Seven Devils

Ichigo coughed roughly, clutching his side and panting like a dog. There was no way he'd lose, but it was going to be tight. Extremely so. He wasn't surprised, but he wasn't happy about it. Throwing himself at his opponent, he landed a harsh blow on the teenager's right temple. The painfully hard impact was satisfying, and it'd knocked the young man onto the cold street. The redhead was just glad that it was finally over. He was bloodied and broken- but the he'd gotten used to the feeling.

Though he never started it, he'd always had to finish it- either walking away or beating the other teen senseless. Grimmjow never left him alone, and he suspected the hot tempered idiot would only stop until one of them had stopped breathing. They'd both come pretty damn close over the years, but it hadn't happened yet- thank fucking god. He frowned at the blue haired boy on the ground, noticing that he'd been knocked unconscious from the orange haired man's last blow. 'Good.' He thought, resisting the urge to spit in his face. That would just be low and childish.

While Grimmjow liked to play dirty, he never did. The other teen had brought knives, broken bottles, aluminum bats- even brass knuckles to fights between them. If Ichigo turned his head for even one second, he'd end up with a deep gash across his arm, or maybe a broken rib. The blunette didn't have any restraint, because he acted like an empty headed kid that wasn't taught any. The redhead went through the man's pockets, taking the 50 or so dollars in his wallet (for emotional distress), then taking another switchblade. He stuffed it all in his jeans before hefting up his opponent's deadweight, trying to make it look like he was just bringing a drunk friend home. He was damn lucky the teenager had never brought a gun to any of these fights.

Moaning in pain, he started making his way to his dad's clinic, dragging their bodies through the dark streets of Karakura town. He needed to patch both of them up, so he was grateful the place was usually closed when Grimmjow decided to attack him; he didn't feel like explaining this to anyone, especially his dad. The other teenager had always had the common decency to call an ambulance when he himself was out of commission- albeit, only so he could just be attacked by yet again. Though, since Jaegerjaquez Hospital was owned by the blue haired man's wealthy brother, the service was nice, he was never charged for visits, and no one ever told his family. It was only insurance to protect the jackass, but it worked for Ichigo just the same.

"Fuck!" The redhead gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw, feeling the gash on his side tear a little more. That idiot had brought a switchblade with him this time, almost immediately stalking up and cutting him below his ribs. It wasn't that big or deep, but it'd only gotten worse during the long fight. He sighed in relief as soon as his light brown orbs found Kurosaki Clinic, the small place like a lighthouse in a storm to him in his current state. It wasn't far off, and he would be able to drag the bigger teen there in just a few seconds.

Ichigo pulled the larger boy closer to his side, supporting them both as he fished the keys out of his pocket. Fucking hell was it hard to do, but he managed to unlock the door, and maneuver them both inside without attracting any attention.

The redhead flicked the lights on as he guided them around the front desk and into one of the three small rooms in the clinic. The beds were already covered in that crinkly parchment paper that you sit on when you go to the doctor, as his pops always liked to be prepared before the day started. Ichigo just had to make sure everything was in tip top condition before he left. The clinic opened relatively late, so he had enough time to do everything if he didn't sleep. The orangette set Grimmjow down, having to pick up the man's legs and swing them over separately, due to his injured state.

And without any hesitation, the older teen got to work patching the blunette up.

The redhead wondered how it got to this point. Grimmjow felt justified in doing this because of something the other boy had no control over. It happened when they were both kids, and neither of them knew what was going on until they'd woken up in different hospitals.

Ichigo's mother had been speeding, driving recklessly. Her eldest child had fallen off of the swings, and she was trying to get to the hospital quickly- the boy's arm was broken in several places due to the nasty fall, and his loud sobbing was spurring the overprotective parent on. Just a mile before they'd arrived, so she'd decided to run a light- there weren't any cars on the street in front of them, so it was okay. Or so she thought- because right at that moment, a silver Hyundai had started to whiz past. The car that contained the blue haired boy that was currently being bandaged, his black haired brother, a teenager at the time, and their parents.

The one father and two moms were dead upon impact. And all the boys had either passed out, or were knocked unconscious.

Now, the only person who'd known why Masaki Kurosaki had been speeding was Ichigo, and when the people of Karakura started accusing his loving mother of being an idiot that just couldn't drive, he told the story. With a scowl, he'd started explaining to everyone why the accident had happened. Grimmjow had hated him from the moment he found out to 12 years later, today- because Ichigo had killed them all, in his eyes. Since then, the younger boy had assaulted the other boy whenever he got the chance- usually at night.

The redhead's eyes refocused, back in the present. He knew he needed to tend his own wounds, because his clothes had adhered to his frame with blood. It was an easy way to staunch the red liquid flowing from the cuts all over his body, but it would probably be best if he stitched the gash on his side, at least. Shit would probably hit the fan if he bled out or became dizzy enough to be useless. The high-school student still had a lot to do, even though Grimmjow's scrapes and scratches were taken care of. He still needed to wake the man up and make sure he didn't have a concussion, which would have still been a challenge if he was completely unscathed.

Peeling off his once-yellow shirt, he winced. There was red everywhere- and apparently, the cut was much deeper than it felt; he could see his own tendons. Ichigo grabbed some gauze and alcohol, hissing and cursing at the brutal sting that came with cleaning wounds. "Crazy fucker…" he muttered, grabbing the surgical needle and thread that sat in one of the grey cabinets next to his orange colored head. He didn't think he'd actually need stitches, but god help him, he needed to put in about 20. It's not like he hadn't stitched himself up before, but he really hated it. Who wouldn't?

He weighed his options, finally breaking down and taking some blood stained oxycodone from out of his pocket. He was trying to stop taking that shit, but you just need it sometimes, you know? Unfortunately, it'd become a problem for him- but…you got better when you got better. He wasn't eager to jump into some cheesy program, but he wasn't okay with having a dependency. Ichigo wasn't the type of person to rely on anyone or anything, but the little white pills he'd started taking when he was 14 were phenomenal if you didn't want to feel anything for an hour or two. So phenomenal in fact, that he was 18 and still taking them religiously. At least he had a valid reason this time.

He popped three in his mouth and washed them down with some water. They didn't even work one at a time anymore, so he'd had to start taking three if he wanted to be numb enough to mend his wound. 'Cause Christ- he'd done it sober before, and it stung like a bitch on her period.

While he waited for them to kick in, he bandaged the smaller wounds on his arms and the one on his face, high above a pale cheekbone. The ginger smirked as he did it, meeting his copper gaze in the steel framed mirror above the sink. If you were looking at the bright side, at least he still had both of his eyes. The fight could've gone a lot worse for him. The girls and boys loved his eyes- it wouldn't do to lose one. Plus, he heard that being blind really sucked dick.

Wrapping a temporary bandage around his torso, he decided to wake Grimmjow up before the pain pills made him loopy, or the boy died. That would be really bad. Plus, there was no doubt that the 17-year-old would stick around and haunt him forever.

Ichigo grabbed one of the mugs he knew his dad kept in another cabinet, filled it with the coldest water he could get out of the sink's faucet, and promptly threw it in the blunette's face. He didn't want to say he enjoyed doing it, but he really, really did.

The teenager spluttered and woke up, bright blue eyes rolling around in their sockets before finally coming to rest on the now grinning 18-year-old. "What the fuck? Why the fuck am I here? How the fuck did you get me here? God damn it, why the fuck didn't you just leave me on the ground?! You think I need your pity, asshole?!" The hot headed man snarled in a rough voice, sitting up and groaning in pain when he got roughly pushed back down. The boy reached for something in his back pocket, probably looking for his blade. Pink lips pulled down into a frown when he came up empty.

"I'm not about to let you cut me again, dumbass. How stupid do you think I am?" He didn't look like he had any new head issues, but even if Ichigo hated the man with all of his being, he wasn't about to let him die. "Let me make sure you don't have a concussion, and then you can get out." Ichigo growled, knowing he had the upper hand in that situation. Grimmjow looked up at him with absolute loathing in his eyes, but conceded. "Fine, Kurosaki. Don't take too long."

'That's probably the only smart thing you've done in your life.' The older teen scrubbed a hand through his orange hair. "Good."

Ichigo leaned in, raising one of the teen's lids and examining the bright cerulean eye underneath. He wished he could take that color and paint with it, because Grimmjow didn't deserve to have it in his head. The boy was blessed with good looks; too bad he wasn't right in the brain. Additionally, he smelled like shit when you were all up on him. Ichigo inspected another orb. It was because of the blood, sweat and fight, yeah. Still, he smelled like shit- which is kind of inexcusable.

"You're good to go. Go the fuck home, Jaegerjaquez." Ichigo scowled, feeling the pills start to take effect. He needed the blunette gone so he could stitch himself up and get to his own place. "Whatever." Grimmjow stood there thinking for a second, then nodded to himself, fist snapping out and catching the ginger in the nose. Since his reaction time was a little slower, he couldn't block or dodge the hand. The older teen groaned and grabbed his nose, lucky he took those damn oxy. Without them, that would've hurt like a bitch- but he might've been able to dodge. "Fuck…you." He said, with enough venom to kill a small village in his slightly distorted voice.

"You wish, faggot." Grimmjow walked out of the small patient room, leaving Ichigo to hold his face. That was going to be hard to tolerate, because the damn thing was broken. Totally broken. He needed a splint. One of those huge, dorky looking face splints- and even though they had one, it would attract a lot of attention.

He set his nose and strapped the clear tool on anyway; beggars couldn't be choosers, and a crooked nose would be far worse than wearing a splint for a while. Then he unwrapped his torso, wincing at the sight of the gash. It was bruised, bright red and purple- and the edges were puckered because it was trying to heal itself. Ichigo hopped into the patient bed, stitching his side up.

As soon as he finished, he cleaned up. His dad would do something insane if he found the evidence of his being there. Ichigo worried his lip, making sure everything was in order before he left. Good. It was 10 o'clock, so he could say he got in a fight and had to go to the hospital. Which was basically the truth, if you swapped out 'hospital' with 'clinic. Sorry, but I broke in and used your shit to make sure my worst enemy wasn't dying."

Ichigo woke up with his face, side, and entire body aching. So he popped four pain pills and got up, because he wasn't going to be able to without them. He wasn't about to skip a day of school because of something like a fight. If he did that, he'd never show up- if Grimmjow didn't start something that day, someone else with a problem would. The ginger shook it off and got ready as soon as he started to feel the oxy in his system. The pain wasn't a problem anymore, so he had none.

Having to clean the stitches in his small shower was a bitch though. The teen ran his hand through a head damp, sunset colored hair. He looked good, he noted- even though he had to wear that annoying face splint. Ichigo looked into the mirror, tucking his white, uniform shirt into his khaki pants. Fuck. Who was he kidding? If he looked all that great, his father would have kicked him out of bed, literally. The ways in which Isshin Kurosaki showed he cared about his son were strange, but the redhead appreciated them.

Smirking lazily and staring into his own glazed copper eyes, he nodded to himself. There was nothing else he had to do. He flung his schoolbag over his shoulder and jogged downstairs, noting that he was going to be a little late to homeroom. It was senior year though; no one really gave a shit at that point.

At the bottom of the stairs lay his kitchen, the small table full of food and surrounded by his family. All of their observing eyes were on him suddenly, scrutinizing his slightly swaying frame. "G'morning. Going to school, see you guys." He muttered, frowning. His father looked devastated, and his little sisters looked... Karin, the spitfire of a tomboy looked impassive on the surface, but the concern was spelled out in her dark eyes. Her sweet fraternal twin Yuzu looked like she was tearing up at the sight of Ichigo's bruised face and dead eyes, but she didn't say a word. They all mumbled their goodbyes as they watched him leave the house.

The teenager wished he could be around them without seeing those damn expressions once and a while. When his family and friends looked at him like that…fuck. He already knew he was a failure in their eyes. He didn't need the constant reminders. For that reason, he'd stopped spending so much time with either. The worst part of it all was the underlying current of sheer disappointment. Ichigo hated it with a passion, because once upon a time he was so much more than that to them. Before he killed their wife and mother.

He shook his head as he walked to school, trying to get rid of the bad feelings that came along with seeing that. The fog in his head helped, but it wasn't enough. So he fished around in his pocket and took out three or four more pills, swallowing them dry. Jesus fucking Christ.

He absently wondered what he was going to do when he left senior year. It was the start of the term; in other words, the beginning of the end. Ichigo knew he was still a boy, not quite grown yet. That being said, he should've had some rhyme or reason in his life by then. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't just a delinquent. He wanted to go to college- wanted to be able to make something out of his shitty existence.

He just didn't see it happening.

His attendance was abysmal and consequently, so were his grades. He always passed by the skin of his teeth, and he was rude and snappy to his teachers. Way back when, he was a star student- back when he did anything and everything to do his deceased mother proud. But then Karin and Yuzu could do that. They carried on her legacy for him, and at first, they were only taking some of the weight off of his shoulders. When people started to praise them and forget about him, he'd just gone off of the deep end. And no, he wasn't fucking jealous or anything of the sort.

There weren't any expectations for him then- he could just be himself. So he'd skipped school almost every day in 9th grade, pulling his straight A average down to a straight "see me after class" average. In other words, he wasn't doing so hot. He started taking oxy then, and everything changed. Sort of. The redhead started showing up to class, but he was always too out of it to do well. So while his average was still complete shit, he always had the seat time to pass- and he never had to bother with kissing ass to get himself through. Which let him be kind of a dick in school.

'But at least I show up now, right?' Ichigo thought, walking through the automatic sliding doors that created the entrance to "Champion High." It was a stupid name, and the redhead had consistently thought that every time he walked through those double doors. Not because it was cheesy, and subsequently every other catchphrase or slogan in that school was cheesy. Actually yeah, because of that too. Mainly though, the ginger thought it was dumb because most of the people that went there were fucking losers. He'd met very few champions in the four years he'd been attending.

His brown loafers scuffed against the dirty linoleum floor as he walked to his English classroom. The door was locked, so there was probably a substitute. Which meant he'd have to knock to get in, which wouldn't go well. He knew he'd be slurring his words by then, and he didn't really feel like playing with fire; there was always a chance that the teacher would be a hard-ass and he wouldn't be able to glide in. He really needed every day he could get though, so he rapped on the door three times and stood up straight. No, I'm not high. How are you?

"What's your name?" The door popped open to reveal a short, slender woman with a very severe bob. She held a clipboard, spoke in a haughty voice, and studied him thoroughly with sharp, dark hazel eyes. Crap. "Um. Kurosaki. Ichigo Kurosaki." Internally, he punched himself in the face. Because what was he, fucking James Bond? Her eyes narrowed, and he had a fleeting thought about seeing her outside of her pantsuit. Which wasn't the point, but she was his type.

"Hmm. Take your seat, you're late enough already. You may call me Ms. Fon." The woman said, turning around and stalking to her desk. Huh. She reminded him of a wasp for some reason. Maybe it was her size, or maybe it was the fact that she seemed like she could sting the shit out of you if you tried her. It was hot in a dangerous way. Maybe he would try something…

"Mr. Kurosaki! Didn't you hear me?! Get to your seat!" Never-mind. Not worth the worst outcome. He could imagine what she would do: one elegant leg would lift gracefully, and Ms. Fon would kick his balls into his throat. He shivered. Fuck that. The class snickered as he walked in and closed the door behind him, sitting in a window seat right next to his best friend Renji. Who looked downright pissed. "What the hell, Ichigo?" The crimson haired man whispered. The ginger in question glowered at his friend. "What the hell, Renj?" He leaned back in his uncomfortable plastic chair, letting his eyes roll back into his head. He hated having to pretend to be sober more than anything.

"Your face! Was it that bastard Grimmjow again?" The teenager whisper-yelled, lowering his tone at Ms. Fon's glare. Ichigo mumbled something in the affirmative, nodding his head slowly. He knew what he looked like, and he didn't give a shit. "Fucker broke my motherfucking nose…motherfucker…" he rambled in a whispered tone. "You should see his ugly fuckin mug though…beat the shit out of him. Took his fuckin fifty dollars too, Renj…"

Renji groaned in frustration. Good. The reason why Ichigo liked the other redhead was simple. The teen didn't look at him in concern. He glared and sneered, because he knew none of the other shit would work. The ginger haired student had never responded well to bullshitty dancing around the subject in his life; that's why all of his friends were complete assholes. "If you come to school this fucked up again, I'm going to wait until your face heals so I can break it again," his friend hissed, grabbing a bottle of water from the side of his black Jansport backpack and slamming it as quietly as he could on his friend's desk. "Drink it, dumbass."

See?

Ichigo mock saluted him, ignoring another glare from Ms. Fon as she tried to explain Shakespeare's Othello to the class. It wasn't anything important, new, or hard. She was a substitute, so her only job was to keep them occupied. But she was one of those crazy subs that went too damned far. "Thanks, captain dickhead…" The ginger muttered. He had no intention of drinking it whatsoever, because it would kind of dilute his buzz. The only reason he took prescription pills was to be high- oxy was expensive, so he didn't take it when he didn't want to be. That would defeat the purpose. It would be like drinking non-alcoholic beer. You don't take it for the taste. "But I'm only fuckin fucked up because…uh…the stitches, you know? Put in twenty fuckin stitches…Grimmbitch brought a knife…"

Renji scowled. "Coward." Ichigo nodded. Exactly. The man was a pussy.

"Whatever man…my pretty face though…what am I gonna do about my pretty face…" The brown eyed man moaned. The purple bruise that had blossomed from the center of his nose to the area under his eyes looked hideous, now that he really thought about it. He didn't know how he could've felt like he looked fine for even a second. He should've grabbed a flesh toned splint instead of a clear one, he mused. Yeah. That would look less bad, yeah. Not better, because if Ichigo said 'better' it could be misinterpreted as 'good.' No matter what he did, it'd look terrible. Like he was going to a masquerade ball for the injured.

"Vain as ever. Drink the damn water, Ichigo." Renji nodded to the untouched bottle of Evian. Rolling his eyes, the orange haired teen unscrewed the cap, raising his eyebrows at his friend as he pressed the full bottle to his lips, taking a small sip. "Ya fuckin…ya happy, bitch?" The orangette rolled his eyes, unsteadily capping and setting the container back down on his desk. There. Good enough.

"Nah, but you get points for trying. Now turn your ugly ass face to the front and pretend to pay attention. Fon's not going to take it lightly if she realizes how out of it you are." The ginger frowned, doing as told. The last thing he needed to do was get suspended for drugs again. That had been an uncomfortable week with his family. Plus, to make up for lost time, Grimmjow brought his brass knuckles. He still beat the blunette's ass, but he'd had a fist shaped bruise in the middle of his muscled stomach for at least two weeks. It didn't hurt anything but his pride to see the boy's print on his body everyday, but that was more than enough.

They waited out the class, Ichigo saying an awkward, unnecessary goodbye to Ms. Fon when it was time to leave. He felt like she just thought of him as a weird kid, which annoyed him because he really wasn't, and if he hadn't taken so much today he might've charmed her pants off. The crimson haired bastard pulled him away before he had a chance to say anything though. It was probably for the best, but he was still pissed.

"Stupid…asshole, think I can't manage…my damn self…" He slurred, copper colored eyes rolling back into his head as he was dragged to his next class with Mr. Granz. He was kind of lucky Szayelaporro Granz, his advanced physics teacher, knew about the oxy. The man got some sort of sick glee out of calling him out though- only because the man liked to experiment and antagonize students he found interesting. In other words, it sucked that he had to stutter through questions like an idiot because his teacher wanted to fuck with him, but it was great because the man would never say anything about the drugs.

"You can't." Renji growled, coming to a full stop in front of a slender black haired boy with glasses. The teen looked up in disgust, standing up straight and watching him with calculated ice blue eyes. "Kurosaki. Abarai. I presume this caveman will need me to babysit him again?" Ishida said levelheadedly, adjusting his glasses and patiently watching the two redheads squabble. Ichigo hissed "dickhead," at the same time the crimson haired teen nodded gratefully. "He's off his ass. Bluebell tried to fuck him up again and lost, but he brought a blade with him. Which means, this dumbass decided to take more than he does usually."

"You should stop messing with that stuff, Ichigo. You already know that though- there's little use in my repeating myself." His raven haired cousin strode over, grabbing the ginger by the arm and roughly tugging him into the spacious classroom. Ichigo stumbled behind him, barely finding his seat in the back and plopping down into it. "Fuck you…Uryuu." The ginger relayed before resting his head on the hard, wooden desk. When his copper colored eyes slipped closed, he nearly moaned in pleasure. He felt like he was floating on a cloud or something like that. His cuts felt like scratches, and he couldn't even feel his face. His orange hair was splayed around him, and Ichigo was absolutely sure it was glowing in the sunlight. He must've looked good.

His black haired friend scoffed, patiently waiting for class to start. "Moron." Ishida murmured under his breath, probably taking out some book and thumbing through it. "Stuck up…stuck up bitch…" Ichigo mumbled. It was true. Ishida was one of the most stuck up people he'd ever met in his life. His cousin thought he was above everyone he met. Ichigo knew he could show him up any day, but since he chose not to, the younger male continued to be a snobby little shit. Even when they were little and saw each other on holiday, Uryuu was always kind of a dick.

"Well hello, students. I assume we're all directing our full attention to me? Kurosaki?" Ichigo snapped his head up, groaning when the action pulled him from out of his mini-heaven. "Yup, Granz." His eyes were hazy and unfocused, so he tried to gather his thoughts and focus them towards the teacher. Some kids looked at him with pity, some laughed at his state. "Oh my! I see you must have broken your nose. How could that have happened?" His pink haired teacher smirked, narrowing his golden eyes at his pupil.

"He got into a fight. Please, may we start the lesson?" Uryuu glowered, tapping his open notebook with a blue and white pen. The student had an immense amount of respect for his teachers, but he hated this one for a passion. The raven had said he didn't like people who made a mockery of the sciences, but Ichigo kind of thought it was because he treated his cousin like he did. The ice cold teenager probably wouldn't admit it at gunpoint though. With a sigh, the physics teacher pushed his slim body off of the desk, going to the blackboard and writing a complex equation down on it. "There. Go wild, class- I want solutions in fifteen minutes, and then I'll tell you what you inevitably did wrong. Kurosaki, please refrain from drooling."

Ichigo shrugged and wiped his face, not surprised that there was a thin line of spit trailing from his pink lips to his chin. The redhead ignored all of the howling laughter in the room and Ishida's seething glare directed at the front. He was used to it all, and he didn't care anymore.

The period went by slowly for him, seeing as he had to tolerate his teacher's comments and questions, plus Ishida's well meaning but annoying protective edge. His buzz was starting to wear off by the end though, so he'd started snapping back at his teacher instead of letting Ishida do it for him. Which resulted in detention- it was considered rude to refer to your teacher as "smarmy asswipe," apparently. Who the fuck would have thought?

"You're a first rate idiot, do you know that? I can't believe we share the same bloodline," Uryuu groaned at a grinning Ichigo. The teen was winking at swooning females and males alike, clutching his red detention slip proudly. Even with the dumb face splint on, people were interested. One girl had said it made him look sexy and dangerous.

He might even sincerely thank Grimmjow.

"It was his fault, man. He likes to test my patience. Don't act like it doesn't get on your nerves too." The redhead cocked a neat eyebrow at his cousin and friend. Ishida frowned, pushing his glassed up his nose. "I'm respectful when I speak to my teachers at any rate. You're an imbecile." It could be true. He really was notorious for being a disrespectful student. It was their fault most of the time; they were condescending pricks. Uryuu was too, but he was family.

"Damn it. When are you going to clean up your act–" The bespectacled boy stopped dead in his tracks, and so did the ginger at his side. A blue haired boy in uniform stood a head above everyone else, probably waiting for Ichigo outside of his next class. His body was black and blue from head to toe, but his bare arms were crossed over his chest like a bully you'd see in an 80's PSA. 'Beware of bullies. Tell a friend, neighbor, or a trusted adult if you're being bullied.' The narrator would say, then it'd cut to a clip of Grimmjow shoving a kid's head into a generic school locker. That'd be classic.

Ichigo strode over to the younger boy, scowling. He was pretty sure the intensity of his look was kind of lowered by that damn brace, but it was okay. He got his point across. "The fuck do you want?" He growled lowly, craning his neck up and narrowing his relatively clear, whiskey colored eyes. Grimmjow didn't have any classes with him because he was not only an idiot, but a junior. He was pretty sure they wouldn't have any classes together even if they were in the same year.

"My fuckin' fifty dollars." The boy leaned down the two inches that he had to to level their gazes, azure eyes piercing straight through his amber. That was a challenging stare, and Ichigo never backed off from a challenge. Ignoring Uryuu's restraining hand on his shoulder, he grinned at the bigger boy. "Here's what you do. You go to the toilets, pull your ugly, cotton candy head out of your ass, and maybe you'll find your money in there when you do." Grimmjow grinned right back, both of them looking manic. "You think about my ass a lot, Kurosaki? You really are a faggot."

The ginger boy laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world, letting Ishida by and watching him go into the class. His cousin's ice blue eyes told him not to start something, and the redhead's own gaze spelled: "too fucking late."

"Jaegerjaquez, if I stuck my dick anywhere near you, it'd probably rot and fall off." It was childish, but it was really, really funny to him, so he let it slip. Some students that passed by laughed at the comment as thy found their way to class. See? It really was funny.

"I don't fuckin' care. Give me my money." Grimmjow snarled, still mirroring Ichigo's expression. The truth was, he'd called Nnoitra on his way home to get some oxy and weed. The money was no more. He just thought it was funny to see the blue haired man pretend like was going to so something about it. Like he thought he was part of the mob or something, instead of a crazy, beat up high-school student. "I don't fuckin' have it." The older boy mocked his tone, stepping around the angry 17-year-old and opening the classroom door. "If you don't want to get robed though, don't pass out in the street." It was good advice, but the scowl he got in response to his comment told him Grimmjow didn't think so.

"You're lucky I don't feel like killing you, Ichigo." The blunette said lowly, making the redhead freeze in his tracks. Something about his cold tone sent chills up and down the smaller man's spine. It was quiet and level, but it wasn't just a threat, he could tell. It was a clear warning, even though on paper, it would look like a cheesy movie line. He might be shaken because of the menacing tone, but he wasn't scared.

He wouldn't mind dying that much.

No, he wasn't suicidal- he wanted to live, but he had nothing to lose by dying. If he was being honest, he didn't have much to live for. "Try me, asshole." Ichigo murmured, entering the room full of prying eyes and shutting the door in the blunette's face. He was glad he had AP history; Starrk was one of his favorite teachers. The man was incredibly relaxed, and if you were tired, he let you sleep and filled you in later via a packet, being a narcoleptic himself. The ginger teen was constantly tired, so it worked out in his favor.

He sat down next to Ishida and a busty, burnt orange haired girl named Orihime Inoue, again, in the back of the classroom. Inoue and him hooked up when either of them wanted to, but Ichigo had a sneaking suspicion that that would stop soon. 'Maybe I won't ask her to come over today…' he thought with a smirk, catching Uryuu blushing at an insignificant comment she made about being comfortable in the school uniform. The redhead had even caught his cousin eating something she'd made for him- and that was a feat. He cooking was dog-shit, and some would say it was worse. The girl was good-hearted though; sweet, loveable, good in bed, even if she was a little stupid (with the exception of history) and couldn't cook a simple meal for her life. The ginger was happy for them in his own way.

Ishida raised a black eyebrow, nonverbally asking how it went with Grimmjow. The redhead shrugged, crossing his amber eyes and sticking his tongue out, moving his mouth to mock the girl who sat between them. She was animatedly talking about some show or band or something, and it was one of the dumbest one-sided conversations he'd ever heard. He really did love the girl, but it was kind of easy to make fun of her. Uryuu snorted despite himself, quickly covering it up with a cough when Inoue whined. She then turned around and proceeded to flirt with Ichigo, gasping and fussing over him when she saw his broken nose.

Flashing his jealous cousin and friend a quick apologetic look, he quickly assured her that he was fine with a small, genuine smile. Orihime was so bubbly that she dragged happiness out of the most depressed people almost forcefully. Even though she was obviously trying to make sure he was sober too, she was incredibly kind about it. When he passed the test, she started to talk his ear off, making Ishida smirk- revenge was a bitch. Thank god the last student decided to finally drag his ass into the classroom soon, because Ichigo knew he wouldn't be able to take Inoue's vapid chatter for much longer.

"Okay, guys. Open your notes, because I'm going to start." The brunette teacher drawled, standing up and starting to talk about ancient Egypt. Ichigo pulled out his notebook, doodling a pin up girl. He'd get the notes off of Ishida if he really needed them. The ginger really started to think about Grimmjow's comment then, spacing out completely.

The thought of his possible impending demise was…interesting. Was he really going to try to exact revenge like that? Ichigo had a niggling feeling that the boy would stop dicking around and bring a gun next time, so he needed to be ready and alert at all times. The blue haired teen needed to put up or shut up after that comment though. The brown eyed male needed to know just how far his enemy was willing to go.

They'd been dancing around and beating each other senseless for 12 years. Grimmjow had to grow up and leave him alone, or do something drastic. They weren't little kids anymore. There was no reason to tear themselves apart just to patch themselves up again and do again it the next day. It was stupid.

The worst part was, it wasn't just because of hair color or status. They were fighting over death. You could dye your hair any fucking color on the wheel and get a brand new pair of shoes. Nobody could bring loved ones back from the grave, no matter how much you prayed and pleaded. It wasn't some superficial squabble, so there was no fixing it until Grimmjow decided to forgive him, and Ichigo was able to forgive himself. Which, in his head, would never happen.

He popped another two oxy into his mouth. What a god damn mess.

This is weird for me. If you guys are reading Stranger Blues (shameless plug), you know I've been writing light hearted stuff for a while, so this…you know, it's fuckin weird. So, leave your reviews please- I love to hear opinions. Plus, favorite or follow if you like :)

Much love and more to come,

TheSextaEspada