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Grimmjow was always on the move. While Ulquiorra was content to sit still, observing the unchanging world, Grimmjow was constantly in motion. He prowled the long hallways of Las Noches, rarely with a destination in mind, driven onward by a need to keep moving. He was never subtle about it either, burning blue waves of spiritual pressure rolling off him, marking his path as he paced. So, when he was in one place for a long time, it usually meant bad news. As a being fixated on rules and regulations, it had become one of Ulquiorra’s unofficial duties to monitor the Sexta, and his seemingly endless appetite for destruction, or worse, defiance.
Ulquiorra closed in on his location- the roof of the Sexta’s palace. Fully expecting to catch Grimmjow in the middle of breaking a rule or three, he landed lightly on the grey stone and prepared himself to lecture his fellow Espada. Instead, Grimmjow was on his back, fully reclined, breathing softly. He didn’t even react to Ulquiorra's approach. That was strange. Confident as he pretended to be, Grimmjow was often high-strung - an important instinct for any hollow - but Grimmjow’s wariness bordered on perpetual anxiety, scanning areas wildly to anticipate an attack. Ulquiorra paced over to stand over the man, and after a moment of contemplation, nudged him with his foot. Bright blue eyes slid open lazily, fixing him with a hazy glare.
“What are you doing?” It was a question, yet Ulquiorra’s impassive tone made it sound more like a disparaging statement.
“What’s it look like? ‘m sleeping.” Grimmjow’s voice, usually dripping with snark or cracking with rage, was slow and mild. He almost sounded like a completely different person. Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes, unsure what to make of this behaviour.
“You had your guard down. I could have killed you.”
“Yeah, right. You don’t do a damn thing unless Aizen tells you.”
Ulquiorra did not respond. He simply stared as Grimmjow yawned and stretched. The movement was uncharacteristically delicate, extending each limb in turn, tensing with a satisfying, audible crack. After he finished, he jumped to his feet in one swift movement, rolling his shoulders for good measure.
“So? What is it? You woke me up for a reason, right?”
“No, not really.”
“What?”
“Goodbye, Grimmjow.”
Grimmjow, confused and more than a little irritated at having been woken for nothing, muttered a string of expletives, but Ulquiorra was already gone before the first syllable had left his mouth.
Ulquiorra must have been bored. Though Grimmjow couldn’t remember ever seeing his fellow Espada truly enthused about anything, he assumed he must have nothing else to do. Otherwise, why did he keep disturbing him?
Grimmjow enjoyed his naps. Sure, he didn’t need the sleep, but it was pleasurable. He would dream occasionally, too. Dreaming of being a king once again, leading his pack on the hunt, feeling white sand underneath his paws. Unfortunately, he kept waking up to the cold stare of one Ulquiorra Cifer. He had even come to expect it, and was considering abandoning his favourite napping spot for somewhere the Cuatro could not reach.
“How do I do it?” Ulquiorra asked one day.
“What, sleep? You don’t know how to sleep?”
Ulquiorra nodded. Grimmjow tutted, not bothering to hide the toothy grin cracking across his face. Clearly, the arrogant cat was delighted to find he possessed an ability that the bat did not. Even if it was one as woefully unimpressive as taking a nap.
“So that’s what you’re comin’ here for. It makes you mad, doesn’t it? The great Ulquiorra doesn’t know something! Oh, that must really piss you off, huh?” Grimmjow cackled as Ulquiorra did not respond. “So, what? Want me to teach you or something?” His words were dripping with boastful contempt, preening under his own attention.
“Yes. If there is an ability that I lack, I am obligated to investigate. If one such as you can do it, it follows that I should be able to as well. So, you will teach me, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra’s cold gaze was enough to freeze even the most unruly arrancar on the spot, but his words made Grimmjow’s blood run hot. He was joking, of course. He knew the other man didn’t do sarcasm (ha! Another thing he was better at!) but he was not expecting his demeaning offer to be taken up so… Earnestly. He almost hissed at him - an instinct from long ago, one which Ulquiorra seemed to be an expert in drawing out from him - before the tiny voice of reason piped up in his brain. Ulquiorra, the Cuatro, ranked two spaces above him, was asking him for help. He was, in a way, admitting defeat, admitting that in one, small way, Grimmjow was better. And Grimmjow was nothing if not egotistical.
“Fine. I’ll help. Only ‘cause I'm in a good mood. No thanks to you.” He spat the last sentence under his breath. “Sit down.”
And Ulquiorra did. A wave of amusement washed over him as he watched the man who was his so-called ‘superior’ obey his orders without question. He briefly wondered what else he could tell him to do, before that annoying voice of reason reminded him that Ulquiorra was only here because he wanted to be.The idea of making a fool out of him was a tempting one, but not worth a cero blasting off his head, he figured. So, he continued with the lesson.
“Close your eyes.”
“And then?”
“And then…” He paused for a moment, trying to remember the many times he had fallen asleep before, scrunching his nose up in frustration when he drew a blank. “I dunno, it just kinda happens?” He offered.
Despite both of their eyes being closed, Grimmjow could sense the unimpressed look on Ulquiorra’s face. “Look, just try it,” He snapped, already exasperated and beginning to regret agreeing to something so stupid.
The two sat like that, Grimmjow lying back on the floor, arms crossed behind his head as a makeshift cushion. Ulquiorra, on the other hand, sat stiffly, legs folded underneath him, palms placed flat on his thighs. From afar, he looked like a strange gargoyle, placed on the roof in such uncomfortable stillness. Grimmjow had begun to nod off, teetering on the edge of falling unconscious before a monotonous voice interrupted him.
“Nothing is happening.” Ulquiorra somehow sounded more unimpressed than usual. Grimmjow groaned, irritation creasing his brow.
“Because you keep talking! Just shut up and be patient.”
Ulquiorra made a small, muffled sound at that. Grimmjow was almost certain he had imagined it, until he cracked an eye open and saw that yes, the tiniest smile was painted on his features. Fury sparked within him.
“The fuck are you laughing at?” He growled.
“You’re telling me to be patient. I didn’t think you understood the concept. I find it,” he paused, as if tasting the word for the first time, “funny.”
Hot blood rushed up Grimmjow’s neck and into his cheeks. He was never good at taking insults. It certainly had nothing to do with Ulquiorra’s soft smile.
“That's it. We’re done for today. Lesson over, asshole.” He hopped onto his feet, too angry to enjoy the rest of his nap, let alone coach someone else on how to do something as easy as go to fucking sleep .
“I see. Then, I expect another lesson tomorrow.” Ulquiorra watched him with his ever present vacant expression, even as Grimmjow spluttered in surprise. “I do hope you become a better teacher by then.” Once again, before Grimmjow could utter his first curse, the other man had stood up, dusted himself off, and disappeared from the roof. It was an annoying habit.
Grimmjow growled to himself. He was noticing Ulquiorra’s habits. Now that was annoying.
Hueco Mundo had changed dramatically since Aizen’s arrival, Las Noches most of all. A blue sky stretched above them, bright and cruel as its creator. Buildings were constructed, rules were made, order established where there was once only wild desert. To top it off, the ten strongest hollows now sat quietly around a table, drinking tea. Grimmjow didn’t care for this new Hueco Mundo, nor did he care for tea. However, there was one thing the Soul Reapers brought to their world that he did love.
Pillows.
He was dismissive at first, wary of the many changes happening far too quickly for his brain to keep up, but as soon as he pressed a paw down on the soft material, he was convinced. The plush, silky fabric was like a dream, comforting him as he became familiar with his new bipedal form, blankets warming him as he mourned his lack of fur. The cold slabs of desert rock simply could not compare. The others felt the same. Comfort was not a normal part of the life cycle of a hollow, and many indulged in the strange, tender feeling it gave them.
So, when Ulquiorra stared down at the collection of pillows and blankets Grimmjow had brought to their rooftop retreat with what seemed to be a mix of disdain and pity, well, he couldn’t help but feel slightly defensive.
“It helps,” he retorted, before Ulquiorra had even asked the question of ‘why’. “With the sleeping. Helps to be comfortable.”
Ulquiorra did not respond, only raising an eyebrow as Grimmjow busied himself laying out the bedding in the spot that had come to be the designated area for their ‘sleeping lessons’. He arranged the largest pillows in the centre, layering the gaps between with the smaller ones and throwing a large, soft cover over the pile.
“Some of these belong to Starrk.” Ulquiorra ran a hand over a pale blue blanket. The velvety texture felt strange and new under his fingertips, and he found himself repeating the action to feel it again.
“Trust me, he won’t miss em’,” Grimmjow laughed, fluffing up a dark green pillow and placing it down.
“Grimmjow.”
“Don’t ‘Grimmjow’ me!” he snapped back, in a falsetto parody of Ulquiorra’s warning tone. “I asked, okay? Don’t get your fangs in a twist.” Now, that was new. Perhaps the cat was finally learning how to behave. Ulquiorra wasn’t fully convinced, but progress was progress, and Lord Aizen would be pleased to know that this exercise was having some kind of positive result.
Either way, Ulquiorra could verify this later. For now, he sat on the nest the other man had created for the two of them, before remembering to lay down - a previous lesson that frustrated Grimmjow just as much as it had confused Ulquiorra. He felt the cushions dip beside him, as the other man had joined him in their makeshift bed. He was close. He could reach out and touch him, if he wanted. He could press his hands into his neck, scratch across the sensitive junction where the bone of his mask fused with his skin. He could run his fingers through powder blue hair. He wondered if it felt as nice as the blanket. He was close.
Ulquiorra didn’t reach out.
Ulquiorra would not stop squirming, and Grimmjow’s frustration was rising quickly. He really needed a nap today, and he was frankly sick and tired of having to explain every intricacy of sleeping. They had been at this for weeks now, and the lack of decent rest was making his perpetually sour mood even worse. Ulquiorra shifted again, tugging the blanket covering them an inch, exposing Grimmjow’s bare back to the cooler air. He shivered. The small voice of reason in his mind must have already fallen asleep, as he reached forward in an act of momentary insanity.
“Damn it, c’mere-” Grimmjow growled as he pulled Ulquiorra into his arms.
Ulquiorra froze. How had he managed to put himself in such a dangerous situation? He was stronger than the man who grabbed him, they both knew that. However, Grimmjow was still capable of doing quite a significant amount of damage, and even his hierro and high-speed regeneration may not be enough to save him. He tensed, flaring his spiritual pressure under his skin, ice-green and prepared to counterattack.
But Grimmjow did not attack. He simply… Held him. Held him until his spiritual pressure stopped snarling like a captured beast and receded back into a more restrained and wary state.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ulquiorra’s emotions were never easily discerned, but his surprise and confusion were easy enough to guess. The accusing question lost its bite as it was muffled against a muscular chest.
“Me ‘n my Fracciones used to do this. Back when we were adjuchas. We’d find a cave, or dig out a hole. And we’d sleep together in a pile. Felt safer that way. For them, I mean, I never needed it.”
Ulquiorra noticed two things at that moment. Firstly, he had unintentionally relaxed into the other man’s embrace, shifting ever so slightly to make himself more comfortable, seeking out the warmth of his body. It was a pleasant feeling, something that seemed distantly familiar. Perhaps, long, long ago, before he was a hollow, before he was a soul, in the long forgotten past of his human life, he had once been held like this.
Secondly, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was a terrible liar. The ease in which he snuggled into the smaller man betrayed his eagerness for physical contact. His voice had a gravelly undertone, almost a growl, yet… softer. As Grimmjow breathed beside him, he could feel a low vibration emanating from his chest, rumbling pleasantly throughout both their bodies. What was this called again? Ah, yes. Purring. An involuntary response to pleasure and comfort.
He focused on the low frequency. A strange heaviness flowed throughout his body. It felt as if he was being crushed by a strong spiritual pressure, and yet… It was gentle. Not crushed. Embraced. His eyes slid shut, something deep in his memory reacting to the warmth. He felt like he was falling. Diving. Flying. Soaring through a black sky, far away from Las Noches, from Aizen, from the Espada, from plans and loyalties and fake suns and teacups. Far from anything that wasn’t Grimmjow. It wasn’t a bad place to be.
The two hollows drifted off into dream-filled sleep, holding each other tight. And for a short, sweet moment, they both felt slightly more whole.