Chapter Text
The doorbell donged right as the Kurosakis were settling down to eat. Isshin was gesticulating over packages of Korean take out Ichigo had bought from his part-time job at the local convenience store. Something about a jilted husband swimming after his wife’s getaway boat. Ichigo wasn’t listening properly. It was going to be another swelteringly hot night, so he wasn’t looking forward to going up to his room to sleep. His cotton t-shirt was soaked under the pits even with the shitty kitchen air conditioner on.
“The doorbell,” Karin pointed out, cutting through Isshin’s word salad.
Ichigo slammed his hands on the table and stood. “I got it.” Anything to get out of the house. Hopefully there would be a breeze outside.
“Be careful out there!” Yuzu called. Softer, she added, “I wonder who’s calling at this hour?”
“Gotta be one one of Ichigo’s delinquent friends,” Isshin said. “As I was saying, the husband was arrested in the hospital by the police, but they can’t legally throw him in prison until —”
“No one cares, Dad.”
“Wait, I’m getting to the crazy part!” Isshin yelped, loud enough to be heard from the front door. “He swam for Japan in the Olympics in 1994! Isn’t that crazy?”
“Real crazy, Dad.”
Ichigo reached the front door and flung it open. No one was there.
He stepped onto the porch and gazed at the dark street in front of the clinic. A single street lamp down the road plunged a neighbor’s lawn in dull yellow light. He stilled, sensing a faint trace of familiar spiritual pressure.
Kisuke Urahara.
That couldn’t be right. Why would Urahara ring his doorbell at nine o’clock at night? Besides, he’d gone over to the shop last night to drop off goods from the convenience store. The man had wanted ten packs of instant coffee and a bag of chicken-flavored cat treats, presumably for Yoruichi. Ichigo didn’t know why Urahara would play fuckin’ ding-dong-ditch, but, then again, why the fuck did he do any of the stupid shit he did?
Just as Ichigo was about to go back inside, a wham of spiritual pressure hit his senses. He staggered backward, gripping the doorknob with both hands to keep steady. “What the…” He slammed his badge against his chest. “I’m going out!” he shouted over his shoulder.
He blurred, reappeared on top of a lamp post several streets away. This spiritual pressure was also familiar, though different from the presence at his door earlier. It was coated with an unnatural metallic taste.
After scouring the area, he pinpointed the unstable mass of energy to the small clearing next to his old high school where he had first encountered Ulquiorra and Yammy. There, in a deep ditch, lay a crumpled figure with powder blue hair.
Shit.
Ichigo leapt down, calling to mind the day of the week. It was Friday. Grimmjow had missed their weekly fight. Was this why?
Up close, he had to admit—Grimmjow wasn’t looking good. Fresh blood dripped down his handsome face, his black jumpsuit was torn and bloodied, his right elbow was bent back at a weird angle, and there was a grotesque cut bisecting the scar tissue on his chest. Someone had beat the shit out him with the intent to kill. Ichigo dragged him out of the pit and laid him flat on the balding grass. When the back of his head hit the hard-packed dirt, Grimmjow’s eyes opened, irises glinting gold in the moonlight. Then his gaze landed on Ichigo’s face and he let out a ragged groan. “Fuckin’ great.”
“What the hell happened to you?” Ichigo was breathing a bit hard. “You were supposed to come yesterday.”
“Shut up.”
Ichigo fell to a squat. “Grimmjow, who did this to you? Do you still have enemies in Hueco Mundo?” If it had been anyone else, Ichigo probably would have panicked more at the sight of so much blood, but this was Grimmjow. He’d seen the guy cut up more times than he cared to count, and it was usually Ichigo inflicting the violence. “I’m just saying, 'cause it doesn’t look good.”
“I know that, dipshit!” Grimmjow snarled, and then an intense flash of pain crossed his face. He doubled over, arm curled over his bleeding chest. “Fuck. Fuck.”
Ichigo licked his lips. “We need to get you to a healer. Here, take my arm—”
“Fuck off!”
Ichigo backed away. “Okay. If you aren't gonna accept my help, then why’d you come here?”
“I didn’t have a choice—” With a choked-off groan, Grimmjow stumbled to his knees, arm hanging at his side at a weird angle. “You think I came here willingly? No, you shit noodle, I was left here. Probably hoping the shinigami in this town finish me off.”
Ichigo glanced at the sky above their heads, half expecting a garganta to open up. “Well. All right. I could leave you here to bleed out—”
“Didn’t expect anything different.”
“—but if I did that, I’d lose my only reliable sparring partner." Grimmjow looked up at that, his belligerent blue eyes widening. Ichigo flattened his lips. “It’s the truth, Grimmjow.”
Even after two and a half years of meeting up in the human world for weekly fight-to-the-death matches, he still didn’t consider Grimmjow his friend. The blue-haired arrancar was still someone to whom he applied the rule of “punch first, talk later.” Still, he wasn’t about to let his one-time enemy bleed out in a patch of grass. He pulled Grimmjow’s sticky, mud-caked arm over his shoulder, deciding to stop at Orihime’s apartment—
Wait. Orihime’s out of town.
Without warning, the arrancar’s skull collided painfully with his own. Ichigo fell back, crying out in shock.
“What the fuck!”
“Don’t need your help, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow sneered through a mouthful of red teeth. “I can take care of myself.”
“Fine, then," he snapped. "Just sit here until a hollow shows up and decides to slurp you down for dinner."
“Why do you even care?”
“I probably shouldn’t,” Ichigo said darkly, seriously considering just leaving the asshole to die. “But the last thing I want is your death on my conscience.”
Ichigo reached for Grimmjow again, but he lashed out like a dying man with nothing left to lose.
“Will you—just let me—help you!” He swung his fist back and clocked Grimmjow hard on the jaw.
He dropped like a stone. Ichigo picked him up around the middle and flash-stepped.
Thankfully, Urahara was wide awake and not lying in a puddle of alcohol, which was a legitimate concern on most Friday evenings. “Oh my, what do we have here?” the shopkeeper said, sliding open the wooden shop door. With the other hand, he spread his fan over his mouth.
Ichigo readjusted Grimmjow’s good arm over his shoulder. “Found him bleeding in a ditch. His spiritual pressure feels weird, too. Orihime’s on a trip, so I figured I should bring him here.” Ichigo shuddered when Grimmjow’s manky hair grazed his cheek. “Fix him up, will you?”
“Your dad’s a doctor,” Jinta said from behind Urahara’s shoulder.
“Like fuck I’m taking him home with me,” Ichigo said. Grimmjow, under the same roof as his two little sisters? He’d die first.
“We don’t turn away the needy at our doorstep, Jinta. Please, bring him in,” Urahara said, opening the door wider. “Ururu! Get hot water and a dishcloth, please! We have a guest!”
They settled Grimmjow on a spare futon in Urahara’s sparsely furnished apartment. Ichigo sat cross-legged on the wooden floor and leaned his shoulder on the TV stand, watching Ururu systematically wipe crusted blood off Grimmjow’s face. Meanwhile, Urahara sat on a mat and thumbed through a leather case of shiny, pointy-looking needles. He raised a long needle to the light. “What do you say, Kurosaki-san? This one looks mighty sharp.” Ichigo side-eyed the needle.
“What’re you gonna do with it?”
“A bit of stitching. But before that...” The man exchanged the needle for a syringe and cleanly drew a quarter pint from Grimmjow’s inner elbow. “Good. Curl his forearm up now, Ururu, and hold it.”
“What’re you doin’ with his blood? Hasn’t he lost enough of it already?”
“I’m going to run some tests to see what they put in him.”
Ichigo sat up straight. “Who? Put what?”
“The other arrancars, of course. There’s a reason why his spiritual pressure is the way it is. By the way, Ichigo, you needn’t stay here any longer. Grimmjow-san is perfectly safe with us.”
“Right.” Ichigo didn’t budge. “Kisuke, can you tell me what kind of hollow did this?”
“Gonna avenge me, Kurosaki?” said a scratchy voice.
Startled, Ichigo met Grimmjow’s slitted blue eyes. With his face clean, he looked almost like his regular self. “Like fuck,” Ichigo snorted, settling back against the wall. “I’m worried they’re gonna come through a garganta and try to kill us.”
Grimmjow shifted to look at the ceiling. “They have no interest in you. Their main objective was to get me out.”
“Why?”
“None of your business,” Grimmjow grunted. Ichigo suddenly wanted to spin him by the collar until he spit out the answer, but was held in check by the look Urahara gave him.
“Fine, asshole,” Ichigo snapped, “I’ll get it out of you later. Just know that I'm only trying to help you.”
“It’s none of your fucking business!” Grimmjow shouted suddenly, rearing halfway off the futon. His hand knocked over the bowl of pinkish water Ururu had used to wet the cleaning rag.
“Now, now, Grimmjow-san.” Urahara placed a placating hand on his shoulder. Grimmjow threw it off.
“Don’t touch me!”
Despite Grimmjow’s flailing, Urahara effortlessly pushed him flat on the futon with the tips of two fingers. “How about we all calm down and—”
“No, Kisuke,” Ichigo interrupted, “we need to figure out who beat him up like this. What if they come to the Living World? Do you really trust his judgement?”
“And I keep telling you that it doesn’t concern you, dickhead!”
“It’s all right, Ichigo. Like Grimmjow-san says, I don’t think the world of the living is in any danger.” Urahara removed his hand from the arrancar’s shoulder and began to thread the enormous needle. Both Ichigo and Grimmjow’s attentions were momentarily diverted as the needle tip reflected the lamp’s light in a rather sinister fashion. “Lie back,” he told Grimmjow, “and try very hard not to twitch.”
“Shouldn’t he bite down on something first?” Ichigo asked. He’d seen that in the historical films where they didn’t have anesthesia. The character getting his limb amputated always bit down on a strip of leather. Grimmjow could bite down on Pantera’s sheath. Or he could bite Ichigo’s—
“That flimsy ass needle ain’t gonna penetrate my skin, old man,” said Grimmjow.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Urahara said cheerfully. “I developed these needles for the sole purpose of stitching hierro. I thought it would come in handy sooner or later, at the rate you and Ichigo rip into each other.”
Grimmjow stared at the needle with flat eyes. Ichigo kind of understood what he was going through. Hell, if he were faced with a needle-wielding Urahara, he’d probably piss himself. “Hey, Kisuke, maybe I should, uh, knock him out or something. Before you stitch him up.”
“Like fuck you will—”
“That won’t be needed. As a matter of fact, I do have something that might help...” Urahara raised his voice. “Jinta!”
The two kids peeked around the sliding door. “Yeah?” grumbled Jinta.
“Fetch me the pink container from the shop. It’s underneath the cash register.” Jinta let out an exaggerated sigh, but they heard feet patter down the stairs. Less than ten seconds later, Jinta was back. He tossed a small jar to Urahara. “Thank you. Grimmjow, you should probably take three. Actually, no. Make that five.”
“The hell are those?” Grimmjow stared at the jar as Urahara unscrewed it.
“Think of them as... fancy pain-killers.”
He shook five little tabs onto Grimmjow’s palm. Ichigo squinted. “Those are vitamin gummies.”
Urahara smirked.
“They’re shaped like bears. What the fuck, old man?”
“Teddy bears are appealing to small children.”
Grimmjow’s jaw clenched. “Hey, Kurosaki, you still wanna fight me after this is over, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then make sure this bastard doesn’t kill me while I’m out.” With that, Grimmjow tipped all five gummies into his mouth. There was a moment of silence, and then his eyeballs rolled up and he collapsed on the futon, dead to the world.
“That worked better than I expected!” Urahara exclaimed. “Ururu, note the time. 10:56 PM.”
“Are you experimenting on him?”
“He’s quite hardy, Kurosaki-san. I wouldn’t worry so much.”
“Who’s worrying?” Ichigo grumbled. He pulled up his knee and rested his chin on it, watching Urahara deftly sew up Grimmjow’s gash with the glittering needle.
“All done,” the shopkeeper said a moment later. “Do you have the sling and bandages?” From the doorway where she sat cross-legged, Ururu nodded and silently passed him a roll of white wrap. The logo was familiar; his dad used the same stuff in his clinic. “Kurosaki-kun, do you want to help me with this?”
Ichigo startled out of his thoughts. “Help you? With what?” Urahara held out the roll of bandage wrap. “What, you want me to—put that on him? No way.”
Urahara’s smile was almost kind. “Don’t worry. He isn’t going to wake up.”
“That’s not why— I just don’t want to do it.”
In the end, it was Tessai who helped Urahara set Grimmjow’s broken arm and wrap his chest and head. He came out of it looking like a mummy.
“Why isn’t he healing? He usually heals really fast after our fights,” Ichigo said eventually.
“That is the main reason why I took a blood sample. I suspect they spiked him with a drug that slows down his body’s natural regeneration properties and blocks the effects of healing kido.”
“You know who did it.”
“I have my suspicions, yes.”
“Why won’t you tell me who—”
“Because I hardly think Grimmjow-san wants you to know.” Urahara rose to his feet. His belly rumbled. “Man, oh, man, I’m getting the midnight munchies! Be right back!” His clogs sure make a lot of noise at night, Ichigo thought as the man ambled away toward the kitchen. And where was Yoruichi? Wasn’t Yoruichi living with Kisuke at the moment?
Ichigo got to his feet slowly, joints stiff after an hour of sitting in the same position. He stopped by the futon to stare down at Grimmjow’s sleeping face. Whatever Urahara had given him had sure knocked him out. A furrow had formed between the arrancar’s wispy blue eyebrows, like he couldn’t stop scowling, not even while unconscious. Ichigo snorted and knelt to take a closer look at the head wound.
Urahara had pointed out something strange earlier while he and Tessai had been bandaging him up. He’d said that the superficial cuts were for show. Sure, they bled a lot, and the blood loss was massive, but the slices weren’t deep, and whoever had cut him had picked spots that bled a helluva lot, like the scalp. The more debilitating injuries had been internal, but Grimmjow hadn’t been anywhere close to death like Ichigo had originally thought when he’d dragged his mangled body out of the pit. Ichigo didn’t know exactly what that meant: whoever busted him up wanted his injuries to look worse than they actually were?
“He’ll be fighting fit in a few days.” Urahara’s voice came from the doorway. Ichigo looked up to see him snacking on a bag of Cheez Its. “You might want your father to give him a once-over.”
“No way. He isn’t coming anywhere near my house.” Ichigo stood up, totally straight-faced, trying to pretend he hadn’t just been caught kneeling by his rival’s bedside. “How long is he gonna be out like this?”
“The whole night. I didn’t want his blood pressure to rise.”
“Right.” He didn’t even know hollows had bodily functions like… blood pressure. Well, no shit. They have blood. “That’s cool. Thanks a lot, Kisuke.”
Urahara gave him a small smile and stepped aside to let Ichigo exit the room. “When is Orihime-chan returning from her trip?"
“Monday morning, I think. I’ll have to ask her.” The faster she came back, the faster they could reverse the damage that had been done to Grimmjow. And the faster Ichigo could have his weekly fight with the bastard. Grimmjow owed him two fights next week if he didn’t get better by Sunday.
Another thought stopped him in his tracks.
“Hey, Kisuke… you didn’t stop by my house earlier tonight, did you?”
Urahara’s eyes widened. “Me? Of course not. I was ankle-deep in sake and cat fur until you knocked on the shop door.”
“You were… what? Forget it, I don’t want to know.” Ichigo huffed. Did he imagine Urahara’s reiatsu outside his house? He didn’t think so. But if Urahara was determined to hide something from him, he wouldn’t find out until the man told him straight up. That’s the kind of guy he was. A devious motherfucker.
In fact, Ichigo had a sneaking suspicion that there was a lot Urahara wasn’t telling him.
Ichigo wouldn’t admit it to a soul, but most mornings nowadays, he woke up with Grimmjow in his mind's eye. He dreamed vividly of flowing blue hair and black claws, so it didn’t feel strange to roll out of bed hazily thinking of the snarling bastard. But this morning, Ichigo’s eyes flew open to the sound of his phone’s stupidly obnoxious ringtone, a snippet of a flowery anime opening, courtesy of Karin, who thought a practical joke like that would be funny. He didn’t know how to change it back. The ringtone had embedded itself in his phone like some kind of virus.
“Ichigo! Someone’s calling!” shouted Kon.
“I know.” Ichigo turned on his side, doubling the pillow over his exposed ear. “God, I fucking hate that song,” he mumbled.
“Really? I kinda like it.” Ichigo didn’t need to see to know what Kon was pretending to sing along.
The music stopped, and Ichigo eased himself back to sleep. The call was probably Urahara, but he had said last night that Grimmjow was going to be fine, right? Urahara had promised that he would be. Anyway, he was too comfortable to get up—especially since he’d lost his shirt and pants during the night. He was tangled all nicely in his covers now. Occasionally, he shifted his bare legs to find a cooler spot in the bedsheets. He’s been through two wars. He’s earned the right to sleep in.
Unfortunately, Kon didn’t seem to agree. “Ichigooo! Wake up! Aren’t you gonna check your messages?”
Ichigo groaned and spread flat on his back. With his left hand, he blindly reached around his cluttered desk, knocking over a framed photo in the process.
[Hat and Clogs]: Good morning, Kurosaki-san! I would recommend that you come over to the shop as soon as you can! We have a slight emergency.
[Hat and Clogs]: (Please don’t forget the cat treats.)
“What?” Ichigo bellowed, shooting upright. “What kind of emergency? Dammit, why does this guy never say?”
Kon sniffed. “Probably has to do with that hollow. That you rescued.”
“I didn’t rescue him. I mean, what the hell was I supposed to do? Let him drown in his own blood?” Ichigo dug through his closet. Goddammit. Yuzu had taken away most of his shirts for cleaning.
“A bloodthirsty beast. Which you willingly carried to safety—”
“Kon, shut up.” Finally, he found a shirt that smelled only mildly and shoved it on along with a pair of beige cargo shorts.
“He threatened to stab me repeatedly with his sword,” Kon wailed from the desk chair. “How could you show him mercy, Ichigo?”
“He probably didn’t like being called a homicidal pervert in a catsuit.”
“Do you know how long it took me to dry my stuffing?” Kon hissed.
“Uh-huh.” As he rubbed deodorant on his pits, Ichigo’s mind went back to that night. A month ago, it’d monsooned for a whole week and his boss at the convenience store had asked him to work extra hours, since the other evening employee had come down with the flu. After hurrying back home and drying off, he’d realized with a sick jolt that he’d forgotten all about fight night. On cue, a severely pissed-off Grimmjow had pried open his bedroom window, stepped on Kon, dripped water all over his bed and carpet, and had let out a snarl of expletives that had nearly woken everyone in the house. Grimmjow had been wet. Soaked to the skin. His hair had been plastered to his face and his eyes had shone like sapphires.
That had been a good fight. Totally worth blowing his nose for the next few days.
“Get that dumb smile off your face. God, you're an ass, smiling at my misfortune!” Kon wailed. Ichigo flipped him off.
“Ichi-nii, where are you going so early?” Yuzu called from the kitchen. “Have breakfast!”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” He went down the stairs and stuck a piece of jam toast in his mouth at his sister's insistence. “I’m going to Urahara’s. Wait.” He cursed, remembering the request for treats. Karin looked up curiously from where she was sitting on the couch, shifting through Yuzu’s pink makeup bag. “He’s making me go to the store first. You guys need anything?”
“Yeah,” said Karin, “get me black nail polish. The kind with golden sparkles in it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll get it if I see it.” He set off down the sidewalk, kicking dirt and pebbles. More cat treats—what for? Yoruichi wasn’t even here. And why did he always end up being Urahara’s bitch boy? Grimmjow better be feeling better, ’cause Ichigo was itching to cash in on that fight.
About thirty minutes later, Ichigo let himself into Urahara’s shop. A closed sign hung over the sliding door, but the door was unlatched.
The upstairs was silent. No shouts or raggedy growls. Maybe the bastard was still unconscious. He climbed the stairs cautiously, and then stopped dead, convenience store bag nearly slipping from his suddenly slack grip. A giant wooden barrel filled with hot, steaming water sat in the center of the room. Yoruichi lounged in it, arms splayed over the edge of the tub. The swell of her nut-brown breasts just grazed the water line. “Ichigo!” she shouted. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone?”
“I thought Kisuke was calling, so I ignored it.” Ichigo peeked through his fingers, just in time to see her explode out of the steaming barrel in all her ass-naked, boob-dangling glory.
“Do I smell snacks?”
“Holy fuck, woman, get away from me!” Ichigo yelled, making a run for the end of the hall. Despite being slick with water, barefoot, and little more than half his size, Yoruichi sailed through the air and tackled Ichigo to the ground in the middle of the hallway. They wrestled for the convenience store bag.
“Man, am I starving. Kisuke has nothing good to eat around here—” When her left breast squished against his chin, Ichigo’s grip slackened and Yoruichi made grabby hands for the treat bag. “Brilliant! You have good taste. This is my favorite brand!”
“You are so fucked up,” Ichigo cursed.
She rapped him on the head with the bag. “Stop staring at my nipples, pervert.”
“Then get off me and put clothes on—mmm!” Yoruichi slammed his jaw into the straw hallway mat. He heard the crackling sound of plastic and paper.
“Oh, what’s this? Is this for you?”
She was holding the black nail polish. Making a face, Ichigo pushed himself into his elbows. “No way. My sister asked me to get it.”
Yoruichi’s reply was lost to him; at that moment, Ichigo felt a familiar twist of spiritual pressure in the air. He looked down the long hall to see Grimmjow standing under one of the flickering lights, his right arm in a navy blue sling. His jumpsuit was unzipped to the waist, but the white bandages wrapped around his torso gave the illusion that he was wearing a shirt.
He was glaring at Yoruichi’s bare ass like he wanted to incinerate her with a cero.
“Ichigo, why are you — oh. Grimmjow is behind me, right?” Quickly, Yoruichi leant down, squashed herself against his chest, and said in his ear, “Want me to do your nails?”
“Do— do what?” Ichigo struggled to break eye contact with Grimmjow.
“Black nails will look good on you.” Yoruichi’s whisper tickled the shell of his ear. "Sexy, even."
Ichigo blushed. “What—no! Get off me!” To his relief, Yoruichi rolled off with a sharp cackle, clutching her treats and nail polish. She had left a sodden mark on his t-shirt… and the crotch area of his shorts. Great. It looked like he had peed himself.
“What were you doing with that shitty cat just now?”
Ichigo scowled and snapped his legs shut. With Yoruichi gone, his splayed legs were just asking for a kick in the balls from Grimmjow. "I had stuff to give her. What's it to you?"
“You after my treats, Grimmjow?” came Yoruichi’s laughing voice from the adjoining room. “Don’t forget you’re a cat, too!”
As Grimmjow's blue head snapped toward the living room, Urahara sauntered out of the tiny half-bath wearing a terry robe that showed too much of his fuzzy chest. “Grimmjow-san, I see you’re awake,” he said. “Kurosaki-san must be relieved. He worried so much last night.”
“He's lying," Ichigo said loudly.
Urahara used his fan to prod Ichigo and Grimmjow into the living room. Jinta was in the process of pushing the wooden tub to the far corner of the room. Yoruichi had found a set of lacy underwear to put on and was busy crumbling dry kibble over a bowl of egg and ramen. Ururu sat on a cushion with a booklet of math problems. A typical morning, no danger to be seen, but Ichigo remained on his guard. "So, uh... what’s the emergency? You called me here saying there's an emergency.”
“There is,” Yoruichi said through a mouthful of ramen-kibble-duck sauce. “Grimmjow’s in my room.”
“What?”
“You heard her,” Urahara said, holding the fan up to his face. “Grimmjow-san hijacked her bedroom. Big no-no.”
Ichigo looked at them. “What am I supposed to do about that?” Grimmjow slid down the wall and glowered at a spot near Ichigo’s right sneaker. Slowly, under the pointed gazes of the other three occupants of the room, Ichigo understood. “No,” he said. “Fuck that, Kisuke. He isn’t coming to my place. Why can’t he sleep in this room? There’s tons of space here.”
“Like I want to do either,” Grimmjow snapped. “I’m going back to Hueco Mundo.”
“And be sent back here in worse condition than last time?” Urahara questioned. “You know your attackers won’t let you off so easily. With that regeneration blocker in your system…”
“This drug,” Grimmjow snarled, “is going to wear off in a few days. You think I can’t hide out in the desert until then? I ain’t staying here, old man!”
“Why are hollows after you?” Ichigo asked. Grimmjow waved his question away.
“None of ya business.”
“Grimmjow-san, I’m terribly sorry, but my word is final. You can’t stay here, so I’m throwing you into Kurosaki’s unwelcoming arms. Please find it in your nonexistent heart to forgive me.”
“Kisuke, I can’t take him in!”
“Sure you can,” Urahara sing-songed.
“I—”
“Why’re you so twisted up about it?” Grimmjow stood and stalked over to where Ichigo was fuming. “Ya got embarrassing hobbies you don’t want me knowing about, Kurosaki?”
“I live with my family,” Ichigo said darkly. “You think I want someone like you near them?”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone but you, Kurosaki. I won’t touch any of your little friends and family. They aren’t worth my time. Once my arm heals, we’re gonna fight, and I’m gonna split you open from head to toe. I’m gonna spill your intestines on the ground like a gutted pig.”
Ichigo’s hands clenched. He should tell Grimmjow to fuck off. He should, at least, feel intimidated. But a burning itch grew inside his chest at the sight of the arrancar’s hot bright blue eyes.
Dammit. He couldn’t fight him now, even though the training bunker was right below their feet. He’d have to wait until Grimmjow got better. Maybe he should bring him to his house. Where else was he gonna go? Not Hueco Mundo.
“Throw them in the bunker, Kisuke,” Yoruichi advised. “I'm getting the feeling they need some time alone.”
“They’ve been in the bunker every other week. I would suggest a change of scenery. That is why you’re here,” Urahara said, “right, Grimmjow-san? A change of scenery?”
“Wouldn’t be in this situation if I had the goddamn choice."
“Look," Ichigo interrupted, "if you still wanna fight me, gut me, whatever, then stop bitching about being stuck here.” In the back of his mind, he still wondered who in Hueco Mundo was out to get Grimmjow. Did he have a falling out with Tier Harribel? Last he checked, Harribel wasn't one to chew into her subordinates for no good reason. “Stay here, get better, and then you and I will take it from there.” He gave Grimmjow a tight smile.
“Seconded,” chimed Yoruichi.
Urahara snapped his fan shut. “It’s settled then. Grimmjow-san, we’re shifting you over to Kurosaki-san’s house for the moment. Try not to have too much fun. And remember to come in tomorrow for your blood test.”
Try not to have too much fun. Something in Ichigo's stomach dropped. He imagined Grimmjow standing in his living room, in his kitchen. In his bedroom. Oh, man. “Actually, Kisuke," he said quickly, "maybe he should stay with—”
Grimmjow grabbed his arm. Ichigo made a soft surprised sound. "You ain't getting cold feet, Kurosaki," he said with a razor-sharp grin. "You said I should stay here, so I will. We gonna go to your house or not?"
Fuck. Now he'd made it into a challenge.
Ichigo didn't know what possessed him. Maybe it was the sudden closeness, or the feral way that Grimmjow was looking at him. Maybe it was because Grimmjow always drove him crazy and he ended up blindly following the adenaline shooting through his veins.
"Fine," he found himself saying. "Let's go to my house."