Orihime had not been to Ichigo's house since she was a child. His father, Isshin, used to run a small medical practice from their home. Sora had taken her there when she was eight and had broken her arm. She didn't see Ichigo's father around town these days. The medical practice had closed years ago, near the time Ichigo's mother had died. From what she'd gathered, Isshin simply wasn't around much.
This struck her as unusual, but not terribly so. Orihime did not know how exactly fathers behaved, her main frame of reference being books and movies. She wondered if by chance Isshin would be there when she arrived. If Ichigo would feel awkward or embarrassed to have her visit. The thought made her hesitate for a moment, but she steeled herself with her medical supplies and kept walking. It was normal for schoolmates to visit each other. It was a normal thing to do.
Still, Ichigo's house was intimidating. The two-story house made her little apartment – left to her by Sora and maintained with his small police pension – look feeble and shabby. The sign for the medical clinic had been taken down, but the exterior still looked tidy and professional – neatly trimmed shrubs and well-cared flower beds leading up to the door. Orihime wondered for the first time what Ichigo thought of her life. He was the son of a doctor, lived in a good neighborhood, had a real family. Perhaps he pitied her absent parents, her small living space, her solitary life.
The thought brought on an uncomfortable flush of shame to her cheeks. When she knocked on the door, Orihime half-hoped no one would answer. Instead, the door opened and she was greeted by a short, light-haired girl. Orihime recognized her as Yuzu, Ichigo's younger sister.
"Hi!" Yuzu said brightly, "Can I help you?"
Orihime smiled back uncertainly. "Hi, I'm sorry to intrude but I'm looking for your brother, is he home?"
"Yeah," Yuzu nodded, "come on in."
Orihime followed the girl inside, marveling at how different she looked from Ichigo. Yuzu was fair-haired, with a soft, slight build. Most different of all were her eyes, large and unguarded, lacking the tension her brother carried around like a shadow.
Inside, the house was warm and spacious. Signs of activity were everywhere, from the skateboard and soccer ball perched in the foyer, to the textbooks and colored pencils littering the coffee table. As they walked deeper into the house, Orihime could hear soft music coming from the dining room, filling any awkward silence she may have had with the young girl before her. Yuzu looked back at her as they crossed into a large, well-lit dining room "He's helping me with my mixer." she whispered.
Orihime did not need to ask Yuzu for explanation. Ichigo was sitting at the table, wearing sweatpants and a cotton sweater that looked soft and slept-in, long sleeves rolled up to expose the tan, scarred skin of his forearms. In front of him was an electric mixer. Orihime had never owned an electric mixer. She resorted always to whipping batter by hand until the small muscles of her forearm ached. Still, she could see that this one was old and beautiful – a cheerful if slightly worn baby blue.
Ichigo did not see her, he was too focused on taking the machine apart with careful, methodical precision. Screws were lined up neatly on the table with their corresponding mechanical parts. Orihime watched with quiet fascination as Ichigo's long fingers coaxed the small motor out, covered in a slick layer of dark oil that smudged his skin. His hair was tousled and the look on his face was calm and almost reverent. A speaker beside him was playing jazz, gentle and slow.
"It broke?" Orihime asked Yuzu quietly. She didn't want to disrupt Ichigo, didn't want to lose that rare expression of ease on his face.
Yuzu nodded, "Italian buttercream."
"Meringue hardened and broke the beater?" She guessed.
Yuzu grinned up at her, delighted to hear the recognition in Orihime's voice. "Sugar syrup seeped into the rotor."
"Ouch." She said, smiling now. She could picture it so clearly, the small, bubbly girl in front of her getting over-excited trying to make something new.
"Yeah, I hope he can fix it. I don't like using a hand whisk." Yuzu's face scrunched in distaste.
"What? And miss out on these muscles?" Orihime flexed her soft, slender arm and Yuzu giggled.
The sound seemed to snap Ichigo out of his trance. He looked at the two of them, and his face registering nothing for several beats. "Orihime."
She gave him a small, guilty smile, as if she had been caught breaking the rules. "Hi Ichigo! Sorry to bother you I –" and for a long, terrifying moment she could not formulate an appropriate explanation. How could she tell him of her worry? Her backpack filled with bandages and gauze? Yuzu was beside her with a grin that was careless and innocent.
"I baked a bread." She said finally, looking down at the wrapped loaf in her arms. "I can't eat it by myself."
Ichigo looked at her for several seconds, and then he sighed – a sound that was half affectionate, half exasperated. "Orihime that's…too nice." He closed his eyes as if frustrated. "You don't ever have to bring me anything…fuck Orihime I -" His eyes opened and flicked to Yuzu, "Sorry Munchkin, don't repeat that."
Yuzu rolled her eyes, more amused than scandalized. "You don't have to call me that Ichi, I'm not a baby." She turned to Orihime. "What kind of bread?"
And so Orihime found herself in the Kurosaki kitchen, slicing bread as Yuzu pulled out jam and butter. It was clear that Yuzu had total command of the kitchen in this household, and Orihime enjoyed the rare role of being her helper.
"We should make tea!" Yuzu announced, excitedly pulling open a cabinet to reveal boxes of loose-leaf tea. "I have lots. Ichi mostly likes black, but Karin drinks green and white as well."
Orihime nodded, "That's impressive! What kind do you like Yuzu?"
As they spoke, Ichigo lingered in the doorway and observed them. After a few minutes, another girl – Karin – emerged from her room, roused by the noise. Yuzu put her to work grabbing plates and napkins.
"Do you bake as well Karin?" Orihime asked, and immediately laughed at the repulsed expression on the girl's face. "That's a no then, what do you like to do?"
It turned out that Karin liked to play soccer and draw. Orihime couldn't commiserate much with sports, but they chatted contentedly about colored pencils and charcoal sticks until the bread was toasted and the tea was brewed.
"Ichi! Could you move the mixer stuff out of the way please?" Yuzu asked, and Orihime glanced up at Ichigo, having forgotten him momentarily. He nodded at his sister and did what she asked, making room for them to set the table.
As they ate, Ichigo remained mostly quiet, a restrained expression on his face. Orihime wanted to study him, but in truth she was too delighted by his sisters. She had forgotten what it felt like to sit at a family table and talk over tea and food, the warm glow of closeness and familiarity. Her conversations with Yuzu and Karin bounced around from favorite manga to favorite subjects in school, tips for making pastry and choosing color palettes. Orihime did her best not to explode from happiness as each girl competed good-naturedly for her attention.
"You have to come over next week," Yuzu said, "and teach me how to bake bread."
"And bring your sketchbook." Karin added, "I want to see the landscapes you mentioned."
"Oh I –" she would love to come back, to become someone familiar and beloved to them. She glanced at Ichigo, unsure if this would be ok.
"Hey guys, Orihime has responsibilities of her own." Ichigo said. His voice was light and reasonable, but her heart sank a little regardless. Of-course she didn't belong to this family. She didn't belong to any family.
"Don't you have a soccer game soon Karin?" Ichigo continued, and the girls nodded and began clearing up.
"I always bring orange slices to the games." Yuzu said to Orihime and she smiled.
"That's really sweet Yuzu, I bet the team appreciates it."
As the girls got ready Orihime started doing dishes, an unconscious instinct of politeness and helpfulness. Ichigo followed her into the kitchen.
"Orihime." His voice held the affectionate, exasperated tone she had come to recognize. "Sweetheart you don't have to do that."
Orihime smiled but didn't stop. She felt like she owed him something after barging in and accidentally coopting his family for an afternoon. He laughed a little to himself and in a moment was pressed up beside her, taking a sudsy plate from her hands, rinsing it and placing it on the dishrack.
It was an innocent thing – the feeling of their sides touching as they worked – but Orihime could not help but be reminded of the night before. When the stoic, relaxed man besides her had held her in the air and pressed her body into him, hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise.
Perhaps Ichigo was remembering this as well, when she passed him a mug to rinse, he instead trailed his thumb over her wrist, tracing the small bluish veins on her pale skin. They stayed that way for a few moments until Karin called out a goodbye behind them and Orihime jumped in surprise, dropping the mug. Ichigo caught it in a quick, graceful movement.
"Be careful," He called out after them. "Come straight home."
The girls rolled their eyes and agreed. Orihime watched them leave, Karin in her soccer uniform and Yuzu lugging a large Tupperware container of orange slices. She had the distinct, aching feeling that she may not see them again.
They were alone. Ichigo turned off the faucet and handed her a dish towel to dry her hands. Wordlessly, he led her down the hallway and into his room. It was a sparse, sterile space. So unlike her own room, which burst at the seams with plushies, craft supplies, books. Ichigo's room housed a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a desk.
Coming up behind her Ichigo placed his hands on her shoulder and led to the desk. "Sit sweetheart."
The rolling chair was set high to accommodate his long legs, and her feet barely trailed the floor. She watched him walk to the door and shut it even though they were alone in the house. It was as if he needed to contain the chaos of his uninvited guest. Orihime had only wanted to take care of him, but she wondered what she must look like from his perspective. Probably just a silly, lonely girl trying to squeeze herself into his life.
"I didn't want to bother you." She said quietly, feeling small and out of her depth. "I didn't want to bother your family I just – "
At this Ichigo returned to her, crossing the room in two long steps. "Bother them? Jesus Christ Orihime, they already like you more than they like me." He shook his head, a little incredulously. "I think they're going to harass me to invite you back every day of my life."
Orihime gave him a small smile, a little sad. "You won't though, will you? Invite me back I mean."
"Listen Orihime," Ichigo sighed and knelt to become eye level with her, placing his hands at either side of her chair so that she felt enclosed by him, "seeing you with my sisters today… I always knew they'd love you, you know? Anyone would be crazy not to."
"They're great." Orihime said instantly. "So sweet and fun. And they love you Ichigo, it's so obvious."
Ichigo closed his eyes, letting his forehead touch hers. It was as if some tremendous weight was pulling him down. "They are great. And you're great with them. You're so good at everything sweetheart. I just…you can't come here Orihime. It's not safe for you"
"Safe?" Orihime could not disguise her incredulity. "Ichigo you were at my house last night barely standing. I spent all day trying not to worry about you and I failed." There was no real anger in her voice, she couldn't have mustered it if she tried.
Ichigo pulled back a little, looking her squarely in the eye. "Orihime I am really sorry about last night. I know It'll sound stupid to you but all I wanted was for you to not worry about me. I thought if I showed up and you saw that everything was ok…"
His gaze was so intense and sincere Orihime had trouble looking directly at it. Instead, her eyes found their way up to a small, deep cut on his temple.
"But you weren't ok Ichigo." Embarrassingly, her voice trembled a little as she said this, and she looked down at the wood panels of the floor.
In response, Ichigo cupped her chin gently, forcing her to look him in the eye. "I am ok Orihime. You never need to worry about me. All of this –" he nodded towards the scars and cuts on his forearm, exposed beneath the rolled-up sweater "– I don't even think about it. It doesn't bother me half as much as the idea of you getting upset or hurt because of me."
He looked so earnest, and she couldn't help but laugh a little because it was so ridiculous. "I don't care about getting upset or hurt. I care about making sure you're safe." Orihime leaned back in the chair, allowing the full weight of the absurdity wash over her. "And I can't keep you safe. You won't even let me try."
Ichigo smiled a little – a sad smile. "I guess it wouldn't help if I told you I could handle it? That I didn't want to burden you?"
In response, Orihime stood up and said in her most authoritative voice "Sit on your bed Ichigo. We're doing some first aid."
Orihime ran back to the living room to grab her backpack, and when she returned, she sat Ichigo on the bed. He was obediently still as she dabbed his cuts with alcohol swabs and prodded gently at his ribs, collarbones, and hands. His eyes followed her – alert and thoughtful. The marks across his throat were clear now – dark imprints of gripping hands and the occasional scratch of fingernails.
"Does it hurt to swallow?" She asked.
"A little," he admitted, "but it's better than last night."
She nodded and moved her attention onwards, taking one of his large hands in her own. "Make a fist please."
He did so, and she observed the stiffness of the movement, the way the swell of his knuckles prevented the fingers from curling completely. "Now flex your fingers."
Ichigo spread his hand, laying it flush on top of hers. The ring finger refused to lay completely flat, remaining slightly bent at the knuckle. "Does this one hurt more than the others?" she said, touching the finger lightly at the nail so as not to hurt him.
Ichigo looked at her for a moment, as if contemplating something before saying "Yeah. It does."
She nodded and released the hand before fishing around her backpack. "It's broken, probably just a hairline fracture. I'm going to put this in a splint for you. I only have the plastic kind, but it'll do for now." Orihime fiddled with the packaging for a moment before nodding towards Ichigo's hand "Gimme please."
He offered her the hand and they both watched in silence as she clamped the splint as gently as possible. Orhime turned his hand over in her own for a few moments, investigating her work. "That'll hold."
He nodded. "You're really good at this Hime."
She shrugged a little, distracted. "I'd like to take a look at your ribs if you don't mind. Is that ok?"
"You really don't need to –" He started, but Orihime was already shaking her head.
"A broken rib can pierce your lung if it's bad enough. There's not much I can do but we should at least figure out if you need a doctor."
Ichigo smiled a little in resignation as he pulled his sweater over his head. "You're the boss."
Under normal circumstances this would have made Orihime blush, but she was too focused. It was strange how his body could look so powerful and yet so broken. Strong shoulders. Sharply outlined muscles. Bruises on top of scars. "Lie down. Please."
He lay back on the bed and she knelt beside him, running her hands across his torso. The taut skin was mottled with varying shades of bruises, from sickly yellow to deep purple. Ever few inches she would press down gently, monitoring his reaction. "Tell me when it hurts."
He nodded, letting his eyes close as she touched him. "Ok sweetheart."
For several minutes they were silent as Orihime methodically catalogued every tender spot, every involuntary tightening of his stomach or grimace. She ran her hands over him until she was satisfied that no detail had been overlooked. "Nothing's broken, I think." She said gently and Ichigo responded with a quiet hum of acknowledgment. His eyes were still closed, and Orihime observed the darkness beneath them, a soft purple that was not dissimilar to the bruises beneath her fingers. He was tired.
She allowed her fingers to remain on him, her thumb tracing a scar that spanned diagonally from his rib to his hipbone. It had healed poorly; the skin raised and textured the entire length. Whatever the cut had been, he should have gotten stitches. He should have gone to a doctor. A doctor like his father.
"Ichigo," She said softly "why doesn't your father help you with this stuff?"
For a moment, she thought he had fallen asleep. But he opened his eyes slowly, warily. His face was uncharacteristically unguarded when he answered. "Ah, well. We really don't see him anymore."
Orihime let her hand lay flat on his chest, feeling the steady, slow beat of his heart beneath her palm. "He – he doesn't live here?"
Ichigo seemed to sink deeper into the pillow beneath his head. "Not for a while, no."
The effort of saying this seemed to drain Ichigo, and they let the words hang in the air for several moments.
Orihime thought of Ichigo's sisters. The easy, trusting way they interacted with him. The warm bubble of safety they experienced in the house. Ichigo had created that safety for them, he maintained it every day.
He's like Sora. The thought came to her uninvited. He takes care of them like Sora took care of me.
"Oh," she said, looking down at him with a clarity and appreciation she never had before, "Oh I love you so much."