The Saturday morning sun filtered through Lavairiis's bedroom window as he carefully added shading to his latest sketch. Downstairs, he could hear the usual chaos—Isshin's booming laughter, Yuzu singing while helping with breakfast, Karin complaining about something.
A knock on his door made him look up.
"Come in."
Ichigo entered, still in his pajamas, orange hair sticking up at odd angles. At twelve years old, his perpetual scowl had become a defining feature, but Lavairiis had learned to read the subtle variations. Right now, it was the "I'm worried about my little brother" scowl.
"Hey, Lava." Ichigo closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. "You okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You've been spacing out a lot lately. And I saw you heading out early yesterday morning with that sketchbook." Ichigo's expression softened. "You're not getting bullied or anything, right? Because if someone's messing with you—"
"No, nothing like that." Lavairiis smiled at his brother's protective instinct. "I've just been... working on a big art project. Getting really into it, you know?"
"Art project?"
"Yeah. Trying to draw different characters, practice different styles." It wasn't a lie, exactly. Just not the whole truth. "Sometimes I go to this quiet spot by the river to sketch where it's peaceful."
Ichigo studied him for a moment, clearly not entirely convinced, but he nodded. "Alright. But if something's wrong, you'd tell me, right?"
"Of course, Ichi-nii."
"Good." Ichigo was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."
"What's up?"
Ichigo looked uncomfortable, like he was struggling to put something into words. "You ever feel like... like you're supposed to be doing something important, but you don't know what it is?"
Lavairiis set down his pencil, giving his brother his full attention. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know how to explain it." Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, frustration clear on his face. "It's like... when I see someone getting hurt, something in me just snaps. I can't walk away. I have to help them, even if it's stupid, even if I get in trouble for it."
"Like that fight last week with the upperclassmen."
"Yeah. Everyone said I was an idiot for getting involved, that it wasn't my business. But I couldn't just watch them pick on that kid." Ichigo's hands clenched into fists. "And the thing is, I know I can't save everyone. I'm just one person. But I still feel like I should try, you know? Like it's my responsibility somehow."
Lavairiis felt his chest tighten. This was so quintessentially Ichigo—this desperate need to protect others, even before he understood why he felt that way. In another year or two, when his spiritual awareness fully awakened, this instinct would make so much more sense.
"I don't think that's stupid," Lavairiis said quietly. "I think it's brave."
"It doesn't feel brave. It feels like I'm never doing enough." Ichigo looked at his younger brother. "You don't... you don't feel like that, do you? Like there's something you're supposed to be doing but you're not strong enough yet?"
Every single day, Lavairiis thought. Every time I see a spirit, every time I sense a Hollow's presence, every time I think about what's coming.
But he couldn't say that.
"Sometimes," he admitted carefully. "I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Like we could be better, do more, help more people if we just... knew how."
"Yeah." Ichigo seemed relieved that someone understood. "Exactly like that. It's frustrating."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, two brothers grappling with the weight of responsibility in their own ways—one aware of the supernatural threats, one still innocent but sensing something greater on the horizon.
"You know what helps me?" Lavairiis offered. "When I feel overwhelmed or like I'm not good enough, I think about the people I can help. Not everyone, just the people right in front of me. My family, my friends. That makes it feel more manageable."
Ichigo considered this. "So like... I can't save everyone, but I can save the people around me?"
"Something like that. Focus on what you can do, not what you can't."
A small smile cracked Ichigo's perpetual scowl. "When did you get so wise, squirt?"
"I've always been wise. You just don't pay attention."
"Brat." Ichigo reached over and ruffled Lavairiis's hair roughly, making him protest and swat at his hand. "But seriously, thanks. For listening and not thinking I'm crazy."
"You're my big brother. Of course I don't think you're crazy." Even though if you knew what I know, you'd realize how not-crazy you actually are.
Ichigo stood up, stretching. "Alright, enough emotional stuff. It's getting weird. I'm gonna go see if breakfast is ready."
"Tell Mom I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Sure." Ichigo headed for the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "Hey, Lava?"
"Yeah?"
"If you ever need backup with anything—and I mean anything—I've got your back. You know that, right?"
Lavairiis felt emotion well up in his chest. "I know. Same here, Ichi-nii. Always."
After Ichigo left, Lavairiis sat alone in the morning light, his sketchbook closed on his lap. The guilt was heavier now, a physical weight pressing down on his chest.
His brother had just shared his deepest feelings—this inexplicable drive to protect people, this frustration at his own limitations. And Lavairiis had comforted him while hiding the truth: that monsters were real, that Ichigo's instincts weren't random, that he was feeling the stirrings of spiritual awareness that would one day awaken fully.
I'm lying to him every day, Lavairiis thought miserably. He's struggling with these feelings and I know exactly what they mean. I know what's coming for him.
But what was the alternative? Tell Ichigo about Hollows now, when he had no power to fight them? Watch his brother throw himself at monsters with his bare fists and get killed?
No. The lie was necessary. Cruel, but necessary.
When Rukia comes, Lavairiis promised himself. When Ichigo gets his Shinigami powers and can actually defend himself. Then I'll tell him everything. Then we'll fight together.
Until then, I protect him the only way I can—by keeping him innocent.
He opened his sketchbook to a fresh page and began to draw, channeling his guilt and determination into every line. The figure taking shape was a warrior, armored and heroic.
Because while Ichigo was worrying about not being strong enough to protect people, Lavairiis was training to protect Ichigo from the things he couldn't yet see.
That was what younger brothers do.