Okay I'm back and I bring chapter seven, as well as some changes to chapter six. I was just looking back at it and realized some sentences got erased and a whole block of text was in bold I was like WTH, I looked back at the original document and it was fine so why it messed up after I uploaded I don't know. It's fixed now.

Fact: In any house in Japan you are more likely to find a rice cooker than a microwave or dishwasher.

Second Fact (just because I feel like it): In Japan they have capsule hotels which are cheaper than an apartment, usually around 59 000 yen a month, originally they were supposed to be for one night uses, they found however people staying there for months at a time. You are now permitted to use a capsule hotel address to land a job interview.

Chapter Seven

"Do you want to live here with me?"

Anyone else in this situation would have answered "What!" at the sheer randomness and stupidity of the idea. "You do not know what you are talking about." Ulquiorra replies casually, lying back down, turning away from Grimmjow, and closing his eyes.

"Oi, I just offered to let you live with me and that's your answer?"

"This is some form of joke, that, or you are touched in the head to a massive extent." Grimmjow is taken aback by this; did Ulquiorra really think this was some form of sick joke?

"Hey! I'm not touched in the head! I'm perfectly sane!"

"One might beg to differ." Ulquiorra tells him in an almost joking manner but, then his voice takes on a more ominous tone. "One does not randomly invite a homeless person to live with them, even if they have crossed paths multiple times, it is not right. To the homeless, people like you are an entirely different species. We do not socialize with you, do not try to draw your attention. Your kind abuses the homeless, the homeless abuse your kind. We steal and cheat you out of what is rightfully yours. It is like two separate worlds, in yours acts such as stealing are forbidden, but on the streets it is trivial, ordinary, like one going to work for the day. For this reason-!"

"Ah, cut the crap already! Jeez, even the way you're talking I can tell you don't think of ya self as part of your two little worlds. My mother's rich and is paying for this place plus I have a job. I'm king of the place I can let ya stay if I wanna. 'Cuz way I see it you are living in the streets for no reason, you don't deserve it, and it sounds like you either don't belong or don't want to. So if that's the case where do you belong? ... Uh...Ulquiorra?" When Grimmjow gazes down he discovers his guest fast asleep, having passed out sometime during Grimmjow's rant due to fatigue.

Maybe Ulquiorra is right, perhaps Grimmjow isn't quite right in the head. To invite someone he doesn't even know into his house is crazy enough but to invite them to live with him, that was defiantly psychotic. Could it have just been an error, being caught up in the moment he pitied Ulquiorra the words had tumbled out? Hm, no, his intentions were pure, he truly felt bad for the guy and for some peculiar reason, the idea of living with him didn't strike as odd to Grimmjow. Perchance he offered because he knew Ulquiorra would say no? "Ugh, no, that's not it either, damn. I truly was hoping he'd stay here, but why?"

Okay Grimmjow, let's say he does say yes, which will only be when he hits his head and ends up with multiple concussions and maybe a coma or two, then a personality switch, and, oh forget it! He'll never say yes, as soon as he wakes up he'll be outta here. But if he does, then what? Grimmjow ruminates to himself. Although Grimmjow will admit at times he has found himself lonely living in this house on his own, it was also true he would feel crowded if he was living with someone. God knew he did when he was living with his mother and the people there barely even acknowledged him. So logically there was no way he would stand living with Ulquiorra with Ulquiorra being...being...well uh, Ulquiorra-ish.

Grimmjow's hands fist in anger, anger because he is confused, because he feels stupid, like a fool. He quickly forces himself to relax when he realizes he is clenching Ulquiorra's hair. It was no lie or joke, when Grimmjow was lost in thought his hands had a tendency to smooth things out. Be it a piece of paper, his pants or shirt, bedding, someone's hair, an animal's fur, usually it was the softest thing around that became victim to Grimmjow's hands. Ulquiorra's hair was soft. Not soft for a homeless person or even humans in general. Ulquiorra's hair was really soft, angelic soft. Grimmjow could just sit there all day revelling in how soft it was. Of course no one knew but one of Grimmjow's strange fetishes was his love and obsession for all things soft, and fuzzy, can't overlook fluffy either.

Resuming his 'petting' Grimmjow smoothes down Ulquiorra's hair, which he had caused to stick up at odd angles when he fisted it, not that it was perfectly flat to begin with. In all honesty Grimmjow could spend hours doing this, it had a calming effect. It didn't really make sense, how could his hair be so soft when there was no way he could wash it every day? He probably didn't have enough money to go to a public bath once a week, and there was defiantly no way he could afford top of the line shampoo and conditioner.

Enough time contemplating something senseless such as why Ulquiorra's hair was so soft, much unlike his own to his displeasure, he needed to clean up the mess in the kitchen, grab something to eat and get to bed. Grimmjow wasn't a complete slob but was far from a neat freak, how clean he was really just depended on what kind of mood he was in. So Grimmjow heads downstairs and looks at the mess lying therein wait of him; spilled food on the stove top, smell of burnt fish in the air, a trace amount of blood on the chair, food still on the table. Well he didn't have to worry about what to eat, there was more than enough and Ulquiorra hadn't touched any of it.

Following wiping up the blood, wiping down the stove top, and spraying some air freshener, Grimmjow sits himself in the chair Ulquiorra sat a while ago. Somehow, looking after that guy made him ravenous. So utensils aside, Grimmjow sets to work on the plate of egg rolls and sushi finishing those off in a matter of seconds. Next he is at the tuna fish sandwich, a personal favourite of his however, before biting into it he removes the lettuce. Unlike Ulquiorra, Grimmjow does not like vegetables no matter how fresh. When he has finished the sandwich he finds himself wanting the fish he burned and is cursing his luck that he is now out of fresh fish. He attempts to eat the rice but before even touching it realizes it is hard, so he settles for reheating the miso soup and consuming that instead.

Approximately half an hour has passed once Grimmjow deems himself full before looking at his next task. For someone who is homeless and hasn't had a real meal in forever, you would think Ulquiorra wouldn't want to waste any food. Grimmjow scowls at the table where there is a good garbage bag worth of food left, not to mention all the dishes. He couldn't leave food out at night something about bacteria multiplying? No toxins? At any rate leaving food out made it unsafe for consumption, so Grimmjow begins to pitch it all into a black garbage bag, feeling kind of shameful that he made all of this food when even he couldn't eat it all. Good thing the garbage was collected tomorrow or this would start to reek. Glancing at the clock Grimmjow groans, it's almost ten o'clock he has to get the garbage out tomorrow morning and has an early sift at the store, early being nine o'clock.

Grimmjow glares at the dishes now piled in the sink and swears they're glaring back. He continues to glare as if they will magically sprout legs and wash themselves. The seconds tick past, literally, that clock really irks Grimmjow he might as well get rid of it, couldn't really even read the thing anyways. Finally he sighs and heads over to the sink. Rolling up his cuffs, which were already undone, he fills the sink with hot water and proceeds to wash the dishes leaving the rice cooker, pans, and pot for last knowing he has to scrub them, especially the fish pan.

Grimmjow's POV

Ugh, I hate doing dishes! I'm not even done yet and my hands are all pruney. Even if I got a dish washer I would still have to rinse them and scrape them then load them and then probably dry them and then put them away. I really don't see the point in those things. It would be better to hire a dishwasher, someone who'd wash the dishes for me. My mouth curls into a wide grin as I toy with the idea of Ulquiorra washing them to pay his rent, not that he would ever agree to live here, but if he did he would probably want to repay me somehow, he could do the dishes. That would give me so much free time, heck he could do all the house work and then I could be rid of mother's staff all together. Not that I really even let them in here anymore, they make the whole house smell like cleaning supplies.

There would be a problem, although I don't let the staff in doesn't mean they don't let themselves in. If I was out at work or something and the staff came in here and found Ulquiorra that would be bad, really bad. Mother hates homeless people, maybe that's the reason I want to help him so much, just so I can rebel against mother again. But, that would be using him, wouldn't it? "Tch, this is making my brain hurt." I say out loud.

Finally I am finished, I drain the sink and hang the towel over the nearest chair to dry. I glance at the little digital clock on the microwave to find it quarter to eleven. Just peachy. Well, kitchen looks clean enough. I turn off the light and lock the front door before turning up the thermostat to a pleasant sleeping temperature. Marching upstairs, quietly I might add, I take a quick hot shower, to my disappointment, I could have stayed in there longer if I wasn't so tired, and wrap myself in my large, plush, blue towel. After flipping into my flannel pyjamas and putting on my slippers I decide I better check on Ulquiorra. Not that I'm concerned or anything, well, maybe if he's dead I would be, I can see it all over the news already, me blamed for his death, kidnapping a homeless kid, well not kid really should ask him if he's really seventeen.

Slowly I open the door to his room, the larger of the two spare bedrooms, the door creaks due to lack of use, damn really should get around to oiling that. I see him bolt up either because of the door or the light spilling onto the bed from the hall. "Grimmjow." Shit.

"Yeah."

"What time is it?" Not a what are you doing question like I expected, he's always doing the unexpected.

"Dunno, midnight, little before, maybe?" I guess.

"Helpful."

"It's not like you have to be somewhere. Hey, no one will be looking for ya will they? I mean tomorrow will be three days you've been here."

"No. What are you doing in here?"

"Just making sure you're not dead n' shit. Well I'm going to bed, have an early shift tomorrow I'll be back at noon, don't try to leave on me or you'll have a repeat of what happened today."

"You mean you reopening my wounds?"

"Yea-hey! No that's not, ugh! You know what I meant! Just stay here, alright? Food's in the fridge, don't die, we'll talk later. I'm going to bed, night." I see him nod his head and I close the door before heading to grab my milk then head to my room. "Little bastard, 'You mean you reopening my wounds?' tch. Can't even tell when he's joking, little emotionless bastard."

Once I've closed my door behind me and turned out the lights, I head over to my king sized bed and pull down the covers, neatly I kick off my kitty slippers before snuggling under my blankets. I drain my milk with a quick swig before settling down. I love, love, love, my bed, and now I probably sound like some sissy four year old girl, whatever. Sometimes being rich has its perks. My mattress is memory foam, my pillow is one of those real feather stuffed ones, so is my duvet, my blanket is vellux, and my throw is one of those fuzzy heavy things that feels more like a cat's fur then material. Overall my bed feels like a cloud, it doesn't take me too long to get warm.

Before drifting off to sleep, I remember wondering if I should be worried about Ulquiorra being in the room adjacent to me. He could easily grab a steak knife from the kitchen and kill me in my sleep. Would be possible too, my knives are out in the open and I'm a pretty deep sleeper. Soon I dismiss the thought. That's just in horror movies besides, I can't see Ulquiorra leering over me, evil glint in his eyes, moonlight reflecting off the knife as he prepares to stab me because of some century long family feud or some shit. The thought really is laughable.

Well about three chapters left.

Care to review?