Authors Note: I adore Nnoitra and Nelliel. I just had to write something about them. Really. I did. - Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its character.

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[Chapter One]

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Nnoitra's eyes snap open.

Something is touching his foot. It's small, warm, soft and a little bit… wet? The muscles in his body tense as the thing crawls up his leg. The gangly boy shoves his blankets away form his body, the cold air of winter smashing against his bare arms like an avalanche of snow.

There is a rat. On his leg.

He opens his mouth prepared to scream, but he chokes the scream down his throat. He's Nnoitra. The Nnoitra Gilga. Popular amongst the students of Karakura College for being the most lecherous delinquent in the entire school. And being known as such means he doesn't scream. Ever. Especially because of some rat.

With force unlike any other, Nnoitra smacks the little sucker off his leg. It crashes against the wall, falling to the ground with a loud thud. He hears it scurry away, but doesn't care as he flings open his door. Grimmjow snorts awake, watching his roommate sprint out of their dorm room. He stares for a second before falling back on his pillow.

Nnoitra barges into the men's washroom.

"That lil'—" he seethes, forcing the tap loose, water spitting on his hands. He smashes his fist against the soap dispenser, a mountain of suds spilling over his fingers. "The hell did that thing get in our room?"

He scrubs away the filth, dirt and grime he knows linger on the palm of his hand.

Nnoitra eventually stalks out of the bathroom, glaring down at every poor soul he passes by. That damn rat. He hopes no one saw him shoot down the corridor. Even if they did, he would rip their tongues out. He doesn't want anyone spreading word that he was freaked out over a puny rodent.

He's got a reputation to uphold, after all.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Mr. Kyoraku waltzes into the drawing studio, fourteen minutes late. A second later and the class would have been canceled. Nelliel doesn't glances away from her sketchbook when Orihime groans from her chair.

"He does this every week," the girl says, frowning, biting the end of her pencil.

Their teacher gives the class his lazy smile before dragging in a trolley, a projector and laptop sitting on top. He pushes through to the middle of the room. The projector's hum vibrates the quiet air as Mr. Kyoraku flips open the laptop. As the projector warms up, the teacher searches his files before clicking on a PowerPoint.

"Ok," he says, leaning against the trolley, "for this class, I've prepared something extra special."

Nelliel lowers her sketchbook.

"I hope he doesn't give us homework," Orihime whispers.

"You're all gonna have an official assignment." Mr. Kyoraku beams, proud of himself.

Nelliel raises a brow, surprised that her teacher considered the thought of an assignment in the first place. Since the start of the semester, Mr. Kyoraku has never, not once, not even hinted to the notion of working outside of class.

Orihime groans. Again.

Nelliel conceals the chuckle bubbling in her throat.

"I don't usually do this sort of thing. But last night, an idea popped into my head. So I thought, why not?" He turns his attention to the PowerPoint projected onto the wall. There is a list of notes in point form, written in Comic Sans. "For this assignment, I want you all to find a partner." Orihime clings her body to Nelliel's side. "But your partner can't be from the Fine Arts program. You gotta expand your horizons." Orihime reluctantly lets go, a frown on her face. "It can literally be anyone," Mr. Kyoraku says, elaborating. "A teacher, faculty member, student, but just not someone from this program. Now whomever you choose as your partner will become your model for this assignment. Your task is to sketch this person for thirty hours."

"Thirty hours straight?!"

"No, Keigo," Mr. Kyoraku says, calming the wide eyed teen, "that's the minimum amount of time you must do within the next couple of weeks. I'm not sure when this assignment will be due though." He pauses. "Probably not any time soon."

Mr. Kyoraku turns off his laptop a couple minutes later, his speech done, and leaves the class, humming a song as he closes the door behind him. As per usual, everyone neglects their charcoal, paper and pens and resort to chatting.

Orihime sulks in her spot.

"We actually get an assignment and we can't even work together," she says, sighing. "I'm so sad." Nelliel smiles at her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder as comfort. Orihime brightens up, her back straightening, eyes shinning. "Anyway, do you have any idea who to choose as your partner?" she asks, eager to know.

"Hm," Nelliel hums. "I think I have someone in mind."

OoOoOoOoOoO

"What th' hell you doin' here?" Nnoitra barks when Nelliel allows herself into his room.

He jumps up from the ground, dropping his baseball bat on his bed. The bat, however; rolls off his mattress and collides onto the floor. Nnoitra stiffens at the sound, but immediately brushes away the discomfort, cocking his chin up and giving the woman a nasty scowl.

"What's with the bat?" she asks, ignoring his question.

"Nothin'," he lies, covering up the fact that he was searching for the stupid rat. "Now answer m' question."

"Not unless you stop slurring your words."

Nnoitra squeezes his hands into fists, enraged. He stalks up to her, proud of his height and glares, fire blasting out of his eyes.

"Stop bein' so freakn' annoying' and get th' hell out 'a 'ere," he threatens, deliberately slurring more than necessary.

Nelliel's expression remains neutral.

"I came here to ask you something," she says, walking around the tall boy and sitting on his desk chair with a plop.

Nnoitra gives her an incredulous look and marches up to her, about to yell and yank her out of his dorm room, but stops, when she sends him an honest smile. He takes a step back, confused. He tries to rip the emotion off his face, but knows that Nelliel can see through anything he does.

They've known each other since high school, after all. They've learnt a thing or two about one another.

Nnoitra clenches his teeth, anger boiling in his gut.

"What d'you want?" he snaps, crossing his arms.

"I have a drawing assignment," she says, "and I need you to be my model."

Nnoitra stares at her. She stares back, unfazed.

He blinks, seeming to process her demand at a slow rate. His mind turns, the gears scratching and bumping into one another. His arms remain crossed over his chest, frozen. His feet barely twitch as the cold floor sucks away the heat from his flesh. He thinks he hears the squeak of the rat, but isn't sure.

Finally, he reacts.

"Are you insane?" he blurts. "I 'aint gonna model for you!"

"Why not?"

"'Cause it's dumb."

He snatches the baseball bat from the ground, suddenly uncomfortable, wanting to do something, anything, with himself so he doesn't have to look into Nelliel's calculating gaze.

"Are you shy?" she wonders out loud, but Nnoitra knows she's saying that on purpose.

"I 'aint shy!" he bites, almost cracking the bat in half.

"Then why so defensive?"

"I'm not bein' defensive you art freak!"

"You know, you're making it seem like modeling is such a big deal."

Nnoitra can picture flames of rage exploding off his body. This irritating piece of— Who does she think she is? Making him sound like some weak little prick? He's not weak. Never has, never will be. Ever. Nnoitra can do anything he wants.

"Are ya challengn' me, girl?" he growls, mustering up the most menacing look he can create.

"No," she answers, leaning back against her seat, "but if it gets you to be my model, then yes."

He wishes murder wasn't a crime.

"Fine! I'll be yer stupid model!"

Nelliel stands from his chair, patting down the wrinkles on her jeans. A smile is on her face. It makes him angry. He doesn't know why, but it does, a lot. She keeps her bag slung over one shoulder as she struts to his door. Her hair swings as she walks. Nnoitra doesn't like how he notices this. Turning around, she locks eyes with him.

"Thank you," she says, her voice soft. "I'll meet you in the drawing studio tomorrow at noon. No one will be there since it's the weekend."

With that, she leaves.

Nnoitra stands in his spot, hands squeezing the bat, a frown on his face. Grimmjow suddenly shows up, leaning against the doorframe.

"Damn, I could hear you two flirting from all the way down the hall," he mutters, annoyed.

"Shut th' hell up."