Disclaimer/Warning: This fic will be rated T borderline M, and there'll be a bit of gay-bashing and religion (courtesy of nameless descriptionless OCs).
I.
I can never get rid of this guy, this Ulquiorra.
Ten years ago, the little bastard moved in next door with his dad, and ever since I've been thrown together with him constantly. We've always been in the same school—except for the years when he was still in elementary school and I was in the middle school and the other time, when I just started high school and he began middle school—but living across the street from Ulquiorra means I can never fucking lose him.
After four years of not seeing the guy, I'm spoiled.
There isn't a particular reason I can't put up with Cifer. He just rubs me the wrong way.
And this is all conveniently ignoring that we might have been friends at one point.
Ulquiorra never talks, and when he does, he's serious, cold, and fucking arrogant for someone two years younger and half a foot shorter than me. My mom adores him, though. Every day, she wants me to invite him over for dinner, or have him join us for a family outing, or play a game, or whatever the hell she says. Adults love him.
I don't see why. He doesn't have any friends—he chooses not to talk, oddly enough—and he's pretty girly. It makes sense, considering the little shit's gay.
Yeah, gay. As in, he'd probably fuck my ass if he had the chance. The bastard would though, considering. . . But don't get me wrong; I'm not a homophobe.
Still, I'd figured that being in high school would mean we'd be in different classes, and the school's big enough so I won't have to see him everywhere. I'd finally get rid of him.
But, because of my loving, caring mother, I'm going to be a chauffeur for my loving, caring neighbor. She says it 'follows the Ten Commandments'—which are conveniently posted by the front door to convert all our visitors—but I bet she wants to see us become best friends. Again.
If she knew Ulquiorra was gay, I can only imagine the shit she'd come up with to try and 'fix' him.
Hell, I almost did tell her. He was being his normal, self-righteous self, somehow hinting to my mom that he needed someone to drive him to school . . .
"I'll have to decline." Who the fuck talks like that? He's talking quietly, as usual, and he's sitting across from me in the living room.
"Oh, but Grimmy would love to help you, and it's been so long," she laughs, and my blood is burning my veins. I hate that nickname. "Love thy neighbor, right?"
"Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Jaegerjacquez," Ulquiorra stands up, and I'm almost ready to worship him because he's finally leaving. He hasn't been over in years, and the sudden appearance excites my mom a bit too much.
"Grimmy, of course, is always willing to help his friends. He simply adores you, Ulquiorra. Why don't you two ever spend time together anymore?" I snarl, because I don't adore shit. "How about you come with us to Mass on Sunday? You and Grimmy can—"
"He's not fucking going with us to Mass," I growl through a clenched jaw. I'm acting spoiled, but really, how many times is she going to try and force us to be friends? How many times has she mentioned wanting to adopt her precious Ulquiorra? I can't talk to her without hearing his stupid name. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here."
"Watch your language, young man," she scolds before turning to face Ulquiorra, who has almost made it outside. Apparently not hearing me, she adds, "Grimmjow would love to—"
"I don't love anything related to that homo."
For a moment, everything is silent.
I guess I'd shouted. Ulquiorra, for once, is uncomfortable. He knows I'm not lying and he's never lied before, which is why he's open about his sexuality.
Ulquiorra's face is a light shade of pink, and my stomach churns at the sight. I've only seen Ulquiorra flushed once before, and I've been trying to forget it. "Once again, thank you for lunch. Grimmjow. Mrs. Jaegerjacquez." He's staring at me, and I can't fucking tell what he's thinking. His eyes are always empty.
My mother frowns because it's obvious that Ulquiorra was affected by what I said. "That was rude, Grimmjow. Apologize to poor Ulquiorra."
"That won't be nec—"
"Honestly, how could you even associate your friend with one of those vile beings?" Ulquiorra's getting paler and paler trying to compose himself.
Something odd builds up in my chest, and I clench my fists tightly when Ulquiorra's eyes are boring into mine. I can't tell what he's trying to say, but it reminds me too much of the night . "Homosexuals," my mom scowls. "God scorns those who do not follow Him," she continues, "and you just made Ulquiorra feel like he was worthless."
What the hell? She's the one ranting about the evils of gay guys right in front of one.
.
According to the kitchen clock, it's seven fourteen (and forty-six seconds). The sun's blinding me, and it's probably a warning that life's going to suck as the driver of little Ulquiorra Cifer.
I was definitely spoiled.
I can hear my mom stampeding across the top floor, looking for the camera, probably. She's the only person who still takes pictures of The First Day of School, and because it's Ulquiorra's first day of high school, she's going to want to commemorate it in our family albums, which he really shouldn't be a part of.
I don't even know why, after four years of no contact, she suddenly thinks it's okay for us to become friends again. Did she ever consider that there's a reason we don't talk anymore?
"Grimmjow! Call in Ulquiorra for photos!" She's starting down the stairs as I try and sneak out the front door, but it's no use. "Grimmy! Is Ulquiorra out there?" She's still in her bed clothes, and it's embarrassing as hell, but I live in her house, so I have to do what she says.
"Cifer," I pull open the door and gesture to the figure standing—how long has he been there, the little creeper— by my car, "get your ass over here!" I can hear my mother's horrified gasp because I fucking cursed as Ulquiorra looks toward me and slowly makes his way to the house.
He stares at me, his huge, green eyes trying to do something. Our faces are ridiculously close, and I suppose I should move over and let him pass the threshold, but it doesn't occur to me. Ulquiorra, because I'm a full seven inches taller than him, has to tilt his head upward. I bet his gay-guy hormones are buzzing.
I smirk at him, grabbing his collar and shoving him into the house.
"Grimmjow!" Mom's shocked, I guess. She doesn't know how rough I can be. "Just what do you think you're doing?"
"It's fine, Mrs. Jaegerjacquez," Ulquiorra cuts in smoothly. He looks at me a final time before turning back to face my mom. "Did you need me for something?"
What the hell? She's jelly in his hands.
"Oh, I just want pictures of the two of you together! You're finally in high school, Ulquiorra. Your father must be proud."
Ulquiorra blinks. "He's busy with work and my grade level is garbage to him."
Though he didn't used to be, this guy is depressed all the time. I don't know how my mom doesn't see it, what with him hiding his arms and getting tear tattoos and talking about the pointlessness of life.
"Hmm, I think you and Grimmy would look adorable by the fireplace! Oh, you both wear your uniforms differently."
I guess she's talking about how my shirt's huge and I roll the sleeves up. Ulquiorra, on the other hand, has a tighter shirt, which he's buttoned up to his neck. His pants are huge, though, and it's like he's swarming in the fabric. Because the uniform is so white, his horribly pale skin looks worse than usual. He'd look sick, if I wasn't used to his face.
When he moves, I pretend that I can't see hints of muscles through the cloth.
"You don't have to button it all the way, stupid," I address him. I had a more colorful word in place of 'stupid,' but my mom is right next to me. Ulquiorra stares at me blankly. His eyes are huge. "Your shirt. They're okay with you wearing the uniform your own way."
"It was meant to be worn like this," he points out, as though he's smarter than me. He keeps staring—is he trying to make this awkward—so I turn to face my mom.
"We have to get to school soon, if I want a good parking spot."
"Oh, well, just go by the fireplace so I can get my one shot." We're standing in the right spot when she snaps nearly a dozen pictures. My eyes are watering from the camera flash so I almost miss her gesture that we should stand closer.
When neither of us moves, she takes the job on herself, shoving Ulquiorra into me—because she can't push me, that's for sure—so he's standing close enough so I can smell his hair—which I won't fucking describe—and feel his arm brush against my side.
Memories of that night before middle school burn through my mind.
I must've closed my eyes because Mom complains about it and takes another picture. I practically throw Ulquiorra across the room when she turns off the camera.
"We really have to leave now, Mrs. Jaegerjacquez," he says, catching my completely obvious hint.
She waves us off—but not before I have to dodge her trying to hug me and cry about there being two years before college—and I'm running to my car within seconds.
Over the summer, I'd managed to scrape up enough to pay for it. My own car. My own fucking car.
"You can get in," I mutter when I see Ulquiorra standing there. There's a certain way he moves that's all his own, and I'm transfixed by these gestures as he buckles his seatbelt and moves some of his hair from his face. Even after four years, he's still the same.
"Are you ready?" He asks me this question as though he's the one who owns this car.
"Don't talk to me like I'm fucking five," I snap at him, slamming the car door.
When I back out of the driveway, neither of us tries to talk. What are we supposed to say? Am I supposed to have fucking forgotten? We sit in silence for most of the car ride.
Occasionally, I think I might have looked at him. At traffic lights, I know I stared at the shape of his profile, how he was sitting in a haughty way, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with something when he caught me glancing at him.
"What?" he asks finally, turning away from the window to face me.
I try to think of something witty to say, something that'll explain why I was watching him most of this ride. "Why'd you get those tattoos?" I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. He definitely didn't have them when I was thirteen.
I'm an idiot.
He gives me a look, as though he thinks I'm stupid—which I am, for asking something like that—before replying, "Most likely for the same reasons you have those markings under your eyes." What kind of fucked up answer is that?
"Nice of you to notice," I say dryly, focusing on driving again. Of course he notices my eyes.
It's quiet for the rest of the ride.
By the time we're in the parking lot, I'm more relieved than anything. I must have jumped out of the car fast, because Ulquiorra is still unbuckling his seatbelt when I close the door.
"Were you just in a car with that fag?" I can't remember this kid's name, but I know he purposely screams his question so Ulquiorra can hear.
I look back to Ulquiorra, who isn't moving particularly fast, but he doesn't seem to be affected by these words. He either doesn't hear or is choosing to ignore them. He stands up, green eyes challenging me. I look away and hear him walk toward the school.
"I drive him here, stupid," I say at last, turning to face this guy. "Didn't I tell you?"
"No," the kid smirks. "Though I bet you'll turn gay if you spend too much time with him." I may not like Ulquiorra all that much, but I get him. He can't 'turn me gay.' It's just impossible.
I punch his shoulder in what could be playful but was meant to hurt him. "Shut the fuck up."
.
Hueco Mundo High School was named after some Spanish or Indian Tribe, so our mascot is some ugly-ass guy with a feathered hat. When I walk into the school, someone throws a small version of said hat toward me. "What the hell?"
Two girls nearby laugh, and I know the brunette is the one who threw it. She looks at me, smiles, and says loudly to her friend, "For Homecoming this year, I heard the theme is going to be 'A Knight to Remember.' It's cheesy but romantic at the same time." She clasps her hands together and looks in my direction with a drunken look. "I wonder who I'll go with."
I walk away from her, which is probably rude, but I don't give a fuck. I hear her friend trying to be supportive, saying, "Grimmjow hasn't dated anyone since freshman year. Don't press your luck."
The girl and her friend are right in that I haven't been with anyone since I was fourteen, but I have to blame them and their crappy looks. None of the girls in Hueco Mundo are attractive to me, though my friends don't seem to agree.
The girls're decent looking, I guess. None of them are right.
But that doesn't mean I'm Ulquiorra-gay.
I make my way to homeroom and get my schedule and locker assignment. I'm pissed off because I'm given a bottom locker despite my height. My teacher won't change the record, so I'm going to have to crawl for the rest of the year if I want to get my stuff.
My schedule is crumpled, I've been clutching it so tightly. I have all the basic classes—fuck if I'm going to do all the work they give the AP and Honors nerds—and I'm taking art, study hall, and French as electives. I'd forgotten to take an art course as a freshman, when everyone else was smart enough to take it, so now I'm going to be stuck with the influx of enthusiastic freshman.
Clusters of them are trying to weave through the halls, midgets unused to this world we call high school.
"Remember when you were like that kid, Grimmjow?" I turn and find Di Roy Linker, this kid who's been stalking me since I came to this school. He's not stalking me so much as following me around with the hopes of becoming popular.
A kid that looks like Ulquiorra—they both have the black hair—pulls his books away from an upperclassman, who must've taken them, and he pushes to get past him and to his next class.
"Hell no." His ugly religious head covering—everyone seems to be deep into religion these days—moves around as he laughs. "Where're you going?"
"Trigonometry," he grins. "Gimme your schedule." I hand it to him and start walking to my English class, which is nearby and the reason why I'm dawdling. He follows me like a puppy.
"Are you finally going to ask someone to Homecoming?" Di Roy's eyes don't leave the paper in his hands, but I can tell he was eager to ask me this from the start. "We have the same gym and lunch periods." The bell rings.
"You got your eyes on someone?" I'm supposed to be in class now, but since it's the first day, I figure they'll let me off.
"No," he smiles innocently, "but I have a friend who wants me to ask you. She's worried you've crossed to the dark side 'er something."
"Right." I take my schedule back and stuff it in my pocket.
"What should I tell her?"
"Homecoming's not for two months," I mutter. The idea of having to take someone to Homecoming doesn't tighten my pants or make my face hot.
"Still. . . Maybe you and me and the guys can all go." He adjusts the headpiece and looks at the door of my classroom. "I have to head to Trig."
I don't say anything as I enter English.
.
The day goes by surprisingly quickly, and I'm on my way to art when I see a group of freshman stampede into the room. It puts me in a bad mood.
One of them—she's dressed like a prostitute, so I have to wonder how the school let her in—stops to flirt with me. I smile at her, which seems to be enough of a reason to follow me into the classroom. "What's your name?" She fixes one of her ponytails, "I'm Loly."
I brush past her and try to find a table not surrounded by idiot freshman. There's only one, and it conveniently hosts an Ulquiorra Cifer with a book. Of course he's in my fucking art class.
I've put up with him for enough of today, but annoying him is more entertaining than being annoyed by Loly, who seems to have found a blonde friend to squeal with. And there are no more seats. That's definitely my reason for sitting there.
Ulquiorra must've chosen to sit alone, because when I plop into the seat farthest from him but still at his table, he gives me a cold look. He most likely scared away the others who tried to sit near him.
"What's wrong with you?" Most people would be thrilled if someone came so they wouldn't be alone. But then again, Ulquiorra isn't like most people.
"I don't need your company," he deadpans, "and you don't want mine." The bell rings to signal the start of this class, and some woman who would dress like a hippie if Hueco Mundo didn't have a dress code comes into the room to smile.
I would move to a new seat, because his way of talking is annoying me, but there really isn't anywhere to go. It's four to a table, and out of the six tables, this is the only one left.
"Relax, would you? I'm not gonna fucking rape you." I realize that what I've just said is awkward, because he's gay.
Ulquiorra's grip on his book tightens, and his voice is hard. "If you care about your life, you'll find a new seat." I don't know if he's still mad about middle school.
"Are you two quite finished?" Gray eyes are glaring at me, though it's all hidden beneath a hippie exterior, so I can tell this teacher thinks everything is my fault and is going to hate me for the rest of the year.
"I apologize," Ulquiorra says almost immediately, moving his gaze from me to the teacher and back within a span of two seconds.
I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking kill him.
"Oh." Her face brightens up, as every adult's does when Ulquiorra talks. "Well, then." She smiles at Ulquiorra before walking back to the front of the room. "I'm your art teacher . . ."
"Bastard," I hiss, chucking my pencil at him. It hits him right in the nose and he doesn't even blink.
Ulquiorra's going to die of strangulation.
I'll leave no evidence of the crime.
The woman must be going through attendance. "Ulquiorra Cifer."
He raises his hand and corrects her, "It's Sch-i-ffer. The i has a short sound."
"Oh, thank you! Do you have any nicknames, Ulquiorra?" He shakes his head and she pouts before continuing down the list. When she gets to my name, she screws up. "Grimmjow Jag. . . Jaeg. . . Pardon, how do you pronounce your name?"
I clench my teeth, ignoring the laughing. "Jagger-jack." She nods and moves on, and I see Ulquiorra staring at me. "What the fuck do you want?"
He blinks, as though he's so fucking innocent—which he isn't because I was there that night—and I can feel my fingers itching to grab his pale-ass throat and shake him.
"Okay, so," the woman claps her hands together like we're in preschool, "I want you to draw a picture of what you did over your summer vacations!" What is she thinking? High school students don't do assignments this stupid. "There's paper in the top drawers of your tables. Due at the end of class."
Ulquiorra hands my pencil back to me wordlessly. When I take it, I notice his hands are freezing.
After I draw a quick picture of me sleeping and hand it in, I move to stand over Ulquiorra's shoulder and make him as uncomfortable as possible. He's drawn a semi-decent picture of him reading a book, though in the drawing his face is entirely covered by said book, so I'm not sure if it's supposed to be him.
He sits through five minutes of my pestering before snapping around—and this is only after I start blowing on his neck—and pushing me backward.
"Move, Grimmjow."
It's stupid that he tells me this after he shoves me out of the way. I almost tell him so, but the bell rings and I'm out of there.
I hate that I know what he smells like now.
.
I have gym as my last class. It's shit.
I'm going to be tired and sweaty when I get to my car, and I can only imagine what it'll do to pretty-gay-boy Ulquiorra.
Today, at least, I was spared from gym class horror. Instead, I sat through what felt like years of gym teachers telling us about locker room conduct and crap like that. When the bell rings, I'm almost running to my car in relief.
I sit there for ten minutes. Half of the other people have left already.
Ulquiorra is late, and I'm tempted to leave without him.
Just as I start the engine, he decides to show up. He sits down and turns to face the window as though nothing's wrong. The little fuck. . .
"What the hell?" I snap at him. He doesn't move, so I grab his shoulder and pull him so he's facing me.
There's a small cut across his temple, and under his right eye is slightly swollen. It's pink, so it completely stands out compared to his pale, almost white skin. I have the urge to touch his cheek, and I act on it. Warmth floods to my fingers before I realize he's blushing.
He slaps my hand away.
I smirk, trying to cover up what I just did. It reminds me vaguely of why our friendship ended. "What's with your face?" It sounds like I'm insulting his looks, which I tend to do on a regular basis now, so I elaborate, "Why's it look like someone punched you?"
He looks at me like I'm stupid. "Because someone did."
"Why?" He may be annoying, and I have been tempted to punch him a few, okay, more than a few, times, but I never have, so I don't know why anyone else would. Especially since it's the first day and he couldn't have done anything that bad.
"We're going to be late getting home." He avoids my question entirely, pissing me off.
"Fine." When we're out of the school parking lot, I ask him again.
"The reasons are insignificant." His attention is on the landscape outside.
Ulquiorra doesn't lie. Instead, he skids past subjects and he answers with questions and vague pieces of information. He never lies, though. Unless that part of him's changed too.
"Tell me when, at least." Obviously it was after sixth period, when we have art.
He's silent for a minute. "Gym."
The answer is shoved at me with this little piece of information. "'Cuz you're gay?"
"Because I might look at them in the locker room," he clarifies, folding his hands on his lap. The tattoos on his face make him seem depressed. He's not looking at me, but I'm looking at him. I know my heart is pounding faster, seeing him like this.
I feel guilty for leaving him.
I'm not sure what to say.
So, this is my first multi-chaptered Bleach fanfic. . . Yeah, I can tell it's Grimmjow OoC-ness. I suck at writing guy-points-of-view, and I even did research (i.e. Reading tons of books written in boy-first-person) this time. This is going to be a GrimmUlqui romance, I'm just really slow and draggy when it comes to getting my point across.
If you find any mistakes, let me know. I originally wrote this in third person past tense, so I'm expecting a lot of crap, even though I've read over it twenty million times.
Oh, and since Loly and Di Roy are such minor characters in the manga, I have no idea if I got their personalities right. I just made them up to suit my needs. *is shot*
I don't expect this story to get much attention, especially with the large number of high school AU fics out there now, but I'm still going to try and finish this. *crosses fingers* Thanks for putting up with me so far. ^^