There is something sad, something beautiful, something heartbreaking when autumn comes.
Spring is hopeful.
Winter is a shimmering paleness.
Summer is warm.
Autumn is stuck between warm yellows and blinding whites, where everything falls.
Everything – anything.
They fall.
They fall hard.
And goodbyes are the hardest when the sunshine turns red and leaves turn gold.
:
He stands alone in the backdrop of red and gold sunshine, facing a pair of swings that noiselessly swing back and forth, a silent, lonely dance.
He is tall for his age, with a mop of messy, thick orange hair atop his head. He looks strong, his back looks strong. His feet look strong, too.
The playground is empty. The swings are empty.
But he doesn't feel alone. Autumn sunshine is a quiet company, and it makes his hair brighter. Russet leaves scuttle across the ground, flying freely, gracefully. Their stalks scrape the ground, and leaves smack each other, flying together before scattering.
He approaches one of the swings, sits down, and pushes himself back and forth. He repeats this action several times, his feet not leaving the ground.
Abruptly he stops.
After all, two swings are meant for two people.
:
She stands alone in the backdrop of red and gold sunshine, facing an old seesaw.
She is small, and looks smaller in a saggy jacket with hood and loose knee-shorts. Her back seems too small, too fragile. Her feet are small, but her yellow sneakers are large.
The playground is empty. The seesaw is empty.
But she doesn't feel alone. The red sunshine is there, making a halo around her bright hair. There are red and gold maple leaves that twirl, scuffle and dance.
Her small feet take tentative steps towards the seesaw. She straddles a seat, tries to move it up and down. She does this numerous times. But the seat barely moves.
Soon she gives up.
After all, a seesaw needs two people.
:
He stops, turns his head around and his brown eyes widen, staring in wide-eyed horror and surprise at the late night visitor who opens the clinic door. There is a large man, slouching awkwardly. Several blinks later, he realizes there is a figure below the man, shadowed by his height.
A little girl.
A little girl is carrying a large man on her back.
A man who bleeds, a man who is dying.
:
With difficulty, she lifts her chin.
She isn't crying.
But when she speaks, her voice is small and broken, thin like glass, floating like clouds. Her voice is strange. It is calm – a strange calmness, like falling water, except that the water never touches the ground, but is still falling and flowing and no, no, not touching, not touching the ground.
"Please… Please, help him."
A voice that tries to reach out to you but – never reaching, not echoing because there is no sound, but she keeps speaking, she keeps trying.
:
The after-silence is beautiful.
And so sad, so fragile.
But, suddenly, you are—
:
"DAD! Get over here! Dad!"
:
"I'm sorry."
It is a soft, but strong voice.
Her body shakes at the softness and warmth. She shakes more as the apology passes and new words flow.
:
"Oka-san!" He runs after her. "Where are you going?"
His mother, wearing black, smiles brightly. "I'm going to see someone pretty."
Brown eyes blink.
She bends down to his level. "Do you want to see her?"
:
She stands in front of a gravestone.
She stands alone, fragile, so small.
Onii-chan.
It is not raining. But it is. Inside her heart, it rains heavily. Her grip on the picture frame tightens.
I'm alone now.
She starts to cry. Tears silently make tracks on her pale cheeks. And they didn't stop. They flood from her eyes, and they cannot stop.
I can't get sick anymore.
Small shoulders curve as she shakes. Tears fall on the portrait.
Onii-chan… What will I do now? She is scared, alone and lonely. It's hard, so hard to pretend that it is okay, that she is strong. Onii-chan… I'm scared… I'm so scared… Please… Tell me what to do. She cries harder, hugging her brother's portrait closer to her small body.
I'm scared…
A hand touches her small shoulder. Her body jerks in surprise. Slowly she turns her face around, cheeks wet with tears.
:
He sees wide, wide honey-colored eyes.
:
"Hi."
The voice is familiar.
She tears her watery gaze away from chocolate eyes, and looks up to the speaker. A beautiful woman with long curly red hair and kind eyes smiles at her.
"I'm Kurosaki Masaki."
:
She smiles, despite her pain, tears, loneliness and fear.
:
Her smile is as bright as sunshine, as sad as autumn, blinding like snow, and beautiful like spring.
He is charmed.
:
She lives alone, and it is okay. She doesn't have any friends, and it is okay. Masaki-san visits her everyday. She cooks and she smiles at her, and she doesn't feel alone anymore. She strives to be happy.
"He's watching you."
Thus, she has to be happy.
"So, keep smiling."
:
Two redheads sit on the swings, a woman and tiny little girl with shoulder-length red-orange hair.
It is autumn and the sunshine is red and soft. Maple leaves cover the ground. Few leaves float in the breeze, falling softly and mingling with others. Eyes, filled with soft wisdom and maternal affection, follow the little girl, getting off her swing seat to play with the maple leaves. She scoops up a small mound of leaves, throws the leaves in the air and laughs as she twirls.
The little girl turns to face the woman on the swing.
Smiling warmly, the woman reaches out for the girl with both hands, beckoning the girl to come closer.
The girl scrambles back to her feet clumsily and runs to her, wrapping small, thin arms around her middle. "Would you please do something for me, Orihime-chan?"
The little redhead looks up to her, nodding as she says, "Un!"
She places a hand on the girl's soft cheek. "Thank you, Orihime-chan."
The girl laughs and hugs her tighter. "I love you very, very much! I will do anything for you, Masaki-san!"
She kisses the girl's forehead. "I love Orihime-chan, too." With her hands, she cups the girl's face. "Someday," she says in a soft and clear voice. "When you're older…"
:
Someone calls her name in panic and horror, again and again.
She looks back, blinks, sees something shiny and big, and suddenly, there she is, her arms around her, and they are moving, tumbling and it hurts. Screams fill the air, and there is something wet, something thick, and frighteningly warm that touches her face and clothes.
The warmth spreads.
Screams grow louder. Footsteps thunder the ground where they lay.
Curly, red hair tickles her face.
And she murmurs:
"…M-M-Masaki-san?"
Sirens reply.
:
Another gravestone.
Unlike before, it is raining and she is soaked. She is a stranger, an outsider, but she keeps crying. Mourners start to depart, leaving five people behind. Kurosaki Isshin gathers his daughters in his arms and tells the boy to quickly get out of the rain. It is unhealthy.
:
She opens her mouth, and it is difficult to speak.
"I…I-I-I…"
He stiffens.
"I… I'm… s-s-sorry. I am so so—"
She watches him turn his head to face her.
:
"I hate you."
:
The rain falls harder, outside and inside her heart.
This time, she is alone, standing in front of a gravestone. Alone, small, an outsider. She keeps crying, though, and she drowns in her pool of tears and pieces of broken heart.
:
like
a
sunflower.
ORIHIME'S CALENDAR!
JULY
buy extra large red bean paste tube
buy large jar of wasabi
watch my favorite drama
read Romeo and Juliet
wake up EARLY, SUPER EARLY
TOKYO
buy two loaves of bread
pay RENT! or else you'll get kicked out!
visit Masaki-san
decide.
p.s.
buy the new Business Magazine Today!
HAVE A GOOD, ENERGETIC, HAPPY DAY, ORIHIME! (yip, yip, hooray!)
:
She stared long and hard at the calendar, particularly at the encircled number. She swallowed, wet her lips and closed her eyes.
"I love Orihime-chan, too."
She clenched her fists and stiffened her resolve.
Hai. I love Masaki-san, too.
:
"IIIIIIIIIIII~"
An eye twitched.
"~CHIIIIIII—"
A vein throbbed.
"—GOOOOO!"
Without even bothering to look up, he swung his fist in the air. Fist met face. Face met wall.
Thud!
"Pathetic," he grumbled, rubbing his messy, orange hair. "Can't you act normal for once!? This is getting old!" he snapped, his face contorting in an expression of disgust as his father's eyes sparkled with fake tears.
Kurosaki Isshin sprung back to his feet. "You are getting old!" he cried out.
Kurosaki Ichigo's scowl deepened. "I'm only twenty-four, you idiot."
The older Kurosaki whipped a hand, shaking his head as he said, "Twenty-four and still a virgin— oomph!"
"Just go kiss the wall, idiot."
:
"Good morning, Masaki-san~" she said happily, squatting in front of the tombstone. She placed the bouquet of sunflowers in front of the stone and grinned widely.
"Pretty, aren't they? The flower shop owner gave me a dozen for free! She's such a nice woman and I don't know if I should leave her all alone. I like working for her! She always gives me free dozens of sunflowers, yellow lilies and cosmos. I'm going to miss her so much!"
She became quiet, her eyes downcast. "I… I…" She cleared her throat, and smiled thoughtfully. "I just… just want to say good bye. It would be a very, very long time before I can visit you again! Tokyo is very, very far from Karakura! Truthfully, I'm… I'm a little scared. What if… what if I get lost?!" She shook her head vigorously. "My sense of direction is excellent! I can find my way around the city, I know I can!"
A significant pause. Then.
"It's… it's today, right?"
She bit her lip.
"His… his birthday." She dropped her gaze, blushing. "He turned twenty four today. I'm sure you're happy over there. Please, don't worry. I… I will not break my promise! But…" Her eyes suddenly filled with emotions.
"Please, please…"
Her grip on her knees tightened.
"…give me strength. Please, protect my heart."
:
The elevator doors opened, revealing an orange-haired man, clad in black suit and tie. One of his hands was stuck inside his pocket.
"Good morning, Kurosaki-shachou."
Ichigo lifted his face to nod in reply. He stepped out of the lift, making his way towards his office. His pace was quick; the swing of legs was powerful. His secretary followed easily behind him, being tall and agile herself.
He stopped before a wooden door and ran a hand over his thick, messy hair. His bangs stubbornly fell forward again. He ignored them, opened the door and stepped in. For a moment, his secretary paused to squint. He, however, continued, ignoring the blinding sunlight filtering through the ceiling-to-floor glass wall. His hair shone fierily under the glare of sunlight, as though on fire. Tokyo Tower glistened from the distance.
Ichigo stood next to his desk, staring out to skyline.
"Everything is here, Kurosaki-shachou. All these documents are verified and complete. All they needed is your signature."
He nodded and said nothing, his scowl deepening as he glanced at the said documents, showing displeasure.
"By the way, happy birthday, Kurosaki-shachou."
Ichigo sat down after unbuttoning his coat. "Yeah, thanks." After that, he bent down, pulled a folder and opened it, his eyes downcast, scrutinizing.
Neliel Tu bowed and left the room.
:
Five hours later, Urahara Kisuke entered his office unannounced.
"What the hell," was Ichigo's greeting. He paused from working and lifted his face, eyes narrowed. He had already loosened his tie hours ago and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his collar. And yet, he still felt suffocated. Despite the open space of his ridiculously spacious office, he felt imprisoned.
The older man, who wore a green and white stripped bucket hat, giggled. "Hallo, birthday boy~" His joyous greeting was met by a sulkier scowl. Urahara only shook his head, saying, "How rude."
Ichigo snorted, dropping his pen as he leaned back in his chair. Few orange locks fell over his narrowed eyes. "What do you want?"
Urahara approached closer until he was standing in front of his desk. What a dull room, he thought, a contrast to its fierce owner. He let his eyes roam the gray walls, large oak desk, and thick tomes on the shelves. There were no framed photographs; only a single, delicate glass frame with a picture of a smiling, orange-haired woman stood on his desk. As the heir to his father's company and its current president, Ichigo could definitely afford to splurge, like buy a sophisticated-looking chair for his guests or have his threadbare walls painted. Whenever he got asked why he kept his office this way, he would shrug and say how irrelevant it was to worry about the state of his office.
The only thing Urahara found interesting in this room was the view of Tokyo Tower and Mount Fuji.
"It's your birthday."
Ichigo's face remained nonchalant. "So?"
Urahara placed a brown folder on top of his desk. Ichigo frowned at it suspiciously. "What's that?"
The smile on Urahara's face widened, and Ichigo grew more suspicious.
"It's your mother's will."
:
Five hours earlier, Inoue Orihime arrived in Tokyo.
"Ohh, wow~ Tokyo's bigger when it's not in TV!" she exclaimed, and looked up and around. People in different attires – business suits, school uniforms, and trendy clothes – passed and ignored her, looking so plain in knee-length dress with yellow flower patterns decorating the edge of its skirt. The sleeves of her oversized cardigan were too long that she had to roll them up to her forearms to use her hands.
I must call Tatsuki-chan and tell her how big Tokyo is! Orihime laughed to herself, remembering her overprotective best friend. Tatsuki had made her promise to update her regularly about her condition. Orihime got off a crowded pedestrian lane and reached a lesser crowded sidewalk. There she passed by a sidewalk billboard. Abruptly she stopped, eyes widening as she recognized the face, the eyes, the scowl.
Her heartbeat raced, pulse quickening.
Something tender blossomed inside her, and soon it became too painful to bear that she can feel it in her bones, in her ribs. But she dismissed it. Bury. Repress. Anything.
Despite the conflicting emotions, a strong sense of sadness mingling with joy, a genuine smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"…Kurosaki-kun."
:
Urahara waited, anticipating a major temper eruption.
Ichigo did not disappoint him.
"What the fuck are you talking about?!"
:
Orihime stepped closer. The poster was as tall as her. It only showed the upper half of his body. His reddish-orange hair looked as messy as ever. It looked it needed a trim. His narrowed eyes gazed down at her imperiously, and his expression was of a disgruntled, very handsome man who looked annoyed at being photographed. He wore a simple but impeccable black suit which helped accentuate the strength of his posture and the color of his hair.
Orihime wanted to reach out, touch the glass and trace his features, but she only smiled at the scowling face.
Wow, you really are famous, Kurosaki-kun! You've… Her eyes softened as she thought, gotten so far for me to reach.
Her smile widened.
That's fine. After all, I'm just a flower girl.
:
Ichigo was livid.
"What the fuck are you talking about? Does my father know?!"
Urahara chuckled. "Of course! Your father approves as a matter of fact, Kurosaki-san."
Ichigo grew angrier. "I am not going to marry some random woman—"
"She's not some random woman, Kurosaki-san," Urahara interrupted quietly.
"I don't care," Ichigo hissed between clenched teeth. "Is there any way to revoke this will?"
A small, knowing smile appeared on Urahara's shadowed face. "Are you willing to disrespect your mother's last request?"
Ichigo's jaw tightened.
"Besides, you know the consequences. You read them. Disobey the will and you lose all the Kurosaki properties your parents had worked so hard for to attain. You would not like that, would you?"
"Damn you."
Urahara did not wince at such blatant display of hostility. "Not only that, all of your properties will be given to this woman."
"Fuck!" Ichigo stood, knocking back his chair as he turned to face the glass wall. Roughly, he raked a large hand over his hair, scraping his scalp in frustration and anger.
Okaa-san. He clenched his fists.
Why?
"What now, Kurosaki-san?"
Ichigo turned to face the man and glared. "Do I have a fucking choice?"
Urahara smiled. "Yes, you have. Say no, and Kurosaki Group of Companies will be given to this lovely young woman. Say yes, and you'll keep your money and gain yourself a pretty wife."
The cold glare became colder. "Shut the fuck up already. When will I meet this… person?"
"Today."
:
Ahhh… What a tall building! It's… it's as tall as the sky! A-Amazing! Shamelessly, Orihime gawked at the building. How can it stand on its own when it's only made of glass?!
As Orihime walked inside, running into people – sorry! Sorry! – and getting lost in the process, she could not help but admire the design and simple elegance of the building. An hour passed and she kept strolling around, attracting suspicious looks from office workers. Finally realizing she was lost and feeling tired, she walked up to a security guard, looking up to the tall man with large, weary eyes.
"Um, excuse me, sir?" said Orihime shyly.
The guard nodded. "May I help you?"
"Thank you, sir. May I ask where I can—"
A familiar voice rang out. "Orihime-chan?"
Orihime whipped her head around, her long hair leaping out in shiny streams about her. Her face lit up when she recognized the dark-haired man's familiar face. "Ah! Ku-Kurosaki-san!" The man let out a laugh and boundedtowards her, throwing his hands in the air.
"Hai, hai! O-ri-hi-me-chaaaan~ Oh my! You've developed so nicely!"
The young woman flushed, scratching the back of her head. "Ehh…"
But you haven't grown… like uh, in height, Orihime-chan?
Eh? R-R-Really?! I think I need to eat more wasabi, sweet potatoes and red bean jell-o sandwiches!
Uh-huh! But you're still beautiful as ever!
Ah? Ha! A-Arigato! You're beautiful too!
…
…
…
Wah! I meant, handsome! Very handsome!
:
"So, you finally made your way back to us."
"…"
"He's waiting."
:
When the door opened, he was prepared to throw something. A murderous glare or maybe his laptop. Anything.
But when he saw that face, he stilled.
His world came crashing down on him.
:
"Hello, Kurosaki-kun. You don't remember me and that's fine. I'm a very forgettable person, anyway. I know you will hate me for this but I'm your fiancée."