I hate them. When they look at him like that.
They worship him, I know it.
He is like a God in human form – only with orange hair.
I hate him. When he smiles like that.
He never smiles at me.
Like I'm not worth it or something.
But I'm fine with that.
See, I know something about him. Something that can destroy his fucking perfection. He can shag them with his pretty smiles. He can fuck them with his sweet words. But deep inside, he isn't perfect. Not at all. Kurosaki tries to hide it but I've good eyes – fuck, I spent my whole life watching him. I have a disease for him. It's like an obsession. A deadly poison.
Sure every dude dreams to have a body like his – tanned, tall, muscled, and everything. Fuck, even his ordinary brown eyes are beautiful. Beautiful. The first time I dared to look at them, I was stunned. Stunned and confused. He was like crushing me with those ordinary brown eyes, staring into my soul.
The first time I saw him, I beat him because of that. But then, he beat me better.
I was nine. And stupid. I thought he was a crybaby and it would be easy to beat him up – because y'know, he looked different. A Japanese with orange hair, it wasn't that common in France. But then I have blue hair, so who am I to talk, huh ?
I followed the other stupid kids and we tried to beat him.
That kid knew martial arts. So yeah, he beat us really good.
Now we're eighteen, still in High School and Kurosaki is a hero and everybody loves him.
He isn't perfect.
He stares at my pierced lip too much. When we're alone in the corridor, when nobody can see his imperfections, when he let his eyes travel on my face, on my body, on me a little longer. Sometimes he even licks his own lips while watching mine. It only takes two seconds but I can feel them – his eyes. He gets away pretty quickly because of my angry stare.
I can't help it, I can't control my anger. I'm tired watching him, I'm tired of the distance, I'm tired misinterpreting his glances. I want him to look at me, I want him near me. But he's out of reach.
He isn't perfect.
He has weird taste in music. I saw it on Facebook. He likes atmospheric music, sometimes without lyrics, just because it makes him think and relax. The kind of music that nobody listens.
I tried listening it once.
I hate it.
Because it makes me think.
And want him even more than it's humanly possible.
I hate it.
I hate him.
I want him. I wanna touch him, I wanna possess him, I wanna destroy his body with my mouth. I wanna scatter him into pieces, tearing apart his perfection, feeding him with my imperfections.
I hate craving for him. I hate feeling right when he looks at me. I hate smoking more and more since I discovered my disease.
I hate it even more when his girlfriend is kissing him in front of me. Sometimes I want her dead. Sometimes I want her to make him feel miserable. Broken. Crushed.
Most of the time I want both of them dead. Like in a cliché romantic movie.
She is a beautiful girl. Smart, kind and caring – like him I guess. A French basic girl with a name like Clémentine or Clémence – I can't remember and fuck, the truth is I don't even care. He gets himself a beauty queen. Lots of girls hate her because they are jealous or some shit like that, but no girl can match with him. No boy except myself.
I want him. I want him so bad. I feel miserable. I used to like being alone. But now he makes me hate feeling alone.
He isn't perfect.
Kurosaki has anger issues.
It's the beginning of our last year, people are depressed, teachers are boring, and everything is grey. When I'm walking behind the school, I see him. I see his bright orange hair, his fist clenched. He is a few feet away but I'm half buried in the shadows, half hidden by the tree. With his left hand he is holding a phone. We're outside, after school, there is no one around us.
He thinks he is probably alone. But I'm here, watching his every move, trying to listen his words but I can't. Because he says nothing on the phone. He is just listening to whoever called him because I can see his tensed body, his angry frown. The call lasted only two minutes, I think.
And he throws the phone away.
And he starts punching the wall like it's nothing just a big grey plush. There is blood on his knuckles. On his face. On his clothes. Red everywhere, red in my eyes.
He's got scary black eyes. The etching of black and gold catches me off guard. They sparkle, anger spitting everywhere, burning on the outside, stinging on the inside.
He never knew I was there.
I went home and tried to get out his eyes of my head. But I knew it. I already lost the game a while ago. The first time I looked into his eyes, he poisoned me.
It's a disease. A deadly poison.
He's out of reach, I'm out of mind. Between us the line is ten times high.
I'm not like him. I'm not popular, not even liked by my classmates. I'm not clean, I'm only grey and black.
I'm a failure. Meaner and uglier than anything else.
I'm a disgusting piece of shit with self-injected disease. I don't have a lot of friends, I can count all of them on the fingers of one hand. Nel says that I'm an introverted scary nerd with some gothic thoughts, that's why people don't like me.
I don't mind. They can fuck themselves.
Contrary to popular belief I'm not even a violent guy. Apparently my presence is intimidating enough. But it's not me, it's the world. People are too sensitive and emotional, it's not my fault.
I guess my personality does match my looks after all.
He isn't perfect.
Kurosaki is a smoker.
One day, I'm outside, smoking in my spot ; like I usually do. He comes to me for borrowing my lighter.
"Thanks. I'm Ichigo, by the way," he says before giving back my lighter.
I sneer at him because everybody knows his name. And that stupid little shit has never noticed it.
"Huh, ok. I'm Grimmjow."
He is gone after that. I want him to stay a little longer, to talk to me but I just know I don't want him to discover my disease. It's fucking frustrating because I want him to be with me but I always back down when I feel him close.
I stopped stalking him. I never give a shit about it before because I didn't care – I still don't care – it's not like I hurt him or anything. But I stopped anyway. Mostly because after that, we talked again. He gives me a wave when we see each other in the hallways, talks more and more and walks off with his friends. They don't like me but Ichigo never seems to care about what people think about him.
I can understand why people are worshipping Kurosaki. He is that tall Asian guy, good at sports, smiling enough to get wet some girls. I think in the whole school, we are the tallest. Nel thinks that I am taller than him by two or three centimeters but I think it's because of my hair – they are spiky and they make me look taller. I like it. Being at the same height than Kurosaki.
He isn't perfect.
Slowly, we became friends.
We have Japanese class together. And no, I haven't taken Japanese because of him.
My mother was born in Japan but she has French ancestry. Still she loves Japan, sometimes she freaks me out because of her scary otaku attitude – she has so many mangas in her room, it's fucking crazy. So she forces me to take Japanese even though my father was against it. See, my dad is from Alsace so he wanted me to speak German. But like the emasculated man that he is, my mum won the game.
I don't mind. Here I have Kurosaki and his angry aura that nobody notices. I think compared to the other stupid French kids, I'm the best, thanks to my mother. I'm not even talking about Kurosaki because that fucker is fluent, goddammit, what is he doing here anyway ?
Now that we are friends or some shit like that, he always sits beside me in Japanese. Most of the time we argue over stupid things like football or the next Marvel movie. But surprisingly he is really comfortable with me. I mean, I'm not an easy going guy, I always frown and I speak sarcasm fluently – so yeah, I'm not as cool as Ichigo.
I don't know why but he never cared.
One day, he comes in class angry as hell but it's pretty well hidden, noticeable only on his body language and facial expressions. I see it though, I see everything. When the teacher starts her lesson, I… I don't know why but I take his hand under the table.
He lets me take it though.
He grabs my hand even tighter. I feel my bones starting to ache but I let him do – I feel kind of useful right now. He is using me to evacuate his anger but I don't mind at all. I have anger issues myself so I thought… maybe, one day, he will return me the gesture, won't he ?
And then his anger is gone.
He doesn't mention the thing we did under the table. Never. It's driving me crazy because now I think… I think he… It's like a fucking hope. And I hate it. I hate him.
But I will never tell him that.
And he will never ask.
Sometimes I think he knows. Because he never gives a shit if we're holding hands under the table – even if it's just for evacuating his anger. But… he slept in my bed once – nothing weird happened. I had invited him to my place, to play football in my yard because we had fucking good weather for once. We played videogames too, ate junk food and all. I have only one bed in my room but it's huge. He didn't mind sleeping with me in there. I had proposed him a mattress but he refused, shrugging off the idea. We kind of got tangled in each other while we were asleep.
I liked it. I liked it a lot.
Somehow everything became a little blurry between us. The line is thin and hazy and it only left us with smoke and sickness. It's my disease. I gave him a little bit of my disease.
He isn't perfect.
Ichigo broke up with his beauty queen.
The breakup has an audience, some girls are happy and planning to poison Ichigo, some boys are happy and planning to poison and fuck the beauty queen. Fuck, I can't even enjoy the moment because of their stupid horny comments.
Beauty queen takes the news pretty well. Apparently she saw that coming.
Ichigo is fine too. He didn't tell me what was the plan – he never talks to me about his beauty queen. But I don't know… I kinda expect him to feel a little… pathetic. But he is good. Really good. Happier. He even smiles at me when he walks away from her. The first genuine smile.
I just wanna crush him against the wall and kiss him 'til the end of the day. But I don't.
A few days later, he asks me to join him behind the school, where all the fucked up kids usually are. The weather is shitty today but it isn't a big surprise here : we live in a fucking godforsaken village in Bretagne.
I join him anyway and there he is, all alone, smoking, his hoodie on his head. But I can see his face, I can see him searching into my eyes – searching my soul with those brown fucking eyes.
And then, he smiles. A bit shyly. But I like it. I like it a lot. I can't return the smile because I'm too focused on him, his scent, his hair, his eyes, his body… It's kind of intoxicating. It's a poison, it's my disease. I stop beside him, against the wall. He says nothing, he just finishes his cigarette before facing me completely.
"I missed you," he says, tiny pieces of gold in his eyes.
I can't process his words because the moment he said it, he leans over and is kissing me. The feeling is overwhelming, all I have in mind is his fucking tongue against my own, his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, his scent everywhere. It's not cologne, it's just Ichigo. My hands hold his hips tight, in a painful grip, pulling him closer. Everything is bright orange and electric blue and it's a nice thought.
It's getting dark here but we can't stop kissing. I like when we kiss in the dark.
And it slowly settles in me. Kurosaki has broken up with dolly Clémentine because of me. He is sick too. It's a disease. A poison. It's not deadly anymore. The poison is changing, we are making something good out of it.
He isn't perfect.
He likes boys.