Title: Let's Call the Whole Thing Off

Summary: Based on Let's Call The Whole Thing Off by Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitszgerald. They came from two entirely different worlds but they were perfect for each other. Everyone said it. Everyone knew it. Except them. A story of learning to understand another's point of view. IchiRuki

Author's Note: I needed a break from Twisting in the Wind so I decided to start this one. Don't worry… if you've read Twisting. I have all the chapters through 11 completed.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.

Chapter: Slow Down

She sat in her art studio silently. Her arms were folded across her chest as she stared at the half finished drawing. Frank Sinatra sang lustily in the background as she leaned forward again and finished another line on the barren tree that was scribbled on the page. She sighed again. Her next sketch was due in the next few days… she had to get it done. The black haired young woman pulled her hair back into a ponytail and stretched luxuriously.

"The food smells good don't they?" She said to a small Siamese cat as she stood up. A new tenet had just moved into the other half of the duplex and she was making dinner to take to them. She figured she might as well help them out as much as she could. She smiled softly as she walked into the kitchen. The Siamese followed hopefully, meowing as it went. "So do you think that they'll be English or French?" She questioned as she fixed the rice into small balls. The cat meowed again and she smiled. "I know Chappy." She finished the rice balls and closed the plastic covering on the rice case and set it in the wicker picnic basket. She closed the top and walked over to the door with the basket in tow. She laughed as the cat danced around her playfully. "No! I have to go deliver this." She stepped out into the foyer and shut the door just before the cat could get out.

The foyer was filled with boxes flooding out of the door next to hers, and voices could be heard from inside. She walked over to the door and pushed it open a crack, knocking on the wall. "Hello?" Her voice seemed to echo as she pushed the door open a little more.

"Hai… everything's alright." She heard someone speaking in Japanese. She tilted her head a little. "Yeah actually I can smell good old Japanese cooking right no-" he blinked over at her and she grinned. "Uhm… hey dude… I gotta go, there's some weird chick here but she has food so it's alright," he finished his sentence. "Yeah… I'll call you back," he pressed the end button on his Blackberri Pearl and looked over at her. The carrot-top put his hands on his hips and looked at her, wondering what she was doing there. Her eyes glanced over at him again, his shirtless upper body was toned and muscular, his jeans hanging low on his carved hips.

"My name's Rukia Kuchiki and uhm…" she didn't finish as he blinked at her. She felt her face flush as he stepped towards her. His jeans slipped a little lower, exposing the etched V of his navel.

"How'd you get in here?" He asked her in Japanese. She grinned sheepishly. He raised his eyebrows. Beautiful amber eyes twinkled from beneath furrowed orange brows.

"The door was open and there were boxes all over the place so I thought… I would bring you some dinner… I figured you'd be eating takeout anyways so I figured fresh takeout was better than anything," her indigo eyes shone but then faded as her eyes scanned the room. Everywhere she saw sports paraphernalia, a negative sign in her eyes. That meant loud parties and loud music and loud friends… long into the night. 'And with a body like that he must have girls all over him.' She frowned.

"Oh… arigato," he bowed slightly. "Sorry… Kurosaki Ichigo," he introduced himself using the traditional Japanese manner. His face was now painted with an obnoxious smirk. She wanted to slap his face in.

"Ichigo Kurosaki here Kurosaki-kun," she forced a grin onto her face. He nodded and took the offered basket. "Uhm if there's anything you need I'm in the other half." She nodded to the door that connected the two. She tried to back out of the house but found herself met with another box. She swung around only to be met with a grunt. The man that carried the other box set it down on another pile. He was attractive as well. His longish sandy blonde hair draped over his nose and his body was just as ripped as the other's.

"Ichigo! Who is this?" The blue eyed Brit leaned down to scrutinize the petite dancer. She narrowed one of her eyes, daring him to come and closer. "Whoa! Fiesty… she's a keeper," Kisuke Urahara clapped his hands to his hips, his own jeans hanging low enough that she could see the elastic of his boxers.

"I have no idea who she is Kisuke, she came in to bring me dinner… now leave her alone," Ichigo waved him off. "Sorry about that. He's a friend of mine, helping me to unpack… I hope we don't bother you, see you later," she nodded as he spoke, wanting to get out of the room as fast as she could. She turned and disappeared into the foyer and into her own house, shutting and locking the door.

"She's hot stuff Kurosaki," Kisuke grinned over at the footballer. Ichigo nodded. She had been wearing a tight blue cowl neck sweater and a pair of hip huggers that he would have sworn were illegal in most countries. "Looks like you're gonna have a fun life from now on," the blonde received a hard smack on the back of his head.

"We have a jock moving in next to us Chappy!" She told the cat. The only thing the Siamese did was roll over from the spot that it had been in. "We have to do something about this!" She nearly panicked. There went her peace and quiet… her virgin ears… her artistic atmosphere! She walked over to the phone and picked it up her fingers quickly dialed her best friend's number with haste.

&&&

'let meeee entertain yooouuuu…' Robbie Williams crooned from the silver and black Blackjack cellphone. A muscular arm appeared from a tangle of blankets and slammed into the table. A spew of colorful curses could be heard from the tangled mess. A bleary rust colored eye peered at the clock. 3 AM. Who the hell would be calling him at 3 o'clock at night. "No one I know would call me this early…"

"Renji! Renji you have to help me!" She sounded panicked. The red head immediately shot up in bed. Her voice was distressed and there was no way he was gonna let her continue to freak out. "There's this guy... just get here! Come here!" He yawned a little.

"Rukia… calm down Kuchiki and breathe… tell me what's happened," he stood up, stretching lightly. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and grabbed a t-shirt.

"Okay so remember I told you there was someone moving into the duplex with me? It's this guy… and he's obnoxious… that smile ooooh!" She fumed from the other line. Renji nodded as he pulled his shirt over his head and grabbed his keys. The basket ball player slipped his wallet into his back pocket and stepped out the door as he pulled his hair back into a ponytail.

"Okay so what's wrong with you again?"

"HAVE YOU EVEN BEEN PAYING ATTENTION ABARAI!?" He heard her screech from the other line. He sighed as he ducked his head into the black Ford F150.

"Just calm down Kuchiki. I'll be there in a few minutes and then you can explain all of this to me when you're calm," he took in a deep breath. He loved her to pieces but sometimes she was so weird.

&&&

"So he's a jock from Japan?" Renji leaned back in her couch. He didn't see what was so wrong with playing sports.

"Yes… and he and his buddy weren't wearing any shirts when I went over."

"They were moving in Rukia or is that not allowed anymore," the redhead yawned again as she paced, her hip huggers tight on her body. He grinned and reached out, snapping the band.

"RENJI!" He shrunk away from her but relaxed, flipping his hips up lightly to scoot himself down the couch, his arms hooked over the back. "He's not allowed to move in! He's obviously a hooligan."

"What are you my grandmother?" Renji nearly choked as she used hooligan.

"There's no other word Abarai!" She nearly slapped him across the face. "I'm never going to get peace again! I'm going to have to deal with his constant parties-"

"Maybe you should move out then," Renji suggested but then knew it was the wrong thing to say and he was forced to duck as a pillow flew at his face. "Okay, next option… set a time or something that he has to shut it down."

"Like he's going to listen," she snapped and he frowned harder.

"Then you're giving in to easily. You know you're doing the same thing that you don't want anyone else to do to you." He received a smack to the stomach. "You are! You're just assuming that he's a no good jock… and I'm a brainless jock aren't I?" Renji posed this question.

"No! You should have seen the look on his face when I was- what are you doing?" She stared at him as he stood and walked into her studio. On the easel was an unfinished pastel drawing of an eye. The eye was orange and amber with a wide pupil and as Renji walked closer to it she felt her face flush. His eyes had been her inspiration for her drawing that day.

"What is this?" Renji raised an eyebrow. His face grew interested as he opened the heavy wooden doors to her studio. The studio was a closed off room with two doors leading into it. Along two walls were huge bay windows that over looked the garden in the backyard. Easels were set up all over the room, a pastel set was laying on the stool where she had been sitting drawing. "An eyeball… filled with fiery passion," the red head tilted his head back towards her.

"Back off Renji!" She warned, following him. She never could explain the things that inspired her. As she looked over at her sketching desk she remembered what else she had been doodling. She nearly sprinted over and closed her sketch book, there were nearly 30 sketch books laying in piles on and around the paint splattered desk but it was what she had just closed that made his interest peak.

"Are you sure you don't like this guy?" Abarai grabbed onto her sketchbook.

"I'm already sick of him," she hissed at him as he brought her face close to his. "I want him out of here!" She spun away from him.

"Fine then… first thing's first we have to see if he's as bad as you think he i--" They both heard it, the constant thumping of heavy rock music. "As you think he is," the redhead smiled evilly as he exchanged glances with his artful counterpart. She smiled back, her eyebrows lifting as she squeezed the book in her arms.