The Ash
As soon as he woke up, he felt it. The heavy ever present Reiatsu of Ulquiorra, disappearing.
For a second, there was disbelief. It wasn't possible. This was Ulquiorra. He was the fourth, he was always lording his goddamn power over him, it wasn't possible. Then unconsolable anger. At Kurosaki, for killing him. At Ulquiorra for being killed. At Kurosaki again for not killing Grimmjow first. And then at himself, for not being able to protect Ulquiorra, even if the fourth wouldn't have wanted it.
And then there was a sort of acceptance.
So he dragged himself up. He was sore everywhere, his muscles tugged and screamed at him. But that didn't matter right now because he had to say goodbye. Making it to the roof hurt, he could barely grasp at his own reiatsu, but he did it anyway. He wondered if Ulquiorra was thinking of him, if Ulquiorra wanted to kiss him right now as much as Grimmjow did, if Ulquiorra regretted anything.
The roof of course, held the victorious Kurosaki, his friend, and that blasted woman. He wanted to scream at her to stop standing there, to help Ulquiorra, to do something. He held his tongue, for the first time in his life. He watched Ulquiorra reach out his hand to that damn woman.
There was anger again, burning fierce. He'd always known about Ulquiorra and that woman, but at the same time he wanted to deny it. He'd told himself that Ulquiorra loved him more.
And then there was sadness, swelling in his gut until he wanted to be sick. But even if what Ulquiorra felt for him was out of pity, or was just humoring him, it didn't change what he felt.
He'd say goodbye anyway. In the back of his mind he wondered when he became so damn sentimental.
He waited until Ulquiorra was nothing but a pile of ash, and Kurosaki was helping his friends away. That stupid woman was crying. But he couldn't bring his hatred up, it refused to surface. He moved then, pulling at his already pulled muscles, ignoring the cuts that reopened with each move he made.
He knelt before the pile of ash. Before he knew it, his sight was blurry, blinking away the tears did nothing. He slipped his fingers through the ash, it was soft, like Ulquiorra's hair, his body, his face.
"I hate you, you fucking bastard. Dying like that. I fucking hate you." he held back the sob that wanted to escape, holding tight to the fistful of ash, wishing it was Ulquiorra's hand. "Wishing I could tell you so many things, but you go off and die. And instead of thinking of me, you think of her. I fucking hate you." Grimmjow laughed. He wasn't used to his face being so wet, most of the time he hated water. "But I love you so much at the same time."
By then, it hurt too much to stay awake so he curled around the pile of ash that used to be his lover, wishing Ulquiorra could touch him, talk to him, whisper mean names in his ear like he used to. He hald the fistful of ash as tight as he could, even in sleep.
He was tired. So very, very tired.
Owari