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It isn’t that she’s upset or anything, but some part of Orihime is still in denial about the whole thing. In the days leading up to her meeting with Ichigo, she flings clothes out of her wardrobe with such frantic urgency that Tatsuki has to physically stop her and tell her to calm down.
She refuses to call it a date. It can’t be a date.
That afternoon, in the cafe, Ichigo had let her ramble on about all the photographs she’d taken at the wedding, and how she was thinking of making copies, and about the lost art of physical photography, now that everything was turning digital. By the end of it, he’d stopped her with a soft, “Inoue,” and she knew right then from his tone alone that he was on the cusp of something serious. Ichigo’s eyes had been dark and his voice had been quiet when he told her that he’d been thinking about her, that he wasn’t sure when it all began but that he’d like to be with her, and that it was okay, really, if she didn’t want to — he’d never force her to give him something she wasn’t comfortable giving.
Time had all but stopped in those measured seconds of silence. She still remembers the dust motes dancing in the sunlight that spilled in through the window. There was a brown, half-circle stain under Ichigo’s cup of cocoa that he hadn’t touched at all.
“Sorry,” Ichigo stammered at her stunned, continued silence. “I just—Renji said that you—so I—” She watched his fist curl and realized, belatedly, that he was nervous.
“I do,” she whispered, a little faraway. Some part of her glanced down, if only to ensure that her feet were indeed still touching the ground.
Orihime had, for the longest time ever, compartmentalized her feelings for Ichigo into parts acceptable and parts secret. Her fantasies were private things, reserved for daydreams on a slow day, when the customers were few and there wasn’t anything good on TV. She had long drawn a line in the sand and been very strict with herself about crossing it, so strict that in her later years of knowing Ichigo, it was an almost subconscious enforcement. She dreamt, but she never dared hope. To hope would be to ask, and she had already asked Ichigo for more than she’d ever been comfortable.
In short, it doesn’t seem real to her that her daydreams are blurring into reality. She’s usually more practical than that.
The day of their first date — meet-up — they go see a movie, some live-action adaptation of a manga they both used to read. Ichigo meets her out front, casual as anything, and by the time they head into the screening, her initial nervousness settles into something more comfortable despite herself. They had seen movies with friends before, so it’s easy to overlook the intent behind the whole thing. She forgets the deliberation over her outfit, the fact that she checked her reflection in every surface she passed on the way to the theater. It helps that Ichigo’s contentedness is infectious, and context aside, she really does like seeing him relaxed and happy. When they stumble out of the theater and he gripes about his favorite scenes getting cut, she can almost forget how it all began entirely.
It isn’t until he walks her back to her apartment that it all comes to a head.
“This was a date, right?” he asks
Orihime freezes midway from where she’s pouring out tea for the both of them. When she turns to look at Ichigo, his cheeks are dark, one hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck like one word from her will have him bolting out of the doorway.
“I don’t—” She hears her own voice go shrill and firmly brings it down to a whisper. “I don’t know.”
“I meant what I said the other day,” he says quietly, “about wanting to be with you.”
Orihime gnaws on her lip, her hands tightening on the handle she’s holding. Ichigo’s gaze is so earnest she almost wants to wince, but it softens his face, gives it a warmth that always makes her feel a little at home when he directs it towards her. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him like this, so vulnerable, so out there, with his heart on the line.
She finally sets the jug down and takes a deep breath, her voice soft as she confesses, “I want that too.”
Relief floods his face and loosens up the edges of his features. “Good,” he says, smiling. “I’m glad.”
“Me too,” Orihime returns, face hot, smile going just a little shy when she looks down again.
__________
So, dating.
Orihime still isn’t used to the idea of it. She and Ichigo don’t do anything they don’t usually do. Things don’t change overnight and become something else. Sometimes she visits him at college. Sometimes he visits her at work. It’s those walks back and forth that she looks forward to the most, taking longer routes each time, their hands brushing but not really together—not yet.
Ichigo in those moments is more calm than she’s ever seen him, even as he teases her about her printed headbands and too-bright shoes.
(“What, are you trying to replace the traffic lights or something?” he’d asked once, taking one glance at her bright yellow rain boots. Orihime had never wanted to kiss him so bad than in that moment)
She mostly adjusts. There’s good morning texts and good night calls, and sometimes when he walks her home, he puts his hand on her back to direct her away from the road. The first time they hold hands, Orihime’s face is so hot she can’t even look at him but when she sneaks a glance, his cheeks are pink too—and this, in some way, comforts her. They’re both new to this. And as with most things, they’re both learning as they go. Ichigo as a boyfriend is a little bit of a mother hen, a little bit of a hoverer as he pushes her into his coats on winter days and stops by the bakery with an umbrella at the slightest chance of rain.
She finds herself enjoying the attention, spinning around in his too-big coats and stepping out of bounds to play with the rain (much to his alarm). The first time they ever kiss, his hand is wet on her cheek, mouth pressing hesitantly against the corner of hers on one such evening. When he pulls back, Orihime surprises herself when she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him back in. His hands scramble and then grab at her waist for purchase.
This second kiss is a little hungrier, a little clumsy and wet, and when they both part, they spring back and scream, “Sorry!” in unison.
Then their eyes catch and Orihime bursts into something between an undignified snort and a giggle. Ichigo, a little startled, laughs too.
“Was that okay?” Orihime whispers, covering her mouth, her cheeks red. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I mean—”
“It was okay,” Ichigo returns. “You can do that whenever you want. You don’t have to ask, I mean.” The confession embarrasses him and he averts his gaze.
There is so much hunger that Orihime hasn’t really—registered before. It thrums within her and bursts at unexpected moments, the urge to hug him, the urge to kiss his cheek when he says something cute, the urge to…to…
She becomes someone new. There really is no other way of explaining it. And in this new context, within this new box, Ichigo is someone new to her too. She learns things about him that she never paid attention to before, little mannerisms and habits, textures he likes, food he absolutely avoids, the low, rough tone his voice takes when he wakes up or the lazy, sleepy one before he goes to bed. She learns the way he kisses, learns to distinguish the quick pecks from the slow, languid ones as they waste afternoons and evenings making out on her couch.
They usually need to compose themselves after that, so Ichigo leaves for the bathroom and Orihime retreats to the kitchen to get a snack, head pleasantly lost in a fog.
When Ichigo comes back, she asks him to pick through her DVDs for something to watch, and that’s when she realizes it’s the same for him too. Ichigo gets down to a squat and whistles, a little impressed as he sifts through her collection. Taxi Driver, Perfect Blue, Reservoir Dogs—Orihime isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he seems amused by the choices presented to him.
“I have a Tsutaya card,” she explains sheepishly. “They usually have packs for rent.”
“That explains it.” He smiles, tucking his fingers around a movie at random for them to watch.
“Do you want me to add you to my membership?” Orihime offers. It isn’t an idea she’s had before, but he’s over here so often these days that this is a thing they could do, just another gesture that will incorporate him into her life a little more.
Ichigo looks up at her and frowns. “I don’t want you to go out of your way to spend money on me.”
Orihime shakes her head. “Not at all! I get T points, see.” She heads over to the drawer where she keeps her purse and fishes out a little card so she can brandish it towards him. “It works out cheap for both of us, and they’ve got discount tie-ups with all these other places too…” She trails off when she sees Ichigo’s stunned expression, a little ashamed. A relationship is mostly a safe little thing—their relationship is mostly a safe little thing—but there are times when she realizes how little she has to offer, how many strings she has to pull to afford most things, how pitiful she must sound to him when she pulls out her thrifty life hacks like they’re some great, ingenious maneuvers. At times like that, she almost wishes for her fantasies to return and replace her reality—if only so it’ll erase the inexplicable shame.
“That’s smart,” Ichigo says softly.
“No, forget I said anything.” She flails and shakes her head again, trying to smile. “It’s stupid, really.”
“It’s really not,” Ichigo insists. “This—the way you keep this place together. You’re so good at it.”
“I am?” She’s certainly never heard that before.
“Yeah.” She watches his throat swallow. “I mean, you always know what goes in the burnables, and any time I have trouble with my budget you just fix it like it’s nothing.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” she presses, embarrassed, but she’s a little touched by the fact that he’s seen this, that he’s noticed. Nobody’s ever given her a prize for all the things she’s had to do to survive over the years, and over time these things became so natural to her that she sometimes forgets how precarious everything is—how hard she works to keep it all together without a safety net she can fall back on.
“You’re amazing, Inoue,” he says softly, stroking her warm cheeks, pulling her closer. She melts into him, letting him wrap his arms around her, snacks and DVDs forgotten.
__________
In June, work picks up and Orihime finds herself elbows deep in dough and flour — which is a good sign, she assures Ichigo, because it means business is doing well, even if she’s a little more tired than usual. When she can’t see him every other day, she still makes sure to keep up with him via text because, well (and she blushes a little at this), it’s what good girlfriends do. Her updates are always lighthearted things, pictures of whatever she’s baking or pictures of herself making silly faces on her breaks.
Ichigo typically responds with his usual dry humor, and sometimes she can even coax him to send a sticker (she did him the courtesy of taking his phone and downloading all her favorite packs for him on LINE).
Towards the middle of the month, though, something shifts and his texts begin reading a little too distracted for her liking. An uncomfortable weight settles in her stomach with his one word replies, the way his ‘good morning’s turn to ‘morning,’ and his reactions to her banal updates read as more half-hearted than anything else.
Walking back home, Orihime wonders if he’s finally grown weary of her worldliness, the thought making her feel a little more awful than she expected it would. She wonders if that’s why he’s slower to reach for the phone, if that’s why he’s been forcing cheer more than usual — if.
She closes her eyes and sighs. Tries to be a little more rational. Ichigo has been many things but cruel is not one of them. If anything, he’s probably worried about something and keeping it to himself.
That sounds more like him, she thinks with a concerned frown, setting her bag down once she enters the apartment. She’s contemplating whether or not to call him when her eyes fall onto the calendar — and nearly bulge out of their sockets.
June 14th.
Realization washes over her like ice and she quickly wades through her house to freshen up. One change of clothes and a stop by her pantry later, she hits the streets again and heads straight to the clinic. It’s nearly 5, but she figures he should be home. He usually is on weekends, at this time.
By the time she reaches the Kurosakis’ doorstep, she’s nearly out of breath, but she composes herself and waits.
The door swings open to reveal Yuzu, still in her school uniform. “Orihime-chan, hi.” She sounds surprised. “Come in. Is everything alright?”
“Sorry for the intrusion, Yuzu-chan,” Orihime says sweetly, accepting Yuzu’s welcome with a nod. “I would have called ahead, but I just came in from work myself. Did you girls help yourself to anything after you came home from school?”
“We did, but I see you brought us something anyway!” Yuzu says with a little laugh, taking Orihime’s hamper from her. “Thanks so much!”
“Of course,” Orihime says and smiles at the girl. Then her eyes flick upstairs. “Is Kurosaki-kun upstairs?” She senses his reiatsu just as she asks the question, idle and wispy since it’s not really in use at the moment.
Yuzu shakes her head. “He’s been in bed all day. I tried to get him down for lunch, but he just kept on sleeping.”
Orihime’s smile turns sympathetic. “Can I go see him?”
“Of course!” Yuzu almost shoos her towards the staircase as if offended by the question. “You’re his girlfriend! If anything, he’d be happy you’re here.”
Orihime thanks her and heads upstairs. A part of her is still nervous to be here alone — in his house, heading to his room — and she thinks it’ll be a while before she gets used to it, but it's her concern that drives her towards her destination more than anything.
Once she reaches the landing, her eyes fall on the familiar ‘15’ hanging outside his door and she braces herself. Then, she knocks on the door.
“Um,” she calls. “Kurosaki-kun?”
There’s a sudden ‘thud!’ from inside, but she hardly has time to worry about that when his door is suddenly yanked open.
“Inoue.” He sounds out of breath, his clothes rumpled, hair a mess. From the looks of it, he has been sleeping all day but it’s not the good kind of sleep — not the one where you actually get some peace. He looks stunned by the fact that she’s here, and then the expression clears away into guilt. “Sorry, had you called me? I—uh.” He shakes his head. “Just wait here a sec.”
He abandons her at the door and then heads back in, hastily throwing aside clothes and other such messes into bins and wardrobes.
“Kurosaki-kun, it’s really okay, you don’t have to clean or anything…” She trails off, but he pulls her in and slams the door shut.
“Sorry,” he says again, looking a little ashamed when he takes her in. “Why don’t you sit down?” It’s dark in his room, and his bed is still unmade, but he throws his blanket to the floor so she can gingerly sit herself down on the edge.
“I was going to call you, but I uh. I haven’t been feeling myself these last few days,” he confesses, the circles around his eyes still dark and guilty.
“I know,” Orihime replies softly, much to his surprise. “You sounded strange in your texts.” Ichigo looks stunned at that, but Orihime continues, “I wouldn’t have made the connection myself, but I happened to see the calendar on my way in from work and…her anniversary’s coming up, isn’t it?” She gnaws her lip, bringing her voice down to a whisper. “Your mother’s, I mean.”
Ichigo somehow looks even more surprised than before, an uneasy silence falling onto the room like a shroud. Then he sighs and sits himself down right next to her.
“Yeah,” he admits quietly. He glances at her and smiles a little. “Nothing really gets past you, huh?” He doesn’t sound mad about it—just a little guilty.
Orihime shakes her head. “I was really worried about you.”
Ichigo hangs his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”
Orihime brings one hand up to rest against his hot cheek, her thumb gently stroking the undersides of his eye. “I thought—I thought you were annoyed with me, from the way you sounded in your texts.”
Ichigo’s eyes shoot up to hers in alarm. “No,” he says quickly. “God, no. Never.” His hand comes over hers and presses it more firmly into his skin. “I would never—”
“I know,” she assures him, gently brushing the hair out of his eyes. “I saw the date and put the pieces together.”
For a while, they say nothing, and then Orihime pulls Ichigo down into a hug, resting her chin on his shoulder as she wraps her arms around him. His arms come up around her, loose at first, and then tightening up as he lets a hand settle on her back.
“I wish you’d told me,” Orihime says, squeezing him a little—part gentle rebuke and part affection. “I would have understood. I would have given you space.” She sniffs a little. “It didn’t feel very good, not knowing…”
“Shit, I know,” he says, hugging her even tighter. “I know. I’m so sorry, Inoue.” She lets herself bask in his warmth a little, then slowly releases him, letting him stroke his knuckles over her cheek as they pull apart. “The truth is, I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
Orihime swallows. “Why?”
He shakes his head, sounding bitter and self-loathing. “I’m no good to anyone like this,” he says, and Orihime’s throat gets achy and tight. Still, she brushes her wet eyes aside with the sleeve of her sweater, not wanting him to comfort her when she’s here to comfort him.
“I was just thinking about—” he continues, then clears his throat. “All of this.”
Orihime looks up and tilts her head in confusion.
“How happy I am,” he whispers roughly. “How she’s not here to see any of it.” He shakes his head. “I guess it fucked me up real bad.”
“Oh, Kurosaki-kun.” She dives back in to hug him, and this time she really can’t tell which one of them is holding the other tighter. With her head against his chest, she can hear his heartbeat, loud and fast and so full of sorrow. In that moment, his grief is hers, his pain is hers, and all she can do is hold him and hope she can help take some of it off of his shoulders. Ichigo does so much, carries so much, it doesn’t feel fair that he’s got to carry this too.
They stay that way for a long time, her arms around Ichigo’s middle, Ichigo’s arms around her shoulders. Eventually, she pulls back, feeling him press a light kiss to the top of her head.
“Thanks for coming to check up on me,” he says sincerely. “I’m sorry I worried you so much.”
Orihime settles her fist on top of his and lets her thumb brush over his knuckles.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, trying a small smile for him. “But the next time you feel like this, I’d rather you just tell me, okay? Because what you said the other day…I don’t want you to go out of your way for me, either. I want you just as you are.” Her voice goes small and shrill, but from the soft look in his eyes, she knows she’s struck a chord.
“Okay.” He smiles. “I will.”
__________
Three days later, he takes her with him to Masaki’s shrine. They linger back even as the rest of his family trudges on for their annual picnic, their clothes stiff even under the press of the wind. If Orihime thinks it’s weird that he hung back to introduce her to a gravestone, she gives no indication of it, even when she catches on to what he’s about to do. Rather, she presses her dress down with her fingers, her face nervous and anticipatory and so so sweet.
“Mom,” Ichigo says quietly, “there’s someone special I want you to meet.” He reaches for Orihime’s hand, squeezing their fingers together a little tighter than necessary.
He wants to say so much more about her, but the words won’t come, heavy and aching in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. Luckily for him, Orihime takes the initiative, taking Ichigo’s hand in both of hers as she shoots the stone a friendly smile.
“Hello, Masaki-san,” she says, glancing at Ichigo with the glow of lovely pride in her eyes before she turns back to the shrine. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Kurosaki-kun has been taking very good care of me, and I’m going to do my best to take care of him, too, so I hope…I hope you’ll give us your blessings and that you don’t mind our relationship so much.” Her voice wavers. “I still have a lot to learn, but I’m happy. I’m very, very happy, and I hope I can make Kurosaki-kun happy too!”
“Idiot,” he scoffs. “I’m happy now.”
Orihime giggles. When she straightens up again, Ichigo pulls her closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders until she’s solidly pressed against his chest, the other hand in his pocket. Orihime rests her arms around him with a sigh, letting him take as long as he wants to just stand there in silence, unmoving and completely patient.
In the end, it’s her stomach that gives out, grumbling loud and warbly in the quiet of the shrine. Orihime’s face floods with color, mortified, and he knows if he didn’t have a grip on her she would have certainly fled. When their eyes meet, hers are large and full of despair, and Ichigo holds back a laugh — his first in front of his mother’s grave.
“Come on,” he says, powering through her flailing apologies and hysterics. “Let’s go get lunch.”
__________
They build somewhat of a routine after that. Time with friends, time with his family, time together, time apart. Orihime is kind of amazed when Ichigo throws himself into translation—a newly discovered passion that neither of them realized he had the aptitude for before. He interns under a publisher during his summer break, spending a lot of evenings spread out under her low table, face pulled into a frown as he reads on his laptop. Orihime takes the opportunity to fuss over him a little, feeding him frozen watermelons, or squeezing his shoulders when he gets a bit sore. The most she’s gotten to care for him before is on a battlefield, after they’re battered and bruised and surprised they’re still alive. The change of pace is nice.
Besides, she likes coming home to him, likes seeing him there at the end of a long day at work, his face absolutely amazed when she slips off her bra through her sleeves and tosses it aside without taking her shirt off. It’s a novelty to be able to talk to him about her day as she goes about her face care and hair care. It’s a novelty to just exist around each other, each going about their own task in the same room. In a lot of ways, it reminds her of high school, of doing homework together or reading manga together—her on his bed, him in his study chair.
Except now she gets to kiss his cheek sometimes, and when it’s late, she knows the exact face to make to get him to stay over.
That night, when he’s brushing his teeth by her sink, she ambushes him with a hug against his back, swaying both their weights with the force of it. Ichigo goes still for just a split second, then relaxes into her hold and squeezes one of her arms with his hand. He spits. Orihime still clings onto him, taking comfort in his warmth, in the strong line of his spine. When he straightens again, she kisses the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades, the highest point she can reach.
Ichigo mostly looks amused when he catches her gaze in the mirror. He tosses the brush into the holder. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she murmurs, rubbing her nose against the spot she just kissed. “I’m just so proud of you.”
“For brushing my teeth?”
Orihime makes a face at him, leaning up on tiptoes to tuck her chin over his shoulder. When they sway again, Ichigo holds onto her hands and tries to move her, but she anchors herself back onto her heels.
“Come up front,” he urges.
“No,” she says, suddenly shy and burrowing her face into her back.
“Oi.” He steps back all of a sudden, taking her by surprise, and then his hand grabs at her arm to slide her forward. She’s so stunned by the motion that she goes willingly, trapped between him and the sink as his arms tighten around her. “Got you.”
“You’re too sneaky, Kurosaki-kun,” she complains with a pout.
Ichigo kisses her pert nose. Orihime wrinkles it. He smells like her toothpaste.
“My girlfriend can call me by my name, you know,” he says quietly, his cheeks a little dark as he coughs. “If you want to, that is.”
“Oh!” She pauses, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. “Okay, Ichigo-kun.”
He smiles back, looking more pleased than she expected him to be. She leans up on tiptoes and kisses his cheek, a loud and exaggerated smack. “And I’m proud of you because you’re doing so well at work!”
She pulls back and Ichigo rolls his eyes. “You know they told me dyed hair was against the dress code on the first day.”
“You should have told them it was natural!” Orihime scolds with a little huff. “You’re too shy sometimes, Kurosaki-kun.”
Ichigo glares. “Who are you calling shy?” He pinches her cheek. “And I thought you were going to call me by my name?”
“Force of habit,” she says sweetly, squealing when he grabs her by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder so they can leave the room together.
She’s got time to learn. He’s not too mad about it.