It's a Saturday in the middle of February.

It's also cold and grey and the grass is damp, but Grimmjow doesn't care; sitting on the muddy slope and drawing his knees up to his chin, getting comfortable, as if getting a wet bum doesn't apply to him.

He is, after all, Grimmjow jeagerjaques. He is to hardcore to get a muddy bottom.

Or perhaps Grimmjow is not revelling in his own inhumane ability to avoid the elements and is simply distracted.

Maybe, his thoughts are so disconnected from his body in that moment, that he doesn't even register the cold temperature and dampness as he sits.

He wants to go home.

Back to the house he shared with his Mother and Father before shit got complicated and he had to move house, school, his life - to Karakura. He hates it here. The smell, the look of the place, it's all so different. He doesn't like it one bit.

He hates the flat they moved into. It will never be home. Never. He feels more comfortable sat on the muddy bank, unconsciously shivering from the cold, than in his own bed, or sat at his own table.

They moved six days before Christmas, Grimmjow and his mother, leaving his father behind in a rusted tin.

They buried him illegally in a patch of dead daffodils in the grounds of the church where they used to live. A part of Grimmjow wished he could have cried; if only for the sake of his mother who looked at him as if he had no heart. Grimmjow thought that was unfair. He did have a heart. He loved her, didn't he? He loved his mother. Even when she was... not completely herself.

Grimmjow spent Christmas locked in his bedroom, emptying the cardboard boxes they had moved with, and trying to make his things fit into his new room.

He started school after the holidays.

Saying Grimmjow sort of liked his old school is probably sugar coating it and so he had very low expectations for this new school. He'd noticed the kids his age, hanging around the park, or walking into town, and he hated what he saw.

Posh, middle and upper-class fuckers, the lot of them.

Grimmjow scowls at the memory of wearing the stupid school uniform for the first time and being forced to blend in and be like everyone else. Teachers still shook their heads disapprovingly at his hair, an outrageously, unnatural blue. But he'd come prepared this time. He made his mother ring school and prove it was his real hair; he even brought in a baby picture of him with blue tufts.

But the teachers, everyone, still looked at him with disapproving eyes. Like he was some sort of oddity. Some sort of freak.


That word stings a little, but Grimmjow sighs and closes his eyes thinking, but I've been through so much worse.

However, Grimmjow doesn't dwell on the past or the hurt because if he did, he thinks he would never move forwards. Quite mature thinking, really.

Grimmjow is like that, though; unexpectedly grown up and quietly caring. In his own unique way, of course.

He doesn't believe in holding grudges or dragging out arguments or bringing up stuff that happened years ago.

He believes in the here and now.

Even if he's homesick, even if he has no friends, even if everything just fucking sucks.

I'm supposed to be trying to get some A-Levels right now but this story has bugged me enough! Take it! Just take it! Ahh Grimmjow, just leave me alone...!

Ohh, so many loose ends! Review. I love you.