#ichihime

What most people don't know about Orihime's powers is the tremendous amount of skill it takes to puppeteer six different fairies at once. Even three together is a task. Ichigo has watched her weave lines of gold with her hands before, but it never stops amazing him how much is happening all at once. With deft fingertips, she demonstrates how a torn muscle needs to be sewn back together. With another hand, she can keep up a shield of fierce resolve—one that doesn't shatter, or even tremble. She must constantly negotiate with the universe, using her fairies as mediators to communicate with vast quantities of spiritual energy.

She's come so far. There's a fierce pride in his chest at the thought of it, right alongside that age-old fear of losing her. Of her being here one second and gone the next, whisked away from him.

But maybe that fear is an exaggerated one. He'd seen her, right at the end. He'd lain on the ground, drained, watching as—it seemed like—she balanced the universe itself on her shoulders for him. It was fear-inspiring. It was awe-inspiring.

She is awe-inspiring.

At the slightest ripple in the air, Orihime's head perks. She seems to sense him in the vicinity, and her eyes quickly scan her surroundings for confirmation. Furrowed brows, worried eyes.

And then their gazes catch.

Immediately, Orihime springs to her feet. She murmurs something—his name, probably—and Ichigo leaps forward by several paces with the last dash of energy he can muster. Warning bells go off within a part of him, the part that has always been careful and considerate of how to share the same space with her.

But it's a part that melts away rather quickly. Orihime raises her arms on instinct, hanging midway like she doesn't quite know what to do with them.

Ichigo pulls her into the fold of his embrace.

Close, he thinks with a blush. Too close. But deep down, he'd been looking forward to this reunion ever since that last slash of his sword, that entire sprint back here alongside Renji and Uryu. He wanted to tell everyone they won. He wanted to tell Rukia, and Chad and Ganju, and all of Soul Society, and everyone in Hueco Mundo and back home too. And he wanted to tell Orihime, whose first question wouldn't be What happened but—

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he says roughly, closing his eyes when she runs a feeble hand down his back as if she wants to be sure. A barely-there touch, but he shivers anyway. He's keenly aware of his own hand on her back—her bare, slender back—and it's enough to make him want to spring back. To apologize.

But Orihime squeezes him, and all thought evaporates. He's home.

"Is he...?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so glad," she says warmly, her voice muffled. When she lifts her face, she's got streaks of tears down her cheeks. "I'm so glad. I was so worried it wasn't enough, that I couldn't fight the way you needed me to—!"

"You were enough," he says, before she can even finish that thought. It's always been true, but she searches his eyes for confirmation anyway, her every doubt melting away with complete transparency at whatever she sees on his face. She smiles, and she's so precious he can believe right there why he's never held her this way before.

But today is a day for new things, apparently. They've proven as much, haven't they?

Ichigo laughs lightly and sets a hand on top of her head. "You worry too much, you know that?"

"That's—" Orihime begins to protest, but her pout wavers and trembles before giving into a smile.

They hug again, much more certain this time, much more soft. Orihime tucks her face into his shoulder, her hands small and sure on his back. Ichigo keeps both hands on her arms.

Someone clears their throat emphatically in the background.

Ichigo and Orihime spring apart, embarrassed, and if Ichigo is relieved, it's only because the flush on her cheeks matches the amount of heat he feels in his ears. A line of their friends stare down at them from a higher perch—Rukia, Renji, Chad, Ganju, even Uryu. They're all smiling.

Orihime wipes her eyes, but she's laughing too. Relief settles over the battleground, as gentle and tentative as a dove making its landing.

Ichigo smiles at her. Together, they stare up at their friends, breathing in the joy of their shared victory.

+

ii. kiss

It's a habit Ichigo didn't mean to build, or so she thinks. But it happens anyway. Every now and then, Orihime finds him slumped over his desk, head resting on folded arms. A quick snooze. A tiny nap. She's tried telling him several times to go to their room, or even their couch, but he always grumbles that he'll fall asleep there, really, Orihime, it's fine.

It's the nature of his job, maybe. His work keeps him typing away for long hours at a stretch, without breaks, without the strict division of home and work that she has. Things that are kept apart always seem to blend wherever Ichigo is involved, so she catches him often, napping at his desk.

"You'll hurt your neck like this," she chides sometimes, pressing a soft kiss to the back of said neck. Sometimes she may kiss his head, that mess of orange that she loves so much. Maybe she has her habits too. Kissing Ichigo, actually kissing Ichigo is a universe of its own, complete with the explosion of stars, the collisions of comets, the all-encompassing completeness of a black hole. She melts and loses herself under the danger of his mouth. Sometimes it's nice to have a safe peck, just for herself. To give herself permission to love him in this way, to drape a blanket over his shoulders or laugh silently at his snoring face, now that she actually can.

The temple kisses are her favorite. She has Yuzu to thank for this; gone are the days of bangs, which means foreheads are fair game from all sides now. Sometimes she kisses his cheek too, marveling at his sideburns, noting privately that the years have brought on more of his dad's features than he would like.

Kissing his palm is bittersweet. It reminds her of goodbyes, just as it comforts her that he doesn't keep his fist curled when he rests anymore. Kissing his shoulder is awe-inspiring. What strong shoulders they are.

These are all little things about him that she keeps to herself. Observations that amuse her, soften her, make her reminisce or contemplate. Mundane details that would bore anyone but a partner. A lover.

The magic never lasts too long anyway. By the time she slips into another room and returns, Ichigo is already up again, muttering under his breath about a word, a sentence, a page. That's her cue to return to herself too, but she keeps the momentary warmth buried someplace special.

Or so she thought.

She's in-between tasks one day, just about to finish a glass of water and head to the bathroom to clip her nails when she crosses the study and catches that familiar sight of him, hunched over and resting. Almost on cue, she makes her detour, her footfalls silent as she checks in on him. Sure enough, his brows are relaxed, his mouth is flat, and his face is lit by incoming sunshine from the window. Orihime quietly drags a curtain aside to reduce the intensity of light by half, then bends over to press the softest of kisses to his temple.

She's barely lifted off when he says, "You can kiss me when I'm awake too, you know."

Orihime yelps, startled. His eyes are still closed, but he slowly peeks one open to smile at her. She curls her toes with embarrassment. Of course it was naive to hope the years would have mellowed his battle-ready reflexes down some. Still, she feels silly.

"I'm sorry," she says genuinely. "Did I wake you?"

Ichigo sits up and shakes his head, reaching for her with a hand. Relieved, Orihime takes it and laughs a little at the expectant frown on his face. She bends over to press an aggressively affectionate but brief kiss to his cheek, cupping the other cheek and making an exaggerated noise to embellish it.

Ichigo turns his face and kisses her mouth. Orihime feels her stomach swim with that dizzying sensation again, her lips instinctively parting to make way for his. She runs one hand down his neck, then sets both hands down on his shoulders to brace herself.

When they finally part ways, she feels herself going pleased and pink-cheeked at the life in his eyes, the radiant, knowing smile he gives her.

Maybe she'll take his advice into consideration, every now and then.