Grimmjow: Dammit woman, when the hell am I gonna get me some strawberry lovin'?!
Happymelon: Er…*cough cough* oh hey look, a distraction.
Grimmjow: I'm an Arrancar, not an idiot.
Happymelon: Damn, you're right, it's just Ichigo in knickers…
Happymelon: *running away* SORRY ICHIIIII!!!
Ichigo: *at his house* Brrr, why'd I just get the chills…
I SUUUUCK!!!!! I haven't updated in forever, I ignored y'all. *holds gun to head* FORGIVE MEH!!!! Hey, you can has cookie, kay? We good now? Okay :3. Here's a new chapter in the GrimmIchi saga. Oh, and yes, I know testosterone=boy, estrogen=girl…I ARE GENIUS!!!!
The rest of that horrendous day, Grimmjow spent any spare moment-and he had a lot of spare moments-snapping at people, lashing out with his sharp tongue at innocent bystanders, and hissing obscenities-with his eyes narrowed in a calculated disgust-under his breath at every chance he could.The world, he decided at some point of his bubbling, searing rage, was filled with twisted liars, and evil cheaters, and messed up people with pretty faces who sneaked around behind your back with big pointy daggers when you thought were most safe. And throughout his whole inner rant, he was smiling like a madman, teeth barred in a terrifying exposure of sharp canines. Five people ran out the door because rather than seeing the sweet orange haired angel they'd come to know and love, there was a blue haired demon in his stead. Not a good way to start your day.
The part of the situation that infuriated him most, made him grind his pearly whites until his jaw ached, was Shinji's attitude. It wasn't one of quiet apology. There was no lowering of his head, asking silently for apology, as his hands were clasped in front of him, the picture of a contrite child. No groveling. No ass kissing. Nothing. Oh wait, there was a little something. A something that made the maddening circumstance so terribly intolerable, Grimmjow was ready to write his will, then kick the bucket by his own accord, possibly one involving a hanging.
"Yeah, Ichi-baby's a major pain in the ass. Don't be fooled by his cute, innocent face, that whole scheme, it was all his idea. 'S been that way all his life, a little freaking deviant, pretty enough to make it okay though, and damn smart enough to think his way out." Shinji's train of thought seemed to be derailed as a glazed, faraway look of contentment crossed his face. He twirled the pen situated in his hand effortlessly, not at all noticing the way that his boss was giving him an icy stare cold enough to freeze the ocean, but filled with enough burning fury to turn around and set it on fire.
"And you're totally okay?" The words were distorted ever so slightly, low and gravelly. Talking through clenched teeth tended to butcher speech a little.
"Why wouldn't I be? Aw, are you concerned about my well being, that's so sweet." Shinji lifted his hands to his cheeks, after planting the pen firmly behind his ear, swiveling his hips like a love sick school-girl.
"You feel absolutely zero guilt over screwing me over." The sickening display was doing nothing for his temper, aside from making it worse.
"Nope." Shinji had finally stopped
"How about the fact that you made me suffer from irreversible brain damage." The statement made him think of what Ichigo had said to him earlier, about paying him upfront for the counseling and therapy he'd need. He smirked at the memory, before his face went blank and his eye twitched. No. There was no way he was going to start thinking about the source of his migraine in a good way. Nope. Wasn't gonna happen. But then his thoughts drifted to the way the boy had carried himself around the storeroom. Hips moving in a fluid motion, in no way the swivel and bump of a woman's full waist, it was man in every way, but it held an attraction that Grimmjow couldn't deny. Damn. He was doing it again. Kneading his aching forehead gently, he strode over to the stool at the cashier. He'd have to put up with customers, but at least it got him off his feet and gave him a place to rest his head.
As he stalked to the chair, Shinji hummed after him, swinging his arms at his side as his teeth fiddled with the piercing in his mouth. He circled the counter, bending at the waist to come at eye level with the now seated Grimmjow.
"You're not sorry." He declared with a cocky smile.
"Hn?" He murmured, head already rocking back and forth across the cool glass of the table. It softened the blow of the headache, making the raging storm of thoughts and conflictions calm into a summer storm of warm rain and lulling winds.
"You're not sorry for hiring him. Yeah, you're an utter ass to him, and he insults and verbally attacks you, but it's like a bickering old couple, you guys are just so—"
Grimmjow's head shot up. What did that blonde haired devil just call the two of them? No, it was a trick of the ear. He'd misheard. No one would ever say that, especially one who knew him half decently. Someone who knew he could beat them to death in a thousand different ways and make them disappear without a trace. A couple?
"No, I didn't call you two a couple. I said the two of you acted like it, you're the one who started mentally freaking." The blue haired man stared blankly at the guy standing across from him who was smirking like a Cheshire. So what if he spazzed a little on the inside, wouldn't anyone? It was a natural reaction…right?
Groaning, he buried his hands into messy locks. Banging his head against the glass, listening to the satisfying creak of dangerously delicate panes.
"Might not wanna do that, don't wanna break the display, do ya?"
"You don't feel anything."
"Well, I never said that." Grimmjow craned his neck to glare at the blonde. The way he could dance around a subject was one of the most irritating traits of the guy. "It's like," he continued, not bothering to acknowledge the angry stare he was receiving, "I understand where you're coming from, and can empathize, but I'm not feeling bad about it in any way."
"So, you get that I'm pissed as hell, and you get why, and yet don't feel like you did anything wrong?"
"Again, didn't say that."
"Ugh! Then what the hell are you talking about? Are you on my side or not?" Grimmjow was two words away from strangling the smirking Shinji, and this time, he would make sure the little shit wasn't breathing afterward.
"Oh, definitely not on your side." He said, looking at his reddening boss with slitted eyes and a wide smirk, looking like a cat playing with an ever so helpless mouse. "I will never, ever be on anyone's side beside Ichi's." The admission came as a shock to Grimmjow. It was said with a love shared between brothers, a bond forged with sweat and tears. One equally strong and tender, a perfect of balance that made the relationship toddle on the line of platonic and a spirituality that not even adults were able to forge after years of companionship. "Now don't be thinking me and Ichi-love have some weird dude on dude action going on." Shinji sniggered at the prospect. "Me and carrot-top have been friends since the beginning of time." The blonde man sighed, looking out through time with eyes veiled by lashes. For once he remained completely silent, reverent as an old man looking back on his youth in the twilight of his years.
The moment stretched on, and Grimmjow felt the heaviness of the moment draw on his strength. This guy was too much. He heaved himself up with a jerk-the chair clanging to the floor-and trudged to the door, giving the pleasantly tinkling bell a scathing glare and a sour face as he shoved the glass exit a little bit too roughly.
"You know what Shinji, you're so damned smart, why don't you manage shop today?" While he'd would have preferred the doors slam behind him, making his hasty retreat less like one of a pissy teen, the two panes shifted back into position slowly and silently, giving Shinji enough time to bark out laughter within the hearing range of his enraged cohort.
Damn idiots. All of them, oh wait, no, Ulquiorra isn't an idiot, he's just creepy beyond belief. What's it with me and hiring the freaks of society? Grimmjow stomped through the streets, eliciting odd looks of concern and terror, all of which he happily answered with a sneer, and for a lucky few, a visit from his friend Mr. Flippy the Bird. He let his anger drive him through the streets until he was appropriately lost. When his fury was finally properly vented, he realized he was trudging unfamiliar streets, and the map that was usually ever present in his mind was drawing blanks. Wait, did I make a left at Haruka Street? No, it was a right on Sakura Drive…Damn. Grimmjow's eyes scanned the streets, waiting to see something familiar, when the blue orbs drifted across a very recognizable sign. His eyes widened when he saw it, because the chances of this…this thing…there was just no way…
In big, red, bold letters, the words Kurosaki Clinic were painted across a very large billboard, and beneath it, standing in all his cocky glory, was a smiling Ichigo.
His arms were slung over the shoulders of two young looking girls. One, a bubbly, short haired blonde, had her arm wrapped around his, nuzzling it fondly, looking like a kitten with a new toy. The other had slightly longer hair, darker, and a flippant expression on her face, though she didn't cuddle up to the orange haired teen, she made no move to remove his arm from around her. Grimmjow could see them laughing at something, while the raven head smirked, though the distance between the boss and his employee was too great for him to hear anything. Within a couple seconds a buxom orange head-though not nearly as vivid as Ichigo's, Grimmjow noted-ran up to the three, giving each of them a hug, and Ichigo a peck on the cheek. And if that wasn't enough, a black haired pixie strode up to them, though she wasn't nearly as physical as the others. It was irrational, and absolutely ridiculous, but Grimmjow found his previous anger sparked with a newfound resentment by their actions. Why the hell did the guy have a freaking harem following him around?
Grimm stewed and growled at the whole charade. The guy that worked for him, no, his frickin' bitch, left in an estrogen filled huff, to meet up with all the other bitches in his stupid little pack. Two words. Hell. Nah. Now, there was only the question of how he was gonna drag his sorry ass back to the shop, he could drug him, tie him up, set fire to him, put him out, kill the ambulance driver, and haul him in through the back entrance. There were just so many options. But just as he was trying to figure away to turn some trash on the street into a lethal weapon, a group of guys sauntered on up to the orange haired pimp.
Great. Just fuckin' great. What, does he run a whole fucking business?! But as the troupe neared the already formed party, each made a grab for-what Grimmjow was assuming-theirspecial someone. A tattoo happy red-head wrapped muscled arms around the black haired one with the droopy lidded, gray eyed stare. A thoroughly tanned teen, Mexican, maybe Puerto Rican, nuzzled the melon chested girl, kind of a weird sight when he towered over her like a freaking tree. Then a…ew, an old guy with white hair removed the sandy headed leech, from Ichigo. Damn short of a geezer though…wait, was that guy an adolescent too? Geez, kids these days. Finally, a guy with the face of a thirteen year old, and an unimaginative brown mop took his place next to the girl on Ichigo's other arm, their contact was minimal, but it was fairly clear that they were together.
The crowd, after several minutes of mingling, herded into the giant white building, the big glass doors gliding smoothly open in greeting. Ichigo trailed behind them, hands in his pocket, feet scuffing the floor. And just as he passed through the doorway, he turned, flashed his trademark smile, and with slow deliberateness, waved, leaving Grimmjow dumbfounded on the street.