I had a good chunk of this chapter already written, and then FF logs me out...ah I wish you had an autosave feature...At any rate, a little drama for you all, since romcoms tend to have those moments of epic drama...

This chapter was written to The Best Deceptions and Vindicated (both by Dashboard Confessional)

Ulquiorra's parents are shockingly normal, exactly like he said they were. Mrs. Schiffer is the spitting image of her son (or is it the other way around?), except in a more feminine version. You know, longer hair and classy pearl necklaces and stuff. At any rate, I do find her quite a nice person. She's rather polite and doesn't force food down your throat when you don't want it (like Mama Jeagerjacques would); she inquires politely about your hobbies and your courses without being incredibly nosy (like Mama Jeagerjacques would; leave her alone in a room with you long enough, she'll be asking after your great-grandfather and the number of prostitutes he had back in his day); she keeps her emotions under check and always appears calm and reserved, with a slight smile hanging around the corners of her eyes (not like Mama Jeagerjacques, who thinks accidental fireworks in the neighborhood is a sure sign that D-Day is upon us yet again). Mrs. Schiffer is some kind of scientist. Botany, I think it was. Something to do with plants. I can see where Ulquiorra gets his scientific nature.

Mr. Schiffer is your typical businessman. Hair slicked back, clean shaven, always in formal wear, Armani suits with crisp lapels and sharp shoulders. Well, not Armani suits in the house, but a nice dress shirt and crisp slacks, but I mean, if he was at work, he would be wearing that kind of thing. He's a very quiet man, and he and Ulquiorra don't talk much, but the two of them are pretty stoic individuals. Or at least, that's my opinion. I grew up in a pretty loud household.

The house itself is incredibly nice. Not too rich-looking, but still quite a classy home. It's very different from mine. It has that whole minimalist feel going for it, without being too minimalist...if that made any sense. Basically, think of sleek silver appliances and nice furniture in cozy rooms painted in shades of autumn instead of shades of gray.

That's how my life kind of is right now. Shades of gray, I mean. I'm doing fairly well in school and my life is pretty okay, all things considering, but it's just this thing with Ulquiorra. Mixed signals and all that.

Here. Let me get a rose from the backyard. I guess Mrs. Schiffer likes them a lot; there's quite a few bushes out here. I think Decision Rose will help me decide.

"Together. Not together. Together..." and so on and so forth. Although I'm prone to cheating when it comes to things like that, and I'm not sure Mrs. Schiffer would be terribly pleased to go outside to prune her rosebushes and find petals all over the lawn.

Oh. Wait a moment. I should probably go back inside. I hear someone shouting, and if there just so happens to be a fire, thank God I'm professionally trained in stopping, dropping, and rolling. That was a terrible joke. If it was even a joke. Good God, I don't know what's wrong with me today. I guess I'm just stressed about this whole Ulquiorra thing.

And at any rate, it looks like it's going to rain.

There was no fire. Not even smoke. I was a bit disappointed, because I thought it could spice things up with a little heat, but I guess I'm asking for too much. English majors tend to do that. English majors also tend to hide behind corners to eavesdrop on other people's conversations. This is a reminder, kids: whenever you want to complain and have a whole sermon about all the things wrong with someone, check your corners and make sure they're not hiding behind them within earshot before you start your rant.

Mr. Schiffer: "Ulquiorra, why didn't you tell us you had a boyfriend? Or that you were gay, for that matter?"
Ulquiorra: "Mum knew...I've tried to tell you before, but apparently I'm not as important as the stock market for you to pay attention about 'trivial' things like your son's orientation."
Mr. Schiffer: "I don't approve of him. He's messy-looking, and scruffy, and he's an English major? English? What does he even plan to do with that kind of degree? Because teaching's pretty much the only option, and let me tell you right now, teachers aren't going to be doing very well in the next few decades."

Ulquiorra: "Dad, it doesn't matter what he's going to be, okay? So what if he's an English major? At least we wouldn't be having arguments over how many neutrons are in the most common isotope of carbon, like I'd be having with some other people." Well, at least he's right there; I couldn't give a shit about how many neutrons are in the most common isotope of carbon.

Mr. Schiffer: "Furthermore, you didn't even tell us you were going to be bringing him home. Now you know your mother and I have a very strict policy about you doing things like this -"
Ulquiorra: "Once again, Dad, Mum knew, alright? You were probably busy with merging branches or something like that. And don't bring Mum into this, it's not her fight to have."

Mr. Schiffer: "I'm incredibly disappointed in you. I hope you know that. Not only do you fail to communicate properly with me, you're also making bad decisions. You don't know anything about him, or his family or background. For all you know, he could be a serial rapist or a murderer. And at any rate, he's a terrible influence on you. When you left for school this year, you didn't have those piercings. What next, are you gonna be getting tattoos and smoking opium and...and becoming some kind of prostitute? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Silence. [DAYUMMM...THAT MAN IS FIERCE...looks like I'm wrong about that quiet man stereotype...]

Ulquiorra: "Dad, I'm going out. Tell Mum I'll be home late."
Mr. Schiffer: "Don't you dare turn your back on me, young man -"

And then rapid footsteps towards my 'hiding' location, and as Ulquiorra steps through the doorway, he sees me. And damn, I thought I had a pretty good hiding place...right up there with Osama Bin Laden's and Anne Frank's...well, except they're both dead...and given the way Mr. Schiffer was talking about me, I could very well be the next in line to join the Hide 'n Seek Dead World Champions' Hall of Fame. Or something like that.

While I'm busy trying to think of some kind of response (I get tongue tied pretty frequently), Ulquiorra grabs my arm and says, "Come on; we're going out."

And out we go.

Only three more days at his house...or his car...I've adapted quite well to living the mobile lifestyle...

Ulquiorra Insert

I don't know what the hell is wrong with my dad, if you'll pardon my language.

I seriously don't. So what if I brought Grimmjow home? My mother definitely said it was okay over the phone, and it's not like Dad is going to be doing any of the cooking or cleaning or housework or anything.

No.

What's going to happen is he's going to sit down, glare at Grimmjow all throughout every meal, get all snappy with everyone else while still trying to maintain a composed profile, and then eventually spontaneously implode halfway through the tiramisu. You'd think he was some kind of gamer whose 50 kill streak got broken in Call of Duty, or something like that.

I mean, mother of God.

Piercings? I had them before I even met Grimmjow, and I think they're quite nice. Silver flair.
Tattoos? I've thought about it, but what does it matter?
Smoking opium? I don't think so; I wouldn't even begin to know where to get opium, or pipes, or the money to get opium and pipes.
Prostitution? What the hell was that accusation? That was a bit uncalled for, don't you think?

Like I'd even have money to spend on lingerie anyway.

What an idiot.

Dramatic chapter...bleh, I don't even know how it came out, so tell me what you think.

-Skyskater