It was 10:46 PM on a
rainy Friday night. Sasuke sat at the bar in a five-star hotel in a
foreign city. The place, dimly lit and soberly decorated, was
semi-full of business men, sophisticated women, couples in their
forties, and lonely people just looking for a quick drink. He seemed
part of the latter group. Although, with his black, expensive suit,
his blank face, and his whisky on the rocks, he might as well pass as
a businessman. In a way, he was one. In other way, he wasn’t.
music floated in the air, soothing his nerves. He sipped from his
drink, unfazed by the burning in his throat, and lazily glanced at
the person sitting two stools from him. It was a man in his fifties,
also in a suit, also drinking whisky, also appearing miserably bored.
An older, worse-looking version of himself, perhaps. Sasuke could not
help but relate to him slightly. Pity him, even.
Too bad he had to kill
His gun rested
placidly against his lower back, tucked inside his belt. Sasuke would
use it, only until he managed to get the man away from here, from all
these people. Perhaps he could follow him to his room. Perhaps he
could wait until he had to go to the bathroom. Leave his body in a
bed, or in a stall. No traces, no evidence. A perfect crime; a
The man finished his
drink in a single gulp, grabbed his suitcase, and got up to leave.
Sasuke’s body tensed, preparing for action, but then it froze when he
spotted a woman walking towards his target. A very familiar
Ichigo ignores her. He can’t help it. Honestly, if she wanted him to quit staring, she should simply be less stare-at-able. And anyway, she invited him to come along while she tried on dresses for Ishida and Inoue’s wedding, what else was she expecting to happen?
She’s standing in front of the three-way mirror, turning this way and that, trying to see what the back of the practically back-less dress looks like on her.
Ichigo knows nothing about fashion, but he knows what he likes on Rukia - things that nip in at her waist and show off the curve of her hips, made in colours that contrast with her fair skin and play up the violet in her eyes. Things exactly like this dress, which is royal purple and does all the aforementioned things to the lines of her body. It also helps that her shoulders are bare, and Ichigo can see the smattering of freckles that extend across the tops of them and across the top of her spine.
“I like this one,” he says, and Rukia rolls her eyes.
“You would,” she says, then; “do you think it’s too much?”
“No,” Ichigo says, and means it. Ishida and Inoue’s wedding will be a to-do if there ever was such a thing, and he’s already regretting agreeing to have any part in it. If he can spend the entire thing day-dreaming about Rukia in this dress, it’ll go a long way to helping him make it through the day without screaming.
“You just like the way it makes my ass look,” Rukia says, pursing her lips in a moue of annoyance, and Ichigo grins.
“Got it in one,” he agrees. He levers himself to his feet - the couches in this store are made for midgets - and comes to stand behind her in the mirror. He brushes her hair off her shoulder and leans down, close to her ear. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, “I want to practice taking it off.”