A/N: um… this kinda just… wrote itself. It's rather vague, so I figure I'll specify that it Orihime and Ichigo in the story. I just think this a sweet, romantic image for the two of them, so… yeah. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Bleach isn't mine, although this story is.

She doesn't tell anyone that she goes dancing with a Messenger of death some nights.

She knows some people would just laugh and think about what a great imagination she has, so cute really. And others would stare at her like she was insane.

And then there are the people who would understand what she means, and she can't really imagine how they would react, because each one is different in how they feel about him and anyways, they see him too, from time to time.

But they don't get to dance with him.

He couldn't withstand it anymore, when it had happened. It was too much for his body, the strain of being pulled in two, body and soul, over and over wasn't healthy at all. No one had foreseen it, because, really, he was the first to actually have body like that, a real one.

She stands on the balcony, larger then the one she used to have at her old apartment, back when this all started, and watches the rooftops as the sun begins to set.

When he found he couldn't return again to his mortal form, The Society stepped forward to offer him a spot among them, maybe a high position may be not.

After all, he hadn't taken it. He'd chosen to disappear among the alleys of the city, finally learning to suppress his immense power. Once a Ryoka, always a Ryoka, some said, and he was classified an exile, just like Urahara-san.

She feels him coming tonight, with that strange sense like touch and smell combined, that those like him use to sometimes find their enemies.

He didn't really mind that, he'd really been pretty indifferent. So long as they couldn't boss him around. And nobody can find him on their own unless he wants them to anymore, because no one knows where he stays at this point. Not at his old home, because they'll look for him there, and not at Urahara-san's, because there's too high a likelihood of running into someone unplanned, although he doesn't mind seeing them if he expects it.

He steps easily towards her, feet planted firmly against thin air, holding out his hand to her, and she isn't afraid to fall because she's done this before and knows he won't let her fall. And she wasn't afraid the first time either, because she was to excited about dancing with him, even if there wasn't actually a dance floor, just the night sky.

And when she takes his hand and they dance, she actually leads a lot of the time, happy freeform dances for two, because he gets embarrassed when she asks him to make up a dance for them, not because he can't but because he can. And he leads the dance a lot of the time too; graceful waltz-like dances that she swears are excuse to do that twirl-her-under-his-arm thing he hasn't said he loves to do, (but he's silly and wears his heart on his sleeve, so she can tell)

And each time she finishes dancing with the Messenger of death, not very late because he doesn't want to keep her up and because she doesn't want to keep him from his work, she feels totally happy, and isn't afraid or angry or ashamed. And she can wait for a while to see him again, even though he only comes some nights and sometimes he can't dance when he comes because his arm is stiff from a wound or it's his leg or stomach or anything, because it was enough just to dance with him for tonight.

And she can feel his promise to come dance with her again lingering in her ears like his kiss on her lips.