Cause Toshiro would be a hot rockstar. Yes, that's Roadie Ichigo watching in the corner.

Hitsugaya's hair is the biggest pain in the ass since Sanzo's (Saiyuki).

Shameless Self Pimp:

The male looked down from his spot among the rafters as the young star walked on stage for his lighting and sound check. He reached beside him, pulling a cell phone from his pocket.

“Kurosaki here.”

“Ichigo-kun!” happy voice greeted him. “How’s the lead?”

“Description and demeanor are a perfect fit,” was the calm reply.

“It could be him? Really?”

“Down, Matsumoto. It’s a strong possibility, but interaction with him will show for sure.”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm!”

“If I blow my cover, I’m not a roadie anymore, and I don’t get to see that cute smirk as often.”

“Just go into shinigami mode.”

“He can see spirits.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“The you’re in the role of Rukia-chan.”

“I guess so. I think I’ll be using a different tactic, though. Kurosaki out.”

“Ichigo-kun, you don’t need to be so formal!”

“I think it’s good for you.”

“You’re starting to sound like him! Where’s my trouble-loving ryoka?”

He shut the phone. Not because was mad at the woman by any means, the two constantly teased each other.

Toushiro was about to start singing.

“Tsumetai yokaze ga me ni sasari, kudaranai kioku ga afure dasu, togatta serifu wo sora ni hanachi, chi no aji no nokoru tsuba wo haita...”

Ichigo had know the one before him for over a century. He’d never once heard him sing.

“‘Minna shinjyae’ tte kuchiguse wo, aitsu wa kokoro kara kanashinda, mamorou to shite kizutsukeru chikara de, nani wo te ni shite yuku?”

He now knew that was an awful shame.

“I believe in this light I see, tashika na hikari yo, sakebidasu ore wo michibiite kure...”

‘Voice of an angel’ didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Tsuyosa dake wo shinjite kita hibi, munashisa wo katsu tabi ni shitta, chippoke na kokoro de warau kara, mou sukoshi tsuyogatte isasete kure...”

His phone began to vibrate. He cursed, then again when he saw who it was. She would be livid if he ignored her.

“Make it quick,” he hissed into the phone. “I’m busy.”

“Hey! Matsumoto just told me you found him! I was gonna congratulate you, but if you’re gonna act like that-“

“Rukia, it’s not 100 percent yet.”

“From what I hear, if it’s not, he’s a clone.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, adjusting the nearby spotlights accordingly. Then he saw a familiar glare. The singer hated it when people were on the phone at times like this. “Listen, Rukia, I gatta go. I’ll talk to you later, promise,” he said quickly, then shut the phone. He mouthed an apology to the other, and while the shorter’s gaze softened, he still did not look impressed. Aw, well. He’d have to apologize properly later.

“I believe in this light I see, kodoku na hikari yo, kuruidasu ore wo dakishimete kure.”

The rest of the world knew him as Daisuke Saionji: Japanese-born, currently 17, and not a soul believed that white was his natural hair color, nor teal his natural eye color, despite baby pictures obtained from his mother. His surly attitude was at an all-time high, and most brushed him off as a snotty rich rock star.

What was not so widely known, even by him, was that there was an entire world looking for his sorry ass. Oh, yes, when Hitsugaya-taichou’s memories surfaced, he had A LOT of explaining to do.

Ichigo knew for a fact his lover did not currently remember him. He’d tried casually walking by first (cliche as it was), and the other had not even glanced twice. The second time they crossed paths though, the singer had a strange look on his face, as if trying to remember something, but then looked away.

The now-seated shinigami thought it said wonders for his willpower that he had yet to refer to ‘Saionji-san’ as ‘Toushiro.’ But that was going to end reeeaaal soon. There was something he’d been wanting to try for awhile now, but it couldn’t be with a lot of people around, especially if the predicted outburst occurred.

“Hey Kurosaki!” a fellow roadie called. “Food!”

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

He had wondered if using his real name on an alleged ‘incognito’ mission was such a wise idea, but there was no helping it now. He’d introduced himself on impulse. And he loved the little twitch in the singer’s eye whenever he heard it.

“Hey, hey,” he heard someone call. It was Toushiro- er, Daisuke’s rather, personal assistant, Megumi. “Who wants to bring our little Prince of Darkness his dinner?”

“Isn’t that your job?” the shinigami asked. “And don’t you think you’re a bit hard on him?”

“Yes and no,” the woman replied. “I am in no mood to deal with his shit, and if you manage him so easily, you bring it to him,” she added, shoving a brown bag in his direction.

Ichigo took it without complaint, then turned to walk down to the ‘teen’s’ dressing room.

‘Someone’s got PMS,’ he thought as he knocked on the door. “Oi! Open up!”

“It’s open,” came the bored reply.

He did. The occupant was sitting on the couch, reading.

“Where’s Megumi?”

“She said she didn’t feel like dealing with your shit today.”

“Figures. You can leave it on the table and go.”

The shinigami smirked as he did so. This was the perfect opportunity. “Kay. See ya later, Toushiro.”

“It’s Hitsugaya-tai... chou... The hell?”

As much as the taller loved the look of confusion on the other’s face... “Good, it is you. Remember why you left yet, asshole?”

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