A smirk suddenly appeared on the Sexta’s face. It was a strange gesture considering his insides were boiling with rage at the sight of the long lost Kurosaki.
His hand slipped up Ichigo’s chest, closing around his throat and forcing the back of the orange-haired substitute’s head to bump against the wall. He might be applying too much pressure to the Shinigami’s trachea, but he didn’t give a crap. Kurosaki was too strong for it to be a problem.
“Make me feel better?” The hollow repeated. He stared at the teen and that smirk didn’t reach his eyes. Nails dug into Ichigo’s flesh, as if he intended to rip the kid’s throat out.
“Did you forget WHO I AM?”
Ichigo failed to notice the smirk on Grimmjow’s face nor his large hand that suddenly preventing the teen from breathing and beat him against the wall. For a moment it was daze until his hands found the others arm, trying to get free from the deadly strangle.
He started to get difficulties to breathe, his sight became a bit hazy though he still could hear Grimmjow’s words—which he couldn’t answer.
He did not like this at all. He wasn’t that weak. He didn’t like to lower himself, begging for Grimmjow’s mercy despite the problem.
So he glared, like he always did. It was his natural habit, the instinct to not give up. He coughed as it became harder for him to breathe. But his grip tighten even more around the Sexta’s arm. One of his hand moved away to grab Grimmjow’s hand that strangling him, trying to get it away and free his throat.