The tea is good today, I say to myself, staring down at the clear liquid in the cup I'm holding. I'm not suggesting that the tea isn't usually good, and that I'm surprised that it is today. I wouldn't be doing justice to my cook, if I expressed anything less than total admiration for the things he cooked with his skilled hands. I could part with my scarf, but not with my cook.

I digress.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," I say to my guest, who is seated before me in a manner mirroring my own. I should think he has never had the opportunity of drinking tea in the traditional Japanese style. People of his generation are like that in the World of the Living, I hear – uncultured.

"What is it Byakuya?" Ichigo says to me.

It takes me all my willpower to refrain from calling him an opprobrious name at this point. Nobles like me are, after all, refined in their conduct.

"Ichigo Kurosaki," I repeat to achieve that tone of authority and impersonality that would remind my guest that I hadn't called him simply to exchange idle pleasantries, and that there was something a lot deeper than that. "I hear you are making romantic overtures to my sister, Rukia."

Ichigo's body stiffens, and his hand stops halfway through bringing the teacup to his lips. I permit myself a smile of satisfaction – not outwardly, of course, since that would defeat the purpose of having a serious conversation.

"Your reaction confirms it," I go on, and he stiffens even more.

My guest coughs uncomfortably, and loosens the collar of his shihaksho.

"You are," he says, "mistaken."

I raise an eyebrow, more to acknowledge that I had heard than anything else. My sources are, after all, never wrong.

"Is that so?" I say, and I cannot deny that I was mocking him.

Ichigo nodded.

"I've never… felt anything romantic… toward Rukia," he says with visible effort.

I nod.

"I can see that," I say.

His whole body trembles as he desperately tries to subdue his heated emotions. I can't blame him. How was he to know that I had found out?

He nods with conviction.

"Yeah… that's what it is."

I can tell that his throat is becoming dry.

"My sources are very reliable," I say, pouring myself another cup of tea from the teapot that was placed on the table separating me from my guest.

Ichigo remains silent.

"You see, Ichigo Kurosaki," I say, "ever since you tried so desperately to prevent me taking Rukia back to the Soul Society, going so far as to touch me, I've come to realiz that your relationship with my sister is beyond that of friendship. It's something deeper. My suspicions were confirmed when I heard you had infiltrated the Seireitei in an ambitious attempt to save Rukia from what was at the time her impending, inevitable doom." I had revised my lines several times earlier today so as not to falter while saying them.

Ichigo coughs uncomfortably again.

"Er, okay, fine," he says, "I'll come clean."

I raise my teacup to him to indicate that I value honesty highly.

"At least you are willing to admit. That is an admirable quality, Ichigo Kurosaki."

Ichigo tilts his head forward to hide the pink blush growing on his cheek.

"Well, you see, erm, uh," he stammers, "I'm gay."

My teacup falls to the ground. Its flight is arrested by my lap, which just happened to be in the way, and it lay motionless on the ground after emptying its contents onto my hitherto immaculate robes.

"And," Ichigo goes on, "I'm not in love with Rukia: I'm in love with you."

I get up wordlessly, and walk to the kitchen.

"Cook," I say, "the tea is awful today."

I don't stop to listen to his cry of indignation: I have more important matters to attend to.

Barging into the office of the Captain of Squad 9, I say, "Captain Tousen, you are not a very reliable source. It transpires that you're seeing things."


A/N: Originally published in 2009.