Chapter II: Ulquiorra Scheiffer

I hope I'm not alone in the knowledge that these students in their late teens are of more interests than anything the school can potentially drop at my goddamn feet. For one thing, their beauty is simply subliminal, and besides that there's infinitely more; that much I can be sure of. They are addressed collectively as the Aizen Kids.

The bell rings. We marshal ourselves to our respective classrooms as I become wholly convinced that I've signed up for more than just meeting new friends. It's strange, but I can feel two cold green eyes burying their gaze at me like a frozen blast of strong wind. How much it adds to my uneasiness I can't gauge, never will, perhaps. If it isn't gonna be too much I can just confront him, you know, tell him to stop it with his goddamn staring because, dammit, it's as good as taking a picture of my goddamn crotch or something. Come on, man, if you're gonna read me from head to toe like a fucking headline you might as well do it in front of me.

Better give it a rest, I suppose.

The rest of the day is pure bull. I can just loiter around the campus and treat myself to a few minutes of private time instead of sharing an air-tight room full of chicks and dudes and their over-exerted excitement. But I can't do that so I just sit here, considering the horrible alternatives to trying to kill boredom which is, technically, replacing it with a new boredom.

Just then, the third professor of the afternoon enters. I know this is something one shouldn't be saying too often and, even more so, aloud but he's just goddamn beautiful. I swear, man. Now here's someone who can give the Aizen kids a run for their money.

Kuchiki Byakuya. It so happens that Rukia, the girl with whom I dined along with seven others earlier in the cafeteria, is this bloke's younger sister. I can't see the resemblance, if there is indeed any. I mean Rukia is cute and all, but she flatly stops right there. This guy up front is friggin—

Dammit. I'll cut it with my mental appraisals of physical attributes. Jesus. You'd think I had turned fag or something. Anyway, to sum it all up, I admit there's quite a number of things that may end up in agreement with me. There's the fact that I sort of particularly enjoy the scenery around here: pretty girls to my left, right and center.

By the end of day, everyone is waving goodbye to everyone, so I ride along with it and start saying goodbye to anyone who lands his gaze on me. I can be a filthy hypocrite sometimes. I don't even know why I'm pulling this kind of crap on people. So, I trace my steps from whence I have first arrived in this place only to find out that, apart from everything, and everyone for that matter, I'm a loner.

That idea isn't gonna be applicable today, mark this.

Some fucker of a stalker has his treads copying mine as though he can't come up with anything more original than mimicking my movements and route. I start to walk faster as my vulnerable nerves catch up on me, and, man, I'll give this fucker my first warning.

"Are you following me?" I ask. Several home-bound fellow students latch their gazes on me and my brilliant stalker.

This is when it's made known to me that I'm just the kind of person who likes to encounter frustration everywhere. Here is one of the Aizen kids, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, employing his god-given talents of creeping the hell out of anyone who dares to coexist with him. Just what the fuck is he doing here anyway? More importantly, why is he tailing my ass?

"Yes."

That has to be 9.8 out of 10 on the horror scale. The problem with my reflexes is that they get delayed every time they shouldn't. Shit. My legs are urging me to fly out right on smack on him. Luckily I had wits enough to search him and make sure he hasn't a dagger or a pistol ready in reach, to which he frowns faintly.

"Just what the hell is your problem?" the petulant git that I am asks.

If the day would just cooperate with me this bastard would give me the answer I want. Unfortunately, such day exists far from here or long from now, and this fact becomes altogether transparent when he fucking smiles the kind of smile that gives you a good reason to be worried. Really, with the way things are going now, that smile doesn't suggest anything less than a pain in the ass.

"Our distance."

Know what? Fuck this. He's said it like it doesn't mean anything, man. Now I'm feeling more compelled to drive my fists into that pristine face of his, despite the fact that I don't really know how it's done.

"Pardon me?"

Around this time, I've already wasted about too much energy trying to balance my wits and temper in due proportion. And then he does something that's gonna destroy both to leave only a clear annihilation,

"Will you be mine, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

No kidding, no bullshit, he said that. He really did. Not knowing what to do next, I fumble about like a twitchy little moron when suddenly I become aware of our surroundings. We're still within the school grounds. On the said school ground is approximately a score of students with their necks craning over a single source of interest: me and Ulquiorra.

"Are you fucking around?"

And that's about as decent as my mouth can get. Let me get this straight: I can be decent if needs be and, to expound on that, I still have yet to conk a fist on that pretty face. I am, however, fighting the ruthless urge to poke the daylights out of that pair of luminous green eyes.

"I'm not. Can I have your answer?"

The nerve of some people. as far as I'm concerned, no one is in the position to solicit so big a deal. Why, he's asking for me, all five feet and seven inches of my fucking self to be HIS… in front of more than a dozen onlookers in broad fucking daylight. And that's not considering the horror that he fucking knows my name.

"Fuck you."

Maybe, just fucking maybe, that will suffice for a CLEAR answer. Perhaps the longer I keep in mind that this dude is a raving lunatic, the longer I might stay sane. To start with, this isn't even funny, thus if someone thinks otherwise that someonecan just go to hell with this Ulquiorra dude and his fuckingly twisted sense of humor. I mean, when life was simpler, like five minutes ago, I didn't have to put up with bastards like him asking me to be his property. I once upon a time believed Iwas worth more than that.

"Is something wrong?"

Hints, mine in particular, turn out to be no more distinct to this guy than a friggin' needle in a field of barley, hence the straight face. With this exhibition of ignorance, I don't think he'd identify a death threat even if so much of it was blasted in his face. To add on that, he's now staring at me with such directness that's enough to give me a goddamn complex.

"Nothing. Except that I owe you something BIG; this humiliation."

"Forgive me. May I walk with you?"

I wince, which only shows how much I don't know more than what I can manage completely. The next thing he's gonna ask, I'm sure, is the scale of probability of me hitting the shower with him. Well, fuck this.

"For crying out loud, go away. If you wanna screw around, that's nobody else's business but yours. And if you're still not in the know, there's no fucking way in hell I'm gonna be yours. No. Fucking. Way."

"But, please, hear me out—"

"—so long, sucker!"

I'm a fast runner. I clear out with all the might my legs can muster, pelting somewhere at a speed no bastard can rival. I'm scampering away like a bastard caught on fire so if he happened to catch up on me, man oh man, he should enlist in the next Olympics already—

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

Something ahead of me gets me blinking a couple of hundred times.

He is standing right in front of me. This time, he's really scaring the living shit out of me. First and fucking foremost, I'm quite sure I stormed out on him before he managed to phrase the rest of his appeal, therefore awarding me a number of seconds of advantage. But what matters more than anything is that the title Quickfoot Kurosaki has been stolen from me! By a bastard!

"Please don't do that again, Kurosaki." He says in some sort of a calm, misplaced reproach.

"Don't play dumb, dammit. How the hell did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You fucking know what. You bore up with me within less than a second upon taking off." My panting is rendering my speech near incoherence.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He's on his way to driving me clean of my wits, what with his phony modesty. He really is. This time, he hits on something; my oh so sacredly guarded patience.

"Let's clear a few things up. First up: you need to get the hell as far away from me as possible, like forever. Second: don't talk to me at any time between this lifetime and the next. Third: absurd as it sounds, I hate you like fucking hell already. Last: Fuck off."

That's precisely the set of things I need to prop up before he gets into the habit of thinking I'd let him get a shot of what he wants from me. That gets me thinking, what exactly does this fucktard want from me? Okay, I suppose I should be less harsh on the account that he hasn't laid a finger on me. So allow me to say that, in another time and place, I could perhaps be walking by his side and hitting it off real coolly, and for what it's worth… I can just knock him flat on his ass.

"Interesting. I'll say one thing here before I leave you be: I'll see you later."

"Give that chance to someone else."

"I'll see you at school tomorrow."

I inform myself that my duty isn't to screw up or to get screwed by a screwing son of a gun who goes by the name Ulquiorra Scheiffer. While doing this, I nearly don't realize that the bastard has gone out of sight, leaving me with lesser wits than a bastard needs, and what the hell. Yeah, sure, what in fucking hell if he runs faster than a bullet and afterwards denies it like a bastard would… there's something really odd about that dude.

Let's do a recap here.

When he did that splendid staring at me back at the cafeteria, I could feel every intent he had in those pupils. Dammit. I'm crazy, that much is provided. Is a stare even palpable? As far as I know, things like that only happen in movies. I'll just give that one a pass, alright. That staring challenge I can at least leave alone. What amplifies my disconcertion, and what I'm more interested in, is his speed. It's inhuman. It's… know what? I don't even want to talk about it any more than you do.

Once at home, I learn that the whole goddamn world doesn't stink after all. We're having this nice dinner now courtesy of Yuzu, my little sis.

"How's work, dad?" Yuzu asks.

"The local hospital is small but the equipments they have there surprised me."

I want to ask more, particularly something about a certain doctor who maybe is working in the same place. But then my reluctance gets doubled when Yuzu starts babbling about her new friends at school until her accounts evolve into some fully-fledged narrative. Consequently, our dinner ends at length without me getting the chance to satiate my curiosity.

I resign to my room. After what seemed like, or it probably was, eight hours, I awake at the morning's sunny greeting. In time I find myself lumbering off the sidewalk to another yet again splendid school day which, I bet, is gonna be as good as any other. Or as bad.

I'm at the school now. For a complex of reasons, reasons I can't quite make out, every chick is busting me right down with a sore, gloating glare. I can give ten reasons on why I should start about throwing my middle finger in the air, but this one, girls shooting me with murderous glares, is as much puzzle to me as… nothing else. I can't think of anything as baffling.

"I heard about what happened between you and Ulquiorra yesterday." Renji tells me as I sit in class. I simply don't know what to say to that. It's bad enough that a dozen people have witnessed such event of utter humiliation without someone like Renji Abarai reminding me about it afterwards.

"News travel fast." I answer briefly in an attempt to downplay my maddening urge to steer the conversation somewhere else.

"That was a love confession, wasn't it?"

Forget about steering the conversation somewhere else; my priority should be set on fighting the temptation of kicking this moron in the nuts.

"Know what, Renji? Why don't you just say you mean to make fun of me all morning so you can—"

"—ease out, man. I'll tell you one thing: Ulquiorra Scheiffer is desired by half the women in this school, so if I were you I'd lend my worries to other than having him sending flowers at your doorstep."

That explains the girls' fishy, sinister glares.

"Just what the fuck made you think he's eyeing me on that way?"

"Oh. I heard all about it. He's hard-hit into you. He had never asked anyone out until you came along. I've always known there's something odd about that guy."

"Think what you want."

The day marches on just like any other except, perhaps, for the constant darting of the eyes of the class's female population at my direction. I don't reckon having scowled in the past as much as I'm doing now.

As the bell rings to announce lunch break, I hurriedly rise up from my seat to extricate myself from the girls' stupid gazes.

"Kurosaki-kun, someone's looking for you." Ishida announces to everyone in particular.

And who in bloody hell can that be? I shoot off the classroom, and the moment I do so my mind does a major backsliding. My wits are taking too damn long before they get underway, I'm telling you. Ulquiorra Scheiffer, the Greatest Fucker of Everything, is standing outside room 212, my classroom, apparently aiming to sentence the rest of my day to fucking meltdown.

"What the hell do you want?"

Countless heads are swiveling to where we are.

"Have lunch with me."

Somebody has to do it. Somebody has to really tell this bastard to stop.

"Jeez, stop it already. This isn't even funny."

"It's only lunch. There's something important I need to tell you."

"It's not gonna happen. Not in ten million years or so."

He looks at me intently. If he's thinking that's gonna work I ain't looking back. Ever. I saunter away with gritted teeth, believing all has ended then and there. But something pulls me to an abrupt stop; his fingers are wrapped around my wrist. Man, how far is he willing to go for this sick pursuit?! To tell the truth, it's not his overt and total lack of shame that's irking me at the moment; it's his stone-cold skin. Man, you'd think he got chucked out right from the fridge or Antarctica. I've now about produced eight hundred supports on my theory that this dude is a professional patience-pushing prick when,

"…"

"…"

I've punched him in the face. Point blank. That's something I'd call instinct. To explain, I've done it purely out of impulse, I swear, man. I mean, I'm not one to go around punching dudes who are out to grab my wrist. I have better temperament than that.

"I-I'm sorry." I mutter amidst the hail of gasps all around us.

He's nursing his chin without the slightest indication of pain, which partially makes me feel like wanting to take back my apology. Before he takes the opportunity to talk again, I bustle out of sight. He doesn't follow me, hallelujah to that.

I whisk my way to the damned fire exit to award myself the silence I badly need. As I hit the landing, I'm greeted by the presence of someone else. I haven't been having a good day, so it doesn't strike me as odd that the mere presence of someone besides myself is making me sick to my soul at the moment.

The nobody is climbing his way up while I descend the same flight of stairs with my head down and without care for the fucking world—

"Aaaargh!"

"Shit." I hear him say gruffly.

There's luck, toiling its way to sheer ingenuity before making me trip into something not even a paraplegic would dream of tripping into. I've fallen headlong into the guy, and now I'm shoved right on top of him with our limbs tangled like four pairs of stray hair strands in need of straightening.

"Watch it, hey." He says.

"Sorry." I mumble, my mouth vying against cursing the lights out of the heavens.

I sit up to relieve him of my weight before staring at the face that now looms inches from mine. The nearness is unnerving, and one of the hundreds of reasons for that is, he can probably hear every beat my anger-pulsated heart is making. I can afford a warm apology on the event that what happened between me and Ulquiorra earlier is wiped off the goddamn history.

My eyes are being dragged to his teal-colored hair. I can't look him in the eye just yet, in fear of his anger and the probability that he's just about all set up to drive his knuckles into my mouth. He straightens himself up, but he still hasn't gotten up.

And then I see his face.

"Is something wrong with my face?" He asks.

Damn. I always pick the most gorgeous time to stare.

"No. Excuse me." I say before finally heaving up to rise. He does the same.

It's only now when I become fully conscious of his size that I finally grasp the entirety of the strangeness that has surged onto me.

He's one of them, one of the Aizen Kids. He has to be.

I make one last gesture of apology to bow out of the scene, but at the moment I wheel around I catch a smirk issue from his lips.

"If ever you need another futon to land on, say, when you fall second time around, I'm volunteering for the role." he calls out to me.

Perverts are everywhere.

TBC

A/N: got a few scenes from Wild Kiss, some yaoi manga. yeah, i'm disclaiming that. thanks for reviewing, Light is Gay, Seshori, everyone.