Chapter Text
Ichigo was dying.
He was being killed by a tiny man inside his face. The devil was planting bombs set to make migraines every two hours, and leave behind a ‘cannot breathe’ dust. Even worse than that was his stuffy nose that was clearly staging a revolt against him because nothing he tried was alleviating it. The forces rallied against him were absolutely winning. The only option was death.
That damn bastard was late. For the first time ever.
“Where the fuck is he?” I growled into my cup of chai. The clock on the register showed 2:34pm, which was 19 minutes past when we normally opened up. “If you’re going to skip then at least send me a text or something. I can’t open the shop on my own.”
My fingers tapped on the counter, agitatedly waiting to hear the jingle of keys outside that would warn my coworker is approaching. A car drove past, not slowing down, and another car honked at it. Still no jangle.
Fuck this.
I threw off my apron and aggressively shoved my arms back into my jacket. “I waited twenty fucking minutes. Ridiculous. He better be fighting off a murderer or I’m going to kill him myself,” I muttered as I shut off the lights and set the machines to sleep.
The map of destinations was already forming in my mind, even though I had only been to the place once. I picked my helmet off of my bike and strapped it to my head, uncaring that it would absolutely ruin my hairstyle for the day. Who gives a shit about hair when something as important as beating up a coworker happens? Without another thought to proper planning or even sending a text, I was on my way to Kurosaki’s apartment.
Pulling up to the apartment, I immediately felt something was amiss. The shades he normally kept open were firmly shut. I don't normally pick him up to go to work, but it had happened enough times that I knew what was normal.
I parked my bike and ran up the stairs. My earlier joke seemed a lot less funny when I didn't know if he was ok. My hand rapped against the metal door, I heard it's echo inside his hallway, and then a soft groan.
My mind went blank. Before I could think for even a second, I was slamming the door open and rushing inside. My breath caught in my throat at the sight before me: my orange haired coworker was lying face down in the hallway struggling to crawl towards me.
“Kurosaki. Holy fuck. What happened?” I crouched down and brought my face as close to his as I could. I could tell he was breathing but it seems labored. “Do you need to go to the hospital? Did those dirtbags from a week ago come by again? Why aren't you answering me?!”
“Grimm, back up,” he muttered hesitantly.
I did not backup. In fact, I scooted a little bit closer on my knees because surely I heard that wrong. “I'm serious, Grimmjow. If you don’t back up in the next two seconds I’m going to-”
I had no warning. One moment I was there on the floor perfectly content to listen to the rasping breath of my only coworker, the next I was assaulted. Splattered. Infected with a horrible disease.
He sneezed on me.
“What. The. Fuck.” I dragged my hand over my face, attempting to wipe the spittle away and failing miserably. It was everywhere, my shirt, my hair, my nose, none of it was spared. “I hate you. I hope you know that, you're my enemy, and I hate you.”
“I'm not the idiot who didn't back up when he was told to back up,” Kurosaki yelled, then coughed, then glared at me. “Look what you made me do. I was breathing just fine until you came along.”
“Just fine? you call that just fine? You were literally dying, are still dying!”
“Oh, don't be so dramatic,” Kurosaki said. He made a motion as if he was waving me off, but kind of failed halfway through and ended up slamming his fist against the floor. I would have laughed but it wasn't that funny. He was just so weak. Never laugh at a weak man.
“If you were this sick,” I sighed, forcefully expelling the air from my lungs, “you should've just told me. I wouldn't have rushed all the way over here. Thought you were getting your ass kicked… but you're just being a little bitch.”
Once again, he tried to hit me and failed miserably. He laid his head on the floor and didn't bother looking at me as he talked. “Thanks so much for rushing over, you've been so helpful.”
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see it. He could be such a stuck up hardass at times. Never accepting a helping hand without trying to bite it first. Lucky for him, I was fine with being bit, actually I would be offended if he didn’t bite at me. It was endearing.
My hands moved before my brain had formed the thought. I rolled Kurosaki on to my knees, got a better grip, and stood up with him in my arms like a fussy child. He tried to wiggle out of my grasp every step of the way, but it was like fighting the tide when he did not know how to swim. By the time he had freed an arm enough to punch my jaw I was able to drop him comfortably onto the couch.
“Stay,” I warned, pointing my finger in your face and putting on my most stern look. Kurosaki opened his mouth as if to argue but was overcome with another sneeze. Great, now my finger was covered in germs too. “Enemies. We are enemies. And I hate you. Now, sit there while I make you some tea and try not to sneeze on any of my other body parts.”
I moved to the kitchen and started throwing open cabinets to find what I needed. A kettle was already on the stove so I just needed a mug and some loose leaves. The first cabinet was full of bowls and cups and… a singular fork? The second cabinet was plates and spoons. The third was all canned and boxed food. No tea, no mugs.
“The hell kind of tea shop server are you?! No tea in the entire fucking kitchen!” My voice echoed off the inside of the bowls cabinet as I stretched further inside looking for even a hint of what I needed.
Kurosaki sniffled his nose, then replied, “I only work there for the cash. Also the machines do all the tea making so I don’t really know how to make tea. I always get it hot from the shop when I want some.”
I slammed the cabinets shut and clenched my jaw to prevent any unwise words from escaping. This idiot, this fool, this rocks-for-brains guy had absolutely no preparation for sick days. How was he supposed to get better if he didn’t at least take care of himself? He probably was on his way to the shop too if his black button up and pressed pants were anything to go off of. He really had no self-preservation, huh.
My fingers took up their habit, tapping away at the nearest surface, while I thought of my options.
- Leave and take a few days off while Kurosaki recovers or dies
- Try and work the shop all on my own, against regulations, with a crappy attitude
- Go to the store and buy the things I need to make a cup of tea back here
As tempting as option 1 was, I couldn’t choose it. Similarly, I liked working at the shop but it was only because I was able to make the custom teas and prep the machine while Kurosaki dealt with the customers. I would hate having to act like a good citizen to all those random people while doing every other thing needed to make a good ginseng. So, there was only one thing left to do.
I dug my hand into my pocket and gripped my keys. Making my way to my sick coworker, I leered over him and said, “Don’t. Move. I’ll be back in 20 minutes, and you’re going to be sorry you ever got sick.”
His eyes widened a little, showing more of their sugary brown color, and he nodded. Then his brows scrunched up and he said, “Okay, wait, I don’t need you to make me tea, it’s just a stuffy nose nothing too, too, toooooooo-”
He sneezed again.I didn’t even try to restrain myself. My hand clutched Kurosaki’s weird spiky yet soft hair and turned his face into the couch cushion. “Next time, just fucking look away! It’s not hard!” I was out the door and on my bike in less time than he could come up with a retort.