Chapter Text
It was Thursday, and Thursdays were completely unremarkable.
Usually, anyway.
Usually, Ichigo got out of bed at 7:30am, dodged a flying kick or two from his dad, brushed his teeth, and then got dressed, went downstairs, and ate breakfast with Yuzu and Karin before he got his things together to go to class.
Except, this Thursday, everything seemed to be going wrong. He woke up normally enough, after some vague and seemingly insignificant dreams about sand. He yawned, stretched, and dragged himself off to the bathroom to begin his morning ritual, all without a hitch. His life had been carefully crafted to be unimportant these days, and he would have liked to keep it that way, thank you very much. He stared at himself sleepily in the mirror, thinking about what kind of coffee he would have this morning.
So why did the universe suddenly decide that it really wanted to fuck up his day?
He ran everything over in his head once more and tried to figure out what the hell was happening.
It wasn't the part where he ran out of toothpaste or dripped pomegranate jelly on his favorite shirt. Not even when he tripped while putting his pants on, slipping on a runaway sock and planting his face into the opposite wall. And then, while he was vulnerable on the floor, Isshin tried to jump in with an elbow drop aimed at Ichigo’s stomach. He wasn’t really sure why his dad still tried to assault him, weren't they all a little old for that? Was it supposed to be a bonding ritual? He snorted to himself. Maybe that's was why Ichigo sometimes considered fighting to be an acceptable sign of affection.
After breakfast, he went to pack up for class. His laptop charger was mysteriously unplugged from the wall, he discovered a large jelly stain on the front of his shirt, and there was a mysterious green smear across the open pages of his math textbook. But those weren't even the worst twists of fate of the day.
No, this Thursday was special, because his life would never be the same after this.
Ichigo flung open the front door to hurry to his car, unusually late from digging around the laundry for a new shirt and slammed face-first into something solid and warm and…. Blue?
“What the fuck, Kurosaki?”
Ichigo stopped short. The utter surprise of hearing that voice again after so long wiped his mind completely blank like the Etch-A-Sketch Karin had stashed upstairs. Ichigo attempted to register what the fuck just happened while his brain did a hard restart.
He hadn’t seen the owner of that voice in nearly two years, since the end of the last war. Since he put his swords down and chased after the most mundane human existence he possibly could have. Since his inner world had gone silent and slept soundly for the first time since he was a teenager. Everyone had moved on after the war, going their separate ways and trying to piece their lives back together. He hadn’t had much contact with them since he came back home. The war had taken a lot out of him, and he needed to heal. That’s what he had been telling himself, anyway.
Ichigo looked up at the other person and blinked at them. The same shockingly blue hair, the same fiery cerulean gaze, one that promised ritual murder by way of kitty-claws. The mask on his cheek was missing, but he had the same square jaw and the bright teal markings. He was dressed in familiar black, silver-tipped boots, well-fitting, slim jeans, a black v-neck shirt, and a checkered black and white flannel rolled up to his elbows. He looked good.
“Grimmjow?” He questioned, hardly believing what he was seeing. “Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?”
“I thought…” Ichigo trailed off. He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. When he looked back, Grimmjow silently quirked an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He let his eyes roam over the man in front of him once more and sighed. “I thought you were in Hueco Mundo?”
Grimmjow stared, incredulous.
“What?” Ichigo asked, shifting uncomfortably and feeling a little bit like an idiot under his piercing gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Grimmjow held up a paper bag stamped with the logo of Urahara’s shoten.
“I came to drop this off,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Ichigo wondered if he was losing what was left of his grip on reality. He nodded mutely, not understanding what the hell was happening, but accepting it anyway. He would have to pencil in an existential crisis for later, he had a class to get to. Finally, his brain kicked back into gear and he remembered that he was supposed to be doing something important. He glanced down at his watch and took off towards his car when he saw the time. Fuck, I’m going to be so late!
“Sorry, I have to go!” Ichigo shouted, already halfway down the driveway and fishing his keys out of his pocket. “Come by tonight and we can talk more, yeah?” He wasn’t sure why he had said that, thinking back on it, but he was distracted and burning with curiosity at just what Grimmjow had been doing all this time. And honestly, it’s not like Ichigo was exactly known for his fantastic ideas and strategic maneuvering.
Ichigo made it to class only five minutes late.
He might've broken at least three traffic laws and accidentally ran a stop sign, but no one could prove that. He dropped into a seat in the back of the lecture hall with a sigh and rubbed his hand over his face, attempting to focus, but it wasn’t long until his eyes glazed over and his mind drifted.
He spent the entire drive to class wondering what the hell just happened? When did Grimmjow come to the world of the living? When did he start talking to Urahara? What was with his mask? Why was it gone? Was he in a gigai? Did Kisuke give him a gigai? That traitor! Why hadn’t anyone told Ichigo that he was here? And most importantly, what the hell was he doing at my house? Ichigo wracked his brains, trying to remember if there had been any mention of what Grimmjow was up to for the last two years.
After the war, he had come home bruised, battered, and a little off balance. He was tired. In the courtyard after the battle, after he had won, everyone congratulated him. The war was over and it was nice that the danger had passed, but he wasn’t a hero. Heroes had purpose, and his had died with Yhwach. He worked tirelessly for years for the power to protect the ones he loved, but standing in that courtyard… he wondered what it was really all for.
He’d looked around for a familiar shock of blue hair and was devastated to find it missing. He thought Grimmjow hadn't made it back, and it hit him hard. He didn't find out for weeks after he returned home that Grimmjow actually survived, and that Urahara was taking care of him. Ichigo never heard anything after that, and assumed that Grimmjow had just gone back to Hueco Mundo without saying anything.
He hadn’t let himself feel anything about the war in so long, and even then, he never dealt with the deep chasm of inexplicable loss he felt. The thought that Grimmjow had just fucked off without a word was devastating, and he used it to spur his own transformation. He just wanted to be normal. He applied to and was accepted into university, he learned how to cook, he helped his sisters with their homework. He walled himself off from everyone and tried not to process everything he had been through. Ichigo needed to heal, to find himself. He didn’t know who he was supposed to be. He had spent the last few years as Ichigo Kurosaki, substitute shinigami, and now? Now he wasn’t needed, and he didn’t know what he wanted. Ichigo felt lost, hopeless, stripped of his identity. He didn’t know who he was anymore.
So, Ichigo retreated to his own little island of safety, licking his wounds and putting his head back on straight. He just wanted to forget. It was too much to think of everything he had lost. He threw himself into school and got rid of everything that had reminded him of his old life, even cutting contact with Zangetsu. Now, after a year of carefully curating his life and experiences, he liked to think he had become rather well-adjusted. He was famous for his sheer resolve, after all; this time he had just resolved to be okay rather than resolving to win.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he mentally shook himself and tried to turn his attention back to his class. He told Grimmjow to come back tonight, hadn’t he? So he would just ask him what he was doing here then. Maybe he could find out what there is to do on a daily basis in Hueco Mundo, now that there wasn’t a slimy egomaniac running things anymore. With that, Ichigo finally began to concentrate on what was going on in front of him.
When Ichigo left that morning, Grimmjow had stared after him as he slammed the car door shut and drove away, apparently very late for something.
The fuck?
Grimmjow shook his head and turned to knock on the door, wondering what the hell was up with Kurosaki. It was almost like...
Well, he acted like he didn’t know Grimmjow was even here.
The thing was, Grimmjow had been coming here twice a week for nearly four months now, running packages for Kisuke in exchange for a place to stay and a small paycheck. He figured that, one of the Kurosakis had mentioned something to Ichigo since he was around pretty much all the time, but based on Ichigo's reaction, they hadn't told him anything. Grimmjow wondered if that was why Ichigo looked like he had seen a ghost.
Did he still not want to see me?
Urahara saved his life. His careful planning made sure they survived the Quincy asshole’s stupid poison ball, and Kisuke brought him back to the world of the living for treatment. He and Tessai worked tirelessly for days, placing Grimmjow in a kidou stasis so the poison wouldn’t spread, and spent the following weeks engineering a prototype Arrancar gigai to give his real body time to heal. After 3 months, he had recovered enough to wake up and move around.
Since then, he had been stuck in the gigai, learning how to exist in the living world, while the effects of the poison wore off. He spent the following six months or so regaining his strength, generally lazing about and napping in sunny spots, until Yuzu had come by. He learned that she was a small Kurosaki, and that the tangerine dumbass lived nearby. She said that he hadn’t been quite the same since he came back from the Soul Society. The next day, he had asked Kisuke to teach him more about the human world, and he started by suggesting Grimmjow start working and giving him the job delivering packages.
The last two years settled Grimmjow considerably. All the effort Kisuke put into saving him, and the subsequent time they spent together built grudging respect between them. Kisuke knew not to provoke him too far, and Grimmjow learned to listen to him. He still wanted to punch everyone in the face a little bit, but he no longer felt the urge to rip them apart with his bare claws. The murderous edge of his personality dulled; it was no longer kill or be killed. For the first time since he could remember, he was fed, safe, and sheltered, and it allowed him to relax a bit.
Of course, all of that went out the window the minute he literally ran into Kurosaki. The little bastard had always brought out the extremes of his personality. Ichigo made him feel, and it caught him off guard. Grimmjow told himself that his fixation on Kurosaki was only because he was the only one who could truly challenge Grimmjow, so, logically, he needed to focus on him out of self-preservation. Yeah, that was it.
Lost in thought, Grimmjow didn’t notice the door open and Yuzu standing there with a blank look on her face until she cleared her throat. He blinked and, on autopilot, held the bag out.
“Kisuke sent this,” he said.
She took the bag and thanked him cheerfully, handing him a similar package from Isshin in exchange.
“Was that Ichigo I heard out here a second ago? Did you run into him on his way out?” Yuzu asked.
Grimmjow nodded. “He told me to come back tonight.”
She gasped. “Oh good!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “So you’re coming over for dinner? It’s at seven.”
He looked down at her hopeful face and wondered how that could possibly be a good idea. “Yeah, sounds like it,” he sighed.
She smiled back at him. “Great! I’m making sushi tonight.” With that, she bade him goodbye and retreated back into the house, package in hand.
Grimmjow turned around and stalked away, scrubbing a hand through his already wild hair and then shoving them both into his pockets, along with the small parcel from Isshin, and scowled deeply.
Guess I’ll figure out what the hell is up with him later.
After class, Ichigo definitely did not race home like there was a forest fire and he was the only one who could prevent it. Nope, if anyone asked, Ichigo drove to the clinic at a perfectly reasonable speed, thank you very much. He did not sprint upstairs and slam the door, either. He was only putting his laundry away like a normal, conscientious housemate, that’s all. Ichigo was not worried about a psycho, murderous ex-Espada seeing his chili pepper boxers or that pair of socks with a tiny cat sleeping on a sushi roll that he only bought because they reminded him of….
Ichigo clamped down on that unwelcome thought, he was so not gonna go there right now. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something snickered. He ignored that too. Feeling a little hysterical, he dumped his backpack by the door and set about folding his laundry, cursing the entire day.
As Ichigo folded the last pair of socks, he heard a knock on the door downstairs. His heart jumped in his throat, and he began to sweat nervously
Get a grip, Ichigo, it’s just Grimmjow, remember? Vicious, raving, lunatic Grimmjow.
Unbidden, an image of Grimmjow, totally shirtless and with a homicidal grin, pressed close to him as they locked swords, surfaced in his mind.
Goddamnit, brain, now’s not the time!
That something snickered in the back of his mind again.
Ichigo mentally slapped himself and tried to focus. With a jolt, he realized he had just been standing there staring off into space for five straight minutes and sped out his bedroom door. Down the stairs, he heard the soft voices of his sisters coming from the kitchen. Skipping the living room altogether, he beelined for the kitchen, hoping that Grimmjow wasn’t in there so he could talk to his sisters for a moment.
Probably should have warned them, he thought.
No such luck. When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Grimmjow was sitting at a barstool at the counter, a cup of tea placed in front of him. Near the fridge, Yuzu was pouring another cup of tea and chuckling lightly. Ichigo didn’t hear the conversation, but it at least appeared to be non-threatening. That was good. As he walked up to the counter, everyone looked over at him.
“Oh um, hey guys,” he said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, “fancy meeting you all here.”
Everyone stared at him like he was a little unhinged. Ichigo wondered if maybe he was.
“So, it looks like you’ve met Grimmjow…” he trailed off.
They were still looking at him like he was insane.
“Ichigo, we know who he is,” Karin said flatly, narrowing her eyes at him.
“How?”
“What do you mean? Urahara made him his bitch boy— I mean, his delivery guy,” Karin said hastily.
Grimmjow, silent up to that moment, growled at ‘bitch boy’ and went to swipe at Karin. Ichigo started to move, but Karin was faster. Giggling, she dodged out of his grasp and stuck her tongue out at him. Ichigo stared, this day was really fucking weird.
After a moment, he sighed and resigned himself to whatever insanity was happening in front of him, dropping heavily into the seat beside Grimmjow.
“Alright, I have no idea what’s going on, but I think I’ll actually get dumber if I try to think about it any more,” Ichigo said, reaching for a cup of coffee.
“Didn’t think that was possible, Kurosaki,” a deep voice said beside him.
Half-heartedly, Ichigo tried to knock him with a shoulder but really just succeeded in brushing his arm against him.
Grimmjow stared at him, unamused.
“So what’s going on, Ichi-nii? Why do you look so confused?” Yuzu asked brightly.
“I’m just wondering why you guys don’t seem shocked to see a dangerous psychopath sitting nonchalantly in our kitchen,” he said, and then promptly lifted his cup out of Grimmjow’s reach when he tried to knock it over.
“Ichigo. That’s not a very nice thing to say!”
Ichigo eyed her critically, then rolled his eyes.
“Okay, start at the beginning,” he said, dropping his head onto the counter in front of him, “how did you meet him?”
“Don’t you remember, Ichigo? Dad said that there was a new guy at Urahara's shop and he hired him a bit ago to be a courier, since the old men can’t seem to figure out how to use the mailbox,” Karin announced, reaching for a fruit cup from the refrigerator.
No, Ichigo didn't really remember that, but he wracked his brains and tried to recall what the hell she was talking about anyway. It kinda sounded vaguely familiar, but when....
Ichigo raised his head sluggishly, brows furrowed, as realization hit him.
“But that was….” he said slowly. “He’s been here all this time?”
“You didn’t know?” Grimmjow questioned, turning to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Karin struggling to peel the lid off of her fruit cup.
Ichigo’s eyes slid over to fixate on the blue ones staring fiercely at him. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and discovered that his entire vocabulary had abandoned him. Have his eyes always looked like that?
He was spared answering, however, as Karin had finally succeeded in opening her snack, causing fruit juice to squirt across the kitchen, right into Ichigo’s face.
“Ah! Karin, what the hell?!” Ichigo shouted, scrambling for a towel to wipe juice out of his now burning eyes.
Beside him, Grimmjow shot her an amused grin.
“Oops. Sorry, Ichigo,” Karin said, shrugging and not sounding very sorry at all. She slurped some of the juice off the top of the cup and leaned over, resting both elbows on the counter and tilting her head at Ichigo.
“So you’re telling me that you left ungodly early every day… just because? We all thought you were trying to avoid him.”
“What? No, I was just going to class!” Ichigo insisted, beginning to feel a little targeted. He looked back at Grimmjow. “How often are you here, then?”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays, around 8:30 or so,” Grimmjow answered, eyes bright with laughter.
“Huh, right after I leave. Guess that's why I never ran into you.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Ichigo dropped the towel on the counter and picked up his coffee again. He just barely refrained from banging his head on the flat surface. Honestly, as much as Ichigo hated to admit it, this did explain a lot. He wondered why he had never thought to question a few things before. Like his dad suddenly making a few thousand Hollow puns. Ichigo had just assumed it was his dad being his normal brand of totally insane, but some of them were downright suggestive, and now that Ichigo knew Grimmjow had been around, it made him want to die a little bit. To avoid having to say anything else, he raised his cup to his lips and sipped, averting his eyes from everyone and looking out the window. They all sat there like that for a few moments in silence. Ichigo wasn't paying any attention and missed the looks that passed between his sisters and Grimmjow. Then, suddenly, he heard a throat clear on his immediate left.
“Kurosaki,” Grimmjow said quietly.
He looked over at Grimmjow and raised an eyebrow.
“If you didn’t know I was coming by, then you weren’t avoiding me?”
Ichigo gaped at him.
“Uh, no, idiot, I thought you were avoiding me,” Ichigo shot back, incredulous. “I thought you died, and I had to find out secondhand that Urahara saved your stupid ass, and then I never heard from you so I thought you just went back to Hueco Mundo.”
“You dumbass, Kisuke told me to leave you alone. He said that if you wanted to talk to me, you would, so I thought you didn’t want to.”
Ichigo furrowed his brows and looked from Grimmjow to his sisters and back again, feeling a little defensive. Didn’t want to... He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, like he wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure what. Finally, sighed and locked eyes with Grimmjow again.
“Well, now that you’re here, are you staying for dinner?” he asked instead.
At that, Yuzu spoke up from her spot in the corner of the kitchen.
“Yes! I was going to make sushi. You guys can help me,” she said sweetly.
Ichigo and Grimmjow both narrowed their eyes at her, fearing an ulterior motive. Unseen by everyone, Karin managed to slip into the living room, escaping completely.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” she insisted.
Neither of them believed that, but Ichigo sighed and acquiesced first, turning and leaning close to Grimmjow.
“Come on, if we don’t help her she might poison them or something,” he whispered in his ear conspiratorially.
Grimmjow shoved him lightly, scowling and rubbing at his ear. Ichigo ignored him and rounded the counter to take his pace next to Yuzu. For the next few minutes, she directed them around the kitchen with all the ruthless efficiency of a tiny drill sergeant, instructing them to fetch various ingredients and unearthing the bamboo rolling mats from some endless void in one of the lower cabinets. She set them to work slicing ingredients while she busied herself with the rice cooker.
Ichigo set his station up on the opposite side of the counter as Grimmjow. It’s not that he was a coward or anything, he just thought that giving a bloodthirsty cat a knife was a little bit suicidal. For a while, the kitchen was quiet except for the bubbling of the rice cooker and the quiet snip-snip of them chopping various meats and vegetables. Ichigo was shooting covert glances at Grimmjow, distractedly watching him elegantly work the utensil. He’d never thought he’d witness him doing something so… domestic. Usually when the ex-Espada had something sharp, he was trying to kill Ichigo with it.
Ichigo thought he was being covert, which of course meant that everyone noticed. Mostly it was because he wasn’t glancing, he kept stopping completely and staring with his mouth hanging open. Grimmjow, grinding his teeth and silently praying for patience, tried his best to ignore Ichigo. Yuzu was watching the scene in mute fascination. Every time she caught the look on Ichigo’s face, she turned and checked the rice cooker to hide her smile. Idiots, she thought fondly.
Finally, the rice finished and Yuzu started laying out the nori. She showed the two men how to spread the rice evenly across the paper and lay the fillings so that each slice had a bit of everything in it, and then she started teaching them how to roll it. Ichigo, predictably, was absolutely terrible at it. He may have learned to cook, but that didn’t mean that his dishes were pretty.
However, shockingly, Grimmjow was really good at it. Smugly, he thanked Tessai for teaching him how to do this ages ago. Sushi night was a pretty regular occurrence at the shoten, and Kisuke told him a story about some lazy redhead that used to stay over all the time and mooch off of them. Determined not to be that guy (and because he wasn’t a useless fuck, thank you very much), and also not wanting to endlessly sweep the front of the shop, he opted to follow Tessai around and learn his secrets. He preferred the company of Tessai because he was usually the quietest. Kisuke was always trying to experiment on him, Jinta constantly wanted to wrestle, and Ururu was a teenage girl, so that usually left the large, silent kidou expert in his flowery apron. Yoruichi was okay too, but sometimes she talked too much for Grimmjow's sanity.
“Wow, you’re great at this, Grimmjow-san!” Yuzu exclaimed. “Where did you learn how to do it?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Grimmjow said, sticking his tongue out at her.
“Well! Since you seem to have things well in hand here, I think I’ll leave the rest to you and finish the laundry instead,” she said innocently, fooling nobody.
“Wait a minute Yuzu, you can’t just- “ Ichigo started to say.
“Yes I can, good luck!” And with that, she skipped out of the room, leaving Ichigo and Grimmjow together in a small space with sharp objects, because that’s a great idea.