author's note: sometimes i'll get little ichihime ideas and headcanons in my mind and write, well...partial things. that's how this series was born! just ramblings of an ichihime-ridden heart, varying lengths and themes, so we'll see how it goes. it may go off better than trying to write a long story...i seem to have troubles with those.
disclaimer: i don't own Bleach or any of the characters.
silk.
A pair of golden brown eyes fluttered open in surprise.
"Ah!" she sat up, coppery hair cascading behind her as she did so. "Kurosaki-kun said...what?"
There was no response from her companion. Her brown eyes remained steady on the slowly fading horizon, failing to meet Orihime's concerned gaze. There was no need to answer, or even acknowledge, the question. Both of them knew what had just been said.
After all, it was something she and Tatsuki inherently knew.
"I see," she murmured, slowly turning herself enough to face the falling sun, "I...see,"
"Orihime..."
She could feel Tatsuki's fixed stare on her, a look filled with sympathy and a heavy sorrow. It cloaked her in a thick aura, suffocating her. Her lungs burned although she breathed normally.
"Don't," she whispered, refusing to look at her friend's porcelain face, almost out of fear. "Tatsuki-chan...please don't."
Don't try to convince me.
She heard Tatsuki shift uncomfortably against the grass beside her, the only sound besides the rustling of trees and the occasional swish of the water against the riverbed.
I'm afraid to agree with you.
"You know," she began, more to herself than Tatsuki, "Kurosaki-kun is strong."
She took a strand of her auburn hair, twirling it in her fingers absently. She didn't dare take her eyes off of the colours in front of her. She watched as the scene slowly dripped shades of gold, coral, and mauve from the depths of the once-blue sky. The lump in her throat seemed to deepen as the bright orange sun started to disappear.
"They need him there," she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, finally finding the words to continue.
Memories of the past ten years flitted behind the comfort of her eyes. She saw his windswept ginger hair against the pitch-black drop of Hueco Mundo, fighting for a chance against the Arrancar. She saw the determination reflect in his chestnut eyes when he decided to rescue Rukia from Soul Society's grasp. She saw the crinkled forehead as he scowled at Urahara, the slight creases that appeared around the corners of his eyes when he was sincerely happy, the special smile he saved especially for Yuzu and Karin when they needed comforting.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up as Tatsuki gave her a comforting squeeze.
"He makes the world safer," she murmured, "he makes it a…better place."
For a fleeting moment Tatsuki gazed at Orihime, lips parted as if she wanted to say something. The urgency in her touch and the anxious look in her eyes was enough to tell her what was on her best friend's mind before she spoke.
"I'm…sorry," she all but spat out, "Orihime, I'm sorry…but…"
Don't say it, please…
"…you have to stop him!"
She saw it coming, but it still pierced her heart.
"You are the only one that can stop this! Stop him!"
Her heart galloped fiercely in her chest despite the pain that shook her with every pump. She could feel her consciousness slipping – he was slipping – right through her fingers like a silken sheet. How could she be in love with a boy, a man, who was…dead?
She knew the answer. She couldn't.