title. all my universe becomes perfection
pairing. Ichigo/orihime
notes. so, I read somewhere that Kubo initially toyed with giving Orihime horns and a tail and...well. That's hot ngl. Inspired/based on a mishmash of world-building in the Mandalorian + Gundam + Green Lantern because I love space!fics, so if you catch elements of them I will love you forever . This is also based on the Bleach prototype/first draft where we see Orihime's dad, who I thought would suit the story better than Sora. I tried not to be too obvious with the Tanabata metaphors, but I might have gotten carried away, lol.
summary. It's entirely a coincidence that the stars cross paths and lead Ichigo to Orihime. It's entirely a choice when he falls in love with her.
One
It's the familiar roar of the Moon Cutter that pulls Orihime's attention away from where she's wiping down the hull of another ship. The air shudders with a charring boom and she feels it all the way down to her knees, the sheer presence of the gunship sending a thrill down her spine for more reasons than one.
Tossing down the rag, she speeds out of the garage and towards the landing pod where the ship is descending in puffs of dust and smoke. She can barely contain the buttery rush of feelings that speed through her veins. It spills out of her heart and down to her very fingertips, hard as she tries to stomp them down when her father comes peeking out of his own office.
"Oh great," he says, squinting into the sky, "Moon Cutter."
…
The first year Kurosaki Ichigo arrived at Vega, it was not entirely on his own volition. At the time, he was one of the many defectors of the Federation Armed Forces, eager to do his bit for the uprising against the growing imperial government. He'd been in relentless pursuit of a Federation airship for hours, a big behemoth of a thing that was all too functional as a unit for one little rogue of a pilot to make a dent of a difference.
He was young, though, still naive and green around the edges, so he'd backed it into a corner and overshot just how much he could handle it all on his own before going ka-boom on a nameless planet in a nameless sector.
Six shots of cannon blasters to his ship's mainframe later, he'd quite literally crash-landed onto the Inoue's laps. Orihime still remembered looking at the smithereens being dragged in— both the boy and his ship— and doubting her abilities to rise a phoenix from the literal ashes that had landed up in their backyard, but she hadn't been dubbed the best mechanic in the sector for nothing so she got right down to work—knee-deep in spares and wiring.
"Boy's a bit young," her father said to her, when she arrived at the inn later that afternoon. "Pilot for the rebel army or something like that."
Orihime's eyes widened, tail eddying behind her when she turned over her shoulder to look at Ichigo where he was slouched over a glass of beer in the far corner. The rebel army was what they formally called the ragtag crew of defectors who'd banded together to fight the Federation. The Inoues had a few of those, on occasion, though not nearly as much as the Federation pilots themselves, who often dropped in for general repairs, maintenance and the stray tip on where one could hone in on rebel army.
"Sounds scary," she murmured, swiftly looking away when the boy's eyes caught hers across the inn.
Her father scoffed. "Hardly. He's about your age." He watched Orihime's shoulders twitch in interest. It was a rarity on Vega to find anyone her age, so the idle curiosity was all too natural. Even as a kid, she'd never had friends who stuck around long enough on a barren, layover planet like this, the only source of life being the thrumming garage she'd owned and worked in all her life.
"Go on and introduce yourself, if you want. He'll be sitting ducks for a while, anyway."
The prospect of that had Orihime feeling suddenly shy. But she went over, nonetheless, deciding in good faith to introduce herself. "Hi," she dropped in across from him on the worn seat. "I'm Orihime." She bit her lip, a flare of pink coloring her cheeks when he looked up at her in curiosity. "We met earlier, when you brought your ship in."
The overhead lights crowned him in tufts of orange-gold when he nodded. "Ichigo." His voice was low. "Nice to meet you."
And that had been that. The first week they got to know each other, she felt excited any time Ichigo so much as looked at her. He'd never been to Vega before, and she'd never been anywhere else, so it was the first time she met someone that looked like him— dichromatic and sharp-featured from his ears to his hair. One of his eyes was dark and sharp with yellow-gold, the other warm and plain brown as they roved over the garage in heavy-lidded interest.
"If this looks even half in better shape than when it'd been lugged in, I'd wager you to be a genius," Ichigo remarked, crouching down in concern as she worked, arm and forehead in slings and all. Few pilots were this involved in the gluing back together and that alone had blossomed something warm in her heart. He was not exactly unattractive, and Orihime really liked that he cared about his gunship on a level beyond use-and-throw.
"It's just mechanics," she replied back with a curve of a smile that was broader than she'd usually give to a castaway pilot on a pitstop. There was something so endearing about him, the way he stuffed his hands in his pockets and prodded at the scraps of his ship with a worn-out boot, ears flickering in twitches of interest when she explained how it was all coming together, how she planned on fixing it. When she confidently promised to put him back up in the air in no time and he smiled softly back at her, she never wanted him to leave the ground again.
On the eighth day of Moon Cutter's fated landing on Vega, Orihime decided it was about time she called in her assistants. Two claps usually did the trick; they'd arrive, a clustering of six levitating droids that all stood at attention, the only thing distinguishing them from each other being their colors.
"Hi guys!" she cheered, eyes darting to Ichigo in amusement when he stared at them, slack-jawed. "This is Ichigo, and that," she gestured at the hunk of metal, "is Moon Cutter. Now, they can't stay long and we want to put them up in the air again, so I want everyone to put their current assignments on hold and help out, okay?"
They let out six affirming squeaks, gathering around her eagerly for further instructions.
"Shun'O, Ayame, you two are on repairs," she ordered, raising one hand up high to where the apex of his ship had withered apart down to the wiring. "I want reinforced kreel, double-layered wherever you can spot damage." Red and Yellow took off, whizzing up to the top of the garage as Ichigo stared after them in amazement. "Baigon and Hinagiku, cleaning duty." Two more chirped and spread out, vectoring in on Moon Cutter as they assessed the ship with the spread of their scanners. "You two are with us, okay?" she said to Lily and Tsubaki, "You can be on standby until we figure out what parts need spares."
Ichigo let out a low whistle. "Impressive. Where'd you get those?"
Orihime beamed. "I built them myself, when the garage was just starting out," she explained. "They're all my little babies."
He snorted. "Gotta get me some."
Like we'd work for him, Tsubaki sneered, in a skirmish of little squeaks and beeps, mildly affronted. Judging by the state of his ship, we'd all be greef-kebab in his hands.
Stop that. It's not his fault he was ambushed by an enemy ship, Orihime scolded, hands on her hips as she shot him a stern gaze. He rotated stubbornly on his axis, once, twice, then whirled away, not before muttering 'infatuated' under his breath. Orihime flushed, eyes going wide.
"What language is that?" Ichigo asked, scratching his ear cluelessly as he followed Orihime's trail around the garage.
"Corvid," Orihime replied, happy for the distraction, "I programmed them to understand all kinds of languages I could access from the archives, but they're still rudimentary, so I haven't figured out how to configure their vocalizations yet."
"So you chirp," Ichigo said, with a small smirk.
"So I chirp," she giggled. "Most days, with my father running the inn they're my only company, so it's convenient that we can communicate with each other."
It was only when the words left her mouth that she realized how...pathetically lonely that sounded. They held each other's gaze for a moment, a long, contemplative one and Orihime was the first to break away in favor of continuing to show him around.
And that had been that. For a while, at least. Though Ichigo's stay on Vega was temporary, they'd built somewhat of a routine for themselves as the days went by. Breakfast, lunch and dinner at the inn, the rest of their day free for repairs. Sometimes they took breaks on the observation deck, watching ships arrive and retreat at landing pods.
"It really isn't safe here," he said, one night, as he watched a few Federation soldiers saunter around the streets with disgust, "There's no telling when they'll have a change of heart and run a coup around these parts."
Orihime shook her head, a tiny pang of sadness worming into her heart. "Daddy's growing older. He says sometimes it's better to keep your head down than have them do it for you."
Besides, they never refused help to any stray ship that needed fixing—Federation or not. Vega was mostly out of their sights for that reason, anyway.
Ichigo's mouth turned down, mild and unpleasant, "I'd hate for them to, I don't know—" he stared down at his boots and muttered, quieter, "hurt you."
She smiled, nudging his elbow with hers. "We can take care of ourselves," she reminded him, even though her heart cocooned with tenderness at how his brows furrowed. "That's just how it is around here."
He nodded, then, "Is that why you don't leave?" He gestured out at the dry, uninteresting landscape around them.
She took a breath, fist curling in on itself as she nodded. Her throat grew thick with things she didn't have the heart to say, and if Ichigo noticed her eyes watering, he didn't mention it—just shuffled closer until their arms were close enough to brush. When she dropped him off at the inn later, he gently pulled her closer until their foreheads were inches apart, hands cupping her elbows. Orihime's stomach swirled with excitement despite herself, but Ichigo hung back last minute and shook his head, trying to cast off some internal battle he was fighting with himself.
"Good night," he settled for whispering in her ear, "Sleep well."
She replayed the way his breath had feathered over the curve of her neck, all the way back home.
Eventually, about six weeks in, she grew tired of wondering what it would be like to kiss him. They spent long hours alone in the Moon Cutter's cockpit together, shoulders brushing, hands bumping, hips nudging as they navigated the same cramped space. He hummed under his breath sometimes and Orihime liked watching the way his muscles flexed under his shirt when he had to stretch up and hand her a spanner.
She wasn't oblivious how his eyes would linger on her either, but she grew used to the way her stomach would eventually wrench as the warmth of his closeness turned goose-cold whenever he took distance again.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked her that afternoon, firm hands clasped around the steam valve she made him hold onto while she adjusted the wrench with her tail. His eyes were sharp, but confused, like she was an equation he had only half the answer to.
Orihime decided to chance it. "I'm thinking if you'll ever kiss me before you leave," she murmured, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.
A hiss of gas exploded in Ichigo's face, rapidly fogging up the entire chamber as his hand slipped from the steam valve. They flinched apart, coughing, and the last thing Orihime saw before her vision went up in whites was his surprised, pink face.
…
Later, after they cleaned and sorted things out, she was honestly starting to regret opening her mouth a little bit. Her outburst in the cockpit seemed embarrassing, in retrospect, so she kept her eyes trained to his boots when she handed off a rag for him to clean himself with.
Ichigo took it from her wordlessly, and the silence only exacerbated the nervous pounding in her chest. She wanted to apologize, but she also wanted to sweep the matter entirely under the rug. She'd never been this close to anyone she was remotely into and it was pretty obvious she had no game at all. How could she, when all she had were her own droids that were programmed for cleaning and maintenance, not how to pick up the guy she liked?
"Are we not going to talk about it?" Ichigo asked quietly. She braved a glance at him. He didn't look mad, but he didn't seem to be the type who would yell at her in the first place so that was insignificant.
"Do you want to?" Orihime replied, matching him in tone.
"Talk?" Ichigo asked, running the cloth down his neck.
"Kiss me," she said, hushed. The way she said it sounded both like a response to his question, and a question in and of itself — holding itself up on a foundation of shaky pillars. Her breath caught in her throat when he set the rag aside and drew closer to her.
"I can't stay," he said softly, almost regretfully.
"I know." Air tightened in her lungs when he brought his warm hand to rest on her bare shoulder. For a moment, they just looked at each other, blood rushing to her ears to the point of near numbness. He pushed her braid aside gently, with just the tips of his fingers, and then they were kissing, just like she'd dreamed it. His hands were warm on her shoulders and his lips were softer, gentler than she thought they'd be, making her feel sweet and small—cosseted.
"Ichigo," she breathed, before cupping the back of his neck and kissing him again, a little shy, but mostly earnest in her newfound feelings for him. She'd never kissed anyone before and she was mostly worried about gouging his eyes out with her horns, but she hoped the flutter of Ichigo's breath meant she'd done something worthwhile.
His eyes grew wide and bright—tentative, even, before his head lowered to touch his forehead to hers.
"I can't make any promises," he whispered, hand resting warm and flat on her back, spanning hip-to-hip, "but I'll try to visit often."
He dragged her hand over his heart to seal his promise and Orihime had quite frankly never been able to forget about him since.
The next year he stopped by, he didn't even need to be there. But he arrived anyway and there was that sudden bout of shyness again, making her feel vulnerable and all-too-aware of herself and that jittering in her belly. She bustled around, fussing with his ship and making a great show of checking up on all the repairs they had done the previous year, and just how remarkably it had come along — "I mean, just look at all that steel!" — until Ichigo grabbed her wrist to halt her.
"I didn't come here for a check-up," he said, tone low and culpable as he drew her closer. To his credit, his face was impassive, but the flushed red of his ears was all too telling of the things he didn't quite say.
"Oh," she muttered sheepishly, testing the grip he had on her wrist. He released it, but drew her into a hug instead, lips timidly skimming her hairline as they shuffled in an awkward embrace that slowly melted into a real one. "I'm—I'm glad."
His lips twitched into somewhat of a smirk. "So," he said, releasing a long exhale, "Got somewhere we can go eat? I'm kinda hungry."
She beamed. They ended up getting dinner at the inn, the only place that served presentable food in the entire sector. Even though he never said anything, it seemed like all the men there scattered like ants— men who were certainly never shy to stalk up to her before. This seemed to make him happy, so she revelled in the implications, smiling cheek to cheek as they talked over food. Later that night, when his hand snuck under the table to settle on her knee, she beamed so hard even her father seemed to notice the air was different around her. Her happiness was infectious, more so because he was here and it was like this— even if it was just for a day.
"Seems a bit bad for business, having him around," he gruffed, gesturing at the way some of the townsfolk eyed Ichigo, "Boy might bring more trouble than we can bargain for, with the treaty being this close around the corner." Many nations had grown weary of fighting back and had agreed to accede to the greater Imperial structure. The rebel army was vehemently fighting those efforts by the day, freeing Federation-occupied villages and holding talks of diplomacy with sector leaders. Vega itself had been neutral, agreeing to accession only if the rest of the sector would. Orihime's father had been passive in his support of that idea, but his sentiments seemed to grow stronger every time his eyes observed Ichigo and his daughter running around together.
Orihime swept her hair behind her ear, listening, but not watching her father. Her attention was half-baked at best, eyes gleaming in amusement when she saw Ichigo trying to strike a conversation with a little molluscupus child that was seemingly lost. "I think he inspires people," she mused, heart in her eyes. "It's been a while since anyone in Vega showed signs of wanting to fight back."
Her father swallowed, not realizing his throat had gone dry ages ago. "Don't stay out late tonight," he said curtly. "You have an early appointment with Jet X-19 in the morning."
"I'll be right on time!" Orihime quickly kissed him on the cheek, before hopping off the bar stool to go join Ichigo. He held out an arm for her to hold, and neither of the two looked back at her father as they left the inn together.
"I wanted to see all kinds of places in the galaxy," she confessed to Ichigo, later, when they ended up back at the observatory deck. "Learn so many new things. Buy a potted plant, maybe." Vega was arid as they came, but mostly she just wanted to have a piece of the world she would never be allowed to see, not in the recent future at least.
"Why don't you?" he asked, picking at the thread of her tattered jeans where they sat, pressed hip-to-hip.
"I'm good at fixing things," she explained, holding back a shiver when his thumb brushed her bare knee. "My father says I shouldn't waste a gift like that." She showed him her palm, weathered from the long hours she spent at the garage.
"I think he just wants to keep you close," Ichigo replied with a long sigh, scratching the back of his neck. He hesitated for a moment, before dropping his larger hand down on hers and intertwining their fingers. "Where would you go, if you could?"
Orihime shrugged. The only places she knew of were within her own sector, entirely uninspiring and monotonous. She moved to rest her head on his shoulder but stopped halfway, not wanting the stubs of her horn to dig into his neck. He pulled her in with the crook of his arm anyway; his bomber jacket was warm and smelled of exhaust. He shook his head when she opened her mouth to protest.
"But Ichigo—"
"But nothing."
She hesitated, then settled back on his shoulder. "You'll tell me when it starts to hurt, right?"
"Hmm," he replied unconvincingly, then spoke over her before she could fuss again, "Places. Where would you go?"
"I don't know," she whispered, looking up at him. "Wherever you go, I guess."
He met her eyes, the shadow of a solemn look flickering through his eyes, before he replied, "It gets lonely."
"It wouldn't if you had me," she pointed out, then added, mostly as a joke, "I'd bug you until you'd wish you were lonely. I can be a chatterbox when I want to be, you know."
He smiled, a soft exhale leaving his nose in amusement. "I know." He spent a few minutes biting the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over something before he added, sotto voce, "You don't bug me, though."
Orihime squeezed the tawny material of his sleeve before hooking his arm around her belly. "Do you have anyone at all?" she asked, eyes sad and weary as she regarded him. He squeezed her hand, but snapped his gaze over to the horizon.
"A few others," he explained, "Two kids from Inuzuri—out in the far sector. They're a bit older than me, but we get along for the most part." He glanced down at her, where she was tucked into his shoulder. "I dropped 'em off at Duster's Point before coming here. Told them I was here on personal business."
His cheeks pinked, like he was recalling something she wasn't privy to.
"I've never been to Duster's Point," she remarked. "I heard the leek broth there is good."
He snorted, tweaking her nose before getting up. She pouted at the loss of warmth but took his proffered hand as she got to her feet. "We don't stay long in the places we go to," he said, "Our ship signals might be scrambled but we can't risk being caught by the Federation if we stick somewhere for too long."
"But you'll try the leek broth when you head back?" She grinned, deceptively innocent. Ichigo shook his head, flattening a smile that threatened to grow.
"Sure, Orihime," he said, hesitating for a moment before opening the trap door back downstairs.
When he left that year, he kissed her between her eyebrows and told her, quietly, that he'd be thinking about her.
…
The years dragged on, sluggish and weary with the tussle for change. The Federation Forces expanded relentlessly, multiple heads springing in places of the ones that had already been chopped off. Every corner of the galaxy was restless, though some more so than others.
In Vega, Orihime grit her teeth, defenseless to the furious tears that slid down her cheeks.
"Orihime," her father said softly, patting her head like she was a pet. A mook and tender child that didn't know better. "You wouldn't care much for the world out there. It's not all that people make it to be." She almost let out a derisive snort, but held it back at the risk of wounding her father. His wizened eyes were already hurt enough at the suggestion that she take a break from the garage, maybe take her ship out for a mini-break somewhere nice. "Besides, what about your work? Isn't that important to you?"
Aren't you happy?
Perhaps it was that, out of everything else, that made bile rise to her throat. After her mother left, she quickly had to learn the nuance of maturity, had to learn how to plaster fake smiles and make herself smaller for the sake of a father that was suddenly tasked with raising her by himself. It felt selfish, craving something that was other than. Something beyond this dry and empty place seemingly unaffected by the larger events of the universe. She was tired of feeling cool metal running under her fingers wherever she dragged them. Tired of unrequited conversations with the whirs and hums of machinery. The monotony of inn-garage-home-inn-garage-home, day in and day out—
She choked back a sob.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered, abandoning her dinner with a sad smile, "I don't think I have much of an appetite tonight."
"Orihime..." her father sighed, only to be returned with the soft retreat of a door closing upstairs.
Somewhere above Mos Tuin, Ichigo wasn't faring any better. The past few months had been a relentless barrage of deadends, both on the diplomatic and chaotic front. Every effort made by him and the others seemed to be a blip in the cosmos — a minor flick of fingers against a giant fly of a nuisance.
"That's a wrap for today," he barely heard Renji say, to which Rukia hummed. "Get some sleep, I'll take first watch."
It was times like these where he yearned for something he couldn't name. Some kind of nostalgia for a life he'd never lived in the first place. Sure, he had Rukia and Renji. They were tight, and it was obvious they were the closest things he had for friends. Even then, he felt hollow— unenthused by the ebb and flow of things. They were far more adjusted to this life than he was, and frankly, Ichigo didn't want to catch up to them any time soon.
He often wondered what Orihime was doing— if she felt the same heartache he did when she caught herself anchored to her thoughts for more than a moment's worth. And it was in times like these where he yearned to drift across all the miles of unspeakable distance—and somehow extend his stay for more than a day. Yet, this one respite was something he looked forward to every year. A blink of an eye's worth of contentment.
…
That year, he brought back a souvenir — a mini terrarium he'd pawned off a botanist in Polis Florrum. It was rather prosaic— a bottled green with tender baby purples and maroons unfurling and peeking out from the fresh soil — but she adored it.
"I, um," he cleared this throat once, "Rukia was injured, so we spent a day recuperating there. I saw it and I thought of you."
It was more that he'd stepped out of their lodging to give Renji and Rukia privacy after having nearly been blown apart by a fleet of Federation ships that had chased them out of Mos Tuin, only to wander around a flea market in the heart of the city. The flat color of the sand was an eyesore, but when his eyes landed on a vibrant and hopeful little garden, he felt the metaphor make itself evident.
"Is she okay?" Orihime asked, eyes wide and curious. She had never met them, but felt a strange sort of affinity for them, the one time a year Ichigo would stop by Vega with stories about them. He nodded, turning his head to face her where they were lying on Moon Cutter's floor.
"Is your father waiting on you?" he muttered, though the answer should have been evident in the way they'd walked out through the front door. Their usual MO was the drainpipe—even if Ichigo had yelled at her and called her an idiot the first time she'd shown him how to do it. She could have broken her neck; he was justified.
"No," she replied, setting her terrarium down carefully beside her. "Thank you for your present, I love it." She propped herself up on one elbow and pressed a humid little kiss to the side of his neck, her other hand trailing down his chest.
And this was how it usually began, the slow build of motion, the sliding of hands over skin. Ichigo didn't know what part of this she thought about the most, but he knew he often thought about the way she shivered, the patch of sweat trailing her spine, the sweet burn of rashes where her horns had dug into the hollow of his hips. The things she murmured in his ear that he held close to his heart on nights things were going slow. The things they spoke about when they finished.
What's your favorite thing about the world? What do you miss the most about home?
"What's the most breathtaking star you've ever seen?" she whispered after, tracing the freckles on his cheeks with her fingertips. Her hair fell around her shoulders, soft and bright, a halo of light that shadowed him wherever he went, guiding him true north—weaving the course of his orbit towards her.
"You," he whispered back.