Chapter Text
“It took too long, if you want to know,” Ichigo opened his eyes, hearing Shiro's voice in his head, which was already waking him up with a distant subject. His bad mood became apparent faster than he expected, but when he heard a sigh, he realized that the Hollow was further away. "The one who spoke is no longer here, but don't be surprised if this starts to become routine. You spat them out here. It's just the beginning."
'What do you mean, ‘it's just the beginning’?'
“What? Do you really think this will stay only in your inner world?” Ichigo could feel the Hollow's accusatory gaze before he disappeared into one of the buildings. The voice, now muffled, continued: “I already consider it a victory that it's not flooded with rain here. At least your love isn't killing us, King. Yet.”
Ichigo got out of bed, staring at the wardrobe in front of him and trying to ignore the noise in his head. The voices in his head, however, insisted on telling him how stupid he was. Ignorance was bliss, and Ichigo appreciated it, mainly because it was the reason he still had his job (in addition to the university and the internship he pretended not to do at the same time). Despite everything, Ichigo knew he would need to talk to Grimmjow at some point, especially now that his routine had become even longer due to being called in for surgeries and extended shifts.
“At least the blue cat is a sharp romantic when it comes to a good fight, and I accept a garden of orange, red, and blue flowers where I sleep,” Shiro muttered as he lay down against the window of the room he was in. "At least wear something decent today, King, you look like shit. And try not to spit blood and flowers on me while you're suffering."
Before Ichigo could complain, Shiro closed the building's window, cutting off any communication between them.
When the sound of pots and pans filled his ears, Ichigo realized that Yuzu was already in his apartment. Before he could wrap himself up in the blankets again and listen to his hollow's empty chatter, he got up, opened the window blind, and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
𔓘
“You look like shit, Kurosaki.”
Ichigo rolled his eyes as he took off his lab coat and put it in his bag. It was obvious that after a long shift, he would be exhausted, which was normal, but of course, Uryuu thought differently.
“I think it's normal when spend more than twenty hours on a shift, you idiot.”
“Not when you're taking care of yourself.”
Ichigo turned to face his cousin. He could see the ironic smile and blatant mockery on Uryuu's face. “Whatever,” he thought. Uryuu could go to hell with all that stupid talk about taking care of himself, getting his beauty sleep, and being ready for the best emergency responses.
“Really? Are you going to put on a little show for me now?” Ichigo smiled, sitting down on the bench and finishing getting ready. “You could have warned me that this human hero shit would cost me my head and my precious sleep, Uryuu. I thought you were family.”
“Only when my family isn't a Shinigami with hero syndrome.”
Ichigo saw a smile on Uryuu's face as he approached and sat down next to him. They rarely met outside of work, but they still kept in touch. Ichigo knew that Uryuu and Orihime still had doubts about his sanity, especially after the fight against Ulquiorra. He didn't blame them, even though they were both afraid to talk. Now, with no wars threatening their lives, Ichigo realized that they were trying to forget certain things that were in the past.
Uryuu had always been straightforward and didn't beat around the bush, and that was something Ichigo appreciated. Almost always.
“Now seriously, Kurosaki.” Uryuu stared at him with the same analytical gaze he had every time they fought together. “Is something going on?”
“No. At least nothing that could cause another war, I think.”
“Coming from you, I don't doubt that could happen.”
“It's no big deal, I'm just tired, a little more than when I lost my powers.” Ichigo shrugged. “Urahara said it's nothing, that it might just be Zangetsu being annoyed at only having simple fights or training sessions. I think my hollow wants a war just so it can get out a little.”
Ichigo suppressed a smile when he heard a grumble and a knock on the window in his inner world.
“I don't think I want to see him again.” Ichigo wanted to laugh when he saw the disgust on Uryuu's face, but he dismissed the idea. “Maybe it's just time taking its toll on your poor quality of life and self-care.”
“Seriously, how long are you going to keep telling me to rest?”
“I don't know, when are you going to learn that you're not free from rest?”
“That's why I don't talk to you.”
“Sure, talk to Urahara, he'll definitely help you.”
“You're an idiot.” Ichigo rolled his eyes as he picked up his backpack and started walking toward the door. He stopped, looked at Uryuu, and asked, “Do you know anything about coughing petals?”
“What? Like, the hanahaki disease, the one from the legend of unrequited love?”
“I think so.”
“What, are you spitting petals now? Don't tell me you want to be the first human to make the legend come true.”
“I'm not interested in that, I just heard someone talk about it. One of the kids on duty asked. She said she was coughing up petals from the roses at home.”
“Ah.” Uryuu stared at him and relaxed his shoulders. “Many children hear about it in history classes or on television stories. We've had cases of children being poisoned by eating poisonous flowers and plants, but nothing more than that.”
“That makes sense. Children have vivid imaginations.”
Uryuu laughed, but Ichigo just rolled his eyes and ignored him.
“I hope you crack your head open when you go to sleep. See you on the next shift, Uryuu.”
“Sure, good luck with your fictional petals, Kurosaki.”
𔓘
Ichigo waited for the elevator to reach his floor while holding his backpack, which was a little heavier than before. He had stopped by the municipal library to pick up a few more books to study during his breaks between shifts, as well as others that told a little more about popular legends of the city and the country.
He had never really stopped to study legends, myths, and tales. His hobby had always been literature and poets who made him think about romance and all the emotion involved. Ichigo enjoyed good novels, poetry, letters from past eras, as well as books and biographies. Urahara had even given him some manuscripts that he had stolen from the laboratory of his former division when they went to help in the recovery of the Soul Society. Therefore, his passion for these literary genres was not something hidden.
Incredibly, the three books he found on hanahaki were in the fiction section. The librarian recommended four copies and said that one of them, the oldest in the city library, about eighty years old, could only be read on site. The reason was simple: to preserve the condition of the book. Ichigo decided he would return the following weekend, when he had two days off from work.
In Ichigo's hands were the two bentos made by Yuzu, who had left them in the hospital kitchen before leaving to travel with her friends on vacation. One was for Ichigo's dinner and the other was for Grimmjow, even though he insisted, out of sheer anger, that she didn't need to cook for him. Yuzu, for her part, just rolled her eyes and ignored all his comments. Ichigo had also stopped by the market near his house to buy a few things to restock the refrigerator and cupboards.
A smile formed on Ichigo's face, because one of the things he had bought was the tuna and salmon onigiri that Grimmjow said he didn't like, but whose trays in the refrigerator were gone in three days at most. It was a way to make up for the time they were not training or spending hours together in Hueco Mundo. Grimmjow knew that nothing would make him give up his routine, even if he destroyed the apartment enough for Ichigo to pierce him with one of his swords and expel him with boiling reiatsu. But Ichigo still wanted to show that jerk, who had no clue about relationships, that he appreciated the bitter company in his home while he studied.
“It's easier for you to say you want to bite his ass. It makes it easier to hold the candle and watch your horrible romantic comedy movie.”
'Shiro, fuck you.'
Before he could hear the jerk say anything, Ichigo managed to change the landscape, knocking down the open window side of the skyscraper onto the ground covered with grass and flowers. This caused his spirit to start climbing the tables and chairs to open the other window and talk to him.
Ichigo would have laughed at that, but it wasn't worth the headache he would have while sleeping.
As soon as the elevator reached his floor and opened its doors, he took his key and walked toward the door of his apartment. When he unlocked and opened it, he realized that the place was dark, lit only by the lamp in his bedroom. He quickly put the food in the refrigerator and stored it in the cupboards, but he was still holding two packages of candy, the tray of onigiri, and the two flavored milks.
Upon entering the bedroom, Ichigo saw Grimmjow lying on the bed, fiddling with his sword, Pantera.
“I'm home.”
“I see.”
Ichigo rolled his eyes, but left the food and two cartons of milk on the table. He placed his backpack on the chair, took out his books, and put them on the table next to his study notebook. He saw Grimmjow take the tray of onigiri, smell it, slowly open the lid, and take one of the salmon ones to eat.
Ichigo felt his cheeks flush, but ignored it as he put his backpack in the closet and took out his pajamas to put on.
“I'm going to take a shower and I don't need to hear about the hospital smell, I can already smell it on me.”
“You always stink of expired medicine and IV fluids.” Ichigo saw Grimmjow shrug, sit down, and start eating. “Don't think that bringing me good food will make me stop complaining about your lack of commitment to our fights.”
“And I thought you had become socially acceptable.” Ichigo snorted, closed the closet, and headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
He began to take off his clothes and, once naked, stepped into the shower, closing his eyes and turning on the tap. The water came out, but the moment it touched his body, Ichigo let out a scream and quickly stepped back.
“Your- your fucking shit!” The double voice and growl came out loud as he leaned against the wall, away from the cold water. “Your fucking cat! Did you use up all the hot water, damn it?”
Ichigo stared at the door, which was opened by Grimmjow. He leaned against the doorframe, holding the milk carton with his sharp claws around the straw. Ichigo could see Grimmjow's throat move with each sip, while the Arrancar's blue eyes sparkled with amusement, staring him up and down.
Feeling his cheeks burn and his body shiver, Ichigo closed the glass door of the shower stall, complaining again about the cold water.
“You fucking peace of shit, you're a bastard! Next time I'll get Urahara's reishi chains and lock you in a cage. I need to take a shower, you fucking bastard!”
“The water was great, and I was relaxing. How was I supposed to know your hot water would run out so quickly?” Grimmjow's voice was casual, as if he were talking about the water being blue. “It's your fault, anyway. There's never a shortage of hot water at Urahara's shop. I spend hours in the bathtub and it never gets cold.”
“Because it's a bathtub, damn it!” Ichigo groaned softly, watching the water run out of the shower. “Damn it, I didn't need a cold shower right now.”
“You survived two wars, Kurosaki. You can survive cold water.”
“I should castrate you, you stupid cat.”
“Sure.”
Ichigo was startled when the shower door opened and he came face to face with Grimmjow, who approached and leaned against the water. The moment his claws touched the water, Ichigo heard a faint growl, as if he had been kicked. When the Arrancar moved away, rubbing his claws to try to warm them up, Ichigo couldn't help but notice Grimmjow's gaze all over his body.
“Get out of here, you pervert!” Ichigo closed the glass door of the shower stall, ignoring the other's approach. “You're spending too much time with Urahara if you're so comfortable entering other people's showers.”
“The bisexual cat doesn't care much about privacy. And it's not like I haven't seen your dick before, Kurosaki.”
“Fuck you, Grimmjow! Get out of my bathroom. You've already used up all my hot water, so you better have eaten all the food before I leave here, because I'm going to take the rest as payment for this.”
“I'd like to see you try.”
Grimmjow grumbled and growled, but seconds later he closed the door. Ichigo listened from a distance and realized that he had opened one of the bentos, judging by the sound of the bag and aluminum foil being torn.
Sighing deeply, Ichigo didn't even have to try to relax to get into the water. His head was already racing, so the cold water didn't help or worsen his condition. In a few minutes, he returned to his room with a towel on his hair, sitting down at his study chair.
For a few minutes, he sat in silence, just staring at his notebook, not sure what to study. On second thought, he couldn't study hanahaki, so the books were under his school books. Grimmjow was curious enough when he was bored and used to read many of Ichigo's things. He found this out because the jerk said he thought it was stupid that humans needed blood types to survive, while in Hueco Mundo they just needed to devour each other. Ichigo knew that if the subject was about petals, Grimmjow would ask if he had become a herbivore.
It was easy to pick up the book he hadn't finished last night to continue studying.
Of course.
If only Grimmjow hadn't decided to be such a pain in the ass.
Ichigo ignored the sound of fabric being torn and even the growling beside him. He also ignored the violent reiatsu around him. Although he told people he couldn't sense it, which wasn't a lie, he didn't mention that he could see its colors and movements.
The last time he said anything about it, the conversations didn't end well.
So, in absolute silence, Ichigo sat at the table, studying, or pretending to be up to date with the lines in the medical book he pretended to read (the one Grimmjow pretended not to have read more than twice).
Before he could focus on the pages or the lines written in a few moments of silence, Ichigo turned to Grimmjow.
“Seriously, what's your problem?”
“I don't know, Kurosaki. Maybe you're just an idiot with hero syndrome trying to pretend you didn't promise me weeks of fighting.”
“You spend weeks with me, you know what I do. I've been telling you for days that I can't get the fight we want.”
“I see.”
Ichigo narrowed his eyes, staring at the Arrancar lying on the bed, fiddling with the plastic wrappers of the onigiri.
“You're terrible with feelings.”
“What?”
“What you heard.”
“I don't understand, you idiot. I'm not proficient in the human language.”
“That seems like too much for a ‘yes’.”
“Fuck you, Kurosaki.”
“Nah, I'll leave it to you. But then, when are you going to tell me what's bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure, and you complaining is nothing.”
“I'm not complaining.”
“Sure, whatever makes you sleep better, Grimmjow.”
Ichigo avoided looking at the man sitting on his bed, focusing on the books on his desk and feeling the tiredness take over his shoulders. The only thing he wanted at that moment was to finish the last book for the week's internship. He was sleepy, tired, and stressed from a horrible day at work, and he didn't want to deal with Arrancar's tantrum just because they didn't get their weekly fight.
He had been reading the same paragraph for a few minutes and vaguely noticed Grimmjow's silence and lack of movement. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he rested for just a moment before focusing on the long words that awaited him.
Lulled by a heavy, cold, and somehow soft reiatsu, Ichigo sighed as he rested his head more firmly in his hand, allowing the quick comforting movement to wrap around him like a blanket, relaxing his body and feeling sleep take even more hold of his head. Feeling a scratching in his throat and the taste of iron, of blood, Ichigo allowed himself to sleep for a brief moment.
𖦹
Grimmjow stared at Kurosaki as he sat on the windowsill. The idiot was lying down, wrapped in a blanket that almost suffocated him, but hey, he had the courtesy to cover him so he wouldn't get cold or catch a disease that winter. It was the fault of that fragile human body that was horrible to take care of. So, yes, he was still kind, instead of leaving the idiot sleeping in the chair and on the uncomfortable table. Grimmjow didn't want to hear a horrible complaint about how his body was sore from awkward positions or about his joints being ruined from leaving his body anywhere before assuming his shinigami form.
He pursed his lips, tasting the bitter taste on his tongue. Shinigami. What the hell was he still doing taking care of that body and that man, who should stab the Panther into his fragile heart and tear it apart, as payback for the scar on his chest? Humanity was pathetic and was turning him into one of them.
Grimmjow felt a smile spread across his face as he stroked the hilt of Panther. He could see how easy it would be to take whatever he wanted from the man, especially when he was asleep. At least now, years after the remnants of the war, Kurosaki rarely woke up screaming or because of nightmares; he slept deeply. So much so that Grimmjow doubted he would hear his own sisters, even if they were screaming for him.
A fine line. Grimmjow knew that thinking like this was stupid, especially since he understood that the spoiled brats were part of the pack or the fraccion, whatever they called it in the human world. He himself knew the meaning of family: when he still had his fracción, even in times of winter and hibernation, if something happened, he would wake up easily.
He continued to stare at Kurosaki, who was asleep. He could see his calm breathing, his chest rising and falling, his lips slightly parted, and his forehead furrowed. Because yes, the idiot couldn't relax even once. Grimmjow had already heard that Kurosaki was very sullen for a twenty-two-year-old. The man always replied that living through two wars, seeing friends die, and being betrayed when he was at rock bottom caused it, but it was funny that Urahara had already told him that the frown had always been there, from the first time he saw him.
Grimmjow didn't take long to assume his Adjucha form, as it was faster to run through the city without scaring the humans who could still see him. After all, according to Kurosaki and the children who were always around him, they didn't mind seeing a panther with bones wrapped around its body, but they freaked out when they saw a man with claws or flying around.
Climbing onto the Shinigami's bed, still feeling the sands of Hueco Mundo in his fur, Grimmjow approached Kurosaki's face. Sniffing the stable reiatsu, he realized that the man was relaxed and resting deeply. Kurosaki was probably in a dream or with Zangetsu, since Grimmjow had discovered that Kurosaki often spent the entire night resting in his inner world.
Grimmjow's blue eyes scanned Kurosaki's face, focusing on his clean, unmarked neck. A growl echoed in his chest and he felt his reiatsu waver, but he controlled both immediately upon hearing a grumble coming from Kurosaki. He didn't want to wake him, much less have to explain why his muzzle was so close. Grimmjow moved a little closer to the curve of his neck, just to smell a little more of the comforting scent that surrounded him. Nothing more than that.
The two were not friends, nor were they close, but despite their fights and quarrels, Kurosaki allowed Grimmjow to get away with many things. He was aware of this, especially when he realized that Kurosaki's human friends were not as close or intimate as they had been when he first saw them, both in the World of the Living and in Hueco Mundo during the war. Kurosaki rarely allowed anyone to get so close, and Grimmjow could talk about it: the physical contact; the act of lying on the man's bed; snuggling up with the piles of new blankets (which he pretends Kurosaki didn't buy because of his complaint); changing all the incense and scents scattered around the house because of his sensitive nose; and the clothes folded in a part of the closet with the excuse that “my mother would kill me if I didn't have at least a few pairs of clothes for you here.”
Grimmjow noticed the frequent tickets, the fresh milk (a stupid joke, but he didn't refuse any, especially the flavored ones) and, all over the ceiling, those damn scratches scattered around the corners of the walls and the wool on the sofa, with the excuse that Arrancar had already destroyed a cushion and Kurosaki didn't waste so much money to change the sofa every time he had a tantrum. Grimmjow remembered, for sure, the scratch he made on the man's thigh, and that was one of the things he avoided treating as a joke, especially when he saw the scar there whenever they were at Urahara's hot springs.
Grimmjow realized too late that he was purring and that he was wrapped like a blanket by Kurosaki's heavy reiatsu. His common scent, that of a human with a limited life, the steel of Zangetsu, the ice of the reishi that the Quincys carried, and the rotten smell of the Hollow side, was a mixture that had become the man's trademark for him. He could recognize the way to Kurosaki just by the smell. Being used to staying in the man's apartment and fighting with him, it was like smelling himself on someone else.
Grimmjow noticed that they were both purring, and that set off alarm bells in his head. First: he didn't stay that close to Kurosaki. Second: he didn't purr. Third: the idiot smelled different, and it irritated his nose. In fact, upon closer inspection, the smell seemed to come more from outside than from the man lying on the bed. This confused him. He moved closer to Kurosaki's neck, breathing in that intoxicating scent.
It was obvious: the mixed aromas of all the races that the idiot had obtained with his mixed-family lottery ticket were still predominant, as strong as they had been the first time they fought and after the Winter. However, there was something else there. Grimmjow recognized the smell: it was the smell of death.
The smell of death was different from the rotten smell that Hollows had, from the weak or newly formed ones to those who shared the table with him while they were still close and working for Aizen. It was a rotten smell, like the one you get in hospitals or cemeteries. It was like a thread of life reaching the fire and being burned alive. If he could compare it, he would say it was like the smell of human flesh being burned while still alive.
It was disgusting, repulsive, and it messed with Kurosaki's true scent.
Grimmjow didn't understand, because from what he knew from stories about Shinigamis, Hollows, and even Quincys, they didn't die suddenly. In fact, Shinigamis were already dead, but their souls only died under specific circumstances, and he knew that. And Hollows? Well, they smelled like rot, but it was an empty rot, not like they were being killed while breathing and with their hearts beating.
Grimmjow couldn't understand why Kurosaki, among all the friends and Shinigamis he still had around him, smelled like death. Although the smell was subtle, the man was fine. His powers had returned, Zangetsu was in perfect condition, giving him trouble at every encounter and annoying Kurosaki whenever he could. The old fool on the Quincy side was also with him, even if he remained hidden and on the edges of his inner world.
So, fuck it, he didn't understand why, of all people, Ichigo was dying.
Kurosaki was fine. The big guy with glasses and the idiot in clogs never said anything; on the contrary, they always praised his quick recovery in every fight. A round of applause for the masochist of his Hollow, for liking blood and fighting on the brink of death so much. Kurosaki was fine, attending college and all his human nonsense. He worked for hours at that internship that made him come home smelling of syringes and medicine, which annoyed Grimmjow and overshadowed the scent he liked so much.
At most, Grimmjow would say that Kurosaki smelled like a hospital, but the smell was different from that. He had learned to recognize Kurosaki by his smells: anger, fear, excitement, fun, tiredness, and even joy, which he didn't show on his face, with so many expression lines due to his natural frown. So, yes, there was something strange. And if he, of all those involved, noticed it, the clog-wearing jerk probably noticed it too, but just didn't say anything to him.
Grimmjow moved away from Ichigo's neck, watching the man grumble again. Ichigo pulled the blanket close to his face, rubbed the soft fabric, and sighed. Grimmjow had already gotten out of bed, as he was taking up a good part of the space.
At the window, he stared at Kurosaki once more, realizing that the man was still in a deep sleep. Good. He wouldn't die today. If the smell he sensed was really true, it was only the beginning, so the annoying guy in clogs and the black cat could do something about it. Grimmjow would just warn them, nothing more.