[ He senses Ichigo coming out of the building just as Ichigo must have certainly sensed his presence as well. Regardless, he keeps his gaze down and his focus on his tea (it's not quite as good as the matcha he drank in that small tea shop back in Kyoto but on the spectrum from proper tea to preboiled and served in a plastic cup, it's not doing too badly). He feels him, though. Every step towards him, every moment that passes.
There's some small commotion when Ichigo stops dead in the middle of the crowd. Byakuya cares little about the girls that nearly collided with him - no, what matters is the fact that he's clearly been noticed and not, as one might have feared, ignored. Then, moments later, Ichigo makes his way over, the long, sharp lines of his body instantly recognisable to him in a way that they weren't before. He's tried (and sometimes, failed) not to think back on what they did together too much but clearly, his mind has saved the imprints of Ichigo all the same, of the way his body fills out the space around him.
Treacherous.
He sips his tea as Ichigo comes to a halt in front of him. Though he doesn't actively look up at him, he's taking him in from beneath his lashes; the way his hands tighten into fists, his forced inhalations. His own shoulders lower a fraction in response.
It's good to know that he isn't the only one not taking things for granted. ]
Then, you would have told me your honest opinion.
[ He doesn't shift to the side. There's plenty of room on the bench regardless, he'd never be rude enough to sit squarely in the middle by himself anyway. His next words are spoken as drily as the rest, though he does look up very slightly over the rim of his cup, his gaze a lot heavier than his voice: ]
no subject
There's some small commotion when Ichigo stops dead in the middle of the crowd. Byakuya cares little about the girls that nearly collided with him - no, what matters is the fact that he's clearly been noticed and not, as one might have feared, ignored. Then, moments later, Ichigo makes his way over, the long, sharp lines of his body instantly recognisable to him in a way that they weren't before. He's tried (and sometimes, failed) not to think back on what they did together too much but clearly, his mind has saved the imprints of Ichigo all the same, of the way his body fills out the space around him.
Treacherous.
He sips his tea as Ichigo comes to a halt in front of him. Though he doesn't actively look up at him, he's taking him in from beneath his lashes; the way his hands tighten into fists, his forced inhalations. His own shoulders lower a fraction in response.
It's good to know that he isn't the only one not taking things for granted. ]
Then, you would have told me your honest opinion.
[ He doesn't shift to the side. There's plenty of room on the bench regardless, he'd never be rude enough to sit squarely in the middle by himself anyway. His next words are spoken as drily as the rest, though he does look up very slightly over the rim of his cup, his gaze a lot heavier than his voice: ]
You'll have to let me know in other ways.