Me: OH ICHI-CHAAAAAN! IT'S TIME FOR ME TO TAAAKE YOUU!

Ichigo: THE BITCH IS GONNA MURDER ME! AH, GRIMMJOW! SAVE MEEEE!

Grimmjow: /Shakes head with a smirk/ Nah, I kinda like seeing you put down a notch or two.

Ichigo: SCREW YOU MUTHA-FUGGAAAAAHHH!

Me: /Sits on top, eating strawberry icecream/MMMM, TASTES LIKE ICHI-BERRY~

Anime Cosplayer: /shakes head/ Grimmjows seeing the show today, so I guess it is my turn for the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: That Anime Cosplayer and Yumenezi hold no rights over Bleach nor any of its characters. If we did, Yume would probably have gone insane by now...

Me: WHY, ANIME, WHYYY? I'M NOT INSANE- STOP STRUGGLING ICHI-BERRY! OR I'LL HAVE SHIRO COME IN TOO!

"Ah..." Ichigo nodded, but his action was lost as Grimmjow closed the door.

'Well, I'll take up on his offer.'

Ichigo's shock addled mind finally registered the fact that he killed a man, but surprisingly, he felt nothing...

Ichigo turned the hot water all the way, only turning the cold nob a fraction. He stepped into the shower, looking for a washcloth. He found one, blue, of all colors.

'He must like Blue...' Ichigo thought. As he opened the washcloth, something fell out of it. A tiny picture, it looked like a child drew it in black marker with blue crayon. It had 4 stick figures,a tall one with stringy, boucny blue hair, a taller one with blue spikes and rough blue lines around the chin. A short one holding onto the womans hand, with spikey, bright-blue hair, and a tiny one in the tallest ones hand, that had green hair. They were labeled respectively: Mommy, Daddy, Me, Neliel. The lettering was crooked, and the paper itself was aged about 50 years, the edges coffee stained, and a large brown blotch on the woman.

Ichigo couldn't help but wonder 'How old is this peice of paper?' he placed it gently back into the washcloth and put the washcloth back, resorting to using his hands.

'I'll ask him about it afterwards...' Ichigo resolved.

"Grimmjow!" Ichigo yelled, pulling on the mecca shirt he found in the dresser. It was a little tight-fitting, but it covered him, so he was alright. He also had put on a pair of boxers, which were black and -you guessed it- blue. He had also put on socks, not wanting to put on shoes or slippers in another mans home.

Grimmjow heard the call, again, coming from his room, and stood up, dropping the magazine on the couch and replying, "Yeah. I heard you."

He ambled back over to the bedroom, knocked, then opened it anyway, figuring that Ichigo, by now, was decent and dressed. He had let his gaze drag over Ichigo's choice of his clothing, and then met his gaze. "You called?" He asked. And judging by the tight fitting on Ichigo and it made him smile quite slyly. "Well, what am I needed for?"

He raised a brow, anticipating an answer, with the most patience he could muster. He folded his arms over his chest once more, and leaned against the door frame.

Ichigo went into the bathroom and retrieved the blue washcloth.

"Mind explaining why this is aged 50 years, and you only look to be around 16?" Ichigo asked, his hand on his cocked hip.

Grimmjow didn't say or do anything for moments, trying to think of something to say, that wouldn't give himself away. Losing all train of thought to come up with an idea for a single lie, he scrubbed his hand over his face and groaned, having to say nothing but the truth. "God, I didn't want anyone to see that, ever again...not even me..." He said roughly, dropping his gaze back to the photograph, he sighed, closing his eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain myself...and I thought I was doing a pretty good job at moving around..."

He looked Ichigo dead in the eye and said, "Well, I guess you'd like to know more about me, but in turn, I'd like to ask, what would you offer for the equivalent price of my answers?...And don't try to trick me into telling you without a set price...That wouldn't be very fair, now would it?" He couldn't take his eyes off of him, nor keep his thoughts straightened out.

Ichigo shook his head and clucked. "How about my past in exchange for yours? You tell me your, I tell you mine? Even? Or... something else?"

He retrieved the worn drawing and looked at it. "Must have been a happy family..." his eyes misted slightly and he blinked back tears, yet one or two escaped.

A/N: YES, I KNOW, CRAPPY CLIFFHANGER, BUT MY FRIEND HASN'T POSTED YET, AND SHE DOES GOOOOD CLIFFY'S!