So it had finally happened.

You know. The morning when he was supposed to wake up and grin giddily at the ceiling, maybe give a silent, self-congratulatory fist pump.

Funny. But somehow all he really felt like doing was lying here in bed, his arm around the man sleeping soundly beside him.

They all told him he was crazy. It could never happen, it's like some cheesy plot in a movie. (A gay movie, Ikkaku had pointed out. Hisagi had punched him in the gut.) And, to be honest, he'd almost agreed. There was no way this would ever work. No way a loser like him could ever attract the attention of someone like Kuchiki Byakuya.

Not that he ever doubted Byakuya wasn't straight. The girls in class didn't seem to get it; they wore tight shirts with little hearts and cute sayings printed across their breasts, then looked confused when he wouldn't stare. No, he was gay, all right. The problem was, he'd never really stared at anyone. Definitely not Renji.

If he only knew how long Renji had waited, hemming and hawing, teased and goaded by his so-called friends. Day after day, he sat in class, pretending to take notes while gazing down at the impassive object of his affections. A couple times, he even thought to move closer, so he'd be right in front of him, but that didn't work either. He felt stupid and moved back to his old spot a few days later, a little embarrassed and a lot dejected.

And then he'd finally just done it. He asked the fucker out. Couldn't hurt, could it?

And suddenly, he was a part of his life.

He found that not having Kuchiki Byakuya in his life was no more acceptable than not having oxygen or food. He rediscovered this every time they were apart, and he agonized over the thought that Byakuya didn't feel the same way about him. Miraculously, whenever they were together, he became this entirely different person. He exuded confidence, he was funny, he was sexy—well, more than usual. And Byakuya, in turn, learned to smile.

Every now and then, he even laughed.

So now, here he was. In bed, the morning after. It was supposed to be his moment of triumph, the proof of his success. Hell, he'd sure as fuck waited long enough. Professor Kuchiki, he'd learned, wasn't just shy. He was a fucking ice princess. It made Renji want to hunt down the sick fuck who'd done this to him—whatever "this" was—and punch him until his fucking head rolled right off his fucking shoulders. And then he'd beat the living shit out of each and every one of his relatives, too, just for good measure.

Beside him, Byakuya sighed, a little frown forming, as if he could hear Renji's thoughts. He smiled down at him, reaching out with one finger to smooth away the line etched between his brows before stroking gently down the bridge of his nose. Well, he guessed he had a choice now. He could either head to the kitchen and bring him back breakfast in bed (okay, fine, fuck it—he was a romantic), or he could slip under the covers and suck him off until he woke up, then proceed to fuck him good morning.

Yeah. Definitely option 2.