…
…
Orihime blinked.
Grimmjow and Ulquiorra both leaned in.
Ichigo's eyebrow twitched as he watched. Today was Friday, which meant he was being summoned for work. Honestly, he didn't even want to deal with Rangiku or Nanao at the moment. He would rather stay at home, where it was tense and silent, and a beautiful girl capturing his attention. He tried to hold it off as long as he could, but from the constant phone calls and text messages and death threats, he wished to just finish the work and get on with his life.
Not to mention, he thought with a scowl, Aizen.
The meeting was scheduled around late noon, and it gave him plenty of time to gather exactly what he was going to say. He was stuck between just punching the guy into the next world or talking it out. He doubted the latter would happen. He almost sighed. He just wanted the day to be over with, and it hadn't even started yet. But the sooner he did it, the sooner he could get home to Orihime.
"Huh." Grimmjow suddenly spoke up, eyebrows furrowed and a rather deep frown on his face, "So this is her."
Orihime jerked, startled. Ichigo watched as Grimmjow crossed his arms over his chest.
"Yer lucky I'm a taken man, Kurosaki, or I wouldn't be up for the job," Grimmjow leered at him fiercely. Ichigo narrowed his eyes at him, "Just kiddin', Carrot Top. No reason to get all defensive."
"How much am I receiving again?" questioned Ulquiorra, tucking his hands in his pockets. He did not seem moved by Orihime, instead, remained his impassive glare. Ulquiorra was an almost friend that he'd met through Grimmjow. The reason he trusted him was because he had his head screwed on straight and he knew what to do when something went wrong. While he worked for Aizen's industries, he knew that he could still put his faith him.
"Whatever you want," Ichigo shrugged, "Just don't expect anything over fifty-thousand yen."
"Yer a cheap bastard," replied Grimmjow, sneering up his lip.
"You're only watching her for a few hours," Ichigo countered, irritated now, "It's not like she's a toddler or anything. Just keep an eye on her until I get back."
"You're the one speaking as though she is a child," Ulquiorra told him.
"Tch."
Orihime watched them all, eyes larger than usual.
"Whatever," Grimmjow spoke up, "But I want to be paid in cash."
Ichigo's scowl deepened, but he did not protest, "Fine. She eats every day at twelve, she takes a nap around three, she likes to read so she'll probably be in my study most of the day, and she likes her rice with ketchup and wasabi. Don't let her eat the cake out of the fridge, though, or she'll have nightmares. And make sure she doesn't get lost – she hasn't been in all the rooms. Also, watch her when she goes down the stairs, she's really clumsy, so she might fa—"
"Yer whipped," Grimmjow suddenly stated.
"What!" Ichigo balked, "W-What'd you s—"
"Yer whipped," repeated the blue-haired simply. "She's not a damn pet or kid. She doesn't need all this bullshit."
"Shaddup," Ichigo snapped at him, eyes narrowed dangerously, "Just—"
"Is that all?" Ulquiorra asked, breaking in. Surprisingly, he had a notepad and a pen in his hand, writing down all Ichigo had said to keep an eye on. Underlining the "stairs", Ulquiorra stared at Ichigo blankly.
"Yer a fuckin' idiot, too!" Grimmjow groused, jabbing a finger at the pale, stoic male, "I can't believe I'm here for this shit!"
Rolling his eyes, Ichigo sighed. While Grimmjow and Ulquiorra bickered—actually, just Grimmjow—Ichigo walked towards the front door, glancing at his watch. If he didn't hurry, he would be late. Scowl deepening, he looked down at his tie, sighing.
"K-Kurosaki-san…"
His head shot up, only to find Orihime standing the hallway, staring up at him with her honey-brown eyes, hands fisted in her lap nervously. He felt that weird, hot feeling in his stomach as their eyes met. Clearing his throat, he attempted to make this conversation as short and polite as possible. He didn't want to leave her here, especially with those jerks, but he was too agitated to call Tatsuki and listen to her yell or tell Rukia to come over, she wasn't exactly the motherly type.
"Um, sorry, Inoue," he said, and she fidgeted under his gaze, "I know you'd rather be alone than—"
Surprisingly, she shook her head, eyes moist and earnest, "No. I-I…" She averted her gaze, and fought with himself. Dammit. He had to leave, he had to. "I like it better…when it's just you and I."
He was sure his heart skipped a beat. Shit. Something really was wrong with him. Scowl deepening, he shoved a hand through his already messy hair. Orihime was pink-cheeked, hands clenched tight in her lap, and bare toes wiggling against the floor. Her cute, sexy little toes.
He was seriously losing it.
"Ah," Orihime suddenly said, "Your tie."
Ichigo looked down at the wreck, and frowned. "Yeah. I was never good with these." He raised his hands, fully prepared to test his strength and strap it into some kind of reasonable creation, but small, pale hands did it for him. He looked up, startled, and there was Orihime, allowing herself to get closer she'd ever been before. When their eyes met, she gave a small, soft smile in reassurance, before she started to correctly loop his tie. Swallowing, he dropped his arms to his sides and allowed her to do whatever she pleased.
"I used to do this for Onii-chan when I was younger," she said gently, her smile widened, "Even though he knew how to do it by himself, he always let me."
His eyebrows furrowed as she tugged lightly at the tie, testing the knot, "Your brother?"
She blinked, glancing up at him, "Y-Yes." And then she gave another smile, dazzling his eyes, "I'm sorry. I haven't spoken about him with you before, have I?"
No, but he knew about him. He could remember the drops of the water on the windows, the drone of the silence, the ding of the door opening, and then he could see those pretty, honey eyes swelling with tears and trembling blued lips. A dead, dull body draped over a small, bright one. It was an odd sight, and something that haunted his dreams—sometimes even more than his mother's face.
"He was a nice man. He left." She continued, her voice soft.
"Left?" Ichigo's eyebrows furrowed, and she looked up, meeting his eyes.
"Yes. Almost a year ago, you see. I haven't seen him since." She replied, and then said, "There!"
Ichigo blinked, returning to the present. His tie was done and perfect. Vanilla and berries and sunshine clouded his senses. With a sigh, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Orihime was still looking at him curiously as he turned away and toed on his shoes.
They were uncomfortable and expensive, but Nanao made him wear them most of the times. She wouldn't let him wear his Chucks—which she threatened to set on fire—and she yelled at him for three hours when he walked around the office barefoot. Damn, he hated dressing this way, black suit, red tie, and nice shoes. His hair was practically screamed for attention.
As he opened the door, listening to Grimmjow bicker with practically himself, Orihime spoke again, "Kurosaki-san?"
He looked back at her. She appeared radiant in the sunlight through the window, even dressed in his heavy sweats. She smiled—that smile that she'd smiled only two days ago, eyes shining, bright and happy and full of trust. His mouth felt oddly dry.
"Have a nice day."
He stared at her for a long moment, watching as she continued to beam at him. Finally, he released his death grip on the doorknob and stepped in the threshold. With a soft, rare smile on his face, he replied,
"Yeah, thanks."
And closed the door behind him.
Orihime blinked, turning a deep, pretty pink. Did he just…? Before she could dwell on the subject, she heard the distinct sound of something being thrown across the room.
"You damn prick! Quit moving!"
"Grimmjow, if you continue this, I will be forced to use—"
"ARGH!"
Crash!
Orihime's eyes widened, "…Oh, my."
"Now, look what you have done, Grimmjow. You've broken it."
"ME?! It was obviously your skinny ass!"
…
…
When he made it to his floor, Ichigo was already worrying. With a deep scowl etched into his face, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching as the elevator pried open. Instantly, Nanao was on him.
"Where have you been?" She demanded, "You're thirty minutes late!"
He walked right past her, sighing, "Ever heard of traffic?" Unfortunately, Nanao was not quite done with her yelling fest. She latched onto him, following him to his office. Ichigo liked his office, the view over the city, the sun shining directly towards the east of his floors, and he enjoyed that it was on top of everyone else. Just the way he intended it to be, dammit. Papers were stacked on his oak desk, and even in his chair.
Sliding them out of the way, he plopped down, vaguely listening to Nanao chew him out. For the fourteenth time that morning, Orihime weaseled back into his mind—her bright smile, her expressive spice-brown gaze, and her little stature. Dragging a hand down his face, he sighed heavily. He dug into his pocket, yanking out his phone.
He clicked down through his menu and found Home. He would have to get her a cell-phone at some point. He was just about to press the green button when Nanao clamped her hand over his, blocking his view.
"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice was deadly.
Sweat-dropping, Ichigo replied, "Calling someone."
"Yeah," she nodded, "You're going to be calling your father in a minute when I break my foot off in your ass!" Suddenly, she launched his phone across the room. Luckily, one of his plush love seats in the far left corner cushioned its fall. Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief and then faced her, eyes full of fury.
"Dammit! What the hell is your problem?!"
"My problem? You've been gone for over a week while I've been working my butt off and you have the nerve to demand of me what my problem is?! How dare you!"
Blowing out a huff of exasperation, Ichigo replied, "Fine. You're right. You've been covering for me."
"Yes, I have," Nanao placed her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes, "I've been keeping all the clients at bay. Even Jushiro-san wanted me to contact you because he had questions about the manuscripts. How do you think it makes me look when I don't even know when my writer, my provider, is coming in? Huh?"
"My bad," Ichigo said casually, raising a hand between them.
She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "Heh. Like it matters. Anyway, you have a bunch of emails, and not to mention…" He listened to her talk as he pried open his laptop and logged-in. Nanao went through a few papers, pointing out this and that, and a couple of things he needed to take care of, "…plus, you have a meeting with Aizen-sama today."
Ichigo's head shot up, looking at his editor.
She arched a brow, "What? Don't tell me you didn't know that either."
"I did," he replied, returning his attention to his computer screen, "It's just…" She stared at him, waiting for an explanation, "I didn't think he would schedule a meeting so quickly."
Nanao nodded, tilting her head to the side, "I suppose." And then she grimaced, "How's is she?"
Instantly, Ichigo knew who she was talking about. Shrugging, as though to be nonchalant, he said, "She's fine. Adjusting."
Nanao's eyebrow twitched, "And she's living with you, correct?"
"Yeah."
"And what exactly is she to you?"
Ichigo paused in shuffling the paperwork on his desk, eyebrows going up, "Huh? What is she to me? A person."
Her eyes narrowed. After a long moment of silence, she proclaimed, "You're an idiot."
Ichigo balked, "W-What'd you say?!"
"I'm leaving."
He scowled at the door as she closed it behind her. As he continued unpacking his things, and sorting the papers, he looked back at his fallen phone, grimacing.
Who is she to me, huh?
…
…
Grimmjow knew this was a bad idea. Sure, Kurosaki had a nice little place, and it was fun to fuck up, but it soon got boring after a while. Honestly, he would rather be home with Nel and watching the Sports Center. Unfortunately, Nel had nearly shoved him out of the house, frustrated because he'd said something "stupid".
Ch. Whatever.
He guessed he couldn't come home for a few hours, and that was when Ichigo called him with some sort of emergency—vaguely, he wondered if someone was dead, but either way, he got paid. He didn't know the emergency was baby-sitting some grown woman. And, yeah, a hot grown woman, but it didn't mean he would do this crap.
It was complete bullshit. And to make matters worse, he was stuck with Ulqui-fuckin'-orra. The gigantic-ass brained fucker, who no matter what Grimmjow did, he didn't even bat an eyelash. And that infuriated him even more. Stupid, boring asshole.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched as Ulquiorra attempted to fix the end table Grimmjow had hurled at him earlier. Finally, the pale, shorter male gave up, standing with a sigh, and brushed the imaginary dust from his perfect black pants. And then he turned to Grimmjow, claiming in a dull voice,
"It is destroyed."
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed, "No shit, dumbass. I told ya that two hours ago."
Ulquiorra simply stared at him, "You said no such thing."
"I was thinkin' it." It was silent for a full minute and Grimmjow lightly kicked at the debris of the end table—no doubt expensive. He snorted through his nose as he thought of what Ichigo's face would look like. Damn. He couldn't wait for that.
"Grimmjow."
"What?"
"Where's the woman?"
"W-Wha—Idiot! I told you to watch her!"
"And I informed you that I would not be able to do so." Grimmjow snarled at the black-haired, watching as Ulquiorra flipped through his thin notebook. Finally, the emo-asshole stopped on a certain page, and said, "Kurosaki said that the woman enjoyed reading in his study."
Grimmjow grunted, taking a hold of Ulquiorra's collar. He yanked him with him as he lumbered up the stairs. Finally, the two men stopped at the study threshold. The door was cracked, and Grimmjow hissed at the quiet black-haired, who had righted his shirt, and tucked his hands in his pockets.
Ulquiorra creaked open the door silently. In unison, the two poked their heads in the room. Almost instantly, their eyes landed on the unnaturally bright girl. Like Ichigo described her, she was full of sunshine and endearing tenderness. She was oddly delicate—or at least that was what Grimmjow immediately thought when he saw her—with spice-colored eyes dragging across the words in front of her, Kurosaki's large shirt draped over her, and her hair that was messily thick and beautiful. She licked her lips as she flipped a page, settled in the large green chair in the center of the room, appearing very small with her legs pressed against her chest and a big book in her hands.
Grimmjow scoffed rather loudly after a few moments of scrutinizing her—all she did was mutter to herself and flip the pages extraordinarily fast, "She's not doin' anythin'!"
Ulquiorra blinked slowly, "…She's breathing."
"Shaddup, Batman!" Grimmjow retorted. It was silent for a long moment as Orihime turned another page, "Ugh! Her readin' is makin' my dick soft!" He snarled angrily, returning to his position out in the hallway. He crossed his arms as Ulquiorra watched, unfazed. "I'm gonna go watch TV! The bitch is borin' me."
Ulquiorra stayed where he was as Grimmjow went towards the staircase. Ulquiorra watched as Orihime read, and then suddenly jumped, before her eyes widened. She seemed to have lost her balance in the seat.
"…Grimmjow."
"What?" The blue-haired more or less growled.
Thump.
"Ah…" Ulquiorra rubbed his chin, "She fell."
"WHAT!" Grimmjow scrambled back towards door and watched as Orihime promptly face-planted.
It was another long moment of silence.
Ulquiorra tucked his hands back in his pockets, "Time of death," he glanced at the Grandfather Clock at the end of the hall, "11:17."
"Ya stupid Bat-Shit!" Grimmjow shouted, thoroughly pissed off at this point, "Don't go makin' up shit!"
Suddenly, the door was wrenched open, and there stood Orihime, teary brown eyes, and trembling small fists. Grimmjow and Ulquiorra both watched, subconsciously leaning in with equally curious gazes.
"I-I…" She whimpered pathetically, "I hurt my head, Grimmjow-san, Ulquiorra-san."
Silence.
"…How sad." Ulquiorra deadpanned.
Grimmjow promptly face-palmed.
…
…
"Good afternoon~!"
Ichigo glanced up from his paperwork, and nearly groaned when he saw the person standing in his office doorway. His assistant, as per usual, was late. Her hair was done in honey spirals, makeup elegant and perfect, and her clothes showing off her best assets. She had a big smile on her face and her sky-blue eyes sparkled.
The only reason he kept her around was because she actually got her job done. Sure, she joked around and showed up late with hangovers most of the time, but Ichigo knew she was responsible and typically kept the company above water. It also helped that she was rather pretty—very pretty—and could reel in any man that she wanted, and that included half the team of Mundo Enterprises.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Ichigo faced her, "You're late."
"I needed my beauty sleep," the strawberry blonde replied, sweeping a hand through the thick locks.
"You always do," countered Ichigo dryly. He leaned across the table, handing the curvy woman certain documents, "I need you to look over the e-mails from Jushiro. And then go over my schedule. Cancel all the appointments and meetings for today, except for Aizen's."
She arched a perfect eyebrow, "Aizen, eh? Look at you," she pinched his cheek, grinning gleefully, "You're actually taking responsibility." And then she perked up, "Oh, yeah!" She reached into her designer purse and wrestled with the contents of the bag before yanking out a colorful piece of paper. "Lookie~!"
Only, it wasn't a piece of paper. Under further scrutinizing, Ichigo could see it was a magazine. She turned it around so he could see the front and then smirked when he glared at it ominously.
"You made cover!" Rangiku squealed, ecstatic, "Isn't this great? I didn't know it would come out so nicely. You're really handsome in this~!"
Ichigo scowled at his picture. He remembered that photo-shoot. The photographer, who had been a bossy, pink-haired woman by the name of Riruka, had yelled at him and nearly choked him with his tie more times than he could count. That day had been annoying, his shoes had hurt, his hair kept falling into his eyes, and he hated makeup and the flashing camera with a passion. At that point, he had just wanted to get home.
"All the little schoolgirls down at the shop were gushing over this! They called you 'hot'~ How do you like that?" His assistant continued, practically jumping up and down.
Ichigo took the magazine—he didn't think he looked very handsome, he actually appeared angry, glaring at the camera, his reddish-orange hair falling into his brown eyes, and hands tucked in pockets. He had to admit, the suit was nice, he had liked it, and the background was a basic black. And finally, his eyes caught sight of the words printed beside his picture.
Next Edition: Kurosaki Ichigo "heartthrob" talks all about his relationship with a supposed girlfriend. Resources say, "the woman of his dreams"!
Ichigo clenched his jaw, "The hell? What resources?!"
Throwing an exuberant hand in the air, Rangiku said, "Meeee~! They asked me if I knew her." When he glowered at her, she pouted, "Don't worry, Ichi-kun. I didn't use her name. Right now, she's Cutie-chan."
Dammit.
He would never expose Orihime to such things. And it wasn't like she would enjoy it either. He could barely handle the flashing of the cameras. And he knew Orihime would probably freak out if someone started questioning her on their "relationship". And besides, he would rather keep her hidden for now.
Rangiku read his expression, and her pout intensified, "You're such a poor sport. You won't let Cutie-chan be in the magazine?"
"No," Ichigo tone was final as he slammed the magazine down on his desk, searching for some scisors so he could get rid of it already, "She doesn't deserve that bullshit."
Rangiku rolled her blue eyes, "Whatever. You're just stingy and possessive. Just like Renji-kun said."
Ichigo's eyebrow twitched, "Stop talking about me."
"It's not like we have anything else to talk about," The blonde replied, snatching the magazine away when Ichigo glared at it with obvious killing intent, "Cutie-chan can do whatever she wants."
Ichigo didn't reply, taking a seat in his chair, "Just go to your desk. You're annoying me."
"So grumpy," she sing-songed, "Could it be because Cutie-chan is leaving?"
A muscle clenched in Ichigo's jaw. He glanced at her with his intense brown eyes, narrowed and dark, "Leaving?"
Rangiku shrugged, attempting to be casual with the truth, "You did say this was all temporary, right? At some point, she's going to want to go home."
Ichigo tensed, "Who told you?"
Smiling brightly, she replied, "Renji-kun of course. All I had to do was get him away from Rukia, hand him so whisky, and wiggle these girls a bit," She pushed her breasts out for emphasis, leaning on Ichigo's desk with a coy smirk, "And it's all over."
Ichigo simply glared at her.
"Oh, don't be so stiff," she whined playfully, "You should've told me in the first place where you got her from. I never knew you were into those kind of auctions."
"I'm not!" Ichigo barked, irritated, "I wasn't even supposed to be there."
"Well, you were. And now, you have Cutie-chan," She placed a manicured finger under her chin, "It's weird. Usually, men would've proposed to that kind of girl. Have you had sex yet?"
"W-What!"
"You know, a quick rump? Making love? Humping? Pulling down the wagon? Fucking? Anything?"
"Shut up, Rangiku!"
"Oh, c'mon! Don't be so modest. We all knew that you and Senna had sex all the time. Those first three months were smelly and hot."
"Rangiku—"
"It's just," She sobered significantly, surprising Ichigo, "I don't like those sort of things. I've never been to an auction. Well," She smiled a bit, "once, but I nearly puked on everyone. It was that disgusting for me. And when Renji-kun told me you purchased Cutie-chan, I nearly went over to your house and slapped you. But then he said you did it out of the kindness of your heart, and of course, I didn't believe that, but I know you," She locked eyes with him and her smile grew, "And I know you wouldn't do something so despicable as take that girl for your own greed."
Ichigo was silent, arms crossed over his chest.
"Mind telling me what you did it for?" She cocked her head to the side, a lock of golden hair lighting in the sunlight.
Ichigo grunted, eyes tight. "None of your business." But in his mind, he could see the bloody clinic floor and the bright brown eyes that stared at him, pleading, P-Please.
"No fair~" Rangiku whined unhappily. When Ichigo remained silent, she turned away, flipping through the papers with a sigh.
"And she won't leave."
She looked back at Ichigo to see he was gazing at her with those dark eyes. "What?"
"Inoue wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." Ichigo said, almost nonchalantly, but something was lurking in his eyes, "She's not that type of person."
Rangiku smiled prettily, "Yeah, yeah."
Just then, Ichigo's phone rang. Cursing, Ichigo stood from his desk while Rangiku watched curiously.
"Why is your phone on the floor…?" She wondered out loud.
Her boss ignored her, answering the phone swiftly, his back to her, "The hell do you want?"
"Kurosaki." Was Ulquiorra's monotone reply.
"Yeah. It's me. What is it?"
"The woman."
"Inoue?" Ichigo jerked when he heard a loud crash in the background, "What the hell?"
Ulquiorra probably put his hand over the speaker, because Ichigo could hear him saying something towards the room, "Can the both of you quiet down? I am speaking on the phone."
"Oh! Sorry, Ulquiorra-san."
"Fuck you, Bat-Shit!"
Ichigo was scowling already, tense. As he shoved his free hand through his hair, he glared out his window, "What the fuck is going on over there? Is she hurt?"
"Not particularly," Ulquiorra said, deadpan. And then, "Woman, do not touch that or you will—"
"Achoo!"
"Honestly, why do I even bother with such trash?" Ulquiorra muttered to himself, and into the phone.
"Don't call Inoue trash," Ichigo said vehemently, "Just tell me what's going on."
"OI!" Grimmjow shouted from the background, "Don't go callin' the pizza guy! We said we wanted Chinese!"
"Chinese! Chinese!" Was Orihime's enthusiastic yell, along with Grimmjow. Her voice sounded off, as though she had a stuffy nose or maybe—
"Is she drunk?!" Ichigo hollered, fury and shock leaking into his system.
"I do not believe so," claimed Ulquiorra, "Grimmjow merely gave her pain medication. It was a sufficient amount, though."
Ichigo face-palmed, "You've gotta be kidding me!"
Grimmjow was cackling, "Marijuana ain't pain medication! But it helps with the pain. Right, Princesa?"
"Right, Grimmjow-san~!"
"How in the hell do you even get marijuana in Japan?!" Ichigo exploded, the very ground rumbling underneath his feet.
"HEY!" Grimmjow protested, obviously hearing the orange-haired, "…It's prescribed to me."
"Oh, no~!" Orihime suddenly cried, and Ichigo's heart stopped when he heard the sniffle, "I-I've upset Kurosaki-san. A-And he's always so nice to me and so smart, very, very smart. And I b-broke the table…He's so handsome…Like a Hunkey Monkey!" She fell into a fit of giggles.
Grimmjow was laughing along with her, "Ah! That's rich! Hunkey Monkey!"
Ichigo rubbed his temples, unable to form a single thought beside, she thinks I'm handsome.
Ulquiorra was talking again, "Woman. If you do not get off the t—" Thump! "—Ah. She fell. Again."
"Again?" Ichigo demanded fiercely. Had she fallen more than once? What kind of people were they?
Grimmjow seemed to have found the phone, because he was suddenly yelling in Ichigo's ear, "Don't worry, Strawberry. The weed only last for a couple hours. It's medicinal. Like I said."
Snore. Snore. Snore.
"…She is asleep." Ulquiorra murmured from the background.
Dial tone.
Rangiku tilted her head to the side, watching Ichigo carefully. He was stiff, phone to his ear, and his muscles bunched violently under his fine suit. Arching a brow, she watched as his jaw clenched before he turned and stalked towards his desk.
"Where are you going?" She asked as he took out his car keys from his drawer.
"Home." He briskly replied, hands clenched in fists.
And then there was Nanao. Rangiku wasn't sure where the flat-chested woman came from, but suddenly, she could feel the fury of Hell's very heat. Ichigo froze where he was as Nanao bared her glistening teeth at him.
"You're. Not. Going. Home." She hissed, and to Rangiku, it sounded like a demon preying on a defenseless soul.
Ichigo nodded, jerky movements and sweat forming on his temple.
Rangiku smiled to herself, So Cutie-chan is at home all alone, eh?
Neither Ichigo or Nanao noticed when Rangiku left the room.
…
…
Ulquiorra tilted his head to the side.
"If only I had purchased a camera…" He murmured to himself, hands tucked in pockets. He hadn't meant to deposit Grimmjow on the couch like that, but the man was truly a brute, and much heavier than Ulquiorra could handle. After the blue-haired had collapsed, much like the woman, he dragged Grimmjow to the living room and threw him on the couch.
The woman had been easier to carry, and curled up like an infant with its mother, and he had placed her carefully on the opposite couch. She was sleeping soundly while Grimmjow snored obnoxiously, legs in the air and head touching the floor. Ulquiorra was ready to head home.
Ding. Dong.
Ulquiorra slowly turned his head towards the door. Kurosaki would not have rung his own doorbell.
Suddenly, Grimmjow was up, and aware, startling the black-haired. There was mushrooms in his blue hair, and melted ice on his shirt. "Who the hell is at the door?!"
Ulquiorra nearly winced at the sound before reply monotonously, "Why don't you go see?"
"I will!" Grimmjow shouted angrily, getting up and stomping towards the door. When he yanked it open, he was not prepared for the legs that could go on for days, breasts that made every woman cry, and hair that was made to bury your hands in. For a second, he thought it was Nel. But when he met the bright blue eyes, his lust was gone and he was glaring again, "The hell do ya want, bitch?"
Slap!
Ulquiorra had moved towards the hall to see what all the ruckus was about. He saw Grimmjow on the ground, clutching his red cheek, limp, and then he saw Mastumoto Rangiku standing over him, hand in the air, and appearing murderous. He was able to put two-and-two together. The woman walked towards him, hips swinging suggestively, hair falling down her back. It wasn't long until they were less than a foot apart.
Sky blue clashed with emerald green.
Wisely, Ulquiorra took a step back.
Rangiku smirked at him, and then scurried towards the living room, "Cutie-chaaan~!"
"WAH~!"
Honestly, Ulquiorra didn't even care anymore.
…
…
"Ulquiorra?"
"Kurosaki," Ulquiorra's dull voice said, "The woman has been captured."
…
…
I'm going to kill Rangiku.
That's what Ichigo was thinking as he walked down the long hallway. He gritted his teeth, clenched fists tight, and tried to calm down his nerves.
No. First, Ulquiorra and Grimmjow. And then Rangiku.
It had already been a bad day when Ichigo knew he had to meet with Aizen, but it had gotten worse when he hired Ulquiorra and Grimmjow for the job to watch Orihime. He hadn't wanted to leave her in the first, and he knew he should've at least left someone of female qualities, like Tatsuki, but in short, he knew she would have him by the balls if he called with some bullshit. And then he fucking learned that Grimmjow was giving Orihime drugs for her pain, which was even worse because she had gotten hurt somehow and he wasn't there for her. And then, without any warning, Rangiku kidnapped Orihime and probably dragged her to God knows where.
Fuck.
Plus, his meeting was in five minutes.
Just his damn luck.
When he was done, he was going to strangle all three of them. If he didn't kill Aizen first.
And that was an entirely different issue. None of the extra anger helped him with anything. He would end punching Aizen in the face if he didn't calm down soon, which he wouldn't mind doing.
"Kurosaki-san. So great of you to arrive."
Ichigo glanced over to see the receptionist. Of course, there sat Kaname Tousen. It always freaked Ichigo out that he could hear him so well, know his breathing so well. Ichigo watched as the man's white eyes scrutinized him for a while before falling to the papers on the desk.
"You're right on time."
Ichigo rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, "Thanks, Tousen."
The man nodded, white eyes keen and blank. Ichigo didn't know how any of it was possible.
"Aizen-sama is waiting for you."
"Yeah," Ichigo grunted vaguely, "Thanks." And with that, he walked forward into the room. He wasn't surprised. The room was spacious with a large glass wall in the front of the room, showing off the view of the city and roving people. After all, this was the very top floor. It was the conference room, but there was no conference. Instead, it was ten empty chairs around a long, large table, and the one top chair filled.
Aizen sat there, elbow on the table, his hair swept back from his pale face. He had a manila folder in front of him, and his large glasses were dangling from the collar of his pristine shirt. Slowly, he looked up at Ichigo with his cool brown gaze.
"Kurosaki Ichigo," his voice was deep, calm. It drove Ichigo insane. He hadn't seen the slimy bastard since the "auction" and just looking at him, made Ichigo's skin crawl. "So nice of you to join me."
"Aizen," Ichigo managed to get out as he stood in the threshold.
"Are you hungry, Kurosaki-san?" Either Aizen didn't hear his tone or he paid it no mind. "Nelliel made these ideal muffins earlier, along with some coffee. I insist you try some." True to his word, pastries were in the center of the long table and a mug of coffee, steaming.
Aizen had one in front of him, though it appeared untouched. A smile touched his lips.
"Not hungry," Ichigo said shortly, gruffly, as he remained standing at the edge of the table. He did not want to sit down. This wouldn't take long, anyway.
"Ah," Aizen said softly, crooking a thin brow, "You are in a hurry, yes?"
"I guess you could say that," replied Ichigo stiffly, his tone low and lurking with danger. His muscles felt uncomfortably stiff.
Aizen smiled again, and it was anything but polite, "That's right. You have someone to go home to, don't you, Kurosaki-san?"
Ichigo glared at him silently.
"Hm, I suppose I would want to head home as well. Especially when you have Inoue Orihime to see every day."
Ichigo's teeth clenched, and Aizen's smile widened, a touch of venom. Ichigo was quite fascinating when he was angry. His eyes lit up like glowing embers, his eyebrows furrowed, and his fists clenched in his pockets.
"Eight-hundred million, Kurosaki-san, is a lot. Especially for just one girl," Aizen continued, as though Ichigo wasn't about to lunge across the table, "But I can offer you so much more."
Yeah, right.
"One billion yen, Kurosaki-san." The brunette offered, "And everything can be back to how it was."
"I don't want your fuckin' money." Ichigo said. His voice was cold, cutting. And Aizen smiled again. "The only thing I want is answers." His eyes met the cold brown, "And I know you have them."
"Do you?" Aizen murmured, curling his free hand over the steaming cup of coffee. "I'm just a simple business man, am I not?"
"Stop spewing bullshit," Ichigo growled, placing his hands on the table, "I know you did something. Inoue is terrified of you."
"Is she?" The brunette inquired, tilting his head a bit to the side with a secret smirk, "I suppose that is to be expected."
Ichigo clenched his teeth, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Make of it what you will," Aizen said dismissively, "But I'm sure, with your intellect, you'll be able to piece it together." He grabbed up the manila folder smoothly and pried it open. His eyes shined, "Ah. Here it is." He fingered a piece of paper, "Inoue Sora, correct?"
Ichigo's eyes widened and then narrowed, "How did you—"
"Says here," Aizen said, "Inoue Sora died in Kurosaki Clinic from a bullet wound, left lung, and he bled out. You know," He looked back at Ichigo, "that is a traumatizing experience. Especially to a fragile person such as Inoue Orihime. You were there, weren't you, Kurosaki-san?"
Ichigo didn't reply.
"She doesn't remember, does she? She probably doesn't even remember how her brother died."
Ichigo looked away, unable to stop himself. He didn't want to break in front of Aizen, didn't want to lose his job. His fists shook in his pockets. Somehow, he didn't want to believe it. Was that why Orihime didn't remember him? Because she blocked out her memories? Because she didn't remember how her brother died? Because she didn't remember him? Impossible. He'd never heard anything like it.
"My brother left." She had said this morning, a soft smile on her face as she fixed his tie.
Left? Ichigo thought internally, crunching his fists. She thinks he left her?
"She has repressed her memories. The funeral. The gun wound. Even you, Kurosaki-san," Aizen murmured, "Doctors call it Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. But, unlike her, I do not have memory like a sieve. You see, Sora and Orihime come from a long line of gamblers. Her father, Inoue Aoi, began gambling in 1981, and had many debts to my company. He did not pay it off, never had, and that was when he had Inoue Sora with his girlfriend, Tako Haruhi, and he lost himself in my bill of eighteen billion yen. Sora grew up and began to work for my company, and I concluded he would be working for me to rest of his natural born life until he paid me off, but then, I met Orihime."
He revealed another picture. It was Orihime, maybe in her preteens. She was beaming at the camera, light brown eyes gleaming, and two ponytails in her head, locks, lovely locks falling down her shoulders. Twin, sapphire barrettes he had never seen before were clipped into her hair, holding back her bangs.
Aizen smirked at Ichigo's expression of death, "I knew from the start she would grow to be a beauty, don't you think, Kurosaki-san?" It was a rhetorical question, just like his others, and Ichigo found his patience collapsing. "Unfortunately, Sora died."
"You mean he was killed," Ichigo hissed venomously.
"Yes," Aizen said offhandedly, "It was such a shame that Orihime was put through that. But, you know, as well as I do, Kurosaki-san, as a business man, I am made to make important decisions. Inoue Aoi owed a lot of people. And Orihime had nothing to offer." And then he smiled once more, "Well, no money, I mean."
"So she was sold…for her body?" Ichigo growled, eyes narrowed.
Aizen shrugged his shoulders, "That is how the world works, Ichigo. Aoi is still alive somewhere in China, and I have contacted him. A part of me could not believe how quickly he gave Orihime up, gave her name and contact information and even where she lived. I would gladly give up all the debts on her name if she would be willing to wed."
It took Ichigo a long moment to process what the man was saying. First, Orihime was suffering from a traumatic illness that blocked her memories of her brother's death, and that was why she didn't remember him, also Orihime was put into the "auction" because of her family's debt. All of this he could handle. But…He wanted Ichigo to give him Orihime, and he would drop all debts if Orihime agreed to marry him?
"Fuck that," Ichigo found himself shouting, fists crunched on the table, "Inoue isn't some object!"
Aizen crooked a brow, "Are you sure about that?"
Ichigo felt his stomach light up with fury, "You fucking bastard—"
"Ichigo-chaaan~!"
Ichigo froze where he was, trembling with the weight of his anger. A hand was on his shoulder, a skinny hand, and he could practically feel the ice seeping into his back.
"Gin," Aizen said, his voice deep and soft as he slid on his glasses, appearing completely different. The asshole blinked innocently, "Welcome back. How was lunch?"
"Delightful," Gin sing-songed as he tightened his grip on Ichigo's shoulder—a warning, "I ran into Ran-chan and a little cutie. How about you?"
"Ah," Aizen said, "I spent my lunch with Kurosaki-san. We had a nice talk."
"O' course ya did!" Gin nodded like a bobble-head, "Oh! And, Ichigo-chan, a car is outside waiting for ya. Sado-kun sent me to tell ya."
"Perfect," Ichigo grounded out, slowly removing his hands from the table, that creaked uncomfortably. His stomach still felt uneasily tight, and his fists were practically itching for a fight. As he turned to leave, everything inside of him screaming to go back, Aizen called,
"Oh! Kurosaki-san, please, take the documents with you," He slid them across the long table and Gin caught them. Pleasantly, the silver-haired man smiled at Ichigo, handing him the manila folder. Ichigo looked up, and caught Aizen's cool brown eyes, "You might need them, after all."
Ichigo left with Tousen's eyes following him, and a headache coming on.
…
…
He knew he should've been worried when there were no cars in the driveway. Grimmjow's giant SUV should've been there, or maybe Rangiku's Porsche. Instead, it was deserted. The sun was setting, and as Sado pulled up to the house, Ichigo tightened his grip around the manila folder.
"Thanks, Chad," Ichigo muttered and the chauffer nodded silently. Ichigo climbed out, feeling more tired than he should. He climbed the narrow steps to his home and finally stopped in front of the door. It was already open, so he pushed his way in, expecting the worst and prepared to punch anyone's nose to the back of their skulls.
Instead, he found a pristine hallway, quiet, and the smell of curry. Ichigo felt his shoulder relax and he slowly walked into the home, closing the door behind him. he tucked his free hand in his pocket, and wondered if Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had run on purpose to escape his wrath. If it was Rangiku cooking something, then she was eating something normal for once.
As he rounded the corner, he was not prepared for what was there.
His eyes widened.
She was there. And, dammit, she looked even more beautiful than this morning. Her hair was still vibrant and long, but no longer messy or in a bun or cascading around her. Instead, it flowed down her back in a straight waterfall and her bangs framed her face naturally. He could tell she wasn't wearing any makeup, but her skin looked amazing, blemish-free and ivory and perfect and supple. Her long thick lashes outlined her honeyed gaze. What she was wearing, surprised him. Usually, she would be clad in his boxers and sweats, but at the moment, she was dressed in a sundress that reached just above her knees. It was plain, simple, with delicate spaghetti straps and yellow flowers that decorated the skirt.
He felt his heart speed up.
She hadn't seemed to notice him—in fact, she was walking towards him, two long wooden things in her small hands, that looked an awfully a lot like the wooden legs from his Prussian end table. She was staring down at them curiously, attempting to stick them back together, but instead, she ran into his chest.
Vanilla. Berries. Sunshine. Her.
She blinked, he could feel it even through his suit. And then she glanced up, large honey eyes earnest and wide. It wasn't long until she smiled, and it was bright and full of trust and happiness. Something that was the complete opposite of him.
"Kurosaki-san, welcome home."
He swallowed, "Rangiku…took you shopping, didn't she?" Was that all he could really say after everything that had happened today? Yeah. It was.
"Un!" Orihime smiled again, appearing embarrassed, "She bought me a lot of clothes. It was fun." She perked up, seeming to remember something, "And Ulquiorra-san and Grimmjow-san were very nice, too."
Ichigo nearly scowled when he thought of those two. "Were they?"
"Yes!"
He couldn't find himself doubting her, so instead, he sighed, and asked, "What's for dinner?"
Her eyes rounded, and she dropped the two legs, "Oh, no~! The curry!"
Ichigo remained where he was, watching as she vanished in the kitchen with a swirl of amber hair. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? He was utterly lost, he hadn't even gotten a punch in with Aizen and now he was stuck with this information in his head and the weight on his shoulders.
At the moment, he didn't even want to think about it—the blood, the tears, the fallen angel that whispered pleas. That wasn't Orihime, that wasn't the Orihime she was now.
He stuffed the manila folder in the couch, under a cushion, ignoring the broken end table. It didn't matter.
I'm such a selfish bastard, he thought as he pulled out his emergency pack of cigarettes. It wasn't long until it was lit and he was breathing in the perfection.
"Kurosaki-san~! I saved the curry!"
Right now, he didn't want to think at all.
…
…
Yay! It's finally finished. Did you know this took me all day to write? I feel weeaaak~ Oh, well. Anything for you guys. Most of you asked for me to update Her anyway. So here you are. I hope I didn't confuse any of you with Orihime's background. The Post Traumatic Disorder is actually a normal occurrence for people of all age, any kind of traumatic experience that they just can't take, they block out.
And I found that interesting to give to Orihime.
Who else loved Grimmjow and Ulquiorra in this chapter? And Rangiku took Orihime shopping?! Who knows what she told her and showed her? And don't worry, Ichigo will soon do the right thing, but I'm thinking of keeping it a secret for a while. What do you think?
Poor Orihime. I feel so, so, so sorry for her even though I wrote this.
I'm a bad person. Well, maybe not. Plus, I despise Aizen. That puts me on the good-guy side. Next chapter, I'm thinking of bringing in Tatsuki and Rukia finally, so they can shine some light on Orihime. I think that'll be hilarious too. Oh, and did you know drugs in Japan are much more "banned" than in the US? I just found out like two days ago, so I used it in this chapter.
Gotta love crass Grimmjow.
Love you guys! And don't forget to review for me! It makes me so, so, so happy!
(PS: Sorry if there are typos. Don't have the energy to go through it!)
-Star