Author's Note: Hello there! As always, thank you for choosing my work to read, it means an awful lot to me. This story is going to be a project I'm quiet excited about so I'm going to give you a little preface before we get started. It's a character study, really. I feel there's too little GrimmIchi stories that take place in a canon setting, and as such we can never truly delve into the potential of it. Alternate settings are glorious do not get me wrong, and considering I've had to tweak slight details of this setting to fit the script, I suppose you could call this alternate as well. After all, I do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo's got the claim on that one. I only hope to embark down the darkest trails this pairing has to offer. This will take place as if Urahara, Chad and Orihime found and brought Grimmjow back to the world of the living. The Quincies have attacked initially but Ichigo has not been brought in.

This story will touch on themes that may be triggering for some individuals. It will be dark, contain gore, sex and mental hardship. If you cannot handle any of the aforementioned, no harm in turning back now as I've done well to warn you. If you'd like to stick around for the ride, take a seat, because this work is my mission to bring out Grimmjow and Ichigo's dynamic as I've fallen in love with it in my head.

Play close attention to any quotes as I've picked them all with purpose, and be sure to review so I know how I'm doing!

Now, let's begin.

'Cause I'm the fucking king of the world,

Get on your knees.

I'm the fucking king of the world,

Do as I please.

So get up and get out and I'll show you,

What it takes for me to control you.

'Cause I'm the fucking king of the world.

Wind whips violently throughout the desolate air, whisking with it the bone white sand that covers the desert in their granulated embrace. Heavily, it buffets anything in its path, eroding and smoothing away at the rough edges. This is the only act in Hueco Mundo to soften anything; and even it is harsh. Coursing in spirals in its dance, the particles stick and coat layers of congealing blood; the stark ivory becoming drenched in putrid crimson fluid that slowly rises and falls on the bare, chiseled chest of a man- no, of a monster. His eyes slowly open, lids rising to reveal irises that seem to contain the human sky itself within them. Despite his injuries he does not cringe. Despite his pain he does not groan; and despite his wounded pride, he does not falter. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, The King, has survived.

As he comes to consciousness, those ethereal eyes are met with a bland stucco of a ceiling. The air is stuffy and traces of scents he cannot place filter in through his nostrils. Here there is nothing closely resembling the place he'd been only days previous. No aroma of blood in the air, nor screams heard before the aforementioned smell. It was docile; it was disgusting. And yet, he would endure it for one thing only: the finale to his last fight, killing Kurosaki Ichigo.

For too long he'd existed in a cursed purgatory of waiting, subjected to such a despicable weakened state he'd rather have died. Though, one thing kept the unbridled rage coursing and swelling within his wounded gut. It was the healing fire to the phoenix, the all consuming inferno that licked up every fibre within his being, seducing his very flesh into fulfilling its will. He would not allow pity to be taken on him without consequence as it was when the blade of his so-called ally had sung through the air, calling for his body to be gouged. It was the moment when he'd witnessed the very prey he'd been bent on hunting till the finish stepping in line of what was sure to be the delivering blow. Ever since his eyes has first opened once more he'd had his purpose; and for now, forming a deal with the ex-Shinigami who wore a smile that reeked of bullshit was his only option.

The door to the room he'd been holed up in opens and the man with the green and white striped hat, and clogs that had long since gone out of style, peeks his head in cautiously, sheepishly. It is as if he means to feign intimidation of the Espada dwelling within the space, and yet somehow Grimmjow knows it to be a farce; his eyes narrow as their gaze is immediately drawn to the intrusion: Kisuke Urahara.

"Ah, Grimmjow-san you're awake~!" The tone is lilting, carefree. It grates heavily on his nerves.

"Been awake," his voice is gruff as he sits upright from his lying position on the small bed, too small to be deemed comfortable for his generous height of six feet one inches. Idly his mind flashes to his previous, darkened quarters with the chilled breeze flowing endlessly through an open window, and an expanse of mattress and sheets that were the only comfort he willingly partook in. "can't sleep fer shit with all this fuckin' light." It was spoken with bitterness dripping into each syllable, eyes moving back to the rays of sun he found at fault for his inability to rest. In all honesty, he had never been one for heavy sleeping, being a survivor and a predator had him thriving off the 'sleep with one eye open' concept for far too long. Luxury of safe harbor would never be a principle he'd allow his body to fall victim to. Safety brought your guard down, and a lowered guard got you killed. Awareness was the key to staying a few steps ahead of the enemy.

The enemy…

His teeth clench subsequently. It'd been days since he'd agreed to come here unnoticed, and not only is he tiring of keeping his reiatsu concealed, but he grows increasingly irate being unable to carry out his desires.

"Oh yes, yes. I'd imagine having sunlight would be quite difficult for you to get used to..." A finger tapped his chin as the shopkeeper surveyed the thin cotton drapes that were drawn over a window. There was no need to respond with anything more than a grunt of acknowledgement, and even that seems to be prodding uncomfortably at his patience. He wasn't here for small talk. Though the very notion of that had him speculating the conditions that had brought him to the World of The Living to begin with. He'd been told next to nothing about what his assistance would be needed for. Only that they had a common enemy: The Quincy, and that he'd be taken to Kurosaki. Neither of which had he been confronted with thus far.

"M' sick a'sittin' around this shit hole store a'yers." Standing, he lets his shoulders roll as he stretches, audible pops and cracks sounding not only from his shoulder blades but vertebrae as well. His muscles ache, practically begging him for the release of carnage- and he'd never been a man to deny his instincts. Sharpened gaze turns to the Shinigami who wore one of those false bodies; it makes his upper lip curl infinitesimally in disgust at the very notion of it.

"Now, now, Grimmjow-san. Haven't we talked about that temper of yours?" Each word spoken only makes the Sexta's visualizations of crushing his windpipe between his fingers more vivid. He only growls in response, continuing to move forward. Subsequent to the movement, Kisuke brings out his trademark paper fan, taking a step back while he undoubtedly grins behind its thin surface.

"What do you plan to do, hm? Go back on your word? And here I thought you were a beast of pride. Silly me~." His eyes were irritating, going in the running for the most aggravating pair he'd ever seen. Of course there was only one to rival them. He grits his teeth, baring them in a manner much akin to a cornered predator, and that was right on the mark.

"I don't go back on shit." It was rough, and he speaks between clenched teeth with eyes that warn the other with unwavering hostility to not tempt his luck, lest he provoke Destruction personified past what he bothers to control. Their agreement balances on a tight-rope constructed of a single strand of thread, and attempting to domesticate an Espada would prove to be as fruitful as corralling an angered bull in a china shop.

Kurosaki Ichigo was finding himself practically unable to concentrate, even remotely, on the board at the front of his classroom. It seems a rare occurrence for him to even attend class diligently anymore. Ever since his life became so entirely ostracized from that of a 'normal' teenager, he's found it increasingly difficult to find motivation for his studies. Of course his father expects him to take over their clinic once he's no longer able to do it himself; and of course running said clinic will take a degree in medicine if he's to be taken seriously whatsoever. It just seemed as if perpetually on his consciousness there were other things to be concerned with, lives that needed protecting and worlds that needed saving. Really, the metaphor of a full plate would stand no grounds against his life.

And yet, call him crazy, but he would never change it for anything. Despite how hectic and all encompassing it may be, this is his life and it is one he's proud to claim. That is, when he's not being pestered by an annoying buzzing coming from the inside of his pocket. It vibrates lightly against the dark grey denim of his jeans, and Ichigo sighs visibly as his chocolate-hued eyes flick from the whiteboard to where the device lay. Discreetly, he brings it from the confines of his clothing and flips it open.

[Message Received]

Sender: Clogs

Subject: ^-^/

Body: Kurosaki-san, hello! I hope you're doing well and that I haven't bothered any boyish activities of yours~.

Ichigo's mouth falls agape with distaste on its own, and he stares the phone down as if it were Urahara himself. The nerve of this asshole texting me in class, he thinks with irritation brimming his vision. He has so many other things to be thinking of and mulling over, but of course the universe calls for another addition to the load. Urahara never bothered to talk unless there was either something in it for him, or something bad happened. Ichigo knows this, of course, which is undoubtedly the reason for his fingers massaging the bridge of his knows as his brows furrow. He's all but given up on the english lesson for today, and mentally kicks himself for being so overwhelmingly distracted when they were about to begin Shakespeare's "Hamlet". Briskly, and with an impaired dexterity that implies he's not one for texting, he responds.

[Message Sent]

Recipient: Clogs

Subject: RE: ^-^/
Body: Boyish activities? I'm in class asshole! What's going on?

A huff of annoyance is exhaled through his lips as his eyes return to the board at the front of the class. Urahara could wait until the period was over, in the least. Though, as he pulls out his book from the bag leaned against his chair, Ichigo can't help but worry whether something else has gone wrong. After all, there was quite a large threat on their horizon and if he were being honest, he thought there were better places for him to be aside from school anyways. And yet, Isshin had been hearing none of it. Somehow, Ichigo doesn't see the importance of a grade over what could potentially be the entirety of Soul Society. And yet, here he sits, in a desk- at school. And, as if on cue, his phone vibrates once more. He's hesitant, unsure of whether to read what could likely be another dilemma, another thing that in all reality shouldn't concern him, in class. But then again he supposed a life of normalcy had fled from him long ago.

[Message Received]

Sender: Clogs

Subject: RE: RE: ^-^/

Body: Ah! Class is very important, Kurosaki-san. We'll talk later. Bye-bye!

Wait- what? No, no, no. Ichigo refuses to let Urahara get away with such a lame tactic so easily. It is blaringly obvious that there's something he either needs to say, or ask, and the Substitute really wasn't anyone's best bet for having patience. As he mulls over the possibilities in his head, the previous annoyance he'd felt only flourishes as he continues drawing a blank. Surely if something bad had happened, he would have been contacted in some other, more urgent, manner? It couldn't be anything horrible if the guy on the other end of this conversation was willing to take such a leisurely route in contacting him. It is those thoughts of slight, yet still doubtful, comfort that bring a slow inhale through Ichigo's lungs and a forceful push of that air back out in a long exhale.

The sound is more audible than he would have hoped, however, and several classmates turn their heads towards him in annoyance, some of their glances questioning while others seem confused; and it is then that he realizes they'd begun to do line-readings from the text. Perhaps, he muses, he should wait until he gets home to return the text message. Especially considering the individual he was talking to. Urahara already knew where he was, and if this was another game of his, which was seeming more likely by the minute, there'd be no hope in getting him to budge on the subject. With yet another sigh, Ichigo returns his phone to his pocket, eyes flicking back to the page just as he is called upon.

"Kurosaki, please read the next two lines." The voice of his teacher snaps him to attention, and quickly he's scanning his current page, brain wracking in a desperate attempt to recall which lines were just spoken previously. Alas, to no avail.

"Uh, yeah-" It is the most ingenious thing to come out of his mouth, surely, and his fingers move to flip the page upon the realization that he's on the wrong one.

"Act one, third scene, line seventy-eight, Kurosaki-san." He feels like an idiot, and there's a couple individuals towards the back that chuckle. Keigo glances over from his seat off to the right with a questioning look; as if Ichigo had begun to sprout a second head for not being all-ears during Shakespeare.

"Right- got it." He quickly finds the correct passage and recites:

"This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man."

It is one of the lesser, yet still popular, quotes that are renowned from Hamlet, yet it is one he himself finds no need to scan for further context. Be yourself and don't lie. Pretty simple, in his opinion. Though he muses that perhaps it is not so flat, and a quick scan around his peers has the lines glaring at him like a neon sign. Aside from the small handful of people close to him, his alter-life (as was only proper to call it) goes entirely unknown to the rest of the populace. People that have gone to school with him since the First grade do not know him for who he truly is, and if asked he would not divulge the information. Perhaps this is why he loves Shakespeare as much as he does, he thinks. Because finding common ground in classic literature is nice to find. And more so, reading text that can resonate with a soul is a feel unparalleled by most anything. Then again, it is possible that aforementioned reasoning is simply a bout of uncharacteristic mental eloquence and in truth he simply like the time era. Though, regardless of the reason, Ichigo has the passage on his mind as the bell rings and he's picking up his books to leave the class.

Before he's able to get far, quick footsteps are heard barreling in his direction, and another sigh is exhaled from his lips.

"Yooo, Ichigo! What was that back there?" Keigo seems slightly out of breath as he falls into a matching pace beside him, large eyes questioning him further despite speaking no words.

"Huh? What do you mean?" A scowl tugs his brows together and his lips down as an arm is nonchalantly thrown over his shoulders. Ichigo wastes no time in shrugging it off rather aggressively. "-An' get off'a me! Geez."

"What do you mean 'what do I mean'!? You weren't even payin' attention in class!" A gasp lights up his face. "OH ICHIGO WHAT'S HER NAME?!" Excitement drenches all syllables in his words.

"What!? Whose name- I said get off of me, asshole!" His voice raises in pitch, border lining a yell, and Keigo backs away as if physically struck.

"Y-your girlfriend! You were thinkin' about somethin' in class, ya know? So? Was it a girl?" And even if it was, why would he need to know, Ichigo thinks in exasperation.

"No, idiot! I just couldn't focus, is all." His hand reaches up, threading through orange locks of silk as his eyes shut. In all honesty, he could want nothing more than to get home and sleep. But something tugs on the back of his mind in a nagging manner that has him feeling that will be the last thing to occur.

"Huh," his voice was believing, concerned even. Keigo Asano is the type of loyal friend to believe anything he hears as long as he trusts the individual. And as his brow furrows and his lower lip juts out into a thoughtful pout, Ichigo wonders what could possibly from from his mouth next. "you sure you're feelin' alright, though?" His eyes flickered with genuine emotions. As if he couldn't place any other reasoning for Ichigo's spacing than an illness.

"I'm fine!" A roll of his eyes closely follows his arms as their tossed into the air. "You worry too much, alright?" He raises a brow, and words string idly by in his mind. Thou canst not then be false to any man. Well, what did Shakespeare know anyways? He was dead afterall.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, huh?" He chuckled. "Anyways, Ichigo, if you do get a girlfriend, make sure she's got friends, ya kno? An' hook me up with their numbers like the pal I know you are!" A grin that seemed to take up his entire face stretches across his features, and Ichigo's subsequent deadpan is one that is prefaced by his hand mercilessly shoving into Keigo's face to put distance between them.

"I'm goin' home. See ya, Keigo." A shake of his head in disbelief of what friends he had brought orange silk swaying around his forehead; his fingers reaching into his pocket to pull his cell phone free once more.

Kisuke Urahara is humming as he lounges within the confines of his quaint storefront. Though it only acted a just that- a front, for the most part, he still did genuinely enjoy relaxing here. Throughout the years it had come to be a sort of home he'd thought would have continued to elude him. And yet here he sits, a book in his hand as he ignores the growling and cursing coming from a room down the hall. Call it luck, but introducing Grimmjow to sports on television had been one of his best ideas to keep the Espada out of his hair. Granted, he'd had to replace two TV's thus far due to his agitation for first, not understanding what was going on and taking it out on the 'weird fuckin' box', and two, for retaliating against an injured player who was a 'damn pussy bitch' and needed to 'stand the fuck up'. In any case, it was a well enough diversion for the moment.

A small screen lit up beside him, the device buzzing noisily on the table as he looked over. Ah, so he was done with class.

[Message Received]

Sender: Kurosaki-san

Subject: RE:RE:RE: ^-^/

Body: Goin home now. So?

A light smile graces Urahara's features as he reads the message, free hand tapping his chin thoughtfully. What to do, what to do. Though his musings are cut short at the sound of a rather large crash coming from down the hall. He frowns and thinks to himself 'make that three tv's'.

[Message Sent]

Recipient: Kurosaki-san

Subject: RE:RE:RE:RE: ^-^/

Body: It seems I've acquired someone who's very excited to see you.