Our Love Will Be Legend

Right now, I am looking at my whole entire existence...

My world,

My life,

My universe,

My star,

My muse,

My gravity,

My lov- okay, I think you get it. I'm going to spare you the sappy shit and just say it outright. I am looking at the one person I am so head over heels in love with.

In other words, I am gazing at a man named Ichigo Kurosaki.

I can still recall the day that we met like it was yesterday. It wasn't a sunny, clear perfect weather, children laughing in the background, kind of day where we meet in the middle of a grassy field, pull at each other's hands and spin around like a bunch of fags. Quite the contrary now that I think about it, it was midnight, and I was gloomy as shit like you would think I was Oscar from Sesame Street or the guy that hates Christmas all the time.

A year ago, if someone told me that I'd fall in love with this guy...

Shit would probably hit the fan and you'd find their body skinned, beaten, bruised, and abandoned in a shitty smelling alleyway while their intestines are being gobbled up by crows. Ha. I'm funny. He always told me I had a sick sense of humor, I told him he loved it. I miss him... I miss the constant teasing and irrelevant arguments.

And you're probably wondering why since he's right in front of me. Well, he's in front of me, but not in the best condition.

Let's start from the very beginning, of how our love...

became the greatest fucking legend of all time.

*cue the rock music*

\m/

I downed my last shot of tequila and slammed down the money for all of the poison I've drank. I probably had at least ten or twenty shots plus a whiskey, I could barely even feel the burn in my throat as the crystal clear liquid slid down. That's right, ladies and fucking gentlemen, I am a proud ass alcoholic.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, extraordinaire, jack of all trades, genius, wealthy, extremely handsome, player, etc. Blah fucking blah, that's how people see me. But to my closest friends and myself, I am...

Grimmjow, Grimmy, Grimm-kitty, an asshole, bastard, sly motherfucker, soft at heart, easy to anger, hostile, an idiot, and my personal favorite, a fuck up in more ways than one. The last comment was made by me.

On the outside, I bet people would take offense for me claiming myself as a fuck up, because let's face it I'm probably living the dream. But in my heart, I know it's not true. CEO of my father's company from morning till day, a depressed alcoholic from evening till midnight. Most people would kill to be where I am, especially at only 22 years of age. I'm top dog in the company, my father's proud of me like I hoped he would be once I successfully took over, I have an excessive amount of money, I have fancy cars, I have true friends, I have a nice residence, I have the looks, men and women crawl at my feet, and for fucks sake I even have a gorgeous fiancé waiting for me in my so called residence. I hate calling it my house or my home because fuck it, aren't homes supposed to be lively and warm? Why call mine's a house when mine's is dead as hell. I can't even relax at my own house. I know I shouldn't be complaining, but despite all luxuries that I own...

I feel like a living corpse, like my soul is diminishing minute by minute, fading until it'll be too late to do anything about it. I'm bored as fuck, I'm extremely unhappy, I'm angry, angry at the world because what the fuck am I supposed to do now that I have everything that's supposedly supposed to make me feel like I am actually living and joyful? I even thought about suicide a few times, but no, it's wrong. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez does not come out of this life as a pussy. Ugh maybe in the next lifetime I'll somehow find happiness, I'll have to suck it up in this one first though.

I always come to this bar after work, Hueco Mundo, it's called. Alcohol always numbs the fact that I'm depressed as fuck. I feel suffocated so I loosen the black silk tie to my suit and even unbutton a few buttons. I ran a hand through my unruly blue hair, frustrated.

I stagger towards the front of the bar ready to leave. I leave the same way as I always feel, hopeless. I push the door open and stretch a bit, taking in the musky smell of the after rain that happened during work. The sidewalk, road, and trees are all still dripping wet, it's actually pretty calming. I took my phone out it was midnight, I was ready to call my driver to pick me up when I am greeted with a godly fuckin sight.

That's when I saw him.

He was across the street from the bar I came out of. He was poised up against a sleek red, baby butt smooth, Ducati monster. And just like its name, it was a monster. I sighed, my father would never let me own one of those, says its for thugs, what a bunch of uptight bull. The intricate design near the engine, and the paintwork near to perfect. Like I shit you not, a millimeter near to perfect. After I checked out that baby, I took my attention to what really caught my eye. A man, no a deity, a god propped up against the Ducati. He was sleek, lean, but definitely not scrawny. He definitely had abdominal and arm muscles even under the layers of clothing he was wearing. The man looking to be about roughly the same age as me, was wearing a smooth black leather jacket exterior and underneath that was a light gray, thin hoodie. Bangles of black, brown, and burgundy leather bracelets adorned his slim, tan wrist. He was wearing faded black skinny jeans that had rips near his knees and thighs, it accentuated his miles for long legs that was practically screaming 'spread me please'. At the end of his pants were tan timberland boots that were loosely tied. You could barely see his face for he was wearing ray bans and his hoodie was up, but you could already tell this man was hot as fire. Like smoking dangerously hot fire. You could also tell this man screamed bad, dangerous, toxic. It didn't stop me though.

But what really really caught my eye was his cigarette. Or more like how he was holding it between those long thin fingers. It was sophisticated, stylish, elegant even, and it added more fuel to the scorching fire. I don't remember when I began to stride towards this mysterious man but by the time I noticed he too took attention to my presence as well. I kept walking confidently but slow, cautious steps, I don't give a fuck if walking like this without a stoplight was illegal or whatever, I needed to know this man now.

The man looked up at me for split second before taking a drag, smirking a smirk so hot it could rival the sun. He ran a hand through his hair effectively taking his hoodie off with the action and for the love of all that is holy. His hair is orange.

Like not even orange as in ginger and a bit reddish, I mean orange orange.

And it looked hotter in contrast to his bike as they highlighted the unusual feature even more.

It was sexy as hell, I faltered in my footsteps a bit before even walking faster to him. He quirked a fine orange eyebrow at me before widening his smirk, the cigarette between those luscious pink lips. He was probably surprised I kept walking, thought I'd turn around once I saw his hair, I don't blame him, he must get a lot of shit for that. I wonder if it's natural, but I can't complain because my hair is fucking blue.

Once I reach him, he stands up a little straighter slowly taking off his sunglasses revealing light, chocolate, hazel eyes with a portion of gold. Wow. And I mean wow.

Marry me please. I've never been this physically attracted to someone. Like ever.

Now that I've got a better look I can see he has a cute button but straight nose, light freckles dancing around his nose and upper cheeks, a sharp jawline but also more soft like, and good lord you can see his dimples by the way he smirks. I don't know how long I was standing there gawking like a retard in my drunken daze probably drooling too, until he smirks wider and snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Yo blue, are you alright?" His deep but gentle tone coming out of those plump lips.

Sexy.

"Huh? Oh yeah. Uh... H-hi, I'm Grimmjow." I introduce after I was broken out of my spell.

"Grimmjow, huh? My name is Ichigo. Can I ask you something?" He inquired. I almost didn't process what he said after he said my name. You already did, I think. But nod the affirmative nonetheless.

"Do you want to go on a ride with me?" Ichigo inquires while taking a last long drag and dropping the cigarette, stubbing it out with his boot's heel. I was stunned by the question trying to think it through.

"Pardon?"

He laughs and I swear it's probably what angels sound like when they sing.

"Go. On. A. Ride. With. Me." He persisted his tone dropping dangerously low and seducing, holding his hand out as he settles his fine ass on the motorcycle.

At that moment, I knew. Just somehow I knew.

Ichigo's hand was another path, an escape, portal even, from my everyday bland life.

That if I took his hand, my life would change forever.

I grasped his warm, callused hands without hesitation.

What have I got to lose? My life can only go from shit to up from here. With him.

Ichigo smiled genuinely at me, it made me even more sure of my decision.

As I settled behind him, he passed me a white helmet in opposite to his black one.

He punted the kickstand up and revved the engine, the motor purring beautifully around the silent dim lit street.

"Let's live a lit- no screw that, let's live a lot tonight, yeah?" Ichigo shouted behind me as we took off.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and said, "Yeah! Let's."

I know I've never been more sure in my whole life.

Huh, maybe I won't have to wait another lifetime, I thought, as the rush of the wind and adrenaline coursed through my veins.

And I knew, I've never felt more alive in my whole life.

I didn't care who he was, I didn't care about where we were going, and I didn't care for going back.

It was just me, him, and the world that was slowly starting to color, tone, and shade.

This man, Ichigo, freed me from the chains that bounded me to my worthless, monotonous life.

To be continued...