The storm is coming, given that it has been only three weeks since summer had started. Byakuya doubted the news was true.
Holding a steaming cup of coffee, he gazed up the sky from his apartment window and there, he found no false at all. Gray clouds bulking behind the silhouette buildings, darkening, deeper beyond, with the shape of somewhat a bush tree, a mushroom, animals with horns and claws. He closed his eyes as the wind started to seep through his alabaster cheeks. Oh yes, storm it is.
He glimpsed at the clock from his kitchen wall and frowned. Twenty minutes past eight. It took him twenty minutes to decide whether he'll open the bookshop below or take the day-off, sleep for a while. It was cold, made his body relax. Perhaps closing the shop the whole day would be passable.
Then again that would be, too, the lamest excuse of all. The bookstore is the only thing he got since he exiled himself to independence.
Sighing, he walked from the dining area, strides the hall and down to the first floor, opening the lights then pass through the counter. He grabbed the keys in the drawer and went straight towards the entrance door. The pavement was already wet when he pushed the steel bars up, and then cursed because it stuck in the middle. One woman, probably twenty years his senior, greeted him good morning, and Byakuya winced mentally because he had to force his little smile back. She’s always there day after day, morning, afternoon and night, wearing signature clothes too ridiculous for her age, with bloody-red lips cracking a smile, or more like a gawk. Powdered blush painted her cheeks like one of those Russian dolls, and thick dark silver – or probably teal – mascara to match. She even wore her jewelry candidly as if there's no tomorrow.
Byakuya shook his head. He knew the posh woman's version of 'strolling' is not purely accidental.
The woman stepped towards him, eyes speaks volumes. Hmm. Mysterious man this Byakuya was, she thought, and quite a snob, as if opening his mouth would demise him for a viral disease. But the neighborhood tries to speculate that. What's the difference anyway, no harm done as they say.
A lone man with few friends – if his definition of friends includes a creepy giant with an eye patch, or the dark-skinned woman with a temper, then so be it.
Handsome, graceful, look little fragile, but could break a bone and nose if prodded, and does not speak to anyone. He came here and decided to stay to do business, live with his own accord, and yes Byakuya answered those questions very long time ago. His sole intention is to sell books, live in peace, and not to fancy anybody.
Holding the steel gate up to his chin, his both hands’ begins to stiff. God. Damn. It. Move already! Another push, more pressure this time and finally, the gates rolled up. He stood there for a while, panting, sweating, and then froze. Why does he feel like someone behind him checking up his ass?
And the woman keeps on smiling at him when he glanced back, two feet away, frowned only to shush her miniature poodle to keep from barking the man who has the potential of strangling the little creep.
"Bit of a late, are you lad?"
"Oui." Good thing he learned the language.
"Should have a helper, young man. That thing could break someone's neck."
Excellent idea. Wanna try. But Byakuya forced another smile, trying to avoid conversation, but the woman is clearly not getting the picture.
"My husband was like you when he was young. Strong."
Oh God. "Where is he now?" Byakuya asked.
The woman shrugged. "Dead."
"Oh." I'm not surprise... "Sorry."
"Don't be." She smiled and placed her manicured fingers into Byakuya's arm. "You know, he has the same color of eyes as yours – my husband."
Byakuya shivered slightly, can’t decide whether the flirting made him feel awkward – because someone told him Mme. Bevier had a little crush on him – or the pink nails digging his shirt. Or Poochie or whatever the dog name was.
He stepped back. "Well... uhm... I better go."
"Sure, sure. Don't let me keep you. And oh! I’ll be dropping by this afternoon to procure that Michener of yours, and of course, coffee... with a little chat, yes?"
Byakuya didn't like the tone of that last note but he nodded. “Good day, Madame.”
"Good day, Monsieur. See you later."
Byakuya breathed finally when the woman started to walk away, dragging the snarling little devil with her. He forced his hand to wave back when she waved her pink fingernails at him. He rolled his eyes. Weird day to start with, he thought, and proceeded inside to continue on with his work.
He set the four small tables into place; two for outdoors and two for indoors. Done. Wait. Damn it! He forgot the rain. Wincing, he took the two tables again and placed it inside.
The rain started to pour and hard and thank god he made it in time. In a few minutes, a knock will knock his reverie, so he immediately prepared the coffee his customers' so fond off instead of volumes of books, and started to line all together before someone broke his routine. He took out few pieces of customized porcelain mugs from the back drawer and placed right above the counter, then winced as his eyes landed on the clock – nine. Another grunt sounded from his throat as he saw the tables and chairs screaming in an odd angle and undone right in front of him. A week ago his doctor said no strain movements, but Byakuya deemed only because of exhaustion. Now, to hell with the advise, he might bore himself to death if he choose to tuck himself under the mattress while staring at the ceiling. For ten years he managed to live on his own, no servants, no people following him around as if he was a goddamn porcelain vase vulnerable to break if nudge heedlessly.
Ten years of practice is enough to tell everybody to fuck off...Byakuya smirked at the thought. Saying those words again to their faces was an honor – if the opportunity landed, that is.
He was lunging back and forth, in between decision what to do with the damn furniture, when his attention caught by the sound of the chimes. His head snapped up, tilted, lost in nanoseconds and took a quick mental note of wall that needs a repaint, and then shrugged. He pushed back and dropped the chair softly to the wooden floor, shifted a little and turned. Mme. Bevier loves to piss him off. He was about to tell the woman the store ‘is still and obviously closed’, when his own breath choke him, making him looked stunned, rooted to the ground, if not overwhelmed. He tried to school his posture, keep his composure, and he did, but it seems it was too late.
Standing by the door was a tall man, and Byakuya couldn't understand why the man's presence made a thunderstruck out of him.
He looked away and grabbed the chair again, ignoring the stranger's pleading brown eyes, and whipped back seconds later as he realized he did polished the floor with his own bare hands last night.
The stranger wave a gloved hand at him, looking like a wet dog out of a lake, jaw visibly shaking under the wet red mane.
Byakuya stared at the face, then to the feet, and then back to the face again. He's not native, he thought. "Can I help you?"
"Oh thank god English! It's raining outside, may I?” A rueful smile crossed the stranger's face that made Byakuya draws his brows neared. He frowned even more when the other began to move forward without consent.
"We're still closed." Byakuya's eyes plastered to the floor instead of the man. “This is a bookstore, not a shelter.”
Caught halfway, the stranger stopped and raked his hair away from his face, revealing his pearly-white teeth. "Yeah I know, but it was raining outside and..." he tilted his head. Then he looked down. “Oh! Sorry.” He laughed and stepped back. “Okay, how about this? I'll buy those five hard-bounds from the window..." he jerked his thumb back, "in exchange for a coffee. Is that okay?”
Byakuya studied the stranger even more. The man has tattoos. Byakuya hates tattoos.
However it was the first bargain deal Byakuya would ever have since last week. Mostly customers came for his odd, exotic flavored coffee and occasional chats, absently scanning few volumes and then left, that's it. No one cares for books these days.
"Fine." Byakuya replied in a dry tone. The stranger smiled at him and began to move.
But the floor..."Wait."
“Huh?”
“Don't move.”
Byakuya turned and disappeared for a while, and returned with a towel and a mop. “Here.” He tossed the towel to the man, and then motioned him to sit down.
The stranger dried himself lightly, and was about to move again when Byakuya stopped him again.
“Make up your mind, man, I'm freezing here.”
“Take that off.” Byakuya pointed towards what the stranger thought was his—
“You've got to be serious."
“Your boots. You're ruining the floor.”
“Oh.”
The stranger did so and stride barefooted across the floor, placed his boots and wet socks under the table. He jolted slightly when Byakuya appeared in front of him with the coffee, half-minding how fast the other moves. Then when he lifted his gaze and saw the price on the board, he spilled the contents from his mouth back to the cup and narrowed his eyes at the storeowner. “No shit. For a cup? This is free from where I came from, you know."
“Then go back to where you came from.”
The stranger shook his head; thinking it was a joke, but when he saw the other man's eyes shows otherwise, he sighed, took a single note from his leather wallet and gave to the other man. “It does a bit overprice, don’t you think?” he said, but the storeowner ignored him and walked away.
Byakuya returned to his routine, eyeing the stranger every now and then, and grimaced each time the other flashed a grin at him. He fleeting look at the clock again – half past nine – then to the door. No customer. Great. Now he's stuck with this guy. Where is Mme. Bevier when you need her?
“So... you owned the place?” The stranger queried lightly while Byakuya’s moping the floor. Byakuya did not answer. The stranger tried again. “You work alone?”
No answer. Again, but this time he'd made sure the other would convey.
"Haven't heard lending a hand cause hearing impairment.”
It meant for a joke but when he saw the back muscles underneath the white fabric stiffens, he mentally kicked himself as two stormy gray orbs glared at him in return. The stranger flinched, sipped his coffee and roamed his eyes around, twitching his lips to make an effect of fascination by the interior of the store, of which, a matter of fact, he was.
"You finished?" Byakuya said.
"Sorry, what?"
“Done with it so you may leave."
The stranger glanced outside. "Still raining."
"Not my problem."
“What about our deal?”
“I don't deal with punks.”
The stranger snorted. “Kinda odd how you gauge people despite you own this kind of business.”
One dark brow quipped slightly. Pfft! Metaphor.
Byakuya regarded the stranger nonchalantly, though inside he really, really want to punch the guy's face across the room.
Then out of a sudden, the stranger pushed himself off the chair and strode across the room. He raised his right hand to the storeowner and said, "Names Abarai. Renji Abarai. You?"
Byakuya's eyes began to wide. Somewhat caught off guard, he dropped his gaze at the reaching hand, then glanced up only to glare at the man.
The stranger pulled his hand back; those eyes had enough warning for him to back off.
"Sorry." The stranger shrugged. "I'm new here and I lost my friends back at the park. I couldn't find them and I don't know where to start. I was on my way back at the hotel when it started to rain...and then I saw your store—"
“Even though you see the sign says closed still you barged in."
“Well if you'd put some translation there that says "go away" this wouldn't happen. And I think you're not that...” he was going to say uptight but... nevermind. “I’m drenched under the rain, so I decided to give it a try.”
Byakuya shifted his weight, one hand on his hips, the other leaning the mop. Noting the stranger head to toe he said, “You're wet.”
The stranger snorted. "Took you long enough."
Byakuya made a low sound of disapproval and then sighed. It’s not in his character to be a Good Samaritan but there's something about this Renji-guy made him change his mind.
That, or perhaps he really wanted this guy to get the hell out of the store.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he parked the mop behind the storage door. “Go to the back door and climb upstairs,” Byakuya began to say. “Two doors to the right was the laundry room. Next to it was the bathroom. There's an extra clothes there.”
The stranger blinked. "You trust me that much?"
“I have a gun and I know how to use it."
“Ah. Typical.”
Byakuya turned away. “And I'm only doing this because I want you to leave. I don't like strangers inside my premises.”
"I'm a customer."
"Whatever."
The stranger stifled a laugh. “You're one strange man,” he said. He went upstairs.
*****
Renji wiped the mirror as steam started to build up. He grabbed the towel he had seen from the reflection behind him and starts to dry himself. Taking Byakuya's instructions, he saw the dryer and stubbed his wet clothes in it.
Ten minutes had past and he was bored already. Leaning against the dryer, hand cupping his chin, body bent, one foot tapping the floor, synchronizing with the beeps of the machine, his eyes scanned the room outside from the ajar door. He straightened, ignored the click of joints of his lower body and stepped out of the room, towel wrapped around his waist.
"Let's take a tour..."
The apartment was not that big, but the interior was amazing. No bookstore owner could afford such fabulous furniture. He was a bachelor all right, Renji thought, but even the likes of a wealthy man, no storeowner who earned few bills a week could turn such a space into a beautiful place to live in. What had happened earlier, Renji believes the storeowner, the man with an odd sense of humor, is indeed a mysterious man to begin with and definitely wanted to stay that way.
The coffee and the hot steam bath did not help warm Renji's chilling body, so he decided to go to where he expected the kitchen stood.
As he passed through the narrowed corridor, connecting the living and the kitchen, he saw pictures hanging on the wall. It was old. Not that old but it was old enough for him to say it was old.
One picture among the twenty images he saw was a boy with gray eyes and raven hair, sitting beside the old man. Renji looked closely, half minding why this excites him.
"There you are you little brat... and was that a smile?"
Scribbled below the picture, of which, Renji assumed, was the date the picture taken.
"Hmm, he's five years older than me."
He moved away, panned his eyes again, and landed on another picture. In this there was a man, standing solely on the beach, eyes resembles to the boy.
"I bet you’re his father."
Renji move down the hall and there, in the middle of the room, was an image of much emphasized picture of a Sakura tree. He saw the boy again, but much older this time, sitting alone under a tree, wearing a school uniform. The boy's face was different, Renji noted, as if something lacking there, as if something had lost within the young man's inner core. There is no smile bearing upon the face.
"Yep, you're him, all right."
Then Renji recognized the uniform. It was typical clothing from boarding schools abroad. "No wonder you're so..." he stopped, as he saw another picture – a woman with a small rounded face and dark hair. Renji could see guilt upon the woman's purple eyes but, as same those of the boy, her smile was priceless.
"What are you doing here?”
Shit. Renji yelped, gripped his towel and stepped back. He turned and blur of black strands flashed right in front of his eyes, followed by an alabaster hand reaching over, slapping the picture frame face down. Renji shook his head abruptly, seeing the storeowner up close, about two inches from his nose, and the presence of the other made his brain stopped in seconds. It took him for a while before he could collect himself to face the obvious raging man.
Another swift movement and Renji was taken aback again. The man shoved him to the opposite wall and frames, vases, figurines scattered and smashed to the floor.
Defense. If someone pushed you, you push back. Like Physics. But Renji had no intention to oppose. He invaded the man's privacy, so let him be.
Well, for a little while at least.
It was a surprise though. He may be taller and bulkier than the other guy, however, bulkier or not, still made Renji look like a wimp.
Or perhaps he had a huge control for not breaking the man's jaw.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? Who sent you?"
Rapid questions and Byakuya is snarling now, but the first and last confused Renji as fuck. "Whoa wait," he said. "I just wanna go to the kitchen."
"Who sent you!"
"What?"
Another shove, and this time Byakuya's elbow starts to lock Renji's shoulder to the wall. "Who!"
"Stop screaming, will you!"
Renji could see the other man's pupils getting larger and larger up close. Fuck, he should have known. This man was mental! And lethal! He could feel the strength under those arms. "Let go of me!" He squirmed, trying to push, but those fucking grip was strong.
Then there was a scent... Renji seized his stirring because there was a scent invading his nostrils, a very hypnotic and annoying one. Something familiar... something delicious... something...what, fruity?
He flinched, because it was getting stronger, and when he looked at those gray orbs again, he knew where the scent is coming from.
Renji shook his head. The oppressor was on killing mode. No time to know why in god’s name this man wore a cologne similar to wine punch.
The bastard is pinning him down and Renji thought about kicking the other man's groin. No good, he was trapped, and Byakuya knew what the other man thinks so he pushed his right knee forward between Renji's legs.
Renji couldn't kick his way out and the idea of a head-butt was a bad idea either. His head trapped between the wall behind him, no space to pull back to knock the motherfucker's forehead. His right hand was the only shield he could use to push the other away, while the left was gripping with dear life to hold his morality.
"I can't... breathe, you... bastard!" Renji choke.
"Answer me!" Byakuya shouted.
"Wha...what the hell's your...problem...man..."
"You're not gonna do this to me again!"
Fucker said what? "What...are you...talking about..." Renji gasped. "Whatever shit...that is...I'd nothing to do with it..."
Nothing, Byakuya just stared at him with that same intense gaze, and Renji wished he could poke the man’s eye.
They looked at each other; one snarling, one gasping and finally, Renji understood.
Oh so that's why this guy never gave his name, Renji mused. A one-walking and breathing privateer. There are bad guys around the world, true, and everyone had the rights to defend themselves. Including this asshole right here. Renji, noting the pictures he'd seen earlier, the sakura tree, the clothes they wore, the missing twang of the real accent of this guy, he concludes that the storeowner was also a stranger like him.
The paranoia Renji can accept that, but the way the inquisition goes, the who and the why... yeah that was weird.
"Someone told me people around here are snobbish, but I can tell you're not one of them. Why? Because you’re crazy!" Renji pushed back and thank goodness, the man pulled his arm away, just an inch, perhaps to let him speak...
"Who are you!"
Or to answer a question.
Renji is getting really, really pissed now. "I told you my name is Renji Abarai. I'm here to have my first ever vacation since I took my job, but my friend, who propose as to be my personal tour guide, didn't take his anti-moronic pills and left me at the park! I was walking down your street here when it started to rain. I was planning to go back at the park. See if my friend was there, to remind him how jackass he was. But I got lost because I can't fucking read what the fucking street sign says, that's why I ended up knocking at your fucking door, of which by now I'm starting to fucking resent it. There, fucking happy now?" He frowned. He sighed. He really hates pressure. "Sorry about that," he murmured.
Byakuya glared at him for a moment, then finally, he let go. "Is that true?"
"Do you want me to start all over again?"
Byakuya held up his hand – a gesture of no – and stoop down to pick up the broken frames, but half alert and ready to dodge if the possessor of one those long legs decided to knee him to the face.
Renji glanced down and shivered. Shards of broken glass and other things scattered about the floor. The cold wind from the window hit his body. However, it's not the wind that gives him the problem, nor the shards, but the man who was kneeling in front of him. Renji was naked and the only thing that clings to him was the damn towel. And that same goddamn towel wasn't even helping to cover the stiffening part of his nether regions, "Fuck..." he hissed.
Byakuya looked up at him. "What?"
Shit. "Umh..." Renji swallowed hard. "I uh... can't move. And uh... I'm..." hard... "cold!"
"So what do you want me to do, carry you?"
"Oh geez thanks, man, that would be great."
Byakuya kicked the remaining shards away from Renji's feet. "That'll do."
"Yeah thanks," Renji said impassively.
"Your clothes are dried. You may leave."
"What? No kiss?" Kiss meaning smashed each other’s faces.
When Byakuya left him to march downstairs, Renji took a quick step towards the laundry room and dressed, grabbed his things and ran downstairs. In the middle of the step, he heard two voices. One was Byakuya and the other was... a customer? "It doesn't sound like one," he said to himself.
When he appeared from the back door, Renji saw Byakuya talking to a woman. The woman was petite and dark skinned. She was shouting at Byakuya, and then stopped, withdrew as she saw Renji emerged from her view.
Renji noticed the two knew each other well, and what's between them Renji was in no position to butt in. I had enough for one day, he thought.
He walked pass slowly from the two and nodded at Byakuya he was leaving.
When he stepped out of the door, he glances back – the open sign flipped by a hand. The store is closed and it was only half past eleven.
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