Act Your Age

The first thing that came to Grimmjow's mind was, Why is Ulquiorra throwing paper airplanes at me? The second was, "Would you stop that?!"

Ulquiorra paused in his paper airplane throwing. Grimmjow glared at him. Getting the message, Ulquiorra left the area. Grimmjow was about to sigh in relief when one last plane crashed into his head. The blue-haired Espada roared in frustration.

"What is up with that guy?!"


Orihime was in her cell as usual, staring out at the always-present moon. The door behind her opened. She didn't even bother to turn around and see who it was.

"Hey, Orihime. Dinner's ready."

Eyes wide, Orihime spun around. That was Ulquiorra's voice, but surely-

"What are you looking at?"

Orihime thought she was about to pass out. Could you pass out in a dream? Because this had to be a dream. There was no way Ulquiorra would willingly greet her by name nor would he say it like that; the way any other person her age might. What absolutely did her in, though, was the clothes. Since when did Ulquiorra decide that jeans and a plain green T-shirt would be suitable to replace his Arrancar uniform?

"U-Ulquiorra?" she stammered.

"Yes?" he answered.

Yet, she found she couldn't say anything, not even as the cart was pushed in and Ulquiorra left.


It was lunch time and Grimmjow, being your average Espada, was hungry. He made his way down the hallway, thinking he was safe. However, just as he was about to enter the lunchroom, something collided with his head. He looked around him and saw no one, so kept moving. Then, just as he was ready to start eating, another something collided with his head. He growled, searching the room and finding the paper airplane on the ground. This time, he caught a flash of black hair and white skin running from the room.

"Ulquiorra," he snarled, crushing the plane in his fist.


It was the strangest thing. For the last few days, Ulquiorra had acted bizarrely normal. It was as if he were any other seventeen-year-old. A seventeen-year-old who happened to like throwing paper airplanes, all of which found contact with Grommjow's head. And now there was music coming from his room. Modern, upbeat, music. Alongside it, Grimmjow could hear something that sounded like repeated thuds, but they were muffled and quiet. Then, there was one very loud thud.

Without hesitation, Grimmjow burst in the room, trying to find out what the heck was going on. Ulquiorra pushed himself off the floor, rubbing his sore head.

"What the h--- is going on?" Grimmjow demanded.

It was truly worrying when Ulquiorra smiled in response. "Hi, Grimmjow."

The Sexta Espada stormed over and hauled Ulquiorra to his feet by his wrist. "What is wrong with you?! Did you get a concussion or have you just finally gone off the deep end?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," Ulquiorra denied in a very upfront manner.

"Like h--- there isn't!" Grimmjow proceeded to drag Ulquiorra out of the room. "We're going to see Szayel."


Instead of answering, Grimmjow continued to drag Ulquiorra to Szayel's room. He didn't dare look back the Cuatra Espada's confused expression. When they finally made it, Grommjow banged urgently on the door.

"What?" Szayel snapped, slamming the door open to reveal all of his pink-haired glory.

"Something is seriously wrong with Ulquiorra," Grimmjow reported. "He was acting weird all week and now I heard music coming from his room. Modern music. Then, he fell and hit his head somehow. And when I walked in, he smiled and said, 'Nothing's wrong.'"

"That is worrying," Szayel agreed. He exited into the hallway and examined Ulquiorra.

"I'm fine," the green-eyed Espada snapped. Szayel tapped lightly on Ulquiorra's skull, only to have him bat his hand away and shout, "Quit it!"

"I think we should take him to Lord Aizen," Szayel suggested.

This time, it took both of them to get the protesting Ulquiorra all the way to Aizen's thrown room. Grimmjow knocked on the door while making sure not to release his hold on Ulquiorra.

"Come in," Aizen granted.

Grimmjow and Szayel stalked into the room, dragging their "mental patient" with them. Aizen looked amused.

"Care to tell me why my Sexta Espada and my Octava Espada are dragging around my Cuatra Espada?" he asked.

Grimmjow panted. "Because he's insane!"

"What Grimmjow means to say," Szayel corrected, "is that Ulquiorra has been rather out of character lately. He's acting like…"

"A normal seventeen-year-old?" Aizen supplied.

Szayel and Grimmjow blinked, the former answering, "Well, yes."

"That is because I told him to," Aizen answered. "Although, Ulquiorra, I thought you knew I meant only around Orihime."

The Cuatra Espada straightened up. In his usual monotone, he answered, "I am sorry, Lord Aizen, I did not understand."

"Wait, what?" Grimmjow balked.

Seeing his Espadas' confusion, Aizen decided to explain. "Orihime Inoue seemed very depressed lately and I assumed it would help if she had more of a lively companion. When discussing this with Ulquiorra, I suggested that he 'act his age.' I did not realize he thought I meant all the time. However, I must admit, Ulquiorra, you were doing an impressive job."

"Thank you, Lord Aizen," Ulquiorra said, bowing. "Does this mean I may change out of this trash,"--- he tugged at his T-shirt here---, "and back into my uniform?"

"Yes, Ulquiorra, you may do so."

The Cuatra Espada bowed again and left the room. Grommjow looked back and forth between where he had been and Aizen before nearly passing out. Szayel dragged the blue-haired Espada out of the room before he did something idiotic, bowing just as Ulquiorra had.

Aizen chuckled into his hand. This was why he did not grow bored in Las Noches. His Espada were more amusing than anything Soul Society had to offer. He should do something like this more often.


Um…I was bored. That's all the explanation I have.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, Ulquiorra and Grimmjow wouldn't die, but Mayuri and Kon would. No offense.