Disclaimer: BLEACH and any of the brands mentioned belong to their respective owners. I own only the plot, and I know I deserve death for such lateness.

My little (belated) Valentine's Day present to ya all out there! Enjoy.

…

Chapter 17 – Fighting It

Since that fateful night Kurosaki Ichigo had been feeling a little funny on the inside, and sometimes when he lost sight of what lay before him, the funniness invaded his sensibilities. Like a blanket they followed him everywhere he went and when he was sleeping, eating, bathing, reading, strumming the guitar, reciting his lines. They trailed after him even when he was pushing a trolley down the aisles in a local supermarket. They prowled his existence like a stealthy panther combing through plains for an antelope. Like a blanket too they enveloped him—squashing, pressing, thumping—and left him grasping at pockets of air.

He came up short.

On occasions when he sat by himself on the bed and traced a digit across his bottom lip, it became more than a little funny. The atmosphere was no longer a blanket strewn over his head. It became a hydraulic pump, the meter geared to its highest, shooting into the stratosphere. He felt asphyxiated, drowning in a bottomless pit even. The feathery sensation messed with his head, pulling him under, and many a time he thought it atrocious. Trapped in a whirl spiraling downward, the significance of all that took place boomed into a rainbow of emotions.

What was a chaste peck on the lips compared to the hefty make-out sessions he had with the green eyed man? What was a light touch drafted across his left cheek compared to the heat encapsulated in their feigned gropings of each other? What was a bout of silence lingering in the air compared to their frequent squabbles? What was then compared to those he was used to? A momentary lapse in judgment on each man's part? Was that truly the case? What else could a mere smooch, touch and go, be?

One so thinly veiled with something amiss, an action so stripped to its core, what more one that could easily pass off as a Westerner's way of greeting, mean to them—both the initiator and recipient? Because that was what it stood for: nothing but a kiss, and only the simplest of kisses.

And yet the painfully rudimentary conclusion made Ichigo fretted like there were ants in his pants. There were a million 'Why's, a couple more 'What's, and question marks hovering over something primarily inconsequential on its own. They did naught to allay his fears of a foreign sentiment creeping in. There was nothing wrong with doing so—the kiss that was, absolutely no fault found. If there was one it had to lie with Ulquiorra Schiffer, because he initiated it.

Yes, the blame was to be placed on the silent raven haired man. Yes yes yes! Not him—not Ichigo. Never! It was conceptually far-fetched to blame someone who had been kissed, to retract what he had sought to reciprocate when reality awoke in the nick of time.

…

Apathy reigned over the duo the next two days.

For all the unwarranted kiss was worthed, neither brought up the issue, particularly Ulquiorra, who refrained from approaching Ichigo whenever possible. When they went through their lines, the green eyed star made sure to distance himself. When they reached a lovemaking scene he skipped over it, praying Ichigo wouldn't notice. Physical contact was ruled out entirely and the vociferous orange haired star did find it puzzling. Owing which he didn't mention the oddity, and simply attributed the reason to a change of plans on the whim. And it was better that way; who knew what could be in store once the proverbial Pandora's box was opened?

They understood—only too well, and that was why they did what they did.

Both men practised all they could without trespassing into each other's bubble, and sometimes when the mood grew livelier, cheeky quips and sarcastic comments would zip around like unrestrained arrows. Ulquiorra's attitude remained condescending, never failing to criticize his co-star at any given opportunity, and never resisting the outspoken urge to put him in his rightful place. No matter what he did, he couldn't fight the undercurrent surging from within. He was being prickly as a porcupine and dispassionate—his method of dealing with trifling, niggling issues, but the changes kicked in when Ichigo expressed concerns regarding his injury one late Tuesday afternoon.

"It's nothing of note," Ulquiorra quipped, sooty eyebrows knotting together.

He was alright when they maintained their distance from each other, and now he grew uptight because Ichigo shifted nearer to him. It perturbed him—surely there was plenty of space on the settee? It could house a party of six if necessary, and there the pesky orange haired man was, inching towards him with every shift of his rump. If the latter were permitted to carry on, their knees would touch, their shoulders would bump, and who knew what might happen again. Had Ichigo developed short term memory loss over the weekend? That what happened in the aftermath was an awkward smattering of seconds and hasty scrambling to their feet?

"Hey," Ichigo exclaimed, "it wouldn't hurt just to let me have a look? And if it really hurts all the more I should be allowed to take a look!"

"I was fine by myself over the weekend. I don't see any potential faults arising."

"Ever heard of the term 'unforeseen circumstances'? It could very well pipe up now!" Ichigo argued. No words could discourage him from his personal crusade. Whether he liked it or not, his protective nature sometimes got the best of him. "Come on. Much as I dislike you I don't really want to start this 'camaraderie' thing afresh with another actor. It's taxing enough as it already is!"

"Of the above stated I find myself agreeing with you, unbelievable as it is," replied Ulquiorra, his glance wry, his posture straight but wary. Wary of whatever was about to unfold before them, and the short history he was most keen to forget. "It would be an obscene felony to interact with someone of your likes, again."

"Oh shut up will you? You can't get anyone who's worse than me," Ichigo reached for the raven haired man's palm. "What a difficult patient you are, Ulquiorra bloody Schiffer. Serves you right; even your plate wants to do you some violence!"

"I suggest you watch your words," Ulquiorra warned, withdrew his hand, and scooted away to the tip of the settee. "This is after all my residence."

"If I listened to you, my name wouldn't be Kurosaki Ichigo," the younger star boasted proudly, and in his obnoxiousness shunted the shadows of Friday night. "Suppose you really are an amnesiac as your mom claimed—most likely convenient amnesia, maybe I should reiterate the events, and cast it in a favorable slant towards me."

"What about it?" Ulquiorra was exceptional in replacing coyness with forthright impertinence. He would be crazy if he were to admit what he had done. "What exactly are you trying to underline?"

"Why!" Ichigo began aloud. "It's just you being klutzy and a retard of the highest order, followed by my well-handled bandaging of your stupid palm and then we talked a bit, and you...y-you..." the initial bravado simmered down to an inaudible mutter. "Uh...y-you...m-m-me...me...y-you..."

"What about me now?" Eyes of a cool beryl shade shone challengingly, their rays like lasers boring holes into destruction. "Then again I'm not expecting you to extol my virtues."

A leaky mouth here and there and that was it. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

"We should revert to the script," Ulquiorra dismissed. "Everything else was a figment of your imagination."

"Figment of my imagination?" Ichigo squawked shrilly, his pitch rising with every syllable. Sooner or later it would peak and glasses and windows would detonate into rainy shards. F-Figment of my goddamn imagination? My imagination? He couldn't quite believe his ears: had he been suffering in this personal purgatory?

"There is absolutely no need for me to repeat myself."

"B-But you...y-you...we...k-k-is.s..k..i..we..w-e..!"

Once again Kurosaki Ichigo was a beacon of sparkling eloquence. He was no longer Ichigo the swoon inducing heartthrob who captured Japan's imaginations and fulfilled their one-sided supernatural fantasies. He was just another man, tongue-tied, stupendous, and zealous in proving whatever the something bugging him was to the superior Ulquiorra. The younger star tried so hard, in the end his efforts amounted to not even a lousy pittance, but zilch. He was destined to prove himself as a stuttering idiot once more, a painful contrast to his co-star's chilly appearance.

The belated realization sunk in soon after, and Ichigo took time to consolidate his thoughts—what on sweet heavens was he getting so worked up over for—he wondered, and insisted, "I don't think I was hallucinating, and you were the one who was bleeding to near death. So who's to speak?"

"Even so," Ulquiorra sniffed with abjection, "it was merely a test. Do not over-analyze the things that never are. Conserve your already depleting mental energies for more significant activities such as memorizing your dialogue and learning to keep your trap sealed at appropriate timings."

"Never are?" Ichigo echoed in disbelief. None of what he currently experienced made sense, and all of them rattled his cage. "Sometimes you speak in alien tongues, you know that? Does confusing people and driving them to their wits' end really satisfy you? Sadist."

"If you insist," Ulquiorra turned away. "There is nothing much I can do to change your mind, obstinate as you are."

"Yeah, if I'm obstinate then you're as callous as a witch!"

"In the event logic fails you, I will say this," Ulquiorra grimaced, his feathers soundly ruffled. "Anything that happened and could happen will simply be practice for the movie and that—"

"Is everything just a test to you?" the younger man cried, outraged by several reasons unknown. "Right, right. Sometimes I forget I'm talking to a black-hearted prick like you, and it just has to happen when I figured we could possibly be you know, overcome our, you know, differences or," he searched for words to convey the melting pot of emotions in him. The pair of inquisitive emerald orbs following him only worsened his instability. "Never mind."

"So be it," Ulquiorra Schiffer replied, and left the room with his head hung low before anyone or anything could make him change his mind, or spy the peachy glow creeping across his face like the beginnings of dawn upon a snowy slate.

…

Wednesday shuddered awake with rabid downpours, and snuggled between cotton sheets and a quilt cover was Kurosaki Ichigo, limp with sleep. Razor-like strands of brightness splayed onto the pillow, and all signs of sight were blocked out by an arm. Strong legs wound themselves around a fat bolster, and tired grunts echoed themselves within four walls. Rain drops splattered against the window panes, tip-tap, tip-tap, a drowsy melody. They went again and again on a loop—tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap, until Ichigo's cell phone jolted the world into action with its thirty second version of Aerosmith's Can't Stop Messin'.

Ichigo reached for his phone, untying his legs from the bolster in disgruntlement. "What?" he barked. "Who's there?" A honk burst in his left ear. "Hello—h" Another honk. "—ello?"

Booming thunder cracked in the background, then came some connection fuzz, and finally an endless season of silence.

"What?" Ichigo was short of busting his lungs out at the mysterious caller. He never was a morning person, let alone being disrupted on a freezing morning as this. "Hello? Hello? Hello? H~ello?"

"It's me."

"You?"

"Yes. Me."

"Who in the feckin' world are you and why the hell did you take such a long time to find your voice you—" Ichigo found the quiet tone weirdly familiar. "C-Corpse face?"

"By that presumptuous phrasing I hope you mean me."

"Don't play riddles with me early in the morning, I'm telling you," the younger man grumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes as he sat up in his bed. The newly washed bedsheets crumpled under his sluggish movements. "So you are that bloody idiot with the damn huge house and luxurious couch and an incurable case of the denials."

"Where do you live?"

"Where do I live...wait!" Ichigo tossed the covers off him. "Wait wait wait! Why do you want to know?" his sleep-laden voice became bright with caution. "Unless you have a troop of paparazzi planted outside, waiting to catch me unawares, right? And on a dozy Wednesday morning too! What's wrong with you? I know there's filming and there's practice at your place—oh shit. It's already ten," he checked the wall clock in reluctant panic, "but hey—a guy gotta sleep when he gotta sleep! Don't tell me you hurt your palm again? Seriously man, didn't you find me a nag when I left your house yesterday? I said to leave the dishes to me if it's a hassle for you to wash them! Either that or could you please get a dishwasher? It's dirt cheap according to your bank balance and there's only so many plates you can break, Quiqui!"

"I am perfectly fine," Ulquiorra was bristled with the reappearance of his childhood nickname. "It's Sakana who isn't."

"Sakana?"

"Yes. She hasn't been eating since last night, and my car is undergoing some mandatory maintenance."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Worry crept into Ichigo's voice. "Sheesh, trust you to leave things to the last minute! And of all things you sent your car at this juncture for repair? How very typical of you, crazy dumbass with the green eyeliner."

"You speak as if Sakana's illness is premeditated."

"She must be sick of you, that's what. Any sensible being would be depressed just by looking at you," Ichigo chuffed. "How about bringing her to a vet? Take a cab to the nearest clinic? I'm sure there are a few down Roppongi Hills. Those that equate an upscale apartment's monthly rental fee for minutes of consultation. Is that why you called me? Strange reasoning, but your actions are beyond comprehension anyway."

"Do you know of any reputable veterinarian? That is my main question to you. Previously you mentioned your father is a doctor."

"Excuse my foolishness, but when exactly has a cat's anatomy resembled that of a human's? To think you passed your first year in med school! Unbelievable."

"I understand that perfectly, but I—" Ulquiorra didn't know how to react in a manner that wouldn't be deemed as uncharacteristic. Truth was, Kurosaki Ichigo was the first name that came to mind when he scrolled down his list of contacts, seeking help. He couldn't comprehend how his co-star's number was saved in his phone in the first place, given his notoriety for building walls around himself on the set. He didn't remember asking for it either. Ichigo's contact was simply there, waiting—no, flirting with his forefinger to tap the 'Dial' tab.

"I—the clinic which I usually bring her to is closed for the week."

"Yeah, OK. That really is quite some bit of terrible luck. So you want me to locate another clinic for you? Gee, when did I become a street directory? And when did I become your personal Yellow Pages or whatever," Ichigo noticed the background was filled with motor vehicles zipping about on puddles of water, with their engines going vroom-vroom-vroom in a symphony of pollutions. Briefly he wondered if the green eyed actor had a large enough umbrella to shelter both Sakana and him from the unrelenting rain.

"Perhaps you might know of some in your precinct."

"Ain't too hard for me," Ichigo rested his head against the wall, the black cell phone wedged between cheek and shoulder. "There's this hmm...pet clinic somewhere down the road from where I live. Excellent by my standards, but I'm not certain if you're gonna think the same way as I do. It's a hygienic place—no worries about that. The procedures are proper too, and the price—it doesn't matter eh?"

"Money comes and goes," Ulquiorra philosophized.

"I've seen pets come and go too, as in, they go into the shop alive and emerge chipper. Sometimes they get so chip that on a lousy day I wish they wear muzzles around their snouts. Don't worry about being discovered, big shot. The crowds there are few and far between, especially on a horrible day like this. Does that sound OK to you?"

"That will do. Is the veterinarian a friendly person?"

"Definitely," the orange haired man snorted at his co-star's choice of question. "As friendly as a cute pup, if that kinda thing's straight up your alley."

"I accept your suggestion."

"Cool, you're agreeable for once," Ichigo pushed himself off the bed. "So, where are you now? Need me to go pick you up? But I won't take away the need to prove your courage by braving the storm on your own."

"In line at a taxi stand. Give me your address, I will be there."

…

An hour later, Ulquiorra Schiffer arrived at the doorstep with a semi-conscious ginger kitty in his arms. A duckbill green cap was pulled low over his eyes, the curved brim casting a shadow over the unhidden portion of his face. He was relieved that the downpour had reduced to a slight drizzle. Being stranded outside and subjected to nature's wrath wasn't something he held in great anticipation, especially when his beloved pet was in ailing health.

Ulquiorra scanned the surroundings around him before shutting the damp umbrella with one hand, and tucking it behind a shoe shed. The house he was now standing before was tucked neatly in a suburban district of Tokyo, far away from the noise and lights of inner Tokyo. A silver Subaru Impreza was parked in the driveway, its windscreen dotted with droplets and fallen leaves.

A Subaru? Ulquiorra pondered. He always guessed that Ichigo, as indicative of other up and coming starlets, would opt for a flashy vehicle to plunder the highways with and to park before the most highly rated nightspots. A fiery red Ferrari proves most popular with this crowd, with the quintessential yellow Lamborghini a close second. To them the choice of vehicle spoke volumes about their statuses. They have to be 'in' at all costs. To Ulquiorra that merely broadcasted the start of their descent into obscurity. For these people—a blatant waste of space according to the green eyed actor, they enter the industry with a blood lust for fame and will stop at nothing to have their way. They are flashy and bank on everything they could offer to the ones who could elevate them to super stardom. They will flaunt and strut about, and never go for something as practical and steadfast as a Subaru. Said vehicle is priced economically too—with Ichigo's annual income he could easily afford a fleet of those if he wished to. Ultimately it boiled down to his personal choice. Ultimately it gave away a part of him Ulquiorra was mistaken about previously.

He rang the doorbell once, then twice, and in his haste almost thrice. The sequence was broken up by a petite young girl with large kind eyes, who answered the door promptly. She wore a checkered apron over her dress, and had a pink clip clasped in her honey brown hair. Those saccharine types, Ulquiorra thought.

What happened next was typical a reaction whenever he was out in the public: the girl's jaws instantly slackened, her mouth hung ajar, and she rapidly blinked then rubbed her eyes in disbelief. No way! She rubbed them again, those soft hazel orbs enlarging, and stared at him curiously, then at the ginger kitty nestling in his embrace prior to a grand return of staring at him. This time her gaze was alit with acknowledgment and brazen surprise.

"Are you..." the girl squealed. "A-Are you...?"

"Is Kurosaki Ichigo around?" asked Ulquiorra. "Or have I gotten the wrong address?" He looked around again, considering the possibility of his co-star blabbering incoherent rubbish over the phone. After all the neighborhood he was in did appear a little too normal for someone whose name was frequently spotted in polls and media coverages nationwide.

"U-Uh, you're looking f-for...uh...Ichi-nii?"

"Ichi ni...?" Ulquiorra was confused. What is the girl saying? One, two? "No, I'm not referring to numbers."

"Yuzu, what's taking you so long at the door?" another voice called out from beyond the living room. Though it was rougher, the source was evidently female.

"K-Karin, I t-t-think it's..." the girl named Yuzu continued to stumble over her words.

"Come on, Yuzu, you're taking forever! If it's the pizza man take the pizza from his hands and slam the door in his pudgy face! If it's the paper boy take the newspaper from his bike and tell him to just chuck it under the door next time!" Karin's voice grew louder as she drew nearer. "If it's a vacuum cleaner salesman tell him Dad ain't at home and there's no more room for another! We've thirteen unused vacuum cleaners lounging in the store room—no thanks to that overly charitable goat-face who falls for the oldest trick in the book! If it's someone else tell him we're calling the police if he doesn't get lost now!"

"Apologies for inconveniencing you," said Ulquiorra as he turned to retrieve his umbrella. "I shall take my leave now."

"No please—"

"Hey," Kurosaki Karin called out. "What do you want with us?"

"Karin—wait. It's..." Yuzu whispered into her twin's ear. "And he's looking for Ichi-nii!"

"Eh? Who...what?!"

"Look closely!"

"What's there to look at? He's just another irritating idiot who drops by unannounced to swindle both unsuspecting old folks and gullible youngsters alike, thinking he could pass off a pebble as an unpolished gem unearthed from the soils of Africa or excrement from ostriches—oh!" the inky haired girl gasped as images from magazines, television, movies, newspapers combined together to complete the puzzle. "Oh great Pele! Isn't this...?"

"Y-Yes! Excuse me, but are you...oh my god, are you the U-U-Ulquiorra Schiffer?"

"Darn right he is!" Karin peered attentively at Ulquiorra. "I bet my football on the sheer ludicrousness of life he is! Definitely! That old man's going to have a fit when he learns of this!" she chirped, sullen dark eyes brightening in mischief. "He went out like a loser just ten minutes ago, and here his idol is, at our doorstep in the flesh! Boy oh boy is he going to have a life-stopping fit!"

"Several times I have been told," said Ulquiorra, shifting his pet's weight to another arm. The affected limb was growing numb with sustained pressure. "That I resemble him."

Groans of disappointment dutifully chimed in unison.

"Which in turn is a pile of nutty shit spun by a professional liar!" Ichigo yelled. He dashed down the steps, taking three in each stride, fueled by the commotion going on downstairs. "You can lie to anyone in the world except my two sisters! Oh, and your nice mom of course. That would be so wrong."

"Here you are," Ulquiorra raised his head, "just when I figured I was dealt a prank by you."

"Who would have the nerve to make a fool out of you? Well, not even I, the so-called trickster who was rudely poked awake by you on several occasions," Ichigo ushered his co-star into the house. A fluffy bath towel was draped over his shoulders since he was fresh from the shower, and smelled of juicy berries. "You did a commendable job of staying dry when the world around you is drowning in rainwater," he noted the relative well being of his co-star's attire, "here, why don't you just take a seat somewhere. I'll be back down in a jiffy with the car keys. And I'm driving my own car, OK? You asked for my help, hence you are in no position to bargain!"

"Alright, you have my word."

"Great. Well then, yeah, just, I don't know, hang around, chat with my sisters a little—do not bully them, or maybe have some hot drinks to warm yourself. The dispenser and coffee maker and whatever you may need are in the kitchen. And uh," Ichigo hesitated to look Ulquiorra in the eyes. "You look kinda chilly. Need erm, uh...an extra jacket or something? I have a few in my closet to spare. Not each and every one of them is designer material, but they do the job."

The green eyed man gaped at him funnily. "I am fine."

"OK, tough guy," Ichigo shrugged. "Your say. By the way, you can place Sakana on the sofa if you want to. We wipe it every weekend and disinfect it thoroughly every two months, so rest assured you both won't be infected with minute bedbugs or whatsoever. You really should put her down," the younger man couldn't resist giving the docile ginger cat a pat on the head and a scratch behind the ears. "Going by how you feed Sakana, her weight gain might cause your silly gash in the palm to open up."

"No, it won't."

"Be my guest," he relented. The last thing he needed on a morning was to pick an argument with Ulquiorra Schiffer. Tuesday ended on a flat note and he wished to get rid of the bitter aftertaste that arose whenever he recalled how furtive and manipulative his co-star was in the handling of his claims. He simply couldn't understand Ulquiorra, in spite of his efforts. It was regrettable, but irreversible too.

"And...Yuzu, Karin," Ichigo continued, snapping his fingers for attention. "Quit ogling him like that. It's embarrassing. You might just inflate his ridiculously sized ego and with any luck, you might just turn into Dad. That geezer is permanently starstruck!"

"But this is Ulquiorra Schiffer—oh sweet Maradona, it's the Ulquiorra of the movie screen and magazine covers we are talking about here, Ichi-nii!" Karin protested. "Who for reasons that surpass my intelligence quotient is sitting on our couch, in our very modestly sized Kurosaki living room. As of now his pet cat is lying on the quilted cushion Yuzu purchased at the local hundred yen store five months ago! How grand."

"It's an honor to the Kurosaki household," Yuzu beamed in reflected pride. "Okaa-chan would approve of this!"

"I appear on the movie screen too," Ichigo countered. "Why don't I get this kinda preferential treatment? Unfair."

"Who cares really?" Karin continued to gawp at Ulquiorra. "We see you everyday, so it'll be retarded if we were to fangirl you. Don't you find it annoying? I for one get pissed off when those silly cows in college join the girls' soccer team just because they want me to get a piece of you! As if I would—not for a million yen even. Talk about teammates with benefits. Talk about combining a sports co-curricular activity with celebrity obsession. We ain't a two for one package deal!"

"True...but—"

"Ichi-nii, get over yourself!" Karin smirked, and left her brother speechless.

"We hope your adorable little kitty loves the cushion, and we have a poster of you in our room! It's the one of you in the promotional still for your second movie. We're all fans of it," Kurosaki Yuzu blushed, fingers fiddling with the hem of her apron. "Would you care to autograph it for us?"

"Nah, don't bother asking him that. He won't do that—"

Ulquiorra appeared insulted. "May I have a pen?"

…

A/N: Apologies for another tedious wait—it's been a month(!!!), but immensely glad to have you guys still reading and reviewing this story! Now you know how untrustworthy I can be when it comes to stipulated updates. Don't hold your breath, although in my dictionary Chapter 18 is a heartbeat away. I wanted to stuff more into this chapter, but...onto the next!

P.S. I'm loving the colored spread in last week's BLEACH. It's pretty obvious why.

Footnote: Pele and Maradona are football (soccer) greats.