Chapter Text
The second Kurosaki lost his powers, the moment his enormous reiatsu was snuffed out like a guttering candle, Urahara's mind was fast at work, solving the impossible problem of how to fix this. For all that Kurosaki had walked down this path on his own volition—an innocent lamb to slaughter—Urahara was the one to guide him. Restoration of his powers was what Kurosaki was owed, and if Urahara was the only one capable? Well, it wouldn't clean the blood from his hands, but it still felt like reparation. Urahara was eager for the task.
It was tempting to hide himself in his labs until he had this tangible proof of regret, but in the short year of their acquaintance, he knew Kurosaki wouldn't tolerate such cowardliness. So, when the dust had metaphorically settled, the last Shinigami returned to Soul Society; Urahara donned his gigai and walked to the Kurosaki clinic. An apology already resting on his tongue—well rehearsed, something he'd been working on since his first was brushed off in the eve of Kurosaki's return from Soul Society—only to be turned away by Isshin? It felt abrupt.
It was a surprise, although perhaps it should not have been. Kurosaki Isshin had always had a good measure of Urahara despite how little he intervened in the past—despite how long he was content to let Urahara use his son as a puppet. After all that Kurosaki had sacrificed, how could Urahara intend to ruin the teen's chance at living a normal human life—it was a compelling argument—and Urahara, having always felt like a bad omen that lingered on far too long, left. Of course, he wouldn't be welcome here. He was the one that ruined Kurosaki's idyllic life in the first place, the origin of it all.
Which is why, when not even two weeks later, he was surprised to find Kurosaki at his door. The boy looked tired, with bags under his eyes and a slump in his shoulders that looked like defeat. It didn't suit Kurosaki at all. Urahara had always, instinctively, felt like they were kindred spirits—he had always felt that unyielding determination in Kurosaki's blade, that unwillingness to accept defeat—so, perhaps this too, like Isshin's interference, should have been expected.
With the obstruction of his fan, Urahara found no need to stop the frown that came to his lips. "Kurosaki-san," he said, his voice mild and genial, the perfect shopkeeper, "is there something you need?" Already suspicion was stirring in him; Isshin had made it out like Kurosaki had desperately wanted to return to the trivialities of human life. He didn't question it; after all, many humans considered high school to be their glory days—it wasn't like Kurosaki didn't have dozens of friends and a backlog of coursework to occupy his time.
Kurosaki stared at him for several long moments, his normally fiery eyes dull and flat. He looked away. "Can I come in?" he asked, resignation in his voice.
"Of course," Urahara said, and stepped aside, keeping his voice light and airy as he allowed the teen into his shop. He eyed Kurosaki's slouched posture and felt something like anger building in his heart. If he were to be placed in the position of Kurosaki, he would be bitter; Urahara would not have let his efforts go unpaid. He had soothed himself by arguing that he and Kurosaki were fundamentally different people—that any sense of kinship was just a lonely old man longing for a friend—but looking at him now, perhaps not. Now, he knew that if nothing else, he understood Kurosaki better than Isshin.
Kurosaki toed off his shoes, his gaze fixed on the floor, before stepping up into the genkan. He didn't move further than that, as if unsure of his welcome. Which was ridiculous; how could Urahara ever turn him away? "I'll brew some tea," he said, when the silence between them seemed to grow into a palpable tension.
Drawing a deep breath, pulling himself to his full height, and stalling Urahara in the process of heading to the kitchen, Kurosaki fixed him with a glare that felt like fire licking at his heels. "Cut the crap. I want to know why you've been avoiding me. After everything, I thought—" Kurosaki abruptly stopped and looked away again, growling under his breath. His knuckles were white, clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw jumped.
"Ah," Urahara said, at rather a lack of anything else to do. It was interesting Kurosaki had known he was avoiding him rather than just not visiting. He felt wronged about it too; he had always been so expressive, in a way that was so unlike anyone Urahara was used to. Kurosaki's eyes, again, caught his, and with expression alone dared Urahara to say that was not what he had been doing. "Isshin had made it rather clear that I was not welcome at the clinic..." he trailed off, unsure what to add to such a bold statement of truth. He didn't want to make excuses—he felt that he had done enough of that in his life—but he also didn't know how to explain that Isshin was right. That Urahara had no right to take more from Kurosaki, to destroy him again, and that inevitably that is what all paths would lead to as long as they maintained their acquaintanceship.
"And you listened to him?" Kurosaki asked, his voice harsh and his eyes angry. He took a step closer to Urahara, and even without any spiritual power, he was a force to behold. He had a gravity about him that drew you in; made it impossible to deny him what he wanted.
"It wasn't my place to argue," Urahara said, having submitted any and all control of the conversation to Kurosaki. "It is his right as your father to forbid shady, older men from speaking with you, his teenage son." He could see Kurosaki mull the statement over, then thought to add, "You are, of course, always welcome at the Shouten. That will never change." He hoped that it was enough to soothe the affront. Any resolve he may have had to leave the boy alone melted at the sight of him; Kurosaki was so clearly unwell.
"Yeah, well, he's a dumbass. And I don't give a shit what he wants," Kurosaki said, pushing past Urahara and further into the Shouten, all misdeeds seemingly absolved. It wasn't the first time Kurosaki forgave him far too easily, and if trends were to continue, it wouldn't be the last. Some part of Urahara couldn't help but long to see how far it would go; how much could he push until Kurosaki finally had enough. Another part felt wretched for wanting to try.
Like a stranger in his own home, Urahara trailed after. With a familiarity of the Shouten that he didn't know Kurosaki possessed, he found the boy in the kitchen preparing tea. Kurosaki, catching his eye, said, "Go set up the table in the usual room. I'll bring this out when it's ready. Urahara felt like he should protest; this was his house, it should be him accommodating his guest, not the other way around, but Kurosaki looked at ease. Relaxed in a way that Urahara suspected—based on the dark circles under his eyes and sluggish movements—he hadn't been in a while. So instead, he did as he was bid.
Several minutes later, Kurosaki arrived bearing the tea tray, which he set down on the small table between them with practiced ease. Once they were both settled, across from each other, with drinks in hand, Urahara knew that it was time to ask the question that had been burning at him since Kurosaki's arrival. "While you are of course always welcome," he started, hoping that Kurosaki would actually believe him, "was there something that you required?"
There was silence, during which Kurosaki sipped his tea and looked thoughtful. He wasn't typically the contemplative sort, and so the pause strained Urahara's nerves far more than it should.
Finally, Kurosaki met his gaze and said, "No, not really." Another pause. Kurosaki continued to sip at his tea, for all pretenses like he really did stop by for no reason at all. His nonchalance supreme. It was only after the minutes began to stretch did Kurosaki finally break his silence. "I never expected any of the shinigami to check in on me, even the Visoreds. I knew they'd want to head back to Soul Society; it's their home, even after all these years. Chad was a surprise," Urahara had to quickly—tellingly—snap his fan out to hide his expression of shock. What was Isshin playing at, warning Kurosaki's human friends off? Because that is what had to happen, them abandoning Kurosaki on their own volition was madness.
Kurosaki continued in a measured pace, politely pretending Urahara didn't have such an overt reaction, "Inoue and Ishida not as much. We weren't friends before, so I guess it makes sense that with things returning to normal, they wouldn't want anything to do with me." He paused again and then let out a sharp exhale that was almost a laugh. "I mean, if Goat-face was telling them to stay away, it makes even more sense." Then he met Urahara's eyes, his gaze sharp. "What I don't understand is you. You used me, sure," and although Kisuke was looking at him from above his fan, he must have read something there, "and I forgive you; I already have, but I don't get it. You must know Isshin is full of shit, so why...?" He trailed off, the question left unasked.
How could Urahara answer? There were several excuses on his tongue, ranging from him respecting Isshin, to not wanting to upset Kurosaki's life again, yet none of those answers quite fit. None were what Kurosaki was looking for. "I'm not the kind of person most people want to have in their life," he settled on, far too self-pitying. And then, as if to distract from that confession, he asked, "Why should I have been disinclined to believe Isshin?"
Kurosaki's face did something complicated; twisting his brows drew together, and his lips thinned, with his eyes just a little too wide. "He doesn't know shit about me." Kurosaki looked away, obviously frustrated and lacking an outlet, "Me and him don't exactly get on."
That was a surprise; he had always thought that the Kurosakis were a close-knit family. It wouldn't do to let Kurosaki on to the fact that he didn't know this however, so instead, he said, "You deserve the chance to have a normal life, Kurosaki."
Kurosaki snorted derisively. "I haven't had a normal life since my mom died."
Urahara didn't know what to say to that, so instead, he let the conversation fade. He took a sip of tea, the silence lingering but not quite as awkward. It felt like everything that needed to have been said was. Kurosaki finished his tea but didn't make to get up, and for that Urahara was grateful. He didn't want Kurosaki to leave. He could never ask him to stay, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't selfishly enjoy his company while it lasted; he was used to clinging onto what scraps he could get.
When they finished the tea, Kurosaki made to collect their cups and clean up, but Urahara, to both their surprise, reached out to stop him. "You're a guest, Kurosaki-san. Allow me."
Kurosaki fixed him with a speculating expression. "Will you actually clean them, or will you just leave them in the sink for Tessai to get to?"
"Maa," Urahara said, waving his fan in front of him, "What type of layabout do you take me for?" At that, Kurosaki's expression turned flat and unimpressed. "I promise, Kurosaki-san, that I will not let them fester in the sink. Cross my heart." Kurosaki let out an amused huff of a breath and relented. Although he didn't make to leave, instead, he followed Urahara to the kitchen and hovered at the entrance.
When he finished, setting the tea cups into the drying rack by the sink and drying his hands on a dishtowel, Urahara turned to Kurosaki and asked, "Is there something else you needed?"
Kurosaki's face twisted in a way that wasn't painful but regretful. "Nah," he said, shaking his head as if dismissing whatever it was that was clearly still bothering him. He turned around and began to head to the door, a hand raised in a dismissive farewell, "I'll see you around, Geta-boshi," and with no more fanfare, left.
***
The next day Urahara, still perplexed by the events that had transpired, was having more difficulty than usual going through the latest readings of Kurosaki's tattered reiatsu. It seemed that even weeks after the initial loss there was still fluctuations. It was subtle; even the average human in the Jureichi had more reiatsu than Kurosaki at this point, but the spikes of power were too large to be explained as outliers. The entire phenomenon was unprecedented; even Isshin's loss of power wasn't quite like this. It shouldn't be possible—something that never had much bearing on Kurosaki before—but without intervention Kurosaki's very soul may unravel. Without more data points, Urahara couldn't say if introducing foreign reiatsu would make matters worse, and there was no test to run to help him find out.
There was no model he could make that would accurately reflect what had already happened—there had been too much interference at the battlegrounds for any of his sensors to be useful—let alone what the final getsuga actually did to Kurosaki; help from the Shibas was a distant dream. There was no one and nothing he could turn to that would help, only the desperate wish for Kurosaki to stabilize soon. It was a feeling that was becoming more and more familiar: seeing Kurosaki suffer and being entirely helpless to do anything about it.
He had just sat down, the latest readings laid out in front of him, when Tessai came in. Urahara, still engrossed with the task at hand, merely nodded his head and made a questioning noise at the intrusion. With the war efforts over there was very little he cared for more than helping Kurosaki. Distracted as he was, he almost missed what Tessai was telling him entirely, but then Kurosaki's name caught his attention. "What was that about, Kurosaki-san?" he asked, finally looking up.
Tessai's expression was inscrutable as always. "He is in the sitting room." There was no visible change in his expression, but Urahara felt like he failed to meet some unvoiced expectation. "I shall make some tea," Tessai informed him, and left. With little else as tempting as checking in on Kurosaki, Urahara put on his gigai and locked down his labs.
He found Kurosaki, as Tessai promised, waiting for him in his school uniform—he'd been in his labs longer than he thought if high school had already gotten out of session. "Kurosaki-san, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you so soon," he said, trying to keep his words light and airy.
Kurosaki scowled. "If you want me to leave, you can just say so."
"Not at all, Kurosaki-san. You are always welcome. I merely meant that I wasn't expecting company."
Glaring at the table as if it had done something to offend him, Kurosaki said, "It's quieter here than at the clinic."
Urahara blinked at the non sequitur.
"I figured if you didn't mind me hanging around, maybe I could catch up on some of the coursework I missed?" There was a dusting of blush on Kurosaki's cheeks, and Urahara hadn't the faintest of ideas why.
"Of course," he answered, not missing the way Kurosaki seemed to sag with relief. A picture of the boy's home life was starting to form, and Urahara didn't like it.
It was then, as Kurosaki started pulling things from his bag and arranging them to study, that Tessai came back in with the tea. "Thank you," Urahara said, taking one of the cups. When Kurosaki too, took a cup with murmured gratitude, Urahara had the sneaking suspicion that he was missing something, and he shot Tessai a questioning glance; the other man, his expression still neutral and giving nothing away, left the room.
"I'll try and stay quiet so I don't bother you," Kurosaki said, and Urahara waved him off.
"It's really no trouble. After everything, this is the least we can do for you." Urahara knew that Kurosaki would brush off the sentiment but felt it worth repeating—maybe if he said it enough, Kurosaki would stop feeling like an imposition. "If you'll excuse me a moment," he said, Kurosaki already waving him off, as he went back to the lab to grab the readings he had been looking over. If Kurosaki truly wanted to be alone, there were plenty of other places he could have chosen to do his homework.
When he returned, Kurosaki looked up at him, shock clear on his face, but he said nothing as Urahara sat down and arranged the spreadsheets on the opposite side of the table. If the teenager asked what he was working on, he would be honest, but he was hoping that he wouldn't have to be. Urahara would not quit easily and was willing to sink years into restoring what Kurosaki had lost, but he didn’t want to get the boys' hopes up. Urahara was a genius, but he had still failed before, many times over, even if Kurosaki wouldn't see his shortcomings like that. Despite everything, Kurosaki was an optimist that had yet to taste real defeat, his current loss of powers notwithstanding.
They lapsed into silence, both working on their respective task with an all-consuming focus. As Urahara took the time to look over the reports, he was almost positive that there had to be a pattern to the way Kurosaki's reiatsu fluctuated. He just had to pin it down. At some point Tessai came back to offer them more tea and snacks. Kurosaki talked with him a bit about inane subjects, but Urahara was too focused on his own work to really pay mind to their small talk.
And so the afternoon passed. It wasn't until evening that Kurosaki finally got up. Cracking his back, his schoolwork already packed into his bag, he clapped his hand on Urahara's shoulder and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Geta-boshi."
Urahara blinked back up at him in surprise. He hadn't realized how much time had passed, something that was unfortunately too common with his research; it was a liability. Despite the gruffness of his voice, Kurosaki was relaxed, the tension in his shoulders eased, and his trademark scowl softer than normal. Kurosaki looked good like this, some scattered part of his mind informed him. He still looked tired and worn down, but Kurosaki was a handsome young man—what a strange thought. "I look forward to it," he managed to say blandly. Kurosaki nodded, but there was a tightness to his mouth. "Perhaps," he started, thinking that Kurosaki had always been the active sort; maybe that was the source of tension, "we can spar the next time you come around."
Kurosaki's expression twisted. "I don't know how you plan for us to do that," he said, as if Urahara could have forgotten that Kurosaki was little better than any other human these days.
"Well, we can't practice Zanjutsu; that's true." He kept his voice light and easy, portraying nothing of consequence. "But I am quite skilled in hakuda, something that I have been rather remiss in teaching you. There is no need for me to leave my gigai for that, so I don't see why we can't get started tomorrow."
"Are you sure?" Kurosaki asked, something almost hopeful in his eyes, but doubt lingered there too.
"I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it, Kurosaki-san." And it was true. Urahara had only offered it as a means to cheer the other up, but now that he sat with the idea longer, the more he realized he actually did look forward to getting to spar with him again, even if he had to be restrained by his gigai to do it.
"Okay," Kurosaki agreed, although his expression was still a tad wary. "I'll see you tomorrow then," and with that final farewell, he left.
***
Urahara had never considered the Shouten to be particularly quiet—the children, if nothing else, were always getting up to something—but without fail Kurosaki continued to come back. It would be a lie to say that he was disappointed. Kurosaki's company had always been enjoyable, and so it was easy to let Kurosaki's visits slide into his daily routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, do a few experiments in his lab, then take the results upstairs and sit with Kurosaki as he worked through it. Occasionally taking a break to spar. It felt good.
It became somewhat of a nagging concern that he still hadn't managed to confess to Kurosaki just what he was working on, but Kurosaki never seemed inclined to ask. With how uncertain Kurosaki still seemed of his welcome, this wasn't a surprise. Urahara should tell him, should take the initiative and lay his intentions bare, but he hesitated. It wasn't just the fear of giving false hope, not quite. Some part of Urahara was still convinced Kurosaki's human friends would pull together and realize that he needed their help. They did not.
Days continued to pass, then weeks, and no one came looking for him. Urahara couldn't understand it. At this point, Isshin was clearly neglectful, but the boy's friends? Kurosaki would do near anything for the people he cared for and had demonstrated that many times, but when Kurosaki himself needed support, they saw fit to abandon him like a broken tool. It felt wrong. Urahara knew what it was like to be cast aside by Soul Society and frankly found it unsurprising that the shinigami would use his loss of powers as a reason to pull back, but his human friends? What could they possibly be thinking? Urahara knew Ichigo would forgive them without question the second they rallied and came back, but Urahara found himself wishing they wouldn't. If their affection was so fair-weathered, let Kurosaki at least learn this lesson instead of risking his life for scraps.
Some darker part of himself saw opportunity. He alone stood at Kurosaki's side, and well, the boy was unlikely to forget that. Even if his friends came crawling back on their hands and knees, he would be the one to have his ear first. Urahara didn't do things by half measures. When in Yoruichi's service, he almost drowned in the blood he poured out for her; for Kurosaki, he'd do the same. Of course, Kurosaki wouldn't demand that of him. He, like himself, was content with shallow thanks and superficial interest. So, Urahara only had to be sure to pay back Kurosaki's devotion in kind. An easy task because after everything, Urahara couldn't think of doing anything less.
As for their hakuda lessons, Urahara learned to detest Isshin on a new level. In between Kurosaki practicing karate, fighting local delinquents, and scoring at the top of his class in school, Isshin—with the excuse of teaching him self-defense—would attack him. It was in-between waking and eating, right as he got home, in the middle of studying that Isshin would teach him the lesson of constant vigilance, that he was never safe, not even in his own home. Urahara himself had been trained in a similar fashion, but he had been a street rat, selected among many to become an assassin. In the onmitsukido it was sink or swim; all of them were expendable, and stamping out their humanity had rather been the point. Such methods leveled against one's flesh and blood, an innocent child who despite being raised for war was supposed to develop the strong desire to protect, was short-sighted and cruel. In the end, Kurosaki did become the man they needed to defeat Aizen, but it was despite his upbringing instead of because of it.
He took well to their lessons. He had no understanding of the basic forms, but Kurosaki was nothing if not adaptable. Urahara decided to drill in the basics anyway; it never hurt to have a different method to do things, and Kurosaki, as always, exceeded expectations. He was clever in a way that was unexpected for one who often employed brute strength. If anything, Kurosaki proved to be a much more interesting opponent in hand-to-hand combat than he had ever been with zanjutsu, which was in no way disparaging his skill. He was impressive. For all that his footwork was rough and his blocking minimal, he was adaptive and fluid in his movements. Even limited by his gigai as he was, it was a joy to fight Kurosaki.
Some part of him couldn't help but wonder if Kurosaki would have been able to defeat Aizen on his own, without the final getsuga, if only Urahara had taken a more hands-on approach. If only he did just a little bit more. These thoughts were, of course, unproductive and deserved to be banished, but they kept nagging at him in the quiet moments of his day. It was one of these moments, as they were both catching their breath, that he glanced over and caught Kurosaki staring at him. "Is there something on your mind, Kurosaki-san?" he asked, trying to keep his voice mild but failing to keep the curiosity out.
"You're beating yourself up over something that I doubt was actually your fault." There was a warm fire in his eyes, the kindling of affection, that made the accusation sting just a little less despite it still rubbing salt in his wounds. Oh, what a horror it was to be Seen.
"My, what a bold accusation! How could you possibly know what I'm thinking, Kurosaki-san?" he said, his tone falsely cheerful and bright, as he snapped out his fan and started waving it at himself with the unconvincing excuse that he was too hot.
Kurosaki stared at him for a long moment, expression flat. "Your frown is deeper than usual. And you got that same look in your eyes when you apologize."
Urahara snapped his fan closed. "Ah, Kurosaki-san, you wound me." Kurosaki's lips twitched in amusement. It was then that Urahara realized they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, their arms brushing, as they leaned against the same rock. Urahara made to get up, but Kurosaki clamped a hand down on his wrist and pulled him back down.
"I'll drop it if you want me to." He looked away, the corners of his mouth tight.
Urahara felt a strange wave of emotion rush through him. It was disarming; Kurosaki could be so perceptive when it suited him. Urahara wasn't used to being so transparent. Only Yoruichi had been this good at reading him, and he'd known her most of his life. He could not help but wonder what it said about him that Kurosaki, who barely knew him a year, was able to generate such insight about his character. It was impressive; it was dangerous.
"It's nothing of consequence," he said, deliberately keeping his tone light. "Just some research troubles. Happens to the best of us."
Kurosaki was silent for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but like he said, he let the issue drop. For once in his life, Urahara almost felt bad for lying, but he knew in this case he was only stopping Kurosaki from feeling the need to reassure him. He refused to place that kind of burden on the teen; at the moment Kurosaki was in much greater need of consolation.
***
Another month and a half passed with no progress made, but the two fell into a pleasant routine of working on separate projects at the same table. Little had changed, but he had plans now and was just working out the minor logistics of things before it was time to put theory into practice. Kurosaki had never asked details of what he was working on, but evidently, today, his coursework bored him.
"Is Reishi in a wave form or a particle?"
Urahara blinked and looked up at him; Kurosaki stared right back, expecting an answer. On the table lay his physics textbook with a photo of the particle accelerator at CERN. Not really even thinking about it, able to see the connection immediately, Urahara said, "It behaves somewhat like both, just as atoms do, but it is not constructed of magnetically charged particles."
The question was clearly inspired by Kurosaki's readings, so he thought it would end there; it wasn't like his high school-level physics textbook would go into terrible detail about subatomic particles, but Kurosaki's curiosity did not end there. "When we went to Soul Society, you converted Kishi into Reishi without a problem, and obviously Reishi exists in the world of the living, so why can't Kishi exist outside it?"
"Well... that is a bit more complicated," Urahara started, not sure how to respond. To answer properly would be to quickly delve into high-level concepts that Kurosaki had no means of understanding. "Reishi is not physical and therefore does not obey the laws of physics. Kishi is not a single thing but rather is how the scientists in Soul Society explain all physical matter."
Kurosaki took a moment to digest this, and Urahara thought it would be over, but then he asked, "Can you teach me how Reishi works? I never really understood it."
"Most don't actually understand Reishi beyond their ability to manipulate it," Urahara said, letting the statement trail off, sure Kurosaki would lose his interest. It wasn't until the intense trademark scowl made it back on his face that Urahara realized that Kurosaki had been relaxed—and what a thing to miss. How often had Kurosaki been wearing that carefree expression here that Urahara had stopped noticing it? "I can teach you if you are truly curious, but it all is rather technical."
Kurosaki's expression relaxed a little, and he took on an almost amused quirk to his brow. "I figured, but I'd still like to learn."
Urahara wasn't sure how the interest made him feel, so instead, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, he unfolded his fan. "Then we shall start from the basics!" After that the conversation quickly devolved, as it often did with such complex subjects, until they found themselves surprised when Tessai popped in, asking if Kurosaki would be staying for dinner. Kurosaki agreed and quickly made his way to the hall to call Yuzu, and Urahara was struck by how routine it felt.
In fact, that was becoming an increasingly regular thing as the time passed. Urahara was mildly concerned about Kurosaki's relationship with his sisters—surely they missed him with how often he didn't come home—but was too greedy for his attention to bring it up. Besides that, it wasn't his place; he wasn't willing to make any moves that might change the delicate equilibrium he and Kurosaki had built. He liked that Kurosaki stayed for dinner, that he came right here after he finished school, that he seemingly chose—of his own volition—to spend all his free time with him. He didn’t want to think about what that said about him as a person.
So he didn't say anything, as Kurosaki sat back down beside him once he finished the phone call. He didn’t say anything about how Kurosaki bumped shoulders and smiled at him, likely trying to ease the dark thoughts that only Kurosaki—and perhaps Yoruichi—could see brewing on his face. Instead, he smiled back, and to his own surprise, it was genuine, not just a forced placating grin. It was a rather startling realization that Kurosaki had been able to ground him so completely that he was actually able to get out of his head and enjoy the moment. Even Yoruichi could only, at best, distract him.
When Jinta and Ururu finally came into the room, it was easy for them to grab his attention. When the two of them didn't have their sights set on someone else, Jinta was still prone to bully or talk over his sister. Kurosaki never put up with it, which frequently had Jinta arguing back. Urahara himself would step in if the conflict was too great, but at some point Ururu needed to stand up for herself. As his attention turned to the kids, it was easy not to notice how Kurosaki never moved away from where he was still pressed to Urahara's side. It hardly even registered.
***
"What are you working on?"
To Urahara's shame, the question startled him and dashed away his train of thought; Kurosaki was far closer to him than he had realized. He turned to find Kurosaki staring at him, leaning close, with open curiosity. The answer to the initial question was easy; he was trying to find a way to fix what the final Getsuga had broken. Kurosaki was unlikely to push for technicalities, but actually speaking proved daunting; Urahara had been dreading this conversation for weeks. The moment stretched, and Kurosaki, it seemed, had taken his silence as refusal. His lips thinned, and the start of his usual glower appeared between his eyes.
Quickly he blurted out the truth, mortified to lose control of the conversation so quickly—had he really gotten this soft? "I'm looking into restoring your powers."
To that, Kurosaki merely blinked at him. "Do you actually think it's possible?" Passive curiosity was writ across his face, as if this was uninvolved from him completely. A thought experiment; not something Real.
"Honestly?" Urahara said, looking at Kurosaki with a grim expression. The teenager nodded, "I'm not sure." It stung to admit that he was so thoroughly out of his depths, but he couldn't have Kurosaki pin his hopes and dreams upon a lie.
"The way your reiatsu diminished is entirely different than what happened to Isshin. I don't know how to interpret it."
Kurosaki hummed, as if in agreement. Urahara shot Kurosaki another glance. He was far too calm about his lack of power; there was none of his usual fire. Some deeply buried part of himself wanted to grab Kurosaki and shake him, to demand why he didn't care. Instead, he sat and let Kurosaki stare off at nothing and pretend he was unaffected. "I figured as much," Kurosaki finally admitted. "It feels pretty fucking final." He snorted. "If anyone could figure out something like this, it'd be you," he said, "but I'm not holding my breath."
Urahara considered how Kurosaki had been able to see spirits his whole life, how he built his entire identity around being a protector, and how with his sisters growing spiritual awareness, they faced more danger than they ever had before. The placidity with which he accepted the loss of his powers wasn't born of a desire to return to a normal life; that much he already knew. Rather, he seemed to have given up on everything altogether. And didn't that just make perfect sense if you looked at it from a different angle? The fate of the worlds rested upon his shoulders; dozens of people, whom he personally knew, depended on him, and what did they do for him? His human friends abandoned him, his shinigami friends made no effort whatsoever to reach out, and his father had only ever made his life more difficult. Kurosaki had never had anyone to depend on, so when faced with a problem he couldn't strong-arm his way out of, it was no surprise he felt hopeless and resigned.
Urahara's crimes were beyond repentance, but "I won't give up. No matter how long it takes or what lengths I must go to, I will not give up." Something of his resolution must have come through in his voice. Kurosaki's eyes widened, and just for a flash, there was vulnerability.
He looked away, down to the table, his overgrown hair covering just enough of his face that Urahara could not quite make out the expression. The obstructification was too late, of course, and just managed to hammer home how abandoned Kurosaki really felt. "Thank you," his voice was soft and all too heartfelt.
It was the fact that Kurosaki so clearly felt gratitude made Urahara hurt all the more. "I'm just returning to you what you are owed. After everything, how could I not?"
When Kurosaki looked back at him, the softness was still bleeding through his eyes. "You know I don't blame you. It was a bad situation, and you did the best you could." Urahara was about to interpret, to insist that everything that happened was his fault. He had already been plotting machinations for Kurosaki before he was even born. He was about to say as much, but when he opened his mouth, Kurosaki shook his head. "I know your guilt complex is enough for a lesser man to drown in, but you couldn't have predicted Aizen. You made the best out of the hand you were dealt, and I never blamed you for that." His eyes drifting back to the table, Kurosaki let a slight smile tug at his lips. "I'm thankful, honestly. You gave me the power to protect the people I love, and that means everything to me."
Urahara didn't know what to do with that. It was rare for someone to thank him, and when such an occasion came about, he never knew what to say. Majority of the time he was just fixing a problem he had caused in the first place. There was one thing he could give, even though Kurosaki didn't seem inclined to take, "Even if your powers never return, Kurosaki, I won't turn you out. You will always have a place here."
Kurosaki furrowed his brow with a sharpness to his gaze that made Urahara realize this wasn't the first time he had promised to keep Kurosaki in his life. He wasn't going to take it back, but something about Kurosaki's expression made him nervous. Then, the look softened into something melancholic, and the sharp edges to his features faded away. The way Kurosaki said, "thank you," somehow sounded sad.