Journey

Ulquiorra silently unlocked the door, walking in. He would have to get used to having a living area that was more than just two cement squares. In fact, Starrk's house was rather nicely sized, located not far from the school in a nice neighborhood. All the houses were identical and almost mansion-like. They were walls of grey-blue going up and down the street, their black-shingled roofs rising to the sky. On every house there were two balconies made of grey stone, one on each side, that were only large enough for one or two and rounded classically. Ulquiorra liked the look. It was orderly.

He walked through the foyer into the kitchen, setting his backpack down against the leg of one of the two chairs. There was no one there to sit in the other chair. Ulquiorra took a look around, noting that most of the surfaces needed dusting. He added that to the list of things to be done tonight, along with his minimal homework and unpacking. Ulquiorra had only gotten into Hueco Mundo at about 2:15 that morning and hadn't had the chance to pull anything but his clothes for the day out of the boxes.

Scanning the house again he decided that his first order of business was to dust. He went over to the silver fridge and looked at the piece of paper magnetized to the appliance that served the purpose of telling him where everything was kept. In Starrk's lucid handwriting, one thing looked quite like another. Ulquiorra decided that this would not do.

He pulled a notepad out of the large, droopy pocket of his partially zipped hoodie. That and a pencil were the only two items that he usually had on him. He took Starrk's note off of the fridge and walked back to the table, sitting down. He flipped open the notebook and set to work decoding his brother's handwriting.

~!~

Ulquiorra closed his pre-calc book and slid it into his backpack. As he pulled out his completed homework folder and popped open the rings, he took another look at his mental list. His homework was done, he had dusted and vacuumed, and he had taken a shower. That left only one thing: unpack. Clipping his binder closed, he left it on the table and stood up. It would be best to at least get his clothes for tomorrow out or they would need pressing in the morning.

He walked through the family room and opened the door to the foyer, where he had put his boxes.There were seven in total, and he leaned down and lifted three that were relatively light and stacked on top of each other. The one on the top was already open from Ulquiorra's rummaging for clothes that morning.

The staircase was right next to the foyer, but a wall separated the two and made the only way to get from one to the other walking through the whole house. So that was what Ulquiorra did. His sock-feet were silent against the carpeted steps as he made his way up, the slanted white plaster wall that served as a railing rising with him. It was only a half-wall, and Ulquiorra could see over it into the kitchen.

He walked into the topmost level, an empty expanse of wood floors. The walls were a light yellow-brown and the multiple doors were wooden and matched the floors. There was nothing in sight other than that, nothing at all. It would be a good place to work in the future. Ulquiorra crossed to his bedroom door on the right wall, setting down the boxes to turn the knob and swing it open. He picked them back up and entered.

His room was simple but tasteful, small without being cramped. As the door closed behind him he set the boxes down one last time on his bed and looked around. The walls were the same grey-blue as the exterior of the house, his bedsheets matching. The floor was wooden just as the rest of the floors on this level, and the furniture and ceiling fan coincided colorwise. His bed was against the left wall, jutting out into the center of the room, and there was a dresser directly opposite it on the right wall. Across from the entrance there were large sliding glass doors that led out onto the balcony.

Ulquiorra left the boxes where they were. He made two more trips, each time carrying two boxes, and laying them out on his bed neatly before bending back the flaps of the one he previously opened. Neatly folded clothes sat waiting, and he pulled out one square bundle at a time. He stacked them on one of the other boxes. He had told himself that before anything else he would put this up. Now if only he could find it. He kept unpacking until a folded thing came into view.

He gently pulled it out. It was a small banner about six inches wide and a foot and a half long, displaying an embroidered version of a drawing he had made of a dirt road through tall sunflowers. The colors were vivid. In thin, loopy black letters, his favorite quote had been stitched in with care. His friend Ishida had made it for him upon hearing that he would be moving. Ulquiorra unfolded it carefully, catching the nail he had tucked into the folds as it fell out.

He looked around his room for somewhere he could hang up the beautifully made artwork. He noticed a door that he had seen earlier that was placed on a section of wall that jutted out into the room and looked at it for a moment before dismissing the thought; that was the door to his bathroom. He didn't want it hanging there.

He settled on a spot next to his rectangular mirror, above his dresser. As he drove the nail into the wall with the heel of his shoe he took notice of the drawer space in the dresser; six drawers total. That would be more than enough for his few articles of clothing. He doubted he would need to use his closet. He hung the banner delicately on the string and turned back to the unpacked, unsorted clothes on his bed. They needed to be put up according to article. He turned back just for a moment to see something to remind him of his old life, reading the quote silently in his mind before he set eyes on the banner.

Life is a journey; for some, it is only a few days long; for others, it lasts a century; some have more tears than laughs; others more laughs than tears; but every life, in every time, touches another's journey enough to alter its course.

He looked back to his shirts.