Disclaimer: The standard applies. :)
Chapter 27 – Eccentric Love Parade
"It could not have been anything apart from a mere coincidence," Ulquiorra repeated for the sixth time that evening.
Grimmjow had held up a poster, unrolled it and spread it across the coffee table in the living room of Ulquiorra's apartment shortly after he arrived unannounced.
"Such a handsome poster," he sneered. "Why let it rot in a corner rolled up into a paper stick? What are you gonna use it for? Scratch your back? Slap some flies? Use it to wipe your ass?"
Ulquiorra snatched it back before he could continue.
"How fucking innovative." Grimmjow glowered.
"Crawl back to the hole where you belong," said the actor as he held onto the poster as though it was a family heirloom, an action which obviously didn't escape Grimmjow's attention.
"Aren't we getting a little too possessive here," the taller man smirked.
"You could do worse, Grimmjow."
Which then Grimmjow grabbed the poster from his cousin and unrolled it again, this time jabbing a finger at the head of the man in the graphics - Kurosaki Ichigo as an infamous vampire, frowning, his mouth set in a determined line. The brooding countenance that set a million teenage hearts on fire. "What do you say," he narrowed his eyes at Ulquiorra, "if we put this up in your room so you can stare your fuckin' eyes off when nobody's looking." He continued to throw words that might incur the actor's wrath but nothing happened. "Or how about I mysteriously publish a photo of your room on Instagram? Or how about—" Words after words he threw at Ulquiorra and still nothing worked.
Because Ulquiorra was hardly listening—he focused on the instance where Grimmjow would loosen his grip on the poster and open up an opportunity for him to sneak the poster over to his side. He didn't like his belongings to bear the imprint of other people, much less having the original quality of them tarnished due to mishandling by idiots, especially loud-mouthed idiots. The worst kind of humans around. The green eyed man glared briefly at the fingerprint smears and the curved perforation shaped by the crescents of his cousin's nails spread over the movie poster like war scars, before turning to Grimmjow who was still ranting away.
"—what's the entire shit about this? Are you gonna lose out to a girl? So you gonna lose out because you don't have the tits to compete? Ha! Nah-" Grimmjow shook his head, the sneer wrapping itself across his face at tremendous speed. "Betcha lack the balls to go get it. Go get what you want—that's what you're dead afraid of. Always settling for the second best outcome you can get. Useless shit head." He unrolled the poster again and snarled at it. "You can have this shit back. I don't need to throw up my breakfast this early in the morn." He held out the poster, now sufficiently crumpled and dented in all the right places, and just as Ulquiorra was about to grab hold of it, he dropped the poster.
Grimmjow's lips curled into a feral grin.
His grin grew wider when he saw something strange flash through Ulquiorra's eyes as the raven-haired man stooped to pick up the almost torn poster, holding it gingerly as if it were a priceless heirloom.
"Lookin' hella sorry there, aren't you," Grimmjow snickered. "
Calmly, Ulquiorra straightened himself and stood face to face with his egotistical cousin. "I hope in the back of your mind lies a clarity to what had happened last month, and I have to admit this—it made me question the very fundamentals of your being."
"Don't fuckin' try to change the topic."
"I was helping you. You were simply too daft to see that."
"The topic here is you and that orangey bastard!"
"What is more pertinent is your issue with another. I trust that you've had a satisfying night."
"The fuck you know!" Grimmjow snapped before gathering his thoughts about what his cousin had just revealed. "What did you say?" He grabbed the front of the green eyed man's shirt and shook him to and fro. "What did you just say?!"
Ulquiorra remained unfazed despite the rough shaking. "I saw you two that night. Passed out on the couch, all cosy and absolutely fulfilling in terms of physical endearment."
Grimmjow Jeagerjacques could only gape at him.
"Let me make this clear: I was not the only one there."
"What the fuck did you see."
"Lust, perhaps?"
Panic invaded Grimmjow's mind.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" Ulquiorra continued.
Grimmjow found his fingers slowly curling into balls by his side.
"In short, you were touching him," Ulquiorra explained, enunciating his words clearly and slowly, determined to provoke the taller man. "We saw everything."
"Like fuck you did."
"It seems that you have not heard me properly the first and second time. For the benefit of the doubt, I shall repeat: we saw everything."
Grimmjow tightened his grip on his cousin's shirt, his knuckles turning bone white. "Who's we?"
The cold glint in the actor's emerald eyes deepened. "Including what happened afterward. That should be something you alone should know, not a third party like me and another. But since the deed has been done, I do not think I am in any position not to open my mouth should Uncle or Aunt ask at our cousin's wedding two weeks later. I am not obliged to keep their son's affairs a secret from them. Or you could be none the wiser, given the ball of trash you call for a head sitting on your shoulders."
Grimmjow immediately paled but tried to camouflage it by certain means he called home by.
"I'm warning you—and I don't give a flying fuck who you are to me." He flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles so hard, his joints ached. "Sly bastard, why don't we fight it out. Just fucking fight it out man to man. I won't utter a word if you lose. How's that?"
"You can always try. You love to try, don't you?"
Grimmjow tossed the poster scroll on the floor and almost crushed it with his feet had Ulquiorra not been quick enough to snatch it up.
"Why bother, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra Schiffer dismissed him with a wave of the poster, now safe in his grasp. "Move." A tone curt and colourless and undiscerning between what ought or ought not be. "Or would you like to know more about that night? What happened between you and him. Perhaps I should reiterate this: I was not the only one there."
"Don't you fucking dare." Grimmjow refused to budge. "Wanna try? Or you just scared I'll wallop your fucking ass once and for all?"
"For as long as my memory permits, you have never won me," Ulquiorra replied icily. He held up a finger, then curled it down. "Not even once. And even now..." he paused to look his taller cousin in the eye. The latter's height had diminished so greatly that Ulquiorra found himself staring down at him as though he was a midget. And then knowing he had the opportunity to see the towering hulk of a grown man with occasional homicidal urges sink even deeper into the floor, he chose not to. He had other things to do, other things way more important than cutting that idiot down to his size. Satisfied with how Grimmjow now appeared to him, Ulquiorra started on the stairs to his bedroom, step by step, almost absentmindedly and checking every now and then that the movie poster was still with him.
Grimmjow Jeagerjacques stared at his cousin's retreating back, and for a moment, had almost forgotten how to cuss.
Back in the privacy of his own room, Ulquiorra attempted to smooth the dents with his cold palms, as if the chilliness would freeze time and restore the poster to its original condition. The green-eyed actor thanked his lucky stars that he had the foresight to tuck the unsavoury DVD under a pile of pyjamas in his wardrobe after watching it twice once he got home last night. The trilogy was nothing fascinating, the effects were watchable (Ulquiorra hadn't expected anything less of a $20 million budget), the story was plodding and unbelievable, the cinematography was an absolute joke, and the quality of the acting stretched his vocabulary limits for describing godawful things, but it was clear as day that Kurosaki Ichigo carried the movie on his shoulders and shone brightly. Much like the sun itself. Ulquiorra couldn't tear his eyes away from the carrot top each time he came onscreen and his insides flipped ever so slightly whenever Ichigo and the human girl were locked in a lovelorn embrace.
Side effects of viewing this absolute disgrace to the cinematic universe, Ulquiorra reminded himself.
Then again it was little wonder why the younger man was handpicked among dozens of hopefuls to partner him in Autumn Chrysalis. Ulquiorra Schiffer couldn't imagine being paired up with another actor. Due to his strange appearance, he had always been the solitary figure in the movies: the atheist, the amoral psychopath, the bewildering yet ascetically charming young man, the outsider in society, the impassive stranger, the empty man devoid of meaning. It was almost as if he was playing an extension of himself, another version of himself in a funhouse of varying alternate universes. His penchant for seclusion further stoked his reputation for such roles—he was so believable in them that he became them, each and every one of his roles. Autumn Chrysalis was the first movie he had to share equal (almost) screen time with a co-star, and on a less significant note, his first romantic role. What had pushed him towards a complete change of roles? Was a part of him desperately seeking change, to dash headlong into the wilderness and hoping to be beamed up by a glimmer of light?
No one would have ever guessed that his first ever kiss had been surrendered to a certain orange-haired man on the movie set months ago, before a live audience of unblinking eyes. He had been prepared—to do a bad job and to be chastised and then to pin the blame on his lesser counterpart—but nothing in his arsenal of strategic planning and acting repertoire had prepared him for what was to follow, and it was to the same man whom he had relinquished the second kiss, the third, fourth, fifth kisses and many many more.
Ulquiorra Schiffer decided that the more he sought solace, the further solace seemed to leave him. Circling him in a spot outside his trailer on a Monday morning like an enclave of ravenous vultures were journalists, international and native and decidedly from hell, men and women and minions of the devil, clutching voice recorders and thrusting them toward him, demanding of him and at the same time encroaching on his disappearing acre of space. No one was around at this time of the day. Everyone was either on the way or out for breakfast at the studio's canteen. Just when he thought it was time to step out of his trailer for a breather he was surrounded immediately, like a mass murder suspect stepping out of the police van, en route to the court for trial.
What had he done again to warrant such treatment, Ulquiorra sighed inwardly. He had appeared early on the set without makeup so he could perhaps catch...well perhaps...someone in action and perhaps if time and his guts permitted, squeeze out some interaction time with...that someone, give him one or two comments on what he thought of his acting in the vampire trilogy after a less than objective analysis. Wait—less objective? What kind of a phrase was that? Warning: fallacious logic at hand. When in the world did such poor thoughts creep into his dictionary?
Disappear dastardly voice, Ulquiorra chided himself. Disappear altogether now.
He closed his eyes and heaved in huge doses of air. Quips and jibes from those pesky reporters sounded like mere cries from a distance. Still that did nothing for his present state of mind. Everything used to be clear cut, black and white and he never had to bother with affairs of the—dare he say—heart.
Ulquiorra knew he was trapped in the midst of these contemptible reporters and there wasn't much he could do about it. He thought it better to shift his thoughts onto something else, so he imagined what he would do for the scene scheduled to be filmed that afternoon. A scene that had generated much speculation over the ratings fate of the movie, and certainly garnered far more than its fair share of heat following the much publicised altercation they had and then, an unexpected turn of affairs in their relationship with unnamed sources stepping up to confirm they had indeed seen Ulquiorra and Ichigo in a motel together.
What a pain it was becoming, he thought. Was this not about shooting a movie and where everyone peels off the skins of their characters when the clapper is sounded and go home to their cats and books? Then what was with those spates of hollowness he felt spreading from where his heart lay, wasn't as if he had just began to live on his own. He had been doing so since he was eighteen, no big deal about that. Sakana was there for him too, and he was the type of guy who preferred solitude over extending himself to a group of people, no matter how sizeable it may be. He liked to be alone and there was that. But lately he realised something else: just as how silence have different shades to it, being alone harboured different layers too.
What was happening to him anyway? Ulquiorra opened his eyes and stared straight at one of the reporters but not quite staring exactly at him. More of staring beyond him, his gaze superimposing images onto the slate of unfurnished wall. What was he thinking about now? He had been thinking so much about strange things lately. Expended too much grey matter about the intangible strands and chasing them into the dark. Before he could stop himself, his brain swerved in odd directions at lighting speed.
Ulquiorra Schiffer found himself rolling back the months at furious speed. Worrying over the choice of actor as his onscreen lover? Worried about making the wrong decision in his movie career and go down in history as the man whose movie ranked worse than the godawful vampire trilogy? Biting his tongue when he realised he was on the verge of sacrificing his public reputation as the cold and quiet man whenever the orange-haired actor was nearby? It was almost a primal need to taunt that guy. He had no reason to, did he? Looking back it had seemed childish—the name calling, the almost infantile refusal to work with the teen star. Ulquiorra winced at the memory. He was being a prick—he had been an absolute and tedious one—until some degree of conscience knocked on the door. Was he jealous of the younger man's vibrant aura and how it affected people around him? How could he be, when he, Ulquiorra Schiffer, was clearly superior to the younger man in every way? Ulquiorra's mind was bordering on pure hogwash. What else was he thinking about now? The not too distant past when he had a proper companion (sorry Sakana)? Did he even need companionship? The best kind came in the form of a cat, a gently purring kind who went about their own business mostly. The green-eyed actor felt his head spinning. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Implausibility bred imbecility. There was nothing—absolutely nothing on his mind. Ulquiorra Schiffer felt oddly reassured by the self-hypnosis until his mind decided to stage a revolt in the dying seconds.
"Everything," his mind retorted in gasps. "You are thinking about everything now."
I do not wish to hear you speak anymore, why are you so obstinate and when did you become as intrusive and talkative as that Kurosaki Ich-
Before he could finish, the man in question came through the door, his bright head of orange hair spiffy and teased at the right angles. That familiar cocky grin on his lightly tanned face. And those eyes, warm like hot chocolate. Like a beam of sunshine. Ulquiorra didn't once take his eyes off the younger man nor did he attempt to do otherwise. Continued to stare straight at Ichigo with the same impassive look he wore always, but the object of his stare fest knew better. Ichigo immediately felt a heightened consciousness of his entire being: striding into the movie set with his beautiful model girlfriend in tow, her hand in his—
Ichigo grimaced inwardly. Let go of her hand NOW!—his mind screamed, only for him to react by tightening his grip on Orihime's hand, much to the latter's surprise.
Nothing escaped Ulquiorra's eyes. How Ichigo had suddenly stiffened in his presence. How the tiniest of movements, indiscernible to the casual observer, had burst into huge proportions of significance. In fact there was an intensity burning behind those normally cold green orbs and it radiated off him in toxic waves, causing the nosy reporters to back off one by one, parting a path in the circle for the two scandalised actors to face each other. Grimmjow's words two mornings ago echoed in his mind and the more he saw Ichigo and Orihime together, the hotter his insides burnt.
Ichigo found himself rooted to the ground, staring back at his co-star, trying to decipher what was going on in his mind. Moments passed before he realised he had actually released his grip on Orihime's hand. Electricity filled the air. The reporters studied the tense expressions on both men, their gazes filled with tabloid glee. Everyone was so absorbed in the scene that nobody had noticed a dark shadow looming over the scene with a clipboard in hand. The shadow moved excessively quick, first sweeping the horde of reporters out of the movie set, then thwacking Ichigo on the back of the head, and then Ulquiorra's.
"Oi! What was that for?" Ichigo yelled in surprise, grabbing his head.
"Soi Fon…" Ulquiorra mumbled under his breath, clearly not too pleased about being hit either. "I should have been more alert."
Soi Fon stood before them furiously. "I hate to say this to the two of you—and especially you," she cast a pointed glance at Ulquiorra, "that I'm solely in charge on the set. Which means, whoever misbehaves or get into the way of the production process, will be duly punished. Childish turds however, will receive double the punishment, since you never ever learn."
Both actors stayed quiet, dropping their glances to the floor. Orihime couldn't help but smile at how morose the two men looked.
"What amuses you so, young lady?" Soi Fon demanded. "I'm afraid you can't stay here any longer. We got to get moving quick."
Orihime nodded. "Sorry to bother you. I will be on my way now." She broke into a small gentle smile. "Kurosaki-kun, all the best for your scenes later!"
Ulquiorra bristled at her words.
Ichigo held up a hand and tried to look as casual as he could. "Catch you later."
As the actors were ushered back to their trailers to prepare for filming, coincidentally the last lovemaking scene in the movie, its director lurked in one corner of the set, humming a tune as he skimmed through the script for the day.
It's going to be a wonderful day, the blonde man grinned. Something wow is in the works.
A/N: It's been a long time, and I'm so happy to be back! A short chapter as I need to oil the writing engines. Deepest deep deep apologies for the immense delay and thank you so much for hanging around + reviewing so honestly! :) I did begin this story with intention to end it properly (and I shall) as it brings such a big smile to my face when I'm writing it and there's a scene I'm simply dying to write.
P.S. I realize we spent quite a significant amount of time in Ichigo's POV, so I thought it would be really useful to peek into Ulquiorra's thoughts.
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