A/N: Warning. . . angst ahead.


All in all, he had plenty of reasons to let her go. To walk away. Millions. Like stars.

And like stars, they became distant and meaningless in the crook of her neck, the tickle of her fingers on his chest.

They were both of them tactile souls. Her skin was smooth and ivory, her hair soft and thick. Her eyes could suck him in like nothing else ever would. She always frowned at him when he leaned forward to touch her shoulder, graze her jaw with his thumb. She never said what was on her mind. If her face was more expressive like Inoue's, or more impassive like Rukia's, he could have been satisfied with that. But the itching need and fear beneath the surface—things he could only be reflecting himself—were becoming too blinding. Not just for him. For her, too.

They were no longer sneaking around. Everyone knew. That's why it was so easy for them to slip into the crowded hall rented by Ishida's father to commemorate the upcoming nuptials of his son, not hand in hand but together. And no one batted an eye. No one, save the future groom. After the perfunctory receiving of gifts and congratulations, he whispered into Inoue's ear and rose. The cold blue eyes met with Renji's, and the shinigami knew immediately that this was it. After all this time, a direct confrontation. Ishida made his way out, and Renji followed.

"What are you doing?" Ishida asked the moment they were in the hallway.

"Congratulating you. Beautiful wife you're getting."

Ishida shook his head. "Dumbass."

Renji laughed. "I've heard that one before."

"From Arisawa-san, I'll bet. And she's right."

"Now if only she weren't just as dumb."

"Have you talked to Kurosaki?"

"He tried to talk me out of it before we really started going at it, yeah."

"Let me guess. It went in one ear and out the other?" Ishida pushed his glasses up with a long white finger. One of the byproducts of fighting side by side with Ishida was that he, of all people, tended to be more perceptive. Of Renji's flaws, mostly. Karma, maybe, for skewering the kid when they first met (even though the cocky little bastard deserved it). "Don't you think you've let this go on long enough? Knowing what you both are?"

Renji opened his mouth to reply, but Ishida knew exactly where he was going. "It's different with Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san and you know it. Even if he's human, Kurosaki is a shinigami. They can go on for years like this and pick right up like nothing happened after he dies. Are you willing to wait around for Arisawa-san to reach your level? Do you expect her to be faithful to you and have nothing but all those years you'll spend apart to look forward to?" The blue eyes narrowed. "Or," the Quincy asked, "Will you be like Kurosaki-sensei and become a human for the woman you love?"

Renji suddenly wanted to punch the wall. Okay. He did punch the wall. "Typical," Kuchiki-taichou sniffed. Thankfully it was brick and the gigai gave way before it did. Ishida stood still in his place, not even flinching at the blow that landed just inches from his head.

Renji sucked in air, clutched at the mangled hand. It was bleeding. "Those gigai are getting damn realistic," Ishida commented. "Urahara-san is outdoing himself."

"Yeah he is," Renji gritted through clenched teeth.

Ishida was already walking away. "You can't stay here. She cannot go, not yet. Don't force her to be the one who ends it. Be a damn man," he threw over his back. Renji listened to his heavy footfalls slow an stop. There was a silence. Renji looked up from his hands.

Arisawa stood in the doorway. Her eyes were narrow. "Stop interfering," she said to Ishida. Her gaze shifted to Renji and he braced himself for the usual verbal smackdown. But it did not come. Instead she strode forward, cool and certain. She took his uninjured hand. "Let's go somewhere," she said.

He let her lead him out into the cool autumn night.

He hadn't noticed before, but he did now. Her hair was growing, long enough now to be swept up into a small knot, exposing the back of her fine neck. He edged close, nuzzled. She stood very still. Her perfume was exquisite, even though he wasn't sure if she was wearing any. She leaned back; his hands hooked together at her midsection. "Don't say it," she murmured. She could only will him to know. He could not help but understand.

She had no idea. He couldn't, even if he had wanted to, speak the words aloud. Not any more than she could. That night they sparred as they never had before. Renji came away with his other hand just as sore where he tried to hit her, overreached, and slammed into another wall. Tatsuki came away with a purpling bruise on her shoulder where she deflected a strike at her head. Then they went back to her apartment, stripped, and stared at each other's wounds in silence. She took the hand he had wrecked at the hall. Stared, blinked. Could not cry. Would not. He touched her shoulder gently, negotiating with the bruise. Found a safe spot to grasp and pulled her to him. Together they breathed in silence. Together they fell asleep.

In his dreams he was alone and not alone. Rukia and the others lay facing the sky, sleep like a blanket upon them while he acted as the fire that kept them warm. But he was restless, he was lonely. He could not help but grasp at the fireflies that lit the night in vague and certain glows. And the one he caught, when he opened his hands, was Tatsuki's beating heart. He would blink at it, horrified and amazed, then look to make sure the others were not awake.

And then he would devour it.

"That is enough, Abarai-kun."

"Taichou?"

"I cannot counsel you further."

"You haven't counseled me at all," Renji murmurs.

If Byakuya notices the accusing tone in his subordinate's voice, he does not acknowledge it. "I will not be the one to make your decision for you."

"Ah." Renji closes his eyes. "I figured as much." He can accept this. He's a man, after all.

"Don't drag this out," Kuchiki warns. "Make it merciful." But of course, sphinx that he is, he does not indicate who the mercy is supposed to be for. Yet another choice Renji would be expected to make for himself. But he already knows his choice. He only has to accept it.


A/N (again): It had to go there eventually. Sorry if it's too much of a downer.

Next up: He'll carry the gift she gave him until the day she dies.