This chapter was written to I'm Ready, I Am - The Format.

Here, little miss piplup, this chapter is dedicated to you.

He drove like a madman. Honestly, I've never seen someone peel out of a cul-de-sac so damn fast, practically burning rubber on the asphalt. It was terrifying, and I thought for a moment that I was going to die.

Psychic horror, is what it's called. Those minutes before death when you just know that the Grim Reaper [or dementors, if you're really into that kind of stuff] is coming to steal your soul away, and you know you can't do jack about it. That's what those few moments in the car with Ulquiorra were like. My God, he took a turn at 30 miles an hour! Sweet Jesus Lord, I really thought we were going to tip over, and I tried to lean to the other side to keep us balanced. As if my meager physics knowledge would have helped any. Torque, and all that, would have finished us off, or something.

I squeezed my eyes shut sometime after the third ran red light (well, in all honesty, I guess if I was in his situation, I would have done that too; I mean, the sensors were malfunctioning or something, and there were no other cars in the intersection or approaching said intersection), and I only opened them again after we had stopped.

Hell if I knew where we were.

Big city. Lots of buildings. People on the sidewalk, milling around under umbrellas. Ulquiorra digging for quarters to feed the meter. I admired his parallel parking skills. Hey, it's pretty tough trying to parallel park in a space that's only inches big enough for your car and room to maneuver out of said space. Takes a lot of talent. I was definitely impressed. I guess his good sense of measurement comes from his science-y background and whatnot.

We stepped into the rain. He was wearing this black dress shirt number with dark jeans, and with that hair, my God...No one should be allowed to look that gorgeous. Ever. Especially not when they're getting soaked to the bone and definitely should look more like a wet cat than a runway model.

I just kind of tagged along with him, because he seemed to be moving rather purposefully, shoving through all those people with their umbrellas and whatnot. Can I stand under your umbrella? Ella, ella, ella, eh eh eh? Ulquiorra? Hell no. Just push right on through. Umbrellas are for the weak. And saying 'excuse me, pardon me' is for the weak, too.

At some point, when my gray and blue argyle sweater was positively drenched, he made a sharp right into an alley.

Me: "This is a dead end."
Him: "Yes, Grimmjow, I can see that."
Me: "It's raining."

Now that I've managed to sound like a complete imbecile...

I watched as he exhaled, tiny puff puffs of mist. Watched as he turned his face up to the sky -

"Are you crying?"

"...I'm definitely not."

I hugged him. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? Stand there awkwardly like a brick wall, not knowing what to do with any part of my body? My God, talk about awkward situations...

We hugged for so long that I thought maybe he had fallen asleep, or that someone would look into the alley and immediately accuse me of rape, on account of how sad he was and all that, and I definitely would not want to be accused of rape. Because that would ruin the relationship. And somehow, I don't see myself reacting well to an arrest.

During the interview, I'd probably say something meme-related to the interrogator, something like, "Hey, bro, calm your tits or something." And that would not go over well.

At some point, after we were both thoroughly soaked, he mumbled something about going for coffee and karaoke.

Karaoke?

Makes us sound like a couple of Japanese tourists, but it's fine. Better to comply with a crying person's demands than spurning their requests entirely.

The karaoke bar next door frowned upon our standing there, looking hopeless and dripping all over their freshly mopped hallway. So sue us. I personally couldn't care less, and Ulquiorra's death look could send Voldemort to a premature grave.

They put us in a tiled room [of course], and set down our coffees rather hard on the table [of course]. Ulquiorra calmly took a sip of coffee, black, and thumbed through the black book of songs.

While I was still locked in an epic war with the stubborn flap of a coffee creamer, he started.

"Strike up the band
Deprive my sleep
'Cause there's no love like apathy
The bell that tolls rings loud enough
That it should have woke us up..."

Two lumps of sugar later...

"I'm trying to find truth
in words, in rhymes, in notes
in all the things I wish I'd wrote
cause I feel like I've been losing you
each night it ends too soon
you don't hold me like you used to
and your eyes look like they've seen too much 'cause
it's always some excuse
too tired, too obtuse
you look so far, removed
this time I fear I'm losing you for good..."

He finished the song. He handed the microphone to me.

I put it on the table, next to my forgotten coffee.

Turned to him. Watched him take another sip of black coffee.

"Hey, Ulquiorra."
"Hm?"

And then I kissed him. Even though I felt like my heart was going to beat its way out of my rib cage.

"You could never lose me. You're too methodical for that."

And then he smiled. And kissed me back.

Ulquiorra Insert

Who knew the workers at Sunshine Karaoke were so damn rude? I mean, honestly, what the hell. I paid for coffee and a room. I definitely did not pay to have you slam my coffee down on the table and spill it all over the mahogany. Come on. Think of the exploited workers in Jamaica who had to work hard to harvest those coffee beans or whatever.

That's me, all right. Always looking out for my fellow man. Ulquiorra Schiffer, the humanitarian.

At any rate. The Format is a pretty good band. I sang "I'm Ready, I Am" by them.

Grimmjow didn't sing. Which sucks, I was looking forward to hearing him sing.

He kissed me. Can you believe it? He kissed me.

I definitely was not ready for that.

And then he pulled back and told me some shit about me being methodical that I think was supposed to be a compliment, but I couldn't hear him clearly over the sound of my heart palpitating in my eardrums. For a moment, I thought I was having an arrhythmia. Or a cranial hemorrhage.

And then we kissed again.

Just for the record, I didn't start it. Or encourage it.

I just simply complied.

Compliance. That's all it was.

For the record, I definitely don't cry.

Definitely not.

And damn...I think this shirt is going to shrink.