The building stood between an office tower and a row of a mixture of stores operated by elderly owners. As they entered, Orihime had become distracted by how high the ceiling was at the lobby that she didn't notice her husband had stopped and as a consequence, she ran into his back.
She gasped and tottered ungracefully. Had Ichigo not snatched her wrist to steady her, she would have fallen. Orihime started at the unexpected touch, her heart tripping. Her wrist was released, and she took a deep breath, gaze dropping.
"I-I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
"Obviously," Ichigo deadpanned. She turned red and opened her mouth to apologize again but Ichigo shook his head and gestured to her to continue walking.
In silence, they rode the elevator up to the penthouse. When the doors slid open, a bulky man was revealed waiting outside, wearing a suit and an earpiece. His square-shaped jaw and thick eyebrows gave him a stern expression, his dark hair cut short above his ears.
"Matsunaga." Ichigo nodded as he stepped out of the elevator, followed by Orihime.
"Sir."
"This is Orihime. She's my wife."
Orihime felt a twinge at the way he said 'wife'. It wasn't cold or angry. It sounded as though he were commenting about something insignificant but had to be mentioned. Matsunaga giving her a bow distracted her from the hurt, and she returned the gesture, mumbling "hello" shyly.
Ichigo turned and walked down the hallway, Orihime behind him, followed by Matsunaga. They paused in front of a pair of doors. Ichigo opened a door, revealing the amber-lit foyer. He moved aside to let her in first.
To Matsunaga, he said, "Contact Nel," and closed the door. He walked around Orihime, started towards a hall to the right and opened another door. Orihime followed but stayed in the entrance, unsure if she should enter.
Ichigo walked around the L-shaped cherry wood desk, pulling at his tie to loosen the noose. He unfastened the top button of his shirt, shrugged off his coat, and draped it over the backrest of the swivel chair. He frowned at his watch and pushed a button on his phone panel.
"Matsunaga."
"Line 4, sir."
He pressed another button. "Nel."
"Sir."
Ichigo straightened up and looked at Orihime, his eyes lidded, expression blank.
"Send someone to get to my wife's apartment. I want her possessions delivered here tomorrow at seven."
Orihime's eyes had become huge, her expression confused.
"Yes, sir."
He pressed another button, ending the conversation.
"Are you just going to hover there?"
Orihime reddened and tentatively stepped inside his large office. A blue songbird in the lion's den.
"You're staying here." Ichigo rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, exposing thick forearms. He glared at the packed bookshelves to his left, and then, looked at her. "At first I thought letting you stay wherever you want. But I don't want to give the press an advantage. Stay here and you'll be able to live at peace without worrying about being spied on."
She gave a small nod but said, "You don't have to get someone get my things. I'll get them myself tomorrow."
He shrugged, looking indifferent as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I've already arranged it."
"But-"
"Listen," he said abruptly, eyes narrowed. "I'm clear on what I feel about this marriage. I don't know what you did and said to my mother that made her do something absurd but whatever it is your planning, I suggest you abandon it now.
"To be frank, my lawyers can come up something that can invalidate the will my mother had written. But," he paused to take a deep breath, scowled and continued, "This is what she wanted. If she wanted to imprison us in this kind of marriage, then so be it. I've decided a long time ago that I won't get married unless it's something I truly want. But you two came up with this idea."
Orihime looked down, hands clasped in front of her. The silence felt charged, making her feel tenser than before.
"For how long are you going to play the devoted wife, Orihime?"
She started at the mention of her name. Suddenly her skin felt hot. Orihime hadn't expected him to say her name. Orihime. How odd. Her name sounded different. She replayed the moment in her mind, that one second: Orihime. And she felt something shift, her atoms rearranging.
She took a deep breath. She had thought there will be no tangible encounters between them that would require calling the other by their name.
The air felt thicker when Ichigo stepped around his desk and walked towards her. Her first instinct was to take a step back, but she was too flustered to move. Thankfully he stopped two arm's length away from her.
His scowl deepened.
Orihime flushed, recalling he had asked a question. "Sorry, I was just…" Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. She turned her pink face away, a lock of hair falling to drape over her chest.
Ichigo crossed his arms and stared down at her profile.
Orihime tucked her hair behind her ear, looked up and answered, "For as long as I am able."
He huffed, scowl deepening. "Until you're old and grey then?"
"Yes."
He studied her, revealing nothing in his eyes and gestures. He then shoved his hands inside his pockets and asked another question.
"What if I met someone and I want her to have my name, what would you do?"
She felt something twist inside her chest. It was something she had felt before but unable to name. It was raw, an almost-physical pang in her chest that she can feel it in her bones, in her ribs. Orihime pushed the feeling aside forcefully. But the feeling slowly and gently crept back into her system. It grew, blazing up and engulfing her.
Orihime fought against it but it was futile. It sent questions running through her mind. Can she handle seeing him pine for someone? Will she be able to endure the pain for years until she turned old and grey? Will she be strong enough to keep a blind eye to his affairs? She loved him but what will happen to that love once it was exposed to affairs?
She was suddenly afraid; afraid that with sadness, her love will transform into something ugly and bitter. That in time she will grow to hate him, and in hating him, she will hate herself. However, what frightened Orihime the most was the possibility of blaming Masaki for losing herself if her love turned into resentment. She didn't want that.
But they were married now and she was determined to fulfill her promise. She was a child then, naïve, only ten years old, when she made that promise. As she grew, she learned the reality and its consequences. She had felt crushed under the weight of the promise. There were times she had considered backing out. But a part of her had protested so strongly that the thought of breaking her promise made her physically ill. It wounded her so, imagining Masaki's disappointed face.
She cast him a quick glance underneath her heavy lashes. They both loved Masaki and neither wanted to disappoint her. She was not the only distressed participant here.
Loyalty was one of Ichigo's strongest traits. He seemed like a hard man to charm but he would meet someone utterly lovely, fall in love, and he would want to express those feelings.
Orihime looked up to him and swallowed, crushed by the intensity with which he stared at her. The dull ache did not diminish. It fluttered inside her chest, like a bird hovering in midair, unable to decide, left or right, stay or leave.
She smiled despite it.
"I-I understand what you're trying to say. I won't mind if you…" She was unable to say it now, unlike before. It unnerved her somewhat.
"But you're not going to relinquish your title and privileges as my wife, eh, Kurosaki-san?"
She flushed but did not break eye contact with him. Something flickered in his eyes – a look, brief, faltering, almost-there, but not really. When she blinked, it was gone and Orihime decided then it was imagined.
Ichigo walked past her.
"I'll show you around."
:
They walked through a hall, passed an open library, and emerged in a spacious high-ceiling living room. Orihime eyed the oversize windows with awe; she loved high places, they made her feel closer to the sky.
The decorations and furniture were meager but tasteful. The cleanliness and careful arrangement of furniture were slightly unsettling. Nothing seemed to indicate that someone was living here.
He showed her the open plan kitchen and dining room. Like in the living room, everything was in order and seemed new or unused.
Orihime followed Ichigo down a hall and up a staircase leading to the mezzanine level.
Ichigo opened a door and stepped in. The room was smaller than his office but it still felt huge for Orihime. It was decorated in cream, soft browns and pale red. It was spacious, with large, sweeping windows. Orihime walked to the windows, looked out, saw the skyline, the lights, the slant of moonlight through the clouds.
"Make a list of things you need to be comfortable here. Matsunaga will get them for you."
Ichigo walked to the door and was about to leave when Orihime spun around. Ichigo paused, looking up to meet her eyes.
"Thank you," said Orihime with a bow.
Ichigo said nothing and closed the door.
Finally alone, she sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, feeling drained. The changes were overwhelming. She had thought before they'll live under the same roof but not immediately after the wedding.
With a sigh, she unbuckled her sandals and placed her feet on the carpeted floor. Before she left with Ichigo, she had changed from her wedding dress to a blue dress. They had left the reception early; she bid her friends and Ichigo's sisters a quick good bye and thanked them.
After pulling on the drapes over the windows and turning off the lights, she slipped under the thick covers, still wearing her blue dress. The bed was hard, probably from being unused. She was exhausted; mentally, physically and emotionally. She closed her eyes with a sigh, but her thoughts circled around each other, making her feel more tired but awake. Remembering Ichigo's questions, she felt her chest tighten.
Opening her eyes, Orihime rolled to her back, her long hair tangled underneath her, curling around her shoulders and torso.
She did say she would not mind him having affairs but she knew it will still hurt. Immensely. She will feel betrayed, unworthy of love. At those thoughts, she felt her eyes sting. She closed her eyes tightly to force the tears back.
No.
Kurosaki-kun's not cruel.
He would not be utterly spiteful by flaunting his affairs. He would be discreet, partly to protect his reputation and to avoid questions from his family and friends.
Relieved that her eyes remained dry, she took deep breaths and turned to her side, tucking her hands under her cheek. Through the gap between the curtains, she saw the stars, twinkling playfully, as thought they were smiling.
Tomorrow.
Will it be better?
She will make it.
:
When Ichigo turned up at the bar in a hotel seven buildings away from where he left his wife, his friends, sitting around a table by the window, were surprised.
"Whatcha doing here?" asked Renji. Ichigo ignored him. Undeterred, a grin lifted the corners of Renji's mouth. "Honeymoon's already over? Can't get it u-"
Ichigo smacked the back of Renji's head.
"Hey! You-"
"Can it," Ichigo deadpanned, his eyes holding a spark of annoyance in them. He slid next to Sado and raised a hand. A waiter immediately came over. He surprised his friends by ordering a bottle of brandy.
"Oi. This is singles' night out. No married boys allowed," Renji drawled as soon as the server left. Ichigo grunted and ran a hand through his hair. The server returned with his order. Three pairs of eyes watched in bewilderment as Ichigo emptied his first glass and poured another glassful.
"Whoa, man, whoa." Renji made a face. "Slow down."
"Shut up. I need to get drunk," snapped Ichigo and glowered at his glass sulkily. Renji traded confused looks with Sado. The other man shrugged.
"What's the matter with you? You look as if you got a death sentence or something," Renji muttered.
A cold smirk kicked up the corner of Ichigo's mouth, looking both amused and predatory.
Renji blinked at his friend's expression, mouth slack, looking as though someone had asked him a complicated math question.
Ishida adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms. "What are you really doing here?" Ichigo did not reply, his gaze stubbornly staying on his glass. "What kind of husband are you, leaving Inoue-san on the first night of your marriage?"
Ichigo scowled. "It's Kurosaki."
Ishida arched an eyebrow. "My mistake. It's Kurosaki-san now, isn't it?"
The muscles in Ichigo's jaw tightened. "Like you fucking forgot!" he retorted with a sneer.
"What are you doing here, Ichigo?" interrupted Sado, effectively distracting Ichigo from starting a verbal fight with Ishida. "You never liked drinking."
Ichigo ran a hand over his face. "I brought her to my penthouse."
"Huh? What penthouse?" asked Renji at the same time Ishida said, "You don't live in your penthouse. Are you two going to live separately?"
Ichigo thought he had this whole arrangement figured out, but he still felt lost. Letting her stay wherever she wanted was the plan while he carried on with his routine. He refused to let the change in his marital status affect his life.
But the last thing he needed was a fucking newspaper article on his marriage every damn morning. Tabloids were known for their mercilessness and dogged persistence. He had never paid attention to malicious write-ups that cropped up and will crop up every now and then. But this was different. His mother was involved. He'd be damned if he allowed his mother's name be drug into this mess.
"No," Ichigo finally answered.
Renji blinked, looking thoroughly confused but did not say anything. Ichigo grunted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Kurosaki."
"What," Ichigo scoffed, irritated.
"I know you and Ino-" Ichigo shot him a murderous glare. "Your wife," Ishida corrected, "have serious issues. But try not to be a complete unfeeling brute. If you can't refrain yourself from making hurtful comments, then make your encounters scarce."
Ichigo cast a cold look in Ishida's direction, eyes narrowed. "You sound very concerned."
Ishida stared back just as icily. "I am very concerned. Inoue-san is important to me."
Renji fidgeted, watching the staring contest between two friends with growing anxiety. It's Kurosaki-san, Ishida. He thought correcting Uryuu but decided it was unwise to butt in. The glint in Ichigo's eyes had grown more menacing. He looked as if he were pondering what to break first: Ishida's eyeglasses or his nose.
Ichigo huffed and emptied his glass. "Be concerned as much as you want. I don't give a shit."
Sado put a calming hand on Ishida's shoulder and shook his head. Ishida wisely acquiesced, still looking irritated. Looking uninterested, Ichigo flagged another server, ordering another bottle.
Renji grinned. "So how was the honeymo-"
"Drop it, Renji," growled Ichigo, voice heavy with irritation.
"You didn't get some, did you?"
Before Ichigo could reply or sock Renji's face, the server arrived with his order.
Grinning broadly, Renji raised his glass. "Let's have a toast! To Ichigo. May he and his pretty bride-" Ichigo clenched his teeth. "—live happily, with lots of se-"
Ichigo reached out a hand, grabbed Renji's loose tie, and pulled. Renji let out a pained cry as his chin collided with the table.
"Ow! You bastard!"
:
Outside, with the gentleness of a blooming flower, the sky turned pink from black. Early sunlight spilled and sifted through the clouds. They went through the windows, casting diamond patterns on the floor.
Orihime watched them from the plush red couch, knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on top of them.
She didn't sleep much; she figured it was because of the unfamiliarity of her new home. Thoughts and worries kept her awake, too.
She looked up to the wall clock. It was still early, only five minutes before six. Slowly, she unfolded her legs, bare feet touching the floor. She rose and paced to the windows, opening the drapes fully. Sunlight flooded in, bathing the whole room in natural light.
At six, she went to the kitchen. The fridge was empty except for ice cubes and bottled water. She opened the cupboards and found them empty. Feeling thirsty, she took the bottled water from the refrigerator and transferred the contents in a glass. Then she sat at one of the barstools at the breakfast counter and looked out of the window to gaze at the brightening sky. Like in the living area, the windows here were oversize.
There was a buzz, causing Orihime to jump. She hopped off the stool and went to answer the front door. As she passed the living area, she saw huge drapes covering the floor to ceiling windows. Muted sunlight streamed through them, bathing the room in soft gold light.
Standing outside was the man called Matsunaga.
"Good morning, miss."
"Good morning," she said with a smile. She opened the door wider. "I'll go and get Kuro- I-Ichigo-kun," she hastily corrected herself, blushing.
"He's not here."
She turned slowly back to Matsunaga. "Eh?"
"Kurosaki-shachou doesn't live here."
Orihime stiffened as her chest tightened. "Oh." She flushed in embarrassment and forced herself to smile at Matsunaga.
"The movers are here with your belongings. As per Kurosaki-shachou's orders, I brought supplies."
"I… All right." She watched Matsunaga speak to his lapel before she turned, leaving the door opened.
A group of men soon came up, bearing sealed boxes. She led them to the hallway where her bedroom was. She then helped Matsunaga sort and put away the supplies.
"Miss, is there a problem?"
Orihime started and looked up.
Matsunaga continued, "Do you prefer another brand?" He pointed to the box of cheese in her hand. "We can get you whatever brand you fancy."
"Oh, no. This is fine! It's just- I have never seen this brand before."
"I hope we got everything you need," Matsunaga said after they tidied up.
Orihime beamed. "You purchased so many foods that the cupboards are overflowing! You even brought me a couple of baking materials. Thank you for that!"
"It was Kurosaki-shachou's orders to get you those equipments, miss."
Orihime stared at him, bewildered.
"Kurosaki-shachou also informed me about a list."
Orihime shook her head to clear her thoughts and said, "But you already got me everything, Matsunaga-san." Matsunaga nodded slowly. He bowed and left. It was Orihime and the humming of the refrigerator.
She had never minded silences; she had spent years in solitude. This silence however was different from what she was accustomed to. No purring of cats, no chattering of children walking home from school, no distant roar of passing trains.
Orihime looked out the window, the sky a gentle blue. Watching the lone wispy cloud floating nearby, she now understood the unnatural cleanliness and emptiness of her new home: "Kurosaki-shachou doesn't live here."
She thought: alone.
Always alone.
One, two, three, she counted as she breathed. Then she trudged up the stairs and sorted her things. She found Sora and Masaki's photographs.
She placed them on the low table next to her bed.
Orihime smiled.
There.
Not so alone anymore.
:
note. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for the atrocious delay! the past two months were dreadful! but things are starting to calm down, so I have a bit of free time to finish and proofread this! I'm not an expert though, so please if you spot a mistake, tell me! :D
thank you so much for your patience, reviews, support, kindness and generosity! xx
p.s. I saw some reviewers making guesses heh heh I won't tell if your guesses were right! :P