So, I wanted to try writing a YoruSoi multi-chapter fic. The idea just randomly came to me earlier today, so I typed it up and here's what came out. I hope you guys like it and if I'm not keeping tabs on it in the future, feel free to give me a little kick to make me update. Sometimes I just lose track of things. This is assuming anyone likes it from the start I guess, aha.

Anyway, I was kind of hesitant in posting this, mostly because the first chapter seems kind of strange and out of place, but it all ties in with the plot. So don't throw rocks at me. :D
This is a short first chapter, I know, but it needed to end where it did, (as many times as that excuse has been used, I assure you, it is the truth!)

By zee way, it's AU.
Most of my Bleach stories seem to be AU lately.
Ah, well. Go ahead and read now.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach in any way, shape or form.

Paper Hearts

Chapter One: Eyes to See

Insufficient blabbering droned against her eardrums as her half lidded eyes scanned the room for something interesting to look at, something to keep her attention and to help block out anything and everything the other man in the room was saying. There wasn't much for her to choose from; the room was sparsely decorated and the walls were a plain cream color, adorned with paintings that held no meaning. Regardless of what anyone told her, one red blob of paint in contrast to a blue blob of paint had no significant way of expressing anything. She could appreciate the arts, but some she found to be only ridiculous, nothing more than a scam.

Much like the situation she was in at the moment.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare as the buzzing in her ears stopped, signaling that he had finished talking and most likely become aware that she wasn't paying him much attention. The man cocked his head to the side, waving his hand around a bit with a smile she wouldn't mind wiping clean off. She sighed, her eyes tracing around the edges of a painting across the room as she answered his question.

"How was my day? It was fantastic," she answered dully.

"Anything out of the ordinary happen?" he inquired, leaning back in his chair, hands folded and a clipboard in his lap, clearly ignoring her sarcasm and obvious displays of passive aggressiveness.

"My microwave exploded."

He nodded, scribbling a sentence or two with his pen before bringing his eyes back to Soi. One of her eyes squinted in annoyance.

"Oh, don't tell me you gave that some sort of dual meaning? My microwave exploded today, sir. That does not mean I have an anger problem and I'm not trying to be poetic. Have you ever had defective kitchenware?"

Therapists were con artists with word candy. Nothing they said to her could fix her life, none of it would make the sky any more blue or the sun shine any brighter. But she'd been roped into therapy after Isane told her she had a problem with anger, which had been heatedly denied, and perhaps a problem with depression, which also, was cast aside. Everyone had their moments and Soi had never considered herself a loon who needed therapy. She didn't need help, there was nothing to be fixed, nothing to talk over with a therapist, nothing to be diagnosed.

She hadn't known Isane was so persistent, considering her usual quiet and timid demeanor. Though it turns out once she had her mind set to doing something, it would be done, hence why Soifon found herself in her third weekly session of therapy.

'No, no…' Soi slapped a palm over her eyes, dragging it over the rest of her face as she held an incredulous stare at the man sitting in a too-expensive black leather chair with a very uncharacteristic grin for someone of his profession. Her head was nearly touching the floor, upside down, while the rest of her body rested at an odd and seemingly uncomfortable looking angle. Knees hooked over the back of the couch, left arm carelessly placed over her abdomen. She shook her head, the ends of her hair skating against the carpeted floor.

'Don't tell me he's going to whip out the cards…'

Not a moment too soon, he smiled too pleasantly for her liking before holding out a large white card with a random blotch of black ink dotting the center of it. She expelled a stream of air.

"And here I thought they only did this in movies," she murmured, using her own momentum to swing her body back up onto the couch into a normal sitting position.

He laughed a bit, scratching behind his neck.

"You'd be surprised how many people say that," he answered with another tip of his head, smile ever present.

She couldn't help but wonder if he needed therapy more than she did. He never did come across as a particularly sane person to her, but since she was the patient, who was she to judge?

"Darn," she shook her head, feigning disappointment. "And all this time I was thinking I was one of the unique ones. Guess you have to have ranks even among the psychos."

His wrist went limp for a moment, the card faltering from his hand as his expression fell. Setting it face down in his lap, he lifted his index finger in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Now, now. Being my patient does not make you psychotic, and that goes for anyone under my care," he waved his finger about and Soi gave him a look; one eye bugging out with her mouth slightly agape.

"You've got to be kidding me," she groaned, throwing her hands into the air and falling back against the couch.

"Well," he looked uneasy for a moment, though it disappeared as quickly as it had come with a shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose this is your session for you to do with as you wish. I think I have a few sock puppets, though they're usually only used the younger patients…" he trailed off and turned in his chair, eyes searching then moving on to his brief case.

Soifon felt her jaw drop a little lower.

"Figure of speech! Gah! It was a figure of speech!" she rubbed at her temples, eyes falling closed.

He chuckled knowingly, settling back into the leather chair as he crossed his legs. His kind eyes flickered to the watch fastened onto his left wrist and he brought his gaze back to Soi, another smile tugging at his lips. She glowered back at him, every bit of her posture screaming in protest to her current predicament. He only found the entire situation that much more amusing when she acted like this. Her attitude did little to sour his own and he usually had the most fun when she came in for her sessions.

"We still have ten minutes, I'd like to go through a few of these before you leave," he said, lifting a stack of the ink blotch cards to face Soi.

She scoffed, crossing her arms indignantly as her lower lip jutted out slightly, portraying an expression of utter discontentment.

"Fine. Go at me, Mr. Therapy," she mumbled, steely eyes shifting to the cards before her.

"What does this look like to you?" he motioned around the card, much like the way a showgirl would introduce a prize to be won on a game show. He didn't lack the enthused expression, either.

"Peacock," she murmured and lifted an eyebrow upon hearing a giggle. "…What?"

"That's a first, usually I get something like ice cream cone," he waved it off, repressing his laughter and presented the next card.

"So, I'm moving up in the level of crazy?" she was absolutely beginning to believe in her theory of this man needing his own help and to practice what he preached. Even when given a therapist, she couldn't end up with someone normal. Not to mention he couldn't be much older than she was. Karma was out to slaughter her. "That one looks like," she paused, her expression suddenly morphing as her eyes widened then hardened and her brows drew together. "…"

"Yes?"

"…"

"Hmm?" he leaned forward in his chair, that maniacal yet friendly grin set in place.

Her jaw locked as she closed her eyes, turning her head away with a frustrated noise.

"Do you really expect me to answer that?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I refuse."

"This is for your own good, I'm only here to help you," he pressed his fingertips to his chest in a particularly feminine way, a fake expression of innocence and hurt on his face.

Soifon turned her glare toward him and held it firmly before standing from the couch, briskly grabbing her coat. Her fingers dug into the fabric as she marched toward the door, shoulders raised and muscles twitching. The other man watched with smiling eyes, not the least bit affected by her behavior or mood and he pulled at his tie out of habit. She turned with a growl to see that he was close to losing himself in a laughing fit, leading to her gripping onto the doorknob and swinging the door open with enough force to rebound against the inner wall of the room. Naturally, she left the door as it was and quickly made her way down the halls.

"It was only a banana split!" he called after her with a hand cupped to the side of his mouth in order to help his voice carry to her before he collapsed against the chair in laughter, his shoulders bobbing and holding his hands to his midsection as the cards fell to a heap the floor, forgotten.

Upon hearing the front door slam, he wiped at his eyes, still chuckling a bit and gathered his things with a yawn. He felt accomplished in only one thing; tormenting the Chinese teenager to the brinks of her own sanity. It was an easy enough task to push her buttons and he'd discovered he had quite a knack for doing so, which only made it all the more fun. A large part of him wished he had more sessions with the disgruntled nineteen year-old, she was a breath of fresh air.

With a final scan to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he pressed his green striped hat atop his head and crossed the room halfway, pausing at the sound of soft footsteps padding along the hardwood floor in the hallway. His smile faded as he recognized the movements and he hesitated, feeling a certain pressure weighing down on his shoulders and chest. His lips drew into a hard line and he swung his briefcase over his shoulder, walking slowly out into the hallway to find her with her back pressed against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself. Her head was held low and her eyes closed, her entire body in a slump. He sighed, his placid eyes sending her sympathetic looks that went ignored as he placed a gentle hand on her bare shoulder from the oversized shirt she wore.

She lifted her head, her golden eyes looking worn and lacking the light they usually held. He tore his gaze from her, his own chest aching from her disheveled appearance and the way she asked him silent questions with those broken eyes. Working through the wreckage of what used to be his best friend had become something to be wary of.

"Nothing?" she murmured, staring blankly at the wall opposite of her.

"No," he shook his head, his tone sullen.

"I see," she pushed herself from the wall, her arms falling to her sides as she walked away.

"Yoruichi--"

She cut him short by turning around, a sad smile on her lips.

"She'll remember," her voice was quiet, almost hollow sounding. "She just needs some time."

He nodded, watched her turn her back to him and walk slowly down the hallway, easing around the corner without a goodbye. With a shake of his head, he disappeared around the opposite end, his conscience pushing down on him like lead as his heavy eyes leveled with his thoughts. He wasn't prepared to give up, though the future was looking grim.