Hey everyone, this is a short disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Bleach, I am simply a fan writing fiction. I however due own the cover photo. This story will contain some mature content such as alcohol and drug usage, please do not attempt either. Also there will be smut/yaoi love eventually. Now carry on and I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1
In these brief moments, we are young Gods
The memories play back like an old film real. The image slightly distorted, as the colours have faded, not as pure as they once were. How he felt about the memories however had not changed; they were his everything. He could take them out and let them play in his head whenever he closed his eyes. So precious, perfect. They played out before him when he was at his lowest, but they did not always cheer him up. No, sometimes they kicked him down even further into the gutter. Because in his heart of hearts he knew that that was then and this is now.
Biased images of times of smiles transition into times of sorrow before rewinding. Always playing a different story but always the same sequence, the film must be caught on a loop. These memories were no different: a brief flash of when his mother first put him into a martial arts class. The transition always occurred when his mum was smiling – too beautiful – her face was then covered behind glass, flowers and a white bow around the top corners of her picture frame. The fire always hot upon his face as the casket was placed into the incinerator.
Grimmjow didn't like to dwell on the past but it always reared its ugly head when he was feeling even the slightest bit down. They got worse when he drank and right now he was drinking away the physical pain. Every part of his body ached, his knuckles in particular as he had done a terrible job wrapping them up in gauze before the fights. He had taken a firm kick to his left ribs, lucky shot. He had fought twice tonight both back to back, he didn't care the money was good. Especially since he always won.
Are you missing me?
The door to the changing room opened as two bodies walked in, not needing to be announced, one a woman the other a man. The woman was tall with an hourglass figure that deserved to be on the cover of Sports Illustrated instead of coaching his broke ass. Her cropped blonde hair complimented her tanned skin beautifully, perfect eyelashes surrounded aquamarine eyes that radiated intensity and a defiance that she carried gracefully. Tia Halibel wasn't afraid of neither anything nor anyone.
She had to be in such an industry; women were taken as a joke as they strut along the stage with large signs in their hands – either of advertisements or of which round the fight was going into. She was the one to approach Grimmjow and promise him top-notch training and the best fights he could get so long as he didn't look like a chump. She had kept her word and gone above and beyond and so he had kept his end of the bargain. A woman coach was unheard of and could be considered a joke to many in the cage that is if you came out looking like a sucker. But he was always the defiant type and they became unstoppable.
The man wasn't as tall as Halibel but he carried himself with a grace that others dare not ignore. Jet-black hair which dropped to his shoulders and a complex that looked a pasty white, two green tattooed lines running down horizontally from his ivy green eyes. Ulquiorra Cifer was the complete opposite of the woman he walked beside. Quiet, reserved, and impassive he looked better suited to a concert hall as long fingers would have done wonder behind a grand piano. Yet those fingers had found their muse in treating any injuries that Grimmjow had managed to gain from his fights.
Grimmjow and Ulquiorra went back to high school when the pair would often sneak off and cut class to get stoned on the roof. When Grimmjow heard Ulquiorra had dropped out of med school due to 'conflict of interest'. Whatever that meant. They had ran into each other soon after Halibel had started training him, she leapt at the chance to get someone to patch him up when it was needed. Ulquiorra simply accepted out of boredom – it wasn't as though he were doing anything productive with his time now that med school was no longer an option.
"You started off strong in the first fight," began Halibel pushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Her tone didn't sound to impressed. Great, she was going to be critical today, "but you damn near got your ass handed to you in the second fight."
"I won didn't I," said Grimmjow taking the final guzzle from the beer bottle, throwing the empty glass into a cardboard box.
"It was a sloppy win at that. You were lucky that Madarame only knows how to charge in and can't block worth shit," she said cocking her hip out and crossing her arms. Her face always stern, never revealing any emotion.
"I was also lucky that bald head of his didn't blind me."
Ulquiorra sat down beside him. Legs on either side of the wooden bench as he placed the small white first aid kit on the ground beside him. Taking out an antiseptic, cotton balls, and some bandages his unwavering stare focused on the bloody knuckles, "left."
"Though it probably didn't help that I had knocked his bro with the feathers on his eyes down in less than five minutes right before his match," said Grimmjow, handing over his left hand, wincing a bit when the damp cotton ball made contact with the wounds, "Kenpachi must be pissed that both his boys were taken down on the same night."
"I couldn't give two shits about what Kenpachi is thinking. All those boys are is flair with nothing to back it up," Halibel wasn't lying. She never gave any fighters respect unless they earned it. Kenpachi's boys were good, just not to her standards, "were you drinking before the match again?"
"Right," piped up Ulquiorra as had finished with one hand and moved onto the next one.
The room fell silent as Grimmjow's eyes connected with his trainers. A soundless battle was going off between the two. He could see the anger and annoyance in the woman's eyes. There was also disappointment in them, he didn't like seeing that; it made him feel like he was a child in the playground being scolded by his mum. Goddamn her. His eyes narrowed to show his own petty defiance a small grin curling up the right side of his face.
Ulquiorra had finished with his hand and begun to repack everything in the first aid kit. He scooted back on the bench and watched as the two entered into a silent exchange. Within a blink of an eye Halibel's leg came inches away from Grimmjow's face, making his hair move with a small gust of air – eyes widening a fraction. How could this woman move so fast? The medic in the room looked unfazed by what had just transpired, though it always impressed him when the coach moved so fast.
"Clean your shit up Grimm. I don't have time to babysit," Halibel broke the stillness as she removed her foot from the small crater she had created in the locker behind Grimmjow's head. Heading in the direction of the door she shot back, "be in the gym tomorrow at eleven A.M. sharp."
"Sure."
"Thanks for your hard work," said Ulquiorra in a bored voice.
It took a few minutes before anyone could say anything. Grimmjow hated when she did shit like this. It was only a few beers; it hadn't affected his performance, had it? It was Ulquiorra who decided to speak first, "you know she's right?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"You did look sloppy during the first round even if Feathers was trying to look like modern art in the cage."
A low grunt answered Ulquiorra as the man got up to go and place the first aid back where it had come from. He returned in no time hanging by the doorway, waiting for Grimmjow to get his shit together so that they could leave. The fighter had promised to buy drinks if he won both fights. Ulquiorra being an opportunist was about to take full advantage of this. It wasn't so often that the man offered to buy drinks that and he didn't have to be at the gym as early as Grimmjow tomorrow.
"Hurry up. I want you to regret the decisions you've made today as I pound back a cold one. Drinks are on you by the way."
That earned an earnest chuckle from the man who was still slouched on the wooden bench. Standing up he grabbed a white towel and headed towards the showers to wash off as much of the sweat from his body that he could. He didn't like having the fine layer of salty grime on him it made him feel sticky. The shower was quick, he didn't like being in the showers that the arenas offered. They were dingy and the water pressure fluctuated as much as the temperature. Lord knows what kind of fungi were waiting to attach to the bottom of one's feet that dwelled upon the tiled floor.
At least there was still some hot water left and the water pressure was bearable. He washed himself off quickly scrubbing every inch of his well-toned body. Years in the cage had made his body into a lethal weapon. That and the training regimes that Halibel had made him endure over the years were almost the death of him in the beginning. However the training at the beginning was nothing compared to now.
But it's too late to common home.
Turning off the water – the pipes giving a very audible sound of protest – he wrapped the white towel around his firm waist. Walking out of the shower area lead into a room with a long mirror and a row of sinks on one side while the opposite wall was were the urinals and toilet stalls were. Placing his shower kit beside a sink he inspected himself in the mirror, accessing to see if either of Kenpachi's boys had managed to mangle his face.
Grimmjow had always been called a handsome man. Many of his features had once been compared multiple times to a younger version of Marlon Brando. He had taken that as a compliment after Googling the man and could see the similarities. A strong square jawline, fine lips, and a nose too which had only suffered a few breaks, and cyan blue eyes made up his face. However his defining trait, which had set him far apart from everyone, was his unnatural cerulean blue hair. This hair had been what had gotten him into so many fights as a kid; it was as though destiny had been making him into a fighter all along.
Walking back to the changing room he slipped into a pair of jeans and a simple grey hoodie. Shit kicker red classic Converse were taking more trouble to put on as the heels had managed to bend back making Grimmjow curse as he tried to adjust the shoe. Throwing his fighting gear into his gym bag he walked out of the small fighting stadium to where Ulquiorra was probably waiting for him.
Waving to the security guard on duty – he always forgot their names – who paid him no mind, he pushed open the front door were the petite raven haired boy was leaning against the railing. A fresh cigarette being lit in his mouth – Grimmjow hated the smell of smoke. The pair walked towards Grimmjow's blue 1970 jaguar, the only car that had been left in the parking lot. Ulquiorra flicked his half spent cig into a puddle as he walked around to get in the passenger side. Had it rained since the fights had begun?
Much of the drive was spent in silence, a comfortable silence, and the soft hum of the radio the only thing between the pair. With one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick Grimmjow was the first to break the peace, "I think I'm going to retire from fighting soon."
"No you won't." Ulquiorra didn't even miss a beat; the man was currently looking out the window. A couple of construction works preparing for the night shift to do road maintenance.
"Maybe not soon, but I will. I'm turning twenty-six in a month, don't you think that's too old to still be in the ring?"
"No." responded the other as the car came to a stop at a red. The radio had switched to some J-Pop song which had been climbing the charts lately, it was an annoying song, "Halibel told me that Kenpachi had stayed in the ring until he was forty-six. Hell Baraggan and old man Yamamoto just celebrated their last fight and God knows how old those two are."
"I guess."
A pause grew between them as Grimmjow made a few turns to get onto one of the highways which would take them into one of Tokyo's downtown districts: Shinjuku. "Why the sudden desire to retire all of a sudden?"
A grunt and lifting of shoulders was the only answer that Ulquiorra got. The topic dropped as the radio cut off a song to announce that a collision on the highway was slowing down all traffic that were heading in the directions of Shinjuku and Shibuya. "Shit, that's us isn't it?"
Grimmjow got his answer as a visible line of red taillights began to grow. Merging into the line he let a small Nissan cut in front of him as they inched forward slowly. Rain began to slowly trickle down as they crept their way forward at a slow pace. They soon came up to the collision though the fire trucks, police cruisers, and the ambulance were trying their hardest to block much of the scene as they could – their flashing lights blinding all who were beside them.
Can you forgive my sad song?
From what Grimmjow could see it looked as though a city bus had toppled over after possibly colliding with the transport that looked as though it had seen better days. A Toyota Corolla was as well on its side, its rear end completely nonexistent. A police officer was standing in front of three people, possibly the drivers of the transport and Corolla and a passenger of one of the vehicles.
"Should we pull over?" Grimmjow asked as they were nearing the end of the gridlock, the orange pylons opening up more lanes. Grimmjow looked over at Ulquiorra who was looking ahead a rather uninterested look on his face, "aren't you able to help or something?"
Nothing. So Grimmjow continued, "I mean sure you dipped out of med school, but didn't you take the Hippocratic oath or somethin'...?"
"Those people don't need my help Grimm," Ulquiorra slowly spoke in a calm tone. He didn't seemed bothered by it, so Grimmjow didn't bother to press the matter, "the ambulances weren't loading survivors."
"What?"
How was he even able to see anything from all those flashing lights?
"You don't load the living in black body bags."
The crowd was loud. They always were, so full of energy and excitement that was only hyped up from the drugs they took and the alcohol they drank. Some looked into the flashing lights while others danced in movements that didn't make sense. They were following the music because the music didn't judge them. So they lost themselves in the beats and threw their hands up to the treble and pump their hips when the bass shook their skeleton.
Ichigo stood behind the DJ booth fiddling with the soundboard in front of him while adding a few notes from the keyboard to his right. His MacBook's screen keeping up with the tracks he was playing. His red and white Beats gave him a break from the cheering so he could focus on the mixes and changes he was making to the song. But he wanted to hear what everyone else was bearing. Slipping the headphones around his neck he made a quick adjustment by turning a nob on the soundboard.
Marvin Gaye's voice filled the large room as Ichigo's personal remix to the hit song Sexual Healing always got the crowd going. There was shouting as his eyes drew up to look at the crowd. There were two levels to this club: the dance floor, which was packed, and a balcony area were a lot of girls were dancing against the rail. A smile drew across his face as he raised one hand in the air – he could feel the vibrations of sound and it tickled the tips of his fingers. Marvin's voice dropped suddenly as Ichigo took complete control of the sound.
It was almost time to wrap up the show so he was going to put on a performance. A deep drumbeat began making the crowd scream with delight, hands flying into the air. This made Ichigo smirk, most of them were regulars and knew what was coming next others were just going with the flow. With a jump Ichigo unleashed a barrage of sound upon the club. The music was like an electronic orchestra as different noise merging together while simultaneously fighting for complete dominance.
Do you feel like a young God?
A sudden blast of trumpets erupted from the opening as Ichigo added a feeling of Bollywood to the sound. He always changed up is outro, making sure that he would be remembered for the night. Moving the headphones back to his ears he concentrated on weaving sound creating a resonance that filled the room making them think they were in the midst of a celebration in the streets of Mumbai. He was bringing the flavour of India to the clubs of Japan tonight.
Moving to the keyboard he added a few sounds that stuck to his electronic roots. The build up was coming and he was going to end with a Bollywood bang. Raising both hands in the air the melody picked up and the crowd jumped as an electronic tsunami washed over the club. They could feel it, he knew they could; beautiful colours as dust paint was being thrown in the crowd. The sun beating down on them as dancing became sporadic.
The music ended and the crowd stopped jumping, applauding Ichigo as he grabbed a microphone that was handed to him. He bowed slightly to the masses in appreciation for the night, raising the mic to his mouth all he said was, "thank you."
The crowd cheered. He grabbed his MacBook and disconnected it from the soundboard, wrapping his Beats up putting both expensive pieces of personal equipment into his brown leather messenger bag and getting off the stage. Music returned as an annoying song came on, he recognized it from the radio it had recently gotten popularity.
He walked to the back of the club were the noise was slightly dulled and one could hear themselves think. He walked into a room, which was designated for the DJs and some staff. Three individuals were all sitting on a salmon coloured felt couch talking in idle conversation. The room was plain; promo posters – which were a few months old – adorn the beige walls, three lockers sat untouched behind the couches, and a wooden coffee table sat in front of the couches. Ichigo hung his bag up on an available hook, rubbing his eyes as he took a spot beside a small black haired woman.
"Thanks for your hard work," she said handing Ichigo a bottle of water. She knew the man very rarely drank beer and the exhaustion from putting on a show usually made on dehydrated.
"Ditto," Ichigo said taking the water from the woman's hand.
The woman's name was Kuchiki Rukia, one of the few female DJs that Ichigo actually knew. From what he knew of her she came from a wealthy family, as her stepbrother was head of Kuchiki Pharmaceutics, a supposed family business that dated back to the Meji-era of Japan. Though adopted into the family at a young age, she had always felt like an outcast and found comfort in creating music. That was all he needed to know.
She was short and a very skinny woman who would have probably done better at going into modelling; she had the ideal body figure for it. An oval face with thin lips and violet almond shaped eyes, her face being framed by her black bobbed haircut. She had a spitfire attitude, which would come and go whenever someone got all up in her business. Lately it had been the sexist mindset that 'girls couldn't disk jockey', she had put that idea to grave in one night. She had to fight and earn her place in Tokyo's DJ underground industry.
A small nervous man appeared in the doorframe holding a headset and clipboard in one hand. In a whisper of a voice the man said, "Hisagi-san, you are on in fifteen."
Hisagi Shuuhei. There wasn't very much to say about the man; black hair, a blue band tattoo which ran from the right side of his face to the bridge of his nose below it a sixty-nine tattoo, three scars ran down his left eye all ending at his jawline, basically he looked like a badass. Ichigo enjoyed Shuuhei's presence, he was always calm and collected waiting for the next move. Opinionated at sometimes but never disrespectful, the man also had a hard time talking to women from what he heard.
His DJ-ing reflected his Buddhist upbringing as it was calm and soothing but one could still dance the night away to it. Where Ichigo had just slain the crowd, Shuuhei was called in to give a final prayer to the dearly departed. The man stood up grabbing his laptop that had been charging in the corner.
"What kind of state did you leave them in Ichigo?" asked Shuuhei. All of the DJ's at Hollows called each other by their first name formalities were too much sometimes.
"I took them to Delhi," answered Ichigo kicking up his legs to rest on the coffee table.
"…Fantastic."
Each DJ at Hollows had a different style to their music. Rukia was melodic and layered with different instruments, she was usually the one who opened the show, and it was all too easy for her to pump up the crowd when she got going. Ichigo's was always considered 'worldly' as he used different sounds that were inspired by different countries. Shuuhei's was known as the calm before the storm; his music was easy to dance to and calmed the atmosphere. And finally: Renji who was an absolute barbarian when it came to sound as he made the building shake, the climax to a perfect night.
"Delhi? Always something knew with you Ichi," a deeper voice came from across the room belonging to Renji. The man was pretty big as he wasn't afraid to hit the weights. Tribal tattoos adorn his entire body; long fire truck red hair always pulled back into either a bun or a messy ponytail. A beige bandana kept any stray hairs off his forehead – a personal pet peeve – a shit eater's grin usually on his face.
"How else do I keep it one hundred?" said Ichigo, which earned a chuckle from Rukia.
"You take a sip of this," Renji threw a bottle of Canada Dry at Ichigo, a quizzical look growing on his face. Ginger ale?
"It's spiked," Rukia answered the question before it could be asked, "Renji just dumped a shit ton of pills in the thing, it's a fun trip but it doesn't last long."
"You can escape while we wait for the pizza."
Ichigo gave the green plastic bottle a once over before unscrewing the cap and taking a mouthful of the liquid. Instant regret filled his mouth as a foul taint that tasted as though rust and bile had made a love child and what came out was this drink. His face going sour, the other three DJs laughed at Ichigo's expense.
It took less than twenty minutes for the Canada Dry surprise to kick in and it took Ichigo so far away. He was transported to another time and place; bright light consumed him, as his body was completely naked. When his eyes adjusted he realized that he was in the middle of a golden field of barley. He moved the tips of his fingers across the plants, making his body shiver and goose bumps crawl up his arms. It was so soft.
He walked further into the endless field of gold his arms outreached to either side of him, the barley bending as Ichigo walked through the meadow. The soil was supple on the bottom of his feat, cool brown earth starting to colour his bare feet. Then there was sound. It came from far off in the distance; it was beckoning Ichigo to go towards it. He took off in a sprint in the direction he believed it to be, it sounded familiar.
Do you feel like a young God?
The meadow opened into a vast lake, the water as blue as the sky and still like glass. He approached it and saw his reflection in the water, clear like crystal and more polished than any silver he had ever seen, it was a mirror. Ichigo had always found his facial features fairly plain; thin lips, a sharp chin, hazelnut brown eyes, sun-touched skin, and a small patch of freckles running across the bridge of his nose. The one striking feature that set him apart from every other person was his orange hair. It had gotten him an ass kicking when he was young but since he was a DJ now it suit him.
The pure water rippled making Ichigo break eye contact with his reflection to look out into the vast blue. The meadow had been replaced by water too which Ichigo was somehow standing upon he wasn't sinking. Some brushed against his dirt stained feet making him bend down to pick up a folded paper crane. Many other folded cranes floated down the water in the direction that the sound was coming from. When the first crane hit the horizon a bright light engulfed Ichigo again bringing him back to the felt salmon coloured couch.
Shuuhei was leaning against one of the walls drinking a water bottle observing the conversation that Rukia and Renji were deeply involved in. A pizza box sat on the coffee table, Ichigo shifted in his spot feeling stiffness down his back. Realizing he was still cradling the Canada Dry surprise he got up and placed it on the table.
"Holy shit," said Ichigo, rubbing his eyes.
"I know right," said Shuuhei as he made eye contact with Ichigo.
"What the hell is in this?" asked Ichigo
"Mostly LSD. I counterbalanced it with ecstasy and some 'shroom juice for added sensation overload," answered Renji as the same man who had gotten Shuuhei appeared in the doorway.
"How long was I out for?"
"All of Shuuhei's set," Rukia spoke, "I think you got it easy. Shuu and I took it during your set and I came to from a mad trip. I think the mind reacts to the music that's being played."
That made sense since Ichigo had felt pretty comfortable during his trip, "man that was something else."
"What's everyone up to after my set?" asked Renji.
"Probably grabbing some tea and heading home, I'm heading in your direction if you want to join?" answered Shuuhei as both he and Renji lived in the Arakawa district.
"Perfect. How about you two?"
"I'm crashing at Ichigo's tonight, I have to leave for Nagaya early tomorrow and Ichi lives close to the bullet train station," Rukia responded shifting in her spot grabbing a piece of pizza.
"Bow-chika-woa-woa," teased Renji, earning a small chuckle from the two boys and an eye roll from Rukia.
With that being said Renji walked out of the room and towards the dance floor. The three in the room returned to idle chatter. Shuuhei talking about going to see a few concerts within the next month, Rukia explaining her business in Nagaya which had something to do with the family, and Ichigo occasionally joining in with a few comments. When Renji returned all four gathered their stuff and walked out of Hollows, giving their thanks to Yammi (the bar owner) before splitting up and going their separate ways.
They had just made it into the train station when the rain started to lazily fall from the sky.
Do you see the light at the end?
"How is Orihime?" asked Grimmjow. He was still on his first beer while Ulquiorra had managed to pound at least three back and was currently working on his fourth.
Orihime was Ulquiorra's airhead girlfriend. She was brilliant but completely ditsy and tended to go off on strange tangents. She was also a horrible cook. The pair had met in med school and had continued their long distance relationship when Ulquiorra dropped out and came back to Tokyo, "You know."
"That's a bullshit answer," responded Grimmjow as he waved down the waitress.
"She's…sporadic? She's almost done with schooling and is planning on coming back to Tokyo to do an internship," Ulquiorra elaborated, he swung back the beer in three gulps. Impressive, "she's been stressing out lately. We get into more fights than before. I think she's getting tired of the distance."
"She's not a quitter," was all Grimmjow said. Behind that blank exterior he knew the other man was having an inner turmoil with what himself. He loved her, but he would never say it out loud.
Empathy was sometimes a greater action than sympathy ever could be.
"What about Halibel?" asked Ulquiorra.
"What about her?"
"That's a bullshit answer. Don't answer my question with a question."
Hmm. Grimmjow ran his hand through his blue locks contemplating how he was going to answer the question. The waitress chose this time to come by with the bill to which Grimmjow paid. "Thank you for your services."
Letting out a sigh he begun, "you are aware that we fucked. But that was what five years ago? She's long since moved on from me. Last she told me, she was with that Starrk guy. He treats her right, so I don't have to do anything."
"Your love life is kind of boring," Ulquiorra stood up grabbing his leather jacket and throwing it over his shoulder as the pair walked out of the bar, "and lonely."
Hmm. Was all Grimmjow could say to that as he kinda agreed with the man. Sure there were the occasional hook-ups but nothing serious, nothing clicked. Romance is overrated, love was created by Hollywood, and relationships are no different from extortion. But somehow people made them work and even made them look completely achievable. Which was impressive for a piece of trash like him.
A quick yawn escaped his mouth as the pair went back to jaguar that was waiting patiently to be driven. The rain started to lazily fall from the sky when the pair got into the vehicle. With a roar the vehicle came to life, the radio coming on mid song, it sounded Western. Once they pulled onto the freeway, passing the place where the accident had occurred a few hours ago heading in the direction of home. Both his and Ulquiorra's phone went off at the same time.
"It's an email from Halibel, apparently you qualified for Hueco Mundo," said Ulquiorra as he scrolled through the group message.
Hueco Mundo was an underground cage-fighting event that happened every year at around this time. Though it was underground it was almost as big as UFC in the west. Big sponsors pay big bucks for the fighters to compete, and the champion usually wins the title and a big wad of cash. Last years match was massive as it was Baraggan and old man Yamamoto's final fight. Yamamoto had taken the belt and the title of undefeated upon doing a joint retirement with his archrival.
The event brought in thousands of people and with it required certain flair. Since Hueco Mundo prided itself on everything local they would bring in local acts and entertainment to appease the masses before the fights. Last year it had been a lot of performance art, so hopefully this year it will be something different.
"They are pre-releasing the list of performers before hand as well," Ulquiorra droned as he shut his cell off and slid it back into his pocket.
"Exciting."
"This only means that Halibel is going to be training your ass ten times harder from now on you know that."
"Fuck…"
The rest of the drive was spent in silence with only the radio giving off any sound of life. Some of the songs from earlier were starting to repeat, a pale hand from the passenger side flipped the switch and changed the radio station. After about three different tries all failures he shut off the radio allowing the sound of pelting rain to replace the stillness. It was comfortable.
Grimmjow stopped in front of Ulquiorra's apartment complex; the rain wasn't as bad on this side of Tokyo, "see you tomorrow. Want me to grab us coffee?"
"Sure."
With that Ulquiorra closed the door. Fifteen minutes into driving Grimmjow's phone began to buzz. A phone call at this hour? He answered it without looking at the name, a feminine voice continued on the other end.
"Sorry for calling so late," she begun, her voice smooth and flowing effortlessly. She didn't wait for Grimmjow to respond as she continued, "I need to talk to you about something tomorrow, its important."
Do you feel like a young God?
"Does it have something to do with me?" pulling up to a red light he waited for the colour to change, just as he was waiting for an answer on the other end. The light changed to green before she spoke.
"Not directly…I just," she started before she cut herself off, "I just need someone to talk to."
"What about Star—"
"No. He can't know," she spoke cutting him off, "at least not right now."
"Alright, but not before training. After. We'll head to Benehime's for a drink," Benehime's was a local bar that was inspired by North American and European cabaret. Live performances were almost strictly in English with a few Japanese songs slipping in through the cracks. Many foreigners who did business in Tokyo loved going to Benehime's , a slice of familiarity. It had been their favourite spot.
A weak laugh came from the other end, "just like old times?"
"No, not like old times." The other end of the phone went quiet, as she had hung up. Not like old times.
Rukia's body lay beside him in the bed; she usually slept topless whenever they were together. Though it wasn't like Ichigo wasn't going to attempt anything, the pair had long since established a platonic friendship. It was healthy and safe for both of them. Ichigo looked at his phone screen, 4:32am…shit, he had barely slept a wink once he and Rukia had gotten back. Though the bar usually closed at three in the morning and it took less then twenty minutes to get back to his place from the train.
It was probably the drugs. He always had a hard time falling asleep after doing the heavy stuff. Add on the disk jockey's sleep cycle and sleep was not in his favour. So he sat on his windowsill and looked down at the streets of Tokyo. He lived on one of the quieter streets of the city, nothing much went on around here. There were still many twenty-four hour eateries and businesses on the streets due to an ambulance base and fire station being located along the street.
Can you forgive my sad song?
Rukia stirred in her sleep, she'd be awake in a few minutes to catch the five thirty train to Nagaya. She had explained why she was going there but he couldn't for the life of him remember the reason. When the time came she awoke, thanked Ichigo for letting her crash at his place, grabbed her suitcase and other belongings she had previously brought over, and left. Once she was out the door Ichigo was left with the still quiet. The sun was beginning to shine through the horizon possibly signifying a rainless day.
Ichigo curled back into his bed, his eyes having a hard time keeping themselves open. As he lay in bed he realized that he was starting to miss Rukia. Not her in general, but just another presences. The sheets were still warm from where she lay and her pillow smelled faintly of the cologne she always wore. Now that she was gone, Ichigo realized how lonely he truly was.
Loneliness is one of the most atrocious things in the world, and he was being consumed by it. Sleep took him in its grasps as he dreamed about cheering crowds and running in golden barley fields. In his dreams he wasn't alone; there was another, always someone else, looking at him with a penetrating stare.
He is heaven and hell. The light at the end of the tunnel? That's just the sun in our eyes. I want to go to heaven, but we are only human tonight. He whispers to me "do you feel like my young God?"
I lean closer to him; we are engulfed in water, water everywhere, origami cranes float above us. His eyes can see me but they are blind. I can hear his song but I am deaf.
