Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Summary: The hole he leaves behind is unimaginable. UlquiorraOrihime, oneshot
Okay. I realized I haven't written as much for Bleach as I should. And I just love this pairing. OTP for sure. Anyway, I hope that y'all enjoy this little angsty snippet of a UlquiHime fic. It's kind of disjointed and short, but that was kind of what I was going for. It's not much, but I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thanks so much for reading!
Limitless
The hole he leaves behind is unimaginable.
Ulquiorra is everywhere she looks.
He is in the colorful walls of her apartment - she picks out the emerald spaces on her floral wallpaper and imagines those to be his eyes.
He is in the bright white of the cement below her feet as she walks to the store - she imagines the paleness of his skin, how it looked as if he were made of ivory.
He is in the dark of the night - she pictures the inky black of midnight to be the strands of his hair.
He is in the melancholy of a rainy day - she wanders through those slowly, savoring the feel of the puddles as she splashes through them and the feel of the rain as it lands on her bare skin.
Strangely enough, he is in the oranges and reds of a sunset, or the burning white of the stars, or in the dust that swirls around her feet, or the tinkling of keys as they turn the lock of her apartment door.
He is in the blood in her veins. He stays there, flowing through each system and flooding it with nothing but him. He circulates through her heart and begins the journey again. And again. And again.
Ulquiorra is everywhere she looks, and yet is no where at all.
The hole he leaves behind is insurmountable.
She is fine, she tells herself.
She looks in the mirror in the morning, sees the dark circles underneath her eyes, sees the way her clothes fit a bit more loosely around her frame.
She looks at this image and tells herself, "You are fine."
The hole he leaves behind is all-encompassing.
"Are you alright, Orihime?"
This is the norm. The voices of her friends, concerned and searching for something to tie to the way she has been acting.
And each time, with a smile, "Yes! I am fine!"
She has gotten particularly good at playing this part.
The hole he leaves behind is engulfing.
She has nightmares of that day.
The fight, the blurs of orange and black as they whirled through the sky. The speed and the magnificence of it all. Wanting and hoping for a better outcome than she knew was going to happen.
Orihime tries not to think of it too much, tries not to think of the way it ended, with his eyes focused on her, her fingers outstretched, reaching and wanting but he is becoming ashes, he is leaving her, he is reaching for her and he needs her and she can't make any of this right -
And she wakes up, gasping, his imaginary fingers clasped tightly around her throat.
The hole he leaves behind is jagged.
Nothing can really replicate what she felt when she was with him.
It sounds so cliché, so ignorant, so unbelievably foolish of her to think so, but really...it is the truth.
She tries to dumb it down, tries to make it seem as if it isn't as important as it was, tries to make this whole thing be as important as the ashes he became on that fateful night.
But, Orihime realizes, the ashes were the most important part.
The hole he leaves behind is surreal.
Before him, she hadn't realized that anything could hurt so much.
She knew how she felt about Kurosaki-kun, she knew how he felt about Rukia, and that hurt. It really did, but...
But that was nothing compared to what she experienced once he was ripped from her.
The hole he leaves behind is constant.
She tries.
She picks herself up, brushes herself off, places a smile on her face, and makes herself put one foot in front of the other.
She won't be a victim of this. She'll mourn him, yes. But she cannot keep her life on hold for someone long dead.
She cannot let herself become stagnant.
At least, this is what Orihime tells herself.
Words are easier than actions.
The hole he leaves behind is dark.
He would not want you to feel this way about him, she thinks, pressing her fingers to the windowpane, watching as the raindrops leave trails along the glass. He would want you to feel nothing at all.
The hole he leaves behind is wretched.
At the height of her grief, she sees him.
He's standing in the corner of her bedroom, bone white in the moonlight, fingers curling and uncurling, as if wanting to reach out and touch something. She likes - and hates - to think it may be her. She knows he's an illusion, something brought on by her own sorrow, something she is using to cope, but that does not make the presence of him any less painful.
Ulquiorra sets his gaze on her. The light of the moon leeches the color from his hair, from his clothing, but not his eyes. They are as bright as ever; it is almost as if looking into a forest.
She cannot take her gaze from him, not even if she tried.
For a moment, she just stares at him. This vision is as real as she had ever seen him. She almost wants to run to him, to put her arms around him, to feel that he's there - but that rational part of her whispers, He's not there...you're seeing things...he's not there...
But despite those thoughts, she speaks, "I'm sorry."
The words are broken, cracking in odd places as they escape her throat, but she has never meant anything more.
Tears, now. Falling down her cheeks. She wipes them away furiously, only to have more come in their place.
"I-I..." she tries, tries, "I'm s... I...should have tried...I should have saved you...I..."
Silence, and then, "You did."
The voice is so real, so him, that her heart races and her pulse bounds. She blinks once, twice, and then he is gone, leaving her alone with nothing but that sickening hole in her chest.
Inoue Orihime doubles over in a sob.
The hole he leaves behind is just that.
End.