Work Text:
Grimmjow hates those eyes.
Hate is a strong word, but he can't deny that's the feeling he gets. It rolls in his stomach, up his torso, into the tips of his fingers until his whole body feels like it's buzzing. His palms get sweaty and he grits his teeth. It's pathetic that something so small can sway him so much.
As an espada he should have better control over his emotions. That's what Gin was always prattling on about anyways. Considering Gin got his ass killed thanks to emotions, maybe he shouldn't pay his words much heed.
Every time he falls asleep he sees those gold eyes. They follow him in his dreams, and his nightmares.
There's one recurring dream he has. The one he fears the most.
He's sitting on the white dunes of Hueco Mundo. The wind whistles and shifts the sand around him. There's a voice that carries on the grains, coarse and frail.
"You're not my king."
He opens his mouth to scream his retort but he can't breathe. Everything is going fuzzy. His vision is fading into a single dot focused on the moon. He blinks and it's a golden eye staring right into his soul. The ground breaks open and he falls into darkness before he can know its judgment.
Grimmjow wakes up with a start. His heart is racing and he can't calm down. It always feels so real. Like he's back in that dark place between non-existence and birth.
The only thing he can do to settle his nerves is what hollows are drawn to do. He travels to the world of the living and relishes in the spiritual energy he can find.
Grimmjow does not hide, he has no reason to conceal anything about himself. However, if he reigns in his spiritual pressure and lands softly and doesn't make a sound while moving, well that's just how his instincts are.
"Kon, I thought I told you to stop leaving the window open!" Kurosaki shouts.
Before Grimmjow can react, Kurosaki sticks his head out the window. He pauses, sniffing the air. The short hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"If you don't shut the window, then we may get annoying pests. No one wants a pest in their room. Isn't that right?" Kurosaki retracts and slams the window.
Grimmjow breathes again. Such close proximity to the source of his ire. His heart is racing. The air is flavored with his energy. It's so sickly sweet on his tongue yet he can't stop salivating. It's like honey dripping down his throat with every inhale.
No. Stop. That gold meat is not what he wants. He can't stand anything that color, not after all the times it's haunted him.
The sky dims and darkens until he's sure Hueco Mundo has merged with this world. It's just like the first time he met Kurosaki. Everything has changed since then.
He falls into another dream.
Sitting on a light post outside Kurosaki Clinic, Grimmjow fiddles with his sword. The sharp edge doesn't catch the light as it should and he can't figure out why.
A rock flies by his face. He looks to the source and finds bright orange hair and black robes. An obscenely long sword swings on a red ribbon over his head like the blades of a fan. Another rock is kicked up by the great churning winds.
Kurosaki smirks and lifts his head. A skeleton mask covers half his face. The gold leches from his eye and soaks into the air. The world is gilded and he is helpless to stop it as his body grows stiff. Kurosaki opens his mouth and says, "Come down here."
Grimmjow opens his eyes and draws his sword faster than ever. His skin prickles with the residual sensation of metal coating every inch of his body. The rush of blood in his ears prevents him from hearing for a critical second.
"Quit being a jackass and come down here already. You're scaring Yuzu and Karin with your arrancar energy. And Kon."
His hold on his energy must've slipped while he was asleep. Stupid mistake.
"Fuck off," he yells. He's not crawling into the den of the beast, not unless he's ready to spill blood.
But wait. Why isn't he ready? He hates that guy, doesn't he? Then why does he slide his sword into its scabbard and walk to the edge of the roof so calmly? He should be blasting this whole town to pieces, eradicating every possible point of contact. He should rip this world in two and laugh as destruction reigns supreme. He should hold his heart still and chill his nerves and claw his enemy's corpse until it's nothing more than shreds of unidentifiable flesh.
He steps into the room with delicate footing. It's overwhelmingly bland. A bookcase filled to the brim, a perfectly made bed, an orderly desk, a laundry hamper half full. The framed magazines on the wall showing familiar faces smiling amid the rubble of Soul Society are the only indication of something abnormal. Even those are only hung on one wall, though.
"If you're going to grouch around then at least be discreet about it," Kurosaki calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room, "The desk chair is open if you want it."
Grimmjow settles in. One leg is pulled up to his chest, the other pushes against the desk to rock him back and forth. How careless of his enemy to invite him into his room and then leave. He could set traps, lay an ambush, or search for secrets. He opens the nearest book and scowls.
The door clicks shut and Kurosaki sets a cup on the desk. "I see you've gotten into Shakespeare. I would have pegged you for a Taming of the Shrew fan over Twelfth Night. Can you even read that?"
Astutely ignoring the distraction, Grimmjow shoves his nose further into the book. The scribbles on it mean nothing to him. Even if he knew Latin, this is a different language entirely. He could not let that show though. When it seems appropriate, he turns the page.
"You're reading it backwards."
Grimmjow turns the other page.
"And upside down."
He flips the book over.
"And you don't know English."
Grimmjow throws the book across the room and turns his fury to its source. His words catch in his throat.
Gold. At the edge of one eyebrow. At the top and bottom of both ears in bands and rings and bars and dots. At the dip of his collarbone and looping around his neck. Deep, warm, sparkling brown eyes.
"What did you do to your face?!"
As innocent as a baby, Kurosaki pushes a strand of hair behind his ear and fiddles with one of the rings. The light bounces off it and blinds Grimmjow – with rage. "I got pierced. Getting stabbed with metal is more addicting than I thought and there's not a war going on right now to sate me. If it weren't for Rukia and Orihime getting me all this jewelry I would've been tatted more than Renji. Why? Does it not look good?"
"No. It looks like shit." Grimmjow whips around in the chair. His face feels hot and he's thirsty as if he has gone without water for weeks. When did the room get so damn warm?
"Thanks, asshole. I'll be sure to get your input next time someone else buys me gifts." Kurosaki laughs at him.
Grimmjow downs the drink still sitting on the desk. Somehow, it does not settle the feeling burning in his stomach. He could throw up or spew a cero depending on what power is wrangling his guts.
"I still have the gun, if you want to try a bullet," Kurosaki taunts. Something shivers down Grimmjow’s back and he's not sure if it's fear or something else.
Sitting in the white sand dunes of Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow twists the pearl of jewelry in his ear. He takes a deliberate breath and lets his jaw unclench. This time, he doesn't hear such a harsh voice when the sands stir.
Grimmjow yanks his hand away and frowns at the moon. "He didn't say getting shot'd hurt like a bitch."