A/N: Hey beauties! First let me apologize for how long this chapter took to post. It's way too short for it to have taken this long, but honestly, it's my hardest story I'm writing right now. Also, with six ongoing stories and with such long chapters, my attention just keeps getting adverted. I just feel like with a story this detailed and with chapters this long, I should be updating quicker because some may not remember all that happened in the last chapters.

Any way, I'll try better next time, but no promises. Though, if you're in need of a ByaIchi fix, and you're not already doing so, check out my other stories! This chapter is more of a set up chapter, so not too much happens.

Thanks to everyone as always! I'll respond to reviews at the bottom. If you want quicker updates, the amount of reviews plays a big part in that.

The After Show

xXx

"I thought I saw the devil, this morning,

looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue.

With the warning to help me see myself clearer.

I never meant to start a fire,

I never meant to make you bleed.

I'll be a better man today"

-James Young

Walking the path to her brothers car, the short trot felt much longer than it was in reality. Rukia found herself with some sympathy towards death row inmates, because she felt like a dead man walking. Each step brought the woman closer to her untimely decease with her brother's car acting as the spaciously, sophisticated electric chair. That performance was her last meal before it was all over, considering the mum outrage exuding from her brother was already throttling. Surly death was near.

Of course, her metaphorical death, but it felt as terrifying all the same. They say there are certain men you don't want to run into in a dark ally, but the woman would take on the totality of all seedy gagsters rather than deal with her brothers frightening disappointment.

Silently, the two walked, and Rukia just hung her head and waited for the sharp tongue jeremiad that she was certain to be bestowed upon her. What would happen? Would she be homeless, having to rough it out on the worn in, health hazard of a cushion that was the bands raggedy couch? Would she have to try sleeping amongst vibrating walls that shook from the half baked thrum of Metallica covers? How much money would she have to set aside for ear plugs and air freshener? Sure, that way she could stay in the band, but she'd also have to infiltrate her friends houses and borrow their running water for hygienic purposes.

As the woman was contemplating how many Chappy posters she could get away with plastering over the already riddled wall of their band room and who's favorite lamented singer would have to be rightful discarded for her cause, Byakuya broke her out of her plight. Holding open the passenger seat door, Byakuya commanded, "Get in."

Rukia looked at the car as if it was the demon possessed automobile from that one Stephen King book, and it was going to drive her straight to hell if she took a step inside. Still, she merely nodded demurely and hopped in.

As he started the engine, he took note of the girls limbs, which were more bumped covered and shuttering than a withdrawing addict. Rolling his eyes, he discarded his jacket and handed it over to the girl. She eye'd it suspiciously for a moment, as if the jacket was secretly a trap that would inject her with poison the instant she donned it. That or perhaps he was lulling her into a safe sense of security to make his impending tirade all the more potent. None the less it, she thanked him and swamped herself in the jacket that probably cost more than the funeral her family would arrange after her brother kicked her ass six feet into the ground.

"Perhaps you're unaware," Byakuya's guttural voice broke the silence, actually making Rukia flinch, "but they do make these marvelous things called pants for when it's so cold outside."

Rukia was sure she replied, but it was such gibberish that you would have thought her brother was driving her home after getting her wisdom teeth extracted, and she was too doped up on laughing gas to say anything sensical or remotely normal. For all she knew, she said 'look at the silly dancing leprechauns outside,' because after her tongue amnesia, a long stretch of silence ensued.

The waiting was torturous. It was just there, practically stinging her ear canals with it's menacing possibilities. "Byakuya…" she said, just letting his name linger in the space between. Her tactics were similar to those as someone trying to gauge the threat of a seemingly vicious animal, fearing sudden movements might result in an unhinged jaw clamping to their juggler. "I hate this silence," she finally asserted, realizing she was still breathing, taking that as a good sign. Well, good may have been a strong word, but..

"I understand you're mad, and I'm very sorry. I would rather you say what you're going to say than for us to just sit here tensely."

Gloved hands gripped the steering wheel fiercely, and with a rather calm expression, Byakuya asked, "Is this the type of situation that deems a knee jerk reaction?"

Rukia said nothing, taking her brother's harsh tone as a sign that his question was most certainly rhetorical. After a few more silent moments of driving down roads lit up like runways by throngs of street lights, the tension was as tightly stretched as Ichigo's bank account a couple of days before pay day. Finally Byakuya let out the slightest of sighs that sounded as alarming as a loud buzzard that signaled the start of a leg race. "Rukia..I'm not your father, and therefore, I have no intentions on punishing you like a child. Our arrangement is rather simple. If you are to stay with me, you are not to become too invested in music. It is your choice to make at the end of the day."

Staring at the lines etched into her palms as if she was trying to summon her inner gypsy fortune teller and predict the outcome of her choice in the creases of those tiny callused hands, the girl bit her lip nervously. "I will stop playing with the band, Byakuya." Putting on a smile that was more counterfeit that illegally printed money, she said, "You're right, it's for the best."

If he was being honest, Byakuya was glad his sister hadn't called his bluff. Despite most believing Byakuya's heart was as decayed and frigid as a meadow of flowers in the clutches of winter, nothing could be further from the truth. Like hell he'd let his little sister couch surf like some high school burn out, making all of her posh clothes smell like whatever strand of weed said hooligans were indulging in that week. He knew for a fact she wouldn't go back to their father, and Byakuya wouldn't let her. He might as well have done her a favor and drove the girl off a lofty cliff, for at least that way of dying would be quick and relatively painless. A week with their father could make a lobotomy seem pleasant if not preferable. You might be a drooling zombie with no personality, but once their father sunk his teeth in, he could have the same effect, only by slowly suffocating any original part of you that he didn't deem advantageous.

Though that look of defeat and sadness didn't sit right with him. It felt almost as if he was wronging her, despite the fact she was the one who deemed it fit to lie to his face. That sad forced smile was the water to the nascent buds of guilt sprouting in his chest, and memories of Ichigo's earlier words and his vibrant orange locks were the sunshine. He must have recanted the phrase 'I will not feel guilty' in his inner dialogue dozens of times, like a troubled pupil who's teacher made them write how the'll never do their particular offense again one hundred times over as punishment, despite the fact that same kid knew they'd go on to do it again. Byakuya was both the crabbed teacher and the foolhardy student in such an analogy. Here he was enforcing a dogma on himself while he knew it wouldn't do anything.

With his voice betraying nothing, he said, "If you had of just come to me, Rukia, at least granted me the privilege of trying to understand, perhaps we could have worked out some arrangement to where you could be in this band." He spat out the word band as if giving the neophyte of a group such a title was as vastly insulting as comparing a third grade arts and crafts project to Van Gough's 'Starry Night'. Though, even he knew that was unfair, seeing as they were rather good.

The sparkle in the girls eyes made Byakuya realize he'd just opened a whole new can of worms. As he said earlier, he wasn't in the position where he felt the right to punish Rukia. So if he was admitting that he was open for negations, then what was his reason for not being now other than wanting to punish the girl for her lie and lackluster friend choices? Oh yeah..that's right..

"However, I don't see why it must be that band. I do not approve of your friendship with Kurosaki Ichigo," the man noted definitively as they pulled into their drive way. Unbuckling his seat belt and turning off his ignition, he turned to look at the girl once more. "He is lazy and insufferable, insolent at best."

And then something happened that had Byakuya questioning the laws of physics. Rukia looked at him with sever anger in her eyes. It so oddly reminded him of the time Hisana had broken up their relationship for about two months of their senior year. "Byakuya, you can say whatever you like about the band or my involvement in it, but I can not allow you to talk so crassly about Ichigo." Was Rukia..actually standing up to him..what.. If he wasn't already sitting, he'd probably have to take a seat for this one. "You cannot simply judge him based off of…what..I don't even know. Ichigo, he probably wouldn't like me telling you this, but I don't care," Rukia asserted, her purple eyes deepening in the shadowy encumbrance of the vehicle. "This needs to be said. The reason Ichigo is often late is because of his work situation. I know other kids work too and manage to make it to school on time, but he has a lot more to lose. Ichigo..well both of his parents died, Byakuay. Ever since then, he's taken care of his sisters and works forty plus hours a week to help pay off all of their utilities and property taxes. Even with the life insurance money, he didn't want to use that because he wanted the girls to have school payed for, unlike him, who-" she rose her voice slightly, as if to emphasizes the point, "got into college all on scholarships. He won't even allow them to get more than part time jobs because he always puts them first. That kid, yeah, he can be a pain in the ass at times, but he's the most resilient person I know, and he's certainly not lazy! I don't even know when that dummy sleeps. Also, he's a total martyr," she scoffed resentfully. "He takes on all of this responsibility, and he never asks for any help. He won't even complain. The only reason I know all of this stuff is because I actually went to his house, met his sisters, and took the time to get to know him." Looking away from Byakuya with a disappointment that was foreign to the man, Rukia chided, "Honestly, Byakuya, with the way you're talking, you're starting to remind me of dad.."

And if that wasn't the slap in the face he needed to bring him to his senses, he didn't know what would be. What was even more brutally savage about those words was, they hadn't been said in a moment of anger to just hurt him, but were meant with complete sincerity.

Was his bitterness and jaded ways getting so out of hand, that he was slowly morphing into his father? Like a butterfly transforming in reverse, was he emerging from his chrysalis cocoon as a worse version of himself? Had he not been growing, but merely depreciating? Just as harshly as her words hit, a memory hit Byakuya at the same time.

xXx

Byakuya Kuchiki did not sneak. You'd never find the young man scaling walls or crafting hand made ropes out of old t-shirts to shimmy down from his third story window. Rue the day that Byakuya left behind a poorly contrived stand in upon his bed in case his father decided to do a late night bed check. All while insulting his dad's intelligence, for he didn't get to his position from being easily fooled by a darkness veiled basketball and lumps of clothes positioned under Byakuya's comforter. One would sooner see a double handed amputee preforming a juggling act before witnessing a young Byakuya leaving his driveway without his head lights on out of fear of being caught by his father.

Of course, Byakuya's life wasn't some M.T.V reality show filled with reckless abandonment, moral dubiety, and legal no - no's. The only late night blowouts at the library traded out alcohol for unhealthy amounts of espresso, or table tops trampled with dancers for table tops throttled by text books. There also wasn't much along the lines of peer pressure at the music shop he worked at and frequented, unless his two self proclaimed musical gurus/ adopted uncles counted. He supposed the two were the apotheosis of what an adult homosexual partnership looked and functioned like, and frankly, they were the only illustration of a same sex couple Byakuya knew, unless you counted the gay protagonist on Queer As Folk, one of the only shows he watched. So perhaps they were the miracle grow to the seeds of gay curiosity that were already latently plotted.

So at twenty, still living with his father while attending university, he came home when he felt like it, just as he did an innumerable amount of times before. When he flipped on the light switch, there his father stood, idly fiddling with a rotating spice rack that they never used. Like one of those fraudulently decorated model apartments they took potential renters through, all of the meticulous chosen decor was to create an ambiance of domestic bliss that did not really resided within said household.

Byakuya found himself startled, considering his dad's presence felt a little too much like one of those cheap, uninspired jump scares that are tropes of all horror movies.

"Did I scare you?" papa Kuchiki asked.

"Surprised me would be more accurate," Byakuya rebutted, "seeing as I did not expect to find you lurking in the darkness." The young man had to wonder what had gotten into his father. Perhaps he'd depleted his surplus of French imported Richard Hennessy - a three thousand dollar bottle and probably one of the most expensive hangovers you'll ever have the blessing to endure - and found it a Lewis and Clark level exploration just to detect a light switch. However, though his behavior was odd, it was not exorbitantly foreign-brandy intoxication, odd.

"I do not believe one can lurk in their own house," the elder said while he tinkered with the glass container of freeze dry parsley as if it was an ancient artifact of great interest, and he was trying to gauge it's functions. Though, Byakuya theorized, his father probably had never used a herb with his own two hands, so maybe that was truly his mission.

Even after considering that his father had finally lost it, that the goulash of alcohol, prozac, and remarkably expensive bluefin tuna that made up his daily grub had finally sent him bonkers, the young man couldn't find it in him to care. "Well," he remarked with that trademark Kuchiki derisiveness, "whatever it is you're doing, I suppose I'll leave you and the spices to it."

As he moved towards the staircase, his fathers next words were attention grabbing to say the least. "Going to pack?"

Turning around to face the man, who in certain company Byakuya referred to as his sperm donor, he asked, "What?"

Fishing a hand in his pocket, papa Kuchiki dug out a folded up, unidentified piece of paper. "Do you want to tell me what this is?"

Playing as dumb as a third year senior, Byakuya said with complete seriousness, "I think some would call that a piece of paper."

"Don't be smart with me, boy," he scowled, flicking the paper at his son and watching as it rebounded off the young man's chest. Byakuya merely sighed and bent to pick up the paper, annoyed by both the conversation and having to exert himself. "One way plane tickets to Nashville. Now I've never known you to be a lover of country music, so what the hell is in Tennessee thats would deem a trip?"

"Actually, I do quite enjoy Johnny Cash and Patsy Clin-"

"Will you stop with the sarcastic comments, and tell me why the hell you have plane tickets to go to Nashville?" his father interrupted.

Byakuya actually did like Jonny Cash and Patsy Cline. Not that his father would know that, seeing as his assistant always had to remind the all to assiduous business man of his own son's birthday and buy the card on his behalf. None the less, that was beside the point. He wasn't hiding the information from his father, seeing as the tickets had been blatantly laid out on his desk. You have to see someone to tell them something, and their usual post-it note communication system they had in place was even a little too callous of a reveal for Byakuya's taste. Leaving a note that read: 'Remember Rukia's dentist appointment and to pick up milk. By the way, I'm leaving for Nashville. May or may not be back for Christmas, sayonara,' was disrespectful behavior towards the man whom fed him and kept him cloth for the majority of his life. So why did he feel as if he was on one of them 'I almost got away with it' specials? He did nothing wrong.

"My band was offered a recording contract and we accepted," Byakuya explained, which was followed up by the most drawn out, wild wild west style stare down in the history of stare downs. Byakuya finally broke the awkwardly painful eye contact. "I was going to tell you, I just ha-"

"What about school?" papa Kuchiki spat

"I can finish online," Byakuya answered, the composed yang to his fathers flagrantly outraged ying. "Or perhaps just wait. It is not as if college will be going anywhere. However, this opportunity is not something that will just reappear. You must see the logic in that."

"Tch, all I see is you wasting your time on frivolous matters when you should be working diligently towards your P.H.D." Scathingly, his father asked, "How disappointed will your grandfather be when he finds out?"

"I think he will just be happy that I am happy," netting his brows, he added, "unlike someone I know."

"He's always wanted you to become the dean of students at the university. Wasn't that always the plan?"

"Who's plan?" Byakuya asked mockingly. "Certainly not mine. I understand his desires, but I can't completely sacrifice everything I desire for the dreams of someone else." Letting a little bit of that pent up acerbity he'd accumulated over the years seep out, Byakuya exalted, "And when you care for someone, you don't expect something like that from them, because you realize asking them to give up everything that matters is like asking them to kill apart of themselves. This is the difference between grandfather and yourself, father. He merely wants this for me out of nostalgic reasons, but you, you want this for me so I can be just another perfect cog in the Kuchiki empire." Auster and resolutely, Byakuya, asserted, "I won't be what you want of me."

Byakuya's father scoffed in an incredulous disbelief, pinching at the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he said, "And I assume you are taking her?"

Byakuya's jaw clinched tightly. "She has a name. And yes, father, Hisana is, of course, going with me. She is in the band, after all. More so, I have every intention of marrying her."

By the exasperated look of disbelief his father threw at him, you'd think Byakuya had just proclaimed his intentions to marry a forty year old biker chick coined garbage bag while also moving into her mobile home unit and raising her three kids as his own. "How disgusting," papa Kuchiki scoffed. "You're going to marry someone who's been like a sister to you?"

"She has never been like a sister to me," Byakuya reasoned. "Perhaps we grew up closely because our mothers were friends, but even they were constantly talking about how they wished us to grow up and get married one day."

"That was just the patter of two woman. Nothing more and nothing less," his father denounced, flicking his wrist in distain.

Once Byakuya's mother, Demetria (Demri), a Greek American - of whom Byakuya inherited his lush lashes, gunmetal gray eyes, and his straight from base to tip nose, told Byakuya that his father was not always like this. The two had attended equally as elitist, high-dollar universities in the same city. Both the decedents of recent immigrants living out the American dream, doing the same as the plethora of newcomers had when they swarmed to Ellis Island all those years ago. Byakuya's father was working towards his doctrine in literature, and Demri was five years and a ruthless case of insomnia into a degree in environmental law.

On the day they met, the man sat aloof to the world while reading a book in Central Park, unruffled by the gradually growing conjugation of protesters. Stranglers from the now disaffected white liberals of the 60's, he was certain. Sure that they were just as abundant with money as they were with their outrage. Kuchiki thought, following in their parents microscopic carbon foot prints, they were privileged yuppies who sense of self importance was becoming a bit to big for their oversized sweatshirts as they superciliously deemed themselves revolutionaries. Apparently anyone who could manage a permanent marker and had a little bit of spare time could change the world those days. He wasn't sure what they were demonstrating about. Perhaps they were chanting out mantra's with elementary rhyming patterns in hopes of saving the last surviving tree that stood in Time Square or taking signatures to have a peace sign forever engraved into the Statue of Liberty. It was anyones guess, really.

Suddenly something or someone did a cannon ball right into his long enduring oasis of silence. The spot that had once been empty was now replaced with a slew of poster board captured catchy slogans, each one more cringe worthy than the next. Fully intending to look up and inform the intruder that he had read street signs more proactive than her homemade banners, he looked up and saw her. Looking upon the exotically, stunning woman as she rummaged through a bag and overlooked his existence, he went breathless. Heaven opened up, trumpets sounded, and his unworthy eye's seared at the blinding light given off by the sanctified curves of the woman. Surely he was looking at the deity of beauty and melodramatic rallying cries. The bird's song became more melodic, and the sun shined more vibrantly. In that moment, he knew he had a new goal. If he could round up some charm, he'd aim for an invitation inside her high-rise, acid washed shorts. Need be, he'd let her bounce mind numbingly, abysmal sign ideas off him if only she'd bounce on him.

She reminded him of a slightly more promiscuous and bohemian D.J tanner from Full house. She wore a colorful polo - well three-fourths of a polo, seeing as the sleeve were cut off and the garment was cropped - with the collar popped as high as she looked with her frenzied bag pillaging and blood shot eyes. Little did he know, the only thing she was was getting doped up on was sleep deprivation. After a quick scavenger hunt through his best attributes, the candor Kuchiki came up with diddly in the charisma department.

He was like a Sim's who'd been loaded up with so many practical traits, that there was little left to delve out when it came to the more sociable of virtues. He could write a ten page analyses essay about the anapestic prowess behind the transcendentalism poet, Walt Whitman, but none of those thoughtfully contrived sonnets could inspire even a singular meaningful flirtatious remark. If years dedicated to dissecting some of the most romantic literature ever penned couldn't assist him with picking up one chick, he supposed people were right, there was no real life application to university. If he was the prince charming, Casanova type, perhaps he would have been able to tap into some basic human social tact and simply say hello, but alas, he fell back on his trusty talent of engineering biting insults.

'You and your signs are disturbing me, that seat is taken,' he said. He had no clue why, considering it was the exact opposite of what he wanted. There lied the truth of why every girl who ever had her pigtail pulled by some sticky fingered brat had been told the nasty behavior was a sign of affection. Like everyone else, many men were just victims to their gender bias culture, discouraged to express any emotion other than seething anger, because being a "real" man meant having the emotional spectrum of a primate. Never taught the proper mechanism of conveying feelings, their conditioned brains sputtered and couldn't articulately compute these - what some considered - weak and womanly sensations.

As expected, she gave him a dirty look, making her demon red eye's twitch. 'By who, your gigantically rude attitude?' she snipped.

Kuchiki proceeded to tell her that if she was half as good at writing protest slogans as she was at dishing out comebacks, she might actually make some real change. Then she "accidentally" knocked his book, Stephen King's Fire starter, into a puddle, and to his venomous look, her only apology was, 'Andy dies in the end and Charlie takes revenge by killing everyone before going into hiding. Now, instead of being a lonely ass hole on a bench, why don't you come be one of many ass's with a sign.' She handed him a sign that read 'frack is wack,' and of course, he went.

As they say, the rest was history. Despite wanting to explore the plains of her body, he never circumnavigated south of her border, at least, not until he unintentionally fell in love. He tried to woo her by buying her progressive books on environmental issues and herb plants for her apartment, and she found how much of a try hard dork he was to be cute. They were both determined, honest, and loyal people, and they could always make the other laugh. Things were good. However, this was not some cliche RomCom about a stuffy man learning to live by meting an ethereal weirdo who taught him the meaning of life through forcing him to dance in the rain and save stray cats. He was logical and cold, she was empathetic and an optimist. Their perspectives clashed like an outfit comprised of two different nuances of denim, and they only worked so well because of their ability to accept and respect the others opposing views without ultra harsh criticism. Though, as it normally does, their unlikable parts became centerstage as they grew older and more indurated. After they had Byakuya, the elder Kuchiki's worst parts started soaking up the lime light, selfishly taking center stage like some holier-than-thou diva. His draconian manner and his projection style of parenting became the Beyonce, and his compassion and understanding became the backup singers to this stick-and-past, pop trio dynamics of a personality he maintained.

Byakuya was sure his father had inferiority complex coined by some avant-garde psychologist clad with a majestic mustache and an alcohol problem, since his mother once informed him that his grandfather never wanted his father to be the dean of their university, and instead, he offered the position to his older brother - who rejected. Apparently he lived in his older brothers shadow like the cement pathways that ran beside a cluster of skyscrapers. His mother, however, seemed to age like a fine wine, only to become better and sweeter with time. It was that sweet nature that allowed her the humility to look past her haughty upbringing and befriend much of anyone, which was how she met Hisana's mother and unwittingly offset the domino effect that was Byakuya's Poe style romantic tragedy.

As the two grew up, Hisana and Byakuya's mothers were best friends. It was an odd pairing to most, because Hisans's mother was surviving off of food stamps while the Kuchiki's were buying schools and vacationing in the Virgin Islands. Within their early teenage years, the two had made their mother's fanatical wishes come true when they started dating.

Byakuya loved Hisana. She was spirited yet humbled. She was empathetic and compassionate. She had a love for learning and music, and the two had a deep connection solidified through years of friendship. After Hisana's mother died, the girl and her sister, Rukia, moved in with the Kuchikis, and for two years, even while dating, Hisana lived under the strict regimen of the patriarchal figurehead that was the elder Kuchiki, straining the two's relationship at times. At seventeen, after Byakuya's mother passed, Hisana found work, moved out, and lived on her own, as much for her own sanity as it was for the health of the two love bird's relationship. While Rukia was officially adopted by the family, Hisana never was. Despite their being no blood relation, that fact wasn't enough to avoid the circulation of vicious yet baseless rumors spat by the most fastidious inner circles within the upper middle class. These clicks were easily bored gossip vultures that loved to peck aways at the pain of others. They were gluttons for the slightest hint of a scandal, filling their voracity for amusement or meaning. Gossiping about the entrails of other lives was the substance that distracted from the gnawing pain of their own repetitive, shallow ones. So slander about the Kuchiki's inclination for "keeping it in the family" became the flavor of the week, the tastiest morsel of fruitless chatter that everyone was gourmandizing.

Now that was padder, and the only one who payed it any thought was papa Kuchiki. "Do not perverse our relationship just because you can't deal with a few trite rumors."

Smirking with an almost comical delirium, the elder poised, "At least it isn't as worse as it could be. You could be following your other perverse inclinations."

Looking the man up and down carefully, Byakuya asked, "What are you talking about?"

Ambling over with bigger, more arrogant steps, like some wanna-be alpha performing an elaborately territorial promenade, the elder reminisced, "Lets just say the wealthy trade secrets about as much as they do stock information. Be lucky your," he remarked mockingly, "intended doesn't attend the same schools as you, or else she would of been graced with the same rumors I was." Like a sadist for mortification, the man smirked as realization sprung upon the younger Kuchiki.

Panning his hands out in the air and holding them like quotation marks for his ridicule, Byakuya's father declared boldly, "The heir of the Kuchiki legacy spotted swapping spit and leaving a party in the company of a known cock sucker. Makes for a great headline, doesn't it?" When his son did not speak, but only stared, he asked, "You must've realized that your flagrant behavior would've gotten back to me. Imagine your dear old dads surprise when he was approached, not once, but three individual times to be pestered about rumors that your classmates told their parents." When more silence followed, he mused, "What, cat got your tongue? Or is the expression," he tapped his chin in a fraudulent act of speculation, "cock got your tongue? These things are so hard to remember these days."

Drawn from his shock induced stupor, Byakuya's face was as red and sparked as a time bomb signaling it's impending, perilous explosion. "You will not breath a word of this to Hisana."

Chuckling victoriously, the elder walked even closer. His snippy comments were akin to haphazardly clipping the colorful wires of that bomb-like disposition. "Why deprive her the opportunity to find out that she wasted her life away with a homo?" Yanking free that last wire, the man asked rhetorically, "Tell me, son, is taking it up the ass really going to be worth it when you lose everything you worked for?"

Only there was no explosion, no blinding flash of white light, no Zeus like wrath to uproot all nearby foundations. Instead, his son just returned that challenging smirk in spades. "Oh yes, father. Please, let me explain the joys," he remarked, his acrimoniously amused tone acting as the perfect compounds, mixing together as dangerously as a chemical reaction. "Taking it up the ass felt heavenly, something everyone should experience." At his father's face wringing like a wet towel, he suggested, "Maybe you should try it, perhaps it would plunge that permeant stick you have shoved up your ass."

As if playing chicken with insults, the loser the one whom lost it first, Byakuya had won when his father's fist slammed into his cheek bone. "Get out of my house," the elder demanded, panting at a completely unruffled Byakuya.

Preening momentarily, he allowed himself the tiniest of triumphant smirks. "My pleasure."

xXx

Once brought from his inner world, Byakuya was sure he was as dewy and blanched as someone having a PTSD induced flashback. Certainly it felt like one. The look on Rukia's face was one of concern and mild guilt, possibly with a speck of surprise. Obviously she had not expected her words to have such an impact.

Clearing his throat, Byakuya wore the veneer of unfazed as well as he wore the latest line of Prada button ups. "Perhaps you are right, Rukia," he admitted, words that had the younger Kuchiki wondering if she had stepped through a star gate or entered an episode of the Twilight Zone. There was a first time for everything, she supposed. "I'll try to be more open minded in regards to Kurosaki Ichigo." Opening his door and prompting the girl to do the same, he added, "and tomorrow we'll discuss in further detail the schedule you'll be keeping with this band."

Stunned, she nodded and followed in silence. Call it alchemy, godly intervention, or just a plain old identity crisis, Rukia didn't want to break the spell that had befallen her brother.

xXx

Shirts and wii-controllers were marooned carelessly like old take-out receipt, their relevance lost to the enthralling composition of melodic lip smacking and theatric Mario Kart theme music. Melrose's hands moved up the taupe sides of Renji with the same precise artistry of which he used to beat his counterpart three times over. The red head was a rather sore loser, but the barkeep's nimble hands were like ice packs to his bruised ego. The bottle spinning, tattoo gun wielding, video game dominating, incubus of a man had hands with a versatile dexterity that could make Michelangelo weep with envy. They were like the swiss army knife of appendages, and surely there were few task they could not conquer. Most certainly there were more skills that Renji had yet to unlock on those multi purposeful tools. He wouldn't be surprised to find out that Melrose also partook in needle point and was stellar at the game Operation, and if he thought he was turned on by the way the more experienced man knew game cheats like he knew brands of liquor, he was even more stimulated by the cheat codes Melrose was pressing into his fleshy aroused skin. For these reactions were not of the usual sorts. It wouldn't surprise Renji to find out that the man was also some sex guru who spent months living amongst a clandestine village of alp dwellers, receiving pupillage under the plum of some pedagogue of the kama sutra, learning every erogenous pressure point a man's body held. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised to find out Melrose knew at least ten different ways to make a man climax without even touching him.

Hearing an alien moan reverberate through their collided chest, Renji was certain he rolled over on the controller and "The Exorcist of Emily Rose" was playing on the tv, because that hedonic grunt was the workings of demonic possession, not himself. Amongst the unexplored audible reactions, Renji jolted and pressed two flatten palms against the chest heaving against his own. "How about we yellow light this, yeah?" he proposed, though his lustful rasping seemed to betray his intentions.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Melrose smiled helplessly at the cherry bomb looking moments away from blowing in more ways than one. "We can red light it," he offered with a comforting kiss to the forehead, "if you'd like."

"Ye-yeah," Renji laughed nervously, "that's probably a good call."

Pressing tender kisses that were romantic and not sexual in nature up the man's jaw line, trailing them from one chiseled, flushed feature to the next, Renji's body fluttered like butterfly wings. "Whatever pace your comfortable with, dear. I don't want to make you feel pressured."

As the man shifted, so he was laying more to Renji's side, he curled around the strapping figure and rested his head in the curve of Renji's neck. Their limbs were tangled and shaking like tree branches in the wind.

"It's just, you're, you know," he sputtered, shifting his eyes nervously, "a man."

Sitting up in a dramatic act of bewilderment, Melrose boomed, "I AM?! Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

Renji scoffed as the other playfully chuckled at his expense. "Yeah, and a really good looking, experienced one at that."

After he placed a kiss in the junction under Renji's ear, Melrose nuzzled his head into the opening, finding that he fitted perfectly. "Just because I'm use to skiing on the expert slopes, doesn't mean I can't take a run on the bunny slop," he reasoned metaphorically.

"More like I'm still watching the training videos," Renji snorted, and Melrose watched him irradiate with the same wide eyed rapture one viewed a vibrant Christmas light display with. "I've never..done this before with a guy, any of it." Trying to appear laid back, Renji interweaved their fingers and leaned his cheek against the mounds of silky golden brown locks. By the tactile quality and the tea tree aroma, Renji speculated that Melrose had a whole portion of his paycheck budgeted out for high quality hair care protects. He liked that, seeing as Renji probably spent more time and money contemplating the properties of his plumage and scavenging for helpful hair tips as he did investing in his pricey affinity for stringed instruments. The idea of them primping each other and swapping hair products was so mawkishly adorable, that it even made him sick. Admittedly, he still reveled in the thought. Oddly hilarious fantasies of Ikkaku walking in on them in the midst of gaming marathons, sitting like two weirdos with deep conditioning plastic bags over their heads, could epitomize his relationship goals.

"I had a feeling," Melrose countered as he smiled endearingly up at the man.

"Plus, call me old fashion, but I'd like to be dating a guy officially before I do that kind've stuff, ya know," Renji admitted.

Tracing the edged of Renji's face for the sake of pure exploration, Melrose remarked honestly, "I'm not use to such chivalry. It's nice.."

Turning his head ever so slightly, Renji looked sincerely into those sea foam eyes. "You only deserve to be treated nicely, you're a total prize. I'm still sort've amazed that you'd even want a dope like me."

Brushing his thumb past the cherry colored strands that interrupted the intense brown eyes sparkling in his direction, Melrose shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Have you ever thought that I'm a dope like you? You're completely authentic, Renji Abarai, not to mention passionate and full of life. I find you refreshing and beautiful, and the people who haven't just didn't understand what was right in front of their faces. So we'll go as slow as you want, because getting to know you is the funnest part anyway. Theres no need to speed through it."

"We-ll, It-its hard to go slow when you say things like that!" Renji sputtered.

"Ah, I see my smooth talking is having it's desired effects," Melrose jested, "mwahaha, my evil plan is working."

With a smirk, Renji quipped, "I knew it, you are a demon."

"Yes, today I rule your pants, tomorrow I rule the world," Melrose laughed, wrapping his arms tighter around Renji who had turned so the two were facing each other on their sides. "Let me take you on a date, Cherry Bomb," he whispered.

"A date?" Renji reiterated, as if he had heard the other wrong.

"Yeah," Melrose confirmed. "I can be gentlemanly also."

Sticking out a lip ever so slightly, Renji whined, "Well maybe I wanted to take you on a date."

Melrose chuckled at the pouting, finding it charming. "We can take each other on dates then, but I call dibs on the first one."

Putting on a demure smile, Renji said, "This is all new, I don't really know the rules to this sort've thing."

"Don't worry, you'll receive your 'How to be Gay' handbook via the mail in about two weeks," Melrose taunted, earning him a scowl from the other.

"This is serious!" Renji huffed.

Lavishing the man's contorted face with reassuring kisses, Melrose soothed, "There are no rules to this sort've thing. It's no different from a straight relationship. Besides, girls can take guys on dates too. I know you like chivalry, but this isn't the medieval period, you know."

"Maybe they can, but that doesn't mean many do," Renji mocked, "none that I've dated anyway."

More seriously, Melrose tighten his grip and had a look of importance in his usually devil-may-care eyes. "I know it's too early to make anything official, but just so my intentions are clear, I'm a one guy type man, myself. Even if it's just going out on dates for right now, you're the only one I'll be dating." He blushed - something as red and as rare as a blood moon for Melrose - and said, "I wouldn't go into this without every intention of it going somewhere, and I hope you feel the same."

At the way his body ignited like a brush fire, Renji felt the torridity of his own bashful embarrassment. "Pfh, wha- I-I mean, yeah, of course! Don't be stupid!" he admonished. "What do I look like, a play boy or something?"

"You're sexy enough to be one, thats for sure," he flirted, prompting Renji to hide his awkwardness by joining their lips for a heated kiss.

Breaking away, Melrose suggested, "We should probably get up before Ikkaku comes back and we give him a fright."

Tucking his head underneath Melrose's chin, Renji agreed, "Yeah, but five more minutes, okay?"

"Yeah," Melrose smiled, "five more minutes."

xXx

After the show, Ikkaku and Yumichika found themselves at one of a hand full of all night diners called college dinner. Aptly named, it was located a hop, skip, and jump away from the university and was employed by resentfully self resilient part time students - whores of the food service industry, pimping out their fraudulent smiles and best conversational skills for crumpled dollar bills, guck covered chump change, and the occasional ball of lint. The sixty's themed establishment was a watering hole for the shamelessly inebriated and third shifters alike, glitter festooned erotic dancers, scrub clad nurses, and crossed eyed club goers all peacefully coexisting in a mutual inclination for late night activities.

As expected, the coffee was less than mediocre, had a bitter sapidity, and was as char burnt as an ostracized woman during the Salem witch trials. Not to mention the specs of grinds floating around the surface of the remised beverage perfected the whole 'meh' vibe going on. A whole sphere of mismatched entrées filled the menu, where you could get anything ranging from calamari to gyros to hot wings oh my, and the jut box seemed to played the beach boys on a loop.

The server was a friendly and fresh faced young woman with big cheeks and dimples the size of moon craters. She preformed well, seeming to know just what mask to put on at each table. To the left was a group of blackout drunk frat boys finger painting the table with packs of creamer and grains of salt. There she played the endeared baby sitter. At the next was another group of men, slightly less drunk and slightly less petulant, winking and flirting. She'd throw out lewd one liners, pretending to be 'one of the guys' by making the three snort up their burnt coffee with bouts of laughter while she served them pancakes. There she was a comedian. At Ikkaku and Yumichika's table, she was friendly yet short, seeming to catch the vibe of their less than cordial attitudes. The server was like a self constructed ball of plato, molding herself into whatever you wanted her to be.

For a while, the two ate with steady albeit shallow conversation, but it almost seemed normal, not cloyed by the usual dramatic touch their altercations had. Though the night was still young, and Ikkaku was still waiting for the witching hour to arrive before he dismissed the idea that the D.J's other personality might resurface. Almost as if this was some modernized version of Cinderella, he feared that when the clock stroked two a.m, the impishly rude man would return once more. His bike would transmute into a pumpkin, the servers into field mice, and Yumichika would flee, the only proof he ever existed being a snarky insult he left behind written on a cocktail napkin.

Nearing the end of their meal, Ikkaku excused himself to empty the tank. On his way back from the bathroom, he rounded the corner and saw Yumichika talking to one of the workers. He had that look. The same look Jerry gave Tom before he did something mischievous. That Denise the menace type smirk that could only mean some devious tomfoolery was churning in the crafty mind that held more offensive game plans than a NFL playbook.

As the man walked away, Ikkaku made his way back over to the table. He took a seat, throwing Yumichika an accusatory glare. "What was that about?"

"My, my," Yumichika speculated with a curl of the lips, "arn't you the jealous one? Do you have a problem with me talking to other men?" He pressed his petal soft lips to the rim of his coffee mug and lifted an amused brow.

"Cut the crap, it ain't cute," Ikkaku berated, though he thought it was sort've cute. "You were up to something."

Across from them, the group of sloshed out men started their own off pitch, a cappella rendition of Bohemian Rapacity, and Ikkaku thought that if Freddie Mercury wasn't dead, he'd grab a dirty steak knife and end it all hearing the butchered attempt. "I''m offended," Yumichika huffed and poked his lip out just a bit. "I was only trying to do something nice. I convinced the manager to wave our fee. He's a regular at the club and has quite the infatuation with me."

Ikkaku scoffed and twisted mindlessly on a scrunched up straw wrapper. "You just can't help your self, can 'ya? I'm perfectly capable of paying my damn self."

"What, does it hurt your masculinity if I pay? How two decades ago," Yumichika mocked as he deliberately ran his fingertip around the rim of the cup.

"Batting your eye's at some guy and getting him to pay for our meal isn't you paying, and it ain't sweet. That's just husslin' for the sake of it." Ikkaku leaned back in his seat, cringing at the bellowing beside him. "And if you three don't shut your traps, you'll be meeting Freddie Mercury very soon," he barked, scaring the grown infant's into silence. He noticed the sever sending him silent pleads of gratitude.

At the tantrum, Yumichika looked rather humored. "Arn't you testy tonight? What, haven't smoked recently?"

"Nah, I just don't like adults who play games like children." Big hands wiggled into his coat pocket as he poised, "You really try hard to be prissy and mean, ya know? Almost like you're trying to put me off. Tryin' a little too hard, if ya' ask me."

"Is it working?" Yumichika asked and tilted his head with a pretty smirk.

Ikkaku returned to smirk twice over. "Unfortunately for you, I'm pretty persistent."

After he appraised the man for a moment, Yumichika turned up his nose. "I'm not dating you."

"What makes you think I'd want to date someone like you?" Ikkaku asked, giving an offended looked.

That made Yumichika perk an intrigued brow. "Than what do you want? Or are you just some weird sadist who get's off by being treated badly?"

Ikkaku watched as Yumichika perched his pointed chin on his palm, almost poising and flaunting his beauty like a showcase model. "Ta' get to know you. I wan't to know why ya' like to use people like you did that guy, why you act so nasty."

"Maybe because I'm just a nasty person."

"Ah," he grinned before gulping down the rest of his now lukewarm coffee, "you're not that simple, Yumi. I can tell that much. I don't like havin' regrets, and I think I'd regret not knowing you."

"You obviously have no sense," Yumichika huffed, dipping his head to hide the hints of a smile pulling at his firm lips.

"Nah, I never have known whats good for me."

"Well that dare devil thing you have going for your isn't cute either, Ikkaku. Trust me, reckless abandonment is for people who don't value their life to much," he smiled sadly while he pressed a coffee cup to his mouth in an attempts to hide the gesture. "Besides, why shouldn't I take advantage of other people's shallowness? That man, just like all the others, only see me as some tennis bracelet. I'm a pretty, shinny thing, something they desire for it's beauty only. If men are crass enough to believe I'll give myself to them just because they ofter me a free meal, like I'm some sort've street walker, than what's so wrong with taking advantage of their presumptuous ignorance?" Checking himself out in the reflection of his phone, he flippantly threw his wrist and concluded, "It's always the same."

The frown Ikkaku was sporting contorted as he began to chuckle, earning him an incredulous look from the beauty sitting parallel to him. "Whoo, I actually feel bad for you. Something must've fucked ya' up real good for you to think that's how everyone is." Trying to contain that jarring smile just a bit, Ikkaku mused, "Maybe you're just spending your time around the wrong people."

"Oh," Yumichika ridiculed, "and are you the right people?" He let lose a laugh. "Are you trying to save me from myself, Ikkaku, like some nobleee prince in a fairy tail?"

On the table top, Ikkaku tapped the surface a few times as the server sped by at a super sonic voracity and refilled his coffee. He swallowed the pipping liquid and grimaced, not sure if it was from the bitter beverage or Yumichika's bitter attitude. "I'm not in the business of saving people, and I sure as hell ain't no prince. If you want someone to save you, it's gotta be yourself." Yumichika seemed to have no cheeky comeback for that, but instead, bit at his lips in contemplation. "But I could be your friend, show you not everyone want's something from you."

"Why?" Yumichika asked, bowing his head slightly, "Why do you want to be friends with someone like me?"

"I find you interesting." A light chatter of late night, frivolous conversations surrounded them while Yumichika looked mutely into Ikkaku's eyes and tried to gauge the hidden intentions underneath. "I guess you could say I want something." Yumichika huffed. He knew it, there was always something. "But it's pretty harmless, just your company." The raven haired man faltered at the declaration so casually spoke and the smirk on his companion's face. "Even if it is nastier than this coffee is sometimes."

The warmth of the cup radiated through his palms as Yumichika tapped the porcelain thoughtfully. "I suppose..I'll be working with your band in the future, so it would do us well to be civil. But I still don't understand why you choose to endure my personality if you find it distasteful."

Ikkaku shrugged nonchalantly while he lifted his cup for another sip, but paused the ascension to say, "Same reason I drink the coffee. It ain't bad, someone just brewed it wrong."

Amongst the drunks, the retro beach music, and the smell of burnt eggs, Yumichika found himself with a genuine smile. "Fine, but if you know what's good for you, you won't compare me to diner coffee again." Flipping his hair, he corrected, "At the very least, I'm Starbucks."

xXx

ByaIchi4LifeXoXoCas: Thanks for the love and the support, dear. I'm glad you like the Renji and Melrose aspects of this story. Their kind've the sweet relief in the sea of drama that is the other two pairings. Byakuya wasn't all to bad. lol Actually, he was probably more tame than you thought he'd be.

Dancing Dusk: Thank you for the support! I'm glad you like the pacing, because I always worry that my stories are too long or too much, so that makes me happy to hear. :)

IcarusWalks: That's exactly what I want from this story, so I'm glad you're able to paint a picture in your head. The figurative language is what makes this story so hard to write, but also what makes it special. Thanks for the support, love.