Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Intro: Some people worship rock stars, who can be likened to gods, from afar. Others bridge the common gap between fans and stars with concert tickets and first-row seats, even backstage passes. But, all the same, they don't know them at any depth, at any extent beyond what they read from magazines and websites. Kurosaki Ichigo, apart from the despairing crowd, however, is playing a bass guitar alongside his rock icon, his hidden inspiration, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, on a stage in the face of a five thousand-strong audience. And somewhere far, far from this madding crowd, Grimmjow Jaggerjack and his three other companions are breaking through the music scene-with style.

Chapter 1

Although he had a driver's license, Kurosaki Ichigo didn't own a car, nor would he at any measurable time ahead, or so he believed. At any rate, he was in a band. This band, with quite an amount of help from luck, had recently managed to shoot through the five-hundred-thousand-copies-sold barrier which separated A-listers from their less notable counterpart, B-listers. He fancied he couldn't have asked for more from their first big break, all the while wondering if the merits he received somehow registered any scale of parallelisms with what he was made of. He was twenty-one years old, for crying out loud, and still in the process of nurturing his chin and jaw for some hope for a goatie, or better yet, if his genes would dare permit it, sideburns.

He unclipped his mobile phone, not really knowing what to expect, and tucked it away in his pocket upon seeing the blankness on the screen. Ulquiorra, the vocalist, still hadn't checked in. He wasn't one to get drunk on any occasion in whatever name of celebration, that Ichigo was sure of, and most certainly not one to get stoned. But at the back of his mind, he fancied it would be better to hear Ulquiorra getting high on something, too wasted to send text messages, than to know he was alright and doing well but had chosen instead not to send him congratulatory remarks at a time like this. After all, this was good news for the four of them. Moreover, his other two band-mates had bothered to punch his number for a short call in celebration of their recently acquired success.

Maybe he's too goddamn busy with the fucking manager.

Uncertain of its accuracy, he allowed this particular thought to run his mind as he made his way to the studio. Nevertheless, he would soon find out anyway. He entered the small lobby, his listlessness almost qualifying as inebriety, and walked in on Inoue Orihime, the manager, and the constant occupant of his thoughts, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, whose talents he could only wish to rival. The pair was seated across each other, heads bowed over several photos scattered on the table. The manager grinned at him, which prompted him to exert some effort to return the smile. He sat beside Ulquiorra.

"Care to tell me what these photos are all about?" Ichigo inquired.

"The image consultant sent these. I gather we're supposed to get ideas of which to wear and other such superficial matters from these, er, provocative getups." Inoue explained.

Ichigo simply failed to understand why he could only grant slight faith to her opinions, or anything that might come out her mouth. He did know, however, that this sort of concern never would require real thinking nor serious attention. As such, he thought it completely unnecessary and wrong that these two should enclose themselves in a tiny room where there was so little air to breathe. Furthermore, the fact that there was a decent distance between them was a worn-out excuse for an intimate moment with Ulquiorra, in so far as his eyes had born witness to all her attempts to get close to the vocalist.

But these two were really close to begin with. In fact, she knew Ulquiorra Scheiffer best, no matter how often he regarded her without any touch of affection or anything near it. Setting aside their differences, the unspoken connection between them, any fool could tell how madly she was in love with him. All along, Ichigo hadn't been alien to that idea. Only that sometimes it pissed him like hell.

"I don't mind wearing garments of this sort." Ulquiorra spoke, pointing at the skinny dude on one of the photos. Clearly, he was bored and was losing interest in anything that might hold any connection with the subject being tackled.

"Alright. It's settled, then." The manager exclaimed.

Ulquiorra rose to his feet, with no intentions of elaborating his dismal dialogue. His signal of departure, though vague, made Kurosaki give out a nondescript sigh.

"Where are you going, sempai?" Kurosaki asked.

"To the bookstore, maybe. Somewhere I can breathe." his tone was about as inviting as a curse.

"Catch ya later." Ichigo replied, rather despondently.

Ichigo gave Orihime a slight nod and pelted towards the exit, without batting an eye at Ulquiorra when he brushed past him. On the street, the sky seemed to have grown bleaker than the winter chill. Under the heavy-looking clouds, he wondered if there would ever be a change in the vocalist's impression towards the people around him. He didn't want to admit it, but what people saw in this dude was not much far from what he really was; a social recluse who could last any day with only a phrase or two. And that was the quintessential factor that made him somewhat adorable to the unsuspecting public. Simply put, to lose that stature would have been the same as quitting fame altogether.

"Ichigo."

The youth slowed to a halt, recognizing the voice right away.

"Ulquiorra-sempai, need anything?"

Ulquiorra heaved himself beside him, egging them both to resume their tread. As though he was in the mood to get serious, he answered,

"I'm beginning to think we need to replace our manager."

Ichigo's legs ceased to move, to which the other responded by pulling over.

"Inoue-san? Why?"

"She should give herself a break. I've been noticing things lately, things I wouldn't have given the slightest regard to if she hadn't been so repetitive in doing them."

"Such as?"

"Well, she keeps toppling things over, my coffee for instance, and misplacing important documents, not to mention the occasional stutter. I reckon her work load has gone more strenuous than what she's used to."

"That's all? You're gonna fire her just for that? What if she's under some emotional stress unknown to us?"

"Like a family member suffering a terminal illness or a disastrous fallout with someone? Then, that gives me all the more reason to relieve her of her services." The vocalist said mechanically, making his finality easier to discern.

"Sempai, give it more time. She needs this job and, more than that, we sort of need her."

Ulquiorra sighed, his displeasure for going through the trouble of speaking fairly readable.

"This morning she called me over, waking me up earlier than I would've preferred, apparently fussing over something serious. When I got to the studio, I found myself deciphering a train of clumsy sentences, which was all she could produce for an explanation. That wasn't a good excuse for hauling me out of bed at seven in the morning, was it? So when you barged in on us earlier, I had been frying my arse for three hours already. But to tell the whole truth, she's done that to me thrice this week."

"Did you ask her what the matter was?"

"Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact, and what I got for an answer was a deck of photos with pretentious, self-proclaimed musicians on them."

Unable to share the same sentiments, Kurosaki stared off the pavement, as if mulling over the next thing his voice had in store. Surely, he thought, it would be next to painless to learn the obvious truth. Feeling impelled to do otherwise, he spoke,

"She's in love with you, for Pete's sake. I don't understand why it has to take you several calls in the morning and the news from a random band-mate to realize that."

The vocalist didn't even pitch the mildest of disconcertion and only looked away. His silence made Kurosaki especially uneasy.

"Is she?"

"Yeah, very much."

"Well, Ichigo, we're gonna have problems with that."

"Yeah, I figured that much."

"Can you fire her for me?"

"What?" Ichigo inquired, with a tinge of bewilderment. "I can't. I'm sorry, sempai."

"Should I beg?"

"No. It's just that it's not gonna happen. What good would it do to fire her anyway?"

Ulquiorra paused for a moment. As he was always rarely conscious of the effects of his startling green eyes, he turned to his band-mate, looked deeply in his eyes,

"I hate it when people fall in love with me."

Ichigo swallowed hard.

TBC