Chapter Text
Orihime stretches her legs out on the stands. This is her last game of the week. She’s required to attend all of the school’s sports games as a student athletic assistant. She thinks the title’s funny. Really, she’s just a glorified watergirl with a first aid kit.
She looks around the gymnasium. It’s not unusual for the girl’s basketball game to have such few spectators, but it is strange that they aren’t winning. She glances at the scoreboard.
23 — 97
HOME — GUEST
She stares down at the other team’s white jerseys. The girls from that school look a lot older than her own team. They look like they’re actually college freshmen who’ve been prematurely redshirted.
This small novelty is the only thing that really catches her interest, otherwise she’s had a normal schoolday. Got up early, had breakfast with her brother, aced her chem test, sat with Tatsuki at lunch, laughed at Ichigo’s unfunny joke during trig, stared back at him when his gaze lingered too long.
Then she went straight to the gym and helped coach Kyoraku fill up the coolers. She’s been sitting here since, watching the girls run up and down the court. Hiyori gets dunked on and lets out a chain of swears as the other girl hangs on the rim and swings her sneakers around her pigtails. The whistle blows.
Hiyori throws her hands in the air violently. Lisa pushes her glasses up to wipe her face and shoves Kyoraku’s comforting hand from her shoulder. Mashiro does a little shuffle up to the concession stand. Orihime thinks it’s probably time for her to do the same.
She rises to ask Keigo for a tray of nachos. He always gives her free food, calls it a student discount. Usually she pushes her luck and asks for other treats. Today it’s a box of milk duds.
Orihime walks back to her designated seat on the stands right before the game continues. Hiyori misses the free-throw and Lisa says are-you-fucking-kidding-me as Orihime shakes a few milk duds into her nacho cheese.
“Is that good?”
Orihime looks up from her dinner. She localized the sound from behind her, but could’ve sworn she was alone in this column. She turns to see a pair of bottle green eyes staring at her.
A boy she doesn’t recognize is sitting behind her. He must have recently switched seats because she wouldn’t forget somebody with the contrast of pale, almost bloodless skin against dark hair. He’s wearing a jacket in the same shade of white as the girls below.
He has downturned eyes and thick eyebrows and thin lips that tug themselves downwards. Even with all his glum features, his expression seems… unbothered.
She blinks at the guy.
He stares back, unblinking.
When she realizes she’s been staring instead of answering, she shoves a chip in her mouth to busy herself. He watches her chew fourteen times and swallow once.
“Mhmm!” She nods, offering the paper tray towards him. “Want one?”
“No.”
With nothing else to really do or say, Orihime swirls another chip in the cheese. The chocolate has melted, she’s hoping the caramel is also soft and gooey inside as she stuffs it in her mouth.
The torn edge of the tortilla chip scrapes the roof of her mouth. She winces.
“Are you alright?” He asks, though his face is unconcerned.
Orihime thinks she could probably set herself on fire and he’d remain unmoved. She raises a hand to cover her mouth and nods reassuringly at him. She presses the flat of her tongue on the scratch to assess the damage. She waves him off with her other hand when she swallows.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says, and swallows again. “So, what school are you from?”
“Hollow.”
“Hollow high school?” she remarks.
“Yes.”
“No way! You know, my brother went to Hollow high.”
“Is that right,” He says, looking just a tinge interested. “What’s his name?”
“Oh, he’s graduated now. His name’s Sora.”
“Sora what?”
“Sora Inoue.”
He nods. She can almost see the information being tucked into the folds of his brain. “And you’re…”
She smiles. “Orihime.”
“Orihime Inoue,” he says. He looks pensive for a moment before he holds out his hand. It’s now that she realizes he’s wearing black nail polish. “Ulquiorra Cifer.”
She takes it and gives it a kind squeeze. He has cold hands but a strong grip. The whistle blows again. Orihime whips her head around to see Hiyori being dragged off the court, kicking and screaming about a foul. She turns to look at everyone else, checking for injuries. She takes a look at the other team, who mock Hiyori all the way to her seat on the bench. Everybody seems fine.
She turns back to him.
“So,” she says around another nacho. “Do you like your school?”
He watches a girl from his team make two aggressive fakes and shrugs his shoulders. “Not particularly.”
Her lips curl upward, resisting the urge to laugh. “Do you think you’d be happier at a different school?”
“Probably not.”
She giggles this time. He’s so… indifferent to being happy. It’s refreshing to see someone live that way, she thinks, without being a prisoner to their own pleasure.
He stares at her as she laughs. “Do you like your school?”
She gives the gym an appraising glance. All things considered, she likes going to Soul High. “Yeah, we’re not so bad.”
“You guys are garbage.”
Orihime finds herself struck for a moment. She turns to him. “Excuse me?”
He points at the scoreboard. Six minutes fifteen seconds left. They haven’t scored any points while Hollow High reached over a hundred.
“There’s still time.” She insists.
“It’s over.”
She blinks, wondering how this happened. Down below, Lisa tugs at her braid when they blow the whistle again. Even Mashiro is growing irritated. Orihime turns her attention and body fully towards the game and doesn’t look back at the boy.
Ichigo and Kensei sneak in at the four minute mark. They must have just gotten out of soccer practice, or possibly left early to watch the game. When Ichigo spots her in the stands, he comes her way.
“Hey,”
“Hi,” she says, scooting over for him even though they’ve got the whole row to themselves.
“How’s it going?” He asks before looking up at the board. “What the hell? Twenty three to a hundred ten?”
Orihime nods regrettably. She offers him a cold nacho. Ichigo looks at the melted milk duds.
“Is there any more chocolate?”
“Of course,” she says, reaching for the box near her kit. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” he says and rests a hand on her knee.
With his other hand, she watches him pour two milk duds out in his palm and chew them. The muscles in his jaw glimmer with his sweat. She thinks he looks so handsome when he isn’t making his cruel little faces.
His presence unmoors her. All throughout high school they’ve sat by each other at lunch and walked home together with friends. Last year they made out at Tatsuki’s birthday party, but they were both drinking so she doesn’t think it counts. Even now, with his hand on her leg, she wonders just how far it’ll go up her thigh before the game ends.
She can feel that same pair of eyeballs on the back of her head. She wills herself to keep facing forward but Ichigo apparently picks up on it too.
He turns to scowl at Ulquiorra.
“What are you looking at?”
If Ulquiorra responds she doesn’t hear it. Ichigo throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in closer to him.
Orihime busies herself with her nachos. The cheese has cooled to a near solid consistency. It makes them chewier, blander. She thinks she’ll try mixing sour candy in them next time.
“Goddamn,” Ichigo mutters, feeding her the last milk dud. “Hiyori looks like she’s ready to rip her hair out.”
“She always looks like that.”
She feels his arm skip when he chuckles. Orihime laughs along. Nobody on the girls basketball team likes her, and they all hate Ichigo, so it’s fun to watch them suffer for a bit as they eat snacks.
When she gives Ichigo a sip from her water bottle, she ventures a glance over her shoulder. Ulquiorra is staring directly at her face.
She almost gives herself whiplash from jerking forward.
“Damn, they suck.” Somebody says from behind them. “I didn’t know they’d get dicked this bad, though.”
“They’re garbage.” Ulquiorra says.
She hears him rise as the shot clock winds down. “Let’s go, Yammy.”
“Aw, c’mon, stay a bit longer. I wanna see who’s gonna make the buzzer beater.”
Ulquiorra starts walking down the steps. “What difference does it make?”
“I just wanna see!”
Ulquiorra lingers on the bottom step, just feet away from her bag. A girl from Hollow high with long green hair makes the final shot at zero seconds left. Ulquiorra looks over his shoulder.
“What I tell you?” he says, staring at Ichigo and Orihime. “Garbage.”