A/N: This is still raw and is probably ridden with errors. Pardon me for that.
Chapter X: Warning
You, never in your life, would see a face twisted to a more malignant shade than what I'm looking at right now; like, I can actually bet my ass on it. I sit here, frozen in spot, as his face idles inches from mine. If my vision is to be trusted, he looks damn dishy from here, only that he probably won't stay handsome for long as I'm teetering on the verge of stuffing my fist into his face.
"Will you, for fucking once, try to be serious, if not altogether decent?"I hiss in an attempt to sound somehow threatening.
His candor, it seems, cannot be expelled by mere expression of severe irritation, and lending emphasis to that is the way he's retaining his smirk.
"I'm being absolutely serious. But I'm not shoving you into it. If you don't wanna do it now I can wait for a day or two." He asserts with an air of unwavering conceit, as if he's in the most perfect position to give out conditions on which the outcome of things shall depend.
By this time my irritation has reached full throttle. So I lash out, which is perfectly reasonable as I can't really stay sane about what's going on,
"I don't wanna do it ever! Don't you people even attach any significance to decency? I'm a dude, man, not a Barbie!"
His smirk pulls feebly away. With his lips twitching as if to thrive in abandonment, he speaks,
"You're not? Thanks for clearing that up but… it doesn't change a damn thing. Look at you; you seem to be very revolted by my idea. No worries here. I'll be patient because, chances are, I'll be getting that kiss in no time." With the sort of face he's wearing, I'd be damned if fascination would have done him any justice.
So my disgust only serves as a petty obstacle after all. I'm currently sporting the blankest face one could have dreamed of imagining, and along with it is my brain's continuous issuance of stupid orders to my limbs; I'm really having a difficult time trying to prevent my fist from pelting to his damn cheek.
"Dream on, asshole."
"Dreams do come true."
"That's fucking corny."
"Still, it's true."
"Stop it, dammit; it's sending eerie chills all over me. It's disgusting."
Clearly, the remaining of my temper won't last for much now that even by my tiniest actions one can tell how tired I really am. Hoping that he's not entirely invulnerable to hints, I look expressively away as if such would help.
"Well, Kurosaki, the evening has gathered up. I'll be bouncing off for now." He finally announces and, to my immense relief, demonstrates the sincerity of his departure by standing up.
"Yeah, do that and don't ever fucking come back."
Another grin cracks his lips apart, but this comment cannot end without mentioning the irremovable malice playing along every corner of his damn face.
"That's a pretty harsh dismissal. Can you rephrase that? If you can't I'll have to stand here until you change your mind."
With my annoyance appearing plain to any naked eye, I say, with quite an amount of force arising out of each syllable,
"Good night, Grimmjow."
"That's better." He says, and, as if remembering something, pauses before continuing, "Shouldn't you be wishing me luck with my hunt tonight?"
That appeases me a for a second, and in the next harps my curiosity,
"Your what?"
"I'm going. Ciao."
"No—what are you gonna do out there?"
"Out to kill."
He already has one foot over my windowpane. I peruse him, trying to verify something that isn't supposed to be.
"W—what are you having, exactly?"
He withdraws his foot from the windowpane. He burrows his gaze to mine with such a frightening intensity that I now become wholly convinced that his brilliant blue eyes can perhaps do what cold steel always does.
"Good point asking; I still haven't decided. Perhaps a virgin would taste most delectable, wouldn't she?"
I hurl him a glare, indicating there's neither rhyme nor reason to what he has just said, though somehow fear abounds…
"That's a bad joke."
"Is it, now? You started it. I suppose you refused to believe a word of Ulquiorra when he told you we've long ago stopped laying hands on humans. I don't blame you; that git is made of pure bull whose most productive occupation is perpetrating deeds of crappiness. So, allow me to inform you that I will be hunting a bear or a wild cat for tonight. Happy now?"
"Satisfied. Are you very hungry?"
"Yeah. You wanna know what the funny thing is? I was doing okay before I got here. And then you came along, smelling sweeter than ever. Really, sometimes I amaze myself for managing to suppress the most violent of lusts. In any case, you can detain me longer if you're not interested in safeguarding your neck."
He resumes his retreat by mounting one leg over the window, mutually suggesting he means not to express the truth or otherwise of what he has just said.
"Get going now, alright."
"Right, Ichigo."
...
Physical Education class is now turning out to be a thousand pities for me. You see, back in Junior High I was the glorious captain of the Sprint Team; like, I could literally outrun a damn ambulance. No bull. This day, however, is marking the end of all sprinting glories—for me. To expound on that, the day goes as such that my block, Freshmen Section 3, is in the meantime sharing the one-hectare field with a class of sophomores, Sophomores Section 6. Having said that, you can't, at this time, be capable of brewing what in hell is my damn problem. My problem is this: Grimmjow Jaggerjack, a fucking irksome super-being, is on the same field with me, and as I have earlier in the day carved it in stone that I'd make jaws drop with my speed before the session ends, you can pretty much imagine how much of a joy-killing, glory-robbing son of a gun he is at this moment. So, yeah, there he is, making history on the outer lane as our coach plants himself beside their coach, and god knows what sort of worshipful commentaries they're exchanging. To make the long story short, my 12-second 100-meter dash dallies unacknowledged at the background. Come to think of it, Grimmjow can pull that off without breaking a damn sweat. And I am now sweating like swine. Yeah, like, what a surprise. He can go for 90mph, and all these idiots around me are wetting their pants as he hits the hundred by more or less 10 seconds.
Fucking show-off.
I sit myself on the bleachers, from which I can see the bastard sending smirks all over the place and girls glowing red on the cheeks at his show. This is moronic. Why, the sun has chosen the most perfect occasion to be away! If only it would shine on us, just this once, and blast its rays on the bastard of a vampire that is Gimmjow, I'd be very much experiencing something like justice. Yeah, he can just wither to death any minute now; I'm quite sure it's not too much to ask—
"He's pretty fast."
It's Rukia. Well, it's kinda embarrassing on my part to have missed on noticing her, seeing as the damn area is empty except for us. I must have stomped my way here too bitterly for me to give a flying fuck about anyone who might witness my grumbling. Or maybe it's more stupid than it is embarrassing. Whichever weighs more I don't particularly care.
"Oh, Rukia, didn't see you there. Er, yeah, I think he's really fast."
She clamps her hands together and props her chin on them. Meditatively, she eyes Grimmjow with a peculiarly watchful gaze. It's pretty hard to guess or to concentrate on what it means, for, as I trace the target of her gaze, Grimmjow returns the favor by winking at my direction.
"You're friends with the Aizen Children, aren't you?" she asks, making it sound factual rather than assuming.
That gets me thinking, what exactly is my relationship with Grimmjow and Ulquiorra? Neliel is more of an acquaintance; nothing as intimate as a buddy…
"Sort of yeah."
Ooops. It just slipped. It slipped out like some kind of impulse that's so surprising it probably is a tragic revelation about myself. Me? Friends with those bastards? By god, this is the first time that the thought of having a couple more friends is causing me more alarm than pleasure.
"I figured that much." She says, as if to no one in particular. Her tone, however, is brimming with such a knowing edge that I almost feel like wanting to scowl at her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I inquire, in the hopes of successfully parading a tinge of indignity at her assertion.
"Nothing. I noticed they're especially keen on keeping tabs on you, which is something as rare as nothing else." She answers without looking at me, an abstract, almost unthinking, consideration evident in her gaze.
"Rare?"
"Can you dispute that, Ichigo?"
"I don't know. I still don't know them—to any depth." I say—that which is a total lie. Jesus, this is just the type of conversation I'd be willing to chuck out without a damn hesitation, even if it meant spending a few private minutes with a chick like Rukia.
"Really? I was under the impression that you had gone off with Ulquiorra on his red Mustang yesterday."
Luckily, although these exchanges with her are becoming more of a strain than I was ever cruel enough to show, I manage to hold back my impending retorts.
"I couldn't have said 'no' to a free ride on a gorgeous Mustang, could I? If you, however, choose not to understand that, I hope the fact that I'm a man who holds distinct fondness over sports cars would somehow suffice for an explanation." I say coolly.
"Alright, I'll get straight to the point." She says, and then she sighs, and without any prelude to a most peculiar remark continues, "I'm advising you against getting too intimate with them, the Aizens."
I only have enough mindset to shoot a quick glance at Grimmjow before securing my gaze back at her. In the split second I have devoted to gather Grimmjow's reaction to this, I caught an unmistakable, cold contempt flash in his eyes. He heard her; I'm quite sure of that, and he's not too happy about it.
"Oh, come on, Rukia, they're not as bad as you think!"
"You don't know what I'm thinking. You don't know what I know."
My heart contracts. Is it possible that I'm not alone in carrying that one great truth, the only truth, but nevertheless the deplorable truth, in my mind? No, it's not possible; it just can't be.
"What are you trying to say?" I ask with each syllable given its due stress.
"Depend upon it; you'll be thanking me in no distant date ahead."
I don't know what's propelling these coarse activities of my chest to go on, but surely I've to have a say to her not-so-misplaced warnings.
"Not if I can avoid it. In any case, I thank you for your concern."
"Ichigo, please, just—"
"—Just what, Rukia? Stay away from my weird friends? I'm sorry but I can't do that. Not when I've gone too deep in it."
She is looking thoroughly stiff and mortified. She protracts her head to the ground to augment her mute distress, which on her part is sincere. At length she recovers her ground and begins,
"Don't you get it? He fancies you! Ulquiorra Scheiffer fancies you like a boy should fancy a girl! I'm not gonna let you—I just can't—"
"—Let me what?"
"Be that way, of course! I know he's handsome, rich, intelligent, and everything, but if you could just…" She falters, and, as color flushes her cheeks scarlet, understanding dawns on me. She's jealous. I would've laughed openly if only my pride were not as high as to refuse to deal with such petty triumph.
I let my eyes wander to where Grimmjow is. Meters away from us, he is pulling a few stretches to prepare for another dash.
"I understand how you feel, but your suspicion is unwarranted for I can't submit to such inclination. There's no way in hell Ulquiorra would get what he wants, if he indeed is holding something like that for me."
Rukia heaves a sigh. Finally, without attending to my assurance, she stands up.
"Okay. I'll stretch now." She proceeds to the field, leaving me as though the topic we have just discussed was away from anyone's interests except my own alone. Are all girls as untoward as she is? If so, I can just go about having a field day with ego-boosting.
...
The end of the day is delivering me more inconveniences than I can conceivably handle. Grimmjow Jaggerjack is right outside my classroom, leaning against a column, perhaps knowing he'll receive nothing less than my cold dismissal. He's sporting a face that suggests mischief is at work.
"What do you want?"
Students are flooding the hallway, as if to signal me to keep my voice down if I don't want to create an episode from this most unwanted encounter.
"So, you gonna follow your friend's advice?" he asks. People around us have started to stare, for surely Grimmjow is revealing more teeth than they're accustomed to seeing. Therefore, for totally different reasons from before, I badly want him away from me. He's grinning like an escaped lunatic, only that he's just the sort of lunatic who can smile the pants off women and men alike, and if I'm not planning on making his beauty shine more brilliantly by contrast with mine I should better leave.
"I don't know what you're blabbering about. Goodbye." I sidestep him.
"Not so fast." I hear him murmur just in time before I hunker away from him.
I can't sense anyone trailing my behind which, however, doesn't come as a comfort to me, simply because you can't escape a vampire. Especially not when his foremost occupation is to stalk you, and most certainly not when his current obsession is to win a kiss from you.
I hastily scoot my way outside the building for no particular consequence. Yeah, there's no sound to worry about, no sight that might threaten my complacency, and no other presence to rob me of my peace. And yet I know someone's right behind me. I turn around. In no time flat does he materialize before me from a blur.
"Grimmjow, there's a shitload of homework I have to finish, so if you could save taking a few precious hours from me, I'd be forever grateful."
His inherent expertise in giving me an electric shock with his malicious grin comes in full-play. Despite being on an open space with a number of other individuals on it, I feel abjectly cornered by an inescapable mishap.
"I just asked you a question. Do you plan on staying away from me? Your friend—what's her name?—has strongly advised you to cut ties with Ulquiorra which, frankly, isn't so stinking an idea. In fact it's genius. But would you do the same to me? If she asked you to? She's cute, by the way."
I'm quite sure the grin he's pulling now will haunt me in long days ahead. Just what the hell is so funny anyway?
"Stay away from you? Let's see… if I try to calculate the mathematical probability of my success in that—staying away from you—it'll amount to something…well, guess, Grimmjow."
He rubs his chin to complete a poor imitation of serious meditation.
"Hmm… how about close to zero?"
"Try harder."
"Very close to zero?"
"Just a bit more."
"Really very close to zero?"
"No, dammit. The answer is damn zero."
"Oh." He grins in as much delight had satisfaction come to him unsought.
"You know why?" I pursue.
His grin climbs one degree higher on the malignity scale. I can faintly discern that the astounding quality of his imagination is being employed to complete operation.
"Is it because you're hopelessly in love with me?"
I have long ago gone past the stage of getting stupefied by his obscenity, therefore I'm given the privilege to stay calm about his heinous remark. So I answer,
"No. It's so damn far away from being that, mind you. It's the other way around, mister. And if you won't believe that, why don't you try going away from me, just this fucking once. Or can't you?"
His lips slacken, his arms droop at his sides, and his brows are starting to form a set of complicated creases on his forehead. At last, t's my turn to be the mighty smirking son of a bitch.
"You have the damn nerve, Kurosaki."
"I sure do. But really now, Grimmjow, what's to be done here? I have to get going, and if you keep following me around you'd just give me more reason to think you are, in point of fact, in love with me."
My lips are curling into a sinister curve that could've sent a hyena fleeing. Looking entirely discommoded, he on the other hand stays rooted to where he is, neither smiling nor frowning, like a frozen shadow without a substance or a quality of its own.
I continue, "See you later, Grimmjow Jaggerjack Aizen."
As I walk away from the speechless bastard, my tread regains its fundamental pace even granted that I'm really alone now and that I should've acquired more perks. Oh sweet victory is mine indeed—
"Ichigo."
Something in the manner of his appeal eggs me to turn around, and when I do so it strikes me that so much in his countenance is bent on inspiring terror in me. And so it happens that the matter is not yet closed; on the contrary, it's only beginning…
"Yeah, Grimmjow?"
He pegs his way to me, his eyes largely accountable to a thousand malicious intents and lips resuming their former features, before stopping short of a foot from me. I look warily around, hoping for some unforeseen turn of fortune, anything. He removes one of his hands from his pocket, reaches out for my head, and pulls me close to his face—close enough for a kiss. He whispers,
"Come with me. Come to my house, to my room."
TBC
A/N: If Rukia's pleas to Ichigo sound very much like Severus Snape's to Lily Evans revealed in The Deathly Hallows, you got me. Thanks for reading. I'm really, really sorry for the slow pacing. I just can't find a way to do it otherwise.