Death of a Bachelor

Author's Note: Hi, this story will probably be about 50k words at completion. It was inspired by Panic! at the Disco's new album, hence the titling. :)

- A Prologue -

A groan slipped from chapped lips, and an insistent pounding took up behind closed copper eyes. "Shit."

Orange spiky hair poked out from under a white hotel comforter, and nausea rolled around in the waking guy's head. "Oh fuck me."

Tan skin slowly made itself more and more visible, and Ichigo Kurosaki cracked open one eye. It closed back as realization came flooding in in a sickening rush along with unwelcome sunlight and the scene laid out before him.

Blue hair and teal tattoos.

He vaguely remembered very small patches of the night before. Music. Dancing. Alcohol. Fighting. Lots of alcohol. Swimming. Rolled up joints. Fireworks. More fighting. Intense blue eyes. Tattoos. A ring. And then vows...

"Oh no. No. No no no no no."

What had he done?

-24 hours before-

Thought I wouldn't find out? I'll be there Strawberry.

Ichigo Kurosaki stood in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted graphic white t-shirt. He stared down through designer sunglasses in a mixture of disbelief and apprehension at the text from an unknown number but well-known sender as people passed by him on the sidewalk in a hurry. No one had ever called him Strawberry, without regretting it immediately. Except for one person.

He started to type back but stopped, his thumbs hovering just over the screen. If he didn't respond, maybe he wouldn't come. Maybe he'd think he'd gotten the wrong number.

Go ahead and be a dickhole. I'm still coming tonight.

"Shit." He couldn't actually mean he was coming. Why would he want to? What would be his motivation? Though to say the tall, blue-haired guy in question would ever need sound reasoning for his actions was asking for a lot. Maybe he should tell him not to come. Not that he'd listen, but at least he could say he tried. A niggle of something not unlike guilt tickled at his chest, and Ichigo scratched at it roughly. He knew Rukia would be pissed off if she ever found out. It wasn't like he'd told him about the party though, fuck, they hadn't even talked for over three years, and it had been more of a shouting match if anything-

"What's wrong?" Renji's voice pierced his cloud of thoughts, and Ichigo looked up from his screen to miss the next text from the unknown number. "Who's that?"

"Oh, uh"—Ichigo shrugged and shoved his phone deep into his pants' pocket, refusing to read the next message—"Just Grimmjow."

Tattooed-on black eyebrows shot up, almost reaching the white bandana wrapped around Renji Abarai's forehead. "Jaegerjaquez?"

Ichigo sniffed, his hands still in his pockets as he walked, and he gave a curt nod, not hiding his eye roll. Like he knew any other Grimmjow's. And fuck that bastard, of course he'd choose now to message him; he just wanted to fuck with his head was all. "Yeah."

"Your best friend who you abandoned when you went off to college?"

Ichigo bristled at that, and he shot his friend a dirty look. "I didn't abandon him, he wanted to end things."

Renji snorted. "End things? You sound like a girl, Ichigo," he said in a teasing tone and then let out a 'ah-h' when Ichigo shoved him, almost making him run into a telephone pole. "Shit, I'm just joking. Shouldn't you be happier for a guy getting married in two weeks? What'd he say anyway?"

Ichigo ruffled spiky orange locks, his friend's comment annoying him. Because, yes, he should be, but he wasn't. "Just that he's coming tonight."

"You invited him?"

"No."