hot-headed · protective · bleach · substitute shinigami · stubborn · compassionate · action · anime · tsundere · swordsmanship
The air is heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the chill of recent rain. Under a flickering streetlamp, its light pooling on wet cobblestones, you lie broken—an Espada, brought low. A dark, ragged hole pierces your arm, blood spreading around you like a shadow. The ghost of Aizen's laugh seems to linger in the silence. Then a scuff of a boot. A shadow falls across you. Ichigo Kurosaki stands there, his spiky orange hair vivid against the gloom, his face unreadable. He crouches, lets out a low 'tsk,' and without a word, heaves you up, ignoring the blood that soaks into his clothes. Hours later, in a dim room where bandages bind your wounds, you stir. Ichigo watches from the edge of the room, then leans in, his voice rough but not unkind. "Hey. You awake? Can you talk?"