The time has come again for another GrimmUlqui fanfic, induced from my COVID-19 quarantine in NYC! I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!
This fanfic is inspired by a GU fanfic I never finished many, many years ago. So, needing some distraction during this Coronavirus madness, I took the idea for the story out of the grave and revived it with a better story.
Of course, being an AU, I will attempt to keep the essence of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra's characters while giving them my own twist. Think of Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, but if they were plopped into a romantic dramedy. And that's what you can expect. At the time of publishing this, I am about 80% done with the whole story so this WILL be finished and not abandoned. Expect updates once every week.
I hope someone gets some enjoyment out of this. I know I've had a blast revisiting our favorite Espada duo. If you like this pairing, I have a GU FIFA World Cup AU on my profile page called The Beautiful Game.
"It was nice meeting you, Jaegerjaquez-san."
Grimmjow doubted it. He'd only been in the interview for ten minutes. The others before him had been interviewed for fifteen minutes or longer.
He only managed a grunt and a nod as she clasped his hand. She pulled away quickly, as if she'd dipped her hand into something foul and cold.
"We'll be in touch."
The same response, every time. He knew by now what that meant. Thanks, but no thanks. You're not wanted here. The frustration surged, and desperation left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"I'll pick up a shift if someone can't come in, doesn't matter what it is. I'll wash dishes, clean—"
She smiled and he could tell his words had gone right through her. "Thank you for your enthusiasm, Jaegerjaquez-san."
Did he have to beg? They wanted employees, and he was willing to work. What more could they want?
"Jaegerjaquez-san, we have others waiting. We will be in touch."
Wordlessly, he lurched from the seat, feeling cold to the tips of his toes. He grabbed his coat and stepped out into the rain. It was the worst kind of rainy day: windy, where every gust pierced through the holes in his coat and lashed at his goose-pimpled flesh like an icy whip. He burrowed clammy hands in his pockets and scowled when his hand dangled through the hole in his pocket.
A line of people hid beneath their umbrellas, checking the resumes in their bags. Each one immaculately dressed, whether they were in jeans and dress shirts or sporting ties or freshly-ironed skirts.
Gnashing his teeth, he bowed his head and shuffled through the streets, shivering each time frigid rain water flooded into his shoes. He'd found them on the streets, abandoned outside a nightclub in the early hours of the morning. They were a size too big, and they weren't water proof, but they were a step above the plastic bags he'd tied around his feet after his sneakers fell apart.
Shades of indigo and light blue tugged his gaze to a window display. Mannequins showed off the finest suits and dress shirts Grimmjow could never afford. His own reflection seemed to mock him, his entire existence a stark contrast to the elegant display. Faded jeans with holes in the knee, a plain white tee with a hole in the collar. At least he'd washed them. With what little money he had dwindling, the least he could do was wash his ratty clothes.
If he could at least get a job before the money ran out, he wouldn't have to worry about when he could no longer afford to keep his clothes clean.
Once he got a job—but who was he kidding? It didn't matter how many times he washed his clothes, or how many time he scrubbed himself clean. His clothes hung off his frame, his coat practically swallowed him. From his jutting cheekbones to his wild black hair, he looked like a dead man walking.
No one would give him a chance. They took one look at him and could either tell he was homeless, or assumed he was a desperate drug addict trying to afford his next fix. Never mind that he hadn't touched drugs in all his life, or how hard he worked to present himself in a different light. He would always be nothing more than a stray cat to be pitied and avoided.
Tired blue eyes gazed up at the suits. People always took for granted just how important a good first impression truly was, from the way one dressed to how they conducted themselves. Even something as simple as a change of clothes could turn his luck around, but the cost to rent a suit was too high, not if he wanted to keep a roof over his head.
Shivering, he descended into the metro. He approached the gate and tapped his card but the gates wouldn't budge. He groaned. His card was out of money. He flipped open his wallet and found it empty. He ran his finger along the inside of his shoe and his stomach dropped. He kept money in his shoe in case of emergencies, but the seams had split in his shoe. He'd just lost his ride to the hotel.
He looked both ways and found the station empty. Cameras observed him through a single black eye from above. He jumped the turnstile and jogged toward the stairwell. He shivered in his damp clothes as he waited until distant footfalls caught his attention. Two patrol officers descended the steps, coming straight for him.
"Hey, kid! Wait!"
The wind whipped his hair back as a train hurtled into the station. Grimmjow lurched to his feet and bolted for the train as the doors flew open. The officers thundered after him. Grimmjow squeezed through the doors and a hand clawed at his jacket just as the doors closed. The platform became a blur and disappeared behind him.
Blinking water out of his eyes and shivering in his soaked clothes, Grimmjow could hardly wait to hit the showers when he arrived at the hotel. The lobby air conditioning tore a shudder from him as he sped past the front desk.
"Jaegerjaquez!"
He grimaced at the sound of Kukaku's brash voice. She sprawled in a revolving chair behind the desk, glaring at him beneath her spiky black bangs.
"You told my staff you'd have the money last week. It's Monday."
Gnashing his jaw, Grimmjow dragged his feet back to the desk. "Yeah, well I thought I'd have a job by now. I need more time."
Kukaku stuck her pipe between her teeth. "It's been months, kid. I've been reasonable, I have, but I have a business to run. We agreed on the reduced rate so long as you could pay it, and so far you haven't delivered."
His fingers curled, stomach roiling nauseously. "Give me a week. I'm looking around everywhere, someone's gotta hire me eventually."
"I've given you months, Jaegerjaquez. I have customers who can pay lining up to take your place."
Jaw tight, Grimmjow couldn't speak.
"I need you out, Jaegerjaquez. Tonight."
"You want me to pay? Get me a job. I'll work for you if I fucking have to!"
"And I've told you all my positions are filled. I'm done talking about this."
Anger left him speechless.
Kukaku sprinkled tobacco in her pipe. "You must have someone you can turn to, Jaegerjaquez."
He'd be damned before he went to his aunt for help. Not after what she'd done. He'd entrusted her with his secret, and she'd ruined everything.
"You want me out, I'm fucking gone." He found his locker and gathered what little toiletries he had, slamming the door. He jumped the stairs and shouldered past people to his room.
His capsule room was at the end of a long hallway, filled with other capsule rooms stacked one on top of the other. He slapped his card against the touch screen and wrenched the sliding door open when the lock clicked. He boosted himself inside the room.
The room was cheaper despite that it boasted more arm-width than other capsule hotels. He hit his head on the ceiling as he knelt.
It's good I'm leaving, he thought, checking for any items he might have left. Like hell I could stand one more night in this cramped shithole. The streets will be better than this!
But it was warm, and despite that he was a six-foot monstrosity, this little room had more than enough legroom. The hotel was clean, the staff was friendly, greeting him by name. The past three months here had begun to feel like a second home. Kukaku was a decent sort. She'd given him more chances than he deserved.
If she really care, she'd have helped me. I don't need her. I don't need anyone.
He retrieved a handful of bills he kept in his pillowcase. He'd been saving what little he had to pay off Kukaku. Now, he would need it to survive.
He returned to the lobby. The sickly sweet stench of tobacco made him cough. Kukaku observed him behind the desk, pipe tucked behind her ear. "Kid, whatever your aunt did ain't worth punishing yourself. If you have family, go to them. Swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask for help."
Grimmjow swallowed the growl in his throat. "Sure." He grunted, not meaning a word. He couldn't say why, but he didn't want her to worry.
"Good luck, kid."
Like you care, he thought, stepping out into the rain.
Grimmjow sought shelter from the rain beneath a bus stop, huddling with his knees to his chest on the bench while rain came down in torrents around him.
"Help me!"
Grimmjow's heart gave a lurch. He sat up, straining to see through the gale. Most sensible people were in their homes at this time of night. For a moment, he believed he'd been hearing things. He laid his head back down.
"Help me!" It was a woman, shouting and crying.
Grimmjow threw himself to his feet. Water splashed around his feet as he followed the sound toward an alley between a restaurant and an apartment. His stomach churned.
What the hell do I care? What am I doing? Just take a look and call the cops.
Holding his breath, he peered around the corner. His heart fell into his stomach as he peered into the darkness. A woman huddled between two dumpsters, her back to the wall. A hood concealed her face, her bony shoulders rattled with sobs. Pale hands crawled up into her hood, clutching her face.
"Help me! Please! Someone!" She sobbed.
She sounded convincing enough, but something raised the hairs on Grimmjow's neck.
"Hey," his voice cracked when he'd meant to sound as casual and assertive as possible.
She turned toward him with a gasp. The whites of her eyes winked at him beneath her soaked hood, dangling over her face.
"Thank God! I need help. I was robbed. Do you have a phone, I need to call the police!"
Grimmjow tried to speak but the words wouldn't come. He knew how it felt to be desperate, alone and petrified with fright, but something was wrong.
"Ask inside the restaurant. Someone's gotta have something."
"No, no I can't be around people right now. Not after what happened. Please, help me." She motioned him closer and yet she refused to come to him. It was then Grimmjow realized the dumpsters beside her were big enough to conceal people from sight.
He backpedaled and stumbled into something large and solid. The concrete tore at his knees as he fell, one arm behind his back. Pain lashed into his scalp as a hand fisted his hair, rainwater seeped into his mouth as he cheek collided with the cold hard ground.
Meaty hands clambered around his coat, turning out the pockets. His heart roared in his ears as he struggled.
"Got something!" A fist clenched around the money in his pocket. Desperation spurred Grimmjow to struggle harder, kicking until he heard a breathless grunt above him. He rolled out from beneath his attacker and propelled himself to his feet. His attacker made up for his height in sheer muscle mass, a surgeon mask concealed the lower half of his face and two beady eyes blazed at him. Behind him, two men brandished pipes as they marched out from behind the dumpsters.
The woman tossed back her head and laughed. "You're smart, kid, but not smart enough. Get him!"
The three men charged, pipes gleaming in the light of the streetlamp beyond the alley. Running wasn't an option. His pride wouldn't allow it after how far he'd fallen. If this was how he died, then he was going down fighting.
A pipe whooshed past his ear. Grimmjow stumbled out of reach and when the brute swung again, Grimmjow threw himself at him. His fist sunk into the brute's gut and he grunted, seething tobacco-scented breath in Grimmjow's ear. Grimmjow's knee plowed into the brute's soft gut, bowling him over. Grimmjow ripped the pipe from his meaty fist. It trembled in his hand as the two other guys circled him.
"I'll kill you!" Grimmjow roared, voice shrill and trembling. "You come any closer, I'll kill you!"
The men laughed and ran at him. Grimmjow swung without a care to who or what he hit. An explosion of pain wracked his shoulder. He staggered into the cold brick wall and threw himself out of the path of a pipe as it cracked against the stonework. Every gasp like a knife in his ribs, he caught one of the thugs in the shoulder with his pipe. A howl of pain split the night as Grimmjow's pipe collided into the thug's head with a thick crack.
The pipe slipped from his grasp, hurtling across the alley and clattering against the wall. Grimmjow lunged for it and the wind went out of him as his back struck the wall. The woman swooped over him, face split in two by a cruel smile. A cold, thin blade pressed against his throat.
So, this was how his miserable life ended: killed on a dark rainy night in an alley.
"Let him go." A deep commanding voice made Grimmjow's breath catch.
A tall and slender man with a long, narrow face and icy grey eyes stood at the entrance to the alley. A long braid of black hair fluttered in the wind.
"Get out of here, old man!" The woman snapped.
A pistol gleamed as the older man whipped it from the inner lining of his jacket. All the color left the woman's face.
The older man cocked the pistol. Tattoos painted the back of his hand, down to each slender digit. "Be sensible. There's been enough blood spilled tonight. Now, put your weapons down and run."
The woman's switchblade clattered as she turned tail. Her companion dropped his pipe and ran away, screaming.
All the air came rushing back to Grimmjow as his knees buckled. He collapsed, his back to the wall, sucking in one lungful of col night air after the next.
"Hooligans," the older man sniffed, stuffing the pistol back into the inner lining of his jacket. He nudged one of the unconscious "hooligans" with the pointed toe of his boots. He offered Grimmjow a smile and a polite bow of his head. "Is this your doing?"
Grimmjow nodded, swallowing hard. "They deserved it. They were gonna kill me."
"I understand. Are you hurt?" He extended a tattooed hand.
Grimmjow stood on his own. "Fine."
"You're skin and bones. The Chinese restaurant next door is quite good, and there's space at our table for one more."
"What's the big idea, huh? You want something from me? You saved my hide and now I owe you? You're wrong!"
The older man huffed laughter and produced a pipe, lighting it. "I can see when a young man is down on his luck. If you'd like to join us, we're at a table in the back."
"Forget it." Grimmjow's stomach roared to contradict him. Heat rushed to his face.
"Very well. If you change your mind, however—"
"I can't pay anyway," Grimmjow grumbled, the shame made it hard to meet the older man's gaze.
Pearly smoke wafted from the older man's mouth. "That's not a problem."
The offer was too good to be true, and that didn't sit well with Grimmjow. When he looked up, the old man had extinguished his pipe. He turned and strode toward the restaurant. "If you change your mind, we'll be inside."
For a moment, Grimmjow hesitated outside the restaurant. Distant chatter and the scent of roasting duck, boiling noodles, and exotic spices wafted through the door. His stomach howled, and Grimmjow couldn't resist its call. He found the older man at a table in the back with several others; a scrawny little man with hair the color of straw and big buck teeth; a tall blond with a loose, flowy shirt and snug jeans. They all had tattoos.
Am I seriously eating Chinese food with a bunch of yakuza?
"Thank you for joining us, take a seat." The older man had another chair brought to the head of the table. Grimmjow sat, eyes sweeping among the group of strangers. "The dumplings are their specialty," he said as Grimmjow peered down at a menu.
"My name is Shawlong Quofang. That is D-Roy," he motioned to the straw-haired man with the buck teeth.
"Yo!"
"Elforte,"
The blond man tossed a lock of golden hair. "A pleasure."
Grimmjow introduced himself just as the waiter swept over to take his order. He ordered the chicken lo mein and drank half his water to avoid talking.
"Poor dear, you're practically half-starved," Elforte crooned. Slender fingertips caressed Grimmjow's chin. "Here, you can have some of my food."
Grimmjow lurched to the very back of his seat. "I'm fine!"
"For fuck's shake, Elforte, shtop trying to fuck every guy you see!" D-Roy rolled his eyes. His buck teeth gave his words a snake-like lisp.
"D-Roy, settle down. Anger isn't good for the stomach." Shawlong lifted a steaming stone mug of tea to his lips. Grimmjow eyed the tattoos on his fingers but said nothing.
The food arrived and Grimmjow dug into a bowl of spicy noodles. Shawlong had barely finished telling them how he'd met Grimmjow by the time Grimmjow set the bowl down, short of breath from how quickly he'd eaten.
"Like a starving cat. Cute, too," Elforte sighed.
Grimmjow said, "Are you guys all yakuza?"
"We are." Shawlong sipped his tea. "As is the owner of this establishment."
Grimmjow flicked a noodle with his chopsticks, unsure what to make of that revelation. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing. This is the territory of the Gilga-gumi. We watch the streets for hooligans like the ones that attacked you. They're bad for business."
Grimmjow thought back to the fear in the woman's face. He'd fought back, but even then he'd needed someone to come to his aid. What he wouldn't give to inspire fear with a flash of a pistol, to be a man no one could mess with. He pushed the empty plate aside.
"Thanks for the food." He stood.
"Wait," Shawlong's deep voice halted him. "This rain will last well into the morning. There's plenty of room at my apartment for one more if you'd like to wait out the rain for the night."
Grimmjow liked the idea, but Shawlong's kindness rubbed him the wrong way. "I don't want pity. I'll sleep on a bench or something."
"I'm not offering pity, just a warm bed for the night. Surely that's better than catching your death of cold."
Grimmjow couldn't recall the last time he'd slept in a real bed and not in a capsule room. "Fine."
Shawlong called a car to drive them to the busy epicenter of Karakura Town. Skyscrapers spiraled into the fog and advertisements flashed, streaking the rain-washed streets with color. The doorman rushed to get the door for them as Shawlong ushered Grimmjow inside a pristine lobby with polished marble floors.
They took the elevator up to the penthouse. In the entry hall were doorways leading to three bedrooms. Grimmjow's jaw hit the floor when he followed the hallway to the living room. A panoramic view of downtown Karakura, visible through floor-to-ceiling windows, spanned the open living room and kitchen, all the way through to the study just off the eight-seater dining room. A spiral stair ascended up to a rooftop deck, but it was raining too hard to go outside and appreciate the view.
Grimmjow couldn't fathom what one man needed so much excessive room for, but he would kill for a place like this. "Nice," he summarized, ogling the view and trying to see if he could spot the Chinese restaurant from here.
"Pick whichever room you like."
Grimmjow grunted, speechless.
This guy . . . what's his motive? Is he seriously just doing this outta the goodness of his heart? Is he a pervert? Was my food drugged, is he gonna sell me into fuckin' sexual slavery or something while I sleep?
"Would you like anything to drink?"
Hell no, perv.
Shawlong poured himself a glass of sake and sprawled on the sofa. He turned on the television. The picture quality made Grimmjow feel fake by comparison.
Does this guy trust me not to rob him blind in the night? Pretty stupid if you ask me.
"How old are you? Where are your parents? Shawlong asked, a slender fingertip circling the rim of the glass.
"Fifteen." Grimmjow shrugged. "And hell if I care."
Shawlong's brow creased. "Are you in school?"
"I was."
"Have you been on the streets for long?"
"A month, maybe. My folks kicked me out. Been staying in capsule hotels, mostly. Couldn't get a job, so I can't afford a room anymore. I'm not going to some shelter. I tried it once, and that was enough."
Shawlong hummed, regarding Grimmjow in a way that made his skin hot and prickly.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"How?"
"Stop feeling sorry for me. Everyone does! And if they don't feel sorry for me, then they treat me like I'm—" His throat closed up. Dirt, less then dirt. Like he wasn't a person, just homeless trash cluttering up the sidewalk; a lazy nobody whose problems would all be solved if he could just get a job. As if he'd somehow deserved to be lying freezing and hungry in the dark. No one looked at him and saw his potential, just a dirty stray cat.
"How would you like to join my organization?"
Grimmjow's eyes opened. The living room had become a blur through the sudden eruption of his emotions. Shawlong knelt to meet his gaze. There was no pity there, no disgust or contempt. In his moment, Grimmjow realized he was seen for exactly who he was, and this revelation robbed him of his breath.
"You're strong. You have a fire burning in your heart. My boss could use someone like you. Being in the yakuza is dirty work, and it's dangerous, but it pays well. You strike me as a man with nothing to lose, who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty. I believe you could truly make something of yourself, Grimmjow."
He thought back to Shawlong, standing tall and powerful, pistol gleaming red in the neon lights. The terror he commanded had left his attackers' faces stark-white.
Grimmjow swallowed, every hair on his body standing straight on end.
"Yeah."
This was his chance. He could either be a lowly stray cat, begging for scraps from a world that didn't care, or he could be a panther and command the respect and fear of the masses.
"I'll do it."
Shawlong's hand fell, warm and strong on his shoulder. "I'll speak to my boss. For now, this place is your home. Have a good night, Grimmjow."
Grimmjow walked to the window, looking past his reflection to the city far below.
They would all see; his parents, Kukaku, every single would-be employer who'd ever turned him away and left him out in the cold.
He would rise to the top, claw his way with tooth and nail if he had to.
Tonight, the world was in the palm of his hand.