5/11/14 Note: What the hell, I did not at all expect the amount of reviews that I got, seeing how it's my first Bleach story! I'm glad you all seemed to like it, so here's the second chapter, uploaded several days earlier than I initially planned. Enjoy, and please review if you can!
II: ROLE MODEL
The new week has started, and there are no classes. The vacation would've been a very dreary experience for Ichigo usually, but during these particular holidays he has found a new way to spend his time.
While Mr. Fukui is at work Ichigo wakes up and goes downstairs for breakfast that Mrs. Fukui has prepared for him. She never eats with him when her husband is not present; she sits at the head of the dining table, an ash tray where her plate should be with a cigarette between her lips, and watches him wolf down his food with a displeased glare. Instead of correcting his eating etiquette, however, she simply takes another long drag from her cigarette.
He's used to it, so he ignores it, and hurries outside as soon as he's finished. There's still a smudge of strawberry jam on the corner of his mouth and he nearly bumps into several people who are heading to work, but he can't help it. He's excited.
The morning is fresh and breezy. It feels as if the sun has just woken up, the cloudless sky greeting him with bright rays of light as he breathes in and out, for the first time in a long while feeling optimistic about the rest of the day. Crossing the street, he tries to recall the way to the warehouse which is more difficult than he first thought. He was in the middle of being chased when he found it, so he didn't really pay attention to his surroundings. All he knows is that it's close to a large playground, surrounded by other large buildings similar to it.
It doesn't deter Ichigo in the least for searching it, though. He makes sure to stay away from the playground in case he runs into anyone unpleasant, and manages to at least find the district where he remembers the warehouse to be. The shadows cast by the towering constructions of steel and stone make the temperature drop a few degrees, and he shivers lightly as he wanders into an empty street with no clear distinction between the road and the sidewalk.
Now where is that warehouse? Ichigo cranes his neck to look at all the buildings he passes, eyes searching for anything he might recognize. It all looks the same to him; dull colors, old and abandoned-looking. How is he ever going to find Grimmjow now?
He comes to a stop at the corner of the street after walking for ten minutes and ending up nowhere. Of course he isn't about to give up, but he stops briefly anyway. At this rate he'll just get lost. He needs a better way to go about it.
An innocent little thought occurs to him, and, being the uninhibited child he is, he doesn't think twice about executing it. So, sucking deeply, pulling up his hands to frame around his mouth, with all the voice he has, he shouts.
"GRIMMJOW!"
The yell ricochets against the walls of the buildings surrounding him, the sound almost staggeringly loud. There's no one else in the street, but even if they were, Ichigo wouldn't have paid them any mind.
Seconds pass, and nothing happens. Starting to resume his walk, he takes another breath, and is about to shout for a second time when something hard hits the back of his head and he ends up face-first on the ground with a startled yelp.
"I heard you the first time, shitty brat," a gruff voice snaps at him as he pulls himself up to his knees, rubbing his nose with teary eyes from the sudden pain and a deep scowl on his face. "Why are you here?"
Looking over his shoulder, Ichigo blinks up at the blue-haired spirit before two completely opposite reactions follow back to back.
First, an excited, "Grimmjow!" as he scrambles up to his feet.
Then, an attempted kick at the man's shins while yelling, "That hurt, you jerk!" It feels like he's kicking a wall when his foot connects with Grimmjow's leg, who glares down at him, unimpressed.
"Answer my question."
Ichigo lets out an agitated huff, crossing his arms as he tries not to show his contentment at meeting the spirit again. "I got bored so I thought I might as well come see what you're up to."
Grimmjow turns his head away for a moment, scoffing quietly to himself, just soft enough for Ichigo to miss the words, but he bets they weren't anything positive.
"So, um," Ichigo starts as he resumes talking, trying to not let the spirit's grumpy mood get to him, "what are you up to?"
"Humoring little shits like you, apparently."
"Well, if you hate me that much, why are you even bothering?" Ichigo grumbles, feeling his own mood souring and plummeting further and further.
Grimmjow puts his hands in his pockets, long fingers disappearing inside the white hakama as he looks back to Ichigo, expression losing some of its irritation. "You got a surprising amount of reiatsu for a kid—no, even by adult human standards it's way above average. "
"Huh?" Ichigo cocks his head to the side, puzzlement written all over his face. "Reiatsu?"
"It's the reason you can see me." Grimmjow pauses, seeming to think on something, before appearing to lose interest. "You got what you came for, now get lost."
Ichigo's mouth opens and closes slowly like a gaping fish before his own indignation sets in—first at being dismissed like some sort of dog, and then at the condescending look in the spirit's eyes. Sure, he's a kid, but that doesn't mean he can just be bossed around like this!
Setting the proverbial foot down, he meets Grimmjow's gaze head on with a glower of his own. The shocking blue of his irises drills into Ichigo's honey brown, and gradually, the air starts getting thicker and heavier.
It's an almost curious, gentle prodding at first, but the force of it quickly increases. He feels it press down on him, like a light push from above, the force gradually increasing, but Ichigo neither breaks eye-contact nor lets his shaking knees buckle, fists balled and brows furrowed in determination even as it gets more difficult to breathe.
Sweat starts forming on his skin and his lungs have already stopped functioning for a few seconds when Grimmjow's cold face contorts into an amused smirk and the pressure instantly disappears. Ichigo gasps, feeling disoriented and shaking his head wildly in an attempt to get a grip on himself.
"Well, ain't that something."
Ichigo figures the remark is more of a personal aside than meant for him to respond to, but it's clear that he passed whatever test Grimmjow conducted just now and so, feeling emboldened, he restarts the conversation.
"So, do I still have to leave?" he demands to know, still catching his breath and wiping the sweat-drops from his forehead. When Grimmjow doesn't reply immediately, seeming to prefer observing him, Ichigo continues. "It's not like you have anyone else to talk to."
"Who says I gotta talk to anyone? I'm fine on my own."
"But you have to be bored," Ichigo points out. "You look like you're bored most of the time, anyway."
"So?"
"So... so I could make you... um... not bored?" Grimmjow's lips twist in a sneer, but before the no doubt cruel jab can pass them, Ichigo continues. "You've got nothing to lose, right?"
The spirit seems to consider this for a moment, and after a nearly tense moment of silence, he relents, although he seems to regret it immediately after the words leave him.
"Alright, kid. What do you do for fun around here?"
The flat, smooth little stone skids over the surface of the water, tapping on it a total of three times before it plunges into the river. Ichigo frowns, unsatisfied, and looks around the ground for more stones.
He briefly glances over his shoulder as he picks a fitting one up, the spirit sitting on the grass watching him with half-lidded eyes, a slight crease between his brows. Grimmjow hasn't said a word ever since Ichigo guided him here, avoiding crowded streets and walking with the man in silence. It is a bit unnerving.
Turning back to the still river, Ichigo throws the rock, watching it skip only two times. Puffing his cheeks with a scowl, he reaches down for another stone, when something whizzes right by him so fast he barely has time to look before he hears several splashes. One, two, three—Ichigo spins around and looks at the river, catching a glimpse of the splashing stone skidding over the water—seven, eight, nine, and it hits the other side.
"Woah, how did you—"
"This is boring." Grimmjow interrupts him, tone drawn out in a lethargic manner as he looks away, as if searching for something entertaining in his immediate surroundings. "You're wasting my time, brat."
Incensed by the rude statement, Ichigo picks up another stone, and throws out of frustration.
It skips over the water six times, almost reaching the other shore before it falls into the depths.
"Quick learner, eh?"
Ichigo's brief moment of pride at this improvement is ruined by the derision, and giving up on trying to play any sort of game with the man as he walks away from the river bank and sits himself down next to Grimmjow, albeit with some distance between them. Even as he is pretty certain the spirit won't hurt him, he's still uneasy with approaching him carelessly.
"You're no fun," he complains, and Grimmjow's lips curl back to reveal sharp teeth as he continues his mocking in response.
"Your idea of fun is a shitty one."
"Oh yeah?" It's getting offensive at this point. "What do you do for fun? Hang around in empty buildings all day?"
"When I wanna have fun, I kick someone's ass."
Fighting? Ichigo considers this, finding it does fit the guy, but it doesn't seem to be something they have in common. Ichigo doesn't fight for fun; he does it out of necessity. He has to be able to defend himself from the bullies, after all.
"Kinda sounds like them, actually," Ichigo mutters to himself, but apparently Grimmjow has impeccable hearing because he gives him an expectant look. "Just, uh, some kids in my neighborhood. They like to fight too."
"You don't?" A shake of the head. "Tch, weakling."
"I'm not weak!"
Grimmjow snorts. "Sure you ain't. Lemme guess, those kids tend to gang up on you and you fight 'cause you have to."
The shock in Ichigo's expression gives him away before he can blurt out the staunch denial that forms in his head, and his cheeks burn red at being seen through so easily. Grimmjow is far more observant than he expected.
"So what if I do?" he grumbles, starting to pluck the grass from the ground, avoiding eye-contact.
"It's pathetic," Grimmjow replies brusquely. "If they're your enemies, then destroy them. Crush them until they can't lift a single finger against you ever again."
This isn't even an option he ever considered, so he isn't sure how to respond to him. Before he can even think on what Grimmjow has said, something else stands out to him. "You think so?"
Blue eyes slide from the river over to Ichigo's face. Grimmjow holds his uncertain gaze for all of two seconds before his own moves away once more.
"I don't know about crushing anyone," Ichigo continues hesitantly, "but it would be nice if they stopped bothering me." He looks at the plucked blades of grass gathered in his palm and blows them off his hand when another curiosity arises. "That wound, you got it from a fight, right?"
Grimmjow glances down at what Ichigo's eyes are now glued onto—the scar on his waist, from the injury he had yesterday.
"Did you win that fight?" Ichigo asks, wiping some grass off his pants. Grimmjow's eyes narrow, and he takes it as a no. "Who did you fight?"
"A lapdog who thinks too highly of himself," Grimmjow snarls, the memory alone seeming to anger him, his jaw clenching briefly. The movement pulls Ichigo's attention to the bone-mask covering one side of the lower half of his face—he'd never gotten a straight answer about that now he thinks about it, nor about the large hole in the man's abdomen.
"What was his name?" he asks instead, shaking the thought off and returning to the topic at hand.
"Ulquiorra Cifer." The word is spit out as if it is acid on the tongue, accompanied by a growling baritone that makes the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck stand on end.
He swallows thickly, trying to stand strong in the face of the sheer murderous intent radiating from his newly made friend, and though it isn't aimed at him, had he not been sitting his knees would've been shaking.
"I guess you guys didn't like each other, huh?" Ichigo says nervously, pulling up his legs a bit, subconsciously arranging a defensive position for himself. As good-natured as he is and as much as he wants to think the best of people, there is no doubt that getting on Grimmjow's bad side would mean certain death.
"That's putting it lightly."
"You fought him on the other side, right?" Ichigo decides to focus their conversation on something else. "What's it like?"
Grimmjow is silent for a moment, and lifts his head, looking up to the sky, tense shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's always night over there," he starts slowly, the force of his voice dimmed to a rougher base. "The sun here is fucking blinding."
"Wait, there's no sun where you're from?" Ichigo can't imagine a life without the sun. If it's constantly night, then how do you keep track of time?
It takes a bit more prodding with questions that seem to annoy Grimmjow somewhat, but he always answers eventually. Ichigo takes in the descriptions of endless hills of sand in a monochromatic world, trying to imagine a crescent moon looming over everyone else. It sounds nothing like any kind of afterlife he imagined for himself.
Grimmjow doesn't seem to like the place either, but even as he draws comparisons to earth, he seems to hate the latter more. He finds it noisy and boring, and despises its inhabitants. At least in Hueco Mundo (that's what it's called, apparently) the strong thrive while the weak are exterminated, or so that's what he tells Ichigo.
It is somewhat of a shocking revelation for an eight year old, who ends up with the nightmarish image of a purgatory-like place, and suddenly it's not that strange how aggressive and powerful Grimmjow is. The thought frightens Ichigo quite a bit.
What if he ends up there, when he dies?
Grimmjow notices his sudden silence, eyebrows arching slightly.
"You scared, kid?" There is no berating tinge to his words now, no arrogance in his expression or irritation or impatience. Ichigo wants to say that he isn't scared, but the thoughts keep pouring out, and he can't even put up a brave front.
What if Hueco Mundo is where his parents went to after their deaths?
"Dumbass," Grimmjow huffs. "You just got outta your diapers; you shouldn't be shitting yourself at some distant future possibility."
You're not going to die, so don't worry.
It eases his disquieted heart a bit, and he exhales a shaky breath, looking up Grimmjow with a half-hearted smile in gratitude. "Yeah, I guess so."
There are no more words exchanged between them after that. The quiet is more comfortable, and for once, Ichigo doesn't have anything else to ask him.
He lies on his back in the grass, looking up at the unclouded sky and marveling at how much of the vast color reminds him of the man sitting next to him. A man with seemingly no regard for others, someone with an undoubtedly violent and predatory side who cares little for the ones around him, arrogant and temperamental, and yet, his presence is comforting, if only because it means Ichigo doesn't have to be alone anymore.
Moreover, call it instinct, but Ichigo knows there has to be more to Grimmjow than what he lets show, more than the arrogance and aggression he puts on display. Vast, and blue.
Yes, underneath a sky like this, there's no need for worry.
Ichigo visits him every morning, and stays with him until noon, after which Grimmjow retreats to the warehouse. Every day is a new day filled with discoveries. Some are more revealing than others, like what Grimmjow's other former comrades are like, and some are trivial things, like how Grimmjow hates the color yellow. Ichigo latches on to whatever Grimmjow is willing to give him, the mystery around it too tempting to leave alone.
What's more is that he simply likes Grimmjow, and being around him is fun in its own way. Unlike most adults, he's incredibly straightforward and honest, and while he does treat Ichigo like a child or a nuisance half the time, the fact that he has tolerated him hanging around so far can only be a good sign, right?
That's what Ichigo hopes, anyway.
With this new friend to interact with, the evenings go by tortuously slow and the mornings always fly by. Before he knows it, he's nearing the end of the holidays, and by then the mark of Grimmjow's wound should have started to fade into scar tissue, but it hasn't. In fact, it still looks like it might rip open at any second, having been healed only superficially. Grimmjow tells him offhandedly that it's because of lingering reiatsu within the wound, and Ichigo doesn't understand a lick of how that works, but he takes Grimmjow's word for it.
It also seems to still cause him some pain. When he thinks Ichigo isn't looking, and they're walking through the streets, he flinches sometimes when he walks too fast or doesn't land his step quite right. It's obvious that Grimmjow needs stitches, and Ichigo suggests as much to him once, but he brushes it off, prideful as he is.
"But if you don't, it might open up again," Ichigo says on a Friday afternoon, walking back towards his house with Grimmjow beside him, ignoring the looks he gets from other people as to them it looks as if he's talking to air.
"I don't need it," Grimmjow snaps impatiently, and that's the end of that. Ichigo pouts, glaring at him for a moment before giving up. Determined to become a doctor later, he's already sucking up as much information on the subject as he can, and a wound like that really needs a stitch, but Grimmjow isn't going to budge.
Ichigo is worried about it. He really is. In this short period of time to he has attached himself to Grimmjow like a moth drawn to flame, and as such, his innate protective streak is starting to kick in, even though Grimmjow is more capable of looking after himself than Ichigo is.
"Fine! I'll try not to say I told you so when it rips open," Ichigo replies stubbornly, scrunching up his nose in disgust at the mere thought of it.
Grimmjow flicks his forehead and Ichigo yelps at the sudden pain—this also has become somewhat of a routine. Whenever Ichigo becomes too snarky for Grimmjow's taste, the man either flicks his forehead with his index finger or gives him a slap upside the head if he's really out of line.
It's really annoying, but it doesn't actually hurt any more than a pinch in his arm would, so Ichigo doesn't mind. It's actually nice to think they already have some sort of habit between them now. Grimmjow is becoming more and more like a brother-type figure as he spends time with him, and it makes his life that much brighter.
"Better hurry on home, kid," Grimmjow says, stopping at the corner of the street, probably planning to return to the warehouse. Ichigo is still rubbing the red spot on his forehead as he sighs.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll—"
Movement distracts him, the sound of familiar voices cutting through his thoughts.
A group of boys have just rounded the corner on the other end of the street. They are none other than Ichigo's worst tormentors, and the leader spots him immediately, dark eyes flashing with glee at the sight of him.
"Oi, Kurosaki!" the blond boy jeers, increasing his pace, his followers right behind him. Kazuo is two years older than him and bigger than him, and nothing seems to please him more than turning Ichigo's life into a living hell whenever he has the opportunity. "'S been a while, yeah?"
Ichigo's entire body is rigid for a moment before he takes a step back, body shifting into a defensive stance, remembering the old routine. He makes a headcount—six of them. That's too many. He can take on four at most, but with six he's in serious trouble.
"Heh, he looks like he's 'bout to pee his pants!" one of the boys says, Kazuo laughing loudly at the insult as Ichigo slowly inches back. The motions don't go unnoticed.
"Where ya headin', Kurosaki? We just wanna play!" Kazuo calls out with a grin, approaching closer fast. "Come play with us!"
'Go die, jerk,' Ichigo thinks with a scowl, and takes another step back, taking a deep breath and preparing to bolt.
That is until he catches Grimmjow's gaze, cool and unwavering as it is fixed on him, nailing him to the ground just like that.
"You gonna run?" is all he asks, and it's enough for Ichigo to switch gears instantly.
He can't run, not in front of Grimmjow. It would be more humiliating than fighting and getting his ass kicked—at least the effort might be somewhat redeemable in Grimmjow's eyes, but turning his back and high-tailing it out of there is something he absolutely cannot do in front of Grimmjow. He wants to impress him, and avoiding a fight isn't gonna cut it.
"No way," Ichigo replies cockily as he steels his resolve, looking back at the gang of boys.
"Eh? When did you grow a pair, Kurosaki?" Kazuo mocks as Ichigo starts walking towards them, back straight and chin up, heart going wild inside his ribcage.
This is stupid.
He's going to get his ass kicked.
But Grimmjow is watching.
"Around the same time you lost yours." Ichigo retorts, looking smug as Kazuo grits his teeth and attempts to glare a hole through his head.
"You're gonna pay for that!" he snaps, the other boys instantly surrounding him.
And as expected, the fight doesn't start in his favor.
It's mostly just a mess of limbs and shouts. You can't expect much else from kids, and Ichigo is the only one who moves like he had training, his opponents throwing uncontrolled and reckless punches and kicks, even accidentally hitting each other a few times. Still, their ferocity is overpowering.
Someone pulls at his shirt, someone else scratches at his arm, knuckles hit his jaw and a foot rams against his upper leg. The assault is disorienting; he doesn't know how to defend from the barrage, ache shooting through his body from every hit. He really should've run. He's gonna end up black and blue and red by the time this is over. This was the stupidest idea he ever—
"You gonna lose against these brats?" The spirits voice cuts through the chaos like the edge of a blade, a semblance of clarity that offers him something to hold onto. "Guess I overestimated you. They're your enemies, aren't they?"
Crush them.
Ichigo, both arms shielding his face, tastes the iron of blood in his mouth, and gathers whatever nerve he has left as Kazuo hits him in the stomach, nearly making him keel over.
If defense doesn't work, then wild punches it is.
And the aftermath is glorious.
Ichigo bursts out from his defensive position with a battle cry and comes out swinging like a crazy person. They are his enemies, and this time, self-defense won't save him. Grimmjow is right. If he wants this to stop, he needs to beat them down until they're too weak to stand up again.
It's definitely a sort of desperation that drives him to it, mixed with pure fury—not even necessarily at his bullies, but at everything that has gone wrong for him over the last few years. His anger at having such terrible parents, his sorrow at never knowing what a real family feels like, his fear that the closest friend he's made could disappear to the other side at any day; it's all in his fists, and he throws it out.
For a moment, it's almost like a daze, and when he comes to, six boys are lying on the ground and he has blood on his knuckles. Blinking slowly, he looks at the injured, some groaning, some crying, some trying to get up—one of them succeeds, and the look of pure terror on the kid's face as he stares at Ichigo isn't something he'll ever forget.
He gets a small kick out of watching the boy run away, but a much larger part of himself is terrified too.
He never knew he was capable of this.
And then he feels good about it. He feels good about watching his enemies writhe on the ground from their injuries, and he tries to replay the fight in his head, tries to recapture the feel of pure adrenaline. There was something... something fun about it. For the first time, he thinks he might understand why Grimmjow's favorite past-time is fighting.
"Took you long enough," said man drawls, and Ichigo stares up at him, searching his indifferent expression. His facial features seem lighter than usual. A bit amused, maybe? There's a pause there as Grimmjow stares right back at him, and then, a toothy grin spreads out on his face. "Keep at it, kid. You might make a worthy opponent one day."
Ichigo's lips part but nothing comes out, and with a last look at the bullies spread out over the pavement, Grimmjow vanishes in thin air with a short, booming noise. Ichigo frowns slightly, and then turns to look at his own reflection in a window.
His lip is bleeding, and he has a black eye, and there's definitely some bruises forming there, but he came out of it better than he anticipated.
Kazuo groans, sitting up slowly, holding his nose, blood dripping down over his mouth and chin onto his shirt.
Ichigo moves, and stands in front of him, looking down with a deep scowl. Kazuo winces at the mere sight of him.
"Hey, Ichigo, you know we were just messing around, right? Right? It was all just fun and games!"
Self-defense really is pointless. Straight up kicking your opponent's ass is way more effective.
"If you don't start leaving me alone," Ichigo replies fiercely, brown eyes burning with the promise of violence, "then next time, I'll crush you. Got it?"
Kazuo nods profusely, face pale.
With that taken care of, Ichigo puts his hands in his pockets with a grin, and walks past the other boy, stepping over someone else and walking off, imitating the way Grimmjow does it—confident and utterly dominating.
This is the part where, unbeknownst to the man himself, Grimmjow becomes more than a new friend.
