"Try me." Ichigo Kurosaki whispers. He steps right up into the man's personal space, right up against the knife.
It's not that bad. He can bear it. He can feel the pin-point of the sharp blade warring with his skin, trying to breach his chest.
He steps closer. The robber's eyes widen dramatically. They widen like he gives a fuck about Ichigo.
Let's test that theory..
Ichigo steps up closer and closer to the piercing, stinging blade, and screws his face in an attempt to quell a cry of pain. He can feel his skin splitting.
The man's face is a picture of horror. A picture of confusion and conflict.
He doesn't want to hurt me…
A fist suddenly swings straight for his face, faster than he can track it.
Blinding, searing pain explodes across Ichigo's jaw and up the side of his face; tearing his theory to pieces.
And then he's falling.
He flings an arm out to catch himself on the wall, his left leg righting itself just in time, kicking back at the floor to push him into the standing position.
And the thief is gone.
With a hand cupping his throbbing jaw, Ichigo catches sight of the sorry excuse for a criminal legging it over the road.
And all Ichigo can see is red. Blinding, angry red.
"COME BACK AND FACE ME!" He screams, the noise bouncing around the corridor of the clinic.
He wastes no time to attend to his bleeding foot as he tramples across shards of broken glass. Wastes no time jumping through the shattered clinic window. Wastes no time sprinting with the air of a madman after the robber tearing up the street.
His feet are slapping bare against the cold street floor as he keeps his target in sight, eyes narrowed; burning and dangerous.
"YOU WON'T FUCKING GET AWAY WITH THIS! COME BACK AND FACE WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"
The scream is erratic; Ichigo is hysterical with anger. He sees the man falter slightly.
And then the man rears off to the side, past the local DVD rental place. And Ichigo laughs, a strangled, panting laugh at the guy's stupidity.
He hears the thief struggling with the metal wired fence and pounds his feet into the tarmac even harder in a bid to catch the guy before he makes it over.
He turns down the side of the store to see the man three quarters of the way up.
Ichigo's breathing is harsh and ragged, but not just with exhaustion; with excitement.
Got you.
He's already raising his right hand to grab the criminal and pull him down the fence, his feet taking him closer and closer to his target.
He meets the fence and makes a wild grab for the man's retreating foot.
And misses.
The man drops down from the top of the fence like some oversized bird; his arms out at his sides for balance on impact.
"YOU'LL REGRET THIS! YOU'LL FUCKING REGRET IT!"
The shout rips from Ichigo's throat as he takes on the fence, climbing it like a something possessed; his eyes still a blistering inferno of hate.
How DARE he!
The fall from the fence doesn't go to plan; in his haste, he lands awkwardly and jars his already injured, bloody foot on impact with the street floor.
He hisses, his eyes screwed shut against the ringing pain, before taking off again in the direction where he last saw the man.
He runs. And runs some more.
He can't see him anymore..
He keeps running. That man was here. Barely a minute ago. He can't be far..
The streets are silent around him.
He stops in the middle of a rundown cul-de-sac, a street lamp pooling him in orange light.
"I'LL FIND YOU. YOU WAIT. I KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. YOU'VE MADE A HUGE FUCKING MISTAKE!"
His chest is heaving. His eyes are still made of fire. His scowl is murderous.
I've lost him
"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!"
Ichigo swears at the empty night. He aims an angry kick at an innocent rubbish bin, and it spills clanks and bounces all over the street floor, spilling rotting food and wasted containers.
An elderly woman is staring at him from a grey fronted house over the way. Her hand is curled around white blinds, pushing them away. And she doesn't even look frightened. She looks curious. Like Ichigo's life is a fucking TV-show.
Kicking a stray milk bottle out of his path, Ichigo strides away and out of the col-de-sac, away from staring eyes.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and promptly calls the emergency services.
Which is what he should've done in the first place, really.
He had always been a hot-head. Underneath the fire and compulsion lay someone calm and empathetic.
He asks for the police to be sent out and briefly describes the situation, striding back to the clinic as he does. He ends the call and picks up his pace. The streets are freezing, and his breath is puffing out in warm clouds that follow him as he walks on sore, icy-cold feet.
By the time he arrives, a blaring police cruiser is flashing blue and ripping up the road towards him.
The rest of the night is a blur. They ask him numerous questions and ask him a dozen times to recite the appearance of the criminal. They insist he tries to remember even the smallest details. All he knows is; the man had short-ish blue hair. He was wearing a grey hoody and a dark pair of jeans. His shoes had been a near-black kind of colour, probably supposed to be white at some point.
Ichigo also tells them he has blue eyes. A piercing, startling kind of blue. The officer interviewing him eyes him sceptically, his brow rising as he scrawls that last detail into his notebook.
They insist he takes a visit to A&E. He refuses, telling them he would sort it out himself. But they sit him in the police car and for all intents and purposes, drive him there against his will.
And as a miserable looking, over-worked nurse treats his foot he feels the night catch up with him.
He's tired and he misses his family. Even Goat-face. The thought makes him huff angrily.
Yuzu, Karin and his father had been gone a week. It was their first family holiday together for almost six years. Isshin hadn't really had the time or money before now to shut the clinic down for three weeks, but when the opportunity arose, he'd taken it. They'd escaped to sunny Thailand, leaving Ichigo with the grey city and the cruel weather.
Of course, Ichigo had had the option to go. But he is busy with his medical degree, and Kurosaki senior had been worried about leaving the clinic unattended.
His worries hadn't been unfounded, it seemed.
So Ichigo had offered to stay behind. After many fist-fights, screaming matches and tears, the family had looked solemn as they'd climbed into a cab outside the Kurosaki household, clad in sunny colours and flowery shirts. They'd waved goodbye until the taxi rounded a corner, Yuzu's sad, teary smile the last thing Ichigo had seen before they were gone completely.
Ichigo can't help but think of them lazing around on a white-sanded beach as he shuffles out of the hospital lobby and looks to the skies; grey and brooding, holding promise of a heavy storm. The light of early morning barely pierces the veil of thick, dark cloud.
The walk home takes what feels like hours. Ichigo strides, the twang of pain in his foot causing him to limp slightly, down the main stretch in the city. Morning commuters pass by with blurred faces, too involved with their own lives to pay him even a glance.
The house is miserable without the sounds of his siblings and psychotic father filling it with colour and life. But he didn't mind. Not really. He was busy. He was only a quarter ways through his first year of the four year course, and the strain left him cranky, flustered and inhospitable.
And as he slumps back on the couch in his family's living room, a pile of journals, books and assessments stare back at him from the coffee table. He levels the work with a glare, before pulling his winter coat from around him and tossing it over the pile, hiding it all from view.
It could wait.
The cops had helped him stretch a plastic canvas over the window the blue-haired criminal broken in through, and he'd taken the measure to lock every door to every room in the clinic afterwards. Which is something he should of done in the first place, come to think about it.
Shit.
It'd never occurred to him that someone would actually come all the way over to Minimikawase from the city centre to steal from a small, family run clinic. They'd never had any problems before; sometimes his father didn't even lock the doors to the place out of forgetful complacence.
But Goat-face had never left their clinic unattended for more than a day. And he'd told Ichigo before the family had left that he had a bad feeling. That the first break they had in six years would somehow be bad luck. He'd said it while fitting himself in the mirror with a pair of wacky, luminous yellow sunglasses and a pink straw hat, completely contradicting his ominous mumblings.
Ichigo had told him to stop being so ridiculous and told him he looked like a goddamn idiot.
His thoughts wander to the blue-haired thief as he turns the TV on and flicks morosely through the channels, slumping half way down the couch and sighing hugely.
How dare he.
How dare that man run from him and not face the consequences of his actions. If it'd been Ichigo, and he'd been caught, he would have seen it through to the end.
Ichigo understood some people were desperate. Ichigo understood some people sometimes didn't have a choice.
But stealing medical supplies from a place that worked to help others?
Disgusting.
Ichigo understands stealing food, even money. But drugs? Addiction isn't a pretty look on anyone, and is certainly not justifiable.
Ichigo snorts in disgust at his own musings, tossing the TV remote down onto the sofa and standing. He makes his way down to the clinic.
He opens the door into the clinic and stares down the short corridor. Natural, dim grey light is filtering through the many windows lining the wall, and the black plastic covering the broken window is wavering slightly with the wind outside.
A memory flickers across his vision. In his mind's eye, it's dark and he can see a young man with soft blue hair and electrifying eyes that are so, so blue and wide with shock, staring at him.
He feels a stinging prickle in the centre of his chest and rubs the feeling away with his palm, while shaking his head to rid himself of his thoughts.
Something catches his eye as it glints from the furthest corner of the corridor, down below the broken window.
He makes his way to it and bends down, his eyebrows contracting with confusion..
It's a small switchblade. The blade is sticking half way out of it's a sliver handle, which is dull and grubby with age.
How the hell they hadn't noticed it before now was completely beyond his level of reasoning.
He makes to bend down and grab the knife but stops himself as a thought strikes him.
Fishing a bundle of keys from his jean pocket, Ichigo strides over, unlocks and opens the door to the first room that had been ransacked.
He stares sorrowfully at the half empty shelves in the room, before pulling out three clear, sterile gloves from a low desk draw to his side. He slips on a pair and leaves the room, locking the door again.
The blade glints dully at him again as he approaches it. He kneels down and picks it up gingerly with gloved hands, sneering at it as if the whole mess last night was its fault. He flicks the blade into its handle with a forefinger, and opens the third glove with his other hand and drops the blade in the glove. He doesn't want to leave any unnecessary finger prints on the thing.
Ichigo dangles the glove closer to his face in its plastic confine. He squints, his light brown eyes slitting as he makes out a small, barely discernible scrawl upon the metal..
G. Jaegerjaques.
A wild laugh finds its way to Ichigo's lips and bubbles out freely in a fit of indescribable glee.
What an idiot!
He now had a name to put to the face. Jaegerjaques-san was in deep shit.
He lets the last of his gleeful, slightly manic laugh slip from his chest as he ties a knot in the top of the sterile glove and pockets it for safe keeping.
He can't help but grin as he makes his way back out of the clinic.
By the time he's had a small nap, showered, dressed and is full of takeway pizza, Ichigo breaths in the cold, damp air of the streets as he steps out of his house.
He feels the weight of the switchblade in his coat pocket and another slightly crazy smile curls his lips.
It's a long walk into the city centre, and he wishes not for the first time that he had been able to afford student accommodation near the university, which is conveniently located smack-bang in the middle of the city.
The small smile slides into a familiar scowl as the miserable drizzle starts to fatten as if falls from the sky, the pregnant drops bouncing from every surface they hit.
Fucking rain.
Ichigo picks up the pace, ignoring the persistent pain in his foot in favour of getting to the police station before it closes, and to avoid getting caught in the middle of the impending storm.
It hasn't really been a light day, but already it's close to dark as the evening creeps in.
Everything looks so.. grey.
Ichigo can't help the thought as it skitters across his mind. The rain is now a grey steely sheet, pounding down from a grey sky, falling onto grey pavement and soaking grey buildings.
His hood is up against the deluge, but he can feel his bangs sticking to his face and his trainers are starting to make a squashing sound as he half-runs out of the Minimikawase area of the city and into the Kasazaki area; a rougher intercity neighbourhood you are best suited to stay well away from.
Damn it!
After ten minutes, the rain is battering Ichigo. Soaking him through. His jeans wet to the knee and his waterproof winter coat isn't fairing much better.
He breaks into a run, feet slipping slightly on slick ground.
He considers going back to the clinic, but he's already crossed right through Kasazaki now and the city centre is barely ten minutes away.
And then he sees it.
A flash of it out of the corner of his eye.
Vivid, striking blue.
Ichigo's stomach drops sickeningly in apprehension, confusion and excitement.
He brings himself to a skidding stop on the roadside; just on the boarders of the city centre and whips his head to his right so quickly his neck cracks.
There's a body slumped in an alleyway parallel to Ichigo. Blue hair is wet, dirty and flopping lifelessly atop of the prone figure's head.
And Ichigo feels sick.
He makes his way over to the form cautiously; he can feel the blade in his pocket, cold against his side as he walks. He reaches the person, and stares down at the side of an unmoving face.
It's him.
And instead of the unbridled vindication Ichigo had expected to feel if he ever found the man again, all he feels is a crushing, sickening kind of sadness.
Ichigo had always been protective in an obsessive way, and he feels it crawl through his gut now as he spots blood mixing with rainwater on the street floor, seeping from underneath the man's head.
And he can't help himself as he nudges Jaegerjaques with his foot, in between shoulder blades.
And there's a gasp. A gargling, nasty sounding gasp that's probably full of blood.
And an eye slides halfway open, revealing a slit of blue. Electrifying blue.
And before Ichigo can persuade himself otherwise, he's kneeling on the wet floor and pressing two trembling fingers to the man's pulse point.
He can feel his teeth pulling back into a hateful sneer, even as concern lances through his chest.
Another straining gasp escapes the guy's mouth. And then a low, pained whine as he drags his head across the gritty street floor to look over his shoulder with hooded eyes.
The eyes widen dramatically. It should have been comical.
And then the man is rolling away from Ichigo with a pained shout, coming to a crouched position barely a couple of feet away. His eyes are alight with pain and shock as he snarls like a feral animal.
"You fuck! You can't fucking kick a man when he's down! If you want to fight me, you'll damn well fucking leave me here now and we'll settle this shit later!" Jaergerjaques rasps and his voice splits and shakes as he says it. There's blood leaking freely from a cut on the man's head, running down his shoulder and arm. He's quivering, his arms shaking to support him. His sneer is faltering under an obvious onslaught of pain.
And Ichigo sighs.
"Calm the hell down! I don't want to fight you; you wouldn't last two seconds with the state you're in."
It comes out calmer than he expected. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Fuck you!"
"Why the fuck did you steal from me, Jaegerjaques?" Ichigo feels the small thrill of vindication that had been missing from earlier at the shock once again changing the man's pallid, pained face.
"How the fuck-" But he cuts himself off. If it's even possible, his eyes widen a fraction more, and whatever colour is left in his face drains away.
"My…-"
"Your knife. Yeah." Ichigo says simply, his scowl deepening as he watches the man turn a sick-ash colour.
And the man only known to Ichigo as G Jaegerjaques, promptly slumps sideways onto the pavement. His blue eyes roll up into his skull. And Ichigo can't help but notice the look of misplaced vulnerability on his face before consciousness leaves him.
Ichigo doesn't think he's ever been so soaked in his entire life.
It has taken him a good hour to haul the unconscious man back across the city to the clinic in the middle of the storm, and upon entering, Ichigo shrugs the man carefully off his shoulder and onto the livingroom couch; a bundle of heavy wet clothing, bleeding skin and dirt.
He wonders for what feels is the hundredth time why the fuck he has brought the criminal back to his home. But if he'd taken the guy to hospital, he would have been arrested. And Ichigo doesn't want that, at least not yet. Not until he's gotten himself an explanation out of the man.
I'm a fool.
He can't help it; his instinct tells him not to leave injured people alone in the streets, no matter how rotten they were as a person.
First things first..
Ichigo kneels down by the man's side. He again checks the man's pulse and his eyebrows contract as he concentrates.
He could possibly have a concussion. He'll need stitches if that laceration is anything to go by..
He counts the injuries off in his head, assessing his options while monitoring the man's pulse. He starts feeling down the man's body for any other cuts or breaks, and cringes when he reaches the guy's right hand.
Broken. Possibly requiring a splint. Dislocated wrist..
Ichigo sighs heavily and runs a critical eye over the whole of the man's body. There is nothing for it but to get these clothes off him and check for more injuries.
An hour later finds Ichigo shifting uncomfortably on the armchair opposite the couch, staring at the still unconscious, not-so-welcome guest spread over it.
Jaegerjaques has nothing but a pair of shorts and a big, fluffy blanket covering him. His head is lolling to the side, motionless.
Ichigo had blanched when he'd moved onto the man's jeans after assessing his chest to discover nothing but the man's bare crotch staring back at him.
Someone didn't like underwear, apparently.
He'd blushed the deepest red, furious, before running to retrieve a pair of scruffy old shorts and practically shoving the man into them before continuing his examination.
Ichigo had worked through most of the night; it could easily be nearing early morning.
He had called his Dad earlier, on the pretence of assessment questions. He'd asked him about the procedure for concussions. Isshin had immediately turned serious after his wild exclamations of love on hearing his son's tone. But he didn't question it, and advised Ichigo that he'd only know if someone has suffered a serious concussion on waking. He advised Ichigo that waking up the patient for an assessment was the first step. If the patient had memory loss, sickness, trouble hearing, walking or seeing, it was then the go ahead to send the patient to a hospital.
Ichigo had nodded, licking his dry lips before asking about the procedure for stitching wounds.
He already knew these things. But it was always better to get a professional opinion.
He'd said goodbye to his father after a talk about medical practice that lasted a good twenty minutes. His father had sounded suspicious, but he let it drop and for that Ichigo was immensely grateful.
And after a good few hours cleaning, stitching and bandaging, Ichigo tried to wake the man up.
He'd merely grunted, raspy and deep.
And it has been the same thing for the past hour now. Ichigo would try to wake him every ten minutes or so, and the man would grunt or whine at him, his eyes moving rapidly under their lids, before slipping back into silence.
Ichigo is now beginning to panic. He had last tried to rouse the man around five minutes ago, but right now he is ready to throttle him until he wakes.
His foot taps impatiently on the carpeted floor, bouncing agitatedly.
And before he can stop himself, he's rising out of the armchair once again and kneeling at the side of the couch.
"Jaegerjaques…" Ichigo murmurs at the bandaged man, prodding him solidly in the shoulder with more force than necessary.
A sniffle.
"Jaegerjaques! Can you hear me!?" He snipes, close to shouting right into the man's ear.
A moan, and a stiff role of shoulders.
"WAKE THE FUCK UP YOU LAZY BASTARD!"
Ichigo loses it, and isn't surprised if next door can hear him shout, let alone the man inches away from him.
"Wh-what!?" The blue-haired man exclaims, his voice gruff from disuse as his eyes pop open.
Wild blue swivels frantically around the room for a second, before finally settling on Ichigo's face.
"FUCK!" And before Ichigo can get so much as a word out, the man is scrambling to get up and away from him.
"Calm the fuck down!" Ichigo makes a grab for the criminal and manages to catch him by the shoulder and haul him back onto his back. It's not hard, really, with the state of weakness the man is in.
"What the fuck! Let me go!" Jaegerjaques swings for him, before a grunt of pain stops him and he glares daggers at his offending arm that's currently swathed in bandages and a sling.
It's almost funny.
"Calm down!"
"LIKE FUCK!" The man is sounding slightly deranged now. He makes to get up again, but Ichigo pushes him back into the cushions roughly, and is silently pleased when he emits another shout of pain.
"Look. I'm not going to fucking hurt you, you idiot-"
"You little shit- don't flatter yourself! You're half my size-"
"I just managed to haul your stupid, unconscious ass all the way across the city! And I spent half the damn night patching you up! The least you can do is calm the fuck down!"
At this, the man falls into a strained silence, eyeing Ichigo critically, a sneer marring his otherwise handsome face.
"…..Why?" Is the simple response, although it's filled with a tense and uncertain anger.
"That's what I want to know, Jaegerjaques. Why did you fucking steal from me?" The response somehow takes the man by surprise, as if he hadn't been expecting it. And he's still baring his teeth in a nasty sneer.
Sighing greatly, Ichigo leans back and pulls the switch blade out of his winter coat that's resting on the floor behind him. He places the blade carefully atop of the man's chest, his eyes drilling into startled blue.
"Why."
Then electrifying blue eyes close, screwed shut in a grimace as a desperate sigh escapes the criminal.
And suddenly, he's spilling all as if it's the first time he's ever told anyone something honest.
"FUCK! Look kid, I'm fucking sorry. I didn't steal if for myself. I'm no fucking addict! I work for some bunch of cunts.. I get the shit they want, then I get what I need in return. I got nothing against you. I fucking hate what I do but I haven't got a choice!"
His chest is heaving and his eyes are wild and blue. He looks like he regrets his outburst; his eyes flick to the ceiling and he growls wildly at nothing in particular.
"You've always got a choice! Look what you've done, you've stolen from a medical centre! You stole medicine people might need, supplies we might need to treat them and caused a fuck load of damage on a building that's already seen better days! How desperate do you need to be!?"
Ichigo can't help the anger. This man robbed him. And he has managed to inadvertently steal more precious medical supplies even after the robbery due to his injuries. Compassion aside, Ichigo still feels a seething resentment for the man on his couch.
"FUCK YOU! You probably don't even know the meaning of desperation, you little shit!"
"THEN ENLIGHTEN ME!"
"Where's your bed, huh? Upstairs? Is it warm? I bet it fucking is. Do you want to know where mine is?!"
Ichigo glares daggers at the man, giving him nothing back.
"Well, let me enlighten you. The floor. The local bus shelter. A park bench. A hostel. Maybe a hotel room if I'm lucky. Or maybe a nice, big bed in a penthouse flat in the centre of town if I'm looking especially pretty; if I suck it just right."
And Ichigo stares.
He stares, horror dawning on him slowly.
The man starts to grin; it's made out of pure, unbridled crazy.
"The truth is, kid, I don't have a bed. I don't have a home. I don't have shit. To get anything that resembles anything like a home, I'm either a thief or a whore, and it's only ever for one fucking night and I'm back on my ass again."
"Why are you telling me this?" It's a whisper, but the man hears it anyway.
"Because it doesn't fucking matter anymore! I fucked up! See this thing here?!"
He grasps hold of the knife, his knuckles whitening around it.
Ichigo nods vacantly.
And then Jaegerjaques throws the switchblade across the room and it smacks loudly against the opposite wall. Ichigo doesn't even twitch, his gaze trained on blue, electrifying eyes.
"Because you have it, because I left it here, the boss is fucking pissed. And this was after he gave me a load of shit that would've got me by for at least a month out there. Well, he took it all back, didn't he? Had his cronies fucking chase me all the way to Kasazaki!"
"Why?" Ichigo can't help but ask. He feels lost in the story, lost in the man's vicious eyes.
"Why!? Because I'm a stupid little prick and I left my goddamn name on that blade! You know that! I put his little organisation at risk!It's the only thing I've owned for longer than a few months, that stupid, useless piece of crap is the only thing I have!"
He's panting now, and its laboured and strained. He closes his blue, blue eyes against the pain and Ichigo is snapped out of his stupor.
And he sighs. A bone deep, forgiving, tired sigh.
"Can I ask you some questions?"
"Sure why the hell not. Doesn't even matter." His eyes are still closed; screwed in pain.
"Are you feeling nauseous? Dizzy? I know you can talk fine, but can you hear me? And can you see?"
Eyes open again, confusion lighting them even as lips pull over teeth in a grimace.
"What the fuck?-"
"Just answer the question, dumbass."
The glare finds his face. Eyebrows are pulling together in sharp confusion and thought.
"No I'm not. No, I'm not dizzy. Yes I can hear you. Yes I can fucking see you."
"And how many fingers am I holding up?" Ichigo holds up three fingers.
"Shit, I don't know, five?" The man stares at him as if he's gone crazy, sarcasm thickly lacing words.
"What? Are you sure?"
"Fuck, what stupid question is that!?"
"Jaegerjaques-"
"Don't call me that!"
"Answer the question! Are you trying to obnoxious?!"
"THREE!"
"Thank you!"
"What the hell-"
Ichigo can feel his left eye twitching in irritation, and he rubs at it frantically.
"I need to determine if you're concussed! Because if you are, Jaegerjaques, I need to get you to a hospital."
The man twitches as the use of the surname, and continues to glare into brown eyes.
"Don't call me that! And no hospitals. I don't do hospitals. I'm fine."
"Then what? What should I call you?!"
The blue-haired stranger seems to consider him carefully for a moment; weighing his options.
Something akin to fuck it passes over the other's face, and he turns his head completely to Ichigo.
"Grimmjow. That surname is nothing but bad luck."
And Ichigo sighs for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He's tired and he wants to hide under warm sheets until next week. But then he remembers that this man, Grimmjow, doesn't have a bed. He feels something stir in his chest; and in that moment he hates the underlying wealth of compassion inside him.
"My name is Ichigo. You already know my surname, since you robbed the place named after it."
Grimmjow echoes his sigh from earlier.
"Ichigo Kurosaki." He says simply, his eyes taking on a considering gleam.
"Why did you bring me here, Ichigo? Why did you bring a dirty little thief into your house, and treat him like he mattered?"
The words come naturally to Ichigo.
"Because it's what I hope anyone would've done. I was ready to hunt you down and knock you the fuck into next week, but something about seeing you lying in your own damn blood made me think leaving you there wasn't an option. You want to be grateful I didn't turn you straight in."
Ichigo stares at the man; his features have started to pale.
"And are you turning me in?" He murmurs, a faint growl curling the words, his eyes turning steely with anger.
"I should."
Grimmjow starts to rise from the couch, a snarl changing his lips. Ichigo places a hand on his shoulder for the third time that night.
"But I'm not going to."
And the man called Grimmjow Jaegerjaques stares, shock rewriting his features. He allows himself to be pushed back into the couch cushions and continues his baffled, suspicious stare.
"Can I trust you?" Ichigo questions, his had sliding from Grimmjow's shoulder.
"What-"
"Can I fucking trust you? How do I know what you've told me tonight isn't a heap of bullshit? How do I know I'm making the right decision?" Ichigo snaps, his patience wearing thin, his limbs aching with fatigue.
"You can't, and you fucking don't! How am I supposed to persuade you to trust me?! Look kid, if I could give you your shit back, I would. But I can't go down again. I can't. That shit drives me insane. I can't do it. I'm sorry Ichigo, I'm fucking sorry things had to go the way they did."
Ichigo digs his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them frantically.
"And that's the best I'm going to get, isn't it?"
Grimmjow continues staring at his face, features still laced with confusion and suspicion.
"What do you want from me?"
The question startles Ichigo. He looks back at the man, and raises his eyebrows at the growing look of suspicion taking over the scowling face.
"You want me to turn you a favour? Is that it, kid?"
"What?!" Ichigo can't believe his ears. He feels his jaw drop.
"You want to fuck me, as payment for your shit."
"What the fuck!? Who the hell said that!?"
"But that's what you want, isn't it?!"
"No!"
"Well what the fuck do you want from me!?"
"I don't want anything from you! Not like that, anyway! All I want from you is the goddamn truth! I want to know I'm doing the right thing here!"
Pale, morning light is starting to filter through the windows of the living room. Ichigo stares at the injured man lying on his couch, the light from the window illuminating the bruised, handome face, and is baffled by the direction the conversation has taken.
The fight seems to die in Grimmjow's eyes all at once.
"I am telling you the truth. I mean, fuck. No one has ever patched me up. No one has ever let me in their house without having something from me in return. This shit is new to me!"
And Ichigo resigns himself to his decision. His head is pounding with a relentless headache.
"I'm done here. I'm tired. And I hope it doesn't offend you that I still don't trust you, not completely. Not after everything. But you're not going anywhere like you are."
"What-"
"Get some rest, Grimmjow. You managed to get yourself two broken fingers, a dislocated wrist, twenty three stitches, three broken ribs, a sprained ankle and possibly a fractured eye socket. And you're mildly concussed. I'll be locking you in the living room."
Ichigo rises to his feet, his bones cracking with the movement. He looks down on confused, sharp blue eyes.
A scowl still marring his brow. Ichigo mirrors the scowl, the feeling familiar on his face.
"You're keeping me here?!"
"I wouldn't be any kind of medical student if I didn't."
The man has no response for that. The scowl deepens.
And Ichigo continues mirroring it.
He reaches behind himself to the coffee table and grabs a glass of water and a small, snowy-white pill and places them on the floor next to the couch.
"Take that. It'll help you sleep."
"You expect me to take some fucking random pill?!"
"I think we've established that I don't want to hurt you by now."
And they're both still locked in a stare.
Scowls continuously mirroring the other, the tension in the room simmering.
And then Ichigo is turning away from the man. Not caring if he takes the pill at all.
Fuck this.
"I'll be up in a few hours. If you so much as touch anything in this house, I won't hold back. And this time, I'll catch you."
But Grimmjow doesn't respond. Ichigo can feel his sharp, electrifying blue gaze burning into his back as he leaves.
The last thing he hears as he turns the lock on the livingroom door is the man swearing lowly to himself; a rapid mantra of expletives.
And Ichigo allows himself a small, sad smile at the madness of it all.
He has a man who stole from him bed bound in his living room. And in just over a day after the whole thing happened in the first place.
It's fucking insanity, and it could only ever happen to him.
Authors Note – My stanley blade has magically turned into a switchblade! I got the two types confused in my first chapter, and I'll be heading back to amend that soon!
SO. Whadya think, readers?!
It's a little erratic in parts, I think, because I've mostly been writing it at night. The story is creating itself at my fingertips, I have no control! I have no idea what this is going to turn into. We'll all have to see o.o
I have need for a beta, also! If anyone is willing, I'd be ecstatic!
Thanks for the read, whoever you may be! A review would be lovely, but not necessary :)
Constructive critique is also encouraged, but do play nice!
See ya'll in the next chappy!
-Anima Daemon
