Damn it, Kurosaki. You're gonna make me all sentimental."

Ichigo smirked, the tension easing between them. "Yeah, well, don't expect me to hold your hand or anything."

Kyra laughed, shaking her head. "Wouldn't dream of it, soul-buddy."

They sat there a little longer, letting the night wash over them, not as strangers bound by a stupid vow, but as two people who'd seen too much, lost too much—and maybe, just maybe, found something in each other worth holding onto.

Eventually, Kyra sighed, pushing herself to her feet, dusting off her pants. "Well, I guess that's enough emotional shit for one night."

Ichigo still sitting, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah. Don't want people thinking we're getting soft."

Kyra shot him a playful glare. "Speak for yourself, Kurosaki."

Kyra glanced back at the distant lights of the Fullbringer base, her playful smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "I should probably head back. That party's probably gone to shit without me." She paused, then added with a shake of her head, "Not that it matters. Doubt it's gonna work out anyway."

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, still lounging on the sand. "Giving up already?"

She shrugged, her usual confidence dimmed. "It's not about giving up. Just... sometimes things don't click the way you think they will." Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. "Besides, someone's gotta keep those idiots from burning the place down."

Ichigo snorted, watching as she started to walk away, her silhouette growing smaller against the backdrop of the glowing city. "Good luck with that," he muttered under his breath.

But he didn't move. Instead, he stayed there, letting the cool night air wrap around him, the sound of the waves filling the quiet Kyra left behind. The moon hung high above, its pale light casting long shadows.

The raven shifted on his shoulder, its sharp green-and-black eyes reflecting the moonlight. Ichigo glanced at it, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Guess it's just you and me now, huh?"

The raven tilted its head, like it was listening.

Ichigo's smile faded as his thoughts drifted to the past, to the weight he carried deep inside. "You know... I used to have someone else to talk to. Two someones, actually." His voice dropped, rough around the edges. "Zangetsu. Both of them. The old man and... the Hollow."

The raven blinked, unmoving, like it understood more than it should.

"They were always there," Ichigo continued, his gaze fixed on the moon. "In my head, in every fight. Even when I didn't want them to be. The Hollow... he was a pain in the ass, always trying to take over. But he saved me more times than I can count." His jaw tightened. "And Zangetsu... he was my anchor. My guide."

The wind picked up, rustling the feathers of the raven, but it stayed silent, a quiet companion in the emptiness.

"But now?" Ichigo sighed, his shoulders sinking under the weight of his words. "They're gone. After everything... after Mugetsu, it's like they just... disappeared... And I sometimes wondered if I should disappear with them also. " 

The raven let out a soft, low caw, almost like a whisper.

Ichigo chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know. It's stupid, right? Missing voices in your head, wishing to kill yourself over them." He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes tracing the stars. "But it's more than that. They were a part of me. Losing them... it's like losing pieces of who I was."

The silence stretched out again, but it wasn't heavy. It was reflective, like the ocean mirroring the moon.

Ichigo closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool breeze wash over him. "Guess you're stuck with me now," he murmured to the raven. "Hope you don't mind a little baggage."

The raven's claws tightened slightly on his shoulder, a small, grounding pressure that felt oddly comforting.

...

" If only you knew. "

The voice cut through the night like a blade, low and familiar, threading into his bones. Ichigo's heart skipped. He spun around instinctively, eyes scanning the moonlit beach, the shadows stretching long and empty. Nothing. Just the endless expanse of sand and the rhythmic crash of waves.

But he knew he'd heard it.

That voice—it wasn't just familiar. It was the voice. The one he'd heard when he first woke up after losing everything.

A cold shiver prickled down his spine.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned back toward the water. The ocean was dark, the moonlight rippling over its surface. He shifted his gaze to the shallow pool at his feet, the reflection staring back at him. His own face, unchanged. No flicker of movement, no shadowy double staring back with a smirk or hollow eyes.

Nothing.

But that didn't ease the tension tightening in his chest.

"What are you implying with that?" Ichigo asked quietly, his voice steady despite the unease coiling inside him.

The reflection didn't move. No answer. Just the faint sound of waves lapping at the shore and the distant hum of the city behind him.

Ichigo stared for a long moment, waiting—hoping—for something, anything. But the stillness remained.

He exhaled sharply, forcing out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The tension in his shoulders eased just enough for a bitter chuckle to escape his lips. "I've definitely watched too many movies."

But even as he said it, the weight of that voice lingered in the back of his mind, like a phantom pressing against the edges of his thoughts. The raven shifted again on his shoulder, its sharp eyes flicking toward him with an intelligence that felt almost too knowing.

Ichigo frowned, glancing at the bird. "You heard that too, didn't you?"

The raven didn't respond—of course, it didn't—but its gaze didn't waver. It was as if it understood something Ichigo didn't, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

With a sigh, Ichigo leaned back, letting his body sink into the cool sand. The moon hung high, indifferent and cold, and Ichigo stared up at it, his thoughts swirling like the tide. 

To be continued !

So do you guys wana know why Kyra was never able to say goodbye to her mom ever again ? What do you think happened to her ?

Also what do you think about the story so far ?

Well you can join my discord to ask me these questions and get awnsers. 

https://discord.gg/7SwQYNR9z3