I do not own Bleach.
The night was warm as Orihime left her apartment and made her way across town down the dark streets. It wasn't long after that she found herself outside a tiny club hidden away behind larger buildings. She slipped in through the rusted door, the dark, smoke-filled room added to the atmosphere created by the driving music from the band. Silently making her way past the bar to an empty table near the back.
The small wooden table was carved with the names and initials of all the people who'd sat there before her. She pushed a brimming ashtray and forgotten drink aside as her eyes fell on the stage.
Red and blue lights danced around the stage as the lyrics filled the room, but her concentration wasn't on the words he sang. Her eyes closely followed the dark bassist in the back as his hands moved skillfully over the guitar. It was the thriving bass line she could feel all the way down in her soul. It kept her anchored to the music as the drums beat in time with her heart.
Chad didn't spend all his time wasting breath on meaningless words or writing his thoughts down on paper. If there was something important that needed to be said, he'd say it and nothing more, but he couldn't hide from the music. The music came straight from his soul and said all the things he couldn't say with simple words or gestures. It spoke to her, told her all she needed to know. That was why she came out so late at night to watch him play. What couldn't be said during the day was expressed in moments like these. His fingers struck the notes of her heart; each chord pressed out on the strings was more than words could ever say.
The lyrics were vague in their meaning, empty and hollow to her ears, but the music . . . The music was hers. The song was for her.
At the end of the show he will have nothing left to say and there will be nothing needed to be said. They'll walk out of the club, with his guitar slung over his back, waving to the other two members before making their way back to his house. He'll wrap an arm around her slim waist, his hand resting gently on the swell of her full hip and she'll lay her head against the side of his broad chest as they walk down the street. Even Orihime will find herself without anything to say as she contemplates all that he told her.
She always talked enough for both of them anyway, so for now she'd let the silence stay as they made their way back to his house. Talking wasn't needed for moments like this, the words would only get in the way. And what was there left to say?
Once they were there, she would ramble on end about her day and he'd sit quietly and listen. She'd make dinner and he'd eat whatever concoction she threw together. Later she'll lay with her head on his chest, feeling secure in the comfort of his large arms, while saying the first thing that comes to mind and he will write another song.