Grimmjow stared at the apron in horror and anger. If the sandal hat freak actually thought he would wear that…

He crushed the apron in his hand and proceeded to march to the sandal hat freak’s office. March being the appropriate term as his feet thudded against the floor in a steady, yet clearly angry, rhythm.

When he reached the door, he ripped it open and opened his mouth to voice his anger…

…but let it hang open stupidly instead as he took in the sight before him.

In a green, heart-shaped chair sat Urahara Kisuke clad only in his hakama and a pink apron with white frills almost identical to the one crushed in Grimmjow’s own hand.

His signature hat lay on a cupcake themed ironing board by the chair.

“Ah, Grimm-kun, I see you’ve received your uniform,” Kisuke said, “And my, my, it seems that it’s been wrinkled. Thank goodness I had my ironing board out, right Grimm-kun?”

Urahara had placed his hat on his head and turned to stare at Grimmjow from underneath it, his unspoken words hanging in the air:

“Argue and Die.”

Grimmjow was usually the type to argue with any and everybody, especially when admitting defeat was involved, but for once in his life he was discreet. Perhaps it was that sandal-hat freak staring at him as if even thinking or speaking negatively about the apron would result in an excruciatingly painful death. In any case, he conceded that he might have lost this battle.

And with not even an ounce of blood spilled.

He hated losing a battle without bloodshed more than he hated losing a battle. What was the point in fighting if no blood was going to be spilled?

He was too busy immersing himself in his dark thoughts about defeat and blood to notice that Urahara had removed the apron from his grasp and ironed it.

It took being smacked in the face with Urahara’s fan to break him from his trance.

“Stop glaring so much. You’ll ruin Strawberry Parfait’s cute image. And nothing is more important than upholding our image. Now go get changed, Grimm-kun. Your shift starts in 20 minutes and you still have to be briefed on the art of waiting,” Urahara stated, pushing Grimmjow out of his office. The door shut behind him and he could hear the click of a lock.

Cursing, Grimmjow went to change. As he pulled on the white dress shirt, he considered leaving. He couldn’t stand this place and its stupid sandal-hat owner. It took all his willpower not to tear the shop to pieces. It was especially difficult whenever he looked at the sickeningly cute cupcake-themed wallpaper.

But he shook these thoughts away upon remembering why he had agreed to this arrangement in the first place. He shivered as he recalled “the incident”. He would do anything to make up for that, even if it meant working in the stupid pastry shop for the next 3 months.

He jumped back as the door slammed open. “What the-”

“I’m here to give you your orders so you’d better listen up. I’m only saying this once,” said a pink-haired girl in glasses as she entered the room.

“One, In order to wait properly you must be polite, graceful, and sweet at all times. And I know that’s hard for you, being of the male gender and all, but do try with all your might.”

“Two,” the girl continued in a sweet tone, grabbing Grimmjow around the collar, “all orders are to be placed on the giant cupcake by the door for the busboy to pick-up. Use the pink pins for cakes, cupcakes, and cookies and the yellow ones for everything else.

“And lastly, three,” she said, lowering her voice and raising her head to stand eye to eye with Grimmjow, “all solo female customers are to be left to me. Is that clear?”

Grimmjow raised his hand to hit the crazy girl but stopped when he noticed the look in her eyes. He recognized that look. He had only seen it not 10 minutes ago on the sandal-hat freak’s face. He nodded at her and she released him, clearly satisfied.

“Your shift begins in 5 minutes. Oh,” she added with a smile, her voice taking on the same sweet tone she had earlier, “Do something with your face, please. We don’t want your frown scaring off any beautiful girls. And Hime-chan is especially timid…”

The door swung shut as she exited, closing just in time to collide with Grimmjow’s fist. He pounded the door in anger until the blood began to seep onto the apron.

“Ah, shit!” he cursed, walking to the bathroom to wash off the blood. Even in here the walls were decorated with the damned cupcake-themed wallpaper. What kind of fruits frequented this place? Realizing the time, he hastily wrapped toilet paper around his torn knuckles and went to the shop.

When he entered, he was relieved to find it empty. He was pretty darn sure that he wouldn’t be able to handle some little old lady with a craving for sweets and a hearing problem without causing some serious damage. And he didn’t need him here. Not after “the incident”.

He leaned against the counter and ran his fingers through his teal hair. It was boring doing work. He hated boredom.

He closed his eyes, preparing for a cat nap, when a voice announced, “Happy, happy love. Happy, happy love.”

He opened his eyes and then closed them again, not believing what he was seeing. Please not another one…

‘What in the hell was a man doing wearing a maid’s outfit?’