Reader Discretion: Themes throughout this story involve substance abuse, mention of suicide, and depression. I don't presume to know the limitations of others, so consider this a general trigger warning.

It was quiet in her apartment, cloaked in darkness as she sat on the window sill. She held a mug of coffee with both hands, relishing the warmth, her legs curled up as she slumped back against the wall. Dawn was breaking, setting the city ablaze in a cold blue glow, and she could almost make out the tired faces of people trekking along in the freshly fallen snow, either coming home or going out, and she sympathized. In a matter of minutes, she'd be joining them.

She checked her phone, wincing from the brightness as she clicked on the screen, minding the time. Two minutes, max. She drew her head back against the wall, eyes closed, savouring the moment. Then she dragged herself to her bedroom to put on her jeans, keeping with the same oversized sweater she'd worn all weekend. She downed the remains of her coffee in three large gulps, forgetting the mug on her dresser as she rushed out of the room, sliding around in her socks. They were too thick for her boots, buffing out the sides, stretching the laces. She wrapped her scarf on her way out the door, bookbag hanging off one shoulder, earbuds dangling out of somewhere.

She practically ran to the elevator, already annoyed with herself for taking those extra two minutes.

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The city of Shinjuku was busy, always, no matter what time of day. Karin always caught the 6:45 train downtown, allowing herself an entire hour to run around and complete all her errands before work. Errands of which she ran for her boss. Every morning.

First she went to the general store in the plaza, gathering a monthly bundle of imported magazines under one arm and grabbing a daily dose of two energy drinks for herself, mustering a sleepy smile for the clerk as she swiped her company card. Next she would trek down the street, then another, increasingly flustered as she waded through the traffic of fellow commuters, the cold air biting her face with a vengeance. This brought her to a gluten free bakery, finding her order already packed up and ready for payment, right to the minute. She grimaced at the familiarity, hitting her especially hard on days like this, and she shoved the package of muffins and bagels in her tote bag alongside the magazines, hoping they wouldn't crumple but making no real effort to help it.

Finally, as was this particular day's docket, she stopped into the stuffy coffee shop that had squished itself into the corner of the street, some odd seven restaurants and boutiques separating it from her office building. She especially hated it here, where the same people always seemed to be occupying the same tables, an air of snobby elitism about them as they sat with their complicated lattes and their laptops, making her feel uncomfortably inadequate from the moment she walked through the door. Of course, this was all in her head, and really just gave her a way to compartmentalize her personal grievances. It was possible that any glare she received was in response to her own.

The barista knew her order and saved her the trouble of saying it, and it's ready before she managed to doze off at the end of the counter. Now she was tasked with keeping a full tray of large, searing hot lattes balanced as she made her way down the icy sidewalk, and this was definitely the worst part of her day. And all because the overly expensive coffee machine at the office was deemed unworthy. Coming upon her destination, she was sure to give the obtrusive 'Blue Lightning Records' sign the stink-eye.

Taking the elevator up to the fourth floor, she felt nearly every muscle in her body cramp in place, barely allowing her to move properly. She wrestled her way to the far corner office, grateful that she arrived before everyone else and walked straight through, attempting as best she could to keep the coffees' sloshing to a minimum.

She nudged the door open with her foot, eyes trained on the tall faux-redhead standing at the window. She cleared her throat. "Victoria?"

"Finally!" The woman whipped around, fixed with a glare. This was a typical start to their day together. "Where have you been? I'm starving."

Karin rolled her eyes, relief ripping through her body as she set her stuff down, letting the heavy bag on her arm fall into the nearest chair. "I arrive the same time every morning, Victoria," she responded dryly, removing two of the four drinks from the tray and placing them on the desk. One was for Victoria, and the other was for the next boss up. Karin was merely assistant to the assistant. "And you know, if you're that hungry, you could just get your breakfast for yourself. I'm sure it's made easier with a car."

Victoria studied her for a moment, debating whether she'd let her snarky remark slide. Thankfully, she did. "I could," she said, pulling the tab on her coffee. She brought it to her lips, eyes twinkling with a snarl. "But then, what would I need you for?"

Karin was too tired to react, and frankly too used to it. She could almost empathize with the woman, being the assistant to the CEO, so close to the top yet stuck just below. Tragic, really. A superiority complex was quite justified. Or maybe it was because she was American.

"Now," Victoria went on, extending a hand toward the heavy tote bag on the chair with a grasp of her fingers, a silent command for her magazines and a bagel. Karin complied, feeling robotic. "Take the other coffees to Jasmine, and put everything else in the staff room. I'll come check on you later."

Karin stifled a sigh, bowing out of the room and heading to the office of another first grade assistant who couldn't get her own shit for herself, then to the staff pantry that was so chock full of food it was borderline embarrassing. By the time she was seated at her desk she was so exhausted she couldn't see straight. She hunched over with her head in her hands, allowing herself a reprieve before launching into her work.

Before she could muster the energy, however, she felt a lanky figure sidle up beside her, and she groaned, cursing under her breath.

"Hiya, babe."

Karin raised her head, glaring directly into the coy brown eyes of one Shinji Hirako. He grinned toothily as always, beaming down at her from beneath a crop of slanted bangs.

"Is there ever going to be a day where I ask you not to call me 'babe' and you actually listen?"

"Doubtful."

She sighed, turning her attention to her computer. "What do you want, Shinji? I'm busy."

"So hostile…" He clucked his tongue. "Did Vicky kick a hole in your pride again?"

Karin scowled, typing her password with more force than necessary and spelling it wrong.

"Come now," he pouted. "I bear good news only. Promise."

"Spit it out, then."

He waited until she leaned back in her chair, surrendering her full attention, before he spoke. He had leaned in conspicuously, scanning their surroundings in a secretive manner, ensuring she was fully exasperated.

"Toushiro Hitsugaya has returned to music." She didn't even blink, and he frowned, sitting upright and affronted. "Maybe you didn't hear me correctly, so I'll repeat myself. The Toushiro Hitsugaya was literally heard playing new music. I'm friends with his neighbour. The dude swears on his life."

"Careful Shinj, everyone's going to hear you," Karin teased, deadpan. He wasn't impressed in the slightest, and she sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "Why should I care, exactly?"

"Good God, Karin. Are you really so far gone into your despair and turmoil that you can't see what this means?"

She gritted her teeth. "I'm not in turmoil, asshat. I just don't see what the big deal is of some washed up celebrity plucking some strings."

"Wow." Shinji raised his brows, utterly disappointed. He stole a chair from the neighbouring desk and rolled it over, sitting down directly in front of her. She gave him a bored look. "Hitsugaya is not just some 'washed up celebrity', Kurosaki. He's a fucking prodigy. This could be a comeback! And we're the only ones who know."

"Aside from your alleged friend."

He waved it off. "He won't say a word."

Karin almost laughed, massaging her forehead. This was too much, too early. "Shinji, listen," she said, looking at him intently. "The guy went completely off the grid over two years ago. He essentially quit music. There's no point getting all worked up over nothing."

"C'mon, Karin. It's Hitsugaya. I mean, weren't you a fan of his?"

She pretended to bite her nails. "Somewhat," she mumbled. If she were to speak honestly, she was never much a fan of his as she was the band's, and even that was a stretch. He was the lead singer and guitarist, undeniably attractive and talented yet lacking heavily in the personality department, while the band itself just sounded like every other semi-good alternative rock group on the radio. They had good marketing, and in her opinion that was the only thing that made them stand out. Then Hitsugaya fell off the deep end, making an inexplicable turn towards drugs and alcohol and dropping off the face of the earth. There wasn't even enough information about him to make a documentary.

"Well, whatever," Shinji scoffed, taken aback by her utter lack of enthusiasm. "Perhaps your void of admiration will prove valuable. You see, I want your help."

"Get your own assistant, Shinji," she told him, dismissive as she turned her chair back to her desk.

"I have one," he replied offhandedly. "Two, actually, but that's besides the point. I need someone with pizzazz."

She gave him a look, allowing herself to spin back around. "'Pizzazz'?"

"Yeah… Y'know, like, full of drive and, uh, energy…?" His face twisted into a grimace as he spoke, and it was clear he regretted his word choice the moment he had to describe it. They both knew she didn't fit that criteria since about a year and a half ago; after she started working for Victoria. "Okay, fine. Let's admit that you're as dull as an unsharpened pencil and should probably be going to therapy every day–'

"Okay, let's not admit that much."

'–But, I know you can do this, if you really try. You had potential when I met you, before this place drained it out. It's in there somewhere." She wasn't convinced, but he pressed on. "All I'm asking you to do is scout him out. Convince him to sign with us."

A rush of excitement ran through her, followed quickly by an ache of uncertainty. Shinji was the head of the A&R department, and legitimately had the means to get her to where she wanted to be in her career. But of course, he would give her an impossible task.

"I dunno, Shinji," she muttered. "Where would I even begin to do that?"

"You'll figure it out," he told her, shooting up from his chair and barely wheeling it back to where he got it from. "And if it goes well, I'll get you promoted to A&R on my own dollar."

She expected it, but still went slack jawed. The possibilities ran haphazardly in her mind, and she couldn't make words happen. Shinji just grinned, excusing himself with a flick of his wrist.

"Good luck~"

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Karin couldn't focus on work that day, her mind frantic and leaving her borderline useless. She sat at her desk most of the day, files littered around to make it look as though she were working, when really she was googling Toushiro Hitsugaya. Due to recent developments, she ought to inform herself.

A majority of her findings consisted of fan written biographies and press interviews, all highlighting his high intellect, how he was a musical prodigy, and skimpy details of where and how he grew up. Most of it was mere speculation. Even the interviews themselves, where the interviewers clearly embellished what little he gave them to work with in order to make the articles feature length and worthy of reading. Karin could see past it, though. She read enough to spot it when she saw it.

By the end of the day, she'd attended two meetings with Victoria, during which she bit her nails excessively and couldn't keep her mind from wandering, garnering her a record number of glares from her superior. She completed maybe half the work she normally would any other day, and had learned next to nothing about Toushiro Hitsugaya that she hadn't already known. It went like this: he and his friends formed a band in high school, name it BLEACH'd, became famous by seemingly pure luck and toured all around the globe, then four years later he became an addict and they split up. Even his bandmates gave her little to go on.

Fucking ghosts, these people were.

"Kurosaki~" Victoria sing-songed, heels clicking on the hardwood as she approached. Karin had been waiting for this; there was always some last minute task for her to do. She hadn't worked here more than two weeks before she stopped expecting to leave at five o'clock like everyone else. "I need you to pick up my order of sake," she said, her eyes glued to her phone, manicured nails audible as they tapped the screen. "It's crucial for my dinner party tonight."

"Clearly," Karin drawled. "I mean, you only waited 'til the very last minute to tell me, so it must be super important."

Victoria scowled. "Just get it, OK? I'm stuck here another hour and won't have time to go before they close."

Karin relented, gathering her things. She didn't even need details at this point; she had booze runs for this woman under lock.

"I'll be back," she muttered, heading for the door.

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The city lights were becoming bright and blurry against the darkening sky, and she squinted at them, her eyes burning. The air was cold and dry, and she felt suffocated within the bustling crowds. It was a terrible time of day to be out on errands.

About fifteen minutes in and she was rounding the corner onto her destination street. Her sister chose this time to call, and Karin nearly slipped on ice as she fished her phone out of her bag.

"Hello?"

"Karin! What's up? You never texted me back."

Karin grimaced, scrunching her nose. She remembered then, the text she woke up to the previous day, having completely forgotten to reply. She couldn't even recall what it had said.

"Shit, sorry Yu. I was in a total daze this weekend." She rolled her eyes in spite of herself. What a lame excuse. "What was it about, again?"

"Oh, yeah, I was just wondering if you wanted to go shopping on Saturday. I haven't been to Shinjuku in ages."

Karin eyed the sign for the liquor store, weaving through a cluster of people outside of a restaurant waiting to be seated. "Uh, shopping? Yeah, sure."

"Yay! I'm excited." There was a pause, noise in the background. "Okay, well I gotta go. Half the dining room is still closed for renos and we're filling up quick. I'll talk to you later. Love you!"

Karin barely got a reply out before the line clicked off, and she frowned at her phone. Then her pager blared, and she just about jumped, twisting her bag around to rummage for it. She had a one track mind at this point in the day, and wasn't watching where she was walking. Inevitably, she crashed directly into someone on their way out of the store she was meant to enter. The collision was harsh and horrendously accelerated by the icy cement beneath their feet. She fell backwards, landing square on her ass, digging the palm of her hand into the ground and coming up scraped.

"Ow…" Her face twisted up in discomfort, and she took a moment to brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She took notice of the person sitting on the ground opposite her at a delayed rate, seeing a flash of white from beneath their hood and going straight into panic mode.

"I am so sorry," she blurted, scrambling to her feet and making to aid the fumbling man. "Are you okay, sir? I wasn't even looking."

"I'm aware," he said gruffly, distancing himself as he staggered to his feet. He then appeared to inspect the quart-sized bottle of liquor he'd just purchased, briefly sliding it out of a slim paper bag. It was now that she realized he wasn't, in fact, an elderly man. "Well, at least my rum didn't suffer."

Karin gaped. "Your rum? What about me?! I could've gotten hurt or even concussed because of you!"

"You didn't, though," he told her, completely unabashed. "And even if you had, it wouldn't be my fault."

She just stared at him, bewildered. She could feel herself shaking, anger bubbling up her throat, threatening to boil over. But he had already abandoned their quarrel, walking away from her before she could get another word out. His face had already been burned into her memory, specifically his glare of indifference, his eyes such a brilliant and distinctive shade of blue.

Then something in her brain clicked, and she gasped.

"Wait!" She ran after him, straining against her newfound limp, her backside screaming in protest. She managed to get in front of him, much to his dismay, and she swore she could cry right then and there. "Oh my God, it is you!"

He recoiled from her. "I don't–'

"Toushiro Hitsugaya," she pressed, her eyes growing to owl like proportions. "Right?"

He sighed, glaring at her beneath heavily lidded eyes. It was difficult to ignore the stench of liquor on his breath. "What do you want?"

"Just a moment of your time," she said, doing her best to come off as bright and approachable. Not that it really would've mattered in this particular situation. "Five minutes, max."

"You a journalist or something?"

"Uh, no. I work as an assistant at Blue Lightning Records, actually."

Toushiro scoffed, working his way around her. "A label goffer, then. Much better."

He continued walking, but allowed her to keep in step with him. On account of this, she let his insult slide.

"Look, you seem…" he trailed off, sparing her a calculative glance. Somehow, she felt insulted again. "Let me just save you the trouble of what I'm sure is a very well rehearsed pitch, alright? I'm not a musician anymore. I have no business with you or your label, so you best just drop this and go bother someone else. Try for highschoolers, they're real naive."

"But you were playing new music," Karin blurted out. He stopped abruptly, clearly taken aback. He peered at her suspiciously.

"Have you been stalking me?"

"What? No." As-fucking-if. "My co-worker is friends with your neighbour. He's the one who heard you."

Toushiro sighed, hanging his head. "Great, now I have to move…" He continued walking, drawing a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. Karin persisted, sticking close to his side, and he groaned. "Please leave me alone."

"I still have three minutes."

He shot her a look, almost amused. "I don't see a binding contract."

"Come on," she practically whined, her lack of professionalism becoming nil. "This is important."

"I'm sure it is, to you." He'd become indignant once again, unable to light his cigarette on account of the wind, having clearly relied on nicotine to deal with her. They came upon a corner, and he turned on her, keeping them planted in place. "I'm not interested, okay? I don't know how else to say it."

Karin bit her lip, the way in which he regarded her now making her feel tense. He was unexpectedly dark.

"I guess...um," she hesitated, feeling embarrassed. "We were under the impression that you might make a comeback."

He snorted, shaking his head. It was dispassionate, and mean. "Yeah, that'll be the day."

Karin felt her heart plummet, looking away while he uncapped his rum, unconcerned by their surroundings as he took a long swig. She chanced another look at him, unsure exactly why she lingered. Perhaps because he did.

She considered the fact that they were less than a year apart in age. It surprised her now, as he stood before her. He looked so much older.

"Look, I'm sorry that you got your hopes up," he said, a finality to his voice. He almost sounded sincere. "But I can't help you."

Then he was walking away again, and this time she didn't follow. A familiar gloom settled over her, heavy on her chest, and it took all she had to turn around, returning the way she came. She resumed her errand, ignoring the string of beeps from her phone, no doubt from Victoria, frantically asking where the hell she was. With the box of booze in hand, she reluctantly returned to the office.

She hadn't expected it to fall apart so quickly.

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