A/N: I hope I know what I'm getting myself into with this. I honestly don't think I do.

Discalimer: All Bleach characters and property belong to Tite Kubo and Viz Media.

"Hey! GIVE ME THAT!"

The boy looked up from his creation in the sandbox. Then he looked back down to the trowel in his hands.

"You mean this." It wasn't a question.

"YES! GIVE IT TO ME!"

"What do you say?" the boy asked, turning the trowel over in his curiously pale fingers.

"STOP STALLING!"

The boy with the pale fingers looked up. Until then, his longish black hair had been covering his face, but now it was visible. His whole body was the same pale color; almost white. His eyes were a startling green. But the most distinct feature was that his forehead, on the left side, was wrinkled and bleached, to the point that it looked like he'd fallen asleep in a pool for about five years. Or like it had had something covering it for as long, and had suddenly uncovered it. Beneath his long black hair, his neck on the left was the same way.

"It's not polite to stare," he said quietly.

The other boy recoiled momentarily, then recovered. "Just give the shovel!"

"Awfully demanding for just five years old."

"Not like you're any older!"

"True." The pale boy studied him. He had white hair, so white it was almost blue. His eyes were also light blue, and he had an intense look about him, like he only behaved in extremes. But he also had it: the weirdly wrinkled spot, except his was more distinct, seeing as his skin was darker, and the spot was right over his right jawbone. It extended all the way from his chin to his cheekbone, covering part of his mouth, making it look almost purple.

He put his hand out again, more forcefully this time. "Just give it to me, freak!"

"If I'm a freak, then you sure are one too." The pale boy returned to his creation. The other boy frowned uneasily, not used to people standing him up. Then he sat down in the sand next to the pale boy.

"What're you making, then, freak?"

"Ulquiorra."

"What's that?"

"My name," said Ulquiorra.

The other boy studied him. "Well, what are you making, Ul-kee-or-ra?" He pronounced it strangely on purpose, and Ulquiorra threw him a withering glance.

"A building."

The boys both looked at the building. It was a large mound of sand with other, smaller mounds clustered around it.

"Grimm," said the other boy.

Ulquiorra looked up. "Grim?"

"No. Grimm. Two M's. My name. Short for Grimmjow, but I like Grimm." Unconsciously, Grimm traced the white spot on his face. "Have I seen you before?"

Ulquiorra shrugged. "I don't know what you see. Your eyes belong to you, not me." He picked up a stick and traced some letters in the sand. "There."

"What does it say?"

"Can't you read?"

"No," said Grimm defensively.

"L...A...S...N...O...C...H...E...S. Las Noches."

Grimm made a face. "I don't speak Mexican."

"It's Spanish." Ulquiorra looked at the letters he had drawn in the sand. "Neither do I. I have no idea what that means." If Grimm had asked him to explain, Ulquiorra would have found that he was unable to. Something had made him want to trace those letters.

Instead of asking, Grimm looked away. Another extreme; his face was mashed into tight, hard lines, uncommon on the face of such a small child. "I have to go," he said, getting up. "Bye, Ul-kee-or-ra."

"Do you want the shovel still?" Ulquiorra called after him, but Grimm was gone.

**!**

Ulquiorra found Grimm at the park again the next day. He was crouched over Las Noches, shaping the buildings.

"Hello," said Ulquiorra.

Grimm looked up. "Oh. It's you." He returned to the buildings. Ulquiorra squatted down next to him.

"What are you doing to my Las Noches?"

Grimm scowled. "Fixing it. The little buildings aren't supposed to be round."

Ulquiorra stopped in his tracks.

"How do you know that?"

Grimm's hands stilled on the sand. He didn't look up at Ulquiorra; instead, he kept his bluish hair to him.

"I don't know."

Ulquiorra dismissed it. Grimm was right; the little buildings were supposed to be square. He helped him until Grimm stood.

Ulquiorra looked up at him, wiping his nose with the heel of his hand. Then he wiped his sandy hands on his pants.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Let's play with swords," he said. "Here's mine," he added, picking up a branch. "And here's yours. Name it!"

He gave Ulquiorra another branch. It was slightly smaller than Grimm's. He thought for a name.

"Mine is Pantera," Grimm said happily.

Ulquiorra said nothing, gazing at the stick in his hand. "Okay. Mine's name is...Zangetsu."

Grimm frowned. "No. That's a bad name. Do something else."

Ulquiorra couldn't explain the feeling that saying the name Zangetsu gave him. It was kind of...scary.

"Okay," he agreed. "My sword is...Murciélago."

A breeze blew through the park. Ulquiorra's hand tingled on the stick. Grimm didn't notice.

"YAAAAHHH!" he yelled, and swung Pantera. Ulquiorra's eyes widened, and he brought up Murciélago hastily. Holding on to both ends with his pale hands, he locked eyes with Grimm, who's smile, if it got bigger, would either spill off his face or make his cheeks explode. He had a crazy insane look in his eyes as he pressed Ulquiorra backwards. Ulquiorra sidestepped and Pantera fell to the ground, bouncing off of Grimm's sneaker.

"Hahahaha!" Grimm laughed. He threw his head to the sky and make his fingers into claws. "Mua ha ha ha ha!" He brought his head down and grinned at Ulquiorra. "How do you like my eevillll laaauughterrr?" he leered.

"Impressive." Ulquiorra's face didn't change. He swiped at Grimm, and Grimm blocked. Their movements were clumsy, and finally, Grimm's Pantera crumbled.

Ulquiorra's facial expression still did not change. Grimm scowled.

"Fine, you win, Ul-kee-or-ra," he grumbled.

"Grimm!"

Ulquiorra didn't see who said Grimm's name, but Grimm sighed and dropped the other half of Pantera. "I gotta go," he explained to Ulquiorra. "Are you starting school tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll see you there, right?"

Grimm nodded and bounded away, almost too gracefully. The wrinkled skin on his cheek glistened in the sunlight.

Ulquiorra sighed and looked at his stick.

"Murciélago," he whispered to himself. His hand tingled again. He raised Murciélago high and brought it down on a tree branch.

Murciélago cracked and crumbled. The upper half fell backwards over the branch. Ulquiorra stooped and picked it up, holding a half in each hand.

He looked up.

A man with two girls was watching him. One of the girls had short brown hair and a girly expression, the other had shoulder length black hair and a red baseball cap. They were swinging. But the man was watching him intently. Something about his spiky orange hair and deep chocolate eyes looked familiar to Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra shook his head, turned, and headed home, his sticks clutched in his hands like trophies. Behind him, the man watched him trudge away, and a crease appeared between his heavy orange eyebrows. He stood and watched Ulquiorra trudge away, Murciélago held in two pieces in his pale hands, dragging through the dirt.

It was too bad Ulquiorra's hands were full. Then maybe he could have clutched at his chest when he shivered. But he didn't look back.

Heh heh…R&R?

Oh yeah: next chapter, meet more Espada?