^_^ enjoy! Thanks and love to Alrye for her constant encouragement and enjoyment of my work! Especially since she tells me that she enjoys it. -_-

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When the boy – Ulquiorra, he reminded himself with a watery smile – went into the other room to change, it gave him time he needed to compose himself again and wipe his watery eyes so that he didn't look pathetic when the green eyed boy came back into the kitchen or when that unfamiliar doctor entered his home. The designer let himself take a steadying breath and enjoy the pleasant warmth that expanded in his chest, the release of tension, reminding himself that he didn't have the time to think in such a constant, different setting, trying to sooth his frazzling nerves. Taking a deep breath through his nose and closing his eyes for a moment, restraining the intense emotions that wished to pour forth into a most unsuitable act that would likely involve violence towards whomever it was that'd harmed the child, he started the motion towards the living room.

Ulquiorra, the tattooed man thought, pondering on the name. It sounds foreign.

Taking another deep breath, he started set about to put away all of the tea leaves, organizing them with the distant eye for detail that he unconsciously put into practice in the majority of his daily life.

His foster brother would always smile whenever he entered the designer's kitchen and saw the jars, all lined up in order; color coded to look inviting to the eye.

On picking up the Honey-Mint jar, his thoughts, as well as his gaze, flickered to the picture next to the telephone cradle, examining the five figures, three whom looked uncomfortable within the family setting, but he had always felt out of place amongst the entirety of those whom he considered family. While it was rather easy for Hisagi to spend time with both Ichinose Maki – his foster brother's best friend – and Kaien, he had always found it difficult to stay in the same room as those two when Kensei-san was in the room as well. That much testosterone in one room felt like it could smother him and tear him apart at the same time. It was challenging enough to be around Mashiro Kuna – his foster mother – as she was a challenge in and of herself.

Still, he cared for them, more than he cared to admit.

Maybe I should call Kensei-san and tell him about Ulquiorra-kun? He played with the idea before discarding it. If he called him, it'd just be the designer calling the 9th precinct taicho, not son calling father for advice; he'd wait a while before calling the severe man.

The sound of whispering cloth caught his ear and the coal-gray eyed man turned his gaze from that of his makeshift family, to that of the thin boy with the tiredly drooping eyes and the hesitant tilt to his head, hands folded demurely in front of him, fingers playing with the soft hem of his shirt. The soft white linen was buttoned all the way up, every seashell button slid through the holes to glimmer softly in the light, the collar hugging his neck in a comfortable seeming manner. His black, shifting pants were just long enough for him, stopping just before the hem could trail on the floor and wear through, as it wasn't the strongest of fabric, one of convenience and aesthetic appeal rather than practicality. This ensemble as a whole seemed to fit him well enough, though there was spare room where one would normally have weight, but Hisagi was certain that the other would grow into them with time.

"Ah, Ulquiorra-kun," the corners of the tattooed man's lips turned up at the shy sight before him, and he couldn't help but admire his own handiwork slightly, in a way he hadn't done in quite a while; the more he enjoyed making something , the more he appreciated his own work. "Would you like something to eat? I'm pretty sure I can scrounge up something passable."

The Nod.

As he rummaged through his refrigerator – which bore only the basic necessities, as well as knickknacks for the occasional guest that managed to pop up out of the blue – he decided that the only thing he could make would most likely be an omelet and some toast. Rather bland, but he figured that the child wouldn't complain, no matter how much the thought of giving him something so base curdled his gut, or made his hands shake with distaste.

"How does an omelet sound, Ulquirra-kun?" tilting his head to catch the slight furrowing of the boy's brow, and a realization once that frown deepened, the lack of understanding registering within his coal gaze.

Had he never…?

"Ah, well, I'm not a very good cook, so… It should at least be edible," there was a pulsing heat in his chest at the thought that this scarred child had never eaten something as common as an omelet before. "Can't say much for what it'll taste like though."

While Hisagi set about whipping a couple of eggs, and pulling out the spices that he had to throw in – courtesy of Kaien, again – the small, blank eyed child sat himself in his previous seat, running his now hidden hands over the silky softness of the material that he'd been given, eyes softening with the feel of the gentle fabric. The whisk felt ridiculously unfamiliar in the designer's hands, yet steadying at the same time. He had someone to cook for, as he hadn't had since the times when he'd lived in the Muguruma household; they would have individual days where they'd have to cook, and his had always been Sundays, with the occasional Tuesday thrown in. As his right hand flicked the whisk in the bowl, steadying the bowl with his hip, he reached his left over into the breadbox on the counter, pulling out the wheat bread for some toast, and considering the options for what he had to put on it for the quiet boy.

Effectively multitasking, and concocting with the thought of feeding the boy something he might show that pleased expression for, the one that had a chance of devastating the elder, the weary man didn't notice the hollow eyed child's study of him.

If he had seen he wouldn't have been able to let the child go, as he was contemplating.

It was too… pleading.

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He's kind, he silently considered as his eyes slowly trailed over the man's thin, wiry physique. He's more nervous than I am, as well.

Hisagi Shuuhei seemed like the kind of man who wasn't suited to being alone, forgetting to take care of himself in his need to accommodate others. This fact was so blatantly obvious, and so very foreign to the scarred, hollow eyed boy. Ulquiorra himself was rather self-sufficient, he knew, especially for someone his age, but as he observed the tall, lean man before him, he found himself wondering if it would be a miscalculation to want to stay here, with the one who'd given him something of his own. Tilting his head to the side, he vaguely felt the soft caress of his own dark locks against his pale, scarred features, emerald eyes hazy and sleepy, mouth relaxed as if he were about to speak, only knowing that he would most likely never find that part of himself again. Truly, he had never wanted to speak with someone as much as he wanted to this man, to learn of him.

As the boy watched, the man gave the spices in his hands a dubious look before focusing on Ulquiorra, expression curious.

"Would you like a sweet or regular omelet?" was the hesitant query.

There was something sad and warm in the man's eyes, even more so than before. Previously, his eyes had held a vacant, directionless listlessness, a lonely resignation that stated that he just couldn't fight against the weight of the world anymore, that he just didn't find it worth it to feel directly for something, but now…

He felt for Ulquiorra, even if the boy was uncertain as to whether it was pity, the man felt something for him, not at him.

A moment was given to consideration. Sweet? He didn't particularly know the difference, only having read about it, and the resulting difference in taste was rather startling. Having chosen the tea that had the most affectionate writing on the label, he figured that this taste must be similar, if the books that told of the flavor had any bases in fact. He wasn't quite sure he was ready for something so different as of yet, though, and the emerald eyed boy tilted his head in consideration before he shook his head in negation.

"Not sweet?"

He nodded, blinking at that small smile the action produced, similar to the previous one. Why did it please the man when he made that gesture? He puzzled over this for a while as he smelled the buttery, slightly sulfurous scent of this omelet that the slim designer was cooking up, and the dry, warm smell of the bread that'd been pushed into that toaster oven before just deciding that the reason for the smile wasn't that important. The action, however, he liked. The effect it had on the plains of the kind man's sharp, harried features was… soothing. He may have to attempt it later, alone with something reflective, to see exactly how the practice was done. Expressions had always been hard for the scarred boy to emulate, as he had a rather puzzling lack of understanding when it came to the majority of emotions, only knowing the definite labels of those that had a negative association, as he'd been surrounded by them during his short life.

Blinking and giving in to a little shiver of tiredness, he startled a bit when he heard the light clack and felt the soft heat coming off of the yellow, folded creation before him, tiny sprinklings of pepper and paprika apparent within the golden creation. Beside the fluffy, aureate concoction, one that had the most intriguing, unnamable, almost acrid smell to it, were two lightly browned, pieces of toast with a light coating of butter on one, and a light coating of margarine on the other, as the man hadn't been quite sure which the boy would prefer. A ridged paper napkin with tiny, pressed out flowers was set next to the plate and a new cup of that marvelously warm, and smooth tea that made his tongue hum happily. He had a moment of surprise, as he'd not seen the other prepare a new pot, or remove the jar. Still, he couldn't fault the heavy scent that signified that this was indeed the tea that he'd chosen before.

"It's most appropriate to eat this type of omelet with Western utensils," dark eyes were warm as the nimble fingered man set a fork and butter knife with a bamboo stalk pattern before the boy – his speech oddly archaic, as if he were quoting someone - settling a small, fond expression on his tattooed features. "Or, at least, that's what I was told."

Slowly reaching forward, his small, scarred hands paused for a moment over the utensils as he mentally went over how the man's hands had curved around the Western tools, glancing up at the black haired designer as the other took a step back and started to wash the small, stainless steel frying pan that he'd used to prepare the omelet. It would appear that the man was expecting him to eat it, and the silent boy could admit that he wished to try it as it was just so… yellow. Cutting the soft – honestly, it was like nothing he'd ever had to fight the consistency of – yielding bit of kitcheners art, stopping just before the knife hit the plate, he lifted the speared fluffy foodstuff to his mouth. Gaze flickering over to the man who was now drying the pan, before he put the strange golden egg into his mouth and involuntarily making a small noise of pleasant surprise.

It was warm, soft, and fluffy. But most importantly, it wasn't too much.

As his eyes were focused on the miraculous concoction sitting on the silver lined midnight blue plate with delicate filigree depicting what could either be wind or waves out of that thin, moon-white, gleaming metal. The soft exhalation from the designer's lips was slightly unsteady, causing the boy to look up sharply, only to see that the other was leaning against the counter in front of the sink, head bowed just the slightest bit as one hand shadowed his eyes momentarily – it didn't slip passed the boy that that hand was trembling slightly – and the other hand was tightly grasping the counter on which he leaned, the lines of his lean muscled arms standing out in clear relief beneath pale, shadowed olive skin.

Ah, was all he could think, eyes widening as he wondered whether he'd done something wrong, and what exactly it was. Ah.

After a moment, the kind, warm man took a deep breath, dropping the hand that had covered his eyes and staring at the small collection of gifted, uselessly pretty dishes in rather calming lavender purple with tiny flowers and whirlpools decorating the unblemished surface. They looked like what they were; an ornamental, overpriced work of art.

He hadn't even paid for them.

Just as those tiny hands started to tremble, the terrified grief at the thought that this warm man was upset with him in some way, the Hisagi Shuuhei tilted his head over his shoulder and gave him the most helplessly lost, affectionate look, lips curved just the slightest bit, and coal dark eyes moist.

"If you like that, wait until you try my Tamagoyaki, Ulquiorra-kun," that smooth, careful voice was soft, just the same as it'd been when he'd first spoken to him. "It's much more palatable."

"Wait until you try my Tamagoyaki, Ulquiorra-kun."

Wait… Wait… He… I – moisture came unbidden to those hollow emerald orbs as the meaning behind those words registered, and he felt his grip on the fork go lax, and he had to force himself to place it gently against the pretty plate.

He isn't going to make me leave. I – I didn't do anything wrong.

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Kensei-san is going to have something to say about this, I'm sure. There was no helping it though. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had been so alone – felt so alone – for so long, that the slightest sign of appreciation for his existence drew him in like a starving fish on a line of meager bait, but…

That look.

The slightly curious expression on those calm, half-bored, half-asleep features had made the man hold his breath as the scarred boy examined his cooking, probably curious as to how exactly he was supposed to eat it; he'd seen the other's hesitance as he placed his hands on the unfamiliar utensils. The placement of those tiny hands had been so precise and careful, as if he were afraid to cause the metal any injury that the heated ball in his chest expanded and contracted momentarily before settling behind his breastbone to simmer and freeze. A slight struggle with figuring how to cut the omelet had put a tiny crease of concentration on the pale, scarred features before he'd taken the concoction to his tiny lips, and out of the corner of his eye he had caught it, that expression that had sent a dizzy sensation through his body.

Complete and utter euphoria.

Just as he'd predicted, the effects were devastating.

Pale cheeks had warm to a healthy pink, eyes closed and jaw rotating ever so carefully, as if to fully savor the taste, as if this were the last thing he'd ever eat, and he had to make the most of it. Or the first thing he'd eaten and he didn't know if he'd ever get another taste. Head tilted to the side just the slightest bit, the boy released a sound of utter contentment, pure adulation. It had been soft, and secret, and completely reflexive.

It had been beautiful.

There was no way that this man, this lonely self of his, the one known as Hisagi Shuuhei, could exist without this tiny, hesitant, bruised life.

He wouldn't remember how.

Staring into those now-watery orbs of deep beryl, he felt the tenseness wash out of his body in a rush that left him near exhausted and elated at the same time.

Until the buzzer to his floor went off, startling both of them, and causing Ulquiorra-kun to flinch and sink in on himself, expression flowing again into bored, disinterested stone.

"Ah, gomen, Ulquiorra-kun," he murmured, taking slow, measured steps around the kitchen island, giving the boy some space as he moved passed the small body so as not to startle him further. "I'll take care of this, you continue to eat that. I'm sorry that I don't have all that I need for the Tamagoyaki, my brother has the makiyakinabe, and I haven't worked up to buying another."

Hadn't needed to.

Bare feet sliding easily across the smooth, stylish carpet as he made his way to the door sent tickles of warmth up through his skin and made his bones ache slightly, giving him a moment of pause to turn up the heat in the apartment, knowing that if he were this cold, then Ulquiorra-kun would most assuredly be feeling the chill of the lonely, artistic apartment. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it; if there were one thing he had in excess, it was money.

When he reached the oak-brown door and slid his hand over the dirty grey-silver door handle, he peeked out the peephole and blinked at the blinding flash of pink he could see on the other side of the door. Brows screwing together, he had a flash of foresight, one that was saying that he definitely wasn't going to like this man; he was too… blatant.

He opened the door and took in the shockingly feminine features and disposition of the man before him with an internal wince, hoping that he wasn't going to be as flamboyant as his appearances broadcasted, but knowing that there was little hope of this. White rimmed glasses sat over the man's burnt orange eyes – a most unsettling and unhealthy seeming color – and his skin was care-product smooth, with the near unnatural glow he'd come across with some of the models he'd interviewed for his line. Needless to say he never actually picked such people; they were trying far too hard, in his opinion, and his choices hadn't proved wrong so far. His clothes were certainly not from a line he was familiar with, and even though they were rather… odd, he couldn't fault the clean lines, or the symmetry the posed on the man's slim, agile body. All white with a high neck and long slim sleeved business-pleasure-esque mix, and a pair of clean lined white suite pants with shiny dress shoes.

There was a white and black back in his hand, one that had the typical appearance of a medical bag from the early 1900's, almost pumpkin shaped from a frontal view, but rounded overall.

"Ah, you must me Szayel-san," he managed, barely noting the man's nod of ascent.

"Hisagi Shuuhei, I presume?" the voice was a high tenor, cheery and inquisitive, burnt orange eyes half lidded and head tilted to the side as he studied the designer. "You have someone for me to examine, yes?"

"Hai, if you wouldn't mind waiting inside for a moment," stepping back he allowed the effeminate man to pass him and closed the door behind him, feeling his stomach stirring with nausea at the thought of letting this odd man near the child when he'd only just started to get used to his own presence. "I'll only be a moment."

Seating the eclectic man, Hisagi quickly moved towards the kitchen again, pleasantly surprised to find that the omelet that had previously been before the boy was now gone, and that the margarine coated piece of wheat toast was mostly gone, whilst the butter topped had a single bite taken out of it. The boy sat, curiously studying the room in which he sat. From the angle at which he approached the other, he could clearly see the child's fingers fiddling with the soft fabric that adorned him, first curling into the cloth, then smoothing it down over his thin stomach and hips. Ah, he thought, a smile springing delicately to his lips, despite his previous unease. So that's what he was doing before.

"Was the butter too rich for you?" he queried, slowing his approach and giving the child a wide berth as he rounded the island and grabbing the tea pot and a cup from the cupboard. He poured himself a share and took a deep breath of the vapors, glad when his jittery stomach calmed and his chest loosened some more at the familiarity of it. "I thought you should try both spreads, I hope you don't mind."

Turning to face the other again, he caught the oddest expression of bemusement, before the thin, battered boy tilted his head slightly and affectively smoothed his features as he regarded the designer who took a sip of his nicely warmed tea; really, the ability to retain heat of the brass teapot was with the cost. Apparently Yumichika knew more about kitchenware than he'd originally assumed; he'd been dragged on a shopping spree with his colleague – who mostly focused on the makeup and shoes department of Hisagi's line – and ended up buying the teapot at the man's insistence, as well as a pair of ridiculously expensive, comfortable dress shoes.

Ulquiorra reached both hands out and took a hold of his mostly full, smooth white ceramic tea cup, slipping the pinky of his right hand beneath the cup and gripping it with both hands, fingers splayed together and apart, rather than drinking modernly or traditionally he drank like what he was, a kid. This sight soothed the hurting, quiet anger even more than the warmth of the tea in his hand. There were some points where this boy could still react according to his age, and apparently drinking tea was one of them.

The silent child regarded him after setting down his now empty cup – which caused Hisagi to raise a brow in amusement at the rate the other had drained it – before silently pushing his cup towards the man, and subsequently, the teapot. Chuckling lightly, he did as the boy had asked and refilled the cup, waiting a moment as the scarred youth took a light breath, mimicking his earlier action, and absorbed the heat of the sweet, minty liquid within. They'd been together for a matter of hours, and already the fragile boy was copying his habits.

It was as endearing as it was sad.

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Hisagi Shuuhei was being indecisive about something, he was hesitating.

As he sat, feeling the slight sting of the heat against his palms, and the wonderful ache in his bones from said heat, he pondered on what the man could be so unsure of. The hesitant, helpless affection he directed in the sleepy child's direction was the same, and a bit more pronounced after the initial announcement that the man had subtly made towards the matter of where the green eyed boy would go from here. Still, he could see nervousness within those warm, narrow eyes and the slight drawing of his brows that signaled he was unhappy with something. Stuffing down the instant thought that maybe he was the one who'd upset the other – he couldn't jump to conclusions, the man had already proven this with his previous reaction – he made a surprisingly accurate guess.

It most likely had something to do with the man in the other room.

Even as he'd sat there eating, unable to see the interaction, he wasn't deaf, and had extremely keen hearing, something ingrained in him for survival.

Having surmised this much, it didn't surprise him when the gentle man spoke, voice halting and soft.

"Uno, Ulquiorra-kun, I was wondering…" blinking and leaning his forearms on the countertop at which he sat, the boy set his regard fully on the other, emerald eyes locking with coal gray. "There's a doctor here who would like to examine you, and make sure that there isn't any serious damage. Something that I missed."

Silence.

The man before him sighed as the beryl eyed boy stiffened at the mention of a doctor. Those weren't people, they were monsters.

"Someone I've trusted with my life," the other murmured, causing green eyes to soften, even as the man's own were locked onto the cup in his hand. "She trusts this man to help you, and I'm hoping that you can trust me just enough to know that I won't let him do anything you don't want."

That settled it then, if he were going to put it that way.

He couldn't see himself distrusting the man now, after all that he'd done for him, and all that he hadn't done to him.

When the steady, careful designer lifts his gaze to the small boy, he receives the slight nod of ascent that the child had grown accustomed to using in regards to the man, even with only being in his acquaintance for such a short amount of time. Hisagi released a relieved breath and gave Ulquiorra that affectionate, helpless smile from before, and the green eyed boy was quite certain that everything was going to be alright.

He would define his own version of trust, with this man.

So he slid from his seat, setting down his cup only to be told by the coal eyed man that he was welcome to take it with him to the other room, even as he himself took his own beverage with him, leading the way into an area of the house that the boy had yet to venture forth into. The boy paused a moment on catching sight of the extremely white appearance of the man before him, before sidling behind his savior, keeping him between himself and the pink haired doctor with curiosity in his burnt orange eyes. Even though the trust he had in the man was fragile and tentative, this new person had nothing that would hint at the kind of personality or temperament that the boy could discern as comforting or stable in the least, that analytical gaze was too… familiar to him. He knew people who had looked at him like that, like he was something to dissect, a mystery that could be solved by the piercing of his flesh.

He didn't want that.

"Ul – um," the designer paused after he sat on the love seat opposite the couch, the boy curled up next to him, tiny pale feet hidden beneath his legs as he sat on his knees, unsure. "Would you mind my telling Szayel-san your name?"

Joints aching slightly at the uncomfortable position his body was in, due to his own stubborn unease with the unknown man before him, he tilted his head the slightest bit to the side as he considered the strange man, who had yet to speak, then turned his gaze to that of Hisagi Shuuhei. Those kind dark eyes were studying him with worry and earnestness, and he listed off the reasons he had come to like this man; he was kind, he was constant, he was shy, he hadn't touched or taken, he had cleaned him, clothed him – given him something of his own – and fed him, but most importantly, he was warm.

For these reasons he nodded his ascent, enjoying the relief amongst the worry in the dark gaze, even as he smoothed his small trembling hand over the soft material that was now his thanks to this generous and selfless man, the other clutching to the warmth of the ceramic.

"Szayel-san, this is Ulquiorra-kun."

"Ah, it's very nice to meet you, Ulquiorra-kun," the smile and raised brow the pink haired man shot at him gave the boy a shocking amount of relief as instinct told him one thing; this man had no interest in young boys. "Would you mind if I gave you an examination?" a frown of discomfort flittered over his features unbidden at the suggestion. "Of course, Hisagi-san could be present if you wish, I'll not deny you of him."

Maybe this guy wasn't so bad.

Feeling the small, precise stitching at the hem of the white shirt with the tips of his warmed right fingers and lifting his gaze to his savior anew, he gave a small nod again, feeling warmth spread through him at the smile he received for the action. Taking a sip of his tea, he felt his eyes go even sleepier for a moment as the thick heat shivered down his throat and into his stomach to settle the queasiness of his unease at undressing before the man. Szayel, on the other hand, was opening his bag and setting out reflex testing tools, throat swabs and disinfectants, he glanced up at Hisagi before taking out the small rolled up kit he kept with him for blood withdrawals.

Because normal doctors carried around emergency equipment like this, of course.

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"Here, Ulquiorra-kun, I'll take your tea," the designer murmured, holding out his hand, only to be shocked stiff as, instead of a ceramic tea cup, a small, cool, trembling hand slid into his.

The pale, scarred child wriggled his feet out from under himself and slowly set his cup on the glass table in front of the love seat on which they sat, his gaze staying locked onto the cup before him, his tiny hand gripping the larger, finely muscled one of the designer tightly. Even as the other shaking hand moved up to the buttons on his shirt, he couldn't help but feel his heart wrench at the complete, focused determination within those aching beryl eyes as well as the sharp fear that Ulquiorra-kun seemed to be smothering more and more the tighter he gripped the coal eyed man's hand.

It hurt, this strength.

So whilst Szayel examined and took note of every bruise, ever scar and scrape, the designer held onto that hand, his gaze locked onto that uncertain expression, never once deviating from the tense visage of the boy whom he'd taken home with him off the icy streets the night prior. Every question the eclectic doctor asked was answered after a moment's internal struggle, then there would be the slightest nod or shake of his head, the action taking so long, and his small fingers gripping so tight with each answer, that the man was forced to struggle with the tight ball of loathing, pushing it down and away where the child would never have to see it. If the green eyed boy ever saw what he felt for whomever it was that'd done these things to him, hurting and molding the child into something so distant and careful, he doubted that he would want to hold his hand like this, or accept anything that the designer would give him.

"Would you mind turning around, Ulquiorra-kun?" the pink haired doctor questioned, throwing a glance at the designer who had a hard to interpret expression of bemusement on his lean, attractive features. "I need to look at your back."

Ulquiorra froze, stiffening and tightening his grip until burning pain shot through the designers knuckles, his hollow emerald eyes wide as he locked gazes with the weary, coal eyed man, features an unhealthy pallor in his panic.

"What do you need me to do, Ulquiorra-kun?" he heard passing from between his lips, soft and gentle.

Slowly, so slowly that he almost couldn't tell that it was happening, the child relaxed his tense features as well as his grip on the designer's hand, just enough for him to slid his opposing hand in the others previous place, these fingers chilly as the others hadn't been, as the boy's left hand had been warmed by the coal eyed man's grip. Ulquiorra tugged on his hand lightly so that Hisagi moved with him as he turned and gave the doctor his back, the designer ending up having to situate himself on the sofa cushions in front of the hollow green eyed boy, the hand he'd just released coming up to take his hand again as those chillingly old, empty eyes fixed in his scarred features.

He was intensely aware of the scars and bruises that dotted and marred the pale flesh before him, and unlike the men who Hisagi was sure had abused and used this child, he felt no satisfaction or arousal at the sight, only fury, and a deep sadness, one filled with understanding.

There was no way he could let something happen to shatter the tentative trust that had grown between them, no chance of his giving the child up to someone he couldn't know for certain would take care of him and love him in the way a parent should.

"Don't worry Ulquiorra-kun, I won't let anything happen to you," he murmured, stroking the slightly trembling knuckles with his thumbs, feeling his own innate tension loosen when the tense visage before him relaxed, emerald eyes soft and hesitant in their regard of the designer before them. "I'll protect you."

Soft, thinned lips relaxed and the scarred child mouthed his words back at him, keeping his emerald gaze fixed on that of the coal eyed designer.

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"I'll protect you."

It was hard to wrap his mind around those words, the echo familiarity pulsing in recent, foggy memory, like the last words that the older boy who'd helped him run from Aizen-sama and Ichimaru-sama had said to him, and those words had been desperate and filled with grief as the other tended to his most recent injuries from those that touched him. Those aquamarine eyes had been wide and broken, completely opposite of the quite determination that filled the narrow dark eyes before him, they had been slightly bloodshot from nerves and drugs, not bruised from tiredness.

"I'll help you."

"I'll protect you."

He like this man's words better, he liked the notion that he wasn't alone, and that if he needed something, he wouldn't have to do it by himself, or risk himself and another. Someone would actually do the hard things for him. It was so new, so soft and perfect. It was like the dream he'd never dared to have had come true.

Tightening the grip he had on the designer's hands, he let his watering beryl eyes fall shut, falling into that tentative, new thing called trust and affection.

Loneliness, he now had a definition to this word… but no longer, now he was part of something, part of someone, he was –

"Ulquiorra-kun," a careful thumb stroked over the back of his knuckles, there was a worried, gentle smile behind his words. "It's almost over, Ulquiorra-kun. Once we're done here, you can take a nap, and once you wake up, we'll make you more clothes. After this, you choose what you want to do."

Taking a shuddering breath, he kept as still as possible for his new Hisagi-san and the strange doctor.

If he did, maybe the coal eyed man really would keep him.

After several minutes had passed, the sound of his pen flying over paper dwindling as he took notes and carefully examined ribs, spine, and neck with clinical, business-like hands, Szayel said "Alright Ulquiorra-kun, you may get dressed again."

Designer and child let out matching sighs of relief, both moving to cover the scarred, pale skin and skinny, unhealthy build with the gifted clothes, the boy shaking and trembling throughout. Once clothed again, the hollow eyed boy threw himself at the tattooed man, wrapping spindly arms around the other's tense neck, burying his teary eyed face against the leanly muscled shoulder of his Hisagi-san. It was difficult, but he shoved aside the panic that welled up within his thin chest, his heartbeat echoing in triple-time, and his whole body trembling with fears of the past, and the fears of present rejection or pain. Those arms coming up around him oh-so carefully made him gasp a dry sob and curl as tightly as he could to the finely muscled chest of his savior.

It was so warm.

69696969 Several days later…

"Uh, iya, we're not looking for anything like that. We want the – uh," he glanced to the color display on the screen at the dark gold Ulquiorra-kun was pointing at, brows rising as he took in the display. "The Metallic Gold. Yes, arigatou."

Hanging up he gave the very straightforward, if startlingly tactile addition to his life a wry look, which was countered with curious, tempered joy in hesitant emerald eyes.

"You really like yellow, don't you?"

The Nod.

"Well, now that we have the paint for your room settled, why don't we work on the furnishing?"

The Nod and a tiny, hopeful smile.

"Okay," pulling up his electronic drawing pad and stencil. "Just point out what you like and don't like as I go along, alright?"

Pressing up against his side and causing the tattooed – no longer quite so lonely – man to lift his right arm to let the boy snuggle under his arm in an awkward, almost uncomfortable position to watch the man work with the fascination that he'd demonstrated when watching the man over the time he'd been staying with the bemused man. The designer was pretty sure that he was going to be teaching the boy some minor points to drawing as well as buying more art supplies, a smaller, less expensive set to put away with his own. The thought was mildly heartwarming. He was sure that the tentative decorating he'd done over the years was going to be completely renovated and situated in such a way that it demonstrated both of their tastes thanks to his mildly OCD now adoptive son.

Due to the concentration both were exhibiting towards the decoration of the boy's very own room – a prospect that Ulquiorra-kun found not a little awe-inspiring – they didn't notice the entrance of someone into the room until they were standing right in front of the pair.

"Well, this is a surprise," Kaien's voice was wry and a little confused as he stared at his little brother and the pale child who flinched and curled into his shy adoptive sibling for protection from him; this was a situation he'd never thought he'd encounter, where a child was afraid of him rather than unnerved by his otouto's scars and tattoos. It was oddly reassuring. "Out of all of us I was sure that either Maki or I would have an illegitimate child first."

"Kaien!" the designer exclaimed, setting down his pad to wrap his arms around the stiff child in comfort. "What in the world are you doing here?"

An arched brow caused the younger man to flush lightly over the bridge of his tattooed nose.

"It's Thursday, space-case," he reminded.

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'Oh'."

Shifting so that he could peek over at the man whom he vaguely recognized from the family photos sparsely scattered around the airy flat, he relaxed as he took in the bemused expression on handsome, kind features and shaggy dark hair reminiscent of his Hisagi-san's. He was approximately the same height as the designer as well, his build fuller and less angular than the tattooed man, but relaxed and comfortable, less threatening that someone smaller that Ulquiorra-kun knew of.

"Well, um," he'd completely forgotten to tell his family what was going on. "Oops."

"Yeah, 'Oops'."

A moment of silence encompassed them before the beryl eyed boy tugged on Hisagi's shirt and gave him and inquiring look, before The Nod.

"Well Kaien, this is Ulquiorra-kun… my son."

Was it wrong to take enjoyment from the solid thud that his elder brother made as he fell back in a darkly satisfying faint?

A small – okay, not so small – part of him didn't think so, while the rest of him shared a moment of shocked looks with the emerald eyed child, then they shared hushed, near silent laughter, the boy hiding his face in the designer's chest when the unfamiliar feelings bubbled up in his chest.

"I wonder what Kensei-san's reaction will be…" he muttered after getting a hold on himself.

04040404 A couple weeks later…

Laying opposite his new uncle and looking at a photo album was fun, especially when he could hear Kensei-nii grouching on the phone to someone he worked with good-naturedly, and interesting, but what he really wanted to be doing was the same thing, plus his Hisagi-san, so when he turned his head at the sound of the front door opening, there was a bright, unconscious smile on his face.

"Tadaima!" the designer called, toeing off his shoes before looking up and freezing, expression softening and a smooth smile crossing his features.

"Okairii!" was the response from Kaien-nii, and the designer's father.

As coal colored eyes met sparkling, watery beryl eyes, their thoughts coincided in that moment.

I'm home.

MEMEMEME

Phew, finally. I've been writing a couple of sentences for this thing when I can't think of anything else to do, and it's finally done. Thank GOD… It was fun though, lol.