Chasing the Past
Title: Chasing the Past
Author: GrimmjowIchigoforever a.k.a. BabyRain
Pairing: Grimmjow/Ulquiorra
Rating: T
Warning: Swearing, not that you mind, some blood, not that graphic, eventually yaoi
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
Chapter 3
Pain is Heartless
The heart yearns what the heart feels.
Again, the Sexta's pallid space, were completely thrashed. There were cero blasts all over the room, clothes laid astray on the slightly ruined floor. A supposedly bedside lamp was smashed and shattered; the table for which it stood was no different in state.
The owner, surprisingly, was fast asleep on the white-covered bed sheet, slightly tainted with red liquid.
Voices resounded through the cold walls as he ran as fast as he could; heart was almost bursting out of his chest. "I have to find him." He whispered, anger and worry etched on his strong features.
He had to hurry, if not…
He could not think of what will happen, he paced faster as he transformed and blended with Pantera, silently praying of a miracle.
A sudden burst of light showed the barren land of Hueco Mundo, the sand ruptured as the tiger sped through, feet ached from the rapidity of pursue.
Then he felt it, gigantic reiatsu in the air, strong as the pungent smell that flooded his senses, his favorite smell. A figure lay on the ground, bloodied and shattered.
He screamed the name. Loud and clear as Ulquiorra stood motionless, swords in hand, its steel complexion mixed beatifically with crimson.
"Nooooooo!!!!" Grimmjow jolted awake as he sat on the silk cover, panting. Sweats ran through his cheeks, the owner struggling to calm himself, looking panicked, scanning the walls for signs of a being.
He cupped his hands to his face, repeating over and over to himself that the person did not die. The person who he once held close to his side. He did not die.
The Espada blasted a cero through his door, killing a few lesser Arrancars roaming around the halls. He needed to release his vengeance. Szayel.
--
Ulquiorra Schiffer ghosted lightly along the corridor of Las Noches, his tear marks accentuated his features; revealing his true feelings kept hidden inside. "I must not waver," he told himself over and over. "I must finish this."
As the inexpressive Espada shifted through, with his white attire swept by the wind, he heard a familiar voice. The pallid man's heart rose; he recognized the sound. "Grimm…"
The Cuatro almost ran as the noises escalated, mainly consisted of sickening cracks and cries of pain. He made a turn at the corner of the ashen palace to face the bare lands of Hueco Mundo.
There he was, basked in pure sweat glistening on his tanned muscles, his expression hard, defiant, the façade that fascinated Ulquiorra anytime, and the crimson liquid that tainted his bare hands.
It was then that the emerald eyes noticed the existence of another man, whose face was almost unidentified, as it was so broken and battered in blood over the features. His arms were both angled in abnormal positions, indicating that they were broken. The body lay completely still as Ulquiorra approached, and so was Grimmjow.
The Sexta's teal strands were covering his sapphire orbs as the taller man swept past Ulquiorra, expression unreadable. The lean figure did not waste his time, and sonidoed swiftly to disappear, leaving the Cuatro with the mess he created.
A small desperate cough returned the green eyed man attention to the bloodied man. He held the person's chest as the man tried to move, only to be coughing non-stop. Sensing broken ribs under his palm, the lone Arrancar felt a pang of guilt, which he shoved away immediately.
"Please refrain from speaking; I will transport you to your room." On hearing the words, the Octava Espada beneath him enforced a wounded smile, before closing his eyes as the darkness surrounded his vision.
--
The vast land of Hueco Mundo lay barren under the scorching midday sun. Grimmjow dashed his way in agony, wishing it all to be over, willing the throbbing to go away.
He thought about it all over again, about the person he left behind. He wanted him so bad, yet he was so far away.
"No, I must forget, he's not mine anymore…"
The teal caught a broken building in sight, stopped, and walked in absentmindedly. He did not notice another presence in sight, did not notice a wild reiatsu emanating from within as he sat down on a mountain of rubbles.
"Heh, I wonder what people would think. Me. The Sexta Espada. Thinking? Ah, who the fuck cares about what people think." Grimmjow was trying to comprehend his thought when a shadow figure loomed over him.
The Sexta looked up, not expecting anyone in sight; then his breath caught.
The person he was avoiding, the one he was trying to forget, was there.
He held his breath in panic, wishing that it was all just an imagination.
No luck, the shinigami stood there, eyes full of hatred, ready to pounce on the Arrancar, ready to fight.
Grimmjow exhaled, readying himself. The teal jumped away from his post, taking a fighting stance as well. He grinned widely, taunting the person.
He knew fully that he could not beat him, not like this, but he had to.
"Ichigo…"
Please review…