It was around three o'clock when Zommari's newspaper was stolen from him. He glanced up from the coffee table to see Grimmjow ruffling through the papers, before handing the want ads back to him and sitting down with the rest.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" The former Seventh asked, resuming his perusal of the jobs section.

"I am working. Business has evolved into pure word-of-mouth; now the customers just come to me. S'why my room's bigger than anyone else's- this way I can just bring 'em there."

Zommari just eyed him for a second. "You're a dick. You know that, right?"

"Yer just jealous because you're not pretty enough to sell your body to lonely women." A pause. "And men."

A few minutes of relatively comfortable silence later and the doorbell rang. "We have a doorbell?" Zommari asked, more to himself than Grimmjow.

He was rewarded with a grin. "We have a doorbell for clients to use. Told you I was working," he said, standing.

The door opened to reveal a very handsome, very uncomfortable-looking man. "I was, ah. Told that this-"

"Yeah, I'm the whore. Come on in," Grimmjow instructed, holding the door open.

Upon seeing the client, Zommari's first instinctive reaction was to dive behind the couch.

Grimmjow stared. After a moment, he said, "Actually, that brings up a good point. Next time you see Yammy or Dordonii, could you tell them I need a door from my room directly outside? Bringing clients in through the living room seems a little tacky."

Zommari stood up and brushed off his clothes, trying to look like he hadn't just done something strange or humiliating. "I'll pass on the message. Could you tell Ulquiorra not to do my laundry anymore? All of my whites keep turning gray."

"Why can't you tell him? It's not like he's hard to find, he's allways in the house."

"Well, he's your wife..."

"You know I never actually agreed to that, right?"

"But mostly it's because I don't want to talk to him. He allways looks like he's about to cry when anyone scolds him... I just can't deal with that."

"That's just his face! That's just how his face looks, he's not actually gonna cry or anything!"

"I don't know, I wouldn't be surprised if he did... He's been really depressed and mopey since this parole thing."

Grimmjow made a murmur of assent, scratching the back of his head.

Zommari continued. "It's really sad. We all used to respect him so much, and we was absolutely terrifying to be around.... But now he just makes me sad."

"...Yeah..."

There was an uncomfortable silence, followed by a light cough.

"Perhaps, if you're too busy..." A forgotten voice trailed off.

"Oh, no. C'mon, my room's over here." Grimmjow said, leading the client down a hallway nearby.

Only to find Ulquiorra in his room, crouching on the floor with a bottle of disinfectant and a sponge, attacking a suspicious-looking off-white stain near the bed. He looked up when the door opened.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I just thought I'd do some cleaning. I managed to get rid of the weird smell your room had, but... This one stain won't wash out."

Grimmjow sighed. "The smell is gone because now all you can smell is chlorine from your cleaning supplies." He looked at the stain Ulquiorra was working on. "And that's not gonna wash out- that's where you spilled the bleach the other day. The color's just gone from the carpet alltogether."

Ulquiorra looked from Grimmjow to the stain. He sniffed the carpet. "Oh. You're right."

There was an awkward silence. "I should probably go, then. Since you have a client and all."

"Yeah. Um. Zommari wants you to stop doing his laundry, by the way. "

"...Oh."

More silence. Ulquiorra gathered up his cleaning supplies. When he reached the door, he paused. "Oh. Uh. Also, I think Aaroniero wanted to talk to you for something. He's not home though - I think he's with that girl again. Um. Kuchiki or something."

"What?" The eyes turned to the third person in the room, previously forgotten. "Where?"

"I... Don't know." Ulquiorra's response was met by an annoyed growl and a slight breeze as someone flashstepped by.

Grimmjow frowned. "And there goes today's big paycheck. That guy reeked of cash, too."

Ulquiorra fidgeted. "Sorry. I didn't. I didn't think that... I should have just left right away. Sorry."

"It's... Okay. Um. It's not your fault," Grimmjow said, trying half-heartedly to cheer the other up. Or at least stop him from crying.

Ulquiorra sank to the floor, sitting down dejectedly. "It is though. I can't do anything right." He pulled off his rubber cleaning gloves, tossing them to the floor. "I can't believe I thought I was better than you guys back then. It's obvious now - the one who's trash is me. I'm not useful. I can't do anything. I should just go back to Hueco Mundo where you guys won't have to worry about me screwing up anymore."

Grimmjow winced. "Aw, c'mon. That's... You're okay. You've been getting better. We can actually eat your food now! And that cake you made the other day? That was actually pretty good. I mean, it wasn't just that we actually ate it instead of throwing it away when your back was turned, it was genuinely good."

"Really?" The former Fourth asked hopefully.

Grimmjow had to avert his eyes from Ulquioirra's - they were too big and watery to look directly into right now. "Yeah. I mean... Sure. Yeah. So... Don't be sad."

Ulquiorra stood up, nodding. "Okay."

He turned to the open door to leave, and bumped into a rather voluptuous chest on his way out. "Sorry."

The woman grinned. "It's okay, honey." She turned to Grimmjow. "Was that Kuchiki-taichou I just saw flashstepping by? You really do get around, don't you. Last week I could have sworn I saw Soi Fong walking out of here!"

"Hey, Rangiku." He said, watching Ulquiorra scurry off. "Well, I don't think he'll be coming back at this rate. I'm not sure what happened, but I think we scared him off..."

She shrugged. "Pity. You're worth the dime it costs. I mean, I could go out and lay with anyone In please, but if I'm horny I want someone who knows what they're doing," she smiled, closing the door. "And in any case, why are you still wearing pants?"

--

Grimmjow wandered into the kitchen, sparing a glance at the clock. Just past four in the morning. Probably no more clients for the night, which was why he had been trying to get some sleep. Despite a certain amount of physical exhaustion, he was so far unsuccessful.

He turned the light on, and promptly had a heart attack.

"Ulquiorra? What are you doing in the kitchen at four in the morning? In the dark?"

Ulquiorra raised his head from the table, blinking groggily at Grimmjow. "Is it morning allready?"

"No... Why are you sleeping in the kitchen?"

Ulquiorra yawned. "Because there's no room on my bed. Ever since everyone declared we were married, they decided that we should be sharing a room. So they turned mine into a pantry. My bed is covered in canned food and powertools and laundry detergent."

"...Why didn't you sleep in the couch?"

"Someone else beat me to it. I'm not sure who."

Grimmjow wandered over to the refrigerator, pulling out a milk carton. "Well. I'd offer my bed, but right now my whole room smells like chlorine and snatch. It's a weird combination. Really not helping me sleep."

Ulquiorra sighed. "Sorry. I guess that's half my fault."

"The only ones to blame are our roommates, for expecting you to sleep with me when my bed sees dozens of strange people on a daily basis."

"It wasn't very considerate, was it?"

"Nope."

A few moments of silence, and Grimmjow took another sip front he milk carton before putting it back in the fridge with a sigh. "Okay. You go get clean bedsheets and air freshener, and I'll flip my mattress over."

Ulquiorra nodded, standing up with a suppressed yawn.

"Hey Grimmjow?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Shut up."

--