A/N: I don't have the words to convey my thanks for your continued support for this story. Know that I appreciate you all and I will do my best to continue updating. I hope you guys are all doing okay. Here's hoping this is the last wave.

Unable to recall the specific details of how he ended up in front of Karakura General Hospital, the tall redhead suddenly stopped in his tracks. In spite of the familiar setting to him, he felt incredibly out of place. Somehow, he had been dressed up in a suit and his arms held a large bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. He vaguely remembered being dragged back by Matsumoto, but between the speed shopping, gussying up, and rambling lecture on horses and romance, he couldn't keep up. When his consciousness finally caught up with his feet, he was looking at his reflection in the glass doors of the hospital. What was the next step again? The forcible lieutenant had given him very little choice, from the cut of his shirt to the selection of flowers, yet what about the words to use? He racked his brain for any memories of a plan, but came up short. Holy crap, she didn't tell me what I'm supposed to do here. After all the impositions, she had left him at the entrance and deserted him when he needed help.

"Kurosaki?" An old classmate now working as a nurse bumped into him while exiting the building.

"Uh… Yeah. Hey!" Ichigo ran his free hand compulsively through his hair. If he had wanted to back away, it was too late to do so now that he had been spotted.

"Long time no see. I almost didn't recognize you. Sorry, man, I wish we could catch up, but I got to pick up my kid from school. See you around!"

Letting out a sigh of relief, Ichigo shuffled his feet, debating whether or not to enter. On the one hand, he was already here, and somehow, he doubted it would go over well if Matsumoto found out that he had failed to deliver on his promise. Wait, what promise? He didn't actually owe her anything. In fact, he had paid off a very heavy tab back in Soul Society, so he was more than good. Still, he wanted this, didn't he? If nothing else, he wanted to clear the air with her. It annoyed him to no end that there were so many misunderstandings between them. Even if she didn't return his feelings, shouldn't he set things straight with her? But, what was he supposed to say? Hey, Inoue, I don't have a girlfriend. Please accept my flowers? He gave himself a deserving smack in the face. Terrible. He shook his head, hoping to refresh the cache to produce better results. Hey, Inoue, I came back for you. Blinking at the veracity of that last thought, he felt his heart skip a beat. Sure, he was known for his impulsiveness, but what drove him to drop everything to return to his hometown? Why did he care so much? Bits of his conversation with Tatsuki played in his mind like short clips of a documentary. The pieces formed together (ever so slowly) for the dense doctor and as the weight of his feelings dawned on him, his cheeks flushed with colour.

Even from inside the car several blocks away, the Captain could feel the powerful reiatsu emanating from the hospital. He had asked his driver to speed up, not out of fear for his ward's safety, but because there was an uneasiness that pricked at him from deep down. He had made it clear that there was no need for the quasi-Shinigami to be here. Upon arrival, Byakuya was unprepared for the sight that beheld him. A young man dressed in a crisp navy jacket stood idling at the front doors, seemingly muttering to himself and blushing like a schoolgirl. For once, the orange strands looked combed, possibly blow-dried to fall perfectly in place, photo-ready. The collars of the white shirt underneath was clearly freshly pressed. Never before had Byakuya seen Ichigo look so presentable. His eyes zeroed in on the flowers in his hand. It may have been decades, near a century that he had been in love, but there was no mistaking what he was seeing. Deeply repressed memories of his days courting Hisana flashed through his mind. The feelings of butterflies, sweaty palms, giddiness (or something close to it); the nostalgia hit him like a monsoon. His fists clenched as he braced himself against the poignancy ripping through him. Suddenly, he missed her. Whether unmaterialized grief or loneliness, the bitterness crippled him, keeping him immobile in his spot. He watched with empathy as Ichigo tripped over his own feet when the familiar healer suddenly emerged. To his dismay, he understood the stubborn man in that moment.

The morning was spent mostly in shame. The gentle healer had filled the morning commute to work with mindless small talk that Byakuya had politely tolerated. At work, she concentrated her efforts on her assignments and tried her best to avoid running into a certain colleague. By late afternoon, she finally realized that she had forgotten to eat lunch. By working through her usual lunch hour, she did not run the risk of seeing Ishida at the cafeteria. Despite the sound logic of it all, her stomach was now loudly protesting. Oddly, the hunger was accompanied by another sensation. It was warm and comforting; a force of power enveloping her. What's he doing here? The recognition was near immediate. She hurried down to the main foyer and before thinking it through, the glass panels were already sliding open for her.

"Kurosaki-kun?"

"I-I… Uh… Hi. Hi." He felt like he had lost control over his own voice and his very body felt foreign to him.

Recomposed, the Shinigami Captain turned his attention away from the awkward youth and signaled for his driver. He didn't need to watch anymore. Underneath the stoicism hid a man who once knew love, the kind that came once in a lifetime. However, this wasn't his lifetime. He had had his own love story. Whatever fondness he felt for the young healer would not measure up to the yearning he had for his late wife. Perhaps, in another life time, but, not this one. He had come to investigate the garganta, and he resolved to do just that.