A/N: I have decided against following the Twilight road for the reason that I've only gone as far as finishing the first and second book, and I have no intentions of flipping a page off the 3rd installment. Never again. In any case, I should thank you for reading and reviewing.

Chapter III: Grimmjow Jaggerjack

Why isn't everyone making a single effort to be goddamn sane? How hard can that be, exactly? Worst of all is that everyone's fucking up my chances of staying sound.

"Pardon me?" I ask the bastard, my heartbeat quickening by the second for reasons that do not exist.

"Nothing. I'm off."

I don't have tits; that's as clear as day, so why are these sons of bitches hitting on me as if the case were otherwise?

He clears out just as he said. I watch him exit cautiously, in case he's in the round to utter another wisecracking bullcrap. More than anything I'm sure of, he's one cocky bastard, I can tell. Who the hell wears that sort of hair color? He does. Jesus Christ, this place is sick.

The day passes on with me dodging the mighty headache incarnate, Ulquiorra Scheiffer, like a bastard on the run from the guillotine. I'm also trying to ignore my classmates' expression of awe at my take on him earlier.

"So it's true? You hit Ulquiorra-san in the face?" Inoue asks me.

"He was asking for it."

And they go about asking for the full accounts of the goddamned encounter. It was just a fist driven into the bastard's cheek, goddammit, and he deserved it like how a random murderer deserves the chair. Normally, I don't get hiked over something so dismally insignificant. But, if you take a good look at the goddamn picture, I'm being pursued, almost relentlessly, by a formidable dude who appears to think I'm Cinderella, and I seriously think it's something that's worth my discomfort in the very least.

I trudge my way home, feeling fully prepared for any sort of episode concerning Ulquiorra Scheiffer's obsession with me… or so to speak. Without a fucking doubt, I am wrong about being prepared. Here is the destroyer of my peace, alone in the middle of the parking lot, leaning against a magnificent black Hummer. It seems positively odd to me that my legs are refraining from scramming while my mind urges me to wipe myself away from here as soon as possible.

As always, he is staring at me with his so regularly expressionless face that's no longer new to anyone who has seen him.

"Would you like a lift?" Ulquiorra Scheiffer offers me. The Hummer looks more tempting than my hesitation is profound.

"Hell no."

"Okay."

"…"

That's convenient. More than that, really. He's not even putting up his killer persistence! This is going exceedingly well! His ride is super, though; I'd like to feel those leather seats if it weren't for the fact that a bastard owns it. Whatever the case is, I'm stalking off towards the exit before he changes his mind about leaving me alone.

"Hangin' around for replay?" A new voice shoots just as I'm beginning to think my departure will proceed nicely. It sounds vaguely familiar, though. So I spin around to locate its owner—something I shouldn't have done.

It's him.

"You know Kurosaki, Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra asks the teal-haired bastard over whom I fell earlier at lunch break.

Grimmjow. Now that's a name that can send me off laughing on days on end. But I can't really do that because something mind-boggling is weighing this entire scene down. There are now five of them standing outside the humongous vehicle. Let me introduce a direct thought right here, right now: two seconds ago, I was cocksure it was only me and Ulquiorra out here on the open concrete lot, and then, before I got the chance to hear anyone approaching, five good-looking teens are idling meters behind me. Come on, man, any moron with a half a good ear would have sensed a few rustles upon the arrival of FOUR people.

So this is the complete line-up of the Aizen Kids.

Maybe I've gone deaf—

"Kurosaki, huh? Is that his name?" the cocky git asks his brother.

"If you two wanna walk home you can at least let us know." The pink-haired, chick-like dude tells Ulquiorra and Grimmjow. Although he doesn't look annoyed, there is, nevertheless, a peculiar glint in his eyes.

Grimmjow is already climbing at the backseat of the car. This must be their family car. I can feel my guts cringing with envy. They're fucking teenagers! What sort of parents would bestow this much indulgence on their kids anyway? parents who have kids who look like these five, of course. Well, their beauty is just sublime, and my heart is on the brink of breaking for this is the first time my being average has ever bothered me. Jesus, I can't quite pull my gazes from them.

"You sure you don't want a lift?" Ulquiorra presses. Behind him his eldest brother, I believe Stark is his name, shuts the compartment in which he has stuffed his backpack unceremoniously, seeming as though he has gone through a most harrowing day in school. Their sister, on the other hand, is looking at me with undisguised cordiality. She still hasn't made any action indicative of their departure which suggests she's waiting for my answer—consent, maybe.

"Damn sure."

At this, his sister wedges herself on the passenger seat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." Ulquiorra says as he grabs the wheel. He casts a last glance at me, almost in disappointment, and then he revs the engine.

Through the rearmost window, I can discern Grimmjow's face, which is plagued with his prime asset: his evil grin. I watch the vehicle zoom away, guessing what his grin conceals.

At home I'm sitting around the dining table with dad, Yuzu, and Karin.

"Pops, do you know a certain Aizen Sousuke down at the local hospital?" I'm trying to keep my curiosity at a distance, at least as much as I can.

"Yeah. He's the head of the team of surgeons in the neuro department where I work. Why do you ask, son?"

I glance at dad guardedly. "Nothing. His kids and I go to the same school and they're… interesting, kinda."

"No surprises there. They say Dr. Aizen is arguably the best thing that's ever happened to the entire town. We work in the same department. Two days at it and what I'm seeing so far is enough testimony to attest to that reputation. He's a good man; I bet his kids are as pleasant."

I almost snort on my meal. I suppose nobody knows how much of a bastard two of Aizen's sons are except those who are about to know. Perhaps, indeed probably, the magnificent doctor's reputation has obscured his good-looking kids' demerits out of recognition. Two run-ins with his sons have given me much authority to testify on that, mind you.

"Yeah, I would bet on that." I answer. My sarcasm has gone beyond miles over that it does a complete turnaround, resulting to me sounding thoroughly sincere.

"My colleagues say his children are all adopted. That really doesn't have to be said, at least not when you've met the man. I'm guessing he's well only in his thirties."

That answers it. It would be bankable to suspect that a man in his thirties can hardly impose adequate discipline on five teenage kids.

"I doubt he has sufficient parental skills to exercise over his children. I mean, what is he, thirty-plus and five teens? That's tougher than—"

"—well, son, as far as what I've been hearing, he has a very charming family."

That just about signals the end of discussion. People in the world, they're not seeing what's beyond the goddamn surface. In this, as in other matters, the beautiful is always never damned. That's a fact I've always loathed to the limit. I'll change that. If it means me versus the overwhelming odds, so be it.

Well, wait and see.

...

Today is especially a bright day, the brightest one I've seen in this sun-forsaken town. But brighter still is my mood, for Ulquiorra Scheiffer is nowhere to be seen anywhere in the campus. It appears that the sun rejoices in his absence.

"Don't you think it's a little weird, Renji, that a man in his mid-thirties is capable of putting reins on five teens?"

"What are you saying, Ichigo?" Renji asks, wearing his mute, mildly baffled expression which is at once apparent.

"Dr. Aizen Sousuke. Like, can he even provide his kids with a normal life?"

"His family composition had caused a stir in this very tiny town when they first arrived, alright, but as time grew ripe there appeared to be no blunder at all. They're all good people. Such as it is, the town looks at them in no less respect than anyone else."

As he finishes reciting, Renji turns his head towards Neliel, Szayel, Stark & Grimmjow at their corner in the cafeteria, but without a serious thought in the execution, at least not an obvious one. I'm feeling impelled to do the same. The longer I keep my eyes on them, the more apparent the vast amount of detachment between them becomes. They're hardly opening their mouths, as if words were forbidden among them, as if the contents of the trays in front of them were ridden with poison. To be sure, their food slops untouched on the table.

Watching them turns out to be a fatal mistake. Grimmjow Jaggerjack stands up, hands in pockets, and darts towards where I am. He sits beside me with his back leaning against the table. Renji stiffens up beside me.

"Kurosaki, right? I'm sorry, but Ulquiorra's not feeling very well today." Grimmjow sympathizes with me, or so he thinks, about the last subject that can be of any potential bother to me.

"That's hardly my concern. I don't see the importance of informing me of that." I say. Sometimes I surprise myself for managing to pull some major audacity out of nowhere.

"Your actions awhile ago were spelling otherwise." It sounds more of a calculation than an accusation. Still, it fails to narrow down my irritation.

"What do you want, Grimmjow—that's your name, right?"

"At your service." He says it with a grin.

"Do you need anything from me?"

"Why were your eyes wandering around like that? I'm sure you were searching for my brother." He says it like he can't be surer of anything. And now his smirk looms more formidable, as if to tally with his fearsome, icy beauty. You just wouldn't have helped it if you were sitting right this close to him where you could discern every frame of his perfectly chiseled face. Seriously.

I'm starting to hate him. Maybe this feeling has roots with his appearance and the manner he employs its effects on people. Is envy interchangeable with hatred? A fat lot of use the answer may give me. Nevertheless, he has to leave. Now.

"Please, go away." That's as courteous as I can get.

That chars away the permanent smirk on his mouth… at least temporarily.

"Sure, after you answer my question." So the bastard speaks.

I simply can't begin to determine what sort of time-wasting device he's inventing for me. If there was a reason for me to look for his brother it would be to give him the hell he's pining for.

"I wasn't looking for your goddamn brother, okay? Is that clear enough for that tiny microscopic something between your goddamn ears?"

Renji rises up. "Er, why don't we head back to class?" He proposes, his voice hinting on some immediate importance…or panic.

"Let's do that." I agree, and while I'm at it I figure it would be nice to throw a lovely menacing glare at Grimmjow. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do—

"Is this how you pay respect to someone who has sat with you at lunch against his better judgments?" Grimmjow says, as if in protest. It may have been an appeal, from which it sounds very far. Well, I'm scramming to prevent him from finding another reason to be fascinated.

"Ciao." I choke out at him in dismissal, firmly so.

"Alright. I'll bump into you some other time. But," he pauses, perhaps in an attempt to gather up effect, before resuming, "I'm not gonna go easy on the fact that you called me an idiot."

"I fucking did not—"

I am unable to complete my protest because he has started to plough his way to his siblings.

I'm standing motionlessly with gritted teeth.

"You know, you did call him an idiot…in a manner I wouldn't dream of using." Renji tells me.

...

I peek around the corner, skateboard in arms, to make sure I have the entire alley for myself. It's a Saturday today; it's supposed to be a fun day. After asserting my privacy, I start about doing wall-rides on the perimeter concrete fences, knocking down a few trash bins in the process, and what the hell. This is simply invigorating. Not to brag or anything but I can do a few jaw-dropping tricks with these tiny four wheels.

I skate my way downtown. There's this notoriously steep avenue in the Rukongai district which isn't very much frequented by people for the reason that it's barred. Maybe I can pull off some major speed on it. Yeah, I'll break my personal record of so and so mph today.

The slope does not disappoint me. I'm staring at a rise-over-run ratio of 1/3—that's not less than a 30-degree on the protractor. I survey the area. I can do this without breaking my neck. Here goes.

I'm racing down in an amazing speed and I can only stop after a few moments upon finding leveled ground. My pals from my former town would probably be squealing in wet pants if they could see me now. Now the blurred scenery at my sides are hardly distinguishable—

"Shit."

Up ahead is a fucking dumping wasteland! There are all sorts of stinking garbage in it. Oh lovely god. You wouldn't believe my gorgeous luck. It's only been a fucking week since I checked on the site, and what I found was a barren, harmless, vast expanse of empty landscape and now—aaargh! It's no use; I can't pull my brakes because there ain't friggin' any. I just have to accept the fact that I'll be going home smelling like a goddamn cow in a shit-swamp—

"Shit."

This has been a joke for the last ten seconds—until it stops being one. As I draw closer, I begin to distinguish a considerable number of metal scraps sticking out of the filth-piles. I really have to pull over as I wanna be able to make it to dinner in one fucking piece. I mean, I'd seriously bargain for a few broken ribs or dislocated collarbones in exchange for getting impaled in tetanus junkyard wastes.

I skip back on my heels to pull my weight the other way. Hurriedly I release my beloved Birdhouse skateboard, leaving it to the mercy of physics, as I catch a glimpse of its unfortunate trajectory. One hundred and fifty US dollars down the drain. Left with no options, I've landed on my left shoulder and, before long, I'm rolling over towards a direction I'm dreading completely. The velocity of my travel downward is just too high for sheer friction to counter. Sure enough, the friggin' rough asphalt is scalding my nearly flawless skin without a fucking drop of mercy. That I can hardly concentrate on procuring the much desired and needed halt was perhaps the most coherent thought passing over my head at the moment.

I'm now only a few yards from the deadly pit when something—someone—breaks my descent to hell. I can as much tell what has just happened as I can goddamn decipher hieroglyphics. All I know is that I'm no longer pelting down a near-death state. But against my weight is the feel of two arms. I'm too fucking dizzy to make out who it is. Whoever he is, he can't be human, for as far as I know humans can't cut through such fall in so neat a method. It's crazy. I guess I'm crazy. But maybe not crazy enough not to disregard the truth that, when he scooped me out of this dangerously steep avenue, he should have got caught in the accident I invited. But he didn't. Instead, he saved me, and it seems as though he didn't get hurt in the process.

Who is he? Or better yet, what is he?

Through the blurred spectacle my vision can procure, I see a familiar pair of blue eyes staring straight into mine, the very same eyes that remain incomplete in so long as a devious mouth is without them.

But, this time, Grimmjow Jaggerjack isn't smirking; his face is all smeared with distress as he looks down on sorry state. What a waste I am. And then my vision goes black.

TBC