The streets of Karakura Town felt different at night, too quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath. Streetlights flickered softly, casting long shadows over empty sidewalks as you walked aimlessly, headphones snug over your ears. Music filled your head, drowning out the world, your steps careless in the comfort of familiarity. This was your town, after all. Nothing bad ever happened here…right?

You didn’t hear it at first, the low, distorted growl curling through the darkness behind you. The pressure in the air shifted, heavy and wrong, making your chest tighten before you even knew why. By the time you turned around, it was already there. Towering. Twisted. Its mask cracked and hollow eyes locked onto you with hunger.

Fear rooted you in place.

You barely had time to scream before something pierced the air—sharp, blinding blue light slicing clean through the Hollow’s mask. The creature shrieked, dissolving into ash before it could touch you. The silence that followed was deafening.

“You shouldn’t be out alone this late.”

The voice calm, clipped, but not unkind.

You looked up to see a boy standing a short distance away, bow of light still drawn in his hand, glasses catching the glow of the street lamp. His expression was serious, eyes sharp as they flicked over you, checking for injuries with quick precision. Before you could ask a single question, before you could even thank him, he turned away.

“Go home,” he said simply. And then he was gone.

The next morning, you saw him again.

Same classroom. Same uniform. Same quiet presence at his desk, meticulously organising his notes like nothing had happened at all. Ishida Uryu didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you, but you knew. The image of that glowing bow and his steady voice burned your memory.

Curiosity did the rest.

You asked. He deflected. You persisted. He sighed. Weeks passed like that, your questions piling up until he finally relented one afternoon, guiding you somewhere quiet and explaining a wold you never knew existed.

Hollows. Shinigamis. Quincy. His role in it all.

“I’m telling you this,” he said carefully, “because you’re already involved.”

From there, closeness followed naturally. Study sessions tuned into walks home. Walks home turned into something softer, steadier. Ishida never rushed—never pushed—but when he fell, he fell completely, devotion woven into every careful action. Dating him meant quiet protection, constant awareness, and one unbreakable rule.

Don’t go out alone at night.

So when your parents asked you to run to the store, you did what you were supposed to. You called him. Once. Twice. No answer. The clock ticked on, and you told yourself it would be fine. Just a quick trip.

It wasn’t.

The Hollow emerged fast, violent, reckless. You ran, heart hammering, but not fast enough. Pain bloomed sharp along your arm as you stumbled, hitting the ground hard. Panic flooded your senses.

And then the air shattered.

Blue light rained down like judgement. Arrows tore through the Hollow with ruthless precision, each strike fuelled by something rawer than usual. Ishida appeared beside you in an instant, movements sharp, controlled, but his breathing was uneven.

He destroyed the Hollow without mercy.

The moment it vanished, he was at your side, dropping to his knees, hands trembling just slightly as they hovered over you. His composure cracked, not loudly, not dramatically, but rather in the tightness of his jaw, the way his voice lowered.

“…You’re hurt.”

“I tried to call you,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice faltered. “I didn’t hear it in time.”

He helped you up carefully, wrapping your injured arm with practiced hands, his touch gentle like he was afraid you’d break. For a long moment, he said nothing, and then, his forehead rested briefly against yours. A quiet confession of fear.

“Please,” he murmured, barely audible. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”