One. Business is Pleasure

Kurosaki Ichigo closed the drive-thru window and readjusted the headset under his baseball cap. Business was slow tonight. The fryer hissed as his fellow co-worker, Grimmjow Jagerjaques, put a basket of chicken into the fryer and did what he did best: he fried it.

This place, Kanpachi's Fried Chicken, was known best for that, and Grimmjow seemed to do a good job of it.

Ichigo sat at the cash register and waited for someone to get desperate enough to pull into their drive-thru. The bell from the front clinked against the door as some family entered and made their way up to the cash register. Ichigo could hear as tonight's cashiers, Inoue and Rangiku, greeted them and began taking orders.

Grimmjow looked idly up at the screen of orders that were streaming in before him.

"Fuck," he said. "They want two wraps. I'm no good at that stuff. Kurosaki, you think you could give me a hand?"

Ichigo glanced out the window. Still no sign of any cars.

"Sure," he said, moving over to the sink to give his hands a quick wash in boiling water. "I guess I don't have anything better to do."

Grimmjow handed him a package of tortillas and took the chicken out of the fryer, letting it drain. "Hey," he said, glancing at Ichigo. "You ever notice how almost everyday it seems like the slit in their polos gets a little lower?"

Ichigo stopped squirting sauce onto the wrap he was making. "What?"

"You know. Those chicks that run the cash registers. I swear, that little slit in front of their polos gets lower every day." He grinned. "Maybe they're just growing like healthy girls should."

"You're sick, man."

"I should be," Grimmjow laughed, wrapping up a few chicken sandwiches. "After all, I work with 'hot breasts' all day!" He threw his head back and clutched his stomach and laughed until tears came out of the corners of his eyes. It was something Ichigo had never seen him do, but yet it came off as something that he naturally would do. It gave Ichigo the chills.

Ichigo tried his hardest to finish the wraps quickly. He'd never liked this guy much, and now he knew why--this kid was nuts.

An order began to crackle through Ichigo's headset and he made his way over to the window.

"Can I help you?"

"CRZZK! I need a chicken bucket and an order of mashed potatoes."

"What size chicken bucket was that?" Ichigo asked, punching buttons on the cash register.

"Twleve piece. The one you have on the value special, here."

"Alright. Will that be all?"

"No. Ummm..."

"Yes?"

"Well...uh...let's see now...can you tell me what's in the Crispy Twister Wrap?"

"What's in a---fuck, is this Ishida?"

Ichigo shuddered. He swore he could hear the sound of glasses being adjusted over the intercom. "Yes it is. Now please tell me, Kurosaki Ichigo, what is in a Crispy Twister Wrap?"

"Aww hell. Grimmjow!" Ichigo yelled over his should. "Grimmjow, what the hell is on the Crispy Twister Wrap?"

Grimmjow forcefully threw some potatoes into the fryer. "I asked you to make them for me five minutes ago and you can't remember? What the hell do you have, Alzheimer's?"

"Just fucking tell me!"

"Alright. Like, tomatoes, and lettuce, and um...ah, here, lemme see the cheat sheet. Oh, two cripsy chicken tenders! You got that, Kurosaki?"

"Yeah, I got it. That it?"

"Oh, no. there's also sauce."

"You hear that Ishida? And sauce. All wrapped up in one big, fat tortilla. Now, you want it or not?"

"What kind of sauce?"

"Fuck," Ichigo said as he scrambled off his stool and headed for the freezer. "Grimmjow!" he yelled.

"What?"

"What kind of sauce?"

"Hell if I know."

Ichigo stalked back to his stool near the window and sat down. "Ishida?"

"Yes?"

"Don't know what kind of sauce."

There was a faint sigh from the other end of the line. "Fine. Then could you please tell me what sort of secret herbs and spices you use on the chicken?"

Ichigo had to keep himself from punching the cash register. This guy was too damn persistent. "No," he said. "I can't tell you that. Kenpachi would fucking kill me! Why the hell do you even need to know all this, anyway?"

"I have food allergies, Ichigo. I need to know these things. Now, what kind of herbs and spices?"

"Fuck Ishida!" Ichigo yelled, sticking his head out the drive-thru window. He could see Ishida's sleek black car just a few feet away, with a long line behind it. "Listen, there's five...no, six cars behind you! Hurry up and order, or they'll go to that damn Taco Gin across the street!"

"Fine. Give me...a diet soda."

Ichigo punch the diet soda button on the register so hard the table the register was sitting on shook. "Fine. Is that everything?" he said through clenched teeth. Ichigo was ready to pummel Ishida. Not because he asked irritating questions, but because he did so like he had all the time in the world and was the only person in the world. That was why Ichigo hated Ishida--that damn condescending attitude of his, like everyone else could wait because he was more important.

"Yes."

"Please pull forward. You total is $12.62 at the window."

Ishida forked over the money and Ichigo presented him with the bucket of chicken, potatoes and the soda. "Hey Chad," he said to the large guy sitting next to Ishida in the car. "You guys just get off work?"

"Yeah," Chad said slowly. "Slow night."

Ichigo smiled. "Here too. Enjoy your chicken." He opened the register for change and shoved a few bills and some coins into Ishida's hand. "Have a lovely night," he said through gritted teeth. Ishida said nothing, just gave him a long, menacing look.

"Yes," Ishida said, half paying attention. "C'mon Chad, let's go to Wendy's. I want a salad, not any of this deep-fried mess. I'm watching my figure."

Ichigo waited until they were gone and Ishida turned the corner and disappeared into the slick black night before he shoved the cash register drawer shut. "Oooh, he's 'watching his figure'," he snarled quietly as the next order came across the headset.

Ichigo sent it through the monitor and heard Grimmjow curse from around the corner. "Fuck this job and these damn buckets of chicken!"

"Why don't you get a new job, then?" Ichigo shot back, still irritated from being forced to deal with Ishida. "Go ahead. Go quit and find a new one."

Grimmjow was silent for a minute. "Fuck," he said again, and went back to frying chicken. "I don't have time for things like that."

And the final few hours until closing passed just like that. Finally the time came where Inoue locked the doors and began to sweep the floor. Rangiku collected the till from the registers and counted it before sperating it into bags and shoving it in the safe. Grimmjow waved around a few chicken sandwiches. "Anyone want these? They'll go bad otherwise, and it'd be a waste to throw them away."

"No thanks," Rangiku said, her massive breasts threatening to burst from her top as she tied up some garbage bags. "I'm good."

"So am I," Inoue said as she pulled on her jacket and mittens. "You guys are almost done here, right? Mind if Rangiku and I go? She's my ride home."

"Yeah, you can go," Grimmjow said. "We'll be fine." He slid one of the sandwiches across the counter to Ichigo. "Here, you eat it. You're probably starving, right?"

Ichigo took it without thanking him. "A little." He opened the sandwich and looked at it hesitantly.

"C'mon," Grimmjow said, motioning for him to sit down. "I made it. It can't be that bad, right?"

"And that's supposed to make me want to eat it?"

Grimmjow grinned. "Watch it, you, or I might be forced to slice off that sharp tongue of yours."

Ichigo didn't have anything to say to that, so he ate his sandwich in awkward silence, only filled while Grimmjow complained about his classes at college, talking for the sake of talking. His professors sucked, he said, and they all thought they were right and nobody else could be right unless they agreed.

"College kinda sucks," he said. "I mean, they tell you it's gonna be so great, but it's not. Though my roommate's not so bad. Kinda quiet, but he's alright."

Ichigo felt obligated to ask something, to make it look like he was paying attention. "What's his name?"

"Ulquiorra Schiffer." Grimmjow said. He smiled as Ichigo attempted to pull off something that would constitute as an interested expression. "I know, it's mouthful, right? Kinda like mine."

"Yeah. I guess." Ichigo stood up and grabbed a rag before he wiped down the table they'd been eating at. He didn't want to deal with Grimmjow much longer. He just wanted to get home, do some homework before he crashed, maybe take a shower if he had the time. "Hey, we'd better change the oil, right?"

Grimmjow followed Ichigo over to the fryers and flipped the switch that drained it into the tanks below. He was so close that it felt awkward, suffocating. Ichigo wanted to move away as soon as possible, because Grimmjow was just standing there behind his, and he could feel his hot stomach against his back. That was when he knew something wasn't right. Ichigo turned and found himself trapped by Grimmjow's arms on both sides. He tried to back up, but Grimmjow stopped him with a smile.

"Don't want to back up," he said. "That oil is hot. Wouldn't want to burn your pretty little face, Ichigo."

Ichigo remembered what he'd thought before about this guy being crazy and was sure he was right. If he hadn't be positive before, he was now. And as far as he knew, Grimmjow had never called him anything--anything--but Kurosaki before. The way he said that name, Ichigo, like it was a threat, threw him off.

Ichigo was sure it made the marrow shake in his bones.

Grimmjow leaned down to put his mouth to Ichigo's ear. "That oil isn't the only thing rather hot around here, is it, Ichigo?"

"Fuck off," Ichigo said, barely having the courage to lift his head, and moving his hands to press lightly against Grimmjow's massive torso. He knew Grimmjow might only be teasing, but Ichigo had never been this terrified before in his life. Grimmjow was larger than him, stronger than him, and would be able to overtake him if her really wanted to try anything shady.

"You don't mean it. You like this."

"No, I don't. I mean it, Jagerjaques, fuck off."

"Using my last name, are we? Too terrified to threaten me properly, Ichi--"

"For fuck sakes, WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Ichigo yelled, finally tearing his eyes from the floor to meet Grimmjow's face. He wanted to go home, home, wanted to leave and run. He didn't want to be like this, in this situation they only talked about in movies, this situation that didn't happen in real life. "For god sakes, what do you want from me?"

Grimmjow didn't move. "Your phone number," he said. "Give it to me."

Ichigo felt like he couldn't breathe. If he lied he was sure Grimmjow would figure it out, he'd come to his house or something, maybe with a knife or--

"Six-eight-nine," Ichigo said slowly as the numbers came to his head. "Seven-three-two-two."

Grimmjow dropped his arms. "Why thank you," he said, taking a battered cell phone out of his pocket. He laughed, but it wasn't like the laugh before. It was a soft, psychotic laugh, the type that showed a side of a person that normal no one would see. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll call you sometime."

"Fuck you," Ichigo muttered under his breath. He was grasping for words now, just trying to get Grimmjow to leave as fast as possible. And however fast that was, it wasn't fast enough. Ichigo's legs were still shaking. He felt like he was barely standing at all.

"Oh," Grimmjow said, turning as he pulled on his coat. "And before I go--"

He turned grabbed Ichigo's shirt and crushed his lips against Ichigo's. He tasted like chicken sandwiches and ranch dressing. Ichigo felt his heart race and the blood freeze in his neck. His chest felt cold suddenly, very cold, and he knew this was what people meant by 'sheer terror'. Grimmjow continued the kiss like that for what seemed like hours, or maybe days to Ichigo, until the breath was drawn out for so long that Grimmjow had to come up for air. When finally let go Ichigo found he couldn't breath at all.

Grimmjow opened the back door and headed out into the cold night. "Bye," he said, barely glancing back. "And thanks for the number, bitch."