I've read plenty of Bleach-fic, and written beginnings to loads of pieces...but this is the first thing I've actually published for the fandom. It's a small beginning, I know, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

It shouldn't have happened, never ever ever.

How had it happened, even? She wasn't that sort of girl, and he certainly wasn't that kind of man (though her brother had always laughed that all men were the same, and she hadn't understood then any more than she did now).

But here she was, waking up with a slender arm thrown round her waist, long legs tangled in her own. He was so much thinner than Ichigo, almost waif-like, but she'd seen him fight and it didn't make him weak.

How had they come to this? She remembered fighting, hiding, then- kisses, hot and wetter than she'd imagined a kiss would be, his hand on her hip and hers reaching to pull his glasses off. The sensation of warm skin and cold air and wrenching heat as he slid inside her. The murmurs of her name as she wound her fingers in his dark hair and pulled him down for another kiss to quiet him. The way he'd felt inside her, ridged and velvety as her nerves flared and her muscles clenched and she bit his shoulder.

She wasn't in love with him. It shouldn't have happened.

His arm moved to pull her closer in his sleep, but she squirmed away to sit on their discarded clothes. Her body ached, from the wooden floor and from...all those things she shouldn't have done. She can still feel the ghost of his mouth on her breasts, so gentle but so insistent.

It really shouldn't have happened. She was saving herself, she couldn't have wasted her virtue on him, when she didn't love him.

Shouldn't have happened. Couldn't have happened. She had to be pure, or what would Ichigo think?

She knew what she must do.

Minutes later, her virginity was intact, her skin clear of marks. Only the faint red teeth-marks on Uryuu's bare shoulder told of her fraudulence.

She dressed slowly, watching him with blurred eyes, and wondered why she was crying.

After all, it wasn't like she loved him.

If I only understand one thing, let it be my own self