Flower Pin
Title: Daisy Pin
Rating: PG
Fandom: Bleach
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue
Summary: On that day, for some reason, I really hated the hairpins my brother got for me.
*
…She had a much older brother.
‘Had’?
Yeah. He died three years ago.
*
The sun is peeking through the clouds, like a burnt egg yolk, sunny side up, poking through the grey (that’s supposed to be white) surrounding it.
Perhaps because of this, Orihime can’t help but grin broadly in good-nature, weather changes always warmed her interest, it reminded her of endings and new beginnings.
As if in a daze, she sighs happily before looking down at her hands.
And that’s when she sees the blood, crimson and deep and sinking through her fingers into the lap of her dress.
And suddenly she’s wet, the rain just passed still thriving on her skin, and clinging tight to her hair.
And suddenly her arms and legs and back and head all throb violently, aching and screaming and telling her that something’s wrong.
That something’s very, very wrong.
She remembers the car accident; the way she carried him to the closest clinic and how the doctors ripped him from her arms.
She remembers how the doctors told her he was dead.
And then…and then…
She screamed.
*
I was proud of my hair colour that my brother admired.
*
“Orihime, you have such beautiful hair. It’s a very warm, wonderful colour.”
The grin seeped through her cheeks and grabbed the reigns to her mouth, “Thank you, ‘niisan!”
I was happy to be told such things. So I grew my hair out, ever since I was little.
“Yours is very wonderful too, ‘niisan. It’s all silky and shiny and awesome!”
The elder smiled down at his sister, letting the brush stroke through her hair with ease.
Their parents had black hair, but Orihime didn’t. Knotless, long, silky brown hair. He adored it.
*
It got cut when I was in middle school.
*
Soon after I entered middle school, third years said they didn’t like my hair colour, and cut it.
“Let go of me!”
Two of the girls gripped her arms painfully, pinning her to the back of the bathroom stall. Their ring leader, a tall, black haired youth, smirked at Orihime predatorily, eyeing the waves of brown curls.
“Why do you dye your hair?”
“I…I…I don’t…I never - ” Hazel eyes widened, hazed and watered.
“I don’t like slutty girls who dye their hair.” The ring leader claimed, pulling a pair of paper scissors from her pocket.
The other two chimed in mutual agreement, tightening their hold as their prisoner struggled.
Tears stung at Orihime’s eyes as clump after clump of golden hair was hacked mercilessly from her head. Strand after strand that her brother had spent hours combing and caring for that very morning.
The scissors fell to the floor with a clatter, and so did Orihime.
Girls can be cruel, and these three were no exception, they sauntered from the room, leaving the younger girl alone on the floor to patch what remained of her hair back together, and to tend to the hand shaped bruises on her arms.
“You should have cut more off, or better yet her bra! She probably pads it anyway.”
Orihime didn’t know why they did it, or why they felt the urge to do so.
But most of all, she didn’t understand that out of all the girls who came into the bathroom afterwards, why not one helped her, as she sat alone on the cold tiled floor, sitting as a hideous mass of tears and hair.
What would her brother say if he could see her now?
*
I had no choice but to cut the rest short to even it out…I couldn’t tell brother.
*
“I felt like changing it!”
She winced as her brother stared, the hurt deep in his eyes as he pushed the brush back into the drawer.
Her new haircut only needed a few strokes.
And as he wandered off to bed, she retreated to the bathroom, leaving the door open just a tad so she could watch him sleep.
She cried.
“I’m sorry, niisan.” She whispered, too quiet for him ever to hear.
*
There was something I always wanted to tell you…
*
On that day, for some reason, I really hated the hairpins my brother got for me.
“Orihime, I got you a gift today.”
She looked up in delight at her brother’s soft voice.
Orihime liked to think of her brother as a song. He had his long notes and his big notes and his notes that required him to take a deep breath before he could sing them. Sometimes the notes were hard, yet somehow he always pulled them off, and he also had his quiet, humble notes, which always seemed kinda sad at the time, but played a crucial part later on. But above everything, he reminded her of a song because everything he said was important, even if it didn’t make sense or she didn’t understand yet, she knew it was special because he’d said it. And that was all that mattered.
Wait, was she getting off track? She eyed the room sceptically, her hazel orbs narrowing as she scanned across, until…
“Ahh!”
She leapt off her chair, quite shocked to see her brother’s face right next to her own.
“Orihime, you zoned our again. Sometimes I think you forget I exist.”
The brunette stared at her brother eagerly, “Never! Alien saucepans of death would have to rampage the planet first! They’d not be used to Japan’s vegetation, and so they’d feast away at my memories, when all they really needed was for someone to tell them that niisan’s obento boxes tasted so much better than stinky old brain stuffs! And then they’d realise it from my memories that they’d eaten and throw up all my brain again and give it back! Ah!” Orihime threw her skinny arms around her brother’s waist, “Thank you for saving me, niisan!”
He smiled, somewhat delighted by the imagination that someone had instilled in this child.
“I got you a present, Orihime.”
“Huh?” She blinked, “It’s not my birthday for another two months, silly niisan.”
Chuckling, he pulled the small pins from his pocket, “Not a birthday present, ‘Hime, just a present.”
She giggled in an oddly enthralled sort of way, closing her eyes and holding out her hands as her brother gently placed the daisy pins upon them.
Opening her eyes, her grin faltered, “…niisan?”
“You have beautiful hair, Orihime, maybe you can grow it again, and then we’ll find new ways to style it.” He smiled, taking a strand of short hair and tugging it behind her ear.
“No!”
Orihime’s short response was barked out from deep within her lungs, her protesting heart begging from within to just tell him about the dreadful girls, tell him how much she loathed middle school, and the teachers that constantly ignored her.
His face cracked, and he placed his hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?”
“No, Oniisan! I don’t want to, I won’t! I hate my hair, it’s horrible, and you should hate it too!”
“Orihime, I don’t want to hate your hair…”
“You should, and I don’t want to ever grow it out again, I hate it!” She threw the clips onto the ground, before racing over to the chest of drawers in the corner. Pulling open the top one, she threw the hairbrush and ties and ribbons to the floor, crushing them underfoot.
“I hate them! I hate it all, oniisan! Take it back, take it all back! I hate it.”
The wounds from her bathroom defeat all too fresh in her mind, she shoved her brother away, and ran out of the apartment, and fell straight to the floor.
She clutched her hair, tugging and tugging, and once again, sat on cold tiles, in a mess of hair and tears.
*
My brother and I had our first fight ever.
*
For the first time, we ate dinner without saying a word, we slept while both facing the wall.
“Orihime, come inside…come in for dinner.”
“’m not hungry.”
“Please, Orihime.”
*
For the first time, I didn’t say anything to my brother as he left for work.
“Bye, ‘Hime.”
She sat in the corner, looking out the window solemnly.
“Just in case you change your mind.”
He placed the pins down on the table.
“I love you, Orihime.”
She didn’t say a word as he left the apartment.
*
Why did it have to be that day?
*
She was still looking out of the window when it happened.
She watched him walk down the footpath, watched him scavenge in his bag, watched him start across the road, watched the car, going far too quickly…
“NIISAN!”
Orihime banged on the window, praying to the heavens that somehow he’d hear her, or at least notice.
He didn’t.
Her little legs pumped harder than ever as she threw herself down three flights of stairs and out the front door of their apartment building. Down the pathway, and stumbling onto the main road, cars swerved, people screamed, and trucks tooted manically.
But all Orihime heard was the blood pounding her ears, and the far too distant words of “I love you, Orihime,” echoing through her skull.
She reached him swiftly, and her legs buckled beneath her as she tried to figure out what was bleeding and which part of him was hurting, and something kept telling her it was his heart that was hurting and that that was all her fault, but she quenched it quickly, and thrust her brother onto her back. He dwarfed her in size, but somehow that didn’t matter so much.
With that, she ran down the streets of Karakuya, looking for anywhere that might help.
*
Sitting on the clinic bench, she stared down at her bloodied nightie, she hadn’t even had time to change.
The doctor ran in and out of the room, groping for tools and equipment, leaving a little orange haired boy to sit with her.
“You okay?”
She started, oddly surprised that the boy had started talking, but she merely nodded her response.
“Is he your dad?”
“No, my brother.”
“He’s a lot older, I have two sisters. They’re eight.”
Orihime nodded, as the boy gave up on small talk, instead opting to play with the loose threads on his shirt.
She leapt to her feet as the doctor came into the room.
“Uh, he’s uh, too far gone for us, love. I’ve called for an ambulance, but the odds…uh, do you have your parents phone number?”
Her little brown curls shook from side-to-side, “I don’t have parents.”
The orange haired boy furrowed his brow, “No parents? I don’t have a mummy, but I still gotta daddy. Who looks after you?”
“Niisan does.”
It’s not like anything would have changed had I said it, but I have always regretted that I didn’t.
*
She sat alone.
All alone.
But that was ok, because as she sat here with the daisy pins in her growing hair, and a small set of candles around her and her brothers petite grave, she could safely say that her niisan’s grave was the most loved.
All the graves around her lay set in stone, a few flowers surrounding, but mostly forgotten.
She wouldn’t forget though, and she knew that for certain as she faced her brother’s two day old grave, surrounded by flowers, candles, an umbrella and a picnic basket full of his favourite foods.
She wouldn’t forget him.
“Hi, niisan!” she pulled out the picnic blanket, letting it fall on the ground gently, “How are you? Wait, that’s not a very good question to ask.”
She chuckled lightly, fingering the necklace she made from pasta shells that morning, especially for her brother.
“I know I haven’t visited properly yet, and I’m very sorry. I made you this!” Ripping the necklace from her neck, she dropped it on top of the tombstone, letting the shells clack together lightly.
“I made you a picnic too! Full of your favourite food, oh, and an umbrella in case it rains. Don’t want you getting wet!”
Her hazel eyes softened as she sat on the blanket, still so alone.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is…is I’m so sorry. I love the clips, I really do, and I’m sorry that such a stupid argument, stupid argument, killed you.” Her glistening eyes suddenly hurt that much more, and she groped lightly at the blanket.
“But most of all, niisan, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say…”
Brother…Goodbye.
And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t feel so alone anymore.
*
A/N: Wow...this came out longer than I'd expected.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Bleach
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue
Summary: On that day, for some reason, I really hated the hairpins my brother got for me.
*
…She had a much older brother.
‘Had’?
Yeah. He died three years ago.
*
The sun is peeking through the clouds, like a burnt egg yolk, sunny side up, poking through the grey (that’s supposed to be white) surrounding it.
Perhaps because of this, Orihime can’t help but grin broadly in good-nature, weather changes always warmed her interest, it reminded her of endings and new beginnings.
As if in a daze, she sighs happily before looking down at her hands.
And that’s when she sees the blood, crimson and deep and sinking through her fingers into the lap of her dress.
And suddenly she’s wet, the rain just passed still thriving on her skin, and clinging tight to her hair.
And suddenly her arms and legs and back and head all throb violently, aching and screaming and telling her that something’s wrong.
That something’s very, very wrong.
She remembers the car accident; the way she carried him to the closest clinic and how the doctors ripped him from her arms.
She remembers how the doctors told her he was dead.
And then…and then…
She screamed.
*
I was proud of my hair colour that my brother admired.
*
“Orihime, you have such beautiful hair. It’s a very warm, wonderful colour.”
The grin seeped through her cheeks and grabbed the reigns to her mouth, “Thank you, ‘niisan!”
I was happy to be told such things. So I grew my hair out, ever since I was little.
“Yours is very wonderful too, ‘niisan. It’s all silky and shiny and awesome!”
The elder smiled down at his sister, letting the brush stroke through her hair with ease.
Their parents had black hair, but Orihime didn’t. Knotless, long, silky brown hair. He adored it.
*
It got cut when I was in middle school.
*
Soon after I entered middle school, third years said they didn’t like my hair colour, and cut it.
“Let go of me!”
Two of the girls gripped her arms painfully, pinning her to the back of the bathroom stall. Their ring leader, a tall, black haired youth, smirked at Orihime predatorily, eyeing the waves of brown curls.
“Why do you dye your hair?”
“I…I…I don’t…I never - ” Hazel eyes widened, hazed and watered.
“I don’t like slutty girls who dye their hair.” The ring leader claimed, pulling a pair of paper scissors from her pocket.
The other two chimed in mutual agreement, tightening their hold as their prisoner struggled.
Tears stung at Orihime’s eyes as clump after clump of golden hair was hacked mercilessly from her head. Strand after strand that her brother had spent hours combing and caring for that very morning.
The scissors fell to the floor with a clatter, and so did Orihime.
Girls can be cruel, and these three were no exception, they sauntered from the room, leaving the younger girl alone on the floor to patch what remained of her hair back together, and to tend to the hand shaped bruises on her arms.
“You should have cut more off, or better yet her bra! She probably pads it anyway.”
Orihime didn’t know why they did it, or why they felt the urge to do so.
But most of all, she didn’t understand that out of all the girls who came into the bathroom afterwards, why not one helped her, as she sat alone on the cold tiled floor, sitting as a hideous mass of tears and hair.
What would her brother say if he could see her now?
*
I had no choice but to cut the rest short to even it out…I couldn’t tell brother.
*
“I felt like changing it!”
She winced as her brother stared, the hurt deep in his eyes as he pushed the brush back into the drawer.
Her new haircut only needed a few strokes.
And as he wandered off to bed, she retreated to the bathroom, leaving the door open just a tad so she could watch him sleep.
She cried.
“I’m sorry, niisan.” She whispered, too quiet for him ever to hear.
*
There was something I always wanted to tell you…
*
On that day, for some reason, I really hated the hairpins my brother got for me.
“Orihime, I got you a gift today.”
She looked up in delight at her brother’s soft voice.
Orihime liked to think of her brother as a song. He had his long notes and his big notes and his notes that required him to take a deep breath before he could sing them. Sometimes the notes were hard, yet somehow he always pulled them off, and he also had his quiet, humble notes, which always seemed kinda sad at the time, but played a crucial part later on. But above everything, he reminded her of a song because everything he said was important, even if it didn’t make sense or she didn’t understand yet, she knew it was special because he’d said it. And that was all that mattered.
Wait, was she getting off track? She eyed the room sceptically, her hazel orbs narrowing as she scanned across, until…
“Ahh!”
She leapt off her chair, quite shocked to see her brother’s face right next to her own.
“Orihime, you zoned our again. Sometimes I think you forget I exist.”
The brunette stared at her brother eagerly, “Never! Alien saucepans of death would have to rampage the planet first! They’d not be used to Japan’s vegetation, and so they’d feast away at my memories, when all they really needed was for someone to tell them that niisan’s obento boxes tasted so much better than stinky old brain stuffs! And then they’d realise it from my memories that they’d eaten and throw up all my brain again and give it back! Ah!” Orihime threw her skinny arms around her brother’s waist, “Thank you for saving me, niisan!”
He smiled, somewhat delighted by the imagination that someone had instilled in this child.
“I got you a present, Orihime.”
“Huh?” She blinked, “It’s not my birthday for another two months, silly niisan.”
Chuckling, he pulled the small pins from his pocket, “Not a birthday present, ‘Hime, just a present.”
She giggled in an oddly enthralled sort of way, closing her eyes and holding out her hands as her brother gently placed the daisy pins upon them.
Opening her eyes, her grin faltered, “…niisan?”
“You have beautiful hair, Orihime, maybe you can grow it again, and then we’ll find new ways to style it.” He smiled, taking a strand of short hair and tugging it behind her ear.
“No!”
Orihime’s short response was barked out from deep within her lungs, her protesting heart begging from within to just tell him about the dreadful girls, tell him how much she loathed middle school, and the teachers that constantly ignored her.
His face cracked, and he placed his hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?”
“No, Oniisan! I don’t want to, I won’t! I hate my hair, it’s horrible, and you should hate it too!”
“Orihime, I don’t want to hate your hair…”
“You should, and I don’t want to ever grow it out again, I hate it!” She threw the clips onto the ground, before racing over to the chest of drawers in the corner. Pulling open the top one, she threw the hairbrush and ties and ribbons to the floor, crushing them underfoot.
“I hate them! I hate it all, oniisan! Take it back, take it all back! I hate it.”
The wounds from her bathroom defeat all too fresh in her mind, she shoved her brother away, and ran out of the apartment, and fell straight to the floor.
She clutched her hair, tugging and tugging, and once again, sat on cold tiles, in a mess of hair and tears.
*
My brother and I had our first fight ever.
*
For the first time, we ate dinner without saying a word, we slept while both facing the wall.
“Orihime, come inside…come in for dinner.”
“’m not hungry.”
“Please, Orihime.”
*
For the first time, I didn’t say anything to my brother as he left for work.
“Bye, ‘Hime.”
She sat in the corner, looking out the window solemnly.
“Just in case you change your mind.”
He placed the pins down on the table.
“I love you, Orihime.”
She didn’t say a word as he left the apartment.
*
Why did it have to be that day?
*
She was still looking out of the window when it happened.
She watched him walk down the footpath, watched him scavenge in his bag, watched him start across the road, watched the car, going far too quickly…
“NIISAN!”
Orihime banged on the window, praying to the heavens that somehow he’d hear her, or at least notice.
He didn’t.
Her little legs pumped harder than ever as she threw herself down three flights of stairs and out the front door of their apartment building. Down the pathway, and stumbling onto the main road, cars swerved, people screamed, and trucks tooted manically.
But all Orihime heard was the blood pounding her ears, and the far too distant words of “I love you, Orihime,” echoing through her skull.
She reached him swiftly, and her legs buckled beneath her as she tried to figure out what was bleeding and which part of him was hurting, and something kept telling her it was his heart that was hurting and that that was all her fault, but she quenched it quickly, and thrust her brother onto her back. He dwarfed her in size, but somehow that didn’t matter so much.
With that, she ran down the streets of Karakuya, looking for anywhere that might help.
*
Sitting on the clinic bench, she stared down at her bloodied nightie, she hadn’t even had time to change.
The doctor ran in and out of the room, groping for tools and equipment, leaving a little orange haired boy to sit with her.
“You okay?”
She started, oddly surprised that the boy had started talking, but she merely nodded her response.
“Is he your dad?”
“No, my brother.”
“He’s a lot older, I have two sisters. They’re eight.”
Orihime nodded, as the boy gave up on small talk, instead opting to play with the loose threads on his shirt.
She leapt to her feet as the doctor came into the room.
“Uh, he’s uh, too far gone for us, love. I’ve called for an ambulance, but the odds…uh, do you have your parents phone number?”
Her little brown curls shook from side-to-side, “I don’t have parents.”
The orange haired boy furrowed his brow, “No parents? I don’t have a mummy, but I still gotta daddy. Who looks after you?”
“Niisan does.”
It’s not like anything would have changed had I said it, but I have always regretted that I didn’t.
*
She sat alone.
All alone.
But that was ok, because as she sat here with the daisy pins in her growing hair, and a small set of candles around her and her brothers petite grave, she could safely say that her niisan’s grave was the most loved.
All the graves around her lay set in stone, a few flowers surrounding, but mostly forgotten.
She wouldn’t forget though, and she knew that for certain as she faced her brother’s two day old grave, surrounded by flowers, candles, an umbrella and a picnic basket full of his favourite foods.
She wouldn’t forget him.
“Hi, niisan!” she pulled out the picnic blanket, letting it fall on the ground gently, “How are you? Wait, that’s not a very good question to ask.”
She chuckled lightly, fingering the necklace she made from pasta shells that morning, especially for her brother.
“I know I haven’t visited properly yet, and I’m very sorry. I made you this!” Ripping the necklace from her neck, she dropped it on top of the tombstone, letting the shells clack together lightly.
“I made you a picnic too! Full of your favourite food, oh, and an umbrella in case it rains. Don’t want you getting wet!”
Her hazel eyes softened as she sat on the blanket, still so alone.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is…is I’m so sorry. I love the clips, I really do, and I’m sorry that such a stupid argument, stupid argument, killed you.” Her glistening eyes suddenly hurt that much more, and she groped lightly at the blanket.
“But most of all, niisan, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say…”
Brother…Goodbye.
And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t feel so alone anymore.
*
A/N: Wow...this came out longer than I'd expected.