Title: Love as Defined by Grimmjow

Summary: Grimmjow writes in his diary, 'The problem with me is I keep wanting to die whenever he gets near me. And then one day he kisses me.' GrimmIchi. On-going. GrimmjowxIchigo

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach; genius Kubo Tite does.

A/N: Explicit language ahead.

The lines in bold font are Grimmjow's dialogs, meaning he's saying them aloud.

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Date: FIRST DAY in Soul Society as an ally to the Shinigami after getting kicked out of Hueco Mundo by the Major Bitch

Yoh Journal,

I have one lovely intriguing question for ya. How does someone do it? How does someone get away with attempted murder in full view of twelve un-blind people in BROAD DAYLIGHT and have it pass on as just a fucking joke? But before you answer that, lemme give you a more or less impeccably accurate account of what happened to me today. So there I was, walking tall on the pavement, when someone out of nowhere pulled me to somewhere I DIDN'T want to be. The next thing I knew was, I standing in front of thirteen chicks and dudes and was being introduced to people I DIDN'T want to be introduced to.

"What's this, a Hall of Fame reception for being a jerk?"

Everyone was laughing his head off until some redhead punk snipped through,

"We are the Vice-Captains of Soul Society. Ichigo Kurosaki here, you know him—he's your nemesis after all—has been recently named Vice-Captain of the Thirteenth Division, so you might wanna congratulate him."

Okay.

That was gonna be easy.

Yeah fucking right.

Thump… thump… thump… thump…

I will be a considerate asshole here and will accept the event as something that's purely subjected to accident. I mean, you CAN'T accuse someone of giving you a heart-attack simply by announcing someone else's promotion, much less count it as a murder attempt…

…or can you?

So I nodded, acknowledged the newly promoted haughty bastard with a faint scorn, and—

Thump… thump… thump… thump…

You know what? I changed my mind. I'd sue his ass for intuiting me to undergo cardiac arrest.

"What's your name?"

"Abarai Renji at your service."

I happened to have grasped the full extent of the laws around here, and I remembered that one is allowed to slay another soul under the conditions of self-defense and whatnot. Renji Abarai, apparently, had struck gold by plotting in a murder on me, ingeniously. Right around this time, the fucking redhead of a retard had nudged me in the goddamn ribs and whispered to me, with about a little less than sixty million malicious intents,

"Shake hands with Ichigo! I know you want it."

Tell ya what, fuck that. Shake hands. His hand in mine. Mine in his. Our hands uniting. Shaking. Holding hands... Fuck that, really. Can you even imagine that?? My fucking genius heart was doing a frantic onslaught against my ribcage by beating like a goddamn jackhammer chipping down an entire ten-million storey building when genius Renji, genius fucking Renji, grabbed my wrist, grabbed the newly appointed Vice-Captain's wrist, and made shit happen. Skin to skin. Skin to fucking skin. Skin2skin.

My heartbeat had set me up all ready to get carted to the morgue when suddenly, fucking suddenly, the new Thirteenth Division's Lieutenant thrust his face like INCHES from mine, like so close, this fucking close, thisfuckingclose, closeenoughtokissmelikethis and asked,

"Are you okay, Grimmjow?"

I was really okay, except that I really NEEDED to be embalmed. And that's aside from the fact that his face was so close to mine and one wrong move would be a sure FIRST kiss for me. This is the day, the fateful, heralded, time-immemorially marked day, that a sixteen-year old Shinigami boy with orange-hair and huge Zanpakotou became The Death of Me. Renji is like my Soon-To-Be-Murderer but this one, Kurosaki Ichigo, yeah, he's the death of me, I'm sure.

"Of course I'm fucking okay."

"You don't look like you're fine." The Death of Me said as though he was trying to press something out of me which, apparently, could not be pressed out of me because no one will be able to press that out of me while I fucking live!

"Why Ichigo, do I smell earnest, affectionate concern?"

Redhead genius and his genius mouth doing some genius talking and genius ex-Espada-tormenting-before-murdering.

Last time I checked, last time being four minutes ago, these chicks and dudes were just about as polite as a bunch of flight stewardesses, and now, right at this moment, they were snickering the lights out of the fucking heavens, which made me wonder, why were these morons breaking their necks trying, with great effort, to be the most gorgeous Jerks of my life?

I started to saunter away, leaving behind half of my goddamn wits, away from the fucking sniggering and all them epileptic maniacs when suddenly, fucking suddenly, The Death of Me came hobbling AFTER ME.

Wow.

Have you ever experienced wanting to do everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, just to get something done but then everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, would do anything, and I mean ANYTHING, just to get it UNDONE? That's just about what was happening. I wanted to fucking stay cool, composed, and reserved or AT LEAST sane, but then the lovely people with whom you share the world would just not allow that.

"Is something wrong, Grimmjow?" The Death of Me asked again when we hiked up a decent distance from the fucking wolfish pack of Vice-Captains.

My heart was fucking overdosed with caffeine and just about every adrenaline booster ever been manufactured or imagined, and I was in DIRE need of a sedative. SedativeS. I was toiling about, trying to look cool when I realized that The Death of Me was just exactly the same sort of person who hates to make you look cool if you are in a situation where you REALLY need to look cool.

"I said I'm effing fine."

So, little old center of my cardio system, my pretty fist-sized heart, was thumping around like fucking CRAZY it was hardly tolerable. For some fucking holy reason, it chose the most gorgeous time of the day to thump like crazy, and if you can explain why, you ARE clearly Einstein. Quit denying already; I'm worshipping you.

"I can hear your heartbeat from here."

That really needed to be said because you could practically watch my chest barf a particular organ out of itself. So, I'm efficiently one step closer to the grave, thanks to the terrific Death of Me, and I still didn't know what to say.

"I'm fine."

"What are you so nervous about?"

Really, this could go on for hours, maybe days, provided that I wouldn't die of cardiac arrest within the span of 72 hours of standing there being this close to him.

"You're so near."

I said that. I really did. What I needed most was an exorcist. This wasn't me in my hot self of a body speaking like a hopeless romantic woman who just about lost her man in a fucking world war. Man! Expel this goddamn shit from me.

"Do you want me to go away?"

And then there was this song that started to reel in my head which went like "…you said you wouldn't, you said you couldn't…don't go…you said as I walked out your door…"

"Stay with me."

"…"

"…"

Stay with me. Know what, send in your fucking eulogies. I don't want an empty tombstone. The temperature was steadily climbing, but, hell, my sweat was fucking Antarctica. He wasn't answering; he just gawked at me like he had gone mute, and theoretically speaking, this could be completely possible given that he had heard the monstrosity I just uttered. Aloud. Shit. Submit your fucking eulogies now or I'd die without one. He was still staring. I expectantly flung my face up to the sky and checked out the surroundings, and surprisingly, shockingly, appallingly, there was no evidence that human race was facing mass extinction and no sign of the world's approaching annihilation…

Was it too much to ask for a little fucking END OF THE WORLD??

Mother Nature had never disappointed me THIS much until now.

"Well then, I'll stay with you for as long as you like."

"…"

Okay.

Sure.

Yeah.

Fucking right.

Next time, I'd be more perceptive and I'll have paramedics nearby in case some pregnant women are around so that there'd be baby-catchers for the babies to be SHOCKED out of their birth canals. But more importantly, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME DID HE JUST SAY??

Well, it's official; HE'S IN LOVE WITH ME. Might as well live with the fact. I'm signing out; I'm still in a state of tremendous shock here. And I'm having these terrible menstrual cramps from his love confession, and, man, I'M A MAN! Jesus. This has been a long day. 'Til next time.

Signing out,

Grimmjow Jaggerjack

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TBC

A/N: This is written in order to get some weight outta my mind and really, this piece has NO substance whatsoever but I will be finishing this story.