Hope work is ok! Let me know if you want to call tonight.

Ichigo had not texted her back.

This fact lingered in her mind all evening. Walking into her empty house, Orihime resisted the urge to look at her phone. In the shower she kept hearing the phantom buzz of a message and dripping water all over her floor to check it. It wasn't until she was lying in bed, falling into uneasy sleep, that she let go of the expectation. The air had a certain pressure to it, the makings of a storm. She wondered sleepily if Ichigo had an umbrella, wherever he was.

There was knocking in her dreams, an insistent pounding like drums that seemed to come from all directions. It tugged at the edges of her consciousness until she opened her eyes.

Her door. Someone was knocking at her door.

It was unwise to answer it. It was the middle of the night, she was alone, a storm was rattling against her windows. Still, she rolled out of bed and shuffled down the hall, feeling around in the dark to turn on the lamp by the couch. She had the sense to make sure the deadbolt was secure before cracking open the door.

It was him.

"Ichigo!" She exclaimed softly, sleep still clouding her thoughts. Instinctively she tried to fling open the door only to be stopped by the secured chain. "Ah sorry, one second." As she fiddled with the bolt Orihime wondered if she was still asleep. It was surreal to see him here, manifesting out of the dark storm at 2am. But he was still there when the door swung open, looking exhausted and soaked in water. The rain had darkened his hair, and his t-shirt – insufficient for the weather – clung damply to his frame, outlining the sharp lines of his torso. He lingered in her doorway for a moment, and Orihime realized he was waiting to be invited in.

"Come in! You must be so cold! Here let me…" She stepped back and ushered him inside, closing the door behind him. He began telling her something about losing his phone and being sorry to wake her, but Orihime barely heard him. In the warm lamplight of her living room, she could see the fresh bloom of a bruise on his knuckles, a small, jagged cut on his forearm, and a thousand little scrapes across his skin, raised up by goosebumps.

He caught her staring down at them and nudged her chin up with his fingers to meet his eyes. "Hey. Hey." His voice was soft. "It's fine Hime. Everything's ok. Shit I'm sorry. I rushed over because I didn't want you to think I meant to ignore you. I wasn't thinking about how this looked…hey don't worry ok?"

She nodded but her gaze kept landing on new, worrying details. Scratches along his forearms, some deep enough to be bright red. A trail of discoloration across his throat that may have been choke marks – it was too early to tell.

"I … ice. Ice for your hands. And bandages and … wait you're freezing." And he was. There was an almost imperceptible tremble to him that broke her heart. "Get out of that" she said, indicating to his shirt. And he dutifully pulled the dripping fabric over his head while she fetched a towel from the bathroom. When she returned, the sight that greeted her made the pit of her stomach drop.

For one, she had never seen this much of him at once. As much as she had touched him, she rarely ever saw more than a few inches of his skin. To have him standing there – jeans slung low on his hips and bare-chested – was new. He was beautiful. Somehow even more beautiful than she had always assumed. Strong but lithe, solid yet graceful. She could imagine how satisfying it would feel to sketch him, the strong broad lines of his shoulders that tapered smoothly into his narrow waist and hips. The way his compact muscles made the skin of his arms taut and slightly translucent, greenish veins crisscrossing almost prettily. Orihime's gaze could trace the outline of each muscle group along his chest and stomach, creating curves and shadows that were absent on her own body.

But this was not what made her pause, what chilled her momentarily.

It was the scars. Occupying the real estate of his body, making her head spin. Some were simply faded pale lines, others were jagged and textured where the skin had trouble healing. There were so many of them that for a moment she wondered how he was still alive. The thought made her throat close and here chest seize for a moment, and she could barely manage a small smile as she handed him the towel.

Ichigo did his best to dry his hair, his arms, his chest. And Orihime did her best not to stare. Instead racking her tired brain for ways to be useful. She wanted to take care of him, retroactively tend to every wound he had ever collected. Instead, she made herself focus on the problems at hand. She wanted to get him warm and fed and treated.

"Sit down," she led him to her couch "the side near the radiator. I'll turn it up higher." She shushed away his concerns about getting the couch wet and walked to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. Her steps were fast and purposeful. She could feel Ichigo's eyes following her, and she wanted to project a sense of control and efficiency. He was hurt. He did not need to see her eyes prick with tears.

"Hime you don't have to…just come here for a minute." But the weariness in his voice only emphasized to her that this was a time for tea. She knew from experience that Ichigo liked black tea. Not chai, not early grey. Just plain black tea with a slice of lemon to brighten the bitterness. She opened and closed cabinets until she found it, standing on her tip toes to reach the box. While it steeped, she called out to him from the kitchen.

"We'll get you a bit warmer, and I'll draw you bath. I have a first aid kit but there's no point applying salve and bandages until you're clean. There's some leftover miso soup in the fridge. I know miso isn't really your thing but I wasn't – I didn't know you'd be coming when I made it."

She set the teapot down on the coffee table in front of him, arranged the plate of lemon slices without meeting his gaze. "Drink please."

He drank the tea, and she perched beside him and watched him intently, the knot in her chest loosening a little as some color returned to his face. "Thank you Hime. I'm sorry, really. You don't need to take care of me, I'll head home in a minute." He smiled and gave her hand a firm squeeze. But the hand was still cold and she shook her head emphatically.

"No, come on. You'll catch a cold. If you haven't already."

He looked almost amused at this.

"I don't catch colds, really Hime. Let's get you back in bed." He tried to rise up from the couch but she stopped him with a palm on his chest.

"Not while you're still so cold Ichigo. You need to change. I must have something dry around here for you…" She scanned the room fruitlessly before realizing that one of his large worn hoodies was on her own back. He had let her use it the last time he was here, and she had begun wearing it to bed. "Oh! I'm so sorry I shouldn't have taken this! Here let me change."

She hopped up and began heading to her room, ready to swap his hoodie out for something of her own. She took a step away from him only to find herself stopped short. He was grasping a handful of the hoodie to keep her in place. "Don't you dare." He said softly. "I like seeing you in that."

The statement, combined with the restrained gravel of his voice, made her blush for a moment. But she could not be distracted "Ichigo. Let me help."

He looked affectionately amused. "Fine. Come here sweetheart. Warm me up."

He tugged her down into his lap. And she was stricken with momentary anxiety about the way her knee must have dug into a raised scar on his hip. And that it couldn't be comfortable for him to grasp her arm like that, the skin of his knuckles looked too tender and sensitive. She lay her hands lightly against his too-cold chest and snuggled as close as she could without risking hurting him. "Put your chilly hands on me please." She instructed.

And he did. Sliding his hands under the hoodie to thaw his fingers against her warm soft back. She closed her eyes and settled her cheek into the crook of his neck, careful not to fall asleep and risk letting her full weight settle on him.

He warmed, slowly. And the movements of his hands became more purposeful, smooth broad strokes from her shoulders to the small of her back. Thumbs tracing the sides of her waist, making her giggle sleepily. He coaxed her chin up and kissed her slow and deep. She wanted to melt into the kiss, into his bare skin. But she held herself back, staying attuned to any sign of distress or discomfort. He squeezed the top of her thigh and Orihime wondered vaguely if it hurt him. Perhaps she could convince him to let her bandage his hands now.

"I can hear your brain worrying," he murmured as he dipped his head for another kiss "stop worrying about me." She smiled against his lips but still pulled back just a little, trying to make sure she wasn't making any unnecessary contact. There was a bruise darkening on his ribcage that she hadn't noticed before, and she shifted her body slightly to avoid it.

Something in his demeanor changed. His hands tightened against her, pressing her back into him almost roughly. He growled, a frustrated sound that she felt travel from his chest and up his throat. He shifted his weight beneath her and before she knew it, Orihime was lifted into the air.

She had always known he was stronger than her. Of course she had. Ichigo opened jars for her with ease, insisted on carrying all her groceries home for her singlehanded. But she had never felt it like this before. He picked her up without breaking the kiss, and they were halfway across the hallway before she knew it. One arm was vicelike around her waist, and his other hand dug painfully into her thigh, ensuring she was wrapped around his hips. Thoughts of being careful with him were pushed out of her mind as she tried to keep her balance. She clung to his shoulders and tightened her legs around him as he murmured approvingly into her ear "There you go Hime."

He was taking her to the bedroom.

It was not as if the room was forbidden to him. He had been in there plenty of times before. Like when she needed to grab a sweater or lend him a book. He would even sit on her bed sometimes, keeping her company while she braided her hair in the mirror. But they had avoided lingering there for long, moving quickly to the kitchen or the living room. And any touching had been chaste, sweet. A kiss on the top of her head or a squeezed hand.

When they crossed the doorframe, he did not pause to take in the significance of this move. Orihime was pushed into the bed, and ichigo followed. Pressing almost his full weight on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs. His teeth were on her before she could orient herself. Biting, kissing, scraping against her neck until the skin was so sensitive just his breath on it made her shiver.

"Ichigo – I" another kiss, deep and needy. He was clumsy in his want, bruising her lips, clicking their teeth in an attempt to get closer. It was hard enough to keep up with his kiss without registering the rest of his movements. He gripped handfuls of her hips, pressing her into him, impossibly close. She was wearing loose flannel pajama bottoms, and soon he was slipping his hand beneath the waistband, letting his fingers slide along the fabric of her underwear. The slight roughness of the lace contrasted with the smooth skin of her hipbone, and still he did not relinquish her mouth.

His other hand was underneath the hoodie, feeling urgent and uncontrolled and completely unlike the even caresses he had been giving her only minutes before. His hand found her breast, bare beneath the baggy clothing. He had never touched her like this before, and the shock of the sensation was enough to draw a small whimper of protest from her throat.

The sound was muffled against his chest– Orihime barely heard it herself – but it was enough to make Ichigo freeze. She could almost feel his heart stop in response. Slowly, shakily, he disentangled himself from the fabric and rolled off her. He sunk into the pillows beside her with a shuddering breath, far enough away so that no parts of their bodies made contact. Her ears rang with the sound of her own beating heart, and the places he had touched her felt hypersensitive and cold in his absence.

They lay there for a moment, letting their breathing return to normal. Orihime seemed to gather her bearings before he did. And she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest to steady herself. "I can hear your brain worrying." She said gently, hoping to get a chuckle from him.

Instead he pulled himself up to seated position, maintaining a distance that seemed vast to her. Ichigo did not meet her gaze as he said, "Jesus Hime. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come. Are you ok? Did I hurt you?"

"Y-yeah. Of course." She placed a hand over his and gave him a smile. He looked so concerned, almost panicked, and she wanted to alleviate the tension in him. "Hey. Sorry I was just startled, I didn't mean to – "

But he had pulled his hand away, as if her touch had suddenly stung him. "Don't apologize." His voice was almost angry. "Never. I'm the one who's sorry. Be pissed at me Hime."

Orihime wanted to touch him, find a spot in his arms to nuzzle into. But she suspected he might pull away again, and she didn't want to push him. Instead, she made her voice as soft as possible as she said "I'm ok Ichi. You're the only person I ever want to touch me. You could never hurt me."

These words did not seem to cut through whatever thoughts were racing in his mind. He gave her another long look, a furrow to his brow like he was in pain. "God, I love you so much." He said, and her heart clenched painfully.

She wanted to say something in return, find exactly the perfect words. But he barely even paused before saying, "I need to go Hime. Get some sleep."

And before she knew it Ichigo was back in the living room, pulling his slightly damp shirt back on, reluctantly accepting her spare umbrella. He gave her a quick kiss on her forehead, seeming hesitant to do so, and walked back into the rain.

Orihime glanced at the clock on her wall.

5:30am

She crawled back into bed, hoping futilely that this would all make sense when she woke up.