Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach
Chapter Five
Orihime watched with sadness as Uryu left. That wasn't at all how she hoped their encounter would have gone. It was clear that there were still some unresolved issues between them and if she wanted to salvage their friendship, which she thought previously was over, then she needed to stop avoiding the man and try to work through it. Still lost in her musings, Orihime turned to go back into her house only to run smack into a bare chest.
Startled, the red head let out a squeak and nearly fell backward out of her door, if not for the pale man grabbing her by her forearms and catching her before pulling her upright.
"How- how long have you been standing there?" Orihime stammered as she stared at the stoic man's face. Her eyes found the man's two scars running adjacent down his face.
"I've been here the whole time," he told her before briskly pulling her back inside and shutting the door.
It should have been a cordial exchange but Orihime didn't like how intensely the man was looking at her.
"Uryu the doctor left you," the pale man stated. Orihime was mystified by his statement and vaguely alarmed as the man pushed into her personal space, causing her to back up.
"Yes, Uryu has gone home," she agreed shakily. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she stared transfixed at the pale man's eyes. He was getting very close to her.
"He wishes to end your alliance," the stranger continued. Despite the circumstances, Orihime felt her jaw go slack at the utter oddity of the statement.
"You are alone," the stranger continued. By then he had completely backed Orihime against the wall. Instead of being intimidated however, Orihime felt the need to defend herself and Uryu.
"That's not true. Uryu is my friend. I'm never alone, because he, like all of my friends, carry a special place in my heart." She emphasized her point by placing her hand on her chest. The action and argument only seemed to confuse the man.
"I don't see anything," the man told her dispassionately. Orihime balked when she realized he was looking for a physical manifestation to her metaphor.
"You don't see it, you feel it," she explained in a soft voice.
"I feel nothing," the stranger countered and once more stepped into Orihime's personal space. The red head felt her face heat up when she realized his bare chest was all but brushing against her bust.
"I only see and if I can't see it, it doesn't exist," he told her and leaned his face menacingly closer to her. Orihime instinctively pushed back, somewhat shocked at how cold the man still seemed to be when her hands touched his chest.
"Ulquiorra, that's enough!" she told him. It became quickly apparent that the man was much stronger than her when he waited a minute after her shove before he stepped back on his own volition.
"Who is Ulquiorra?" the man asked with a small amount of curiosity. His green eyes never leaving Orihime's. She found herself floundering in embarrassment at blurting out the nickname she had given him.
"I've been calling you that. I mean, since you can't remember your name and, you know, with those marks on your face... she tried to explain in a jumble of words. Curiously, the man cocked his head and Orihime remembered that he was suffering from memory loss and might not remember what his own face looked like.
"You have two scar lines running down from your face from your eyes. One on each cheek. They look like scars," she tried to explain. She felt incredibly self conscious and vaguely rude trying to explain it. Looking around the apartment helplessly but knowing that she possessed no reflective surfaces to give him a visual.
She calmed somewhat when he barely reacted.
"What does 'Ulquiorra' mean?" he asked patiently and Orihime desperately wished that he would stop looming over her. So close, it felt like his green eyes were hypnotizing her. They were going to swallow her whole. Time had stopped moving. She was the only thing in the universe at that moment as she stared at her own reflection in his gaze.
Her hand rose up involuntarily and brushed against his left cheek.
"It means, 'the one who cries," she explained in a hushed voice as the tip of her fingers gently traced one of the scars.
"It will suffice," the pale man agreed, doing nothing to stop her actions.
What was wrong with her? Orihime knew she was acting inappropriately. It was one thing to nurse a bed ridden man back to health. It was something else entirely to be alone with a half dressed man and touching him at such leisure. Even with these thoughts in her head, Orihime felt unusually calm as she continued to stare at his eyes. Her heart was beating in a lulling rhythm and no matter how much she wanted to pull away, her hand remained on his face.
Transfixed with her, Ulquiorra leaned into the hand that was touching him. The action was intimate and despite how calm she was, Orihime couldn't help but gasp as his lips leaned towards her wrist. It was an overly intimate gesture. No one had ever taken such liberties with her before.
"Are- are you going to k-kiss me?" she asked. At her words, whatever spell they had been under broke, as Ulquirra blinked at her in surprise before dropping her hand.
"No," he told her. The confusion in his voice was evident as he put some space between them.
For a moment, Orihime felt a terrible crushing disappointment. Then reality and coherent thought came rushing back and she slapped her cheeks twice to focus. What had she been thinking? Her heart and affections belonged to Ichigo. There was no other. Why would she let some stranger that she had just met take such liberties? What was wrong with her.
"If you weren't going to kiss me, then what were you doing?" she asked.
Ulquiorra frowned at the hysterical tone in her question.
"I don't know," he answered her honestly, puzzled by his own actions. Orihime gaped at him.
"Y-yes well that can't happen again," she told him shakily as she put more distance around him.
"Why?" Ulquiorra asked, and Orihime huffed as she remembered once again, that because of the man's head injury he had no sense and she was going to have to explain everything to him.
"Because it's inappropriate to be in such a compromising position between two people who aren't married."
Those words blossomed into a visual of Ichigo which had Orihime's face for the umpteenth time turning red. Ulquiorra watched Orihime's expression with avid interest.
"You smell pleasant," he told her unabashedly. Blinking Orihime turned a surprised gaze to Ulquiorra.
"When your face turns red, you smell pleasant," he explained. Orihime continued to stare at him, stumped at his odd compliment.
"I am hungry," he continued with a frown.
"Oh! Where are my manners? I am so sorry!" she exclaimed. The bizarre exchange was forgotten as Orihime's hosting instincts took over.
"Here, you can sit in this chair. Do you like stew? I still have some left over," Orihime babbled as she guided Ulquiorra to one of the chairs against the wall.
"I'm terrible. I can't believe I forgot to feed you!" she continued as she absentmindedly draped a thick red blanket over Ulquiorra's bare shoulders. Ulquiorra watched her silently as she muttered about how cold he was and how he could probably fit into Sora's clothing.
"Who is Sora?" he asked calmly when Orihime placed a bowl of stew before him.
"Hmm? Oh Sora is my older brother. After he saved Lord Byakuya's life during a stable accident, he was hired to serve as a vassal in the lord's castle."
Ulquiorra listened silently while he stared at the warm bowl of stew before him. Brown broth with some sort of meat and carrots and potatoes, it looked decent enough but it did not smell appetizing. Orihime waited and watched attentively as the pale man brought a hesitant spoonful of soup to his mouth. She didn't realize that her hands were wringing nervously until she had twisted them into a vice grip at Ulquiorra's grimace. She tried to make the meals she offered to guests decent while on a personal note and for her own meals, she liked to add spices and extra ingredients that others were not very fond of.
For the most part, Orihime was good at keeping her own meal preferences separate from the ones she gave to guests and friends; but once in a while she would mess up. Poor Tatsuki could attest it.
"You don't like it?" she asked, her smile wobbling as Ulquiorra paused and braced himself before taking another bite. His gaze was flat when he turned to look at her.
"It tastes like trash but I need nourishment," he told her honestly before turning back to the stew. His answer bruised Orihime's ego, as no one was quite so rude as Ulquiorra. Still, her desire to please and take care of her guest had the red head apologizing and trying to take his stew back.
"Here, I have other food. Do you like bread?" Orihime asked as she moved to grab the stew. Ulquiorra however anticipated her movements and grabbed onto his bowl with a vice like grip. His eyes narrowed as he turned to his hostess.
"That won't be necessary," he told her and pulled the bowl closer to him.
"No, let me. I don't want you to eat something that -" Orihime began and compensated their game of tug-of-war by yanking the stew hard. The action caused the bowl of contents to spill out all over Orihime's dress.
"Ugh! Oh no!" she lamented. Ulquirra stared at the spectacle silently.
"Wait here. I'll be right back," she sighed before going back into the sleeping room to change her clothing. She paused to shut the curtain, remembering that she was not in her home alone anymore and needed to act accordingly. Unfortunately once the curtain was closed, the room darkened considerably as the candles that had been lit earlier had completely melted down.
"How late is it?" she asked herself as she pulled out her personal chest and quickly discarded her soiled dress before sliding on a clean, long sleeved grey one. Picking up her soiled garment, Orihime added it to her growing pile of clothing that would need to be washed soon.
When she came out, she was surprised to find that Ulquiorra had gotten himself another bowl of stew and despite his discomfited expression, was eating it.
"I've been thinking about sleeping arrangements... Sora and I shared the sleeping room, as the two beds are stacked, but he was family," Orihime began as she studied the front room. Aside from the two small chairs and table along one wall, there was a long storage bench next to the hearth, as well as a spinning wheel and stool. A few other chesst were stored in the corner along with some shelves that held miscellaneous dishes. The provisions were small but since it had been only her and Sora for so long there meager possessions had been enough.
"We are not family," Ulquiorra observed, interrupting the red head's musings. Orihime nodded, noticing how queasy the pale man looked.
"Right. So for the time being I'll let you take the sleeping room and I'll roll out a cot for myself on the floor." She gestured to the big rug in front of the hearth.
Silence followed and Orihime was secretly disappointed that the man didn't chivalrously offer the bed to her. It made sense of course, he was injured and had lost his memory. Still, it would have been nice to know on some level that he cared for her own well-being.
"Right," Orihime sighed and then fought back a yawn. How late was it? It seemed like they had almost been up all night.
"If you let me get some blankets, I'll set up my bedding and show you where my brother kept his spare clothing." At her own words, the red head couldn't help but side eye Ulquiorra who was still using the red blanket as a covering. His thin, black leather trousers were torn as well. It wouldn't just be shirts that he needed.
Stepping past him, the said pale man suddenly lunged forward on unsteady feet. Orihime staggered as she barely managed to catch him and keep him up.
"Are you alright?" she asked in alarm.
"No. Something's wrong," Ulquiorra ground out. Orihime fretted and tried to looked at the wound on his head. Uryu had said it wasn't healing right.
"Here, let's sit you back down," she began, only to be interrupted when Ulquiorra doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach all over them and the floor.
"It was the food," he groaned and despite the mess of it all, Orihime couldn't help but feel guilty as she had prepared him food that had obviously made him ill on top of being injured.
"I am so sorry!" she exclaimed as she wrapped an arm around Ulquiorra's middle just as his knees gave out. He was lithe but thin and with some difficulty, she managed to get him into the sleeping room.
"I need rest. The sun will rise soon," he murmured as his head lulled into the crook of her neck.
Frowning, Orihime turned to look out the windows. Through the top crack of the curtains, it was still very much dark.
"How do you know that?" she asked as they stumbled their way to the lower bed.
"I can sense it," Ulquiorra explained with an exhausted sigh before burying his nose into the crook of her neck. Orihime grimaced but allowed it, more concerned with the man's health than the lack of propriety.
"You smell good," he told her again as Orihime carefully guided his head back onto the pillow. Deciding not to respond, she waited until the man's eyes closed before quickly removing the soiled blanket. She grimaced when she realized that the man's pants were ruined too; and though she had no experience doing such things Orihime quickly cleaned the man up with her small wash bowl and cloth before removing his pants as well and then covering him with clean bedding.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been mortifying to do such things but the putrid smell that permeated from her own soiled dress and the knowledge of the mess waiting out in the front room, dampered any further thoughts of propriety and made her actions both brisk and effective.
Once Ulquiorra was taken care of, Orihime retrieved some more blankets to use for her own bedding as well as some new under garments and carefully slipped from the room before drawing the curtain. Despite her own exhaustion and all the events that had transpired, she would not sleep until the vomit from the floor was taken care of and her own body clean. Thankfully there was more than enough water in the wash basin to take care of the mess. What disturbed Orihime was the amount of blood that had come up with the food. It was a lot. Something was wrong with the Ulquiorra.
These thoughts plagued Orihime's mind as she slowly stripped and cleaned herself in the corner before putting on new undergarments and letting her hair down.
To her own mortification, she realized that she had forgotten to retrieve a new dress as the grey one she had been wearing was now dirty as well. Rubbing her forehead at the situation, Orihime decided to sneak back into the sleeping room and grab the dress before slipping out. It was unheard of to be in such a situation alone without a chaperone, but it looked like the sun was indeed coming out and Orihime just wanted to sleep.
Thankfully, the only person present who could catch her in such a compromising situation was Ulquiorra himself, who was blessedly asleep. Still, it made the hair on the back of Orihime's hair rise as she quietly slipped back into the sleeping room and tiptoed across the room to retrieve another dress. She didn't like how vulnerable it made her feel and for the first time wondered if maybe Urahara was correct in suggesting that Ulquiorra stay somewhere else.
To her relief Ulquiorra did not stir once, though as the sun rose and cast more light into the room she became aware of how truly and unnaturally pale and still he was. He looked…. dead.
Pulling the dress closer to her chest, Orihime turned towards the curtain, ready to leave.
Unfortunately Orihime's best friend, Tatsuki, took that moment quietly to unlock her front door and enter without knocking. It was something that she had started doing after Sora had left - coming in and checking on Orihime in the morning to make sure everything was in order and help her friend with some of her morning chores. She was kind enough to know that Orihime had had a busy, late night - first dealing with the injured mystery man and then the visit with the priest and Uryu dropping by. Logically, she thought Orihime was most likely still sleeping.
What Tatsuki was not expecting was to see her best friend sneaking out of the sleeping room, where she knew the stranger was resting, in her under garments and her hair down.