Disclaimer: The standard applies.

Chapter 21 - Let's Talk About...: Part Two

Ichigo never expected to find peace in his purported rival's home, but peace aplenty greeted him. The apartment was really quiet for a change. No studio flipped on, nor was the television. Renji's words in the morning rang in his ear like an urgent siren, reminding him that apart from proper acting, it was vital to adhere to his contract, one tantamount to his reputation in the media. He wondered what would their reactions be like if the cat was let out of the bag - that he wasn't dating Orihime. Who would end up in a worse situation? Him or her? Either way it wasn't fair to both parties, but sometimes they didn't have a choice. Most decisions were left to their management companies, and while breakups between celebrities are deemed as alright and frequent, being bound to a contractual relationship to promote themselves wasn't really given the same fanfare. Ichigo knew of some celebrities who participated in such arrangements. He was friends with one such couple too. All was good, but once the contract was broken, both suffered a steep decline in popularity.

He, like Orihime, initially protested the idea, but the management got the better of them. Being in a faux relationship, they said, brings many benefits. Don't be overly mistaken about it. See, when one gets to hog the limelight, the other party is brought in too. The spotlight is extended for two. It's a one-for-one promotion! It's one plus one equals two! But not everyone can be involved in such shady liaisons. First, they have to look cute together. Everyone loves adorable things. You have to capture their hearts - that's the way to get them line, hook, and sinker. Second, the man has to carry shades of rebelliousness in him. The woman - anything would go, as long as she's not trashy or begging to be slapped. Self-promotion is paramount in this industry of theirs, and most starlets, as they were back then, craved for them.

You have to always let people know you are around. Remind them. Because they tend to be forgetful. Because this world is full of people who can, at a snap of the fingers, replace you. Once you fall off their radar that's it. It's going to be a long climb back to the top. Do something that catches their attention. Do it at every single chance you get. Do it via any means you can. Any news is good news. Remember it! This way they can never forget you.

Better to lay the foundation first, they twittered excitedly too, than blindly believe pure talent is sufficient. Of the thousand strong recruitment in the entertainment circuit every other month, only one or two possess the true potential to reign supreme. Some are fortunate enough to have relations in the industry. Best is if their parents are film producers themselves. It's a literal one-way ticket to stardom. Even if you suck. The rest are left to their own devices. Sink or swim. Better still if you have talent and looks and a tinge of charisma. Coupled with a fantastic marketing strategy, the world is practically your oyster.

"Yeah right," Ichigo scoffed in silence. "More like a bloody clam with a shit load of dirt."

It was times like this that he envied Ulquiorra's public persona, or rather, the severe lack of. The man never had a problem with displaying his true self openly, that was if his true self was a indifferent, reclusive, stoic man with a penchant for odd-looking appearances and chilly remarks. On the surface he seemed compliant with his management's decisions, never questioning them, but inside, who really knew what went on in his mind? Briefly Ichigo wondered if they had ever proposed a similar self-marketing plan to Ulquiorra too.

Nah, Ichigo shook his head. He probably thinks he's superior to every creature who has walked this planet. And, he's too eccentric to be paired up with someone else in real life. No one will ever buy it, ha ha.

Unfortunately, Ulquiorra Schiffer's sense of superiority was only enabled by his unrivaled prowess to translate scripted characters into living, breathing humans whose haunting presence on film seeped deep into the viewer's soul long after the credits had rolled. In any way, he was himself. Suppose he belonged to himself too.

He looked over at Ulquiorra, absorbed in his script. The older man wore a simple black tee and dark blue pants folded at the hem. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and he brushed them away with a finger. Legs tucked neatly beneath him, he leaned against the settee ever so slightly, as if afraid the furniture would crumble into a thousand pieces if he were to so much apply an ounce of weight. Sometimes he was so quiet that it was easy to neglect his presence.

"Hey," Ichigo began, unsure if he should even broach the subject. "Did you...umm..."

"Read your script," Ulquiorra answered in his usual flat tone.

"Already did. Aside from the script, can't we talk about something else? It's Monday for the love of Autumn Chrysalis!"

"If it's regarding the script, then yes."

"Script, yeah, those are scripts alright. Scripts written by laymen and people who are caught up in the recent tabloid frenzy about...us..."

Ulquiorra put his script down, and took a long, thoughtful sip of his morning coffee. "What about them?"

"Well," the younger man rubbed his nose, trying to nurse his embarrassment at bringing up the topic. "Nothing much. Just that they are...stories about us, you know, together and the such."

"I have not seen, much less read them." Ulquiorra took another sip of his coffee. "What do you mean by 'together'?"

"Err...as in that kind of together. Like we're in a relationship or something. A real life relationship which involves dating and...other stuff."

Ulquiorra stared at him with the soulfulness of a corpse. "A relationship? Dating?"

Ichigo laughed nervously and fiddled with his script. "It's all fiction! Don't get your knickers in a knot over them. No way are they real! They are just fan stories written by people who have way too much time on their hands. Besides, I'm already attached. I'm all about monogamy, if you should ever think otherwise." He rounded off with another bout of tense laughter.

The older man carefully placed the porcelain cup back on its saucer. "If so, why do you read them? Do you, like them, have too much time on your hands?"

"Don't be nuts. I didn't! Yuzu and Karin said those stories were floating around some forum, and they read them. Yuzu even commented on how good they were. The hell she's right. She gave me the links and yeah, I pretty much had nothing to do after a heavy Sunday lunch. No harm clicking on them, right? Which I did. Made me wish I hadn't in the first place. Sundays are not to be wasted like that! Besides, some stories are plain stupid." Ichigo mustered a poor impersonation of smugness. "Some are...impossible. Scratch that. Make that most. Wait a sec. Make that all! Imagine reading about you and me in some silly, lovey-dovey romantic comedy plot? Please." He made a face. "Excuse me while I head over to the basin and choke myself." As much as Ichigo said, he didn't mention the many R-rated moments they 'shared' in the stories. And certainly he didn't mention how they made his innocent brain trip several times.

"This does not come as a surprise to me," Ulquiorra replied calmly. "Just a question I have for you."

"Oh wow. What can it possibly be?"

"Who do you think wrote them?"

"Duh! Of course they have to be silly twits with a penchant for tabloid gossip and err..." Ichigo explained. "Those who like seeing us...together."

"No. What I meant was: what do you make of their gender? Generally speaking."

Immediately Ichigo was reminded of the many awestruck gazes strewn at him when he walked down the red carpet during movie premieres. "Girls with an excessive dose of imagination?"

"Most likely it's them. It is never arduous to think up two members of their opposite sex engaging in salacious behavior with each other. That is if they are not repulsed in the first place. Through the projection of a relationship which eludes them entirely - there are no similarities found, they are at liberty to pick out their own sexuality and explore it with detachment."

"Complicated as always, coming from you," Ichigo sarcastically commented.

"You started it."

"I certainly did not--" Ichigo decided to keep a check on his short fuse. "Oh well. In other words, whoever the writers are, they are letting their imaginations take over the hellish realm of impossible."

"I do not know. You are the one who have seen and read them, not me."

"Jeez man. Can't they go bother about something, or even someone else? What a stinking load of trouble."

Ulquiorra didn't say a word, but finished his coffee and returned to the script.

A harried Renji called at 4.30pm, desperate to ensure his friend would show up for the premiere later at night. He was bothered endlessly by PR representatives on both sides. They called when he was having toast for breakfast, gulping down a can of Sapporo draught beer, flipping through his magazines, playing Wii, reading some manga, taking a quick snooze. They even hounded him when he was taking a dump! Sometimes Renji felt as though he was the hotshot, and not the resourceful, wily, cool as a cucumber agent/manager he was supposed and trying very hard to be.

He didn't want to put his best friend on the spot - after all, the whole boyfriend-girlfriend setup was his idea to begin with. He started off with good intentions, but now it looked set to fall apart. Not that the relationship was failing; how could something non-existent be a failure? He admitted he could be a tiresome block of wood at times, as do most guys, but it was clear as day that the fake relationship was already leaning towards a case of, dare he say, one-sided love. If it took him this long to uncover it, surely Ichigo would still remain in the dark. That man was sensitive and caring despite his devil-may-care attitude, but he was incredibly hopeless when it came to matters of the heart.

After Ichigo promised time and again he would definitely show up on time for Orihime's debut showing on the big screen, Renji finally hung up. More than anything he needed assurance from his famous friend. Grabbing a towel and a change of clothes from his closet, he trooped off to the bathroom, needing to make himself tidy and fresh for the event later. He may not be the headline act, but he would be lurking somewhere in the background, reminding Ichigo what he ought and ought not to do. The last thing they needed was another baseless tabloid article suggesting Ichigo was merely using Orihime as his beard.

Renji took an electrical shaver to his chin and slid it from left to right. He tilted his head upward and shaved under his chin, making sure the two day old stubble was out of sight. He flossed his teeth and rinsed out bits of food with Listerine. He trimmed his nose hairs, and was about to straighten his eyebrows when he realized they were replaced by tattoos three years ago. He slapped some water on his face until he felt totally refreshed. Looking himself in the mirror, he ran a hand across his cheeks and chin, satisfied that it now felt as smooth as a baby's bottom.

But there was something that perturbed him. He tugged at the collar of his army green tee, pushing it down to reveal a well-toned chest. A constellation of red dots was visible on his left breast, each angry in their right. He couldn't fathom how they came about, and attributed them to mosquitoes initially. However he came to realize they weren't itchy at all, just red and splotchy. They couldn't be from the drinking either. He never was allergic to alcohol.

Perplexed, he turned on the tap and splashed more water on his face. Thinking about that Saturday morning drove his mind into an agonizing blank. He remembered dancing in the club with Grimmjow, and the bountiful bottles they chugged down. In fact, he was talking about Sex Pistols and the evolution of punk, when in the next second he found himself in a motel room with his shirt unbuttoned and off his shoulders. His pants, thank god, were intact. So was his wallet. He was alone, but that didn't seem like the case. From the dent of the pillow and warmth on the creased bedsheets, he was certain someone had slept next to him. And that someone had made a beeline for the exit before he woke up. But who? And what exactly went on while he blacked out?

I must be going slightly mad, Renji thought as he dried his face with a towel. I must be!

By evening Ichigo was all dressed up for the movie premiere. An experienced stylist was on hand to make him presentable and smart as would a bona fide movie star. He was clad in a black wine tuxedo, and his already wild orange hair was made wilder with hairspray and wax. The ends were stiff and resistant to nature's forces. They are going to be difficult to wash off later, he grimaced. It's going to eat away at my bedtime, damn it! And do I even have enough shampoo to deal with...this?

A little after eight he got into a shiny black limousine with Orihime. Like all respectable limos it had everything you need at an arm's length away. Pricey champagne in a bucket of ice, chilled wine glasses, an invertible LCD screen, a laptop, wireless connection, game consoles, neat stacks of magazines, a small dressing mirror, and a sharply suited chauffeur who donned white gloves.

Ichigo uncapped a bottle of Perrier and drank it. He uncrossed his legs and stretched them to his heart's content. Of all amenities provided he appreciated the generous leg space most. Second was the leather upholstery. Fatigued nerves soothed by soft music floating in from tiny speakers hidden away from view, he held onto the water bottle like a palm rest and reclined into the roomy backseat and closed his eyes, determined to get some shuteye before hopping into a pot of media frenzy.

"Kurosaki-kun," Orihime turned to him, her poise tensed. "T-Thank you for coming."

He lazily opened one eye. "Err?"

She tilted her head to the side. Dark orange strands, freshly permed and set, fell about her bare shoulders in loose waves. The dim lights radiated off them, creating an extra soft glow about her.

"I mean, I understand you have been tied up with your own work as well. Looking at you, you must be really tired. So for you to fork out a night like this, I'm grateful but also sorry to disrupt your schedule. Hope you won't mind."

Ichigo sat up straight, and rolled the bottle between his palms. "What are you saying, Inoue? It's nothing."

"No it's not nothin--"

"It's your first ever movie premiere later, so stop thinking about such things. Think of how you're going to pose on the red carpet later, soaking up the atmosphere and blowing air kisses at your fans. Think of how you are going to enjoy the whole experience. I guarantee it'll be a total blowout!"

She blushed a little. "Sounds silly yet scary at the same time."

"It definitely is," Ichigo grinned. "Nowhere as scary as your cooking, though. That stuff is made of nightmares."

Orihime gulped. "I thought you said it was near restaurant standards?"

"I was only joking with you."

She smiled back at him. Her eyes however, portrayed a different story.

"It's nothing much, OK? Think of it as the fruits to your labor. Bet you didn't feel like this when filming, don't you? I guess it's a walk in the park."

Her face paled at the recollection. "I went through many takes just to get a scene right..."

Ichigo's lips twitched at the corners. Oops. "Anyhow, it will be just like a party and basically what you have to do is show up. Which we are obviously going to. And don't worry. I promise not to steal your thunder."

Orihime gave a bashful smile, then turned and looked out the tinted window. Streetlights and trees passed by them in a whirl, reminding her of the accelerated lifestyle she led since graduating from high school. She tried counting the trees along the road but soon gave up. The limo cruised along at 90 km/h. Elevator music played in the background, filling in the temporary vacuum between them. Ichigo picked out the tune and carelessly hummed along.

At last she spoke. "Thank you, Kurosaki-kun. I feel much better now. More relaxed. Earlier in the dressing room, Tatsuki said I was practically a nervous wreck! I have no idea why I felt like that. It's not exactly the first time I've done this. It shouldn't even be a problem, but I...just can't stop feeling like something's going to pull me under."

Ichigo looked at her. "Because you care a lot for this project."

She gave a slow, contemplative nod.

"Plus you look really nice tonight," he said, reining in the sight of one of Japan's most desirable women. Any normal man would have his heart set fluttering by her. Looking at her now - that went without saying. But not Ichigo. He couldn't make out an appropriate reason why he didn't feel like most men. Two years since they had known each other, and still, nothing. He supposed not everyone possessed the magic to conjure up pink plumes and have them dance around them merrily at selected intervals of the day.

Orihime spun around to see warm hazel orbs boring into her. "Are you laughing at me again?" she asked meekly.

"Nah. No reason to," he uncapped the bottle and drank more water to soothe his thirst. "So, what's the designer label you're wearing this time? Looks like the one Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast At Tiffany's. What is it called again?"

"Givenchy."

Ichigo gave a nod. "Fits you like a glove."

"Thanks," she said, blushing.

"One more thing," he held up his Perrier bottle for emphasis. "My ears are sore from all your thanks and apologies."

Orihime nodded, her lithe hands clasped firmly on the mauve leather clutch. "Sorry."

Ichigo, having stayed late into the night, climbed into his bed at the crack of dawn. He managed to grab three hours of sleep before scrambling downstairs like a drunkard for breakfast, only to make a detour to the bathroom when he remembered he had yet to wash up. He scrubbed himself clean, shaved, tousled his hair, brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth several times until he was convinced he smelled like freshly chopped mint leaves. He didn't want to be chastised for his 'poor' oral habits again, especially when he had to indulge in some scripted intimacy with his co-star. As he bit into the buttered toast, he pondered which scene would Ulquiorra suggest they practise first. His cheeks turned up the heat when he drifted further into his thoughts. Realizing he was stuck in a sky-high rut, he hastily downed a cup of honeyed water before dashing to his car. He turned the ignition key, flipped the stereo on and drove out the narrow driveway. When the silver Impreza hit the highway, he switched gears and sped all the way to his co-star's place.

Ichigo managed to reach his destination in one piece, albeit being late by 40 minutes. Knowing how Ulquiorra was a stickler for rules set in stone, he came up with a series of excuses to avert any potential cold shoulder given by the man himself.

"Traffic's bad," Ichigo called out the moment he closed the door behind him. "Stuck for a while. Don't mind, yeah?"

Ulquiorra was in the kitchen, fixing up a bowl of milk for his cat. "Since all the way from last night, starting from the gates of the television studio?"

"Hey. I only attended the premiere and stayed for the post party. Got to see things to the end, especially when it's her first movie. Speaking of which, she's really good for a first timer."

"I didn't ask for an explanation or elaboration of that woman's ability."

"Whatever floats your boat, bloody Schiffer boy." Ichigo helped himself to a glass of water. His throat was parched from last night's endless bout of interviews hinging on his relationship with Ulquiorra and Orihime. Renji was there to help fend off the ravenous reporters, and the ex-teen hotshot had no choice but to take the bite and stay very closely to his 'girlfriend' throughout. "You really can learn to give people a chance, Quiqui."

"Do they deserve it?"

Ichigo nearly choked on his water. That was such a typical Ulquiorra answer, but it made him laugh nonetheless. Either the stoic man had an unmatchable sense of obscure humor or he was getting used to his caustic nature. "Figured out which scene we are going to concentrate on today?"

Ulquiorra called his cat over and placed the bowl on the floor. "The third one."

"You mean the one where Murakami and Takamatsu sees each other when the war's ongoing, and have a rendezvous in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, that. It is entirely different from what we used to do for the previous two scenes. This time, you are to take the initiative. Because that was what Murakami Yoshihito did."

"Got it in one."

"We will have to undress for this session. It is about time we get acquainted with each other's bodies." Ulquiorra cast a wary glance at the calendar. "We do not have the luxury of time."

"Wha--no--what?" Ichigo squawked. He left the glass in the sink before his fingers could slip in shock.

Ulquiorra bent down to scratch his cat behind the ears. "They are a tool for expressing one's emotions and the labyrinth of convulsions Man experiences. In this segment, our bodies will be used to express our characters' desire for each other, despite whatever might come their way when the first twitters of morning sound."

"S-Strip down to...where?" Ichigo couldn't stop himself from asking.

"We do not have our costumes with us, much less Shinji-san's custom made underpants. The shirt alone is sufficient. We have to be, so as to speak, less awkward with displaying traces of intimacy. Bear in mind it is not between us, but who we are before the cameras and on the movie screen. Understand?"

Ichigo nodded dumbly, his cheeks emitting heat as he followed Ulquiorra to the living room. They sat on the designer settee, each lost to their own random thoughts. Wordlessly, Ichigo removed his shirt and left it on the coffee table.

Ulquiorra looked over at his topless co-star, and suddenly felt the impending need to address some issues. He may be utterly ignorant when it came to understanding people and their inner workings, but intuition brought on by intellect exercised in the correct manner helped nullify that fault. An intuition prone to errors, though.

"I understand that we are humans and we have a pyramid of desires. According to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, our physiological needs form the base. They are to be satisfied before we can move up the next level, and so on and so forth," said Ulquiorra, as he began to unbutton his white dress shirt. "Food, water, air, and the need to copulate. Having them do not make us any different from wild beasts. It is a true call of nature, but as humans, we, simply put, possess an indefinite amount of self-control. We should. Morality, amongst other self-actualization indicators, encases the apex of this pyramid. This differentiates us from our less intelligent counterparts. Anyone who fails to do so are no better than trash in the zoo."

Ichigo stared at him in disbelief. The man can be truly unbelievable at times. Needs? What was he now trying to do by saying all these before their practice? Copulate? Self-control? Trash in the zoo? As if the gears in his brain weren't already raking up a whirlpool inside, Ulquiorra had to fiddle with the rest of the buttons on his shirt. He was bidding his own sweet time, and it seemed like forever before the last button came undone.

A pale strip of flesh emerged between two pillars of cotton white, before expanding to a field of winter white. His normally ashen complexion, when bathed in filtered sunlight, emitted a serene glow. The shirt slid off his shoulders and arms in one cascading flow. Ichigo soon found himself gazing helplessly at the very chest responsible for hurling him head first into the eye of a whirlpool. A chest that was neither too broad nor narrow. It was just right for someone of his physique. A slim and toned body. Lean muscles gained from Kendo rippled faintly across his arms and torso. He tried imagining the texture of Ulquiorra's body beneath his fingertips, but it was like trying to picture himself clinging helplessly to a piece of driftwood at sea.

He looked up and saw Ulquiorra staring back at him with those brilliant green depths.

"What is there to see?" his co-star queried. "Were you not the one who proclaimed what a man has, another man has as well?"

"Shut up and get to it," Ichigo grouched, his senses screwed up. He was feeling the lack of sufficient rest setting in. He must be. "Don't make things sound more complex than they already are."

"I will not hold it against you if during the practice your body acts against your will. As said, not every animal has the capability to control themselves," said Ulquiorra, continuing to sound unmoved and self-righteous at the same time. Even when he was feeling messed up and increasingly queasy in his guts, he never failed to maintain a blank demeanor. It wasn't even acting; it came naturally to him. For a while he thought he succeeded, then his mouth betrayed him by jumping the gun and divulging something he hadn't planned to:

"You can simply excuse yourself and head over to the washroom."

"W-What? Never!" Ichigo sputtered and almost lost his balance on the beige settee. "Me a-a-aro…u...sed by y-y-you?" he blushed wildly. "Never a chance in hell! Hello, I'm straight! Obviously. Which part of me looks like I'm...I'm...err..." He cleared his throat with great difficulty and swore he sighted the beginnings of a thin smirk spreading across Ulquiorra's countenance. How dare he even suggest that? The nerve! He blinked, and it was gone.

"Stupid piece of a walking corpse! Trying to throw me off balance again? Can't believe I almost fell for it!" he huffed. "Don't think you just scored one over me. Your devious manipulation doesn't count!"

Ulquiorra merely stared straight ahead. "If you should at any given point of time lose yourself between two worlds, just remember that we are enacting a scene between two lovers who are unable to see beyond the night. If you wish to become an acclaimed actor, that is the fundamental matrix you have to tackle. Segregate yourself from your character. Can you do that?"

"Well, I'm working on it."

The green eyed actor continued to prattle on about the dangers actors, especially the newbies, tend to slip into when engrossed in the act - all of which Ichigo already knew, ran through the actions acceptable for the scene, and their personal boundaries which they agreed on. Hands off the crotch area, no usage of tongue on any part of the body other than the mouth, and no showings of perversion.

"Are we finally clear on this?" he asked.

"Yeah. It sure took you long enough. Didn't we set the guidelines, I mean you, more than some two weeks ago? Remember that sheet of paper you made me sign? It had the self-awareness to realize how screwed up it is, and decided to leap off the building."

The older man drilled him with a brittle glare. "In this case I shall expect nothing less than perfection from you."

"OK. Don't explode in shock when you realize how good I really am."

A/N: Yeah, the whole OOC issue. I'm trying *hard* to not let my brain go haywire and fingers be ill-disciplined. Please bear with me. And if this chapter at some point doesn't make sense, it's due to my inner -roar- fangirl. And, thanks for the reads and reviews. Really appreciate them. Keep them coming in! Part 3 is just a heartbeat away...so...stay tuned.

P.S. Happy one year anniversary to the fic!