Characters: Ishida, Orihime, Ichigo
Summary: Unrequited love is highly overrated.
Pairings: Ichigo x Orihime, onesided Ishida x Orihime
Warnings/Spoilers: No spoilers
Timeline: No necessary timeline
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Frustration sets in when he wonders if she'll ever look at him the way she looks at Ichigo and realizes, in that singularly pessimistic way of his that she probably won't. Ishida counts himself lucky to have Orihime's friendship but accepts the knowledge, grudgingly the way a man on death row accepts a lethal injection—and this might as well be that, even if there's no needle going up his arm—that Orihime has eyes for no one but Ichigo, has never had eyes for anyone but Ichigo, and will never be able to see anyone but him.
Hot irritation comes over him when he watches the way her wide soft eyes follow Ichigo all around the room. If she likes him, she ought to say something, Ishida wants to mutter, until he bites his tongue and stops himself. He's no stranger to shame, knows that sick sensation in his stomach when he feels it. He thought he could handle this, live through it without pain.
As ever, pride go before a fall.
It's easy enough to be a support, a shoulder to cry on. Even if Ishida can barely hold himself together, it's nothing to ask for to try and keep her head above water too, even if it only bogs him down and makes him drown alongside her. She deserves to be happy, shouldn't have to splutter in the water, trying to float on her own.
Of course, Ichigo's completely oblivious as per usual. This only makes things worse for Ishida; Ichigo's an idiot but he's not stupid, so why can't he see the way Orihime always stares at him, looks at him like he's the only thing of worth in the whole polluted world?
Ichigo should count himself lucky.
Futility's no more a stranger to Ishida than shame is; both paint heavily the landscape of his life, somehow never gone. The scene that plays out before him is familiar and makes his blood jump accordingly. Orihime sees Ichigo, and he himself might as well be a dusty, cheap plastic potted plant pushed up against the wall.
Ishida feels like some sort of observer, unimportant and unnoticed as he watches Orihime, who watches Ichigo and says nothing—and why should he complain, when he won't open his mouth either?—and just stares, sighs, and smiles.
Orihime looks like she's in a completely different world.
Ishida rubs his forehead, grimacing. This sick feeling's familiar. What a mess.
Just once, he wishes she'd smile like that at him.