#scribblesfanfic

[scribbleswrites-blog]

The Fight

Fandom: Bleach Pairing: Ichigo/Orihime Rating: T

Ichigo winced as the door slammed behind him, feeling a twinge of regret as soon as it happened; but it wasn’t enough to stop his stomping progress away from their apartment. He scowled ferociously at the solid concrete steps and their refusal to respond to his hard footfalls with the satisfying thump and rattle wooden stairs would have provided. His anger needed an outlet in noise and lots of it.

Why did she have to be so impossible? So unreasonable? So stubborn? Ichigo growled at the memory of that stubborn chin in the air and those furrowed eyebrows above flashing brown eyes and that tightened mouth that refused to say anything remotely rational. He reached the bottom of the stairs and paused; waiting, straining, begging for some evil thing to manifest itself so he could kill it—or at least send it into the next life very violently. Which was the same thing, he realized, except…not, because the evil things he “killed” were usually already dead, but— The tips of his ears perked at a distant hum, a tremor in the air, and he grinned an awful twisted grin as he set off after it. Not five minutes later, he had finished. And he was irritated. It was nothing but a short and easy fight that had done nothing to release the boiling, oozing, sinking lava in his chest. Now he was angry, frustrated, and irritated. Grand. Ichigo continued down the streets, hands shoved in his pockets. Evening was fast approaching, and he found himself following a few drifters into a bar. The place was mostly empty as it was a little too early for anyone except drunks, the after-work crowd, and a few people who actually wanted to meet for conversation and not stilted, sweaty mating rituals. He looked around uneasily before sliding into a stool, misjudging it the first time and ramming his hip into the side with a grunt. He cleared his throat after he set his bottom on the seat properly with a self-conscious glance around the bar and leaned his forearms over the counter, his back and neck stiff as he tried to decide what to do with his hands so he looked cool, like he belonged in any bar he chose to saunter into. The bartender, a young man around his age, walked up and raised a questioning, pierced eyebrow. “Uh,” Ichigo said. The bartender’s attention was grabbed by a wave and a bark from another customer, and as he watched him walk away, Ichigo’s mouth still hanging open with whatever stupid thing he was about to say, he realized this may have been a bad idea. The only times he had been in bars before was when he was dragged in by friends. They were in groups and he would slouch nonchalantly in some chair and, with a shrug, have whatever someone else was having. Going into a bar alone and angry and with the express purpose of getting drunk was disconcertingly new territory. Because that was what he was doing, he realized. He came in here to be alone and get drunk. That was what people did when they got in fights, wasn’t it? He scowled at the lines of shelved liquor bottles. Someone near him ordered something, and he ordered the same thing when the bartender and his eyebrow returned. It wasn’t like this was the first time he and Orihime had argued. They had had arguments of all kinds ranging from light-hearted to nearing dangerous levels of hurt and anger, while never quite reaching that point. But they were pretty rare and had never lasted very long at all before one of them crumbled in either laughter at how silly they were being or in regret and apologies and kisses and other things. This one, though—he nodded his thanks, took the drink, sipped it, gazed at the sloshing liquid for a moment, and then gulped it down, not even tasting the concoction—this was a Fight. He caught sight of a miserable looking man with a bottle and a glass and decided that was much more up his alley. The bartender may have given him some kind of look that was judgmental or pitying or disdaining or a combination of two options or even all three. Since he couldn’t pinpoint the look, Ichigo suspected the look had been nothing but the blank look of someone who couldn’t care less and that he was merely being paranoid. With that last flare of blessed logic, he pulled back the urge to glare his best go ahead make my day look before it made it to his face and threw the first shot of alcohol down his throat. After a moment, Ichigo’s nostrils flared and his face turned red as he held back the coughing and choking. Flinging booze down his gullet is where his Clint Eastwood imitations end. Orihime always said he wasn’t the bad boy he thought he was. He scowled at that and scoffed and flung back another shot, finding the fire scratching down his throat to be a sudden comfort. Ha! Now he was gulping hard liquor with the best of them. That’ll show her how much she knows him. Ichigo sniffed dismissively at the total lack of triumphant feelings at that thought. No matter how much he scowled or insulted, she was always going on about how kind and sweet he was. His snort echoed against the bottom of his empty glass. She was probably eating her words now. After what happened earlier, no one knew better than her how much of a bastard he could really be. He drowned the heavy feeling in his chest in more alcohol. Things were starting to feel a bit fuzzy. Good. He idly turned the bottle around, not even sure what he had ordered. Whiskey. All he needed now was a pair of cowboy boots and a poncho. He smirked a little, thinking how Orihime would be delighted with the picture and would insist he make her fantasies come true. What would she be? He tapped the side of the bottle with his finger, and then paused as a little smile crept up one side of his cheek. He would hopefully suggest saloon girl, but she would probably insist on being a pirate or something that was nowhere near any dusty wild west town at any time in its history. The sound of glass clinking against glass made him look up and see the same miserable looking man looking even more miserable as he drooped further towards his liquid comfort. Ichigo’s smile slipped away as he remembered why he was here. Halfway through the bottle, his heart began to really hurt. He hated this, hated this whole thing. Sitting in a bar, alone and drinking his troubles away. He felt stupid and sad and the feelings only increased as the place began to gain a crowd of happy people, or at least people giving happiness their best shot. He wasn’t even giving it a half-hearted shot so what was he doing here? “Hello,” a gentle female voice said. It almost sounded like—Ichigo popped his head up, but the hope that had leapt into his throat dropped like a cannon ball. He eyed the smiling woman seated next to him, her long, dark hair nothing like the ribbons of caramel that filled his life. Her lips were moving, she was saying something and she looked nervous but determined. He tried to concentrate on her words, but all he could see was the shape of her mouth and how that shape formed words and how it was all wrong. She scooted her stool closer to him, and he could smell her perfume. She smelled like some kind of flower. Roses, maybe? Whatever. He wrinkled his nose. That was wrong too. He didn’t want to smell flowers, he wanted citrus and a little bit of mint. He wanted caramel and pirates and cute chins that could turn stubborn. The woman next to him slid her fingers over his forearm and oh god that was… no, no, no, talk about wrong, and he jerked so harshly, the alcohol in his glass sloshed out onto his hand. Her hand recoiled and he could feel the offended humiliation coming off of her in waves. He frowned and tried to search where he had encouraged her, but his brain was pretty murky. She was saying something about lips and that sounded… yes, he could see how staring intently at her lips might send the wrong message. “I’m… sorry.” Ichigo pulled out his wallet and put down a few bills that more than covered everything. “I’m…” He slid off the barstool and stumbled on his feet slightly, trying to shove his wallet into his back pocket. “I have someone I…” The wallet finally slid into place on the fourth try. “I have to go back to my… my someone. She…” He finally looked up at the woman and saw embarrassment written all over her face. Guilt stabbed him in the gut and he shook his head and waved his hand towards her. Orihime would want him to say something nice so, “Y-You’re very pretty.” He was vaguely sure he was right, he wasn’t paying that much attention. “But you’re not… She’s my someone.” She sighed and gave him a smile of understanding, and he felt relieved that he was making some kind of sense. “We… We fought and…” And what? What now? “Uh, well, good luck.” He stumbled away from her and through the crowd of people that had suddenly descended upon the bar. Or was it suddenly? How long had he been there? He crashed into a woman and she grinned up at him and he shook himself. What was he doing here? He didn’t want to be here. Cool, night air finally hit his face and he sighed in relief, leaving the cacophony behind him as he made his way towards the only place he wanted to be right now. At one point a policeman approached him, and he was sure he would spend a night in the slammer, which would really seal that bad boy image for him, but then the officer helpfully escorted him to the apartment building. Apparently, Ichigo had saved the cop’s daughter’s dog or something, and he was grateful and wanted to see the poor young man home safely. Orihime was right. What bad boy Eastwood wannabe saved little girls’ dogs? She was always right. He must have slurred something about it, because the policeman nodded sagely and said something like the woman is always right, m’boy, in that wink-wink, all-knowing, one-man-to-another tone. The cop insisted on following him up to his door, watched him scratch the paint around the lock a few times, and then sighed, took the keys, and unlocked the door for him. Ichigo took the keys back and bowed a little too deeply in gratitude before stumbling inside. Ichigo scowled around the dark apartment. Had she gone to bed? Hadn’t even left a light on for him? She really was mad. And so was he, he reminded himself. So angry he could spit. He lost his balance and cursed when his hip rammed into the corner of some piece of furniture. There was a faint light ahead, and Ichigo followed it into the living room. He breathed in deeply at the comforting smell of citrus and mint… a lot of mint. More mint than usual. His eyes found the bright head of hair facing away from him under the lamp that was the only the only light on in the house. His socked feet shuffled along the hardwood floor and her shoulders stiffened as he rounded the couch where she sat and plopped down on the chair across from her. He winced when his bad aim caused his bum to slam onto the arm. His issue with not being able to place his ass in a seat correctly was getting old fast. She wasn’t looking at him, just staring at the table and the shot glass filled with green liquid next to a bottle of that nasty mint alcohol she loved. A clock echoed throughout the silent room as it ticked the seconds by. He didn’t even know they had a ticking clock. He studied her, watched the slight sway as she sat there and the slow way she blinked. “You’ve been drinking?” he said. Her lips pursed a little before answering his question by grabbing the glass and throwing its contents to the back of her throat. She shuddered slightly and reached to grab the bottle, leaning over and eyeballing glass and bottle with exaggerated care as she, amazingly, managed to fill the glass without spilling a drop. The bottle thudded when she harshly set it back down, and she went back to staring at her two green companions. She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to ya, bub?” If Ichigo wasn’t so angry, he’d laugh. Whenever Orihime got drunk, she would become some character. Last time, it was Uchiha Sasuke and she kept her hair in her face and her fingers laced under her chin and wouldn’t stop mumbling about revenge. He looked at the more than half empty bottle. “How much did you drink?” Orihime regarded the bottle and then shrugged. “It was full when I got it.” Ichigo sighed, and Orihime narrowed her eyes at him again, swaying as she leaned back a little. “What’s a matter, shurriff? Can’t a,” she hiccupped, widened her eyes, and hiccupped again before continuing. “Can’t a person drink in the privacy of thur own home?” He narrowed his own eyes, partly because he was matching her expression, mostly because he was trying to figure out who she was supposed to be this time. “Why are you all the way over there?” She squeezed her eyes shut before popping them open again. “What? Yer the one all the way over there.” He harrumphed at this and got up, promptly losing his balance and shakily grabbing the arm of the chair. “Ah!” she pointed accusingly. “Yer drunk! Go home!” “I am home,” he said as he teetered around the table to collapse next to her on the couch. She glared as his heavy weight jostled her. “That’s true, ‘spose. Sssmartypants.”

“I am smart,” he agreed as he picked up her shot glass, sniffed, and put it down as he wrinkled his nose. “That’s mine,” she said. “You can have it.” She turned her body towards him and gave him an appraising look. “You tryna say something, punk?” He mirrored her position, folding one leg underneath him. “Yeah, I’m saying your taste in booze stinks.” Orihime gasped. “You take that back, you, you yellow-bellied yellow-livered canary bird.” “That’s a lot of yellow,” he pointed out. “And how does me pointing out your bad taste in alcohol make me yellow?” She opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned. “Give me a minute.” Ichigo looked at her empty hand, laying palm up on her lap, and reached over to gently grasp a few fingers. “I think I’m drunker than you,” she said, looking down at her captive hand. “How did that happen?” He shrugged. “Why are you drinking?” She looked at him like he was daft. “Because we had a big fight!” She tried to tug her hand away and failed. “A-And that’s what people do, when they fight. Right?” Ichigo nodded. “I think so.” He scooted closer. “Where did you go?” she asked as she studied the closing distance between their knees with a frown. “There was a hollow. And then a bar.” “That’s why you smell funny.” “A woman flirted with me.” Orihime snorted. “She has good taste.” “Thank you,” he said, thinking that was very generous of her considering everything. She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” The hand holding hers moved to run along the skin of her bare thigh. Orihime eyed the roaming hand imperiously. “Do ya feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?” “You’re Clint Eastwood,” Ichigo guessed. She tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at him. “Yes, ma’am.” “I’m not Clint Eastwood,” he said, and she just looked at him. “Or a bad boy of any kind. I save little girls’ pets.” Orihime closed her eyes and nodded slowly like an old sage well used to young knowledge seekers coming to her with new revelations of old truths. Ichigo started to pull his hand away, but she stopped it and placed it firmly back on her thigh. “I missed you,” he said as he reacquainted himself with her knee. She jerked when he found her ticklish spot and bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You were only gone a few hours,” she said. “I’m sorry I left like that.” Her eyes flicked up to his, and she shrugged again. “I’m sorry too.” “For what?” “For…” she trailed off with a frown. “Um… what were we fighting about?” Ichigo blinked, realized he wasn’t anywhere near being angry anymore, and couldn’t for the life of him remember what they fought about. “I don’t remember?” Orihime hummed in thought. Or it might have been from the way his fingers were exploring underneath the fabric of her shorts and slowly approaching her hip. He scooted even closer until his knee gently bumped hers. It was probably both. His Orihime was good as multi-tasking. Whereas he was having trouble remembering he was even having a conversation as his fingers squeezed the curve of her bum. “If neither of us can remember,” she mused, her voice a little too breathy. “Then I suppose we’re not fighting anymore. Your hand is going on quite the journey, mister.” He let out the sigh of a long-suffering parent. “It was itching to go on an adventure. I couldn’t bear to hold it back from its dreams any longer.” She nodded and looked down to her shorts where his wandering hand was forearm deep. “What about your other hand? More of a homebody?” Ichigo brought up his other hand and looked at it in exasperation. “No, just a bit nervous about taking the plunge. Needs some encouragement or something.” “Oh, I see,” she said sympathetically. “Well… if I may?” “Go ahead, make my—” he stopped short at the glare she gave him. “No stealing my lines, punk,” she admonished. He waited, contrite. Eyeing him suspiciously, she grasped his free hand in hers, rose up on one knee, and swung the other leg over his thighs so that she was comfortably straddling him. “Good thing there are two mountains to explore, one for each hand,” she said as she placed the shy brother on her other thigh before placing both her hands on his chest. “Good thing,” he mumbled as he quickly moved inside her shorts. Orihime squeaked. “That one catches on fast!” Ichigo smiled, happy to be surrounded by caramel and citrus and mint. He kissed the not-so-stubborn-anymore chin, too, smelling the boozy mint on her breath. The funny thing about her awful alcohol, that he had tried—and gagged on—when she had first discovered it and couldn’t stop squealing in delight, was that it tasted different on her. It was sickening by itself (or in anything else. He remembered a dramatic episode from last year when she was making his favorite triple chocolate cookies and he caught her just in time before she poured the green liquid from hell into the precious batter. She had huffed and pouted and insisted that it would be amazing, but finally relented when he ended up on his knees in the middle of the kitchen getting flour all over his trousers. She had managed to sneak it into other things, and he knew for a fact that it would taste anything but amazing). But on her? Mixed with her own taste? He kissed her with several chaste but searing kisses before slipping his tongue past her lips and gently engaging hers. It wasn’t bad at all, that sweet minty-ness on her tongue. She pulled back and contemplatively tasted her own lips. “What did you drink?” “Huh? Uh…” He thought back, remembering the miserable man in the bar and Clint Eastwood. “Whiskey.” Her mouth twisted cheerfully. “Clint Eastwood wannabe,” she accused. “This town’s not big enough for the two of us.” He tilted his head and suddenly wondered. “What if we remember what we fought about, and we have another duel?” Orihime slid her hands up to the sides of his neck. “Then… I guess we’ll fight again, but…” She ran her thumbs along the skin at his jaw causing him to shiver. “If we get really mad and need to drink, let’s just drink together and glare at each other. Nobody goes anywhere. Deal?” “Deal,” he said, and kissed her to finalize the promise. “So… even though we don’t remember, can we still have make up sex?” She started, looking at him in horror. “Of course!” Ichigo made a satisfied noise and slipped his curious hands out of her shorts and up her sides, taking her t-shirt with them. “So,” he said as she lifted her arms and he tossed the shirt somewhere behind the couch. He faltered slightly at the lack of a bra. “I-If we fight twice, that means we get make up sex twice,” he reasoned. She could only answer with a strangled moan as she arched her back into his hands at her breasts. “So,” he said, gently licking her skin between his fingers. “We should definitely try our hardest to remember our very serious talk and fight again.” He nipped at her collarbone. “What do you say?” Orihime took his head in her hands and tilted his face. “Go ahead,” she said against his lips in a sweet, husky voice that Clint Eastwood would never, ever use. “Make my day.”

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[scribblles]

Mutual Pining

IchiHime Week 2017

Word count: 1605

Rating: T

Ichigo was staring at her hair. Orihime’s back was to him as she animatedly told Tatsuki and Chad about a customer that had come in to the bakery asking for a large order of her newest creation: mint and lamb filled steam buns. Her boss had told her she was crazy, but lamb was served with mint all time so why not put it in a pastry? She was sure this was the beginning of her great bakery empire, and she would be sure and remember her friends from her lofty position Queen Baker of the Land of the Rising Sun. Her hair was swishing and trembling as excitedly as the rest of her body. She swept back some her hair over her shoulder, and Ichigo seemed to lean in closer and close his eyes a little. Suddenly, she whipped around to say something to him, and with his battle-honed reflexes, Ichigo straightened and listened to her with calm and cool collection, answering her with only the tiniest of stutters and the slightest blush that could be mistaken for the heat of the day. Renji snorted and rolled his eyes. And as if sensing his disdain, Ichigo turned and glared suspiciously. Renji crossed his arms and glared right back. The human was an idiot. Didn’t he see how much bullshit he and Rukia had to go through because he didn’t have the guts to be honest with her? Waiting for the right timing and accomplishments and her brother’s approval and blah blah blah. What did any of that matter? Renji uncrossed his arms, and reached for his fiance’s hand under the table. She didn’t even blink as she continued to calmly sip her tea, but he grinned at the red creeping up the back of her neck and the way her fingers curled around his as his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand . Yep, Ichigo was an idiot. Of course, he was one to be talking, but he didn’t have an example of almost unrealized love right in front of his face like Ichigo did. There was no excuse for this – “Oh for pity’s sake,” Renji grumbled, as Orihime turned back and Ichigo went back to mooning over the back of her head like a sick puppy. “Hm?” said Rukia. “Your protégé is an idiot.” “Hm, only an idiot if it takes him decades and decades and decades to be honest,” she said. Renji cleared his throat and shifted at the steel hiding behind her velvet tone. “Right, well, I – he – he’s got me as a bad example, right? Right in front of him! But he’s been swooning for years now! He’s the savior of the world and legal and still hasn’t had a girlfriend.” “Kurosaki-kun has a girlfriend?” Orihime asked cheerily. Rukia squeezed Renji’s hand so hard he whimpered, and Tatsuki and Chad looked at each other in mutual exasperation. Only Ichigo, whose face dropped with disappointment, didn’t notice that her happy tone was a little too high and like she’d forced her very generous happiness for him through a very tiny needle eye. “N-No! I don’t…have a girlfriend, I…No, definitely don’t have one.” Ichigo was blushing hard and staring daggers at Renji. “What the hell are you two talking about over there?” Renji rolled his eyes as he shook out his hand. “I said, you can save the world, but your pathetic ass has the reached the legal human and age and you still haven’t had a girlfriend.” He looped his arm around Rukia’s stiff shoulders. “What’s the good of all that if you ain’t got a girl?” Orihime glanced between the two of them as Ichigo stewed and tried to think up an appropriate response. “Kurosaki-kun, he’s kind of right, you know.” Ichigo gaped at her, betrayed. “I mean!” she remedied, waving her hands. “You’re so busy and stressed with school, you should have…someone to relax with and have fun!” All the hearts around her cracked a little at her earnestness, except Ichigo’s heart that was cracking for himself. “Well, I…I don’t really – Hey!” he nearly shouted, startling her. “What about you? When’s the last time you had a boyfriend?” “Boyfriend?” she asked, pointing to her own chest. “Um…well, I’ve been busy with the bakery and…stuff…no time for boys, eh heh heh heh.” Rukia narrowed her eyes at the two. “Orihime, didn’t you go on that date a couple of weeks ago with a boy?” Orihime blinked at her, the blush at the apples of her cheeks beginning to spread. “Um, well…yes.” Ichigo’s face paled as his adam’s apple bobbed. Tatsuki nodded. “You guys are meeting again right?” Orihime dug her thumbnail into the edge of the table. “Well…yes.” Ichigo continued to stare at her, strain showing around his eyes. “What’s he like?” Rukia prodded. Renji turned to stare at her, but she elbowed him. “Well…nice” she said. The pale, carrot-topped statue next to her crossed its arms. “Well, why don’t you introduce us?” “What?!” she stared up at him with huge eyes. “Introduce you?” He grunted. “We’re your friends. We should check this guy out.” “I already ‘checked him out,’ Ichigo,” Tatuski said with air quotes. “He’s really nice.” “So, we’ve established he’s nice,” he glowered. “Any other qualities, or is he just a blob of nice?” Orihime frowned a little. “Kurosaki-kun, I appreciate you looking out for me, but–” “He’s hot,” Tatsuki stated. “Tatsuki-chan!” Orihime hissed. Her best friend shrugged and mouthed “what?” Rukia chuckled into her tea as Ichigo looked as if he was torn between throwing this guy into the river or curling into a ball of misery. “So,” he said when he found his voice. “He’s a…hot blob of nice.” Orihime choked. “Doesn’t mean he’s good enough for her.” Orihime stopped fidgeting and straightened her spine a little, her voice soft and calm as she said, “Thank you for concern, Kurosaki-kun, but I consider myself an excellent judge of character through my highly developed female intuition. If we…get more serious, I’ll introduce you.” With that, she stood, calm and smiling, but with a little something off kilter about her expression and stance. “I’m sorry, I have to get up early in the morning. See you soon.” She smiled broadly at the Renji and Rukia, the subject of their little gathering. “Congratulations again, Rukia, Abarai-kun.” They both nodded as Ichigo stared unseeingly at his beer. When she left amongst the chorus of goodbyes, Ichigo grabbed his glass and chugged until only bits of foam clung to the sides. “More serious,” Ichigo grumped. “What the hell does that mean, more serious? More serious than what?” He paused, his glassy eyes growing a bit large under his scowl. “Does that mean they already are serious? You can’t be more serious unless you’re already some serious, right?” He cursed into his empty glass. Renji and Rukia looked at each other and then simultaneously raised their fingers for more beer. “Aren’t you two just too adorable,” Ichigo said acidly. Renji and Rukia looked at each other and then simultaneously whirled their fingers in circles to keep them coming, ignoring the exaggerated gagging noises across the table.

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. After several minutes of watching Ichigo and his team practice for their next tournament, Orihime broke the blessed silence. “Tatsuki-chan,” she sighed. “Hm?” “Have you ever noticed?” “Noticed what?” “The way Kurosaki-kun’s hair changes to the same colors as the sky as the sun sets.” With a long, low grown, Tatsuki lowered her head to the soccer ball in her lap and stayed there. “Something wrong, Tatsuki-chan?” Her forehead still touching the ball, Tatsuki turned to look up Orihime’s concerned face. “How it’s going with the hot blob of nice?” Orihime started. “Huh? Oh, well, he…we decided not to see each other anymore.” “Oh?” asked Tatsuki, completely unsurprised. “What happened?” “Nothing, nothing. Just…the usual – oh! Did you see the pass Kurosaki-kun made? He’s getting much better about passing and not trying to win the whole game himself, don’t you think?” “Orihime,” she said, lifting her head finally. “What?” “What happened?” “Well he started to go for the goal himself, but then saw one of his teammates wide open and–“ “For the love of – no! I mean with the nice blob.” “Oh…you shouldn’t call him that,” Orihime said, managing to frown at her disapprovingly with her eyes still on the sweaty players. “Well, I can’t remember his name. What was it?” “It’s, um…aren’t name’s funny though? We should all refer to each other as poignant descriptions rather than names. Like Ishida-kun could be he-who-glints-his-eyeglasses-for-dramatic-effect and – “ “Oh my god, you can’t remember his name?” Orihime sputtered and glanced at her sideways. “What? That’s silly. We dated for…well for a bit. Why would I forget his name? I just think hot blob of nice is…a nicer name?” “So, what happened?” Tatsuki tried again. “You talk to nameless one too much about he-whose-hair-reflects-sunsets?” Orihime sniffed and twisted the fabric of her skirt around her fingers. “Oh my god.” “Well, I don’t think I talked about him that much. Honestly…male egos, you know? ” “Uh-huh.” “Anyway,” Orihime said, her attention back on the practice field as the college boys strode back to the side, shaking hands and clapping backs. “It was fun while it last – oh.” Orihime’s mouth remained stuck as a perfect ‘o’ as the stripping Ichigo pulled his shirt off the rest of the way. Sweat glistened off his naked torso that looked quite fetching in the low evening light, even to Tatsuki. She turned to her friend, who had leaned forward, her mouth still open. “Hey Orihime? You should probably breathe.”

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[scribblles]

Day 2: Promise

IH Week

Word count: 1573

Rating: G

As gentle fingers ran through his hair, sending pleasant tingles through his scalp, Ichigo closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath. The river was rushing at full strength below them from the recent rains, the air was dry and pleasant, the wind rustled gently through the top of the wide tree casting shade over them, and his head rested on the soft thighs of his girlfri – he stopped short in his thoughts and the corners of his mouth curved up in a small, satisfied smile. The soft thighs of his fiancé, he mentally corrected with a deep happiness.

They had settled down for a picnic at their favorite large shade tree on the bank of the river. It had been the first time in a long time since they had had time to themselves since announcing their engagement two weeks ago. He thought engagements were between two people, but clearly their family and friends thought otherwise. Having this picnic had been possible only through sneakiness and subterfuge. Which Orihime had been all over, surprisingly. One knew the smothering Bad when even Orihime needed a break from her friends.

Ichigo was fairly certain the play-doh and glitter part of their plot was sheer genius on his fiancé’s part. He smiled again at that word: fiancé. God, he was such a sap.

But, he figured, he was allowed to be a sap on perfect days. Which this was. A Perfect Day.

“Kurosaki-kun?” his fiancé said.

“Hm?” he replied, keeping his eyes closed as her magic fingers continued to run through his hair.

“Are you ready for dessert?”

“Hm…” he said. Dessert sounded good. Especially considering he knew something about it that she didn’t know. But dessert meant that he would have to move, which didn’t sound good.

Her fingers stopped. “Kurosaki-kun?”

He groaned and popped his eyes open. She was staring down at him with a little smile on her face, her eyes sparkling.

“Kurosaki-kun, my legs are falling asleep,” she said and bopped his nose.

Ichigo sighed, knowing that her legs had probably fallen asleep long before this, but she’d just reached her limit. With great effort, he rolled until his head was on her calves. Not as comfortable, but it would do. “How’s this?”

Orihime laughed and shook her head. “Weird!”

He snorted. “Says the Queen of Weird.”

“Too weird,” she decreed through her laughter and bounced her calves up and down until he sat up.

“So cold, Inoue,” he accused, shuddering.

She wrinkled her nose as she continued to smile. “Cold would be eating all the dessert. I do need the energy after losing all the blood flow to my limbs.”

Ichigo dove for the basket and held it to his chest. “Don’t even joke.”

Orihime grinned and settled down next to him. “Are you going to share that, Kurosaki-kun, or say vows to it?”

He eyed her suspiciously as he slowly lowered the basket to the blanket between them. “I’m going to share it.”

Thankfully, Orihime was the only one who ever saw this borderline goofy version of himself. His friends would never let him live it down, but Orihime? She just…brought it out in him with how open and nonjudgmental and silly she was. Instead of teasing him, she just joined in whatever silly stuff popped out of him. He didn’t even really know he had this side until… She just brought out all of him, he supposed.

Ichigo smiled when she shook her head and laughed, and watched her as she opened the basket and carefully set out plates with their dessert. They were delicate little individual lemon tarts with sweeping piles of meringue baked on top. Fairly benign for her, but Orihime’s mentor had ordered her to bake nothing but basic (boring, she called them) recipes to make sure her foundation in baking was solid. Orihime had been busy rushing around planning their getaway and had let Ichigo fill the tarts with lemon curd and put the meringue on top.

Well.

Ichigo, in his infinite wisdom and genius, decided the lemon tarts needed something. And what does every non-chocolate dessert, pastry, and cake need? Why, chocolate of course. So, he snuck chocolate chips into the lemon mixture.

He was quite proud of himself. Chocolate made literally everything taste better. There were even chocolate pizzas, chocolate sauces for steaks, chocolate dipped figs, chocolate – well, anyway, Orihime couldn’t do anything out of the ordinary for the moment, but he could.

And truth be told, he missed her experimental flavors.

He was proud as punch and sure that she would fall all over him in awe of his skills.

As she wiggled out a bit for herself with her fork, she was busy chatting about how she was beginning to like the boring baking as it somehow birthed all kinds of ideas for more unique flavor combinations plus it was honing her skills. So busy with what she was saying, she didn’t examine her creation as she usually did and simply popped it in her mouth.

He was so eager for her reaction, Ichigo hadn’t even tried it yet, just watched her chew, then slow her chewing, then frown, then lift up the tart to examine it, then frown even more deeply until she was downright scowling.

Not…quite the reaction he had been envisioning.

“Ino–”

He was stopped short with a sharp finger pointed upwards, her eyes continuing to examine the tart with scowling scrutiny. Startled, he didn’t know how to react.

Speaking of hidden sides of people. This…was new.

“Kurosaki-kun,” she said softly, and he fought not to visibly shrink back.

“Y-Yeah?”

Her face smoothed into a neutral expression as she slowly, deliberately, lowered the rest of the tart and placed it on the blanket. She brushed non-existent crumbs off her fingers and placed her hands in her lap, her eyes closed.

“I want you to promise me something.”

Ichigo swallowed. “Okay?”

“That you will never.”

She opened her eyes and her gaze pinned him where he was, like a bug.

“Ever.”

He dared to glance at the uneaten tart still in his hand, then quickly back at her.

“…Adjust.”

He winced.

“My baking without my knowledge again.”

Her voice had been soft but stern. He stared at her and fought the urge to gulp.

“Uh…okay.”

She blinked.

“I mean, yes, Inoue, I promise to never ever mess with your baking without you knowing about it again.”

Orihime nodded, satisfied. She gestured at his tart. “You may try it.”

Ichigo jerked, not even aware before that he had been waiting for her permission, but he had and somehow, she had known he had. Tentatively, he stuck his fork in it and put a small piece in his mouth. And wrinkled his nose.

“You see?” she said.

He nodded. Somehow…it wasn’t good. Which was impossible because chocolate always made things better, and yet it was not better it was…off-putting. Un-melted, hard semi-sweet chocolate chips stirred in with the light, creamy, and tangy lemon curd was…not good. Not even the “well, this is strange, but it works” feeling that usually accompanied Orihime’s fare.

Humbly, he placed his tart down on the blanket.

And sat silently as Orihime quietly packed the dessert things away. The dessert that he’d ruined.

When she was done, she looked at him sympathetically. “I know how you are about chocolate, but there are right ways and there are wrong ways of adding chocolate.”

He nodded, the ego-deflated student to the patient, learned teacher.

“Next time I’ll make you a lemon tart with chocolate.” He perked up at that. “You add a thin layer,” she placed her thumb and finger close together, drawing a thin line across the air, “of chocolate and then add the lemon on top. Once I can bake like myself again, I’ll be adding different flavors to the chocolate like orange or raspberry or both.”

He smiled a little at the way she got all dreamy when coming up with stuff.

She shook herself from her baking dreams and moved to pat the ground next to the tree where she’d been sitting earlier.

Ichigo raised his eyebrows.

“Sit, Kurosaki-kun. I’ve decided your punishment.”

He gave her a look, to which she just grinned, and then settled down, resting his back against the tree. Then, in a twirl and a plop and a few wiggles, Orihime was resting her head on his thighs, looking supremely pleased as she flipped her hair out behind her.

“The tables have turned, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo held back a smile and obediently began running his fingers through her long hair. Some punishment.

She closed her eyes and sighed in satisfaction. “And don’t tell me if your legs fall asleep because I warn you now, Kurosaki-kun, I do not care.”

“My legs are at your disposal, Inoue.”

Orihime smiled and serenely laid her hands on her stomach.

Not five minutes later she said, “Kurosaki-kun…”

“Hm?”

“But really, you’ll tell me if your legs fall asleep, right?”

He smiled, something he did a ridiculous amount when around her, and didn’t say a word.

Ichigo had learned of another side to Orihime. People could criticize her food, even gag at it, and she’d role with the punches. But mess with her baking at your own peril.

And somehow, as disgustingly cheesy and cliché as it was, discovering her new side made him love her just a little bit more. . .

[scribblles]

Ichihime Halloween Exchange gift for @verano-rin !!

Rating: T Word Count: 5584 Prompts used: Vampire, Kiss at Halloween night

Inoue Orihime, high school student, food lover, friend, and war heroine, gazed at her own brown eyes as she dragged the brush down her long, caramel hair and wondered, for the umpteenth time in as many weeks, when she would break it to her friends and colleagues and landlady that she was a vampire.

She winced when she hit a snag and carefully worked at the little nest as she pondered.

It probably wasn’t as earth-shattering as being a grim reaper or suddenly obtaining powers of ambiguous origin, but she had a suspicion that it would be a bit of a shock. And, guiltily, she worried that her friends would act differently around her to the point of gradually easing themselves out of her life. That thought was unfair to her friends, she knew, as they were as loyal a group as she’d ever find, but it didn’t stop her fretting.

She would be perfectly content to keep her non-human status under wraps, except that people were starting to get suspicious. Exposure to sun didn’t cause her to explode in a spray of scorched vampire pieces on the spot; but, as time went on, she was becoming more and more sensitive until the burn from the sun was nearly unbearable after just minutes. Therefore, hats, sunglasses, long sleeves, long skirts, long everything had become her style. It was October, so she could mostly get away with it, but they had been having a frustrating amount of warm days and eyebrows were raising. Her landlady had begun to view her visiting male friends with an evil eye, convinced one of them was taking a firm hand with her.

Her small habit of staring hungrily at exposed necks had mostly been dismissed as Orihime’s Orihime-ness, but interestingly she had found that Kurosaki Ichigo’s neck was particularly fine. So fine, that one day she couldn’t contain her admiration and outright complimented him on his beautiful neck and lovely veins. In retrospect, she realized that was an odd thing to say, but at the time she’d been a little offended at the look he gave her and his inquiry into her mental health.

And then there was food. To her eternal gratefulness, food was still just as tasty and just as digestible. In fact, she was certain she could pick out flavors with even more acuteness that she had before. The problem was, she didn’t need to eat near as much as she used to. A few bites into a meal, and she was stuffed to the fangs. The concerned looks and words from her friends were becoming a daily occurrence.

Speaking of fangs, she had trouble keeping them retracted, so she’d taken to not smiling as much. Her friends were beginning to have hushed conferences that abruptly stopped when she neared.

Orihime sighed and put down her brush. What a pickle.

The transformation had occurred several weeks ago. She had finalized her plans to attend a culinary school in Tokyo the day before and was still bubbling over with excitement and anticipation about life in general, skipping home from work through the park. A small, potbellied gentleman dressed in clothes that reminded her of old gangster films had met her on the way, taking off his hat and bowing slightly in greeting before nervously asking her if she could please help him with his injured dog.

Again, in retrospect, she supposed that was a stupid thing to do, following a strange man into a dark set of trees; but being a war heroine and defeating some of the most powerful and dastardly villains of all time had given her a certain bravado, she supposed. Besides, he had mentioned an injured dog.

He’d been surprisingly polite and apologetic about the whole thing. She had half a mind to write a gently scolding letter to movie makers and inform them that their portrayal of the vampire species was insulting and wrong. The general perception of the populace certainly made her life more difficult.

As polite as he had been in explaining the situation to her, he did, she would have to admit, attack her. There was really no other way to put it. He was quick and before she had the chance to even think her powers out of her pins or lift a leg for a quick axe kick, she was paralyzed and he was drinking her blood.

That would have been the end of her associations with vampires except that unfortunately, as he explained, he was reluctant about taking blood from people and had allowed himself to reach the brink of starvation and without meaning to and took so much blood that she would have died if left as is. She was always lecturing on the importance of regular meals and if that didn’t solidify her point, she didn’t know what would.

She would have given him one of her lectures right then, except that because of the blood loss she was loose-limbed on the ground and beginning to see spots. The apologies became panicky at that point and she was only dimly aware of something coppery and unpleasant spilling into her mouth before she passed out.

When she came to, she was alone with a hastily written note explaining the whole situation and a small booklet with the title, ‘Welcome to Japan’s Vampire Community: A Guide to Your New Life’.

Her first thought had been that while she had wished for five lives, blood-thirsty immortality wasn’t quite what she had had in mind.

The guide had been surprisingly helpful, if a bit long-winded with outdated wording interspersed with clumsily attempted modern language. It first apologized for the inconvenience and assured her that there was no reason to panic, that this was merely closing a great book in the middle and starting on a new and even better book. Then she was informed of what to expect for her new life.

It had also said that someone within the community would reach out to her shortly with further information; until then, as she was emphatically and wordily urged, she was to refrain from seeking out her own food source. That had been weeks ago, and Orihime was beginning to feel a bit nervous that she would be left to fend for herself and find her own…food source. She hadn’t had the least interest in blood, despite her neck fascination, but for the past couple of days she had begun to notice a tiny but constant hollowness.

Resolutely, she pushed such worries out of her mind and tied her school bow with a firm flourish.

Later at lunch, after she’d eaten half of an omelette and half of a small mung bean filled bread, the dreaded question was finally asked.

“Orihime,” Tatsuki began, with a note of presentation and seriousness, as if it were planned. “Are you feeling all right?”

From the stiff yet resigned and anticipatory postures and averted faces of her friends, she surmised that this was definitely planned. This was the moment. It was now or never. Either she told them, or she gave her standard of-course-i’m-fine and continued to let her friends worry. She ran her tongue under her teeth and held back a sigh when she felt the elongated fangs. A reassuring bright smile was out of the question—her decision was made for her.

She opened her mouth to speak when the missing member of their group plopped down next to her with a grunting “Hey”.

Orihime was always glad to see Ichigo, but this time she very nearly kissed him for his impeccable timing. “Kurosaki-kun!”

One corner of his mouth lifted in greeting as his eyes flashed up to hers. It was only when his eyes dropped to her mouth and he blinked and frowned did she realized she was smiling, her fangs gleaming. She snapped her lips together and turned back to her food, forcing another bite of omelette into her mouth.

The greetings were stated as they asked where he’d been (another scrape with a nearby gang), and Orihime didn’t dare look at him again; but she could feel his frequent looks and ate her entire lunch so that she was near bursting.

Orihime considered herself to be a generally lucky person, but the universe had decided a while ago that it needed to balance her lucky scales by giving her the worst luck in the world when it came to the love of her life walking her home.

She gazed up at him when he’d asked the question after school, her heart aching to say yes but also dreading the grim set of his mouth and the question marks in his narrow eyes.

“Um, I’m sorry Kurosaki-kun, I, uh, have to go straight to work and it’s just a quick walk, I don’t need anyone to walk me there.”

She was taken aback by the look of surprised hurt that crossed his face. She opened her mouth to take back her words, but he was shaking his head.

“Those goons I fought earlier are probably still hanging around, I’ll worry about you if I don’t. C’mon. Please?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to politely inform him that she was more than capable of defending herself against a bunch of teenage boys, especially now, but bit back the words and only nodded.

He walked quietly next to her for a minute, and her heart pounded with combined elation and dread.

“So,” he said after an obvious cough. “Anything happen to you lately?”

Her head jerked up at the question. Happen to her? His eyes slid over to hers, and maybe it was just her sunglasses, but in the sunlight his eyes seemed…different. They had also been what she had thought of as a dark amber, but today they seemed lighter, almost yellow.

“Happen?” she echoed.

“Yeah, uh, you just…sme—uh, seem different. Lately.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at the ground.

“Oh, well…” Here was that moment again. Either lie or… “I’ve decided where to go to school after graduation,” she blurted. There, that wasn’t lying.

His eyes widened. “Already? It’s only October.”

Orihime clasped her hands in front of her and resisted the urge to smile. “Oh, you know, I like to plan ahead.”

He nodded stiffly. “So, where… where is it?”

“Hm?”

“The school you’re going to.”

“Oh!” She ran her tongue over her teeth again and smiled freely when she felt that while they looked sharper than they used to, her fangs were nestled back with the rest of her teeth. “Tokyo.”

His shoulders relaxed a little as he nodded slowly. “Tokyo, okay.”

“Do you know where you’re going yet?”

He looked down at her and paused in the middle of scratching the back of his head. “No, I—no.” His gaze was on her mouth again and he was frowning again. Orihime dropped her smile, checking and frowning to herself when she felt her fangs were still retracted.

“Any plans for Halloween, Kurosaki-kun?”

Ichigo blinked and focused on her eyes again. “Uh, no, I mean, yeah. My… family is doing something, I think.”

She nodded, and was both relieved and disappointed when they arrived at the bakery. “Well,” she said, turning to him in a whirl without thinking, nearly knocking off her wide-brimmed hat. She grabbed it with her gloved hands and turned away from his curious, searching gaze. “Thank you for walking me, Kurosaki-kun. See you on Monday!”

He already had one foot on the step and started to go in ahead of her. “Actually, I thought I’d stay here and do some homework.”

Orihime stood rooted for a moment before rushing in after him. “O-Oh, okay.” She watched in astonishment as he grabbed a table in the corner, sitting with his back to the rest of the shop, pulling out a textbook.

Her boss’ greeting jolted her, and she hurried back to change. Ichigo had never done such a thing before, and while normally she’d be ecstatic, the more he was around her, the more suspicious he’d get and the more… She paused in unbuttoning her shirt to smack herself on the side of the head. What was she so afraid of? She had to tell her friends eventually, and Ichigo of all people would understand turning into something strange and hiding it.

With a deep breath, she pulled up the suspenders of her uniform, donned the little cap, and gave her reflection a stern look and an encouraging nod.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said, arriving at his table with her little notebook. “Welcome to ABC Bakery, what can we get for you today?”

Ichigo had looked up, startled at the formal words, and was now grinning at her. The urge to press her hand against her chest to keep her heart from pounding right through her ribs was difficult to repress. Ichigo’s RAGs (Rare Ambush Grins) would kill her one day.

He cleared his throat and scowled at the menu for a moment before setting it down. “I’ll just have black coffee and a cinnamon roll.”

“Would you like your pastry warmed?”

“Definitely.”

She lifted the sides of her skirt slightly and gave him a little curtsy. “Right away, sir.”

Ichigo snorted, and she grinned as she flounced away to get his order.

“Ah, so that’s your boyfriend,” her boss whispered as Orihime was pouring the coffee.

She nearly poured the whole pot onto the floor, her face growing bright red. Her boss was a dear old lady, but her so-called whispers were more like a town crier’s proclamations. Ichigo would have to be deaf not to have heard that. Orihime whispered something frantically dismissive and risked looking over her shoulder at the table, hoping he’d stuck headphones on his ears—alas, his ears were naked and very, very red.

“Oh, but he’s such a handsome young man,” her boss continued, still “whispering”. “He probably followed you in here ‘cause he’s got a tiny crush on you.”

Orihime grabbed the biggest roll with a small whimper and stuck it in the little microwave.

“All right, all right, I’ll stop meddling,” she concluded and finally, finally, went to the back.

Orihime jumped when the timer dinged and carefully slid the pastry onto a doily covered plate. His ears were still red, she noted, as she slowly made her way to his table.

“H-Here you are, sir,” she said, the coffee nearly sloshing out of the wide mug as she set it down.

Ichigo nodded, but then surprised her by looking up at her, catching her eyes. If it were her, she wouldn’t be able to look at him for at least a week, maybe a month, and she wouldn’t even be looking him in the eye now except he caught her unawares and now she couldn’t look away. There was something in there that she almost recognized, and something else almost questioning. Mentally brushing aside all that, his eyes, she decided, were definitely different.

The bell sounding as someone walked in jerked them both out of whatever they were in, and Orihime offered him a small smile before scurrying off to help the new customers.

Orihime was a bit suspicious that he had that much homework to do, but he made a good show of it by staying for the entirety of her four hour shift while managing to look busy. Her boss had even lassoed him into helping Orihime carry in bags of flour, even though all parties present knew Orihime was perfectly capable of handling them herself. An attempt at match-making, a mortified Orihime supposed.

Many times she would catch him staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face; then he would always drop his head and scribble furiously at his notebook.

At the end of her shift, Ichigo walked her home; and in spite of the earlier embarrassment, the conversation was easy and Orihime was nearly floating by the time they reached her door.

“Well, thank you, Kurosaki-kun.”

He nodded, but bit his lip and just looked at her.

“Um, so,” she said, fiddling with her keys. “I’d invite you in, but your family is probably wondering where you are.”

Ichigo nodded again, but remained silent.

Nervousness bubbling and twisting up from her stomach, she said for the second time that day, “See you on Monday?”

He frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. “Yeah, I guess. See you then.” He turned around, but spun back on his heel just as she’d put her key in the door. “Happy Halloween.”

Orihime grinned and pushed open the door. “Happy Halloween, Kurosaki-kun. Have a good time with your family!”

With a final, hesitant wave, he left.

As she pondered his strange behavior, she pushed open the door and bent to pick up her mail, shuffling through it as she shut the door behind her. One large, square envelope was unfamiliar amongst the bills and advertisements, and she dropped the rest onto the coffee table as she curiously flipped it over, examining it.

Shrugging and opening it, she pulled out what looked like a Halloween party invitation, covered in bats and pumpkins and the like. A folded letter fell out with it, but her gaze was locked onto the invitation.

It said, “Japan’s Monster Community, 18th Chapter, invites you to this month’s meeting on Saturday, 31st of October. Location: Cathedral Church basement. Time: one hour before moonrise. Event: Monthly meeting, orientation, and Halloween costume party. Attendance not required, but strongly encouraged.”

In a bit of a daze, Orihime put down the invitation and opened the letter.

“Dear Inoue Orihime, Our sincerest apologies for the delay; we recently have undergone a staffing change and news of your recent transformation was buried in the chaos. Thankfully, we have reached you just in time, and we look forward to your attendance this Saturday night. Signed, Ambrogio VI, President of JMC, 18th Chapter. P.S. Please bring cupcakes.”

Well.

The following day, dressed in her giant pumpkin costume with three boxes of her homemade cupcakes stacked in her arms, Orihime carefully stepped down the outside steps to the red door of the church’s basement. It swung open, and she barely dodged it with a small squeak.

The man on the other side blinked at her, his face turning a deep shade of red. “Oh!” The man responsible for her recent change whipped off his worn fedora and bowed. “I-Inoue-san! My deepest apologies, I—oh, here, let me help you.”

After a bit of awkward jostling, he held her top two boxes of cupcakes and pressed himself against the open door, nodding for her to go ahead.

Orihime smiled at him, relieved to be able to smile without worrying about her fangs. Stepping inside, she looked around, smiling even wider at the elaborately decorated basement: a large cauldron full of green punch, cobwebs and hanging ghosts on the ceiling, tables full of food, black and orange balloons, and spooky tunes playing on the speakers.

All heads had turned at her entrance and, she noticed happily, they all looked curious but quite friendly.

“Hello everyone!” she greeted loudly. “I’m Inoue Orihime, you’re newest recruit!”

She grinned at the answering chuckles and waves, and turned to the man next to her. “I just realized, I don’t know your name!”

He started, and she eyed the boxes with some concern, gesturing with her head for him to follow her to the dessert table.

“Oh, uh, yes,” he said as they went. “Uh, Hayashi Yuto.”

“Well,” she said, setting down her cupcakes and sticking out her hand. “Nice to officially meet you, Hayashi-san.”

He stared at her hand for a moment before slowly grasping it. “Ah, yes…” He suddenly grasped her hand in both of his, his face strained. “Inoue-san, I-I am so terribly sorry about what I d-did to you… I’ve never done such a thing before and I—”

Orihime waved her free hand dismissively. “It’s quite all right, Hayashi-san. We all make mistakes. But,” she said as she pointed a stern finger. “I think we’ve learned our lesson on the importance of proper eating habits, haven’t we?”

He nodded and gave her a watery smile, his eyes beginning to look a bit shiny. “inoue-san…”

Just then, the basement door opened again, and if Orihime had still been carrying her cupcakes, she would have surely dropped them.

The newcomer looked at the small gathering and said, “Uh, hey. This the JMC meeting?”

“K-Kurosaki-kun?”

The familiar orange head swiveled over to her and, after a moment, of shock he pointed at her and said, “Aha!”

“A-Aha?” Her mind was swirling as he stalked towards her, the only sign of a costume being the batman symbol on his t-shirt and two gently flopping bolts stuck to the side of his neck.

He came to a stop before her and looked her up and down from her stem hat down to her green leaf shoes, then squinted at her mouth. “Smile,” he said.

“S-Smile?”

He nodded, and she bared her teeth in a grimace.

His nostrils flared and he drew in a deep breath. “Who did this to you?”

There was a small bang, the sound of a heel hitting the leg of a table, and Orihime rushed to block his view from the retreating Hayashi Yuto. “Nobody, I mean, I don’t know, um… Kurosaki-kun… what are you doing here?”

His narrowed eyes on the nervous man behind Orihime dropped to her face. It was then that she realized his eyes were even more different since yesterday—a startling amber yellow, like a wolf’s.

“What happened to you Kurosaki-kun?”

He looked away and cleared his throat. “Uh, well, I got bit.”

She frowned. “So, you’re like me, a—”

“No, I’m different, I’m—”

“Kurosaki-san!” a voice suddenly boomed. “Oh, Kurosaki-san, hello, hello, I’m terribly sorry, so sorry, about this…”

The approaching large pirate continued his apologetic tirade in spite of Ichigo’s protests, and Orihime took a moment to breathe and take in the situation. Ichigo was a member of the Monster Community as well, and apparently quite recently.

“…was so worried when you didn’t show up for the last meeting, where were you? Did you have any trouble?”

“Ah, no, it was fine. I—”

“Oh good, good, good. Oh dear, I—”

“That’s enough Wakamatsu-san, you’ll smother the poor boy.” A slender, bespectacled man in a bloody doctor’s uniform bowed slightly to them. “Welcome to our little community, so glad you could make it. I’m Ambrogio, this chapter’s president.” He peered at Ichigo. “We missed you at the last meeting. How did you manage the, uh…”

“I had bigger things to worry about at the time,” Ichigo said. “But I know a guy with a safe place.”

The president’s eyebrows rose. “Bigger things?” He paused, clearly waiting for Ichigo to elaborate, but Orihime could have told him he may as well wait for a boulder to speak. “Well, I’m just glad there were no…mishaps.”

The pirate flushed hotly.

“Anyway, now that you’re both here, we should get the meeting over with.” He turned and clapped his hands, asking for attention. Someone turned the music off, and they all made their way to the other side of the basement where there were a few rows of folding chairs in front of a dilapidated wooden pulpit.

When everyone was settled, the president spoke. “All right, I believe the only pressing thing on today’s agenda is the introduction and orientation of our newest members. Inoue Orihime, Kurosaki Ichigo, would you please come up here?”

Orihime and Ichigo looked at each other before standing and heading to the front. One long-fingered hand gestured towards her. “Please welcome Inoue-san, our new vampire.” There was applause and smiles and a few whistles; Orihime grinned and flushed happily. “And Kurosaki-san,” he continued, gesturing towards Ichigo. “Our new werewolf.” She stared at him as the cheery applause erupted again, and Ichigo glanced nervously at her before giving a little sheepish shrug.

When they were seated again, the vice president, a witch, stood and rattled off the rules for vampires that included no drinking from small animals (vampires must avoid killing, even of animals) and no dipping into human’s blood banks (those banks are necessary to the humans and it’s unfair to replete their supply). Humans were to be the main source for a vampire’s good health and sound mind which sounded a bit horrifying to Orihime, but it seemed only a pint once a month was needed and there things she could do to make the whole process easier and forgetful.

The werewolves had considerably fewer rules: basically, take your wolfsbane potion and try to be alone or among trusted friends on full moon nights as wolfsbane does not keep all transformation symptoms at bay (most monthly meetings were held on full moon, so there was not much need to worry).

The meeting ended with the encouragement that they make the newcomers feel welcome and answer any questions they might have.

The party returned in full swing so fast, Orihime felt her head spin as the music and bustle flared back to life. As temptingly fun as it looked, she and Ichigo had things to discuss. With a look and a tug on his sleeve, he followed her to stand on the other side of a fake coffin leaning against a wall.

They stared at each other for a minute, neither quite sure what to say.

“Well,” said Orihime. “A werewolf.”

He nodded, folded his arms, and said, “A vampire.”

She fiddled with the orange fabric of her costume and her leaf shoes twitched. “How did it happen?”

Ichigo sighed. “Well, that pirate earlier, his wife was having a tough time giving birth, and I guess the stress caused him to lose track of what time of month it was and he… transformed or whatever.” He scratched at the side of his nose. “I was getting supplies for my dad’s clinic and had the luck to run into him.” He laughed shortly. “Was so shocked at this creature out of a horror film running towards me, I didn’t have a chance to defend myself.” He hesitated, then tugged down one shoulder of his shirt and Orihime gasped.

“Oh, Kurosaki-kun…” Her fingers reached up and gently touched the jagged scars on the overly warm skin. It looked like the werewolf had nearly torn his shoulder off. She was still tracing the scars when she looked up at his silence, her fingers stilling at the strange intensity in his eyes. “You should have let me heal you,” she said, her voice a little breathless to her ears.

He blinked and covered his shoulder as she dropped her hand. “Uh… yeah, well, I would have, I was going to, except by the next day, it was healed, except the scarring. Figured something was a little weird at that point.”

She laughed. “That’s when you thought something was weird.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Well, weirder than normal. Seems like strange things are always attacking me so… The healing by itself was different.”

“When did it happen?”

“Uh, well… not long before we left for SS and the war.”

Her eyes widened. “That was two months ago!”

He shrugged, then scowled at her. “When did it happen to you? And how did it happen?”

She explained, still refusing to point him out to Ichigo. When she finished, she surprised him by suddenly giggling. “The strange things in this world and the next seem determined to follow us around, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo snorted and rolled his eyes and told the strange things to take a hike—in slightly stronger words.

“So, what now?” she finally said.

“I guess…tell our friends? I’ve only told Urahara, and him because I needed him to lock me in his basement.”

“Does it hurt? Becoming a werewolf, I mean.”

Another shrug was her only answer. “So,” he said, changing the subject. “Are you immortal or something now?”

“I seem to have some kind of control over that, depending on how much or how little blood I d-drink. I’ll definitely age a lot slower than normal people. What about you, are you…?”

He shook his head. “I get my life extended and the aging slower thing, but that’s it.” He looked at her with a skeptical eye. “Somehow, I can’t see you attacking people’s necks. Although that does explain that one time you—”

Orihime flushed and interrupted. “Ah! Ahaha, well, I won’t have to attack, just kind of lull them to sleep and…bite.” She wrinkled her nose, but something in the pit of her stomach leaped a little in excitement.

She looked up at his familiar scowling, amused face and smiled. “I am sorry this happened to you, Kurosaki-kun, but I’m…I’m glad I’m not alone…”

His face softened a little, and he nodded. “Yeah.”

They stared at each other again until Orihime began to feel her cheeks warm. She watched his adam’s apple bob as he shifted from one foot to another.

“Um, Inoue, I… there was something I was going to ask you before… well, after the war, and stuff. But with the whole wolf thing, I…” Orihime waited patiently, only momentarily distracted by his mouth when he licked his lips Look, I—”

“Oomph!”

They were interrupted by suddenly being slammed into each other, chest to chest. Orihime felt something thick and tight going around her back multiple times.

“What the—”

A cackle sounded from nearby, and they both looked up to see the vice president, the witch dressed in a witch costume, laughing at them and merrily waving her wand in the air.

“A rope, a rope, a kissing rope for the boring lovebirds. A bit of encouragement for the drip drip faucet to run and run and run.”

Orihime swallowed and looked up at Ichigo, her head tipping back to see him. He tucked his chin, trying to peer down at her. “D-Did she say k-kissing rope?”

The muscles in his jaw jumped like jack rabbits.

“Kissing rope, kissing rope, kissing rope.” There was now no doubt. “Only way to freedom is a kiss, a kiss, a long, sweet kiss on the li—”

“Good grief, witch,” said Ambrogio, walking towards her. “How much of that punch did you drink?”

She blew a raspberry at the president.

He turned and gave them a pitying look. “Terribly sorry about this, she’s the worst lightweight I’ve ever seen and yet insists on drinking a gallon at every party. ‘Fraid she’s right, though. The only way out of that is with at least one solid kiss. Good thing you two already know each other, eh? Now come along and let’s get you some tea. Wakamatsu-san? Little help, if you please.”

When they had gone, tense silence filled what little space was between them. Orihime tried to wiggle her arms and realized with a thrill of hope that she could even lift them out of the wound ropes, but trying to push on the ropes was futile as they stuck like iron bands around the two of them.

“Okay, well, this isn’t exactly…” Ichigo’s voice rumbled from his chest and seemed to tingle and warm her blood. “About the thing I was going to ask you?”

How he could be still thinking of his question at a time like this was beyond her, but she nodded.

“Well, this was… kinda what I was going to ask you…”

Her head snapped up, nearly popping him in the chin. “You were going to ask me to k-kiss you?” she squeaked.

“No! I mean, well, sort of…argh, damn it.” He pulled his own arms out and half-heartedly shoved at the ropes as they retightened. “I was going to ask if…if…”

And suddenly, Orihime realized. “You were going to ask me out?”

His red skin clashed horribly with his orange hair, but Orihime thought she had never seen him look quite so attractive as he did right then.

“Y-Yeah…I…yeah…but—”

With a short laugh, Orihime gave in to the impulse and bounced up on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down to press her lips firmly on his. She felt warm and electric from her head to her toes, and her chest filled with blooming heat when he quickly got with her program and kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her pumpkin costume.

When her calf muscles began to ache unbearably, she reluctantly lowered; but, happily his mouth chased hers, neither aware or caring that the magical ropes had long ago disintegrated.

Ichigo finally lifted his head, still holding her close and still red, but grinning that melted the last parts of her that hadn’t already melted.

“So much for werewolves and vampires being enemies.” He tried to fix her pumpkin stem hat, but it slipped back down.

Orihime smiled and shyly bumped her nose against his. “So much.” She pulled back a little more and frowned. “Um, Kurosaki-kun… there’s orange fur growing out of your chin.”

Just then his nose twisted and popped into a wolf’s snout. “Ah, shit.”