A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with me after all this time and leaving me comments—it always gives me that bit of energy to continue on, knowing that you are enjoying this story :) My hard disk crashed a while back and with it the notes and half-drafts I had written over the years were gone. That's really poor storage (not having adequate backups) and with it, the motivation to complete the story evaporated again. But if BLEACH could return at long last with the anime adaptation of TYBW, surely I could do something too. So here we go again in this indulgent little story~

Disclaimer: BLEACH and its characters belong to Kubo Tite. I'm so happy that the anime is back and that Kubo is getting the chance this time to re-create the ending he has envisioned.

Chapter 32 - As For Him

News of Ichigo sighted near Orihime's apartment and having likely stayed the night on Christmas eve began to spread like wildfire. They were a known couple of sorts, accompanying each other on the red carpet at times, mostly discreet and private about their relationship. Although they were photographed together on the low down a couple of times, and then a couple more times walking down the red carpet under the pretext of their close friendship, they never publicly confirmed that they were dating, generating enough publicity to keep people guessing and their names in the news and their management happy. Now, this was something else altogether. It was a first for both of them, and firsts meant a lot in their world.

The news also reached Ulquiorra in no time. He was still in Japan after all, in snowy Hokkaido where time seemed to crawl. He didn't mind the leisurely pace of life, but somehow, despite his efforts to not think about his upcoming dinner at the Kurosakis, he wished it would come soon. He did many things to make the time pass faster. When he ran out of books to read, errands to run for his mother, and tracking investments he made on the side, he turned to the last resort—TV. Restlessly switching channels on evenings after dinner, he caught snippets of the hotshot celebrity couple and their latest shenanigans: seen out and about holding hands during the festive season. Lots of laughter and smiles from the two at dinner. A Christmas eve spent together in Orihime's posh apartment not too far from his own Roppongi Hills home. Everything pointed to how Kurosaki Ichigo and Inoue Orihime were becoming more intimate with each other. Clearly both of them were super serious about each other. Perhaps a public announcement was due soon, which meant that things would be made official and that all along, they were dating with marriage in mind. In other words, the usual tripe hashed and rehashed for maximum exposure, baseless spiel spun by tabloids ravenous for more eyeballs.

Ulquiorra knew these. He knew them only too well, having been the target of tabloids several times throughout his relatively short but illustrious career; the many tricks and untruths crafting a public image worlds apart from who someone truly was. Yet like a motorist driving by the site of a car crash, he couldn't tear his eyes away from what he saw. Each of those tabloid outlets latched onto the same tale: Ichigo and Orihime were now a totally legit, full-blown couple. A press conference would be held soon and a wedding announcement to be confirmed shortly after. This was how it went in the local entertainment circle. All those clandestine dinner dates since two years ago and are-they-or-are-they-not appearances at the red carpet together had morphed into a serious, undeniable relationship in the face of the public.

Surely we must wish them well!

For some reason, the more he processed the information, the more he felt none of it was real. Was there something he had missed? But he had seen Ichigo and Orihime together and it certainly looked genuine. The way their fingers interlaced together as they held hands together in the car park. The way they smiled at each other while trying to keep their faces hidden. The shine in Ichigo's hazel eyes, solely directed at her. That was real—that had to be. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, trying to alienate him from the truth.

But if that truly was the case, why was he asked to join the Kurosakis at their New Year eve's dinner?

Was Inoue Orihime going to be there too? Or was she not invited because of him? Was that even plausible?

Who was he even to the younger actor?

More importantly—what version of the truth did he want?

Ulquiorra rubbed his temples, his head starting to ache. He should have considered all these factors before blindly agreeing to the invite. He should have asked why. He even initiated the invite before the younger actor asked. If it were a simple dinner, any other day in the year would do. As if he were going to say no.

Frustrated, he changed into his winter clothes, slapped on a mask to conceal his face and got into his car. He needed to get out of this never ending mental spiral. Fresh mountain air would do him good. He could go high up where the air was thin so he wouldn't waste his oxygen on these dumb thoughts. He had another couple of errands to run before returning to Tokyo. With the snow sweeping down in increasing volume, he took the highway to Mt. Yotei, turning up the radio as it played a soft medley of yesteryear hits to warm up a cold morning, the grey sky stretching endlessly into the sea.

Ichigo sat incognito in a nondescript coffee shop in Ueno. The shop nestled on the second level of the neighbourhood shopping arcade, overlooking the pedestrian crossing near the train station where holiday shoppers thronged the busy streets. It was one of Ichigo's favorite places whenever he felt like taking a quick timeout. A light drizzle began to fall and umbrellas popped open to form a sea of colors.

He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the pedestrian crossing as the rain continued to fall in fine streaks against the window. Next to the scenic photos of wintry Hakodate sent by Ulquiorra, his picture of Ueno seemed mundane and almost bland in comparison. But this is good. Ichigo smiled to himself. He put down his phone and took a long sip of his flat white, feeling a semblance of calm as he basked in the late afternoon glow. Light chatter rose among the patrons while barista machines hummed steadily along in the background. He scrolled through the photos in his phone again, the loud thuds of his heartbeat lost among the soft, forgettable buzz. I really must get him to show me around Hakodate sometime.

"You going to Hakodate? With who?"

So much so that he nearly forgot Abarai Renji was sitting across the table from him, scrutinizing his every expression with religious fervour.

"Did I say something?"

"Yeah. It's creepy." Renji continued to stare at his childhood friend. "Hakodate is a very specific location." He gestured with his finger drawing two lines in the air for emphasis. "So who's joining you?"

Ichigo knew what Renji was trying to do. But as he said, he was feeling pretty jolly. New Year's eve was three days away. He had finished planning the dinner. The so-called parking lot scandal was overshadowed by some popular boyband idols caught in a nightclub with half-naked girls on their laps. And Ulquiorra had agreed to help purchase the highly sought after New Year's osechi set from Otaru. Well, he didn't say no when Ichigo texted him. Very nicely too, if Ichigo could add. What were the chances of all these realities happening at the same time? Surely luck was turning in his favor, and it was incredibly rich to relish, like the aromatic coffee he just tasted.

"I recently read about it in a guidebook and remembered that I haven't been there yet." Ichigo reached over the table and stuffed a small piece of toast into his friend's mouth. "Here, eat this and be happy."

The redhead sighed and chewed on the toast, all the while watching Ichigo continue to fiddle with his phone, as though waiting for a text. He knew something was up, but he knew more than anyone how stunningly obstinate the carrot top could be, especially when it came to matters dear to him. But Renji refused to give up. This was something serious, and the more Ichigo kept mum about it, the greater his need to find out. He could even lend a hand if that was what Ichigo wanted. All the actor needed to do was bloody tell him the truth! Renji knew he probably was a quarter into it. His senses told him so. The signs were there, flashing in the corner of his eye.

"The arrangement with Inoue," Ichigo began. "Are there any problems if we end it earlier?"

Renji wiped at his mouth with the napkin. "Why are you bringing this up suddenly? Isn't it only due late next year?"

"Inoue suggested to terminate it sooner. I guess she felt bad about the recent shitstorm, but I told her we'll see how it goes."

"You are the guy in the relationship. What do you think?"

Ichigo couldn't deny that the faux relationship was largely successful with a win-win outcome for both parties. Without openly declaring that they were dating, they managed to elevate media interest over the last two years, sidestep persistent adoration from others, and made good use of the limelight to leapfrog to where they were now. Both of them were young, good-looking and likeable. But now it was getting too much. The public had expectations, ones that Ichigo would never be able to meet. Such an useful tool surely had a shelf life. If this dragged on further, someone could get hurt. The recent incident was a timely reminder on how fast the tables turned on you once the facade started to crack.

"Maybe she's right. We should let this die a natural death once the time comes." Ichigo added a sugar to his coffee and stirred. "It will suck if this shit is in the way of Inoue and a proper relationship."

"Is that really what she wants?"

Ichigo paused. "What do you mean?"

"You really don't know anything? After all this time spent with her?"

"Am I missing something?"

"She's a nice girl, yes? Inoue, I mean."

"Of course I know you are talking about Inoue. I'm not dumb."

"And do you know how she sees you?"

"We are friends. Pretty good friends, I'd say."

Renji leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You are a special kind of daft, so it doesn't really matter. Anyways, why are you two talking about the arrangement all of a sudden? Are you afraid that someone might have the wrong idea?"

"Who?"

The redhead swore right there and then that he would choke the hell out of the actor if they weren't in public. "You're driving me crazy. You obviously know who."

He watched with great pleasure as Ichigo fell quiet and continued to stir his coffee, the contents threatening to slosh out at any moment. The sugar cubes he put in had long dissolved but he was still stirring away. For some reason, the actor had been stirring his drink non-stop and it pissed Renji off. Renji didn't know why, but everything about his childhood friend made him increasingly mad. What the hell was he hiding? Ichigo's long pause gave him ammunition. With this, Renji would latch onto his fallen comrade and wring out every last piece of truth from him.

"It's so obvious you're hypersensitive when it comes to him. Don't you realize how fast you react whenever his name is mentioned? I swear you snap at me faster than the speed of light!" Renji paused, watching in amusement at how his friend was again, very predictably transforming into a literal strawberry right before him. "You know what it looks like?"

He looked at Ichigo, who avoided all eye contact with him. The stirring finally stopped and the teaspoon fell by the side of the cup with a quiet clang.

"You have an immense imagination, I'll give you that."

"Weren't you guys pretending to hate each other so no one knows you like each other? When did it start? Was it that day at the press conference when you both were so obviously in your world, to the point where you very delightfully veered off your script for the first time in your career and showed everyone what an irritatingly hot-headed guy you are? Someone who joyously traded barbs back and forth with his co-star, who is known for barely saying anything in public?"

"I was only defending myself!"

"You were having fun that night, trading those shitty one-liners with your beloved co-star. You were pissed to the high heavens, but admit it, if you could, you'd have kept going until one of you collapsed from a mental breakdown at 999 words or something. You were on fire, man. Probably the first time I see you come alive at a press conference, or any media outing. Usually you're just standing there, your face scrunched up like a dried up prune and you'd be saying some standard shit, sticking to the script, being the Kurosaki Ichigo that the agency wants you to be. But that night, you were totally having a blast."

Ichigo gave Renji an incredulous stare but before he could hurl back a retort, his phone began buzzing nonstop on the table. The caller's name lit up on the screen.

Ulquiorra Schiffer.

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut in shame. There was no way in hell he could look at Renji now. With an inaudible gulp he answered the call. He turned to the side and covered his face with his hand. He even coughed a little to hide his embarrassment.

"Wrong number."

Ulquiorra's cool-as-ever voice came in from the other end of the line. "Hello."

"Please leave a message after the beep tone—"

"In case you forgot, you asked for something and I'm now queueing for it."

Ichigo dropped his act at once and instantly neglected Renji's presence before him. "Eh? Really?" He could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

"The osechi set you wanted is sold out. Do you want to replace it with another?"

The younger actor took a deep breath and mentally ran through the available options that Karin and Yuzu shared with him two weeks ago. Nothing came to mind. A strange sensation rose from the bottom of his gut, sending tingles throughout his body. His heartbeat raced to the quickening thump of drums, and the tingles pulsated from his gut and into the furthest reaches of his body. He felt them rush from toe to finger to his head within fractions of seconds, zapping furiously under his skin, the convoluted paths they made traced by a trail of goosebumps. Ichigo wished he was at home, so he could hide under his blanket and quite possibly, roll around to get rid of the tingles.

"There are two more persons in front of me. Hurry up or I will be asked to go to the back of the line. I will leave empty-handed if that's the case."

Renji watched in bemusement as his friend suddenly flinch in his seat after staying as still as a statue for an eternity. The annoyance bugging Renji had by now dissipated and he tried his best not to laugh. It went unnoticed by Ichigo, who panicked for a second before blurting out, "Wait! How about one of each of the remaining sets?"

He heard Ulquiorra repeating the order to the shop staff, finally relaxing in his seat when an affirmative shout resounded over the phone.

"You pulled through for me. I'm so touched."

"It's for your family, not you."

"Aren't I part of my family?"

"The undesirable part of it."

"You—" Ichigo breathed. "I'll have you know just how desirable—" The words stopped rolling off his tongue as he locked eyes with Renji. He didn't like how the smile was widening on the redhead's face. He cleared his throat and attempted to change the topic.

"Let me know how much to pay you."

"I said, it's for your family."

"You mean I should have asked you to buy one of every available set since I don't have to pay a cent?"

Ichigo could hear wind rustling in the earpiece—he imagined how cold and windy it was over there—and then the motor whir of a car engine starting, before Ulquiorra spoke. "Too late. I already left."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, drive safe. It has been snowing crazily over there."

"I will."

Ichigo covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "I wasn't expecting you to do it actually. So yeah, thanks."

"Sure."

"And um…"

"What is it?"

Ichigo's voice dropped a touch softer. "See you soon."

A moment's silence followed. "See you."

The line went dead and immediately Ichigo recognized the peril he was in. Slowly, he raised his head and eked out the most nonchalant look he could muster. Renji's expressive brows knitted into the tightest of knots as he made clear that he had heard every single word of their conversation.

"That's one hell of a call for a wrong number."

"It happens."

"So very often, I guess?"

"Nah. I'm just as surprised as you are."

The redhead gave his friend a long, hard stare. "I swear I'll outlive you, my cute strawberry friend. Because I'm sure as hell gonna inscribe this on your tombstone after you die: Herein lies a deceitful bastard."

Ichigo knew he had completely sunk the boat he was on, so all he could pray for now was to die a quick death. Renji leaped from his seat and dove right next to his friend. Draping an arm around the actor's shoulder, he leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.

"Spill it. Every. Single. Shit."

It took a moment before the actor stirred back to life. And then there it was—that hot flush creeping across Ichigo's face, threatening to give everything away. Since he was going to be dead anyway, he might as well roll over and make things less difficult for everyone. So he did, at long last, to his most trusted friend of ten years and counting. After several deep exhalations that did absolutely nothing to clear his mind, he began ticking off the items as though reading off a grocery list.

"Wait a minute. By help, you mean "help" for the movie?" Renji was piecing together parts of the puzzle together at lightning speed. "That means you spent the majority of the filming break with him?"

Ichigo nodded numbly.

"Go on."

"I met his mom too."

Renji's jaw visibly dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was at his place and well, his mom popped by for a visit."

"Oh god."

"That's the whole truth. It doesn't mean anything. I mean, we are obviously colleagues—"

"Stop it. My head is spinning," Renji interjected.

"You said you wanted the truth!"

"And that shit ass blind item about you two leaving the motel—"

"No thanks to you—"

"—so it's true?"

"That was all because—"

"Sweet Jesus." Renji's breath shuddered with every revelation. He sank back in his chair, eyes rolling to the back of his head. "Just end me already."

"It's not what you think it is!" Ichigo insisted, his voice rising, sending a few heads turned his way. He turned his face towards the window to avoid being recognized. The last thing he needed now was have someone spill the beans on what they just heard. He would never live to see the end of it. And Ulquiorra—he didn't need to be implicated either.

"Let's put it this way. If I were your wife, I would totally pin you down as having an affair and divorce you and bankrupt you with a hefty alimony."

Ichigo took a huge gulp of his coffee and once again added another sugar cube. He didn't like sugar in his coffee but he needed an excuse to do something, to move his hand and divert all his energy to the action of stirring his coffee. He whipped the teaspoon faster and faster until the contents swooshed threateningly against the brim. He could feel the tingles returning, his heartbeat thumping hard in his ears, drowning out his sensibility and the calmness he needed to collect his thoughts and seek refuge under a safe answer. Safe yes, but was it the correct one? No matter what it might be, what he needed most was stability and safety. No more of that paparazzi and subterfuge crap to endure, just a reasonable path to hone a mastery of acting. Anything else was just distraction and should not matter.

"Then let's make it clear and simple. You like him, don't you? Well, I think you certainly like him enough to lie that you aren't into him."

It was a while before Ichigo spoke. "What I said from last week hasn't changed. My goal right now is to focus on my career. Can we drop this already?"

"That's because you kept avoiding the topic. Honestly, if you told me that you guys buried the hatchet and became chummy co-workers, I would have bought it. But you are so insistent on denying everything that the opposite must be true. What's so difficult about admitting that you are friends with him?"

"Because we aren't?"

"Or could it be that you don't want to be just friends?"

The actor swallowed. All he needed was to shut Renji down, and by doing so, destroy whatever burst of unease that kept threatening to engulf him. The hint of a possibility was too much for Ichigo to truly understand. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. As if by doing so, he would render everything that had happened between them into nothing.

Ichigo stood up and began to pack the used dining ware onto the tray for self-return.

"Trying to escape again?" Renji tapped the table.

"It's already late. I have some errands to run."

"I've done so much to cover your crap and I'm not asking for anything, I swear. But as your best friend, there's nothing I wish more for your happiness," Renji said. "Be honest with yourself. It's the least you can do."

Ichigo piled a basket onto the shopping trolley and pushed it down the supermarket aisle. He tugged at his hoodie and pulled it up to cover a good part of his face. Although the supermarket was mostly empty bar a few housewives shopping on weekday afternoons, he still needed to be careful. He had grown cautious and slightly more suspicious of his surroundings since he shot to stardom three years ago. Ichigo had first rejected the idea of him making grocery runs in a semi-incognito mode. Why must he, when it was a place he had visited almost daily with his family since he was a child? And then a photo of him at his favorite Kanagawa cafe, ten minutes by car from his home, was snapped and sent to the tabloids. Since then, Ichigo would wear a mask wherever he went. He was determined to have it both ways—to protect his family's privacy and still succeed in the entertainment industry. He was on the verge of grasping true success; to be recognized as a proper actor in a proper movie, with truly established actors. He wanted to be regarded as a serious actor. He was making good progress and the only reason he could go all out was because he had nothing else to worry about. He knew very well what other people thought of him and he didn't care for it. But he did, for some reason unknown to himself, care very much about what his co-star thought of him. An answer he was still waiting for.

Ambling down the aisles absentmindedly in a place he grew up visiting gave Ichigo a much needed reprieve after those exhausting chats with Orihime and Renji. All his sore spots had been punched repeatedly by the redhead and he could only look away, half-hoping that it wasn't a shameful admission of guilt.

Or could it be that you don't want to be just friends?

Was there truth to what Renji said?

People fall in love unexpectedly all the time, but it doesn't mean that they have misplaced their feelings.

How about Inoue's words, so gentle that they could't stop echoing in his mind in every spare moment he had.

Why did it had to be now—barely a week before he was to see Ulquiorra again? Finally he felt that the raven was gradually warming up to him, but it was a delicate balance, one that could easily tip back to where it began if he wasn't careful.

Once more, his mind travelled back to that night in Ulquiorra's home, where he nursed Ulquiorra's bandaged palm in his hand. How Ulquiorra had unexpectedly leaned forward to kiss him—no, it was more of a chaste brush of their lips together—and how Ichigo had backed away at once and made a beeline to the door, making some lame excuse about needing to rush home and left Ulquiorra alone in the kitchen, his lips still slightly parted, his usually stoic look clouding over with something indescribable.

Ichigo had long dismissed it as a mistake. After all, Ulquiorra refused to acknowledge any of Ichigo's attempts at addressing the episode. Ichigo wrote it off as the raven being not fully conscious after cutting his palm on the broken plate. Would he have done the same with another in his exact place, at that exact time? Who knew—the older actor remained a mystery to him. He thought how it was a miracle how none of their practices in the privacy of the raven's home became anything more.

Looking back, they were easily a recipe for disaster, and to be honest, other than wanting to perfect the level of intimacy they ought to share on the screen, he had nothing else on his mind. The only time Ulquiorra touched his body was when they tried measuring the level of comfort with each other's bare torsos, and then that was that. Even so, his touch was cold and methodical, like that of a surgeon wielding a scalpel and placing it precisely on the exact spot he needed to cut into. Nothing more. Whenever they tried out the more heated scenes, Ulquiorra's hands were always planted on either side of Ichigo. Even if Ichigo were to feel the slightest bit of anticipation from the kiss, a stern look from the demanding actor killed off any bump in his pulse.

Not to mention Ulquiorra's penchant for assessing each attempt, reciting the exact line from the novel and filling the required emotions into the sparse script they had. Perhaps the raven was really asexual as rumored. But if he really was, how was he able to channel the lack of innate desire into the scintillating embrace he had Ichigo in while filming their last lovemaking scene? Even his touches felt different—hotter than usual, more direct, more urgent, as if he had a point to prove? Yes the scene called for it, and Ichigo had expected the intensity to rise. Then why did this memory linger in his head, along with all the fragments of their time together, seeping into his constant dreams at night? He didn't know what answer he was expecting from Ulquiorra that day at the studio park when he ran out of the movie set to look for him. He didn't know why now, of all times, he would remember that instance when he woke up on the settee in Ulquiorra's house, with his arms around him. Throughout those three weeks at his place Ichigo grew aware he was constantly receiving guidance and insults from the older man, but at that moment there was nothing he was taking from Ulquiorra. It was purely what Ichigo could give to the man sound asleep in his embrace, and there was something so unspeakably satisfying about it.

The idol-turned-actor route was Ichigo's path to establishing himself in the world of cinema. Ulquiorra was handpicked from thousands of hopefuls at an audition after a famous film director saw him in a school play. Since then, it was movie after movie, each one scoring higher ratings and earning even higher box office receipts than the one before. Being a movie-only actor was prestigious. Ichigo knew if it hadn't been for the raven's help, he would still have trouble grasping the nuances of some scenes, filling in the spaces between dialogues with his own character beats. He knew the distance between him and Ulquiorra was great, be it in terms of talent, or, as Ichigo loathed to admit, their relationship. Still, he was determined to close in on the gap that kept them apart. Ichigo might be confused about many things, but this was clear: as long as Ulquiorra didn't go anywhere, he would catch up with him one day.

He would be kidding himself if he said that nothing had changed. The air was different-Ichigo could taste it-since his chat with Orihime. The air definitely tasted stranger three nights ago when he texted Ulquiorra.

I think a person's feelings shouldn't be disregarded so easily.

Inoue's words from Christmas eve surfaced in his mind once more. Words that unpacked the uncertainties deep within Ichigo's heart. His breath grew shallower with every plausible conclusion laid out. Words created by the slow turn of gears of fate, silently clicking into motion before Ichigo realized it. Now they rose from the cusp of his breath, threatening to spill forth into the world.

Then finally, a slow shake of his head. He was in trouble. Real, deep trouble, and there was no way he could get out of it.

Ulquiorra looked out the window as the high speed rail pulled away from Hakodate Station. He would be seeing Ichigo again in a few hours. For some reason or another, he felt a slight tingle in his hands whenever he thought about it. Probably a mild case of the nerves, since it was his first time having dinner with a family other than his own.

He willed himself to stop thinking about questions he had no wish to be answered. There was no point to them; he was just running through all sorts of implausible scenarios since his mind was idle and some kind of mental workout was necessary to stay alert. Especially on the drive from his mother's home in Hakodate up north to Otaru—a four-hour, mind-numbing journey on roads wet with swept up snow. He'd almost forgotten how treacherous the drive could be, but he had to arrive really early for the highly exclusive New Year osechi sweets set from the Shihouin Group. They were the most famous traditional sweets parlour in Japan, with the flagship shop in Otaru and two outlets in Kyoto which carried a more limited selection. He had no need to call Ichigo. The osechi set Ichigo specially requested for was actually still available, albeit running low in stocks. But he did, because for some reason he just wanted to hear the younger man's voice.

Beyond the window was a snowy landscape framed by undulating plains and houses sparsely littered across a sea of white. Ulquiorra removed his gloves and exhaled into his palms and rubbed them together. He traced the thin scar from the cut across his palm many nights ago. The night when he did something he had never done before, something so utterly unthinkable that his younger self would have knocked him out if he were to know what his older self did. Ulquiorra still couldn't fathom why he leaned forward to kiss Ichigo, who closed in on the distance between them at the same time. But now he was beginning to understand. At that moment, something connected and he'd wanted something from his younger co-star. He closed his hand, his memory of that night overlapping with that of Ichigo tightening his grip on Orihime's hand, the rumors of him spending the night at her place and what was to be. Ulquiorra's head began to grow hot. Somehow, he was unsure of what he would do if he touched Ichigo again.

And so Ulquiorra carried those thoughts with him as he alighted at Tokyo Station, changed trains to the local line bound for Kanagawa, and took a cab from the nearest station. After almost six hours of travel, he stood outside his co-star's house, slightly quivering from the cold or perhaps, he scoffed inwardly, due to a measure of nervousness. He took pride in his thespian abilities; surely he could draw upon them now and make it through the dinner with his whole self intact, next to a certain Kurosaki Ichigo. He could, and he must.

Ulquiorra lightly exhaled, clearing his lungs of excess air. A habit he counted on to calm himself before auditions. This was no audition, no acting stint. But he had a plan to execute and a very pressing matter to clarify. A personal quest that he must pass. This way could he then finally move forward, free of unwieldy delusions.

Another two counts before he rang the doorbell. Inhale, exhale. And then inhale—when right then the door opened in his face, and a very sprightly Kurosaki Ichigo swung into view right before him. Face to face, barely inches apart.

The sheer closeness of their faces out of the blue caught Ulquiorra by surprise. Instinctively, he stepped backwards. In his travel-fatigued state he failed to realize that he was already standing on the edge of the stoop and nearly fell off, if not for Ichigo catching him by the waist and pulling him in into a half embrace. Ichigo's grasp on his waist tightened to bring him back onto the stoop and their faces became so close that Ulquiorra could feel Ichigo's warm breath on his cheek. He tried to avert his glance but they were held fixated by the warm brown gaze boring into his. They remained that way, staring into each other's eyes for what must be an eternity, until Karin's voice floated by.

"Ichi-nii, the stew's burning!"