Disclaimer: don't own the rights to Bleach or any of these characters.

Chapter 1

-It's All In My Head-

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez

Fuchu Prison, Tokyo

June 4

11:37pm

The first time he heard it he thought that he was slowly going insane. They don't play music in prison, well at least not the music that he was hearing. It sounded almost like Pop, like something they would play on the radio station. If anyone played that kind of shit they would most likely get a fist in their face and a few kicks to the ribs in a place like this. But it sounded faint and a little muffled as though it were being played at a distance.

Standing up Grimmjow paced his small cell trying to see if the volume increased the closer he got to his barred door or his barred window. Neither really made much of a difference considering how small of a space it was. Though if it was coming from outside that didn't really make much sense since his window faced the gated yard. The possibility of it being from a passing car was very doubtful. Maybe one of the cleaning staff was blasting music from his headphones? That was a possibility. Most of the janitorial staff had something up their asses and were always looking down on the inmates, wouldn't be a huge surprise if one were trying to make it hard for the prisoners to sleep. Fucking pricks.

Placing his ear to the left wall he tried to hear if it was possible that one of the inmates had smuggled in an iPod, though all he could catch was the sound of a sad masturbator. Jesus. The more he tried to locate the source of the music the further and more distant it became, almost like an echo. Christ he was going insane. Lying back down on his more than uncomfortable bed he closed his eyes and rubbed his face vehemently.

Shit what was the matter with him? He was only three days away from his release and now his body starts acting up? It had all started with that fucking headache that lasted for a good three days. He didn't say shit to anyone cause he didn't want to be thought of as a pussy but man it felt like his head was slowly being cracked open. And surprisingly the commissary had run out of Tylenol the day that it flared, though he doubted that it would've helped. When the pain finally stopped he almost fell to his knees and started crying. Relief.

But he wasn't a pussy so he didn't do that. Now he was hearing imaginative music, which sounded possibly English or French? Christ he was hearing music in a prison that was in a different language. What kind of fucked up is that. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes forcing himself to count sheep. Just three more days and he will be able to sleep in a bed that didn't smell of sweat and urine. Just three more days and he wouldn't have to wear this ratty blue jumper. Just three more days and he would finally be out of prison.

Grimmjow was prone to fucking up a lot, though he tried to avoid trouble if he could. But trouble always found him no matter how low he would hang his head trouble would find him. Wrong place at the wrong time was some real ass shit and man had he learnt his lesson.

June 5

7:00am

He wandered into a restless sleep that stretched on until morning call. The mess hall were all of the prisoners ate was loud with idle chatter of the other inmates. The food was disgusting and if he ever ate hot cereal again it would be too soon. The minute he was outside again he was going to eat the greasiest hamburger possible, maybe put some onion rings on it as well. With a sigh he started to scoop the disgust into his mouth trying not to gag for the hundredth time. Scarfing down his rice as quickly as possible to try and drain out the taste from his mouth and hold down the vomit that was threatening to spill all over his tray.

A clatter of a tray rouse Grimmjow from his gagging fit to see another inmate – one he could call friend – sat before him carrying an expression of revulsion as he looked down at the hot cereal. Shawlong Koufang was a Taiwanese immigrant that had been busted for peddling drugs between Taipei and Nagasaki, though from what the man had told Grimmjow, his distributions were all across South-East Asia. Cocaine if Grimmjow was correct, Columbian and top-notch from what Shawlong had explained. The Japanese authorities had thrown him in Fuchu instead of sending him back to Taipei for unknown reasons, though Grimmjow liked to believe it was one of his connections that had gotten him in here.

"This smells and looks like dank cum," said Shawlong as he decided to skip the cereal and just eat his rice. The older gentleman pushed the bowl down the table quickly being grabbed by another hungry inmate. Nothing went to waste here, "even the rice tastes like ass today."

"Why waste good money on edible food when it could be put to something better?" commented Grimmjow as he drank his water, mulling over his scrambled eggs with a fork.

"Yeah like the pocket of the warden," the other man replied as he finished off his last few bites of rice, "betcha that bitch drives some sort of import car."

"Wouldn' know."

"Well when you get out of here mind doing me a huge favour?"

Leaning back in his chair both hands going to the back of his head, Grimmjow cracked his neck to relieve some of the strain that the bed had given him, "depends."

"Key the bitch's car for me."

"I'll pass," responded Grimmjow with a chuckle. The image of dragging a sharp object across the expensive vehicle was satisfying enough, "I hate this place too much to want to come back any time soon."

"I agree with that," said Shawlong. The man mimicked Grimmjow as he tried to relieve some of the stress as well with a crack to his neck, another thing that prison did was give you chronic neck pain it seemed. Flipping his long braided hair over his shoulder the older gentleman inquired, "have you found a workplace outside yet?"

"Yeah, an old friend of mine from childhood is setting me up with his grandmother. Apparently she needs help around the flower store that she owns."

"A flower shop? Fuck make sure no one else over hears you in here," both men stood up disposing of their trays in the growing stack that was accumulating beside the garbage, "does the old lady know about you?"

"He told me it shouldn't be much of a problem, he just warned me not to steal fuck all—"

Grimmjow's voice trailed off as the music from last night ghosted through the hallway. His skin shivered as he felt something brush it, a feeling he could only describe as walking through a spirit, or at least he assumed that's what it would feel like. Looking over his shoulder he couldn't see anyone walking in the opposite direction of he and Shawlong. The music slowly started to diminish as if someone were sauntering away with a speaker into the distance.

The song disappeared around the corner that lead back into the dining hall. Though this time it sounded clearer and he could make out a few words like medicine and a soft drum beat along with a soothing English accent. Whatever that was it had set his skin a blaze as his shoulder prickled with electricity. Even stranger was what the music did to his head, it had the complete opposite effect that his never-ending migraine had. It could only be described as an ice-cold kiss to a scorched spot; gentle.

"You alright?"

Grimmjow turned to Shawlong whose face was caught between curiosity and worry, "did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Music."

"The only thing that I can hear is a possible fight breaking out back in that mess of a hall," Shawlong replied, his eyes trying to see whatever Grimmjow was searching for. "Are you okay man? You've been kind of on edge since you got those release forms."

Deciding to drop the whole thing Grimmjow picked up the pace as he headed for the electrical unit. In prison the inmates were usually assigned to different departments as cheap labour, their wages usually going to convection, it killed time as well. He had somehow lucked out in being assigned to repair broken fans and change light bulbs so long as he was kept under surveillance. That's all he needed, something to distract him for a prolonged period of time.

"Yeah I'm fine, just got a lot on my mind that's all."

Not wanting to push the issue Shawlong took the answer as he came to a stop where the hallway forked, "if you say so. I'll catch you later."

He waited until Shawlong's body disappeared around the corner before Grimmjow checked over his shoulder one last time. He didn't want the other man to keep asking question too which he didn't know the answers to. Shoving his hands into his jumper's pockets he marched out the doors into the cold morning air heading in the direction of the electrical shed. The sun was only starting to warm the earth as patches of green grass were covered in a thin sheet of white frost from the dew freezing. Hell he could even see his breath.

His brain wandered to three possibilities as to why he was hearing strange noises. The first was that the prison was haunted because some dead asshole couldn't find the light at the end of the tunnel and decided to play the residential poltergeist; highly unlikely but not impossible. The second option was that the stress of leaving prison and restarting his life was making his brain hyper alert and thus paranoid of his own shadow, likely. And the third was that the headache that had lasted for what felt like forever had really done a number on him, very possible.

Ichigo Kurosaki

Réseau de Cacao, Paris

June 4

11:23pm

Slowly placing the coffee cup down Ichigo's face clearly read disgust as he eyed the black liquid with both scepticism and horror. He had never tasted coffee that gave off the flavour of what could only be described as vomit. Literal, flavourless, dank paste; almost like moulding clay that he would play with in school. If Cacao's coffee normally tasted like something from art class he didn't even want to know what their macaroons tasted like. He just couldn't trust a desert that was such a neon green; it's unnatural.

Pushing away from the table, his chair loudly dragging across the floor, he threw a couple of Euros underneath the full cup of coffee. Grabbing the green mutant desert and his red gym bag he walked out of café, some of the fellow patrons giving him sideways glances. Many held a rich air to them as they dressed themselves in either high fashion brands or up and coming names. This is only an illusion to fool those around them; most of the people looking at Ichigo sideways probably couldn't afford to live the lifestyle that they had chosen. Attending high access parties, eating at all the trending restaurants, and wearing different clothes. Of course this was only speculation. Ichigo's time in Paris hasn't exactly been the most welcoming.

He only came here to further pursue his skills as a dancer. It was either here or Moscow but he wasn't really into ballet so he decided to come to Paris instead. That and he fucking hated cabbage. Walking through the city he navigated his way through the crowds of people heading for a night out. Slipping on his headphones he allowed the sounds of his music to enter his brain, his mind went blank as autopilot took over. It wasn't until his shoulder collided with someone that he snapped out of his reverie that he decided to pay closer attention to where he was going. Throwing an apology over his shoulder he swung around a final corner before walking into a building with a sign that held gold cursive writing Reina De Rosas. Queen of Roses.

Walking up the staircase loud music could be heard as a man's voice kept count over the beat. Pushing open the door at the end of the stairs he entered into a dance studio with red painted walls, bright lights, hard wood flooring, and an entire wall composed of mirrors. Three dancers were twirling and gyrating as a tall muscular male Spaniard with long curly brown hair kept count, the quirky and self-involved Queen of the Roses himself; Charlotte Chuhlhourne. The man was a legend in the dancing world.

At the far end of the room stood a woman leaning against a wooden pole that stretched horizontally along the entire wall. Blowing a pink bubble from her lips, she lifted a black eyebrow as Ichigo approached her. Bambietta "Bambi" Basterbine was a short French woman with a slender figure and dark black hair that trailed all the way down her back. She was a fierce hip-hop dancer with a passion for making things explode as she worked part-time at a firework factory. Ichigo got along with her well enough since she was also fairly talented as a contemporary dancer.

"You're late," Bambi droned as a pink bubble popped. Throwing his bag down to her feet he stripped of his leather jacket and the white T he was wearing underneath changing it for a loose fitting grey tank top, which was a size too large for him. Next came his black jeans that were replaced for black sweats.

"Tell me something I don't know," Ichigo replied sarcastically as he set to work lacing up a pair of jet-black Adidas.

"Bazz wants to start a new routine," the woman joined Ichigo in stretching, the pair falling into clean splits. Being nimble made all the difference when it came to dancing, especially if your instructor was someone like Charlotte.

"Of course he does."

Standing back up the pair watched as the other three dancers continued their routine, bodies pumping and convulsing as arms moved and legs kicked to the tempo of the thumping song. A man with hair the same colour as Bambi's piece of gum lead the three as his body curled into a somersault, his hands coming out at the rolls' completion into a hand stand. Bazz-B was an obnoxious Australian who specialized in hip-hop that had infusions of breakdancing. It looked like street performance to Ichigo.

Gerard Valkyrie a loud and proud Norwegian with long blonde hair was the spitting image of what Thor probably looked like if he was human, danced on Bazz's left. The larger Norse had slower movements and was more suited to contemporary and ball room dancing as he was better at lifting his partner than hitting fast notes. Lille Barro, the other dancer, was more suited for what the group was trying to accomplish. From what he had told Ichigo, the African-American had learnt to dance in the streets of Chicago and watching Missy Elliot and Michael Jackson music videos. The man was a prodigy and it came through in his work.

Somehow the group was making it work and the dance was actually really coming together. As much of a hot head that Bazz could be, he was a damn good choreographer. The music came to a stop and the three men stepped back, Gerard collapsing as the other two panted heavily.

"Beautiful, perfect, dangerous, incredible, sexy!" praised Charlotte as he pirouetted into the centre of the room. The Queen of Roses was fairly flashy and possibly the most flamboyant person Ichigo had ever met, "well done Bazz-B. Make sure you drink some water!" The Spaniard waved the three away, his face shifted from flirtatious to deadpan in point three seconds as his eyes locked onto Ichigo's sending a shiver up the orange haired man's body, fuck, "Kurosaki-kun, you're laaaatttteeeeee-ah!"

Ichigo's teacher had learnt Japanese honorifics just to piss the man off, respectful yes but not properly used. That and it just sounded annoying coming out of the man's mouth, "yeah sorry about that."

"Doesn't matter if you are sorry or not, it's your turn to show us what you have been working on."

Grimmjow

9:57am

The old man who ran the electrical unit in the prison rarely gave a shit about what the inmates did with their time. Since there were only three inmates who were deemed trustworthy enough to work with sharp tools – dull screwdrivers and rusted hammers – not much work ever really got done. Today Grimmjow had been assigned to repair a fan that was making a loud creaking noise every time the blades would do a complete rotation. More than time consuming, especially since the only repair manual they had was in Arabic and unfortunately he did not know the language.

The picture and designs didn't really help all that much either since they were pointing to objects and things that the fan didn't even have. It was definitely possible that the prison had been given the wrong instruction manual as a joke. This happened more than often as the books from the library were handouts and would occasionally have pages missing. Grimmjow had given up on trying to read the Hunger Games as the first few books had missing pages and the Gale character's name was always scratched out.

Saying fuck it to manual, he set out to try and unscrew a bolt that he had seen in the picture. But as the world was always against him, the screwdriver slipped at an awkward angle. Though the tip was dull it still managed to find itself impeded in the tip of his left thumb.

"Fucking shit!" Grimmjow shouted jumping up suddenly, sending his stool falling to the ground.

"God dammit Blue," grumbled the old man as he was shocked from his nap to see someone bleeding all over the ground, "go clean yourself up. Last thing we need is something to be even more broken because you are spilling your guts all over it."

He dashed to the small washroom in the back of the maintenance shack. It wasn't necessarily WHIMS approved and a healthy and safety rep would undoubtedly have passed out if they'd step in. Turning on the cold-water tap, he allowed the pipe water to run through for a bit before he placed his thumb underneath the water. The pain was only at shock value and soon dissipated, the blood was still flowing though and the best he could possibly do for bandage in the shack was to wrap paper towel around it.

Grabbing the roll he wrapped the white paper around his thumb as tightly as possible, applying pressure to the area and lifting his hand above his head. A long sigh left his mouth as he fell back against the wall. Just three more days and he would be out of here. No matter what this place was doing to his head, he needed to just keep it low and not draw any attention to himself. That wasn't going so well as one would expect.

Straightening up he turned to grab the doorknob to leave the room, except when his hand stretched out to find the rust round ball there was nothing but air. Looking down at his hand he was surprised to see that the concrete floor had changed to a bright hardwood floor. The sound of a slow thumping base could be heard around him as bright lights shined down from around him. All around him were red walls and strange people he'd never seen before in his life.

Spinning around in mad confusion he faced a long wall that was comprised entirely of mirrors. However instead of seeing his reflection an orange haired man was dancing in a very sensual way. Hips whined to the sluggish tempo to the song the man's chest popping top a sudden spike in the instrumentals. Arms swirled and moved up and down his bodies as he begun to walk towards his reflection.

The orange haired man slid on the ground his legs spreading as he did what could only be described humped the floor. Grimmjow however was in a trans as the man's ass whopped and gyrated he could only imagine were conceivable. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the male dancer, either in sheer astonishment or wonder at the fact that this could not be real. He had to have smacked his head on something in the dingy bathroom, there was no way he could be picturing an orange haired man dancing very suggestively right before him.

But as soon as it appeared, the dancing man vanished. There was no way that any of that could have feasibly been real! The rust from the screwdriver must have seeped into his bloodstream, which went straight to his head, causing a very real hallucination. Not even he fucking believed that. Stomping out of the grimy washroom he walked past the table he'd been working at heading straight for the door, holding his hand in mock pain.

"I'm heading to the infirmary."

"I'm not your mother Blue, don't bitch to me about it," the old man croaked as his eyes never strayed from the magazine he was reading.

The trip to the infirmary didn't help either, all he could think about was that orange haired man, the music he'd been hearing, and the headache that felt like it had split his brain in half. Nothing was making sense to him anymore and holding it together was starting to get harder and harder by the second. The bandage that the officer had given him looked like it would fall off any moment, and the man had refused to give him an aspirin. Cocksucker. He was dismissed from his duties for the rest of the day and instructed to return immediately to his cell. Great.

It only got better when three guards were waiting for him at his cell when he returned, the smaller of the three men spoke in a deep voice that was used to issuing commands, "prisoner 6689436?"

"Yeah…can I help you sir?" replied Grimmjow taking on a more defensive tone. The last thing he needed was to toss down with the guards when he was so close to his release date. Though the little man looked like he had a face that would be fun to punch.

"You are being moved to solitary for the remainder of your stay for your own protection," the guard continued his face deadpan and his eyes showing no empathy. Grimmjow's stomach sank at the sound of that, he had been put in solitary for a whole week for starting a fight in the mess hall, it's actual hell, "your personal possessions will be moved to the front office to be picked up on your departure."

"Wha…why am I being moved to solitary?" Grimmjow asked as panic rose in his voice. The last place he wanted to be was alone without any indication of time, with only his thoughts to keep him occupied.

"As I said," the guard turned his head and nodded to the two guards on either side of him, "you are being moved for your own protection."

The two men moved to either side of Grimmjow waiting for the man to resist. He was a big man and built, but Grimmjow knew that he couldn't take on two guards at once, "that's bullshit!"

"Come quietly prisoner 6689436, we don't want to get physical with you."

"This is bullshit!" before Grimmjow could say anything both guards had both his arms forcing his body to the ground as a knee pressed between his shoulder blades. Breathing came hard as the pressure built as one man worked on restraining his struggling body while the other while the other placed him in handcuffs. He couldn't move his head, he couldn't see what was going on, "please don't do this!"

"This is for your own protection prisoner 6689436," the man couldn't even make it sound believable.

"Please stop!"

They dragged him to his feet, pushing him to walk forward and to follow the guard who was barking the orders. Eyes were on Grimmjow as a crowd had gathered to observe the spectacle. His eyes met that of a panicked Shawlong, who was pushing himself through to see what was happening to his friend. The small guard yelled for everyone to return to their cells as he was pushed down a corridor and into the elevator that would take him to the basement where solitary was located.

He was pushed into a smaller cell with a shittier bed and a rusted toilet that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in months. The handcuffs were removed and the large metal door slammed shut behind him. Dread consumed him as he launched a fist at the cement wall before running his hands through his sky blue hair.

"No, no, no, no, fucking no!" he shouted as his fist connected with the cement multiple times until the beige wall had specks of blood on them. This was the last thing he needed. He couldn't be alone with his thoughts right now; he didn't have the resolve to spend any alone time with nothing to distract him. Leaning against the bloody wall he slid down to sit on the floor, "this can't be happening…"

Ichigo

June 5

2:06am

"…Fucking no!"

Ichigo spun around to look down the empty dark street in search for the panic stricken voice. Not a single soul stirred, only a passing newspaper blue in the night's air. Cars were parked but all the drivers were in their apartments sleeping away the woes of the day. Turning back around, Ichigo picked up the pace as all he wanted to do was hurry home. A growing soreness in his hand was taking his mind off of the aching in his left thumb. Placing his headphones back on and choosing a random song, Ichigo hurried off so he could get out of the streets.

Hello beautiful people, I hope that you enjoyed the beginnings of this new fic. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think! Thank you for taking the time to read!

-Yaks