Title: On Music
Author: Saigo no Hajime
Summary: While attempting to do a school English assignment, Chad comes up with a new philosophy concerning how to view the people around him.
Pairings: IchiRuki, hinted one-sided IshiHime
Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, I would be forced to write on a definite schedule. I would also have gone insane a long time ago from the pressure. While I'm not sure about the sanity issue, I know I don't write on a schedule. Therefore, Bleach cannot be mine.
Also, I do not own Shakespeare's 'As You Like It'! The alterations made in the version at the end are mine, though.
Author's Note: ::sigh of relief:: Finally I got something written! I'm really sorry, everyone, for taking almost a month to post something on this. First my house was invaded by relatives coming to my brother's wedding, so I had no time to write. Then I got focusing on school, work, and other stories. Plus, I haven't had many ideas for this collection lately. Unfortunately, there might be a bit of a wait again, as I'm still more focused on my other stories at the moment. I'm not abandoning this, though, I promise! And I do have one idea I'm fiddling with right now, I just can't guarantee if it will come out well enough to post any time soon.

Anyway, I hope you'll let me know what you think of this oneshot! And as always, all reviews and constructive criticism will be treasured and responded to! On that note, TwiliteTGRgrl, thank you very much for your review last chapter! Unfortunately, it wasn't signed, so I couldn't respond directly. I very much enjoyed receiving it, though! To everyone else who has reviewed: thank you again!


"All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages." – William Shakespeare, 'As You Like It'.

######

When their English teacher announced they were doing a unit on Shakespeare, Chad's first thought was that Ichigo was probably delighted. He glanced over at the orange-haired boy immediately, and wasn't surprised to see an eager expression flickering over his face. He was doing a good job trying hiding his enthusiasm, though. Anyone who wasn't familiar with the subtle changes in Ichigo's frowning face no doubt thought he was either bored or disgusted with the idea of studying poetry. Chad was so busy studying his friend's face that he almost missed the assignment the teacher had started discussing. It was only when the papers were passed around that he snapped back to attention.

"Read this passage from the play 'As You Like It', and write me an essay about your thoughts and interpretations of it," the teacher commanded, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "And remember, this is English class, so the entire thing has to be in the English language."

The entire class, even Chad and Ichigo, groaned at the thought of the extra work. Rukia had returned to Soul Society the day before to check in, and would be gone for at least a week. Their team would have to work extra hard to make up for her absence and keep the town free of hollows. When would they have time for this project? Chad looked briefly at the passage, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he recognized it. This was from one of the plays Ichigo had convinced him to read. Of course, knowing the play didn't save him from having to write the essay itself.

His eyes fell to the familiar first line. All the world's a stage, he read. He frowned at the words, wondering why his immediate reaction had been to think, No, that's not right. It was a bizarre thought, and left Chad wondering what was wrong with his mind today. But the feeling didn't fade. What was so off about that line? All the world's a – ah, that was it. It shouldn't be stage. Shakespeare was wrong. People didn't act or play at life, they were actually living. And they weren't pretending to be someone else, they were actually being themselves.

No, stage didn't fit that sentence, for all that it had been written that way for centuries. But what word was better? Chad wondered. He didn't have any ideas, though, nor any more time to think about it, as the school bell began to ring for lunch. Chad pushed the strange thoughts out of his head, put the paper into his bag, and wandered over to Ichigo.

It wasn't until that afternoon as he was walking to band practice that he remembered the Shakespeare passage, the essay, and the odd question he'd brought up for himself. And almost immediately, he had his answer. Band. The word in that line should have been band, or even better, orchestra. People weren't acting out their lives, but they were sharing them with others, expressing their personalities and stories as they happened. And what better way to think of that than with music? Already, only seconds after finding the answer, he could already identify what instruments would best represent his closest friends.

Inoue, a flute. Both she and the instrument were bright and feminine, with a lilting, soaring quality like a songbird in flight. Whenever Chad heard a flute, he thought of freedom and innocence. He felt his own heart rising to meet the music, to share in the feeling of liberation. There was something smooth and pure about the sound of a flute, and Inoue was the same way. She too was gentle, and pure, and innocent. And even when she was feeling sad, she didn't come to rest on the ground. She kept flying, kept giving of herself to others. It was beautiful, and so was the music of the flute. Chad nodded in satisfaction at the conclusion.

And Kuchiki-san was a violin, he decided. The music of a violin had two sides. It was elegant and stylish and proper, offering the music liked by the refined ear. It was present in the most structured orchestra, playing for the highest class audiences. It was praised for being a classical, traditional instrument. But it was also the instrument of the lower class as well. Going by the name fiddle, it had been played by immigrants and pioneers. It had been played around campfires or in Irish pubs. It had been played with energy and attitude, been used for dance tunes, and accompanied drinking songs. Kuchiki-san was exactly the same. She was the noble violin, capable of refined and elegant behavior. And she was also the loud and rowdy fiddle, full of life and energy.

Chad could barely restrain a smile at the thought of Kuchiki-san and drinking songs. Only three weeks before, Matsumoto had thrown a huge party to celebrate her Taichou's birthday. Hitsugaya had slipped away as quickly as he could, but almost the entire rest of the Seireitei had stayed for the full night. Even Matsumoto's seemingly infinite supply of sake had been running low by morning. And somehow, despite her brother's best efforts, Kuchiki-san had gotten quite drunk. The sight of her dancing on top of the bar, then tackling Ichigo to the ground while shouting a slurred and almost incomprehensible confession of love, had been utterly hilarious.

It had actually been quite the fortunate experience also. Even half drunk himself, and clearly tempted, Ichigo had refused to take advantage of the situation. Byakuya, having seen the entire thing, had apparently been somewhat impressed, since his protests against their budding relationship had been far less vocal ever since.

Chad shook his head to clear the amusing memory from his thoughts. He needed to keep thinking about his essay. But for the moment he was a little stuck. What was Ishida like? A cello, perhaps? Yes, that would work. Cellos were often used in a supporting role, providing depth, harmony and stability to the background of the music. But occasionally they got the chance to play melody or even solos, and these were incredibly rich and beautiful.

So it was for Ishida, filled with talent and power of his own, but so often left to toil in the background. He provided the stability and calm that forced Ichigo to think things through before acting recklessly. He stood below Inoue as she flew after the sun, always ready to catch her should she fall, even though she never looked down to see him there. There were many times when Chad had felt somewhat exasperated with Inoue, for not seeing how patiently Ishida was waiting for her. And he always enjoyed watching Ishida's solos. Because when the young Quincy did get the chance to step forward on his own, he always proved he was more than capable of shining just as brightly as anyone else.

Abarai was similar, another deserving soul so often shoved out of the spotlight. He was a set of drums, steady and dependable. He set the beat for everyone else to follow, showed them the pace that they should walk. The sound of his rhythm was so incredibly vital and compelling that each person listening began to feel as if it was coming from within, rather than without. Only when the drums stopped playing did they suddenly remember there had been a person playing. Chad shuddered at that thought. The thought of hearing Abarai's song cut off in death was intolerable.

Of course, like Ishida and the cello, the drums could also have incredible solo parts. They were loud, brash, and full of energy. Anyone who actually thought about drums would latch on to that energy immediately. The noise and passion they could produce was what people identified in drums when asked. Abarai was exactly the same. If you asked anyone about him, they would first tell you about how unruly and noisy he was. Then they would tell you of his power and his passion. So few people would remember the support he would offer, the steady shoulder that kept them on their feet when they faltered.

Which may be what Abarai wants, Chad contemplated. He, like drums, was supposed to be a sign of strength and toughness. He prided himself on his rough edges and his wild energy. He would want to be remembered for that, not for anything sappy or soft. But, Chad decided, he deserves to be recognized for all of his strengths, even the sentimental ones. He nodded to himself. Yes, he would have to think of some way to thank Abarai for his steady support without embarrassing him.

Now who was left, he wondered, as he arrived at the building his band was practicing in. Ah yes, Ichigo. The hardest and the easiest to place. There was no instrument that could truly capture Ichigo's spirit, Chad decided. But there was also no doubt of his place in this metaphorical orchestra. He was the voice of their group, their leader and their inspiration. He was the one that brought meaning and purpose to the music they were living. He was the one who told everyone listening what they wanted and believed. There was no vague instrumental score to be interpreted by the audience, no questions for them to ask.

Ichigo was their singer. He was the one who set words and direction into the notes his friends were playing. He was the one who took the center stage and attracted the most attention. But he also was the person who received the most criticism. If something went wrong, who would people look to blame but the most visible member? And Ichigo went further than that, shielding them as best he could from harshness of the world around them. Yes, Ichigo could only be their singer.

And what about me, Chad asked himself as he pulled out his guitar and started to tune the strings. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the question. Of course he was a guitar. It was his chosen instrument, and more of a voice to him that his own verbal speech. But more importantly, a guitar was one of the instruments most often used by singers in bands. It was also the only instrument that Ichigo could or would play. Chad was determined to always be available to assist Ichigo, just as a guitar so often was used to assist and enhance a singer's performance. Chad could not see himself as any other instrument.

A small smile curved around his lips as he started to play, and he ignored the startled looks of his band mates as they took in the unusual expression. He was very pleased with the afternoon's work, and there was nowhere he'd rather be than here, immersed in music. And as soon as practice was done, he could sit down and write his essay. Wouldn't the teacher be surprised when he turned it in a full week early!

All the world's an orchestra,

and all the men and women merely instruments:

They have their notes and their silences;

And one man in his time plays many songs,

His music being always growing.