Ichigo waited for Orihime to show up in the clearing the next day but she did not appear.
It annoyed him that something so simple such as not seeing her frustrated him. He locked himself in his room, drew the curtains aside, moved the table over the windows and spent several minutes gazing at the tower in the distance with several blank papers before him. As he stared, an odd feeling crept up over him: he felt like the tower was staring back at him.
Great, how stupid can you get, Ichigo thought, annoyed.
Hours passed, and finally, he wrote down a single sentence. This uncorked whatever it was he had bottled inside him. Words flowed and he wrote for hours without stopping, immersed in a world of a beautiful woman, of obsession, of solitude and tragic love story. He ignored his protesting stomach, his aching fingers and continued to write.
The last word he wrote was intrigued and after that, everything stopped.
Ichigo struggled to continue the flow of words, but it was as if his well of words had suddenly dried up. The pen trembled as his mind struggled. His eyes roved around the table. Papers, papers and more papers were strewn all over the desk. They were filled with black ink, with words and convoluted feelings, phrases and sentences designed to ensnare the mind, fool hearts and twist emotions. He stared at a particular page. The words seemed to float before him.
These were the words of a man clawing his way out of the chasm of obsession.
Feeling defeated, Ichigo grasped his head with both hands.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Every time he tried to start a new novel, he would reach a certain point where everything will suddenly stop. His mind would shut down in the middle of a narrative, and he'd feel lost, unhinged as though he was knee-deep in a fleeting moment of madness, trying to recapture his inspiration and imagination. Was Urahara telling the truth? Was it his obsession about her that doomed his writing career?
With a groan, he closed his eyes. What did she do to him? She was just a fictional character, a product of his sick and lonely mind. To be dazzled by a figment of imagination, to be enchanted by something he had created… something was truly wrong with him.
And meeting that woman did nothing but exacerbate his obsession and maybe, insanity.
:
Outside Las Anocherer, the night was still; the trees and leaves were motionless. There were no sounds, only a silence so still, so fragile like a thin sheet of ice.
It was past seven o'clock when Ichigo stepped out of his room into the quiet hallway, strained and at his wit's end. He was also very hungry. He ventured forward and came to an intersection. Faint music floated in the air, a familiar piano lament. Curiously, he followed the trace of that familiar music, his feet leading him through the maze of grandiose halls, rose windows, paintings of landscapes, towers, and sunflowers. He passed a wall of photographs of people with white complexion and sad eyes until he came to the end of a hallway. Two wooden doors stood before him, one of which stood ajar.
Cautiously, he peeked through the gap. Almost instantly, he recognized the back of the figure sitting on the stool, playing the lonely, slow music. Quietly he pushed the door and stepped inside.
The room was rectangular with pale gold walls and velvet curtains. It was furnished with cream sofas, armchairs and several paintings. Vases and urns sparkled in the corners. Unlike the brightly-lit hallway, a dimly lit wrought-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling.
What caught Ichigo's interest, however, was the large portrait looming above the lit fireplace. It was painting of a brown-haired man in impressive white clothes, and a little girl with deep auburn hair. Standing behind the armchair where the little girl sat, the man was smiling slightly, a cold knowing look in his eyes. A curl of brown hair fell between his cold, brown eyes. On the other hand, the little girl was smiling warmly, a blue flower tucked behind her ear. Both of them were pale as paper.
"What are you doing here, Orihime?"
The music stopped abruptly.
Ichigo noticed some uncertainty in her movements as she turned to look at him.
"K-Kurosaki-kun…" She looked stunned, her eyes round. The look vanished, replaced by a smile. "Hi! I… I got curious. This was the biggest building in this area. So I… I went inside and wandered around! I think I got lost in the middle of trying to find my way out and found this room!"
Ichigo recalled the owner of the eatery where he ate telling him that no one was allowed to enter this place.
"I didn't see you this afternoon," he said, changing the topic.
"I… I overslept!" she chirped. "Did you… Did you come looking for me?"
Ichigo met her gaze, his face turning a little soft. "Yeah… Yeah, I did," he admitted quietly. At first, she looked surprised. Then she smiled at him, turned in her seat and played the same music again.
"That's familiar," he commented after a while.
She stopped. "What is?"
"That melody," answered Ichigo.
"Oh…" She glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling. "Do you want to hear it again?"
"Sure."
She heaved a deep sigh, positioned her fingers and began. Behind her, Ichigo tried to place the song; he was sure he had heard it before, he just could not remember where.
And then she started to sing these lines:
Can you wipe the sadness in my eye?
Can you heal my broken wing?
Can you…
She paused, playing a short interlude.
…hear me?
:
Ichigo's heart was racing.
That song… It's—
"Dinner is ready."
The music stopped abruptly.
Ichigo jumped at the sound of Nanao's crisp voice. He whirled around.
Orihime stood up. "I should go."
Standing in the doorway, the receptionist flinched, stepping sideward to look behind Ichigo with wide eyes. Her expression surprised Ichigo; it was the first time the receptionist had showed an emotion, looking as though she had seen a ghost. Her perfect formal look had cracked. Frowning, he glanced at Orihime who had turned around to face him. She was smiling her usual smile.
"We… We have a guest." Nanao stated quietly when she regained her composure.
Orihime bowed, her long hair swinging forward. "I'm sorry for intruding." Nanao returned the gesture without a word. She excused herself quietly, leaving the two of them inside the room. Orihime started to leave as well.
"Wait."
She stopped in the doorway and turned around.
"Eat dinner with me." Orihime looked surprised at his request. "It's my last night here and I'm tired of staring at nothing while I eat."
She bit her lip, lowering her lashes shyly, before smiling in understanding. "I'd love to join you, Kurosaki-kun."
For the first time in months, Ichigo cracked a real, small smile.
:
"Aren't you going to eat something, Orihime?" asked Ichigo with a frown.
Orihime shook her head, smiling. "I'm fine, Kurosaki-kun! I'm not very hungry but, um… I hope you don't mind me drinking…?" she asked with big, innocent eyes.
Ichigo smirked. "You're not underage, are you?"
She giggled behind her hand. "No, I'm old enough," she said with a smile, gazing off to the side.
The same blond man who attended to him yesterday morning poured Orihime a drink. He put the bottle on its silver bucket full of ice and bowed low before retreating.
The dining hall was grand, gold-themed and deserted. Their only company was a large number of square tables covered in white tablecloths, shiny glassware, and elegant chairs with spindly legs. Dozen chandeliers with hanging crystals lit up the whole place. Under the bright illumination, Orihime's beauty was more pronounced. Ichigo silently appraised her facial features. Her lashes were long and dark. When she lifted her gaze, he saw how those lashes emphasized the shape and color of her eyes.
"Is it true that it is your last night here?" Even her voice was alluring.
He lowered his gaze to his plate of cordon bleu. "Yeah. I have to go back to work."
"Oh." She shifted in her seat and leaned forward, looking curious. "What do you do for a living, Kurosaki-kun?"
He hesitated. "I write stories."
Orihime tilted her head to the side. "What kind of stories do you write?"
"Fables," he replied with a shrug, not sure why he had chosen that word to describe his work.
"For children?"
He glanced to the side. "Let's say, a fable for general audience."
She drank from her wineglass delicately. He vaguely noted the rich redness of her preferred but nameless wine. "Do you write love stories too?" she asked with a small smile.
Ichigo wrinkled his nose and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "Once."
She smiled. "You're not fond of love stories, are you, Kurosaki-kun?"
He shrugged. "I'm not very good in telling love stories."
"What type of love story did you write?"
"The usual," he said, his voice low and distant, "Where two people are doomed to be separated forever."
Orihime's expression was thoughtful while she examined her wine. And then, startling him, she asked, "Have you been in love with someone you could never have?"
A long silence passed between them, not looking at each other. Ichigo was toying with his fork. Orihime was tracing the stem of the wineglass. At the same time, their gazes lifted from their objects of preoccupation, their eyes meeting. Ichigo stopped toying with his fork; Orihime stopped tracing the stem of her wineglass. Something had passed between them the moment their gazes connected.
"I'm not sure if it's love," Ichigo replied quietly, watching her intently, eyes lidded.
"But whoever she is… She is someone you could never have." Her expression was soft, almost sad. Once again, he was confronted with her beauty. He had never seen someone as beautiful and hypnotizing as she. He had met a couple of beautiful ladies, but no one had this kind of effect on him, this staggering impact. This madness. There was Orihime from his book, of course, but this was different. Something within him burned with feelings he could not understand. It raced through his veins, burning beneath his skin, squeezing his lungs, making his head spin.
"Yeah, something like that," Ichigo answered in an attempt to distract himself.
She bit her bottom lip. "That's very sad…" Ichigo arched a brow, his bewildered expression causing Orihime to flail in panic. "I-I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun! I made you uncomfortable with my personal questions, didn't I?" she asked nervously.
"It's okay." He gave her a small smile to reassure her, and her nervousness evaporated completely.
She rubbed the back of her head. "I'm glad! I thought I made you uncomfortable… I can be very silly sometimes and forget my manners." Scratching her cheek, she dropped her eyes. "I'm not only very clumsy with my feet; I'm also careless with my words and questions. I'm sorry again."
"At least I'm not boring you."
"Oh, not at all!" she chirped, shaking her head. "I find Kurosaki-kun very fascinating! I don't have many friends and I have very few acquaintances so whenever I meet someone new, I tend to ask weird questions to get to know them better even though eventually, we'll part ways."
"Do you mind if I asked a few questions?" asked Ichigo.
"You can ask me whatever you want," Orihime answered cheerfully with a sweet smile.
"Where did you hear that song you played and sang?"
She stared at him for a few minutes before poking her chin with her index finger. "I could not remember where I first heard it, but it's something that I have known for a long time. It felt like… It was for me." She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Kurosaki-kun, I'm not very good in remembering things. "
He shook his head. "It's okay. It's just familiar."
"It's weird, isn't it? I know that song by heart but I could not remember where I first heard it!"
"Maybe it's not an important memory."
She nodded, reaching for her wine. "Or it's just a distant dream…"
After dinner, they wandered around the first floor, stopping to stare at the paintings and comment about them. When they stopped in front of the portrait of the auburn-haired woman, Ichigo studied Orihime's expression carefully, hoping to catch a flash of recognition. But there was none. Instead, all he saw was wide-eyed curiosity.
"You two look alike." Ichigo told her bluntly when Orihime did not say a word.
Orihime glanced over at him innocently. "We do?"
The frown deepened. "The two of you have the same face, same hair color, same eye color. You two even have the same hairpins!"
She stared at him wordlessly.
"Orihime?" he prompted.
She smiled at him in a vague way, gave the portrait another fleeting look and started to walk down the hallway with a spring in her step. "There are more paintings over there, Kurosaki-kun!" Ichigo frowned but he shook his head and wordlessly followed her.
:
Later that night, a figure in red cloak was standing in a hallway, staring up to a portrait. Firm footsteps were steadily approaching the cloaked figure.
"Forgive us. We were unable to prepare adequately. I was not informed that you planned to dine here tonight."
"It's alright, Ise-san! It was unexpected," the woman in red cloak replied, letting the hood fall on her back to reveal her face.
Nanao straightened up. The two of them were standing in front of a portrait Ichigo had shown to Orihime earlier. "He is a dangerous man," Nanao said quietly. "He was able to sense our presences even though Grimmjow and I have suppressed our auras."
With a deep sigh, Orihime turned to face Nanao. "Have you found out who sent him here?"
"We are still investigating." Orihime frowned thoughtfully. Nanao continued. "I was at a loss when I received the letter. Even more so when at the same day, an hour later, Kurosaki-san arrived. I had to play along with his belief that the palace is a hotel so as to avoid suspicion."
Orihime smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Ise-san. You have helped me a lot. Please continue to investigate. This incident is not random, is it?"
"It's not. Do not worry. We will continue to investigate this incident."
However, there was one thing that troubled Orihime the most. Kurosaki Ichigo can sense and track her while others, even her father, cannot detect her presence. While she could feel his presence because of his delightful scent, Ichigo had managed to catch her off guard on several occasions, something that had never happened before. And he was human. At least she thought so.
Is he one of them? If he was, then why was he so surprised when he saw my face as if he it was his first time to see me up close? And they don't call me 'Orihime'…
"Are you feeling unwell?"
"O-Oh!" Orihime was jerked back to reality upon hearing Nanao's question. "I'm fine! Please don't worry about me!" She smiled. "Thank you, Ise-san! I'll be leaving then!" Orihime moved to wear the hood of her cloak over her head when Nanao spoke.
"Please excuse my boldness."
She turned to the dark-haired woman. "What is it?"
"What are we going to do about the human? Do I have to send an envoy to Las Noches?"
Orihime wore the hood over her head, completely shielding her face from Nanao. "You don't have to. It's going to be a long travel to Pyrenees. Don't worry. I'll think of something."
:
She was sitting on the chair beside the window, knees drawn up to her chest as she traced circles on the windowsill. With a sigh, she stopped and said, "Grimmjow."
He stepped out of the shadows. His feet appeared first, the heel of his expensive shoes hitting the stone floor without a sound. Next were his long legs, his torso and the entirety of his white ensemble. He approached her with quiet lethal grace.
"I'm here," he grunted, bending his body slightly forward.
"I need you to do something for me."
"What is it?"
She told him.
:
At ten o'clock in the morning, Ichigo stepped out of Las Anocherer, the heavy, wooden doors shutting behind him. He adjusted the collar of his jacket and hoisted his backpack higher in his shoulders.
To be honest, Ichigo felt a nagging ache at the thought of not seeing Orihime again. She was sincere and peculiar, and he felt comfortable around her, which he rarely felt around women. She had a kind smile and gentleness in the way she moved and talked. It was strange that he felt this way towards her, how much he wanted to protect that kindness, to see her happy and safe. He could not deny that he was easily attracted to her, and it was not because she resembled his fictional character; he was truly and completely enamored with her.
He was halfway past the lake when he heard the faint footsteps behind him, which were not there a second ago. It was so abrupt that Ichigo thought he was merely imagining it. It also gave him a start, causing his heartbeat to quicken in adrenaline. He was certain that those footsteps were not there moments ago; he should have heard it without getting startled – the forest was dead silent, after all.
Ichigo stopped. The footsteps stopped. He could feel the furious pound of his heart in his ears. His instincts urged him to run. Instead, he clenched his fists and turned around slowly, a scowl firmly set on his face. The scowl deepened as he recognized the figure standing several feet away from him.
"What do you want?" he grunted, eyes narrowed.
Electric blue eyes glared at him.
Warily, Ichigo watched the man in front of him; he remembered the receptionist calling him Grimmjow. Ashes fell from the man's cigarette. He took another leisure drag. Smoke puffed from between his lips as he exhaled.
"You don't have to know, bastard." The man finally replied with a smirk. He dropped the stick and it fell in front of his shoe. Rolling his right shoulder, he stepped on the cigarette as he advanced.
Ichigo's scowl darkened. "What the hell is your problem?"
In an instant, the smirk was replaced by a murderous glare, his lips curling in a vicious snarl. "You are the fucking problem." Grimmjow took another step and disappeared without a sound.
What the he—