A/N: Spoilers if you're not up to date on the manga.
The last time he had held someone's hand, it had been his mother's.
They had been walking back from the dojo. It was raining. With one hand, she held her favorite bright yellow umbrella over both their heads. Yellow suited her. Yellow was warm, yellow was welcoming, yellow was the sun. She had been his sun, and his whole world revolved around her. The hand unoccupied by the umbrella was firmly encircled around his own small hand. With his hand in hers, he remembered feeling like nothing could hurt him. Like he was invincible. It was a great feeling. A feeling he wouldn't give up for anything in the world.
But then he saw the girl. And he couldn't tell the dead people from the living people yet. And he had run off. And of course, his mother had followed. She had died. And he had changed. He became guarded, withdrawn. If he didn't allow anyone to come close, he would never again be vulnerable to such damaging hurt.
So how had she managed to worm her way into his heart despite all the barriers he had placed around it?
He glanced down at their hands. Her small, pale, delicate hand had a tight grip on his long fingers. Her hand was noticeably trembling. He wasn't sure what she was so afraid of, him, or the war.
War. Always war. He would give anything if he and his friends could just enjoy a moment of rest. He needed peace. Peace or a slice of salvation.
He raised his gaze from their hands up to the auburn hair girl who had just gathered the courage to grasp his strong hand, something she had wanted to do for a very long time now. Maybe she was his salvation. She wasn't looking at him, her gaze instead turned towards the carnage. The Quincies had returned to Soul Society, intent on finishing what they had started. Zanpakutos and arrows clashed, bodies littered the floor. This wouldn't be over until one side was completely wiped out.
He still didn't completely understand his mother's Quincy heritage. He had a feeling he never would. But it didn't matter. His loyalty was with Soul Society. And his friends. And Orihime.
He freed his hand from her grip. Before she could begin overanalyzing his actions and assuming this was his way of rejecting her, he intertwined his calloused fingers with her dainty digits and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
With her hand in his, Ichigo once again felt invincible. He would have to release her hand eventually and fight. And she would need to look and see if there were any survivors she could help. But for a moment, the orange haired pair was content to just stand on the hill overlooking the madness. Hand in hand.