Orihime opened and closed her book. Open. Close.
She was sitting beneath a maple tree, the sun streaming bright and cheerful above her. The heat of the day was already causing her shirt to cling slightly. She wondered if she should undo a few buttons and the thought brought color to her cheeks.
Ichigo would be here soon.
She felt this fact first in her stomach, a kind of pleasurable nausea that made it impossible to focus.
She saw him every day, of course. At school she felt his presence like a slight electrical current in the air. Sometimes within eyeline on the soccer field, or a few desks away. Once at lunch he had sat with her friends, so close she need only shift her weight slightly for their shoulders to touch.
Orihime looked at her phone, rereading the text she had received this morning.
Ichigo:
I want to see you. The park near your house. If you can.
Orihime had no parents to be concerned about, and her brother was long gone. Still, he was not someone others would find suitable for her. Ichigo did not speak much. He did not socialize outside of school. Orihime knew that he got into fist fights with semi-regularity. There were often scrapes on his knuckles in various stages of healing. Fresh and old bruises on his tan freckled skin.
Orihime noticed these things. She was accustomed to stealing glances at him throughout the day. A habit, picked up over years of agonizing proximity. It was easy to let her eyes roam with an almost academic interest over his form. He was too disinterested in the world to notice.
So it was a surprise when, at the start of their senior year, his eyes began to meet hers. She would be resting her gaze on him and he would look up, almost expectantly to return it. Before long she would find him staring at her unprompted, bold and unwavering.
He began walking with her from class to class. She would step out into the hallway and suddenly feel him there beside her. When she was carrying stacks of heavy textbooks he would wordlessly take them from her arms. At first, she could barely manage to speak. Politely thanking him or wishing him a nice day. Eventually Orihime realized that she could say anything to him.
"I wonder if pets have favorite colors?" She had said to him on Friday. "I know it doesn't matter really, but it bothers me to think that they get no say. Imagine if you hated purple and all of your stuff was purple."
Ichigo had looked down at her without speaking, giving her room to finish her thoughts.
"I always wanted a dog. But it bothers me that they couldn't tell me what they wanted. I would never know if I was caring for them right. I would never know if I was holding them wrong"
Ichigo had handed her back her textbooks and looked at her for a long moment. "You could never hold anyone wrong Hime." He had leaned down, and his lips had grazed the top of her cheek for only a moment before he left. In class afterwards, Orihime felt simultaneously thrilled and anxious at the thought that someone may have seen.
Desire was still an abstract concept to her. She was fixated on certain details without any clue what to make of them. The way his broad shoulders strained the material of his school shirt. The way his jawline formed a perfect sharp angle when he looked up. The muscles of his forearms, prominent when he rolled up his sleeves.
And now, he had asked her to be here. No hallways filled with students. No bells to cut them off.
I want to see you.
A request so simple it could not be argued with. Orihime's plain white skirt, only scarcely shorter than her school uniform, felt suddenly scandalous. She stared at the extra inch or two of exposed thigh and had the urge to rush home and change.
"Hime."
Too late. He had managed to sneak up on her. Ichigo ducked underneath a low hanging branch as he approached her. The easy, lazy grace of his movements making her skin prickle. He was wearing black jeans and a plain white T-shirt. It hit her suddenly that they were not merely bumping into each other. He was here to see her.
Orihime smiled up at him. "I was here early. Reading."
He dropped down to sit beside her. So close his body brushed hers along the way.
"I can see that." He said, looking down at the book in her hands as if it were an object of great interest.
He smelled like clean laundry and warm skin. And he was so close. If she turned to him her chin could rest on his shoulder.
For a few moments she looked down at the book with him. It was a new book. The pages stiff and fresh without a sign of use. It looked like a prop.
"Orihime." He let his denim-clad leg touch the skin of her thigh.
Her eyes stayed on the ridiculous book in her hands.
His head dipped down. He breathed into her neck, exhaled shakily.
"I'm really glad you came." His hand on her chin now, bringing her to him.
"I-"Orihime started. She had no plans on what to say. It didn't matter anyways. The rest of the sentence was lost to his mouth. Barely restrained urgency in the way his lips pressed into hers. When Orihime parted her lips to breath he only deepened the kiss. Moving his body more and more into hers. A hand on her thigh crept higher until it slipped under her skirt. Orihime jumped at the shock of the touch, and Ichigo pulled away, breathing raggedly.
"Is this…ok?" he returned his hand, this time further down.
Orihime nodded. She didn't know if it was ok, but the instant jolt of pleasure she received from his touch was too good to pass up.
Ichigo tightened his grip, content to massage the soft plump skin of her lower thigh. He brought his forehead to hers as he did this and treated her to the slightest grin.
It was then that she knew, with perfect clarity, that he would touch her again. That his hands would become familiar to her. That she would not ever want to deny him anything.