.

No vacancy

.

It takes a little over an hour to decide to do it, less than a minute to send the email and about a day to pack up her stuff.

The tricky part was never about the action itself; the thought alone had sustained her for years. No, the tricky part was why she's resolutely ignoring the vibration of her phone as it hums irritably in her bag.

So instead Rukia focuses on the walls, the ceilings, the floors – the building is an old converted warehouse that fits right in with the neighborhood of other converted old warehouses that make up Rukongai district.

Some of the piping is artfully naked, running parallel to exposed red-face brick as large windows blink shadows through faded watercolor glass, she's told that the building used to be a dye factory.

The unit doesn't come with much by way of amenities if she goes for the cheaper unfurnished option, but she's been told that regardless, they don't offer a washer and dryer for private use because their laundry facilities are pretty good – "You only have to share them with the people on your floor" – and it probably says something about her that she gets a little thrill out of the thought.

It occurs, in a distant sort of way, that the novelty of it will wear off, and probably quickly given how convenient her life has been that she's never had to worry about sharing a laundry machine before, but at the moment the thought doesn't even occur.

Or maybe she's just suppressing it.

Just like how she's ignoring the way her bag is rattling.

Either way, she tells the landlord, a blonde man in a green lounger's outfit and a bucket hat, that she'll take it. Furnished, she adds, since she doesn't own anything of her own that she didn't squeeze into a taxi from across town, and it'll make the move easier and faster if she can just set up as is.

With a flick of his fan and a cat-like smile, he practically purrs, "Perfect."

And if she's suspicious about that, she tries not to show it.

This place is set at a great price, by her estimates of the area.

It's close to her new job and just a hop, skip and a jump away from the neighborhood scene of city markets, prohibition styled hidden bars and creative haunts she's only ever seen on a travel blogger's Instagram account. Not even a guy wearing green-tinted sunglasses indoors is going to ruin this for her, and he doesn't seem to have any plans to the contrary. Right until he takes her cash deposit with a careless by-the-way, "Don't worry about your neighbor, he's not actually a serial killer."

And that's…that's – "What?"

He waves off her bewilderment with another flick of his fan. "Just idle gossip. Nothing to worry about. 3B is mostly quiet."

"Mostly," she echoes, "and when he isn't?"

"Well, then he isn't," is the reply before he shows himself out with a flippant, "Welcome to the building, Kuchiki-san."

The door closes with a resounded thud, drowning out any follow-up questions namely – what the hell – except then she's shaking her head and mentally pushing the niggling doubt and frizzle of fear with the rest of it – out of sight and out of mind.

Gently nudging her bag beneath the wooden dining table, phone still humming angrily, she takes stock of her new home with growing excitement.

The furniture itself is sparse consisting only of a queen-sized bed, a couch, a dining table with four chairs and a fridge, all in varying levels of distressed that looks equal parts purposeful and well used, it works with the industrial-looking space.

Mentally, she's already picking out rugs and throw pillows, and deciding where to set up her work station. The bedroom, which is more of a gilded perch for the bed above an L-shaped staircase, doesn't have much room that isn't for the bed itself so she's thinking that the remaining space left of the first floor of the combined living room, dining room and kitchen will do perfectly, and with another bookshelf and table to go under the split level, the space will be rounded out and cozy in no time.

Oh! She could probably go to one of the local markets – they would sell furniture of some kind, surely – and get some artsy wall decals too.

Rukia has few doubts that she can't get the remainder of the loft furnished easily enough within the next few days, it'll be like she's lived here forever, and with all the exploring she's planning to do, she'll make a local of herself yet.

Yes. Focus on the good.

This was a good idea.

She has a job, she has an apartment, she has – no food in the fridge. Right. Of course, she doesn't, she just got here, and she didn't get groceries yet because she didn't have a place to live until about five minutes ago which is apparently long enough to have her brother call over twenty-three times since.

Ironic really, since her nii-sama isn't the most talkative person to begin with.

There aren't any other calls besides his, though, and exiting out of her call logs on her device, she searches up local food in the area. Upon finding a grocery store around the corner it seems like everything was going to keep coming up Rukia.

With a grocery basket in hand and her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she's greeted by her brother's judgemental silence, before a stony, "Where are you?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Rukia."

"I just called to let you know I'm alright." She's getting groceries, she's thinking about to make for dinner, look at her, successfully adulting! "You don't need to call the cops, I haven't been kidnapped or taken against my will, I'm fine. Really."

"Rukia," and though all he's saying is her name, she can hear the nuances in his pronunciation, a mixture of exasperation and exhaustion with just a hint of worry.

With Byakuya, it's always the little things.

"I promise I will call you if I need anything, okay?"

"Then why are you calling now?"

Rukia scoffs. Her parents might not know or care that she's left, but her brother more than makes up for it. "So, you won't make missing posters or put my picture on milk cartons?"

"No one does either of those things anymore," he deadpans.

"That's the spirit," she teases. "Oh, I'm next in line."

"For what?"

"I bought groceries," Rukia says with a not-insignificant proud little puff of her chest. "Did you know you could buy cheese in ball form because I didn't!" When all he has for her is the same judging silence, she doesn't let it deter her. "This is a big deal for me. I'm thinking about getting a cake from the bakery down the road, you know, to celebrate? Or, oh! Did you know they sell wine in a box? These are exciting times, nii-sama!"

She can tell he's at least a little amused by her antics even as he sighs. Before, she hears, distantly from his side of the line, "Kuchiki-sama, you're needed at the meeting" that his following exhale is decidedly less so. "I have to go."

Her smile droops a little. "Yeah, I figured. I'll call you when I get home, just so you know."

"Good, that's…good," and that's how the conversation ends.

It's probably the most they've said to each other in a week, she pretends the thought isn't bittersweet.

The lady at the counter double-bags her eggs – just in case, is the reason – before Rukia pays, looping the plastic bags through her arms to carry them which is when a yellow cat weaves himself between her legs.

"Neighbourhood scavenger," the lady behind the counter tells her – she's dark-haired and dark-eyed and looks fashionably bored. "Don't get attached. He just wants you to feed him."

Even with the warning, Rukia can't stop the blossoming fondness for the creature as the cat follows her home.

And between the cat and the food she has planned for dinner – she's thinking mac and cheese, the real kind, she got the cheese ball and everything – and the sudden and new changes to her life that have all been for the positive (she's keeping that energy until proven otherwise) all in the span of a single day, Rukia can't tell if it's the best day of her life so far.

The universe empathetically replies No.

She catches the elevator just in time, sticking her hand to stop the closing doors before she slides inside with a relived, "Made it!", Rukia has her favorite flavor of ice-cream in one of the grocery bags and she's not risking it melting.

The yellow cat meows in agreement while the only other occupant – a tall, scowling guy with orange hair, grunts.

She gives him a brief smile – they live in the same building and it's a polite enough reflex to have – only to double-take at the black eye he's sporting.

"What the hell happened to you?"

For a second, his scowl wavers, brows furrowing in confusion before he grunts again, looks away and mutters, "None of your business."

Which – fair, except Rukia's never learned how to leave well enough alone – digging into one of her grocery bags she finds the cheese ball – a mini-cheese wheel according to the packaging, it's adorable and has a Chappy logo on it – which she thrusts at him insistently. "Your eye looks like it's going to pop out of your head."

"You should see the other guy," he deadpans, though bemused, he accepts the cheese ball, if only to get her hand out of his face which is when she notices the blood on his knuckles.

The yellow cat hisses in warning, and Rukia opens and closes her mouth wordlessly before she glares. "Don't bleed on my cheese."

He grunts again which she takes as an agreement before she faces forward again, hand reaching for the console to press the button for her floor when she realizes the only ring of light that's illuminated is the third – where she lives.

Practically compelled by the foreboding she feels, Rukia glances back at him– covertly taking stock of him: The guy, who shall be henceforth referred to as Grumpy, is about her brother's height though his shoulders are broader with a resting bitch face just as effortlessly vicious, she thinks it might just be because his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut someone on contact.

Rukia wouldn't be surprised if he'd killed someone with them by mistake.

Then again, that was jumping the gun a little – there are three other loft apartments beside her own on the third floor – he could live in any one of them. Hell, he could just be visiting someone here.

Though, she shudders to think what 3B looks like if it isn't this guy.

Still, it doesn't hurt to ask, "Uh, so…you live here?"

The eye not covered by the cheese ball she'd forced on him, flickers to her briefly before flicking away again. "Yes."

"Oh. Great," she exhales, doing an admirable job of hiding her trepidation. "Nice to meet you, Neighbor."

"Neighbor," he echoes, though it sounds more like a statement than a question, even with the way his eyebrow arches.

"Just moved in," she tells him, "3A."

Rukia doesn't think he'll respond, and probably won't at all when they reach their floor in relative, awkward silence with the cat Rukia had unwittingly taken home weaving himself between her legs and Grumpy's.

Detangling himself easily from the cat's tail, Grumpy walks out the elevator without further comment, and the tenant from 3D – juggling her own groceries and prying open her door – pauses to eye him suspiciously when he does.

Rukia winces when he walks past the door of 3C and doesn't know what to feel when 3D gives her a sympathetic head shake.

God, that's not good.

The orange-haired guy's keys jingle in his wake as the door of 3B closes with a whine of its hinges.

It's only when she's standing at her own door – relieved that she got out of the interaction unscathed, and tense because she's pretty sure those rumors about 3B are plausible – that she realizes he didn't give back her cheese ball.

And that regardless of her warning, he's probably got his blood all over it.

So much for mac and cheese.

To the empty hallway, Rukia scowls. "Son of a bitch."

A/n: Someone stop me pls