I moved downstairs quietly, the old house creaking in ways I'd grown used to in the year we had lived here. From the fridge I pulled one of the hard lemonades left over from some half-forgotten get-together, filled my novelty stein with ice like I was classing it up, and grabbed the slightly crumpled cigarillo I'd been saving for no good reason.
My vices gathered, I stepped out into the cool night air.
It tasted almost sweet after the hospital dust, blood, and ozone. The suburb was mostly dark, porch lights and street lamps washing out most of the stars, but a stubborn few still held their ground overhead. Living on the outer edge of Karakura had its perks—just enough woods nearby for crickets to stage their nightly symphony.
I flicked the lighter open out of habit—then paused.
Instead, I let a thread of lightning crawl across my fingertip and touched it to the cigarillo. Ember flared to life instantly.
"…Why did I even grab a lighter?" I muttered.
I looked down at it. The cheap plastic body still read Lucky in faded letters, complete with a tiny picture of a cartoon horseshoe and clover. A disposable lighter I'd found on the ground years ago. It had no business still working.
Maybe it actually was lucky.
I pocketed it anyway.
The first drag burned warm and grounding. Lemonade cold in one hand, smoke in the other. Crickets. Wind through distant trees. The quiet hum of a world pretending it wasn't layered over another one entirely.
Domestic simplicity.
Earlier today I'd been pinned to a wall by a tentacled Hollow in a hospital corridor. Now I was standing barefoot on my own back step like some suburban dad contemplating lawn fertilizer.
The contrast was almost absurd.
I exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward into the dark.
And then—
There it was.
Not subtle. Not imagined.
A presence brushed against my senses like cold water down my spine. Familiar. Precise. Clean in a way my own reiatsu never quite was.
I didn't even need to turn my head.
Rukia.
I would know that spiritual pressure anywhere.
It wasn't flaring aggressively. Just… there. Controlled. Measured. Close enough that she wasn't hiding.
My pulse quickened before I could stop it.
Of course she felt me. After today, my reiatsu probably spiked like a lighthouse beacon.
Guilt hit first.
Then something warmer. Sharper. Alive in a way that felt dangerous.
I took another slow drag, steadying myself, eyes scanning the dark edge of the yard where the tree line blurred into shadow.
The crickets didn't stop.
The night didn't change.
But it no longer felt empty.
I couldn't help the smile that pulled at my mouth. I took a slow drag, exhaled a lazy plume into the night.
"Miss me already, Rukia?"
She stepped out of the darkness in a clean flash of shunpo, reiryoku snapping into place around her like frost forming on glass. No gigai. No attempt to blend in. Just her—Shihakusho catching faint porch light, hair shifting with the aftercurrent of her movement.
Her eyes locked on me immediately.
"I was worried," she said, breath slightly uneven—not from exertion, from emotion. "I felt your spiritual pressure spike all the way from Soul Society. It was violent. Sloppy. Worse than before." She closed the distance between us, sharp gaze scanning me head to toe. "What were you doing, you idiot?"
Relief and reprimand braided tightly in her voice.
I lifted my hands in mock surrender, stein sloshing slightly. "Sorry. I was with a friend. We got ambushed by some panther-looking Hollow—Adheara. Nasty piece of work. Didn't expect to get jumped while trying to keep someone safe." I huffed a quiet laugh. "You get extra credit, by the way. Protecting humans while fighting? That's harder than it looks. I nearly died."
Her jaw tightened at that.
She stepped closer—close enough that I could feel the chill of her reiatsu against my skin, close enough that the night air between us felt charged.
"You nearly died," she repeated, softer now. Not scolding. Processing.
Her hand hovered near my chest like she was debating whether to check for wounds physically or spiritually. Her eyes—those impossible violet eyes—searched my face with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
She was beautiful when she was worried.
Infuriatingly beautiful.
"You're injured," she said quietly. Not a question.
"Mostly healed," I replied. "Orihime helped. I didn't let her finish."
Rukia's brows drew together. "Of course you didn't."
There it was. That dry, unimpressed cadence. Captain-tier judgment packed into five syllables.
She exhaled slowly, tension easing just a fraction now that she'd confirmed I was standing, breathing, intact.
"I suppose you were going to meet her sooner or later."
Her gaze flicked to the cigarillo between my fingers.
"I didn't take you for a smoker."
"I'm not," I said easily. "Special occasions. Near-death experiences. Somber night walks." I took another drag. "This is classified information. Very exclusive. Kerstie doesn't even know. She'd divorce me on the spot if she caught me smoking."
Rukia's expression shifted—just slightly. Something unreadable passed through her eyes at the mention of my wife. Not jealousy exactly. Not accusation.
Just reality.
"I have no interest in your human domestic disputes," she said coolly, though she didn't step away. "But if you're going to poison your lungs, at least don't do it sloppily."
I chuckled "No worries, there's a proper technique to cigars, I don't actually inhale in the lungs, just let it fill my mouth."
A small plume floated lazily from my lips.
I grinned at her, unable to resist. "Besides. You're good at keeping secrets, aren't you?"
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
"I am a Soul Reaper," she said. "Keeping secrets is part of the job."
A beat.
Then, quieter—softer in a way she rarely allowed—"And I don't betray the people I… care about."
The word was precise. Measured.
But it landed like a confession anyway.
The night seemed smaller with her this close. The crickets faded into background noise. I became acutely aware of the distance between us—just inches—and the line we were constantly pretending not to cross.
"You shouldn't have had to face something like that alone," she added, almost to herself. "Your control wavered. I could feel it. You were angry."
I looked away toward the tree line.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I was."
Her gaze softened again. Not pity. Understanding.
"You're still learning," she said. "Power without discipline will always feel unstable. That doesn't make you weak."
"I felt weak," I muttered. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.
She stepped closer still—close enough that if I turned my head slightly our foreheads would touch.
"You survived," she said firmly. "You protected someone. And you are still here."
Her hand finally settled lightly against my chest, over my heart. Cool. Steady.
"I came because I was afraid I would arrive too late."
My breath caught.
For a moment, I forgot about the stein in my hand. The cigarillo. The house behind me with my sleeping children and migraine-ridden wife.
There was just her.
Worried. Fierce. Here.
I let out a slow breath, smoke curling upward between us from my hand.
"Well," I said quietly, softer now, as I set the "guess I'll have to keep surviving then."
Her lips twitched faintly.
"You will," she said. "Because if you die doing something reckless and foolish, I will drag your soul back myself just to lecture you."
I laughed under my breath.
Yeah.
"I'd expect no less."
I set my drink down on the porch and flicked the half-smoked cigarillo into the dirt before pulling Rukia into a kiss. It was quick—pure impulse.
It always felt a little strange, my physical body meeting her soul form, like two things that shouldn't quite connect somehow deciding to ignore the rules. Yet it worked, and I savored the familiar softness of her lips.
She stiffened in surprise, caught completely off guard. For a split second she resisted, hands pressing weakly against my chest, but that resistance melted as easily as I drew her closer.
"You taste like lemons and tobacco," she muttered when we parted, her nose wrinkling. The disgust in her voice clashed beautifully with the faint flush creeping into her cheeks. "You can't just kiss me like that… not when she's here."
Rukia somehow managed to look stern, flustered, and unfairly adorable all at once.
But she didn't pull away.
Instead, she rose onto her toes, fingers curling into my shirt as she grabbed my face and kissed me back. For the briefest moment, I felt that familiar spark as our lips met again and her tongue shyly tangled with mine.
"You're such an idiot," she breathed.
"It's fine," I murmured, still a little dazed. "She's asleep. So are the kids."
I looked into her violet eyes, shimmering softly in the dim light like galaxies. For a moment, it really did feel like we were the only two people in the—
"Well, I'm not."
Matthew's voice cut through the night like a blade.
My blood ran cold.
My heart stopped outright.
I turned so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet.
When did he—
Of course. His stupid, infuriating ninja ability to sneak up on people. He'd bragged about it for years, and somehow never actually experienced it until now.
That sharp, electric jolt of panic ripped through my chest harder than any Hollow's claws ever had. My body reacted before my brain could catch up—shoulders tensing, reiatsu spiking reflexively like a startled animal.
Matthew stood there near the edge of the porch, arms loosely crossed, leaning with that infuriating casualness he had mastered. Freshly showered. My clothes. Barefoot. Completely unfazed.
Watching.
"Uh, Matthew—hey we were um, it's…"
Matthew's eyes flicked briefly to the empty space beside me, then back to my face. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Well," he said, voice dry enough to sand wood, "that answers several questions I didn't even know I had."
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
My brain was still trying to triage the situation.
How much did he see?
Damn this is embarrassing.
Matthew tilted his head slightly, studying me like I'd just become a very interesting puzzle piece.
"So that shimmering haze you're slobbering over like a dog… I'm guessing that's this Rukia person?"
Shimmering haze? What the hell is he—
Oh.
Right.
He can't actually see spirits.
"Wait… you can see her?" I asked, completely thrown.
"I wouldn't call it seeing," Matthew said with a casual shrug. "More like… I can tell there's something there. Like heat waves off hot asphalt. And given the fact you're kissing it and talking to it, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that's your homewrecking mistress."
Rukia's reaction was immediate.
Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms sharply, the air around her tightening with irritation.
"How rude," she snapped. "This human has quite the imagination. A friend of yours, Orion?"
There it was—that familiar Rukia Kuchiki edge. Offended, dignified, and just a little deadly. Her petite frame somehow radiated authority in a way that still amazed me.
"Yeah," I sighed. "Rukia, this is Matthew. One of my closest friends. The only person I've told about… well, us. Also the guy who saved my life earlier."
Even saying it out loud felt surreal.
Standing there, acting as translator between a Soul Reaper and my best friend, my life had officially crossed into absurd sitcom territory.
Rukia's posture shifted at that.
The tension didn't vanish, but it softened, her gaze flicking toward Matthew with new consideration.
Matthew shook his head slightly.
"We saved each other, dude," he corrected, his tone firm, but not unkind. "Don't go handing me all the credit. That was a team effort. You pulled my ass out of the fire more than once."
His eyes remained fixed on the space Rukia occupied, his expression sharp despite the fact he couldn't truly see her.
Rukia met that invisible stare, chin lifting slightly.
Still irritated.
Still proud.
Still very, very Rukia.
"Well… I really hope I'm not about to play awkward spirit-telephone translator between the two of you," I said, attempting to diffuse the tension.
Judging by the way neither of them relaxed, I was failing with style.
Matthew squinted at the air where Rukia stood. "Okay, serious question. How does any of this even work if she doesn't technically have a body? Because from where I'm standing, this is drifting dangerously close to that weird scene in Ghostbusters, and I do not like the mental image that's forming."
Rukia blinked at him.
"Ghost… busters?" she repeated slowly, like he'd just spoken an incantation incorrectly. The confusion quickly shifted to mild annoyance. "Humans and their nonsensical references…"
I cleared my throat. "She has a temporary body she uses sometimes. A gigai. And I can interact with her soul form as if it's physical for the most part."
The words felt increasingly regrettable as they left my mouth.
Matthew immediately held up a hand. "Orion. You're my friend. I care about you. Please don't elaborate."
Fair.
Rukia folded her arms and nodded once. "On that point, I am in complete agreement with the human."
I must've reacted subtly, because Matthew's eyes flicked to me. "What did she say?"
The slight edge in his voice—half suspicion, half discomfort—seemed to irritate Rukia more than the "homewrecker" comment had.
"This is absurd," she snapped. "I am not going to stand here while you both fumble through half a conversation like incompetent messengers."
Uh oh.
I saw her reach into her pocket.
"Rukia—don't—"
Too late.
That familiar red glove flashed in her hand.
Before I could move, she stepped forward and shoved Matthew square in the face.
His soul popped out of his body with the now unmistakable thud-slide I'd come to recognize over the years.
And because apparently I had the one size fits all muscle memory for this scenario, I reacted automatically—hooking his falling physical body with my foot and guiding it down before it face-planted on the porch. I caught him properly and propped him up against the railing like some drunk party guest.
I turned back just in time to see Matthew stumbling backward in soul form, a thick heavy chain protruding from his chest and tethered to his slumped body.
He looked ready to swing.
Which, honestly, I couldn't blame him.
"What the hell?!" he barked, fists coming up instinctively like she'd just cold-clocked him.
It didn't help that Rukia had a documented history of ejecting people from their bodies face-first.
He took her in properly now—really seeing her for the first time. Small. A full head shorter than both of us. Petite. Composed.
Very much not a shimmering haze.
I suspected he didn't quite appreciate her finer features like I did.
His gaze dropped to the chain connecting him to his body.
"…Oh."
Rukia dusted off her sleeve like she'd just corrected a minor inconvenience.
"There. Communication problem solved," she said crisply. "You're fortunate, you know. Not many humans are granted the privilege of seeing a Soul Reaper—or their own Chain of Fate—under controlled circumstances."
She looked unbearably smug.
Infuriatingly pleased with herself. She didn't know Matthew like I did and I was already sensing the error in judgement—though I actually agreed with the idea.
I hated that the self-assured cute smirk tugging at her lips made mine twitch in response.
Matthew, however, was not charmed. He looked between his body, the chain, and Rukia.
Then at me.
"…You can't just shove people out of their bodies like that?" he said, voice flat. Controlled. Which was always worse than yelling.
I exhaled slowly. "Welcome to my life."
He shot me a look that could curdle milk. "No. I didn't sign up for this."
Then his gaze shifted back to Rukia—hard, unblinking.
My body was already moving before my brain finished the thought, instinctively placing myself just slightly between them. Not fully. Just enough to intercept if Matthew decided that getting sucker-punched out of his own body warranted retaliation.
Matthew hated two things more than almost anything: smugness and being forced into something without consent. And right now Rukia had embodied both. Add in the fact that, from his perspective, she was the supernatural catalyst tangled up in my crumbling marriage and near-death experiences?
Yeah.
This was volatile.
"What?" Rukia snapped, bristling immediately under his glare. "You are standing perfectly fine. I exercised restraint."
"Easy," I cut in quickly. "Short, dark, and terrifyingly competent—my friend isn't your biggest fan at the moment. But he's a good guy. He's stubborn, yeah, but he's looking out for me. I trust him."
I looked at her—not just with my eyes, but with that strange, quiet resonance that had begun to exist between us. The kind of unspoken current that carried more than words could manage. I let her feel it.
How I wouldn't want anyone else at my side in a deadly fight.
How Matthew had stepped in without hesitation.
How deeply I trusted him.
Even now.
Even when he was being kind of a jerk to the woman I—
The thought hit me mid-sentence.
The woman I love.
I almost stumbled over it internally.
I didn't use that word lightly. Not casually. Not impulsively. Even thinking it felt heavy, deliberate. Real.
Rukia's eyes flicked to me, something shifting behind them as she caught the weight of what I wasn't saying aloud.
Then she looked back at Matthew.
For a second, I thought she was going to double down. Pride was practically stitched into her uniform.
Instead—
She stepped forward.
And bowed.
Not deeply. Not subservient. But properly.
"I acted without considering your perspective," she said, voice steady but stripped of its earlier sharpness. "That was inconsiderate. For that, I apologize."
Matthew blinked.
Rukia continued, lifting her head but keeping her posture respectful.
"I am not accustomed to explaining myself to humans. Especially not in… delicate circumstances." A faint edge crept back in, but she tempered it. "However, Orion holds you in high regard. That alone is enough reason for me to extend you proper courtesy."
She straightened fully now, chin lifted.
"I am… grateful he has someone he trusts. This situation weighs heavily on him. If you are someone he can rely on, then I am glad you are here."
It wasn't flowery.
It wasn't overly sentimental.
It was honest.
And coming from Rukia, that was significant.
The porch went quiet.
Even Matthew's ironclad stubbornness faltered a fraction. Not gone—but dented.
He scratched the back of his neck, still visibly irritated, but no longer bristling for a fight.
"…I get what you were trying to do," he muttered. "Just… don't do that again. Ask first."
That, from Matthew, was practically a presidential pardon and a reluctant one at that, judging from his expression.
Rukia gave a small, dignified nod. "Noted."
They still weren't friends.
Not even remotely close.
But there was something there now.
A thin, fragile line of mutual respect.
And somehow, in the middle of supernatural body ejections and marital disaster, that felt like a small miracle.
Matthew kept glancing between his body and the chain like he was memorizing the mechanics of it out of spite. Rukia stood straight-backed and composed now, hands folded neatly into her sleeves—every inch the dignified Soul Reaper again.
But I could feel it. Beneath the poise, she was shaken.
Not by Matthew.
By me.
By the desperation she had felt through our resonance bond earlier. By how close I'd come to not being here at all.
I shifted slightly, lowering my voice. I gestured to the window that was at the far end of the house, visible from where we stood on the porch. "Keep it down, okay? Kerstie's sleeping in our room. If she wakes up and comes out here, this gets… complicated."
That was the understatement of the century.
Matthew's eyes flicked toward the house, then back to Rukia. "Yeah. Let's not add 'explaining ghost samurai girl' to your wife as the next of today's disasters."
Rukia bristled faintly at that—but she let it go.
Instead, she stepped toward him again.
Not close enough to threaten.
Close enough to be heard clearly.
"When he was in danger," she said evenly, "you stood beside him."
Matthew didn't respond.
She continued anyway.
"I could feel the instability in his spiritual pressure from where I was. I was not there." The admission cost her something. "You were."
The porch felt quieter somehow, despite the chirp of crickets in the night.
"For that," she said, bowing her head just slightly—not as formally as before, but more sincerely, "you have my gratitude."
Matthew shifted his weight, jaw tightening like he physically rejected being thanked.
"…Yeah. Well. He'd do the same for me," he muttered.
"I know," she replied immediately.
That made him pause.
Because it wasn't defensive.
It wasn't sarcastic.
It was certain.
And for the first time since she'd shoved his soul out of his body, he faltered.
Just a crack.
I stood there in the middle of them, feeling like a diplomatic envoy negotiating a supernatural ceasefire, and tried very hard not to think about how badly I wanted to pull Rukia close again.
The need was still there. Sharp. Raw. The near-death aftermath clinging to me like my own static. That desperate, grounding urge to touch the person you love just to prove you're still alive.
The woman you love.
The word settled heavier this time.
But Kerstie was inside.
My kids were in their beds.
And Matthew was currently ethereal and tethered to his own body on my porch.
So maybe not the moment.
Matthew cleared his throat. "Alright. So let me get this straight."
Here we go.
"You two are… what? Together?" He gestured vaguely between us. "Because I'm trying to reconcile the fact that Orion's usual type is—"
"Please don't," I warned quietly.
"What?" He held up a hand. "I'm assessing."
Rukia's eyes narrowed. "Assessing?"
"Yeah. Look." He shrugged. "No offense, but you're not exactly what I expected."
She drew herself up. "I am not concerned with your expectations."
"I figured he'd go for someone nerdier," Matthew continued bluntly. "Maybe a little more—" he gestured vaguely with both hands in a curving motion, "—in that department."
My soul tried to leave my body voluntarily this time.
Rukia blinked once.
Then her face went perfectly blank in that dangerously calm way she had.
"…Your observational skills are shallow," she said coolly. "And irrelevant."
He smirked faintly. "Probably."
Then his expression hardened again.
"But here's the thing. This?" He pointed between us. "This isn't enough to make me approve. I don't like the timing. I don't like what it's doing to your marriage. And I don't like how close he's come to dying since you showed up."
There it was.
The principle.
Matthew didn't dislike her because she was small. Or sharp. Or a Soul Reaper.
He disliked what she represented in the chaos of my life.
Rukia didn't fire back.
She didn't posture.
She didn't get defensive.
Instead, she answered him the only way she could.
"I did not enter his life to bring him harm," she said steadily. "Nor will I allow harm to come to him or his family through me."
There was steel in it.
A vow, not a rebuttal.
"If my presence ever becomes a threat to them," she continued quietly, "I will remove myself."
That made my chest tighten.
Matthew studied her for a long moment.
Matthew didn't look away from Rukia when he spoke again.
His tone lost the sarcasm.
Lost the jokes.
"Orion almost died today," he said quietly. "And somehow this is getting romantic."
The words weren't loud.
They didn't need to be.
The air tightened.
I felt it hit before I even processed it.
Matthew stepped forward a pace, folding his arms. "You nearly bleed out on a hospital floor, your life's a mess here, your wife's asleep in that house, and this—" he gestured between me and Rukia "—is starting to look like a bullshit tragic love story."
He looked at me then.
"You don't get to die for something you haven't even figured out yet."
That one landed.
Hard.
Then he turned back to her.
"She can leave," he said bluntly. "You can disappear whenever Soul Reaper business calls. He doesn't get that luxury. He has to live with whatever this breaks."
Silence.
Rukia's posture stiffened.
For a moment I thought she'd snap back with something cutting.
Instead—
She froze — not physically, but emotionally.
Her fingers tightened inside her sleeves.
"I did not come here to—" she began sharply. "I would never force him to choose—"
The words stumbled.
Because even saying it out loud made it real.
Force him to choose… For me to choose, the very idea rattled my heart and soul.
Her mouth closed.
And for the first time since she'd stepped onto the porch, she didn't look like a lieutenant of the Thirteenth Division.
She looked… young and disoriented, like a child who knew they fucked up breaking somthing expensive.
The realization settling in that loving someone with a life already built might mean being the thing that fractures it—a realization she had faced and pushed away time and again.
"I would not… make him abandon his world," she finished, softer now.
But it didn't carry the same certainty.
Because she couldn't promise that love wouldn't demand something someday.
Matthew saw it.
He didn't soften.
But he did shift his gaze to me.
"Look," he said, exhaling. "I know you."
He jabbed a thumb in my direction. "You're an idiot sometimes."
"I know…" I muttered in shame.
"But you're also the smartest guy I know."
That shut me up.
"You don't fall into stuff like this by accident," he continued. "If you feel something, it's real. I'm not questioning that."
And that—
That acknowledgment hit different because it wasn't dismissal.
It wasn't mockery, it was trust.
He believed I wasn't confused.
Just conflicted.
I swallowed, feeling the weight of it. The truth of it.
Both things could be true.
Idiot and perceptive.
Reckless and deeply intentional.
That duality had always been me.
Matthew looked back at Rukia.
"But real doesn't mean harmless."
The creake of movement inside the house made my heart skip a beat.
We all froze for several seconds waiting for any sign of the kids or Kerstie, my senses strained the entire eternity of those few moments until we all felt sure it was nothing.
The porch felt colder.
Matthew continued
"So here's where I land," he said. "I'm not interfering just because I don't like it."
His jaw tightened.
"But if you do anything that hurts him—" he pointed at me. "Or his wife. Or his kids."
His eyes hardened.
"I won't care what world you're from or if you're a woman, none of it will save you from me."
Did he really just threaten an actual goddess of death?!
Somehow his audacity never fails to impress me.
Rukia lifted her chin.
The disorientation was still there, buried under pride and discipline.
"I have sworn to protect him," she said steadily. "And I will not bring ruin to his household."
A beat.
Even if the words "homewrecker" still echoed unspoken in her mind.
Matthew held her gaze a moment longer.
Then nodded once.
"Good."
And just like that, the ultimatum was laid.
Not shouted.
Not dramatic.
Just real.
And I stood between them, heart pounding, strangely grateful that the conversation hadn't exploded—
Even if it had cracked something open in all three of us.
Then he nodded once.
"Alright," he said. "I won't interfere. Unless I have to" he said evenly
Rukia inclined her head. "That is acceptable."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
They were still tense.
Still wary.
But they were talking.
Not fighting.
Not exploding.
Just… existing in the same space.
And somehow that felt monumental.
Matthew looked at me one last time. "You good?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
He glanced at Rukia again. "Don't make me regret tolerating this."
"I have no intention of seeking your approval," she replied calmly. "Only his safety."
He huffed something that might've been a laugh.
Then he stepped back toward his body, gave me a look that said this conversation is not over forever, and slipped back in with an awkward jolt. He flexed his fingers once, like testing a glove, then stood.
"I'm going upstairs," he said quietly. "Try not to wake your wife. Or start a ghost war on the porch."
"No promises," I muttered.
He shook his head and went inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him.
Silence settled over the porch.
Just the distant hum of night insects and the faint sound of the house breathing.
Rukia looked at me.
Not smug.
Not defensive.
Just… relieved.
"You are alive," she said softly, like she was still convincing herself.
"Yeah, I manage" I answered.
The urge to close the space between us flared again.
To kiss her.
To anchor myself.
To forget the bedroom not even 30 feet away and the complicated gravity of my life.
But I didn't move.
Not this time.
Instead, I stepped closer just enough for our hands to brush.
"I'm okay," I said again, quieter.
Her fingers curled slightly around mine—hesitant, grateful.
And for the first time all night, the tension wasn't sharp.
Just fragile.
And real.
Matthew had already disappeared inside, the porch light flicking briefly as the door shut behind him. The house settled again into that fragile quiet.
Rukia remained still for a moment, eyes on the door like she could see through it.
"Well," I muttered softly, "that could've gone worse."
She exhaled through her nose. "He is… direct."
"That's a polite way of putting it."
She folded her arms, gaze drifting toward the yard. "He reminds me of certain officers in the Gotei Thirteen."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Should I be worried?"
"Not in the way you think," she said. "He has the temperament of someone from the Eleventh Division. Quick to confront. Little patience for ceremony. Protective to the point of recklessness."
"Yeah, that tracks."
"But," she continued thoughtfully, "his restraint is not typical of them. He assessed the situation. He did not escalate unnecessarily."
She tilted her head slightly.
"In that sense… he is closer to someone like Renji."
I blinked. "You just compared my best friend to someone I don't actually know. He's one of your lieutenant friends if I remember correctly"
"Do not let it inflate his ego," she said sharply, though a faint hint of amusement touched her eyes. "Renji is loud, stubborn, and irritating. Yet… dependable."
I couldn't help smiling.
"So that's high praise."
"It's an observation," she corrected, but didn't retract it.
Her expression softened again.
"He was prepared to oppose me," she admitted quietly. "Not out of jealousy. Not out of pride. But out of loyalty to you."
She looked at me then.
"That is rare."
The weight in her voice wasn't casual. In her world, loyalty meant standing in front of blades. It meant defying captains. It meant execution orders.
"He does not trust me," she added.
"Not yet, but hey. Guys like him are difficult to in earning trust but there are few I'd want by my side more than him, even without powers."
She nodded once. "That is understandable."
Then, after a brief pause:
"I don't dislike him."
That one surprised me.
"He is blunt," she continued. "And somewhat tactless. But he cares for you in his own way. He watches you the way a seated officer watches a captain who insists on charging ahead."
I huffed with a grin. "So I'm reckless now?"
"You nearly died," she deadpanned.
Fair.
She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice.
"If I were not present… I would want someone like him beside you."
The sincerity in that statement hit harder than anything else she'd said.
"He does not approve of me," she added, almost as an afterthought.
"He doesn't approve of a lot of things."
"That doesn't concern me," she replied calmly. "What concerns me is whether he will stand with you when it matters."
I thought about the hospital. The rooftop. The moment I couldn't move.
"He will, and has." I said firmly.
She studied my face for a second, then nodded.
"Then I'm… relieved."
It was strange watching her process all of this—this messy, suburban, human loyalty that didn't operate on rank or spiritual pressure but on years of shared history and trust.
"This world of yours," she murmured softly, almost to herself. "It is far more complicated than I expected."
I gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Tell me about it."
Finally, I let go and kissed her. My heart raced with fear of being caught, the bedroom light turning on and an angry wife.
But right now—it was just us.