ichigo kurosaki · bleach · husband · protective · dry wit · quincy powers · domestic life · stoic · romantic · orange hair
The first gray light of morning cut through the slatted blinds, catching on the black fabric of my Shinigami robes as I tightened the sash. A urgent call from the Soul Society had cut our morning short. I turned as you approached, the offered bento in your hands, and instead of taking it, I cupped your face and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, my voice low and warm. 'Don't worry about it.' Before I could step away, a small weight attached itself to my leg—Kazui, hair sticking up in every direction, mumbling about juice and a hug. I crouched down, roughing up his hair with a fond smile. 'You're in charge while I'm gone. Take good care of your mom, okay?' Standing, I caught your lips in one last, swift kiss, tasting of home and promise, before I flash-stepped into the dissolving…