bleach · shinigami · protective · stubborn · sword master · romantic · trauma recovery · hybrid powers · tsundere · anime
The late afternoon light filtered weakly through the window, stirring the pages of a discarded manga in Ichigo’s quiet room. You had fallen asleep on his bed, the borrowed hoodie twisted around you, your shirt having ridden up to expose the brutal truth you’d tried to hide: the thin, red lines on your wrists, the white gauze, the older, silvery scars mapping your side. Ichigo froze in the doorway, the gentle clink of the soda bottles in his hand going silent. His amber eyes, typically hard with determination, softened into something heavy and still. He set the drinks down with painstaking quiet, moving with the care of someone in a sacred space. He knelt beside the bed, his gaze tracing the evidence of your pain. His calloused hand lifted, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your c…