Happy Birthday, Shuhei Hisagi! (Well, belated birthday)
And yes, before any of you mention anything, I do realize that his birthday was yesterday, not in April. But given the iffy plot here, I'm going with it. In this fic, his birthday is April 15.
Summary: He couldn't believe he was doing this. How was it that he always managed to get into these awkward situations? When Shuhei, a freelance writer damaged by his past is hired to interview an up and coming author, he never in a million years would think that he would have anything in common with the guy. After all, they're complete opposites…right?
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.
-;-
Grimmjow was sitting at his computer once again, cerulean eyes narrowed in concentration as his fingers lightly tapped the keyboard. He'd just had the words that he'd wanted to write on the tip of his tongue…why couldn't he remember what the hell he'd been about to type?
Another beep from something across the table grabbed his attention, and it was then that the male finally realized what it was that had distracted him.
A cellphone. And it wasn't his.
"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me." Grimmjow growled, banging his head against the table. The fucking kid's phone. He'd completely forgotten that he'd pulled it out of his pocket to answer the call that had come in when he'd been out of it. Reaching out a hand, Grimmjow snagged the offending object and stared at it with all of the irritation he could muster.
It was basic, though not basic enough that it would simply let him in without a password, he quickly found out. But that could be easily solved. All Grimmjow had to do was tilt the screen of the phone towards the light and the oil tracks from slender fingers appeared in a specific pattern. Smirking smugly to himself, Grimmjow unlocked the phone and tapped on the new messages.
Happy Birthday, Shu! We need to get together soon and celebrate! –Rangiku
There were a couple of others as well, but Grimmjow didn't really pay them any mind. He was more interested in getting this phone out of his hair so that he didn't have to deal with it any longer. Otherwise, it may meet a rather violent end, and it wouldn't necessarily be under his own will that he do so.
Hitting the reply button, Grimmjow quickly typed in a reply, naming a place and a time for he and this mysterious person to meet. Once he'd finished that, he got right back to typing, his mood greatly improved and the words coming easily to his mind.
-;-
Shuhei, on the other hand, wasn't having the best of days. Yes, it was his birthday, but given that he had an article desperately needed for Ran and a mild hangover from drinking with Kira, he wasn't exactly getting off on the right foot.
"Get up."
"Nooooo…." The dark haired male groaned, rolling away from Kira and essentially, his food. The blond must have stayed the night and decided that he was going to keep him company for his miserable day.
"Shuhei, I made you food and coffee. Get up before I take it to your neighbors and feed it to someone who will actually appreciate it."
"Fineeee…" Shuhei grumbled, rolling back over and sitting up, grey eyes blinking tiredly. "My head fucking hurts. Remind me why I insist on drinking?"
"Because the alternative is for you to rot in a loony bin." Kira replied dutifully.
"Right."
"Uh huh. Now hurry up." Kira smacked Shuhei lightly upside the head before leaving the room, footsteps light on the wood flooring. "I've got work to do too, you know!"
Yes, Shuhei knew quite well that he had work to do as well. He might be emotionally exhausted, but he wasn't stupid. He still had some of his wits about him, and he was going to use them while he waited for his energy to return.
But in the meantime, he was going to haul his lazy ass out of bed and get food and coffee. That was his set mission, and he was going to complete it despite the handicap of being hungover.
-;-
Aspiring authors this summer to watch out for, readers: Ikkaku Madarame with the newest paperback edition of Hozukimaru, Momo Hinamori with Peaches and Roses, and Grimmjow Jeagerjaques with another murder mystery? It's going to be a good summer for us readers at home, that's for sure.
Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, a mysterious author with an even more mysterious entry to the writing community, had everyone addicted to his murder mystery A Summer in Purgatory, but who exactly is this masked man who came swooping in with no warn-
Rangiku Matsumoto paused in her typing, a frown marring her features as she pressed the backspace key repeatedly and decided against going along the particular route she'd been taking in the piece of writing she'd been attempting to work on. She was growing more frustrated. No thanks to that moronic man she'd sent Shuhei after to get an article on. If she ever got her hands on him, he was going to begging to give her an article, she could say that much.
"Matsumoto, what are you doing now?" the exasperated sigh of her fiancée asked, and the strawberry blond woman glanced up with an instant charming smile.
"Toshiro! What can I do for you?" she asked with enthusiasm she lacked, shifting in her seat and leaning her elbows on the edge of her desk. "I was just working on an article to put in the May issue."
"I'm sure you were." Came the sarcastic reply as the white haired male entered the room and circled the desk, a calculating look on his face. At seeing the partial sentence that she'd been attempting to write for, a brow raised. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her to actually be working for once rather than playing solitare or texting one of her many drinking partners.
"I was, Captain." Matsumoto pouted, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms and glancing over her shoulder at her shorter counterpart. The nickname, however much Toshiro hated it, had stemmed from him being in the army briefly and quickly climbing the ranks to become a Captain. However, he'd been injured while trying to lead his men out of a danger zone and had been shot twice in the chest, and had then been sent home. As it was, the white haired man still had difficulties breathing at times, usually during the winter season, but he didn't allow it to hold him back. It was one of the many things that endeared him to his busty blond partner.
"So I see." Toshiro replied, leaning over the back of Matsumoto's chair and wrapping slender arms around her shoulders.
"It would be easier to write this stupid article if Shu could get me that damn story." She complained, heaving an irritated sigh and reaching for her mug of green tea. "But apparently Grimmjow isn't being very cooperative with him."
Toshiro snorted softly before pecking his future wife on the cheek. "Remember Rangiku, not a lot of people do get along with Shuhei. He's stubborn."
"But so am I!" Matsumoto protested, whirling around in her chair and nearly knock Toshiro's legs out from underneath him.
"I know, love." Toshiro grinned, bright white teeth flashing for a moment. "You'll get your story. I know that much."
Her temper thwarted, Matsumoto allowed herself to relax as Toshiro leaned forward and pecked her again on the lips before retreating and moving to the filing cabinet, which had been his original destination.
"What're you looking for?"
"Just the bills from last month. I'm double checking them." The white haired male replied absently as he rifled through the many files. "Don't worry, Matsumoto, I'm not checking to see if you were drinking when you weren't supposed to again. This time, anyway."
Damn. Matsumoto thought to herself. There goes that idea.
-;-
"No, I think you should use the word 'deranged' there." Kira muttered to himself as he sat on the couch with the third chapter of Shuhei's novel sitting in front of him. Shifting, he used the bright blue highlighter that he always seemed to have on hand and highlighted the sentence that he was finding problems with before scrawling down what he thought should go there with his pen.
As his friend was occupied with that, Shuhei was continuing to work on his book, fingers flying across the keyboard easily and grey eyes narrowed behind his reading glasses.
There was something not quite right about this place. Something cold and frigid. The air seemed to shudder in what could be considered revulsion as the scent of tainted flesh met his nose. But he couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly the smell was coming from.
"Shuhei, stop making so many errors." Kira muttered, scratching out another word and replacing it.
"Sorry." The dark haired male apologized automatically, mind on autopilot as his thoughts wandered around what he was writing.
"No you're not." Kira retorted.
"No, I am not." Shuhei agreed absently, backspacing several times and continuing with his new thought. Yes, that word would go well right in there…
"Don't know why I even bother trying to get through to you while you're wrapped up in writing." Kira rolled his eyes, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a long sip from it. "And by the way, you make really bad coffee when you're distracted by your book."
"That's nice."
"Back to being the emotionless bastard everyone knows and fears then?"
"Obviously."
"Have a nice fucking day to you too."
-;-
It was so much nicer to feel as though he were actually in control of himself, Grimmjow thought to himself as he wandered through Starrk's shop, the usual stack of records in tow as he sought out their individual places. The last few weeks had been stressful, to say the least, so it was a relief for him to be doing something as mundane as working. Hell, he didn't even mind the jazz music as much as he usually did today. And that had to be a miracle of some kind or something, because for once even Shinji wasn't commenting on it. He was too busy doing the bills and everything else on the front counter with his calculator and notepad in tow. His long blond hair was pulled back in a rather attractive tail, and as long as he kept his mouth shut, you couldn't tell how freakishly straight his teeth were.
Grimmjow also had his hair pulled back, though it was in a high tail rather than a low one. He couldn't stand it when his hair was in a low tail. It just pissed him off for some reason.
"Hey, Grimmjow." Ggio greeted as he entered the store, his usual heavy duty headphones slung around his neck and his pants hanging low on his hips. The black haired male had been in the gang at one point but had branched off to go solo, and these days the only time that anyone really saw him was when he checked in with Starrk. The male was now into some kind of assassination shit, and to be perfectly honest, Grimmjow was content not to know what exactly the smaller male did for a living. Not that it would bother him much; there was just the 'tell and he'd have to kill him' crap, blah blah blah that he'd have to deal with later. And if there was one thing that he didn't feel like having to deal with, it was threats on his life on top of all of the other drama that he had to put up with in the last couple of days.
Only he would stumble across the one person he found himself instinctively drawn to, beaten up in an alley by a body. Only he would have such shitty luck.
Actually, he probably shouldn't say that; he knew quite a few people who had worse luck than him off the top of his head. Hiyori, Shinji's younger and most definitely more aggressive cousin. That girl was never going to get laid if she continued beating people with sandals. It just wasn't something that people did in this day and age.
Maybe she's a lesbian… Grimmjow thought to himself. It could explain why it was only men that she beat to a bloody pulp, too. Huh. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. He'd have to ask Shinji when he wasn't buried under math.
That thought solved, he moved onto the next topic, which happened to include the kid that he'd brought home with him. Well, he shouldn't actually say kid, considering the guy only looked to be a couple of years younger than him, but it was definitely amusing to see that the name bothered him. But then again, there could be a damn good reason why he didn't like anyone calling him that. After all, Grimmjow could remember a good number of names that he'd been called that simply made him grind his teeth. All of them revolved around his no good, drunkard of a mother.
Shuddering lightly, he moved on to the original topic that he'd begun to think about.
The kid. Well, more specifically at the moment, his phone. He'd made a date for the mystery person (who turned out to be one hell of a looking woman, after some more research into the phone) to meet up at a bar a couple of streets over. Of course, she didn't know that it wasn't this Shuhei kid that she was going to be meeting, but that wasn't the point. She'd been texting him all afternoon, and at this point, the blunette was wondering why the hell the kid would be friends with a woman like that in the first place. The damn phone was vibrating in his pocket every five minutes, for God's sake! Unless she wasn't actually his friend and her number was in his phone for entirely different reasons.
Sighing, he nodded to Ggio and navigated around another pile of records that had no doubt been left for him by Shinji as he was cleaning off the counter, putting the records away with practiced ease that had come with a good amount of time.
God, he needed better past-times.