Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite. Sakura is not Kubo Tite.
Author natterings: My first ever venture into Bleach fanfiction! Hurrah! And it took me all of twenty minutes. This pairing begs to be explored, in my opinion. So I added my own contribution to the community. All feedback is wonderful. Thanks for reading.
Orihime can't place an exact time or place on it, but she knows that she feels it, stirring in a part of her mind she never knew existed.
When she first realizes it she doesn't want to believe it. She sits in her room in her clothes with her eyes blankly looking at the blank wall. At least the ceiling is high. It's so sterile here. It just doesn't suit her.
Her clothes are white. She's sure she's never worn all white in her life. It looks good on you, Ulquiorra had said, and she still couldn't push the surprise from her mind at that statement. (Nor the hope that what he had said was true, not because it was a fact but because she wants him to think she-- the uniform looks good.) She had always thought the only time she'd wear all white would be at her wedding. But now, she's sure she'll never--
She cuts off her own thoughts to keep from crying.
"Your expression just fell," he says.
She expects as much. He never misses anything on her face, or anything she does. She's sure of it. She wants him so sorely to miss some of it though, because it mortifies her most and pegs her as a traitor of her own heart. It pegs her as a traitor of Ichi--
She has to abruptly stop again.
"Again," he says, and he sounds nearly surprised.
She finally looks up at him, and the first things her eyes focus on are his markings. She sometimes wonders about them. At first it was only when she had nothing better to do, or think about. Back when thinking of Ichigo didn't prick the base of her spine and cause a flood of guilt to begin.
Over time, her thoughts have wandered more to Ulquiorra. It's just so strange, those markings. Why did he have them? Were they self-inflicted? Or were they tattooed on his skin at-- what? Birth? Were Hollows born?
She thinks that they make him naked. In him, she sees infinite sadness, and the teartrails dredge it up and expose him. She asked him about them once. Or to be more precise, she asked him about emotion once. He had responded that he had no emotions, and closed the door of her room with a measured amount of strength, characterless.
It's her own fault for being so inquisitive. Because if she hadn't asked him all of it -- Do you ever cry? Do you ever sleep? Do you have any brothers? -- she wouldn't feel the need to fill him up. Each answer he gave her was a chasm, and she felt so compelled to sate them.
No. No. No.
You never feel sad? You never feel tired? You never feel lonely?
No. No. No.
And maybe she's wrong for wanting to, but she does. She wants to grab him and hold him and press that hole in his chest to her solid one and block in bits of her, one at a time. She wants to give him a heart.
She's looking at him seriously and he meets her gaze with a look of neutrality. Her fingers are clenched in her stupid white robe. And that's when her resolve quivers and she produces teartrails to match his own.
"Orihime...?" He's startled.
She's crying because she feels it, and she knows for certain, that she pledged five loves to flaming, orange hair and a brow stitched with concern, and only four of those she can fulfill.
Because she feels it, and she knows for certain, that she would give a love to a hole in a chest and all the sadness in the world.