Characters: Ishida, Orihime
Summary: It's a Christmas miracle.
Pairings: IshiHime
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Timeline: No timeline needed
Author's Note: Ishida's reaction to the marzipan matches my own. Orihime's matches my mom's.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Ishida quickly tells himself that the reason he's agreed to help Orihime is because he's afraid that if he doesn't, either A) Orihime's attempts to make cookies will end with cookies that are utterly inedible, B) that she'll burn her apartment complex to the ground, or C) that she'll somehow manage to do both. Orihime is good at attracting an insane amount of chaos and pandemonium.
But, somehow, neither criteria for an absolutely ruined Christmas have been met.
It's a Christmas miracle, Ishida thinks to himself with only a modicum of sarcasm. They've both collapsed, exhausted, to the kitchen table, ostensibly to make sure the cookies don't burn while in the oven but really because everywhere else is covered in tissue paper (Evidently Orihime was behind on her wrapping and hasn't had the time since to clean up; he'll have to ask about that later).
"Well, that was an adventure," Ishida comments tiredly, propping his chin on his hand and staring out the darkened window. It's dark already? The hours passed like water down a kitchen drain.
Orihime smiles, breaking off from the under-her-breath humming she's been doing. Her abstracted face has a sweet look to it when she does that. She nods, just as tiredly. "Yes. You know, this is the first year the egg hasn't gotten all over me."
Well… That was something I never needed to know.
Suddenly, Orihime seems to remember something, and jumps up from the kitchen chair with the sort of ebullient energy that utterly belies the tiredness she displayed just a second ago. "Ooh, I almost forgot." She grabs a red box off of a kitchen counter, brushing some stray flour off and opening it, revealing candy. "You want some?"
"What is it?"
"Marzipan."
Ishida almost takes a piece out of the box, but then stops, wary. "Wait. Did you make it, or is it store-bought?" He's not stupid, and has no desire to encounter Orihime's cooking if he hasn't had a chance to supervise, not on something he's never eaten before—no basis for comparison, and all. Ishida would have no idea if it was good or not.
Thankfully, Orihime doesn't seem to notice his suspicion. "It's store-bought," she answers innocently.
Deciding that there's probably little danger in eating it, Ishida plucks a bit of marzipan out of the box and eats it.
"Well?" Orihime asks, insistent and expectant.
Ishida shrugs, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "It's… bland," he admits, with difficulty, wincing as he watches her face fall.
"Really?" Orihime sets the box back on the counter and sits down. "You see I really like it."
"You'll have it all to yourself, then."
Orihime giggles. "There is that." She tilts her head slightly. "Hey, thanks for helping me out today. I don't think I would have been able to get all of this done so quickly."
Ishida can feel his face growing warm, and knows it's time to leave. "Sure." He stands up, reaching for his coat—dusted down with flour just like everything else—on the back of another chair. "Listen, Inoue-san, I've got to go home; it's getting late."
Orihime stands too, and stops him. "Ishida-kun?"
"Hmm?"
Orihime smiles gently. "You've got flour in your hair." She reaches out a hand. "Hold still."
Ishida decides not to tell her that they've both covered in flour.