Authorial Notice:
My 2012 entry for Tanabata – the Japanese star festival- as hosted by FLOL. The contest can be found here ( ichixhime .actifforum ) And of course, remove those spaces. Be sure to join, enjoy, vote or troll, whichever is applicable. XD The corresponding artwork can be found on my dA account and is linked in my profile.
The timeline on this is sketchy. It's set during the 17 month time skip, but with no real guidelines. Not that the timing affects much, but if you're a stickler for those things, you might notice. If you're like me, you probably won't. :)
And I also tried really hard not to make every Tanabata metaphor obvious, so you may have to look closely if you want to pick up more than the casual observer. If you'd like the full impact, I'd suggest you look up the story on wiki.
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Title: Making Peace with Purgatory
Rating: PG-13 for light non-descript sexual content.
Themes: Stars, sun, moon, rain, tears, hope for the future, etc.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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And so, the war was won, just as it had to be. Then, everything went wrong.
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In a flash of dark light, Aizen falls. In a flash of dark light, everything Ichigo knows comes undone.
It is a quiet victory.
…
No. Not so much wrong as... right. Too right. Normal. And in a way, it's worse than if everything had gone wrong.
His world changes. It becomes a place it's never been before. A place where a breeze is just a breeze and not someone's ghost breathing down his neck. He still leaves flowers in a small jar on the corner, but now, he doesn't know if anyone is there to receive them.
He goes back to school. Back to routine. Back to no more violet-eyed menace beating him over the head and talking about responsibility and duty. Then there are clubs. Then work. Then school again the next day. Don't stop. Don't hold still. Don't give yourself time to think.
His grades go up. His teachers smile. They say he has his entire life ahead of him.
Not one of them knows what that means.
…
Nothing feels the same. Not eating, not sleeping. It's almost as if he has to be retaught how to breathe. There is nothing familiar anywhere.
Nothing... except one thing.
He glances up, looks out through the confine of guarded, amber eyes and studies the girl that sits by the window.
Her hair is getting longer. It flows in slow, twisting, copper waves down her uniform, and she is so otherworldly, it's as if she's tumbled down from the sky. A fallen star. A small and fragile star. One that might twinkle out of sight if he lets his gaze stray for even an instant.
He watches her blink, pausing in the act of chewing her pencil when bright, honey colored eyes brush his. Then she smiles, almost like she used to, and the world tilts back toward something he recognizes.
Just a little, and not nearly enough.
…
Ichigo isn't used to feeling this way. He's always been sane and rational.
Then Rukia came along.
It's different now. There's an empty spot just over his shoulder where she used to be, and sometimes, when he hears a joke or Keigo is being particularly irritating, he looks down to see what she thinks, almost as if he'd forgotten.
But there are worse things. Sometimes remembering is worse.
…
The first time is an accident. A blessing and a curse, relief that's been woven into torment, and ever since the world went right, Ichigo is finding out just how many things are.
It's a Reversal.
A call made in the middle of the night, when he's just a little bit desperate and a little bit crazy.
Orihime's face is etched into thin lines of concentration, her breathing shallow and quick. Her arms shake with the effort, but she holds her focus.
His powers do not return.
He doesn't see the golden light fade, doesn't see much of anything anymore, but he knows she's pulled it back. He knows, because he's still sitting there. Bitter and empty-handed.
Normal.
"I'm sorry…" she breathes.
There are tears in her voice, and it was stupid to come, stupid to ask, stupid to make her feel responsible.
"Not your fault."
He closes the apartment door behind him, and he hasn't even taken a step when he hears her sobs on the other side.
He vows not to ask again and knows it's a lie before he ever reaches the stairs.
…
His soul seems out of place. Like he's reached the edge of everything he knew before. It feels the way it did the first time he cast off his skin and became a stranger to his own body.
Ichigo doesn't always know how to be this other person, and he has to watch his friends from the corner of his eye to get it right, or at least to fake it enough that it makes no difference. And it's so goddamn hard, trying to stitch together an acceptable soul of the bits and pieces he has left lying around, but he does the best he can.
After all, not even Inoue can remake someone from nothing.
…
Everyone wanted something.
Or so he thought, until she danced into his life, tossing her strange hair, eating her strange foods, twirling in and out of strange dreams, unbearably bright, but forever just out of reach. In that regard, her name suits. They are very alike that way.
He wants to know her secret. He wants to know how she does it, because she's smiling again and it's there, just beyond what he can reach. There's a yawning hunger shuddering down his spine to see it and he mouths a senseless comment to make it last a little bit longer.
Her lips are turned up, words light, but then he sees the shadows that move behind her eyes.
And that's when he knows.
He can make her smile, but he will never be able to keep her from crying.
…
It's the evening of the seventh and there are clouds in the sky, the dark moon choked behind an impenetrable veil.
In the distance, the sound of thunder carries across a murky and quiet river.
His friends lounge along the water's edge, watching fireworks and lazing away the evening in their best kimonos, and when it's over, they walk home together as if nothing had changed.
"Kurosaki-kun…? What is it? What's wrong?"
He doesn't realize he's stopped until she speaks, but he has, and their group is disappearing into the distance ahead. She is the only one to realize he isn't keeping up with them any longer. Her face is obscured, making it difficult to read, but the concern is heavy in her voice.
The fist by his side is clenched too tightly, shaking. He's shaking everywhere.
Ichigo licks his lips, swallows.
He doesn't mean to, but he says the one thing he's been trying desperately not to think.
"I don't know who I am."
The words tumble off his tongue, running together and jumbling in their haste, and he's surprised he doesn't choke on them.
"You… You're Ichigo."
Her tone is neither gentle nor rebuking, merely a statement of fact. Birds fly... Grass grows... I like who you are. Only once before, has he heard her speak his name. The sound of it washes over him as inexorably as the sea smooths out the sand, as undeniably as the moon calls to the tide.
His heart trips, a sharp tugging just behind his breastbone.
And then, because he has shared something secret, so does she. Orihime cups a hand to the side of her mouth and leans closer.
"Sometimes, I'm afraid of the dark…"
He doesn't move.
Ichigo doesn't know what he's afraid of anymore, just that he's scared all the time, so he stands quietly, waiting to see what she'll do next. But the moment passes, and she continues as if they hadn't just bared their souls to each other, looks out over the water and smiles again.
"It's going to rain soon."
He answers without thinking. "Did it ever stop?"
…
Ichigo doesn't like to get all philosophical, but Orihime changes things. That she's pulled him back from the edge of death, literally, is only one of the alterations, and possibly the easiest to do.
Ichigo knows he's different now. And it's not just the loss of his powers. It's the thoughts he thinks whenever she comes into view, the ones that snag on places inside him that weren't there before.
He doesn't like to get all philosophical, but he decides that fate must be an ungrateful bitch. Or the Sky King, or whoever the hell is running things up there, because he's lost, inside and out. So when he overhears that her heart already belongs to someone, it's all he can do not to lay down on the unfamiliar ground and not get up again.
No, that's a lie. His first thought is to find out who it is and then wonder if he could possibly hide a body, but when that swiftly subsides, buckling knees and nausea run a close second.
…
The storm is fierce.
Rain chases him through the streets and across the Karasu-gawa, the first drops hitting his back just as the now familiar building comes into sight and the lights down the street flicker out.
This time, he's climbing in her window while lightning, lost and lonely, darts down from the sky to kiss the ground. It flashes behind him, illuminating the darkness.
"Inoue."
She squeaks and sits up straight where she kneels in front of her brother's picture.
"Kurosaki-kun…?" He watches her a long moment and she stares back. "W-What are you doing here?"
A hesitation.
"I heard you were afraid of the dark." He tries his best to sound indifferent so he doesn't frighten her, but it's a lie. He is serious. This is serious.
He slides from the windowsill, walks to her without sound except for the rain and wild sky.
"I'm... alright." And she is, because she took the time to think about it. If she just didn't want him to worry, she'd say it quick and forceful, an assertion she could make true by desire alone. She catches her lip between her teeth. "Is that... really the reason you came?"
He looks away, so she won't know he's only telling half the truth. "Yes."
Lightning flares again outside her window. The rolling thunder resounds like the sea, like a mass of fluttering wings, like his own heart beating in his ears. When it's over, Orihime sits motionless in the gloom, hands fisted on her knees, and she looks the same… the same, even though she isn't. There are pale circles beneath her eyes and she's shaking in the fleeting quiet.
He wants to reach out and touch her, but separating them are long silences, countless dark thoughts he hasn't found his way out of, and a hundred things unsaid and undone, and maybe he could have crossed this sea of things not started if it weren't for all the ghosts that float between them.
And he finally understands.
Orihime has come just as far into the darkness as he has.
The knowledge brings a deep weariness, an endless exhaustion and his eyes close, throat constricting. But he can't help to think that as far as they've come, they still aren't entirely finished, and if he has to choose between relief and isolation... he's no angel.
Not anymore.
And really, what could a little selfishness hurt? But more than that, a little truth.
He opens his eyes.
"Can I… stay for a while?"
…
Steam curls from the two cups that sit untouched in front of them and her hair tickles where it brushes against his arm. Slow ripples disturb the surface. They echo over each other, back and forth, from rim to rim. Like the past. Like his memories echo inside him.
She's staring up at him in the flickering candlelight as rain pounds on the roof above their heads, and he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be doing this again. Leaning on her, making her carry the weight of his problems.
He opens his mouth to apologize. He doesn't really know why, or maybe he does, because she's giving him that look, and he almost understands it. Instead, nothing comes out. He can't help it. He's never been able to say these things, especially not when it mattered, and he's ruining it again, he hasn't learned anything, and she's going to—
Fingers find his cheek and he draws a quick breath.
Ichigo swallows, because even now, the shadows that bloom in her eyes are so pale compared to the darkness inside of him, that they shine.
"I'm sorry," she says, "I left. It's my fault this happened to you… I- I'm so sorry. If I had been stronger—"
No, he thinks, No, I wanted to save you.
He leans in to kiss her, but stops a breath away, feeling insecure and exposed, until she slides her hands up his arms, to his face, and does it for him.
…
Orihime is all lingering kisses and fluttering fingertips. She pulls the hurt out through his skin like sucking poison from a wound, and he's living and dying in the space of her panted breaths.
The world continues to change and turn around them. It spins so fast, he thinks to let go of her would sling him into the stars. But just now, he can't remember why that would be such a bad thing.
…
There are a thousand different sensations in her touch. Ichigo wants to memorize them all, catalog every pleading whimper and brush of hand over heated flesh. Small fingers dance across his stomach and he's leveled, shaken down to his core.
"I…" He gulps hard, trying to catch his breath. "We should stop."
She says nothing. He hears it clearly in the very sudden and profound silence that follows. Only his heart pounds in his chest, because he needs her to say something…
Instead, delicate hands pull him closer and trembling lips meet lips again.
…
Ichigo doesn't know what to think, can't remember how to think. It's a critical juncture, one that might never come again, not unless the world decides to end a second time. He wants to mark it somehow, maybe say something about pride and friendship, and saving the goddamn world together, but she already knows it all and he'd probably just mess it up anyway. So instead, he tangles his hands into her hair, drags half-starved teeth across her collarbone and tries to taste her heart.
…
She's shivering under him, eyes tightly closed, and he's doing his best to hold still. The desire to hide himself so deep inside her that she won't ever get him back out again is a living thing, burying its claws into his chest, his brain…
"Did I hurt you?"
It takes a second to recognize that coarse voice as his own, and he prays she heard him, because he doesn't know how much longer he can—
"Don't… Don't stop."
So he doesn't.
…
She's a little flawed, of course, a little broken, but to Ichigo, she is perfection written on pale flesh. And she's so full of acceptance that it hurts, because he's so full of need. But she meets him, one look, one word, one breathless smile at a time, until he is filled to the shattering point, so he comes apart, gasping, collapsing on her as the storm finally breaks overhead.
…
Moonlight peeks between the clouds, its subtle radiance climbing down the wall. He watches it from where they lay entangled across her bed.
She is tender and inviting curled next to him, and he slips an arm around her delicate waist to pull her closer, strong hands sliding reverent over soft flesh.
And when he sees that she's bled for him, his heart gives an odd thump. He still doesn't have the words to give her, but he's always been more inclined toward actions anyway, so he draws her back down and shows her instead.
…
It was a good mistake to make, and Ichigo's made so many by now, he feels qualified to say so. Besides, if the world going right turned out wrong, then maybe a little wrong could make it right again. So Ichigo moves over the landscape of her body, searching for secret smiles and impossible dreams, and all the things he lost.
…
His eyes flutter open to rumpled sheets and white walls that blind him in the morning light, and it takes memory a moment to catch up with the waking world. Tugging on his T-shirt, Ichigo drags a hand through impossible hair before giving up on it just as quickly.
He finds her in the small kitchen, covered in various ingredients. Tiny fingers twist her apron into knots as smoke pours out of a pan perched on the edge of the stove.
"I-I think, I burned breakfast …"
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he scratches the back of his head. "Uh… yeah."
"I've never done natto before."
"I don't like natto."
"Oh…" She stops trying to scrape them from the pan and glances up, cheeks coloring before flashing a bright smile. "Coffee?"
…
Orihime is terrible at taking care of herself, but she likes to take care of him. In return, he discovers her, and she is found.
Each savors their reversed roles. It's a nice change, like being on vacation from themselves. And after everything, it turns out they are both very good at doing bad.
…
He discovers that she doesn't like finishing things.
There are stacks of books partway read, a dozen portraits of half-painted nobodies. He finds blueprints for buildings on planets with impossible gravity, stacks of paper filled with imaginary words that aren't connected in any way he can see and don't make sense no matter what order he shuffles them in. She has sheet music for instruments that don't exist, for creatures with seven fingers.
"You do a lot of useless things," he says, poking at a lump of half-shaped sculpting clay.
"Of course…" She smiles.
"So why don't you don't you ever finish any of it."
"So I'll always have something to look forward to."
…
They are forever moving circles around each other, a constant push and pull, revolving and spinning, but always in motion. Orihime turns his world around in these private moments and then turns it back, and when she turns it back, nothing's ever the same as when they started.
The universe shifts each time. Some things are gained, and some left behind forever.
They both pretend not to notice.
…
He doesn't want to leave, can't think of any more excuses to stay, so he hovers by the open door and watches her shift from foot to foot. A burst of air from the night's storm beats at his back, cool and clean. It smells like morning dew and cut grass. It smells like starting over.
With a breath, he turns, prepares to leave, throwing one last lopsided smile over his shoulder before moving forward.
Small hands tangle around his arm.
He swallows, head jerking back as dizzying waves erupt in his stomach, and he looks down into eyes that sparkle brighter than starshine.
"Kurosaki-kun…"
Her eyes fill, gleaming, barely contained.
"I-Inoue?"
He swallows again, wide-eyed, because he's not sure what he'll do if they fall, and she's looking at him in a way that makes him itch to touch her. But the night has passed, and things that can be done in the dark are no longer possible in the light of day.
"I… I…" She looks like she's hyperventilating, hands flapping, fluttering in front of her as if groping for a lifeline.
He blinks, trying to decipher her strange sign language. For a moment, he thinks he knows what she wants to say. For a moment, his heart pounds so hard he thinks he won't be able to hear it. But at last, she looks away, closes her eyes. Her stuttering is replaced by a smile and when her eyes open again, they glow.
"I never said thank you…" Her lip trembles for a second. "For coming to save me... Thank you."
He would have done more. Anything. Everything. Whatever kept that smile on her face.
He takes a step closer, hesitates before clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "You don't have to thank me, Inoue."
She smiles at him, and it's just so damn… something, and he's standing there staring at her like a jackass.
He swallows. "Make sure you lock your door."
Her smile widens, crinkling the skin around her eyes and he clears his throat again.
"And get some rest. We have that … that test."
He looks away, face heating, because what the hell are people supposed to say in these situations? But that thought's gone the next second. He makes the mistake of turning back and then glancing at her mouth… and… and—
His resistance is over before it really begins.
He closes the distance between them, sealing his mouth over hers and maneuvering them backward through the front door.
…
She's making everything different again, and Ichigo knows he can't go back, even if he wanted to, and he doesn't. But sometimes, there's comfort in old, familiar things that hover like ghosts, even if they should be put to rest, once and for all.
And she sits beside him sometimes at lunch, so warm and real, and alive, still lost in stuttered responses and glowing, pink-tinged cheeks. She's close enough to touch, but he doesn't dare. To start something they aren't ready for, however tempting, would end it all just as quickly, and he will not give her up that easily. Because the truth is he would sooner carve his own aching, broken heart from his body and devour it himself, than to see her harmed.
And this time, when he glances at her, he thinks maybe he knows some of what hides behind her smile.
But he will never speak of it.
He keeps her secrets close, written beneath his skin in starry ink no one else can see, in a silent language no one else can hear. And maybe someday, he will teach her to read her name where it's been engraved in the scars etched across his body.
But for now… now, he can feel it.
The thread that connects them that wasn't there before, or maybe it was, and it just took the world falling down around him for him to recognize it. Because finally, finally, he thinks, the world that went right, that was actually wrong, had been wrong and was finally, finally, turning right.
.
.
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Fin.
A/N
Thank you so much for reading. Please remember to leave a review :)