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A Requiem Best Unsung	By : ZealousSeraph Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1283 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-To Serenade Sorrow
- 2-The Itch
- 1
- 2
Summary: Byakuya Kuchiki pushed all that was him away; his family, his friend's, even his music was cast away after his wife's tragic passing...but what will he do when a certain red haired musician pushes back? Will he be able to keep the itch for melody away? A/U

Warnings: The same as before.

Pairings: ByakuyaxRenji. Hints of past ByakuyaxHisana and RenjixRukia.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, nor the characters within Bleach. It belongs to Kubo Tite, and subsequently, Shonen Jump.

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A Requiem Best Unsung

Chapter I: The Itch

By Fayette Nudusk

�Why?�
Byakuya feigned ignorance, his dark eyes fixed emotionlessly on the picture of Hisana that he could see on his desk, just behind Rukia. �I�m not sure I understand your question.�
�Don�t act stupid, Nii-sama!� She snapped back, her normally quiet voice filled to the brim with anger. �You know what I�m talking about!�
�No�I don�t.� The tall raven haired man turned to leave, only getting about as far as the doorway before he heard his sister-in-law�s pleading voice behind him; It sounded too close to how Hisana did when she had pleaded for his forgiveness what seemed like years before.
�Please�Nii-sama, just let a little of your old self back in��

�I don�t know what you mean.� His eyes narrowed and he took another step towards the door, this time not bothering to stop himself from stepping over the threshold when Rukia spoke again.
��I just want to help you, Byakuya.�
As he turned to close the door behind him, he let his dark amethyst eyes finally meet hers. His reply was cold and indifferent. �I never asked for your help, Kuchiki Rukia.�
The door closed without a sound.

��

Several elevators later, Byakuya found himself standing outside of his assistant�s

office, his briefcase held loosely under an elbow as he knocked thrice, checking the time on his other hand.

�What was she thinking, attempting something such as that?� He thought irately as he remembered his and Rukia�s �discussion�. Today was the first time he had spoken to her since Hisana�s funeral, nearly two years prior�
A loud crash jolted the tall black haired man out of his thoughts. Recognizing that the noise had come from his assistant�s room, he pushed open the door, finding it unlocked as always.
As he opened the door he heard as small �eep!� that immediately drew his attention to the floor. An orange haired girl was currently unburying herself from a large pile of files that seemed to have fallen. Actually, now that he looked around, they seemed to all have dumped onto her from a shelf she had probably been leaning too hard on�
�Inoue.� He sternly addressed his personal assistant, leaning down to pick up a stray file that had somehow ended up on top of her head. Flipping open the folder, he found his schedule for the month. Glancing at it for a moment, he tossed it on top of the small pile the girl had been making as she tried to straighten the immense stack of folders.
�Y-yes, President?� She stuttered nervously, scrambling to her feet, several files falling to the floor in the process.
�Be sure to pick up my car from the shop on Thursday.�
�O-okay! But, um�Mr. President, Sir, where are you going?�
�I feel unwell. Thus, I am taking the rest of the day off. Have any paperwork I need to sign delivered to my home.� He turned and left the busty woman to the large pile of folders, closing the door just as he heard another crash from inside the room.
Finally out of the �HAPPY SUNSHINE decorators Co. � building, Byakuya peered at the sky for any signs of rain. The sky was cloudless, a bright, cheery blue hue that was reflected on all of the skyscrapers which surrounded him. He absentmindedly made his way down the streets he had become so used to driving down. It didn�t make much of a difference to him whether he was driving or walking however, as the raven haired man barely ever noticed the city around him.
He often let his mind shut down, his body going through the motions of each day automatically, unflinchingly. Some would have likely compared him to a robot if they ever observed his daily routine. Even now, as he walked, he was barely paying attention to his surroundings. Someone could have jumped out of a giant neon banana suit to shank him, and the chances were he would be caught unaware.
Things had been like this ever since Hisana�s passing. Byakuya had giving up music completely, instead taking over his late wife�s company. It wasn�t as if he had truly wanted to become the leader of the business. Not in the beginning, anyway; he had done it because his grief-stricken mind had told him it was �what she would have wanted�.
That was what he told himself whenever there was a rare instance where he might think �why am I still doing this?�; he would tell this to himself, and all would go back to the preset way of life he had lived since the day after Hisana�s funeral.
Byakuya paused at an intersection, waiting until the �walk� light had turned green. He walked quickly across the wide street as to not be run over by the mass of teenagers that had probably just gotten out of the nearby high school.
Not that anyone other than Rukia really noticed the difference in his personality after Hisana died, anyway. He had never met most of the people in the SUNSHINE building, and anyone he had had only been for a few moments at most. He had been surprised to say the least when he had found a small note on his desk the day before, saying only �We need to talk. ~Rukia�. Today she had burst into his office after a meeting, demanding a reason for his drastic change after her sister�s death. �Why don�t you call me anymore? It�s been almost two years!� she had asked. He had given her a simple, plausible answer; �I have been busy minding the company.�, that�s what he had said. She had scoffed, knowing well that he was lying through his teeth, and began assaulting him with other questions about the person he had turned into after Hisana died.
He had only felt the need to leave when she had simply asked �why?�; it was a question he himself despised, as it was often asked by himself, to himself.

�There is nothing wrong with who I�ve �become�.� The business man told himself, narrowing his eyes at a couple who were shamelessly making out beside the bus stop he passed. �Granted, I used to talk to her more, however I have been quite busy�� Byakuya even lied to himself. The real reason he hadn�t talked nor seen Rukia since the funeral was because he had been avoiding her. He couldn�t stand to look at the young woman, who resembled his late wife so very much.
He knew it was cruel, but he didn�t seem to bother him much anymore.
Byakuya was nearing his home when he became vaguely aware of the sound of someone playing a guitar drifting from a side street he would soon pass. His expert ears couldn�t help but come to the conclusion that whoever was playing the instrument was skilled. Skilled enough to be a professional, if it wasn�t for the fact that the musician�s guitar was completely in tune except for one string.
Disgusted at the fact that he had actually been critiquing someone--nay--that he had even been thinking about music, he hurried along the street, pausing only when he heard a rough male voice join the melody of the guitar.
The black haired man felt a distant urge; one he hadn�t felt in years. It made the tips of his fingers tingle, made his heart beat just little faster.

��Just let a little of your old self back in�� Rukia�s words from only a half hour before rung through his head, unwanted.
�after only a moment he pushed both her words and the feeling out of mind, walking brusquely down the street, and away from the music.
That night he went to sleep late, having forced himself to finish the entire week�s paperwork before he allowed himself to finally collapse into bed, only stirring from his fallen position to reach over to the bedside table and flick the light off.
Several thick comforters safely piled on top of him, Byakuya curled up into as small of a ball as possible, shoving a pillow between his knees and face, hoping that the lack of air would make him fall asleep as fast as possible.
He tossed in his sleep nearly the entire night, his dreams haunted by the guitarist�s song, and most especially the voice which had accompanied it.

��

Byakuya awoke the next morning, almost every one of his limbs tangled in the blankets he had so meticulously piled on top of himself before drifting off to sleep. Instead of trying to struggle aimlessly out of his cotton bonds, he slowly sat up, carefully unwinding the blankets from him. After a few well placed shimmies to get his arms free, of course.
Now free of the blankets, the lavender eyed man began his normal morning routine, which he followed to the dot no matter what happened. He would first fix the bed, tossing any bedding that needed to be washed down the laundry chute. Next he would chuck any clothes that needed to be clean down the laundry chute, unless they were his suit, which he wore almost everyday; those would be dry cleaned, obviously.
Byakuya would then start the coffeemaker, and not long after he would shed his nightclothes to take a cold shower.
Leaning against the shower wall, Byakuya scrubbed his long black hair in silence, his mind still plagued by the man he had heard singing the day before.

�No,� He refused to let himself continue thinking of music. �Not again.� It only brought up memories of Hisana, memories he would rather not remember�things he blamed himself for.
Eventually he finished his shower, and--now dressed in cleans clothes-- sat down at the large dinner table to eat a modest, healthy breakfast; absentmindedly reading the morning�s paper as he drank the freshly brewed coffee. He ate the breakfast as fast as possible; he didn�t want to linger too long. He never did.
Byakuya actually had a very well-furnished house; he had just never cared to stay in it for an extended amount of time. Not with her gone from it.
Glancing at his watch, the raven haired man slowly stood from the polished wood table, dumping his dishes into the sink and washing them before going to his closet to grab a clean dress jacket. �If I leave now I can get to HS early enough to finish anymore paperwork Inoue might have forgotten, and still have enough time for a coffee break before that meeting�� On the way through the bedroom he grabbed a pressed tie off the nightstand, stepping in front of the large mirror so he could tie it straight. He stared emotionlessly at himself in the mirror as he tightened the knot of the thin piece of fabric, trying not to focus on the dusty doorknob he could see across the room in the reflection of the mirror; he still didn�t have the courage to step into that room, let alone even touch the doorknob.
Pulling a clean jacket out of his closet, he slid it on over his white dress shirt as he walked out of the room; any sound his feet might have made was absorbed by the thick carpet.

Lastly, Byakuya slipped on his black leather shoes and grabbed his briefcase, pausing only to lock the door behind him before he departed into the clear morning air.

��

Try as he might, Byakuya still couldn�t walk fast enough to pass that street quick enough to not hear the music; it had to be that guitarist again. He could easily recognize from the day before the quick, deft strums which created a fierce staccato in the crisp air.

His breath hitched as there was a sudden twang in the melody that only a professional�s ears would have caught.

�That damned chord was still out of tune.

Self-ostracized from music as he was, Byakuya was still a perfectionist; he yearned to correct the guitarist who was obviously oblivious about the sour note in one of his strings. It pained him to hear such an�energetic song being ruined by that one, small thing.
It took him all of his willpower to finally get his body to move away from the music. At last he had regained absolute control over his legs, and almost succeeded in crossing the street before he heard that man, whose strong, rugged voice, seemed to exude life out of every note he sang.

��Let a little of your old self back in�� Rukia�s words flashed through Byakuya�s head again and again, plaguing him until he thought he might have gone crazy at some point and not noticed.
This time the pause in his step was longer, and it took him some time to realize that he was tilting his head towards the music, attempting to hear what the man was singing. Unfortunately, he was too far away to hear the lyrics clearly.
Afterward he would wonder why he turned off his normal route, briskly walking towards where the music was emanating from.
Later he might ponder why he hadn�t listened to the alarms going off in his head, telling him to continue on to work, as he had every day before this.
However, he thought none of this at the present time; all that he told himself as he neared the source of the music was �I shall tell him about the sour string, and then be on my way. That is all.�. Of course, Byakuya was a man full of excuses�even if he wasn�t aware that he was making them.
The farther said widower wandered down the streets, the skuzzier his surroundings became. Now, as was explained the day before, Byakuya wasn�t one to closely pay attention the places around him�however, that didn�t truly apply to his nose, which was currently wrinkled in distaste at the acrid smell of a nearby rubbish bin. Nevertheless, he didn�t stop walking; he could hear the musician just around the corner. The singing had stopped, but the strong tone of the guitar continued to echo through the night air.
This was where his step faltered. Now that he was so close to the music, Byakuya was forced to stop for a moment and allow his sense of reason to take over. �Why am I doing this?� He asked himself, glancing again at his surroundings, which were almost the complete opposite of what he was so used to tuning out around him everyday; trash littered these streets like a bad habit, whereas the main part of town was almost spotless. One favorable difference though, was that this �neighborhood�, as you could call it, was devoid of the sounds of traffic. Sure, car after car drove past, but there wasn�t the incessant swearing of drivers with road rage that he was used to hearing as he drove to and from work at the SUNSHINE office.
�and Byakuya felt severally incongruous in this place.
Again he asked himself why he was even doing this.

�To prove her wrong, in a way. To prove to Rukia that you don�t need your old self. That you don�t need �that Byakuya� anymore.� A voice in his head chirped. It was a voice the widower despised; it was the voice of �that Byakuya�.

��perhaps you are correct.� He mentally intoned back, before he realized exactly what he was doing. He was basically talking to himself.

Before he could ponder more on that however, a strong, rough voice rang out somewhere out of his sight, and the raven haired man startled, though he knew not why. The man had begun to sing again. �I don't need any garbage talk. All the permutation of things are just an annoyance.�

The lyrics were interesting, to say the least. However, that still didn�t sate his curiosity as to who was singing. Making up his mind, Byakuya self-assuredly strode over to the street where the music was emitting from.
�and almost turned around and went on his way when he saw who was simultaneously singing and playing the guitar.
The man standing at the corner of the street seemed to be alone, his only �companion� the bone white acoustic guitar he was currently playing. The case for the instrument sat next to him, the lid open. The black haired business man guessed it was for people to toss money in.
The man probably saw Byakuya, but did nothing but continue to sing and play his guitar, head held high. �All I have is a heart. Mine different from all those cheap hearts from somewhere over there.�

None of this is what made Byakuya almost leave though. It was the man�s appearance that was the most�startling? --no, that wasn�t the right word for it��unusual� was all he could presently come up with to describe in one word his thoughts of the man�s �look�; he had the oddest hair colour�it was bright red, held back in a loose ponytail, several tendrils of the hair drifting over his face as he sang.

�Anyone who gets in my way, I will cut. All I will do is cut those I want to cut.�

�Homeless, perhaps?� He mused assumedly, but as he moved closer to the man, Byakuya quickly revised his previous statement as false. There was no way the man could be homeless, as he was completely decked out in street fashion; dark green and black pinstriped pants held up on narrow hips by a spiked belt, a tight-fitting black tank top that blatantly stated �FUCK YOU.� in large yellow letters�but by the far the most eye-catching, shocking aspect of this man�s appearance was those tattoos.

The black marks stretched in jagged streaks down is shoulders, all the way down to his forearms, and even ran down the sides of his neck�but that was just the timid stuff. The grand finale of the tattoos Byakuya could see on the man were the ones which adorned his forehead; they started at the place his eyebrows should, replacing what should have been red hair with rough black skin. From there they carved a serrated line up past his hairline�at least, that�s what Byakuya could see of the tattoos that wasn�t hidden under the odd navy visor the man had pushed up onto his forehead.
Byakuya had seen some�odd looking people in his six years of living in this district of Karakura, but this man took the cake; he just stood there, unabashedly telling the world what he thought through song. He didn�t seem to care about the people that would occasionally drive by, yelling obscenities, nor those who might throw things at him as they passed. He just sang and played that guitar, his head held high.
The widower had almost left because this man scared him in a way; being able to express himself so easily and unashamedly. Being able to continue on even when none seemed to be watching.

�My hope is standing to defend you always and always, Using my back as your shield.�

Ignoring this odd �feeling�, which Byakuya refused to call fear, he continued walking towards the man, stopping again when he was only about a dozen feet away. He tilted his head, listening to the roughness of the man�s baritone.
He noted that it was rough indeed, but the red haired musician was in complete control of it, not once hitting a sour note.

Byakuya vaguely wondered why someone dressed like that would be performing on a street corner, but as he thought this, the man glanced over, his eyes catching Byakuya�s. Aforementioned musician grinned widely at him.

Although he still didn�t know why, the raven haired man again had the strong urge to turn and run.

�I will not turn, nor will I run,� Byakuya told himself resolvedly as he watched the man. �For there is nothing to run from��

�I don't need any dragging luggage. I don't give a damn about destiny or customs.� The singer continued, his expression as fierce as his voice.
Byakuya was now standing a few feet away from the man, and he vaguely realized that he had started thrumming his fingers against his briefcase softly to the song the red haired man was playing.

The black haired man stopped himself immediately, putting the briefcase down on the concrete and shoving his hands into his pants pockets so that he couldn�t tap anything to the music. The widower become wholly oblivious to anything that was around him, his eyes on the man before him. He was listening to the man sing, fingers flying over the chords in a fast staccato which went perfectly with his rugged voice.

�If you're strong, that's good that you're strong. You can't survive with light kindness.�

Byakuya found himself becoming oddly� enthralled by the music, and closed his eyes, letting his mind becoming enveloped by it. The voice rang out, deep and full of feeling. The man sounded like he was fighting with those words; as if he was fighting a battle for someone he truly wished to defend. Someone he would protect, even if it meant his death.

�He could imagine his fingers dancing over the opal keys of his grand piano, the notes ringing out, not as loudly, but just as fierce as the singer he was listening to now.
He remembered the hours he had spent in that room, playing for her.
--And then was suddenly aware of what he had been thinking.
He had been thinking of music; not just thinking, he swore he could have almost felt the cold keys under his fingertips.

Memories of before Hisana�s passing resurfaced, unwanted into his brain. He remembered sitting at the piano, composing and playing jovial melodies written for Hisana.

Hisana�s smile when he had played them had filled him with a feeling so unique�it made him write more and more�and that feeling, that warm feeling of love now turned sour in his mind, making him feel cold inside.
The red haired man saw nothing of this, and continued to sing, his voice only getting louder if anything else. �It's not like I'm not thinking. It's just that I have a short temper.�

He had smiled back then, he had laughed with her, he had enjoyed--no, loved-- composing back then.

�That is why Standing to defend you always and always.�

--But now he couldn�t bear it, he couldn�t bear that feeling. He released a breath he hadn�t known he was holding in, his eyes wide.

�Using my back as your-Hey are you alright?!� The man suddenly stopped singing and playing his guitar, starting towards Byakuya, but only gaining a foot or so before the widower motioned him away.
�I�m�fine� He said slowly when he recognized that the man had just addressed him. Quickly rummaging through the pockets his hands had been fisted in, he pulled out a crumpled bill, placing it in the man�s guitar case.

�Your F chord is out of tune.� He murmured quietly, hurriedly stepping back while refusing to meet the man�s eyes again.
Byakuya swiftly made his way around the corner and back up the street, ignoring the worried calls of the man left behind.
As he walked, Byakuya flexed his fingers, trying to make the imaginary itch at the tips of them go away. He didn�t notice that a familiar cold briefcase handle was missing from his grip�
He hated music, didn�t he? �It had always made Hisana feel better in the first stages of her illness, hadn�t it?

��no.�

She had lied to him, saying that the coughing was nothing, just a cold. �Play another song�, she had said. Well, he would play, and she would be happy again, if only for that time�but in the end it had all been a lie to make him feel better, hadn�t it?
--and why had that man�s voice, his playing made him want to start again?

Why did it make him feel almost like he had when Hisana had laughed?

�No.� He swore he wouldn�t start again, not after the way it had ended last time.
Clenching his fists into balls, Byakuya narrowed his eyes resolvedly at the HAPPY SUNSHINE building he was rapidly approaching.
He hated himself,

He hated music,

�But most of all he hated that damn man for making him want to play again.
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A/N: Heheh, I bet you hate me by now...by the way, as much as it doesn't seem like it, this IS a ByakuyaxRenji. I swear.

...Man I want to smack Byakuya for dwellin' so much on Hisana's death. He'll get what's coming to him though... *evil laughter*

I love reviews...they make me type so very fast and efficiently...
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A Requiem Best Unsung