- Chapter Five -

Author's Warning: Angst ahead. There will be more light-hearted moments to come though, I promise!

- T Minus 19 hours-

Ichigo stood in his old kitchen, the floors and cabinets and counters all a varying shade of off-white. He was holding a glass of ice water in front of a surprisingly empty sink and was looking into the living room, the two rooms only separated by a bar-level counter he'd once eaten breakfast at every morning.

It was all clean.

He blinked a few times, taking a sip distractedly as he continued to eye the area in confusion. Grimmjow hadn't been a huge slob when they'd lived together, but Ichigo had definitely been the reason their place had resembled a place where adults lived.

His gaze shifted to the left wall and the closed door that led to his old bedroom and then Grimmjow's, which was only a few feet from it and ajar; maybe he lived with someone now. He hadn't mentioned it though when he'd pretty much told him to let himself in with the spare key that was predictably wedged between the top of the entryway's doorframe and wall. The living room still had the same furniture, and in the same places too; a worn, brown leather couch sat in the middle with a wooden coffee table set in front of it, and a 39-inch flatscreen on a glass-shelved entertainment system was on the back wall situated tightly between two windows. Ichigo had only taken his bedroom stuff, despite he and Grimmjow owning all the living room furniture 50/50, because Rukia hadn't wanted him to put anything in her professionally and fully outfitted condo. He'd ended up taking everything but his clothes to his dad's and putting it back in his old room.

Ichigo found himself walking out of the kitchen, past the couch he'd watched countless movies on and played video games through the night, and he stopped in front of his room. He breathed in slowly as his hand settled on the knob, and then he turned it, cracking it open and peering in as he did. It was empty.

He carefully pushed the door all the way open as he walked into the room, looking around at the empty space that felt odd without any of his stuff inside it, and then he stopped by his window to crouch down. There was a folded up note with his name on it lying on the carpet. He frowned as he picked it up. He didn't remember it. It looked like Grimmjow's handwriting-

"Hey."

Ichigo stood up with a start at the gruff voice, and he shoved the piece of paper into his pocket as he turned. He found himself meeting the gaze of his old best friend, who was standing in the doorway, wearing just a pair of gym shorts and no shirt, looking taller than he remembered and more muscular and older and... not happy. "Hey," he said, running a hand up the back of his neck and then rubbing at his hair just above it in agitation, "sorry, I was just looking around."

The blue-haired guy shrugged, leaning his shoulder on the doorway's frame. "S'fine, it's your room."

"Was my room," Ichigo said back for some reason. He grimaced when Grimmjow didn't respond. "Thanks for meeting with me."

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side. "Yeah. What's up?"

Ichigo felt the urge to leave at the simple question. He didn't know what he'd been planning. He didn't know why he'd thought seeing Grimmjow ahead of time would be better. It wasn't. In fact, he was pretty sure it was way worse, because he wanted to say everything and nothing all at once. He wanted things to feel like they used to between them, but at the same time he wished he'd feel like a complete stranger. Unfortunately, it just felt like some kind of in-between, shitty purgatory instead. He looked around, not focusing on any one thing for too long, and he scratched at his chest when something twisted inside of it. "I thought we should talk."

"Okay." Grimmjow crossed his arms, his biceps flexing as he waited, and his stomach muscles lengthened on one side and grew more defined on the other as he leaned more on the frame of the bedroom's doorway. "I'm listening."

Ichigo hesitated, surprised by how calm Grimmjow was being. Their last few weeks together, he'd been explosive, blowing up at the tiniest thing and sometimes nothing at all. He said the only thing he could think of, "Why are you coming tonight?"

The taller man lifted his chin, to look down at him from under heavy lids, piercing cobalt eyes seemingly indifferent, and he made Ichigo wait for a painfully long moment. "Why didn't you invite me?"

Ichigo felt a sudden rush of anger, and he took a step forward. "Because we're not friends anymore, Grimmjow," he bit out lowly, and he wasn't sure if he was so angry because it was true, or because Grimmjow had just made him admit it out loud.

Grimmjow stood upright at that, his expression slowly darkening to match Ichigo's. "Oh really? Well thanks for telling me, Ichigo, because I thought you didn't stop being someone's friend over a stupid fight."

"Stupid fight?" Ichigo barked back, his anger only growing, "Is that what you think happened between us? You're such a fucking asshole!"

"Yeah?" Grimmjow said, moving into the empty bedroom. "Well at least I'm not a little bitch."

"Fuck you, Grimmjow!" Ichigo shouted, moving forward more to bring himself in front of a glowering Grimmjow. "You really wanna know why I didn't invite you? Well I'll tell you! It's because I fucking hate you!"

Grimmjow paused at that, his eyes widening the slightest bit before narrowing to slits, and his lips pulled back, but not in a smile. "You know what. Fine. I won't come to your fucking little party. I was trying to make things right between us, but forget it. Now get out of my house,"—the blue-haired man snarled—"it shouldn't be hard, you're good at running away."

Ichigo blinked a few times, Grimmjow's last words catching him off guard. "I didn't run away from you." His response more knee-jerk than anything.

Grimmjow let out a sharp laugh that cut off in a low growl. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Ichigo felt a little dizzy as he tried to calm down and process what all was being said. "I might have moved out, but I tried to talk to you," he said, defensively, "I thought it was the only way we'd stay friends, because we were fighting so much," he insisted, wanting to make his case for some reason, "You stopped answering my texts."

"Yeah"—Grimmjow gave a flippant shrug that made Ichigo clench his jaw—"I had nothing to say."

"Why not?" Ichigo asked, and he shifted even closer, bringing himself only inches from Grimmjow. A breathy laugh escaped his lips, and he felt a little crazy, because his thoughts were racing almost as fast as his heart, and he didn't know how to slow any of it, and he thought he could smell mint on the taller man's breath, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. "Why not? How could you just forget me like that? What'd I ever do to deserve that?"

Grimmjow said nothing, his cobalt eyes not as sure as icy, blue brows furrowed.

Ichigo stared up at him, and he gave another clipped laugh and shook his head when Grimmjow offered no explanation. "Great. Thanks, I shouldn't have come here. Rukia's going to be so pissed at me."

"Fuck that bitch."

Ichigo felt himself shove Grimmjow before he could even process what he was doing. "Shut the hell up!"

The blue-haired man was up in his face almost immediately, his expression cold and full of fury, his exposed chest visibly heaving. "Why don't you make me?" he growled.

- flashback, 5 years ago -

A seventeen year old Grimmjow lay on his bed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie, shouting and cursing and thumping coming from the room beside his. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind feeling detached from his body. It wouldn't help to intervene. He knew that. It only made it worse. So much worse.

The blue-haired teen clenched his jaw, and he pushed off his bed after the next thump sounded just above his head. He narrowly eyed the closed door to his room for only a second before stepping into loosely laced shoes at the foot of his bed, and he strode silently to his open window and climbed out, dropping onto the muddy ground just outside as quietly as he could.

He glanced around the rough neighborhood late at night as he made his way for the poorly lit road, the air strong and cold, and then he was making his way along a familiar path with his hood up and hands in his sweatshirt pocket, ignoring barking dogs and random shouts from behind closed doors. The day before was running through his wired thoughts over and over, because he knew he'd have to say something about it very soon. He hadn't done anything wrong, he knew that too, but then why did he feel like there was a fucking jackhammer inside his chest. Ichigo's face when he'd opened his door flashed in his mind, and he swore under his breath and picked up his pace.

Soon he was on Ichigo's street, and he slowed down as he approached the Kurosaki household, all the lights out inside the single one-story. He crossed over onto soft grass, and then he jogged the last couple steps before jumping and grabbing onto the white windowsill. He breathed a grunt as he pulled himself up, and then he was climbing in, Ichigo's room blanketed in darkness but for the light from outside.

"Grimmjow...?" Ichigo sat up in his bed, sounding surprised, and it made the tension in Grimmjow's chest twist harder. "What're you doing here?"

The blue-haired teen kicked off his shoes as he approached his friend. "I'm sorry, Ichigo," he said simply, "I've been an asshole."

The orange-haired teen sat silent for a long moment, looking torn between shocked and angry, and Grimmjow felt a cold shiver shake through him. "Yeah, you have"—Ichigo sighed and lifted his blanket—"come on."

Grimmjow silently climbed onto the bed beside his friend, like he had more times than he could count over the years, and he hesitated only for a second before pulling him towards him. "I didn't know you were coming over yesterday," he said, and Ichigo seemed to melt against him. He closed cobalt eyes as he enjoyed the feeling, his best friend's body warm. Ichigo was always warm.

"I know," was said quietly, and Ichigo rested his head under Grimmjow's chin and against his neck and chest.

The tall, blue-haired teen felt spiky hair poking him in the neck, and he ran his hand down his friend's exposed side, feeling him shiver closer against him when he hovered at the dip of his lower back just above his boxers. "It didn't mean anything." Then he paused, and he wet dry lips. "I swear, Ichigo, it meant nothing."

"Why'd you fuck him then?" was asked in a hoarse voice.

Grimmjow bit down on his lower lip hard. "You gotta girlfriend, I didn't think you'd care."

Ichigo didn't respond, he just buried himself closer against the taller boy's cold body, and Grimmjow tightened his grip around him.

"Do you hate me?" he asked.

"Yeah."