The Forbidden Fruit

by BloodyPencils

About three things I was absolutely positive: First, Renji wasn't human. Second, there was this crazy part of him - and I don't even know why that part existed - that wanted to wring the life out of me. And third, I was - for the love of all that's holy - fucking in love with him. A twisted Twilight AU. Yaoi.

2. Chapter 2

Insert witty disclaimer here. :))

Warnings (for this chapter): I realize that Ichigo kind of went incredibly emo and all that near the end, but please bear with it. He has his reasons, and he won't stay that way for long. Actually, all the emo stuff would end next chapter—but that's obvious already, since we need to move on to the fluff and the sour goodness. Haha! Also, please don't think that this chapter's incredibly slow plot-wise. It's still a part of the foundation-building. Er…just read on, alright? More from me at the end of the chapter.

Enjoy!

This chapter is for SakuraTsubasaki, AZjanus and ! Thanks for the positive reviews, guys! Arigatou gozaimashita!

(And oh yeah, I also dedicate this chapter to my dad—it's his birthday today. Not that he would ever see this fic—he has no freaking idea that his only daughter is obsessed with yaoi. Hahaha! Sorry Dad. Happy birthday anyway!)

o – o – o – o – o – o

THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Chapter Two

Encounter

o – o – o – o – o – o

The next day was best described as…tense.

Or rather, I was tense. Tense and restless and annoyed. Not to mention that my arms still hurt like hell despite the various pills my dad gave me the night before for the swelling and the pain. At least he made good on one of his promises—no swelling. It might still hurt like a bitch, but at least it didn't show.

I grabbed a few more of the pills for pain before I went down for breakfast, just to be sure.

As I went about my morning routine, I determined that some part of my head had obviously gone over the various events from school yesterday during my sleep—it was the only explanation I had for waking up feeling thoroughly murderously angry at Renji when I wasn't even sure what to think last night.

Abarai-goddamned-Renji.

There was no doubt all those moves from yesterday's PE class were deliberate acts of malice and hostility. Karakura might be a thousand ways different from Tokyo, but I knew an ass trying to pick fights when I saw one. Bullies and jerkheads were the same everywhere, always strutting their stuff all over their assumed territory, thinking they're hot stuff and shit.

And that redhead just had to be very obvious about it—he couldn't even wait until after school. Did I look like a trespassing goon or something? Did my appearance scream punk or pussy or whatever…? To think that I've been on my best behavior ever since that goddamned plane landed on Karakura soil. That stupid baboon. The last thing I needed in this god-awful town was someone picking fights with me at every turn.

I was depressed enough. I was aggravated enough. I was suffering enough. I didn't need all these additional drama…

Which was why I've decided to confront him today.

Not tomorrow, not next week. Today.

I wasn't exactly sure what the plan was, but then again, I was never one for planning things. I usually played things by ear. If he wanted to be a goody two-shoes and have a nice, diplomatic talk, then I'll give him that—the fist fight could wait a bit longer, I supposed. But if he wanted a good beating right off the bat, then I could hardly deny him that, right?

Either way, I would definitely settle things with him today.

I locked up quickly and started walking to the school, thinking of various conversation starters. Something short, but snappy and impressive. Maybe intimidating too—I could use some flare.

However, I must admit that I wasn't having much progress on that front—I was never one for fancy words and eloquent arguments. All I could think of was a nasty right hook, like the one Shinji always greeted me with, and I find it very appealing indeed.

I gave it a little more thought than I normally would because it would most probably result into a fight. That redhead sure as hell didn't look like a pushover to me, unless I was extremely mistaken. In the end though, I realized I didn't care. If we fight, then so be it.

No guts, no glory.

And what better, more healthy way was there to start a day with other than a lively activity, yeah? I could already feel blood rushing through my veins in excitement, anticipation even. It's been a while since I've last broken somebody's jaw—I kinda missed it.

And such was my entertainment in imagining how the wild-looking redhead would fight that I was already halfway to the school when I finally noticed the black butterflies fluttering around me like they were following me or something.

Feeling a little spooked, I stopped by a bakery uneasily and bought some steaming pork buns—I nibbled on them absently as I waited for the creepy black insects to move on. I still had plenty of time anyway, and I really didn't like the thought of walking with those butterflies flying around me. They made me feel weird.

…which reminded me of the sheets I still haven't peeled off my bed yet.

I frowned to myself, thinking how ridiculous the whole thing was starting to get. It was almost like I was being haunted or something. I shouldn't be bothered by insects. I shouldn't even be thinking about insects.

Eventually, the damn things flew away, and I resumed my walk to the school. I dismissed the eerie feeling of foreboding I had earlier as some kind of approval from the gods—perhaps they were favoring my decision to confront Renji today, or something. Maybe it's a sign that I was going to win our next encounter—not that I lost the first one.

I knew it was kinda stupid, but it would have to do for an explanation. I didn't have the time to dawdle on such trivial things. I have more important things to attend to at the moment—insults to craft, jaws to break…

I continued to walk down the mostly-empty roads, occasionally seeing a few students in the distance. It was almost a beautiful day—the sunlight was just right, the wind was tenderly cool, and the atmosphere was almost serene.

Almost…

Everything was just fine and well until I reached the road that separated the school block from the main highway.

A striking feeling of being watched suddenly made the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. The sensation was so strong it almost felt like someone stabbed me with a cold, steel knife on my neck—I barely resisted the urge to reach over and actually check.

I looked up slowly—totally unsure what made me do so—and saw two guys standing by the railings, looking down at me with eerily flat gazes. I recognized them immediately, even though I've only seen them once before. After all, they were the farthest things from generic-looking.

The black-haired guy with the bandage on his face was Hisagi, if I remembered correctly. He was standing casually with both hands shoved into his pockets, and he looked as if he was studying me. I didn't know if it was just the elevated angle or what, but his frame looked a lot more threatening now than it did when I first saw them.

He almost looked…feral.

The other guy was the blond that sat beside him during painting class. And much to my confusion, said blond was now glaring at me like I have done him some deep, personal wrong. Like all he wanted to do at the moment was to lunge at me and stick his delicate-looking fist down my throat.

A shudder threatened to run down my body as I absorbed the situation. The hostility in the air was so solid I could almost reach out and touch it.

All that being said though, I somehow thought they looked relatively less antagonistic than their adopted red-haired brother. Less aggressive. Or maybe the right description was that they seemed detached, like their anger was not entirely directed to me, that I was just a partial and unfortunate recipient.

Yeah, I was pretty sure that was it…

However, something about the very way they looked at me still made me stay frozen in place.

Gut instinct, I thought uneasily. I felt the same way a prey might feel under the inescapable gaze of the beast about to devour him.

I sure didn't appreciate feeling this way, but I knew I was right about the instinctual fear—when Hisagi moved to stretch his arms over his head as he yawned, I jerked in place so hard it was almost like someone punched me in the gut.

The blond one did not react in any way after my show of weakness, but my eyes darted right back to him at once—and when I did, I could have sworn his gaze was heavier and darker than it was before.

I swallowed nervously, not even remembering to hide the action. I was fucking intimidated, and I couldn't even be angry about it. I was too…shaken to think of anything else at the moment. Everything about the two sent my self-preservation instincts kicking into high gear—my feet were practically screaming for me to run.

They held eye contact for a few more moments, then turned their backs on me almost abruptly. I could tell the blond was smirking smugly, like he thought nothing of me but a weakling, as they walked away without so much as a word to me. I also knew I should yell, maybe even give chase, demand what the fuck was wrong with them, then smash their noses into their faces…

Instead, I swayed on the spot slightly, feeling as if something huge had been wrapped around me the entire time and had only gone when the two guys were no longer in sight. I knew it was ridiculous, but it didn't change the fact that it was a perfect analogy of how I felt just moments earlier.

Something was definitely not right here…

"Ohayou!" someone said loudly behind me, making me jump in place. I whipped around at once, but it was only a girl running over to join her friends at the other side of the street.

All my nerves were stretched taut. My breaths were shallow and almost painful. My sweat felt cold. Even my flesh was shaking…

Something's wrong with this goddamned town, my inner voice screamed at me hysterically, but I couldn't listen to him now. I was too dizzy, too nervous, too—

I clenched my hands into fists and bit my cheeks, trying my damnedest not to jerk into a run as I slowly—nervously—made my way to school once more.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Classes during the earlier part of the day quickly passed by, lost as I was in a multitude of half-formulated thoughts that scarcely made sense to me no matter how much I rearrange them in my head. I barely even noticed Ishida trying to get my attention all morning, nor the energetic attempts of some of my new classmates to have me participate in classroom discussion. I just continued to stare out of the window—gazing sightlessly at the not-too-bright, not-too-dark sky that was strangely hard to place—and let my mind wander aimlessly.

In a way, it was an improvement—at least I was able to pull myself together after some effort, and not just break down and panic like I was so close to doing early this morning. I was able to build a temporary shell around me, protecting me from the unknowns, if only for a little while…

The only interruption in my spacing-out was when we had to go to the art room on the other wing for painting class. I left my seat reluctantly.

Never mind my plans for confrontation—I just wanted to know what was going on. Surely, there has got to be some kind of connection between his rough treatment of me yesterday and his adopted brothers' show of intimidation this morning, right? Not to mention Yoruichi's weird smile at me from that first time… I've just transferred, for fuck's sake. I haven't even done anything yet.

Something was up, and I wanted to know what the hell it was.

But of course, of all the rotten luck, Renji had to be absent today. And here I thought that if there was anyone I could actually pluck the courage to talk to in order to sort a few things out, it would be him—we were both juniors, after all. And it helped that he shared two classes with me. I could make some shit up about an assignment, then talk to him somewhere we won't be interrupted.

Damn, awful timing.

As a result, I had to sit through a very uncomfortable class feeling disgruntled and edgy.

Kira—who was the blond one, according to Mizuiro—was still glaring at me for unfathomable reasons. He wasn't even trying to be subtle about it—I could clearly hear the students around me murmuring about it, wondering what the transferee could have done to anger the reclusive blond in just one day.

What was more annoying was that Yoruichi was looking over at me with the same small smile on her lips, totally oblivious to the murderous gaze her adopted brother was giving me—it made me want to march over and wring her pretty neck.

I didn't get them. I didn't get them at all.

Seriously—what the fuck have I done? All of these seemed to be a little too much if this was just another case of bullying because of my orange hair or my being a newcomer—it has got to be something else.

Were they annoyed that I was attracting attention to myself? But they didn't look like bloody narcissists to me—at least, most of them didn't. Blondie might be one—he sure looked the part. But then again, that didn't explain Renji's abnormal behavior…unless that was normal for him?

Oh, fuck this.

I tried to avoid looking at them for obvious reasons—because I was certain I was going to go mad sooner than later if I kept on thinking about all this bullshit—but I find myself glancing at their corner every now and then. It was almost an involuntary reaction, like a tic—it couldn't be helped at all.

Fortunately, the two other guys did not seem to be paying attention to me. And when the bell rang, all of them disappeared faster than I could even gather my things.

That was decidedly a good thing, right? Of course it was—I didn't have to endure more confrontations no matter how indirect… I didn't have to put up with the pressure… I didn't have to pretend to be unruffled… But for the life of me, I couldn't understand why I felt inexplicably cheated.

It was almost like I wanted to see them some more and I was feeling worked up because they won't even face me properly. Just…goddamn it, I wasn't a closet masochist!

Was this it, then? Was Karakura already driving me crazy in the literal sense of the word?

"Just speak up already," Ishida said exasperatedly beside me, his blue eyes boring into me.

"Huh…what?" I asked irritably, my frustration bleeding into my voice. Was he even talking to me?

He pushed his glasses into the bridge of his nose almost forcefully and turned to face me fully. "You haven't been paying attention to anything at all since class started. Do you know how many times teachers have called your name today, only to be ignored? You're lucky Yadomaru-sensei was looking distracted as well."

I just stared at him.

"You're clearly bothered by something, Kurosaki-kun. What is it?" he asked seriously. "Is it about them?"

I had no intention of answering him, but the fractional widening of my eyes—a surprised reaction I haven't been able to suppress quickly, emotionally and mentally distracted as I was—confirmed what he already guessed.

Ishida had just opened his mouth when I heard myself cut him off quickly, "I don't think I wanna talk about it."

He fixed a measuring gaze at me for a long moment, then turned to gather his notebooks and pencils. "Fine. Let's get lunch then."

He said that in a carefully firm voice—or at least, that's how it sounded to me—so I figured it was an opportunity for me to stop thinking for a while. I pulled a deep breath and held it in for five seconds, willing myself to calm down. When I was sure I could at least think rationally for the next few minutes, I let it go.

I wasn't sure what was going on inside the guy's head, but he seemed determined to distract me from…those people. Fine—I could use some help anyway, seeing how useless all my efforts were. If I was left alone, there was no doubt I'd be spending every spare second I had chewing over their infuriatingly strange behavior.

Ishida leveled another cool gaze at me, his head tilting to the side fractionally.

I nodded vaguely, then followed him wordlessly as he walked out of the room.

o – o – o – o – o – o

We had lunch on the roof of the school building—the somewhat brilliant idea once again courtesy of the ever-noisy Keigo. It was actually fun, something I haven't expected. They brought all sorts of food unique to Hokkaido and Karakura and almost force-fed me with the stuff. According to Inoue, it was their way of welcoming me.

It was crazy, but I thanked them genuinely in the end—some of it looked downright weird, and the names were all hard to remember, but the food itself was exquisite. My new classmates weren't bad at all—if I was going to be honest, I'd have to admit that in some ways, they were better than my old classmates in Tokyo. At the very least, they were more determined to know me—but I think it also helped a lot that they had no idea about my history as a delinquent of sorts. They've never seen me crush faces with nothing but my fists, they've never seen me speeding past the quiet neighborhood on an illegal motorcycle, they've never seen me show up at school with a bloody and tattered uniform.

At any rate, it was a welcome change. Maybe I could move on here.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, which basically meant that I have successfully put Renji and company out of my mind for the moment—again, thanks to my classmates' joint efforts to keep me occupied.

After school hours ended, I stopped by a music store that I've seen yesterday morning when I was trying to decode my father's childish scrawl of a map. The small, almost unreadable sign in front of the store caught my eye easily, and I carefully filed the information away for future reference. I knew that I was going to look for a music shop sooner or later, and I was glad I didn't have to go hunting for one anymore.

The shop wasn't exactly what anyone would call on the way, but I wasn't in any rush to get home today. And I decided I might as well look at something to replace Kon with. Listening to music was only going to entertain me for so long—I wanted to play something again, hopefully soon. And maybe think about joining—or starting—a band.

The mere thought of it made me smile. Music…

I didn't expect the cozy-looking store to be big inside given the insignificant-looking front, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that it was actually almost four times as big as our classroom. I almost drooled right there at the entrance, taking in the wonderful sparkle of well-polished guitars and cymbals, and the familiar heady smell of wood and metal.

A tiny bell attached to the doorframe announced my arrival.

"Welcome to Seireitei! How may I help you?"

A boy with shoulder-length black hair and a tribal-looking tattoo over his left eyebrow emerged from one of the rows, bowing slightly to me. He looked like I was older than him by just a year, maybe two.

"Ah… Er…" I stammered for a while, my eyes fixed on the sharp tattoo on his face—it reminded me of Renji instantly.

He looked up at me and tilted his head slightly. "Uhmm, is there anything you're looking for?"

I snapped back into my senses and looked around again, feeling stupid. There went all my efforts to keep the redhead out of my mind. One teeny little reminder, and I was gone again.

The boy was still looking at me expectantly.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well… I'm looking for a nice electric guitar."

He fidgeted around, looking nervous, then mumbled, "This way please."

He led me towards a corner of the shop that had row after row, wall after wall of nothing but electric guitars. I could have sworn I felt my chest constrict at the sight.

I immediately forgot about him—and everything else, for that matter—as I stepped forward and lost myself in my own little world.

All these instruments… All these colors… I could hear it all again. I could see it all again. The dizzying mix of notes. The clash of sounds. The roar of the crowd. The sweat running down our faces. The burn of spotlights on skin. The tangle of cords on the makeshift stage. The lights from cellphones swaying in the air. The applause… The euphoria… The swell of emotions… The freedom…

Damn, I missed this feeling.

About thirty minutes later—maybe more—I was holding a rocking guitar with both hands, my mind already skating through very creative images of me playing it on my bed, in the living room, maybe at school…

It was beautiful—hell, scratch beautiful. It was fucking perfect. The body was a deep red, like spilled blood, and it had all these badass black marks all over it that resembled lightning and strikingly reminded me of…of…uh oh.

"That's a really good guitar," the fidgety boy—whose name tag read Rikichi—said behind me, looking at the piece I was holding in my hands with obvious adoration. "You sure know how to pick them."

For a moment there, I almost hugged the guitar and shielded it from his gaze with my body, but I remembered why I suddenly didn't want to have anything to do with this particular guitar.

"Well, I…" I trailed off, gingerly putting the thing back on its rack. "I'll think about it, I guess…"

It was pretty obvious that I meant I have no intention of buying that thing, and the look on Rikichi's face confirmed it.

"But that's a shame. I mean, you look like you play," he said, looking all fired up now. There was a strong emotion burning in his eyes, and he spoke like he really meant what he was saying. "And that really is an excellent guitar, not to mention one-of-a-kind. I really think you should get it."

I shook my head before this kid could change my mind with his persuasive tone that had nothing to do at all with making a sale. I can't buy that one I just can't I can't I can't…

"I'll just look at some more others," I said, trying to sound firm.

It was a failed effort, needless to say—we both knew that nothing inside the store caught my eye except for this baby, and that I wanted it so badly I was ready to hand over my wallet anytime now.

Shit. Just why did I have to associate it with the damn redhead? Curse that Renji.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned around before I could do something crazy. After mumbling "Thanks for the help" under my breath, I made my way back to the store front.

I wanted to run so badly—run away from the store, run back to the rack and grab the guitar… It was damn confusing. My flesh tingled with the incomprehensible desire.

"I'll keep it reserved for you," the boy called out as I stepped outside the store.

I didn't stop walking until I reached the intersection, but when I did, I looked back at the shop almost longingly.

Seireitei.

In that dingy music store was a special guitar waiting for me… I could still feel its cool curves on my hands, the smooth finish of the thing on my fingertips, the long neck brushing against my side.

Damn, I wanted it.

I practically fled when the stoplight changed color, feeling the little store luring me back with a fucking siren call. So I ran and ran, and then ran some more.

Fucking coward, Shinji told me once before—or maybe not just once, but whatever. For some reason, my inner voice decided to keep repeating it back to me now as I bolted through the streets like a maniac escaped from the nuthouse.

It was only when I started wheezing like a chain smoker that I finally managed to bring myself to a stop. My heart was thundering inside my chest in angry protest.

"Damn that Renji," I snarled breathlessly to no one but myself.

o – o – o – o – o – o

By the time I finally got home, my arms were full of food I bought from the streets. It was nothing more than a much-needed distraction at first, but now I knew why my father gave me those directions in particular when there were other, significantly shorter ways from the house to the school. The route he gave me was teeming with all kinds of shops—but most especially, food stalls.

I wondered briefly if that was his way of making sure I ate before I went to school—if so, I'd have to admire his cunning. Simple and subtle, but effective nonetheless.

I dumped most of my loot on a plate, then carried it back to my bedroom. I put it down on my desk—which was still in an unsatisfactory location—and pulled out my notebooks. Time to be a goody-goody student…although not really.

I worked on my assignments with half my mind replaying through every single encounter I had with Chief Kenpachi's adopted children. It wasn't much to begin with, but the endless speculating and analyzing and comparing sure ate up a lot of time. And the subject was just so distractingly complicated that I haven't even noticed I was already finished with everything our teachers assigned us for the day.

Cussing under my breath, I wasted some more time going over my work—I had to check for mistakes since my bloody brain was nowhere near math and science and history while I did my homework. When I was done, I decided not to think of Renji and the others any more than I already had. Things were troublesome enough as they were.

Then, as if right on cue, my phone blurted out its eerie message alert.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch up—it was Barbie. I quickly opened the message, feeling as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. However, my sudden humor did not last long.

It was fortunate there was no one was around to witness my mood swings, because my expressions fell as soon as I read his more-than-just-serious words.

Hiyori's still fuming mad with you. Can't you even call her?

I almost dropped my phone in shock. Call Hiyori? Was I mad? Did I look like I was mad? Why the hell would I fucking do that?

I gathered my wits about me and quickly typed a reply. Thanks, but no. You were right—I don't even know why she's mad.

About three seconds after I sent the message, my phone vibrated again.

Bastard, was all Shinji said.

I frowned at my screen—this was starting to get on my nerves. I said it before—patience wasn't one of my strong suits. I didn't like being confused. It made me cranky and irritable.

Just tell me what the hell you two are going on about, I typed.

While waiting for his—hopefully, educated—reply, I hauled my ass over to my bed and plopped down. My thighs were only now beginning to feel the wrath of yesterday's brutal volleyball match, much to my chagrin. It reminded me of how long exactly I've been neglecting my exercises, and more so now that I didn't even have riding or fighting to busy myself with.

"…ippen shinde miru?"

I raised my phone over my head and read slowly.

If you really don't know, never mind then. You'll get it one day.

I tossed my phone to the other end of my bed without bothering to even snap it shut, and buried my face into my pillow. If Barbie was going to act like the prick he was, fine by me. I was exhausted mentally—which was a first for me since I never really did any serious thinking in my entire life—and I wasn't adjusting too well. I needed some down time. I needed to not think for a while.

"…ippen shinde miru?"

I groaned in protest and ignored the message for about a minute, then crawled around until my fingers found the sleek phone.

Why are you sulking, Ichigo?

I could have sworn I felt myself shiver with goose bumps after I read that—I glanced at the window at once. There was no one there, thank heavens. I thought Shinji was stalking me or something.

I am NOT sulking, idiot, I told him. The hell was he thinking…I wasn't sulking.

I sat up straight when my phone vibrated. Now you're lying. What's going on, Strawberry?

Sometimes I wondered if Shinji and I could have been best friends if I didn't break his nose the very first time we met years ago, and if he still held a grudge because of that—after all, he never got to return the favor. At least, not in one go.

I sighed in defeat, then typed. Why do you care? Just leave me alone.

Really, Ichigo. You're all mushy and sappy now. What's the matter? You getting bullied or something?

My eyebrow arched as I pondered how to answer that question. Was I being bullied? Sure felt like it, but…I dunno. It was…complicated.

I only realized that I have been staring at my phone blankly for some minutes already when another message popped up.

Tell me what's bothering you.

I bit my lip as I tried to decide whether that was a good idea or not. But since I wasn't one for planning things—as was proven by the entire situation I was in—I decided to just wing it and deal with the consequences afterwards.

I have a hypothetical question for you. Let's say that you just met somebody, then that somebody immediately assaulted you in front of other people. Then he disappears the next day, and his friends are acting weird towards you, like they hate your guts or something. What do you think's going on?

I pressed send at once before I could re-read what I typed. I was probably going to wince over how long it was, or how pussy I sounded, or some other shit my manly pride wouldn't tolerate. But like I said, I wanted to just stop thinking. If telling Barbie was going to help, then so be it.

My phone vibrated once, my pillow muffling Enma Ai's eerie voice.

Are you talking about yourself, Ichigo?

I rolled my eyes as I realized how my message could have been construed in two ways—Shinji had a point. But I knew that he understood what I meant to say, so I just waited for his next reply.

Two minutes later, the Hell Girl asked me her question again. I flipped my phone open.

Tell me about this guy.

So I did.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Thanks to some higher power I knew not of, Shinji and I managed to actually have a decent conversation, something that almost never happened—if you didn't count disgusting heart-to-heart talks under the influence of alcohol and in between puking our guts out. Which I didn't, by the way.

After I have told the guy everything I knew about Renji and his adopted family—which wasn't much in the first place—he warned me that I might be sticking my nose into things I shouldn't.

Barbie, you're not my mother, I reminded him. I wanted his opinion, not his advice—I could make my own decisions for myself just fine.

But the guy's trouble, Ichi, he insisted.

Stop calling me Ichi. You know I hate that, I told him, avoiding the real topic.

Whatever. But the guy's hiding something, probably even violent. Just stay away from them. Be smart for once.

I snorted. Wow, you're actually insulting my brain? Do I need to remind you I was in the top ten percent of our year?

He ignored my jibe—which was perfectly true—and warned me again.

Just leave it alone. Stop being so fucking curious. Stay away from them, while things are still alright.

I frowned at my phone again—Shinji was starting to scare me with that fucking serious attitude. It wasn't like Renji was yakuza or anything. His adoptive father was the Chief of Police, for Christ's sake!

My phone vibrated again while I was typing my reply—I decided to read it first. And when I did, I forgot about responding altogether.

Come back here, Ichigo. Just come home.

I bit my lower lip—I never expected Shinji to tell me that. Hell, I think I even told myself about a week ago that I would cancel the whole move-to-Hokkaido thing if either Shinji or Hiyori told me not to go, even if it was just a joke.

But they never did, and I ran out of excuses, so I left.

It's too late, Shinji, I texted after a while. Then I felt like my throat was going to kill me, so I added in another message, Don't worry. It's not like I'll be rotting here forever. I'll go back to Tokyo for college. I'll annoy you then. You better be ready.

I waited for his response, but he still wasn't sending anything after five minutes. I even considered calling him then, but I managed to stop myself just in time. I was down enough—the last thing I needed was to hear his voice.

…because as much as I hated to admit it, I fucking missed them so much.

I left my phone on the bed and decided to grab some milk from the fridge before I turned all emo again. Besides, I also needed to bring my plate down because it was starting to smell like takoyaki inside my room.

When I returned, I wasn't surprised to see a new message in my inbox—after all, I was gone for at least twenty minutes. I was almost afraid to open it, but the bitchy voice at the back of my head was starting to riot against my stalling.

My eyes widened as I read.

Is it them? Why are you so interested, anyway?

And because I really couldn't let that assumption slide, I quickly typed a reply and sent it to him at once.

Stupid Barbie! Of course it's not them. Are you out of your mind? What, you think the school's going to be happy to hear that I want to transfer back in just a week? Use your head once in a while, will you?

I was breathing heavily, and I wasn't even doing anything. Why did Shinji always have to be spot-on? This was baaaad…

"…ippen shinde mi—"

Now isn't this new? HAHAHA. The strawberry's fucking ripe.

My upper lip curled as I glared at my screen—as if I was going to reply to that. He can rot to hell waiting for my response for all I care.

But seriously. Dude, are you on drugs now, or are you just in love?

I almost cracked my phone as I punched in my response angrily. SHUT THE FUCK UP, BARBIE.

This might be the first time someone ever caught your attention that way, Strawberry. You might want to go see a shrink.

I wanted to just break my phone into pieces now—Shinji and his smart mouth.

But because I loved my phone, never mind that it was something I bought with a feisty, cheeky blond brat in tow, I counted to ten in my head slowly before typing a reply.

I think you're forgetting that we're talking about a fucking dude here.

There—maybe logic would convince Shinji of the error of his theories. But to my annoyance, the reminder had no effect whatsoever on Barbie.

I know, I know. You want help coming out, Strawberry?

I gave up. It was impossible to deal with the guy. I'm outta here. Go annoy someone else now.

I could almost hear him laughing in that grating voice of his as I read his parting words.

You know what, Ichigo? For all your insistence that you don't give a flying fuck about him, you still couldn't get him out of your mind. Think about that. Hah! Have a nice night.

"Screw you, Shinji," I snarled, then I slammed my phone on my desk and stormed out of the room.

Damn, I hate blonds.

o – o – o – o – o – o

When I went down, thinking about maybe having an early dinner, I was surprised to find my dad carrying almost the exact same armful of food I had bought earlier. We stared at each other wordlessly for a while—he looked sheepish, and I was trying to bite back a laugh—before trudging off to different directions.

I went straight to the dining table, thinking about stuffing myself with food in an effort to distract myself. Dad followed quickly after.

Dinner this time was peaceful, almost normal. We ate in comfortable silence, and I must admit that the food seemed to have gotten infinitely better. Maybe he was secretly polishing his cooking skills. Or maybe he really just was a decent cook when he wasn't trying to play around with Indian and Chinese cuisine.

When we were both down to just a last few spoonfuls, he cleared his throat loudly and looked over at me with a flamboyant fatherly air.

"So tell me, Ichigo," he started grandly, waving his chopsticks around. "How was your second day at school?"

"You gonna do this every single day, old man?" I asked tonelessly, my eyes fixed on the ultracolorful Hawaiian shirt he was wearing underneath his white coat. I wondered if this was some kind of sick fashion sense, or he was just trying to cheer me up.

He pretended not to hear my dismissive response. "Did you make friends? How're the lessons? You doing your assignments?"

I shrugged, deciding to just give him what he wanted. "There's this guy named Ishida who guides me through classes and stuff. He looks smart and responsible. And his group seems to have taken a liking to me, so I usually sit with a large group during lunch. Everybody's nice enough."

Well, except for the mysterious types, of course.

He scratched his stubble as he thought about something. "Ishida, huh? Must be the son of Ryuuken…"

I looked at him curiously. "You know them?"

He made a face at me and huffed. "You're forgetting that Karakura is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. And besides, theirs is one of the oldest clans here in Karakura. They're the ones who own the archery ranges at the northern edges of town."

My eyebrow arched at that. "Archery?"

Dad shrugged, looking uninterested—I could almost sense some kind of history between this Ryuuken and him. Rivalry, perhaps? "I think they're claiming to be direct descendants of one of the greatest archers in Japanese history. Or was it an archer-youkai? Something along those lines, anyway. Everyone in the family is a practiced archer—no exception."

"Really," I breathed, feeling somewhat interested. This was intriguing stuff. Maybe I could ask Ishida about it—along with why he was the president of the Sewing Club when the school had an Archery Club in the first place.

Which reminds me… I still haven't decided on a club yet. Or rather, I haven't even given it a thought. And I was certain that sooner or later, the school was going to badger me about the issue—I needed to make up my mind about it as soon as possible.

I still wasn't sure what I wanted, but for now, the number one consideration would have to be them—I should make sure to choose a club that did not include them.

I made a mental note to find out which clubs they belonged in before I submitted my application.

"Oh right…do you know about Police Chief Kenpachi and his family?" I asked after a while, thinking that a little more information shouldn't hurt.

My question did not elicit the kind of response I expected—he just nodded briefly and shoveled some more food into his mouth. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah sure, I know them. Everyone does," he added most unhelpfully.

I rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking, then prodded some more with a carefully casual tone. "Well, I was just curious about them. One of his children shares both my elective and PE class."

I told myself I was just using Renji as a conversation starter, not because I was thinking of him.

"Really? Painting?" he asked in between mouthfuls of rice.

I gritted my teeth in an effort not to lash out—not only did I effectively lose my angry-card for his ridiculous choice of elective, he also had the nerve to sound like he thought painting was a pussy subject.

Deep breaths, Ichigo…

"Actually, all five of them are in my painting class," I said in a flat tone.

He put his bowl down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "That's interesting."

This was clearly not going the way I wanted it to go. He was only noisy when I wanted some peace. When I wanted him to talk, he wouldn't say anything.

"I hear they're all adopted," I said innocently, playing dumb. "Is that true?"

Finally, some reaction!, I thought smugly.

He glanced at me briefly—I haven't missed the sharp look in his eyes, like he was trying to figure me out—then sighed almost imperceptibly before launching into his story.

"They're all adopted, yes, but not legally. It doesn't matter anyway—they're family through and through. They travel together a lot," he said. "As for the Chief, he also served in the police force back when they were still in Kushiro, so he easily rose through the ranks when they moved here. Within a year or so, he became Chief of Karakura Police. Frankly, this town is lucky to have him. Crime rate went down drastically when he stepped onboard. The only big cases Karakura sees now are those that come from other places."

He hasn't told me much that I haven't already heard, but I learned something else from the way he talked about Kenpachi and his family. I decided to try my luck.

"You sound like you're defending them or something," I said lightly, picking my napkin into shreds. "Why is that?"

His eyes widened slightly, like he didn't expect me to call him out—or he just didn't believe that I really haven't heard whatever it was he thought people were saying about the Chief and his family. "Yeah, well… Some people don't exactly like them."

Hard to imagine why. "What does that mean?"

He looked exasperated. "I dunno…some superstitious nonsense. I never really got it, but some people are opposed to their residence here. Really opposed. A couple of guys back then even resigned from the force, saying they will not accept supernatural approaches to upholding the law. Bullshit, if you ask me."

My eyebrow arched as I picked out the peculiar phrase. "Supernatural approaches?"

He shrugged his coat off and draped it over the back of his chair. "Like I said, superstitious nonsense. These people's imaginations are getting ridiculously out of hand."

I thought about this piece of information carefully, turning it over in my head. Unbidden images of Kira, Hisagi and Shihouin flashed through my mind.

Supernatural, huh? There was something there alright, but perhaps I'd give it some more time before I make any conclusions.

I dredged up some of the stuff Mizuiro told me before instead and decided to bring it up.

"Do you think it's true that Chief Kenpachi lets some of his kids join in on police matters? I heard some students at the school say that they frequently disappear during class, and that the teachers just ignore it. Gives me the impression they get to sideline as agents or something."

At this, Dad suddenly laughed—much to my surprise. He waved a hand around and said, "Nonsense! Chief Kenpachi may look like a brute, but he loves his adopted children like any other father. He would never let them anywhere near such dangerous work."

I raised an eyebrow, but decided to keep the full magnitude of my skepticism to myself.

None of the five looked like they were pushovers—not Shihouin, not Kira, and not even the stiff-looking guy called Kuchiki. If anything, they looked like they could be serious fighters or something. I could easily imagine any of them pulling out a gun with a silencer on and stalking a drug lord in the dead of the night.

Perhaps I should try a different approach.

"How many hospitals does Karakura have?" I asked slowly, stopping Dad from picking up the empty dishes.

His eyebrows pushed together for a while. "Aside from the large one that I work in, there's one small clinic at the western edge of town. But it's kinda out of the way. Why?"

I determined three years was a long time, and a lot of things could happen. "Have you ever treated the Chief for injuries? Or any of his family? If you did, what kinds of injuries?"

He put the plates down this time and leaned on the counter behind him. I wasn't sure if I was seeing right, but he looked annoyed. "That's the thing. I've never treated him even once."

"But why?" I blurted out at once, thoroughly surprised. "Are you seriously telling me he hasn't been in any real action in those three years? No gunfight? No chase action? Nothing?"

He was shaking his head before I could even finish. "Of course not. You remember the serial killer Kariya from about two years ago?"

I shuddered involuntarily at the mention of the notorious name. Kariya was a psychopath who targeted teenagers—especially those in high school—and killed them in a multitude of vicious methods. The scare was so intense during those months of his activity that I actually lived with a few of my equally frightened friends for some time.

Clearly, my dad also remembered the time vividly. I tried to ignore the even-sharper looks he was giving me now—he pleaded with me back then to return to Karakura. But of course, independent and self-reliant and headstrong as I was, I refused him outright. Might have been a bad decision now that I was looking at it from hindsight, but what's done was done. I, at least, tried to look as apologetic as I could.

He decided to continue after a while. "You know that Kariya was finally caught, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. It was somewhere around here, right? The long chase and the intense crossfire was all over the news. Tokyo literally came to a standstill."

He looked at me solemnly and said, "That was the work of none other than Chief Kenpachi."

My jaw literally dropped open at that—I should have analyzed it and made the connection earlier, but the mere mention of the psycho's name somewhat disrupted my mental processes.

"Amazing, huh?" he grinned at me.

I nodded perfunctorily, trying to get the man off my mind—and more importantly, trying to remember the point. "What about it, anyway?"

He turned serious again. "If you still remember the news, you'd know that everyone in the pursuit team suffered from heavy injuries. The Chief was no exception."

If my memory was any good, I think the officer in charge of the scene suffered from at least four bullet wounds, although none of it hit vital organs.

"However, he never showed up at the hospital to get his wounds treated."

For the second time, my mouth went slack. I was sure Dad worded it that way because he was trying to point out something. It wasn't that he never got to treat the Chief's wounds—it was more like the Chief never had his wounds treated.

"But then, how…?" I trailed off.

And that's where the annoyed expression from before came in once more. If I were to make a hunch, I'd say he looked…bitter.

"Apparently," he muttered, "his wife is a doctor. A surgeon." I was so right about the bitterness—my old man was obviously envious. "She doesn't work for hospitals anymore, but she's still good enough for her to serve as the Chief's personal doctor."

"That's mightily convenient," I muttered, feeling as cheated as my dad was.

I was trying to wonder just exactly why I felt that way when I realized something very important.

"If that's the case…" I murmured.

...then it all makes sense. We'll never know for sure if his kids are involved in any kind of police procedure since no one can testify to it, not even medical personnel.

"If that's the case what…?" my father prodded.

I shook my head at him, my thoughts racing. "Nothing."

Damn.

o – o – o – o – o – o

The rest of my first school week in Karakura passed by in a similar fashion.

It was the same lengthy but placid walk to the school every morning, the same cool air blowing against my face, occasionally sending loose leaves swirling along my feet, the same quiet streets, the same interesting street-food breakfast, the same cheerful greetings from fellow students, the same interesting classes, the same sleepy ones, the same dusk after school hours… Really, almost everything was the same—even the silent longing I had every time I went on my way home and sneaked a glance down at Seireitei.

The only real difference was that Kira never looked my way again. And…

I never saw Renji again.

Not in painting class, and not even in PE. I tried to look for him—in the most subtle and most thorough way that I could—but I had to accept in the end the absolute fact that ever since that first day, Renji never came to school again.

Partly because of his absence—and partly because I was using volleyball to distract myself and to channel my frustrations—I ended up dominating the field. After I crushed two teams almost single-handedly, never mind that they were just students who have never exercised a day in their life, members of the school's nationally-strong volleyball team started hounding me to join them.

They even told me that I no longer needed to audition for it, that they would automatically put me in as a regular—as if that was going to make me accept the offer.

To begin with, I had absolutely no intention of joining a sports team. Second, I certainly didn't want to play for the school—I didn't think I can handle the pressure well. I had the sad tendency to sometimes turn tail and walk away when the going gets tough. And besides, I was decent enough to think of the people and the feelings I would be stepping over if I accepted the unreasonable, unfair offer.

I believed in hard work, not in one-shot jackpots. I refused to be one of those people who drown in success brought upon by sheer, dumb luck. Where was the free will in that?

I saw this movie once and it said, No fate…but what we make.

So I turned them down politely—and turned them down again in a more convincing way when they took to following me during lunch breaks, hoping I'd change my mind and give it a chance. I seriously hoped that would be the last time I heard from them, but I knew I was going to have to turn them down again sometime soon—the bastards were damn persistent, I have to give them that.

On an interesting side note, their glorified invitation reminded me of my one serious academic concern—I still haven't decided on a club.

Deciding to just be blunt about it, I nudged Ishida during English and asked him outright, "What clubs do those five belong in?"

I didn't even have to clarify who I was talking about. He just glanced over at me briefly, then turned back to his book. "All of them are in the Karuta Club."

"Great. Thanks," I muttered, drawing a large mental X on Karuta Club—not that I would have considered joining it if the circumstances were different. Sure, I was interested in arts, and my memorization skills weren't bad either, but karuta was just…yeah, a whole new ball game.

During lunch on Friday, Mizuiro announced that they were going to hit the reservation sometime this month. Naturally, everyone invited me to come. Insisted, really.

"It's this really nice onsen lodged in the middle of a forest up at Hueco Mundo," Inoue told me, her long hair whipping around her as she bobbed energetically in place. I recognized the name as the one the cabbie tried to tell me about when I first arrived here. "It's super famous, you know? It's got a lot of culture and history, and it's really really beautiful there during this time of the year."

Arisawa put her hands on Inoue's shoulders to stop her from bouncing. "You say that all the time, Orihime."

The large, grey eyes turned to Arisawa. "Really?" I stopped listening to them when Inoue started talking about swimsuits and bra sizes.

"So, are you up for it?" Mizuiro asked me, holding a list of some kind. He seemed to be quite the organizer, something I would have never figured.

"Sure," I said easily, feeling enthusiastic—I could use something different and exciting for a change. "Sounds like fun."

"Ooh, it will be!" Inoue gushed excitedly, her eyes gleaming as she proceeded to tell everyone the kinds of food she'll be bringing. Arisawa buried her face into her hands in exasperation.

I spent my first Saturday buying clothes.

My original goal when I set out was to supplement my wardrobe for the colder weather, but I ended up buying the same things I usually bought—super tight jeans, rocking t-shirts, black wifebeaters. I even found two pairs of shoes that I really loved.

When I finally remembered that I was supposed to buy stuff that would, hopefully, keep me alive when the weather started to turn shitty, I grabbed a few jackets and even threw on some scarves for good measure. However, that was pretty much everything for temperature control.

I seriously wished myself luck as I lugged my loot back home—come blizzards and snow storms, I was sure I was going to die of hypothermia. I just wished I wouldn't have to suffer for long when the time comes.

Conversely, I spent all of Sunday at home, reading through Hiyori's blog—Shinji sent me the address, for reasons I was yet to figure out. I checked it out because it probably had something to do with the brat's tantrums, and I was most definitely intrigued by my mental image of Hiyori sitting in front of a computer, her little fingers working a keyboard, her tiny head composing words and whatnot for the consumption of the interested public.

It was this nifty little thing called Flower on the Precipice, and frankly, I couldn't believe at first that this was something that the noisy, violent blond made. The words flowed like water, and the emotions expressed in it were profound. It was mostly angsty, yeah, but I also learned a few things about the brat that I was sure she would have never let me know voluntarily. She was definitely going to kill Shinji if she ever finds out that he betrayed her cute little diary-slash-blog to me.

As I scrolled through the rest of the impressively detailed and lengthy archive, I found a few videos of merit. And by merit, I mean extraordinary records of Hiyori's peerless and timeless talent to cuss like an Irish thug gone midget.

I laughed myself silly as I watched video after video of the two blondes arguing about petty stuff, such as socks with toes and pineapple tarts and paper planes and ceramic pigs and strawberries painted orange.

It was ridiculously funny, but it was also ridiculously nostalgic. It made me realize that I liked the two better than I originally thought.

I barely even noticed it when night had already fallen—I was totally riveted on my find, and I was far too interested in unraveling more of my enemy-slash-best-friend's secrets to abandon my screen even just to grab some food from the fridge. I only stopped when my phone said it was already two in the goddamned morning, and I remembered that I have goddamned classes in just a few goddamned hours.

"Perfect," I grumbled to myself as I slid into bed unwillingly and pulled my blanket over me.

o – o – o – o – o – o

When I forced my heavy-lidded eyes open a few hours later, I was almost immediately certain that the precarious status quo of the previous week had finally come to an end.

For one thing, I woke up to a considerably heavy snow fall. I took deep breaths and tried to keep calm while I gauged my emotional climate—my moods whenever it snowed were generally categorized into two: gloomy and down, and irritated and annoyed. About ninety percent of the time, it was the latter.

It wasn't always easy for me to understand how I felt—perhaps because guys tended to be ignorant in these matters—but today, I easily figured it out. I was most definitely feeling…depressed.

The extremely late night, the uncontrollable longing for various things that most definitely included a certain guitar and a certain redhead, and the goddamned snow made this gloom a fucking inevitability. The worst thing was that, after I gave it some more thought, I figured that this was bound to happen one day or another anyway because I wasn't exactly unaware of the fact that snow was now an inevitable part of my daily life.

This emotional whirlwind was now something I was supposed to watch out for every—single—day.

I donned a rather thick jacket and a scarf which I piled up high around my neck until it covered the entire lower half of my face, then I walked to school briskly. I kept my eyes on the ground and made my way to the school without so much as looking around me. There were no stopovers this time, no pausing to admire the trees, no buying pork buns, no leaning on the railings for a few minutes.

As a result, I arrived at school a solid hour earlier—I haven't even realized that I left the house at a very early time, all things considered.

Deciding there was nothing else to do but to try to pick myself up before class started, I nipped by the school cafeteria, bought strawberry milk in a small carton, and sat on my chair with my back on the window.

The few people who were already there in the room when I arrived all greeted me in a friendly manner, cheering me up a bit. However, it was only when Ishida arrived that I managed to really stop wallowing in gloom, if only for a short while. And that was only because the guy's uncannily accurate observations required me to actually think of what to say.

"You look like you could use some sleep, Kurosaki-kun," Ishida observed casually as he put his bag down and leaned on the side of his desk to face me. "Had a rough night?"

I answered as truthfully as I could. "Not really—last night was alright." More than alright, in fact. I was happy last night. "A rough morning, more like."

He immediately caught my meaning even though I didn't even hint at it—he just glanced at me once, like he noted the way I was seated, then he nodded slightly. "You don't like the snow?"

I nodded mechanically.

He corrected his statement himself. "No…you hate the snow."

I let out a defeated sigh.

"You picked one hell of a place to move to, then."

I breathed a short, humorless laugh. "You don't say."

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and looked intently at me. "Why don't you like snow, anyway?"

And because there were a whole lot of reasons why—some of them shallow, some of them painful, some of them petty, some of them traumatic—I just shrugged and mumbled an easy answer.

"Just because."

He said nothing, but somehow I knew he didn't believe me a bit. It was scary how accurate he could read people—or maybe it was just me. Whichever.

An uneasy silence formed between us, but he easily broke it by handing me a sheaf of stiff, white paper covered in a stylish, uniform handwriting.

"The notes I promised you," he said simply.

I accepted distractedly, almost forgetting to murmur my thanks, and bent down to slide the neat stack of papers into my bag. My slightly-better-than-grim mood had only lasted as long as the strawberry milk.

The unplanned movement brought the window I have been avoiding the past hour within my field of vision, and I immediately caught a moving red color from the corner of my eyes. Before I could stop myself, I have already looked outside the window, at the boy walking through the gate.

Renji…!

"Are you alright?" Ishida asked me with a light pat on my shoulder, making me jump. The notes fell to the floor in an awkward heap, giving me an excuse to hide my flustered face for a while.

When I finally looked back up at Ishida, there was a disappointed expression on his face. On any other situation, I would have been interested to know why the guy's thin lips were suddenly pressed into a tight line when he was fine just moments ago…but I was too distracted now to care about Ishida and his problem.

Renji had finally come back to school.

o – o – o – o – o – o

The morning hours passed by in a blur, leaving me sitting there beside the window in my own private bubble like I was somehow secluded from the rest of the world. I mulled over things in circles without really coming up with anything new—it was like the pointless process was only a distraction, an improvised coping mechanism.

The camouflage—the temporary shell—that I wrapped around myself was most appreciated, but it also made me realize that I was way too nervous and tense and jumpy than I should be. Of course I knew I was going through an episode of sorts, but I have never fallen this low before. Everything was piling on top of each other—my never-ending depression that always waited in the wings, my inexplicable preoccupation with Renji and the mystery that his adopted family exuded, the emotional imbalance my forced move to Hokkaido has caused me, my inability to deal with more than just one serious emotion at any given time, and even the crushing nostalgia and yearning I have never expected to feel for the maybe-friends I left behind.

I was falling apart. I could feel myself giving at the seams. Every moment felt like it was going to be my breaking point. I was losing my touch. I was no longer…me.

What little humor I had left in my body reminded me that Shinji—the tactless, sadistic Barbie I knew from a month ago, not the mushy blond exchanging messages with me now—was going to have the time of his life when he finds out that I—Ichigo, delinquent, tough-guy act, cool as hell—have gone way too soft now. Softer than marshmallow torched with a flamethrower.

The one little reprieve was that we had no painting classes today. The last thing miserable little me needed was to see the object of my goddamned weakness when I was battling the limits of my slowly slipping sanity.

We went to the cafeteria during lunch as a group—a large, noisy group. Choosing what to buy took longer than it should have because they somehow figured it was their business what the others bought for lunch. Not that I was complaining—their continued banter kept me preoccupied from the real shit. Helped me stall, escape for a while longer. I was just dragging the inevitable, but I didn't care.

I seriously attempted to choose something I could actually eat despite the tectonic activity in my stomach, but I ended up buying only strawberry milk.

Of course they noticed my lack of appetite—and the irony of my choice of beverage—but no one said anything about it. I didn't know if that was because my dark mood showed in my face, or because Ishida was staring them down through his intimidating fuck-off glasses with his sharp don't-mess-with-me blue eyes.

I should probably thank the guy someday.

Because somebody figured that maybe we could use a little sunshine to brighten the mood, they decided that we should have lunch on the roof again. And so we did.

They started ignoring me when they realized that I wasn't in any mood to talk anytime soon, but the action did not feel hostile or even the slightest bit offensive. My new classmates were too easy to like, in fact. I could feel an almost palpable warmth reaching out to me, inviting me to join in whenever I pleased.

I appreciated it of course, but for the meantime, I contented myself with just watching them. I felt a little sick—nothing serious though, just something psychological—and it was probably in my best interests to just keep to myself until the sour feeling had passed.

"You can talk to me, you know? If there's anything bothering you…" Ishida said quietly as we made our way back down.

For a moment, it almost made me smile how he was saying the exact thing Dad said to me on my first day. But no sound of amusement could make it out of my throat even if I wanted to—the statement only implied that I looked so bad on the surface I actually warranted uncharacteristic words from more than just my father.

"I'm fine," I muttered for his benefit, although anyone within twenty meters of me would know that I wasn't—I just felt that there was no need to broadcast it.

"Kurosaki-kun," he started again, but I just shook my head. He bit his lip and minded his own business after that.

We returned to our room when Keigo finally finished his lunch.

It was only when people started filing out once more after putting their lunch packs down on their desks that I realized I have forgotten one crucial thing—we have PE today. I've been distracted to the point of dysfunction. Not good.

I almost considered ditching, but I got myself towed by Ishida and Chad—of all people—before I could even form the decision. And as if determined to make sure I attended the class, they only let go of me when we have already changed.

As we walked across the grounds to join the line, the first thing I registered was that Renji was there. He was dropped off by his siblings—which made me wonder briefly if he was in a similar situation as mine. I dismissed the theory when he waved goodbye to them in a casual but friendly manner.

I didn't realize I've been staring at him until his almost-predatory gaze met mine. I quickly looked away, feeling my face go up in flames at being caught red-handed.

Come on, Ichigo. Get a grip already.

I gritted my teeth as I lined up—if I had to choose now between snow and Renji, I would have chosen snow. At least I had experience dealing with the mood slumps snow falls trigger in me. I could deal with it—I would know what to expect. Right now, I wasn't ready at all to face Renji and my unhealthy gravitation towards him.

Too bad the snow had stopped sometime during the morning when I wasn't looking. If only it had snowed longer, PE would have most likely been cancelled.

Iba-sensei decided to let us have practice drills on the basic skills needed for volleyball, saying he was disappointed with the results of the mini-games between the two sections. He determined that we needed to first learn the sport before he could expect us to be able to play it properly.

I shook my head at the unbelievable announcement, wondering if something had gone wrong up top sometime during his boxing days.

At any rate though, the practice session was better than I expected. It was easier to avoid running into Renji, or even seeing him, than I would have thought because Iba-sensei did not make us choose random numbers—which always guarantees Kusajishi Yachiru's face-off with Ishida, for reasons I would like to know someday.

We were instructed to drill on the four basic skills—receiving, tossing, spiking, and serving. It was interesting to watch complete noobs trying to execute a spike, only to hit someone in the head with the dismal attempt and end up clutching their reddened wrists with no small amount of indignation.

Smug students left and right kept on smirking—it was a brutal sport indeed.

When it was finally my turn, I was flummoxed to see an almost violent change of drilling partner—a gigantic guy called Jidanbou, whom I recognized to be one of those students trying to woo me into joining the volleyball team, nudged the frightened student aside. I could tell he did it as gently as he could, but the kid still hit the ground like he was shoved aside by a battering ram.

"How's your receive, Kurosaki-kun?" he asked me good-naturedly, holding up a volleyball—the white sphere looked like a golf ball in his large hands.

I struggled not to make a face as I answered him. "Not bad, I guess."

Of course it wasn't bad. After all, I managed to hold out against Renj—yeah… I can never really avoid him for long, I guessed. He always cropped up in the most inopportune moments. Anytime, all the time.

I shook my head and crouched down. Distraction. I needed a distraction. Right. Fucking. Now. "Let's just get this over with, alright?"

Jidanbou bounced the puny-looking ball against the ground a few times, eyeing me intently all the while, then tossed it up into the air and smashed it towards me.

I winced as the ball hit my arms with the force of a hammer driving into an anvil. A beautiful shade of red immediately rushed under my skin to color my arms like flowers in fast-forward bloom.

"One," he said aloud in an infuriatingly helpful voice, as if I didn't know how to fucking count. What a joke. And this was supposed to be an innocent PE class, not a slaughterhouse.

The next few hits were as viciously strong as the first one, leaving me no doubt I was once again going to be taking painkillers like candies for the next two days.

"You really should join us, Kurosaki-kun," Jidanbou almost pleaded as I successfully dug out another tricky spike. The furrow between his eyebrows steadily grew deeper and deeper with every hit I managed to receive, like he was so disappointed that I wouldn't even consider joining them.

I stretched my arms briefly before crouching back down for the last ball. "Sorry. It's just not my thing," I said, waiting for his spike.

He sighed in frustration—not in defeat, I noted—and tossed the ball up one last time.

One moment, I was looking up at the blindingly white sphere hanging in midair. Then without any warning, my vision turned black for a brief moment. At the same time, an indescribable pressure descended upon me with a crushing force. It was like I was suddenly plunged underwater, my lungs immediately screaming for air.

I wasn't sure how the hell it could even happen, but I thought I saw a black butterfly flutter past me. Then the pressure was instantly gone.

The strange phenomenon took all of two seconds, but the momentary slip in my concentration was enough to cost me big time.

The spike I missed hit me straight in the goddamned head. The only consolation was that my head was tilted slightly to the side, letting my nose avoid the impact—I was sure it would have been broken if that ball hit me squarely in the face.

However, it also meant that the side of my head took the brunt of the hit…

I blacked out involuntarily as I felt my body sway and drop to the ground—I barely heard a soft chorus of voices, which I knew were actually alarmed shouts, through the ringing in my head. I regained consciousness before anyone could reach me where I lay on the ground, though—something I was thankful for.

When my vision adjusted after several moments of blinking furiously against the mixed light, the first thing I saw was Inoue's wide doe eyes.

"Oh my God, Kurosaki-kun, are you alright?" she asked frantically, wringing her hands together in front of me.

Of course, supreme idiot that I was, I pretended to be just fine even though I felt like my head had cracked cleanly into two and that my brains have most likely fallen out in the process.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I managed to say in a convincingly light and amused voice. Everything was spinning and spinning and whirling and ringing, but no one had to know that.

"Tokyo boy!" a gruff voice yelled from somewhere, parting the crowd easily. It was Iba-sensei. "Are you alright there?" I didn't know if he was just dense, or he really couldn't see me through those ridiculous glasses.

I sat up—with the help of a silent Chad—and tried to assure everyone, "I'm fine. I'm alright. I just slipped, that's all."

Iba-sensei pursed his lips.

"We should bring him to the clinic, sensei," Ishida said sternly, suddenly appearing behind the teacher. He looked winded, like he just ran from some faraway place. "Kurosaki-kun was hit with a volleyball on the head. By no less than a member of the volleyball team."

Everybody stared at Jidanbou, who looked like he was about to cry or something—fucker.

Iba-sensei looked troubled as students started murmuring about concussions and all that shit. When he opened his mouth, looking like he was about to deliver bad news, I stammered into speech.

"No! Really, I'm okay," I tried to convince him—and only him. Never mind the others. He was the only one with a say, and I seriously didn't want to go to the clinic. "The ball just grazed me. I lost my balance, though. That's why I fell. Otherwise, I'm perfectly fine."

Everyone stared at me as I spouted blatant lies on the spot. I didn't care. Iba-sensei looked torn—he was a teacher, after all. I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping…

The pink-haired class rep of 2-4 bounced into the scene, looking cheerful. Dizzy—and maybe even dying—as I was, I didn't fail to notice that she had a large lollipop stuck between her lips.

"Sensei! Sensei!" she sang, skipping around the disgruntled former boxing champion. "It's the sixth time you'll be sending a student to the clinic this week, right?"

His face paled to the color of radish in approximately 0.005 seconds.

Yes!

I barely suppressed a smile as I got to my feet—I gave him a reassuring grin instead, knowing that victory was in hand.

"You don't have to worry about me, Iba-sensei," I said in sepulchral tones. "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm healthy as a horse. No need to attract the attention of the school board, right?"

He gulped audibly. "Yeah, yeah…"

Ishida glared at me, realizing what I was doing. "Kurosaki-kun!"

I met his gaze with a hard look of my own—I wasn't a child, and I needed no one's concern. He looked betrayed and disappointed, but he backed down after a while, looking deflated.

Iba-sensei finally gathered his wits about him.

"Alright everyone, back to your places! And keep it down, will ya?" he huffed, sending students scattering into the fields again. He turned to me with a worried glance—I had fair reason to believe that the concern wasn't exactly directed at me, though. "Kurosaki, you're not to join the drills anymore. Just sit on the grass somewhere and take it easy for today. That's an order. Now move!"

Chad gave me a silent, mysterious pat on the back before jogging back to his place. I mumbled my thanks before he got out of earshot, which he acknowledged with a simple wave of his hand.

What a curious fellow, I thought to myself.

I sat down on a grassy slope near the edges of the field just like Iba-sensei said—my head was killing me, and my ears haven't even stopped ringing yet. Goddamned sport. If there was the slightest chance I would have considered joining the volleyball team before this blunder, they could forget about it now. I did not take well to team members trying to kill their recruit with a goddamned ball.

While I slumped there lifelessly, trying to pretend that my head wasn't going off like it had been split open with an ax, someone sat down beside me.

"You alright?"

My lips parted in surprise as I stared at the figure beside me. "Wh…?"

He continued to look at the field as he spoke, his long hair whipping behind him lightly as the wind blew in our direction.

"I don't think I've introduced myself yet," he said in a deep, husky voice—the kind that made girls shiver with desire, and guys groan with envy. He tilted his head slightly to look at me. "The name's Abarai Renji."

I continued to stare at him like I've been electrocuted—it wasn't the best way to leave an impression, but I couldn't help it. I wasn't exactly at my best at the moment, and he caught me at the worst possible timing—what, with a possible injury to the head courtesy of a goddamned volleyball. Not to mention that I would have never thought he would approach me on his own.

I was, yeah…caught off guard.

He gave me more than enough time to try and get my bearings, but when I still haven't uttered a single word—nor make a sound of any kind—after three minutes, he looked at me again and said, "So…I already know your name. Kurosaki Ichigo, right? You're the transferee from Tokyo."

Now I just felt downright stupid. The asshole who beat me with a volleyball the other day just played out a one-man introduction scene in front of me, making me look like the jerk.

He waved a hand vaguely towards the class as he made a few casual remarks about how seemingly pointless the entire thing was, taking care of small talk as I fumed-slash-contemplated about whether to confront him or just forget about the whole fiasco from our first real-time meeting.

Needless to say, I couldn't make up my mind about it.

He turned his fiery-haired head to me fully and settled his piercing gaze on me. "You look like you could win tournaments for the school. Why not join the volleyball team?"

He said it in a smooth and casual but persuasive tone. I felt my eyebrow twitch—I was so not considering the volleyball team just because this brute suggested it. No way.

I glared at him with no attempts at subtlety. "Why? Are you on the team as well?"

He made a smug, almost arrogant face in response to my question, like he thought volleyball was so beneath him. "Nah…I have some other things I'm busy with."

Arrogant prick. I had to work to control my voice so that I wouldn't be shouting or growling when I next spoke. "Is that why you were gone the whole week?"

Renji stiffened slightly, like I just accused him of murdering the neighbors. "Why do you ask?"

The reaction confused me, so I just shrugged—it wasn't like I was dying to know what he does when he chooses to ditch school. His life, not mine—he can spend it as he pleased. That being said though, I still felt—as Ishida put it bluntly—interested. Just slightly. In the general sense of the word.

I just knew there was something about Renji that was different now…

"Are you hurt?" I asked him as soon as I formed the thought in my head.

He stared at me like I just spoke in ancient Egyptian. "I think you hit your head a little too hard. I'm not the one who decided to receive a spike with my face, remember?"

Wow, that was so fucking funny, I would have hissed were he anybody else, along with a solid uppercut—but because it was him, I ignored the jibe…for now.

"What I mean is," I said slowly, watching him closely for his reaction, "are you injured or something? You were kinda limping earlier, before PE even started." I had no idea how I knew this at all, but that was not the point at the moment. "And you weren't swinging your right arm as much as your left."

I was definitely waiting for a reaction, but I haven't expected him to react like he did—he jerked hard like someone tased him, then threw me a weird glance from the corner of his eyes. He looked shifty, and he acted like his nerves were on hair trigger or something—it made me suspicious.

Maybe he really was involved in classified police operations.

But as I turned the thought over in my head, I realized that it wasn't exactly something to be suspicious of. If anything, I should be excited—well, duh. The prospect of being a high school student while doubling as an undercover agent or something has got to be fucking awesome, right? It's practically like every boy's wet dream come true.

I suppressed a smile just in time—he turned to look at me again with those deep, dark eyes.

"How's your head?" he asked me in a serious voice, oblivious to the excitement rushing through my veins at the moment.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I answered, making sure I wouldn't break into a giddy smile. "I'm fine. Nothing's broken."

His eyes narrowed at me. "Stupid. It's your head. You don't have to wait for anything to be broken. Let me see."

I opened my mouth to ask him what exactly he meant when he said let me see, but he beat me to it. Renji reached over, weaved his fingers into my hair sinuously, and started probing lightly against my head.

I wasn't able to react and throw him off me like I should have because all my efforts were suddenly focused on not totally losing my cool and reacting in an undignified way, like yelping...or worse, moaning.

His goddamned fingers were making me want to fucking moan. Dammit.

Damn Renji. Damn volleyball. Damn Karakura. Damn it all to the deepest pits of burning hell.

It wasn't right. It wasn't even me. But it was true. I couldn't do anything about it—I was only human, with a responsive body. And it didn't help that I was a healthy teenager in the peak of my adolescent years.

The soft pads of his fingertips continued to press lightly but firmly against my scalp, tracing searing hot paths on my skin, making my toes curl both in effort not to make a sound, and mind-numbing ple—SHIT.

What the hell…?

I quickly called the names of all the saints I knew, fictional or otherwise—I was so losing it.

Somebody help me.

Thankfully, Renji stopped before I could start hyperventilating like some rabid fangirl. His hands fell back down to his sides as he declared with a confused-sounding tone that my head was indeed just fine, and that I didn't even seem to have a bruise. I thanked my lucky stars—along with all the goddamned planets in the solar system—for having mercy on me.

But then…

I have only sighed in relief when Renji suddenly pushed me down into the grass, his warm hand clamped into the flesh of my shoulder.

"Renji…!" I gasped in surprise as I felt my body hit the ground, pinned firmly against the grass by his own. I writhed against him instinctively, only to feel him press against me harder. Shit. I felt it all—every line, every plane, every curve… Shit shit shit—

Before my mind could go into hyperdrive though, I saw a white ball with blue strips zoom past us with a sharp spin that made the stripes blend into an incomprehensible blur. It smashed against the chainlink fence with a loud, rattling sound.

"Watch it, will you?" Renji bellowed angrily, easily drowning the loud chorus of yells from the field—someone kept on apologizing profusely from the distance.

I remained frozen for a few more moments, then I realized that Renji had just saved me from a stray ball.

Once he was done glaring at everyone, he helped me up at once, asking me if I was alright as he did.

"I'm fine," I mumbled automatically. "Uhh…thanks."

"Are you sure?" he asked as he looked into my eyes. "Your face is red."

And you just made it redder, idiot!

Deep breaths. Deep breaths… "I'm fine, alright? It's…it's just the heat."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Fine. If you say so… Oh right, sorry for surprising you. But I figured it would have sucked if you got hit by a ball in the face twice in a day, let alone an hour."

"Yeah," I mumbled, embarrassed for reasons he wasn't—and should never be—aware of.

Dammit, I needed to stop acting like a goddamned virgin—never mind that I was one. That was so not the point here. I shouldn't be feeling…er, feeling this way. Innocent physical contact shouldn't be setting my nerves on fire. It shouldn't—

Deep breaths, Ichigo…

I managed to calm myself down after a while—no small thanks to my years of practice on clamping down on the emotional shit whenever it struck.

The next few minutes were uneventful as we continued to sit there on the grassy slope, watching a few of the students play impromptu matches of three against three when Iba-sensei wasn't looking. I must admit that I was having fun lounging there while watching the others suffer from the violent sport.

As Renji made small comments every now and then about the techniques and stances of a few of the players—which I honestly found interesting, by the way—I started wondering why the guy was sitting beside me instead of playing with the others. After all, we were the only ones slacking off—and I was doing it with permission from the teacher.

But just when I was about to ask Renji, the sky suddenly darkened. Mine was one of the many eyes that looked up immediately—it was the kind of dark that went with mean weather. A low murmur can be heard all throughout the field, probably wondering as I was whether this unpleasant development was going to continue. When nothing more happened after a minute, heads finally went down reluctantly.

Just when I thought I was finally starting to shake off the dark mood I had this morning, this had to happen.

I tried once more to force the weather out of my mind, but Renji's casual question made the effort futile.

"You think it will snow?" he murmured, still looking up at the sky.

Because I owed the guy for saving me, I tried to answer as decently as possible without having to think much about it at the same time—it wasn't easy. In the end, I only managed to say, "I guess so…" Not exactly a decent answer.

He caught the strange note in my tone. "You don't like snow, do you?"

I stopped breathing, wondering how far he would go. "You can say that…"

He looked puzzled. "Why did you transfer here, then?"

I flinched at the painfully candid question. He quickly corrected himself.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said honestly, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture—not that there was a need for it or anything. "What I meant was—"

I waved his words away and shrugged. "I get it." But I still wished we didn't have to talk about this.

He nodded slowly, but he didn't back down. "But really. The snow aside, why did you transfer here?"

I looked down at the ground and realized belatedly that I have been picking at the grass all this time. "Yeah, that…it's complicated."

"I'll listen," he told me simply.

I sighed heavily as I met his expectant gaze.

I haven't even told my dad yet—and I wasn't entirely sure I would ever do—but now I was actually thinking of a way to begin the story with. I was really going to tell this guy the reason why I suddenly left my whole life behind and ran to this small town far far away from everything I've ever known, loved, cherished.

Renji lifted his hand slowly, as if to put it on my shoulder.

"I was depressed," I breathed, deciding there was no easier way to do this than to just speak the truth, raw and unedited.

I looked at him briefly as I let my words sink in for a while—his hand was frozen in midair, his guarded eyes on my face.

I looked back at the field, not seeing anything. "Some things happened in the past and I sort of," I released the breath I've been holding unconsciously. "…relived it."

Maybe telling him these things in the middle of PE class wasn't a good idea…

"Don't get me wrong, though. It's not what it sounds like," I said quickly, realizing how my first sentence must have sounded to him—his body language was very expressive. "It's nothing big. I was just going through a hard time. You know…sleepless nights, decreased appetite, that kind of thing. It's manageable, but when things piled up and added together…"

I looked up at the sky—nothing was visible. I wasn't even sure what I was looking at. Was it really the sky? Was it just a murky carpet of clouds? Where was the light?

"I'm a good kind of depressed person, you know?" I said lightly, cracking a small humorless smile. "I don't drink myself to oblivion, although I'm not going to deny that I've resorted to a bottle or two during the hardest times… I've never done drugs—nor do I intend to, ever. It's funny, really…"

His hand squeezed my shoulder, but I barely noticed it.

"I was fine—it's true—but I also knew that I couldn't take any more," I breathed, feeling so vulnerable at the moment. I couldn't believe I was saying all this, but I also couldn't bring myself to check Renji's expression if only to make myself stop…

I was afraid to see whatever it was I was going to see on his face.

Deep breath. "A psychologist advised me to try and seek a new environment, to see if it would help with the depression. I sat on the idea for months. I thought I would never have to resort to that, but I ended up having to move after all." I was weak. I lost to my own demons. "One week was all I managed when… Then I ran away."

I wasn't sure if anything I said made sense to Renji, but I decided that it was all I was going to say. I couldn't handle any more, unless I wanted to show everyone my tears—which I didn't, and would never do. I would rather die before I cried in front of strangers.

When Renji spoke, I was surprised to hear him sounding so tentative. "I know you just got here last week, so you couldn't have spent long here yet but…is it helping?"

"Eight days," I said emotionlessly. "I really don't know yet…"

Renji shifted uneasily, drawing my gaze—he looked extremely uncomfortable, but also worried. There was a crease above his eyes, and his mouth was set into a frown I was sure he wasn't aware of. "You, er…wanna talk about it?"

Despite my mood, my lips curved into a genuine smile. "Not really. But thanks."

He was still fidgeting, looking at anywhere but me. "If you ever need to talk about it though…"

I nodded wordlessly, allowing my mind to shut down before the more painful thoughts overwhelmed my control and ruined this fragile moment between Renji and me.

o – o – o – o – o – o

Ishida walked over to me as soon as PE ended. By the time he stopped right in front of me, Renji was no longer beside me—he was already walking away, his back on me.

I stared after him in fascination as he continued to move steadily without the slightest bit of hesitation in his steps, feeling like this was the first time I was seeing something that looked so feral and yet so beautiful. And maybe it was.

I've never seen anything like him before…

A savage kind of beauty indeed.

As I watched him disappear from sight, I thought that he might actually be the most beautiful among their group. More beautiful than the slender Shihouin, more beautiful than the graceful Kuchiki. It was an idea out of the blue, but I thought it was true nevertheless. The sharp angles, the jagged edges, the abundance of lines and the unconventional appeal of it all called out to me strongly, drawing me to him like moth to a flame.

The rest of the day quickly spent itself as a part of my mind replayed through our conversation contentedly while I stared outside the window all throughout History. I have found a place in my mind where my recollection of the darkest times of my life didn't taste so bitter. There I found warmth…a quiet acceptance, an undemanding audience.

I found someone willing to just listen.

I took the shortest possible route home. And when I got to my bedroom, I put my music player on the noisiest playlist I had and turned it on as high as it can go, letting the deafening sound bounce all around my room as I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, remembering the image of Renji walking away, his solid figure outlined by the heavy colors of the setting sun that made it look like his entire body was on fire, driving away the cold memories of that one snowy day from my repressed past a long long time ago.

o – o – o – o – o – o

The quote "No fate but what we make" is from one of those Terminator movies. Yeah. :))

Some of you guys might have taken notice of the format of Ichigo's and Shinji's text messages. So for the record, yes, I deliberately wrote them that way. I didn't want to write it in the stereotypical SMS format—you know, words and phrases shortened into almost unreadable shit. :)) This is a somewhat formal work anyway, so I figured I could get away with it. Besides, we all have different ways of shortening words, and what might be perfectly understandable to one might not be to another. So, you get the point. :))

Again, about the emo stuff… I personally think that he's way too emo here, but I couldn't tone it down. What I mean by that is, he really feels this way right now. Haha! Does that make sense? He said it, didn't he? He's emotionally imbalanced right now. Don't worry, though. This will all be over in Chapter Three. (The next chapter is action-packed to the brim. Just read Twilight's Chapter Three. It's where Bella nearly gets run over by Tyler's van. *evil grin* What do you think do I have in mind for Ichigo? Remember, high school students in Japan don't have cars. *wink*)

And oh yeah, please don't go commenting yet about how Renji seems to be way too soft or whatever…I can't make him act all bastard-like and stuff when Ichigo's feeling down. :)) He'll be his usual brash self soon enough.

Thanks for reading! I look forward to a long ride with you guys. :))

Lovingly Yours,

BloodyPencils