Thank you for all your kind comments for my first chapter. Here's the second.

Please Enjoy.

II

"Inoue-san?"

She clasped a hand over her mouth in an attempt to suppress her startled yelp. She had expected him to already be inside his house.

"My apologies for frightening you," he bowed slightly.

She shook her head vigorously. She clutched her bag nervously and pondered anxiously on the excuses she should give for appearing unannounced at the door of his apartment. "I was in Shinjuku. And it's only a few minutes from here. And I was free. And you live here. And I hadn't seen you for so long. And so I thought…"

"You're usually in Shinjuku, Inoue-san," he commented, cutting off her fragmented, nervous speech. He dug his fingers into his pocket to fish out his key. He glanced at her briefly as he unlocked his door, with an expression that was faintly curious, but there was no judgment.

And she knew he would not judge her. He never did. "Of course, I live in the university's dormitory. You know that. Ha…" She laughed her usual silly laugh, gently knocking a fist to her head. But her laughter sounded false even to herself and she was certain she would not fool him. She looked down, knowing that it was despicable that she had even considered taking advantage of one's kindness. "It's really good to see you again, but I guess I have to…"

"Since you are already here, it would be ill-mannered of me to not invite you in." He held his door open in obvious proposition. Even in his casual off-white pullover and a pair of khaki pants, he never failed to exude the strange gallantry in his poise and gesture. And she was ashamed to admit that she had come seeking this gallantry that she was certain he would offer her.

Her eyes wandered away from his face, for there was guilt in the knowledge that his concerns stemmed from more than just friendship alone, and that she would just be using him if she was to accept it. She could not forgive herself for her willful behavior, that she should run like a child to the nearest person whom she knew would hold her and comfort her. "I shouldn't bother you. I should get going…"

He cupped his hand around her elbow, stopping her with a grasp that was both firm and gentle. "Orihime."

Her name was spoken like the lilt of a poignant love song, warm and intense. How dearly she had wanted to hear her name spoken in such manner from another man, and how she had waited in vain. The wait had drained her and this man's voice came to her like fire in the freezing snow.

It was beginning to rain. The cacophony of the heavy splatter of rain and the gurgling of the drains were deafening, and they were threatened to drown her sanity as she struggled with the reality of her weakness. The rain. If the rain could unite the earth and the sky, if the rain could connect with someone's heart… then she could never become the rain.

And at last something in her broke and the tears came. "Ishida-kun…"

He did not question her. Instead, he took her into his apartment and sat her down. He kneeled before her quietly and waited. And she wept like she had never allowed herself to weep before, her fists pressed against her face, trembling.

And all the while, Ishida had not spoken a single word. He simply waited in pensive silence. Just like he always did.

"I knew, right from the beginning, I would not be able to compare to her."

He nodded, urging her to continue.

"I knew, Ishida-kun, I knew!" She was angry. For the first time, she realized she was angry. It was not just envy, or jealousy, or frustration. It was anger of her ineptitude and naiveté. "I knew! Yet I thought I'll be okay. I thought I'll be fine. I thought I can settle for number two. But I can't. I can't settle for just being number two. I'm not even number two! He has no space for a number two. He has no space... I loved him first. I loved him first. I loved him first…" The words died upon her choked voice.

And she knew, that more than envy, jealousy, frustration and anger, it was the deep regrets buried within her that was beginning to destroy her. The regret that she had not been the one who shaped the world of the one she loved. The regret that she could not be the one he loved first, despite him being her first love. The regret that perhaps she had told him she loved him too late. And the regret that despite her ability to turn back time, she could not undo the wars, the battles and the death of his mother. She had tried so hard, but the powers that she had long left behind had changed so little.

She walked out from the past, but she could not save him. It had taken her so much courage to offer her hand, but he had not taken it. She could not lead him out of a past he had entrapped himself in.

She grabbed the corner of Ishida's shirt, her hand shaking. "I'm so tired of trying. I don't want to be spiteful for all the things I cannot do for him."

Ishida reached out and pulled her into his arms. She remembered his warm, tender touch on her hand, on the first snow of December last year. Their old class from Karakura High School had organized a year-end party and she had been waiting at the train station, expecting Ichigo to be home for the event. When the snow began to fall, she was elated, believing that she would be able to spend the first snowfall with the man she was in love with. She could recall so clearly. Oh, how her mind had danced with extravagant fantasies!

But he had not arrived.

Instead, Ishida was the one who came and saw her at the station, looking like an abandoned animal, snow collecting on her coat and hair and shoes. The tears that she had not wiped away long dried on her face. And in her hands, she still held the phone that delivered the disappointing news.

She must have looked awful, but he had said nothing. He simply removed his gloves and wrapped his warm hands around her frozen ones. He blew his warm breath upon them and then pulled his own gloves over her warmed hands. And silently, he pressed a handkerchief into one of her hands, held the other with his gloveless hand, and allowed her to cry freely as he took her to the gathering.

She remembered with such clarity, that hand which held hers, that breath upon her frozen skin; they were her refuge. And today, she had come here wanting that kindness that he had once given her though she knew she was undeserving of it. She had given him nothing in return.

For years he had stood at the sidelines, watching her from afar, always ready to grab her whenever she fell. And for years, she had not seen him, for her sight was always following the trail of another man.

"You are very brave, Orihime," he stroked her hair. "You are very, very brave."

She did not need to look to see that reflected in those dark eyes behind the glasses was her, Inoue Orihime, only her and nobody else.

His love clung to her skin like the warmth of the morning sun she had forgotten. His voice carried the tunes of a love song she had needed to hear.

And she spent that night, curled up in the arms of the man whom she knew, truly loved her.

x . x . x

This would be the last time she would unlock the door into this neat little apartment. The last time she would watch this man sit at the desk, his head bent over his anatomy books as he marked out the important things he wished to remember. The last time she would breathe the distinct scent of mandarin that belonged to him. It would be the last time.

"Kurosaki-kun," she called out his name softly, still standing at the doorway with her shoes on.

She watched him swivel his chair to face her, the pen still in his right hand and a quizzical look on his face. He seemed suddenly unaccustomed to her calling his last name. "Inoue?" He said carefully.

'Inoue'. Quite suddenly, she realized she was rankled by the fact that through all the years they had known each other, he never changed the way he called her. It was always 'Inoue'. Never 'Orihime'. Her detest of the impregnable fortress that he had placed between them was a festering wound that had remained unattended for far too long. Tatsuki was Tatsuki, Sado was Chad, Ishida had even become Uryuu! Yet, she was still 'Inoue'.

Inoue, Inoue, Inoue.

It was like they were strangers pretending to be lovers. Perhaps that was exactly what it was. A make-belief relationship.

"Kurosaki-kun," she repeated herself, the name leaving a sense of determination in her. Because she could remember the delight of the first time she had called him solely by his first name. And she could also remember how that delight withered with each passing day that he would look at her with distant eyes, till gradually the feel of his name rolling off her tongue brought forth little contentment. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

She smiled. That undecorated manner in which he spoke, that little crease between his defined brows and that little elegiac tilt of his head would never truly change, though their forms had subdued with age. She wanted to end everything before she could forget her reasons for loving him, before that slow burn of resentment within her set everything ablaze in hatred. "I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun." Her fists tightened around her skirt, with much anxiety but without uncertainty. "I can't… not like this anymore."

Without speaking, he stared at her a long while, till finally, his facial features softened. And at that moment, Inoue knew she need not say more to make him understand. Perhaps, he had been anticipating the day when this would happen. He had always been more astute than what most people gave him credit for.

And then, in an all too familiar manner, she could see his thoughts drifting away for a second. She wondered who he was thinking of, though the answer seemed too painfully obvious.

She knew, when he loved, the one he loved was like those Shakespearean plays that he preserved with utmost care. He would take the books out time after time and find incapable of putting them down as he relished in the intricacies of those tales that were created from the depths of a genius' mind. And it was not an easy fact to acknowledge, that their relationship was not a Shakespearean play. It was simply another one of those numerous prescribed medical textbooks that lined his shelves, one that he read indifferently out of obligation, and one that he could easily put away to rest his eyes.

He never loved her.

But Kurosaki had a gentle soul, too gentle to hurt her by telling her that whatever they had between them had to end. He never realized how much more he was hurting her and hurting himself by his reticence. And that she always saw the exhaustion and sadness in his face, and it told her he would never be able to love her no matter how he tried. So she had to say it, before his kindness destroyed them both.

"Kurosaki-kun." She was beginning to forget how his first name sounded out of her, but she knew it was all right for her to forget. She wanted to forget. Those might have been happier times, when he was still just 'Kurosaki-kun' to her. She placed her copy of his room key onto the tatami floor and smiled wanly at his apologetic face. "Sayonara."

And she closed the door, her body shuddering with stifled sobs that she hoped he could not hear. The snow globe that encased her fantasy world had finally shattered and the broken glass glinted like precious diamonds before they cut into her skin and stained her world crimson.

But she knew that one day, she would be ready to truly leave the pieces of that fantasy world behind. One day, with all her heart and soul, she would be able to give herself a second chance, and walk through the real door of happiness that had been wide open and waiting for her all these years.

- YL -