The morning light hits my face before I'm ready for it, a warm, accusing glow through the curtains. My ribs ache from every breath, each inhale a reminder of last night — the Hollow, the panic, the lightning still buzzing in my bones.
Then impact.
A sudden, crushing weight lands right on my side — a child-sized missile of pure chaos.
"Daddy!" Ashelyn giggles, followed by Aloy's high-pitched squeal of laughter as she clambers up onto the couch.
Pain explodes through my ribs like a lightning strike. "AAAH—!" I jerk upright, clutching my side as a white-hot pulse runs up my chest. "Oh my god—!"
The girls tumble off me with startled yelps, wide-eyed and shaking. For a second, I'm not even in control — the pain's that bad. My hand curls into a fist, every muscle tense, screaming for an outlet.
Before I even think, I slam my fist through the drywall. The sound is sharp, like thunder in a quiet room.
The house goes still.
Aloy's lip trembles. Ashelyn hides behind a pillow, her laughter replaced by silence. And just like that, guilt hits harder than the pain ever could.
"D—Daddy?!" Freya's voice. My eldest daughter, eleven and sharp, pokes her head into the living room. Her blue eyes are full of worry. "Are you okay? Why are you crying?"
I touch my face. Damn it. I am crying. From pain, from exhaustion, from everything.
I meet Freya's concerned eyes with a weak expression mixing pain, apology and fatigue.
Before I can answer, Kerstie storms in like a thundercloud, scooping up Aloy with the instinctive fury of a mother bear. "Orion! What the hell was that?!"
Her voice cuts through me, sharper than the cracked ribs.
"I—" I start, swallowing the ache, the truth, all of it. "I slipped. Fell on the curb last night. Must've bruised a rib or something." My voice comes out in a breathy rasp.
"Slipped?" she repeats, her glare full of disbelief and fatigue. "You scared the kids half to death! You can't lose your temper like that!"
I want to tell her I wasn't angry at them. That the pain just hijacked my body for a second. But I know how that sounds. She's always been on my case about how I express myself when angry or in pain.
So I just nod, jaw clenched. "You're right. I'm sorry."
She sighs, one of those long, sharp exhales that sound like surrender and frustration at the same time. "I'm taking the kids to my mother's for the day. Maybe the night. You need to… figure out whatever this is."
Within the span of ten minutes the kids are all piled in the car with a couple bags of overnight clothes.
The door shuts behind them with a heavy thud, leaving the house quiet again. My hand still trembles as I stare at the dented drywall, blood mixing with dust on my knuckles.
The silence feels heavier than before.
Before long, the silence after they leave feels almost sacred. For what feels like the first time all morning, there's no crying, no arguing, no weight on my ribs. Just stillness.
Exhaling a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, I enter the kitchen. My knuckles sting as I rinse the drywall dust off under cold water. There's blood — not much, but enough to remind me how close I was to losing control.
"Great start to the day," I mutter under my breath.
I start frying a couple of eggs, pour a mug of coffee, and stand in the kitchen staring out the window while the pan hisses quietly. I should feel guilty — and I do, kinda — but mostly, I feel… grateful. Grateful for the silence. Grateful that Kerstie decided to take the kids to her mom's. She thinks she's punishing me, but honestly, it's a mercy.
At least now I can think.
I lean against the counter, cradling the warm mug in my hands. The bitter smell of coffee helps me focus. My thoughts wander back to the Hollow, to the way its mask cracked under lightning, to the stranger with the fan and that damn hat who stepped in at the last moment.
"Who the hell was that guy?" I murmur.
Then my mind drifts where it always seems to now — to Rukia. Her violet eyes. The way her voice steadied me without even trying.
"When will I see you again?" I whisper to nobody.
My thoughts drift to my friends and family. I laugh once, a dry, humorless sound. Who would even believe me if I told them?
"Hey guys, turns out monsters are real, and I've been moonlighting as a half-dead lightning wizard." Yeah. That'd go over great in the group chat.
I take a slow sip of coffee, staring into the swirl of steam as if my pumpkin spice creamer might form an answer.
I don't know how to reach her. I don't even know where she is. But somehow, deep down, I can feel that faint hum of her spiritual energy, distant, yet connected. Like a radio signal buried under static.
And for now… that has to be enough.
The late afternoon sun spilled across the white stone paths of the Seireitei as we left the Women's Association meeting, the chatter echoing lightly against the walls. Rangiku stretched her arms above her head with a lazy sigh that threatened to spill her cleavage out of her uniform.
"Well, that was boring," she groaned. "We spent an hour debating kimono patterns and still didn't decide on anything."
Kiyone perked up, clutching her clipboard. "That's because you kept changing the subject to sake brands, Rangiku!"
"I was trying to make it more interesting," Rangiku protested, her lips curling into a grin. "Besides, everyone could use a drink after Yamamoto's lectures on decorum yesterday."
Momo laughed softly, shaking her head. "I think the Captain-Commander would combust if he heard you say that."
Rukia smiled faintly, listening but not quite there. Her thoughts were miles away, caught between the world of the living and the memory of lightning under a violet sky.
Rangiku noticed. Of course she did. The woman could read emotional shifts like others read tea leaves. She slowed her steps until she was walking beside Rukia, a sly glint in her blue eyes.
"Alright, spill it," Rangiku said, voice sing-song. "You've been quiet all meeting, and that little smile isn't your duty and paperwork smile. What's his name?"
Rukia blinked, caught off guard. "What—? Rangiku, that's absurd."
"Oh-ho-ho!" Rangiku smirked triumphantly. "That reaction! You never get flustered unless I hit the mark."
Kiyone gasped, nearly tripping over her sandals. "Wait, Rukia-san, is there someone?!"
Momo flushed, looking scandalized. "Kiyone! Don't pry—"
"I'm not prying!" Kiyone protested, "I'm just…curious!"
Rukia's composure strained under their playful stares. "I am not—" she started, then hesitated, biting her lip. Her spiritual pressure wavered faintly, betraying what her voice tried to hide.
Rangiku's grin softened into something more knowing. "You are, aren't you?" she murmured. "You've got that look — the 'he's driving me crazy but I can't stop thinking about him' look."
Rukia's steps slowed. "It's… complicated."
"Complicated?" Kiyone repeated, her eyes wide. "Like 'different squads complicated,' or 'forbidden romance complicated'?"
Rukia sighed. "More like… 'different worlds' complicated."
That silenced the group for a beat. Even Rangiku looked genuinely curious now.
Momo tilted her head. "You mean someone from the living world?"
Rukia didn't answer directly, her gaze drifting upward toward the brilliant blue sky, almost lost in a memory.
Rangiku hummed thoughtfully, linking her arms with Rukia's. "Well, whatever it is, you look… lighter," she said softly. "Maybe that's what you needed. Even if it's complicated."
Rukia managed a small smile. "Maybe."
As they continued down the path, Kiyone chattered about dress fabrics and Momo scolded Rangiku for teasing too much, but Rukia barely heard them. Her heart was still tangled between two worlds, and one man she couldn't let herself forget.
Rangiku's grin sharpened as the conversation drifted. "Wait a second…" she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "A man from the living world, huh? Don't tell me it's Ichigo Kurosaki."
Rukia nearly tripped. "W–what? Rangiku!"
"Aha!" Rangiku's laughter rang out like wind chimes. "I knew it! I always thought there was something between you two. All that brooding and saving each other's lives? Classic romantic setup!"
Kiyone gasped dramatically. "Ichigo? The substitute Soul Reaper? Rukia-san, really?"
Momo smiled awkwardly, clearly torn between amusement and embarrassment. "Kiyone, don't start rumors…"
Rangiku waved a hand dismissively, eyes still locked on Rukia. "Oh, come on, it's just girl talk! I mean, he is handsome in that rough-around-the-edges way — strong, dependable, those serious eyes…" She sighed dreamily, then smirked. "But personally, he's a little too stoic for my taste. I like men who make more noise when you tease them."
Kiyone groaned. "Rangiku!"
Rukia crossed her arms, trying to maintain her composure, though her face had turned a faint shade of pink. "You're completely mistaken. Kurosaki and I are friends. That's all."
"Mm-hmm," Rangiku hummed, unconvinced. "You know, you said that with the same tone people use when they're trying to convince themselves."
Rukia glared at her, but the effect was softened by the faint twitch of a smile. "You're insufferable."
"Thank you," Rangiku said cheerfully. "But I'm still not buying it. You've got that glow, Rukia, it's not from paperwork or sword practice. Something's stirring that quiet heart of yours."
Rukia looked away, her gaze distant again, but this time, she didn't deny it.
Momo noticed the subtle change and tilted her head. "You're thinking of someone else, aren't you?"
Rukia's lips parted, but she said nothing. The silence spoke enough.
Rangiku caught that flicker and her grin softened into something more curious than teasing. "Whoever he is… he must be interesting," she murmured, almost approvingly.
Rukia's expression turned wistful. "Interesting doesn't even begin to cover it."
Rangiku tilted her head, lips curling into a sly grin. "So, who is this mysterious man that's got you all flustered, hmm?"
Rukia stiffened, keeping her gaze forward. "He's… nobody you know."
Rangiku let out a playful hum, leaning closer with mock suspicion. "Oh, if that's the case, then it shouldn't matter if you tell us his name, right?"
Kiyone practically bounced on her toes. "Yeah! If we don't know him, no harm done!"
Rukia's violet eyes flicked briefly toward them — too quickly, too defensively. "It's not important," she said curtly, her tone softening a second later. "He's just… someone I met while on duty."
Momo glanced at her quietly, concern replacing curiosity, while Rangiku's smirk only deepened. "'Just someone,' huh? Rukia, you're a terrible liar."
Rukia flushed, torn between exasperation and guilt. "Drop it, Rangiku," she muttered under her breath, quickening her pace, but her friends' knowing laughter followed close behind.
Rangiku leaned in with a grin that spelled trouble. "Come on, Rukia," she said, sing-song. "You've been dodging all of my questions. Just admit it—did you two do it?"
Rukia froze mid stride like a statue. "WHAT!? Rangiku!" she hissed, face turning the color of a ripe tomato.
Kiyone yelped, her gloved hands flying up. "Rangiku! You can't just ask that!"
"Oh, please," Rangiku said, waving her hand dismissively. "We're all adults here—mostly." She threw Momo a playful look.
Momo turned beet red. "Rangiku! That's so improper!"
Rangiku ignored them, locking onto Rukia like a cat on a laser pointer. "So? Was it passionate? Did the world shake? Did he at least have good reiatsu control?"
Rukia's eye twitched. "I'm not talking about this!" she snapped, her voice higher than usual.
"Oooh, defensive," Rangiku teased, elbowing Kiyone. "That's definitely a yes."
Kiyone groaned. "Rangiku, stop corrupting Lieutenant Kuchiki!"
Rangiku smirked and leaned closer to Rukia. "I'm just saying, if you don't tell me what happened, I'm going to assume he swept you off your feet and—"
"RANGIKU!"
The shout echoed down the walkway, startling a pair of passing squad members. Rangiku just laughed, tossing her hair. "Fine, fine. You don't have to say it," she said with a sly grin. "Your face already did."
The four women walked through Seireitei's quiet streets, their laughter slowly fading into the cool breeze. The afternoon light gleamed on white walls, reflecting off the tiled roofs that lined the path toward the Thirteenth Division barracks.
Rukia walked further ahead of her companions, her thoughts circling like restless birds. The others were still talking — Rangiku's teasing voice rising and falling, but she barely heard them.
Something had gnawed at her chest for most of the day now. A weight. A pulse.
A familiar spiritual pressure had brushed her senses earlier that day — faint, unstable, burning with lightning.
Orion.
She swallowed hard. No. I'm overthinking. He's fine. He must be fine.
"Rukia?" Rangiku's voice snapped her back. "You've gone quiet again." Rukia blinked, forcing a small smile. "Just tired, that's all."
Rangiku arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Tired, or worried?"
Rukia's steps faltered once more, an annoying new habit forming from Rangiku's constant pressing. "...Both, maybe." Rukia admitted.
Momo looked concerned. "You've been tense all day. Did something happen?"
Rukia hesitated, then shook her head. "Nothing. I just… have a strange feeling. Like something's wrong."
Rangiku's lips curled into a sly smirk. "A woman's intuition, hm? Maybe that mystery man of yours is in trouble."
"Rangiku!" Momo scolded, cheeks pink.
But Rukia didn't bite this time. Her violet eyes were thoughtful, troubled.
Kiyone tilted her head, confused. "Is this about your assignment in the Living World? I thought it was over."
"It was," Rukia said quietly. Then she stopped walking. "But I think… I need to make sure something's okay."
Rangiku folded her arms under her chest, smirking knowingly. "Oh, I bet you do."
Rukia shot her a sharp glare, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "It's not like that," she muttered, and even she wasn't sure if she believed it.
Momo stepped closer, worry written across her face. "Rukia, if you go without clearance, Captain Ukitake—"
"I'll let him know," Rukia interrupted, her voice steady now. She turned to Kiyone. "Can you tell the Captain I've gone to handle some unfinished business in the Living World? I'll return as soon as possible."
Kiyone hesitated, glancing between the others, but eventually nodded. "Of course, Lieutenant Kuchiki." Her tone suddenly became more formal.
"Good," Rukia said softly.
As she turned to leave, Rangiku gave a teasing little hum. "Don't forget to bring back souvenirs, hmm? Preferably tall and handsome ones."
Rukia rolled her eyes but smiled faintly as she adjusted her uniform. "You're impossible."
"Mm, but you love me for it."
With that, Rukia vanished in a flash of reiryoku, her form streaking toward the Senkaimon gates.
Momo sighed. "I hope she doesn't get in trouble…"
Rangiku watched the sky where Rukia disappeared, her smirk softening into something more serious. "Trouble or not… whoever's got her this worried must be something special."
The cold from the ice pack bit into my side, a sharp reminder of how close things had gotten last night.
I hissed quietly, adjusting it against my ribs until the pain dulled to a steady throb. At least it was Saturday.
No school runs, no chaos — no Kerstie.
The house felt strange when it was empty. Too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. The faint dent in the drywall near the couch caught my eye, a pale scar in the morning light.
"Yeah…" I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "That's a later problem."
I turned on some music — lo-fi and soft j-rock — letting it fill the silence.
The scent of fresh smokey sage fills the air as I light some incense to help relax. My phone buzzed with the usual flood of memes and chaos from the group chat. I smiled faintly. Same five idiots, same cursed energy.
Typing with my free hand, I sent:
"Hey guys, what would you do if you suddenly got magic powers and a relationship with a death god? Asking for a friend."
The replies started rolling in fast.
Nico: "Easy. Start a OnlySpirits account. Haunt responsibly."
Eli: "Bro I'd make lightning coffee. Zap it till it's good."
Jake: "Smash the death god. Obvious answer."
Sam: "Wait— like actual Shinigami? Dude, that's wild. You'd have to hide your spiritual energies or demons would hunt you. Also… death gods don't just 'date' mortals. That just sounds like asking for trouble."
I stared at Sam's message longer than I meant to.
He always had a knack for turning jokes into reality checks.
"Yeah, asking for trouble…" I murmured.
I let the phone fall onto my chest, the light from the screen fading as I stared at the ceiling.
The banter in the chat scrolled on without me — jokes, emojis, dumb gifs — but my thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.
Back to the lightning.
Back to her.
Rukia's violet eyes, the warmth of her reiatsu, the way she said we'll figure this out together.
The room felt smaller all of a sudden.
I sighed, closing my eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do now…?"
There was a knock at the door that broke the zen atmosphere I had constructed. The knocks were sharp, even and deliberate.
I barely glanced up from the couch, too comfortable in my half-dead sprawl to care. "Door's open," I called out, assuming it was one of the kids or maybe a neighbor.
The latch clicked.
Soft footsteps crossed the floor.
Then that voice, quiet but sure.
"Orion."
My heart almost stopped. I jerked upright so fast my ribs screamed bloody murder.
"Rukia!? What— how— you can't just appear in my living room!"
She stood there perfectly composed, as if stepping out of the afterlife into my house was the most normal thing in the world. Her gigai blended in seamlessly — human skin tone, a casual blue sun dress and sandals, even the faint trace of perfume.
"You told me to come in," she said evenly, though her eyes softened when they met mine.
"Yeah, that's one of those figure of speech things," I grumbled, still trying to catch up with reality. "You know, like 'make yourself at home,' not 'materialize through dimensions into my actual home.'"
Her lips twitched — almost a smile, but not quite. "I sensed your reiatsu from the Soul Society," she said instead, her tone dipping serious. "It was faint… chaotic. I was worried."
That made me blink. "Wait, wait— you sensed me from another world? You're telling me I set off the Rukia radar from a whole different plane of existence?"
Her expression didn't change. "You were in danger?"
I scratched the back of my neck, trying not to look too impressed. "Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. Big ugly thing tried to eat me last night. Looked like a wendigo that got stuck halfway through a horn-growth spurt. You know— Japan's finest cryptid, pretty sure they call em yokai."
Her brow furrowed. "A Hollow?"
"Yeah, that sounds about right. Mask, claws, and junk." I gestured vaguely, as if painting and abstract in the air in front of me. "Didn't exactly leave me a business card."
She stepped closer, concern bleeding through her composure. "How did you survive?"
I shrugged, trying to sound casual despite the ache in my ribs. "Mostly by running. Yelled a few obscenities, almost tried shooting it — which, by the way, don't work on ghosts so I started using what you taught me — then I may or may not have accidentally electrocuted myself while experimenting with the streetlight…"
I pause for a moment considering what I had just said. "No electrocution would mean death, more like I was shocked or zapped. I've endured too many pedantic lectures from coworkers over the difference over the years."
Her eyes widened slightly. "…You used your powers?"
"Yeah," I said, exhaling. "Or my powers used me, still not sure which."
For a moment, her reiatsu flickered, faint, but emotional, like a pulse beneath calm water. I couldn't tell if it was relief or worry.
"So…" I tried to ease the tension with a crooked smile, "…how've you been since last time? Still yelling at overzealous subordinates and trying not to commit workplace homicide?" I couldn't have known those things specifically, but the joke just rolled off my tongue, feeling like it fit.
A faint laugh escaped her, light but real. "Something like that," she admitted, sitting delicately on the edge of the couch across from me. "Though it seems I wasn't the only one dealing with chaos."
"Yeah," I murmured, watching her out of the corner of my eye. "Looks like trouble runs on lightning these days."
Rukia's expression softened the moment she stepped into the living room. Her violet eyes flicked over me once, assessing. "You're hurt," she said quietly, the words carrying more accusation than question.
I tried for nonchalance, waving a hand. "It's nothing serious. Just a bruise or two. I've had worse from slipping on the ice back home."
Her eyes narrowed, unimpressed. "You're a terrible liar, Orion."
Before I could come up with another excuse, she crossed the space between us in two swift steps. Her presence filled the room like a steady current of spiritual pressure—cool, restrained, but undeniably potent.
"I'll make some tea," I said, hoping the motion might distract her. "Oolong or green?"
"I'll have the green later," she replied softly, though her tone brooked no argument. "Right now, sit."
There was no point in arguing. I sat.
She knelt beside me with quiet grace, her movements deliberate as she removed my T-shirt. Cool air touched my skin just before her fingers did. Her hands were small but sure as they brushed along my ribs, clinical, but the faint warmth of her touch betrayed concern.
"Still insisting you're fine?" she murmured.
I hissed when her thumb found the edge of the bruise. "It's just a little sore," I said through gritted teeth. "Guess that's what I get for picking a fight with something I can't actually punch."
Her brows furrowed. "So it was a hollow."
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Thing came out of nowhere. Looked like something straight out of a horror flick—jagged mask, long arms, the whole deal."
Her jaw tightened. "You should have been warned."
"Rukia, it's not your fault." I tried to laugh, but it came out strained. "Besides, I didn't even kill it."
Her gaze snapped up. "You didn't?"
"Nope. Some guy showed up—hat, clogs, a fan. Didn't say much, just stepped in and obliterated the thing like it was a mosquito. Didn't even give his name."
Something flickered in her expression, recognition maybe, before she looked away. "Kisuke…" she whispered under her breath.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said too quickly. Her tone softened. "I'm just relieved you weren't alone."
"Yeah," I murmured. "Me too." I leaned back against the couch, wincing at the motion. "I don't think I'd be here if he hadn't shown up."
For a moment, the silence between us was heavy, but not uncomfortable. The kind of quiet where words weren't necessary, just shared space and unspoken thoughts.
Then Rukia's eyes flicked toward the dent in the drywall. "Your family… they're not here?"
I exhaled through my nose. "No. Kerstie took the kids to her mom's. I—uh—might've put my fist through the wall this morning."
Her brow rose slightly. "You what?"
"In my defense," I said, raising a hand, "I got jumped. By my own kids. On cracked ribs."
Rukia's expression softened, her spiritual pressure ebbing like a tide retreating. "I see."
"Yeah," I muttered, rubbing at the back of my neck. "So now it's just me, my busted ribs, and an empty house. Peaceful, in a way."
She looked at me for a long moment, somewhere between pity and affection flickering in her eyes. Then her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Yeah," I said, my voice low. "I get that a lot, but I'm your impossible too."
Her cheeks flushed faintly, a color like sunrise blooming across her face. For the first time since she'd arrived, the air between us felt lighter—charged not with tension, but something gentler.
The steam from the kettle filled the air with a faint hiss. Rukia had insisted on making the tea herself, waving off my protests with that firm little look she gave when she'd already made up her mind.
Now she was sitting beside me, a small porcelain cup in her hands. She glanced over as I sipped.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, offering a faint smile. "Didn't expect to get room service today, but I'll take it."
She gave me that dry, unimpressed look she was good at. "You're lucky I came when I did. You're worse at self-care than most humans I've met."
I chuckled, wincing at the sting in my ribs. "Guess I'm setting a new low bar."
Her fingers brushed lightly over the bruised skin again, glowing faintly with healing energy. The warmth seeped into me, easing the ache until it was just a dull throb. For a while, neither of us said anything.
Then, without really planning to, I murmured, "I missed you."
Her hand froze. "You what?"
"I know, it's weird," I said quickly, half-laughing at myself. "We barely know each other, but… after that night, after all the insanity—I just kept thinking about you. Not just the Soul Reaper thing, or the… weird magnetism between us."
She raised an eyebrow. "Magnetism?"
"You know what I mean," I said with a smirk. "That thing where you keep showing up in my head when I'm trying to focus on literally anything else."
Her lips curved, trying not to smile.
"I just want to actually know you," I said, quieter now. "Like… really know you. The person, not just the death god who drops by patching me up and making my life more confusing."
Rukia's gaze softened. "You're strange," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Most people wouldn't react this way after seeing what you've seen."
I shrugged. "Maybe I'm just wired wrong. Or maybe I've seen enough weirdness in my own life that meeting a Soul Reaper was just the next logical step."
She shook her head, but the faintest smile tugged at her mouth. "You joke too easily."
"It's a defense mechanism," I said. "Works better than therapy, half the time."
That earned me a small laugh, the first genuine one of the afternoon.
We talked for hours after that. About small things, big things. Her childhood in Rukongai, my misadventures as a dad, her sense of duty, my stubborn streak. It felt easy in a way that shouldn't have been possible between two people from different worlds.
At some point, the light outside had dimmed to amber. Rukia's teacup sat forgotten beside her. I didn't realize how close she'd leaned until I could feel her breath.
Her eyes lingered on mine, searching for something, maybe permission, maybe courage. And then she kissed me.
It wasn't like the first time. This one was slower, hesitant, burdened with too many questions neither of us could answer. When she finally pulled back, she didn't move far.
Her voice trembled slightly. "What are you going to do?"
I stared at her for a long moment, the question echoing between us like a heartbeat. My wife. My kids. This woman from another world. Everything tangled into something I couldn't untie.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I know I don't want to lose you."
She looked down, conflicted, but didn't move away.
And for that moment—just that one—we both pretended the world wasn't waiting to tear us in two.