Ok! for anyone who cares, this story is officially back on track, and the next chapters will be up soon. Also, this chapter has been renamed "Dreams" and also been edited a little, so you might want to reread it before going on to the next chapter.

Laughter echoes in the cool summer breeze as the two teenage boys make their way down the narrow dirt path, well-worn and deep-rutted from years of bikers and kids looking for the fastest way to school.

"walk faster trash." The boy in front commands in a lazy tone, lifting a single black-nailed hand to brush a strand of dark hair away from his face. His companion–a tall, muscled teen with sapphire eyes and blue–yes, blue hair– only grins at the term. "trash" short for "the trash king" was his nickname, awarded for his tendency to cuss out pretty much everyone he comes across.

"yeah, what ever, Demon." He said in a lazy tone of his own. Demon. Another nickname. This one given for physical appearance; pale white skin, black hair, green eyes dark enough to be black, and a wardrobe filled with dark clothing.

If you asked anyone how the two teens had met or where they had come from, they couldn't tell you. No one could. They had shown up nearly six years ago with seemingly no parents, past, or family other than Demon's younger sister, a three-year-old (now nine) who was his spitting image.

The path veered sharply to the right, and both teens rounded the corner with bored yet content expressions on their faces. Demon's sister, Kairi, waited for them on the park bench by the road, her school uniform stained with blood. The world seemed to tip on it's axes as the sky changed to a wicked night with a crescent moon, hanging like a blade in the sky. The ground around them disintegrated and was quickly replaced by starch white sand. Both boys suddenly found themselves aged to there twenties.

Demon screamed, feeling an agonizing pain in the the place right below his Adams apple, across his abdomen, and on the left side of his chest, and screamed again as he realized that a hole had been torn in his throat, several holes punctured his body, and a Gothic number 4 burned into his skin. He turned, searching desperately for his friend. His partner. His lover. And what he saw nearly broke him.

The blue-haired man wore an all white samurai uniform, a blade at his hip, and a broken mask over the right side of his face. Blood flowed freely from the hole in his chest, and pain showed in his eyes as he smiled sadly. "Ulquiora" he whispered "forget me. Run!"

But he couldn't run. Couldn't breath. The bullet wounds were too great, and he was dying. "I will never forget you" he whispered back, just as the older man vaporized into white sand.

"Please don't leave me!" his sister screamed. But he knew it was hopeless, and with the last of his strength he reached up a trembling hand, and wiped the tears out of her eyes. More came, and darkness enveloped him so suddenly, it was like flicking off a switch.

Ulquiora Sciffer bolted upright in bed, the white sheets tangled around his legs and his right arm suspended in mid-air, as if reaching for something. Or someone. For a moment he stared, unable to tear his eyes away from his hand. Damn. Why does he keep dreaming about that? About them?

With a silent grunt Ulquiora flopped back onto the white mattress, his head landing with a thump on the white pillow, while his eyes scanned the white walls of his room and finally settled on the white door. He could feel himself going insane. Everything was fucking white, and it was starting to grate on him.

The moments ticked by, and before long the fourth espada had no choice but to admit that he was so not going to fall back to sleep, so with a sigh, he stood, and padded out of his room in the–you guessed it–white halls of Las Noches.

The desert that is Hueco Mundo is unlike the deserts in the human world in many ways. The most obvious? It isn't hot. It isn't cold. There is no such thing as temperature, and at that moment Ulquiora would have killed for for the golden burn of summer, or the bitter frost of winter's chill. Hell, at that moment he would have killed for anything that wasn't so damn empty. Like a never-ending void of starch-white nothingness.

Standing on top of the fortress of Las Noches, wearing nothing but a pair of white sleeping pants, Ulquiora couldn't help but long for the constant motion, the unpredictable weather, and the seemingly never-ending sea of color that made up Tokyo city, and before he could stop himself, he had torn open a portal, and teleported there.

Unsurprisingly, he soon found himself at the park near his–no, Kairi's home– remembered this place. The three of them would sit on the swings at night, when no one was around, and look up at the stars.

He sighed and kept walking, paying no attention to where he was going, and yet knowing exactly where he would wind up. Her house. It was strange, even now, to think that he didn't live there anymore. But he didn't. And she was all alone.

Ulquiora shook his head to dispel that last painful thought, and stared up at the tiny apartment that had been his home and sanctuary so long ago. Using his sonido, he jumped to the window that had always led to her room. It was winter, and she had left it open. She always had, ever sense He and The Trash King had died. She had left her window open, and the front door unlocked, and prayed every night at the shrine in the living room, reminding them it was still their home.

Mumbling in her sleep, Kairi rolled over, causing her long black hair to spill over her face. Ulquiora clenched his fists, and resisted the urge to gently brush it away like he would have before. With a silent grunt, he made himself comfortable on the window seat, and watched his baby sister dream...