-Tell Me Tomorrow-

'Everybody hates me

Everybody wanna fight

We can't stand to wake up in the sun

But can't sleep in the moonlight.'

-Chapter Two: Aequitas-

Grimmjow pulled out of the girl almost violently, buckling his jeans as she breathed heavily and tried to regain her composure. She had been rubbing herself all over him in Seretei, the club alive and throbbing, bodies pressed and the air smelling of smoke, sweat, and heat. He had finally dragged the strawberry blonde out the back door and into the alley that smelled like piss and garbage and had fucked her against the brick wall covered in graffiti.

"Jesus," she giggled, trying to grab at his arm as she adjusted her miniskirt with her other hand, "That was fantastic."

"Fuck off," he murmured, shrugging her off and pulling a cigarette out of his jean's pocket and lighting it quickly.

"What the fuck?" she argued, slapping his arm, her gray eyes blitzed from the lines of coke she had probably done in the grungy bathroom not long before meeting Grimmjow on the dance floor, "Don't fuckin' talk to me like that."

Grimmjow began walking away from her, grabbing the graffiti-covered metal door to get back into the club, the bass rattling his eardrums, his cigarette trapped between his teeth. Shit, the only reason Grimmjow could come up with for fucking the bitch was because he hadn't gotten any in a few weeks, not to mention she had gorgeous, orange hair, "Yer a bitch, so I'll talk 'ta ya like one. Ya weren't even tight, you fuckin' dope slut."

She started cussing up a storm, saying something about him having a tiny dick as he ignored her and slammed the back door behind him, weaving his way through teenagers trading rolled yen bills for packets of blow. The fog of smoke was almost delicious as Grimmjow entered back into his learned world, walking around the edge of the frenzied dance floor to avoid the gyrating bodies. He had hit Seretei Monday night but his boys had talked him into coming again later that week and now it was a Friday night, the busiest night for Seretei. The heavily tattooed and bald DJ was mixing American and Japanese tracks, mostly rap and Indy underground. He bobbed with his Bose headphones as lights flashed and the beats blasted from the speakers:

'Touch it, bring it, babe

Watch it, turn it, leave it, stop

Format it…'

Gin's common smirk was on his face as he made room for Grimmjow at the crowded table, sliding a beer towards his best friend, "Did'ja have fun?"

Grimmjow grunted, shot-gunning his beer as the heat and the beat worked over his sweaty flesh.

"She ha' such pretty hair," Gin said, his silver hair across his forehead as he stared down into his lap, his slim fingers working quickly and expertly on a joint. He licked the edges of the rolled paper as he opened his eyes, revealing pale, icy blue orbs, "Ya got a thing fer orange."

Grimmjow didn't deny it. He kind of did. The more he thought about it, his last several fucks had all been girls with red or strawberry blonde hair, the closest shade to orange as one could get.

Except for that kid in his homeroom class, the strawberry that had nearly ripped his head off for calling him that. Ichigo. Ichigo Kurosaki. Now that kid had orange hair: it was a beacon of flame in the darkness, and Grimmjow wondered if it was soft or coarse. If he ran his fingers through it, would the spikes make him bleed?

"What the fuck," Grimmjow grumbled, pissed off he had caught himself thinking something so girly about a guy. Guys didn't have pussies, so that train of thought needed to stop right the fuck now.

Gin lit the joint, took a hit, then offered it to him, waving it slightly, "Looks like even a fuck can't distract 'ya. Come on, relax. Yer seriously gonna kill yerself if ya don't unwind."

Grimmjow accepted the offering, taking three long pulls before passing it back, the feeling all too familiar as his mind began to numb and expand. Grimmjow didn't do drugs, had never touched the hard shit, but he didn't consider marijuana a drug. Actually, Grimmjow was in more danger with his cigarettes then the herbal plant, considering cigarettes could give him lung cancer and kill him while all marijuana did was kill a few brain cells and make him lethargic.

Okay, it gave him the munchies too, but honestly, Grimmjow's body fat couldn't have been more than four or five percent when the typical teenage male runs somewhere in the high teens early twenties: he could fucking afford a few binge sessions, and he didn't have work until tomorrow afternoon, giving him plenty of time to sleep off the night's festivities.

Grimmjow and Gin continued to pass a joint back and forth, sipping on another round of beers as they watched the dance floor and Nnoitra suck face with some hoe he hadn't fucked yet. A red bandana was placed strategically over his left eye, his long, stick-straight black hair reaching down the middle of his back as he finally moved the petite girl farther off the dance floor. Looked like just about everybody was getting lucky tonight.

Grimmjow bumped fists with a fellow Hollow member as he passed by, his shoulder length brown hair pulled back from his strong face, half up and half down. He was dressed simply in dark blue jeans and a white and red v-neck that revealed the heavy black tattoo work on his upper chest and arms. His signature shark tooth necklace was dangling from his throat, the giant shark took that he had speared from a shark himself off one of Karakura's reefs hanging just above his belly button from a black chord.

"Stark," Gin grinned, motioning with his hand for their friend to join them, "Take a seat, ma' brother. Haven' seen ya in a while."

Stark slapped hands with the silver fox, a very curvy and darker skinned woman with bleached blonde hair holding on to one of his hips as they maneuvered to sit on the other side of the table. Stark slid in first, followed by the hot as hell supermodel. Gin's grin never left his face as Stark started in on how he had been out of town for a few weeks, got caught up in some shit with a rival gang leader that had resulted in him meeting the hot piece of ass sitting to his right which he referred to as Hal. All she did was sit and blink. Grimmjow was beginning to wonder if Stark's pussy wagon even knew how to speak after about half an hour of green-eyed glaring silence.

Stark pulled out his own stash of weed, tossing it up on the table for them to share. Stark was the closest thing to a modern-day hippie as Grimmjow could conceive: lethargic, lazy, and always spouting nonsensical shit. When Grimmjow had first met him, he had thought everybody was shitting him about Stark being Aizen's number one. Aizen, the man who had started the madness known as the Hollows, called Stark in when there was a job that needed doing that needed discretion and no fuck ups. Usually you could find him smoking weed and listening to rad tunes in his apartment on south side, but when Stark Coyote was called in for a job, he got down-right scary. Not only was he one of the best fighters Grimmjow had ever seen, he also handled a gun like nobody else's business.

"You here fer work or pleasure?" Gin grinned while in the process of rolling another joint from Stark's beautiful damp stash.

"No work tonight," Stark said, taking a super long drag, "but you boys had better be strapped. Seretei is neutral territory."

"A'course," Gin nodded several times, lifting his shirt up to reveal the black .45 in the waistband of his jeans, "And you?"

"Got both my girls," Stark murmured, kissing the immobile and mute Hal on the neck before grinning at the boys across the table from him, "ya know I never go anywhere without Lilynette."

Grimmjow wanted to roll his eyes: Stark was cool as fuck, but he was weird as hell sometimes. He treated his gun like it was a lover, his lifeline. He'd even fuckin' named it after his favorite female singer, who, if Grimmjow remembered correctly, had died from a drug overdose back in the sixties. Stark had a more eclectic taste in music which seemed to belie his twenty-four years of living.

Stark raised an eyebrow at Grimmjow, rolling his own joint between his fingers as he waited for Grimmjow to admit he was packing something with a punch in case of a random rivalry fight. There had never been one in Seretei, in the club or the club's parking lot, but one could never be too careful. Several gangs claimed Seretei as the best hang out in the city, so it had been dubbed neutral territory, but that didn't mean some idiot wouldn't get drunk or blitzed on some drug and start shooting his mouth off and start a war.

Grimmjow sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver butterfly switchblade, flicking his wrist and imbedding the sharpened blade into the table in front of them, Stark's eyes wide as he grinned at his blue-haired friend, "No heat, Jaegerjaques?"

"Ya know I hate guns," Grimmjow hissed, removing the blade and flicking it almost expertly back into its closed and locked position before sliding it back into his pocket; he had the twin blade in the side of his boot. He'd had to use them several times, but he had never actually killed anyone. Hell, he was eighteen years old in only a few weeks and had no part in the drug cartel whatsoever, but sometimes rival gangs got snarky and jumped Hollow members when they were either alone or in too small of a group to defend themselves well. The Soul Reapers were their biggest enemies, the fucking little pricks. They always tried to start shit in huge packs, which had left Grimmjow vulnerable twice in the past few years. He had two wicked scars across his chest to prove it. It was the only time Grimmjow had ever been to an emergency room in his life, and the only time he had ever relied on a medication. He was amazed that he hadn't gotten hooked on the painkillers he had been given, but Grimmjow had always known he would never be a pill popper. Years of living with his strung-out mom had been enough to turn him off from that lifestyle completely.

Besides, he was pretty fucking good with knives and blades. His old man had actually given him his first blade, a pretty little piece. The crazy fuck had given it to him on Christmas day, his only present due to their living in a one-bedroom apartment in the Inner Seam, the central cesspool of Las Noches.

Grimmjow could still hear his dad mumbling on and on in German about how no son of his was going to grow up a defenseless little bitch. Grimmjow could still remember how pissed off his mom had been at the present, but Dietrich Jaegerjaques always got his way, either through words, or through his fists.

Grimmjow could still feel the blade in his hand, how his pointer finger had moved the blade back and forth, back and forth into the locked and unlocked position as his father chuckled in that deep, long-term smoker voice: He's my little blue beasty, aren'tcha, Grimm?

Grimmjow had nodded, resulting in his dad ruffling the blue locks that were identical to his own. It had always been extremely rare for his father to touch him tenderly; the action had been so simple, but it had been the equivalent of a hug or a kiss on the forehead. It was the only time, in fact, Grimmjow could ever remember his dad touching him in an affectionate way. Of course there had been plenty of times where the physical contact had been drunken aggressive shoving or slapping.

He'd gone to school in jackets, hoodies, or long-sleeved shirts all through elementary to hide the bruises his father used to inflict. Grimmjow could still remember one of his teachers, an extremely tender woman with laugh lines and orange hair had placed her hands on his face, her smile sad as she asked Grimmjow if he was being taken care of at home. Of course Grimmjow had jerked away from her, his hands gripping at his arms as he denied the treatment his teacher believed he was receiving at home.

"Your face is bruised," Inoue-sensei had said quietly, "Grimmjow, please, if you're being mistreated, I will do everything in my power to help you."

She had hugged him carefully, even if he did flinch at her touch. She had ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the blue locks and smiling at him warmly, "You're such a good kid, Grimmjow. It hurts me to think that someone would ever hurt you."

Grimmjow had still refused to tell her anything, but he had actually enjoyed that year in school. Kids teased him for his hair or because of where he lived; some of them even pushed him and called him names, telling him that he needed to get new clothes and stop smelling funny. Grimmjow would get so angry, wanted to beat them and tell them that he washed himself everyday but that he couldn't help the mold smell of the apartment or the garbage that piled so high in the streets that you needed a snowplow sometimes to commute the streets. Kids didn't understand that there were rats the size of cats and lurkers shooting themselves up with needles and junkies wandering, desperate for their next score. How walking to and from school every morning and every night sent adrenaline coursing through his body like a fire that would never be put out. Only a few of the other students got it, though. Only a few other students lived the same way he did, or if they didn't, they had come from it or lived near it. Everybody else…everybody else had become background noise, oblivious to the world in which Grimmjow had been born into.

And that teacher had cared, had actually given a damn about what happened to him, a foreign concept to a young, blue-haired half-blood.

And when Grimmjow went off to middle school, he found out his favorite teacher, that orange-haired woman with the kind brown eyes, had been car-jacked, shot in the head. He'd wanted to do something, wanted to go to Inoue-sensei's funeral, throw a flower on her casket or say a useless prayer. Grimmjow knew her daughter had been a year behind him, even though they had never actually spoken: the same orange-toned hair, the same huge, wide, brown eyes. Her name had been princess, or something like that. Orihime, perhaps.

It was the reason he had never touched a gun in his life, and maybe it was the reason he had an attraction to orange hair and brown eyes. Orange and brown, comfort colors, warm colors.

"Knives won't protect you in a gun fight," Stark said seriously, his eyes half-lidded, "One of these days, your aversion to guns is going to get you killed."

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side, brought completely out of his reverie as he stared at his fellow gang member and friend, "I'll take my chances. You've never seen me throw a knife before, have you?"

XXX

Ichigo groaned, running a hand over his face as he fought off his exhaustion. He was dead tired, and the riotous club had left his head throbbing and his legs useless. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Whatever had possessed him to take a night off from studying to go out with the one friend Ichigo had that was known for being a party animal was effectively out of his system.

"Honestly, Ichigo, it's not even that late," Shinji snickered, patting his uptight friend on the back, "We can still hit up Seretei, they're open for another hour at least…"

"Seretei?" Ichigo stopped in his tracks, staring at his friend as if he had absolutely lost his mind, "You can't be serious, Shinji. That place is dangerous."

"Pssh," Shinji snarked, waving a hand dismissively, "It's just got a rough reputation. It's totally wild there! And the d.j. who spins on weekends is sexy as hell…"

"Absolutely not," Ichigo said, already shaking his head as he started walking again. He'd had four drinks while Shinji was light years ahead of him. Even so, it was the most Ichigo had ever drunk in his life. In fact, it was only the second time he had ever drank in his life, and he couldn't wait to get safely home and crawl into bed and sleep until he was ready to face his strict and rigorous world again.

"But it's only a few blocks that way!" Shinji whined, tugging on Ichigo's arm and pointing vigorously down an alley on his right, "We don't have to stay long, just long enough for me to get a hold of that d.j. and…"

"No," Ichigo said in a commanding tone, "I'm going home, Shin."

Shinji kept whining the next few blocks as Ichigo tried to ignore him, but it wasn't long before Ichigo realized there were people following them. He tried not to overreact, but the small group of males had been following behind them at a distance for a good while. He didn't know whether to whisper something to Shinji or try to get them out of there with his friend completely oblivious, but he noticed that the teenagers were following much closer now, their footsteps distinct as Shinji finally caught on and spun around, his voice angry, "What the fuck do you guys want?"

Ichigo wanted to slap him, but he knew Shinji was plastered. He was leaning before he stood straight again, and Ichigo knew his friend couldn't possibly fight or even run in his condition.

"Ya sure got a big mouth," one of the boys said, his red hair pulled back into a high ponytail as intricate tribal tattoos covered his forehead, neck, and arms. Ichigo realized there were four of them and it made him scream like a little girl on the inside. The headband in the redhead's hair was white and black. The pale boy with shoulder length black hair to his right had a white and black bandanna tied around his forearm, while the pointy black-haired boy to his left had one dangling out of his jeans pocket. The final member was tall and as wide as a bull, built like a gorilla, his black and white headband covering his entire head.

Shinji had just started beef with a sect of Soul Reapers. Fuck, they were so screwed.

"He's drunk," Ichigo said, grabbing Shinji's forearm in a vice-like grip and tugging him back, "Just trying to get him home before he says or does anything else stupid."

The redheaded leader cocked his head to the side and took a few steps forward, the others staying back, the two black-haired boys looking bored while the gorilla grinned maniacally, "Ya know what? I like a smart bitch. Get that faggot's sparkly fairy ass home before I change my mind."

"What the fuck did you just call me?" Shinji spat, stepping forward, completely oblivious to the gang tags on the boys, thinking they were just some street punks. Ichigo knew Shinji was well off, his family having quite a spectacular house due to his parent's professions. He'd been born to talk down to people, so having anybody challenge him either brought out his narcissism or his rage, "Who the fuck are you calling a faggot, pineapple head?"

The redhead's eyes narrowed, his fists balling up at his sides as he stepped forward and pushed Shinji hard, knocking him back against a brick wall, "Do you have ANY idea what you've just started, ass hole?"

"Fuck you," Shinji hissed, swinging sloppily at the tattooed delinquent. The redhead's fist connected with Shinji's jaw, knocking him to the side as Ichigo reacted.

"Wait, hold up!" Ichigo yelled, trying to pry the larger delinquent off of his stupid drunk friend, "Just listen a sec-"

The strike to the right side of his jaw startled Ichigo, making him fall back before regaining composure and reacting. He immediately went into a defensive position as the redhead turned his fury on Ichigo, the other gang members hovering but not getting involved.

Ichigo managed to land a hit to the pineapple head's face, but it came at a price as Ichigo retracted his fist and left his center exposed, allowing the redhead to punch him very effectively in the gut. Ichigo dropped like a box of rocks to his knees, the redhead grabbing his hair roughly, "Ya got something ya wanna say, pumpkin?"

Ichigo slammed the base of his wrist as hard as he could against the redhead's kneecap, satisfied when the redhead grunted in pain and fell to one side, allowing Ichigo a moment to get up, "We don't want any trouble! Just let us be on our way."

"I don't think we can do that," one of the black haired boys said, cocking his head to the side like he was sizing Ichigo up. Apparently he was surprised the orange head could hold his own, "Not after you disrespected a Soul Reaper like that."

Shinji's face blanched, like he was finally seeing the light. Ichigo wondered if he'd wise up and start running now.

All four of the delinquents blocked Ichigo in against the brick wall, not too far, but not too close. Just enough to intimidate and scare the piss out of him as the red head leered, "And to think my night had been pretty boring. My fists need a good work out, Strawberry."

The gorilla man cracked his knuckles while the black haired boys had a new fire in their eyes, like they were ready to see blood.

"Run, Shinji," Ichigo commanded, seeing his friend was still quite frozen farther away from them.

They had never been particularly close friends, but Ichigo didn't need Shinji on his conscience. If he was going to get the shit beat out of him, he'd prefer to do it in privacy and not have anybody else pay witness to it. Besides, he deserved to get his ass handed to him for even thinking of going against his schedule. He never went out, he never walked the streets this late and he had never made a confrontation with a gang before in his entire life. The night had just become that much more complicated.

Shinji took off running, not even saying a word as his feet made slapping noises against the pavement as he ran in the direction of safety. Ichigo was surprised none of them went after Shinji, but then again, he'd pissed the leader off enough that maybe the others were following his lead.

"I'll deal with the fairy later," the redhead promised, his grin feral as he stepped forward and punched Ichigo so hard in the gut he lost his breath, "but I gotta admit, ya got some guts taking me on. Even saved your little fruity friend. You a faggot too, pumpkin head?"

Ichigo spit to the side, looking up into the delinquent's eyes, "Fuck you."

A swift kick and Ichigo was sprawled on the concrete, holding the side of his face that was beginning to swell with blood from scraping against the tarmac. A brutal kick to the side and still he did not cry out. Fuck, he knew that this would happen and he knew that it would hurt, but he would be damned if he showed these punks any weakness. Several blows later, he finally let out a strangled yelp of pain as the others joined in, kicking him quite viciously until he had curled into a small, tight ball, creating a smaller target and protecting his vital organs.

They taunted and laughed, finally pulling him to his feet. Ichigo, his adrenaline having burned off the feeling of drunkenness minutes ago, tried not to fall over as he realized his collar was wet with blood and what felt like sweat sliding down his ear was actually a shallow gash that had been inflicted sometime during the unfair fight.

The redhead slapped Ichigo's face repeatedly, trying to make him focus.

"Ya learned your lesson yet?" he taunted, grabbing Ichigo's jaw so hard Ichigo couldn't help but whine at the pain, "Got any more fight in ya?"

"I do," a silky voice stated.

All the delinquent's heads swiveled at the interruption. The intruder stood at the entrance to the alleyway, wearing ripped jeans and a white v-neck top that showed off the musculature of his chest. His hands were in his pockets, but the stance was in no way relaxed. His cerulean blue hair was spiked up and wild, much like how he wore it at school. He cocked his head to the side, regarding the small party before him, his eyes not on Ichigo but Ichigo's eyes on him, "Gangin' up on a vizard? Damn, when did you all grow vaginas? Bunch of pussies."

Ichigo wondered what the hell a vizard was as the redheaded demon seemed to lose his cool.

"Get the fuck out of here!" the redheaded leader growled, his eyes not leaving Grimmjow's form, "You're on our turf, fucker. Fuck off, before we come after you too."

Grimmjow shook his head side to side, a beast-like grin breaking out on his face, "And miss out on beating your ass? Hell no. I'll take my chances with your cock-sucking little band of rejects any time anywhere, Abarai."

"You're on our turf, Jaegerjaques, and you're alone," the redhead barked, who Ichigo assumed was this Abarai character, "and you're outnumbered."

Ichigo continued to stare at Grimmjow, torn between hating him and worshipping him in that moment. Who the fuck did he think he was? Ichigo wasn't some damsel in distress to be saved by some rogue Robin Hood. He could bloody take care of himself!

Grimmjow's manic grin was seriously scaring him at this point as he started laughing, making even Abarai stare at him like he was absolutely mad.

"Sorry, I'm a little high," Grimmjow offered, running a hand through his hair before stepping forward, "but I'm definitely up for kicking the shit out of a Gotei 13 reject."

"Fuck you!" Abarai bellowed, releasing Ichigo and turning on Grimmjow, charging him like a mad bull as he pulled his fist back for an aggressive punch. Grimmjow moved almost carelessly out of the way, bringing his elbow up and effectively smashing it against Abarai's face. Abarai's feet came out from under him at the force of the impact, landing him on his back as all his air rushed out of his chest, making a strangled "oh" noise. The other three converged on Grimmjow as he took a step back, not even bothering to get into a defensive position as the gorilla-like boy tried grabbing at him and putting him into a choke hold. It didn't work well, considering all Grimmjow had to do was kick the stupid fucker in the balls and he dropped like an avalanche. The other two boys just stared, looking at each other, deciding if it was worth it to incur the wrath of an Espada.

Renji was finally getting up, cursing as Ganju cupped his own goods and looked pissed as hell.

"I can do this all night," Grimmjow said, cracking his knuckles, "But I'm fuckin' tired and I got work today, so how about you save yourselves another round of ass kicking and get the fuck out of here? And if I EVER see your bitch asses beating on a vizard again, I'll cut your dicks off with a box cutter."

"Next time, Sexta," Abarai threatened, flicking him off and backing out of the alley, his boys at his heels. The pack of Soul Reapers disappeared nearly as quickly as they had come. Ichigo was still standing there, holding his side, trying not to fall back onto the concrete. He was so tired, and he knew he would be incredibly sore in the morning. The adrenaline was draining away, leaving him ready to just collapse and get some sleep. He felt exhausted and knew his legs were shaking as he breathed.

"You alright?" Grimmjow said, approaching the berry.

"No I'm not fucking alright," Ichigo hissed, finally giving in and leaning against the graffiti-covered alley wall, "Fuck, I think they broke one of my ribs."

"Let me see," the blue-haired delinquent ordered, lifting Ichigo's shirt and running his hand over the berry's hurt side. He practically slapped Ichigo's hand out of the way as he tried to pull his shirt back down, completely embarrassed.

Ichigo held in a whine as he felt Grimmjow's calloused fingers run over his ribcage, applying pressure to different areas to check for damage. Ichigo cried out when he pressed harshly against his lower abdomen.

"You'll bruise up, but they're not broken," Grimmjow announced, pulling his hand away and tilting the berry's face, "The gash is shallow, but if you feel light-headed, I'm taking you to a clinic."

"Don't bother," Ichigo mumbled, flicking Grimmjow's hand away from him. Dammit, he didn't understand how he could be so repulsed yet so attracted to Grimmjow at the same time. He didn't want to feel anything for this delinquent; didn't want to know what his hands felt like, but now he did. Even though his body ached, it seemed to ache more now that the fire was gone from those strong hands trailing his lean chest. Ichigo shook his head to clear his mind, but that only made him dizzy and almost fall over.

Grimmjow grabbed his arm, steadying him as he began to lead the kid out of the alleyway, "I'm taking you home, and I don't ever want to see your face in this area again, got that?"

"I can go wherever the hell I want!" Ichigo protested, pulling his arm away from Grimmjow as he charged forward on the sidewalk, his entire body throbbing in pain, "It wasn't even my fault! Those fuckers were following us, looking for a reason to fight. I fucking gave them one when they punched my friend."

"Where's your friend?"

"Took off. I told him to run," Ichigo grunted, putting a hand to his head to check if the wound was beginning to clot. Barely, "Never fought a day in his life."

"And you have?" Grimmjow said, his eyebrow raised comically.

"Fuck you," Ichigo said, turning on him and poking him hard in the chest, "I might not be some bad ass delinquent with a criminal record, but I sure as hell am not some helpless sniveling nerd that can't stand up for themselves."

"I never said ya were," Grimmjow said, still deciding whether to get angry or start laughing. This kid was certainly surprising. First he had known his full name and had pronounced it correctly the first time he'd ever even breathed a word to the kid. He had known he was a little feisty, judging on how he had reacted to being called Strawberry, but he'd proven himself tonight taking a beat down from four idiots of a rival gang to save a friend. That took courage, took guts. He'd known he was outnumbered, and yet he'd stayed, because obviously this kid was a warrior. He didn't back down, even if it meant getting his ass handed to him because four tended to take out one.

"But you were thinking it," Ichigo said, his eyes narrowed as he turned away and continued his rampage down the sidewalk, "I see the way you look at me, like I'm weak, like I'm just a smart little momma's boy. I'm just a rich little vizard to you, aren't I? Isn't that what you think about me?"

"You are a vizard," Grimmjow said, trying not to grin at how cute the berry's rage was. Wait, no. Grimmjow didn't associate 'cute' with anything other than his baby sister, and even she had never heard him say the word aloud. No, he wouldn't even allow himself to think it. What the fuck was wrong with him.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Ichigo seethed, looking at Grimmjow.

"A vizard's an outsider, an innocent," Grimmjow said, his face serious, "Someone who's got nothing to do with our world. No gang affiliations, no ties, not even an underpaid errand boy who might have his ears open once in a while for information."

"Oh," Ichigo said, slowing his walking as they neared an intersection, "then what's a…what did he call you? Sexta?"

"A title given to me by the Espada. It's not important."

"Sounds important," Ichigo muttered.

Grimmjow laughed, walking by the berry's side, hands in his pockets as they began to emerge on the nicer side of the city. Buildings began to brighten, pathways were cleaner and neater. The next residential area was quiet and even had little white picket fences around most of the houses, making Grimmjow want to sigh. One day he'd buy a house like this for him and his sister. He'd already planned it all out. He'd even build her a little playhouse in the backyard, the one she was always talking about. A little space of her own. Yellow. He'd paint it yellow…

"Uh," Ichigo said, running a hand on the back of his neck, "I'm a couple blocks over from here. You don't have to walk me home."

"Scared?" Grimmjow said, completely understanding. He knew his gang affiliations and appearance scared people. He knew he should be mad that Ichigo was scared to show Grimmjow where he lived. After all, he was a crazy gangbanger that might go nuts one day and ride up on his crib and shoot everybody, right?

"No," Ichigo said, looking a little panicked, "I just don't think my dad will be too happy once he sees me. It'd be even more explaining if he sees you too."

Grimmjow was taken aback; it was a foreign concept for somebody not to be intimidated or afraid of him. It was a breath of fresh air, "Alright. Then I guess I'll see you at school, Ichigo."

Grimmjow was surprised to see the berry tense visibly, his eyes shooting to Grimmjow's face, "You remembered."

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side, wondering if the berry wasn't suffering from a concussion, "It was only five days ago, Ichi."

Grimmjow was confused to see Ichigo's adam's apple bobbing, his eyes averting to stare at anything but him, "Uh, right. Well, I guess I'll see you."

Grimmjow nodded once, his face composed as the berry walked away from him, hurrying away under the bright street lights that the richer districts were lucky to have. Grimmjow stared after him for a moment before turning, heading in the direction of Las Noches. It would take him probably forty minutes to get home from here, but he didn't mind. He wasn't really in a huge hurry to get back to the dumpsite that was his current home, knowing full well Yammy was probably over and the thought of that giant fucking his mom through the mattress loud enough to wake the dead made him want to throw up.

So he turned his thoughts to something else, something that continued to nag at him.

Ichigo really was something else. Why was he so surprising? So different? He was just a Northsider, a smart vizard, just like Ichigo had predicted Grimmjow would be thinking. Everybody had prejudices. Fuck, people had more prejudices about him then he ever had of anybody else, but the way the berry carried himself and expressed himself now was so much different than how he acted in the classroom. Ichigo was vigilant, quiet, and fixated on making the best grades. He talked to others but it was always in a reserved way, like he was talking to distant relatives or people he knew he would never see again.

The kid was an outsider, just like him. Was that the reason Grimmjow was beginning to find himself gravitating toward the berry? Coming across him that night being beaten had been merely coincidence: Grimmjow always took the side alleyways when he left Seretei to get home, even though he was crossing through enemy territory. He usually didn't have a problem though, as long as he kept his Espada tattoos and colors from being seen, nobody usually gave him a second glance.

But tonight had been different. He'd heard and seen the orange haired student getting beat up, and when he had heard that one whine of pain, he'd felt something inside of himself snap. He wanted to say that seeing the orange hair and the brown eyes had triggered his memories of his old teacher and he'd gone protective, but it couldn't be just that. He'd heard Ichigo's voice in pain and it had made him angry, aggressive. Only Neliel had ever ascertained that kind of protective instinct in Grimmjow, and it scared the hell out of him that some boy he barely knew had managed to make him fuck with a rival gang just to save him. Grimmjow had won tonight, but no doubt Abarai would be threatening him with greater forces next time.

But the fact that he had cared enough to step in remained…it was all messing with his head.

XXX

"Dad, really, I'm fine. I just wanna go to bed," Ichigo said, dragging his tired carcass up the stairs while his dad continued to babble concernedly behind him. He had been camped out on the couch in boxers and a white tee when Ichigo had tried to sneak in, but it was fruitless. His father had been awake, watching an old comedy series that was one of his favorites. He never managed to sleep when he knew his only promising son was out on the town. It was a rare occurrence in deed, but it still made Ichigo feel like he was being treated like a baby. His dad was overprotective and goofy, but he had good intentions.

"Drop by the clinic tomorrow after school if you're in a lot of pain," Isshin said seriously, watching his son disappear up the steps, "I'm serious, Ichigo. We're going to talk about this tomorrow when I get home from work."

"Fine," Ichigo said loud enough for his father to hear. He went into the bathroom and immediately turned on the shower, undressing quickly so that he could feel the warm water beat on his hurt body. It stung and ached, but in a good way. It was still an excellent shower after he had scrubbed himself down and he felt worlds better as he wrapped himself up in towels and went to his room, throwing on a pair of comfy pajama pants and a grey wife beater. He had put a gauze on the wound on the side of his head to keep his father from freaking out, as he had come in after Ichigo's shower to prod his head and ask him a billion doctor questions. After making sure Ichigo had no signs of a concussion and reassuring Ichigo that he'd feel like he got hit by a train in the morning, he retreated to his own bedroom, leaving Ichigo alone with his thoughts.

His heart was hammering as he remembered Grimmjow's words before they had parted. The fact that he had even remembered Ichigo's name had blown him away. And when he had called him Ichi…God, that had nearly made Ichigo crawl out of his skin. Why was he feeling this way towards somebody he knew he could never have? Not only was he a delinquent, but Ichigo had confirmed with his own eyes and ears tonight that he wasn't just any gangbanger: he was a member of the Espada, an Espada with a rank, although Ichigo didn't understand what Sexta meant. Grimmjow had to be influential; he obviously wasn't a nobody based on how the Soul Reapers had reacted.

And the fact that Grimmjow had bothered to step in and save him at all…as a man, he wanted to be furious that he had been saved by a practical stranger, but as a logical thinker, Ichigo knew he would have been toast if Grimmjow hadn't have intervened. He might not have even made it out of the alleyway, and it made him breathe all wrong when he started to think of what could have possibly happened to him. He checked his cell phone and found at least a dozen text messages from Shinji, wondering if he was all right and did he make it home. Ichigo sent one lazy text back that simply said 'I'm alive' before dropping it on the nightstand next to him and passing out from exhaustion.

It was that same night Ichigo first dreamed about Grimmjow.

AN: I'm feeling generous, so here's a sneak peak of the next chapter:

"So, does this mean we're friends?" Ichigo said, sounding uncertain of his own words. It was almost as if Ichigo were testing out a hypothesis with the scientific formula for male-bonded relationships.

Grimmjow grinned, leaning his tall frame against the railing, "I don't know. Do ya even know how ta be friends with a delinquent?"

This is a drama, but it looks like I can't stay away from fluff. ~TPP