Bleach fic: "A Thousand Times Orihime Kissed Ichigo..." [Ichihime]
One overdue Bleach fic down, one more to go.
Title: A Thousand Times Orihime Kissed Ichigo and One Time She Did Not
Rating: PG
Characters: Ichigo/Orihime
Words: 480
Thanks to darklight90 for beta reading!
Written for arizonaicerose for gulf_aid_now. Prompt: IchiHime Fluff (The ficlet is more romantic drama than fluff, but I tried to squeeze it in).
Years later, after Orihime had learned a thousand things from kissing Ichigo-learned that your tongue could actually get tired and your lips chapped, learned the hello peck, the lingering goodbye, and all that happens in between, learned kisses were more valuable in private, that they could be brisk or lewd, sloppy or methodical, that kisses were better than the smell of freshly baked bread, learned a kiss was the perfect way to end arguments over clogged bathroom sinks-
"Ichigo! Have you finished cleaning your hair out of the drain?"
"My hair? This stuff is long and orange."
"Your hair is orange."
"Light orange. And not long!"
"Ha! But how do I know you haven’t been turning into some monster-thingie when I’m not at home?"
In review, these kisses seemed dazzling and varied, like bits of colored light in a church window, and her recollection of the years before they began distant and unreal. Time had fractured her memories of the Kiss That Wasn’t, the kiss that could have been Their First, on the night Ulquiorra allowed her to say goodbye to Ichigo in his hospital room:
Her sorrow and fear that she was leaving for Hueco Mundo.
The soft and humid air, pooling cat-like around her stockinged feet and over the moonlit bodies of Karin and Yuzu-chan.
The tang of iodine and bandages.
Her hair dripping fronds on his cheek-she could swear she had sensed his hot skin through every strand-Her gut-churning guilt-Tears splashing on his face-
I wish I could live life five times over… Five different lives, in love with the same person.
The First Kiss, the Real Kiss, happened three years later. She was mildly ashamed that she didn’t remember it well either. (First kisses didn’t seem so important when you were older, and had shared far better ones.)
But she remembered clearly the day before.
In the cemetery with Ichigo on the anniversary of his mother’s death. The scent of rain in her nostrils. He had stood bareheaded in front of the grave, his hair slowly turning dark with moisture, his hands shoved into his jeans. And, as always in her uncanny way, she could feel each ounce of his loss, his heartache and his love for the woman whose ashes were buried there. His hand slipped from his pocket and found her fingers, and as the grip tightened she knew he knew with certainty that he wanted and needed her beside him. The speed of the world whirred and ground to a stop and suddenly she could peer into the future-with no robots or laser beams or even spaghetti trees-but Kuroskai-kun, Kurosaki-kun, Kurosaki-kun-and no longer Kurosaki-kun but Ichigo.
She shifted her yellow umbrella to cover them both.
“Ichigo,” she whispered, taking the name into her mouth for the first time. It felt strange and new. “I’m here.”
Title: A Thousand Times Orihime Kissed Ichigo and One Time She Did Not
Rating: PG
Characters: Ichigo/Orihime
Words: 480
Thanks to darklight90 for beta reading!
Written for arizonaicerose for gulf_aid_now. Prompt: IchiHime Fluff (The ficlet is more romantic drama than fluff, but I tried to squeeze it in).
Years later, after Orihime had learned a thousand things from kissing Ichigo-learned that your tongue could actually get tired and your lips chapped, learned the hello peck, the lingering goodbye, and all that happens in between, learned kisses were more valuable in private, that they could be brisk or lewd, sloppy or methodical, that kisses were better than the smell of freshly baked bread, learned a kiss was the perfect way to end arguments over clogged bathroom sinks-
"Ichigo! Have you finished cleaning your hair out of the drain?"
"My hair? This stuff is long and orange."
"Your hair is orange."
"Light orange. And not long!"
"Ha! But how do I know you haven’t been turning into some monster-thingie when I’m not at home?"
In review, these kisses seemed dazzling and varied, like bits of colored light in a church window, and her recollection of the years before they began distant and unreal. Time had fractured her memories of the Kiss That Wasn’t, the kiss that could have been Their First, on the night Ulquiorra allowed her to say goodbye to Ichigo in his hospital room:
Her sorrow and fear that she was leaving for Hueco Mundo.
The soft and humid air, pooling cat-like around her stockinged feet and over the moonlit bodies of Karin and Yuzu-chan.
The tang of iodine and bandages.
Her hair dripping fronds on his cheek-she could swear she had sensed his hot skin through every strand-Her gut-churning guilt-Tears splashing on his face-
I wish I could live life five times over… Five different lives, in love with the same person.
The First Kiss, the Real Kiss, happened three years later. She was mildly ashamed that she didn’t remember it well either. (First kisses didn’t seem so important when you were older, and had shared far better ones.)
But she remembered clearly the day before.
In the cemetery with Ichigo on the anniversary of his mother’s death. The scent of rain in her nostrils. He had stood bareheaded in front of the grave, his hair slowly turning dark with moisture, his hands shoved into his jeans. And, as always in her uncanny way, she could feel each ounce of his loss, his heartache and his love for the woman whose ashes were buried there. His hand slipped from his pocket and found her fingers, and as the grip tightened she knew he knew with certainty that he wanted and needed her beside him. The speed of the world whirred and ground to a stop and suddenly she could peer into the future-with no robots or laser beams or even spaghetti trees-but Kuroskai-kun, Kurosaki-kun, Kurosaki-kun-and no longer Kurosaki-kun but Ichigo.
She shifted her yellow umbrella to cover them both.
“Ichigo,” she whispered, taking the name into her mouth for the first time. It felt strange and new. “I’m here.”