Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Warnings: mentions of sex, angst.
Pairing: Grimmjow Jeagerjaques x Ichigo Kurosaki

AN: I wasn't going to continue this at all… but after a polite push almost a year ago, hah, I recently got inspired. There will be another chapter after this one, hopefully a wee bit sooner. So, if anyone is reading this, enjoy.

Hyperbole

It's the smell of cinnamon that grabs his attention. Ichigo sighs, a deep rattle in his chest that just hurts. He looks up into worried eyes. His best friend Shinji places a soft, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I found you in an alley, passed out. Ichigo…" He swallows, and Ichigo glances away. He realizes they're in Shinji's room and he's in his bed, and he can't stifle the pain that bubbles up in his chest like acid. He's fucked up, again, and he knows what Shinji's going to say. Shinji sits beside him, a defeated expression on his face. "This has to stop. An alley? Look, I understand you –"

Ichigo slaps his hand off violently, immediately trying to vacate the room. Shinji stops him with a long, thin arm around his waist, effectively placing him back on the bed. "Ichigo, we need to have this conversation. We've been skirting around it for…" he trails off, uncertain. Trying to be careful with his words.

Ichigo looks down, at his hands that are trying not to shake, but failing so miserably. It's like a ripple effect. His hands, and then his chest, and finally his shoulders, and he just lets it out, the hot rush of tears crawling down his cheeks like spiders. It's embarrassing and unwanted, showing such weakness in front of his friend.

Shinji gasps, watching the other boy convulse with sobs and chokes. He brings Ichigo closer, only mildly surprised he lets him, holding him. "Ichi…, you're not okay," Shinji whispers.

Ichigo can only shudder, thinking back to all the memories that haunt him through his days.

The blond man can only watch pitifully and hold his best friend as he lets everything go, all the pain of the past year. After a few minutes, the shaking stops, and then gradually Ichigo calms, wiping furiously at his redraw face.

"Shin, I'm sorry," Ichigo finally croaks, his voice hoarse from sobbing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Ichigo, hey, stop." Shinji murmurs, grabbing his arm. "Look, let's get something to eat. Is that okay?"

Ichigo shakes his head, standing up and stretching. The frown on his face might as well have been etched. "I'm going home. I'll call you." He tries to smile, but it just looks like a thin line.

Shinji doesn't say anything, just nods with an air of defeat hovering above his head. Ichigo leaves, jacket wrapped tight around him to cover against the wind. His face aches with the force of his spilled out emotion, and he thinks that he is empty.

There's just nothing left inside anymore.

And no one, no one understands.

It's two days later, and snow is quietly falling outside. Ichigo watches the world wash white, and tries to smile. He closes his eyes and remembers how much he had loved the snow. They way those eyes lifted at the sight of white flakes falling gently from the sky.

His fingers reach out and touch the window, trailing down. And then he jerks away, angry with himself, shuffling out of bed in a hurry to get out, to get away.

Ichigo flies down the stairs, two at a time, ignoring Karin and Yuzu in the kitchen, and heading straight for the door in a mad dash.

He lights a cigarette, instantly relaxing. He stuffs a hand in his pocket, fingering the sleek cover of his cell phone. Contemplating.

The number is one he doesn't want to call, dreads it, but fucking needs to. Ichigo takes the phone out, throwing down his cigarette, and dials.

There are two rings, and then a gruff, sleepy voice.

"What the hell d'you want? D'you know what time it is?"

Ichigo snorts, ducking in an alley and leaning against the dirty bricks casually.

"Shut up, it's one in the afternoon, you fuck. I'm coming over."

He can almost hear the sigh in Renji's voice. "Whatever."

The line dies. Ichigo glances up, smiles.

The snow has stopped, leaving a simple cover that's barely half an inch.

"I hate you," Ichigo whispers, on his back, staring up at an off-white ceiling while Renji sits beside him, furiously chain smoking.

Renji shrugs and rolls his eyes. "Yeah? That why you come over all the time?"

Ichigo doesn't acknowledge him, just turns on his side to stare at the peeling wallpaper. Renji lives in the slums. The one bedroom apartment is old, and Renji is not the one to fix it up.

And then, Renji doesn't know when to shut his stupid mouth. "I should understand now, right? Yeah, I'm just a replacement. I know, but fuck Ichigo, it's been like six months. You leech off me, shit, can't you forget about some dumb –"

There is a punch, a broken nose, and a fuming Ichigo.

He never calls Renji again.

Days blend in to weeks. Weeks easily slip by, and then months, and then, another year.

Ichigo stills aches. Still feels ripped in half, weak and angry. It's like there's a bottle of pure pain inside his chest, sometimes unscrewing and leaking out. But never empty.

And despite everything he does, destructive or not, the memories never go away.

He can see Grimmjow's smile in the rain falling, can still hear that soft chuckle when something goes right, but almost nothing ever does.

Ichigo is only half a person, and he just wants so desperately to forget, to feel full.

There are ghosts of a touch always on his body, taking him back to happier times, to sadder time.

Ichigo can remember the last time. In a hospital room, so small and insignificant. Black as night circles around his eyes because every damn second was precious. He nearly failed that year, but he could not have cared less.

The white wash of the room. The way Grimmjow looked so ready to give up, so ready to die.

Ichigo stills chokes up, still wants to curl up and cry.

He had held his hand until his lungs had slowed, until every last breath was struggled out. Grimmjow never cried once, but it was like Ichigo couldn't stop. He felt so fucking useless, sitting there, watching him. Grimmjow had tried to cheer him up with smiles or jokes. He had got so thin, his body laying there in that bed, barely moving. And Ichigo was so scared. HE was scared and Grim was, was…

How something that started so pure and perfect could end so painful, Ichigo didn't know. He couldn't understand how the world could be so unbalanced. People like Renji could live and be good for nothing drug addicts, but Ichigo couldn't be fucking happy? Grimmjow had to die. What kind of logic was that?

He walks down roads that hold no meaning now. He hears every day to move on, get over it, you were so young, how could you possibly know what love feels like?

Ichigo just scowls, clenches his teeth and fucking grinds down.

He knows what love feels like. He also knows what death tastes like.

You promised.

…so. I just want to say, I love GrimxIchi. It's a great pairing, but seriously? Every time I come back to the fandom, I try not to vomit. Why is Ichigo treated like such a… I don't even know. Mindless slut? Maybe. I like him bottoming too, but he is a man, doesn't happen to have a vagina. It saddens me greatly.
Anyway, enough of the rant. I hope I did okay on this little story. For optional reference, I listened to Brand New. They're great for angst.

Review? :)