His eyes peeled open, jostled from his slumber, to Rangiku as she smoothed her blonde hair. "Nap's over, Hitsugaya-kun. We just landed."

"Motherfucker." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. "These flights are gonna be the fucking death of me."

"That'd be a lame way to kick the bucket. Your novels portray such artistic deaths. Wouldn't you be embarrassed to die of jet lag?" she teased.

"Hence my complaining." He popped his neck. "Do you think my sister will forgive me if we detour for some fucking coffee? I may die otherwise."

"She has a press at home, doesn't she?"

"She had one of those coffee bars- two, in fact. Both defective in the space of a year. She just goes to the Starbucks by her place now."

"Send her a text, then. You have manners."

"Yes, mom," he snort as he switched his phone off airplane mode. "It's a quadruple shot night, though. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow."

"Maybe for you. I'm going home to my girlfriend and sleeping for the first time ever, so you're gonna have to catch a cab. As much as I love you, I miss my girl."

"That's fine. Tell Ise I say hello and look forward to seeing her once we start filming."

"Aren't you sweet? Will do, Hitsugaya-kun. See you in the morning." Rangiku grabbed his elbow and kissed his cheeks, ever affectionate. He couldn't help but smile to himself. She had been his publishing agent for so long she was almost his friend. What was once an annoying gesture made him smile even as exhausted and overall standoffish as he was.

"Get some sleep, Matsumoto," he told her.

He dragged his luggage behind him and hailed a cab from the entrance. It was only four o'clock in Shibuya, but he swore it was four in the morning. His tour in the Americas fucked over his circadian clock. He, ever a creature of habit, took days to adapt to a new routine, even if it was a return to a year's-old routine.

In the backseat of a cab with his luggage in the seat beside him, he sighed. "The Kamiyo high rise apartments," he told the driver.

"Fancy," the driver replied. "Are you from Shibuya?"

"I live here, if that's what you mean. I moved to be closer to my sister and work. She owns the Hisagi Gothic Art Gallery with her husband."

"Oh, hey, you wrote that Haruka trilogy, didn't you? I knew I recognized you. My wife raves about those books. All that gore makes me kinda queasy, though."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's the point. I love writing nasty stuff."

"She adores the ghost chick too. My wife normally only likes male characters, but she tells me Haruka was captivating. Congratulations on your movie, by the way. I watched Funeral Home and it was fantastic. I'd love to read it if I didn't work so much. Got a baby on the way, you know."

His heart slammed like an emergency brake in his chest. "Congratulations," he said.

"Shit, my wife is gonna dig this when I tell her, though. She loves your books."

He smiled. Hearing from his fans in an everyday setting was one of his favorite parts of being a writer. He wasn't so popular he was swarmed when he was just out and about, but he was recognized just around in coffee shops and bookstores. He didn't mind so long as he wasn't bugged at the grocer's or the mall.

With his fare paid, he walked inside and rang his sister's suite from the ground floor. He was soon welcomed into an elevator and then his sister's spacious suite.

Momo giggled, her lips pulled into a wide, ruby-colored smile as she jogged over to him barefoot and wrapped him in a hug.

"Welcome," Momo cooed with a squeeze to his neck. He rubbed his hand over her chiffon top and kissed her cheek like Rangiku kissed him. "It's good to see you again. I missed you so."

"Hey," Shuuhei cheered from their kitchen.

"You're all looking splendid," he told them, shoes and bag left in the genkan. "I come with gifts! Do you guys want them now or after we do some catching up?"

"After dinner. I want to hear all about your time in the States." Momo pulled him onto the couched and curled her dress and her legs under her.

His sister so easily made him smile, however exhausted he may be. "My god, it was eventful," he told her. "My English is still shit and I hate road trips, but I got to see a couple of art galleries in New York and a gothic-inspired independent fashion show in Los Angeles which was superb. I got to try a lot of good food. There's nothing more to say other than Kyouraku driving his assistant up a wall."

"Ugh, you're so boring." She reached into her clutch on the table and pulled out a cigarette. "Tell me about the places you ate at."

He laughed. "Well, it was either diners or Michelin star establishments where I had to wear a fucking suit and tie. I really liked this one diner outside of Orlando, Florida. It was towards the end of the tour and I was fucking beat. Their cheeseburgers and milkshakes were to die for. So juicy, so cheesy. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water."

"And those art galleries?"

"I saw one in Houston, another in Seattle, and the final one in DC. None of them were gothic or otherwise related to horror. My favorite was the abstract gallery in Seattle. The artists featured expertly demonstrated feelings and events through color and shape. There was this installation where there were these glow in the dark strings in this dark hallway. I think it was meant to express the feeling of MDMA at a rave, or something. I loved it."

Momo cackled. "Oh god. It sounds like you had fun. What was the fashion show like?"

"Fantastic! I sat next to Marilyn Manson. We talked a little before the show began. Apparently, he's read my novels and had wonderful insights on Bear Claw. My English is shit but he was understanding and promised I was understandable."

"Marilyn Manson?"

"He's a popular metal musician in the United States. It's atmospheric and angry. I adore it. I listened to his newest album while writing the Haruka trilogy."

Momo hummed. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"Here you guys go." Shuuhei deposited three plates on the table they surrounded. Steam wafted up to his nose, sausage and potatoes and oregano. He grinned.

"It smells amazing. Thanks Shuuhei."

His brother-in-law winked with a click of his tongue. "No trouble. It's great you have you back, Toushirou. It just doesn't feel right when you're not in Shibuya." Shuuhei kissed Momo's cheek. "How's that new book going, by the way? I saw an outline pulled up on your laptop the last time we were over."

He laughed. "Pretty good. I'm finished world-building for now, I'm working on the cast now. More ghosts, more grunge, violence galore."

"Look at you, corrupting our children with your books." Shuuhei and he laughed.

"By the way, how's your book going?" he asked.

"Oh god. I'm either writing at lightning speed or distracted by my wife," he answered. "I've been researching interrogation approaches so that's a bit of a speed bump. Can't read and write at the same time, after all. Nonetheless, progress is progress, as Rangiku-san tells me."

"Don't you have researchers to help you out with that?"

"Technically. I've always preferred doing things myself, however. I was always taught to do as much as I can and then ask for help when there's nothing more."

"I suppose you're right. Progress is progress either way. That's the most important thing to remember, especially about writing. Research, writing, working with the publishing company, et cetera. Matsumoto tells me that it's like a circle filling in at stages rather than a linear progression. She's wise that way."

"Rangiku-san is wise in many ways," Momo smiled. "She's good to us, especially you, 'Shirou-chan. I hope you treat her well."

"I try. She likes making her life difficult, I think, since she's so opposed to actually doing her job."

Momo and Shuuhei snort in unison. "Yeah," Momo replied, "that sounds like our Rangiku-san. But you know what I mean."

"I do," he smiled.

He sighed, plate finished, and then stood. "Enough chat. I have gifts! Let me fetch my bag."

Momo's sigh followed him to the genkan. He hooked his arm through his rolling luggage, not brave enough to risk Momo's anger for ruining her flooring. Shuuhei had cleared their plates and he set his bag down. Moments later, he presented Momo a velvet box.

"To start off, for my lovely sister." He opened the box to a jeweled collar, the color of Momo's eyes, chocolate diamonds draped with milky pearls. "I thought of you the second I saw this."

Momo's eyes bugged out of her skull. "Holy shit…." Gingerly, she lifted the collar out of the box. Shuuhei clasped it behind her. "Toushirou, it's gorgeous. How did you ever get your hands on this?"

"I have an internationally bestselling trilogy and movie deals. I'm loaded," he answered.

"Shit," Momo chuckled, "you spoil me and I don't ever have anything for you."

He shrugged. "I don't mind. You're my sister. You're the most beloved person in my life since our grandmother's passing, I don't mind giving you nice things. Anyways." He presented Shuuhei a pair of silver guitar-shaped sleeve cuffs. "For you, my friend."

"These are nice." Shuuhei pulled his wrist cuffs to his eyes. "Damn, look at the detail. My publishers are gonna dig these. Thanks so much."

"No problem at all."

"Now then," Momo laughed, "I adore these gifts and I'm sure Shuu does too. I want to hear about your movie deals, though."

"Obviously, the one for my second book is finished- thank god. I had to fight tooth and nail for the studio to keep the details and plot to the book. I'm not exactly optimistic about my trilogy's film adaptation, however. The studio still doesn't seem to trust my judgement despite my prolificness as a writer. I'm grateful to have Kyouraku directing again, since he's more open to keeping to my story rather than shooting off with his own, but the company is a pain in the ass."

"I hope they stick to the book. You're a very talented writer. You know what you're doing."

"Alright," He slid out of his chair and hugged Momo. "I have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks again for the food, it was delicious."

"Of course. Don't be a stranger, now."

"Of course."

He called another cab outside. It was silent his ride home. Tours always took a lot out of him, but with the excitement of seeing Momo fading, he was beat. He longed for his plush mattress, his satin sheets, the smell of home.

He sighed as he flipped on the light. He dropped his luggage on the couch, he'd take care of it sometime the next day. He undressed and turned on soft violin music and laid beneath his blankets.

His suite was very open. In terms of music, the acoustics were fantastic. He could turn on the speakers in his kitchen and he could hear it in his room. In the enclosure of his room, the very air seemed to reverberate with melody. His heart felt like the strings the bow slid over.

It crushed his chest like stones.

His home was empty like he. He adored Momo, but they only had so much social energy. Dating took effort he didn't have the time for. He could barely take care of himself, let alone a pet. He was alone. Even with Momo divorced from Sousuke for years and back in his life, even with Rangiku, he was alone. Ever doomed to be stuck with fame and money and the sound of his keyboard and violins, never to be completed by someone wrapped in his arms.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at his stucco ceiling. The hollowness of himself and his home made him ache.