Yay, new story. This is set in the modern-day human world; Grimmjow and Ulquiorra are highly sought-after celebrities in a city where fame is everything. Is a chance encounter just that, or will it lead to something more... I suck at summaries. ;D

Rated for Grimmjow's appalling language (but we love him anyway). Rating may go up in future chapters.

Apologies for the title, I spent ages desperately brainstorming and beating my head against the desk from frustration. It may be changed later on. :P

A single tear welled up in Halle's deep green eye, shivering for a moment on her blonde lashes before rolling fatly down her cheek.

"Wh… when will I see you again, Oliver?"

Ulquiorra cradled her face gently in his pale hands, gazing at the dark woman as if he was blind to all else.

"I don't know." He said bravely, allowing just a fraction of a tremor to creep into his voice. "But, darling, remember. You are my life, my world, my shining star in the sky. And I will come back for you."

"Aaaaand- cut."

The two actors dropped each other immediately, the lovelorn expressions falling from their faces like leaves from an autumn tree.

"Let's call that a day, guys." The director continued, tipping forward his wide-brimmed hat as he pulled on his flamboyantly patterned pink jacket. That jacket screamed for attention, thought Ulquiorra disapprovingly. "Hey," The man said hopefully, "Anyone up for a drink?"

There was a general cheer of assent from all but Halle and Ulquiorra. The former excused herself politely and headed straight for her dressing room, while the latter nodded in dismissal and began to make his way towards the car park where his bicycle was chained to a rail.

Ulquiorra was not given to emotional behaviour. It was unusual to see him display an interest, rare to provoke him to anger and – as far as anyone knew – impossible to wrest a genuine smile from that coolly detached face. The only time one would see Ulquiorra smile was on the nation's screens; for all his stoicism, he was an amazingly talented actor, seeming to flick a switch and light up from within as the clapperboard clacked shut. The expression on his face, however, when he reached his bike and found it surrounded by a gaggle of giggling fan girls, could best be described as irritation, shown only by a faint creasing of his eyebrows and a slight downward turn of his thin lips.

"What," He merely said, deceptively calmly, "are you doing?"

The pitch of the screaming intensified as the girls noticed him.

"Oh my God!"

"It's him, it's really him!"

"He's even cuter than on TV!"

The boldest of the girls stepped forward, causing an eruption of nudges and excited babbling to arise from her cohorts. She had long black hair pulled up in high pigtails, and was wearing an outfit that - he noted with distaste - left little to the imagination. "Ulquiorra, I'm your biggest fan! Could I have a photo?"

Green eyes regarded her coldly. "No."

"But-"

"If I ever see you here again, I will report you for trespassing. Do you understand me?"

The actor made his way to his bicycle – the girls parting before him like the Red Sea – and pedalled off, ignoring the disappointed wails from behind. Maybe it was time to quit the job, for anonymity's sake. It was rather nice not to be recognised and screeched at in the middle of the street.

He reached a red light and promptly stopped, staring absent-mindedly at a huge billboard featuring a handsome male model with spiky black hair. The Espada Talent Agency, the small print at the bottom read. The agency that Ulquiorra belonged to. And that model staring soulfully at the camera was Aaron, one of his co-workers and easily the most arrogant man for miles around.

Actually, reflected Ulquiorra, the Espada – as the elite celebrities hand-picked by the Agency and propelled to fame were commonly known – seemed to rule this city. More of their familiar faces stared out at him wherever he went; catwalk model Nel posed provocatively on the front of a magazine, the lead singer - known only as Grimmjow – of rock band King Zero yelled back at thousands of screaming fans from all the TV screens in a shop window and (perhaps, most disconcertingly) his own well-known features gazed back at him from a large advert on the side of a passing bus, advertising the latest film he had acted in. Some generic romance movie, this time playing opposite a vapid airhead called Alyssa or Melissa or Vanessa. The film was unimportant to Ulquiorra; what mattered was that the audience went horribly sentimental and gooey-eyed over it, and the money continued to roll in.

"Go, you freaking idiot!" A man yelled from a wound-down car window, glaring nastily in his direction. The traffic light was still red. Ulquiorra turned his head slowly to look at the man with a face of stone, quashing the road rage before it could blossom into homicidal intent. The first signals of recognition began to bloom on the driver's face. "Hey… aren't you…"

Ulquiorra swiftly pedalled off as the light switched to green, inwardly rather irritated. From insanely screaming fans to bloodthirsty drivers, this wasn't the best day he had had.

He turned off down the side street that led indirectly to his apartment. Or rather, attempted to turn off. The flashy blue sports car that materialised from around the corner and rocketed down the street towards him had other ideas. It must have been doing at least twice the speed limit, and Ulquiorra could do nothing but watch dispassionately as it hurtled on a collision course straight towards his bicycle. And straight towards him. What a pitiful death, he thought glumly, crushed by some rich kid in his parents' car who probably never even bothered to take driving lessons. There was a deafening screech of tyres, a blinding white glare of headlights and a horrible chalk-down-the-blackboard scraping sound as the car swerved violently and grazed along the wall, before smashing into an inconveniently placed lamppost and grinding to a smoking halt.

--

"And I- can't- diiiiie!" Grimmjow howled into the microphone, giving the strings of his electric guitar a final emphatic twang as the song screeched to an end. Oh, this was the life. This was the fucking life.

"Great work!" Some blond guy – managing director or some shit like that – applauded, sidling into the room. "Only thing is, we might need to cut out that last chord, if that's… ok…" He trailed off as Grimmjow came closer, standing a head shorter than the rock singer.

"Dude," The blue-haired man said with supreme disdain, "That was the best part of the whole fuckin' song."

The director quailed. "Well- er, yes, whatever you think is best, of course… er…" He found himself speaking to the closed door as Grimmjow left abruptly, already bored with the guy's stuttering.

Ed, the drummer of King Zero, pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "Don't take it personally, man."

"Yeah," The backing singer with long silky blond hair added, "He does that a lot."

"Huh?" The bass guitarist looked up from where he'd been tuning his instrument.

"Never mind, Roy." The vocalist sighed. The fat bodyguard standing by the door was silent.

Outside, Grimmjow strode over to his car, examining it minutely for even the tiniest scratch or chip. This car was his darling, his baby, the top of the range Pantera that had taken the market by storm. And he was damned if he was gonna let some jerkass driver ruin her. He'd beat the shit out of anyone who even so much as glanced at her the wrong way.

Satisfied, he straightened up.

"Grimmjow!"

It was Shawlong, his personal bodyguard since forever. The guy looked pretty scrawny, but he was insanely talented at martial arts.

"You shouldn't be going home alone." Shawlong said disapprovingly, pursing his lips. Grimmjow rolled his sapphire-outlined eyes.

"Lay off, yeah? I ain't gonna get mugged overnight."

"Hm." The thin dark man still looked displeased. Jeez, he was like a freakin' mother hen.

"See ya." The singer said pointedly, slamming the door to his Pantera and settling into the smooth black leather of the seat. Man, he loved this car.

He shifted gears and drove smoothly off, foot pressing the pedal closer and closer to the floor as he picked up speed. Fuck the speed limit. That was for the suits that worked a freakin' nine to five job and had a wife and two point four kids.

"Outta the way, you dumb cow!" Grimmjow yelled at a woman driver who wasn't paying attention. God, they should be banned.

His foot was almost touching the floor as his car roared along the street, eating up the tarmac in a rush of hungry blue metal. He took the corner in a screech of wheels and rounded the next one even more violently. Didn't matter, no one ever drove on these little side stree-

Oh, shit.

Grimmjow stared in slowly dawning horror at the lone cyclist directly in his path. He could continue as he was and smash into the guy at seventy miles an hour. Or he could swerve and risk harming his beautiful Pantera. The decision wasn't even worth thinking about, in his mind. Unfortunately the law wouldn't agree with him on this one. At the last possible moment Grimmjow yanked the steering wheel violently to the right, yowling in frustration and preparing himself for the worst.

First chapter! What did you think? It gets better. Hah. Spot the hidden Bleach characters - it's really not very difficult.

Next chapter - Grimmjow isn't too happy about the destruction of his car.

R&R!

~Featherz