Revised 1/2025.
Money. Sex. Pride.
What more could Ulquiorra Cifer ask for?
The woman's moans rippled against his ears, faint and hollow, with all the satisfaction of a flat soda, but the fizzle that barely reached his brain was enough to numb the void. The tang of sweat clung to his tongue, an unwelcome grit that grated even as his lips trailed the smooth curve of her back.
Reaching over, he covered her mouth. Too noisy. Too emotional. Her muffled gasp morphed into something eager rather than fearful. She loved it. Of course, she did.
He sighed, the sound escaping him in a slow, practiced release. She mistook it for something meaningful, clutching at it like a precious thing. Whatever. It didn't matter. She would leave soon—him, hopefully, even sooner.
Morning after morning, a different girl was found in his bed—a routine as normal as the daily chore of changing his sheets. Then, the roulette of reactions when they left had to be faced, though it hardly mattered. He never called back of course, and their names were never learned. This one would be no different, and it wasn't.
Chains and handcuffs, maids, school girls, catgirls; Ulquiorra had experienced it all. Soaking in the sight of a woman beneath him, completely at his mercy, teetering on the edge of pleading—it gave him power. A purpose. An ego trip.
He craved the void it offered, a shallow sea of pleasure that demanded nothing of him except indulgence. No virtue, no morals, no attachments—only the transient relief that came with surrendering to it.
It didn't matter that the void was corrosive. The deeper he sank, the more it consumed him, stripping away fragments of his soul until nothing remained. It wasn't long before his heart rotted away entirely, hollowed by his own indulgence.
Nonetheless, Ulquiorra's condition wasn't severe enough to disrupt his daily life. It wasn't something he craved every day—not necessarily.
The door clicked shut behind him, the faint echo swallowed by the stillness of his house. Stripping the bed felt like clockwork, the practiced tug of sheets almost mechanical.
His fingers brushed the sting on his jaw as he glanced at the clock, squinting at the hour through a haze of tired indifference. She had been given enough cash to call for a car at this time, hadn't she? He failed to see her problem.
Perhaps managing his impulses on his own would be wiser. It would certainly be more convenient. More efficient. No tangled sheets to strip, no awkward goodbyes and empty promises to endure, and, most importantly, no risk of a slap leaving its sting behind.
The hunt, the negotiation, the play—it all unfolded like a scripted tête-à-tête, requiring minimal effort on his part and offering just enough in return to carry on. It was transactional. Efficient.
No, Ulquiorra Cifer didn't have a problem. He had the solution.
He had been sexually active since the age of thirteen, and he didn't regret it for a moment. It was the peak of puberty, the age where hormones raged and the consequences of so-called 'mature' decisions raged even harder. He never bothered to think twice. Girls came to him, not the other way around. Women too.
Trash.
He didn't care about them. They threw themselves at him, faceless entities he could barely distinguish in the dark, reduced to voices asking, expecting, screaming, crying…
From an emotional perspective, he didn't care about himself, either. Emotions were distractions, roadblocks to desire that made people weak and irrational. He had no use for them.
Trash.
Other than sex, Ulquiorra's other sin was greed.
Money can buy happiness, he argued.
So far, he was right. Remaining apathetic in most situations had proven an effective way to survive. Growing up with a dysfunctional family only reinforced the practicality of his detachment. With money, he could buy everything that mattered—or at least the closest approximations: 'love', a home, a good meal. Even a family.
If a 6-lb brown Pomeranian counted as family.
Yammy bounced eagerly on his hind legs near Ulquiorra, his tiny paws scraping at the air as he begged for a taste of the bland pre-workout shake in Ulquiorra's hand.
Indeed, Ulquiorra didn't have a single problem.
A chime sounded at his door.
The doorbell ringing was an anomaly—not just for the hour, but in general. No one should ever be at his door.
He stopped mid-stride in the living room, his mind flicking back to the woman from earlier. What more could she possibly want? His jaw tightened, a grimace pulling at his features. He could already hear it, the prelude to an unwelcome battle: excuses to linger, pleas to change his mind, demands for a sliver of affection. Of care.
Things he had no intention of giving.
The doorbell rang twice more by the time he got to the door. Dragging his feet as he buttoned up his shirt and rolled his sleeves to his elbows, he peered through the peephole.
He didn't see anyone there.
Warily, he opened the door, bracing himself for the usual spectacle—a prior fling on her knees again, pleading for 'something, anything!' Another night. Another chance. It was all so predictable.
But this?
His gaze dropped, and his breath hitched. At his feet sat a baby's car seat, its contents concealed beneath a blanket patterned with cartoon cats. A folded letter rested on top, its edges fluttering slightly in the cool night breeze.
This was not normal.
He glanced to the left, then to the right. The street was deserted, as it should be at 4:07 AM. No one lingered in the shadows, no footsteps echoed in retreat.
With a growing sense of unease, he reached for the letter, his hand trembling with the same physical dread that coiled tightly in his rotten heart.
To Ulquiorra Cifer, it read.
It had to be a mistake.
His eyes scanned the hastily written words.
"This is our baby. His name is Grimmjow. His birthday was on July 31st."
Ulquiorra froze, the paper crumpling slightly under his grip as sweat began to bead on his temple.
Our.
The word looped in his mind, each repetition louder, sharper, more accusing. Our… Our…
A sudden shift in the blanket broke his trance. His eyes snapped to the car seat as a tiny, wriggling form stirred beneath the cartoon-print fabric.
He flinched, stumbling back a step, disbelief shattering the stoic mask he wore like armor.
This couldn't be real.
Impossible. This couldn't be right. He always made sure the women he slept with were using some form of contraceptive. And while he did prefer sex raw, he'd been meticulous about pulling out cleanly. Always. On top of that, he was also–
His thoughts ended abruptly, his chest tightening as though the air itself refused to move. Forcing himself to focus, he looked back at the letter, eyes scanning the next lines with growing dread.
I can no longer support the product of our little scandal and I am moving with my new husband to America. Take care of him, you fucking cheating cheap ASSHOLE!
His hands trembled as he turned the paper over, as if searching for the punchline to a terrible joke, but all that greeted him was a final, mocking note:
P.S. He refuses to play with any toy that isn't a cat toy.
What.
Ulquiorra carefully placed the letter back on top of the blanket. Taking a step back, he let out a steadying breath before slowly closing the door in front of him, shutting out the absurdity on his doorstep.
Cheating? He would never cheat. Despite being every bit the complete asshole he knew himself to be, he drew the line there. He had no patience for the melodrama that came with relationships, which was precisely why he avoided them altogether. If the women he slept with more than once made the mistake of assuming exclusivity, that wasn't his fault.
He never promised them anything.
And yet, here he was, facing the aftermath of a situation he didn't even believe could exist.
Maybe he was hoping it would disappear. If he went back to bed, slept a little longer, and woke up, it would be as though none of this had ever happened. Or maybe it was some elaborate prank—the kind that lost its appeal once the intended reaction wasn't delivered.
A dream. Yes, that was more plausible.
But then he heard it.
A soft whimper from behind the door.
His hand moved before his mind could catch up, yanking the door open.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the blanket and ripped it off the car seat, sending it fluttering into the grass beyond.
And there it was.
A little bundle of despair—alive, healthy, and staring back at him with wide, unfocused eyes.
The infant's tiny hands fisted in the air and his small body squirmed, pressing further into the carrier now that the blanket was gone, leaving him exposed to the cool night air.
Ulquiorra took in the tufts of light blue hair sparsely covering his head and the startlingly bright blue eyes—uncomfortably vivid, like a midday sky.
Why the mother would dye its hair such an unnatural, unsightly color so early in its life was beyond him. To hide an identity?
Ulquiorra kneeled down and poked him in the forehead. The child gurgled in response, wriggling slightly as if in protest.
Definitely felt real.
He moved in for another touch, but this time, he managed to get his finger caught. The infant beamed at him, gums and all, playfully swinging the finger around in their tiny fist.
Ulquiorra Cifer had a problem.
…
When he brought the child indoors, the baby squealed from its place on the ground, a shrill scream that ricocheted off the walls of the house and burrowed into his skull. Gripping his now aching head, Ulquiorra feverishly scrutinized the letter's contents once again as though a second read might reveal an escape clause he'd missed.
"Grimmjow."
What the fuck kind of a name is Grimmjow?
He could ask one of his fawning coworkers to take the baby off his hands, let them draw lots or figure it out amongst themselves. He could put it up for adoption and relinquish the burden entirely.
Or, maybe, he could leave it on someone else's doorstep and walk away as if none of this had ever happened.
Something rancid hit his senses. Against every screaming neuron in his brain urging him to ignore it, he leaned closer, rolling the baby slightly to the side in its carrier.
The stink intensified.
The infant's tiny hand reached for his again, latching on with surprising strength. Ulquiorra wrinkled his nose in disgust, glaring at the source of the odor as though it had personally offended him.
Sitting back on his haunches, his captive finger swaying in the baby's relentless grip, he let out a sigh that felt heavier than it should.
"What am I going to do with you?" He murmured to himself.
For the first time in years, Ulquiorra felt truly lost.
He didn't know the first thing about babies. No close friends or family to lean on, and his neighbors were the kind who preferred their own company. Not that he'd ask them anyway.
There was no chance he'd let anyone in his circles catch wind of this predicament. What a turn-off that would be. Gossip spread like wildfire, and it always found a way to scorch him in the end.
He could track down the mother, confront her, and threaten to take the child back—or better yet, involve the authorities. Let them mete out justice for her reckless abandonment. Either way, it didn't matter to him, so long as this burden was no longer his.
But after a futile search outside, it was painfully clear the perpetrator was long gone. No trail, no witnesses, nothing but the mess she had left behind.
The child's blue hair and eyes didn't help matters. Identifying someone based on such striking yet baffling features was a dead end. And besides, he had slept with so many women that he wouldn't know where to begin.
As was her plan. Probably.
He picked up the car seat and set it down on the couch, sinking into thought as Yammy leapt onto the sofa, tail wagging high as he sniffed curiously around the seat, clearly investigating the foul odor wafting from the child within.
"Don't eat him, Yammy," he muttered dryly, casting a side glance at the dog.
The Pomeranian responded with a sharp sneeze, his fluffy tail swishing in delight as if to say, Relax, I've got standards.
Ulquiorra considered his options quickly and carefully. The young bachelor did not want that thing anywhere near his place for more than a day.
Moving to the kitchen, he grabbed his phone and began searching. There had to be organizations for situations like this, right? But every one he found required names, forms, records—trails that could lead back to him. If anything leaked to his workplace, his reputation would be done for.
No, something more discreet was needed. Something… informal.
He typed in the only baby-related idea that came to mind. A piercing cry erupted from the seat, dragging his attention briefly before he refocused on the screen. He tapped on the hours of operation for the third promising hit, a facility not far from his residence. 5:30 AM.
What kind of person even kept those hours? Either business was slow, or there existed some breed of human so fundamentally alien to him—someone who actually enjoyed early mornings and… children. The very thought filled him with a distaste that nearly rivaled his contempt for this entire predicament.
The whine swelled into a full-blown wail soon enough, loud and suffering. Alas, he must face his possible nemesis anyhow.
Ulquiorra set his phone down and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves from under the sink, glancing briefly at the clock. Another hour to go before he would leave.
"I'll have you removed soon—for the sake of my sanity and presumably yours," he muttered. "You can't accuse me of being an inconsiderate host."
Armed with a foreboding wad of paper towels, he approached the carrier. The infant, as if understanding the implication, seemed to pout in reply. Yammy, wisely, was nowhere to be seen.
Ulquiorra exhaled sharply, preparing for the ordeal ahead.
"But first," he declared, grimacing, "you must be cleaned."
…
Above him, a large, weathered sign read Urahara's Daycare, the bold lettering framing the roof of a modest, red house.
Ulquiorra adjusted the baby seat under his arm, jostling its passenger, who responded with a displeased gurgle. Up close, the building's charm faltered. The wooden panels were warped and faded, whispering of years gone by. The small porch, cluttered with quirky trinkets—wind chimes, potted plants, and a precarious stack of toys and books—seemed like a shrine to whimsical chaos.
Balancing the carrier against his hip, he rapped on the door. His gaze wandered over the mismatched exterior, cataloging its eccentricities in quiet disapproval, when the door suddenly rattled open.
Standing before him was a tall, blond man wearing a green and white striped hat tilted forward at a jaunty angle to cast a dark shadow over his eyes. His grin was wide, his demeanor utterly unbothered.
"Why, hello there!" the man greeted. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to do something about this…baby," he deadpanned, voice as emotionless as if he were ordering a latte.
The man blinked twice, his smile widening even further as he gestured toward the open door. "Come in, come in," he urged. "That must be heavy for you. Don't you have a baby carriage? Let us chat inside, shall we?"
For some reason, the implication that Ulquiorra hadn't come prepared struck a nerve. A slight irritation prickled at him, though he'd done his best on short notice. The man's tone, casual yet almost condescending, made him feel like an idiot.
Ulquiorra suppressed a frown, nodding curtly as he stepped inside. It wasn't until he crossed the threshold that he felt the weight of the man's unwavering gaze—like he could see straight through him, as though Ulquiorra's every flaw and hesitation were being read like an open book.
His shoes tapped quietly against the wooden floor as the man escorted him through a long hallway that opened up to a rather large living room furnished with some mismatched couches and a redwood table in the center.
Ulquiorra said nothing, choosing instead to sit in silence, carefully setting the car seat down beside him. The man across from him melted into the couch as if he were part of the mismatched furniture, his casual, almost too comfortable demeanor at odds with Ulquiorra's tight, guarded presence.
"Pardon my rudeness, my name is Urahara Kisuke. I'm the owner of this daycare." He stood slightly and gave a polite bow.
Ulquiorra stared before inclining his head in return. "Jon... Snow."
A lie. Necessary. If they came looking for him after he disappeared from the child's life, they'd be searching for someone who didn't exist. Still, he inwardly cringed at the blatant lack of effort. If this man was sharp—and something about him suggested he was—then Ulquiorra might not even leave the building without scrutiny.
Kisuke's eyebrows arched slightly, his expression alight with what seemed to be interest rather than amusement. If there was mockery, it was buried too deep to detect.
"So, Snow-san, what is it that you want done with this baby?" he paused, "Specifically."
Ulquiorra internally scoffed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
What else do they do here?
"Your job?"
Kisuke's laugh came quick and light, his hat tipping forward slightly as he leaned back. "You're quite the funny one, Snow-san. But!" He snapped his fingers, his tone shifting with a sudden, exaggerated enthusiasm. "I think I understand now just who you are and what it is you're asking for... Inoue-san!"
The name rang out toward the hallway before Ulquiorra could interject.
Who he was? His stomach twisted. Damn it. Coming here was a mistake. Of all the idiotic decisions—choosing this obscure, worn-down spot on the map and catching the attention of its undoubtedly eccentric owner had to rank among the worst. He should walk out, now, before—
"Yes, Urahara-san?" came a soft, high-pitched voice from the hallway.
From the room behind him emerged the most beautiful woman Ulquiorra had ever seen. Her voluminous chestnut hair framed her face in soft waves, cascading down her back like a waterfall of silk. Bright, gray-brown eyes, unguarded and almost painfully sincere, seemed to shimmer as they locked onto his. Her radiant smile was genuine and large, her cheeks and lips a peach tint, and her lashes long and dark.
The break of morning daylight filtered through the daycare's windows, catching her hair in a golden glow, as if an angel had descended and conjured the illusion of a halo behind her where she stood.
Ulquiorra quickly looked away, his expression unreadable but his thoughts disjointed. Something about her seemed so pure he felt as though he was forbidden to look at her. It left him feeling vaguely like an intruder.
Definitely not his type.
Despite the lack of eye contact, the woman still bowed politely in his direction.
"This is Inoue Orihime. She takes care of all the infants here."
She straightened from her bow, her tone soft with a hint of reservation. "Nice to meet you…"
"Jon Snow," he repeated blandly.
Her eyes, free of suspicion, lit with excitement and genuine hospitality as they met his unyielding emerald gaze. It made his skin prickle with discomfort. Then, she walked around the table and peered into the car seat curiously.
"Aww! He's got blue hair! That's so cute!" she beamed, her delight almost grating.
Absolutely not his type.
She reached out, hands hovering as if approaching something sacred, then paused to glance at him.
"May I?"
He grumbled inaudibly to himself. The child wasn't his and it felt awkward having people treat him as if it was. "Do what you want."
With tender hands, Orihime lifted the baby from the carrier, cradling him close against her breasts. Ulquiorra's eyes lingered longer than he intended. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—did she breastfeed? He quickly averted his gaze, irritated by his own wandering focus.
"What's his name?" Orihime asked, her voice gentle as she slipped a slender finger into the baby's mouth, pacifying his quiet fussing.
"Grimmjow," Ulquiorra answered bluntly, as though saying the name aloud solidified some unwanted connection.
While Orihime and Kisuke cooed over the infant, their voices an irritating background hum, Ulquiorra retrieved his wallet. Fishing out several yen bills, he abruptly stood, drawing their attention. He extended the money toward Kisuke.
"I hope this will be sufficient. I'll come back in a few hours then. I'll leave his blanket and car seat with you."
Kisuke accepted the money with a raised brow, his expression an unspoken question. The lie—no matter how executed—was unraveling by the second.
Excusing himself, Ulquiorra turned on his heel, ignoring the curious and puzzled stares of the two workers behind him, and walked out without another word.
Orihime looked down at the baby cradled in her arms, her frown deepening. The child's soft features seemed eerily familiar, though she couldn't quite place why.
She glanced at the empty carrier he had left behind. No instructions. No supplies. The man hadn't shown the slightest hint of concern for the infant's well-being. Her fingers tightened protectively around the baby, her thoughts racing.
She mulled over the idea of the child being abandoned and prayed he would come back. Surely, no one could leave their precious child so easily. As the baby drifted off to sleep in her arms, the glow of innocence on his tiny face only magnified her unease, but instead of feeling the urgency to alert the authorities or bring it to Urahara-san's attention, her thoughts began to drift in a different direction.
At the very least, she had his name.
…
Ulquiorra pushed open the glass door of his regular bar, the faint chime of the bell overhead breaking the soft murmur of conversation within. The silver-haired bartender glanced up from polishing a glass, his foxlike, slitted eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of amusement and mischief.
Ulquiorra had never understood why the man chose such a demeanor—it seemed ill-suited for a bartender, whose unspoken purpose was to endure the drunken ramblings of patrons. Instead, Gin Ichimaru's perpetually eerie grin and sharp gaze seemed more likely to frighten customers away.
Without a word, Ulquiorra took his usual seat at the bar. Gin's grin widened as he set the glass down with an almost theatrical flourish.
"Evenin', Cifer-san," Gin drawled. "The usual?"
"Ichimaru," Ulquiorra replied with a curt nod, signaling his assent.
As Gin went to concoct his drink, Ulquiorra sensed someone sit beside him. He sighed internally, gratefully. Turning to the woman, his personality immediately changed and his mood lifted.
The woman beside him leaned in, her sultry tone accompanied by a coy smile. "Wanna buy me a drink?" she purred, her deep brown eyes sparkling as she tucked a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear.
Yes, he thought, his gaze briefly flickering to the amber liquid Gin set before him. This empty life is back to normal.
…
Ulquiorra slammed the woman against his front door, his hands blindly fumbling for his keys while his lips claimed her neck, leaving a trail of hot, biting kisses. Years of practiced precision allowed him to unlock the door without a glance, and he kicked it shut behind him with a decisive thud. He wasted no time pushing her onto the couch, her flushed cheeks and breathless murmurs stoking his already simmering impatience. She was flush with lust, her soft pants and whispered begging like music to his ears.
What happened this morning was nothing short of a nightmare, and he intended to completely forget the occurrence, starting by burying himself deep into this woman.
Hovering over her, he allowed a slow, wicked smirk to curve his lips as he planted his slender, muscular arms on either side of her body. He was well aware that most women desired this position of submission and he was always obliged to remind them of why.
Slowly, his knee slid between her thighs, effortlessly parting them as he—
Ring.
With a low growl of irritation, Ulquiorra straightened, casting the woman an apologetic glance as he reluctantly pulled himself away. Heat simmered in his chest, threatening to reach his face, though his expression remained a mask of composed indifference.
Without pausing to consider who might be on the other side, he gripped the door handle and yanked it open with force.
Words, sharp and venom-laced, hovered on the tip of his tongue, ready to cut down whatever unfortunate soul dared disturb him. After all, his streak of unexpected visitors that day had been so spectacularly disastrous, he should have known better.
But he didn't hesitate.
He should have hesitated.
At his doorstep stood Inoue Orihime, burnt orange hair partially draped around the blue-haired infant she held in her arms. Her face and neck was completely flushed with crimson at the open appearance of the disheveled female on his couch, her legs spread apart provocatively.
"I-I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" She was incredibly flustered, her eyes darting between Ulquiorra and the woman on his couch behind him.
Ulquiorra glowered at her in annoyance, his lips a tight line as he held himself back from letting her know how unwelcome her presence was, but before he could send her off, he was interrupted.
"Who is that woman?!" he heard the woman shriek behind him.
"Hi! I'm just returning little Grimmjow to his pappy!" Orihime chirped innocently over Ulquiorra's shoulder not at all minding the raging female.
He swiftly turned around ready to explain, not quite mentally prepared for the night to end as badly as it was about to, but the movement actually made the impact of the woman's hand on his cheek land a lot harder.
"A baby!" she exclaimed in exasperation.
The woman huffed, rudely pushing past Orihime before managing to flag down a taxi conveniently ready for a new passenger.
Orihime bowed awkwardly after her, watching the cab drive away before sending Ulquiorra a sympathetic look.
"I hope you weren't trying to be serious with her," she laughed half-heartedly, her words meant to ease the tension. But as her gaze flickered from the departing vehicle back to Ulquiorra, she hesitated. Was it her place to chase after the woman and clear up the misunderstanding? She didn't want to make the situation worse, but she couldn't help but notice that Ulquiorra didn't seem keen to rectify anything either. He seemed… indifferent, even weary.
Ulquiorra shook his head and sighed heavily. Rubbing his red cheek, he leaned against the door frame, his gaze narrowing.
"What's your name again?" He knew it, but he always had trouble with names and his rage was making him petty.
"Orihime."
"Orihime…?"
"Just Orihime. I refuse to give you my last name because Orihime is what you will call me." She stuck her bottom lip out and her cheeks inflated. She decided to be a little stubborn by taking advantage of the fact he forgot her so easily. It had hurt her pride a little bit.
Ulquiorra watched the display, unamused.
Oh, we've got a badass here. He sighed defeatedly.
Wait.
"How did you find me?"
Suddenly, like a switch had been turned on, her mood changed and she giggled lightly, "I can't believe you didn't even try changing his diaper before you brought him to us. His little butt was so wrinkled!"
"I cleaned him. I didn't have a spare, so some paper had to suffice."
Indeed, he was so beside himself with the horrific realization he had nothing to change the baby into after the arduous process that he grabbed the first thing off the table to act as a barrier between the soiled undergarment and the newly washed skin. It was a mess, and he knew it, but the situation had left him scrambling for something—anything.
Orihime reached into her back pocket and withdrew a letter caked in something yellow, brown and wet. Suddenly, Ulquiorra was overcome with a sense of dread.
"Property of Ulquiorra Cifer," she read aloud. "It lists your address here." The amused lilt in her voice was twisted. "It's funny, because it's like she knew you would try giving him away! You know Cifer-san...," she paused to lean in closer, the mischievous glint in her eyes slightly covered by her pinned bangs, "I'm not so sure, but I think child abandonment is illegal, right?"
He could smell a hint of sweet vanilla emanating from her dewy skin as she drew teasingly closer.
Suddenly, Ulquiorra backed away in revulsion upon remembering that she was currently touching paper that had been hidden in shit.
Laughing lightly, as if his reaction had been precisely what she expected, Orihime brushed past him with a casual grace and walked into his home. After removing her shoes, she sat down on the couch—the same one Ulquiorra had just been on moments before, tangled in a more primal distraction. Her hands were folded gently around the infant, her eyes alight with a curious mixture of amusement and understanding.
"I know all about your situation, Cifer-san." She patted the unoccupied space next to her, "Come sit next to me and let's talk."
Unwillingly, Ulquiorra silently closed the door and sat beside her without breaking eye contact.
Despite everything about her that grated on his nerves, something about Orihime intrigued him—something far deeper than her physical beauty. Her eyes were filled with light and her face had an energetic glow. And yet, she was bold and somewhat reckless in her speech and decisions. Despite her soft mannerisms, her voice was full of confidence, a stark contrast to his own monotony.
And yet, it was this very contrast that made her presence all the more powerful. Her innocence, her purity, brash though it may have been, seemed to highlight his own emptiness in a way he couldn't ignore. She made him question his own existence, made him wonder how someone could be so... full. So alive.
Ulquiorra was torn between despising her for making him feel something he couldn't quite define, and succumbing to the dark pull of attraction he couldn't suppress.
All in a mere day's work.
"Cifer-san," she looked down at the now sleeping baby and ran a soothing finger over his brow. "I'm willing to help you with Grimmjow—"
Ulquiorra opened his mouth to object, but Orihime placed a finger to his lips. He stiffened, the sharp impulse to swat her hand away was only barely contained, his distaste almost overwhelming.
"I'll even pay for all his necessities and everything! Just…," the music in her voice started to wither and she withdrew her hand, averting her eyes from him once again.
Ulquiorra watched her, expecting to see tears well up, but instead, she snapped her head up, her eyes meeting his with a raw intensity. There was something that burned in them—a fierce determination that almost startled him. For just a moment, it felt like it pierced through the layers of his apathy, igniting something deep within him.
"Don't give up on him, Cifer-san. I promise I'll help you take care of him. Maybe at least until I can take care of him myself, okay? I won't report what happened this morning to the police."
He took a few seconds to consider it. Perhaps he underestimated the small daycare owner and his assistant. He was aware of risking having law enforcement involved, but he figured he would take his chances. Also, he was still in denial that the child was his, but the idea of placing any trust in someone, especially a stranger, was not an inclination he entertained easily. She had certainly caught him off guard, and though he was loath to admit it, there was something in her presence that tugged at the periphery of his mind.
Additionally, the girl was offering to provide the child all his needs. It was as if the baby wouldn't be his problem anymore. He would offer financial support as well, of course. Money was never a problem for him. But then, what was his purpose in this proposal?
"What are the conditions?" he eyed her warily.
Orihime's eyes widened in surprise that Ulquiorra had shown some interest in the deal. She averted her gaze shyly and blushed, staring at her knees as she spoke.
"I'll help you with your baby… But, two things—you have to do something about your…," Her voice dipped lower, almost a whisper, despite the solitude of the room. "Addiction."
Ulquiorra's chest tightened as a familiar surge of anger began to bubble up from within him. The nerve of her—to waltz into his home, to casually speak of his personal demons as though they were nothing more than trivial inconveniences. Who did she think she was, coming into his life and demanding things of him? To take his vulnerabilities and turn them into leverage, to manipulate him with his own weaknesses. It was infuriating.
"If it's money you want, I can pay you whatever you need."
Ulquiorra stood up to dismiss himself from the discussion, but Orihime stood up faster, surprising him when her palm pressed firmly against his abdomen, forcing him back onto the couch. His mind raced, but his body was too stunned to react immediately. She looked at him squarely, determination flickering in gray-brown flecks, and before he could fully process it, she was sitting on his lap, her thighs trapping him in place.
"Two. You have to provide me a place to stay."