Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Total Eclipse ❯ Coral Rose ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"Okay, it's finished." With a sharp clatter, an array of medical implements collided with a metal tray. Uryu painfully straightened his hunched form, grimacing as a number of reluctant, stiff vertibrae cracked in the process.

"You've gotten even better, Ishida-kun!" Byakuya boyishly exclaimed; shoving the perfectly symmetrical stitches under the young doctor's nose for effect. An inquisitive face appeared over the elder man's shoulder, their eyes pointedly examining the neatly cleaned, stitched and plastered wound.

"It's true, you've outdone yourself again Uryu." Rukia dropped her chin onto her father's shoulder before shooting a lazy-eyed smile at said doctor.

Clearing his throat lightly, he patted his chest with a loose fist. "It's nothing really," he explained before lifting himself from the stool and grabbing the tray of discarded tools. "You'll need to replace the dressing every two days, every day if you're doing any sort of active work," he continued.

"Ha!" Rukia scoffed.

Leaning to the right and turning his head to the left, Byakuya allowed the the shape of his perked eyebrows to question his daughter's reaction.

"What?" She inquired defensively.

"What was that laugh for?! You don't think I'm an active sort of man?!" Byakuya demanded a response. Which, unfortunately, came in the form of a sharp bite to the shoulder.

"See?" She lifted her head and drew the back of her forearm along her lips. "Even in pain you hardly move! You're such a lazy ass." She rolled her eyes and spun on her heels in a whirlwind of silky nightwear, before making her way towards the lobby. Byakuya blinked in confusion as she made her way through the white arch and slammed the white door shut. With a pained grimace, he lifted his left arm to the pink teeth marks; massaging the aching area with the flat of his hand.

"That girl bites just like her mother," Byakuya mumbled. A loud, hacking cough prompted Byakuya to lift his gaze.

"I'll uh... Pretend I didn't hear that." Uryu smiled meekly at the dark-haired man. Byakuya plastered a wry smirk onto his lips and slowly lifted himself from the doctor's chair. Dropping to the floor, he reached for the rolled up sleeve on his right arm and yanked the creased material over the wound.

"There's no need to be so embarassed Ishida! We're men!"

"Oh and also," Ishida hastily diverted away from the topic and reached into a swolen pocket of his white coat, retrieving a small white bottle of what sounded to Byakuya like rattling pills. "You'll need to take one of these every six hours." He extended his arm, dropping the plastic container in Byakuya' open hand.

Pills... He cringed. Discarding the offensive bottle into his shirt's pocket, Byakuya released a dismissive sigh and began towards the door.

"Oh, Mr. Kuchiki?" Uryu hastily made his way up to the man's side.

"Call me Byakuya." He frowned at the formallity.

"Sir, we've had this discussion before. I won't call you Byakuya until you call me Uryu." He smirked at the obvious discomfort that worked it's way over the elder man's face.

"You know why I don't call you that, I can't say it." Byakuya frowned as he sucked his cheek between his teeth and began to chew the soft flesh. "Oooeru."

"Yes, quite..." Uryu poked the bridge of his glasses into place. "Well, take care of your arm, and I apologise once again for Kurosaki," Uryu sighed.

The man had ruined, No. Devastated his morning.

"Don't you worry about it, Oooeru." Uryu winced at the pronounciation. "I'll make sure he pays."


"It's a good job Byakuya paid... That was fuckin' expensive." Ichigo whistled. Now comfortable with his control of the previously smoking vehicle, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator, firing the bullet-like car through the country road at a fuel-evaporating speed.

"What are we going to do now then? Uryu's at the surgery and we're three hours late." Nell stifled a high-pitched squeak of a yawn before throwing her body back into the seat.

"What else? We're going into town," he scoffed.

"It's eleven am, you're a doctor and I'm your assistant. We should be at work." Nell scolded.

"You said it yourself, Uryu's at the surgery and he wouldn't leave even if I went back," he reasoned. "Besides, I need to get some new clothes for tomorrow and I don't like shopping." With a spin of the wheel, he threw the car into a sharp U-turn, prompting screeches from both the tyres of the car and the throat of his passenger. The feral roar of the engine swiftly died down, replaced by a gentle hum. "You're welcome to go back to work though." He nodded in the direction of the surgery.

"You're giving me the option of going to work with Uryu... or shopping with you?!" She exclaimed, unbelieving of her bosses ridiculous ultimatum.

"Pretty much," He chuckled. Intentionally throwing her a knowing smirk.

"So..." she paused, earning herself a confused perking of Ichigo's vaguely knitted brow. "What are you doing tomorrow that requires new clothes?" She inquired, her interest piqued.

Ichigo shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Just a dinner."

He scolded himself for the succinctness of the answer, then cursed himself as the inquisitive woman perked her own brows.

"Just a dinner?" She scoffed incredilously. "The great Kurosaki Ichigo is buying new clothes for that?!" She burst outrightly into laughter, throwing her hands over her chest in an attempt to hold back the hilarity.

Ichigo scowled in irritation; considering yelling to remedy the situation, but swiftly deciding against it in the knowledge that it would likely further her mirth. "Byakuya invited me to dinner, to meet his daughter," he reconciled.

Nell snorted the last few breaths of her laughter before taking a deep breath and turning to the man. "Rukia?" She inquired.

Ichigo's scowl instantly retracted; allowing a single surprised blink to mask his eyes before turning to Nell. "You know her?"

"Only her name." Nell explained.

"Ah, well. Nevermind." Ichigo sighed with a swivel of his neck, shifting his gaze to peer through the driver's window.

"Nevermind?" She pursed her lips and leant her body forwards; intently studying his diverted gaze. Is he... embarrassed?!

"Ichigo! You're buying clothes because you're meeting Rukia, aren't you?!" She plastered a goofy smile onto her features as Ichigo remained stoic and impassive. Or rather, acted stoic and impassive.

"I said nevermind, and I'm only bringing you because you're." He threw a pointed finger at the woman. "Helping me choose something to wear."

Nell, utterly unaffected by his tone, simply pouted her full lips and girlishly fluttered her eyelashes. "Is that an order?" She squeaked.

"Yeah, yeah. It's an order." He locked the steering wheel to the right.

"Well then." She cleared her throat before parting her soft lips. "Shopping it is!"


Shunsui roared a throat-tearing yawn through his painfully dry lips as he plodded heavily into the large Kuchiki kitchen. His right hand balancing his weak body against the tall wall while the other ran limp fingers through his unrecognisable tangle of sepia hair. His eyes found a small, dark-haired woman in the corner; merrily humming a rather unique tune to herself.

Now, Shunsui. Get it together. The mother of your beloved is right there and you're a veteran smooth-talker. Simply say good morning in a civilized fashion, and she won't force-feed you those God-awful hangover tablets.

"Mooorg..." *belch* "...Ms.Koochokii."

Nicely done!

Hisana screeched as she spun on her heels; swinging a kitchen knife at the booming, raspy voice behind her. With blinking eyes, she surveyed the disheveled being. In utter disbelief, she identified the raggedy man as Shunsui.

"Wow. It must have been rather a good night!" She threw a mocking smirk at the groaning form behind her as he dropped, then proceeded to sprawl himself lazily over a large, black chair.

"What are you cooking for breakfast, Hisana-san?" He barely managed to slur. Luckily for him, Hisana had accustomed herself to this form of speech over the years.

"I'm making a quick stir-fry, would you like some?" His glistening eyes, parted lips and lack of immediate response answered her somewhat rhetorical question.

With a chuckle, she turned her attention to the stove. "So, Shunsui. Are you joining us for dinner tomorrow?" Hisana sang over the sound of sizzling beef.

"Dinner tomorrow?" He replied. Perking a brow at the slender woman as she tossed the pans contents, dropping some thinly sliced peppers through the rising steam.

"Yes, we've invited Ichigo to meet Rukia." Hisana tossed the wok's contents with a deft flick of her slim wrist, dropping numerous and varying colours of vegetables into the sizzling pan. "Did Nanao not tell you about it?" She queried.

"I don't recall her mentioning it... but if there's an invitation going, then there's no way I can turn down Chilli night!" Shunsui mused, his mouth salivating at the mere thought... And his mind cackling at the potential scenario.

This should be fun.


-DING- "Will all customers please remember to take care when exiting the elevators. Thank you."

Laughing children could be heard as they skipped through the metal barricade of the doors, whipping their coloured balloons around in wide arcs while their parents vainly attempted to ascertain some form of control over their charges.

"Ohhhh! This store looks great!" Nell cooed.

Ichigo grated out a defeatist sigh as the tall woman once again wrapped her lithe fingers around his wrist, and proceeded to yank his body from a comfortable walk into a full blown sprint. He yelped as she came to a sudden stop, very nearly colliding with the back of her head.

"Remind me not to come shopping with you again. I'll pick my own shitty clothes and save myself four hours of the damn day," he grumbled irritably. Digging his fingers into his orange locks, his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head as he drew his nails against his scalp. Nell either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him. Ichigo didn't know. But what he did know, was that the green-haired woman was leaving crescent nail marks in his skin.

"Here," she coolly stated, releasing her white-knuckle grip on his wrist.

Ichigo wrapped his own hand around the white marks, massaging the aching flesh with firm circular motions. He noted that Nell had already begun sifting through the many black and white suits that hung from the bottom rail; the loud clanging of metal on metal ensued as she ripped numerous items of clothing from the line and hung them over his convienient, yet coincidentally horizontal forearm.

"Okay. There's a pair of jeans and a shirt." She propped her body up once more and dusted her hands off against each other. Ichigo couldn't help but perk an eyebrow, and use the matching, confused expression to question the woman's choices.

"Oh just try it on." She feigned anger.

Ichigo noted all too grimly, as she spun his body around and ushered him towards the dressing room, that she reminded him too much of his mother. Or rather, anyone's mother.

"Will you stop fuckin' pushing me? I can walk on my own!" He spat angrily at the obtrusive woman.

"We're here now anyway. I'm going to grab a coffee, I'll meet you back here in a while."

By the time the fiery-haired and tempered man turned around to yell, she had disappeared. With a sigh, he gazed down at the expensive fabric that she had forced upon him.

This better look good.

Ichigo raised his vision to find that a store attendant had seemingly materialized from nowhere, donning a false grin and well maintained, crease-free suit. "Do you wish to use the dressing rooms, sir?"

He turned to the door, then looked down at the clothes on his forearm and then back to the attendant. He shot the man his perfected scowl as a partial response to the idiotic question. "Well, yeah..."

The man swiftly wrenched the creaky handle down and yanked the door open, pointing to a booth towards the end of the narrow hallway. Ichigo shrugged, then nodded in response before making his way along the aisle. Once inside the small changing area and with the curtain securely closed, he immediately slumped lazily into a small garden chair that had been so strategically placed in the centre.

I haven't had a moments fucking peace since I woke up this morning. First Byakuya woke me up, then front-row seats to geek porn and over six hours of Nell's constant friggin' chattering. Talk about a complete clusterfuck.

He threw his torso back into the cloth backrest and quickly lifted his hands to his face. As he dragged his palms firmly down his cheeks, his ears came to notice the silence of the booth. With a short relaxing sigh, his hands fell to the clothes on his knee.

I wonder what she chose...

With vague curiousity, he hooked a curled finger under a metal hanger and lifted the shirt from the top of the pile. Batting the middle of the shirt to spread the short black sleeves, he took in the silk-like, black material. Perking a brow, he noticed that only two buttons lined the seam of the shirt; halfway down the thin material. As his eyes continued to roam; interest now piqued, he noticed that the shirt lacked a hem, and was instead flayed with a thin lining of similarly cut crimson red material hanging just below.

With a scoff, he shook his head in jest; passing it off as another of Nell's ridiculous jokes. There was no way she could think this hideous... thing would suit him.

"Well I like it!"
Shut up.
"It'll suit me."
Shut up!

He groaned; delving his mind into the possible pro's and con's of picking out another shirt.

If I get another, at least I know I'll like it.
"If you go back out there, you've gotta deal with that shit-eating dude again."

He tightened his lips in thought before throwing a half-hearted shrug at the cream wall.

Good point, it'll do.



The clear, early evening sky speedily set in over Karakura; herding the remainders of an orange hue over the distant mountains. A cool night's breeze had begun to gust over the empty streets of Karakura's outer suburbs, wisping with it an occasional warm breath of air through it's weak streamline.

"Byakuya! Get back in here!" Hisana bellowed.

"Rukia! Are you ready yet?!" Byakuya roared.

"Nanao! Where the hell are my socks?" Rukia demanded.

"Shunsui! Not now! I'm trying to get ready!" Nanao spat.

"Hisanaaaa! Nanao's being mean to me!" Shunsui whimpered.



Ichigo stood motionless.

His eyes fixated upon the large, dark, wooden door.

A heavy lump rose in his throat as he gingerly reached for the doorbell.

It's now or never.

-RING-

He quickly threw his left foot behind him, bracing himself for the inevitable answer.

At least if he does dive on me, with this rag for a shirt noone will notice.

"MY BOY!"

Ichigo threw his head to the left, then right, then towards the roof and back to the door. He couldn't sense anything of his psychopathic father. Releasing the tension in his stanced legs, he let out a relieved sigh and grappled the door knob.

-CRASH-

He instinctively shot his gaze down to his body, checking for any sign of his father's attempt of an attack. Several moments passed, and he came to the conclusion that both he and his suit were unscathed. Quiet whining could be heard reverberating through the thick wood of the door; Ichigo snickered, almost evilly to himself as he twisted the brass knob and yanked the door open, revealing his father's pathetic pout only briefly before he collapsed out onto the steps.

"I'm sorry mother!" Isshin cried. Clutching the back of his throbbing head, he paid no heed to Ichigo as he unceremoniously stepped over his father's crumpled form.

"Who did it this time!?" Ichigo's yell echoed the immense pride he felt for the strong women of his family. He made his way through the hallway, brandishing a near-impossibly wide smirk and branched off to the right before stomping proudly into the living room.

"Good evening dear!" Masaki cooed from the kitchen.

"Evenin'," he replied with a brief wave of his hand. Thudding his way into the kitchen area, he stopped as his attention was tugged towards the finger that his mother always poked her cheek with. This was of course the universal 'give your mother a kiss hello' sign. After a brief groan he complied. Spinning his body in a whirlwind of frayed shirt and fresh cologne, he threw a hand to the counter; levering himself around the marble surface and onto a large stool.

"What honours us so, to have such a caliber of doctor grace us with this rare appearance?" Masaki feigned a surprised gasp and performed a curt bow for her son.

Ichigo winced at the sarcastic inflection. "I'm going to dinner and I thought I'd come by on the way, happy?" He sighed out his reply, mentally patting himself on the back for what was in his opinion, a far surperior response. "Besides, it's your fault for moving away from the surgery."

"Don't start with me dear, you'll only lose," Masaki chortled. Bashing her palms against the sides of her white apron, excess flour that had caked her fingers arose in a white cloud; which Ichigo made a pointed effort of avoiding.

"Yeah, yeah. How're things?" He coughed, fanning the white mist away from his face.

"Everything's fine. The house is rather quiet at the moment with Yuzu and Karin being away." She reached up to the neck strap of the dusty apron and carefully weaved her ash-blonde hair through the cotton loop.

Ichigo dropped his forearms against the lacquered counter and clasped his fingers together into loose fists. "I forgot, where did they go?" He questioned.

"They're on a foriegn exchange programme with their college, visiting a pen-pal from America. Her name's lauren, a very nice young lady!" Masaki chuckled and bunched the cotton garment into a loose ball. Latching onto the handle of the washing machine below her with slipper-clad toes, she unlatched the door with a soft click and rolled the ball into the metal drum.

"Fair enough." He replied with a shrug.

Noticing the strange glint in his mother's eyes, he couldn't help but perk a perplexed brow at her. "What?"

"You're rather dressed up for a dinner, aren't you?" She half asked, half stated.

"It's at the Kuchiki's." He clarified.

"Well come on, let your mother have a good look at you!" Masaki giggled with a sickly girlish tone that reminded him all-too-well of Nell. Before he knew what was happening, Masaki had latched onto his shoulders and spun him around on the stool. "Off you get." She demanded, tugging forcefully at his well structured deltoids.

His body suddenly fell limp. "Come on Mom... I'm not ten anymore..." He whined. The pathetic, self-degrading tone that only a man's mother would be able to yank through their proud demeanour. However, his complaints fell on deaf ears as Masaki heaved his tall form to his feet. With a contented sigh, she dropped her arms to his limp wrists and proceeded to lift his arms up to his sides; her eyes taking in every inch of his attire.

"My my! That's a strange shirt..."

See?

"...But it really suits you!"

"Ha!"

"Thanks..." He grumbled, defeated. After several minutes of diverting his eyes in every which-way, he found his focus back on his mother's beaming face. His firmly knit frown slowly subsided as she chuckled at the forced expression.

"Don't mention it." She dropped his limp arms back to his sides.

"Owww," Isshin whinged. Stumbling into the front room whilst clutching the back of his head, he was greeted by Masaki with a sharp pinch to the cheek. His eyebrows perched themselves high on his forehead as she released her grip, dropping the firm skin back into place with a loud squelch.

"Honestly Isshin, do you really have to pounce on him every time he come's home? It's no wonder that he rarely visits!" She scolded her husband. Patting his cheek gently with the pads of her fingers, she drew her hand forcefully along his face; elicting a snicker from Ichigo and a long-winded groan from Isshin.

"Anyway, I've gotta get goin'," Ichigo stated coolly whilst throwing a firm fist into his injured father's shoulder. The man threw his body to the floor; rambling melodramatically about the fairness of his situation.

"Take it easy Mom, Dad!" Ichigo bellowed from the hall.

"Drive safe!" Masaki called back.

"Keep your hand on your ha'penny!" Isshin roared in response. Ichigo visibly cringed at the term. His father had so delicately explained the meaning of said phrase when he was twelve years old, and even now he couldn't accept it for it's real meaning. Still, as he stepped out the front door and heard the faint echoes of his father's agonizing cries, and his mother's scolding voice; he took solice in the man's pain.

He slung his body into his car's seat, the soft ringing of the flashing dashboard signalled for him to close the door; he sighed and shot a glance at the digital clock.

7:28... Thirty-two minutes...

He swiftly kicked his feet into the vehicle, yanking the door shut behind him as he drooped back into his seat; hands planted firmly over each of his kneecaps. He allowed himself a few uninterrupted moments to relax, unwind, clear his mind and replenish his energy.

Anxiety immediately found its way through his reeling mind; revealing itself in the form of an increased heartrate. Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly allowed the hot air to pour from his lips.

It's just a freakin' dinner. Calm down. I've hardly thought about her all week.

He recoiled slightly as that strange feeling tugged at his chest once more.

So she was beautiful, and had gorgeous indigo eyes, and soft, lucious lips and creamy white sk...

He rammed the butt of his palms into his forehead; forcing his brain to stop it's incessant thinking. "Stop it," he chided. "I don't know her and she's the daughter of Byakuya..." He rolled his eyes at the visage of the dark-haired man. "How great could she really be?"

She's also the daughter of Hisana, and she's lovely.

"Lovely?" He blinked. "When the fuck did I start saying that?"

There's nothing wrong with finding her attractive.

"It's not about finding her attractive..."

...Then why am I bouncing my leg again?

He looked down, mildly surprised at the speed of his rocking thigh.

With a deep breath, he reached over to the ignition and slid the key effortlessly into the slot. Dropping his hand down to the gear stick, he dug a heavy finger down into the window button, allowing a faint sound of chuckling girls to pour through through the wide gap. Remaining passive, he simply leaned to his left and rested his head back against the seat; glancing down to the clock once more.

7:34... Already?!

Firing his hands forward with incredible accuracy, he sparked the ignition, clicked on the CD player, snapped his buckle on and shunted the car into gear.


"Okay, is everyone listening?" Hisana questioned. The group had been summoned to the large living room. Byakuya, Rukia, Nanao and Shunsui stood completely straight while Hisana slowly paced along the short line; throwing a querying eye at her husband as a typical goofy smile found his lips.

She stepped up to the man, planting her hands firmly on each of her hips as she raised a questioning eyebrow. "Is something funny, Byakuya?" She inquired threateningly.

"Not at all my dear." He replied simply, honestly. Hisana continued to study his face as the smirk began to vanish, replaced instead by a look of cool indifference. Contented, she made her way to the end of the line; digging her heels into the white carpet, she spun around to face a blinking Shunsui.

"There will be no sexist nor sexual related jokes this evening. Nor will you goad that moron." She flung a pointed finger in the direction of her husband. "Into a battle of connotations or innuendo's," she stated. Stepping forward until her head hovered just a few inches from the man's chin, she narrowed her eyes. "Do I make myself clear?"

Shunsui nodded dumbly and cleared his throat. "Yes ma'am." Hisana moved along to stand before a statuesqe Nanao, her line of sight interjected by Hisana's expressionless face.

"There will be no rising to any of his." She jabbed a finger at Shunsui. "Or his." She poked another at Byakuya. "Jokes. Be it to swat them down, or joining in. Understood?"

Nanao bit down on her lip and dared a glance at her smirking boyfriend. His expression soon faded as Hisana shot him a deathly glare. "Understood, mother," Nanao replied quietly. Hisana nodded and sidestepped, her gaze now level with her youngest daughter.

"I don't need to ask anything of you, we've already spoken." Rukia held back a smile as Hisana shot her a wink. "As for you..." Hisana's steely front faded for a split second as she attempted to recall the speech she had prepared. With another, broader sidestep, she stood before her husband.

"No condscending, mocking, spitting, goading, farting, burping, screaming, yelling, crying, whining, begging, poking, prodding." She sucked in a deep breath. "Pouting, grimacing, scratching, itching, jumping, running, or fights of any kind. Not limited to food fights, drink fights, fist fights, arm wrestling." She let out a short phew and locked her eyes with Byakuya's.

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?" She paced her words, making sure every last sillable reached her husband's ignorant ears. Byakuya nodded weakly; petrified the tone of his small wife's, demonic-like voice.

Hisana took another few seconds to pace up and down the line, her eyes scrutinzing the four figures before her.

"Right! Shunsui, tuck your shirt in! Nanao, you're fine. Rukia, your left shoulder strap is down! Byakuya..." She rolled her eyes. "Take off the leather gloves, you don't look cool, you look like an awful Michael Jackson impersonator..."

Aghast, Byakuya parted his lips to defend his fashion sense. But as Hisana shot him a deathly glare, he reasoned that it would be in his best interests to simply remain silent, pout and take off his favourite, collector's edition golfing gloves.

"Okay!" she chuckled. Her steely front shattering as suddenly as it had appeared. "The table's set, food's ready." She looked down to her bare wrists. "Oops. Nanao, what's the time?"

Nanao twisted her forearm upwards. "7:55."

Hisana nodded, clapping her hands together. "Okay, Byakuya and Shunsui you two can just do whatever you want," she threw her thumb at the doorway. "Get any idiocy out of your system right now," she dictated. The two men eagerly complied; darting from the living area towards the rather large gaming room.

"Nanao, could you go and light the candles please." Hisana requested. Her gaze fixed on her youngest daughter.

"Of course." She answered. Hastily making her way towards the opposite room, grabbing a box of matches from the living room's side table on the way.

Hisana stepped up to her youngest, motionless daughter. "Rukia?" She whispered softly.

Rukia lifted her head, recoiling slightly at her mother's close proximity. "Hmm?.

"Relax."

Rukia curled her lips into a soft, appreciative smile. "I'm fine," she stated firmly. "Don't make such a fuss."

"You're the one making a fuss. Silent or vocal, it's plainly obvious to a keen mother's eye," Hisana whispered.

"I don't understand." Rukia shook her head.

Hisana rolled her eyes. "Do you remember what we spoke about earlier?"

"Of course." Rukia perked a brow. "Do you really think I'm that dense?"

"Not at all, you just don't seem to be listening to me." Hisana pursed her lips slightly.

"I am listening, otherwise we wouldn't be conversing, would we?" Rukia retorted.

Hisana sighed. There was no winning with a stressed Rukia.

"I just don't understand why you're making such a big deal about it," Rukia huffed indignantly. "I'm not worried in the slightest."

"If lying will make you feel better, then feel free. But do try and remember what I said." Hisana shot her daughter a wide, beaming smile before reaching over to her left shoulder. Rukia's eyes followed her movements meticulously as she pinched the thin strap of her top and lifted it back onto her shoulder.

"Yes... You were clearly listening," Hisana chuckled.


He stared at the door. Motionless. Silent. Statuesque.

Echoes of quiet music edged themselves through the letterbox, the sounds diffused beyond recognition.

Taking a slow, deep breath; the relief granted only briefly quelled the racing of his heart. The voices of two women giggling and chattering to each other somewhere from the hallway within, raised a small lump in his throat. Swallowing, he inspected his shirt and black jeans for what felt like the fiftieth time since he stepped out of his car's warmth into the cool night's breeze.

Lifting his wrist, he squeezed a small button on the side of his watch; a faint green glow illuminated the white hands.

7:59. Get it together.

With another hefty breath, he picked up on the delightful scent of chilli. With a hiss, he expunged a large stream of white mist from his barely parted lips.

Get it together!

He reached a hesitant hand up to the brass doorbell.

Come on.

His finger rested upon the smooth, icy cold surface.

"Pansy! Do it!"

-DING-