Ichihime Trash

Kurosaki Ichigo was once again awakened by his father’s thunderous voice.

The door to his room burst open without warning.

Kurosaki Isshin—his overly dramatic, eternally energetic father—marched in like he owned the place (which unfortunately, he did), solely to torment his peacefully sleeping son.

“GOOD MORNING, MY TANGERINE! WAKEY-WAKEY! YOUR SISTERS AND YOUR MA ARE AT THE TABLE NOW! WE’RE WAITING FOR YOU SO WE CAN EAT BREAKFAST TOGETHER!” he shouted at full volume.

Ichigo groaned and shoved a pillow over his ears. There was absolutely no way they were about to eat breakfast. It was four in the morning, for Pete’s sake but resistance was futile against Isshin Kurosaki. His father yanked the pillow away. When Ichigo tried to cocoon himself in his blanket instead, Isshin pulled that off too. Not satisfied, the man even grabbed his son by the ankle and tugged.

Caught off guard, Ichigo couldn’t react fast enough.

He fell face-first onto the floor with a dull thud.

He grunted.

That was Isshin’s cue.

“Mission accomplished!” his father declared before sprinting out of the room like a wanted criminal escaping the scene.

He knew that sound.

That low, dangerous grunt meant Ichigo was officially angry. Ichigo lay there for a second, face pressed against the floor, fists trembling in irritation. This had been happening for years. His father would barge in before sunrise. Or whenever he felt like it. Or just because he was bored.

Scratch that—Isshin would annoy him every chance he got.

And yet—

Ichigo wasn’t entirely mad.

Because he knew.

That was his father’s way of showing love.

Loud. Chaotic. Ridiculous.

But love, nonetheless.

His mother, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.

Kurosaki Masaki was gentle. Warm. Caring in a way that wrapped around you like sunlight. Yuzu and Karin adored her—and so did Ichigo.

And if he were honest, even their insufferable father worshipped her.

As Isshin always said—

“Your mama is the center of our universe!”

Their world revolved around her.

And their love story?

It was something out of a drama series.

Masaki had originally been arranged to marry her distant cousin, Ishida Ryuuken. It had been decided long before she had a say in it but then she met Isshin and she fell in love with the loud, reckless, stubborn man who would later become her husband.

Her family didn’t approve. They rejected him.

They rejected her choice.

But the arranged marriage never happened.

Masaki fought for her love. She left the suffocating expectations of her family behind. She and Isshin worked while studying. They struggled together. Saved money. Endured judgment. When they finally graduated from college, they got married. A few years later, Isshin built his own clinic. Masaki opened a café.

Then they had Ichigo.

Five years later, the twins followed.

And the rest—

Was history.

Ichigo pushed himself off the floor and groaned.

It was way too early for his father’s antics. He didn’t want to start his day irritated and end up carrying that mood to school. Since he was already wide awake—and since Isshin would absolutely return for Round Two—Ichigo grabbed his clothes and headed for the bathroom.

No point trying to sleep again.

After a quick shower, he stepped out feeling more awake, though still mildly annoyed.

When he entered the kitchen, he found his mother and Yuzu preparing breakfast together. The warm smell of rice and grilled fish filled the air.

On the other side of the room—

Isshin was now pestering Karin.

Unfortunately, she had become the new target.

They were arguing over the TV remote, both stubbornly refusing to surrender a channel.

As Ichigo walked past them—

He smacked his father lightly on the back of the head.

“Quit it,” he muttered.

Isshin gasped dramatically. “OUCH! Ma our son abuses me!” he wailed dramatically once again, clutching the back of his head as if Ichigo had mortally wounded him.

“Serves you right.” Karin muttered under her breath, now proudly in possession of the TV remote.

Isshin turned to his daughter with exaggerated betrayal written all over his face. Then he looked at Ichigo again.

“You too, Karin?! Ma! Our children are ganging up on me!” he complained loudly to his wife.

Masaki only laughed softly, choosing to ignore her husband’s theatrics. She turned to her eldest son with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Ichigo. I see you’re ready for school. Come sit down; we’re done preparing breakfast. Yuzu-chan and I just finished.”

“Good morning, Ma,” Ichigo replied, his tone automatically softening for her.

He helped set the dishes on the table without being told. Yuzu came out of the kitchen carrying a pitcher of water, walking carefully so she wouldn’t spill it.

“Good morning, Ichi-nii!” she greeted brightly.

“Morning,” Ichigo answered, taking the pitcher from her hands and placing it on the table.

“Come on, Pa. Karin. Let’s eat,” Masaki called gently.

Karin stood up immediately.

Isshin, however, placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

“I thank the Lord for another day where our family can eat together!” he declared with teary eyes.

Yuzu quickly handed him a tissue. “Pa, don’t cry!”

Masaki laughed again at the duo, while Ichigo and Karin exchanged a look of secondhand embarrassment before shaking their heads in unison.

Despite the chaos—

Ichigo was grateful.

They were complete.

All five of them, seated at the same table.

Because he had learned through his mother earlier: Uryu and Mizuru’s mother had passed away. They would be attending the funeral later.

Ichigo sighed quietly.

His cousins—twins like his sisters—had grown up in wealth. They never had to struggle financially.

Rich.

But cold.

Exhausting.

Their world was complicated.

Uryu was pressured and forced into expectations.

Katana was neglected and oppressed.

They had no freedom—not even inside their own home.

That wide, magnificent mansion wasn’t a home.

It was a prison.

And their own family were the shackles wrapped around them.

Tight enough to feel suffocating.

Ichigo pushed the thought aside as he left for school, hands in his pockets, mind still heavy.

Until—

A flash of auburn-orange caught his eye.

Inoue Orihime.

She was walking alone.

That was rare. She was usually with Tatsuki.

Without thinking too much, Ichigo quickened his pace to catch up with her. When he reached her side, he noticed she was deeply absorbed in her thoughts.

She was counting on her fingers.

Murmuring something to herself.

She hadn’t even noticed him.

He couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Orihime was so oblivious to her surroundings sometimes.

She didn’t even sense him walking right beside her.

But at the same time—

He felt a flicker of worry.

She was too calm, too unguarded. What if someone with bad intentions approached her one day?

He didn’t like that thought.

He exhaled softly, shaking it away before finally speaking.

“Good morning, Inoue.”

Orihime startled, placing a hand over her chest.

“Ah!”

Her cheeks flushed instantly when she saw him.

Of course.

Why did she keep running into him at the most random, awkward times?

“G-good morning, Kurosaki-kun,” she replied, offering him a small smile.

Ichigo nodded.

She still looked shy around him but at least she wasn’t avoiding him anymore.

“Have you been there for long, Kurosaki-kun? I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you,” Orihime said apologetically, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I just got here,” Ichigo replied, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You looked like you were deep in thought.”

“Ah, yeah… hahaha.” She laughed sheepishly. “I was just counting the days.”

Ichigo glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Counting for what?”

“My aunt’s birthday is coming up,” she explained. “She’s the one supporting me financially. I want to surprise her… maybe give her a present. You know, as a way of saying thank you.”

Ichigo nodded. “Well, it’s her responsibility to provide for you anyway.”

Orihime smiled faintly.

“Actually… not really. But it’s okay—you didn’t know,” she said gently. “My aunt is only a few years older than us. She will turn nineteen just in a few days.”

Ichigo froze.

Damn. That was insensitive.

“Sorry,” he muttered, guilt creeping into his voice.

“It’s really okay! Like I said, you didn’t know.” She waved her hands lightly. “My aunt only found me after my brother died. She didn’t even know about me until then. When she found out, she immediately offered to support me financially. It’s actually embarrassing because she even wanted me to rent an apartment… but I’m fine staying in the dorm with Tatsuki. So now she just gives me allowance and pays for my other school expenses.”

Ichigo listened quietly to every word.

“Somehow, I want to give back,” Orihime continued, her voice soft but steady. “I feel bad for her. I have someone guiding me… but who was there for her when she needed help? So I’m going to work for a few days. I’ll visit her, celebrate her birthday, cook for her, and give her a gift.”

Ichigo didn’t interrupt.

Each detail she shared warmed something inside him.

Orihime was kind—painfully kind.

He had always seen her smiling, bright, and cheerful.

He never realized she was carrying something too.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, he thought.

She was raised by her brother—who stepped up to become her parent.

And by an aunt barely older than her—who chose responsibility without hesitation.

Orihime was raised by strong people.

So it wasn’t surprising that she grew up strong too.

“If you’re looking for a job,” Ichigo said after a moment, “I know a place.”

Maybe he could ask his mom.

Orihime’s lips slowly curved into a genuine smile.

It was bright.

Soft.

Sweet.

And for a second, Ichigo found himself staring.

“Thank you, Kurosaki-kun,” she said sincerely. “You’re really kind.”

She couldn’t help the admiration in her eyes—her long-time crush standing right in front of her, offering help so naturally.

Her eyes started to sting, but she quickly blinked the tears away.

No way was she going to tear up—and worse, sniffle—in front of her crush.

But overall?

She was happy.

She already had something to excitedly tell Tatsuki later.

Ichigo went home right after school.

He was exhausted.

Classes drained him.

But somehow… today felt lighter.

Mostly because of Orihime.

He was confident now.

They were getting closer.

She had told him so many things—mostly random stories—but he listened. He remembered them.

She told him how she and Tatsuki became friends. Tatsuki had defended her from bullies back in first grade. He hadn’t realized they’d known each other for that long—the same length of time he had known Tatsuki.

Out of curiosity, he even asked how she became close with Renji.

Well…

Abarai Renji—his thick-faced friend—once asked Orihime for advice.

On how to win over a girl.

Back when Renji and Rukia weren’t official yet, Renji had asked Orihime to help him find a gift for Rukia. He knew what Rukia liked—but had no idea where to buy it. So he sought Orihime’s help.

And being the helpful, kind person she was, she agreed.

That’s how they became close.

Sometimes Renji would even ask her for advice on how to apologize properly or how to make up with Rukia after arguments.

Ichigo learned all of that.

Unfortunately—

He realized he had been the only one out of touch.

The only one missing in action inside their classroom.

But now—

He was making up for lost time.

And it felt like a big achievement that he and Orihime were getting closer.

Maybe—

Just maybe—

They could become friends.

Yes.

For the first time in his life—

Ichigo wanted to be friends with someone.

When Ichigo got home, everyone was already dressed in black.

He was the only one who hadn’t changed yet.

For the first time, the Kurosaki household felt heavy. The usual noise was gone—no dramatic wailing from Isshin, no playful teasing. Even Yuzu and Karin were quiet.

The drive to the Ishida residence was suffocatingly silent.

And when they arrived—

Nothing had changed.

The gates alone screamed wealth. Beyond them stood the massive mansion, elegant and intimidating, its architecture precise and imposing.

Luxurious.

Grand.

Perfect.

But that was all it was.

Because the air around it felt colder than ever.

The moment they stepped inside, his parents offered their condolences to the grieving household. The twins followed politely.

Ichigo stayed a few steps behind.

He felt—

Out of place.

Like a visitor in a world that never truly accepted him.

Then he saw him.

Uryu stood alone, not crying like the others. His face was composed, almost emotionless.

But the exhaustion in his eyes was unmistakable.

Exhausted—not just from grief.

But from everything.

Ichigo walked toward him.

“Condolences, Ishida.”

Uryu didn’t even look at him.

“Save it. I don’t need your pity,” he said coldly before walking away.

Ichigo stood there, stunned.

What an ungrateful brat, he muttered to himself.

What was wrong with offering sympathy? He wasn’t pitying him. He just… understood. If something happened to his own family, he knew he would lose it. He’d probably be worse.

But his arrogant cousin—

Still the same.

“Please refrain from saying things like that about my brother. If only you knew how much he’s suffered in this family.”

Ichigo turned.

He recognized the voice.

“Ishida… Katana.”

She looked thinner. Paler.

More tired.

Between the twins, he used to be closer to Katana when they were younger. But as the Ishida family’s problems grew, distance naturally followed.

Katana gave him a bitter smile.

“Don’t call me Ishida. I’m Kanae Katana. I will never associate myself with that surname. If they didn’t have my brother by the throat, I would have left this place long ago.”

“You really hate your family that much?” Ichigo asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she answered, her voice low. “To the bone.”

She glanced toward the mourning crowd.

“Those tears? They’re not for my mother. They’re fake. As fake as they are. They’re crying because they lost another asset in their business.”

Ichigo frowned. “How can they do that? You’re family, aren’t you?”

“Money,” Katana replied flatly. “They’re greedy. Evil. When you’re surrounded by people who worship money, shame becomes contagious.”

Ichigo inhaled slowly.

“I understand,” he said. “I understand Uryu too. His feelings are valid… but not his actions.”

Katana gave a small nod. “Then let me apologize on his behalf.”

There was a pause before she added quietly,

“Good thing Aunt Masaki left this household. Had her own family. Lived happily.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo murmured.

Good thing his parents fought for their love. Their love was stronger than being showered by wealth, that kind of love is getting expensive and not anyone could afford it, not even the wealthy Ishida clan

He couldn’t imagine growing up here.

A household where freedom only came in two forms—

You either die.

Or you’re cast out and left to struggle alone.

Good thing his father stood by his mother.

He and Katana talked a little longer, exchanging small updates about life before Ichigo once again offered his condolences.

They didn’t stay long.

Masaki didn’t want them to become the next subject of whispers and mockery. They had come solely to pay their respects—to their friend, to the twins’ mother, to Ryuken's beloved wife.

When they returned home, everyone retreated to their rooms without much conversation.

Ichigo lay in bed.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

The events of the day replayed in his mind—the cold mansion, Uryu’s hollow eyes, Katana’s bitterness.

And then—

Orihime’s smile surfaced in his thoughts.

Bright.

Warm.

Gentle.

It calmed him.

Even just a little.

But then he stiffened.

Why did her image suddenly appear so clearly in his head?

He rubbed his face with both hands and turned to his side.

He hadn’t talked to his mom yet.

Tomorrow.

First thing tomorrow, he would tell Kurosaki Masaki that he wanted to work at her café.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

He would recommend a new employee.

Orihime was a simple girl.

Her happiness was easy to reach—shallow in the best way, like sunlight touching the surface of her clear window. The smallest things could make her grateful: a warm morning breeze, a perfectly folded of her clothes inside her cabinet, the way her toast browned just right. She cherished everything she received and everything that happened to her, whether big or small.

That was why she always began her day with a smile. She believed—truly believed—that if you woke up on a good note, the rest of the day would follow the same melody. A beautiful morning would lead to a beautiful afternoon, and a beautiful afternoon would soften into a peaceful evening. It was a simple mantra, but Orihime lived by it as though it were a sacred truth. And so, this morning, she walked down the hallway beside Tatsuki with light, buoyant steps, heading toward their classroom.

In her haste to leave the school yesterday—too distracted by her reading a manga—she had forgotten to bring her school bag. The only thing she carried was the same manga she read, clutched carefully in one hand, its pages slightly bent from how tightly she held it. But even that small mistake did nothing to dim her mood.

She was still smiling.

The embarrassment she had suffered yesterday in front of her long-time crush had already been tucked away somewhere in her forgiving heart, softened and polished into something almost sweet.

Beside her, Tatsuki walked quietly, hands in her pockets. She didn’t say anything at first, but her eyes kept drifting toward her friend. There was something different about Orihime’s smile today. It wasn’t just her usual brightness. It shimmered. It looked suspiciously pleased.

Tatsuki narrowed her eyes slightly.

She knew that look.

There was definitely something going on inside that head.

“Why do you look ridiculously happy today?” Tatsuki finally asked, her tone edged with curiosity.

Orihime turned to her innocently, wide eyes blinking. “What do you mean, Tatsuki-chan? I’m always happy,” she replied sweetly.

Tatsuki was not convinced.

She shot her friend a flat look.

Orihime pouted under the scrutiny. “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you. I was actually planning to tell you later, but since you asked…” she said, shifting the manga to her other hand. Tatsuki raised a brow. “Oh? So now it’s my fault? Fine, go on. What’s this story of yours?”

Orihime smiled again, softer this time, clearly remembering something. If it ever came true, she thought, maybe everyone would be happy.

“I had a dream,” she began.

“Oh? And?” Tatsuki prompted dryly.

“Shh, listen first, Tatsuki-chan!” Orihime insisted. “In my dream, all the girls in the world turned into frogs because an evil wizard cursed us.”

Tatsuki stopped walking for half a second, staring at her. “There is absolutely no way in hell I turned into a frog,” she deadpanned.

“It was just a dream!” Orihime defended quickly, cheeks puffing.

“Okay, okay. Continue.”

“So,” Orihime went on, lowering her voice dramatically, “we could only turn back into humans if someone truly loved us.”

Tatsuki already looked exhausted.

“And,” Orihime added, her voice dropping to a whisper so soft it was almost swallowed by the hallway noise, “the one who found me… and truly loved me… was Ichigo.”

She barely breathed his name, afraid one of their classmates might overhear. Tatsuki grimaced. Of course it was Ichigo. Of course he was the prince charming in Orihime’s imagination.

“And then I transformed back into a human,” Orihime continued dreamily. “After that, I helped the other girls find their true love too, so they could become human again.”

She clasped her hands together, eyes shining.

“And I succeeded! Not only did I find my true love, but I also saved humanity!” she finished proudly.

Tatsuki stared at her for a long moment.

“Even more no way in hell, Hime. Absolutely not. I am incredibly grateful that was just a dream.”

Orihime puffed her cheeks again.

“But if you dream about it again,” Tatsuki added thoughtfully, “I hope the evil wizard comes back—and this time turns the guys into frogs too.”

Orihime gasped. “You meanie! Then you’d turn into a frog too!”

Tatsuki grinned slowly.

“Hell no,” she said. “Because I’d be the evil wizard.”

She even let out an exaggerated, villainous laugh that echoed lightly down the hallway. Orihime placed a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in shock.

“No! You can’t do that! You’re too kind to be an evil wizard!” she protested earnestly.

“Who said that?” Tatsuki didn’t miss a beat.

“Me. Because you’re kind to me.”

Tatsuki blinked, not surprised by Orihime's answer, just amused.

“I’m only kind to you,” Tatsuki replied with a small shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And it was true.

Ever since she met Orihime, something in Tatsuki had softened. The sharp edges of her temper had dulled, her reactions no longer as quick to flare. Whenever Orihime smiled—that warm, guileless smile that seemed to shine straight from her chest—Tatsuki found herself smiling too, even when she didn’t mean to. Even Orihime’s strange little fantasies, like the frog-curse dream from earlier, were things Tatsuki now indulged instead of dismissing outright. She played along. Teased. Participated.

She loved Orihime like a sister.

Like family.

And it seemed she wasn’t the only one.

The moment they stepped inside their classroom, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Then, almost instantly, their classmates swarmed around Orihime’s desk—most of them girls.

“Good morning, Orihime-chan!”

“Wow, you’re so pretty today, Orihime!”

“Orihime, I volunteer as your girlfriend!” one of them declared dramatically, clasping her hands together.

Tatsuki merely raised a brow at that. Orihime, on the other hand, laughed lightly, waving her hand in embarrassment.

“Good morning, everyone!” she greeted brightly before politely declining the last offer with an apologetic smile.

She took her seat, smoothing her skirt, but the girls followed, crowding around her desk as they began chatting animatedly—asking about her day, her manga, her thoughts on random things that only they seemed to understand.

Across the room—

A certain orange-haired boy grew even grumpier.

Ichigo had already woken up in a foul mood. He’d slept poorly, his dreams restless and fragmented, and to make matters worse, his father had been especially irritating that morning—barging into his room, making ridiculous comments, and generally existing too loudly.

So Ichigo had left the house early.

Unfortunately, his bad mood had followed him.

“Lol, you’re grumpy every day,” Renji said from beside him, hands behind his head. “So what? do you wake up on the wrong side of the bed every single morning?”

“Shut up,” Ichigo muttered.

“Hey, don’t tease him too much, Renji,” Kuchiki Rukia, one of his friends, chimed in, though the smirk on her face betrayed her. “It’s a sign of aging. He’s turning eighteen next month, after all.”

Ichigo scowled deeper as the couple high-fived each other over their shared amusement.

“Can you not?” he grumbled. “I just woke up in a bad mood.”

He shot Renji an annoyed look before turning to Rukia and pointing at her accusingly.

“And you—don’t even start. Between the two of us, you should be the first one experiencing ‘signs of aging.’ You’re turning twenty next year.”

Rukia remained completely unbothered.

She flipped her hair lightly. “Still look younger than you.”

“That’s my girl,” Renji said proudly, earning himself a satisfied nod from her.

Ichigo clicked his tongue in irritation.

Ichigo’s mood only worsened.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the couple in front of him. “You two—go flirt somewhere else and get lost.”

Renji just laughed, slinging an arm lazily around Rukia’s shoulders. “You sure about that? You’ll be even lonelier without us here to tease you.”

“Aww, poor Ichigo,” Rukia added with mock sympathy.

Ichigo let out a long, irritated sigh. “I swear, if you don’t scram right now, I’ll shave both of your heads.”

That only made them laugh harder before they finally walked away, still chuckling to themselves. Ichigo clicked his tongue and dropped his head onto his desk, intending to sleep off his bad mood. But he couldn’t. The classroom was too noisy—laughter, chatter, chairs scraping against the floor. Annoyed, he lifted his head and shot a dark look toward the source of the noise.

A cluster of girls.

And at the center of it—

Inoue Orihime. The girl who had almost tripped yesterday.

She was smiling again. Of course she was.

She listened attentively to her classmates, nodding slightly, eyes bright with genuine interest. She looked almost like a child listening carefully to her parents—innocent, focused, sincere.

Ichigo found himself staring.

Yesterday replayed in his mind without warning. How her hair shining under the golden hour. The faint scent of something sweet—like strawberries and pastries. The warmth of her body when she had stumbled too close.

Her wide eyes.

Her face.

Everything.

And that smile.

Just like now.

He didn’t know someone like Orihime could even exist—someone who always smiled as if the world had never wronged her. They barely interacted, and yet Ichigo realized he had noticed her more than he thought. She was kind. That much was obvious. She helped their classmates without hesitation. She was polite. Open. He remembered one particular incident. He had forgotten to write his name on a test paper once. Their professor was strict—merciless about details like that. Ichigo had already assumed he’d fail that exam. But when the papers were returned, his name had been neatly written at the top.

And he had scored one of the highest grades. According to Keigo, Orihime had been the one collecting the papers. She was also the one who had written his name for him. Ichigo never got to thank her. The next day, he was already back at the training grounds.

He sighed.

Now training was over. They had one month of rest before being sent to another school for the next round. He had set a goal for himself during this break: be more friendly with his classmates.

And thank Orihime.

Both he and Orihime were popular in Karakura High—but the difference was clear.

Orihime was friendly.

Ichigo wasn’t.

Across the room, the girls’ conversation shifted to makeup. Orihime listened with interest, occasionally tilting her head as if genuinely considering their advice.

Then—

She felt it.

A gaze.

She knew exactly who it belonged to. It came from Ichigo’s seat. Their eyes met accidentally.

Orihime’s plan to avoid him as much as possible failed immediately—because she smiled at him.

It was small.

Awkward.

But it was still a smile.

Ichigo froze for half a second.

Then he smiled back—stiffly, almost painfully unnatural.

He even raised his hand in a small, hesitant wave.

Orihime lifted hers too, acknowledging him.

The moment stretched uncomfortably.

Then, almost in sync, they both looked away.

Ichigo stared at the blackboard as if it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. He searched for his friends, immediately regretting telling Renji and Rukia to leave. There went his plan of being more friendly.

If he was this awkward just exchanging a look with Orihime, how was he supposed to talk to her? Approach her?

Meanwhile, Orihime returned her attention to her classmates.

“Are you close with Kurosaki, Ori?” one of the girls asked curiously.

Orihime didn’t know what to say.

So she smiled.

“Kurosaki-kun is kind,” she answered softly.

“Huh?” several of them reacted at once.

“Since when was Kurosaki Ichigo kind?”

He wasn’t mean. But he definitely wasn’t friendly. Or openly kind. Like now—lunchtime had arrived, and their table was noisy again because of his friends. Ichigo didn’t join in with his usual sarcastic comments. Instead, he sat there quietly, thinking.

Asano Keigo was about to tease him, but Renji and Rukia stopped him.

“Not now,” Renji muttered. “Death flag mood.”

They assumed it was because he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

They had no idea.

Ichigo wasn’t quiet because he was grumpy.

He was quiet because he was thinking.

Thinking hard.

About how to talk to Orihime.

Eventually, Renji, Mizuiro, and Keigo left to use the restroom, leaving only Rukia and Ichigo at the table.

Rukia leaned her chin on her hand and studied him.

“Your frown just got deeper. Care to share what that tiny brain of yours is processing?” she asked teasingly.

Ichigo grunted. “Back off, midget.”

Rukia laughed.

“No, seriously. What’s the problem?”

“Nothing?”

“You’re not sure?”

“I don’t have any problem,” Ichigo insisted.

She stared at him, unconvinced.

“Okay, fine,” he muttered. “I don’t have a problem. I just… have something on my mind.”

Rukia’s lips curled into a mischievous smile.

Ichigo shot her a warning glare and immediately became defensive.

“I’m not thinking about Inoue Orihime!”

Rukia blinked.

That hadn’t even crossed her mind—she thought maybe he had a stomachache or something.

But now—

Slowly, very slowly, her grin returned.

“I didn’t mention any name,” she said sweetly. “Why are you so defensive?”

Ichigo froze.

He replayed his own words in his head. His eyes darted around the classroom.

It was lunchtime. Most students were out. Orihime wasn’t there either.

Safe.

No one heard.

“Don’t talk to me,” he muttered.

Rukia laughed.

“Sooo… Inoue Orihime, huh? Honestly, if I were a guy, I’d probably like her too. Unfortunately, I’m a girl and I have a boyfriend.”

“I never said I like her!”

“Did I say you did?” Rukia shot back teasingly. “I mean, it’s valid if you’re thinking about her. She’s kind. She’s pretty. She’s smart. Did I mention pretty? She’s basically Karakura High’s idol. Of course people like her.”

Then she started rambling about Orihime.

Ichigo didn’t ask for the information.

But he listened anyway.

He learned that Orihime was an orphan.

That she lived alone.

That Tatsuki—his own friend—was practically her family.

That she loved bread.

That she liked reading manga.

Like him.

“If you want to talk to her,” Rukia said casually, smirking, “try bringing up manga. Like, ‘Have you read this one?’ or ‘Can I borrow yours?’ Easy.”

Ichigo glared at her. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you want to talk to her,” Rukia replied simply before standing up.

“Bye. I’m going to fetch my boyfriend. Who knows, maybe he flushed himself down the toilet.”

She walked off, already planning to tell Renji about Ichigo’s little dilemma.

And once again—

Ichigo was left alone.

If only Yasutora Sado or also known Chad were here. Chad was still at training, busy with the MMA club.

Ichigo probably would’ve told him everything.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

Was it really a problem?

Or was Ichigo just making it one?

He wasn’t usually like this. He didn’t overthink simple things. He didn’t rehearse conversations in his head. He didn’t stress about talking to people—mostly because he rarely did talk to anyone outside his circle.

So why was he this tense over Orihime? It wasn’t like he was planning to confess or anything dramatic. He just needed to talk to her.

Call her name.

Smile.

Say thank you.

That was it.

Simple.

Except it wasn’t.

Because Kurosaki Ichigo doesn't do any of that.

He wasn’t used to starting conversations with people he wasn’t already close to. He wasn’t the smiling type. When he was grateful, he showed it through actions, not words. Fighting for someone. Standing beside them. Doing something quietly without announcing it.

Saying “thank you” out loud felt strangely heavier than it should.

And somehow, Orihime made it worse. He felt like she was hard to approach—even though she wasn’t.

She was approachable. Open. Warm.

But that warmth made her feel untouchable too. Like something soft and glowing that you didn’t want to handle carelessly.

He didn’t just want to thank her. He wanted her to feel comfortable around him. And for some reason, that mattered more than it should. He kept waiting for the “right moment.”

As if there would be a perfect cue. A spotlight. A silent signal from the universe.

And then—

The moment arrived.

Inoue Orihime entered the classroom, holding several items in her arms—strawberry milk cartons and different kind of sweet breads stacked precariously against her chest. She looked happy, as if she had just discovered treasure in the cafeteria.

And without thinking—

Ichigo stood up.

“INOUE ORIHIME!”

He didn’t realize how loud his voice was. Some of their classmate who's in the classroom that time fell silent for half a second.

Orihime froze.

Her heart jumped straight to her throat. Startled by the sudden shout, her fingers loosened—and the milk and bread slipped from her arms, falling to the floor with soft thuds.

She stared at him.

All morning, she had carefully avoided his gaze. Avoided thinking about that small, awkward smile they shared.

And now—

He had called her name.

Out loud.

What did he want? Why was he talking to her? He wasn’t supposed to talk to her. This was too much to handle.

She stood there, stunned, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Ichigo blinked.

He hadn’t meant to yell.

He definitely hadn’t meant to scare her.

“Ah—” he started, but it was too late.

He immediately crouched down to pick up the fallen food.

Orihime panicked further.

“N-no! I can—” she stammered, quickly bending down as well.

And at the exact moment she leaned forward—

Ichigo looked up.

Their heads collided with a solid thunk.

“Ow—!”

Both of them dropped back onto the floor, sitting awkwardly across from each other.

Orihime rubbed her forehead. “Ouchie…” she murmured softly.

Ichigo held the back of his head with a grimace.

“Sorry,” they said at the same time.

Silence.

“Ah—um—sorry, Kurosaki-kun,” Orihime said quickly, lowering her gaze. “And thank you. You didn’t have to go through the trouble of picking up my food.”

It was the first time she had called him that—at least to his face.

Even if it was just his surname.

Ichigo found himself smiling faintly.

It felt… out of character.

Then he noticed her ears were bright red. The blush slowly crept down to her cheeks.

Once again—

Orihime felt close to her long-time crush.

Once again—

She was talking to him.

But at what cost?

Because here they were.

On the floor.

In front of some of their classmates.

In another painfully awkward situation.

Ichigo swallowed.

This wasn’t how he imagined it.

He had planned something simple.

Calm.

Normal.

Instead, he had shouted her name like a lunatic and caused a minor accident.

Ichigo grimaced slightly.

“I’m the one who should apologize,” he said stiffly, embarrassment creeping into his tone. “I shouldn’t have shouted your name. I wouldn’t have startled you like that.”

“It’s okay, hehe,” Orihime replied gently. “But… why did you call me?”

She kept her expression calm, composed. There was no way she was going to embarrass herself again in front of Ichigo. Not today. Not twice. Now it was Ichigo’s turn to blush. His mind went blank.

He had finally called her.

She was in front of him.

Talking to him.

What was he supposed to say again?

Was he apologizing? For what exactly? Was he thanking her? But that happened last year…

And so, without thinking it through—

“Thank you. And sorry,” Ichigo said.

Orihime tilted her head slightly, confused, scratching the side of her head as she stood up properly. Ichigo stood too, still holding her food and looking at her.

“Ah… what for?” she asked shyly.

Without realizing it, Ichigo mirrored her gesture and scratched the back of his head as well.

“Uh… thank you for last year,” he explained. “Keigo told me you were the one who wrote my name on my test paper. If you hadn’t done that, I probably would’ve failed and gotten no score.”

His gaze dropped to the two strawberry milk cartons and three bread rolls still in his hands.

Is she really going to finish all this? he wondered absentmindedly.

Orihime didn’t answer right away, so Ichigo looked up at her.

Her face was red.

Not just pink—red.

She looked shy. Like she was carefully forming her words in her mind.

And then their eyes met.

Ichigo swallowed.

Orihime quickly looked away.

“Ah… that?” she said softly. “It was a small thing, hehe. I was class president back then, so it was my duty to keep everything in order.”

Ichigo nodded slightly.

“Still. That wasn’t really part of your responsibility. But you did it anyway. I’m kind of embarrassed it took me this long to thank you… that’s why I said sorry too.”

Orihime smiled warmly.

“It’s really nothing. You’re welcome, Kurosaki-kun,” she said, waving both hands lightly as if brushing the matter away.

“Ah—right. Your food,” he said, handing it back to her.

Orihime took only one strawberry milk and two sweet breads.

Ichigo was left holding one strawberry milk and sweet bread.

“You can have those,” Orihime said brightly.

Ichigo shook his head and tried to hand them back. “No, these are yours.”

But Orihime was surprisingly stubborn. She refused to take them.

“Take them, Kurosaki-kun. You’re not allowed to refuse food,” she insisted playfully.

Ichigo grumbled under his breath.

“…Fine,” he surrendered.

Orihime’s smile widened.

“Enjoy eating, Kurosaki-kun. I’ll eat now too, hehe,” she said before walking past him toward her seat at the front.

As she passed by, she bit her lip and let out a quiet breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

She talked to Ichigo normally.

She talked to Ichigo normally.

She talked to Ichigo normally.

She quickly sat down because she felt like her legs might give out if she stayed standing any longer. She lowered her head onto her desk for a second. She wanted to scream from the excitement. She had to tell Tatsuki later. Every single detail.

Meanwhile, Ichigo remained standing for a moment, staring at the food in his hands.

Strawberry milk.

Sweet bread.

These were probably her favorites, considering she bought more than one and yet she gave some to him. For some reason, that small gesture made something stir in his chest. He wanted to return the favor. He wanted to buy her something too.

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

His gaze drifted to Orihime again.

She was staring blankly at the front while eating, still processing what had just happened.

Ichigo sighed and opened the strawberry milk.

He wasn’t fond of sweets.

But when he took a sip—

It tasted… pleasant.

Sweeter than he preferred.

Yet somehow—