Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or the entire idea of Hitsugaya and Rukia belonging together. I do own the lyrics she sings though as they are a product of my imagination and rusty poem skills. See below for my Author's Note as well as for some review responses.
Important Note: I have started a HitsuRuki livejournal community! Please join; we need more members! Remember, type the URL without the extra spaces. The url is: http://hitsuruki. livejournal . com
Tension and the Spark
-Tell me no lies-
"You aren't going to tell him, are you?" Matsumoto's voice is carefully flippant with just the right hint of flirtatiousness. To an unknowing bystander, the words are innocent, perhaps referring to an expensive purchase or the appearance of an anonymous gift from an admirer. But to Rukia, the words go much deeper than that. The club is mostly unoccupied at this hour, still six o'clock and the usual partygoers don't come by until at least eight. She finds herself pausing over her answer, preferring to direct her attention to the gentle swinging of the pendulum in the corner.
"Hello? Earth to Rukia? C'mon, just answer the question." Matsumoto throws the dirty rag into a pile of dirtier dishes in the sink, pretty lips pursed into an expression of obvious annoyance. Her long blond hair has been swept up into a high ponytail for tonight, the bartender outfit resting nicely on her figure. On a normal night, Rukia would have teased Matsumoto about the obvious change in hairstyle and asked who the lucky man was. But it is not a normal night for her today and she's not in the mood to be playful anyways. Her leg twinges as she walks past her friend to gently set the glass of vodka in front of a depressed young man. She tries to ignore the way the pain seems to climb its way down and wrap around her ankle. But it's so very hard and it isn't until Matsumoto places a firm hand on the small of her back that she realizes she's managed to space out yet again.
"Why would I?" She replies a little too carelessly. "It's not as if they'll even accept me as part of the band yet. Remember, they're coming tonight and since you want to come with me…It will be about midnight before we actually get to see how I'll fit with their playing style." She smiles slightly, the corners of her lips twitching hesitantly upwards before the same stern expression takes over the canvas of her face again. "Don't get your hopes up for me, Matsumoto. God knows I don't expect to see them again after tonight." She turns away, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain the movement causes, and greets the first customers of the night.
She doesn't see the way Rangiku's gray eyes glint in sympathy and understanding at her or the way those same eyes assess her outfit guardedly. Perhaps it is for the best that way, Matsumoto thinks. Rukia is in the same outfit as always, loose denim jeans buckled tightly to her slender waist and a white tank top covering her torso. It's always conservative and the blond thinks that of all the people in the world to despise slit dresses and skirts, there is no one with a better reason than the petite raven-haired girl.
It's been two years since Rukia has last been able to wear something like that after all.
"Do I look alright?" Shuuhei's face is twisted into a strange combination of anxiety and self-confidence even as he rotates his neck awkwardly to see himself from all angles in front of the mirror. His leanly muscled form is covered with a form fitting black muscle shirt and a pair of cargo pants. A choker is fastened loosely around his neck even as the bracelets hanging from his wrist jar loudly against one another in protest against his various movements. Hitsugaya sighs deeply, shoving his hands into his jacket's pockets before bothering to dignify the question with his own response. After five times of hearing that same question, his patience is already six feet underground and buried underneath the beginnings of his infamous temper.
"For the last fucking time, Hisagi. You look just fine. I doubt that girl…Matsumoto will care anyways. We'll just be going to grab Rukia and see how she fits in with our music." He blows his white bangs out of his eyes in irritation before walking out of the room to find better company with the rest of his bandmates.
"Still in there, huh?" Ichigo asks, hands busy lighting another Marlboro cigarette. He curses as the lighter's flame flickers before going out and tosses the unlit stick into the trashcan. "Any longer and I'll start calling him Miss Hisagi." He chuckles, previous bad mood forgotten, before lifting an eyebrow at Hitsugaya's unresponsiveness.
"Cat got your tongue?" Renji butts in, running a hand through his messy red hair. "Or is Hisagi not the only one nervous about meeting a certain somebody? You were there when he fell head over heels, so it follows that you must've gone for someone." He grins widely, leaning forward to pat the electric bassist's hair, to which he receives only a disgruntled glare. From the background, Ichigo whistles in appreciation.
"Don't be idiots." He snaps at the both of them, but they laugh his comment off and proceed to high five each other gleefully in front of him. He scowl deepens and with a look of murderous rage, proceeds to slam his foot into the back of Ichigo's knee. The orange-haired drummer goes down with a barrage of foul language, making sure to take the tattooed member of the band down with him in a flurry of insults. It isn't long until the three of them are engaged in a three-way brawl, much like the days of high school. It doesn't take more than two minutes before they have a fair amount of sore spots and soon-to-be bruises on their abdomens and arms. Ichigo, as always, emerges the most visibly unscathed, blessed with the most power in the entire group as well as the thickest skin (though Hitsugaya thinks that the statement ring truer for Kurosaki's thicker skull). Renji groans as he shifts to favor his right side as a result of one of Hitsugaya's swift onslaught of kicks.
"How did that happen?" Ichigo wonders aloud, trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles in his T-shirt out. His eyebrows are arched in disbelief at the sheer amount of damage they've managed to cause one another (not to mention the room) before shrugging the incident off easily. "And Renji, you punch like a girl. A really, really wimpy girl."
The aforementioned male finishes dusting off lint from his jeans before walking over and jamming his elbow into Kurosaki's stomach. "Ya wanna repeat that again, punk?" He growls out, flashing teeth in a near feral look. It makes Hitsugaya wonder how the hell Rukia will manage to last even two seconds in their company unscathed let alone with her sanity intact. It makes him wonder how he's managed to retain his mind around such stupidity and meaningless fights. He places two fingers against each side of his head and massages furiously, feeling completely annoyed and aggravated.
"Stop baiting each other and go get Hisagi before he starts to put on nail polish for the sake of it. It's nearly eight o'clock and we haven't even left the apartment yet." He rolls his eyes, but the gesture itself is half-hearted and he knows that no matter how infuriating those two are, they'll still be friends in the end. God knows why. A glimmer of anticipation worms its way inside his head and he shakes away the unusual feeling. So what if the girl was actually witty and a good singer, he thinks to himself, eyes narrowed in a pensive stare at the wallpaper. It shouldn't mean anything and it doesn't mean anything. He chalks the anxiety up to natural worry for her ability to perform under pressure and forbids any other reason to even be remotely observed.
Hitsugaya Toshiro is not interested. Or so he says.
"Sorry guys, I lost track of the time and—what the hell? This is the third freaking time you've destroyed my lamp! Why can't you destroy other apartments? I happen to like the way mine looks!" Visibly annoyed, Hisagi's face is pulled down into a frown as he rights the fallen lamp and attempts to turn it on.
It remains off. Pulling away from the utility with a slight hint of sardonic amusement lacing his face, Shuuhei holds up three fingers. "Someone's paying me for the lamp and for tonight's drinks. And you guys have got about three seconds to decide who the winner will be before I start the blackmailing." There's a silence that lasts barely half a second, but it's enough for Ichigo and Renji to open the door, run out, and slam it shut behind them.
Hitsugaya's scowl deepens, squelching the urge to throttle the electric guitarist and the drummer by the neck. "I'm assuming I win." He states flatly, throwing a scornful look at Hisagi's now beaming face.
"Oh yeah. You win big. Look on the bright side, shorty. That Rukia girl was definitely interested in you last time. Maybe you'll score with her tonight?" Shuuhei's expression is innocent enough, but Hitsugaya knows the man well enough to know that the words 'innocent' and 'Hisagi Shuuhei' never belong in the same sentence together, ever.
"What did you call me?" The white-haired youth's glare sharpens to the point where it fairly gleams with malicious intent.
It takes barely a second for the punk guitarist to realize his mistake, and when he does, he wastes no time in sprinting for the door. It's one of those times when Hisagi thanks God for giving him long legs to run with and a faster reaction time than normal. He's not sure how many times he's been able to avoid Hitsugaya's flaming response just on those two factors alone. As he hears the incensed bassist's footsteps following close behind him, he closes his eyes and prays that Matsumoto won't ask him why he looks so winded tonight at the club.
He doesn't think she'll let him live it down if he tells her he's afraid of "Mr. Grumpy."
"You look…out of breath," Matsumoto states with something like amusement coloring her tone once she spies Hisagi's lanky figure by the door of the club. It's a pleasing sight though, she'll admit. His brow is gleaming with sweat and the previously decent muscle shirts clings to his frame, exposing the sharp ridges of muscle in his abdomen. She reaches up to fix her hair, sweeping her bangs to one side before winking coyly at him. "But you look hot." She murmurs into his ear, close enough to hear his stuttering heartbeat and the deep breaths he takes to steady himself. "I like my men active."
Shuuhei's mouth opens slightly, perhaps to deliver a smooth line, maybe to say something with an equal amount of innuendo in it. But he's interrupted before he can even utter a single syllable by the appearance of an orange-haired guy. "Some kind of pal you are," the newcomer jeers, playfully punching her date on the shoulder. "You haven't even introduced us to her yet and you're already ready to forget we ever existed. That's not cool at all. Is that what I get for being your best buddy in high school?"
There's a brief flash of annoyance as it crosses Hisagi's face, but the expression is gone before Matsumoto can even properly take a second glance at it. "Sorry, Ichigo." But he doesn't look the least bit apologetic, she thinks amusedly. "Her name's Matsumoto and she's a backup and part-time bartender here. She's the girl that I told you about earlier." He turns to her, giving her a warm and breathtaking smile before continuing with the mundane introductions. "This arrogant jackass is Kurosaki Ichigo, he's the drummer for the band. The red-haired and tattoo-obsessed freak next to him is Abarai Renji, the other electric guitarist."
"Where's Hitsugaya?" She asks, worried that Rukia will be let down if the bassist doesn't even bother to show up with the rest of the band.
"I'm right here." He mutters, pushing his form off of the shadowed wall. "Rukia's onstage?"
Matsumoto shakes her head, pointing a slim finger at a tiny figure going from table to table cleaning up the dirty dishes left behind. The entire group watches in stony silence as she stumbles and falters for a bit before continuing again at her brisk pace. The scene paints a vivid picture in Ichigo's mind and it brings him back to his own memories of Yuzu tripping over a rock and scratching her forehead from the fall. His perpetual scowl softens for a moment, unnoticed by everyone.
It isn't until a nearly violent and muscled man approaches her and obscures their vision that they break into a run to her side.
"Tsk." She looks up at the sound in annoyance, fingers brushing back a lock of hair that refuses to stay in place. One of her hands carefully balances a stack of teetering plates while she shifts her weight to her left, unable to bear the pain coming from the right. She thinks to herself that today really must not be her day if some random creep is getting ready to cop a feel. Her lips purse in a tight look of stress and scorn—disgust thrown in the mix as well, as she regards the strange blue-haired figure currently her path.
"I'm sorry, but can you please move?" She asks politely, burning violet eyes challenging the stranger's blue-green ones. He sneers in response and places a large hand on her small shoulder, leaning so that she can practically smell the alcohol from his mouth. She steps away with a bigger frown on her face, placing the dishes back on the nearest table.
"I'm not in the mood for this." She warns, a little too late as his hand shoots forward again and grabs her by the hair. It takes five seconds for the leer to register in her mind and two seconds before she registers his other hand running up and down her chest. Her instincts kick in and she throws a solid kick to his groin with her right leg, the pain making his grip on her loosen. She pulls away, but not before wincing as her leg twinges in protest against the sudden motion.
"Fucking bitch. I swear I'll pay ya back for that one." He breathes harshly, face contorted in an expression of agony.
"I think not." The voice is familiar to her, and it isn't until Rukia looks up and sees a shock of white, spiky hair that she realizes who it is. She's relieved to not have to deal with the brute anymore but offended that a guy she barely even knows feels the need to step in and defend her.
"What're ya gonna do ta me? Ya ain't even half my height!" The stranger throws his head back and laughs loudly and obnoxiously. "Go back to your mom before you get hurt here, kid. This doesn't involve you."
She watches on in disbelief as a small smirk creeps its way onto Histugaya's lips and barely manages to catch his next words. "On the contrary," he says, unbuttoning his jacket and throwing it to the side with confidence practically radiating off of his form. "I'm not the one about to get hurt here. You are." It's all she can do to repress her shock as the bassist lunges forward, draws an arm back, and slams a fist into the drunk man's stomach. And just as quickly, he jerks his knee upwards into a jarring crash against the stranger's chin. There's a sickening crack as something breaks before Hitsugaya steps back and turns away, a dismissive look on his already bored face.
"Don't go around touching what isn't yours. Grimmjow." He adds with obvious distaste.
"I could have handled it myself." She blurts out, mindlessly handing his jacket back to him.
He looks at her, fixing his teal eyes on her limping form in obvious skepticism. "I'm sure you would've handled it just fine," he drawls, sarcasm lacing his words. "Whatever. I'm not expecting you to thank me or anything, but at least kick him next time with an uninjured leg, alright?" He draws closer to her, a curious glint to his eyes as he gazes suspiciously at her right leg. She backs away much like a cornered rabbit.
"What—What the hell do you think you're doing?" She stutters, her head hitting the wall softly as she realizes that there's no other place to back up into.
He bends down and reaches for her leg, but she pulls it away, panic resonating in ever fiber of her body. "Calm down. I'm just trying to see if you injured it or anything. You might want to get it looked at in a hospital if it's been twisted or if you've pulled a muscle." He reaches out again and sighs in exasperation as she lifts it out of his reach.
"Hitsugaya, she's fine." Oh Matsumoto, she breathes in relief and makes a note to deliver a thousand thank you notes to her dearest friend tomorrow. He doesn't look convinced though, but Hisagi walks over and pulls him away from her, and she takes a calming breath to stop the rapid pounding of her heart in her ribcage. So close, she thinks. So close, and he would've known something that she would never want him to know about her. She raises her hand to wipe a trickle of sweat away from her forehead, leaning against the wall for support.
"Hey, are you alright?" She turns to the side and sees a guy with a violently orange hair gesture for her to lean on him instead of the wall. With characteristic frigidness and pride, she steps away from the wall and brushes past him, determination fueling her somewhat wayward steps. "Oy, where are you going?" He yells and she stops, giving him a taste of her own penetrating stare.
"I work here, in case you haven't noticed and there are people waiting to be served."
"Rukia, you really shouldn't be working so soon after…" Matsumoto trails off hesitantly, but the message is clear enough and the raven-haired girl gives a sigh of defeat. "Besides, it'll probably be better for you if you go over to their place and give the band a test run sooner rather than later. You'll need as much sleep as you can get this week." The buxom blond breaks the awkwardness suddenly with a bright smile and a shrug towards the direction of the orange-haired guy. "And that guy over there who just rudely stalked past? That's the drummer of the band and his name is Ichigo. You better hope he won't hold your actions against you when you sing for them tonight, Rukia. And the guy next to him who is staring at you with a really stupid expression on his face is Renji, the second electric guitarist."
"I'm Rukia and I guess I'll be going with you guys now, unless you've changed your minds."
"We haven't." Hisagi speaks up from his place by Matsumoto's side. "If you're ready, we can go now."
She nods, handing in her early leave slip for the boss to see later. It's the first time she's ever ditched work early and Matsumoto makes of point of informing the entire band on their walk to Shuuhei's apartment. She stays quiet for most of the time, piping in only when someone asks her for her opinion or begs her to takes sides in an argument. It isn't until the conversation drifts into the topic of families that she finally speaks of her own will.
"I've got a brother, before anybody asks. I don't have a mother or a father and I don't even remember them either. So before anybody asks if I have a funky household, the answer is no. I just live by myself with the occasional stray cat." She falls silent afterwards, looking away from Ichigo as he attempts to ask her a question. The conversation dies for a little bit, but Hitsugaya surprisingly revives it with a quirky question of his own.
"What's everyone's pet peeve?" He asks, careful to look at no one in particular despite his interest in a certain someone's answer.
"People that feel the need to pity me and people that think I look weak and need protection from the world," Rukia answers, her voice firm and unwavering like steel. Her violet irises are clear in their resolve and he finds himself drawn in against his will. He's not the only one either, her words capturing the attention of Renji and Ichigo as well. "Life's life," she murmurs as the wind brushes her hair and lifts it around her like some obscure halo. "If I can't deal with it, I can't deal with it. I'm not the type to ask someone to bear my burdens for me, to deal with my life on top of theirs as well. That'd be unreasonably selfish of me." She finishes, smiling vaguely and distantly like Da Vinci's Mona Lisa only more jaded and cynical.
"I hate people that believe in stereotypes." Hitsugaya finds himself voicing aloud, kicking a rock pebble into the road. "People that think if you're short, you're automatically dismissible. People that think if you play an instrument for a living, then you aren't successful. People that think if you're smart than you must be a stuck-up prick." He shrugs his shoulders at her questioning glance and hits Ichigo on the back lightly. "Hey carrot-top, it's your turn. Answer the question."
They find out that Ichigo hates bullies, that Renji despises rich and snobby kids who get ahead without any effort, that Shuuhei can't stand for two-faced people, and that Matsumoto loathes it when people mistake her casual flirting for an easy tumble in the sack. Somewhere along the way, the six of them bond together, and it makes Rukia nervous and relieved all at once. Scared that they'll stumble upon her secrets and relieved that there are still people out there who can like a person just based on who they are, not how much money they have.
It makes her feel like there's something worth hoping for.
"You're so out of tune Renji. I'm tempted to just walk over there, yank the strings off of your Viper XSF guitar and use them as banjo strings instead." Ichigo hollers from the back of the crammed garage, drum sticks aimed as projectile weapons for the guitarist's head. "For my sake, can't you just tune the damn thing already? My eardrums feel like they're going to burst if you keep on playing with the Viper in that condition." The red head flashes a glare but grudgingly tunes the crimson and white guitar to Shuuhei's ESP F-400 preset notes.
Off to the side, Hitsugaya's hands are busy fiddling with the dials of the amp, adjusting the frequency so that his bass line will come through just fine. His electric bass, custom-made by ESP, is strapped securely over his shoulder, the pure white design filtering through a transparent blue finish. The outline of a dragon is printed on the fingerboard, carefully done right down to the last detail. Satisfied with his adjustments, he steps back and runs his fingers lightly over the strings, mimicking the notes in the song with ease.
Rukia watches them work with something like awe in her eyes. They function as one unit even as they bicker amongst one another about who has the sexiest guitar (she secretly thinks Shuuhei wins the prize over Renji) and who can play the piece better (Ichigo vehemently denies that he's got the wrong rhythm in measure fifty-nine). Her own hands are shaking as they hold the three sheets of paper spelling out her part in treble clef notes and lyrics. She whispers the song to herself, trying amidst the ruckus in the background to get a feel for the emotions behind the words and notes. Matsumoto lounges on a beat-up couch, poking fun at the silver crosses on Hisagi's fingerboard and going so far as to ask him if it's uncomfortable to play with the decoration in his way. He denies it so furiously that is sends the blond tumbling into peals of laughter.
"You ready?" Hitsugaya asks, running the hand that's not on his electric bass through his hair in anticipation. They've never once heard a song of theirs sound good because they've never had a vocalist capture the emotion before. It's a part of the test, they've all agreed. A singer who can't understand their music without being told what the underlying theme is can't possibly expect to blend into their band. He finds himself hoping that she'll be the one to pass their little test and tells himself he only wants that for the band and not because he wants to have her company during practices.
"It's alright if you don't get all the notes the first time around. We don't expect you to be perfect." Ichigo interrupts, tapping his drum experimentally.
"If I'm any good, then I'll be able to hit the notes the first time around. If I don't, well then it means I'm not as good as everything thinks I am." She replies, taking her place by the microphone. She doesn't see the way Shuuhei shakes his head in admiration for her spirit or the subtle smile tugging at the corner of Hitsugaya's lips. She sees only the music in front of her and hears only the invisible notes as they sound in her head.
The song, much to her surprise, starts off with a heavy bass line, the notes running down her spine like the delicate touch of a lover's fingers. She exhales softly, slowly, closing her eyes as she allows Hitsugaya's talent to wash over her in waves. The slightest stirring of cymbals from Ichigo's direction serves as a gentle nudge and reminder that her part is coming soon. She steels herself for the plunge into their foreign music and opens her eyes with renewed determination, the fear and anxiety receding back into the shadows of her mind.
"She tells you she's just fine,
Living in her own dream—
Life's just so sublime.
Like a Shakespeare play scene."
She hesitates over the last line of the stanza, remembering a story of Romeo and Juliet and the love that never really was. But everyone is looking at her, sheets and sheets of music already perfectly memorized. She wonders if she's an anomaly in their little group, an outlier in a beautifully drawn graph. She wonders if they are jeering at her inside their heads or if they're just indifferent. She doesn't bother to even consider the possibility of them praising her. But she's singing, not them, and she tells herself that in the end—in the end, their opinions won't matter at all.
"There, there, she whispers in your ear,
Quietly by your side in the darkness of the night.
There, there, she says for you to hear,
The world outside is good and pure and light."
It's a mellow piece, Matsumoto can tell, the last traces of a sunny smile fading from her lips. She wonders who wrote the lyrics and for what reason, because the motley bunch of punk guys writing words like that surprises her. Their faces don't give the answer away, brows furrowed and gazes intense as they each duly carry out their part. She can tell that they love music and that in turn, music has blessed them with skill and talent. She can see it in the way Shuuhei's agile fingers dance on the fingerboard and in the practiced ease of Ichigo's hands as he handles beat after beat. They are all good, made better by being together for so long. But, she thinks, Rukia is what will make them shine. Her friend is unconsciously moving to the rhythm, nightingale voice rising about the instruments and just as easily blending back in. It must be instinct, Matsumoto muses to herself, instinct or fate.
"What it is you've always wanted to say,
Breaking the bonds to try and speak.
Dreams like that don't last a day,
When it's reality you really seek."
She dips flat on the last note of the second line, but rallies herself inside to hold the last note for the indicated twenty seconds. It's a struggle, she's never had to keep a note so strong for so long, but she manages it and barely remembers to make it wither away in the air as the guitar solo cuts through. She hasn't stopped shaking, she realizes, hands clammy and the paper slightly damp from where she's gripped it too tight. She's not sure why she's so nervous, but she supposes it has something to do with being in an alien setting singing not for enjoyment, but to pass a test. She's not sure what they're judging her on, but she's sure that their criteria can't be easy to pass. They're dedicated and a no-nonsense group when the last moment comes and she can understand, for music is demanding and fickle. Those who don't work hard enough don't last long and those who don't have the gift for it, languish in an unsuccessful career. She wonders if she'll fall in either of those two categories in the end. A part of her fervently prays she doesn't.
"There, there, she lies to you
As you sit so idly by.
There, there, she comforts—to soothe,
Even as you quietly cry."
She made the song come to life, Hitsugaya knows. They molded the Frankenstein, gathered the various parts and assembled them together, but Rukia was the one to give the monster a heart. He wonders morbidly if she's ready to accept the responsibility for it because surely with her voice, they will be accepted into a recording label. He wonders if she will be able to deal with the pressures of being the only female singer in an otherwise all-male band, if she will be able to handle being the poster girl of the group when push comes to shove. He promises that he will help her every step of the way, though he's not quite sure why.
"You have a voice to die for," Hisagi breaks the awed silence with his own comment. She turns, giving a brittle smile (and the bassist can't help but wonder what caused her to be so jaded, so untrusting) before dipping her head in acknowledgment of his admiration. Ichigo quickly follows suit with his own fair share of praise with Renji practically tripping over himself to add his own rejoicing words to the overflowing bowl of optimism. She finally turns away from them to lock gazes with him and he gives a reluctant half smile, half scowl.
"You were flat for a couple notes and you didn't catch the rhythm quite right halfway through when the quarter beats changed to running eighths." He ignores the angry glares of his fellow male band mates and opts to watch her tilt her head in curiosity at his harsh words. He holds out his hand for her nonetheless, turning away so she won't see the barest hint of a blush coloring his face. "But you were good, better than anyone else I've heard so far."
When she smiles, truly smiles, he thinks that she is breathtakingly beautiful.
She reaches out for his hand with one of her own, amazed at how his seems to cover hers completely. "Thanks," she says and is grateful for the fact that he doesn't exaggerate her abilities.
Long after she's gone, Hitsugaya can still remember the warmth of her hand in his.
Author's Note: I was definitely not expecting this chapter to be this long. I was aiming for a nice 2,000 word chapter and instead, you guys get around a 5,000 word chapter. Before any of you guys think that Grimmjow was only useful for that one bar fight scene, think again. He's going to be pretty key to the plot later on. There will be some one-sided Ichigo/Rukia and Renji/Rukia to twist up the conventional storyline later as well. Byakuya will make an appearance either next chapter of the chapter after that. I dropped a couple really heavy hints of foreshadowing about Rukia. Kudos to any readers that have already figured out what her little secret is.
I'll be honest though, just a couple days ago, I was complaining to a friend of mine about how boring the stereotypical struggling-band-gets-famous storyline was and she suggested that instead of dropping this story (which I was considering) that I put a spin on it. I have somehow managed to figure out a way to do just that and so for everyone out there who thinks this is going to be a predictable plot, think again. I'm grateful for the sheer amount of reviews I received just for chapter one (twelve! Wow!) and hope that you continue to stick to this story and drop a comment to let me know what you think. I'll be interested in seeing what everyone thinks will be Rukia's secret. The third chapter will probably come out only after I've updated six other stories, so don't think it'll be this week or next week for that matter. Sorry!
Blackbelt: Thank you for recruiting me to the HitsuRuki army! Also, I would not mind at all if you added this to the HitsuRuki C2.
Sneak Preview and Summary of Chapter ThreeSummary: In which the band manages to snag a recording contract…for a price. For every action, there must be a consequence.
"She looks really sick, are you sure we should be doing this?" The words are so Ichigo that it almost makes her want to shrink further into herself. She doesn't though, remaining lackluster and curled up on the wooden floor backstage. From here at least, the crowd's anxiety and anticipation is muted. From here at least, she can pretend that it's just any other performance.
"She'll be fine."
No, she wants to say. No, she's not fine…and she never will be.