Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Seireitei Monogatari ❯ This Inexplicable Fascination ( Chapter 118 )

Title: This Inexplicable Fascination

Pairings: Ulquiorra/Ichigo (one-sided)

Rating: T

Warning: Mild spoilers

Words: 1493

Description: Without reason, without rationality, Ulquiorra finds himself an Espada possessed.

 

Dedication: To Lady Azar-sama, my beta, and the one who requested an Ulquiorra/Ichigo that wasn't rape.

 

 

This was getting to be a habit.

 

A rather disgusting, annoying habit, and Ulquiorra was loathe to admit he even held it. He would like to blame Aizen-sama for it since it had been he who demanded Ulquiorra show him the boy in the first place. But everything afterwards had been his choice and his choice alone. Aizen-sama wasn't the reason he was currently digging fingers into his skull and pulling out his own eye.

 

With a dispassionate air, ignoring the stabbing pain that movement always produced, Ulquiorra crushed his own eye into a fist. He watched it dissolve into particles like a fine mist, nearly undetectable except for the faint slur of reiatsu it produced.

 

He waited with infinite patience as the air in front of him wavered and glimmered, a mirage against the harsh white of Las Noches' walls. And then, an image began to take shape, that of something he had witnessed more than a week beforehand. It didn't matter how long it had been. As long as his eyes had seen, he could watch again. And it bothered Ulquiorra that he was doing this once more. In fact, he felt rather disgusted with himself.

 

Yet, he didn't cease.

 

The replay solidified without sound but nonetheless effective for the image it displayed. The stark, black cloth of a Shinigami's shihakushou. The black, elegant blade, so much smaller than a typical bankai. Bright orange hair and determined, almost desperate brown eyes glaring up at him. Covered in blood, body aching, and entirely inferior. But trying to stand again and again nevertheless.

 

It bothered him, this fascination. He didn't know why he simply couldn't let that piece of trash lie alone. Nor did he understand Aizen's enchantment with the useless human. Or Shinigami. Or possibly Vizard. Ulquiorra wasn't even sure what Kurosaki Ichigo was. If he even was any of the three or a combination.

 

His remaining eye avidly took in the scene, however, watching as Kurosaki yelled and fought back relentlessly. Watched him spit blood onto the dirt. Watched Yammy pick him up and slam into the ground over and over. His body twisting and crashing against unforgiving earth. Blood running from his forehead and his zanpakutou out of reach, hopelessly outclassed. And yet, he didn't give up.

 

Why couldn't the brat learn something so simple as knowing when enough was enough? Where did he obtain something like determination? What drove him?

 

Ulquiorra didn't understand it. As much as he didn't understand why he was still here, watching this scene yet again.

 

He had seen the boy for himself, outside of that ordered meeting and after said occurrence. Had seen him going to school, mingling with the humans and the Shinigami. He'd seen Kurosaki continue with his daily life, the feelings of inferiority wracking him every day. He was bothered by his loss; Ulquiorra could see that much.

 

It occurred to him that his behavior could be distinctly labeled as stalkerish. This incessant need to understand was rapidly shifting out of his control. It would be easier if he could just tell himself that it was a decision Aizen-sama had made and leave it at that. The truth, however, was staring him in the face. Kurosaki was in no way worthy of Aizen-sama's interest. He was inherently useless. A strange aggregation of beings compacted into a human form. He would never be able to understand Aizen-sama's genius. And worse, he fought for the Shinigami.

 

Ulquiorra didn't want to admit that he hated Kurosaki for the regard given to him by Aizen-sama. The boy wasn't worthy of it, but he garnered it all the same. Interest that had once belonged to Ulquiorra now belonged to this boy. And the fact that he'd seen Aizen-sama watching him with expectation only made matters worse.

 

What could Aizen-sama see in him?

 

He amounted to less than a child. And even Yammy - an idiot with muscles for brains - could defeat him. Kurosaki wasn't high on the scale of importance. He didn't rank as even a blip on Ulquiorra's scale for danger. He was just there, an annoyance. A fly to be swatted. Easily ignored if necessary.

 

Ulquiorra wasn't ignoring him though. Instead, he was watching Kurosaki yet again, trying to find out what Aizen-sama saw. Attempting to see why Grimmjow was so worked up over him, even if the sixth Espada was just an idiot.

 

It bothered him immensely.

 

In front of him, the image rippled, and Kurosaki was replaced with the arrival of that annoying green-robed blond. Ulquiorra waved a hand, letting the image dissolve. He had no interest in Kurosaki's friends or even his teacher, only the teen himself.

 

There was a crawling sensation in his eye socket as the particles coalesced within the empty cavity. He endured the odd feeling, one he'd grown accustomed to, as he turned away from his room. His eye slowly returned as he moved into the hall, feeling a sudden need to wander away from the confines of his quarters.

 

It was late, but even so, Las Noches was not quiet. There was a sense of silence, but only if he didn't look closely. Somewhere beyond him, others trained either outside or in the special arenas. Szayel cackled crazily in his laboratory, creating some new and disgusting creature to add to his already mad collection. Stark was assuredly sleeping, and Halibel was likely in the library, curled around some book. The others were near enough he could sense their reiatsu, but Ulquiorra didn't care to try.

 

Aizen-sama was probably in the throne room again, a closed off presence as always. Standing high and lofty, far above them, as he deserved to be. The others - Ichimaru and Tousen - were in their own favorite locations, but Ulquiorra didn't care for them either. Only Aizen-sama.

 

There was a flash of orange and black in the corridor, and he embarrassed himself by following it with his eyes, both of them now. But it was only one of the weaker Arrancar, black-haired and gasping under a heavy weight wrapped in garish orange paper. He hated that for a moment something in him had stirred at the unexpected flash of color. Even if it were impossible for Kurosaki to be within Las Noches.

 

His mind helpfully supplied him with several images. Kurosaki's hair wasn't that much of a red anyway. The orange leaning more towards auburn-brown. And he was such a useless creature, unable to do anything. Even Yammy had easily defeated him. Trying to protect someone important to him and ultimately failing because he was so weak. Ulquiorra thought that he despised that the most. Kurosaki shouldn't hold anything close because he wasn't strong enough to protect it. That was the law of nature, the law of existence. Only the strong survived.

 

He and that fool Grimmjow were alike in that regard. Only Grimmjow knew better than to hold anything precious. It was too foolish of a notion. And yet, Kurosaki was determined to defy that simple law. In fact, he resisted every movement of the natural order.

 

It was just as bothersome as this random fascination.

 

Ahead of Ulquiorra, there was a sudden sense of tightly controlled reiatsu, powerful and brimming beneath the surface. Ulquiorra would know it anywhere. It carried pride on its shoulders and a strong determination with a will to back it up. It was a reiatsu that would soon rule all of the spirit worlds.

 

Straightening, Ulquiorra noticed immediately when Aizen-sama appeared ahead of him in the hall. He paused to let the lord pass.

 

“Good evening, Aizen-sama.”

 

The former Shinigami halted momentarily, keen gaze flickering over the Espada. “Ulquiorra, it is unusual to see you out for a stroll.” His eyes seemed to be evaluating, Aizen-sama never one to miss any clues.

 

“Perhaps if there was something you required of me, I could be occupied?” Ulquiorra posed, almost eager to have something to do. Anything to drive away the vile thoughts of Kurosaki Ichigo from his mind.

 

“Nothing at the moment unfortunately,” Aizen-sama replied and went silent, only to suddenly smirk as if understanding had washed over him. “It is a good thing since you seem so occupied already.”

 

Ulquiorra's brow furrowed, trying to interpret the vague statement, but then, Aizen-sama was already continuing the hall. Ulquiorra was left to his detestable thoughts, stewing in his recent fixation.

 

Somehow, he was certain Aizen-sama must have realized. Was it written so clearly on his face? And that look could have only meant one thing. Aizen-sama understood his recent troubles and obsession with the Kurosaki boy, a somewhat discomfiting thought.

 

Ulquiorra frowned deeply. He had to cease this behavior. This sort of habit would not be tolerated. Somehow, someway, he would have to purge this illness. And as soon as possible.

 

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