A/N: A different look on Byakuya and a reincarnated version of Hisana – one shot, I may continue it depending on what I think, and of course, what you think :P

Suggested listening: "Open Arms" by Journey

Forget-me-not

Byakuya stood silently in the open window, wind forcing billowing sheer curtains to kiss his face, his hand shaking on the hilt of his zanpakutou.

There she was. Her black hair spilled across white sheets, the moonlight, unbarred by his invisible shadow spilling across her bare back, her soft alabaster skin in sharp contrast to the tan body of the man lying next to her.

He had silently watched her for twenty years, the gentle shadow herding the tiny girl when she walked alone at night, his lips the wind that kissed her cheek, his hand the shadow that slid down her bare arms, the fingers that slid into the hollow of her hand, her fingers clenching around them tightly, instinctively.

As if she knew he was there.

But she couldn't see him. That man couldn't see him. She didn't even know he existed.

This Hisana wasn't his.

A soft sigh startled him from his reverie, her soft brown eyes opening drowsily, her bare skin flushing against the cold as she shivered, reaching for the throw at the end of the bed, her feet padding against hard woods towards the bathroom.

He followed, leaves flying into the bedroom behind him, his eyes glaring contemptuously at the man behind him. His hair was pale, his eyes, he knew, were blue behind those fluttering eyelids – how dare he.

How could he attempt to fathom the depths of the despair that Byakuya had gone through when she had left him? How could he take away what Byakuya had waited for so desperately, so longingly – he would not have her.

She was his.

He watched, possessively, her lithe hands, those hands that had once beseechingly dragged down his back, not that boy's, those hands turning the knob of the shower, hot water steaming the room – the soft patter of water entrancing him as she stood beneath its flow. There, on that flawless body, were kisses, love bites – not his own.

Dammit. She was his.

Was it his punishment to watch her be pleasured every night by another man?

That man that she allowed to touch her, he had followed him, seen that she was not the only girl that he visited, not the only girl that he called "his own". And Hisana didn't know, she didn't know.

Impulsively he stepped forward, sliding through the glass door silently, his robes untouched by the water, his hands resting on her hips. These hands, those of his true body, could feel the heat emanating from her skin – his lips on her neck.

She was his.

He felt her breath hitch in her throat as his hands trailed farther down her body. She was the same, even the tiny birthmark on her hip, the freckle below her left breast. This was the body of the woman he had worshipped.

His fingers, even after twenty years, knew where to go, where to touch. They slid into her, his thumb searching for that spot, a short gasp of pleasure making her lung forward to rest her forehead and hands against the shower wall.

And oh…she was flushed and perfect, the water streaming and pooling around her, that black hair tickling his face as he sucked on her neck, the skin purpling under his laving, her gasps and cries almost stifling. And then she was making that sound, that soft cry of happiness as her body trembled beneath him, beneath his touch that was there, and yet not.

Then it was over. The water turned off as she collapsed, her legs unable to support her, shivering on the floor, chest heaving. She stumbled out of the shower, and he stood, leaning against the wall, his eyes watching her bare back, the water droplets that pooled as she gripped the countertop of her vanity with white knuckles.

Her fingers dragged slowly up her arm to pull the hair back from her neck, her eyes widening as they trailed over the purple love mark that remained there. And then her eyes looked up, reflected in the mirror, and met his own. They widened sharply, and she whirled, looking for something that wasn't there, that shouldn't have been there.

She could see him.

His breath hitched in his throat as she stepped forward, hands reaching towards his body, hands that wavered – wavered long enough for him to panic. He disappeared, as quickly as he had come, back to the window, back to the light pole outside. Away from her, away from that man, away from that body, those lips, that voice, those hands.

Away from his heart.

And the next day, when he stood on the street across from her apartment complex, ready to shadow her on her commute, his robes billowing in the chilly early spring air, hair wafting into his eyes, she had stepped out, as usual.

Except this time, her eyes met his.

And instead of walking to the corner to push the worn orange button of the cross walk, as usual, she walked across the street.

A/N: Ah, so should I continue? I'm tempted to just leave it at that. Keep in mind that this is reincarnated Hisana :-) After her life in Soul Society, when she's back in the real world.

Lyrics:

Living without you
Living alone
This empty house seems so cold
Wanting to hold you
Wanting you near
How much I wanted you home

But now that you've come back
Turned night into day
I need you to stay

So now I come to you
With open arms
Nothing to hide
Believe what I say
So here I am
With open arms
Hoping you'll see
What your love means to me
Open arms