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As much as Shinji Hirako liked to make a show of pretending otherwise, it was no secret that he would lay down his life for the Visoreds in a heartbeat. He loved them like a family, even if after a century together they had grown a little too comfortable tossing ceros at each other as they bickered.
Yet it was also no secret that Shinji Hirako was a man of solitude.
He had once prided himself on his leadership, and it was no secret how that had ended; he had fallen into the de-facto position of leader of their motley group more than anything else. So when half the group had volunteered to run their errands and the other half had disappeared for reasons he couldn't care to remember, Shinji had leapt at the opportunity to finally have the warehouse to himself.
He closed his eyes as he draped himself across the sofa, feeling the tension drain from his body in relief as he realised he might finally be able to get some shut-eye without fear of Hiyori waking him up with a slap to the face.
'Finally,' he thought as he made himself comfortable, 'Inner peace.'
"Hey, you," came a grumpy voice.
"Wha-?" Shinji said blearily, suddenly sitting up.
He opened his eyes just in time to see a bright red object sailing straight towards his face.
It struck him square in the forehead.
"Gah!" Shinji cried, deftly catching the thing as he reeled back from the sting. "What the hell, Ichigo?!"
A sudden, sinking feeling washed over him, as a quiet voice in the back of his head mocked him. Wasn't it alarming, the way he had let Ichigo's presence slip onto his radar without a second thought? He had registered it subconsciously, processed it as though his spiritual pressure was as familiar and normal as any of the Visored.
Exactly when had he become so vulnerable around a kid he barely knew?
"Wait, why are you even here? We ain't trainin' today," he said instead as he rubbed his forehead.
"Merry fucking Christmas," Ichigo said with a sadistic grin. "Consider it payback for how much you've beaten me up the last few weeks. Where is everyone, anyway?"
"Out, I guess," he shrugged. There went his peace and quiet, ripped untimely from his hands.
Somehow, he didn't mind at all.
He turned over the gift in his hand, thin and flat and surprisingly sharply-wrapped in snowflake-patterned crimson wrapping paper.
"I forgot it was today," Shinji said slowly. "We don't usually celebrate Christmas."
It wasn't a tradition that had existed in Soul Society, and though they had attempted it intermittently over the decades, trying to hide presents from each other when they were in such close quarters always proved more hassle than it was worth; none of them had want for much, either, because as it turned out, a simple life in exile and hiding gave rise to few needs.
Yet, Ichigo had gone out of his way and taken his time to find something for each and every one of them.
"That's for you, you heathen," Ichigo said like it wasn't obvious, moving to the sofa and making himself comfortable. "What, did you forget your manners in the world of the living?"
"Thank you," Shinji grinned. "I mean it. You shouldn't have. Everyone'll be pleased, though," he said, nodding to the shopping bag of presents Ichigo held at his side.
Ichigo frowned at him expectantly, and Shinji slowly prised the paper open. It felt wrong, somehow, accepting a gift from a high-schooler, but he couldn't say he wasn't pleasantly surprised.
Inside a simple box was a dark grey flat-cap, lined with some soft sort of material that was far nicer to touch than his last tattered one. It was just the style he liked, the exact kind he'd pick out himself. Somehow, Ichigo had perfectly judged his taste.
"Hey, this is great," he grinned with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mighty thoughtful of you. Thank you."
"Yeah?" Ichigo said, and Shinji hated the way his eyes looked like they were searching for approval. "Sorry I shredded your last one. I felt pretty bad about it."
"You kiddin'? Hiyori had been threatenin' to trash that ratty old thing for weeks. All things considered, I'd say your inner hollow did me a favour."
And Ichigo laughed, so brightly and innocently for a kid who should resent the lot of them for all getting tangled up in their world and their messes had done for him.
For Shinji, it was a painful reminder of the lengths they were willing to dredge for their cause. Lengths that, in his darkest moments, he hated himself for being able to justify.
A weapon of war. A person.
A child.