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Here goes...

By the time Ichigo felt human enough to crawl out of his bed, it was already late evening on Sunday - more than twenty four hours since his mysterious return to the dormitory. And by Monday morning, he felt well enough to actually step outside into the sunlight. It was truly the worst case of hangover that he'd ever had, and hopefully the last of its kind.

He had a full week ahead of him before orientation day, but he wanted to take the time to explore the campus, and who better to show him around if not Starrk? Starrk - his idiot roommate who disappeared on him on Friday night, but also the one who brought him essentials like water and food to keep him hydrated and alive throughout his ordeal. So, yes, the older male had redeemed himself in Ichigo's eyes.

"This here is the student centre," Starrk drawled, pointing to an impressive, two-story red brick building as they walked past it. "There are some fast food outlets here, a computer lab, the book store, computer store, blah blah blah."

Ichigo threw him a dirty look at the last part of his commentary, but there was no real heat in his eyes - his attention was on the sheer size of the building. He could tell that the building was old, but like the rest of the university, it was well maintained and gave off an air of elegance and wisdom. Just looking at the place made Ichigo feel more intelligent already.

Starrk crossed his arms over his chest and watched his younger roommate in amusement. If Ichigo was a character in a cartoon, this would be where the animators made his jaw drop to the floor and drool all over himself. Starrk remembered his own first impression of the campus many years ago and shook his head - it was so easy to be awed when one was young. He had long gotten over it; seven long years in the same place tend to have that kind of effect on someone.

Feeling a little bored, Starrk yawned, earning a look of exasperation from his roommate.

"Do you want coffee?" Ichigo asked. "My treat."

Starrk perked up at the mention of something free, a common trait of poor graduate students. Coffee didn't work on him, but he nodded anyway.

The two of them went through the giant circular door and stepped into the perfectly air-conditioned building. Ichigo immediately saw the neon signs boasting Subway, Burger King, Pizza Hut, and…lo and behold, the ever-present Starbucks. He turned his head to ask Starrk what he wanted, but much to his chagrin, the man had walked away on his own again with his cellphone glued to his ear. Ichigo rolled his eyes and stalked off.

When it was his turn, Ichigo stepped up to the counter and said politely, "Two orders of vanilla latte please." The barista gave him a curt nod and turned around to pass the order to a co-worker. Meanwhile, Ichigo pulled out his wallet and was just sorting through the confusing assortment of coins when a voice piped up.

"I see you're feeling better."

Startled, Ichigo dropped his coins. The person who spoke to him - an Asian man with tanned skin and a bright red ponytail - bent down and picked them up for him. Ichigo gave him a grateful smile and pushed a messy pile of cash to the barista before turning back to the stranger. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked in English, hoping that he wouldn't come off sounding rude.

The redhead's smile widened into a mischievous grin. "You really don't remember me?"

Ichigo absent-mindedly accepted his receipt and stepped away from the counter. He scratched the back of his head - a longtime habit of his - and struggled to connect the face to his memory bank. He squinted at the stranger again, who spread his hands and twirled around like a fashion model. Ichigo caught a glimpse of tattoos and -

Tattoos.

There was something about those tattoos - he seen them before…but where? Ichigo tapped on his forehead as if that would trigger his memory; something was naggingly familiar with this person, but for the life of him, he just couldn't put his finger on it. Was it someone he met at the dorm? One of Starrk's friends? Someone he met at the registration office?

"Woah, kid, guess you were more trashed than I thought," the stranger said. There was an odd glint in his eyes - it reminded Ichigo of a six-year-old who'd pulled a prank and was just itching for someone to discover it.

Then the man's words clicked, and Ichigo's eyes widened. "Did I meet you on Friday night?" he asked. This must be it! Maybe this man was someone he met at the bar, but he was too drunk to remember him.

Instead of replying, the stranger simply laughed. Ichigo opened his mouth to ask again, but the barista chose that very moment to yell out his order. He turned his head to acknowledge the barista; by the time he turned back again, the red-haired man was gone.

That night, as Ichigo tossed and turned and cursed at Starbucks caffeine, his mind wandered back to the mysterious redhead he'd met at the student centre. When he finally found Starrk, he'd asked Starrk about the man, thinking that perhaps it was one of Starrk's friends, but his roommate had shrugged and said that he didn't know anyone with red hair.

"Green, silver, blue, yellow - you name it, I know it," Starrk had said rather unhelpfully. "But red? Never seen one."

The more he thought about it, the more certain Ichigo felt that he'd seen the man before. This feeling - that the memory was just beyond his grasp yet knowing was right there - grated on Ichigo's nerves, and he found himself getting angry. The man had laughed at him, so he obviously knew Ichigo and was amused that Ichigo didn't know him. Why did some people have to be so annoying? He could've just told him what he knew, but no - he'd just waltzed away while Ichigo wasn't paying attention. Just wonderful; another Starrk in the making.

Eventually, Ichigo's eyelid began to droop, but he was still thinking about that face - the tattoos on the high forehead, the blood-like, crimson hair, the narrow russet eyes, that voice…those hands, all over his body. There was something warm and wet on him, something soft; it felt good, so, so good that he just wanted to melt into the mattress. There was another voice - a soft, deep voice of a man, hushing him and whispering murmured words into his ear. He couldn't make out the words, he was confused now; where was he?

Then, those images faded away and all that was left was blissful darkness.

With one last shuddering moan, Renji rolled off of Shuuhei's body and collapsed onto his back, his skin damp with sweat. The sound of their ragged breathing seemed to make the silence in the room all of the more acute, and Renji was about to comment on it when Shuuhei suddenly laughed softly.

"What's so funny?" Renji asked, feeling like he'd missed out on a joke.

Shuuhei chuckled for a few more seconds, then he sighed. "Is it weird that I can't stop thinking about that kid?"

"That orange-haired kid? Ichigo?" Renji asked in amusement. "Oh yeah, did I tell you that he doesn't remember anything?"

"Seriously?" Shuuhei propped himself up on his elbows. His mouth twitched, betraying his failing effort at containing his laughter. "Wait, his name is Ichigo?"

Renji arched an eyebrow. "I thought I said his name."

The older man rolled his eyes. "Do you honestly think I paid attention to what you were saying at the time?"

Renji scoffed. "Whatever," he muttered. "So...what, you've fallen in love now or something?"

"No," Shuuhei replied, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. "He was a good fuck."

"Pfft, he's alright." Renji laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. The ceiling was boring, his room was boring. Hell, he was bored. Maybe Shuuhei was too, otherwise why would he mull over some snot-nosed kid who looked like he was barely old enough to drink? Granted, Ichigo was cute - hot, even, when he was all flushed and panting and moaning and needy - but after having to dress him up afterwards and drop him off at a dorm like a fucking babysitter, Renji wasn't so sure he wanted anything to do with him again.

Shuuhei obviously wanted to, though. "I'm serious," he said. He reached over and ran his fingers through Renji's bed-tossed hair, slowly untangling the knots that had formed when his ponytail became undone.

Renji made a non-commital noise. He knew what Shuuhei was getting at - he wanted Renji to find Ichigo and fix something up. Renji couldn't imagine how he'd go about it. The boy didn't even remember him, and he didn't look like the kind who would consent to this kind of arrangement when he was sober.

Sure enough, Shuuhei started to tug on his hair, trying to get his attention. "C'mon, Ren. It should be easy for you to find him. You know where he lives."

"Yeah, I know 'cause you left me to drag his sorry ass home alone, asshole!" Renji grumbled and smacked Shuuhei's hand away.

Shuuhei laughed, and Renji immediately knew he was screwed. Shuuhei had used that laugh - the throaty, sultry kind that he used only when he was in a seductive mood. It always worked on Renji; his bones just dissolved whenever he heard that sound. And now Shuuhei had moved over and straddled Renji's hips, his hands caressing and kneading Renji's shoulders. The friction, the touches - Renji groaned. He was dead tired, but he couldn't help getting aroused again. Fuck, that evil bastard had skills that could make a lump of whip cream hard.

"Come on, Ren," Shuuhei breathed against Renji's cheek. "We'll share. You can go first this time. Show me what you can do. I wanna see you do him the way you do me. I want to hear him scream your name when he-"

"Alright alright!" Renji caved, his air of indifference shattered. "I'll...figure something out, happy?"

Shuuhei grinned, then he stuck his tongue out and slowly licked his lips, wetting them until they shone under the light. Renji blew out a shaky breath as he watched Shuuhei slide his own fingers into his mouth and suck on them, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Renji's. The bed dipped as Shuuhei reared up on his knees and lowered himself on Renji. Then, he leaned forward and traced his tongue along Renji's ear.

"Yeah, you do that."

Things were always easier said than done, and Renji was feeling it now. It had been two weeks since he agreed to "figure something out" about the situation with Kurosaki Ichigo, and he still had no idea how to approach it.

Maybe he could just walk up to the kid and try to be friendly, then casually invite him out for a drink and then - Gah, that was too forward, he'd just come off as a creep and make Ichigo freak out.

Or he could try to find out more about Ichigo, slowly weasel his way into his social circle and build up some kind of trust and friendship. But this would take time - a lot of it - and Renji didn't think Shuuhei could wait that long.

Or, he could arrange some sort of meeting between Shuuhei and Ichigo and let Shuuhei do the dirty work himself.

Whichever option it was, it all boiled down to one problem - Renji had no good reason to approach the kid. They had different majors, took different classes; there was just no "natural" way to meet Ichigo without coming off as a weirdo, especially since he'd already sort of established that "weird, mysterious stranger" impression by going up to Ichigo at Starbucks.

Renji hesitated. Perhaps...perhaps he could use that to his advantage. He had the upper hand here: Ichigo wanted to know what happened on Friday night, and Renji had the information. Maybe he could use that as bait to approach the kid, arouse his interest, lure him out. He still had no idea how to breach that subject, though, but he could think about that later. First things first, he needed some way to get near Ichigo.

He was still pondering when he should put his plan into action when he unintentionally hit the jackpot. That was how things usually worked, wasn't it? Things tend to happen when you least expect it.

Later that week, Renji was minding his own business, chatting casually with the bartender at The Academy when he just so happened to sweep his eyes across the room. Just checking out the scenery, see if there were any easy picks that night. He was feeling antsy, restless, but he didn't feel like contacting Shuuhei because he didn't want to be nagged. The guy had already called him twice about Ichigo, Renji could use some peace and quiet now.

Then his eyes caught a flash of orange. He squinted - Ichigo was standing near the wall on the far side of the room. He wasn't alone, though. It looked like he was there with about a handful of friends.

Renji couldn't stop staring. How could he? The kid was wearing a grey long-sleeved collared shirt that fit him perfectly, highlighting his angular shoulders and slim torso. His dark-colored jeans sat low on his hips in a tasteful, fashionable way. His look was low-key - put-together yet subtle, he didn't look like he'd tried too hard to look like this. Somehow this outfit made him look more mature - in a good way, not at all like the vulnerable kid that he'd looked like the first time Renji met him. He didn't look cute now, he looked downright hot.

Ichigo shifted his weight as he tried to look comfortable amongst Starrk's friends. He was finding it a challenge. He didn't fit in at all. There was this blond-haired, tough-looking chick who had curves that Ichigo'd had only ever seen on magazine covers before; and then there was this emo-looking guy with complexion so pale that made him look perpetually sick. There were two other men - one with silver hair and had slits for eyes, while the other had the most attention-grabbing electric blue hair that Ichigo had ever seen. And there was Starrk, of course.

They were much older than Ichigo, and they talked about things that Ichigo didn't care about. Things like car racing, football games, booze, women. But Ichigo wanted to be polite, so he stood there and tried to look like he was participating by nodding and smiling at the appropriate moments. The music at the nightclub was just as bad as he remembered it, the air still as thick with the combination of sweat and alcohol.

He'd begun to remember more about that Friday night. About how he had gotten separated from Starrk, how he'd ended up going to the bar alone. He even remembered the redhead now. He'd met him at the bar, spoken to him in Japanese. He went to the same university. He was older, from a big city in Japan.

What he still couldn't remember, though, was what happened after that. He could barely recall the content of their conversation; just little snippets here and there. He was beginning to think that the redhead was the one who dropped him back at the dorm. He should thank the guy, then, but he hadn't seen him since that one time at the student centre. There were no clues that he could use to find him except for his appearance. He couldn't imagine going around asking people, "Have you seen a guy with long red hair? Has tattoos on his forehead, tall, pretty buff..."

The thought made him laugh inside, and that was when he caught the unmistakable head of red hair across the room. There, at the bar, was the very man he'd just been thinking about. He was staring right at him, too, with a smirk on his face and a glass of margarita in his right hand. Ichigo blinked and looked around, unsure if the guy was really looking at him. His doubts evaporated when the redhead raised his glass in the air and grinned.

"Hey, guys," Ichigo said, suddenly excited. "I'm going to head to the bar for a bit, okay? Can you call my cell when you guys are leaving?"

His only response was a dismissive wave from Starrk. Ichigo rolled his eyes and walked off, heading straight for the mysterious stranger, who was still looking at him with a smile.

To be continued...