Chapter Twenty: Reunited

The meeting between me, my mother, my little bro, Dr. Kurosaki and his daughters wasn't something you'd describe as heartfelt. After all, I had consistently talked to mother and Szayel via Skype during my absence. I had recently learned that Szayel had started showing interest in sports, in Euro Football in particular. The news revealed nothing but that he idolized Ichigo more than me. The little bugger. And to think I was so intent on rearing him as a QB like me…

It took about two hours to narrate to them the smaller details. By the time everyone was ready to retire to his/her own business, Ichigo still hadn't arrived from a birthday party somewhere. I began to wonder what he looked like now. I was mentally guessing because we hadn't talked for more than two years.

For the meantime, my old room in the attic was waiting for me. It was gathering dust. To be quite honest, moving back in the house didn't strike me as an inviting choice. I was now almost twenty-one years of age, with two years of college education under my belt. This fact might have precluded some eligibility for a job but it wasn't gonna be easy. Although getting a place of my own and being able to feed myself had been more or less the original plan, there remained a lot of prerequisites for those. And relying on the allowance Sousuke was providing me was kinda making me feel less of a man. He, after all, was sentenced to fund my college education until the end. As of now, at least for the next few months, the only choice I had was to abuse the hospitability of my parents.

But my mental processes took the backseat as soon as a figure emerged at the doorway.

He had grown taller—maybe 5'11".

My stepbrother was now eighteen and a half years old and was graduating from high school. The truth was, our fated reunion had made it a point to toy around my imagination these past few weeks. For my part, I'd welcome him with open arms, maybe. He would kiss me, like a long lost friend or something closer, but then I'd pull my pants down and unbuckle his goddamned belt before long—

I had to gasp.

I got punched in the tummy—Hell, what the fuck was that? Here I was, expecting something bittersweet, and what I got instead was a fucking fist in the stomach? In a desperate bid to catch my breath, I staggered back on my bed, my throat choking back what felt like a build-up of lumps.

"The fuck was that for?" I demanded. Frankly, it was difficult to bring myself to show anything resembling leniency to what he had just done, but perhaps he had his reasons, so then I restrained myself from returning the physical blow.

In his face was a sharpness that could only have been resentment, which was further intensified by the dim light in my room. Apart from that, his hair appeared longer and more disheveled now, as if there was a deliberate attempt to make his entire appearance more adult-like. If you asked me, I'd say he was looking more or less ten times more dishy than he had been two years previously, and that was not mentioning the more angular edges his face had acquired. Jesus, what would I give to bring him into my arms right now? Shoving him down my bed looked like a very inviting option, really. However, to tell him that at a time like this would no doubt be fatal.

"What, you ask, brother? That's for the two fucking years you went about without batting a freaking word to me. Not even a message via Facebook? Why, I ought to ram something in your crotch." He was hissing the words. Indeed, the crease on his brow was lending him an aspect of some beast.

"I don't have a fucking Facebook account. If you're talking about the fan page, you might as well yell at a breaking dam. It's the bitches in USC that created that shit."

"Really."

"As if I'd call myself Rockstar QB or some cheesy crap like the Blue Jock."

"No emails; no texts even? In fact, not a fucking word. I had to ask your mom every now and then to know what you had been up to. So what am I, a fucking oversight?"

"Well…"

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, jerk?"

Here it must be admitted that I'd had my shortcomings too. But, while I had deliberately abstained from contacting him during my stay in the US, the same had been true with him. Not once had he corresponded with me via email, nor had he bothered to incite my mom into mentioning his name in her letters. Just who was he to talk?

"I was trying to detach myself… Er, how long have you known I meant to come back anyway?"

"A month now. Karin told me. She overheard your mom talking to my dad about it."

"Doesn't Karin hate me?" I asked.

"Used to."

"What does that mean—she doesn't hate me anymore?"

He sighed.

"After we broke up at that time, she was practically pestering me to, like, swallow my pride or something. I never really knew what she meant by it. What the hell. Why are you changing the topic?"

"Why are you changing the topic? Why would Karin act like that?" I demanded back. I began to wonder what his sister's reasons had been for encouraging her brother to make amends with me. He gave up being dodgy by then,

"Fine. She noticed I'd been lonely. Fucking happy already?"

It now appeared I owed my stepsister an apology. Moving on, I pursued,

"Why did you ever dump me in the first place? I did tell you I was done with that woman."

"Here we go again, changing the fucking subject."

"Ichigo, I just asked you a serious question."

"What good is answering that one?" He was visibly annoyed now. But the correct attitude for me was to stay quiet, in anticipation of the row I was sure to win. In due time, he was heard saying, "Frankly, even now I still don't know. Maybe because it hurt so damn bad I was sure nothing you could do would've bridged the gap that had opened then."

"Idiot." I muttered.

His facial expression made no other impression than to convince me that he was beginning to accept he had been the one who had made a mistake two years ago; not me. He spoke,

"I was a moron, ok? So can we go back to my original question? Why did you cut me off just like that? I wouldn't have minded a fucking phone call or two."

"There was this danger that I would hear from you something along the lines of 'I'm dating Kugo-sempai now, so you can just fuck yourself'. Trust me, this fear accompanied me everywhere. More importantly, it hasn't been an easy decision to screen you out. At the end of the day, I wanted to focus on football. So there."

"Moron. Never in a million years would I go out with that jerk, not when he had something to say about you being the high school MVP."

"What?"

"My schoolmates weren't pleased by the commissioner's and the sports panel's decision. Everyone believed you stole from Kugo-sempai what was rightfully his. Needless to even say, everyone was quick to assume you were held into some special favor because of your injury."

"Do you mean to say Kugo subscribed to that crap?!" I burst forth heatedly. Indeed, if there was one thing that had the power to make my anger subside, it would be the sight of Karakura Gakuen students held in line and getting rammed by Edrad Liones or Omaeda. Jesus, I was burning with the desire to strangle someone.

"On the contrary, Kugo-sempai would come to your defense every time he hears a snide about you and your award. However, he did personally tell me, albeit underhandedly, that he was the better quarterback between the two of you."

What Ichigo said made me feel like a condemned man. Really, the amount of truth in Kugo's claim slaughtered my self-esteem in ways I hadn't experienced ever since I had been a little kid. Because when it came down to it, Ginjo Kugo was the better sportsperson in general. And I simply owed it to anyone who was willing to listen to clarify at least that much.

"Well, he kinda is." I admitted.

"I never would've agreed to that, honestly." He said.

"…"

"Grimmjow, you have to stop underrating and beating yourself up. It's so stupid."

"…"

"When Kugo-sempai told me that, it took all my power to stop myself from burying my knuckles in his mouth."

"…" I didn't say a shit, although my mouth was very near to wording 'Dude, I absolutely love you.'

"You see, when you broke your arm, everyone in the stadium believed your dreams died right then and there. But you came back, not only with a grave injury but with the kind of determination seldom seen among athletes who have just been torn down. That made you the best, a true undisputed MVP, I guess. And for someone like Kugo-sempai to to throw dirt on something like that... I couldn't stand what he was trying to imply, so…"

It seemed like his tongue had outran his better self. To be sure, I hadn't by this time forgotten about the fist he had earlier buried in my fucking stomach. In fact, the throb was still there. But I presided,

"So you told him to go to hell. Tell me so and I'll forget about the punch you gave me for a lousy welcome greeting." Suddenly I was closing in on him. In the moment that followed, the distance between our faces narrowed down to a disagreeable proximity. Never by a glance, nor by even a breath, did he let it be known that he was ready for this. But I was.

I kissed him just then, ready or not. That was the only action commensurate with what I was feeling. With an excitement I took no trouble to conceal, I pulled away with the intention to undo his belt and to unzip his pants, to satisfy two fucking years of no sex whatsoever. Yes, I would fuck his brains out tonight, and not a shit in this world could stop me from doing so.

"Did you ever screw someone else while you were away?" He asked all of a sudden.

"I should ask you the same."

"Answer me."

That he was asking an intrusive question was not my problem. My problem was his lack of faith in me and his aversion to my wild propensities. While I had engaged in an array of sexual experiences rarely encountered by people my age, I had always made it a point not to fuck people unless my sexual appetite or grave necessity called for it. During my stay in Cali, my track record in abstinence had been immaculate. I could not have brought myself to screw around because every freaking time the opportunity had presented itself my stepbrother would've come hovering into my imagination, as if to bar me from promiscuosity.

"Almost. Near misses."

"Liar."

"If you want proof, lock that fucking door behind you. Now. I'll show you what a two-year abstinence looks like, brother." I said, being the manipulative bastard that I was.

He shut the door. When he did that, my lust spiraled out of control. Just who was I to prevent myself from devouring what was before me, when I had thirsted for it for two fucking years? Why, I almost ripped his shirt apart in my haste to undress the hell out of him. When that was done, the sight of his skin was like an adrenaline shot straight into my heart. I sucked his nipples, ran a palm up his thigh, unbuckling his belt with my free hand. If this wasn't adequate proof of two years' worth of sexual craving, I didn't know what was. And then he proceeded to unbutton my top, as if he himself was being pursued by the same feral arousal. I could maybe undo my fly buttons to make things fare faster, since in the first place my boner was threatening to poke through my underpants, but I was too busy sucking every open skin on his exposed torso.

After two hours, Ichigo and I found ourselves scooping up pieces of our clothing from the floor. Now fully dressed in the same manner he had gone in some odd hours ago, he stood up to take leave of me, to perhaps end up sleeping the night away in his room. On the other hand, I took no trouble to put on the whole set of outfit I had had on earlier. On that respect, I merely produced a pair of boxers and a loose tee from my luggage. He then asked me something relevant that hadn't crossed our minds earlier,

"Have you come back to show Japan what America has done to you?"

The question sounded spontaneous and, unless my imagination was misleading me, it was even innocent. As it was, it took me a while to answer.

"I came back to win this time; not to obtain a one man's victory, like an MVP award. I am here to rally a championship team, if not for any other reason."

"I see. But, you know, your journey toward the NFL should've started over there. In here, we have the Pro League but it's nowhere near as grand as anything you've seen in the west."

"Right now I have lots of regrets for chucking Uncle Sam. I suppose I'll go on dwelling on them for days ahead. But if I don't return here—to my home, my pals, and to you most of all—I'll regret it not for days but for the rest of my life, over and over. Every day. Two years; somewhere there, I realized that's the maximum amount of time I can endure without you. And that's the truth."

A minute ago Ichigo had pried my door open to commence his departure. He was now casting me a tender glance, as he must have been unwilling to leave me alone or to be alone himself. I was not so certain about either of those until he lunged back at me, kissing me with force, without giving heed to the open door that now gaped ahead of us. Due to that, the rest of the world hardly mattered now. He pulled away and pressed his mouth against my ear. As he was taller now, the difference in our heights had been reduced to maybe two inches, rendering this kind of intimacy easier to conduct.

And there again we made out standing up. It wouldn't be improbable for us to find ourselves back on the bed at this rate. It must have lasted for several minutes when a cough was heard from behind Ichigo. Of course, we disengaged ourselves from one another only to find…

Starrk and Ulquiorra were standing erect on the threshold, their fists stuffed in their pockets. How long had they been standing there? Worse still, Ulquiorra took no trouble to avert his gaze. Naturally, out of the discretion I was in no mood to exercise, I pulled away from my stepbrother.

"Welcome back, Grimmy." Starrk recited casually, not a trace of embarrassment in his manner. His hair was in a pony tail and his skin was more tanned than I remembered it. He looked like a heavy metal rock star rather than an athlete.

"Couldn't you knock or something?" I answered in annoyance.

"Knock on an open door?"

"Something."

"Dunno about that. Aren't you happy to see your best friend first time in two years?"

"My BFF Ulquiorra and I have had our sweet reunion five hours ago." I said, just so to piss him off.

"Oh, so I've been fooling myself for ten years now, is that it?" Starrk retorted, beginning to smile.

"Okay, I'm so happy I wanna kiss you right now my future captain. But I would've wished you knew how to announce your arrival."

"FYI, I coughed, and I would've thought the rustle made by nine approaching people was enough distraction to suspend what you were doing."

Had he just said nine fucking people? I craned my neck over Ichigo's shoulder, to find no one else other than these two. Upon edging in closer to the door, however, I found that my view of the hallway grew wider, so then it became apparent that seven other people had, in fact, arrived with my two best friends.

"What the fuck is the meaning of this, Ulquiorra?" I solicited.

"You can start asking your brother." Was his answer, to which I turned to Ichigo who face-palmed.

"Er, Ulquiorra-san called me yesterday, to help organize a welcoming surprise party. Haha, sorry about that—must have slipped my mind for awhile. But I've bought everything you asked me to, Ulquiorra-san. They're in the fridge."

Toushiro Hitsugaya, Yumichika Ayasegawa, Kira Izuru, Ganju Shiba, Edrad Liones, Gio Vega and Lisa Yadomaru were idling on the corridor, each sporting a genial expression.

So these are my future teammates.

TBC/END

A/N: This ends here, actually. But I will maybe upload an epilogue.